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.