by LP Lovell
She places a hand on my chest and gently pushes me back. “That’s still no reason—”
I grip her jaw, halting her. “It’s all the reason I fucking need. He’s shown that he’s willing to overstep. Therefore, I will place myself ten steps ahead of anything he might do.” She stares at me for a second and then nods, probably because she knows she won’t win this.
“Okay.” She shifts away from me, putting space between us. “Are you done with…this?” she waves a hand through the air.
“This?”
“The macho stuff.”
I cock a brow. “For now.”
“Thank god.” A wry smile pulls at her lips before she extricates herself from my hold.
When we get home, she heads straight for the stairs, that dress riding a little too high on her thighs and her hips swaying with just a little too much attitude. Little warrior indeed.
I follow her up the stairs; that damn hemline teasing me with every step. My pulse pounds hard, sending heat firing through my body in all the wrong places. I bite my bottom lip on a groan. God, she has no fucking clue how gorgeous she is. I’m so transfixed by her, that I don’t register she’s stopped walking until she turns to face me. She’s standing in the doorway to the bedroom, her delicate fingers wrapped around the frame on either side.
“Well, thank you for…” She waves her hand through the air. “Whatever that was.” I have to fight a smile at how awkward she is.
“Is this you trying to say goodnight?”
“Uh…”
I laugh and close the distance between us, gripping her waist and lifting her. A small squeak slips past her lips, and her hands fly to my shoulders. “Rafe…”
“Yeah?”
“What are you doing?”
I smile against her throat. “I’m going to bed.”
Her eyes narrow on me. “You don’t always have to stay with me, you know?”
I drop her on the bed and brace my elbows either side of her head. “Anna…this is my room.”
She glances around and then releases a long breath. “Right, well, I’ll go to a spare room.”
“No.”
“No?”
“You stay with me.”
She groans and falls back against the mattress, her blonde hair sprawling around her head like her own personal halo. “Rafe, you don’t have to do this.”
I grab her chin and shove her face to the side, brushing my lips over her neck. “Do what?”
“No one is going to take me. My nightmares are manageable…”
Another kiss—the taste of her skin so intoxicating. “I know. And good.”
“So you don’t need to make yourself uncomfortable.”
I pull back and smirk. “Uncomfortable?” Her cheeks turn pink, and she looks anywhere but at me.
Eventually, she rolls her eyes and points down between us. “Uncomfortable.”
Wrapping my fingers around her wrists, I pin them above her head against the mattress. “I’m very comfortable.” I smirk.
Her breaths quicken, her breasts rising to greet me before falling again. Damn, she really does test every inch of my restraint. I’m not sure that she’s even aware of her legs parting, or the subtle invitations she throws my way with every breath. Her mind may not be ready, but her body is waking up from her abuse. My lips brush over hers, and she shoves up from the mattress, slamming her mouth over mine. Her tongue brushes my bottom lip, and I groan into her mouth. She squeezes those creamy thighs around my hips, causing my shirt to pull free. The bare skin of her thigh meets the exposed skin at my waist, and I glance down. The material of her dress is now rucked up around her hips, and I slam my eyes shut before I catch sight of her underwear. Too late though, I’m already picturing white lace, and my dick is painfully hard at the thought.
Small fingers cling to my jaw, pulling my face back to hers before she kisses me again. Harder, bolder, more demanding. Her fingers rake into my hair, pulling and tugging. Her body bucks away from the bed, rising against mine as though it were possessed. Red-hot blood courses through my veins. My vision spots and blurs and my fists tighten around the cotton sheets beneath her. Shit. And then, she bites me, hard enough to send the copper tang of blood skating over my tongue. I snap. With a growl, I muster every bit of willpower I have and force myself away from her until I’m standing a few feet from the bed. And fuck me—she is wearing white lace. I turn my back on her and take several deep breaths.
The most primitive of instincts will often override the rational. I don’t want her blind desire. I want her: mind, body, and soul. But she tests me with every breath because Anna Vasiliev is a lesson in restraint unlike any other.
“Rafael.” Her hand lands on my back, and I slowly turn to face her. “I’m sorry.”
“Fuck, Anna. Don’t apologize.”
“This is what I mean though. I’m not sure you should put yourself through this.”
I smirk. “Why? Because you can’t control yourself?” She dips her chin, blushing furiously. “I’m joking, avecita. It’s fine.”
“I really am sorry.” She looks up at me with sad eyes. “I wish I could be…more.” I don’t even know what to say to her—because she will be—in time. I see her, day by day, week by week. She’s like a budding flower desperately in need of the sun but unwilling to bloom and soak it up. One day she will though. One day she will wake up and won’t be able to remember the scared girl she once was. She’ll take everything she wants in this life because she can—because I will give it to her. One day, Anna will see herself as I do: strong, resilient, beautiful, and empowered. But that day is not today.
“Go to bed, little warrior.” I kiss her forehead and back towards the door. “I will sleep in this bed with you, but I just remembered I have some emails to send.” I don’t, but she needs a minute. And I refuse to sleep in another room.
She is mine. End of story.
3
Anna
Days seem to pass by quietly, but the more time that slips by, the tenser everyone becomes. We’re all waiting for something, but I’m not exactly sure what. I have no idea if Rafael has made a move on Dominges or not, and I’m not sure I want to know. I’ve seen less and less of him since we moved here, and there’s a whole other type of tension lingering between the two of us. I’m no longer his captive or Nero’s collateral. But I chose him. And now we’re on lockdown, confined to this villa, and the weight of that choice has never felt heavier. Our dynamic has changed. He’s no longer obligated to keep me, but he wants me…only not in the same way I want him.
I’m permanently conscious of all the ways that I’m sadly lacking, unable to give what I know he needs. How long is a man like him really going to wait? He’ll get bored eventually.
He insists on sleeping in the same bed as me, and every night as he holds me, I think that maybe I could just have sex with him. I’ve done it with thousands of other men. Could I do it for him? To keep him? To keep his love? I’m attracted to him. I want his kisses, his touches, and his love. Could I do something so horrible with him? Or would Rafael become tainted in my mind? One of them?
The bedroom door clicks shut, and I twist my head, glancing through the patio doors. Rafael walks into the room, his vest soaked and his hair damp with sweat. He and Samuel seem to be training a lot here, sparring with each other on a daily basis in the gym. They never did that at the mansion. Yet another indicator of how tense Rafael has become.
Rafe grabs the back of his shirt and tugs the damp material over his head. My eyes drop slowly over the hard muscles of his body. He really is magnificent: powerful, lethal, beautiful. Like one of Michelangelo’s statues—a stone tribute to the male form. A drop of sweat rolls between his pecs before sliding along each defined ab. I swallow heavily and wet my suddenly dry lips.
A low growl has me snapping my eyes to his face. “Anna,” he says through clenched teeth. His eyes flash dangerously, something dark and desperate swirling in their depths.
“Yeah?�
� I force the word past my tightening throat.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he tosses his head back as he clenches and releases his fists. And then, without a word, he turns and walks away, heading towards the attached bathroom. The muscles of his back roll beneath the map of dark ink staining every inch of his skin from shoulder to shoulder and the entire length of his spine. The tattoo is of a woman on her knee’s, sobbing and praying as dark clouds roll across his shoulder blades, bringing with them the four horsemen of the apocalypse. It’s beautiful, the artistry second to none. And of course, nestled amongst the chaos on his right shoulder, is Violet’s bleeding rose.
He slips through the bathroom door but doesn’t fully close it, before I hear the shower turn on. A teetering curiosity starts to form in my mind before I recoil from it, but then it creeps back in. I imagine Rafael in the shower, the water pouring over his chiseled form, warping the inked images on his skin. Warmth radiates through my body at the thought, and my pulse skitters in… what? Anticipation? No. I shake my head as though physically trying to remove the images from my brain. I don’t want that. But his kisses make you feel so safe, so wanted, so cherished. A tentative need dances along the edge of my mind, igniting such unfamiliar feelings, but instead of shying away, I welcome it.
Curiosity killed the cat, and yet I find myself moving towards the bathroom, pushing the door open until steam starts to billow around me. The glass shower cubicle is misted, but I can make out Rafael’s form, his head tilted back as the water rushes over him. I stand there for a second, frozen between the need to bolt and a gentle longing to explore, to tread the ground in front of me, previously un-walked.
Closer, closer…
Rafael’s hand swipes over the glass, clearing the mist until those dark eyes zero in on me, hard and unrelenting. I freeze like a rabbit in headlights, taking a shaky step back. I shouldn’t be here. I should leave, but he imprisons me with his gaze, cementing my feet to the spot. A wicked smile dances over his lips, and he drags a hand over his wet hair.
“Are you going to join me? Or are you just going to watch?” I shake my head numbly. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know why I’m here. This is such dangerous ground with a man like him. “Just watch it is then.” His voice is rough and deep, carrying over the sound of the water splashing against tile.
He places one palm against the glass, allowing the water to wash over his back. Through the mist, I can slightly make out him dropping his other hand and moving it slowly, back and forth, back and forth. His eyes hold mine, imprisoning me right there in the bathroom as he watches me, watching him. The movement of his hand gets more violent. He swipes his free hand over the glass again, ensuring he can see me. The muscles in his neck tighten, his jaw twitching as his breaths come faster. His stare becomes so intense, and I feel like I’m burning under it, my body tingling with a foreign sensation.
A low guttural groan tears from his throat, feral and primitive, echoing off the shower walls. He never looks away from me for a second as his body tightens and jerks, hidden by the misted glass, but I know exactly what’s happening. It was my sole purpose, to give pleasure. I’ve seen it a thousand times before, but never like this. This is beautiful, intoxicating, hypnotic. Rafael’s eyes close for a second before they snap open, focusing on me once more. My cheeks heat and his blazing gaze makes me fractious, so instinctively, I turn and run from the room. I keep going until I’m outside the house—until I can breathe properly again.
What am I doing?
4
Rafael
I smile as I watch Anna run from the bathroom. My chest heaves as I try to catch a breath. Shit. I can’t even find it within myself to feel ashamed. She came in here, she wanted to watch me, and fuck, if that didn’t make my dick rock hard. With her innocent eyes locked on me, I’ve never come in my own hand so hard. The girl turns me inside out, and she has no idea.
I rinse off and step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my waist. I wonder how far she went? Will she be waiting for me in the bedroom? When I step through the doorway, I find it empty. Of course it is.
Anna is dancing that fine line between inviting everything I want to do to her, and running from it as far and as fast as she can. My little warrior is curious. She’s never been truly touched, kissed or loved. I see it in her eyes every time she presses her lips to mine, a ravenous kind of need, but it’s so fucking innocent. And it’s that innocence that makes me both long to desecrate her and preserve her. I’ve never wanted to fuck anyone so much in my life, but she’s not ready. Maybe it wasn’t wise to show her just how much I want her, but fuck, she shouldn’t come in here and look at me like that. A man only has so much restraint. At times I wonder if she was put in my life to test me, like some kind of punishment for failing Violet.
Carlos folds his arms over his chest, leaning against the back of the couch. “It’s too quiet.”
I flick ash off the end of my cigar and bring it to my lips. “He’s planning something.”
“He’ll make a move soon. He has to. He’s pulled all his dealers off the streets. That has to be hitting him hard.”
I don’t like it. I don’t like that Dominges might be ahead of me in any way. I strive to know every possible move an opponent might make, but he’s unpredictable and wily in ways that most of my adversaries aren’t. In any other situation, I’d almost appreciate the challenge of it all, but not when I know he wants Anna. Not when he’s successfully managed to take her once already.
“Start upping bribes. Someone has to know something. One of his men will sing for the right price.”
“And if they don’t?”
I lift a brow. “I don’t have to tell you how the cartel works, Carlos.” Blood and violence. The only real currency there is. If you can’t buy a man, you bleed him out.
With a small smile and a jerk of his chin, he straightens and leaves the room.
It’s late by the time I leave the office, and as I drift down the hallway toward the stairs, I hear a sound, a lone, somber note echoing around the house. A piano note. Turning down the corridor toward the sunroom, I follow the sounds of more notes. The sunroom is bathed in moonlight, drifting through the windows and casting a silvery light over everything.
Anna’s lone form sits behind what was once my mother’s piano. Her fingers glide over the keys slowly, as though testing them. I watch, as a solemn note becomes two and then three. She winds together a tune I’ve never heard before, and it’s so brutally sad, each note a painful stroke that weaves through the air like a growing cloud of despair. And yet, in each melancholy sound is a tortured beauty that is every inch Anna. I watch her play until she suddenly stops.
It’s only when I hear the soft hitch of her breaths that I realize she’s crying. I feel like an intruder to her heartbreak, a silent witness to her pain. She was almost right when she said she was a lie. She’s two halves of a very splintered whole. On the one hand, she’s this strong, resilient, beautiful woman, and I am in awe of her. On the other, she’s so fucking broken, so dark and twisted and utterly ruined. And truthfully, it’s this raw, stripped version of her that calls to me on a visceral level. It’s the way she can pick herself up and morph from one to the other that makes me love her so effortlessly.
“Avecita,” I say quietly, stepping into the room. She quickly swipes at her tears, refusing to look at me.
“Rafael. I thought you were working.”
I sweep her hair away from her neck and place a small kiss below her ear. “I thought you were sleeping.”
“I was.” I fall into a crouch beside her stool and study her face. She drops her chin to her chest, allowing her hair to fall over her face. Reaching out, I tuck it behind her ear and swipe at a stray tear on her cheek.
“Don’t hide from me.”
“I had a nightmare. I’m fine.” She’s not fine, but I’ll let her pretend for a little longer.
“You play well.”
“One of the many gifts, The Master gave me
,” she says bitterly. “I should take joy in it, but when I play, it just…hurts.”
“So why play?”
She turns to face me, those blue eyes of hers hard. “Sometimes, you do the things that hurt you, just to remind yourself that you can survive them.”
“So strong, little warrior.”
She stares at me for a beat, nothing but silence stretching between us until she finally breaks it. “Why do you try to fix me, Rafe?” she whispers.
“Why do you think?”
A void of unspoken words lingers between us because I could tell her exactly why, but I won’t. “I don’t know. I can never work you out. I just know that I shouldn’t trust you, but I can’t help myself.”
“Before… you asked me if I wanted to own you.”
“I remember. And you said you wanted to love me,” she breathes.
“Want…it implies a choice, doesn’t it?” She tilts her head to the side. “I’m not sure I’ve ever had any choice when it comes to you.” She should be nothing, and yet this broken little bird has become everything.
She reaches out, her expression sad as she strokes over the stubble of my jaw. “I’ll never be…what you need.”