by Tillie Cole
“Come.” Raphael’s growled command passed through her like an edict straight from God’s mouth to her heart. Maria’s body tensed, and she broke apart into a supernova of tiny little fragments—dispersed, shattered, and soaring into a blissful wonderment of peace. Her body jerked as a cry leaped from her throat, only to be caught by Raphael, who hovered above her, his thumb on her bottom lip, breathing in her cries with his quick inhale.
Maria didn’t want to come down. Not from pain or fear, but from the need to keep this feeling for longer, to bask in the glow a cluster of feathers and a hot tongue had brought her. But, unable to hold on to the new feeling for a minute longer, Maria began to float back into her body, weightless, renewed. Returning to the bed and the man who was stroking her hair, his body pressed to hers. As the pleasure dispersed, Maria felt changed. Like a sinner born again.
Her body trembled. She wasn’t sure if it was the aftermath of her first orgasm or the memory of how Raphael looked at her when he’d wrung her of her pleasure. Like she was the Madonna and he a lowly pilgrim in search of spiritual guidance. Guidance only she could give him.
As if he needed to touch her, Raphael turned her head with his firm hand on her cheek. Maria felt the quick reddening of her face at the seemingly sincere caress. Raphael smiled, and the effect was devastating to her opened heart. Because this smile seemed different to those given before. This one she saw reflected in his eyes as well as on his mouth.
He was pleased.
That strangely made her happy too.
He reached out his hand, and with a touch as timid as the feathers that had brought her her first glimpse of pleasure, he ran his finger over her cheek. “Just like a rose,” he murmured, then leaned over until his torso covered hers. Maria gasped when her exposed nipple brushed against Raphael’s naked chest. She didn’t know what he was about to do. But she didn’t expect the kiss he placed on the side of her mouth. A kiss that made her thankful she was lying down; she feared her legs would have buckled at the formidable effect it had on her forgiving heart.
“You are beautiful, little rose. I couldn’t have asked for anyone more.”
As Maria stared into his golden eyes, she believed she saw a flicker of good looking back. Just a spark of benevolence, a whispered promise of who this man could be with her grace.
It wasn’t much. But it was a start.
Chapter Nine
Her delicate neck. The blush to her fair skin. The glaze in her blue eyes.
Perfect. She was perfect. As Raphael looked down, he saw his dream brought to life. Imagined her eyes frozen open, no more blinks to be made. Her soft hair would brush his cheek as he lay on her chest. The aftermath would be so silent, not a single sound in the room—perfect bliss. The blush on her cheeks would remain even as the hours passed. She would remain in his arms and, in the aftermath, she would still be warm.
As Raphael drew back his head, he felt the brand of kissing Maria staining his lips. His cock throbbed in his pants, the silicone cage choking his erection until it ached. It was perfection. The strangulation, Maria’s warm body beside his. He glanced up to Maria’s hair. It was thick and full from her writhing around on the bed. But her rose was still perfectly in place.
Raphael placed his hand on her lower neck and traced down over her breast. The minute his fingertip touched her nipple, Maria gasped, and her eyes that were fixed on him suddenly glazed in need. For someone so virginal, so untouched, she craved his touch, was a slave to his fingers. Some strange, unknown feeling flashed in his chest as she watched him, eyes hooded and lips pink.
It made Raphael groan.
Not wanting to lose the flush to her cheeks, he brought his hand lower and lower, over the thin fabric of Maria’s dress, over her stomach and down to her bare pussy. Raphael’s dick twitched. His pretty little rose had shaved. Like the perfect submissive she was apparently born to be, Maria’s legs fell further open without her even being asked. Raphael stilled and flicked his gaze up to meet hers. He had yet to tell her to look away. He didn’t like his conquests to keep his gaze for too long. He should order her eyes to drop, and he was about to open his mouth to issue the command, yet he stayed quiet. The words simply wouldn’t come.
Maria was staring at him, lips parted and pink nipple hard. His little rose looked so pure. Pure and good as she watched him—a light in her eyes as she regarded his dark soul. An angel in bed with the devil. Raphael licked his lips at the thought. Never in all these years had he been with someone like her.
Untouched.
Unsullied.
Purely his for the taking.
Raphael couldn’t help but become awash with pride knowing she would never have anyone else but him. She would never be leaving his rooms. She would forever carry his scent on her skin. Be branded with his touch and kiss. Be his to own forevermore.
All of his kills were overused pussy, and unsavory to his tastes. But a kill was a kill, a fuck was a fuck . . . until her.
Until little Maria.
Maria clenched her thighs, causing Raphael to look down. Her pussy was wet, glistening with come brought about by his hand. Stroking his steady hands up her milky thighs, Raphael parted Maria’s legs so he could see her better. Maria softly moaned, hands fisting the sheets as the cool air lapped at her silky cunt lips. Raphael watched her cheeks flood with redness. Her pussy was as pink as the rose in her hair, and her clit was swollen and thick. Her hole clenched, and Raphael thrust his cock against the mattress as he imagined plunging inside. The cage choked his dick until he hissed at the heavenly constrictive pain. His eyes rolled back as his balls pulled tight, the cage restricting his blood, his tip throbbing. He breathed through the pleasure, inhaled a long breath as he fought the need to come. Raphael’s hands fisted, and the muscles in his neck grew taut. When he looked up, Maria was watching him.
Her hair. Her long blond hair was a halo on her pillow. An angel. His very own angel to keep.
Stop. He had to stop. He wouldn’t waste this kill with impatience. He wouldn’t waste the beauty in his bed, the gift the devil had brought to his door. He would savor her taste, consume her cries of ecstasy. He would relish each touch of her body beneath his dangerous hands. And he would collect her pleasure, day after day, week after week, until she was his and his alone. Until her smiles were unbarred and her love for him was uncensored, obsessive . . . until he was the very air she breathed.
Slow. He must go slow. His little rose mustn’t be scared away.
Running his hands along her inner thighs, Raphael reached her needy pussy and, with his thumbs, gently pushed her lips apart. Maria cried out at the simple touch. Raphael glanced up, checking her eyes were still on his. He didn’t like any form of disobedience from his lovers—she had to do exactly what he said. He wanted his little rose to memorize every part of this—her ruin, his ascension as her king. She would watch every part of his tongue plunging into her dripping cunt, of him destroying her innocence and crafting her to be the perfect little possession that he’d keep forever.
To Raphael’s satisfaction, her attention was totally fixed on him. Raphael shifted further up her body until his mouth hovered above her clit. Testing how desperate her need was for his touch, Raphael gently blew on her throbbing pussy. Maria’s eyes rolled and her hips twitched. But his good little rose didn’t move. Raphael’s stern commands had tied her to the bed with phantom chains. His will was the lock keeping her subdued. His words were the only key. A lock he had no intention of breaking open . . . yet.
Raphael brushed his thumb over her sensitive clit. Maria gasped, her perfect, untouched hole clenching, hungry for his cock. It would come in time. He had so much to show his little rose first. When he took her, she would be desperate for him to fill her. Mewling, panting with the need for him to tear her heart apart.
Raphael had to make her love him first. There would be no room for anyone else in her life. No God. No Jesus. Just him . . . her true savior, the man she would sacrifice herself for . . . just to p
lease him. “Do you like that, little rose?”
Maria’s mouth moved but no words came out. Raphael stopped his thumbs. A flicker of annoyance shot through him at her lack of response. But Maria was a quick study.
“Yes, my lord,” she said. “I . . . I like it.” Her voice was barely a whisper, stuttered and unsteady. But it was enough to sate Raphael’s need for Maria’s obedience.
“Mm,” he murmured and nudged her thighs wider, wide enough that the breadth of his shoulders kept them restrained. He realized his body’s width was a perfect fit between her legs. Maria’s thighs fought to squeeze together again. He smirked, triumph in his eyes. She was falling. Falling, madly and deeply, into his trap.
Licking his lips, Raphael massaged the folds of Maria’s pussy and flicked her clit with his tongue. The cry that ripped from Maria’s throat was nothing short of demonic. Her angel soul ravaged by his satanic ways. But Maria made sure she stayed still. Her eyes were frenzied, but her stare remained on him. Her fair skin was as white as an angel’s wings. The blue of her irises was the color of the Madonna’s clothes. But there was no Madonna to be found in the room. Maria was his soon-to-be whore, a whore for his cock and touch and every single move he made. A whore for him and only him, his perfectly obedient little rose. Raphael’s black heart filled with heat as Maria’s angelic skin began to wash with red . . . the color of sin, such beautiful, beautiful sin.
He would be her demise.
No one would ever touch her but him. She was his. She was never getting away.
As soon as Maria’s taste burst on Raphael’s tongue he stilled. His heart raced. Raphael didn’t understand the reaction, his muscles locked in paralysis as he tried to decipher the foreign feeling. There was a heat in his chest he didn’t recognize.
But when he looked up at her face, at the flush to her skin and the throbbing pulse in her neck, it all became clear to him. She was perfection. Of course she would taste that way too. It was his soul telling him he had finally found the one. It just affirmed to Raphael that she was it. He had found his lust’s perfect half, his sacrificial lamb.
Groaning at the wave of possessiveness rushing through his blood, Raphael licked along Maria’s pussy, from hole to clit. Her moans bled into the hymns playing in the background, a hedonistic harmony to the sacred melody. She was all he could taste. Her heat on his tongue was all he could feel. And he couldn’t stop. With every lick he needed more and more, insatiability taking ownership of his actions. Maria shook under his mouth, and when he looked up, he caught rabid desperation on her pretty face.
Lifting his head, he paused just long enough to order, “Grip my hair.” Maria obeyed so quickly it made him groan and his dick throb. “Pull,” he ordered darkly. Maria didn’t hesitate. As he sank his mouth back onto her cunt, her fingers raked at the strands. Raphael’s eyes watered as Maria, lost to euphoria, pulled at his messy hair and ripped at his scalp. Raphael ground his dick into the mattress as he devoured her, licked and sucked her clit until her cries were a worship song of her own. He felt her clit throb harder and harder in his mouth, until, with a final yank on his hair, strands coming free in her hands, Maria came, flooding onto his tongue. But Raphael didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. He was addicted as he licked and lapped and swallowed her taste down, parched, as if he’d been lost in the desert for a month and Maria’s pussy was his blessed relief of water.
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.
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.
