by Callie Hart
M e : When was the last time you left your apartment, Raphael?
A gain , it takes him a long time to reply.
And then:
R aph : I haven’t left at all. I haven’t left the penthouse in five years.
*
W hen Raphael opens the glass door to the apartment, the dark shadows beneath his eyes have worsened significantly. He gives me a brief, pained smile, then moves to one side so I can move past him. I’ve had plenty of time to compile a list of questions as long as my arm on the drive over here. I allowed him to send Nate for me this time. I needed to speak to him immediately, and the subway would have taken too long.
“You haven’t left this penthouse in five years. You’re trying to tell me that’s why the media doesn’t get shots of you anymore? Why no one’s seen you at meetings? Because you’ve been holed up here for five years?”
Raphael walks past me, down the hall. He heads for the huge lounge. I follow after him. “I go out onto the roof now,” he says quietly. “I didn’t do that before.”
Oh my god. This can’t be…he can’t be for real . “And the anteroom? That’s why you always meet people at that damned door? You rarely ever step foot into the anteroom. Only when Thalia was here, and when we…” I trail off uncomfortably.
Raphael opens up the fridge in the kitchen, taking out a bottle of water. “The ankle bracelet I wore would vibrate if I stepped out into the anteroom. I fucking hated it. It was a constant reminder that I couldn’t leave, so I just…stopped going out there.” He cracks the bottle and drinks; he still hasn’t looked me in the eye yet. He seems physically incapable of doing so.
“Raphael?” I’m standing directly in front of him now, but his gaze is still trained on the bottle of water in his hands. “Raph. You aren’t to blame for what happened to Chloe. If Nate says the brake lines were tampered with, then I believe him over your ridiculous self doubt.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” he says steadily. “I was convicted. I served the time I was sentenced.”
“Just because you completed two years’ worth of house arrest doesn’t mean that it’s over for you,” I say softly. “You obviously still carry the guilt of what you think you did around with you. Why else wouldn’t you have left your apartment in five years? Why else would you not be able to look me in the eye right now?”
He looks up at me slowly. His eyes are stark and sharp, quick and assessing, despite the tired, drawn expression he’s wearing.
“Staying here is safe, Beth. Staying here means no one can fuck with me, and I can’t fuck with them. And, yes. Looking at you is hard for me right now. I should have told you from the beginning about what happened that night. It kills me to think that I’ll see judgment in your eyes when I look at you. Or hatred. Or even pity. It’s just fucking unbearable.”
“I don’t feel any of those things, Raphael. If you see any emotion when you look at me, it’s because I’m hurting for you. You’ve punished yourself needlessly for so long. It’s all been for nothing.”
I haven’t always been the best at recognizing emotion when it comes to this man, but I can plainly see the doubt and pain he’s experiencing right now. It’s pouring off him in tangible waves that turn my stomach. He goes to take another sip from his drink, but I snatch the bottle out of his hands, sending a jet of water up into the air, spilling all over the counter and the floor tiles. “Don’t fucking hide behind a prop, Raph. You invited me here. You wanted to talk to me about this. Where’s the man who owned me when he fucked me? Where’s the fearless, dominant guy who told me he wasn’t afraid of anything?”
“He doesn’t exist, Beth! He’s not fucking real!” Raphael’s words explode out of his mouth, violent and angry. He was so calm a second ago, but now I can see how hard he must have been working to keep his feelings at bay. “It’s this place. I can be whoever I want to be inside the four walls of this apartment. I could be whoever I wanted to be for you! But this is the truth. This ugly, awful, nightmarish truth. I killed someone. She was my girlfriend. She trusted me to take care of her, to get her home safely, and instead she ended up dead. So yeah. This is who I am. I wanted to keep things light with you. I wanted you to come here and play fucking chess with me, and that was going to be it. But I fucked that up, too. I developed feelings for you. I was fucking selfish. I should have told you not to come here anymore, and instead I made things so much worse. I kissed you. I pushed you. I fucked you up against those windows, and the whole world saw. And now you’re life has been turned upside down. You’ve lost your job. You can’t step foot outside your own fucking front door. I should be a better man right now. I should tell you not to come here again. I should tell you to leave and never come back, but I can’t. Now you know the truth, maybe you’ll be stronger than I am. Maybe you’ll walk out, and you won’t come back. I won’t blame you, Beth. I won’t stop you.”
His pain is a tangible thing. I’ve not had much time to think over the information I’ve just been given; I’m suffering because of it, too. It kills me to think of Raph in that situation, knowing the woman he was in love with was dead. Believing it was his fault. Yes, the fact that Chloe died is terrible. Yes, what happened on that was awful. I realized on my way over here, as Nate was babbling incessantly about Raphael’s innocence and generally saintly behavior ever since that day, that I’m not mad at Raphael, though. I do believe Nate. I don’t think Raph was responsible for what happened, and I want to do everything and anything I can to exonerate him. He’s been trapped up here in this penthouse for way too long. I understand how his mind works. He sees his exile at the top of the Osiris Building as justice, and so long as he feels guilt for what happened to Chloe, he’ll never leave. He’ll never be able to forgive himself.
I’ve already forgiven him, though. Raphael has such a firm grip on himself, so much self-control. He’s just not the kind of man who would get behind the wheel of a powerful sports car if he were overly tired or drunk. I have no evidence, no real proof that he is innocent of this crime, but every cell in my body is attesting to the truth of it, declaring it, screaming it out loud.
“You think after all of this, I’m just going to leave and give up?” I ask quietly.
It takes him a long, awful moment to answer. “If that’s what you want.”
“No! Of course it isn’t what I want!”
“Then what do you want?”
The question catches me off guard. I don’t know how to answer at first. Frustration takes a hold of me in the end, forcing a response from my lips. “I just want you! You spent so long convincing me that we’re meant to try and make this thing between us work, that I really started to believe you. I really started to listen. So…I just want you. I want your hands on my body. I want your mouth on my mouth. I want to feel everything you’ve promised me and more, Raphael. Fuck, at this point it’s more than just a desire for me. More than just a want. It’s a fucking need, and I demand for it to be filled.”
Shock. That’s what I see on Raph’s face before he masters his features. He lets out a long, shaky, nervous breath, then nods, smiling ruefully. “You’ve no idea how relieved I am to hear that,” he whispers. He really did think I was going to leave him. He really did think I was going to disappear from his life and never speak to him again. His whole body seems to loosen; it’s as if he was braced for impact a moment ago, and now that the hammer hasn’t fallen, he has no need for the anxiety and adrenaline that was surging through his veins.
Slowly, he slides his hand into his pocket and takes something out of it. Something small and shiny. Gold. Metal. Holding the object up to the light, Raphael shows me what he’s holding between his fingers. It’s a key, attached to a length of silken ribbon, green and vibrant, like his eyes.
“There’s a room in my home you haven’t been inside, Beth. A secret place I haven’t shared with you yet. If you’re sure for some reason that being with me, despite all of this, is something you want, then I’d like to show you now.”
I eye the key d
ubiously. “What’s inside the room?”
Raphael shrugs. “Nothing out of the ordinary. A bed. A chest of drawers. A lamp. A desk. A mirror. It’s where I sleep.”
Raphael wants to show me his bedroom. He wants to share it with me. Raphael is such a painfully private person; it must cost him a great deal to extend this offer to me. “Yes,” I whisper. “I want to see it.”
He nods. His eyes shine brightly, filled with emotion. “The door is locked. It’s always locked, whether I’m inside the room or not. I want it to be forever open to you, though. Take this. Use it whenever you like.” He holds out his hand, the length of green ribbon looped around the end of his index finger, the brassy, old fashioned key spinning on the end of it. I take it from him.
“I’d like to see it now,” I tell him.
Raphael doesn’t argue. He turns and walks silently down the hallway, up the stairs at the end, and then continues along the upper corridor. He halts outside the very last door on the right hand side. Stepping out of the way, he gestures for me to open it with the key he’s just given to me. We enter inside together. The space is dark and filled with a textured kind of silence that feels like a living, breathing thing. It occupies the room from corner to corner, floor to ceiling, and I feel like I’m wading through it as I walk into the room. A light switch. I need a light switch. It takes me a second to find it, mainly because Raphael doesn’t appear inclined to point it out. When I locate the switch, a warm, subtle glow blossoms from a hidden light fitting that runs around the perimeter of the room, set back under a lip in the ceiling. Just as Raphael said, the space is nothing out of the ordinary. A huge bed monopolises the room. A dark, almost black wooden headboard juts up toward the ceiling, and a slate grey, heavy, expensive looking bedspread accents the much lighter ash grey of the walls. The desk to the right of the room, underneath the window, is free of clutter. The only thing that rests on it is a globe—black, with the countries, longitude and latitude lines marked out in burnished gold.
The floor is marble again, black this time, shot through with white and hints of silver, and a cream, thick-piled, luxurious rug lays beneath the bed. The kind of rug you immediately want to walk on barefoot, to dig your toes into. There are no books on either of the simple nightstands. There is no artwork on the walls. Blinds are drawn at the windows, effectively keeping the room in utter darkness. It was pitch black in here before I turned the lights on; I get the feeling Raphael likes it this way most of the time. This room serves one purpose and one purpose only: it’s a place for Raphael to sleep. There are no distractions, nothing to catch at his attention and prevent rest. No television, no radio, no literature or bright colors. It’s a cool and very calming environment. One I can imagine falling in love with, given the chance.
Walking over to the chest of drawers on the opposite side of the room, I run my hands over the beautiful, sleek mango wood. My fingertips rest on the handle of the top drawer.
“Go on. Open it.”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t going to pry. I was just admiring the—”
“Open the drawer, Beth. I want you to see what’s inside.”
I stand, tense, not knowing how to proceed. Raphael tuts softly from the doorway. “Do it, Beth. It’s important.”
Slowly, I close my grip around the black wrought iron handle, and I open the drawer.
I stop breathing.
Handcuffs.
A braided black whip with leather fringe, knotted at each of its ends.
A ball gag.
A black velvet mask.
Silver knuckle-dusters.
A solid black gun.
A length of gold chain.
A flat-ended black leather paddle.
An array of vibrators and dildos.
An elaborate cock ring, attached to a length of beads.
I take a step away from the drawer, my pulse thrumming all over my body. “This is all for me,” I state.
“It is.” Raphael’s moved, standing close behind me now. “I have a…strange appetite. “There are things I can control in my world, Beth. And there are things that I can’t.” He sighs under his breath. “Being in control while I’m fucking is very important to me. I like to use toys. I like to use restraints. I like to push beyond the boundaries or normality and comfort.” Slowly, he runs his finger down the back of my neck. There’s something possessive in the way he traces his fingertips up and down my skin, something exploratory and dark. It frightens and excites me in equal parts. I close my eyes, stilling myself, trying to calm my uneven breathing. “I want to experience all of that with you, Beth.”
Raphael’s hand cups the back of my neck, then, holding it, as if he might tighten his hold at any moment, forcing me to bend to his will. “I have a question for you,” he murmurs. “If your answer is yes, then we can try this. We can see how we both fair, and proceed with caution from there. Are you prepared to answer honestly?”
“Yes. I am. I will.”
“Good.” He steps closer to me. The warmth of his body heats my back, and my skin prickles. It’s as if a static charge runs between us, and I can feel how close he is, despite the fact that, save for his hand on my neck, we’re not touching each other at all. “I need complete control. I need you compliant and submissive. Do you know what that means? Have you had experience with that before?”
“I—I haven’t had experience, no. I know what it means, though. You’re dominant. You’re in charge during sex.”
“Yes. There’s more to it than that, though.” His breath skates across my skin, and my knees weaken, threatening to fold out from underneath me. He is strong. He is powerful. He is alpha. Raphael North is sex personified. “You have to surrender all free will. All desire to defy me. All desire to protest or push back. You have to release yourself to me on every level, not just physically. I need to own your mind, too. I need to know, when I put my hands on you and my cock inside you, that you’re not going to rebel against me in any way.”
“I—I can…” I trail off as Raphael’s lips press against the back of my neck. My eyes are still closed, but now they’re rolling back into my head as he peppers feather-light kisses all over my skin.
“If this is what you want, you’re going to have to do a better job of convincing me, I’m afraid,” Raph replies.
I can’t believe this is happening. The dark, painful thing I’ve just learned about Raphael’s past should have killed any desire I had to have sex with him. So should the intense, intrusive attention we’ve been receiving from the New York press. But still… when he touches me, when I feel his hands on my skin, when I feel his breath skating across my body, all I can do is want him. I’ve been completely and utterly mentally consumed by him, I haven’t been able to think about my schoolwork. I haven’t been able to study. I’ve barely even remembered to eat most days. Raphael’s been prowling through my thoughts and my dreams, a constant, demanding presence, those green eyes of his watching over me at all times. I know I should leave this place immediately and head straight back to my apartment. I shouldn’t even give myself the chance to think about this. If I do, I’ll find some way to justify it. To convince myself that handing over my free will to this man is a clever, intelligent thing to do.
I open my mouth to tell him that I need to excuse myself, that I need to leave, but the words that come out of my mouth are precisely the opposite. “What do you want me to do?”
He purrs, his voice gravel and sand on stone, deep and thrilling. “The perfect question to ask. Maybe this won’t be so hard for you, after all.”
Raphael just told me I was fierce before. Little does he know, my determination surpasses mere ferocity. I’m thunder and lightning. I am volcanic. I can be a force of nature when I feel like I’m being oppressed or held back in some way. Being submissive to Raphael’s dominance goes against the grain with me for sure, but I can do it. I can obey him in every way if it means I will feel his mouth on my skin, and his hands on my body. “I might surprise you,” I say quietly.<
br />
“You already have. Take off your dress, Beth. Slowly.”
I don’t hesitate. I reach behind my head and unfasten the clasp there. I shrug out of the material, allowing it to slip down, over my body, and then I’m standing in front of him in my underwear with the dress gathered in a pool of cloth at my feet. Raphael walks slowly around me, assessing my near nakedness, his eyes quick and unreadable as he takes me in. He starts at my feet and works his way up; I blush as his eyes linger on my breasts. He allows his expression to slip just a little. Enough to let me know he’s affected by me, despite the air of indifference he’s channelling. A thrill of pride rushes through me, amplified by the low growl that comes out of Raph.
“Do you know how fucking magnificent your body is, Beth?” His eyes are full of fire as he feasts upon me, head to toe. “Every time I see you, the curve of your tits makes my dick get hard. The swell of your ass beneath your jeans makes me want to rip them from your body, so I can bend you over and slam myself into you. If you can do all of that to me when you’re fully dressed, imagine what the fuck you’re doing to me right now. My god, you’re so fucking beautiful.”
My cheeks flush, blood surging into my cheeks, no doubt staining them red. I’ve never needed a man’s approval before, never really cared what any of them thought, but I find that it matters with Raphael. I care what he thinks, and to know that he’s this turned on by me… it makes me feel incredible. I look away, trying to hide my face, but Raph steps in and places his hand under my chin, forcing me to make eye contact with him.
“Get on the bed, Beth. Open your legs for me, as wide as they’ll go.”
Heat swirls in my chest, cycling down, between my legs. I’m already turned on. Already wet. If I spread my legs for him, he’s going to be able to see just how wet I am. Embarrassment flares inside me, but I ignore it. This is a test, after all. If I balk or shrink away from any of the things Raphael asks of me, I’ll only be demonstrating that I’m not cut out for a physical relationship with him. The promise of his hands on my skin, his hot mouth working over my flesh, is enough to make me tamp down the urge to run from the room. Silently, almost defiantly, I walk over to the bed. I climb up onto the duvet, then turn and lie on my back, hitching my legs up so that they’re bent. I allow my knees to fall out to either side, exposing my pussy to him. Raph doesn’t pass comment until he’s standing at the end of the bed. He allows his gaze to settle between my legs, and I feel it: his hunger. His need for me. I haven’t allowed myself to believe the sidelong glances and the prolonged eye contact has been anything other than coincidence with Raph, but now I know the truth. He wants me. He wants to fuck me. He wants to ruin me for all other men, and I get the feeling he’s about to do just that.