Torture to Her Soul
Page 114
"You think it was fate? That you were just born to be this way?"
"No." He meets my eyes again. "I'm saying my choices would've eventually led me this way. I can only blame myself, and I'm sorry what me being this man has done to everyone I've ever loved."
Those words send a shockwave through me.
Never, in a million years, did I expect to hear him say that.
I'm not sure how to respond.
"So yeah…" He motions toward the waitress, requesting our bill. "I need something."
He pulls out some cash, tossing it on the table, before standing up. He reaches for me, and I stare at his extended hand for a moment, shell-shocked.
Did he seriously just say that?
Holy shit.
Ignazio Vitale actually accepted blame.
Naz lets out a light laugh as I shake off my stupor and take his hand, climbing to my feet. He links our fingers together, squeezing gently, as the two of us stroll out of the busy sports bar and onto the floor of the MGM Grand.
I didn't expect to come back here, to see this place again so soon after our last visit. The casino is busy, and it's still pretty early on a Friday night, but instead of hanging around down here with the crowds, we head up to our Skyloft penthouse.
Same exact room as last time, too. It all feels familiar, yet so utterly different. This time, there's no Brandy, no Ray, and no guy Naz is going to murder at the end of the day (one can hope, anyway). There's no business to attend to (that I'm aware of), nothing planned (that he tells me about), no expectations except just existing in the moment.
No expectations except for being together.
I like it so much better this way.
As soon as we reach the room and Naz opens the door, I see a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice sitting on the table, a platter of chocolate covered strawberries beside it. Smiling, I stroll over to the table, plucking a strawberry from the platter and holding it up, waving it toward Naz as he approaches.
"For someone concerned about my impending diabetes, you sure spoil me with this stuff a lot."
He smiles as he pops the top off the bottle of champagne and grabs two glasses, pouring a bit in each. He holds one out to me, keeping the other, as I take a bite of my strawberry. "I'm not in the business of denying anyone anything. I definitely don't deny myself. Sure, it might kill you someday, but I'm certainly not one to judge. Everything I do is bound to catch up to me, and when it does…" He shrugs, taking a sip of the champagne before smiling playfully. "I'm sure there will be hell to pay."
"For you?"
"Or them."
"Who's them?"
He steps toward me and I instinctively tense, glass of champagne in one hand and half-eaten strawberry in the other, as he grasps my chin, pulling my face up toward him, his thumb tracing my bottom lip. His expression changes right before my eyes, the playfulness draining as that look creeps into his eyes. That look.
The monster.
He's peeking out at me.
"Them is anybody who dares get in my way," he says, voice low, and I can't help but shiver as those words wash over me. Fear. Excitement. Terror. Exhilaration. The sensations battle for control of my body, twisting my insides and making my knees weak. I'll never for a moment doubt he means that, and as frightening as it is, knowing what he's capable of, knowing what he wouldn't hesitate to do, my sickness relishes the security. He'd kill the whole world, burn it to the ground, but that part of me believes him when he says he'd protect me from harm.
He's not bulletproof. I know he's not. But I think, now, he's grown shatter-resistant. After everything, Naz isn't an easy one to crack. Someday, when he dies, whether it happens tomorrow from a bullet or sixty years from now from old age, Naz will go out standing, fighting. Nobody will ever break him again.
His eyes scan my face, slowly and methodically, like he's studying every contour, before his gaze settles on my mouth. He licks his lips, and mine part in response, releasing a shaky exhale. My eyes drift closed as he kisses me softly, and I moan from anticipation, expecting him to deepen it, but instead I'm met with laughter against my lips.
Opening my eyes, I watch as he takes a step back, his expression once again light. The monster is gone. Naz tips his glass toward me before downing the rest of it and turning away.
"Enjoy your strawberries," he says. "I'm going to take a shower."
Fucking tease.
I gape at him until he disappears before eating the rest of my strawberry. I hear him moving around on the second floor of the suit, hear the water turn on in the bathroom. I stand here, listening to the noise for a moment, scowling.
I should stay down here.
Really.
I shouldn't follow him.
Shouldn't bother him.
It's not like he asked me to come along.
Not like he invited me.
So I should stay right where I am. I should drink all the champagne and eat all the strawberries and just say fuck him, the teasing bastard.
I should.
I don't.
I guzzle what's in my glass before setting it down and heading for the stairs. I tread lightly, tiptoeing toward the upstairs bathroom. The door is cracked open, and it doesn't make a sound when I slowly push on it to slink inside. The lights are dim, the air hazy from the steam from the shower, the mirrors and glass coated in a thin layer of fog, but I can make him out standing beneath the spray.
His back is to me as he lathers his hair with shampoo, the strong, all male, all Naz scent wafting toward me. Jesus, the man always smells as good as he looks. It's sinful, like just breathing him in is enough for a girl to need to shout out some Hail Mary's.
"No." He meets my eyes again. "I'm saying my choices would've eventually led me this way. I can only blame myself, and I'm sorry what me being this man has done to everyone I've ever loved."
Those words send a shockwave through me.
Never, in a million years, did I expect to hear him say that.
I'm not sure how to respond.
"So yeah…" He motions toward the waitress, requesting our bill. "I need something."
He pulls out some cash, tossing it on the table, before standing up. He reaches for me, and I stare at his extended hand for a moment, shell-shocked.
Did he seriously just say that?
Holy shit.
Ignazio Vitale actually accepted blame.
Naz lets out a light laugh as I shake off my stupor and take his hand, climbing to my feet. He links our fingers together, squeezing gently, as the two of us stroll out of the busy sports bar and onto the floor of the MGM Grand.
I didn't expect to come back here, to see this place again so soon after our last visit. The casino is busy, and it's still pretty early on a Friday night, but instead of hanging around down here with the crowds, we head up to our Skyloft penthouse.
Same exact room as last time, too. It all feels familiar, yet so utterly different. This time, there's no Brandy, no Ray, and no guy Naz is going to murder at the end of the day (one can hope, anyway). There's no business to attend to (that I'm aware of), nothing planned (that he tells me about), no expectations except just existing in the moment.
No expectations except for being together.
I like it so much better this way.
As soon as we reach the room and Naz opens the door, I see a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice sitting on the table, a platter of chocolate covered strawberries beside it. Smiling, I stroll over to the table, plucking a strawberry from the platter and holding it up, waving it toward Naz as he approaches.
"For someone concerned about my impending diabetes, you sure spoil me with this stuff a lot."
He smiles as he pops the top off the bottle of champagne and grabs two glasses, pouring a bit in each. He holds one out to me, keeping the other, as I take a bite of my strawberry. "I'm not in the business of denying anyone anything. I definitely don't deny myself. Sure, it might kill you someday, but I'm certainly not one to judge. Everything I do is bound to catch up to me, and when it does…" He shrugs, taking a sip of the champagne before smiling playfully. "I'm sure there will be hell to pay."
"For you?"
"Or them."
"Who's them?"
He steps toward me and I instinctively tense, glass of champagne in one hand and half-eaten strawberry in the other, as he grasps my chin, pulling my face up toward him, his thumb tracing my bottom lip. His expression changes right before my eyes, the playfulness draining as that look creeps into his eyes. That look.
The monster.
He's peeking out at me.
"Them is anybody who dares get in my way," he says, voice low, and I can't help but shiver as those words wash over me. Fear. Excitement. Terror. Exhilaration. The sensations battle for control of my body, twisting my insides and making my knees weak. I'll never for a moment doubt he means that, and as frightening as it is, knowing what he's capable of, knowing what he wouldn't hesitate to do, my sickness relishes the security. He'd kill the whole world, burn it to the ground, but that part of me believes him when he says he'd protect me from harm.
He's not bulletproof. I know he's not. But I think, now, he's grown shatter-resistant. After everything, Naz isn't an easy one to crack. Someday, when he dies, whether it happens tomorrow from a bullet or sixty years from now from old age, Naz will go out standing, fighting. Nobody will ever break him again.
His eyes scan my face, slowly and methodically, like he's studying every contour, before his gaze settles on my mouth. He licks his lips, and mine part in response, releasing a shaky exhale. My eyes drift closed as he kisses me softly, and I moan from anticipation, expecting him to deepen it, but instead I'm met with laughter against my lips.
Opening my eyes, I watch as he takes a step back, his expression once again light. The monster is gone. Naz tips his glass toward me before downing the rest of it and turning away.
"Enjoy your strawberries," he says. "I'm going to take a shower."
Fucking tease.
I gape at him until he disappears before eating the rest of my strawberry. I hear him moving around on the second floor of the suit, hear the water turn on in the bathroom. I stand here, listening to the noise for a moment, scowling.
I should stay down here.
Really.
I shouldn't follow him.
Shouldn't bother him.
It's not like he asked me to come along.
Not like he invited me.
So I should stay right where I am. I should drink all the champagne and eat all the strawberries and just say fuck him, the teasing bastard.
I should.
I don't.
I guzzle what's in my glass before setting it down and heading for the stairs. I tread lightly, tiptoeing toward the upstairs bathroom. The door is cracked open, and it doesn't make a sound when I slowly push on it to slink inside. The lights are dim, the air hazy from the steam from the shower, the mirrors and glass coated in a thin layer of fog, but I can make him out standing beneath the spray.
His back is to me as he lathers his hair with shampoo, the strong, all male, all Naz scent wafting toward me. Jesus, the man always smells as good as he looks. It's sinful, like just breathing him in is enough for a girl to need to shout out some Hail Mary's.
