Monster in His Eyes(44)

"I'm down over thirty grand," Naz says. "That's probably a sign."

"A sign your good luck charm isn't as good as you thought?" a guy  jokingly calls out, a guy I recognize from the plane, the same one who  upset him on the way here. Naz doesn't humor that with a response as  he's cashed out. He slips his money away, not bothering with any  goodbyes.

Naz is halfway to me when Raymond laughs dryly. "Strike two."

That makes Naz's expression soften a bit.

He reaches me, taking my hand, and pulling me with him toward the exit.  He says nothing until we're out in the hallway alone, away from prying  eyes. He stops, turning to me, raising his eyebrows. His expression is  so serious I balk. "What did she say to you?"

"What?"

"You're looking at me like you think maybe you don't know me," he says. "What did that girl say to you?"                       
       
           



       

It stuns me how easily he reads me.

I stammer for a moment until he reaches out with both hands, cupping my cheeks and forcing me to look at him. "Tell me."

"Nothing really. She just said nobody calls you Naz, not since …  you lost your family."

I expect anger-toward her, or me, or somebody. Instead, what I see is  hurt, a slight flinch before his eyes close, like what I said stings him  so much he can't even look at me.

He stays that way for a moment, but it fades when he opens his eyes  again. He lets go of my face and grabs my hand, bringing it up to press  it against his chest. "I told you what happened."

The scars.

My chest aches at his words. Guilt nags at me for bringing it up. I  start to apologize, start to change the subject, but he silences my  words by leaning down and kissing my lips. It's soft and sweet,  unhurried, as his tongue sweeps along my bottom lip before meeting mine.  I moan into his mouth, earning a soft chuckle when he finally pulls  away.





Naz is quiet as we head upstairs, so close I can smell his cologne, yet  he feels a thousand miles away. He's lost in his mind, consumed by  thoughts I can't begin to understand.

When we make it up to the suite, there are chocolate covered  strawberries waiting on the table and a bottle of champagne chilling in a  fresh bucket of ice. He obviously planned something, but it's  disregarded as he strides right by and heads upstairs.

Wordlessly, I follow him, keeping my distance to give him some space,  but we eventually meet in the master bedroom. He steps toward me, quiet  as he speaks. "Do you love me?"

"You know I do."

"Say it," he says, his voice dropping lower. "Tell me you love me."

"I love you."

He cups my cheek. "Say it again."

"I love you."

His hand drifts lower, wrapping around my throat. "Again."

"I love you."

He squeezes lightly, not painfully, just enough to make me gasp. "Again."

My voice is barely a whisper as the words pour out of me. "I love you, Ignazio."

His expression hardens when I say his name, his eyes darkening. The  monster is peeking through, peering at me from behind his mask. He wants  to come out. He wants me to play with him.

He says nothing, though, letting go of my neck. His hand drifts lower,  down my chest and across my breasts. He gropes them through the fabric  before reaching down and grabbing the bottom of my shirt, pulling up on  it. I raise my hands in the air, letting him pull it off. He unbuttons  my pants, tugging down the zipper, and I step out of them when he pulls  them off of me.

Slowly, his eyes scan me then, from the top of my head to the tips of my  toes before trailing back up again. He meets my gaze as he takes  another step forward, standing right up against me. I can feel the heat  emanating off of him, his cologne intoxicating.

It makes me dizzy.

"If you could read my mind..." He pauses, laughing darkly. "You'd be trembling."

I nearly tremble from the insinuation. "What are you thinking?"

He steps around me, stopping behind me, and sweeps my hair out of the  way. A hand grasps my hip, pulling me back to him as he leans down to  kiss my neck.

"I'm thinking the only way you could possibly be any more perfect right  now," he says against my skin, "would be if I were fucking you so hard  the people in the lobby could hear your screams."

That does it.

I shiver, but he isn't finished yet.

"I want to push you to your limits, Karissa. Push you so hard, so far, that you hate me for it."

"I could never hate you."

As soon as I say it, his hand is around my neck again, pulling my head  up, forcing me to look back at him. "Don't say that unless you mean it."

"I mean it," I whisper. "I love you."

He stares down at me for a moment before leaning over to kiss my lips,  tugging me back so far it's almost painful so he can reach my mouth. "I  love you, too. Promise me you'll remember that."

"I promise."

"Good," he says. "Because I'm about to fuck you like I don't."

My voice is little more than a shaky breath. "Okay."

"Remember your safe words."

"I will."

He lets go of my throat, lets go of me, as he takes a step back. I stand  still, trying not to shake, and peek over my shoulder to see him  unfastening his dark tie.

"And if you really love me," he says, pulling off the tie before looking  at me again. He looks furious. The sight of his anger, the icy tone of  his voice, makes my knees weak. I'm definitely trembling now. "If you  mean it, you'll fight back."

My lips part, the response on the tip of my tongue knocked right out of  me. I gasp, alarmed, when Naz roughly grabs a hold of me and drags me to  the bed, pushing me onto my stomach.                       
       
           



       

There's nothing gentle about his hold, nothing loving, or nice, about  the man touching me. He forces my arms behind my back, wrapping the tie  tightly around my wrists, knotting them together. I struggle as he  restrains me, but he's too strong, too fast for me to physically stop  him. The moment my arms are secure, I hear him fumble with his belt, my  heart racing at the clank of the buckle.

He won't hurt me.

I know it.

He loves me.

I remember it.

But it's hard to think, hard to submit, when you've got a man double your size, a beast, a fucking monster, pinning you down.

So I don't think.

I feel.

And I feel like I need to fight him.

I kick my legs, resisting and yelling for him to get off of me. It  doesn't work. Of course it doesn't. In one ear and out the other. His  hold gets stronger, his grasp rougher. I'm his favorite toy, I know it,  and he's about to see what it takes for me to break.

I won't let him, though.

I can't.

He won't break me.

I manage to roll over onto my back, my hands beneath me, and push up  into a sit before he can think to stop me. I'm about to stand up when he  tears off his belt, making me tense.

Making me flinch.

My reaction forces him to pause for a fraction of a second, just long  enough for me to notice, before he comes at me again. He doesn't swing,  doesn't strike me, instead forcing me back onto my stomach, the belt  thrown aside, discarded. He pins me there with his body weight,  overpowering me.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I ask, a growl in my voice that  surprises even me. He doesn't answer. He doesn't speak. Short of an icy  gaze, he doesn't even acknowledge me.

His body is heavy as I buck my hips, struggling against him. He yanks my  panties down, not bothering to take them off, the fabric around my  knees making it harder to kick. An arm slips around my waist, roughly  pulling my hips off the bed, forcing me onto my knees with my ass up in  the air.

"Get off of me," I snarl, struggling in his arms and damn near escaping, but he tightens his hold.

He fumbles with his clothes, not undressing, just pulling himself from the confinement of his pants. "Make me."

"Fuck you."

The words are barely from my lips when he thrusts inside of me-so hard,  so deep, so abrupt, that I cry out because of it. My face is forced into  the mattress again and again, muffling my shrieks, as he pounds into  me. One arm stays firmly around me to lock me in place, his other hand  pressed flat on my back, between my shoulder blades. I'm pinned but I  wiggle around, shifting my hips, fighting him, until he thrusts deeply  and pulls back too far, slipping out of me.

I regret it as soon as it happens, feeling the void, the ache already  growing, but I react instinctively. It's fight or flight, and fighting  isn't working. His hold loosens, his hand leaving my back as he grasps  himself to thrust back in.

Before he can do it, I'm gone.

I slide out from beneath him, panting, and force myself up, but I didn't think it through. Fuck.