4. Raphael
CHAPTER 4
RAPHAEL
I watch Kit through the security feed, noting how he paces his room like a caged tiger after our dinner encounter. Even in such a simple action, his dancer's grace is evident. Every movement precise, controlled—until it isn't. His frustration manifests in small bursts of defiance: a kicked chair, a thrown pillow. Beautiful.
"The studio renovations are complete, sir." Marcus appears at my shoulder, ever efficient. "Would you like to inspect it?"
"Later." I don't take my eyes off the screen. "How is our guest's background check progressing?"
"Interesting results." He hands me a tablet. "His financial situation is worse than we thought. Medical bills from a career-threatening injury two years ago, student loans, credit card debt. Lady Ashworth's payments barely made a dent."
"And his dance career?"
"Talented but overlooked. Politics and finances holding him back more than ability. He maintains a grueling schedule—morning rehearsals with the ballet company, evening shifts at Obsidian, private lessons when he can get them."
Dedication. Discipline. Qualities I appreciate. "Time to begin his real education, I think."
The interrogation room is deliberately intimidating—stark white walls, harsh lighting, a single chair bolted to the floor. A stark contrast to the luxury I've surrounded him with so far. The psychological impact of switching between comfort and discomfort can be... illuminating.
Kit arrives between two guards, chin lifted in that now-familiar defiant pose. He's changed into the clothes provided—slim black pants and a fitted white shirt that emphasize his dancer's physique. The sight stirs something possessive in me.
"Sit." I gesture to the chair.
"I prefer to stand." He crosses his arms, a study in elegant resistance.
"That wasn't a request." I let my voice drop lower, infusing it with command. "Sit down, Kit."
He hesitates, testing the boundaries, before slowly lowering himself into the chair. Even this small act of compliance sends a thrill through me. Breaking through his defenses will be exquisite.
"Now." I circle him slowly. "Tell me everything Lady Ashworth asked about. Every detail. Every whispered conversation."
"I told you, it was nothing important."
“I’ll decide that for myself.” I stop behind him, placing my hands on his shoulders. He tenses but doesn't pull away. "Start with your first private meeting."
His breath catches as my thumbs press into the tight muscles of his neck. "She... she asked about delivery schedules first. When shipments came in, which entrance was used."
"And you told her?" I keep my voice neutral, thumbs working deeper.
"Yes." He exhales shakily. "The information seemed harmless."
"Nothing in my world is harmless." I lean down, speaking directly into his ear. "What else?"
"VIP customers. Who met with whom." His head tilts slightly, unconsciously leaning into my touch. "Special requests for private rooms."
"You're still holding back." I tighten my grip warning. "Tell me everything."
He shivers. "There were... documents. Sometimes she'd ask me to look for specific papers when I brought drinks to the private offices."
"Did you find any?"
"No!" His denial comes too quickly. "I mean... I never looked. I'm not a spy."
"No?" I slide one hand up to grasp his chin, forcing him to look at me. "Just a traitor then?"
"I didn't know what she was doing with the information." His eyes flash with anger and something else—shame? "I needed the money."
"Poor little dancer." I trace his jaw with my thumb. "So desperate you didn't stop to question why a socialite would pay so much for club gossip."
He tries to pull away but I hold firm. "Let me go."
"Not until I'm satisfied you're telling me everything." I release his chin but keep my other hand on his shoulder, maintaining contact. "What else did she ask about?"
"Nothing! I swear!"
"Lying doesn't suit you, Kit." I squeeze his shoulder in warning. "Shall we discuss the missing security logs? The copied keycard codes?"
He pales slightly. "How did you..."
"I know everything that happens in my club." I resume my slow circles. "Every whispered conversation. Every stolen glance. Every betrayal."
"I didn't... I never meant..."
"No?" I stop in front of him, bracing my hands on the chair arms, caging him in. "Then prove it. Tell me everything, and perhaps I'll be merciful."
The proximity affects him—I can see it in his quickened breathing, the dilation of his pupils. He's fighting attraction even as he fights me. Perfect.
"The security office," he whispers finally. "She wanted to know when it was empty, who had access. I... I helped her get copies of some entry logs."
"There." I straighten up, pleased. "Was that so difficult?"
He looks away, shame and defiance warring on his face. “I suppose you’re going to kill me now.”
"Kill you?" I laugh softly. "Oh no, little dancer. I have use for you yet.”
His head snaps up. "What does that mean?"
Instead of answering, I walk to the door and open it. "Come. I have something to show you."
He hesitates before standing, movements wary but still graceful. I lead him through the maze of corridors to a newly renovated wing. The doors I unlock reveal a state-of-the-art dance studio—sprung floors, mirrored walls, professional sound system. His sharp intake of breath is deeply satisfying.
"What is this?"
"Your new training ground." I watch his reflection in the mirrors as he takes in the space. "A place for discipline and... reward."
"I don't understand."
"You will." I move behind him again, hands settling on his hips. "You have such potential, Kit. Raw talent that needs proper... direction."
He tries to step away but I hold him firm. "I already have a dance teacher."
"But not a master." I pull him back against me, feeling him shiver. "Someone to show you the perfect balance of control and surrender."
"I'm not interested in your games." But his body betrays him, leaning into my touch even as he protests.
"No?" I place my hand his chest, feeling his heartbeat race. "Your body says otherwise."
"Let me go."
"Never." I turn him to face me, keeping him close. "You're mine now, Kit."
“I’ll never belong to you.” But the words lack conviction.
"We'll see." I release him abruptly, enjoying his slight sway toward me before he catches himself. "Tomorrow, your real training begins. Rest well—you'll need it."
I leave him standing in the studio, knowing the mirrors will show him exactly what I saw—the flush in his cheeks, the unconscious grace of submission struggling with his innate defiance. He's fighting it now, but soon he'll understand. Soon he'll crave the discipline only I can provide.
In my office, I pull up the studio's security feed. Kit is exploring the space, running his hands over the barre, testing the floor's spring. Even in such simple movements, his artistry shines through. Such potential, just waiting to be shaped.
"Shall I have him returned to his room?" Marcus asks from the doorway.
"No." I watch Kit attempt a few basic positions, his technique flawless even in casual clothes. "Let him stay. Let him get comfortable in the space. Tomorrow we begin breaking down those walls he's built."
"And Lady Ashworth?"
"Let her think her plan is working for now." I finally look away from the screen. "She and Dominik will reveal themselves fully soon enough. In the meantime..." I smile, thinking of Kit's unconscious responses to my touch. "I have more interesting matters to attend to."
Marcus nods and withdraws, leaving me to watch my captive dancer. He's moving more freely now, losing himself in simple exercises. Soon he'll learn a new kind of dance—one of power and submission, discipline and desire. I can hardly wait to begin his education.