Snapping out of his daze, Raphael dropped her hair and said, “You’ll give yourself over to me, little rose. You’ll do as I say, and never question me. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
Raphael stroked his hand over her head, his fingers ghosting down the length of her hair. “Then convince me. Make me believe you want it. I won’t touch you until you do. I’m not into raping women, little rose. You have to want it as much as I do.” The tendons in his hands were pronounced as he gripped the chair arms tightly. “I want you to need me. To need what only I can give you.”
Maria didn’t know how to do what he asked. She was unskilled in any form of seduction and ignorant in the matters of sex. She was confused and out of her depth. More than confused about why he hadn’t questioned her further on the priests and her connection to them. He hadn’t asked her why they sent her into the club. He ignored it all . . . he only focused on her and her request for him to school her with his lustful appetite. He was abandoning everything he should be asking to sate his dark desires.
His damned soul was governed by lust. He saw nothing but the pleasure that awaited him. Cared naught for the truth outside of these four walls and Maria’s body that he would use. Even through her fear, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for Raphael. What must it be like to live a life of such darkness?
“Raphael,” she whispered and edged herself forward on the seat. She looked at him through her lowered lashes and spoke softly. “I want you to teach me.” She breathed deeply, and she was encouraged when his eyes fell to her rising chest. “I want you to show me pleasure. Your way. Any way you want. You choose and I’ll obey. I give you my consent, Raphael. And I won’t take it back. No matter how you push me. I want it all. I want it all . . . with and from you.”
Raphael stood up, towering over her as she remained seated and bound. Lifting her to stand before him, his hands under her arms to keep her steady, he said, “You’re mine, Maria, my little rose.” He leaned down and pressed a single gossamer kiss on her cheek—the forbidden, foreign touch sent shivers down Maria’s spine. “And I will break you. I will make it so you can’t breathe without me. Can’t awaken without seeing my face in your mind. You’ll dream of me . . . and I’ll consume you. And when all is said and done, I’ll own you. You’ll never be rid of me. You’ll give me all I have ever wanted. Dreamed of. Finally . . . my little rose.”
Maria heard his words, but she also caught the truth underneath. He would kill her. She was sure of that now. Raphael would kill her. She didn’t know how or when, but Maria felt the heavy weight of the reaper on her back, hovering, patiently waiting for the moment to strike.
Unless she could get through to him first. Minister to the good she knew he held inside. Use his greatest desire—lust—as the tool to try and help him. Perhaps, even save him.
“We need to get you clean.” Raphael reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife. Maria jumped, her body freezing with fear. That pleased him. She knew it as she felt him hardening against her thigh. Raphael hissed as though he were in pain, but he took hold of her hands and cut through the binds. Maria moaned in relief as blood began to swell into the starved limbs. She brought her numb arms to her front and stared at the welts the binds had made. Like Christ, she thought. The stigmata. That vision empowered her and fueled her veins with courage and peace.
Raphael lifted her and placed her on the bed as though she weighed nothing. He ran the tip of the knife down one of her bare legs. Maria sucked in a breath at the cold touch of steel and watched him cut through the ties at her feet. The same ache she had felt in her hands burst into her legs. But Raphael’s warm hands began massaging her ankles, her arch, her toes. His hands on her body made her heart miss a beat. No one had touched her naked skin for years, and the last one who did . . .
Maria closed her eyes and forced herself to rid her brain of that memory. When her eyes opened, Raphael had stood and was looking down at her, waiting. He held out his hand. “Get up.” Maria did as he said. Her feet still felt numb, but she managed to find balance. “You will shower, take all of this makeup off your face.” He skirted his fingers over her still-curly hair. “And all of the gunk from your hair. I want it natural. I want to see it as it is meant to be.”