Monster in His Eyes(48)

"Why?"

"Because I had a quarter of a million riding on him."

I gape at him as he stands up. He offers me his hand, and I take it. We  don't say goodbye, don't hang around to celebrate, don't even wait for  the official announcement of the winner. We leave the arena, heading  back into the casino, and make our way back up to the penthouses.

I let him dwell in silence during the journey, but once we're back in  the suite, I can't take it anymore. My head is a frantic jumble of  thoughts, puzzle pieces I can't quite fit together.

He turns to me right inside the door, his expression serious. It's dark,  the light so dim he looks like little more than an eerie shadowy form. I  can barely make out his eyes. I want to ask him questions, but the  words are intimidated.

He knows me, though.

I know he does.

"I was married once," he says quietly, unprompted, answering what I long  to ask. "It was a long time ago-a long, long time ago. Feels like  forever, like another lifetime. I was a different person then, a  different man. I didn't have much, but I had her …  and then I didn't have  her anymore."

My feelings are at odds with each other. I'm not sure what to say. "What happened?"

"I told you what happened," he says, and as soon as I hear those words, I  know. He lost his family. "She was only eighteen. She didn't deserve  what happened to her. She should've survived …  they should've survived."

"They?"

He hesitates for a moment, as if maybe he's not going to answer, but the  response finally leaves his lips in a whisper. "She was pregnant."

I can't breathe again, and it's not from a hand around my throat. It's  the lump of emotion that I can't swallow down that blocks the air from  entering my lungs. A baby.

He lets out an exaggerated sigh. "They died, and I survived. I was  younger than you are right now …  young and dumb, didn't think these  things could ever happen to me. But I'm not naïve anymore, Karissa. I'm  not going to lose another. I'm not going to make those mistakes again."

"Who could do such a thing?"

"A coward," he says. "A fool. He deserved to be punished, but the  authorities let him walk away. They let him go. So I vowed someday I'd  make him pay."

"Have you?" I ask quietly.

"No," he says, taking a step toward me. "Not yet."

I can see him better now that he's closer, can see the sadness lurking  in his eyes. I don't think twice before reaching out and cupping his  cheek, feeling the coarse, bristly hair against my palm. Naz doesn't  like to be touched much …  he prefers to do the touching, to be the one in  control, even if it's only for show. I may not know everything about  his history, but that is something I do know. It's something I've  learned being with him.

So I expect him to pull away, to grasp ahold of my hand, to move from my  reach or divert my attention, but instead he just stands there, staring  down at me, letting my fingertips trail along his jawline and explore  his face.

"I won't let it happen again," he repeats. "You're special to me, Karissa. I didn't expect you to be."

"What did you expect?"

"I don't know what I expected," he says, "but I didn't expect your innocence."

"I'm not that innocent."

His expression softens. "You're a cute little kitten."

I roll my eyes. "I am not."

"You are," he says. "You may growl, and hiss, and meow, and maybe  sometimes you bring out those claws, but I know how to make you purr.  I'm the king of the jungle. I'm the predator."

"Does that make me your prey?"

He shakes his head. "That makes you my queen."

I caress his face before threading my fingers through his hair. "You make me feel like one."

He says nothing in response, and I say nothing else, as he finally pulls  my hands away from him, linking his fingers with mine to pull me toward  the stairs. He takes me up to the second floor, to the master bedroom,  where he slowly, and carefully, strips me out of my clothes. I nervously  stand in front of him naked as his eyes scan my body.

After a moment, he turns and strides away.

My brow furrows. I hear him in the closet, and he returns holding one of  his neckties. I stand still as he walks around behind me. I'm waiting  for him to try to tie my wrists together again, thinking maybe he'll go  for the ankles, even preparing for him to wrap it around my neck, but I  let out a soft gasp when he slips it around my eyes instead. The room is  cloaked in darkness as he blindfolds me, tying it securely in place.

A yelp escapes my throat when I'm suddenly jolted, lifted up in the air.  Naz picks me up, cradling me in his arms, and I blindly reach for him,  clinging to him. He lays me down on the bed, whispering for me to relax.                       
       
           



       

My instinct is to fight it, to tense up. It's alarming being in the  dark. I try to relax, but my body is coiled like a spring. Every touch  is like a jolt, the sensations heightened from the anticipation.

Closing my eyes, succumbing to the blackness, I lay there as he has his  way with me. He kisses and caresses every inch of skin, bringing me to  the brink again and again. He's slow and gentle, sweet and genuine, as  he whispers how much he loves me when he makes love to me.

I paw at him, clinging to him, kissing and nipping at whatever skin my  mouth can reach. I have no idea if it's his chest, his chin, or his  cheek. It doesn't matter, though. It's him, and he's everything.

Every part of him.

It goes on and on until we're both sweaty and satiated. Naz pulls the  blindfold from my eyes as he hovers on top of me, still deep inside of  me. I blink away the darkness, adjusting to the dim lighting of the  room, and watch as his lips curve. "You're mine forever," he whispers.

I return his smile. "I'm yours."

"Never forget it."

"I won't."

He pulls out of me, pulling me to him in the bed. It doesn't take long for sleep to pull me away from him.

I sleep deeply, waking up in the middle of the night to find myself  alone in the bed. I call out his name but get no answer. His clothes are  gone from the bedroom floor, his shoes aren't here, and neither is his  wallet.

He's not in the suite anymore.

I wander between rooms for a bit before making my way back to the  bedroom. I wrap myself up in the sheets, snatching Naz's pillow from his  side of the bed. It's cool to the touch, smelling a lot like him.

I drift off again. Something jolts me awake much later, sunshine  streaming through the window, bathing the bed in a warm glow. Opening my  eyes, I see Naz when he steps into the bedroom. Yesterday's clothes  hang from his frame, slightly disheveled.

He looks exhausted.

"Hey," I mumble, sitting up in bed and clutching the sheet around me.

He pulls off his shirt. "Good morning."

Naz strips right in front of me and says nothing else before  disappearing from the room. The faint sound of water running reaches my  ears after a moment, the shower starting up in the bathroom. Curious, I  slip out of bed and join him.

Naz stands under the spray in the shower, head tilted back and eyes  closed as the water pelts him from all angles. I stop just outside the  reach of the spray, taking a moment to admire him. Water runs down his  strong frame as steam surrounds him like a fog. His chiseled jawline  accents a stern expression. Despite his exhaustion, his arousal is  obvious, his cock hard and twitching like he could easily go twelve  rounds with me, right here, right now.

Something tells me, from the look in his eyes when he looks over at me,  that a bout with him today would be as ruthless as the brutality we  witnessed in the boxing ring.

He shifts position, motioning with his head for me to come closer. I  step under the spray, flinching from the scalding water, as he wraps his  arms around me.

"Where'd you go last night?" I ask quietly.

"Work," he says. "Had something to take care of."

He reaches past me to grab some shampoo. It's the little bottle provided  by the hotel, but I can tell it's not the cheap shit I've been  subjected to at the hole-in-the-wall places I stayed in over the years  in between houses with my mother.

He squeezes some onto his palm before setting it aside. I start to step  away from him, not wanting to get in his way of showering, when he runs  his hands through my hair. I freeze, stalled in place by the sensation,  as he lathers the shampoo up in my hair. His touch is firm, sending  tingles down my spine, as he massages my scalp. My eyes drift closed, a  soft moan escaping my lips.

He doesn't stop there. I can do nothing but stand there as the man  washes me from head to toe, lathering soap on every inch of my body  before rinsing it away. He says not a word, doesn't even look me in the  eyes again until he's finished. His eyes trail along my skin once I'm  clean, lingering on the fading bruises along my neck. Reaching up, he  brushes his fingertips along them, but he still makes no comment.