Torture to Her Soul

  He smiles as he pops the top off the bottle of champagne and grabs two glasses, pouring a bit in each. He holds one out to me, keeping the other, as I take a bite of my strawberry. "I'm not in the business of denying anyone anything. I definitely don't deny myself. Sure, it might kill you someday, but I'm certainly not one to judge. Everything I do is bound to catch up to me, and when it does…" He shrugs, taking a sip of the champagne before smiling playfully. "I'm sure there will be hell to pay."

  "For you?"

  "Or them."

  "Who's them?"

  He steps toward me and I instinctively tense, glass of champagne in one hand and half-eaten strawberry in the other, as he grasps my chin, pulling my face up toward him, his thumb tracing my bottom lip. His expression changes right before my eyes, the playfulness draining as that look creeps into his eyes. That look.

  The monster.

  He's peeking out at me.

  "Them is anybody who dares get in my way," he says, voice low, and I can't help but shiver as those words wash over me. Fear. Excitement. Terror. Exhilaration. The sensations battle for control of my body, twisting my insides and making my knees weak. I'll never for a moment doubt he means that, and as frightening as it is, knowing what he's capable of, knowing what he wouldn't hesitate to do, my sickness relishes the security. He'd kill the whole world, burn it to the ground, but that part of me believes him when he says he'd protect me from harm.

  He's not bulletproof. I know he's not. But I think, now, he's grown shatter-resistant. After everything, Naz isn't an easy one to crack. Someday, when he dies, whether it happens tomorrow from a bullet or sixty years from now from old age, Naz will go out standing, fighting. Nobody will ever break him again.

  His eyes scan my face, slowly and methodically, like he's studying every contour, before his gaze settles on my mouth. He licks his lips, and mine part in response, releasing a shaky exhale. My eyes drift closed as he kisses me softly, and I moan from anticipation, expecting him to deepen it, but instead I'm met with laughter against my lips.

  Opening my eyes, I watch as he takes a step back, his expression once again light. The monster is gone. Naz tips his glass toward me before downing the rest of it and turning away.

  "Enjoy your strawberries," he says. "I'm going to take a shower."

  Fucking tease.

  I gape at him until he disappears before eating the rest of my strawberry. I hear him moving around on the second floor of the suit, hear the water turn on in the bathroom. I stand here, listening to the noise for a moment, scowling.

  I should stay down here.

  Really.

  I shouldn't follow him.

  Shouldn't bother him.

  It's not like he asked me to come along.

  Not like he invited me.

  So I should stay right where I am. I should drink all the champagne and eat all the strawberries and just say fuck him, the teasing bastard.

  I should.

  I don't.

  I guzzle what's in my glass before setting it down and heading for the stairs. I tread lightly, tiptoeing toward the upstairs bathroom. The door is cracked open, and it doesn't make a sound when I slowly push on it to slink inside. The lights are dim, the air hazy from the steam from the shower, the mirrors and glass coated in a thin layer of fog, but I can make him out standing beneath the spray.

  His back is to me as he lathers his hair with shampoo, the strong, all male, all Naz scent wafting toward me. Jesus, the man always smells as good as he looks. It's sinful, like just breathing him in is enough for a girl to need to shout out some Hail Mary's.

  Hail Mary, full of Grace, let this man fuck me tonight...

  "I'm not surprised."

  The sound of his voice causes my muscles to tense. His back is still to me. He hasn't so much as even glanced my direction, but I can't help but wonder if he knows I'm here.

  I say nothing.

  I don't know what to say.

  I'm not surprised?

  Is he talking to me?

  He rinses out his hair, as casual as can be, like he hadn't said a word. After a moment of silence, Naz turns around, his eyes meeting mine. He steps toward the glass, using his hand to clear away some of the fog.

  I try to keep eye contact.

  I do.

  I try.

  Really, I try hard.

  Hard.

  But my traitorous eyes have a mind of their own; my body does whatever the hell it wants. My gaze drifts down his chest and along his scars, following the trail of hair right to his cock.

  Yep, definitely hard.

  His laughter is sharp, drawing my eyes right back to his, knowing I've been caught ogling him.

  "That's you," he says. "Exhibitionism is your kink, jailbird, not mine."

  I feel my cheeks flushing. He curves a finger, motioning for me to come closer as he pushes open the glass door. Hesitating, I step toward him, as he casually leans against the wall of the shower, crossing his arms over his chest. I feel like a child about to be scolded for spying, with the way he's looking at me, expression serious, eyebrow cocked. He looks almost irritated.

  Ugh, why does that excite me more?

  "Is there something I can do for you?" His eyes scan me like I did him just a moment ago. "Is there something you need?"

  The insinuation is clear, although his tone is anything but playful. There's a hard edge to the words. When he meets my eyes again, I see his have darkened. The monster's back, and he's feeling testy.

  The rational part of me screams to get the hell out of there and leave the man to shower in peace, but I won't listen. I know it, and so does Naz. He cocks an eyebrow, waiting on my response.

  I can't get any words to form.

  "Well?" he says after a moment. "Are you going to answer the question, or am I going to have to force it out of you?"

  I open my mouth to saying something, anything, barely getting out a syllable when Naz snatches ahold of me. Oh hell, he's not even waiting on my answer. The words morph into a shriek as he yanks me fully clothed into the shower with him. The water is hot… Jesus, it's practically scalding. I'm surprised it doesn't burn my nipples off.

  He shoves me under the spray in front of him, slamming the glass door. The water clings to my dress, weighing down the material, soaking through to my skin. I try to push past him, to get away, but he's too strong. His body pins me there, forcing me back against the wall. His hands grasp my thighs, pulling me up, and I gasp from surprise, wrapping my arms around his neck as I hold on for dear life.

  "Like I said…" His lips ghost along my jawline before pausing beside my ear. "I'm not surprised."

  "Are you ever?"

  "No."

  He pins me against the shower wall, one hand firmly around me, keeping me in place, while his other snakes between us, finding its way beneath my soaked dress. My breath hitches when he rubs me through the thin fabric of my panties before his hand slips beneath.

  Oh shit.

  Oh shit.

  Oh holy fucking shit.

  His fingers are rough, calloused, and he's not at all gentle about his movements, rubbing hard, sending strong jolts of electricity through my body.

  "So wet," he murmurs.

  "Well…" My nails dig into the skin at the back of his neck as I cling to him, my body tense from the sensations running through me. "We are in the shower."

  Naz laughs darkly. "You know what I mean, sweetheart."

  He pushes a finger inside of me, then another, as his thumb finds my clit. I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to be quiet, but it's pointless. I bite so hard I taste blood. He knows every button to press, every inch of skin to touch, to shove me right over the edge and into oblivion. With just a hand, the man has me climbing the wall, panting, squirming, desperate for more.

  More.

  More.

  More.

  "Is this what you want?" he asks. "Is this what you need?"

  I shake my head, closing my eyes, as I relax back against the wa
ll. Water streaks my face, raining down on me, my eyes burning, mascara running and makeup streaking, but I'm so damn close to orgasm already I can't even care. "More."

  "How much more?"

  "So much more," I murmur, feeling the pressure mounting, every inch of me tingling. Heat viciously attacks me, inside and out, battering my skin while straining my muscles. Naz's lips find my neck, and he sucks on it, making me gasp as he bites the tender spot below my ear. His fingers pump with fervor as I grind against his hand, getting closer… closer… closer…

  "Oh God, so close," I groan, tilting my head more as his lips make their way around to the front of my neck. He bites my throat, hard, the skin vibrating around his mouth as I let out a piercing scream at the unexpected jolt of pain. My body tenses in reaction as he curves his fingers, finding that spot.

  That spot.

  I explode, pleasure and pain and tension and release and every fucking thing my body has ever contained igniting in a ball of flames that sparks right between my legs. I bang my head against the tile, pain shooting through my skull.

  Before the pleasure even wanes, Naz lets go of me, dropping me back to my feet. My knees buckle, and I nearly hit the tile, unprepared, but Naz keeps me upright. He drags me to the other side of the shower before I can even catch my breath, spinning me around so my back is to him.

  Naz presses me up against the massive glass wall that looks down onto the first floor of the suite. The material of my dress slaps against it, adhering to it just like it clings to my trembling body.

  He says not a word—not a syllable, not a sigh, not even a whisper against my skin, as he yanks down my panties and lifts me up enough to thrust inside of me. I gasp, and he pauses at the sound, before steadying himself, stabilizing me there, to pound into me. He fucks me so hard, so brutal, I almost cry, the mix of pleasure and pain intense, unexpected. Jesus, I wasn't prepared for this. One arm pins me to him at the waist while his other hand finds my throat.

  I suck in a deep breath, shakily exhaling when my lungs feel like they might burst, over and over. It's torture, waiting for something, waiting for the dizzying sensation of him blocking the flow of air, waiting for his fingertips to press against my jugular. I'm distracted, waiting… waiting… waiting… for the asphyxiation.

  It doesn't come.

  I feel like screaming.

  "Naz…" My voice is a growl. "Please."

  I don't even know why I'm begging. Do I want him to do it? I don't know. I don't know. I just wish he'd put me out of misery, Jesus Christ, just do it or don't. The taunting is too much, the imminent threat of his hand on my throat stirring up the adrenaline until my vision blurs.

  Fuck, I don't know what I want.

  He seems to know though, his hand shifting, squeezing just enough to make me gasp for air.

  Within seconds, orgasm rocks through me, and he lets go as I suck in a deep breath, crying out his name. He thrusts into me so hard I'm surprised the glass can sustain the force, surprised it doesn't crack under the weight of the two of us, as his body shudders.

  He drops me fast, letting go of me and backing away. I'm caught off guard, hitting the tile with a bang. I wince and look over at Naz, watching in shock as he strokes himself, fast, hard, coming down the shower drain.

  It's been a long time since he's done that, pulled out like that, coming somewhere except for inside of me. A long, long time. His eyes are closed, mouth parted, head tilted back as his breaths come out haggard. He's stunning, there's no doubt about it, but the sight of him nags at me.

  Something's wrong.

  He's holding back.

  After his body calms down, he opens his eyes, dropping his gaze to look at me. The faded, distracted look from earlier is back, his brow furrowing at the sight of me on the shower floor. "Are you okay?"

  I nod slowly. "I think I broke my ass, but otherwise…"

  He reaches for me and pulls me to my feet, dragging me back under the spray of water. He strips me, yanking off my heavy, soaked dress, discarding it in the corner of the shower, before his hands explore my skin. He caresses and massages, grabbing the soap and gently washing every inch of me before shampooing my hair.

  I just stand there, letting him do it.

  He doesn't speak, but this feel a hell of a lot like an apology.

  Afterward, he takes a washcloth and runs it across my cheeks, wiping the skin around my eyes. I can see the black smears on the cloth from my makeup. "I look like a raccoon, don't I?"

  A smile touches his lips. "You're beautiful, baby. Don't fret it."

  I roll my eyes, but he doesn't give me much of a chance to argue. He shuts off the water and opens the shower door, stepping out. Grabbing a robe from the hook on the wall nearby, he drapes it around me, rubbing my arms as he kisses my forehead.

  "Why don't you go pour us some more champagne?" he suggests. "I'll be right behind you."

  I head downstairs, just as he told me to.

  It takes him a while to follow.

  Naz is distant the rest of the night. Again, he's here physically, but his thoughts are far away. I ask him more than once if he's okay, but he just repeats his mantra. Don't worry about it.

  Naturally, I worry.

  And worry.

  And worry.

  I lay in bed that night, still worrying.

  I fall asleep worrying.

  I dream about it.

  I'm worried.

  Something jolts me awake in the middle of the night. The room is dark, shadows befalling everything, the only light from the crack between the curtains letting the glow from the strip shine through. I'm on my back, and roll over, blinking away the sleep, but freeze when I see Naz's side of the bed is empty.

  This isn't the first time I've woken up to find him missing.

  Every time, I hope it'll be the last.

  Sighing, I sit up, rubbing my eyes. Working, I assume. I guess he's here for work, after all. I'm about to climb to my feet when something shifts, startling me. I gasp, faintly making out the form in the darkness. Naz is sitting on the edge of the bed, still stark naked, his head down as he stares at the floor, hands clasped in front of him.

  It takes a moment for my heart to calm down, for me to push back the swell of alarm. I swallow thickly, my voice cracking when I call his name. "Ignazio?"

  He lets out a deep sigh, shifting position, turning his head my way. I can't make out much of his face in this darkness, but I know what it would look like if I could.

  Troubled.

  "I was a fool, Karissa." He speaks low, just above a whisper, the words strained. "Such a fucking fool."

  "Why?" I pull the blanket up around me as my chest starts aching, tightening at his distressed tone. "What did you do?"

  "Nothing," he says, sighing again before amending. "Everything."

  I wait, but he doesn't elaborate.

  He offers no explanation.

  "I don't understand."

  Shaking his head, he looks away from me. "I'm not surprised."

  My confusion runs deep, my worry only growing as he stares at his hands fisted in his lap. The silence is stifling. There's so much more to say. I know there is… I just don't know what.

  What am I supposed to say?

  Before I can come up with something, Naz stands. I think he's going to leave, that he's going to walk away, and his name is on my lips to stop him when instead he turns my way.

  All that escapes is a gasp of surprise.

  Naz drops to his knees. No, to a knee. Just one. Right there, beside the bed, completely naked in the darkness. The man gets on a single knee beside me. My thoughts are a hellacious blizzard I can't see through to get a grasp on my surroundings. I don't know where I stand. I feel like I'm floating, hovering, my feet no longer on the ground. Knocked on my ass by this man for the second time today.

  "Naz," I say, my voice with a panicked edge to it. "Oh God, Naz, what are you…?"

  "Just be quiet and let me do this, okay?"

  "But—"


  "Please, Karissa."

  Please. The man said please.

  That alone silences me.

  "I've been thinking about doing this all day," he says. "All fucking day it's been pestering me. Should I do it? Should I not do it? I didn't know what was the right choice. I still don't know. But I can't think about it anymore. So I'm doing it, and hoping like hell you know the right choice, because I don't."

  I'm speechless.

  Fucking speechless.

  Naz opens his hand, and in his palm is a ring. I can't see it in the darkness, not really, but I can tell it's modest, not at all like the ring he gave me once before. That ring was gaudy and extravagant. This ring looks nothing like what he'd choose.

  It looks more like what I would.

  "You threw away the last one I bought you," he says quietly. "I could buy a hundred more like it. A hundred more flashy diamonds, bigger, brighter, each ring more expensive, but it would mean nothing, because it would just be a ring. A ring I bought with money I earned doing things I'd never want to admit to you. I wouldn't marry me with a ring like that either. I wouldn't marry the kind of person that bought that kind of ring."

  "Naz…"

  "Just… don't."

  I shut up again.

  "So I went to my father," he continues, "and I asked him for the ring he used. He worked himself half to death saving up to buy it, and it took him years. Decades. I was a teenager by the time he could finally afford a real ring. And it was nothing, barely a carat, but it was a lot for them."

  My stomach sinks. His mother's ring. Michelle Vitale died a few months ago, passed away unexpectedly in her sleep. I never got the chance to meet her, but I went to the funeral with Naz… and although he kept his distance, not going too close, never once approaching his father or participating in the services, I know it meant a lot to him that he could be there. That he got the chance to say goodbye.

  He blames himself, though.

  I know he does.

  Death takes away everyone I love, he said to me that day. My only response was, I'm here to stay.

  "I went to him, and asked him for this ring, because this ring means something. This ring was bought with money a man worked hard to earn, for a woman he loved more than anything. This ring is a sign of respect, and loyalty, and honesty. This is the kind of ring given by a man with integrity, a man like my father… a man, I realize, I was a fool for not wanting to be like. I asked him for it, and I expected him to say no, but he gave it to me. He gave it to me, and he said, 'if you do it, you gotta mean it, and it's gotta be right'. And I mean it… God knows, I mean it… but I don't know if it's right."