Target on Our Backs
Page 23

"No," I whisper, even though he hadn't actually asked it as a question. He knows I don't. He sees it on me every day. "Well, I mean, I take it off to shower, and when I go to sleep, but I put it right back on in the morning."
He's given me a lot, but the necklace has special meaning. I still remember the day vividly, the words he said to me after he fastened the necklace around my neck.
It could be like this all the time, Karissa, every moment of every day. I can give you the best of everything. You just have to let me.
Those words have stuck with me. Even when we were at odds with each other, I never forgot what he said. Because that night, for the first time in my life, I felt truly worth something. I felt like I mattered, like maybe I was somebody. And it's not because of a silly piece of jewelry, although, okay... it's gorgeous. It's because, even if he hadn't said the words that night, I truly felt loved.
Carpe Diem. The words are etched in the metal pendant. Tomorrow isn't a guarantee. Nothing is promised. So today? Seize the Day.
That's how Naz lives his life.
That's how I want to live it with him.
He glances at me, letting go of the necklace. "Let's go upstairs."
"Why?"
He cocks an eyebrow at me... again... but this time he answers that question. "Because you still feel a little tense. I think you've got some kinks we can work out, if you know what I mean."
I laugh, gripping onto him tightly as he stands up, clutching hold of me. Once he's upright, I drop down to my feet, pushing away from him.
"I could've carried you," he protests.
"Pfft, and have you throw out your back, old man? I don't think so."
"Ha-ha," he says, trying to grab a hold of me, but I slip away from his grasp. Laughing, I dodge through the doorway, heading for the stairs. I take them two at a time, grasping my breasts so the damn things don't bounce, almost out of breath when I reach the bedroom.
I can hear Naz as he comes upstairs, his footsteps measured, methodical, intentionally loud. The man is damn good at sneaking around, but he's making sure I hear him. He's taunting me.
Anticipation is a bitch.
He heads down the hallway, right for the bedroom, and pauses in the doorway.
Instinctively, I back up a few steps, toward the bed.
"You think you're funny, don't you?" he asks, taking a step toward me, not hesitating when I retreat some more.
"Maybe."
"Maybe," he repeats, pausing in front of the dresser, opening up the top drawer. Every muscle inside of me freezes up, my stomach in knots when he pulls out a thick leather belt. He wraps it around his fist as he turns back to me.
The look is on his face.
That look.
It has been a while since I've seen it, since he's looked at me that way. Since he let his guard down and let the monster come out to play.
It's thrilling.
Titillating.
Terrifying.
Maybe it's sick that I've missed this side of him, but I have. I've missed it. I haven't admitted that even to myself until now. There's something exciting about living on the edge, about inciting what I know he keeps buried inside of him. He's not going to hurt me. I know he isn't. But he's passionate and primal. Ferocious.
He steps closer.
And closer.
And closer.
I back up until I run into the nightstand, wedged right beside the bed. Naz stops in front of me, the tips of his black shoes against my bare unpainted toes, his body almost pressing against mine as he towers over me. He leans toward me, his face coming close to mine, the slight stubble of his jaw rubbing against my skin.
It's dead silent.
My heart is racing.
The thump-thump-thumping is all I hear.
"I was going to take it easy on you," he says, his voice low. "Lay you down on the bed and worship you, all day and all night. Kiss and caress every inch of you. Taste you with my tongue until you can't take anymore. And then I was going to give it to you, deep and slow... make you come over and over again, until all you can do is whimper, cry my name." His free hand, the one not clutching the belt, slowly ghosts along the front of my body, his fingertips brushing against my flushed skin. He runs the hand along my breasts before settling on my chest, over my heart. "You like it that way, don't you? Like when I make you feel all of my love."
I nod, tingles erupting all over. "Uh-huh."
"And I was going to love you right, remind you what it feels like to be cherished, to be idolized, to be treated like the queen you are. I was going to make serious love to you, baby." I let out a shaky breath, and before I can even inhale again, his hand shifts. It's a split second, barely a blink. His hand is around my neck, tightly squeezing, as he yanks me toward him, flush against him. "But now I think I'll just fuck you instead."
I gasp as he shoves me onto the bed, flipping me so I'm on my stomach. He easily pushes me around like I weigh nothing, an arm snaking around me, beneath me, and pulling my ass up into the air. I try to adapt quickly, my vision blurring from the adrenaline rushing through my veins. I push up on my hands and turn my head to look at him in just enough time to see him loop the belt together.
His eyes meet mine.
It can't be more than a few seconds.
Before I even realize what he's doing, he slips the belt down over my head. Gripping the end of it, he tugs, tightening it around my neck like a collar.
I gasp.
He tightens it more.
Oh fuck.
I can't breathe.
I can't breathe.
I try to grasp my neck, to loosen the belt, to give myself some fucking air, but it just tightens more every time I move. Five seconds. Ten seconds. A minute. A fucking eternity. My chest is burning, my eyes are watering, and I viciously start bucking, raising up on my knees. Before I can do much to fight him, Naz is shoving me back down against the bed, his grip on the belt loosening. I inhale sharply, desperately, barely able to take a breath before he pushes inside of me hard, knocking the air right out of me again.
I cry out as the force of his thrusts shove my face into the mattress. He holds onto the belt loosely, so I can feel it pressing on my throat, but he doesn't cut my airflow as he starts to fuck me brutally. He's still wearing his suit, and he tries to pull it off between thrusts, yanking his shirt open but not getting very far before giving up. His hand that isn't holding the belt digs into my hip as he holds me in place, keeping me from moving away.
Not that I would.
No, not today.
I'm pushing back against him, meeting his thrusts, grunting as he goes deeper and deeper, annihilating a part of me while still, he builds me up.
"You fucking love this, too, don't you?" he asks, his voice low, strained. "You don't need me to treat you like royalty to know what you mean to me. I can fuck you like this, fuck you like you're nothing, and you still know you're everything to me."
I want to answer him.
I want to tell him that's true.
But the words are lodged deep in my chest, blocked by the belt pressing against my throat. All that seems to make it through the barrier are grunts and cries, screams that sound like his name, as he fucks me.
And fucks me.
And fucks me so much I'm on the verge of trying to beg.
Beg for him to stop.