Monster in His Eyes(10)

A strange thrill soars through me when he moves from my mouth, his lips  trailing down my jaw line, finding my neck. He kisses and licks, his  teeth grazing the skin, as his hands hike up my dress, shoving it to my  waist.

I barely have time to think, to agonize over the fact that I'm pretty  sure I'm wearing plain white cotton panties that are probably not sexy  at all, when his hand slips beneath the flimsy fabric, fingertips  grazing my clit. My back arches involuntarily as a gasp escapes my  throat, the jolt of pleasure tearing through my insides, the first  lightning strike of an oncoming storm.

I'm caught in a whirlwind. There's no other way to describe it, no way  to explain it, except that I've been swept up so fast that I can no  longer even see the ground. His hands are all over me, tearing off  clothes, as his lips seek out every stitch of exposed skin.

The dress is yanked off and flung across the room, barely hitting the  floor before he's leaving a searing trail of kisses down my stomach.  Slipping his hands beneath me, he makes speedy work of my bra, tearing  it off.

He grasps the sides of my panties, and I lift up instinctively when he  tugs them down. My knees find one another, drawn together like magnets,  as my hands cover my breasts, timidly shielding my naked body from his  view as he sits back. He regards me warily, seeming to hesitate for a  fraction of a second when he sees how I'm laying there, but it doesn't  deter him from pulling his shirt off. His hands make work of his pants,  unbuckling the belt and unzipping them, the sound seeming to echo  through the quiet room.

It makes my heart race faster than before, so frenzied my vision blurs  when he pulls them off along with his boxers, leaving him just as naked  as I am.

I can't look.

I can't look.

I can't help it.

I look.

I have to.

He pries my legs apart and moves to the space between them. My eyes are  drawn down his broad chest, following the trail of shadowy hair along  his toned stomach, straight to his cock. My eyes widened when I catch  sight of it.

He plans to fit that thing inside of me?

I only get a brief glimpse, a murky silhouette in the darkness as he  grasps ahold of his cock and strokes it, before I feel it pressing  against me. My eyes drift closed as he rubs the head of it against my  clit, sending those tiny jolts of electricity through me.

"I'll take it easy on you," he says as he pushes inside of me for the first time, moving slowly, covering my body with his.

Don't, a part of me screams, the animal inside trying to claw its way  out, but I swallow the word down, almost terrified to verbalize it. I  don't know what he means, and I'm already in way, way over my head as it  is. I feel like a virgin all over again, except I wasn't nearly as  nervous back then. I was just handing over my body then, letting them  caress my skin, but I have a feeling this man's planning to go much  deeper than that with me.

He pulls out before pushing back in again, moving agonizingly slow,  letting my body adjust, but I don't think that's possible. I don't think  I can ever get used to him.

"If you want me to stop, just tell me," he says, "and I will."

"Should we … " My voice is a strained whisper. "I mean, should I have a safe word or something?"                       
       
           



       

I've watched movies, I've read books, and I'm not sure how kinky this man gets.

He stalls mid-thrust, pulling back to look at me, his eyebrow curving. I  can see the twinkle in his eyes, amusement, the monster intrigued by my  question. "Do you want one?"

"I, uh …  do I need one?"

He seems to consider that for a moment, halfway inside of me, before  shaking his head and pushing into me, a little harder this time, making  my breath hitch.

"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.