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We continued our stroll around the gardens. For the past month, we were on a schedule of talking and fucking. Whenever we had a chance to sneak out and meet, we were on each other. I found out quickly that she loved the game hide and seek, even though she was bad at it. It was very easy to find her once she disappeared into the gardens, and part of me believed she enjoyed getting caught. The moment I found her, our clothes were off and we were fucking again.
My Barbie liked to be taken by me, and I wanted nothing more than to keep finding her.
No matter how far away she hid from me, I would always find her.
I pulled her towards me, her hands coming to my chest. I dipped a finger into the top of her shirt and pulled it back to reveal a kiss mark just above her breast. I smiled in delight that the mark hadn’t faded, then released her.
“What was that?”
“Just making sure my proof is still there.”
“Proof that I’m yours.” She smiled up at me and I melted under her gaze. When she was vulnerable and loving like this, there was no way I could help falling even harder for her.
For the past month, she had told me more about her life with her adoptive family. The way they sheltered her and controlled every single thing in her life, including her body. I suggested that the simplest way to remove the obstacle that was her false guardians was to kill them, but she shot down the idea, explaining that they were still her parents by law.
Even legal guardians deserved to die sometime.
Barbie wasn’t their timid little girl anymore, though. The more time we spent together, I noticed how much she had changed. She wasn’t afraid to tell me what she wanted, inside and outside of sex. She was beautiful, sweet, and real. I realized I enjoyed listening to her talk. It hit me like a tidal wave of regret, knowing that I had missed out on so much by exiting her life when she was just five years old. Her voice calmed the rage that flowed inside me and she was the only one who could hold back the currents.
“Yeah, Barbie. It’s proof that you’re mine. But I don’t need to mark your skin to let people know they can’t have you.” My tone darkened as I stared at her.
She never looked frightened by my words. Not that she was immune to them, but more of the fact that she just wasn’t afraid of me.
That was good and bad.
“What do you want to do now? You want to continue walking or go back and draw with me?” she asked, taking my hand and lacing her fingers through mine.
The contact made my cock rise. She looked down, and I laughed at how her eyes widened. “Again?”
“I just can’t get enough of your little tight cunt, it seems,” I said before pulling her behind the bushes once more and bending her over the bench.
Chapter8
Barbie
Icouldn’t wrap my mind around the way things were turning out. One moment, I was with the love of my life—my brother, with his arms wrapped around me, shielding me away from the intrusive thoughts that normally clouded my mind, and the next thing I knew, my world was being turned upside down. Two aides had strolled into my room and gathered all my belongings into my suitcase. They ripped the sheets off the bed and scattered my drawings across the floor.
“Stop… stop, what’s going on?” I shouted, wanting someone to answer me, but received only silence.
“It’s time for you to leave, Ms. Lane,” a woman’s voice called out, and my body tensed. Dr. Harkness walked farther into the room, her arms crossed, pushing up her breasts.
Fin had told me stories about his visits with her, about how she used him for her own pleasure.
This visit wasn’t professional, it was personal.
“I don’t understand. What do you mean I’m leaving?” I asked.
“Exactly what she said.”
My body tensed.That voice, I knew that voice. I turned to find my adoptive mother standing by the doorway, watching me, disgust so clearly written on her face. Even though it had only been a month, she looked older somehow. New grays highlighted her short dark hair and I could see the bags under her eyes, as if she hadn’t slept for days, but her attire was neat and in place. She was a woman who believed in keeping up appearances.
Even though she may appear exhausted, she would never dress in a disheveled manner. Her baby-blue shirt was pressed and tucked neatly into the front of her jeans.
“Mom?” I prodded, picking at the corner of my thumb, needing to do something to keep from cowering. “Why am I leaving? I’m still not well.”
“That is the only thing we have ever agreed on,” she said curtly, and motioned to aides to hurry along.
My adoptive father came into view soon after, stopping to stand next to her, not even really acknowledging me.“Barbara,” he spoke. He didn’t say anything after that.
