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.