Page 51 of Melancholia

He gives a soft huff and finally eliminates the distance between us, giving me back some of the warmth I’d lost. “Don’t insult me, Nell. What did you take?”

“I took…” When I move my fingers, they find his thigh, and the rough denim of his jeans. It distracts me enough to not answer. Especially when his fingers move back up to gently grip my throat.

“Nell.” The word is soft against my ear. “Just tell me what you took before you⁠—”

“Ativan,” I turn towards him, and immediately I realize I overestimated the amount of space between us. My lips brush his, and I feel the softness of his mouth against mine before jerking back. “I’m sorry⁠—”

But he doesn’t allow me to pull away. His hand on my throat tightens, and suddenly Amir drags me against him, our bodies pressed together and his warmth pouring into my skin.

“Oh my poor little mortician,” he purrs. “What have you done?” Without another word, he kisses me. His mouth is soft against mine, and I can feel myself instinctively melting into him. Whatever panicked responses should be firing off in my brain right now simply…don’t.

But I can’t blame it all on the Ativan. Especially as my lips part, allowing his tongue to lick between them. His kiss is so slow, so fucking thorough, that I feel like he’s trying to take me apart starting with my mouth. My back bumps the wall, and belatedly I feel that he’s turning me, until I’m facing Amir and cornered against the interior of the mausoleum.

“Wait—” I gasp, my hands coming up to find his wrists. “Amir⁠—”

“You were never going to stay hidden from me, Nell,” the man purrs against my lips. “You were never going to win this game.” Suddenly he grips my hips and yanks me up until my thighs are pressed around his hips.

“What do you want?” The words are out of my mouth before I can consider that they might be a bit stupid, and the question a little too obvious, but⁠—

But I need to know.

“You.” He doesn’t even hesitate. Amir’s lips find mine again, and he moves us until I’m pressed against the engraved marble behind me. A low whimper leaves my parted lips, and he seems to take that as encouragement.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs against my jaw. “If you tell me to stop, I will tonight. This isn’t what I had planned.” For the first time, there’s a roughness to his voice. A note of uncertainty, like this really isn’t how he expected the night to go.

If I don’t tell him to stop, I can’t even pretend it’s research for my impending comeback at these awful games.

If I don’t tell him to stop, I’ll have to face it without the Ativan in my system tomorrow. With that knowledge, I open my mouth and lean my head back, trying to figure out why the hell I’m doing this.

I know better than to want him.

But here I am, my hands in his shirt, letting him push between my thighs in the dark. “What are you doing?” I finally ask, like it’s somehow not obvious.

“Exactly what I’ve wanted to do since you figured out that Andrew was murdered.” One of his hands slides down my front, teasing the knit of the sweater. “You wore what I got you. That’s my good girl.”

My stomach twists at the praise. Simultaneously sinking and getting lighter, though I don’t know how that’s really possible. Suddenly his hand is between my thighs as one leg is hooked around his knee, and he doesn’t waste any time before pressing his fingers against me.

I gasp into his mouth, arching off the mausoleum wall.

“We won’t ruin this pretty outfit,” he murmurs. “Not tonight. Especially not before I’ve seen how you look dressed up for me.”

“Oh, fuck,” I breathe as he presses my underwear to the side and his fingers find my slit. “Oh, fuck, you can’t—I can’t⁠—”

“Then tell me no.” He kisses the side of my mouth, up my jaw, until he’s able to graze his teeth against my ear. “Tell me to stop right now.” His fingers leave my slit, but when they return a few moments later, they’re wet with what I assume has to be Amir’s saliva.

He presses them into me without hesitation, sinking two fingers into me as far as they go. I gasp, back arching, and try to figure out how the hell this went from a game of hide-and-seek to this.

Somehow, I think his kiss is a gateway drug.

Amir’s fingers crook inside me, searching until he rubs over a spot that has me jerking upward and my hands gripping his shirt harder.

“The next time we do this, when I really fuck you instead of just playing with you, it won’t be in the dark.” His words are soft and conversational against my ear. “Because I want to see you, my perfect little doll. Wearing clothes I’ve picked out. Playing a game of my choice.”

I don’t say that every game so far has been his choice, but that stirs a thought in me I’ve never had before.

Do they have to be?

That thought’s swept out of my head when he adds another finger. I gasp, unable to focus on anything except his fingers. Especially when he also strokes his thumb over my clit.