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.