Monster in His Eyes(45)

I'm fucked.

I can't run. I can barely shuffle, making it only a few steps before I  nearly fall. I cry out as I trip, but Naz grabs ahold of me, tossing me  right back onto the bed before I can hit the floor, face-first.

He laughs, forcing me back into position. "Did you really think you could get away from me that easily?"

He's mocking me, like my attempts to escape are feeble, like I'm weak,  like I hadn't just exerted damn near all of my energy doing what I just  did.

He might not hurt me physically, but fuck if that didn't sting.

Adrenaline surges inside of me, my anger and embarrassment overwhelming.  He wants a fight? I'll give him one. I struggle with everything in me,  his tie burning as it rubs my wrists, the knots not loosening even the  slightest bit.

"Untie me," I demand as he pushes inside of me again. I want to say  more, but the sensation renders me momentarily speechless. Fuck, he  feels good …

"Untie yourself."

"I'm trying." I wiggle against the restraint some more. "Please? Just loosen the knots."

He laughs again. Laughs. As good as he feels inside of me, he's starting to piss me off.

"You know, fine, whatever," I growl. "You think you're so tough? You  can't even fight fair. You're the weak one here. Fucking coward.  Pathetic."

I don't know where the outburst comes from, but it works. Naz grabs my  arms roughly, pulling on the restraint as he unknots my wrists. As soon  as my hands are free, he flips me around so I'm on my back and he's on  top of me.

I meet his eyes. Anxiety brews inside of me, mixing with a tinge of  excitement. His expression is terrifying. He says nothing, but it's  written all over his face.

He's going to make me eat my words.

My legs are hauled over his broad shoulders as he ruthlessly hammers my  insides, pounding and pounding. His hand is on my throat, pressing  against my jugular, making me lightheaded as he brutally fucks me.                       
       
           



       

And fucks me.

And fucks me.

His grip is so strong I think I'll still feel it tomorrow, handprints  embedded in my flesh in deep shades of black and blue, as he ravishes my  body, obliterating my insides. I fight him, trying to drop my legs,  each thrust painfully deep. I claw at his hand, pushing against his  body, struggling in his grasp. My nails dig into his skin, leaving marks  on his armor, drawing blood that doesn't faze him a bit.

I seem to be more unnerved by it than him.

No matter what I do he subdues me, so much stronger, so much tougher. I  can't overpower him. I can't win. My frustration mounts at that  realization until I ball my hands into fists and punch his chest with  everything in me.

I hit him so hard I hear it, hit him so hard my knuckles hurt. As soon  as my fist connects, the force seems to ricochet through both of our  bodies, tensing my muscles.

Oh shit.

He snatches my hand as he leans down to me, so close our noses touch. My  heart races. I'm expecting venom. Instead, he startles me with a kiss.

"That's it, sweetheart," he says against my lips. "Fight me before I fuck you to death."

I think he might be capable of it, but I've gone too far to admit that  out loud. I'm worked up, on emotional overload. "You're not man enough."

He groans, kissing me again, his lips just as brutal as the rest of him.  Jesus, he likes this. It unnerves me for a second. Sex with him is  always passionate, but this? This is intense. He's in complete control  of my body, but I can tell he's lost control of himself. This isn't Naz.  This is the monster, fully unsheathed.

This is Ignazio Vitale.

He loves me. Still, I try to remember. I don't ever want to forget. But  this man battering my body, the one clutching my throat, fucks me like  he hates me, like my life is in his hands alone.

Like he has no qualms ending me if he sees fit.

It's treacherous.

It's terrifying.

So why am I enjoying it so much?

"Oh God," I whisper, my voice strained, my vision blurring. I can feel  the tears building and the pressure mounting …  I feel like I'm about to  explode beneath him. I'm a live wire, sparking everywhere he touches.  It's electrifying. My hands find their way into his hair, gripping the  locks, yanking on it. I don't know whether to push or pull, beg him to  get away from me or give me even more.

Closing my eyes, my back arches, thrusting my breasts against his chest  as the convulsions violently rip through me. My voice escapes me in a  shrill scream, strangled by his hand on my throat, but loud enough to  make my ears ring. He's unaffected, though-doesn't slow down, doesn't  take it easy.

The orgasm tears it all away from me, taking my apprehension, my  anxiety, and my will to fight. I drift away in a cloud of ecstasy, my  mind gone, my body finally succumbing to him. I don't struggle anymore,  even though he's still rough, even though he's physically asking for it.

Oh God, he broke me.

He broke me.

But I had no idea broken could feel so good.

Tears leak from the corner of my eyes, ones he kisses away as he  whispers the word, "remember." I know I could get him to stop with a  simple word, and maybe that's why I don't say it. I don't want him to  stop. I want to be his. I want to be his everything. I want him to take  me, and make me, and use me, and abuse me, because he thinks he has  control and I know now that's what he craves. I want to play his game  with him, because I know one mere syllable from my lips will stop him  dead in his tracks, and if that's not real power, I don't know what is.

Hours, or days. Minutes, or seconds. I don't know how long he keeps it  up, how long he plays this game of his. I just remember existing in the  moment until the world fades around me, sleep pulling me away.

And then I'm roused awake.

The room is eerily dark, bathed in a sort of neon glow, as the lights  from the strip shine in through the window, the curtains drawn open. I  sit up, wincing at the stab of pain. My body is sore and achy; I'm naked  and grimy. I feel like I ran a marathon and collapsed straight into  bed.

I'm not even sure I can walk anymore.

My fucking legs are numb.

Across the room, bathed in green and gold light from the glow of the  building, stands Naz, staring out the window, fully dressed.

Did he even undress?

He stands completely still, like he's a fixture of the room. The only  sign of life is the rise and fall of his chest, subtle breathing,  innate. He's not doing it. It's just happening.

In fact, he's not doing anything.

I thought he broke me in the moment, but I was wrong. I think he woke me  up instead, like my life so far has been nothing but a monotone dream  and he showed me what it's really like to open your eyes. I've never  felt so alive. But broken is what I see when I look at him. It's like a  thread was cut, something severed, and disconnecting the man I know from  the body in front of me.                       
       
           



       

The monster came out. I saw him. I played with him. I welcomed him inside of me, and I didn't push him away.

I think, looking at Naz, that the monster decided to stay.

"Naz?" I call out, but he doesn't react, like he didn't hear me. My voice drops lower, a concerned whisper. "Ignazio?"

He moves.

His head turns, his eyes regarding me from across the room. After one  quick glance back out of the window, he strolls toward the bed. He  doesn't speak, slowly unbuttoning his shirt as he approaches. I see it  when he gets closer, the tear in the fabric, the hints of blood streaked  on the sleeves. I gape at it as he pulls his shirt off, seeing the deep  gashes and claw marks raking down his strong arms.

I'm alarmed. I think I might've hurt him more than he hurt me.

He undresses in silence before climbing in bed beside me, shifting his  body so he's on top of me. He nuzzles into my neck, settling between my  thighs. Not a word spoken, he eases inside of me.

The first few strokes are gentle, followed up by an uncomfortable deep  one. I gasp, my voice strained as I cling to him and croak, "yellow."

He slows his thrusts until he's barely moving, covering my body with  his, making love to me. I feel him in every cell in my body, listening  as he pants and moans into my neck, his warm breath fanning against my  skin. He's usually quiet during sex, unless he's teasing me, but I hear  him now …  hear his shaky breaths and strained moans. I wrap my arms  around him tightly, twirling the soft curls at his nape around my  fingers. It's sweet, sweet... so fucking sweet... as he trails kisses  along my jawline before pulling back enough to look down at me.

He still says nothing, but the curve of his lips, the soft smile he  offers in the darkness, brightens the air between us. It's beautiful. So  beautiful.

It's everything.

He's everything.

He finishes inside of me, still staring down at me, a look of ecstasy  passing across his face that I marvel in. His lips part, eyelids  drooping, as the softest whisper of a moan escapes in the form of my  name. "Karissa."