His Doll: A Dark Bad Boy Romance

  His Doll: A Dark Bad Boy Romance

  Isabella Starling

  Contents

  1. Alice

  2. Jacob

  3. Alice

  4. Jacob

  5. Jacob

  6. Alice

  7. Jacob

  8. Alice

  9. Jacob

  10. Jacob

  11. Alice

  12. Alice

  13. Jacob

  14. Alice

  15. Jacob

  16. Alice

  17. Jacob

  18. Alice

  19. Jacob

  20. Alice

  21. Jacob

  22. Alice

  23. Jacob

  Epilogue - Alice

  Copyright © 2016 by Isabella Starling

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Wicked Ways

  One

  Alice

  "I don't know who I am anymore."

  I reach for the box of tissues and Mr. Hawke looks at me for a long while instead of passing them over like he usually does. It distracts me for a second and I almost forget about the tears running down my cheeks.

  He breaks the spell by reaching for the box before me and pushing it across his desk towards me. I grab a tissue and dab at my eyes carefully, so I don't smudge my mascara. I don't want to ruin my perfect makeup, after all, I have school to go to after this.

  "My mom won't even look at me anymore," I sniffle. "All she's worried about is her work. She doesn't spend any time with me."

  "Alice, you're eighteen now," Mr. Hawke says gently. "Maybe your mother is trying to make you a little more independent. It's not necessarily a bad thing."

  "She doesn't care," I scoff. "I might as well die and she wouldn't give a shit." I don't usually curse in my sessions, but today, I don't care. I have a dirty mouth, why the hell should I try to hide it? I'm supposed to be myself when I'm in Mr. Hawke's office, right?

  I look at Mr. Hawke for a long time. His dark hair, his ice blue eyes, and the faint stubble on his chin. He's wearing his glasses today, thick and black rimmed, along with an expensive looking suit. Of course, it would be - my mother chose the most expensive therapist for me, all so she wouldn't have to deal with me, her only daughter.

  "You don't care, either," I say sadly. "You don't give a shit about me either."

  He just stares at me, not saying a word, and it hurts even more than if he'd said something back to me. I glance at the clock over his shoulder and see we still have fifteen minutes left, but I've had enough.

  Seeing Mr. Hawke used to be nice. I could let out all my frustrations, it was the perfect excuse to skip school, I could stare at his handsome features while we had our sessions. But lately, it's been anything but nice. It seems like Mr. Hawke is distracted, like his head isn't in the game anymore. He barely pays me any attention, choosing to scribble furiously in his pad instead of giving me advice I so badly need.

  Our sessions have turned into one long complaining session from me, and I don't know whether they're even helping anymore. I leave his office frustrated and angry, with hastily wiped tears still drying on my cheeks.

  I get up from my chair now, pushing it back and pulling my too-short dress down my thighs.

  "I don't want to come here anymore," I announce dramatically. Mr. Hawke merely shrugs and files his notebook away in a drawer.

  "That's your decision, Alice," he tells me calmly. "I'm not going to force you."

  I feel anger boiling under the surface of my skin, bubbling and angry as fuck. God, I want him to care. I want him to force me. I want to see him again. I want him to give a shit about me!

  "Fine," I spit out. "I'm not coming anymore."

  I don't know what comes over me, but I flip him off and head for the door. When my hand is almost on the door handle, I stumble on my new heels and tumble to the floor. I don't think I've broken a heel but it's still embarrassing as fuck, and I can't pick myself up because I'm crying again.

  Mr. Hawke is next to me in the next second, his strong fingers wrapping around the fabric of my blouse and lifting me up gently, but persistently. I guess it's the perfect fucking metaphor - he always manages to pick me up when I stumble and fall.

  "I don't need your help," I snarl at him, pulling my arm out of his grip. I give him an angry look as I smooth down my outfit. I have to look good when I go to school, and I can't skip class today. I've already done it too many times this week.

  Mr. Hawke is now closer to me than he's ever been. His stubble is so close I can see it protruding from his perfect skin, dark and prickly, his skin creamy and white. He can't be much older than me, probably in his mid-thirties.

  Of course, I've always noticed he's handsome. It would've been hard not to, especially with all the other girls in here whispering how lucky I am to have gotten him as my therapist. The place I go for therapy is a mental institution for anyone under the age of twenty-two as well, and I run into several people I know here. It's almost shocking how many people suffer from the same things I do.

  But with me, it's all successfully swept under the rug. Sure, some people know I have issues, but not the general public. What would people think if the great Magda Leroux told the world her perfect life isn't so perfect after all? As a television host and the perfect single mother/housewife, she needs to keep up an illusion of things being perfect. And I'm forced to play along.

  All of that rushes through my head as I stare at Mr. Hawke. We're right against the door now, and he hands me my purse, which fell down along with me. He's wearing a stupid grin on his face and I seethe with anger towards him.

  "Stay safe, Alice," he tells me calmly.

  Instead of walking out like any grown woman would, I grit my teeth and raise my free hand in an attempt to slap him. But before I can so much as move, Mr. Hawke grabs my wrist firmly and holds it away from his face.

  "Careful," he tells me. "Don't do something you'll regret."

  "Fuck you," I spit at him, and he keeps the same smile on his face he wore throughout our session. "I hate you too."

  "You need to leave, my next appointment starts in a few minutes," he tells me calmly, and his fingers are still wrapped around my twitching arm. God, I want to hurt him. Just as badly as he hurt me when he didn't give a fuck about me. Not now, not ever.

  "I'm on my way," I tell him calmly, ripping my wrist out of his touch. "I'm telling my mother what you did, by the way."

  "Alright," he says with an amused look on his face, straightening his tie. "And what might that be?"

  I think for a moment, my heart beating faster than ever.

  I've been going to therapy for two years now, since I was sixteen. I think it's safe to say Mr. Hawke knows me better than anyone else save for myself.

  When I was younger, I used to be the star of my drama class. My teacher loved me, told me I could make a career out of being an actress. I don't have those aspirations anymore, but I still know how to act. I will put on a good show, too - and I have been, all for Mr. Hawke. I don't think he even knows how twisted I really am.

  "I'm going to tell her," I say menacingly. "That you forced yourself on me. Tha
t you tried to touch me." My bottom lip quivers, but my eyes are cold and unrelenting as they stare into his. It pisses me off that there's no reaction from him. "I'll tell her you hurt me," I say softly.

  He moves closer to me. He points to a something above me and I look up. There's a camera above the door, one I've never noticed because I'm always facing it with my back when I talk to Mr. Hawke.

  "Say anything you want," he tells me coolly. "I have footage of your visit, and I can prove I never touched you, Alice. Stop playing games with me."

  My bottom lip quivers for real this time, and I want to hurt him, badly so. "I hate you," I mutter.

  "Too bad," he smirks. He comes closer, and suddenly, his breath is so close to my skin I can feel him exhaling, making my skin erupt in goosebumps.

  It feels weird as hell, being this close to him. Any man, really, for as short as my skirts are and as ridiculously tall the heels I wear are, I've never so much as kissed someone.

  "I..." I breathe out. I want him to kiss me, I realize.

  "Alice," he says roughly. "Right now, the cameras can't see us. And they're video only, no sound.”

  "Yes," I breathe, and my fingers tighten around the handles of my purse. "Yes, so?"

  "So I can do any-fucking-thing I want right now and no one would know." The words sound weird, alien as they roll off his tongue. Mr. Hawke has never been anything but professional with me. This... is new. Oddly intimate, because he knows so much about me.

  But I want him to touch me. God, I'm burning inside for a single flick of his fingers across my flesh.

  "So?" I breathe.

  "So," he repeats, licking his full lips. "How does that make you feel, doll?"

  I stare at him, my heart beating uncontrollably out of order. I'm scared. I'm shaking, trembling, staring at him incredulously. Part of me says I need to report this, to the head of the institution or whoever is in charge of this place. The other part, the bigger one, is desperate for him. Mr. Hawke's hands all over me.

  It's not like I haven't thought about it before.

  It's not like I haven't had fantasies about him fucking me.

  It's not like I wouldn't kill for a taste of him right now.

  "I..." I search for the words to answer him with as his intense, ice blue eyes bore into mine. I feel myself throbbing between my legs, something that's never happened before. Jesus...

  "Wet," I manage to get out between pursed lips. His eyes are so deep and so clear and shit, I gasp out loud when he grins at me, so close to me, but not touching me at all. "It makes... it makes me wet."

  "Good girl," he groans, and his hand goes up. He pushes my hair out of my face and I moan out loud when his fingertips brush against my skin. What is he doing to me? I've never acted like this before. I've always been calm and in control. I know how to convince everyone I'm normal, or fucked up, or whatever the hell I want them to believe about me.

  But a mere touch and I'm a shivering mess at Mr. Hawke's fingers.

  As soon as my hair is out of my face, he moves away from me, leaving me to nearly crumple to the floor with my back against the door.

  He walks back to his desk and sits down in his chair, giving me a sweet smile like he always does.

  "See you next week, Alice," he says pleasantly, and I am so shocked I just open and close my mouth. Finally, I manage to gather myself and glare at the man in front of me. What the fuck just happened? Was that real?

  "B-bye," I manage to get out in a tiny voice before opening the door leading out of his office and closing it softly as I walk out into the hallway.

  A figure blocks my path and I stop in my tracks when I realize who it is.

  Did she hear something?

  Does she know what just happened?

  Am I going to get punished?

  "What are you doing here?" I ask her in a shaky voice.

  She sighs and runs a perfectly manicured hand through her well-coiffed hair. "We need to talk," my mother tells me calmly. "And you'd better take this well, Alice..."

  "Is it about Mr. Hawke?" I ask, my hands shaky as hell as I smooth down my blouse.

  "It involves him, yes," mom says coolly. "Come with me, darling. Let's speak on the way home."

  "I have class," I manage to protest weakly.

  "It'll wait," she replies ominously, and my heart lurches in anticipation as we walk outside.

  Two

  Jacob

  She's gonna get us both in so much fucking trouble. I walk back to my desk the moment she leaves my office, fully aware of the camera above me. What pretty little Alice doesn't know, is that the cameras have been out of order for fucking months, and I could've pressed her right up against that door and taken her damn cherry if I wanted to.

  But I didn’t.

  I'll never fucking do it.

  It goes against everything I stand for.

  And it's the only thing I want.

  I run my hands through my hair and push my glasses up my nose before filing away Alice's documents. She thinks she's so clever, but I see right through her shit. I can see how she manipulates me, or tries to, I can see how desperate she is for approval, how badly she wants someone, me or anyone else, to actually want her.

  It's pretty fucking sad, actually.

  The fact that she doesn't know any man who set their eyes on her would want to fuck her soul out if she let him. Instead, she builds walls around herself and locks herself in this tall fucking tower.

  I told her all of this once.

  "Like Rapunzel," I'd grinned. "You're locked away and you won't let anyone inside. But no one's keeping you in there, Alice."

  "Maybe." She'd cocked her head to the side, giving me a curious look. So pretty. Those heart-shaped lips so full and tempting, it made me want to slap her face into all kinds of pretty submission.

  "What if," she continued, leaning over to me excitedly. Her prissy little blouse almost burst with her full tits, and I had to force myself, literally force myself, to keep looking at her eyes.

  "What if there's a little window on the tower, right," she went on excitedly. "And I'm standing at this window."

  "Shooing everyone away?" I'd smiled at her.

  "Not exactly." Her face lit up with a smile. "I'm standing there and waving and shouting for someone to come and get me." She leaned back in her chair and giggled like a little girl. "And I'm naked."

  "Why would you be naked, Alice?" I asked her, feeling my dick tighten in my pants. Fucking shit, she made me want her badly. I tried to keep my composure as well as I could.

  "Because..." her eyes wandered off and she blushed. "Never mind, you don't really get it, Mr. Hawke."

  She left thoughtful and I couldn't even get up to close the door after her because my cock was so fucking hard.

  And now life's thrown me another curveball. Sweet little Alice, the one patient I actually look forward to seeing, the one girl that still gets me excited about my damn job, the one off-limits little fuck doll I want to hurt so badly it makes me shake...

  Is coming to live with me.

  Her mother contacted me about it months ago. Told me the spiel, how she got a talk show in another state, yadda yadda, much bigger than her current gig, such a good opportunity, can't be missed, all that shit.

  All an excuse so she could get rid of the daughter that is so much younger, so much prettier than her.

  She told me she trusted me completely. What a fucking moron.

  It's not that I don't trust myself. I've grown an iron will, and I can keep myself in check for as long as need be.

  But I don't trust Alice.

  She's clever. She's gonna use everything she can get her hands on to try and get me to do what she wants. And I'll resist, but I'm not sure it'll be enough. For a girl like her, so manipulative and so fucking needy of any kind of attention, to come under my care... it could be a blessing in disguise or it could be a fucking curse.

  We'd signed some papers last week with Alice's mom, Magda. She wanted Alice to stay with
me for the next year. Live in my home, under my constant care and supervision. She wanted me to make sure sweet little Alice didn't get into any trouble.

  Translation: I'm leaving my daughter but please keep her shit under wraps so my career doesn't get damaged by this crap.

  She offered me an obscene amount of money. And by obscene, I mean fucking insane, a life-changing amount for me. I don't make shit at my job. I'd gotten into this field because I wanted to change lives. How fucking naive.

  I know today is the day Magda is telling Alice about her leaving. And I know it's going to break her.

  I picture Alice in her bedroom that I've never seen. Crying in her bed, probably clutching a teddy bear, because she seems like the kind of girl who'd cherish a memento of her childhood. Crying so pretty, but for all the wrong reasons.

  Magda's been to my place, made sure the house was up to her standards. Of course, I'm pretty sure she would've said it was great even if it was a rat-infested fucking hellhole. But the house is nice, pretty and decorated well and equipped with everything Alice might need. Just the way Krista left it before she took off.

  Thinking about my ex-wife makes me lose my damn boner.

  I spend the rest of the day dealing with shit like usually.

  Alice doesn't know this, but I'm trying hard to be done with this damn job. She's the one reason I still stick around, the reason why I didn't hand in my notice months ago. I need to see her. Smelling her, seeing her lips move when she talks, seeing those fucking outfits she wears, it's all such exquisite torture. Because I know I'll never get to fuck her, or even kiss her.

  Except we came pretty damn close today.

  And she's even more sinful from up close. Porcelain skin smelling of something sweet and floral. Silky hair, stick straight and perfectly coiffed, making me want to mess it up. Big trusting eyes with that sparkle of mischief in them. The sparkle I want to bring out and then turn it into fucking obedience, make her kneel at my feet and adore the ground I walk on. God, how her eyes would sparkle then.