Torture to Her Soul
Page 116
Naz presses me up against the massive glass wall that looks down onto the first floor of the suite. The material of my dress slaps against it, adhering to it just like it clings to my trembling body.
He says not a word—not a syllable, not a sigh, not even a whisper against my skin, as he yanks down my panties and lifts me up enough to thrust inside of me. I gasp, and he pauses at the sound, before steadying himself, stabilizing me there, to pound into me. He fucks me so hard, so brutal, I almost cry, the mix of pleasure and pain intense, unexpected. Jesus, I wasn't prepared for this. One arm pins me to him at the waist while his other hand finds my throat.
I suck in a deep breath, shakily exhaling when my lungs feel like they might burst, over and over. It's torture, waiting for something, waiting for the dizzying sensation of him blocking the flow of air, waiting for his fingertips to press against my jugular. I'm distracted, waiting… waiting… waiting… for the asphyxiation.
It doesn't come.
I feel like screaming.
"Naz…" My voice is a growl. "Please."
I don't even know why I'm begging. Do I want him to do it? I don't know. I don't know. I just wish he'd put me out of misery, Jesus Christ, just do it or don't. The taunting is too much, the imminent threat of his hand on my throat stirring up the adrenaline until my vision blurs.
Fuck, I don't know what I want.
He seems to know though, his hand shifting, squeezing just enough to make me gasp for air.
Within seconds, orgasm rocks through me, and he lets go as I suck in a deep breath, crying out his name. He thrusts into me so hard I'm surprised the glass can sustain the force, surprised it doesn't crack under the weight of the two of us, as his body shudders.
He drops me fast, letting go of me and backing away. I'm caught off guard, hitting the tile with a bang. I wince and look over at Naz, watching in shock as he strokes himself, fast, hard, coming down the shower drain.
It's been a long time since he's done that, pulled out like that, coming somewhere except for inside of me. A long, long time. His eyes are closed, mouth parted, head tilted back as his breaths come out haggard. He's stunning, there's no doubt about it, but the sight of him nags at me.
Something's wrong.
He's holding back.
After his body calms down, he opens his eyes, dropping his gaze to look at me. The faded, distracted look from earlier is back, his brow furrowing at the sight of me on the shower floor. "Are you okay?"
I nod slowly. "I think I broke my ass, but otherwise…"
He reaches for me and pulls me to my feet, dragging me back under the spray of water. He strips me, yanking off my heavy, soaked dress, discarding it in the corner of the shower, before his hands explore my skin. He caresses and massages, grabbing the soap and gently washing every inch of me before shampooing my hair.
I just stand there, letting him do it.
He doesn't speak, but this feel a hell of a lot like an apology.
Afterward, he takes a washcloth and runs it across my cheeks, wiping the skin around my eyes. I can see the black smears on the cloth from my makeup. "I look like a raccoon, don't I?"
A smile touches his lips. "You're beautiful, baby. Don't fret it."
I roll my eyes, but he doesn't give me much of a chance to argue. He shuts off the water and opens the shower door, stepping out. Grabbing a robe from the hook on the wall nearby, he drapes it around me, rubbing my arms as he kisses my forehead.
"Why don't you go pour us some more champagne?" he suggests. "I'll be right behind you."
I head downstairs, just as he told me to.
It takes him a while to follow.
Naz is distant the rest of the night. Again, he's here physically, but his thoughts are far away. I ask him more than once if he's okay, but he just repeats his mantra. Don't worry about it.
Naturally, I worry.
And worry.
And worry.
I lay in bed that night, still worrying.
I fall asleep worrying.
I dream about it.
I'm worried.
Something jolts me awake in the middle of the night. The room is dark, shadows befalling everything, the only light from the crack between the curtains letting the glow from the strip shine through. I'm on my back, and roll over, blinking away the sleep, but freeze when I see Naz's side of the bed is empty.
This isn't the first time I've woken up to find him missing.
Every time, I hope it'll be the last.
Sighing, I sit up, rubbing my eyes. Working, I assume. I guess he's here for work, after all. I'm about to climb to my feet when something shifts, startling me. I gasp, faintly making out the form in the darkness. Naz is sitting on the edge of the bed, still stark naked, his head down as he stares at the floor, hands clasped in front of him.
It takes a moment for my heart to calm down, for me to push back the swell of alarm. I swallow thickly, my voice cracking when I call his name. "Ignazio?"
He lets out a deep sigh, shifting position, turning his head my way. I can't make out much of his face in this darkness, but I know what it would look like if I could.
Troubled.
"I was a fool, Karissa." He speaks low, just above a whisper, the words strained. "Such a fucking fool."
"Why?" I pull the blanket up around me as my chest starts aching, tightening at his distressed tone. "What did you do?"
"Nothing," he says, sighing again before amending. "Everything."
He says not a word—not a syllable, not a sigh, not even a whisper against my skin, as he yanks down my panties and lifts me up enough to thrust inside of me. I gasp, and he pauses at the sound, before steadying himself, stabilizing me there, to pound into me. He fucks me so hard, so brutal, I almost cry, the mix of pleasure and pain intense, unexpected. Jesus, I wasn't prepared for this. One arm pins me to him at the waist while his other hand finds my throat.
I suck in a deep breath, shakily exhaling when my lungs feel like they might burst, over and over. It's torture, waiting for something, waiting for the dizzying sensation of him blocking the flow of air, waiting for his fingertips to press against my jugular. I'm distracted, waiting… waiting… waiting… for the asphyxiation.
It doesn't come.
I feel like screaming.
"Naz…" My voice is a growl. "Please."
I don't even know why I'm begging. Do I want him to do it? I don't know. I don't know. I just wish he'd put me out of misery, Jesus Christ, just do it or don't. The taunting is too much, the imminent threat of his hand on my throat stirring up the adrenaline until my vision blurs.
Fuck, I don't know what I want.
He seems to know though, his hand shifting, squeezing just enough to make me gasp for air.
Within seconds, orgasm rocks through me, and he lets go as I suck in a deep breath, crying out his name. He thrusts into me so hard I'm surprised the glass can sustain the force, surprised it doesn't crack under the weight of the two of us, as his body shudders.
He drops me fast, letting go of me and backing away. I'm caught off guard, hitting the tile with a bang. I wince and look over at Naz, watching in shock as he strokes himself, fast, hard, coming down the shower drain.
It's been a long time since he's done that, pulled out like that, coming somewhere except for inside of me. A long, long time. His eyes are closed, mouth parted, head tilted back as his breaths come out haggard. He's stunning, there's no doubt about it, but the sight of him nags at me.
Something's wrong.
He's holding back.
After his body calms down, he opens his eyes, dropping his gaze to look at me. The faded, distracted look from earlier is back, his brow furrowing at the sight of me on the shower floor. "Are you okay?"
I nod slowly. "I think I broke my ass, but otherwise…"
He reaches for me and pulls me to my feet, dragging me back under the spray of water. He strips me, yanking off my heavy, soaked dress, discarding it in the corner of the shower, before his hands explore my skin. He caresses and massages, grabbing the soap and gently washing every inch of me before shampooing my hair.
I just stand there, letting him do it.
He doesn't speak, but this feel a hell of a lot like an apology.
Afterward, he takes a washcloth and runs it across my cheeks, wiping the skin around my eyes. I can see the black smears on the cloth from my makeup. "I look like a raccoon, don't I?"
A smile touches his lips. "You're beautiful, baby. Don't fret it."
I roll my eyes, but he doesn't give me much of a chance to argue. He shuts off the water and opens the shower door, stepping out. Grabbing a robe from the hook on the wall nearby, he drapes it around me, rubbing my arms as he kisses my forehead.
"Why don't you go pour us some more champagne?" he suggests. "I'll be right behind you."
I head downstairs, just as he told me to.
It takes him a while to follow.
Naz is distant the rest of the night. Again, he's here physically, but his thoughts are far away. I ask him more than once if he's okay, but he just repeats his mantra. Don't worry about it.
Naturally, I worry.
And worry.
And worry.
I lay in bed that night, still worrying.
I fall asleep worrying.
I dream about it.
I'm worried.
Something jolts me awake in the middle of the night. The room is dark, shadows befalling everything, the only light from the crack between the curtains letting the glow from the strip shine through. I'm on my back, and roll over, blinking away the sleep, but freeze when I see Naz's side of the bed is empty.
This isn't the first time I've woken up to find him missing.
Every time, I hope it'll be the last.
Sighing, I sit up, rubbing my eyes. Working, I assume. I guess he's here for work, after all. I'm about to climb to my feet when something shifts, startling me. I gasp, faintly making out the form in the darkness. Naz is sitting on the edge of the bed, still stark naked, his head down as he stares at the floor, hands clasped in front of him.
It takes a moment for my heart to calm down, for me to push back the swell of alarm. I swallow thickly, my voice cracking when I call his name. "Ignazio?"
He lets out a deep sigh, shifting position, turning his head my way. I can't make out much of his face in this darkness, but I know what it would look like if I could.
Troubled.
"I was a fool, Karissa." He speaks low, just above a whisper, the words strained. "Such a fucking fool."
"Why?" I pull the blanket up around me as my chest starts aching, tightening at his distressed tone. "What did you do?"
"Nothing," he says, sighing again before amending. "Everything."
