“Yes. Someone I happen to like told me my apartment was uncomfortable, and since I’d like her to make this her permanent residence, I am having it tailored to her liking.”
Monika stumbles. “You ... didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to,” I answer, catching her elbow as I guide her to my living room. “My things were designed by someone who hates me and I never even noticed. I want things to be warm. I want to make this feel like a home for you.”
“Well, I like the rug you’ve got here and in the foyer. Reminds me a lot of the one I have. Very colorful. Already the space feels warmer. And, ooh! You started the fireplace,” she says as we enter the living room area. It’s here that she comes to a dead stop. “Oh. My. God. Are you fucking serious?”
“Are you hungry? I was thinking of making saffron risotto, but if you don’t like risotto, I also have ingredients for broccoli-cheddar soup. The doctor said you might have discomfort chewing with your facial stitching ...”
“You Robbed My Flat!”
“Risotto it is.” I pull out the ingredients I’ll need and set water to boil.
Monika is still standing in the center of the space, in the no-man’s-land between the living room area and the kitchen. The kitchen is still black, but I wanted her opinion on what colors to paint it first before going all out. The living room, however, is an explosion of hideousness that I rather like. Her yellow couch looks like it’s made of Big Bird’s skin. It is alsohercouch.
“What ... what did you do?”
I sigh. “I spent hours looking at furniture and decided that nothing I could select would be better than what you already selected for yourself, so while you were at the hospital, I had Simone and Simon move it all up here.”
“Their names are Raven and Davíd, and what do you mean ‘all of it’?”
“I mean all of it.”
“All of It?” Her voice ends on so high a note I strain to make sense of it.
“Yes. All the furniture, anyway. I have a few spare guest rooms that aren’t decorated yet—I don’t really have guests, if you can believe that. I figured you’d want to turn one of those into your photo-developer room—Do they call that a red room? Am I making that up?—and another into an office, if you need one. Or we can share mine. I won’t need it much anymore.”
“You ... you!” She storms up to me, coming around the island, which is her first mistake. She comes close enough to grab, which I do, taking her by the back of the neck. The shortened, burned strands of her hair still haven’t been trimmed and have an odd texture against her coarse, wavy hair. Her hair has so many textures. Curly, wavy, some straight pieces near her ears.
I card my claws through her hair, tilt her head back far, and kiss her for all she’s worth. I kiss her in anger and rapture. I kiss her mostly to distract her, and it works. She relaxes in my arms, her own fists falling slack around my wrists.
I walk forward, forcing her to back up until we round the kitchen island and enter the living room, where I press her down onto her soft Big Bird couch, spread her legs, and use my mouth to bring her to orgasm once and then again. I wait until she’s boneless before pulling back. Her lips are wet with my spit and her cum, and her vulva and clit are swollen. It’s a lascivious sight that’s hard to ignore. I fight against my hardened abdomen and the erection demanding attention. I’m aboutto leave her there to nap or relax and return to the kitchen to prepare her food when she reaches out and grabs my pant leg, her fingernails exciting my nerves as they trail over the bare skin of my knee.
“Please, please, Darius.”
I catch my breath and hold it. “I’ll be back with your food.”
“Please, I’m begging you. Feed me.”
“You’re injured . . .” I choke.
Her palm skims the front of my pants, moving over my zipper roughly. “I just want to swallow.”
Fuck. “If I let you swallow, will you forgive me for the furniture?”
Her eyes widen. She hesitates, but then I undo my zipper. “Yes,” she gasps as I pull my blue cock free. “Did you know they call this a knot?” she says, sliding her finger around the hardened ridge of my shaft.
“Who calls it that?”
“Vanessa and Emily. Vanessa learned the word from her romance novels.”
“You don’t read romance novels?”
She shakes her head. “I read political biographies and books about cameras. The hottest thing I’ve read lately was a review of really, really big lenses.”
I snort. “I like you.”
She looks up at me with a grin. “I like you too. Now, give it to me.” She sticks out her tongue as far as it will go, and I’m too weak to do anything but exactly what she’s asking. I start to stroke myself and her eyes flutter as she watches my every move. It’s such a poor replacement for her mouth, hands, ass, pussy ... but it’ll have to do for now. Until she’s healed, has entirely forgotten she once had an apartment four floors down from mine, and the Marduk is no longer a problem. If I have to hypnotize her with sex, so be it.
