Page 67 of Melancholia

“Fuck, Amir—” I gasp as my hand comes up, fingers reaching for him. “Can I—” He presses his face into my hand, and I sit up just enough to arch into his thrusts, my mouth open and gasping. Judging by how wet I am, and how I’m already making soft whining, keening noises, he’s not the only one who got off on me playing a doll.

But that is definitely something that I intend to examine later. Much, much later, when he isn’t here to distract me. For now, all I can do is whimper and whine, my sounds becoming more and more needy with every passing moment.

Amir pins me down with a hand on my throat, leaning over as he thrusts into me, grinding against me before repeating the process. I don’t know how long I’m there, under him, holding his gaze, gasping for air under his fingers.

I don’t know how long, and I certainly don’t care. This is perfect.

He’s perfect.

“Oh, fuck. Amir, please—” My voice is high and breathy, and my hand drags him down towards me, pulling him close. “Oh, please. Oh, please⁠—”

“I know, darling. I know. My perfect, sweet mortician. My Nell.” The possessive growl in his voice is enough. He doesn’t need to say anything dirty or crude.

He just needs to use his words with that tone of voice.

I keen when my release hits hard, one leg coming up to wrap around his hip, pulling him closer. Even though my eyes are wide, my vision is unfocused, and all I can see is the beautiful man above me, his warm, golden-brown skin nearly glowing in the dim light of my apartment.

When he follows me, he gasps out my name, soft and desperate, before burying his face in my throat to kiss and suck and bite. “Just like that,” he whispers against my ear. “Take me just like you’re doing. That’s it, Nell. So good for me.”

The praise is the cherry on top of the sundae, and I shudder around him as he finally slows to just grinding into me, his cock softening inside me.

“Oh, fuck,” I gasp, panting and staring up at the ceiling. “Amir…I think maybe my therapist might have words about⁠—”

Without warning, he flips me over onto my stomach, pulling an indignant yelp from my throat as my hips are dragged up to find his.

“Then let's give your therapist something to be really concerned over, shall we?” he murmurs, nipping my ear as his hand finds my pussy and his fingers press inside. “I’m not done with you, Nell. I’ll be taking pleasure in my victory all”—he punctuates every word with a thrust of his fingers—“night…long.”

24

The fan spins lazily above me, making a soft whoosh-whoosh I can just barely hear in my silent apartment. The rain smacks into the window above me, but it’s only the perfect white noise for my night.

The bathroom door opens, and seconds later Amir comes around the corner, dressed only in his boxers. Not that I’m complaining one bit. All I can do is roll onto my side, and even that takes it out of me.

When he sees my exhaustion—which is literally his fault—a smile flits across his features. He walks away, and some crazy part of me thinks he’s going to leave. Just like that. In his boxers.

Because he can’t wait to get away from me.

Instead, I hear my fridge opening, and when he comes back, he sets two bottles of water on the nightstand. “Would you like to shower?” he murmurs, pulling back the blankets and getting under them with me, like he already knows the answer.

“Can’t,” I sigh. “I’m broken. You broke me.”

“I did not,” he retorts lightly, and pulls me against him as he settles against the headboard. It’s too easy for him to drag me up into his lap so my head is resting against his chest. It’s comfortable.

It’s perfect.

A water bottle cap is popped open, and Amir sweeps my hair back from my face. When I move to take the bottle from him, I can just feel him shake his head behind me, and he murmurs a soft, “no,” in my ear before tilting it against my lips. “Let me take care of you, darling. Just for tonight.” My stomach clenches, and the water is shockingly, perfectly cold against my throat.

We sit like that for a few minutes, with him giving me water when he thinks I need it, and me just listening to the rain outside and the fan overhead.

“How long are you staying?” I murmur at last, when he takes a drink of water before setting it down beside him.

“Are you kicking me out?” he teases, and he moves me just a little to run his fingers through my long, tangled hair. I wince a few times at first when his fingers drag through the loose knots from our night’s activities, but he only shushes me and kisses the side of my face before gentling his hands and working through my hair again.

“If you stay, I’m going to interrogate you,” I sigh at last, feeling myself sink against him more comfortably. “It’s only fair.”

“How do you figure?”

“Because I’m pretty sure you’ve ruined me for polite company or having normal standards after this.”