Page 32 of The Dollhouse

“What the fuck are you dreaming about?”

I blinked, wondering if I heard that correctly. Behind me, Roman still rammed into me, but his hands on my sides didn’t feel quite as real as they did mere moments ago. Before I knew what was happening, everything around me faded away.

The next time I opened my eyes, I found myself alone in my bed, no Roman or Carter anywhere nearby—though, when I sat up and blinked at what should be my empty studio apartment, I found that previous statement wasn’t as true as it should’ve been.

Roman wasn’t here, but Carter was.

The man sat on my sofa, one leg crossed over his knee, leaning back as he ate cereal straight from the box, watching me with the most unimpressed look he could possibly give someone else. The bit of longer brown hair on the top of his head fell over his forehead, the sides of his scalp recently shaven and short. He wore unwrinkled clothes, fancy-pressed pants with creases on the sides.

He and Roman never looked like they just rolled in out of nowhere. They always looked like they were dressed to kill, to slay anyone who might lay eyes on them, including me. I was always a sucker for a man in a suit.

Men liked their women in lingerie, while women liked their men in suits—or at the very least in a button-up shirt with its sleeves rolled up to the elbows.

Which Carter’s currently were, by the way, showing off the muscles and the veins in his lower arms. God, a girl could swoon at the sight, but of course right now all I wondered was why the hell he was sitting on my sofa, eating my cereal, in my damn apartment without an invitation.

“Uh,” I started. “What—”

Carter said nothing, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a key that looked suspiciously like an apartment key.Myapartment key.

I clamped my jaw shut, glaring at him. If I had to choose between him and Roman, I’d choose Roman in a heartbeat. Carter’s dick might be nice, and the man might be gorgeous to look at, but his personality was not the greatest. He was kind of an ass, and he took a lot of pleasure in being all assy.

“What were you dreaming about over there?” Carter questioned again, cocking his head at me like he knew, even before I said anything, just what the hell I’d dreamed about.

His dick and Roman’s, but he certainly didn’t need to know that. I was not going to give him the satisfaction, especially since he shouldn’t even be here. This was my apartment, not Roman’s. Unless Roman bought the entire complex too, just like he’d done to the Dollhouse.

“That’s none of your business,” I said, sounding like I was pouting. And I was, because, you know, my dream had been pretty frigging good. It was not a dream I wanted to be woken up from by a scowling, curious Carter.

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong,” he said, shoving another handful of my brightly-colored cereal flakes into his mouth, chewing it so loudly I could hear him from my bed. Which, okay, wasn’t that far since this whole apartment was the tiniest thing ever, but still. “Everything you dream of is Roman’s business.”

It was my turn to tilt my head and ask an obnoxious question: “Are you Roman?” When Carter merely frowned at me, I added, “No? Well, then I guess I’m not telling you what I was dreaming about.”

The area between my legs felt hot, like I’d been squeezing my thighs together and masturbating while I was dreaming that ridiculously sexy dream. Why couldn’t that dream just have lasted a bit longer, hmm? Why couldn’t it be never-ending? I wouldn’t complain.

Being fucked by Roman himself… surely the man actually did that, occasionally. Right? I mean, it was one step away from getting head. Surely, he had to want to fuck every once in a while. Watching wasn’t nearly as fun as partaking, in my humble opinion.

But I wasn’t Roman, and I had no idea how his mind worked, so I guess I’d have to be patient when it came to the man in a suit and feeling his dick inside me.

A girl could dream.

Chapter Ten – Carter

Zoey Marbella was infuriating. I had no idea what Roman saw in her. For one thing, it was so hard to look past the blindingly pink hair. Pink was so not my color. I was more of a black kind of guy, dark colors for everyone all the fucking time. Pink was too girly, too innocent, too stupid of a color.

And her attitude. It was ever-present. Zoey always had something to say, and if, on the rare occasion, she didn’t, she made sure to wear an expression on her face that drove me mad.

Seriously. What the absolute fuck did Roman see in her? Why was he going crazy to make sure he had her and no one else came sniffing around her? It was fucking ridiculous I had to babysit her when he didn’t need me. Me, babysit a girl who should be nothing more than one of the hoes in the club.

But she wasn’t. He fucking bought the club to control her, to be able to dictate when she worked and, by extension, who got to get an eyeful of her each time she strutted her stuff around the Dollhouse. That day she danced on the stage? It had been her last dance, and it had driven him absolutely bonkers.

Roman wasn’t the kind of guy to let any old woman affect him like that. What the hell was it about her that drew him in so much? She had a pretty face, sure, and her pussy was nice and tight, but come on. That wasn’t worth losing your shit over.

I’d gotten hungry, so I’d fished a new box of cereal out of her cabinet in the kitchen area and plopped myself down on the couch, sitting there in the silence as the sun started to come up. Zoey had been asleep in bed, but she’d started to toss a bit, began breathing harder in her sleep. I watched as her cheeks had grown flushed and her legs had moved beneath the sheets.

Hence why we were here now, her blue eyes glaring at me while I shrugged her off. “I might not be Roman, but when he’s not with you, you treat me like you would treat him,” I told her, chewing more cereal, otherwise I might just storm over to that bed and make her see the error of her ways.

Roman wouldn’t like that. I knew he didn’t want me touching her unless he was near. He was just a control freak like that, but I supposed him being a total control freak got him to where he was today, and where he was was where I hoped to be myself in ten or so years.

I owed that man my life, really. He was the only man I would die for with no hesitation whatsoever. If he didn’t want me touching her, then I wouldn’t. That wasn’t to say it wouldn’t be difficult, but I would manage.

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