Monster in His Eyes

  I merely nod, tapping my pencil against the side of the desk as I listen to others move around. The room is clearing out quickly. I don't like it.

  Who am I?

  Someone who doesn't like philosophy anymore.

  I consider the question for another moment before finally writing my answer.

  I don't know.

  Standing up, I march to the front of the room, test in hand. Santino looks up at me as I approach. I hand my paper to him, face up, but he turns it over when he takes it. His eyes flicker from my pathetic three- word answer to me, and for the first time all semester, his lips curve.

  He's smiling.

  At me.

  Creepy.

  I say nothing, nor do I return his smile, merely walking away. I grab my things and jet out the door, feeling a sense of relief on the walk back to the dorm. Never again am I trusting Melody when she tells me to take a class, when she says it's easy.

  I want to go straight to the room, but I have a meeting with my advisor that I'm already late for. I consider skipping it, saying fuck it, but she'll reschedule and I'll be forced to come back out this way.

  Sighing, I make my way across the street to another building and head straight inside, plopping down in a chair outside her office. She spots me from the open doorway and waves me inside, launching into small talk.

  In one ear and out the other.

  The sound of her acrylic fingernails clicking against computer keys echoes through the small office. The woman is hen pecking at the letters, taking way too long to punch my information into the system. She pauses every few seconds to hmm and huh and huff, the sounds grating on my nerves.

  Can we just get this over with?

  I've registered for all my classes for next semester, a full course-load, and turned in all my paperwork. The counselor is just making sure I'm not missing anything, a process that should've taken thirty seconds, but we're going on five minutes at this point.

  "Looks like everything's in order," she says finally. "Most of your final grades have already posted... we're just waiting on philosophy. As long as you graze by with at least a low B in that, your GPA will be high enough to maintain your scholarship, no problem."

  She makes it sound so simple. All I need is a B. I'll be lucky as hell if I even get close to that. But I need a 3.5 GPA if I want my tuition paid next year, so a B it has to be.

  Dear God, please let me have gotten a B.

  "Great," I say. "Is that it?"

  "Yes, that's it."

  I'm up out of the chair, mumbling my thanks as I bolt for the door. I probably look rude, but I'm too exhausted to care. My thoughts are a flurry of math equations and percentages as I stroll along on my way back to the dorm. I come to the conclusion that to get my B, I need to make an 89 on the final exam.

  When I get to the room, Paul's not around. Thank God. Melody is putting on lipstick, babbling something about going out with him to celebrate, but I barely listen. I drop my bag on the floor and take off my pants, not even bothering to put any more on as I fall straight into my bed.

  Something startles me awake.

  I sit straight up in bed, disoriented, like I've been ripped from a dream I can't quite recall. The room is a pitch-black haze of confusion. It's late.

  Really late.

  A glance at the clock tells me it's one o'clock in the morning. A glance at Melody's empty bed tells me she still isn't home. Rubbing my eyes, I stand up and stagger to the bathroom. As I'm washing my hands, I hear the door in my room and quiet footsteps along the floor.

  Sighing, I turn off the water and dry my hands. Guess I'm not alone anymore. I just hope she didn't bring Paul home with her. The last thing I want to find is a guy in there.

  I turn off the bathroom light and step back into the room, blinking, attempting to adjust to the darkness, surprised she didn't turn on the light. I glance toward Melody's bed and pause, brow furrowing.

  It's still empty.

  I hear a noise to the right of me, a footstep in my direction. My heart stalls, rendering me immobile, before frantically pounding so hard it's like a machine gun going off in my chest. I start to turn that way when arms roughly grab me, yanking me toward them in the shadows.

  A scream bubbles up inside of me, barely bursting out, when a large glove-clad hand clamps down over my mouth, silencing it right away. I'm pinned.

  Oh fuck.

  Oh fuck.

  Oh fuck.

  My knees are giving out on me, my vision is blurred with tears, and if I hadn't just gone to the bathroom I'd be pissing myself right now. I try to remember everything I've learned about self-defense, but my mind is scrambled.

  I'm fucked.

  I struggle against the arms, screaming into the palm, when I hear a soft chuckle. "Relax, sweetheart."

  I nearly hit the floor when I sag with relief. Naz. He loosens his hold enough for me to swing around to face him, meeting his eyes in the darkness. My heart is still pounding, my stomach churning from the rush of adrenaline and fear. I need to purge it from my system before I throw up.

  I lash out, my fists hitting his chest, punching him hard. He laughs, still amused as he snatches ahold of my hands. He's wearing a pair of black leather gloves. "Or don't."

  I try to shove away from him, but he wraps his arms around me, laughing even harder.

  "You scared me!" I growl. "Jesus, Naz, you can't do that to me!"

  "I'd apologize," he whispers, "but I'm not sorry. I like it when you fight back."

  "I just... my God!" I pry out of his arms and grasp my chest, willing my heart to calm down. "How the hell did you get in here?"

  "I just walked right in. Your security around here isn't very secure, Karissa. The girl in the lobby looked right at me and didn't say a word. And not to mention the fact that you left your door unlocked. The place practically has a sign on it that says 'come inside' so I thought I'd come inside, and maybe..." He reaches out, brushing his hand along my cheek before swiping his thumb along my bottom lip. "...come inside."

  Rolling my eyes, I smack his hand away. He laughs yet again, whispering, "feisty".

  I want to be mad. I want to be furious. He just broke into my room and scared the daylights out of me. But I can't make myself be angry when all I feel is elation at the sound of his laughter, the sound of his happiness.

  "You're an ass," I mutter. "I can't believe you just did that to me."

  He shrugs, stepping by me to stroll through the room as he pulls off his gloves. I watch incredulously when he sits down on my bed. "What can I say? You've been busy, and I've missed you."

  I have been. I haven't seen him much the past two weeks, and damn if I haven't missed him, too.

  I step toward him, pausing in front of him. A sliver of moonlight streams through the nearby window, illuminating where I stand. I'm suddenly acutely aware of the fact that I'm not wearing any pants. Why does he always catch me when I'm wearing the unsexiest panties? I tug on the hem of my shirt, trying to cover them.

  His expression shifts, the amusement fading when he grabs my hand. "Come on, don't be like that. Don't hide from me."

  He scoots back onto the bed and tugs me to him as he kicks off his shoes. I hear the clunk as they hit the floor. He pulls me onto his lap, and I straddle him, my arms around his neck as he slowly starts unbuttoning his shirt.

  My heart is racing again, thumping in my chest, but this time it's not fear that does me in. I watch in the dim lighting as he sheds himself of his shirt before meeting my gaze.

  I can see the want in his eyes; the same yearn brewing in my gut. I kiss his mouth, his cheek, his chin, before working my way further down. He leans back as I reach his chest. I can feel the ridges of his scars as I kiss the old wounds, caressing the skin with my lips. "What happened to you, Naz?"

  I place a last kiss on the biggest scar, not far from his heart, before meeting his eyes again.

  "I lost my life," he says quietly. "And then I almost died."

  I want to ask him
what the difference is, if his heart is still beating how was his life taken from him, but the look he gives stalls me, silencing my words before I can say too much. I've never seen him so vulnerable. Those eyes are dark, so fucking dark, it's like a hurricane brewing inside of him.

  I wonder how he survives such turmoil.

  I don't ask. I don't think he has an answer. I just wrap my arms around him as he kisses me. Naz pulls me down onto the bed, shifting around so I'm lying beside him. It's sweet, his hands gentle as they remove my clothes, exploring my bare flesh with his fingertips. A subtle sadness seems to coat every movement. The sudden urge to make him feel good overwhelms me.

  I want that laughter back.

  I want to make him happy.

  I want him to be happy with me.

  "Tell me how you like it," I whisper, trying to keep my nerves from showing in my voice. "You can be rough. I'll fight back."

  He cracks a smile at that as he rids himself of the rest of his clothes, shifting our bodies again so he's on top of me.

  "Next time," he says. "Tonight isn't for playing.

  "What's it for?"

  "Loving."

  He pushes inside of me slowly, his lips meeting mine again as his body weight presses upon me. It's slow and sweet. It's all pleasure and not a stitch of pain.

  He's making love to me.

  My legs wrap around his waist as he thrusts, filling me deeply before pulling back out, over and over. He holds me to him, sweaty skin gliding together as he gives me all of him, gritting his teeth and groaning against my neck as he comes inside of me.

  We lay there afterward, me in his arms, my head on his chest. He holds me against him like I'm delicate, one hand splayed out on my back, the other resting on my head as he strokes my hair. I haven't said a word. I'm not sure there are any words to say. I'm afraid talking about it will cheapen it, rationalize something that should just be felt instead.

  Less thinking, more feeling.

  I'm starting to get it now.

  He's just as quiet. If not for the way he's touching me, I'd think he was asleep. I lay there, starting to doze off, when his soft voice carries through the silence. "It was a 12-gage shotgun. They spent hours pulling all the buckshot from my chest, but it didn't matter, because my heart was shattered."

  "Literally?" I ask quietly. I can't fathom it. A shotgun blast to the chest. Who would do such a thing to him?

  He sighs, holding me tighter, his voice barely a whisper. "Might as well have been."

  Melody's home.

  I see her—or rather, hear her—as soon as I open my eyes. Snores rattle her chest, drawn out and obnoxious, so loud I'm startled awake for the second time.

  The arm around me is heavy, the body pressed tightly against mine warm. I don't know why I'm so surprised he's still here. I almost expected last night to be a figment of my imagination. His hand gently strokes the skin on my lower stomach, around my navel, dipping slightly lower toward my sensitive bits when I stir. "Good morning."

  "Morning," I whisper, my voice thick with sleep. "How long have you been awake?"

  "All night," he says.

  I think he's joking, but when I shift around, so I can turn my head and see his face, the first thing I notice is the exhaustion. He looks like I did at a few points the past two weeks. I reach back, wanting to smooth away the bags under his eyes. "Couldn't sleep?"

  "I often can't," he says. "And if you're wondering, Darth Vader over there staggered in about an hour ago and went straight to sleep."

  Shame stirs up inside of me. "Oh God, we're naked."

  "She didn't notice," he says. "She didn't even look over here."

  "She could've."

  "So?" He removes his hand from my stomach to brush my tousled hair aside. I feel his lips against my neck, soft and warm, tingles flowing down my spine at the sensation. "You can't tell me the thought doesn't turn you on."

  "What thought?"

  "The thought of being seen," he says. "The thrill of maybe being caught. Of someone watching you as you get pleasured, wishing they were you, or that they were the one fucking you, drowning in jealousy because they know they'll never be that lucky. Never. They'll never have you, Karissa… never be you. Because you're mine—mine and mine alone."

  His arm snakes around me again, pulling me back tighter against him. I shiver when I feel his erection pressing against me from behind, his hand traveling to the spot between my thighs. My eyes drift closed as he strokes my clit, his lips still on my neck, sucking and nipping his way to my shoulder. Heat engulfs me, my body flushing as I grind against his cock. He groans, stroking faster, rubbing harder, as soft whimpers escape my throat.

  It's wrong.

  It's wrong.

  Oh God, it's so wrong.

  So why the hell does it feel so right?

  Melody's snores are barely loud enough to conceal my moans. I should stop him, should pull away as my hands grip his arm, but I can't. I won't. I don't want him to ever stop touching me.

  I can feel the tension building, the sensation sharpening, and rushing toward where he's rubbing. My breath hitches in anticipation, and I'm close… so close… so fucking close. My toes curl, my entire body wound like a tight coil ready to spring loose, when a faint set of beeps rings through the room. All at once Naz stops when he's doing.

  My eyes snap open, the sensation fading as he pulls away and sits up. "No, no, no," I chant, rubbing my thighs together, desperate for friction. I flip over onto my back, my gaze seeking him out. "Please."

  It's torture, the ache spreading through me. Naz glances at me as he brings his phone to his ear, answering the call with a quiet, "Hello."

  I start to pout when he tucks his phone in the crook of his neck, listening to whoever's on the line. He presses a single finger to his lips, shushing me, as his other hand slips beneath the blanket only partially covering me. My breasts are exposed, but I don't care. I can't care. Not when he touches me again, his free hand rubbing circles around my achy clit. My eyes roll in the back of my head, and it doesn't take long for my body to tense again, the feeling returning.

  "Yeah, I'm handling it," he says, his voice quiet, and stone cold serious, the gritty, callous tone pushing me further toward the edge. I can feel it creeping up on me and fist the sheets, toes curling again. "I'll be there this weekend."

  Oh God.

  Oh God.

  Oh my fucking God.

  My lips part, my breath hitching, a silent scream burning my chest as I struggle to keep from making any noise. Pleasure sweeps through me, my body convulsing.

  "I don't think I'll be alone," he says. "I'm sure she'll be more than happy to, uh… come."

  He tries to hide the amusement in his voice but he laughs lightly. I peek over at him as the tension recedes, my body relaxing against the bed. He stares down at me, the look in his eyes nearly making me come again.

  His hand leaves that spot, drifting up my stomach to my chest. He palms a breast, sweeping his thumb across the erect nipple.

  "Yeah, I know," he says. "I'll see you then."

  He hangs up, tossing the phone down on the bed, and leans down to kiss me. His lips are hard against mine, frenzied. I reach for him, my hand snaking beneath the blanket, wrapping around his cock. I stroke it once, twice, before he pulls away and snatches ahold of my wrist, stopping me. His eyes regard me peculiarly, a smirk slowly turning his lips. "Huh."

  "Huh what?"

  "You're good at being quiet."

  "I didn't want to interrupt your call," I whisper. "Or, you know, wake Melody."

  He curves an eyebrow. "Huh."

  Huh. Again. Him and that fucking word that's not even a real word. "What?"

  "We might have to test that out some more," he says, kissing me again, softly this time, before climbing out of the bed. I stare at him incredulously as he stands in the middle of the room, completely naked. His movements are unhurried as he gathers up his clothes. "Not now, though. I'd love to stay, but you know…"


  I pull the blanket up around me, covering my body, as I sit up and watch him dress. He pulls himself together with ease, running his hands through his hair to tame the locks, before sitting down on the edge of the bed beside me.

  "Come with me this weekend," he says, slipping on his shoes. It's not a question. It's a request. I've noticed that about him. He asks things of me without ever really asking. It's cool, and confident, like he already knows my answers so he doesn't bother bullshitting.

  "Where?"

  "Away," he says.

  Another thing I've noticed. He doesn't ever seem to answer my questions, either.

  I shake my head. "I shouldn't."

  "But you want to."

  Of course I do. "Why?"

  "Why not?"

  I laugh as he stands back up and fixes his shirt collar. "I don't know."

  "Your classes are over, aren't they?"

  "Yes. I took my last exam yesterday."

  "Did you pass?"

  I shrug. "I hope."

  "I'm sure you will," he says. "So why can't you go with me?"

  "Well, Melody and I talked about going out on Saturday to celebrate."

  "To celebrate classes being over?"

  "No," I say quietly, drawing my knees up to my chest as I wrap my arms around them. "To celebrate my birthday."

  He freezes as he stares down at me, a look of surprise passing across his face. It's the first time I've ever caught him off guard, the first time he didn't seem steps ahead of me. He shakes his head after a second, stepping closer, and leans down like he's going to kiss me again. I stare into his eyes as he pauses there.

  "Come away with me this weekend," he says again. "I'll show you the time of your life."

  "You already have," I whisper. "A few times."

  "Sweetheart, you haven't seen anything yet."

  His kiss, when it finally reaches my lips, is nothing more than a peck, a soft touch before he stands up. He says nothing else, and doesn't wait around to hear my response.

  The cocky bastard just walks out.

  I sit there for a moment, clutching the blanket around me, before I start laughing. I just laugh, shaking my head, as I stare at the door. He turns me upside down, making all the blood rush to my head, and then he just leaves me sitting there, lightheaded and inebriated by the essence of him.