Monster in His Eyes(19)

My eyes bounce between the sections of the room. I feel like I just got a peek of Naz's soul.

It's a lot more complex than I anticipated.

I make my way over to the entertainment center and scan the movie  titles. I recognize some, but most I've never heard of. He has a lot of  foreign movies, a lot of black and white flicks, with a few cult  classics thrown in. Not the typical action I expect to see, no Die Hard  or Lethal Weapon, no Terminator or Rambo. On the same token, there  aren't any chick flicks, either.

And they're all in alphabetical order. Weird.

I'm instantly curious about his books, wondering what a man like him  reads, when I hear his footsteps behind me entering the den. I turn to  face him just as he unknots his tie and slips it off, tossing it on the  end table beside the black leather couch. His jacket is already gone,  his shirt no longer tucked in, his shoes missing. He unbuttons his top  two buttons before making work of his cuffs and pushing his sleeves up  to his elbows.

Jesus, he looks sexy, still dressy but unshaven and unkempt. Ruffled physically, even if nothing can make him that way mentally.

"Find anything?" he asks as he approaches.

I turn back to the movies, sighing. "No Pretty Woman?"

"No." I can hear the smile in his voice. "I'm afraid not."

I scan the titles again as he walks up behind me, snaking an arm around  my waist, and pulling me back to him. I relax into his touch, grasping  his forearm as he leans down and kisses my neck. My eyes flutter closed,  his lips soft and warm against my skin, sending tingles down my spine.                       
       
           



       

"Just pick something," he whispers. "I don't think we'll be paying it much attention, anyway."

His words prompt me to grab the first movie I see. I don't even look at  the name. Naz puts it in and presses play as I settle in on the couch  and pull off my shoes. He sits down beside me, relaxing, and wraps his  arms around me.

He's right. I don't pay attention to the movie, and I don't know if he  does, because I lie there and fall right asleep in his arms.





Darkness cloaks the room when I awaken, except for the soft glow of the  television shining on me. It's dead silent, the movie over.

A black blanket covers me, soft and fuzzy, folded in around me like a  child tucked into bed. My head is resting on one of the couch pillows,  but there's no Naz anywhere to be seen.

Yawning, I sit up and stretch, glancing around, wondering where he  disappeared to and how long I've been asleep. There's no clock in here  that I've seen. How does this man keep track of time? Reaching for my  purse, I sort through it and pull out my phone. Midnight.

I have two text messages from Melody, asking where I am, and a missed  call from my mother hours ago. I reply to Melody so she doesn't worry,  telling her I'm with an old friend and not to wait up, before putting  the phone away and standing up.

I'm nervous as I head for the doorway, hoping he doesn't mind if I go  elsewhere in his house. He's not in the living room, not in the kitchen.  I ascend the stairs, straining my ears, listening for sounds, but I  hear nothing. I creep down the dark hallway, toward the bathroom, past  closed doors. There aren't any lights on, no sign of him anywhere up  here. Pausing in the hallway, I sigh and start to turn around when  movement startles me. I yelp, jumping, when someone grabs me from  behind.

Breath fans against my cheek as the soft chuckle rings in my ear. "Did I scare you?"

I can't even answer. I swallow thickly, grasping my chest, as Naz swings  me around to him. Through the darkness, I can somewhat make out his  face, his body a mere shadow in the hallway. He changed clothes,  shirtless and barefoot, wearing nothing more than a pair of dark  sweatpants.

"Uh, yeah," I stammer, my eyes drawn to his bare chest. "I woke up and  you were gone, and it's getting late, so I thought …  uh, I thought … "

Jesus, I can hardly think looking at him. Now that I know they're there,  my eyes are drawn to his sprinkling of scars, only faintly visible,  scattered and veiled like stars in an overcast sky.

He grabs my belt loops, hooking his thumbs in them, as he tugs me toward  him, pulling me to his bedroom. "You thought we should head to bed?"

"I thought, uh … " I glance at his face, seeing the serious expression. "I thought I should go."

"You should," he says, pulling me flush against him, so close I can feel  the heat from his body warming my skin, "but do you want to?"

No.

No, I don't.

His cocky smirk tells me I don't even have to verbalize that answer. I  offer no resistance as he pulls me through his bedroom, his hands  quickly and smoothly shedding me of my clothes, leaving me even more  naked than him by the time he gets me to his bed.

Yelping, I let out a laugh as he picks me up and places me in the center  of his bed, wasting no time before settling on top of me. He kisses my  mouth, my cheek, my jaw, his lips trailing down my neck and to my chest.  I gasp, my hands running through his soft hair when his mouth finds my  breasts, his lips wrapping around a nipple and sucking on it. His teeth  graze the sensitive flesh as my back arches from the sensation.

His hands grasp my hips, pinning me onto the bed as he makes his way  down my stomach, nipping and licking, small stinging jabs ricocheting  across my skin when he sucks so hard I'm sure he's going to leave a  mark.

I don't mind if he does.

A part of me hopes he will.





Happiness is a human condition in which...

...what happens when people decide...

...a state of mind if we just...

...bullshit.



Happiness is bullshit.

Just like this stupid essay.

Sighing, I scratch out the line and tear the paper from the notebook,  crumbling it and tossing it aside. I've been working on the essay for  the good part of an hour, trying to get it written since it's due  tomorrow afternoon¸ but that's the best I can come up with.

And I don't even believe it.

It's half past one, and I'm still wearing yesterday's clothes, having  just got here sometime around noon. I should shower, and change, but the  thought of washing away Naz's scent doesn't appeal to me. I'm exhausted  from broken sleep and sore from rough sex, and I want nothing more than  to rewind a few hours and go back to the darkness and relive those  moments again and again.

That was happiness.

Happiness is being fucked so rough you can hardly breathe, can hardly  speak, can do nothing but squeal like a pig as he nails you over and  over, pushing inside of you so hard, so deep, that you can feel the man  not only with your body, but also with your soul. Happiness is waking up  the next morning, barely able to recall your own name, because the only  one that mattered in hours was his, screamed so loud your throat is  painfully raw, like the name had bled from your lips.                       
       
           



       

Something tells me Santino won't like that too much.

I rip out that page, too, and toss it in the trashcan, along with the  half dozen others I scribbled nonsense on. My eyes drift to the clock,  not because I don't know the time, but because I'm wishing it would slow  down, each tick leading me closer to Melody coming home from class.

Melody, who texted me all night and all morning, worried despite me  telling her not to worry. Melody, who is most definitely going to give  me the fifth degree like she is the Gestapo and I'm guilty of treason.

I was worried about it earlier, when Naz drove me home. He asked what  was wrong, somehow being able to tell. I said I was worried how I was  going to explain myself to Melody, and he merely shrugged and said 'tell  her or don't tell her, whatever you want'. I don't have much choice,  honestly. He didn't give me much choice.

The love bite on my throat sort of gives it all away.

Happiness is having your very first hickey, put there by a set of soft  lips that speak the smoothest words that sound like music to your ears  and whispers to your soul.

Yeah, happiness makes you speak in ridiculous riddles and create poetry worse than William McGonagall.

I toss the notebook aside and lay back on the bed, letting out an  exaggerated sigh. No sooner do I close my eyes and the door flings open.  Melody walks in as I glance that way, her expression full of alarm as  she regards me warily. "Jesus, Kissimmee, where the hell have you been?"

"I was …  out."

"No shit," she says, dropping her bag before flopping down beside me on my bed. "I figured that much when you weren't here."

"I told you not to worry."

"Yeah, well, you can't disappear all night without me worrying. You  didn't even make it back in time for your eight o'clock class!"

"How do you know?" I ask. "Your lazy ass doesn't wake up until I'm back from that one, anyway."