I shouldn't find his words as hot as I do, but they spark something inside of me, tingles engulfing my entire body, from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. It's emotional, an overwhelming honesty, that I can't restrain from tumbling from my lips. "I want to be."
"You are," he says, stroking my clit as he fucks me harder… and harder… and harder with each thrust of his hips. "I knew it the first time I saw that timid smile and those wide, innocent eyes. It was wrong… fuck, it was so wrong of me to want it, to want you, but I couldn't resist."
His voice is strained, the words coming out like breathless panting.
"I thought I could play with you a bit, and let you go, but once I had you, Karissa, I had to keep you. I couldn't walk away."
"Then don't," I whisper, not sure if it's loud enough for him to even hear, but he squeezes me tighter to him, stroking my clit faster, fucking me deeper, as he whispers back in my ear.
"I won't," he says. "I can't. You're mine now."
His fingers work their magic. I come apart in his arms, locked in his embrace, captive beneath him, but I've never felt so free before as I do in that moment, when the pleasure sweeps through me, taking every speck of anxiety, every worry and insecurity I've ever had, and wiping them away. He bottoms me out and then makes me whole, filling me up with everything he says, and does, making me feel what he believes.
I'm beautiful.
I'm special.
I'm his.
He says nothing else, slowing his movements, letting the orgasm wash over me and fade away before the switch in him flips again.
All at once he turns from man to beast, pawing me, clawing me, ravaging every inch of my body that he can reach. He fucks me mercilessly, to the point I can't think. I can do nothing but take it, absorb the impact, my voice nothing but incoherent noises conjured up from his animalistic feats.
The words are there the entire time; "yellow" is on the tip of my tongue, so close to springing forward whenever he gets so rough I can't breathe, but I swallow it back again and again with a gasp of air. I don't want him to stop; I don't want him to slow down. I don't want him to restrain himself with me. I want everything he'll give me. His hands are strong, his body like steel, but as he pounds into me, I think maybe it's what's inside that's heaviest.
He's purging his soul, and as scary as I think the deepest parts of him might be, I want it all.
I want to see it.
He pulls out to finish and sits there on his knees, catching his breath, before moving off of me. I can't move, can do nothing but lay there. I think I'm now a part of the bed, nothing more than thread that has started to unravel. He's quiet as he sits there, and despite my eyes being closed, I know he's watching me. I can sense his gaze.
After a moment, he reaches over, his touch feather-light as he runs his fingertips along my back. Freckles dot my skin, an inheritance from my father… the only thing that man ever gave me.
Naz traces them, much like I once did the scars on his chest, like he's connecting the dots to form a picture. My eyes open, but I don't move, not wanting to disrupt what he's doing.
It's soothing.
"What are you drawing?" I ask quietly.
"The future."
I smile to myself. "What does it look like?"
"I'm not sure yet," he says. "It's still coming together for me."
He looks passive, relaxed, still fully dressed and now tucked away, not at all like someone who just fucked me ruthlessly. He's a gentle giant, harmless and soft, like a teddy bear.
Except deep down, I know he's not.
And when his eyes cut my way, and I see the darkness on the surface, I'm reminded that this man hangs out with monsters.
And one might even exist inside of him.
I'm pouting.
Full on puppy dog eyes, lips puckered and pulled down into a frown kind of pout.
Ugh, pathetic.
So much for the strong woman I felt like last night, owning her sexuality and taking what she wants from the world. I've reverted about a decade, to the pouty, moody pre-teen who gave her mother a fit for refusing to let her to stay out past dark so she could go to a school dance.
"So unfair," I mutter, slouching in the cool leather seat. The gaudy evening gown feels absurd this morning, big and showy and heavy against my skin.
Naz chuckles beside me. He's got his feet kicked up with his suit half fixed, the tie knotted loosely, the jacket and vest resting beside him on the seat. His eyes are on his phone, doing whatever it is he does. I don't know.
"You have nobody to blame but yourself," he says. "I told you, you're welcome to come home with me."
"But you have stuff to do, and I'm still wearing this dress, and I really need to shower, and I have class in the morning anyway, so I should just head back to the dorm, you know, because of all that."
"So I've heard."
It's the third time I've ran through all of my excuses on why I need to go, but I don't sound any more certain than I did the first time. Every bit of it is true, sure, but I'm dreading saying goodbye to this man.
So I pout some more.
"You know I have hot water," he says, "and clean clothes."
"Women's clothes?"
He laughs again. "I'm afraid not, but I'm sure I have something you can fit."
"I bet I'd look great in one of your suits."
That draws his attention. His eyes scan me for a second as he raises an eyebrow, a look of curiosity on his face. "Huh."
Huh. That's all he says before turning right back to his phone.
"I still have school tomorrow," I point out.
"I can drop you off in the morning," he says.
"But don't you have stuff to do?" I ask. "I wouldn't want to bother you."
"Yes, but you wouldn't be bothering me."
He has an answer for everything, but still, I just sit in the back of the car and pout as the driver heads through Greenwich Village, straight toward NYU. The car pulls up to the curb when we arrive, the driver getting out. Naz puts his phone down, his hand covering my cheek as he leans over to kiss me.
I don't know what to say, figuring I've said it all already when I thanked him half a dozen times for the great night, so I say nothing, getting out when the driver opens the door for me. I make the trek inside barefoot, carrying my shoes, and dig my ID out of my purse to scan myself inside.
I can feel eyes on me as I stroll through the lobby, feel them on me while I wait for the elevator, feel them on me during the trip upstairs, acutely aware that I'm doing the most obvious walk of shame of all time.
But I'm not ashamed, not in the least.
I stroll down the hallway when I reach the thirteenth floor, straight to my room in the corner. Loud rap music pours from it, rattling the walls. My hand grasps the knob and turns as soon as I get there, grateful Melody never locks the damn door because I don't think I have my key. As soon as I start to open it, I hear her voice.
"Oh God, oh yes!" she cries. "Just like that!"
The thump-thump-thumping of her bed hitting the wall sounds like a jackhammer. I stall instantly, not wanting to see what's going on in there. My hand is off the knob again, the door clicking closed, neither of them even hearing it from the way she cries out.
"Oh, Paul, baby, you feel so good!"
Cringing, I walk away, shaking my head. Awkward. On my way back to the elevator, I pull out my phone, letting out a resigned sigh as I dial the number. I press the down arrow just as he answers.
Naz foregoes any sort of greeting, merely saying, "I'm waiting downstairs."
He is. The car is still parked there, exactly where it was when I got out, the driver waiting by the curb. He opens the door for me, and I slide in, seeing Naz still focused on his phone, looking just as casual.
His eyes cut to me when the door closes. "Huh."
"Huh," I echo. "What does 'huh' mean?"
It's his second favorite thing to say, besides 'nonsense'.
"It means it didn'
t take you as long as I thought it would to change your mind. I expected you to at least change before you started regretting it."
"And what, you were just going to sit down here?" I ask. "How long would you have waited?"
"As long as it took."
"And if I didn't change my mind?"
"You would've," he says, matter-of-fact. "You like me."
"I like you?"
"Yes."
I laugh but don't dispute it because yes, I like him. I like him a lot, so much that I'm terrified to admit to what degree I like this man. And from the way his eyes flit to me, and the smirk that touches his lips, I suspect he might know my dilemma, might know just how bad I have it.
"It's okay, though," he says, "because I like you, too."
His house is ice cold when we get there. I can see my breath whenever I exhale, a cloud of fog in the air around me. I shiver, wrapping my arms around myself, but the chill doesn't seem to bother Naz. He sets his coat and vest down on the living room couch as he watches me.
"You know where the bathroom is," he says. "Go ahead and take a hot shower. I'll warm the place up while you do that."
I hesitate. "Am I supposed to put the dress back on?"
"No, I'll leave something on my bed for you to wear."
I make my way upstairs on my own. It's dark up here, despite the sun shining brightly outside, like the top half of his house is always in shadows. I head straight to the bathroom and lock myself inside, turning on the hot water to try to warm the air.
I reach behind me, struggling to unzip the dress on my own, and step out of it, unsure what to do with the thing so I just leave it in the corner. I step under the water, flinching at the heat, but I don't dare turn the temperature down. The room is way too cold.
I stand under the spray until my skin turns pink and wrinkled, soaking up as much of the warmth as I can, relishing the sensation of the water beating against me. The pressure feels like hands kneading my taut muscles, soothing the soreness away. Faint bruises blemish my skin in places, remnants of his strong grip, reminders of the way he owned my body, like it belonged only to him.
I swipe some soap and even some of his shampoo, stepping out smelling like Irish Spring and men's Frizz-Ease. Goose bumps spring up along my flesh as soon as the air hits me. I dry off, wrapping a thick white towel around me as I scamper from the bathroom.
Just like Naz said, clothes are laying on the bed, a pair of black sweatpants and a plain white undershirt. I drop the towel and pull them on, scowling at my lack of underwear and bra. It takes me rolling down the pants a few times at the waist for them to stay up, still dragging at my feet.
I stroll back downstairs, arms crossed over my chest as I seek out Naz, wondering where he went. I head for the den when I find him nowhere else, and hear his voice as I approach the doorway.
"Yeah, you're right, it's more complicated than I expected."
I stall a few feet from the door, realizing he's on the phone and not wanting to interrupt. I know I should walk back away, to give him some privacy, but I just stand in place.
Call it curiosity.
"I haven't changed my mind," he says, "and I'm not going to. You know better than to think I'll walk away in the middle of anything, especially something like this. I've been waiting for this moment for a long time, Ray. Just as long as you."
I shiver. I'm not sure if it's the cold or the name that causes it.
"Santino's been stalling," he says. "I'll pay him another visit this week and light a fire under his ass to get the file."
A file? That's what he wants?
"No, I don't want to do that if I don't have to. I told you, it's changed… it's complicated. Santino will come through. He's just afraid of sticking his neck out, you know, and getting his head chopped off. He thought he wouldn't have to see me again after he paid you, but he should know not all debts can be forgiven with just cash."
He pauses for a moment, the silence deafening. My heart is pounding so hard I'm afraid he can hear it, that he'll know I'm standing here. But after a moment, he lets out a laugh. "Ah, come on, Ray, you know me. You know I like playing with fire. It's one of my specialties."
More words are exchanged, but I don't hear them. I back away from the door, jetting back upstairs whenever it's safe and I don't think he'll hear my footsteps. I walk back to the bathroom and grab my dress, taking it to his room, where the towel still lays on the floor. I pick it up, too, and glance around, looking for a hamper, but there isn't one in here.
Turning around, I'm about to head out in search of one when I nearly run straight into the body blocking the doorway. It startles me so much I scream, a high-pitch shriek, as my knees nearly give out. Naz is standing there, eyeing me warily, as I clutch the dress tightly to my chest.
I didn't hear him come upstairs.
"You scare easily," he says. "I was just coming to check on you. You've been gone a while."
"Yeah, I, uh… I mean, I took a long shower, and I didn't want to get out because, you know, it felt good, and it's cold… and why is it cold?"
I'm a terrible liar. I know.
He's looking at me like he knows it, too.
"I forgot to turn the heat up yesterday before we left," he says. "Temperature dropped overnight. I lit a fire in the fireplace in the den, so it's warm down there."
"Oh, great," I say, holding out the bundle in my arms. "I was just going to put these somewhere… wherever they go."
He takes them from me, and motions with his head for me to head out. I step past him, walking back downstairs with him on my heels. He veers right to a room I've never been in—the laundry room. He drops the stuff off and follows me to the den.
It is warm in here, and I relish the sensation as I head straight for the source, feeling the flames from a few feet away, wiping the chill away, but it doesn't nothing to rid my skin of the goose bumps.
"How about a movie?" he suggests.
"Sure," I say. "You pick this time."
"You ever see Twelve Angry Men?" His favorite movie, I remember. I shake my head, having never even heard of it, and a look of disturbance crosses his face. "Huh. We're going to have to rectify that."
He puts the movie in as I sit on the couch. An old black-and-white flick, it turns out. Naz settles in beside me, putting his arm over my shoulder and pulling me to him.
Sighing, I tuck in at his side.
He's quiet, engrossed in the movie, his hand absently stroking my arm, tickling my skin and distracting me from the movie. After awhile he leans down, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "You smell like me."
"I used your shampoo," I say. "And your soap. Hope you don't mind. I probably should've asked first."
"I told you to make yourself at home," he says. "I don't want you to feel like you have to tiptoe around, afraid of doing something wrong or hearing something you shouldn't, like phone conversations."
My blood runs cold at those words. I can feel his eyes on me and not the screen. "I, uh…" I don't know what to say.
"It's okay," he says, those words silencing me. He kisses the top of my head again, subject closed as he goes back to watching the movie. A few minutes pass before Naz lets out a light laugh. "So, tell me something... did you at least google me?"
I tense. "What?"
"Come on," he says, shifting around in his seat as I sit up. "Don't tell me you didn't do your research."
I scoff. Of course I googled him. I did it after waking up in his bed that first morning, right after learning his name. I'm not an idiot. What woman wouldn't? "So, yeah, okay… I did. But can you blame me?"
"Of course not," he says. "Did you find anything?"
"No," I grumble. "Nothing."
"Disappointing," he says playfully. "But if it's any consolation, I had about as much luck with you."
"You googled me?"
"Of course," he says. "You can never be too careful. Had to make sure you were who you said you were."
Change doesn't happen overnigh
t. There's no button that's pushed to magically alter everything.
Change happens little by little.
Day by day.
Hour by hour.
It's the ticking of a secondhand, moving painstakingly, as it makes its way around the clock. You don't realize it until it's already over, the minute gone forever, as you're thrust right into the next one, the time still ticking away, whether you want it to or not.
Before long you have a hard time remembering the world as it once was, the person you were then, too focused on the world around you instead.
A world full of promise.
A world full of excitement.
A world full of Naz.
I can't fathom a world any other way.
I'm not sure when it happened, which minute it was that drove me to the brink, pushing me over the edge and making me feel like I can fly without wings. Time consuming turned all-consuming as the man became the beat of my heart and the blood in my veins, stealing the little piece of my soul I always kept tucked away. He crashed through my defenses and knocked down my walls, and all it took was ticking seconds, one after another, slowly altering it all.
"You've changed."
I glance across the room at Melody when she says that, the television remote in my hand. I've been channel surfing for the past ten minutes, flipping so fast it's starting to look like a strobe light flashing. She's huddled on her bed, philosophy book open on her lap. "What?"
"You've changed," she repeats.
I just stare at her.
"We have a fucking test in like an hour on Confucius, and I don't think you've cracked open your book all morning. Usually you're the one cramming until the last second, yet you look like you don't give two shits about anything. You're all chillaxing and relax-y. Confucius says your ass has changed."
I let out a laugh. "It's pointless. I could get every answer right on the test and the bastard would just deduct points because I didn't dot an 'i' or something."
Monster in His Eyes Page 13