Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 111768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
"Why?"
He cocks an eyebrow before repeating himself. "Come here."
Part of me wants to resist, simply because he ignored my question, but I don't have it in me at the moment. I get up and walk over to where he sits, scooting between him and the desk. I climb up on it, sitting down, my legs dangling. He continues to stare at me, like he knows something's wrong.
He probably does.
He doesn't ask me if I'm okay.
He doesn't have to.
"You're beautiful," he says, "even when you're not smiling."
It's so out of the blue that I can't help but smile at the compliment. "Thank you."
He nods, his hands coming to rest on my calves. He strokes my legs through my jeans. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"Not particularly."
He nods, yet again, and that's the end of it.
His hands roam further up, caressing my thighs, before he reaches for the button of my jeans, easily undoing it. I wordlessly watch as he tugs down the zipper, his hand slipping right inside. My jeans are tight, barely giving him any access, but his fingertips still somehow manage to stumble upon my clit.
His fingers are magnetic, drawn right to it.
He rubs, and strokes, working instant magic, the kind that makes my toes curl and my skin tingle, setting my insides on fire. I close my eyes, tilting my head back, as the tiny jolts of pleasure ripple through my body, coursing up my spine. I don't know how the man does it, taking my body from zero-to-sixty in half a second flat. I lay back on the desk, almost falling off the thing when he yanks on my jeans, pulling them down.
One second it's his hand, the next it's his tongue, pressing flat against my aching clit, tasting me as he rids me of my clothes. I help him out, pulling them off and tossing them across the room, not caring when I'm completely naked and he's still fully clothed in his suit. I reach for his coat, to try to help him out of his, when he grabs my wrists and pins them to the desk.
"Relax," he whispers. "I've got this."
Who am I to argue?
I forgot what the hell I was about to do, anyway.
Because his mouth is on me once again, licking and sucking, his teeth grazing my skin. I'm writhing and moaning as he increases his pace. It takes me forever to get myself off, but somehow this man can accomplish it in seconds, like my body just knows it's all for him. I can feel the pressure building and building, faster than I know how to deal with. My heart is racing. My fists are clenching. My back is arching. A scream is building in my chest that I try to swallow back, to keep down, but I can't. I can't. I let it out, a rough, strangled cry, as orgasm rips through me, making my legs shake from the intensity of it.
I'm panting, clutching my breasts, my muscles like jelly beneath my skin. Opening my eyes, I instantly meet Naz's gaze as he stands there, leaning over me.
It's almost instinct as I wrap my legs around his waist, trying to draw him closer as my hands reach for him. His serious expression cracks with a small smile, and he grabs ahold of me, pulling me off the desk and onto his lap as he sits back down in his chair.
I'm straddling him.
He still has all of his clothes on.
Mine are God-knows-where.
His hands start at my hips and slowly run up my back before slipping around to the front. He palms my breasts, his thumbs stroking the nipples, as he stares at me. Again.
He makes no move to take it any further.
No indication that this is going anywhere.
"What was that for?" I ask, my voice still breathless.
He shrugs a shoulder. "You looked like you could relieve a bit of stress."
That's an understatement, I think, but it certainly did the trick. The tension I've felt all morning has lessened. I almost feel at ease sitting here with him. Just the two of us. Just me and him. It's all still there, though, in the back of my mind, but for the moment I let go of the guilt over it all.
Guilt is an ugly thing.
It slowly eats away at your insides.
I wonder how Naz does it, how he makes it through his days without feeling the nagging sensation deep within him, the ugly reality of regret. Because he's done things... a hell of a lot more than I ever did. He ended lives. He took away futures. He destroyed dreams.
Hell, he almost murdered me.
But yet he gets up every morning and goes to bed again every night, and he survives the hours in between without ever buckling.
He's trying to be better, yeah, but I think, when it comes down to it, he's doing it for me. He's not doing it because he wants to repent for his actions. He's not doing it to make up for his sins. He's doing it not because he's tired of being the man he has been. He's doing it because he thinks it's what I need.
He wants to be a better man to ease my guilt for loving someone like him.
A leopard doesn't change its spots.
That's what Giuseppe said.
You can dress a wolf up in sheep's clothing, but the son of a bitch will still eat you alive if you let it.
Naz's hand shifts to the necklace around my neck. The pendant lies low, almost between my breasts. He rolls the small, round encased crystal between his fingertips, gazing at it. "You never take it off."
"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.