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7

Embarrassed

Gwendolyn

G wendolyn wasn’t sure what to make of what she had seen.

After the incident with the hallucinatory spider, Gwendolyn had promptly tossed a TV dinner into the microwave.

She blamed the whole thing on blood loss and low sugar.

But the unnerving feeling didn’t go away as she scooped lukewarm, soggy potatoes into her mouth with dried out turkey.

Gwendolyn spent the entire meal arguing with herself if the spider had been real until her mood soured more.

Confusion, doubt, and annoyance rarely gave way to creativity, yet Gwendolyn tried anyway.

She finished examining the doll after dinner and was relieved that it was more or less in pristine condition.

It smelled mostly like plastic, but the subtle hint of old basement clung to some of the hair fibers.

She would have to fix that once she actually started customizing .

Gwendolyn gathered the doll and all her things, and left her kitchen.

The studio was cramped, but Gwendolyn had still managed to split her full bed and office space equally.

Behind the divider shelf, facing the sliding glass door, was her work station.

A simple, long desk also split into three separate parts.

Sculpting, painting, and sewing respectively.

On the office side of her shelf divider were all of Gwendolyn’s dolls, which she greeted, but with less of her usual enthusiasm.

Every doll she had created in the last ten years—that she hadn’t traded or sold—were neatly displayed on every shelf.

All of them vibrant and loud, with distinct personalities built into their aesthetic appearance.

Every doll held a story, and each story was a small moment in Gwendolyn’s life.

A history she could follow along like a diary.

“We’ll introduce you once you tell me who you want to be,” Gwendolyn said to the doll as she sat at her workstation.

The chair was worn down, and it creaked whenever Gwendolyn moved, but all her money usually went to bills or dolls.

Though, if she really wanted to, Gwendolyn supposed she could sell one of her dolls to cover the cost of a new chair.

But still, she really couldn’t part with them.

They were too precious to her.

“Okay, let’s see what we can do here,” she murmured as she pulled out her sketch pad.

Gwendolyn put colored pencil to page and started the standard skeleton of the doll.

Miss Moxie’s were unique, but there were a few through lines with all their dolls.

A head much too big for their bodies, and tiny necks, wrists, and ankles.

They also tended to be a little fuller around the hips.

When the base started taking shape, Gwendolyn lightly sketched over it with an easy erase pencil as ideas pushed at her.

A ski bunny?

Spoiled heiress Madison Montgomery travels to the Aspens to escape her troubled love life, only to find love in the mysterious Kandy, a ski instructor, Gwendolyn thought as she glanced at the doll on her shelf.

Kandy was a dark-haired doll in a slicked lavender ski suit with a fluffy hood.

Gwendolyn had made her when she was in her late twenties.

Back when Gwendolyn had wanted to travel.

“Too hot for so many layers,” Gwendolyn mumbled as she lightly erased the starter design.

Adorable housewife, Lily Warren, cooks, cleans, and does laundry for her loving husband—

The 1950’s style gown she had started to sketch was quickly erased.

Too cliche. You have to create something that impresses him, remember?

The thought made Gwendolyn’s stomach turn.

She had to see him in less than a week’s time and impress his irritating face.

His irritating, frustratingly handsome face.

Gwendolyn flushed. Whether it was from anger or embarrassment, she wasn’t sure, which was even more frustrating.

There had to be some sort of name for being attracted to a rich asshole after spending almost a decade not feeling attraction at all.

A name that she desperately didn’t want to be labeled as.

Attraction was … weird.

At least for Gwendolyn it was.

In the past, Gwendolyn had found herself attached to boyfriends for reasons she didn’t quite understand.

Her first boyfriend had shown interest in her love of Sailor Moon, and Gwendolyn had assumed it meant they were best friends.

Naturally, she had learned everything about Danny.

He liked anime, he was into fighter games, he had two sisters, five biological aunts, and ten cousins.

He hated taro, and he liked sex so much that he had easily convinced Gwendolyn into it.

He had especially liked sex with Gwendolyn.

Though Gwendolyn hadn’t felt one way or another when they did have sex, just that it sometimes felt good, but mostly that it made Danny happy.

It wasn’t until they had been dating for over a year that he had decided she was too much.

When they broke up, Gwendolyn had cried far longer than what most people thought was appropriate.

At sixteen, she didn’t understand how everyone could continue on like life hadn’t just ended.

The intense emotions that Gwendolyn felt at any given moment had been too much for Danny, something he noted when he broke up with her just outside the school cafeteria.

Gwendolyn shook her head.

There was no point in thinking about Danny or any of the men she dated in the past. This was about the doll, and what Gwendolyn could do to prove she deserved to keep the doll.

As the memories of a face Gwendolyn could barely recall faded, and thoughts of Ambrosius came through, something clicked.

She wasn’t sure where it came from, but Gwendolyn was already sketching.

It wouldn’t be enough to change a singular part of the doll.

Gwendolyn got the feeling that a simple hairstyle change wouldn’t be enough to impress someone like Ambrosius.

He had been worldly, well-tailored, and as detailed as any of her dolls.

There would be a level of risk involved as what she had in mind wasn’t in her typical wheelhouse.

Still, the rush of excitement as Gwendolyn refined the concept sketch couldn’t be denied .

She worked late into the evening, and long after the sun had gone down Gwendolyn finally had a design that was worthy of the doll.

She would have to verify that she had the supplies needed in the morning.

If not, she could pick up the remaining fabric after work.

One of the perks of working at Master Basting was the employee discount on all hobby material.

But for now, Gwendolyn had reached the end of her limits and needed to go to bed.

Gwendolyn winced as she stood from her chair, the deep ache of spending too long hunched over her desk a familiar one.

She turned off her workstation light, dimming the studio apartment.

The only real light came from her bathroom’s night light plugged into an outlet near the sink.

More of a precaution, as Gwendolyn would sometimes wake up in the middle of the night to pee, and would be so groggy she’d bang her toes against the door frame.

Get some water and go brush your teeth.

She shuffled toward the shelf divider, following the short path to her kitchen while rubbing her eyes.

Gwendolyn had just moved past her bed, cast in the soft glow of her bathroom light, when she gasped.

Standing in her tiny kitchen was a man facing away from her.

His frame was bathed in the brilliant light of her refrigerator as he peered inside.

Gwendolyn’s urge to freeze melted at the sight of the familiar cane.

“What the hell—” Gwendolyn started, stunned.

“What are you—”

“You really don’t have much to work with here, do you?” Ambrosius threw over his shoulder as he moved food around.

“There’re more condiments in here than actual food. Not ideal for hosting a dinner.”

He said it so casually, as if it was completely normal for him to be in her apartment.

How did he know where she lived?

Gwendolyn might have been upset on the bus ride home, but that hadn’t stopped her from being aware of her surroundings.

There had been eight women and three men on her route home, and none of the men had been him.

“How did you get in my apartment?” Gwendolyn demanded as she drew closer.

“How do you know where I live? Why are you here?”

Ambrosius turned, allowing the refrigerator door to shut softly behind him.

The limited light was unnerving, nearly as much as how dark his eyes were.

In the light of the antique store, they had been a dark brown, but now they could almost be black.

And the way they stared at Gwendolyn, as if they could see everything sent a shiver down her spine.

“Is that anyway to speak to a guest?”

“A guest—” she shook her head.

Gwendolyn refused to indulge in whatever bored, rich man bullshit this was.

“No, you know what? Go awa—”

The demand was lost as Ambrosius’ hand fell onto her solar plexus and pushed just enough to tip her backward.

Her ass hit the kitchen table, hands scrambling along the edge to keep herself from falling onto it.

She hadn’t anticipated it, but suddenly she could feel the material of his pants against her thighs.

“Gwendolyn,” he tutted as he set his cane against one of the chairs.

“You’re being very rude. You invite me over for dinner—”

“I did not —”

His hands pressed into the kitchen table on either side of her hips, causing Gwendolyn to lean back.

His eyes searched hers, a deep pull that would have made anyone quiver—even her.

It was frustrating to realize she was so easily influenced by him when she barely noticed that sort of thing before.

This is ridiculous! He’s in my apartment, he can’t just—

“But I can,” Ambrosius murmured as he leaned close enough to feel her shaky breath.

A smart mouthed reply was just on the edge of her tongue when Gwendolyn caught the shift in his eye.

The murky depths had suddenly come into clear focus and Gwendolyn blinked in shock as his left eye split into two.

Two eyeballs within the single eye socket, one the familiar dark brown and the other—

“And I will. ” Ambrosius smiled before swallowing her gasp.

His lips shouldn’t have felt as good as they did.

It was almost as if he had completely removed all the horrors that had been playing in the background of her mind.

She didn’t fight him when he lifted her onto the table, happy to feel his hands brush her bare skin.

Gwendolyn wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him closer.

She sighed as he tilted her head back, hands hot where they traced along her neck.

She shuddered as he left her mouth, leaving open-mouthed kisses in his wake.

Gwendolyn gasped when Ambrosius pulled her sleeping shirt down and bit her collarbone.

She nearly did it again when his hand curved over her breast, desperately wishing he was touching her bare skin.

His thumb brushed against her nipple and Gwendolyn hissed as a bolt of pleasure ignited.

When his hand pressed against that same spot between her breasts, Gwendolyn didn’t fight.

She laid back on the table, trembling with anticipation as Ambrosius drew the material of her sleeping shirt up around her hips.

His fingers slid beneath the material of her panties and pulled them clean off.

It had been a while since Gwendolyn had been with anyone like this.

Longer than she could remember, but it felt good.

It felt like—

Like there was someone else in the room with them.

Gwendolyn searched the dark interior of her kitchen in wild concern.

There were eyes watching her, she could feel them on her.

But it was still so dark, and she couldn’t see anything except for Ambrosius’ head between her open thighs.

Whatever pleasure she would have had from the first stroke of his fingers was dampened by the sound of her old TV turning on.

White noise filled her apartment and Gwendolyn felt her gut twist as the stations began to change.

This is wrong, Gwendolyn thought even as Ambrosius’ hot tongue traced along her entrance.

Fresh, Earl Grey tea hit her nose before dissolving into something Gwendolyn could only describe as earthy.

By the time the shower began running, Ambrosius had slipped his tongue deep inside her.

Gwendolyn bucked, hands lost in his hair, but Ambrosius kept her in place, hands strong against her thighs.

His nails pierced the soft flesh, leaving raised marks swelling with blood.

She was overwhelmed by the heat of his tongue and all the noise her apartment was making.

Between the TV and shower running, Gwendolyn could also hear the motor of her sewing machine start and the microwave switch on.

That earthy aroma was overpowering, a mixture of scents overloading her sense of smell.

When hands came around her wrists, Gwendolyn’s moans faltered.

She felt the tightening grip, but she could also still feel the hands around her thighs.

No, he hadn’t moved his hands.

There was another set of hands.

Frightened, Gwendolyn’s eyes flew open.

Ambrosius was staring at her from between her legs.

His mouth wasn’t flush against her skin, nose no longer buried in wiry curls.

Gwendolyn shuddered at the sight of his inhuman tongue, a ghastly teal colored thing covered in a near black ichor and saliva.

Her toes curled as she felt that same tongue undulate, still buried deep inside her.

Felt it brush against her insides until she saw nothing but white…

When Gwendolyn woke up, she was in her bed.

The bathroom door was ajar, casting her in the familiar dim light.

She was alone, with no post coital ache in her body, and no marks on her skin.

There was no trace of Ambrosius.

“A dream…” she murmured to herself with a relieved sigh as she flopped back onto her pillow.

But her relief was short-lived as Gwendolyn shifted and felt something wet.

Mortified, Gwendolyn hiked her sleeping shirt up and pulled her panties away from her skin.

She cursed, feeling her face burn with embarrassment.

Gwendolyn had just experienced the most fucked up wet dream.

“No, a nightmare, ” she growled as she shoved her comforter away.