Then we went back to the hotel, so my darlin’ could paint herself into a doll.
I watched her from the bed as she sat at the tired, old vanity across the room, putting on all the makeup she had bought. I sharpened the blade in my cane, never taking my eyes from her reflection as she painted her eyelids blue, coated her lashes in black. As her pale skin became porcelain with some liquid she brushed over every inch of her face. Her cheeks were pink and, of course, her lips were bright pink.
She hummed and sang along to her boombox as her tape played the familiar songs. Her shoulders shook as she danced on her seat, her long blond curls bouncing with the movement. And all the time I watched her, I grew hard. As she transformed into a living, breathing doll before me, I became so hard that my teeth gritted together.
I had always envisioned her this way. At my side. Fully made up like a doll. Sharing in my ways. Killing. Stopping hearts. Not giving one fuck about anyone else but one another.
I slipped my blade back into the shaft of my cane, just as Dolly attached something to her lashes. When I stood, she turned.
I was still. Rooted to the fucking spot. Big, long lashes had been placed on her eyes, and the bottom ones were styled into sections, making her look precisely like a doll. Only the fact that she breathed and blinked made me aware that she was alive.
“Darlin’ . . .” I hushed out, my throat close to sealing shut.
She smoothed her hands down the front of her dress, then lifted her arms out and curtsied. She looked up at me through her fake lashes. “Well? Am I more your little Dolly now, Rabbit?”
I nodded without blinking. Without fucking breathing. I was too hot under my shirt, vest and cravat. “Yeah,” I rasped, running my teeth so hard over my lip that blood trickled into my mouth.
It only served to make me harder.
Dolly’s face changed from her usual smile to a serious expression, hunger in her gaze. “I did it for you, Rabbit,” she whispered and stepped closer to me. My heart slammed in my chest with every step she took.
The closer she came, the more I smelled roses. She had bought the perfume she had always worn as a child, the one that originally belonged to her mother. She stopped right before me. Her hand reached out, and my every muscle froze. My nose flared as I thought she might touch me. I felt the usual sickness that rose whenever someone tried to lay a hand on me. On skin tarnished by the deeply invasive touch of men who had no fucking place touching it. The men who pushed inside me, filling me with their filth.
But then she touched my cravat, pulling it from my vest and running it through her fingers. She looked up at me, and I was breathless at the sight of her beautiful face. At her makeup. At my Alice in Wonderland brought to life, standing before me. “I want to look good for you, Rabbit. But only for you.” She batted her eyelashes three times. “Do I look pretty, Rabbit? Am I beautiful for you?”
“Yes,” I confirmed in a rough voice. Dolly began to wrap the length of my cravat around her hand, just like she was wrapping me around her little finger. She always had. “Am I your pretty pretty champion? Am I your painted champion of Wonderland?” Dolly leaned around me, looking at my back as if she could see through the clothes I wore. “Like the picture on your back?”
“More than her.” I freed my unsteady hand to stroke a strand of her long hair between my fingers. It was so soft. Dolly sucked in a breath.
“This Dolly . . .” She lowered her eyes, and I hardened further as I saw her notice my want for her. Every part of me ached to take hold of her and possess her, smother her and drown her in my flesh. She whimpered. The very cells of my skin were dominoes of coldness. I staggered back, a sheen of icy sweat covering my face.
“Rabbit,” Dolly whispered. Her bottom lip began to quiver. Blushing, she lifted her hands to her breasts and cupped them in her palms. “I keep feeling all these sensations . . .” She shook her head and began walking toward the bed . . . toward me. As I watched her, she became my prey once again. Darkness stirred within me. I stared at her neck with its racing pulse. I wondered what it would look like if I sliced open one of her veins with the tip of my thimble and let the blood pour. Not a main vein, but one where I could watch the vivid red render her pale skin into a sadistic artist’s masterpiece. I imagined lapping at the blood. Then in turn, her opening a vein in my neck and feeding from me just the same.