Torture to Her Soul Read Online J.M. Darhower (Monster in His Eyes #2)

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Bad Boy, BDSM, Contemporary, Crime, Dark, Drama, Erotic, New Adult, Romance, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: Monster in His Eyes Series by J.M. Darhower
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Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 127476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
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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.


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