“Seth?” I turn.
He shrugs. “Mine’s pretty basic. Only child. Spoiled. Extremely happy. Nice family. Nice kid.” He stretches his arms above his head, cracks his knuckles, and continues, “And then the car accident. Felt like something died inside me. But weirdly enough, it made me harder and nicer at the same time. Determined to put some good into the world. Couldn’t fix myshitty life, but I started fixing whatever I could in that place. It’s why the Director took a shine to me. And other than Rory, no one touched me.”
“Playtime?” Rory’s voice deepens.
I laugh softly. “Soon.” Bracing myself, I turn to Raphael.
I shouldn’t be surprised his finger is already crooked in a demand. He knew what I planned. He knows what I want, what I need.
Just as I pick up the cane, Raphael shakes his head. “Crawl, he commands.
Seth takes the cane for me, and I do. I get down on my hands and knees and crawl for him. If it were Rory, if it were any of them, I’d be doing it “tiger” style with a sexy, sultry gaze, licking my lips. But not Raphael. I just stare at him like I’m going wild in a soul-to-soul showdown.
Once I get to his side, Raphael spreads his legs, unzips, takes out his already stiff length, and rubs the crown on my lips. My pulse shudders. If there were ever a war for beautiful erections, Raphael would win. Hands down. Rigid, thick, the prominent vein throbbing with healthy blood.
“No teeth,” he growls the warning.
I softly part my lips.
With blood in his eyes, on the border of being unhinged, Raphael seizes my hair with a brutal grip, a sharp thrust of his hips, and he slams his hardness all the way to the back of my throat. My jaw howls at how quickly I widen my mouth. He’s all dominance and destruction, fucking my throat as I give him what he needs.
He is all predator. And I am his prey. And even prey can have power.
“Fuck, Briella,” he says, a strangled sound leaving his throat.
Then, he’s strangling me. His hand closes around my throat like he wants to see how far he can go—rocking his hips, pumping into me.
I am his vice. He is my addiction. The power of my soul. And I am his weakness.
I cling to his pants, holding on like he is my life. Because he holds my life in his hands.
Just when I think I’m about to pass out like the last time, Raphael pulls out, letting me gasp for air.
“I was born in blood,” he speaks with a detached tone.
I rivet all my attention on him, swept away by his violent beauty. The strands falling down his cheeks. Those hypnotizing green orbs. The chiseled jaw. God, he’s a work of art. When his powerful thighs flex again, I open my mouth and close my lids, preparing for him to ram me again.
“Eyes on me, my Queen.”
With tears blurring my vision, I obey. The moment I do, he shoves back in, but this time, it’s not a destroying piston. It’s strong, but something in how he rocks his hips in a steady rhythm…it’s intimate. I swallow him down.
“I don’t know much about my past. God. Fuck!” A gust of air leaves his throat from how I just swirled my tongue on the underside of him. He releases my hair. Touches his thumb to my tears. “Just the murder/suicide. I will never know the reason. My parents took that secret to the grave.”
His history feels like a powerful hand gripping my heart, squeezing just like he does again, fisting my lungs.
I slowly inch my fingers up until I cup his balls. He jerks in my throat, tips his head back for a moment before looking back down at me. These moments, these fragments of power, are what I hold onto. Full of purpose, I softly stroke his balls and don’t stop licking every inch that my tongue can reach.
“I was bounced around from foster home to foster home. I owned each one. Bio kids unable to manipulate me. Isolated from any other foster children. And I was very good at manipulating others. Except for one. Ironically, he was a priest. He was the one who taught me archery, taught me how to hunt to sate my urges. I guess you could say he gave me my moral compass, though it’s never quite pointed north.”
Chuffing a laugh, he unclenches his hand and pulls out, giving me air again. The most intense form of breath play I’ve ever had.
I may be his prey, but right now? He feels like my slave. The slave of my soul.
“What happened to him?” I wonder.
I’m still crying but not breaking down. He touches the side of my face, possibly the most tender I’ve ever felt from him.
“Sometimes, Briella…sometimes, I invited trouble. Not like Rory. But I’d taunt other monsters. One came after me, and Father Luke…got caught in the crossfire. Took a bullet for me. As he died, he begged me to only kill when necessary. And never an innocent.”
