Monster in His Eyes
Page 70
Naz is quiet as we head upstairs, so close I can smell his cologne, yet he feels a thousand miles away. He's lost in his mind, consumed by thoughts I can't begin to understand.
When we make it up to the suite, there are chocolate covered strawberries waiting on the table and a bottle of champagne chilling in a fresh bucket of ice. He obviously planned something, but it's disregarded as he strides right by and heads upstairs.
Wordlessly, I follow him, keeping my distance to give him some space, but we eventually meet in the master bedroom. He steps toward me, quiet as he speaks. "Do you love me?"
"You know I do."
"Say it," he says, his voice dropping lower. "Tell me you love me."
"I love you."
He cups my cheek. "Say it again."
"I love you."
His hand drifts lower, wrapping around my throat. "Again."
"I love you."
He squeezes lightly, not painfully, just enough to make me gasp. "Again."
My voice is barely a whisper as the words pour out of me. "I love you, Ignazio."
His expression hardens when I say his name, his eyes darkening. The monster is peeking through, peering at me from behind his mask. He wants to come out. He wants me to play with him.
He says nothing, though, letting go of my neck. His hand drifts lower, down my chest and across my breasts. He gropes them through the fabric before reaching down and grabbing the bottom of my shirt, pulling up on it. I raise my hands in the air, letting him pull it off. He unbuttons my pants, tugging down the zipper, and I step out of them when he pulls them off of me.
Slowly, his eyes scan me then, from the top of my head to the tips of my toes before trailing back up again. He meets my gaze as he takes another step forward, standing right up against me. I can feel the heat emanating off of him, his cologne intoxicating.
It makes me dizzy.
"If you could read my mind..." He pauses, laughing darkly. "You'd be trembling."
I nearly tremble from the insinuation. "What are you thinking?"
He steps around me, stopping behind me, and sweeps my hair out of the way. A hand grasps my hip, pulling me back to him as he leans down to kiss my neck.
"I'm thinking the only way you could possibly be any more perfect right now," he says against my skin, "would be if I were fucking you so hard the people in the lobby could hear your screams."
That does it.
I shiver, but he isn't finished yet.
"I want to push you to your limits, Karissa. Push you so hard, so far, that you hate me for it."
"I could never hate you."
As soon as I say it, his hand is around my neck again, pulling my head up, forcing me to look back at him. "Don't say that unless you mean it."
"I mean it," I whisper. "I love you."
He stares down at me for a moment before leaning over to kiss my lips, tugging me back so far it's almost painful so he can reach my mouth. "I love you, too. Promise me you'll remember that."
"I promise."
"Good," he says. "Because I'm about to fuck you like I don't."
My voice is little more than a shaky breath. "Okay."
"Remember your safe words."
"I will."
He lets go of my throat, lets go of me, as he takes a step back. I stand still, trying not to shake, and peek over my shoulder to see him unfastening his dark tie.
"And if you really love me," he says, pulling off the tie before looking at me again. He looks furious. The sight of his anger, the icy tone of his voice, makes my knees weak. I'm definitely trembling now. "If you mean it, you'll fight back."
My lips part, the response on the tip of my tongue knocked right out of me. I gasp, alarmed, when Naz roughly grabs a hold of me and drags me to the bed, pushing me onto my stomach.
There's nothing gentle about his hold, nothing loving, or nice, about the man touching me. He forces my arms behind my back, wrapping the tie tightly around my wrists, knotting them together. I struggle as he restrains me, but he's too strong, too fast for me to physically stop him. The moment my arms are secure, I hear him fumble with his belt, my heart racing at the clank of the buckle.
He won't hurt me.
I know it.
He loves me.
I remember it.
But it's hard to think, hard to submit, when you've got a man double your size, a beast, a fucking monster, pinning you down.
So I don't think.
I feel.
And I feel like I need to fight him.
I kick my legs, resisting and yelling for him to get off of me. It doesn't work. Of course it doesn't. In one ear and out the other. His hold gets stronger, his grasp rougher. I'm his favorite toy, I know it, and he's about to see what it takes for me to break.
I won't let him, though.
I can't.
He won't break me.
I manage to roll over onto my back, my hands beneath me, and push up into a sit before he can think to stop me. I'm about to stand up when he tears off his belt, making me tense.
Making me flinch.
My reaction forces him to pause for a fraction of a second, just long enough for me to notice, before he comes at me again. He doesn't swing, doesn't strike me, instead forcing me back onto my stomach, the belt thrown aside, discarded. He pins me there with his body weight, overpowering me.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I ask, a growl in my voice that surprises even me. He doesn't answer. He doesn't speak. Short of an icy gaze, he doesn't even acknowledge me.
When we make it up to the suite, there are chocolate covered strawberries waiting on the table and a bottle of champagne chilling in a fresh bucket of ice. He obviously planned something, but it's disregarded as he strides right by and heads upstairs.
Wordlessly, I follow him, keeping my distance to give him some space, but we eventually meet in the master bedroom. He steps toward me, quiet as he speaks. "Do you love me?"
"You know I do."
"Say it," he says, his voice dropping lower. "Tell me you love me."
"I love you."
He cups my cheek. "Say it again."
"I love you."
His hand drifts lower, wrapping around my throat. "Again."
"I love you."
He squeezes lightly, not painfully, just enough to make me gasp. "Again."
My voice is barely a whisper as the words pour out of me. "I love you, Ignazio."
His expression hardens when I say his name, his eyes darkening. The monster is peeking through, peering at me from behind his mask. He wants to come out. He wants me to play with him.
He says nothing, though, letting go of my neck. His hand drifts lower, down my chest and across my breasts. He gropes them through the fabric before reaching down and grabbing the bottom of my shirt, pulling up on it. I raise my hands in the air, letting him pull it off. He unbuttons my pants, tugging down the zipper, and I step out of them when he pulls them off of me.
Slowly, his eyes scan me then, from the top of my head to the tips of my toes before trailing back up again. He meets my gaze as he takes another step forward, standing right up against me. I can feel the heat emanating off of him, his cologne intoxicating.
It makes me dizzy.
"If you could read my mind..." He pauses, laughing darkly. "You'd be trembling."
I nearly tremble from the insinuation. "What are you thinking?"
He steps around me, stopping behind me, and sweeps my hair out of the way. A hand grasps my hip, pulling me back to him as he leans down to kiss my neck.
"I'm thinking the only way you could possibly be any more perfect right now," he says against my skin, "would be if I were fucking you so hard the people in the lobby could hear your screams."
That does it.
I shiver, but he isn't finished yet.
"I want to push you to your limits, Karissa. Push you so hard, so far, that you hate me for it."
"I could never hate you."
As soon as I say it, his hand is around my neck again, pulling my head up, forcing me to look back at him. "Don't say that unless you mean it."
"I mean it," I whisper. "I love you."
He stares down at me for a moment before leaning over to kiss my lips, tugging me back so far it's almost painful so he can reach my mouth. "I love you, too. Promise me you'll remember that."
"I promise."
"Good," he says. "Because I'm about to fuck you like I don't."
My voice is little more than a shaky breath. "Okay."
"Remember your safe words."
"I will."
He lets go of my throat, lets go of me, as he takes a step back. I stand still, trying not to shake, and peek over my shoulder to see him unfastening his dark tie.
"And if you really love me," he says, pulling off the tie before looking at me again. He looks furious. The sight of his anger, the icy tone of his voice, makes my knees weak. I'm definitely trembling now. "If you mean it, you'll fight back."
My lips part, the response on the tip of my tongue knocked right out of me. I gasp, alarmed, when Naz roughly grabs a hold of me and drags me to the bed, pushing me onto my stomach.
There's nothing gentle about his hold, nothing loving, or nice, about the man touching me. He forces my arms behind my back, wrapping the tie tightly around my wrists, knotting them together. I struggle as he restrains me, but he's too strong, too fast for me to physically stop him. The moment my arms are secure, I hear him fumble with his belt, my heart racing at the clank of the buckle.
He won't hurt me.
I know it.
He loves me.
I remember it.
But it's hard to think, hard to submit, when you've got a man double your size, a beast, a fucking monster, pinning you down.
So I don't think.
I feel.
And I feel like I need to fight him.
I kick my legs, resisting and yelling for him to get off of me. It doesn't work. Of course it doesn't. In one ear and out the other. His hold gets stronger, his grasp rougher. I'm his favorite toy, I know it, and he's about to see what it takes for me to break.
I won't let him, though.
I can't.
He won't break me.
I manage to roll over onto my back, my hands beneath me, and push up into a sit before he can think to stop me. I'm about to stand up when he tears off his belt, making me tense.
Making me flinch.
My reaction forces him to pause for a fraction of a second, just long enough for me to notice, before he comes at me again. He doesn't swing, doesn't strike me, instead forcing me back onto my stomach, the belt thrown aside, discarded. He pins me there with his body weight, overpowering me.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I ask, a growl in my voice that surprises even me. He doesn't answer. He doesn't speak. Short of an icy gaze, he doesn't even acknowledge me.
