Maria did as she was told. She cast her eyes around the room as the introduction to her favorite hymn, “Abide With Me,” began to play through the speakers. Instant peace washed over her body. She didn’t realize she was smiling until Raphael said in a husky voice, “You like this song?”
Maria came back into the moment. The choir singing vocal harmonies on the track lit her heart and filled it with joy. “Yes.”
“It reminds me of my youth,” he said.
Maria was shocked Raphael had offered up that piece of information about himself. He didn’t elaborate any further. She didn’t know if it brought back fond memories or painful ones.
“Wine?” Raphael lifted the bottle of red wine and poured her a glass, swiftly moving on from the topic. Maria never drank outside of communion. But she was here to heal him. She would take her lead from Raphael. She would abide by his rules.
Maria took a sip of the wine. It was good. It tasted expensive. Raphael lifted the dome from the dish in front of her. “Eat,” he said and sat back. Raphael left his food covered and sat back in his chair. He sipped at his wine, keeping his eyes on Maria. Lifting her knife and fork, Maria began to eat. She realized she was famished, and she had no idea when she might next eat.
She ate in silence, the beautifully harmonized hymns and the crackling fire her only soundtrack. When her plate was empty, Raphael cleared the dishes and refilled her wine. Maria could feel her cheeks heat with the effects of the alcohol. But she welcomed the feeling the wine brought. It carried with it a numbness she relished, a lowering of her inhibitions.
Something she was sure she would need with this man.
“Tell me,” Raphael said, sitting forward in his chair. “Do you still want to play?”
Maria’s breathing paused at the question. But she quickly disguised her flicker of fear with a single nod. “Yes,” she whispered, placing her glass on the table. To save him, she would have to reach him on his own terms.
Lust.
It would have to be through the act of lust.
Raphael smiled, and Maria was sure his smile could illuminate the very darkest depths of hell. “That pleases me.” Maria nodded again, his approval making that familiar fissure of heat crack across her tight chest. “But we need rules, little rose.” Maria focused on hiding her rapid breaths. She kept her eyes down. It was natural for her to do so; she had done so for years, first as a postulant, then a novitiate. It helped disguise her fear.
“Maria. Look at me.” She did as he demanded. He smiled again, the effect on her sensibilities just as devastating as the last time. “You will be good at this, little rose. You’re already so receptive to me. To my commands.” Raphael braced his hands on the table. “But I suppose you’re wondering what I want from you? What I mean by ‘play’?”
Maria nodded, clasping her hands on her lap.
“Submission,” Raphael said, and Maria’s heart skipped a beat. “Your complete and utter submission to me.” Maria felt her cheeks blaze at the fire in his deep voice. “I want you, Maria, to hang off every word I say. I want you to give yourself to me in every way possible. Forget the world outside. Forget who you were before you found me at the club.” Raphael licked his lips. Maria’s attention was locked on his tongue as it lapped his mouth. “You will be reborn in these rooms. Under my instructions and care you will flourish like you never have before. I will take you to heights you have only ever imagined in your most vivid fantasies.” Maria’s eyes were wide as Raphael spoke these illicit promises. Her gaze dropped to his naked torso, the flames from the fire seductively dancing their light over his olive skin. She noted the tattoos that peppered his arms, chest, and stomach. The images of women caught in the throes of passion, gasping with pleasure through parted lips. Hearts wrapped in heavy ropes, being squeezed of their beat. Lovers entwined around one another in ecstasy. Maria stilled when she saw a bloom of roses covering the tops his shoulders. On one side they were bright red, like the one in her hair, their stems green and vivid. But the other . . . they were as black as ravens’ feathers, their thorny stems sharp and deadly as they crawled like toxic vines and wrapped around his heart.
The sword-and-angel-wing design was in stark contrast to the erotic art licking over the rest of his tanned skin. She wondered at its significance. The fact it was the only one out of sync with the other designs told her it was somehow poignant. And its texture seemed different. As if it wasn’t a tattoo at all, more seared into his flesh, burned as though metal had been pushed onto his skin and later framed in black ink, giving it the guise of a tattoo.