Raphael (Deadly Virtues #1)(50)

“Sleep,” he rasped, realizing Maria awaited his order. Maria’s soft lips tilted up with a whisper of a smile. He felt his heart miss a thud at the sight, at the slight ghost of a dimple that caved in the side of her cheek. In seconds her eyes were shut and she fell into a deep slumber.

She was sleeping in his bed. No one ever slept in his bed but him. He should have demanded she go back to her room. He opened his mouth to do so, but no words came.

Kill her. Kill her now.

Raphael fought through the urge to strike, to crawl to Maria’s body and wrap her hair around her neck. To pull it tighter and tighter until her lips parted and she fought for her next breath that would never come.

Raphael saw it before him. He saw it so clearly it was as if it were real. “No,” he growled when Maria moved her leg, hurtling him back to the here and now. “No.” He dropped her hair to the bed. Forcing himself to back away, Raphael stepped onto the plush carpet. His breathing was rough, and it took all his will to leave her in one piece on the bed. Hands fisted, he rushed into the bathroom and yanked down his pants. His back hit the wall as he closed his eyes and tried to calm down. But it didn’t help. He didn’t feel. Didn’t ever want to feel.

Turning, he took his cock in his tight fist. His teeth gritted together and his neck corded, head thrown back as he squeezed. As he gripped his flesh so hard it brought him to his knees. The agony was furious, sending bolts of lightning pain through his body until he bit his tongue so hard he drew blood. But it was heaven, pure utopia as the torture and torment devoured his skin, his muscles, his bones and his blood, a veritable inferno of agonized rapture. Raphael moved his hand up and down his cock, rubbing the engorged flesh. He bit back a roar of release as he came, the pain of his seed spilling from his dick’s silicone prison enough to make him blanch, blood draining from his face. Raphael collapsed forward, his palms slapping flat on the tiled floor. His pants were around his ankles, and his cock throbbed so painfully that he had to clench his jaw just to keep hold of consciousness.

But then he smiled. He smiled widely, a quiet rough laugh escaping his lips. He laughed at the excruciating pain. It was decadent. It was perfection . . . it was all that he was worth. Raphael jerked, the last of his release dripping down his tense thighs.

When he’d gathered his composure, he staggered up off the floor. Kicking his soiled silk pants across the room, Raphael walked slowly to the mirror, hissing in pain with every step he made. The agony in his groin was a million needles stabbing into his skin. Meeting his reflection, Raphael saw his darkened golden eyes and messy dark hair. He rubbed his finger around his lips. He could smell Maria on his body. Taste her. She was everywhere. On his skin, in his mind . . . in his midnight, venomous soul.

He’d kissed the side of her mouth. He never kissed. It repulsed him. “What the fuck are you thinking?” he spat to his reflection, lip curling. “Pull it together. You’ve waited your whole life for her. For this moment.”

Raphael pushed the touch of her hand on his face from his mind, and gave himself over to his sinister, cold heart. His blood cooled, and the same numbness he lived with every day took its hold.

Treading silently on the carpet, he followed a path to the bed. He stopped beside the high mattress of his four-poster bed and watched Maria as she slept. Her sullied white dress was in a state of disarray, breasts and cunt freed and open to his hungry gaze.

Raphael climbed onto the bed and gently crawled to where she lay. Stopping at her side, he leaned over and splayed his hands above her body. As if yearning for his touch, her spirit attracted to his midnight soul, Maria shifted toward him and bared her neck. Raphael, consumed with his fantasy, tipped his head to the ceiling. He wasn’t sure if his little rose had been sent from heaven or hell. To either repay him for what God had let happen all those years ago, or punish him in the most fucked-up way.

Maria exhaled a soft sigh, the warmth of her breath dancing over his skin. Raphael brushed back a piece of hair that was still stuck to her cheek. His hand moved down until his curious fingers arrived at her throat. He stroked along the soft skin, feeling the silkiness under his touch. He felt her pulse under his thumb, steady and strong. Then he threaded his hand around her neck. Maria’s head tilted up in sleep. “Yes, little rose,” Raphael said, his voice a mere whisper. “Such a pretty, pretty neck you offer me.” Raphael lifted his other hand and brought it to her throat. As gentle as a whisper, his fingers circled her fragile bones. Raphael’s nostrils flared at the stunningly beautiful sight. He squeezed slightly, allowing just enough pressure through his fingers to give him a taste of what her total submission would bring, but not enough to leave a mark or rouse Maria from sleep.

She moaned softly, her back arching. Her bared breasts rose with her arch, her nipples hardening. Excitement rushed through his veins. She might not know it yet, but Maria liked his hands around her neck; she craved it. She was born for him, to award him this gift. As if he were the bright sun, his little rose curled into his soothing rays. He allowed Maria to sleep in his bed for a short while, just long enough for her sweet scent to infuse his sheets. And all the time, Raphael kept his hands around her neck, just . . . imagining . . .

“You won’t defeat me, little rose,” he whispered into the stark blackness of night, hungover from the strange sensation her touch brought to his chest. “I will best you, own you. Then I will kill you. Of that, you have my solemn vow.”