Chapter Nine

 

Her delicate neck. The blush to her fair skin. The glaze in her blue eyes.

Perfect. She was perfect. As Raphael looked down, he saw his dream brought to life. Imagined her eyes frozen open, no more blinks to be made. Her soft hair would brush his cheek as he lay on her chest. The aftermath would be so silent, not a single sound in the room—perfect bliss. The blush on her cheeks would remain even as the hours passed. She would remain in his arms and, in the aftermath, she would still be warm.

As Raphael drew back his head, he felt the brand of kissing Maria staining his lips. His cock throbbed in his pants, the silicone cage choking his erection until it ached. It was perfection. The strangulation, Maria’s warm body beside his. He glanced up to Maria’s hair. It was thick and full from her writhing around on the bed. But her rose was still perfectly in place.

Raphael placed his hand on her lower neck and traced down over her breast. The minute his fingertip touched her nipple, Maria gasped, and her eyes that were fixed on him suddenly glazed in need. For someone so virginal, so untouched, she craved his touch, was a slave to his fingers. Some strange, unknown feeling flashed in his chest as she watched him, eyes hooded and lips pink.

It made Raphael groan.

Not wanting to lose the flush to her cheeks, he brought his hand lower and lower, over the thin fabric of Maria’s dress, over her stomach and down to her bare pussy. Raphael’s dick twitched. His pretty little rose had shaved. Like the perfect submissive she was apparently born to be, Maria’s legs fell further open without her even being asked. Raphael stilled and flicked his gaze up to meet hers. He had yet to tell her to look away. He didn’t like his conquests to keep his gaze for too long. He should order her eyes to drop, and he was about to open his mouth to issue the command, yet he stayed quiet. The words simply wouldn’t come.

Maria was staring at him, lips parted and pink nipple hard. His little rose looked so pure. Pure and good as she watched him—a light in her eyes as she regarded his dark soul. An angel in bed with the devil. Raphael licked his lips at the thought. Never in all these years had he been with someone like her.

Untouched.

Unsullied.

Purely his for the taking.

Raphael couldn’t help but become awash with pride knowing she would never have anyone else but him. She would never be leaving his rooms. She would forever carry his scent on her skin. Be branded with his touch and kiss. Be his to own forevermore.

All of his kills were overused pussy, and unsavory to his tastes. But a kill was a kill, a fuck was a fuck . . . until her.

Until little Maria.

Maria clenched her thighs, causing Raphael to look down. Her pussy was wet, glistening with come brought about by his hand. Stroking his steady hands up her milky thighs, Raphael parted Maria’s legs so he could see her better. Maria softly moaned, hands fisting the sheets as the cool air lapped at her silky cunt lips. Raphael watched her cheeks flood with redness. Her pussy was as pink as the rose in her hair, and her clit was swollen and thick. Her hole clenched, and Raphael thrust his cock against the mattress as he imagined plunging inside. The cage choked his dick until he hissed at the heavenly constrictive pain. His eyes rolled back as his balls pulled tight, the cage restricting his blood, his tip throbbing. He breathed through the pleasure, inhaled a long breath as he fought the need to come. Raphael’s hands fisted, and the muscles in his neck grew taut. When he looked up, Maria was watching him.

Her hair. Her long blond hair was a halo on her pillow. An angel. His very own angel to keep.

Stop. He had to stop. He wouldn’t waste this kill with impatience. He wouldn’t waste the beauty in his bed, the gift the devil had brought to his door. He would savor her taste, consume her cries of ecstasy. He would relish each touch of her body beneath his dangerous hands. And he would collect her pleasure, day after day, week after week, until she was his and his alone. Until her smiles were unbarred and her love for him was uncensored, obsessive . . . until he was the very air she breathed.

Slow. He must go slow. His little rose mustn’t be scared away.

Running his hands along her inner thighs, Raphael reached her needy pussy and, with his thumbs, gently pushed her lips apart. Maria cried out at the simple touch. Raphael glanced up, checking her eyes were still on his. He didn’t like any form of disobedience from his lovers—she had to do exactly what he said. He wanted his little rose to memorize every part of this—her ruin, his ascension as her king. She would watch every part of his tongue plunging into her dripping cunt, of him destroying her innocence and crafting her to be the perfect little possession that he’d keep forever.

To Raphael’s satisfaction, her attention was totally fixed on him. Raphael shifted further up her body until his mouth hovered above her clit. Testing how desperate her need was for his touch, Raphael gently blew on her throbbing pussy. Maria’s eyes rolled and her hips twitched. But his good little rose didn’t move. Raphael’s stern commands had tied her to the bed with phantom chains. His will was the lock keeping her subdued. His words were the only key. A lock he had no intention of breaking open . . . yet.

Raphael brushed his thumb over her sensitive clit. Maria gasped, her perfect, untouched hole clenching, hungry for his cock. It would come in time. He had so much to show his little rose first. When he took her, she would be desperate for him to fill her. Mewling, panting with the need for him to tear her heart apart.

Raphael had to make her love him first. There would be no room for anyone else in her life. No God. No Jesus. Just him . . . her true savior, the man she would sacrifice herself for . . . just to please him. “Do you like that, little rose?”

Maria’s mouth moved but no words came out. Raphael stopped his thumbs. A flicker of annoyance shot through him at her lack of response. But Maria was a quick study.

“Yes, my lord,” she said. “I . . . I like it.” Her voice was barely a whisper, stuttered and unsteady. But it was enough to sate Raphael’s need for Maria’s obedience.

“Mm,” he murmured and nudged her thighs wider, wide enough that the breadth of his shoulders kept them restrained. He realized his body’s width was a perfect fit between her legs. Maria’s thighs fought to squeeze together again. He smirked, triumph in his eyes. She was falling. Falling, madly and deeply, into his trap.

Licking his lips, Raphael massaged the folds of Maria’s pussy and flicked her clit with his tongue. The cry that ripped from Maria’s throat was nothing short of demonic. Her angel soul ravaged by his satanic ways. But Maria made sure she stayed still. Her eyes were frenzied, but her stare remained on him. Her fair skin was as white as an angel’s wings. The blue of her irises was the color of the Madonna’s clothes. But there was no Madonna to be found in the room. Maria was his soon-to-be whore, a whore for his cock and touch and every single move he made. A whore for him and only him, his perfectly obedient little rose. Raphael’s black heart filled with heat as Maria’s angelic skin began to wash with red . . . the color of sin, such beautiful, beautiful sin.

He would be her demise.

No one would ever touch her but him. She was his. She was never getting away.

As soon as Maria’s taste burst on Raphael’s tongue he stilled. His heart raced. Raphael didn’t understand the reaction, his muscles locked in paralysis as he tried to decipher the foreign feeling. There was a heat in his chest he didn’t recognize.

But when he looked up at her face, at the flush to her skin and the throbbing pulse in her neck, it all became clear to him. She was perfection. Of course she would taste that way too. It was his soul telling him he had finally found the one. It just affirmed to Raphael that she was it. He had found his lust’s perfect half, his sacrificial lamb.

Groaning at the wave of possessiveness rushing through his blood, Raphael licked along Maria’s pussy, from hole to clit. Her moans bled into the hymns playing in the background, a hedonistic harmony to the sacred melody. She was all he could taste. Her heat on his tongue was all he could feel. And he couldn’t stop. With every lick he needed more and more, insatiability taking ownership of his actions. Maria shook under his mouth, and when he looked up, he caught rabid desperation on her pretty face.

Lifting his head, he paused just long enough to order, “Grip my hair.” Maria obeyed so quickly it made him groan and his dick throb. “Pull,” he ordered darkly. Maria didn’t hesitate. As he sank his mouth back onto her cunt, her fingers raked at the strands. Raphael’s eyes watered as Maria, lost to euphoria, pulled at his messy hair and ripped at his scalp. Raphael ground his dick into the mattress as he devoured her, licked and sucked her clit until her cries were a worship song of her own. He felt her clit throb harder and harder in his mouth, until, with a final yank on his hair, strands coming free in her hands, Maria came, flooding onto his tongue. But Raphael didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. He was addicted as he licked and lapped and swallowed her taste down, parched, as if he’d been lost in the desert for a month and Maria’s pussy was his blessed relief of water.

Maria jerked underneath him, and he knew she couldn’t take anymore. It only made him push harder, forcing her further and further toward the brink of oblivion. Raphael kept going, testing her submission, seeing how far he could push her until she defied his orders. It wasn’t until she whimpered, pained cries stammering from her shaking lips, that Raphael pulled back. His cheeks were on fire as he crawled over her fatigued body. Maria’s eyes were leaden, tears falling in streams down her cheeks. The sight of her undone, crying tears caused by his ministrations, made a burst of pleasure flood his balls. Seeing her spent and exhausted made him relax. With her gaze fixed on his, Raphael licked his lips, still tasting her on his tongue like the finest wine. Maria watched his every move, her pale skin covered in a thin layer of sweat. Raphael bent down and licked along her neck, lapping up a wayward teardrop that was trying to escape. There wasn’t a part of her that could run from him.

He would catch her. He always would.

When Raphael reared back, it was to find Maria staring at his chest, her tears waning and her breaths slowing. A strange sense of calmness washed over his body. Raphael paused, unused to the foreign feeling of peace traveling from his head to his toes. He never felt calm. Always itched for more. More sex, more kills, more death. In his fascination, Raphael reached down for her hand. As soon as their palms connected and their fingers entwined, he stilled with curiosity. She was shaking. A strange swirling stirred in his stomach, giving his skin goosebumps. Was she afraid of him? Maria’s fingers tightened around his. He studied her face. She was staring at their clasped hands. He felt a peculiar stutter in his chest when he followed her gaze.

Raphael hated to be touched intimately unless he ordered it. Unless it helped him get his kill. None of his victims ever touched him this way; he forbade it. But just as he was about to wrench his hand from Maria’s, her thumb gently ghosted over his palm. His heart started beating heavily. He didn’t understand why he hadn’t ripped his hand away, forced her to get on her knees and kiss his feet in forgiveness for her boldness. Ensured that she knew he wasn’t to be touched unless instructed. But when Maria’s thumb drifted across his palm again, Raphael groaned and he slammed her hand flat against his chest. He hissed at the intimate contact. It was a brand as searing as the Saint Peter’s cross the Brethren had plunged onto his flesh. His eyes rolled closed as he fought the feel of her soft hands on his bare skin. He was on fire, his blood rushing through his veins like lava.

It was painful.

Uncomfortable, yet he didn’t push her away.

As he looked down at her, seeing her blue eyes wide and her lips parted as she studied their joined hands on his chest, Raphael thundered past the impenetrable wall that shielded him from letting in weakness and rasped, “Touch me, little rose.” The minute the words had fled his mouth he felt his skin break out in shivers. Anger rose inside him at his foolish move. He was the one who did the touching. He was the only one in charge.

He opened his mouth, about to revoke his order. What was he thinking? No one touched him. They didn’t deserve it. He couldn’t stand it. He—

Maria’s fingers twitched, then, escaping the cover of his palm, began floating over his hot skin. The boiling anger that was threatening to break loose and potentially end Maria’s life cooled in an instant, ice water to a roaring flame as her timid fingers crawled over his pecs. Raphael was as still as a statue as her fingers explored. His muscles twitched under her touch. He could barely draw breath.

He was allowing someone to touch him.

Maria was touching him without his controlling her every move.

Raphael squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head when a familiar darkness pulled him under and threw him back into the torture room. With him. His hands running over Raphael’s bare chest and neck, fingers wrapping around his throat. He touched him. Always fucking touched him. Raphael couldn’t stand it. Wanted to rip those hands from their arms and throw them into the fire. “Submit to me, demon.” Rage and disgust built in Raphael’s body until he thought he would combust at the memory. He was touching his chest. Caressing his motherfucking chest. He had to get him off. He had to get him off!

Raphael’s eyes snapped open when a hand brushed over his pec. Reaching out, he grabbed the wrist and squeezed. A pained cry tried to break through his brain’s fog, but it didn’t penetrate the thick walls. Raphael had to kill him. He had to end him once and for all, make it so he couldn’t touch him again, choke him again, fuck him again.

Raphael yanked on the wrist, pushing the priest on his back . . . then Raphael froze, unable to move as fingers softly ran down his face.

“My lord.” Quiet words tried to push through the red mist clouding his vision. The priest’s fingers felt different. They felt soft. They felt smooth. “I’m so sorry, my lord. I shouldn’t have touched your cheek without permission.” The words kept circling his mind. The voice . . . the voice was different too. Like daggers, the higher-pitched tone was pushing its way inside his mind. “How can I make it up to you, my lord?”

My lord . . . my lord . . .

Raphael blinked, and his vision quickly cleared. Ready to attack, he slammed his gaze down to the person on the bed and wrapped his hands around their throat. He was about to tighten his hold, but big blue eyes were suddenly looking back at him. Raphael panted, trying to understand what was happening, where he was. These eyes were different. They were blue, not brown. His head snapped to the side when warmth spread on his cheek. A hand . . . there was a hand on his face.

“My lord.”

Raphael gasped as he saw Maria beneath him. His hands were around her throat, ready to strike. His lip curled as he fought the demon inside who lusted for the rush of a kill. All he had to do was squeeze. She was here for him to take, to kill, to make it so she couldn’t touch him again without his say-so.

“Get off me,” he snarled, and Maria immediately wrenched back her hand.

“Raphael?” His name on her lips caused a dull ache to burrow into his chest. A unrelenting ache he had never felt before. It was debilitating. It was disgusting. It repulsed him . . .

But for some reason, it made his pulse race.

Raphael ripped back his hands as if her throat were protected by a naked flame. He didn’t like the feeling of defeat, didn’t know how to react to it. He never hesitated in his kills. It felt like he was suffocating, like phantom hands were choking his lungs.

“It’s ‘my lord,’” he hissed and yanked Maria up off the bed by her arms. “You don’t call me by my name. Ever.” He pulled her over him. Her knees straddled his, and her tits pressed against his chest. Maria’s eyes immediately dropped. Obeying his command.

“Yes, my lord,” she whispered.

Electricity buzzed through Raphael’s body, too fast and too strong for him to take. Maria’s hands were by her side, avoiding his skin. He imagined them on his chest again, on his face. No! His head twitched to the side at his inner war. He didn’t want it. Didn’t want anyone touching him intimately. Ever. He had to be in control. He needed to be in control.

Don’t submit. Never submit to anyone again.

The warmth on his cheek waned at that thought. But his body lurched. He wanted it back; he wanted the warmth from her hand back. He shouldn’t want it back!

Growling in frustration, Raphael wrapped Maria’s hair around his hand. He needed to feel the strands restricting the blood in his fingers. “Widen your legs,” he ordered. Raphael’s tone had dropped; it was harsher, demanding total obedience. Maria didn’t hesitate, causing the choking sensation in his lungs to grow stronger. He didn’t know why. What was this motherfucking feeling?

She widened her legs. “Pull up your dress.” Maria’s lips parted at the request. He dared her with his stare to refuse. But before she caught sight of his deathly gaze, she gathered the white dress in her hands and slowly pulled it up over her slim thighs. “Up to your waist,” Raphael said harshly when Maria stopped. She swallowed, but she hiked her dress higher, inch by inch, until the gauzy material was gathered at her small waist. Raphael’s skin ignited on seeing her so bare, seeing her so responsive to his orders. His groin tightened when he saw her pussy on display. His hand tightened in her hair. Maria’s eyes were focused on the mattress beneath her, yet his body began to heat from simply looking at her.

Maria brought warmth. Her touch had brought warmth to his face.

He was cold. He had always felt cold. In Purgatory, there was only ever cold and pain and screams. Not warmth and softness and smiles. He lived in darkness and coldness. It made him, raised him.

Darkness was who he was.

A growl built in Raphael’s throat. He didn’t like what she was doing to him. She had made him feel out of control. He needed it back. He had to put her in her place and make sure it never happened again.

The little rose needed to be schooled.

Raphael wound the rest of her hair around his other hand until he had her positioned, legs spread, in front of him, his hands holding the sections of her hair as if they were ropes. Winding them tighter and tighter until his hands were at her scalp, he used his purchase on her hair to tilt her head up. “Look at me.” Maria did. Raphael shook his head slowly. “You disobeyed me, little rose. You called me by my name. You touched my face. You got too brave.” Maria’s eyes were wide . . . but there was a quickening of her breath and a bright red flush to her chest. “No. . .” he hissed, realizing she was reacting positively to his harshness, his aggression. It only made his lungs squeeze harder. In this moment, she was meant to be scared. She was meant to fear his wrath.

Raphael wanted nothing more than to thrust her head down and make her pretty mouth take his cock in punishment, sucking so hard it shot excruciating pain to his suffocating balls. But he would like that too much. He needed to punish her. Needed to get her from underneath his skin. “You understand that you disobeyed me? Displeased me?”

“Yes, my lord,” Maria whispered, her voice meek.

Her meekness only made her effect on him worse. “You understand you have to pay the price of that behavior?” he snapped.

Maria’s cheeks burst into flames. “Yes, my lord.” Her voice had grown hoarse with anticipation. It took Raphael all he had not to groan at the sound of her addictive soft voice.

Painstakingly slowly, Raphael unraveled her hair from his hands until he had enough space to lie down on the bed. With only a thin clump of hair wound around each hand to control her moves, Raphael lay on his back. “Climb over me.”

He tugged on her hair, as if it were the reins of a horse. Maria shuffled forward until her knees were just above Raphael’s head. “Further. Knees on either side of my head. I want your cunt above my mouth. And that’s the last time I’m gonna tell you. Do not disobey me again.”

Raphael tugged harder on Maria’s hair to show her he meant it. With a small cry, Maria edged forward, shyness engulfing her face, a nervous blush coating every inch of her skin. Her nervousness made everything worse. It was fuel to his already raging flame. But he couldn’t stop. He needed to taste her, needed her on his tongue.

When she stilled, her pussy hovering just above Raphael’s mouth, he said, “You will lower yourself to my mouth. And you will take what I give.” He heard Maria’s labored breath. “You won’t move until I tell you. You won’t move your arms. You will keep them by your side. You can cry out.” Raphael let her slowly absorb the rules. “And I want to hear every second of your pleasure. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord. I understand.”

He was out of control. He couldn’t stop, he was governed by his need and this woman. Do not kill her, he told himself as his hands itched to take her life and rid himself of the strange feelings taking him over. Of her and her blue eyes and warm palm on his cheek.

Pulling Maria down by her hair, Raphael took the first taste of her pussy. Fire soared through the fibers of his muscles as soon as her flavor burst on his tongue. He should stop. Stop and kill her now. Cut off the strange effect she had on him with one snap of her neck, and find another to fulfill his fantasy. But he didn’t stop. Couldn’t. She was too perfect to dispose of. Instead he took her like a man starved, licking and sucking and groaning deeply with every cry of ecstasy she expelled above him. Her thighs shook from the pressure of being unable to move. Her arms were by her sides, and apart from the shudders of pleasure that sailed through her from Raphael’s relentless tongue, Maria stayed exactly where she was meant to, only making him crave her more. The feel of her hair wrapped around his hands, the taste of her cunt, and her submission to his orders caused Raphael’s cock cage to strain so tightly he could feel the blood and cum being trapped in the restraints.

Maria’s cries were a constant song as he pulled at her hair and devoured her clit. Body tense and a scream ripping from her throat, Maria came, her wetness filling Raphael’s mouth. He didn’t stop. He licked and licked until Maria convulsed above him, unable to take anymore. He stilled, yet she still didn’t move.

That acquiescence pleased him more than she could ever know.

Raphael’s chest rose and fell in rapid movements. The room grew quiet; the only sounds were the haunting hymns and harshly exhaled breaths.

He needed to get out from underneath her. Needed to stop the constricting of his chest. It hadn’t lessened. The claws were burrowing in deeper, imbedding themselves in his flesh.

He couldn’t stand this new feeling. He wanted it gone from inside him.

He shifted down the bed and brought himself to his knees. His cock was throbbing, the pain almost bringing him to the brink of euphoria. Maria’s head hung low, her body weak from exhaustion; a veil of sweat coated her fair skin, and tendrils of her hair coiled over her red cheeks. Yet Raphael did not let go of her hair. He couldn’t. Not yet. His hands simply refused to let go. The fire inside him flared at the sight of her so ruined by his mouth. His touch.

He sat taller, proud. He had done this. His control, his instruction. Her complete submission to his every word. Seeing her like this, a ravaged mess, made her more beautiful than ever to his eyes.

“Relax,” Raphael said. Maria’s body sagged on command. His eyes rolled back in ecstasy at seeing her so fucking undone. “Lie back.” Her body was lifeless as her arms and legs sank into the soft mattress. Raphael wasn’t prepared for the effect seeing her so still and spent would have on his already destroyed and fucked-up mind. Every muscle in his body was still as he became transfixed on her heavy eyelids and her flushed pink mouth. He looked down and blinked at the hair in his hands. He had to see it through. Maria had to stay. She was his one. Raphael ignored how his heartbeat sped up seemingly in agreement. He ignored the new tightness that had taken root in his chest with the forbidden touch of her hand on his face.

“Sleep,” he rasped, realizing Maria awaited his order. Maria’s soft lips tilted up with a whisper of a smile. He felt his heart miss a thud at the sight, at the slight ghost of a dimple that caved in the side of her cheek. In seconds her eyes were shut and she fell into a deep slumber.

She was sleeping in his bed. No one ever slept in his bed but him. He should have demanded she go back to her room. He opened his mouth to do so, but no words came.

Kill her. Kill her now.

Raphael fought through the urge to strike, to crawl to Maria’s body and wrap her hair around her neck. To pull it tighter and tighter until her lips parted and she fought for her next breath that would never come.

Raphael saw it before him. He saw it so clearly it was as if it were real. “No,” he growled when Maria moved her leg, hurtling him back to the here and now. “No.” He dropped her hair to the bed. Forcing himself to back away, Raphael stepped onto the plush carpet. His breathing was rough, and it took all his will to leave her in one piece on the bed. Hands fisted, he rushed into the bathroom and yanked down his pants. His back hit the wall as he closed his eyes and tried to calm down. But it didn’t help. He didn’t feel. Didn’t ever want to feel.

Turning, he took his cock in his tight fist. His teeth gritted together and his neck corded, head thrown back as he squeezed. As he gripped his flesh so hard it brought him to his knees. The agony was furious, sending bolts of lightning pain through his body until he bit his tongue so hard he drew blood. But it was heaven, pure utopia as the torture and torment devoured his skin, his muscles, his bones and his blood, a veritable inferno of agonized rapture. Raphael moved his hand up and down his cock, rubbing the engorged flesh. He bit back a roar of release as he came, the pain of his seed spilling from his dick’s silicone prison enough to make him blanch, blood draining from his face. Raphael collapsed forward, his palms slapping flat on the tiled floor. His pants were around his ankles, and his cock throbbed so painfully that he had to clench his jaw just to keep hold of consciousness.

But then he smiled. He smiled widely, a quiet rough laugh escaping his lips. He laughed at the excruciating pain. It was decadent. It was perfection . . . it was all that he was worth. Raphael jerked, the last of his release dripping down his tense thighs.

When he’d gathered his composure, he staggered up off the floor. Kicking his soiled silk pants across the room, Raphael walked slowly to the mirror, hissing in pain with every step he made. The agony in his groin was a million needles stabbing into his skin. Meeting his reflection, Raphael saw his darkened golden eyes and messy dark hair. He rubbed his finger around his lips. He could smell Maria on his body. Taste her. She was everywhere. On his skin, in his mind . . . in his midnight, venomous soul.

He’d kissed the side of her mouth. He never kissed. It repulsed him. “What the fuck are you thinking?” he spat to his reflection, lip curling. “Pull it together. You’ve waited your whole life for her. For this moment.”

Raphael pushed the touch of her hand on his face from his mind, and gave himself over to his sinister, cold heart. His blood cooled, and the same numbness he lived with every day took its hold.

Treading silently on the carpet, he followed a path to the bed. He stopped beside the high mattress of his four-poster bed and watched Maria as she slept. Her sullied white dress was in a state of disarray, breasts and cunt freed and open to his hungry gaze.

Raphael climbed onto the bed and gently crawled to where she lay. Stopping at her side, he leaned over and splayed his hands above her body. As if yearning for his touch, her spirit attracted to his midnight soul, Maria shifted toward him and bared her neck. Raphael, consumed with his fantasy, tipped his head to the ceiling. He wasn’t sure if his little rose had been sent from heaven or hell. To either repay him for what God had let happen all those years ago, or punish him in the most fucked-up way.

Maria exhaled a soft sigh, the warmth of her breath dancing over his skin. Raphael brushed back a piece of hair that was still stuck to her cheek. His hand moved down until his curious fingers arrived at her throat. He stroked along the soft skin, feeling the silkiness under his touch. He felt her pulse under his thumb, steady and strong. Then he threaded his hand around her neck. Maria’s head tilted up in sleep. “Yes, little rose,” Raphael said, his voice a mere whisper. “Such a pretty, pretty neck you offer me.” Raphael lifted his other hand and brought it to her throat. As gentle as a whisper, his fingers circled her fragile bones. Raphael’s nostrils flared at the stunningly beautiful sight. He squeezed slightly, allowing just enough pressure through his fingers to give him a taste of what her total submission would bring, but not enough to leave a mark or rouse Maria from sleep.

She moaned softly, her back arching. Her bared breasts rose with her arch, her nipples hardening. Excitement rushed through his veins. She might not know it yet, but Maria liked his hands around her neck; she craved it. She was born for him, to award him this gift. As if he were the bright sun, his little rose curled into his soothing rays. He allowed Maria to sleep in his bed for a short while, just long enough for her sweet scent to infuse his sheets. And all the time, Raphael kept his hands around her neck, just . . . imagining . . .

“You won’t defeat me, little rose,” he whispered into the stark blackness of night, hungover from the strange sensation her touch brought to his chest. “I will best you, own you. Then I will kill you. Of that, you have my solemn vow.”