The Dollhouse Society: Felix (New Adult BDSM Erotica)
Page 11
My marriage was another matter. At first I blamed myself, telling myself over and over that the long hours and swing shifts driving an ambulance were driving Chuck crazy, that he was a good man who lived with a crazy wife who worked a crazy job. It was hard not to feel guilty. In some ways, I felt I was putting work before my marriage, something my conservative mother didn’t approve of and complained about constantly.
When Chuck’s drinking started, I felt even guiltier, like it was my fault. I begged Chuck to go to AA meetings, to get a mentor, to get help. I was willing to help him anyway I could, but Chuck was a cop on the Chicago PD, he was a tough guy by nature, and I knew how he and his friends were: any cry for help was a sign of weakness, proof that they were not men. They all drank draft beer, went to ballgames, and talked about how their wives were ball-busters. I took it all in stride, trying to be there for Chuck the way I was there for Clive every night, my First Responder partner.
Then Chuck hit me.
I figured it was a one-off, everything coming to a head like a bad boil and breaking open. I thought we would heal after that, and for a while we did and things were good again. Then we had a pregnancy scare—my period was late and I was sure I had forgotten to take my morning pill that day. I’d been exhausted the day before, my brain muddied by hours of driving an ambulance through endless lower Chicago traffic while a gang of youths who had shot each other in a gang war bled all over the floor of the ambulance. Chuck said I’d forgotten accidently on purpose, that I wanted some brat so I wouldn’t have to work. Then he accused me of having an affair with Clive. I tried to be understanding; I knew he’d been drinking all evening. I tried to take the bottle away and he punched me in the stomach.
It turned out I wasn’t pregnant, thank God. But something about that last night finally got through to me. I finally stopped making excuses for Chuck’s drinking and behavior and swiftly moved out of our little suburban house. I went to live with my friend Sierra for a few weeks until I could get my own apartment in the city. About that time, I started my divorce proceedings.
Chuck showed up maybe a half dozen times, bearing increasingly expensive gifts and begging me to forgive him and take him back. He insisted he was a changed man after that last incident, that it had scared him sober. But I knew better. His dad was an alcoholic who had beat the crap out of his mom for almost thirty years. Well, I wasn’t about to become another battered woman, another statistic to be carried away in an ambulance one day. I sent him away, and when that wasn’t good enough for Chuck, I got a restraining order against him.
The day the divorce papers came through, I called Sierra and Juanita and told them my exciting news. I thought I would feel sad or disappointed that my marriage hadn’t turned out the way I’d wanted, but instead I felt relieved—and incredibly alive for a change. It felt like a black cloud had lifted from over my head. I realized I was free of Chuck, that this was a new start for me. We went out drinking and dancing all night, and my two best Latinas were only too happy to drag me to a series of cheesy pickup bars and salsa clubs.
I woke up the next morning in my brand new apartment, sleeping on my brand new mattress set, sans bed frame (I’d given Chuck all our furniture in the divorce settlement; I wanted nothing to remind me of him or our time together), my head pounding from too many margaritas, grinning like crazy, with the sun in my eyes. It was Saturday, I was off work, and I was a gal on a mission to outfit this sexy new apartment of mine and celebrate my new freedom.
***
Read an excerpt from The Dollhouse Society: Margo by Eden Myles:
“You seem a little down this Monday morning, my pet,” my partner Robert Burkett said as he joined me in the employee lounge for a coffee—or, in his case, tea. Even having been in America for the past twenty years, I still couldn’t break him of his English habits.
“Well, it is Monday,” I argued as I poured a black cup of joe for myself, then added one Earl Grey tea bag and a cream to his mug of hot water before handing it over. The mug was his favorite; I’d given it to him for Christmas the year before and it read Trust Me, I’m a Lawyer and had a great white shark on it, dressed in a necktie and carrying a briefcase. Robert thought it was hilarious, but felt his public image required he keep it in the employee lounge rather than letting our high-profile clients in the entertainment business see it.
“Monday, bloody Monday,” Robert said as he used a spoon to stir his tea. Every Monday morning I gave him a cup of tea and every Monday morning he stood at the coffee counter and stirred it with great concentration. Sometimes he regaled me with stories of growing up in rural Wales, waiting for the milkman to arrive at the farmhouse where he and his mother, father, and seven siblings lived. After five years of working together, it had become our ritual. He told me detailed stories of his “smallholdings,” the tiny llama ranch his father owned in Snowdonia, and I would tell him what I’d been up to during the weekend.
“I remember we had this stocking vendor who would come up the hill on Mondays. My mother used to send me down with a few shillings when she had the money…”
And just like that, he was off with one of his stories. I leaned against the counter, listening to and just admiring the man who had taken me onboard as an equal partner in his firm in what was normally the very competitive and male-oriented field of entertainment law. I wasn’t meeting with my first client of the day until ten o’clock. That gave me an hour to kill, and there was no better way of killing an hour than by listening to one of Robert’s stories in his deep, whispery soft voice and country Wenglish accent.
Robert was well into his fifties now, though you wouldn’t know it to look at him. I’d seen pictures of him in college, back in his early twenties, a muscular giant of a man who’d been big on rugby but still graceful enough for cricket. He hadn’t changed much over the years. He was still big, well-chiseled but elegant, and his bright grey eyes had never lost their gleam. But the years and the loss of his wife of twenty-six years had left their mark on him as well. I saw it in the lines in his face and the way his thick dark hair had turned all silver almost overnight. He was still handsome as hell, and his mind was sharper than all the young, ambitious sharks at Burkett Associates combined, but sometimes I wondered what he’d been like in those younger years, if he’d always been this confident, wise and cynical, or if that was something he’d had to work up to.
I’d always gotten along better with men than with women, and I liked joking that we were soul mates. We were both very much at ease with one other, and more than one junior associate at the firm thought we were romantically involved, but that was marginalizing what we had between us. In many ways, Robert and I were best friend. I was there for him when Joanne had her stroke and slowly went downhill from there, and he’d taken me out drinking when my marriage to Brent fell apart.
“Did you see your friends this weekend?” Robert finally asked when he’d finished his childhood story.
“You mean Malcolm and his friends? No, I stayed in to work on the accounts.”
Robert sipped his tea and raised an eyebrow at that. “Is there a problem?”
“I’m not sure, to be honest. I’d like to do a bit more work before I bring anything to you.”
Robert didn’t push. He knew that if it was important enough, I would tell him. “Very well. Lunch at one?” he said, consulting his watch. He and I usually enjoyed a long lunch on Monday to discuss our clients and our goals for the week.
“One sounds good,” I told him. “How does the Sakura sound?”
The Sakura was one of the more elegant Japanese restaurants in Lower Manhattan, but it sold food you could actually eat.
“It sounds like you, my pet,” Robert told me, setting his mug down to take my hand and brush a brief kiss just below my knuckles. “Down to earth and elegant.” He gave me a very Japanese bow before skirting off to his office.
***
Also Available from Courtesan Press:
Indecent Proposal
Dr
eams in Black & White
Playing House
Freeze Frame
The Dollhouse Society Volume I: Evelyn
The Rules of Engagement
Big, Bad Wolf
The War of the Roses
The Dollhouse Society Volume II: Rachaela
Eyes Wide Open
Touch
Teacher’s Pet
Angel in the Dark
The Dollhouse Society Volume III: Daniel
Lady Luck
House of Dolls
The Reluctant Bride
A Woman on Top
The Dollhouse Society Volume IV: Lucky
All I Want for Christmas: A Dollhouse Society One Shot
Red (50 Shades of Fairy Tales)
Puss ‘N Books (50 Shades of Fairy Tales)
Snow (50 Shades of Fairy Tales)
The Little Mermaid (50 Shades of Fairy Tales)
50 Shades of Fairy Tales: Courtesan Press Collection No. 1
50 Shades of Fairy Tales: Volume I
The Beauty of the Beast (50 Shades of Fairy Tales)
Rumpelstiltskin (50 Shades of Fairy Tales)
Cinderfella (50 Shades of Fairy Tales)
Beauty’s Sleep (50 Shades of Fairy Tales)
50 Shades of Fairy Tales Volume II
50 Shades of Fairy Tales: Courtesan Press Collection No. 2
50 Shades of Fairy Tales Volume III
The Dollhouse Society: Margo
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