She wrung out the sponge, then dipped it in the water all over again and started on my other leg.
If she noticed that my cock was hardening again, she gave no sign.
“Darcy decided that if she had to be a puppet, a doll, she might as well be the best of all the dolls. The prettiest. The most accomplished. The kind that was so universally beloved that she belonged in the puppet masters’ favorite music box, twirling around and around whenever the box was opened.”
“This does not exactly sound like an uplifting bedtime story.”
“That really depends on how you think about dolls and puppets, I guess.”
“I don’t.”
“But you’re British. Punch and Judy and all those terrifying pantomimes. Puppets are in your blood, surely.”
“I have never paid the slightest attention to dolls, puppets, or bloody pantos.”
“Haven’t you?”
Her mouth curved at that. And she moved again, sliding that soft, warm sponge across my chest, rubbing me like she was polishing me to a shine.
I didn’t care that she was challenging me.
On the contrary, I liked it.
“Dolls exist to be bought,” she said. “To be played with. To dance while the music plays, then be put away until they are useful again.”
Her voice changed at that last part, melting a bit as she spoke. Not quite singsong, but close enough.
I found my hands moving of their own accord. I spun her around so her back was to my chest and her ass was snug against my cock. She braced herself, one hand on each of my thighs, and she moved in a sinuous, delicious little wiggle that made me groan.
“You can keep talking to me about dolls,” I managed to say, though I wanted to roar it. “But do it with my cock inside you.”
She arched against me, and I filled my hands with her breasts, small, but perfect. And those nipples that I could pluck and roll between my fingers until goose bumps broke out all over her neck. She tilted her hips and impaled herself on the tip of my cock. Then slowly, rolling her hips, worked herself down my full length.
And her pussy was scalding hot. Far silkier than the bathwater all around us.
“I told you to keep talking,” I growled against her neck, and raked my teeth across the goose bumps I’d raised.
I could feel her shudder from where she clenched tight around my cock to the breasts she pushed harder into my palms.
“This is how a doll dances,” she told me, a catch in her voice. “Music box dancers are all the same, you know. You must nail them down on some kind of peg or pole.” And she demonstrated by clenching me tight with her internal muscles. Locking me inside her in such a fierce grip that for a tumultuous moment I thought I might come there and then. I gritted my teeth, bit her a little in warning and held on. Barely. “And as long as the music plays, they dance. Like this.”
And she rocked against me then, her hips the enchantment I’d been looking for. Pure magic. Lust and light. She rose, then settled back against me, each sweet, sexy wriggle taking me deeper.
Beneath the surface of the water, I could see the way she looked splayed against me like this. Riding my cock, open and abandoned.
She was most beautiful thing I had ever seen. There was no possible way that one night with her could ever be enough. I accepted that, and the regret I would feel when this was over.
But it wasn’t over yet.
“Our Darcy takes each and every music box she finds herself in seriously,” she told me, tipping her head back so she could lean into my mouth against her neck. “One way or another, she still wants to be the favorite doll. Everyone’s favorite.”
“I think that’s really down to her owner, don’t you?” I asked.
I left one hand where it was, toying lazily with her nipple, and let the other one fall down to the place where we were joined. I felt my own cock, and I felt her. That sweet, hot pussy, greedy and lush.
Then I found her clit, and began to play with it the way I was playing with her nipple. Lazy enough to make her flush. Intense enough to make her moan.
“I like the way you dance,” I told her as she began to make those choked noises that I knew meant she was close to coming again. “And I had no idea how much I like a music box. I like to turn it on. Then turn it off, at will. My will.”
I stopped playing with her nipple and moved my hand to hold her pussy flush against me, so she couldn’t keep rocking us both toward bliss.
“On,” I growled against her neck, and resumed what I’d been doing. Pinching her nipple and her clit in turn. She sobbed out something that could have been words, and moved again. More jerkily this time, her body trembling in my hands. “Then off.”
Again I stopped. Her breath sawed in and out of her. I could feel her pulse beneath my mouth, thundering in her veins.
“Darcy.” I said the name she’d given me because I liked it. And because it made her shudder. “I don’t play with dolls. But a music box? That’s something I could get my head around. I like to collect pretty things, after all. But there’s something you should know. When I take something and make it mine, I don’t like to let it go.”
I didn’t know why I said that. Or why I raked the soft, sweet skin of her neck with my teeth until she cried out, then bucked against me wildly as if she’d lost all semblance of control.
“Please, sir. I want to come. I want to dance. I want whatever it takes—”
“You get what I give you, little doll. Maybe that’s the shelf for you, cast aside with nothing to do but watch.”
I pulled her off me then and set her before me, turning her around again until she settled back down on her knees.
And this time, her eyes were unfocused. She was panting, her lips parted, a pretty flush all over her cheeks.
She was so beautiful it hurt. I reached over and helped myself to some more of the bath gel. I wrapped my hand around my cock, made a fist and pumped myself as she watched.
And very nearly lost myself entirely when that unfocused look turned greedy. Hungry.
“Sir...?”
But I shook my head, enjoying myself. And her need. “I want you to stand up. Climb out of this tub and wrap yourself in a towel.”
She swallowed. “Can I make you come first?”
I felt my cock pulse in my own hand.
“Did I ask you to?” I demanded. Severely.
She blew out a breath as if that hurt her, which only made me harder.
Then she did what she was told.
And that was when I knew.
No matter what, no matter what it cost or how foolhardy it was, there was no way in hell one night with this woman who called herself a doll—and who I wanted to call mine—was going to satisfy me.
I wanted more.
And I was Sebastian Dumont. What I wanted, I usually got.
My little dancer didn’t stand a chance.
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