Raphael

by Tillie Cole

  Maria ducked her head, averting her eyes from Raphael’s too-intense gaze, and smoothed her hands down the soft white material. Maria was used to the practice of custody of the eyes. Used to keeping her eyes to ground, keeping distractions at bay. She felt safer that way. When she thought of God and her duties as a nun, she didn’t think about anything else. The demons of her past were too close, hovering, waiting to strike. She liked this. Liked that, here, Raphael was in control. His control kept her bad thoughts away.

  Raphael’s bare feet came into her vision as he stopped before her. “Lift your head,” he ordered.

  Maria did. The pleased expression that shadowed across Raphael’s face at her obedience was a surprising balm to her bruised soul. He lifted his hand. Maria flinched, instinctively bracing herself for a strike. But Raphael pulled back his hand, regarding her with interest. “I won’t hurt you, little rose,” he soothed. Maria caught her breath and looked up. Raphael held a flower in his hand. A beautiful rose as red as the ones in her room. Her stomach fell again at the sight of the velvety petals, but she remained still as he carefully edged forward and tucked the stem of the rose behind her ear. Raphael’s eyes dilated, and she saw his jaw clench. He briefly averted his eyes, only for his smile to draw back onto his face. “There,” he said. “Now you’re perfect.” Raphael moved behind one of the chairs and pulled it out. “Please, sit.”

  Maria did as she was told. She cast her eyes around the room as the introduction to her favorite hymn, “Abide With Me,” began to play through the speakers. Instant peace washed over her body. She didn’t realize she was smiling until Raphael said in a husky voice, “You like this song?”

  Maria came back into the moment. The choir singing vocal harmonies on the track lit her heart and filled it with joy. “Yes.”

  “It reminds me of my youth,” he said.

  Maria was shocked Raphael had offered up that piece of information about himself. He didn’t elaborate any further. She didn’t know if it brought back fond memories or painful ones.

  “Wine?” Raphael lifted the bottle of red wine and poured her a glass, swiftly moving on from the topic. Maria never drank outside of communion. But she was here to heal him. She would take her lead from Raphael. She would abide by his rules.

  Maria took a sip of the wine. It was good. It tasted expensive. Raphael lifted the dome from the dish in front of her. “Eat,” he said and sat back. Raphael left his food covered and sat back in his chair. He sipped at his wine, keeping his eyes on Maria. Lifting her knife and fork, Maria began to eat. She realized she was famished, and she had no idea when she might next eat.

  She ate in silence, the beautifully harmonized hymns and the crackling fire her only soundtrack. When her plate was empty, Raphael cleared the dishes and refilled her wine. Maria could feel her cheeks heat with the effects of the alcohol. But she welcomed the feeling the wine brought. It carried with it a numbness she relished, a lowering of her inhibitions.

  Something she was sure she would need with this man.

  “Tell me,” Raphael said, sitting forward in his chair. “Do you still want to play?”

  Maria’s breathing paused at the question. But she quickly disguised her flicker of fear with a single nod. “Yes,” she whispered, placing her glass on the table. To save him, she would have to reach him on his own terms.

  Lust.

  It would have to be through the act of lust.

  Raphael smiled, and Maria was sure his smile could illuminate the very darkest depths of hell. “That pleases me.” Maria nodded again, his approval making that familiar fissure of heat crack across her tight chest. “But we need rules, little rose.” Maria focused on hiding her rapid breaths. She kept her eyes down. It was natural for her to do so; she had done so for years, first as a postulant, then a novitiate. It helped disguise her fear.

  “Maria. Look at me.” She did as he demanded. He smiled again, the effect on her sensibilities just as devastating as the last time. “You will be good at this, little rose. You’re already so receptive to me. To my commands.” Raphael braced his hands on the table. “But I suppose you’re wondering what I want from you? What I mean by ‘play’?”

  Maria nodded, clasping her hands on her lap.

  “Submission,” Raphael said, and Maria’s heart skipped a beat. “Your complete and utter submission to me.” Maria felt her cheeks blaze at the fire in his deep voice. “I want you, Maria, to hang off every word I say. I want you to give yourself to me in every way possible. Forget the world outside. Forget who you were before you found me at the club.” Raphael licked his lips. Maria’s attention was locked on his tongue as it lapped his mouth. “You will be reborn in these rooms. Under my instructions and care you will flourish like you never have before. I will take you to heights you have only ever imagined in your most vivid fantasies.” Maria’s eyes were wide as Raphael spoke these illicit promises. Her gaze dropped to his naked torso, the flames from the fire seductively dancing their light over his olive skin. She noted the tattoos that peppered his arms, chest, and stomach. The images of women caught in the throes of passion, gasping with pleasure through parted lips. Hearts wrapped in heavy ropes, being squeezed of their beat. Lovers entwined around one another in ecstasy. Maria stilled when she saw a bloom of roses covering the tops his shoulders. On one side they were bright red, like the one in her hair, their stems green and vivid. But the other . . . they were as black as ravens’ feathers, their thorny stems sharp and deadly as they crawled like toxic vines and wrapped around his heart.

  The sword-and-angel-wing design was in stark contrast to the erotic art licking over the rest of his tanned skin. She wondered at its significance. The fact it was the only one out of sync with the other designs told her it was somehow poignant. And its texture seemed different. As if it wasn’t a tattoo at all, more seared into his flesh, burned as though metal had been pushed onto his skin and later framed in black ink, giving it the guise of a tattoo.

  “I will make you feel, little rose. Feel things you have never even entertained.” Raphael rubbed his lips together. Maria had noted the move several times since her arrival in the mansion. He did it frequently. It was nothing but habit, yet it seemed sensual to her on every level, reeled her in like the tempting offer of salvation to a sinner. “You just have to say yes. I want your consent. Your consent, little rose . . .” He smiled. “And then your soul.”

  Raphael took a sip of his red wine as if he hadn’t just bartered for her soul like the devil himself. But his golden stare stayed fixed on Maria, daring her to accept. Her eyes dropped under the power of his gaze and the heaviness of his offer. Maria saw her white dress. The color of purity. It didn’t escape her that Raphael had given her a dress in this shade. He knew she was a virgin. Her strength wavered for a moment.

  Her chastity was her ultimate vow to God. It was the only thing that hadn’t been taken from her when everything else had. The only other time she had worn white in recent years was when she gave herself to the church, when she married herself to Jesus in Father Quinn’s presence. And here Raphael was, offering Maria pleasure she had never once desired.

  But was her chastity a cure to Raphael’s insatiable lust? Was her purity the holy bread that would sate his ravenous appetite to kill? Is that why God had placed her in Raphael’s path? Why it was she and she alone who could be his one and only chance at redemption?

  Maria recalled Raphael’s offer. Replayed every word he had spoken. Could she do this? Could she give herself to this man? Take him into her embrace?

  She thought of her life as a nun. Of her beliefs, her calling to help others. She lived to help people in need. Who was more in need of help than a killer? A man who thought nothing of ridding another of their life. Did he not deserve salvation too?

  That God-given warmth returned to her chest, giving her the answer she desperately searched for.

  And he had asked. Despite all his sins and the evil actions she knew he would think nothing of displaying, Raphael had
asked.

  He wouldn’t take her without her consent.

  But she knew in her heart that if she refused, he might kill her before she had a chance to appeal to his good. Before she could show him the love of others. Before she could show him he didn’t have to kill.

  “Yes,” Maria whispered, almost as if God had taken control of her body and spoken for her. “I consent. I consent to your will.”

  The room was deathly silent for several seconds.

  “Good, little rose,” Raphael sighed. “You will not regret it.”

  Raphael arose from the chair, placing his wine on the table. He offered his hand, a gentlemanly move. Maria placed her hand in his. She couldn’t help but note how small her hand was compared to his. Her stomach flipped when she realized just how quickly Raphael could kill her. He dwarfed her height and slight frame. Yet he guided her from the seat with the gentleness of a whisper.

  Raphael led Maria into his bedroom. The red chair where he had brushed and dried her hair still sat at the base of the bed. Raphael guided her to sit in it. He walked around her and crouched down so he could meet her eyes. The lights in the room were low, the curtains drawn, keeping the dark night from creeping inside.

  Raphael dropped his hand and began threading the string around his finger. He did it so naturally that Maria understood it was a habit he did without conscious thought. “You are mine now, Maria. Do you consent to this? Tell me one more time.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I consent.” It was the truth. She did consent. It was what was meant to happen. Of this she was convinced.

  Raphael’s eyes flared. “From this point on, you will do anything I say.” She watched as his cheeks burst with redness. His hard chest tightened further, causing his muscles to become more pronounced. This power . . . her consent was bringing him pleasure. Raphael hissed through his teeth. His head fell back and his eyes closed. Maria watched his neck cord, the rose tattoos that climbed his throat dancing as if caught in a breeze.

  Maria shifted on her seat as heat built in her spine. Maria was here for God. She was here because she was a nun and had been tasked with saving a soul. But what shocked her was the unfamiliar feeling of excitement that consumed her when she pushed her religious duty aside and simply became a woman. She had never had lovers before, had never even been touched in a sexual way . . . but the way her body vibrated with electricity when Raphael was close, his eyes rolling back in pleasure . . . Maria didn’t know how to comprehend it. It was unexpected.

  It felt like awakening after a long slumber.

  Raphael fought to breathe, a low groan slipping from his red lips. He licked at those lips, his tongue wetting his mouth. Maria had no idea what brought him such pleasure. But when her eyes dropped she saw him pulling the string so tightly that his finger was turning blue. She hadn’t meant to look, but underneath that finger was an obvious bulge in his pants. The thin material hid nothing; there was no modesty to be found under the black silk. Maria sucked in a shaky breath when she noticed the prominent outline of his erection. Her eyes widened.

  Maria averted her gaze, dropping it to her clasped hands on her lap. When she finally looked up, Raphael’s eyes were on her, focused and wide with excitement. He edged closer and placed his hands on either side of her chair. Maria felt his hardness brush against her knee. She swallowed, too inexperienced to know what to do, how to act appropriately.

  “From now on, you refer to me as Lord.”

  Maria’s eyes snapped to Raphael in shock. “In this room, little rose. I am your Lord. I am your God and I am your savior. I am your teacher and guide.” He lifted his hand and ran his finger down a long strand of her hair. His finger, wrapped and choked by the string, ghosted past her neck, her shoulder, and along the curve of her breast. It wasn’t intentional, but she gasped aloud, her eyes fluttering shut. When her eyes opened again, it was to Raphael watching her as if she were the most fascinating creature on the planet. “You won’t speak unless I tell you to.” His instructions were heavy, but his voice was delicate and soft, a feather lying upon a bed of nails. “You’ll keep your eyes to the floor when you’re around me.” Raphael’s finger came underneath her chin and guided her head upright. “Unless I want you to watch me. And make no mistake, there will be many times I will.” Maria stayed silent. His commands were burrowing their way deep into her heart. His stringent tone made her feel as though her body were floating in the Dead Sea. It carried with it a heady sense of freedom she struggled to comprehend. Why did she like it so much? “Do you understand, little rose?”

  “Yes,” Maria whispered and averted her eyes once more. Her heart kicked into a sprint when her gaze fell upon his hardness, his sizable length pushing against the fabric of his pants. She inhaled a shaky breath. Her sexual inexperience was never more obvious than in that moment.

  “Yes what?” Raphael’s voice was harder than before, an aggressive edge to his deep tone. Maria felt a trail of fire race down her spine to the tops of her thighs.

  “Yes, my lord,” she quickly amended.

  Raphael froze, then brought his mouth to Maria’s ear. “My lord . . . that’s not what I told you to say, little rose, was it?” Maria panicked at her mistake, but before she could beg for forgiveness, Raphael let out a stuttered breath. “But I like that better. My lord. Your ruler, your savior. Your world.” Raphael traced the tip of his bound finger along Maria’s bottom lip. Her pulse fluttered in response. “Say it again.”

  “My lord,” she whispered, Raphael’s deep inhale catching at her words.

  “Good girl,” he said. “Doesn’t that sound perfect coming from your pretty little lips?”

  “Yes, my lord,” she repeated. Raphael’s skin glistened with sweat, his muscles twitching with every obedient word she spoke.

  “You won’t do anything without my permission, little Maria. And I won’t ask you anything twice. You’ll listen at all times. If I must repeat myself, there’ll be consequences. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Raphael smiled a blinding smile, pleased. He loosened the string from around his finger, the cords in his neck disappearing along with his strained voice. “If we do anything you don’t want, you’ll simply say ‘red rose.’ And I will stop. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Raphael stood and circled her on the chair. Maria wondered what he was doing, until she felt a brush combing through her hair. “Each day after you’ve eaten breakfast, you will shower. You will wash your hair, wear one of the dresses provided. Then you will sit on this chair and wait for me. Understood?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “I will take care of you, little rose. I will brush out your hair, dry it, and dress it prettily with a rose.”

  Maria hid her bewilderment at why he would want to do such a thing. Why he would bother to care. But she kept silent. She hadn’t been given permission to speak.

  Raphael brushed her hair until all of the knots and tangles had been freed. Maria stilled when he began to hum, a soft melodic tune that sank into the very marrow of her bones. As the brush smoothed out her tresses, Maria’s stomach fell. She recognized the song he hummed quietly to himself. It sounded so natural coming from his lips she wasn’t sure he was even conscious he was doing it.

  “Ring a-round the Roses.” The tune Raphael hummed was “Ring a-round the Roses.” The childhood song simultaneously filled her with both sympathy and dread. Sympathy for the man who hummed a nursery rhyme so sadly it made tears prick in her eyes. And dread for what the nursery rhyme was about.

  Death.

  He was humming a child’s song about death.

  Clearly not seeing her distress, Raphael lowered the brush then he came before her and guided her to stand. “But it’s late tonight and you’ve had a long day.” Relief flooded through Maria, yet an odd niggling at the back of her brain made her frown. She was relieved. She was exhausted. And she was overwhelmed with the thought of what lay before her. But, despite all
of that, there was a part of her that seemed to be disappointed.

  Maria put that down to her need to help this man. Help him fight the darkness inside.

  Raphael led her to her room. He stopped at the door and brought her hand to his mouth. Never taking his eyes from her, Raphael brushed a kiss on the back of her hand. “Sleep, little rose.” Raphael turned away. But he then placed his hand on the door. “These stay open. Don’t you dare close them. I want to be able to see you at all times.”

  He looked at her expectantly.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Raphael closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Sleep well, little rose.”

  Maria moved to the bed and pulled back the comforter. She turned the lamp off. But from her bed, she could see Raphael in the main room walking around, heard him locking the main door so she couldn’t escape again. She watched him move to his bed, remove his pants, and climb into bed. The almost-darkness prevented her from seeing his most intimate parts, but she was breathless knowing he lay bare just across the room.

  Sleep didn’t find Maria easily. She felt as though she had just closed her eyes when she was awoken by a pained roar. Maria froze, immediate fear keeping her paralyzed. But moans and shouts of “No” drifted in from the main room.

  Raphael.

  Forcing herself to move, Maria sat up and peered into the main room. Raphael was clutching at the black sheets of his bed with tight fists, thrashing from side to side as though something were pinning him down, hurting him. Maria threw back her comforter and tiptoed to the edge of her room. Her hands braced on the doorframe, and she ignored the trembling that was threatening to take control of her body.

  Maria’s eyes strained in the almost-darkness. She caught Raphael’s shadow thrashing and calling out muffled, untellable cries of pain. The scared edges to his voice struck her heart like an arrow, shredding it apart. Raphael’s pain was evident in his voice. His hoarse cries were a physical representation of what pain pulsed and tortured him inside. Maria silently crossed the room and peered over to where he slept. Her heart was a thunderstorm in her chest as she looked at his face. Tears. Tears were tumbling down his cheeks. His beautiful face wore a grimace, teeth clenched and neck corded with tension.