8. Raphael
CHAPTER 8
RAPHAEL
The silk ropes feel familiar in my hands as I check each length methodically. Kit kneels before me on the studio floor, his dancer's posture perfect even in submission. These past weeks, I've watched his defiance slowly transform into trust. Not completely—there's still that delicious spark of rebellion in his eyes. But he's learning.
"Stand," I command, my accent thickening slightly as desire roughens my voice.
He rises with fluid grace, moonlight from the floor-to-ceiling windows silvering his skin. The studio was an indulgence, converting this wing of my estate into a space that would call to the dancer in him. Now it serves a different purpose—one that makes satisfaction curl through me as I watch him shiver in anticipation.
"Arms behind your back," I tell him. When he hesitates, testing me, I grip his chin. "Now, little rebel."
The old defiance flares, but he complies. I begin the first knot, savoring his sharp intake of breath as the rope slides against his skin. Each binding is precise, deliberate—the patterns I learned years ago in Prague transformed into art across his body.
"Beautiful," I murmur, circling him slowly. The ropes cross his chest in an intricate diamond pattern, emphasizing the lean muscles shaped by years of dance. "You were made for this."
His breath catches. "For being tied up?"
"For being mine." I tug gently on the ropes, drawing a soft gasp from him. "For surrendering so perfectly while still keeping that fire inside you."
I retrieve the blindfold next—black silk that will match the ropes. His pulse visibly quickens at the sight of it, but he doesn't pull away when I step behind him.
"Trust me," I whisper against his ear.
"I shouldn't," he answers, but tilts his head back slightly, offering himself.
The blindfold settles over his eyes, and I secure it carefully, making sure it's comfortable but secure. Without his sight, his other senses heighten—I can see it in the way he turns his head slightly, tracking my movements by sound.
I pick up a feather from the small table nearby. The first brush of it against his shoulder makes him startle. "Shh," I soothe, trailing it along his collarbone. "Feel everything I give you."
Time slows as I work, alternating the soft sweep of the feather with firm touches of my hands. His responses grow more intense—sharp breaths, quiet moans, the occasional whimper when I find a particularly sensitive spot. The ropes hold him secure as he sways, keeping him upright as pleasure overwhelms him.
"Please," he whispers finally, voice breaking.
"Please what?" I trace the line of his jaw, feeling him tremble.
"I need... I need..."
"What do you need, little rebel?" But I know. I can see it in every line of his body, every hitched breath.
His whispered plea, "You... please, I need you," echoes in the quiet of the studio. The ropes bite into his skin, a beautiful map of possession across the canvas of his body. He's mine, utterly, and the knowledge sends a thrill through me, a raw, visceral pleasure that tightens my gut. But it's more than just possession now. It's a need mirroring his own, a desperate hunger that goes beyond the physical.
I step closer, my hand finding the curve of his hip, the smooth skin warm beneath my touch. He shivers, a small gasp escaping his lips. "Tell me what you want, Kit," I command, my voice a low growl. "Tell me how you want me to touch you."
His breath hitches, his head falling back against the ropes. "Everywhere," he breathes, the words barely audible. "Touch me everywhere."
I grant his request, my hands roaming over his body, exploring every inch of his exposed skin. I caress his chest, my thumbs circling his nipples, eliciting a sharp moan. I trail my fingers down his stomach, dipping lower, tracing the line of his hipbone, the delicate curve of his thigh. His body trembles beneath my touch, a symphony of gasps and whimpers filling the air.
I lean in, my lips brushing against his ear. "You're so beautiful like this," I murmur, my voice thick with desire. "So vulnerable. So mine."
I kiss him then, deep and possessive, my tongue tangling with his. His hands, still bound behind him, strain against the ropes. I break the kiss, trailing my lips down his neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin, leaving a trail of marks that proclaim my ownership. My hand finds his throat, gently squeezing, eliciting a gasp that is half-pleasure, half-fear.
I position myself behind him, pressing my hardened cock against his ass. He gasps, his back arching against the ropes, offering himself to me completely. I reach between his legs, my fingers finding him already slick with arousal. I stroke him slowly, teasingly, drawing out his pleasure, his moans growing louder, more desperate.
"Raphael," he cries, his voice thick with need. "Please..."
"Beg for it," I growl, the pressure on his throat increasing slightly.
"Please," he begs, his voice strained. "Please, I need you inside me."
With a groan, I align my cock with his entrance and push forward. He cries out, his body convulsing around me. I fill him completely, savoring the tightness, the heat. I thrust into him, slowly at first, then faster, harder, my hand tightening on his throat with each thrust. He moans, his body writhing against the ropes, the restraints only intensifying his pleasure.
I edge him deliberately, pulling back just as he's about to shatter, then thrusting deep again. He cries out, begging for release. "Please, Raphael! I can't take it anymore!"
"I know," I whisper, my lips close to his ear. "That's the point."
With a final, powerful thrust, I drive deep inside him, his body convulsing around me as he reaches his climax. I hold him close, my own release quickly following, my body shuddering with the force of it.
When our tremors subside, I kiss the back of his neck, my lips lingering on the sensitive skin. "Good boy," I murmur, my voice softer now, laced with affection. "So good for me."
I carefully lower him to the floor, untying his hands and ankles. He collapses against me, his body still trembling, his breath coming in slow, even gasps. I hold him close, stroking his hair, whispering words of comfort and praise. The ropes lie discarded on the floor, a tangible reminder of the power we share, the trust that binds us together.
Kit's breath comes in slow, even gasps, his body still flushed with the afterglow of our shared pleasure. He's nestled against me, his head resting on my chest, his hand loosely clasped in mine. The silence in the room is thick with intimacy, broken only by the soft rhythm of our breathing.
I stroke his hair, my fingers tangling in the dark strands. He stirs slightly, a small sigh escaping his lips. He looks up at me, his eyes dark and luminous, filled with a vulnerability that makes my chest ache. There's a question in his gaze, a silent plea for reassurance that I can't ignore.
"Are you alright?" I ask, my voice rougher than I intended.
He nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "Better than alright," he whispers, his voice hoarse.
I lean down, kissing him softly. It's a different kind of kiss than the ones we shared before, less demanding, more tender. It's a kiss that speaks of intimacy and connection, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that has been forged between us.
He shifts slightly, his hand moving to my face, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw. "I..." he hesitates, searching for the right words. "I never thought it could be like this."
"Like what?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
"Like this," he repeats, his gaze locking with mine. "So... intense. So... connected."
I understand what he means. The ropes, the dominance, the raw physicality of our encounter—it was all a part of it. But it was more than just that. It was the vulnerability, the surrender, the complete and utter trust that we shared in those moments that made it so profound. It was the way we stripped away our defenses, revealing our true selves to each other, raw and exposed.
"Me neither," I admit, my voice thick with emotion.
He smiles, a genuine, unguarded smile that reaches his eyes. It's a sight that makes my heart clench in my chest, a feeling so unfamiliar, so unexpected, that it takes me by surprise. I realize then that Kit has become more than just a captive, more than just a lover. He's become something essential to me, something I never knew I was missing until he came into my life.
We lie there in silence for a long time, simply holding each other, the weight of our shared experience settling between us. The ropes may be gone, but the bond between us remains, stronger than ever. And as I look down at him, his head resting on my chest, his breath warm against my skin, I know that I'll do anything to protect this fragile connection, to keep this captive who holds so much of me.