The Dollhouse Society: Margo by Eden Myles Read Free Book Online

small of my back—he had been touching me in little ways all night—and said in my ear, “Is everything all right, Margo? Having second thoughts?”
    “Not at all,” I told him as we stepped out of the elevator and into the plush foyer. I’d only been to Robert’s place a few times when he and Joanne had entertained a few of us from the office around Christmas. Back then, the place had reflected Joanne’s excellent tastes in traditional furnishings—all light and glass and air. It was like stepping inside a miniature Versailles.
    Now it seemed darker, moodier, and there was a mothy feel to the elegant French furnishings, the coiling staircases and arched hallways. It was obvious from the pristine magazine layout of the rooms that Robert didn’t spend much time here anymore. I crossed the Persian carpet to the fireplace mantel where Robert and Joanne’s wedding pictures had once occupied the vast majority of the space, but I noticed they had been replaced by pictures of Robert in his youth back in Wales, or more modern pictures of him and his co-workers at various functions. One showed Robert and Joanne standing with the mayor of New York at an important fundraiser they had attended, but that was the only one I could find of her. I did notice more pictures of me standing with him.
    Robert brought us each a tumbler of good imported scotch, and I asked him about the missing wedding pictures. “I asked Joanne and she suggested it,” he said.
    When I gave him a funny look, he explained, “When I visit Joanne’s grave, I always make up these conversations between us. I tell her a story about work, or I ask her a question and try to figure out how she would answer it.” He shrugged, set his drink on the mantel, and slid his arms around my waist, holding me against him. “After you and I…after that first time, I asked Joanne what she thought I should do, and she told me it was time I moved on, that I’d mourned her long enough. Joanne was a very practical woman.”
    There was so much warmth and feeling in his voice that it made my heart hurt to beat. I slid my arms around his neck and leaned against him while he held me and kissed and mouthed the side of my neck. We swayed together like that for a long moment, like we were dancing to invisible music. “I’m sorry, Robert,” I said, and he murmured some incoherent words against my neck before scooping me up in his arms.
    “Don’t!” I screamed. “I’m heavy!”
    “Not that heavy.” He carried in to his bedroom, the only room that felt cozy and inviting. He had a lovely antique sleigh bed made of gleaming dark mahogany, covered in a handmaid quilt that Joanne had purchased up in Amish county in Lancaster, but instead of taking me there, he transported me to the Queen Anne desk that sat in one corner, the place where he wrote his personal checks or did light work when he took it home with him. It was cluttered with paperwork, an antique ink quill and an equally old, Prohibition-era telephone, but he swept everything aside and set me down on the edge, looking me over with a greedy, male intensity that had my heart quickly thudding against the wall of my chest.
    “Did you meant what you said? About me having my way with you?”
    “Yes, Robert.”
    “Good,” he said, his voice a faint growl in his throat. He clutched the back of my neck and kissed me, his teeth nipping at my mouth and the sides of my neck. He sucked an earring into his mouth, tugging on it delicately. “There’s so much I want to do to you tonight, Margo. So much tenderness I want to show you. But right now I just want to be inside you. I want to…I need to fuck you.” He shoved my business skirt up to my waist and pressed his thumb hard against the sensitive nub of flesh under my clit hood, pinched it, twisted it. I jumped at his aggressive touch and my body immediately responded to him, ejaculating all over him. In seconds I was wet and ready for him. “Yes, Margo,” he moaned into