8 ~ Something Raw & Undeniable

[Warning~Explicit content]

****

“Strip.”

The word hung between us, thick with unspoken tension.

My breath caught as I swallowed hard, forcing my expression into something neutral. “Excuse me?” I managed, my voice sharper than I intended.

Raphael leaned back against the massive headboard, completely at ease, his muscular form carved in the dim lighting. His gaze was steady, dark, and expectant. He looked like a king on his throne, waiting for his subject to obey.

“You heard me,” he said, voice low, controlled. “Take it off.”

A flicker of defiance sparked in my chest. I clenched my fists at my sides. “And if I don’t?”

His lips curled, but the amusement didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Then I’ll do it for you.”

A chill ran through me, not from fear, but from the sheer CERTAINTY in his tone. He wasn’t bluffing. He never bluffed. Raphael Delano was a man who took what he wanted, and right now, he had set his sights on me.

But I wasn’t going to make this easy for him.

Lifting my chin, I took a slow step forward, my bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. “You want me to strip?” I whispered, letting my voice drip with sarcasm. “Fine.”

I reached for the thin strap of my silk nightdress and let it slide down my shoulder, the fabric barely clinging to my skin. His eyes followed the movement, darkening with something unreadable.

I held his gaze as I tugged the other strap down, the delicate material slipping lower. The nightdress pooled at my feet, leaving me standing before him in nothing but lace underwear.

His chest rose and fell with slow, deliberate breaths. His jaw ticked, his fingers flexing against his thighs. For all his control, I could see it—the restraint. He was holding himself back.

Good.

If I was going to do this, I wanted to remind him that I wasn’t his toy. That I wasn’t some submissive doll waiting to be played with.

I stepped closer, my hands settling on the edge of the bed. “Is this what you wanted, sir?” I murmured.

Raphael’s hand shot out, fingers curling around my wrist. He yanked me forward, and suddenly, I was on the bed, straddling his lap, my palms pressed against his bare chest.

A sharp gasp escaped my lips.

His skin was hot, his muscles taut beneath my fingers. The heat radiating from him seeped into me, making my breath hitch.

“I should punish you,” he murmured, his voice rough, dangerous. “For lying about what we are. For hiding.”

I swallowed hard, but refused to look away. “And what exactly are we, Raphael? A mistake? A transaction from your weird physical touch fetish fantasies?”

His grip tightened, and in a swift movement, he flipped us, pinning me beneath him. The heavy weight of his body pressed against mine, every inch of him demanding submission.

His face hovered inches above mine, his breath fanning across my lips. “You are mine,” he growled. “No matter how much you fight it.”

His mouth crashed against mine before I could argue.

The kiss was brutal, possessive, a clash of dominance. I gasped into his mouth, my nails digging into his shoulders. He took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine, stealing the air from my lungs.

Heat coiled in my stomach, a fire I hated but couldn’t control.

Damn him.

Damn him for making me feel this.

I bit down on his lip, sharp and punishing. He let out a dark chuckle, his fingers tracing down my sides, over the lace that barely covered me.

“Still fighting?” he mused, his voice a sinful rasp.

I shoved at his chest, but he barely moved. “I hate you.”

His lips brushed against my throat, lingering at my pulse point. “Good.”

Then he bit down.

A gasp tore from my throat as his teeth sank into my skin—not hard enough to break, but enough to leave a mark. Enough to claim.

My legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, and I hated myself for it. Hated how my body reacted to him, how it 'wanted' him despite my mind screaming otherwise.

“You act like you don’t want this,” he murmured against my skin, “but your body tells a different story.”

“Go to hell,” I spat.

Raphael smirked against my collarbone. “Oh, little rabbit, I’ll take you with me.”

His hands moved, fingers trailing down my stomach, lower, teasing. He was going to push me until I snapped, until I broke.

And I wasn’t sure I could stop him.

He ripped what was left off my panties and I couldn't stop the gasp of shock that escaped my lips.

My nails raked down his back, and he let out a low groan, the sound vibrating against my skin. His hand gripped my thigh, fingers digging into my flesh as he spread my legs wider.

I should have stopped him.

I should have fought harder.

But I didn’t.

Because for all the hatred, for all the rage that burned between us, there was something else.

Something raw.

Something undeniable.

Something that would destroy us both.

And when he finally pushed inside me, it wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was a battle.

A war of dominance, of control, of who would break first.

His pace was rough, relentless, his hands gripping me like he was afraid I’d slip away. My own body betrayed me, my muscles tightening around him.

I dug my nails into his shoulders, leaving marks, drawing blood, wanting him to feel me the way I felt him.

Every time I thought I'd reached my limit, he went deeper, forcing me to endure more pain than I ever thought possible.

Until I couldn't bear it anymore.

I cried out, my body shuddering as he hit my deepest parts.

“Raph...” I whimpered, unable to hold back the tears.

He pulled out slowly, leaving me empty and unsatisfied, only to thrust himself back in. The feeling of fullness sent waves of pleasure through my core, my hips rising up to meet him.

"Don't cry," he said, his voice strained. "I'm not done yet."

He began moving faster, pounding into me, his grip on my thighs tightening.

I clenched my eyes shut, trying to block out the sounds of our bodies colliding. But they were everywhere. Our grunts, his moans, the slapping of skin, the wet slap of his cock hitting my insides.

The world was filled with nothing but those noises, and I hated them.

Hated how much I wanted Raphael to keep fucking me.

Hated how much I liked it.

I opened my mouth to scream, but no words came out.

Instead, a moan slipped past my lips.

Raphael's breath caught, then he started to move even faster.

Pounding into me. Pushing me closer to the edge.

I tried to fight it, to stay sane, but I couldn't.

There was too much emotion. Too many feelings.

Too much passion.

My body tensed, my muscles clenching around him.

I could feel something coming. Something big.

Then I screamed, arching my back, pushing my breasts against his chest.

Shit!

My entire body convulsed, my walls squeezing tight around him.

Raphael's face contorted with ecstasy, his teeth bared.

His fingers dug into my thighs, holding me still while he fucked me senseless.

I could hear him growling, his breath ragged.

I knew he was close.

I could tell by the way he was moving.

And I knew he wouldn't last long.

He slammed into me one final time, grunting loudly as he emptied himself deep inside me.

We stayed locked together for a moment, neither of us able to move.

Finally, he released my thighs, sliding out of me.

I collapsed onto the bed, my arms hanging limply over the side.

I should have felt regret.

But all I felt was ruin.

I turned my head, staring at the ceiling, trying to slow the racing of my heart.

I looked up at Raphael, my eyes burning with embarrassment.

His expression looked ecstatic as he stared at his hands.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

He gave a sharp glare.

"Sir." I concluded, turning my gaze to the wall.

He sighed heavily, sitting down next to me.

I didn't want to look at him.

I didn't want to be reminded of what we had just shared.

"Nothing," he replied, looking away from me.

I frowned.

"You're acting weird, even for you, sir."

"I don't know what you mean," he said, turning to look at me again.

"It's the same as you do whenever you touch me," I explained, pointing at myself. "You'd be as though you're high on drugs."

"I am not high on anything," he snapped.

"Is that coming from a Mafia Boss who has a large chunk of his income derived from drugs?" I retorted.

Raphael's brows furrowed, and he stood up suddenly. He grabbed my arm, pulling me to my feet.

I stumbled, nearly falling, before he wrapped an arm around my waist, steadying me.

I looked up at him, confused.

He leaned in close, speaking softly so only I could hear.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured, voice rough from exertion.

I swallowed. “Which part?”

His grip tightened, just slightly. “You’re mine.”

I should have fought him on it.

I should have denied it.

But instead, I closed my eyes.

And let the darkness take me.

*****

A sharp, shrill ringing shattered the silence.

I blinked against the morning light filtering through the curtains, my body sore—Fuck that bastard!—my mind foggy.

The bed was empty beside me.

The sheets were cool.

My pulse quickened.

The ringing continued, insistent, demanding.

I groaned, reaching for my phone on the nightstand.

Unknown number.

Frowning, I swiped to answer. “Hello?”

The voice on the other end made my blood run cold.

“Selene,” my father’s voice rasped through the speaker. “We need to talk.”