Raph let out a dark, triumphant chuckle, and his fingers moved with purpose, stoking the fire within her.
“That’s it, my little flower,” he murmured, his voice a caress as he pushed her higher, his free hand gripping her hip possessively, controlling her movements. “Surrender to me. Tell me how good it feels.”
“It feels… incredible,” she gasped, her body moving naturally under his expert touch.
What is happening to me?
Release shattered through her like a violent storm. Her cries echoed off the walls as an overwhelming sensation ripped through her from the pit of her stomach to the tips of her toes.
Her body went limp against the table. Her breath came fast and ragged, and her skin burned where Raph had slapped her. His hands lingered, soothing her skin, and the gentle touch felt even more amazing than the discipline.
“Next time, Duchess, the punishment will be harder.”
Camelia could not fully comprehend what had passed between them, yet one truth burned clear: Raph’s words were not a warning. They were a promise. And heaven help her, she found herself longing to be punished again.
Raph’s lips brushed the heated skin where his hand had left its mark. His tender kiss was a searing contrast to the display of dominance that made her shudder against the kitchen table.
He slowly pulled down her skirt, and the fabric whispered against her raw skin. His fingers lingered and traced over her long legs with a gentleness that belied his earlier ferocity.
“Care for it gently, Camelia,” he instructed, his voice softened with a trace of concern. “Soak it in cold water tonight and apply a salve if it stings. Disobedience has consequences, but I won’t have you marred.”
Camelia’s heart pounded, and she struggled to steady herself when he helped her off the table. Her body was still alight with the aftershocks of his touch, but a sudden exhaustion took over her, and she fell into his waiting arms.
“You will need to rest and recover,” he added as he held her up.
Even exhausted, I feel a deep hunger for him.
Raph gently leaned her against the table and backed away slowly. Camelia watched as he adjusted his shirt, his movementsdeliberate as he prepared to leave. Her eyes lingered on the bulge in his trousers.
“Should I not return the favor and pleasure my husband, too?”
“Not today, little flower.”
“If only I knew how…”
“I will teach you.”
Camelia understood what the promise of a lesson meant now, and she was ready for one, but it was too late. He made his way to the locked door, which stood as a silent barrier between them and the real world. She couldn’t let him walk away, not yet.
“Raph, wait,” she gasped weakly, pushing herself upright against the table that would forever be seared in her memory. “You need to know that hiding won’t protect Pamela. She’s hurting, and your secrets are a weight she can’t carry.”
He froze, his back to her, his shoulders tensing. Slowly, he turned back, his eyes narrowed on her.
“This changes nothing. You do not know anything about Pamela or me, Camelia,” he said coldly. The words cut through the warm air. “Don’t presume to understand what’s best for her… or us.”
Camelia’s heart ached, but she stood taller, her gown still askew. Despite her vulnerable state, she had to speak about this.
“Exactly, I don’t know anything, Raph. As your wife, your Duchess, and Pamela’s stepmother, I believe I deserve to knoweverything. You cannot keep me in the dark forever and expect me to help your daughter.”
He stared at her, his gaze intense, searching, as if debating whether to trust her with the burden he carried.
He’s relentless.
The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken truths, until he finally spoke in a measured and deliberate tone, “Pamela’s intuition is correct.”
Camelia sucked in a sharp breath.
“What do you mean?” she probed gently.
