Chapter 23
My apartment door closes behind Amir with a note of finality that has my insides squirming.
In my head, I go through the options, trying to predict what he’ll want me to do this time.
His words from before, about this victory being significant for him since I picked the game, make me wonder if he’s just punishing me for wanting to play something more fun, less psychological.
His games make me think about things I might not want to.
Mine just involve cards and math.
“Okay. Um.” I turn to face him, raking a hand through my hair. “I know you’ve been in here before, but—”
Amir is suddenly right there, his hand at my throat as he pushes me into the wall beside my front door.
I whimper when his lips descend onto mine, and I couldn’t have expected just how desperate his kiss would be.
His free hand grips both of mine, and he breaks the kiss to shove them over my head against the wall before resuming the kiss.
“What—Amir—”
“You don’t know how much I’ve wanted this since the cemetery,” he purrs. “A few nights ago at the park, I planned to…well. I wasn’t expecting my mother to need me.”
“Is she okay?” The words are out of my mouth automatically, and Amir opens his honey-gold eyes to find mine in the dim ambience from my kitchen nightlight.
“My beautiful, perfect little mortician.” He sighs deeply, leaning against me until his forehead is pressed to mine.
“My wonderful, cocky rummy partner.” I can just see the edge of his grin before he kisses me again.
“We are not going to talk about my mother tonight. But yes.” He brushes his mouth to mine.
“She is fine. Ask me about it another time, and I might tell you.”
“Oh? There’s going to be another time?” It’s a stupid thing to ask. There always seems to be another time. But Amir only chuckles and kisses me again. Harder.
With his hand on my throat, he turns us and guides me back through my apartment. He navigates around the table by the door that holds my keys until my legs press against my sofa. A small sound leaves me when I’m forced to sit, but Amir is right there, never letting me go.
“There will be many, many more times.” His words feel intentional, and they send a shudder through me. “You won’t get rid of me so easily, Nell. Perhaps you won’t get rid of me at all.”
“Oh.” I sigh the word against him, unable to focus on anything other than the way he kisses me.
I’ve never been kissed like this. Never in my life has anyone kissed me like they need it to breathe.
Amir is perfect. That’s the only thing I can think of as he pushes me down on my back, my head on the pillow I always have here for when I can’t or won’t sleep in my bed.
“Now let’s talk about my prize.” He kisses me one last time, then sits up so he’s between my thighs, his hands tracing along the inside of them, pushing my shorts further up. “I want you.”
My stomach twists and I sit up on my elbows, eyes wide as I look up at him. “Why?” I ask, though I swear I meant to say something else.
His smile is surprisingly soft. “Oh darling, you can’t ask me things like that,” Amir purrs. “Otherwise, it would be too easy for me to show you all the ways to answer that, which would take longer than either of us has time for tonight.”
I still can’t get over the fact he looks like he’s barely holding onto his control. With his eyes bright and his hands gripping my thighs like he can’t even consider letting me go, I’ve never felt trapped quite like this before. But it isn’t a bad trap.
“I want you,” he says again. “That’s my prize. You however I want you. As many times as I want to take you apart.” I look down, and then up at him.
Why? I want to ask again. Why, when he looks like that and I’m this?
When he could do so much better than a broken mortician who sees the ghosts of her past and the specters of her guilt.
“Give me your safeword.”
I blink once, then again, until I’m meeting his gaze with wide eyes. “What?”
His mouth curves into a smile. “You know how a safeword works, don’t you, Nell?”
“Of course I do. I’ve just never had to have one. Should I worry you’re into, like, amputation? Because I am not into—”
“Stop talking.” He leans over me again, resting his weight on his elbows so he’s caging me in against the sofa below me. “Give me your safeword. If you use it, I’ll stop.”
“Dissection.” I don’t know why I say it. I don’t know why the hell that’s what comes out of my mouth, and even Amir looks a bit bemused by it.
“Of course. It’s very you.” He kisses me again. “If you want me to stop, if you want anything to stop tonight, use it for me. Do you understand?” His hand shifts to grip my throat. “Because if you cannot tell me with certainty that you’ll do that for me, then we stop right now.”
Knowing that my consent, and the fact I can take it back at any time, is so important to him, makes my throat tighten around any of the words I might say. I take a shuddering breath, still meeting his eyes.
“I understand. I say it, you stop.”
“Good girl.” This time he pulls me until I’m sitting with my thighs sprawled over his knees, mostly in his lap as he settles back against the arm of the sofa behind him. “I like this position,” he informs me, settling me better across his lap. “I like you right here where you belong.”
That has flutters racing through me and I gently, nervously grip his shoulders, expecting another kiss as he moves.
Instead, he gets to his feet, grinning slyly while leaving me alone on the sofa.
“Don’t look so put out, darling,” he chuckles.
“You might even enjoy this.” As I watch from the sofa, confused and definitely horny, Amir walks to my dresser, opening my leggings drawer, my hoodie drawer, and finally, the bottom drawer.
“Ah, maybe don’t—”
Amir throws me a look but doesn’t answer. Still, it’s more than enough to cut me off, and I just sit there to watch him go through that drawer as well.
“Well, well…” Embarrassment writhes in my stomach, and I clench my hands against the sleeves of my hoodie as he straightens with some cloth in one hand.
“Color me surprised, little mortician. Here.” He tosses them to me, and I catch the matching set of black lace panties and a bra, both of which have little glittering moons printed on the sheer fabric.
He doesn’t need to elaborate. But I feel nervous as I head for the bathroom anyway…until Amir reaches out and grips my wrist. “I didn’t say you had to go anywhere.” His meaning is clear, even if he’s phrasing it as a suggestion. I hold his gaze, then decide, fuck it.
He let me pick the game, and I lost. I refuse to be a poor sport if I can help it, for my pride if nothing else. But holding his gaze is so, so fucking hard as I quickly strip off my hoodie and the bra I’d been wearing.
Somehow, I manage. Even as I wish for a ghost to appear between us to hide his expression from me, I let my bra fall to the floor before pulling on the lacy, sheer bra with the gold chain that starts in the middle, between my breasts, and rises to loop over my shoulders with the straps themselves.
Amir watches, and whatever I’m afraid of in his expression—whatever disappointment—never comes.
If anything, his golden gaze darkens to molten honey, and he doesn’t make a move while he watches me.
He’s fingered me before, I remind myself, but it’s hard to ignore the fact he’s never seen me naked. My hands tremble as I tug down my shorts and underwear, only to replace them with the matching bottoms to the bra now making my chest look way better than it does normally.
Finally, all I can do is stand there, waiting for him to say or do something.
Anything.
Amir walks forward, closing the distance between us with one hand raised.
He tugs my hair free from the ponytail it had been in, arranging it around my face and shoulders so it falls around me like a waterfall of curling strands.
“Beautiful,” he breathes in a tone I can only describe as reverent.
“My perfect, beautiful mortician. My gorgeous doll.”
“What are you—”
“Dolls don’t speak, do they?” he cuts off sweetly, reaching one hand up to cup my jaw. “But I will tell you when I need your input. “
I know the way he speaks to me should bother me. I should push away from him and walk to the door, inviting him to leave before this even begins. Something in his expression makes me think he expects me to do just that, or at least give him a less than favorable response.
But my breath catches in my throat and I can feel heat rush to my cheeks…and other places.
Amir’s smile is a reward in itself. “Perfect,” he whispers once more, his hand still on my jaw so he can stroke a thumb over my lip.
“You’re just perfect for me, aren’t you?
I should’ve known my little mortician would be.
This, by the way”—he touches the jawbone around my throat—“stays on. You don’t take it off. ”
I notice he doesn’t say tonight. It sounds more like he means ever.
When his hand shifts to my throat, Amir turns me, walking me backward until I hit my bed.
But he doesn’t stop there. He helps me down, quite literally moving me how he wants, until my head is on my favorite pillow and my hair is lying around me in a halo.
Amir places my hands over my head, elbows bent, before kneeling on the bed between my thighs to stare down at me.
Before I can even begin to be self-conscious, I catch sight of his eyes. Of how his gaze has gone dark and wanting. Like I’m something worth being appreciated instead of just me.
“Amir—” He presses a finger to my lips, his head tilting to the side.