Monster in His Eyes(37)

"Looks like everything's in order," she says finally. "Most of your  final grades have already posted... we're just waiting on philosophy. As  long as you graze by with at least a low B in that, your GPA will be  high enough to maintain your scholarship, no problem."

She makes it sound so simple. All I need is a B. I'll be lucky as hell  if I even get close to that. But I need a 3.5 GPA if I want my tuition  paid next year, so a B it has to be.

Dear God, please let me have gotten a B.

"Great," I say. "Is that it?"

"Yes, that's it."

I'm up out of the chair, mumbling my thanks as I bolt for the door. I  probably look rude, but I'm too exhausted to care. My thoughts are a  flurry of math equations and percentages as I stroll along on my way  back to the dorm. I come to the conclusion that to get my B, I need to  make an 89 on the final exam.

When I get to the room, Paul's not around. Thank God. Melody is putting  on lipstick, babbling something about going out with him to celebrate,  but I barely listen. I drop my bag on the floor and take off my pants,  not even bothering to put any more on as I fall straight into my bed.





Something startles me awake.

I sit straight up in bed, disoriented, like I've been ripped from a  dream I can't quite recall. The room is a pitch-black haze of confusion.  It's late.

Really late.

A glance at the clock tells me it's one o'clock in the morning. A glance  at Melody's empty bed tells me she still isn't home. Rubbing my eyes, I  stand up and stagger to the bathroom. As I'm washing my hands, I hear  the door in my room and quiet footsteps along the floor.

Sighing, I turn off the water and dry my hands. Guess I'm not alone  anymore. I just hope she didn't bring Paul home with her. The last thing  I want to find is a guy in there.

I turn off the bathroom light and step back into the room, blinking,  attempting to adjust to the darkness, surprised she didn't turn on the  light. I glance toward Melody's bed and pause, brow furrowing.

It's still empty.

I hear a noise to the right of me, a footstep in my direction. My heart  stalls, rendering me immobile, before frantically pounding so hard it's  like a machine gun going off in my chest. I start to turn that way when  arms roughly grab me, yanking me toward them in the shadows.

A scream bubbles up inside of me, barely bursting out, when a large  glove-clad hand clamps down over my mouth, silencing it right away. I'm  pinned.

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck.

My knees are giving out on me, my vision is blurred with tears, and if I  hadn't just gone to the bathroom I'd be pissing myself right now. I try  to remember everything I've learned about self-defense, but my mind is  scrambled.

I'm fucked.

I struggle against the arms, screaming into the palm, when I hear a soft chuckle. "Relax, sweetheart."

I nearly hit the floor when I sag with relief. Naz. He loosens his hold  enough for me to swing around to face him, meeting his eyes in the  darkness. My heart is still pounding, my stomach churning from the rush  of adrenaline and fear. I need to purge it from my system before I throw  up.

I lash out, my fists hitting his chest, punching him hard. He laughs,  still amused as he snatches ahold of my hands. He's wearing a pair of  black leather gloves. "Or don't."

I try to shove away from him, but he wraps his arms around me, laughing even harder.

"You scared me!" I growl. "Jesus, Naz, you can't do that to me!"

"I'd apologize," he whispers, "but I'm not sorry. I like it when you fight back."

"I just... my God!" I pry out of his arms and grasp my chest, willing my heart to calm down. "How the hell did you get in here?"

"I just walked right in. Your security around here isn't very secure,  Karissa. The girl in the lobby looked right at me and didn't say a word.  And not to mention the fact that you left your door unlocked. The place  practically has a sign on it that says 'come inside' so I thought I'd  come inside, and maybe..." He reaches out, brushing his hand along my  cheek before swiping his thumb along my bottom lip. "...come inside."

Rolling my eyes, I smack his hand away. He laughs yet again, whispering, "feisty".

I want to be mad. I want to be furious. He just broke into my room and  scared the daylights out of me. But I can't make myself be angry when  all I feel is elation at the sound of his laughter, the sound of his  happiness.

"You're an ass," I mutter. "I can't believe you just did that to me."                       
       
           



       

He shrugs, stepping by me to stroll through the room as he pulls off his  gloves. I watch incredulously when he sits down on my bed. "What can I  say? You've been busy, and I've missed you."

I have been. I haven't seen him much the past two weeks, and damn if I haven't missed him, too.

I step toward him, pausing in front of him. A sliver of moonlight  streams through the nearby window, illuminating where I stand. I'm  suddenly acutely aware of the fact that I'm not wearing any pants. Why  does he always catch me when I'm wearing the unsexiest panties? I tug on  the hem of my shirt, trying to cover them.

His expression shifts, the amusement fading when he grabs my hand. "Come on, don't be like that. Don't hide from me."

He scoots back onto the bed and tugs me to him as he kicks off his  shoes. I hear the clunk as they hit the floor. He pulls me onto his lap,  and I straddle him, my arms around his neck as he slowly starts  unbuttoning his shirt.

My heart is racing again, thumping in my chest, but this time it's not  fear that does me in. I watch in the dim lighting as he sheds himself of  his shirt before meeting my gaze.

I can see the want in his eyes; the same yearn brewing in my gut. I kiss  his mouth, his cheek, his chin, before working my way further down. He  leans back as I reach his chest. I can feel the ridges of his scars as I  kiss the old wounds, caressing the skin with my lips. "What happened to  you, Naz?"

I place a last kiss on the biggest scar, not far from his heart, before meeting his eyes again.

"I lost my life," he says quietly. "And then I almost died."

I want to ask him what the difference is, if his heart is still beating  how was his life taken from him, but the look he gives stalls me,  silencing my words before I can say too much. I've never seen him so  vulnerable. Those eyes are dark, so fucking dark, it's like a hurricane  brewing inside of him.

I wonder how he survives such turmoil.

I don't ask. I don't think he has an answer. I just wrap my arms around  him as he kisses me. Naz pulls me down onto the bed, shifting around so  I'm lying beside him. It's sweet, his hands gentle as they remove my  clothes, exploring my bare flesh with his fingertips. A subtle sadness  seems to coat every movement. The sudden urge to make him feel good  overwhelms me.

I want that laughter back.

I want to make him happy.

I want him to be happy with me.

"Tell me how you like it," I whisper, trying to keep my nerves from showing in my voice. "You can be rough. I'll fight back."

He cracks a smile at that as he rids himself of the rest of his clothes, shifting our bodies again so he's on top of me.

"Next time," he says. "Tonight isn't for playing.

"What's it for?"

"Loving."

He pushes inside of me slowly, his lips meeting mine again as his body  weight presses upon me. It's slow and sweet. It's all pleasure and not a  stitch of pain.

He's making love to me.

My legs wrap around his waist as he thrusts, filling me deeply before  pulling back out, over and over. He holds me to him, sweaty skin gliding  together as he gives me all of him, gritting his teeth and groaning  against my neck as he comes inside of me.

We lay there afterward, me in his arms, my head on his chest. He holds  me against him like I'm delicate, one hand splayed out on my back, the  other resting on my head as he strokes my hair. I haven't said a word.  I'm not sure there are any words to say. I'm afraid talking about it  will cheapen it, rationalize something that should just be felt instead.

Less thinking, more feeling.

I'm starting to get it now.

He's just as quiet. If not for the way he's touching me, I'd think he  was asleep. I lay there, starting to doze off, when his soft voice  carries through the silence. "It was a 12-gage shotgun. They spent hours  pulling all the buckshot from my chest, but it didn't matter, because  my heart was shattered."

"Literally?" I ask quietly. I can't fathom it. A shotgun blast to the chest. Who would do such a thing to him?

He sighs, holding me tighter, his voice barely a whisper. "Might as well have been."





Melody's home.

I see her-or rather, hear her-as soon as I open my eyes. Snores rattle  her chest, drawn out and obnoxious, so loud I'm startled awake for the  second time.

The arm around me is heavy, the body pressed tightly against mine warm. I  don't know why I'm so surprised he's still here. I almost expected last  night to be a figment of my imagination. His hand gently strokes the  skin on my lower stomach, around my navel, dipping slightly lower toward  my sensitive bits when I stir. "Good morning."