Monster in His Eyes
Page 16
"Not this time," he says, fighting off a smile. "Just relax, Karissa."
I try.
Dammit, I try.
But as soon as I start to relax, Naz finds his rhythm, hiking my legs up to fill me deeply. I gasp, my hands running through his hair, the slight curls surprisingly soft, as he leans down to kiss me. With his lips on mine, he thrusts hard, so hard he nearly knocks the breath from my lungs. Unnatural noises escape my throat that he greedily swallows with his kiss, increasing his pace, eliciting more of the sounds from me.
Again.
And again.
And again.
I suspected it, from his earlier question, but it isn't until he's inside of me, pounding against me, his arms wrapped around me, holding me so tightly I can hardly breathe, fucking me so hard I can barely think, that I realize just how much I've been missing. Everything before this moment was child's play, but this man is the major league.
He fucks me like he means it, like he needs it, like being inside of me is more important than anything inside of him, and every cell in my body calls out to him, craving more of it. His hands work magic on my skin, slipping between us to stroke my clit. The mere touch sends sparks through me. He rubs circles around it, as my body grows taut. I can feel it, building and building, the pressure filling me up until I'm about to burst.
The pleasure explodes inside of me, unlike anything I've ever experienced before. I squeeze my eyes shut. It's like fireworks all around me when all I've ever seen before were measly sparklers. I cry out, arching my back, my breasts flush against his chest. I can feel myself convulsing around him, squeezing his cock for a second before it's gone. He pulls out, pulls away from me just as I start to come. I'm momentarily stunned by the absence of everything—I feel nothing but coldness, air all around me. No warmth. No him.
No nothing.
My orgasm fades away as soon as it hits, the fireworks a dud that fizzle and fade into the night sky.
Oh, God. No. No. No. Don't do this to me.
My eyes snap open as the bed shifts, and I barely have time to glance over when he pushes my legs apart wider, his tongue softly grazing my clit.
Oh, God. Wait. Yes. Yes. Yes.
He licks and sucks, pumping his fingers inside of me, his head between my thighs. Gasping, I run my hands through his hair, grasping ahold of the locks, as I shudder. It takes a few seconds for the fading pleasure to sweep back through me, somehow even more intense, swaddling my entire body in heat.
Orgasm rocks me, and I let out a shriek, arching my back as I convulse. He doesn't let up, doesn't stop, his tongue running circles around my clit before he sucks on it, his fingers deep inside of me.
I relax back into the bed, panting when the sensation subsides, but I don't have time to catch my breath. He's inside of me again, thrusting deep, as his lips find mine. I don't even think about it, don't hesitate, kissing him deeply as he laughs against my mouth.
"You like that?" he asks, his voice strained, like he can't quite catch his breath. "Can you taste yourself?"
I'm embarrassed for a second, long enough for my face to heat, as he kisses me again, and again. I can taste myself, but I don't have a chance to dwell on it, because he's fucking me just as frenzied as before. His hips slam into mine, noises escaping my throat that he continues to smother with his kiss. I can feel his breath coming out in pants as he thrusts mercilessly, desperately.
And then he's off of me again, pulling out. This time he sits back on his knees and grasps his cock, stroking it as he tilts his head back, eyes closed. I stare at him in the moonlight, stunned by the sight of him coming, a mix of agony and pleasure seeming to twist his features as he grunts. He slows his strokes, stilling his hand, and just sits there, his chest falling and rising as he breathes deeply.
It's beautiful.
I don't know how else to describe it.
Naz is a work of art, confident in every aspect, and it's certainly warranted. I just lay there, my body made of jelly, while he towers above me like fortified steel. I'm suddenly weak and helpless, oh-so-vulnerable and at his mercy, at his disposal, and he's not dented even the slightest bit.
I'm fucked.
Literally.
Figuratively.
The man has fucked me in every sense of the word.
I'm no longer a charity case.
I'm a glorified prostitute.
The alcohol is fading from my system. I'm sweaty, and sticky, an ache between my thighs intensifying as clarity seeps in. Every cell in my body yearned for this earlier, yearned for him, except for the ones in my head.
Stupid brain cells.
They'd been lost in a champagne-induced haze, but now they want to come back around and throw a wrench in my moment with their damn common sense.
Anxiety fuels a touch of sickness, sickness that I fight to swallow down, but it burns the back of my throat, the coppery bitter tang on my tongue like I'd stuck it to the end of a battery.
Acid. Pure acid. I want to purge it from my system.
It's late, well after midnight, I assume. I'm not sure. Apart from having no bathroom in here, Naz also has no damn clocks. I feel like I've been lying in his bed for hours, too edgy to sleep, tangled up in his sheets. He's beside me, but not touching me, no more than six inches of space separating our naked bodies, but the man suddenly feels miles away.
I'm agonizing over what to do, what to think, replaying every moment I've spent with Naz, when a peculiar ring echoes through the room. It's muffled, a series of beeps that sounds almost like Morse code. At once, Naz slips away, climbing out of bed and rifling through his pants on the floor. He pulls out his phone, giving a brief glance at the screen before answering with a curt, "Hello."
I try.
Dammit, I try.
But as soon as I start to relax, Naz finds his rhythm, hiking my legs up to fill me deeply. I gasp, my hands running through his hair, the slight curls surprisingly soft, as he leans down to kiss me. With his lips on mine, he thrusts hard, so hard he nearly knocks the breath from my lungs. Unnatural noises escape my throat that he greedily swallows with his kiss, increasing his pace, eliciting more of the sounds from me.
Again.
And again.
And again.
I suspected it, from his earlier question, but it isn't until he's inside of me, pounding against me, his arms wrapped around me, holding me so tightly I can hardly breathe, fucking me so hard I can barely think, that I realize just how much I've been missing. Everything before this moment was child's play, but this man is the major league.
He fucks me like he means it, like he needs it, like being inside of me is more important than anything inside of him, and every cell in my body calls out to him, craving more of it. His hands work magic on my skin, slipping between us to stroke my clit. The mere touch sends sparks through me. He rubs circles around it, as my body grows taut. I can feel it, building and building, the pressure filling me up until I'm about to burst.
The pleasure explodes inside of me, unlike anything I've ever experienced before. I squeeze my eyes shut. It's like fireworks all around me when all I've ever seen before were measly sparklers. I cry out, arching my back, my breasts flush against his chest. I can feel myself convulsing around him, squeezing his cock for a second before it's gone. He pulls out, pulls away from me just as I start to come. I'm momentarily stunned by the absence of everything—I feel nothing but coldness, air all around me. No warmth. No him.
No nothing.
My orgasm fades away as soon as it hits, the fireworks a dud that fizzle and fade into the night sky.
Oh, God. No. No. No. Don't do this to me.
My eyes snap open as the bed shifts, and I barely have time to glance over when he pushes my legs apart wider, his tongue softly grazing my clit.
Oh, God. Wait. Yes. Yes. Yes.
He licks and sucks, pumping his fingers inside of me, his head between my thighs. Gasping, I run my hands through his hair, grasping ahold of the locks, as I shudder. It takes a few seconds for the fading pleasure to sweep back through me, somehow even more intense, swaddling my entire body in heat.
Orgasm rocks me, and I let out a shriek, arching my back as I convulse. He doesn't let up, doesn't stop, his tongue running circles around my clit before he sucks on it, his fingers deep inside of me.
I relax back into the bed, panting when the sensation subsides, but I don't have time to catch my breath. He's inside of me again, thrusting deep, as his lips find mine. I don't even think about it, don't hesitate, kissing him deeply as he laughs against my mouth.
"You like that?" he asks, his voice strained, like he can't quite catch his breath. "Can you taste yourself?"
I'm embarrassed for a second, long enough for my face to heat, as he kisses me again, and again. I can taste myself, but I don't have a chance to dwell on it, because he's fucking me just as frenzied as before. His hips slam into mine, noises escaping my throat that he continues to smother with his kiss. I can feel his breath coming out in pants as he thrusts mercilessly, desperately.
And then he's off of me again, pulling out. This time he sits back on his knees and grasps his cock, stroking it as he tilts his head back, eyes closed. I stare at him in the moonlight, stunned by the sight of him coming, a mix of agony and pleasure seeming to twist his features as he grunts. He slows his strokes, stilling his hand, and just sits there, his chest falling and rising as he breathes deeply.
It's beautiful.
I don't know how else to describe it.
Naz is a work of art, confident in every aspect, and it's certainly warranted. I just lay there, my body made of jelly, while he towers above me like fortified steel. I'm suddenly weak and helpless, oh-so-vulnerable and at his mercy, at his disposal, and he's not dented even the slightest bit.
I'm fucked.
Literally.
Figuratively.
The man has fucked me in every sense of the word.
I'm no longer a charity case.
I'm a glorified prostitute.
The alcohol is fading from my system. I'm sweaty, and sticky, an ache between my thighs intensifying as clarity seeps in. Every cell in my body yearned for this earlier, yearned for him, except for the ones in my head.
Stupid brain cells.
They'd been lost in a champagne-induced haze, but now they want to come back around and throw a wrench in my moment with their damn common sense.
Anxiety fuels a touch of sickness, sickness that I fight to swallow down, but it burns the back of my throat, the coppery bitter tang on my tongue like I'd stuck it to the end of a battery.
Acid. Pure acid. I want to purge it from my system.
It's late, well after midnight, I assume. I'm not sure. Apart from having no bathroom in here, Naz also has no damn clocks. I feel like I've been lying in his bed for hours, too edgy to sleep, tangled up in his sheets. He's beside me, but not touching me, no more than six inches of space separating our naked bodies, but the man suddenly feels miles away.
I'm agonizing over what to do, what to think, replaying every moment I've spent with Naz, when a peculiar ring echoes through the room. It's muffled, a series of beeps that sounds almost like Morse code. At once, Naz slips away, climbing out of bed and rifling through his pants on the floor. He pulls out his phone, giving a brief glance at the screen before answering with a curt, "Hello."
