by Tillie Cole
Her head tipped back and rested on his shoulder. Raphael looked down at her bared neck, at the offering, and wrapped his hand around it. That was all it took for him to roar his release, the pain of the cage still on his cock making him come in endless hot streams. He pressed his hand tighter around Maria’s throat. Her eyes met his, and the sight of that blue gaze, her offered neck, and his hand around her throat made him a savage. The wave of pure possessiveness that controlled him had him lowering his head and wrapping his lips around the skin on her neck. He sucked and sucked, leaving red mark after red mark on her pale skin. His thrusts still slammed into her, until he pulled out, breathless and having left a tapestry of bite marks on his little rose’s neck.
Maria’s head fell forward as she caught her breath. Raphael pushed her hair aside and kissed along her shoulders. He kissed her cheeks. Spinning her around, his dick still out and her pants around her ankles, he cupped her face. Her cheeks were red from pleasure; he knew his were too. He couldn’t catch his breath. Seeing the marks on her neck and his cum on her thighs, he couldn’t calm. Raphael smashed his lips to Maria’s. He ate at her mouth, ravished her lips, and dueled with her tongue.
He tore his mouth away on a gasp, groaning when he saw the red rose tucked behind Maria’s ear. “I can’t get enough of you, little rose.” His stomach flipped when a shy smile began to grow on her lips.
He groaned again and kissed her once more. When he went to tuck himself back into his jeans, he saw blood on her inner thigh. His hands faltered. “Are you hurt?” he said, dropping to his knees and running his hands over Maria’s thighs, smothering the faint trickle of blood.
“My lord,” Maria whispered. But Raphael was too busy searching for blood or marks. The cage. Was it the cage? It hadn’t hurt her before. Raphael froze when Maria placed her hands on his cheeks. He glanced up. His eyes widened, instant shock rendering him motionless. He was on his knees. He never got to his knees for anyone. Never again, not since . . .
Raphael let Maria guide his head upward to meet her eyes. Her hands were warm on his face. “I’m not hurt,” she assured him. “It was a thorn from the stem you still held. Just a small cut.” Raphael dropped the stem and laid his hands on her hips, his fingers traveling to the scars on her back. Her breathing hitched as his fingers traced the ruined skin. “I’m not hurt,” she repeated. “Stand, my lord.”
He was on his knees. He was on his knees . . . He’d vowed to never get on his knees for anyone ever again . . .
“Stand.” Raphael bristled at the command, yet he found himself obeying. His body moved to Maria’s softly spoken order.
His legs and arms began to shake. He’d dropped to his motherfucking knees! Everything assaulted his senses at once. The roses, the greenhouse, the white petals . . . Maria issuing him an order . . . him obeying. He inhaled sharply when Maria’s careful hands tucked his dick back into his jeans. She pulled up her pants and threaded her hand through his. “Let’s go back to the room.”
Raphael nodded numbly and, for once in his adult life, let someone else lead the way. Maria walked beside him, her hand never breaking from his as they crossed the gardens, entered the house, and returned to Raphael’s rooms. Maria locked the doors, then smiled at him, bringing their joined hands to his heart. He didn’t understand the empty feeling in his chest. The pit in his stomach. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t get the image of the blood-coated white roses from his head. He didn’t understand why his hands were shaking.
“Let’s take a bath.”
Raphael stared at Maria. They had never done anything like that before. They had never bathed or showered together. They fucked and he dominated. She did as she was told. “Come, my lord,” Maria said in a soft, enticing voice. Raphael followed her, an unlikely slave to her commands.
Maria broke from his hand only to run the bath. He glanced at himself in the mirror as the room began to fill with steam and the scent of vanilla from the bath foam Maria had poured into the water. His face looked pale . . . but it was his eyes that shocked him most. He didn’t recognize the look in his own eyes. They were wide. They were dull.
What the fuck was happening?
He looked down when he felt Maria unbuttoning his shirt. He swallowed as he watched her. His stomach swirled. She pulled the shirt off his arms and unbuttoned his pants. She rolled them down his legs and off his feet. Raphael watched, absolutely still, as Maria shed her clothes until she stood before him naked. She turned off the faucet, then held out her hand. Raphael placed his hand in hers, the strange numbness still in his bones. Only when they reached the edge of the large bath did he pull her to a stop. Maria turned his way, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. Raphael reached for the rose in her hair. Taking it in his hands, he pulled at the petals, destroying the head. He threw the petals in the bathwater, watching as they floated on the top. He tossed the remainder of the flower to the floor and stepped into the hot water.
Raphael held his hand out to Maria, and she joined him. He sat down, the hot water blanketing his body. Maria sat opposite, facing him. Tendrils of wet hair curled over her neck. The bottom of her hair dipped into the water.
“Turn around,” Raphael said, and she did, pressing her back against Raphael’s chest. He moved her hair from her neck and kissed the bites he had made. The wave of possessiveness the bites caused was overwhelming. He owned his little rose. These bites showed the world that truth. Marked her as his.
Taking the sponge from the basket on the bath’s ledge, Raphael dipped it into the water and squeezed it over Maria’s hair. She tipped her head back and sighed in approval. Raphael was slow as he washed her hair, massaging his hands into the thick strands. The room filled with the sound of his voice when he began to hum the nursery rhyme that he always sung as he washed Maria’s hair. She melted against him. When the last of the shampoo and conditioner were out of her hair, he guided her back against his chest. He inhaled the vanilla and rose scent. As Raphael looked down at Maria’s naked body, flush against his, he watched red rose petals gather around her stomach.
His thoughts drifted back to the greenhouse. He picked up a petal and held it in his hands. Maria watched his every move. “Why do you like roses so much, my lord?”
Not taking his gaze off the petal in his hand, he said, “My mother was a botanist. She worked at the Arnold Arboretum.” Raphael spoke with no emotion in his voice. He didn’t feel any emotion to express. Maria asked him a question. So he answered it.
“She did?” Maria whispered.
Raphael became lost to fractured memories, and his vision blurred. “She always brought them home to have around the house.” He tried to grab onto the distant memory of a dark-haired woman leading him to the garden at the back of their house to tend to the rose bushes. Raphael felt the velvet texture of the petal in his fingers and remembered feeling them when he was young.
Maria inhaled a shaky breath. “My mom did too. Have them around the house, I mean. Red roses . . .” She smiled. From his position Raphael could just see her mouth. Her smile wasn’t as wide as it usually was. “Every time I see a rose, I’m reminded of her. Sometimes the sight pains me if I’m having a bad day. If I’m missing her more than usual.”
Raphael dropped the petal and watched it drift away into a mass of bubbles. “He strangled her,” Raphael said, the memory expressed as though the topic weren’t a tragedy. Maria turned her head, and her blue eyes clashed with his. Her mouth opened, then closed. Raphael stroked his finger down her cheek and down to her neck. He focused on the delicate bones. They were perfect. “He made me watch as he choked her with his bare hands.” Raphael remembered his mother’s eyes locked on his as she fought to breathe. “The vase she had been carrying smashed and split open the skin on her feet.” Raphael remembered the sea of blood his childhood eyes had watched cover the white petals that were spilled on the floor. “He took the blood-covered petals and stuffed them into her mouth, singing ‘Ring a-round the Roses’ as he did it.” He ran his hand o
ver Maria’s hair as though he wasn’t talking of the vicious death of his mother. “Then he stood up and shot himself in the head.” Maria’s breathing became shallow. But Raphael was lost to the few memories he had in his mind. “I walked to where she lay. Her hair . . .” he said softly. “Her hair had fallen around her neck.” He smiled. She had looked so pretty as she stared at him without blinking, roses in her mouth. “It made me smile. Her face was calm. It was never calm. He always hit her, choked her. When he finally killed her, it was the first time I’d seen her at peace.”
Maria’s heart was beating fast beneath his hand. “Who was the man? Why did he kill her?”
Raphael frowned, trying to remember. “Her boyfriend? I didn’t have a father . . .” He shook his head. “I don’t think. I don’t know why he killed her. The priests never told me. I only remember bits.”
Maria searched his face. She swallowed. Raphael liked how her throat looked as she did. “My lord . . .” she said softly. “How many people have you killed?”
Raphael tried to think. He shrugged. “Many.”
Maria’s shoulders sagged. “Many . . .” she whispered.
Raphael stood and held out his hand. Maria threaded his hand through hers and he led her out of the bath. He didn’t bother with towels for them as he took her through the bedroom, through the small dining room and through the door to his private room. He flicked on the light. Maria gasped. Raphael let his gaze rove over his wall. The wall filled with the faces of his victims. Maria walked past him, and he watched her approach the wall. He felt his chest swell with pride. At the faces staring back at him, eyes wide open in death.
“Y-you . . . you killed all of these women?” Maria stuttered. “These pictures . . . they are all dead in them?”
“Just dead,” Raphael explained, recalling each one in vivid detail. “Their bodies were still warm.”
Maria reached out to touch the pictures, but pulled back her hand before she did. “Strangled?” she asked, tracing the red marks on their throats.
“All of them.” Raphael looked down at his hands and spread his fingers. He smiled.
When he lifted his head, he saw Maria had stopped dead in front of the wall. She turned to look at him. The blood had drained from her cheeks. “You killed her.” The picture was his most recent. “This woman, from the club.” Her hands shook. “When?”
Raphael licked his lips. His heart started to race at the way Maria was looking at him. In shock . . . disappointment? “Not long ago.”
“While I was here?” Her voice had dropped in tone. Her blue eyes began to shine. Raphael stilled. Was she going to cry? He didn’t like her crying. He couldn’t stand it. It fucked with his head.
“Yes.”
Maria stumbled back. Her back hit the far wall. “Did . . .” Maria met his eyes. “Did you have sex with her?”
Raphael curled his lip just remembering that night. “No.”
Maria went to turn her head again, then suddenly moved from the wall. “That night,” she whispered. “The night you couldn’t get hard.” Raphael’s jaw clenched. “The night I said those words. The safe words. Red rose.” Maria started shaking her head. “That was it, wasn’t it? When you left . . . you left to kill her. When you returned, you had scratch marks on your skin.”
“She was evil. She trafficked kids. She deserved to die.”
Maria ran her hands down her face. “All life is sacred.”
“It’s not,” he snarled, feeling his rage begin to build.
“It is!” Maria argued. Raphael raced across the room and took hold of her shoulders. He spun her around. “These women . . . These women raped kids, sold kids, whored them out for money.” Raphael couldn’t keep hold of his temper. He felt himself being forced to his knees, the priest’s hands across his chest, touching his cock, forcing him to the floor . . . Raphael hit his head to rid himself of the image. Maria stumbled away, but Raphael kept hitting his head. He needed the images from his fucking head. Images put there by people like the pieces of shit on his wall. By people who used kids, raped kids.
Fucked them, fucked them, fucked them! His hand was yanked away, and he moved. He pushed the person against the wall, ready to kill. “My lord, it’s me.” But he was lost to the red mist of rage. “Raphael.” A soft voice cut through his head, which was trapped in the torture room, being pinned to the floor by the priest. “Come back to me,” the voice whispered. “Come back to me.”
Raphael blinked, his chest heaving, and the room around him shimmered and his vision cleared. He was home. In the manor . . . and there was Maria. Maria before him, blue eyes shining with tears. Her hand slowly came to his cheek. “You’re here with me.” Raphael’s muscles twitched in exertion. “I’m here.” Raphael followed the rising and falling of Maria’s controlled breaths. She stepped closer to him, closer and closer until her chest was flush against his.
He groaned at her warmth. At the way she numbed the stabbing memories in his head. Soothed the ache in his chest. “It’s okay . . . it’s okay.”
Raphael held her close, wrapping his arms around her back.
“I am a novitiate, Raphael.”
Raphael stood stock-still as he held Maria. He didn’t know what that was, but his rose sounded serious. He pulled back to look at her face, and Maria took hold of his hands. “Before I came here . . . I was training to be a nun. I was close to taking final vows.”
Raphael’s eyes flared, and blood soared through his tight muscles, bringing them to life. “Chaste,” he said, excitement mounting in his chest. “That’s why you were chaste. Pure.”
“Until I gave myself to you,” Maria said.
Raphael thought of her moaning his name. Thought of her pale skin and slim body. Thought of the customized coffin and how Maria would look flawless within it, sleeping for eternity, forever in Raphael’s room. His shrine caught his eye, and uncontained excitement built inside him. She was in his arms. The one.
Raphael leaned forward and cupped Maria’s cheeks. “I am going to kill you, little rose. Do you understand?”
Maria’s eyes widened for a minute, before they closed and she took a long, calming breath. “Yes, my lord.”
“Look at me.” Maria’s eyes opened, and she fixed her gaze on Raphael’s golden stare. “Someday soon, I’m going to bathe you.” He searched her face; there wasn’t a blemish in sight. “I’m going to comb and dry your hair.” Maria’s chest rose and fell, her small pert breasts heaving. Raphael smiled softly, like a lover confessing his love to his betrothed. “I will anoint you with the finest oils.” He tucked his nose into her neck and inhaled her sweet scent. “Vanilla and rose. You wear vanilla and rose the best.” Maria’s pulse raced; he could feel it under his thumb. “I will lay you on the bed, little rose. And I will love you. I will worship you like the queen that you are.” Raphael’s eyes closed, his hands still holding her face. “I will kiss you, little rose. I will taste your skin, your lips, and your sweet wet pussy.” He opened his eyes, and he knew his pupils would be dilated at just speaking the fantasy aloud. “I will push inside you, capturing your moans and sighs with my lips . . .” Raphael’s cock awakened and filled the silicone cage. He freed one of his hands and ran it through Maria’s soft wet hair. “I will take this silky hair and roll it in my hands. I will tilt your delicate neck off the bed, then I will wrap your hair around it, around and around and around—three times.” Raphael felt his body grow lighter, weightless. “You will look into my eyes as I thrust deeper within you . . . and then I will pull tight.” Raphael placed his hand over Maria’s neck. “Your cheeks will flush and your eyes will shine. Your lips will part, but no breath will leave your mouth. You will give yourself to me, little rose. Your body will begin to lose its strength as I build your pleasure. Your back will arch, and you will come, come so profoundly that it is all you will feel. You will search for breath, but there will be none to find. And as your eyes begin to glaze, your heart slowing to an almost stop, I’ll come inside you, groaning your
name.” Raphael felt the pressure build in his back. His eyes closed, his balls pulled tight, and with a loud groan, he felt himself spill against her leg. His body jerked in the aftermath. His neck was tight with the exertion of pleasure. When his eyes opened, he exhaled a shuddering breath. Maria’s cheeks were flushed and her nipples were erect. Raphael’s hand was still on her neck, his thumb caressing the soft skin as though it were a delicate petal. A white rose petal—Maria’s favorite color.
Raphael smiled, a loving, compassionate smile. “Your heart will cease to beat.” Maria’s lips parted and she released a short, soft breath. “I’ll hold you, little rose. I’ll hold you tightly in my arms, until you are no longer warm.” Raphael kissed Maria’s cheek. “I’ll place a rose in your hair—the best one from my garden. And you’ll have a bouquet in your hands. Twelve white roses for you to hold.” Raphael kissed her lips, tasting salt on her mouth. Tears were falling down her cheeks. He wiped them away with his thumbs. “You will be so perfect, little rose. So, so perfect. You’ll be nothing like these.” He flicked his hand to the pictures on the wall. He turned her to the shrine. “Your photo will take pride of place in this room.”
Raphael brought Maria to his chest. He held her head and body against him. His hands wrapped in her hair, and they stayed that way until he led her to bed.
“I wont abandon you, my lord,” Maria said against his lips as he kissed her goodnight. “I’m here for you. I am here to serve only you.”
Raphael’s happiness didn’t fade from his heart.
*****
“Beautiful,” Raphael said as Maria walked out of the closet. She wore a purple dress that fell to the floor. He had dried her hair, and it fell in natural waves down to her thighs. She wore golden sandals on her feet and a peach rose tucked behind her ear. Unlike the white dresses she wore in Raphael’s private room, this dress was opaque, not a touch of skin visible underneath.