Monster in His Eyes
Page 71
His body is heavy as I buck my hips, struggling against him. He yanks my panties down, not bothering to take them off, the fabric around my knees making it harder to kick. An arm slips around my waist, roughly pulling my hips off the bed, forcing me onto my knees with my ass up in the air.
"Get off of me," I snarl, struggling in his arms and damn near escaping, but he tightens his hold.
He fumbles with his clothes, not undressing, just pulling himself from the confinement of his pants. "Make me."
"Fuck you."
The words are barely from my lips when he thrusts inside of me—so hard, so deep, so abrupt, that I cry out because of it. My face is forced into the mattress again and again, muffling my shrieks, as he pounds into me. One arm stays firmly around me to lock me in place, his other hand pressed flat on my back, between my shoulder blades. I'm pinned but I wiggle around, shifting my hips, fighting him, until he thrusts deeply and pulls back too far, slipping out of me.
I regret it as soon as it happens, feeling the void, the ache already growing, but I react instinctively. It's fight or flight, and fighting isn't working. His hold loosens, his hand leaving my back as he grasps himself to thrust back in.
Before he can do it, I'm gone.
I slide out from beneath him, panting, and force myself up, but I didn't think it through. Fuck.
I'm fucked.
I can't run. I can barely shuffle, making it only a few steps before I nearly fall. I cry out as I trip, but Naz grabs ahold of me, tossing me right back onto the bed before I can hit the floor, face-first.
He laughs, forcing me back into position. "Did you really think you could get away from me that easily?"
He's mocking me, like my attempts to escape are feeble, like I'm weak, like I hadn't just exerted damn near all of my energy doing what I just did.
He might not hurt me physically, but fuck if that didn't sting.
Adrenaline surges inside of me, my anger and embarrassment overwhelming. He wants a fight? I'll give him one. I struggle with everything in me, his tie burning as it rubs my wrists, the knots not loosening even the slightest bit.
"Untie me," I demand as he pushes inside of me again. I want to say more, but the sensation renders me momentarily speechless. Fuck, he feels good…
"Untie yourself."
"I'm trying." I wiggle against the restraint some more. "Please? Just loosen the knots."
He laughs again. Laughs. As good as he feels inside of me, he's starting to piss me off.
"You know, fine, whatever," I growl. "You think you're so tough? You can't even fight fair. You're the weak one here. Fucking coward. Pathetic."
I don't know where the outburst comes from, but it works. Naz grabs my arms roughly, pulling on the restraint as he unknots my wrists. As soon as my hands are free, he flips me around so I'm on my back and he's on top of me.
I meet his eyes. Anxiety brews inside of me, mixing with a tinge of excitement. His expression is terrifying. He says nothing, but it's written all over his face.
He's going to make me eat my words.
My legs are hauled over his broad shoulders as he ruthlessly hammers my insides, pounding and pounding. His hand is on my throat, pressing against my jugular, making me lightheaded as he brutally fucks me.
And fucks me.
And fucks me.
His grip is so strong I think I'll still feel it tomorrow, handprints embedded in my flesh in deep shades of black and blue, as he ravishes my body, obliterating my insides. I fight him, trying to drop my legs, each thrust painfully deep. I claw at his hand, pushing against his body, struggling in his grasp. My nails dig into his skin, leaving marks on his armor, drawing blood that doesn't faze him a bit.
I seem to be more unnerved by it than him.
No matter what I do he subdues me, so much stronger, so much tougher. I can't overpower him. I can't win. My frustration mounts at that realization until I ball my hands into fists and punch his chest with everything in me.
I hit him so hard I hear it, hit him so hard my knuckles hurt. As soon as my fist connects, the force seems to ricochet through both of our bodies, tensing my muscles.
Oh shit.
He snatches my hand as he leans down to me, so close our noses touch. My heart races. I'm expecting venom. Instead, he startles me with a kiss.
"That's it, sweetheart," he says against my lips. "Fight me before I fuck you to death."
I think he might be capable of it, but I've gone too far to admit that out loud. I'm worked up, on emotional overload. "You're not man enough."
He groans, kissing me again, his lips just as brutal as the rest of him. Jesus, he likes this. It unnerves me for a second. Sex with him is always passionate, but this? This is intense. He's in complete control of my body, but I can tell he's lost control of himself. This isn't Naz. This is the monster, fully unsheathed.
This is Ignazio Vitale.
He loves me. Still, I try to remember. I don't ever want to forget. But this man battering my body, the one clutching my throat, fucks me like he hates me, like my life is in his hands alone.
Like he has no qualms ending me if he sees fit.
It's treacherous.
It's terrifying.
So why am I enjoying it so much?
"Oh God," I whisper, my voice strained, my vision blurring. I can feel the tears building and the pressure mounting… I feel like I'm about to explode beneath him. I'm a live wire, sparking everywhere he touches. It's electrifying. My hands find their way into his hair, gripping the locks, yanking on it. I don't know whether to push or pull, beg him to get away from me or give me even more.
"Get off of me," I snarl, struggling in his arms and damn near escaping, but he tightens his hold.
He fumbles with his clothes, not undressing, just pulling himself from the confinement of his pants. "Make me."
"Fuck you."
The words are barely from my lips when he thrusts inside of me—so hard, so deep, so abrupt, that I cry out because of it. My face is forced into the mattress again and again, muffling my shrieks, as he pounds into me. One arm stays firmly around me to lock me in place, his other hand pressed flat on my back, between my shoulder blades. I'm pinned but I wiggle around, shifting my hips, fighting him, until he thrusts deeply and pulls back too far, slipping out of me.
I regret it as soon as it happens, feeling the void, the ache already growing, but I react instinctively. It's fight or flight, and fighting isn't working. His hold loosens, his hand leaving my back as he grasps himself to thrust back in.
Before he can do it, I'm gone.
I slide out from beneath him, panting, and force myself up, but I didn't think it through. Fuck.
I'm fucked.
I can't run. I can barely shuffle, making it only a few steps before I nearly fall. I cry out as I trip, but Naz grabs ahold of me, tossing me right back onto the bed before I can hit the floor, face-first.
He laughs, forcing me back into position. "Did you really think you could get away from me that easily?"
He's mocking me, like my attempts to escape are feeble, like I'm weak, like I hadn't just exerted damn near all of my energy doing what I just did.
He might not hurt me physically, but fuck if that didn't sting.
Adrenaline surges inside of me, my anger and embarrassment overwhelming. He wants a fight? I'll give him one. I struggle with everything in me, his tie burning as it rubs my wrists, the knots not loosening even the slightest bit.
"Untie me," I demand as he pushes inside of me again. I want to say more, but the sensation renders me momentarily speechless. Fuck, he feels good…
"Untie yourself."
"I'm trying." I wiggle against the restraint some more. "Please? Just loosen the knots."
He laughs again. Laughs. As good as he feels inside of me, he's starting to piss me off.
"You know, fine, whatever," I growl. "You think you're so tough? You can't even fight fair. You're the weak one here. Fucking coward. Pathetic."
I don't know where the outburst comes from, but it works. Naz grabs my arms roughly, pulling on the restraint as he unknots my wrists. As soon as my hands are free, he flips me around so I'm on my back and he's on top of me.
I meet his eyes. Anxiety brews inside of me, mixing with a tinge of excitement. His expression is terrifying. He says nothing, but it's written all over his face.
He's going to make me eat my words.
My legs are hauled over his broad shoulders as he ruthlessly hammers my insides, pounding and pounding. His hand is on my throat, pressing against my jugular, making me lightheaded as he brutally fucks me.
And fucks me.
And fucks me.
His grip is so strong I think I'll still feel it tomorrow, handprints embedded in my flesh in deep shades of black and blue, as he ravishes my body, obliterating my insides. I fight him, trying to drop my legs, each thrust painfully deep. I claw at his hand, pushing against his body, struggling in his grasp. My nails dig into his skin, leaving marks on his armor, drawing blood that doesn't faze him a bit.
I seem to be more unnerved by it than him.
No matter what I do he subdues me, so much stronger, so much tougher. I can't overpower him. I can't win. My frustration mounts at that realization until I ball my hands into fists and punch his chest with everything in me.
I hit him so hard I hear it, hit him so hard my knuckles hurt. As soon as my fist connects, the force seems to ricochet through both of our bodies, tensing my muscles.
Oh shit.
He snatches my hand as he leans down to me, so close our noses touch. My heart races. I'm expecting venom. Instead, he startles me with a kiss.
"That's it, sweetheart," he says against my lips. "Fight me before I fuck you to death."
I think he might be capable of it, but I've gone too far to admit that out loud. I'm worked up, on emotional overload. "You're not man enough."
He groans, kissing me again, his lips just as brutal as the rest of him. Jesus, he likes this. It unnerves me for a second. Sex with him is always passionate, but this? This is intense. He's in complete control of my body, but I can tell he's lost control of himself. This isn't Naz. This is the monster, fully unsheathed.
This is Ignazio Vitale.
He loves me. Still, I try to remember. I don't ever want to forget. But this man battering my body, the one clutching my throat, fucks me like he hates me, like my life is in his hands alone.
Like he has no qualms ending me if he sees fit.
It's treacherous.
It's terrifying.
So why am I enjoying it so much?
"Oh God," I whisper, my voice strained, my vision blurring. I can feel the tears building and the pressure mounting… I feel like I'm about to explode beneath him. I'm a live wire, sparking everywhere he touches. It's electrifying. My hands find their way into his hair, gripping the locks, yanking on it. I don't know whether to push or pull, beg him to get away from me or give me even more.
