Chapter 21
Mikhail
Ican’t do it. I can’t let her go. It’s as if Heaven and Hell joined forces to create the perfect Doll for me, only to dangle her before me and then snatch her away. I can’t. I fucking can’t do this, but what else is there?
Options. I need options. Maybe I could talk to Anton or even Vasilij Morozov himself, convince them this Doll isn’t good merchandise, that the client wouldn’t be satisfied? No, that’s a stupid plan. They wouldn’t let me keep her. They’d stick her in a brothel and let anyone with a few dollars to their name fuck her. My vision goes red at the mere thought of someone touching this Doll.MyDoll.
Fuck. I’m so screwed.
I need time to think, to plan, to fucking focus, but her presence, her eagerness to serve, and those damned smiles make it impossible. Why is she smiling so much? She must be exhausted and in pain, painIcaused, yet she smiles at me like I hung the damned moon. She wants me. No one has ever wanted me. The previous Dolls tried to charm me into helping them, but this one isn’t even doing that. Her affection is genuine, which is beyond puzzling. Why would she want me?
I think about it while mashing the potatoes, reaching no reasonable conclusion by the time they’re smooth. Doll kneels quietly in her spot, but I can feel her eyes on me. Every time I glance over, she’s watching. She shouldn’t be doing that, but I like it too much to correct her. She’s chewing her lip, looking like she wants to ask something. I shouldn’t encourage it, but I prompt her anyway. “Stop abusing those lips, Doll,” I order, trying to inject some authority into my voice and failing spectacularly. “You want to ask me something?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t even realize I was doing it. And yes, I was curious, but that’s a bad thing, right?”
Curiosity isn’t exactly desirable in a Doll, but I don’t want to smother hers. I love how chatty she is with me. Down here, it's usually screaming and crying, mixed with curses, threats, or begging. Having a normal conversation is strange, and fuck, am I actually lonely? Sure, I haven’t been out with Cameron in ages, but since when do I get lonely? Has this Doll bewitched me?
“Ask your questions, Doll,” I reply gruffly, angry with myself for being so weak. Aside from that redhead, I’ve broken every single Doll who came through this place, even the most willful ones. I’m not equipped to deal with one that doesn’t require breaking.
There’s that smile again, cutting through me like a serrated blade. “Thank you, Master! I was just wondering… Nah, it’s too personal. I’ll just shut up.”
“You’d better not be curious about my name.” No names is one of the main rules I established. The Dolls lose them when they become Dolls, and they don’t need to know mine. That would establish an entirely wrong set of expectations. I’m their Master, that’s all they need to know. Except I kinda want this Doll to scream my name when she comes.
“No! Well, I am,” she smiles bashfully, “but I know that’s against the rules, so I wasn’t going to ask about that. It’s just something you said earlier.”
I roll my eyes, grateful she can’t see it. “I said a lot of things. Spit it out, Doll,” I order, snorting to myself when I realize I usually order Dollsnotto spit it out.
“Well, you said you…weren’t straight?”
Perfectly seasoned beef stew drips onto the counter as I freeze mid-pour. That’s what she’s curious about?! Jesus Christ. This Doll never ceases to surprise me. “And?”
Her cheeks turn an even darker shade of red. “You were hard, so…”
“So?”
Doll’s smile falls. “Is it because I look like a boy? I know my breasts are too small and I don’t have any curves, but—”
I drop the ladle back into the slow cooker and give Doll my full attention. “Doll, you’re beautiful. Possibly the most beautiful Doll I’ve ever had here.” I shouldn’t be telling her that, but screw it. “What I meant by not being straight is that I don’t have a ‘type’. I don’t care whether someone has tits or not, or if they have a cunt or a cock. I’ll fuck anyone as long as they’re an adult and have a pulse.”
“Oh! Oh.” She looks taken aback, confused, like it never even occurred to her that someone could be attracted to all genders. What kind of upbringing did this girl have?
No. Not a girl,a Doll. Why am I even thinking about her past? She doesn’t have one. She’s a sex toy, nothing more.
“Have you…” She hesitates, looking at me for confirmation she’s allowed to continue which, for reasons unknown, I give. “Have you trained male Dolls before? Is that even a thing?”
Once again, I’m surprised by her question. None of the Dolls ever asked about things like that. If, and that’s a big if, I ever allowed them to ask anything, their questions were usually thinly veiled attempts to get information for escape, or to build some fake bond they could exploit. Later, once I’ve broken them, they’re quiet and obedient, their curiosity gone along with their resistance. I used to think that was the perfect mindset for a Doll—and for the clients, it is—but I don’t want this one to be like that. I don’t want to destroy herpersonality. Fuck.
It must be me. I’m the broken one here. I’m the broken one here. Must be that burnout thing, like when those big-shot CEOs snap and move to the countryside to grow carrots. Maybe I should move to the countryside and grow carrots too, except you don’t just quit working for the Morozovs.
Finally plating the food, I bring it to the table. Instead of having Doll sit beside me, I pull her into my lap and feed her a spoonful of stew and mashed potatoes as I answer. “Yes, I’ve trained male Dolls before. They’re not as popular as female ones, but here and there, someone requests one.”
Emancipation hit the criminal world too; there are plenty of female mob bosses these days. There are gay and bisexual rich types too, and some male bosses who torture other men just to prove they’renotgay. How torturing another man’s genitals proves they’re not interested in male genitals is beyond me, but the customer is always right.
“Interesting,” Doll mumbles around a mouthful of beef. “This is delicious, by the way. You’re an amazing cook.”
I blink. Did she just compliment my cooking? How the hell am I supposed to respond to that? “Uh, thanks?” Fuck, now I sound like an idiot. What is this creature doing to me?
“You’re welcome.”
