Page 17 of Raphael
Raphael stills completely, his eyes widening slightly. "You're what?"
"A virgin," I repeat, heat climbing my neck. "Twenty-one years old and never had sex."
"By choice?" he asks.
"Yes. Like I said, no one ever felt... worth it." I can't meet his eyes now, suddenly embarrassed by my admission. "Stupid, right?"
"No." His voice is soft, almost reverent. "Not stupid at all."
When I dare to look up, the expression on his face forces me to clench my thighs. There's hunger there, yes—a primal, masculine desire that makes my insides clench—but there's also something else. Something that looks almost like awe.
"Raphael—" I begin, not sure what I'm going to say.
"Don't," he cuts me off. "Don't say my name like that unless you're absolutely certain about what you're asking for."
The warning in his voice should frighten me. Instead, it sends a thrill of excitement through my body, a dampness gathering between my thighs that I can't ignore.
"Like what?" I ask, provocative.
"Like you're offering something precious," he growls. "Something I have no right to take."
I slide off the barstool again, drawn to him despite every rational thought screaming that this is a terrible idea. "What if I want to give it? What if I've been waiting for someone who understands that it is precious?"
Raphael's breathing has grown heavier, his chest rising and falling visibly with each breath. As I move closer, my eyes can't help but drop to the front of his pants, where an unmistakable bulge strains against the fabric. As I watch, it twitches, growing even more prominent.
My cheeks burn, but I can't look away. I've seen men aroused before. Fumbling college boys trying to grind against me at parties, awkward dates pressing into my hip during makeout sessions, but never like this. Never with such raw, undisguised need.
"Annie." My name sounds like a prayer and a curse on his lips. "You need to go to your room. Now. Before I do something we'll both regret."
"Will we?" I ask, finally dragging my eyes back to his face. "Regret it, I mean?"
His laugh is strained. "Maybe not in the moment. But tomorrow? When you have to look Marco in the eye, knowing you've fucked his father? When you realize you've tied yourself to a man who lives in shadows?"
The crude language should shock me, but instead it sends another pulse of heat between my legs. "I grew up in shadows, Raphael. My father lived in them. I know what they look like."
"Not like mine."
"Then show me." I take another step closer, close enough now that I can feel the heat radiating from his body. "Show me who you really are."
Raphael's control visibly frays, his jaw clenching so hard I fear it might crack. "You think you want that, but you don't. Trust me."
"I do trust you," I say simply. "With Marco. With myself."
"Fuck, Annie." His voice breaks on my name. "You can't just say things like that."
"Why not? It's the truth."
He moves suddenly, grasping my upper arms, not painfully but firmly enough that I feel the strength in his hands.
"The truth? You want the truth? We killed a man tonight. Put a bullet in his head. And do you know what I felt? Relief. Satisfaction that a threat to my family was eliminated."
The confession hangs in the air between us, a test, or perhaps a last-ditch effort to scare me away. I should be horrified. I should be running for the door, calling the police, anything but standing here with desire still coursing through my veins.
"Was he a bad man?" I ask quietly. "The one you killed?"
Raphael blinks, clearly not expecting this response. "Yes. He was threatening our business, our people. He hurt someone close to Dante last month."
I nod slowly. "My father once told me that his job sometimes meant doing terrible things to terrible people, so that ordinary people could sleep safely at night." I reach up, placing my palm against his cheek. "Is that what you do, Raphael? Terrible things to terrible people?"
