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“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.
26
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 back through the balcony doors. Rafael walks into the room, his vest soaked and 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 just how tense Rafael has become.
Reaching over his head, 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 start. 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.
