Raphael (Deadly Virtues 1)

Raphael let Maria guide his head upward to meet her eyes. Her hands were warm on his face. “I’m not hurt,” she assured him. “It was a thorn from the stem you still held. Just a small cut.” Raphael dropped the stem and laid his hands on her hips, his fingers traveling to the scars on her back. Her breathing hitched as his fingers traced the ruined skin. “I’m not hurt,” she repeated. “Stand, my lord.”

He was on his knees. He was on his knees . . . He’d vowed to never get on his knees for anyone ever again . . .

“Stand.” Raphael bristled at the command, yet he found himself obeying. His body moved to Maria’s softly spoken order.

His legs and arms began to shake. He’d dropped to his motherfucking knees! Everything assaulted his senses at once. The roses, the greenhouse, the white petals . . . Maria issuing him an order . . . him obeying. He inhaled sharply when Maria’s careful hands tucked his dick back into his jeans. She pulled up her pants and threaded her hand through his. “Let’s go back to the room.”

Raphael nodded numbly and, for once in his adult life, let someone else lead the way. Maria walked beside him, her hand never breaking from his as they crossed the gardens, entered the house, and returned to Raphael’s rooms. Maria locked the doors, then smiled at him, bringing their joined hands to his heart. He didn’t understand the empty feeling in his chest. The pit in his stomach. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t get the image of the blood-coated white roses from his head. He didn’t understand why his hands were shaking.

“Let’s take a bath.”

Raphael stared at Maria. They had never done anything like that before. They had never bathed or showered together. They fucked and he dominated. She did as she was told. “Come, my lord,” Maria said in a soft, enticing voice. Raphael followed her, an unlikely slave to her commands.

Maria broke from his hand only to run the bath. He glanced at himself in the mirror as the room began to fill with steam and the scent of vanilla from the bath foam Maria had poured into the water. His face looked pale . . . but it was his eyes that shocked him most. He didn’t recognize the look in his own eyes. They were wide. They were dull.

What the fuck was happening?

He looked down when he felt Maria unbuttoning his shirt. He swallowed as he watched her. His stomach swirled. She pulled the shirt off his arms and unbuttoned his pants. She rolled them down his legs and off his feet. Raphael watched, absolutely still, as Maria shed her clothes until she stood before him naked. She turned off the faucet, then held out her hand. Raphael placed his hand in hers, the strange numbness still in his bones. Only when they reached the edge of the large bath did he pull her to a stop. Maria turned his way, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. Raphael reached for the rose in her hair. Taking it in his hands, he pulled at the petals, destroying the head. He threw the petals in the bathwater, watching as they floated on the top. He tossed the remainder of the flower to the floor and stepped into the hot water.

Raphael held his hand out to Maria, and she joined him. He sat down, the hot water blanketing his body. Maria sat opposite, facing him. Tendrils of wet hair curled over her neck. The bottom of her hair dipped into the water.

“Turn around,” Raphael said, and she did, pressing her back against Raphael’s chest. He moved her hair from her neck and kissed the bites he had made. The wave of possessiveness the bites caused was overwhelming. He owned his little rose. These bites showed the world that truth. Marked her as his.

Taking the sponge from the basket on the bath’s ledge, Raphael dipped it into the water and squeezed it over Maria’s hair. She tipped her head back and sighed in approval. Raphael was slow as he washed her hair, massaging his hands into the thick strands. The room filled with the sound of his voice when he began to hum the nursery rhyme that he always sung as he washed Maria’s hair. She melted against him. When the last of the shampoo and conditioner were out of her hair, he guided her back against his chest. He inhaled the vanilla and rose scent. As Raphael looked down at Maria’s naked body, flush against his, he watched red rose petals gather around her stomach.

His thoughts drifted back to the greenhouse. He picked up a petal and held it in his hands. Maria watched his every move. “Why do you like roses so much, my lord?”