Monster in His Eyes
Page 30

I scan the titles again as he walks up behind me, snaking an arm around my waist, and pulling me back to him. I relax into his touch, grasping his forearm as he leans down and kisses my neck. My eyes flutter closed, his lips soft and warm against my skin, sending tingles down my spine.
"Just pick something," he whispers. "I don't think we'll be paying it much attention, anyway."
His words prompt me to grab the first movie I see. I don't even look at the name. Naz puts it in and presses play as I settle in on the couch and pull off my shoes. He sits down beside me, relaxing, and wraps his arms around me.
He's right. I don't pay attention to the movie, and I don't know if he does, because I lie there and fall right asleep in his arms.
Darkness cloaks the room when I awaken, except for the soft glow of the television shining on me. It's dead silent, the movie over.
A black blanket covers me, soft and fuzzy, folded in around me like a child tucked into bed. My head is resting on one of the couch pillows, but there's no Naz anywhere to be seen.
Yawning, I sit up and stretch, glancing around, wondering where he disappeared to and how long I've been asleep. There's no clock in here that I've seen. How does this man keep track of time? Reaching for my purse, I sort through it and pull out my phone. Midnight.
I have two text messages from Melody, asking where I am, and a missed call from my mother hours ago. I reply to Melody so she doesn't worry, telling her I'm with an old friend and not to wait up, before putting the phone away and standing up.
I'm nervous as I head for the doorway, hoping he doesn't mind if I go elsewhere in his house. He's not in the living room, not in the kitchen. I ascend the stairs, straining my ears, listening for sounds, but I hear nothing. I creep down the dark hallway, toward the bathroom, past closed doors. There aren't any lights on, no sign of him anywhere up here. Pausing in the hallway, I sigh and start to turn around when movement startles me. I yelp, jumping, when someone grabs me from behind.
Breath fans against my cheek as the soft chuckle rings in my ear. "Did I scare you?"
I can't even answer. I swallow thickly, grasping my chest, as Naz swings me around to him. Through the darkness, I can somewhat make out his face, his body a mere shadow in the hallway. He changed clothes, shirtless and barefoot, wearing nothing more than a pair of dark sweatpants.
"Uh, yeah," I stammer, my eyes drawn to his bare chest. "I woke up and you were gone, and it's getting late, so I thought… uh, I thought…"
Jesus, I can hardly think looking at him. Now that I know they're there, my eyes are drawn to his sprinkling of scars, only faintly visible, scattered and veiled like stars in an overcast sky.
He grabs my belt loops, hooking his thumbs in them, as he tugs me toward him, pulling me to his bedroom. "You thought we should head to bed?"
"I thought, uh…" I glance at his face, seeing the serious expression. "I thought I should go."
"You should," he says, pulling me flush against him, so close I can feel the heat from his body warming my skin, "but do you want to?"
No.
No, I don't.
His cocky smirk tells me I don't even have to verbalize that answer. I offer no resistance as he pulls me through his bedroom, his hands quickly and smoothly shedding me of my clothes, leaving me even more naked than him by the time he gets me to his bed.
Yelping, I let out a laugh as he picks me up and places me in the center of his bed, wasting no time before settling on top of me. He kisses my mouth, my cheek, my jaw, his lips trailing down my neck and to my chest. I gasp, my hands running through his soft hair when his mouth finds my breasts, his lips wrapping around a nipple and sucking on it. His teeth graze the sensitive flesh as my back arches from the sensation.
His hands grasp my hips, pinning me onto the bed as he makes his way down my stomach, nipping and licking, small stinging jabs ricocheting across my skin when he sucks so hard I'm sure he's going to leave a mark.
I don't mind if he does.
A part of me hopes he will.
Happiness is a human condition in which...
...what happens when people decide...
...a state of mind if we just...
...bullshit.
Happiness is bullshit.
Just like this stupid essay.
Sighing, I scratch out the line and tear the paper from the notebook, crumbling it and tossing it aside. I've been working on the essay for the good part of an hour, trying to get it written since it's due tomorrow afternoon¸ but that's the best I can come up with.
And I don't even believe it.
It's half past one, and I'm still wearing yesterday's clothes, having just got here sometime around noon. I should shower, and change, but the thought of washing away Naz's scent doesn't appeal to me. I'm exhausted from broken sleep and sore from rough sex, and I want nothing more than to rewind a few hours and go back to the darkness and relive those moments again and again.
That was happiness.
Happiness is being fucked so rough you can hardly breathe, can hardly speak, can do nothing but squeal like a pig as he nails you over and over, pushing inside of you so hard, so deep, that you can feel the man not only with your body, but also with your soul. Happiness is waking up the next morning, barely able to recall your own name, because the only one that mattered in hours was his, screamed so loud your throat is painfully raw, like the name had bled from your lips.
Something tells me Santino won't like that too much.