The Dollhouse(63)

“You’re lovely.” He slid his hands down from her shoulders and cupped her breasts, which fit perfectly into his hands. He touched the nipples with his tongue and she shivered. “Do you like that?” he asked.

She had to close her eyes to process the mixture of pleasure and pain that coursed through her body as he pinched them slightly, followed by a gentle bite of his teeth. The hem of her skirt inched up, past her stockings, as his hands ran up along the side of her legs. When his fingers hit the patch of bare skin near the garter, she ached for them to move inward, parting her legs. She opened her eyes to find him crouched down, his lips following the glide of his fingertips closer and closer to where she ached most.

He stood suddenly, one hand cupped between her thighs while the other lightly grasped her neck and pulled her to him. She yielded to the pressure of his lips and while his tongue swirled around hers, his index finger circled the most sensitive part of her sex over the silky fabric.

A spasm shot through her, short and sharp. “We should stop,” she said.

“I want to please you.”

“I’ve never done anything like this before. I don’t know what to do.”

“You don’t have to do anything.”

He turned her around so she was pressed against the countertop, her hands braced against the metal, fingers splayed. He was unrelenting with his touch, sliding his finger underneath the fabric and dipping it deep inside her, then returning back. His other hand pinched her nipple and the nerves collided against each other like a double lightning strike, meeting in her solar plexus until the sensation was unbearable. He had her trapped, and she loved the feeling that he was in control of her body completely. The electricity grew until she convulsed, her pelvis rocking back and forth with pleasure.

This was not at all what she’d expected from sex. She’d heard Mr. Saunders and Mother late at night, and Mother’s stifled crying afterward. The enormity of what she’d done with Sam hit her like a gunshot. Sobered by the release, she pulled up her dress to cover her bare breasts and yanked down the hem.

“I should go.”

“Wait, Darby. Don’t.”

“I’ve never done anything like this before. I don’t know what to do, or how to do it.”

“You did just fine.” He smiled. “I liked touching you.”

She relaxed slightly, and he pulled her head to his chest. His heartbeat was going as fast as hers. “But I can’t do this. It’s not safe.”

“I understand. We don’t have to do anything else.”

She looked up at him. “Why do you like me?”

“I saw you singing onstage and it was like you were shining up there. You weren’t pretending to be a singer, or crying out for attention from the crowd.” He took both her hands in his and placed his forehead against hers. “There was the song, your voice, and your body. The combination was beautiful and that was when I decided I had to kiss you.”

She was quiet for a moment, stunned.

“And it helps that you like my cooking.”

Maybe she didn’t have to be scared after all.




Darby took the back stairs of the Barbizon two at a time, as light as Fred Astaire. At the landing with the mural, she came upon Stella untangling herself from a boy with jet-black hair and crooked glasses.

“Darby, wait. Arthur here was just leaving. I’ll walk up with you.”

Stella kissed the boy on the lips and then pushed him away from her. Bewildered, he lost his balance and tipped precariously on the top step, catching hold of the handrail just in time.

Stella put her hand to her mouth and giggled. “You’re so silly, Arthur. Be careful now.” Her Southern lilt was more pronounced than usual.

As the two girls tromped up together, Stella threw one arm around Darby’s shoulders. “And where are you sneaking back from?”

“The Flatted Fifth.”

She made a sour face. “That jazz club?”

“Yes. You should come sometime. It’s quite a scene.”

“Right.”

Her lack of enthusiasm rankled. “I mean it. You get lost in the music and the rhythms; it’s like being hypnotized.”

Stella paused at the next landing and slid off her red stilettos. Fuschia-colored toenails gleamed under her stockings. She picked up her shoes and continued climbing. “I take it you were with that maid tonight.”

“I was with Esme, yes.”

“You really ought to expand your horizons.”

A prickle of sweat ran down Darby’s back. “Why? Because she’s a maid? She happens to be a wonderful person—and she’s a talented singer, too. I have no doubt she’s destined to be a star.”

“She’s roped you right in, I see.”

Darby’s legs, so weightless at the start of her climb, now felt like lead. “Why do you dislike her so much? Is it because she works at the hotel? Or that she’s from another country?”

“Neither. But I’ve heard rumors.”

“What kind of rumors?”

“That she’s bad news.”

Candy immediately came to mind. “Right. Because she doesn’t let the guests walk all over her and treat her like a slave. I respect her for that. And I like her.”

Stella raised her eyebrows but didn’t respond.