Chapter Twelve
Sophia
Sitting alone in my childhood bedroom, the faint echo of the wedding fades.
The house is quiet, almost reverent, and I trace the gold band on my finger absentmindedly.
One year ago, I never imagined I’d be here, married to the man who set my world on fire—literally—then pulled me into something I didn’t understand.
Raphael. The Reaper. The way he took over a room without speaking, in the way my body remembers him.
And then there is my father. The man who should have protected me but instead forced me into this marriage, this alliance between our families.
All those carefully rehearsed smiles, the whisper of authority, the press of his hand at my elbow as he walked me down the aisle—it still stings.
I realize, with a sinking weight, that maybe the dead security guards weren’t the Russians after all.
Maybe this was always meant to be a test of loyalty, a way to see if we could be contained, guided, controlled.
Shaking my head, I push away the memories, letting the present take over.
I’ve changed into my going-away outfit. Pale pink.
The same color as Maria’s bridesmaids’ dress.
A flowing skirt swirls around my legs as I smooth the silk of my striped pink-and-white blouse.
Matching shoes. My face is devoid of makeup except for my favorite lip gloss.
I look comfortable, elegant, perfect for leaving a life I didn’t ask to have and stepping into the one I choose with him.
Descending the staircase of my childhood home, and there he is.
Waiting. Raphael. The Reaper. My husband.
My body hums at the sight of him, the same magnetic pull I felt the first time he touched me, the same sharp, undeniable tension in the air whenever he’s near.
He smiles, just enough to make my heart skip a beat, just enough to remind me he knows exactly how to kiss me and make me melt, and just enough to make me trust him with the one-year promise he made. One year to make or break us.
As I reach the second-to-last step, he extends his hand.
The one with his wedding band glinting in the light.
I let my hand slide into his, feeling the warmth, the strength, the promise behind the gesture.
Together, we walk to the limousine waiting outside, my father’s grand gesture of control, or perhaps ceremony.
Raphael is calm, confident, the sort of man who commands presence without effort.
My father and Raphael’s father are here, side by side.
My father’s eyes linger on me for a heartbeat longer than comfortable, but Raphael’s father is all composure.
Both of us kiss the cheeks of these men—the architects of our entwined lives—and I feel the weight of history pressing down, a silent acknowledgment that our lives are now bound in ways we can’t undo.
Raphael opens the door for me, and I slide inside. The leather smells faintly of smoke and polish, warm and familiar in a dangerous way. I watch him shake hands with his brother, before he slides in beside me. My pulse quickens, knowing this is just us now.
“Raise the privacy screen,” he tells the chauffeur.
The partition lifts, and almost immediately, he pulls me onto his lap.
His arms wrap around me, strong and unyielding, and his lips find mine in a kiss that makes everything else fade away.
I melt into him slowly, every nerve on fire, every thought of father, family, and betrayal slipping behind the wall of his strength.
He pulls back just enough to look into my eyes, breathing just a little heavier than before. “I need to know something,” he murmurs, voice low, intimate. “Are you… a virgin?”
I feel heat rise to my cheeks, embarrassment flooding through me. My heart hammers in my chest, but I nod, voice catching even though I don’t speak.
He smiles then, that slow, knowing smile that makes my knees weak. “It doesn’t matter to me if you are or not,” he says, pressing his forehead to mine briefly. “But I need to know, to make this easier for you tonight.”
The honesty in his words, the care, the quiet dominance that makes me feel safe—it’s intoxicating. He’s pleased, I can see it, in the tilt of his jaw, the spark in his eyes. Pleased he will be my first, that he will guide me, that he will claim me fully.
I let out a shuddering breath, nestling against him, feeling the tension of the day, and the promise of what comes next settle into my bones. One year. One chance.
He kisses me again, softer this time, teasing, patient. His hands move, gentle but firm, exploring just enough to remind me that I’m his. And I know, even with everything that’s happened, that I’m excited to see where this will go.
Raphael is experienced, he knows how to touch me to make me gasp and melt but when his fingers begin to pull down my underwear, I freeze.
“Trust me,” he whispers between kisses.
“I don’t want to do this in a car.”
“We won’t. But I want to taste you.”
Scared and feeling out of control, I glance at the partition. “The driver?”
Raphael shakes his head as my panties slide down my legs. “He can’t hear or see us.”
He tilts his head, capturing my lips again, slower this time, deliberate, like he’s mapping every inch of me with his mouth.
My chest tightens, heart hammering, and a rush of warmth spreads through me—fire igniting from the tips of my fingers, down my arms, curling low in my stomach.
I want to pull him closer, to feel more of him, but my mind fights to keep pace with my body, terrified of what “more” could mean, yet craving it anyway.
His hands cradle my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones, and I melt into the touch, lips parting instinctively.
Every kiss teases, lingers, leaves me dizzy and disoriented.
I can feel the warmth of his body pressed against mine, the strength in his arms anchoring me even as desire coils tight inside me.
I want to lose myself in him, completely, but a part of me hesitates.
A whisper of doubt, of fear, of the one-year promise he made—not a lifetime yet, not fully his.
My chest swells with longing, my knees weaken, and I let out a shuddering breath I can’t control.
He senses it. I can feel his smirk against my lips, the confidence that comes with knowing exactly the effect he has on me.
His tongue traces mine just enough to send sparks crawling up my spine, and my body responds instantly, hot, alive, aching for something I can’t name. My hands clutch at his shoulders, gripping, seeking, wanting—yet my mind reels with the uncertainty of what “more” might mean.
He pulls back slightly, resting his forehead against mine, just long enough for me to catch my breath, for the ache of wanting to twist through me.
His lips brush my ear as he murmurs, low, intoxicating, “You’re already mine, Sophia. One year… we’ll figure out the rest.”
I can only nod, trembling slightly, warmth radiating through me, my pulse wild and unsteady. My body still burns, still aches for more kisses, more contact, more of whatever it is he can give me, but the precise shape of it remains a delicious, frustrating mystery.
Every time his lips find mine again, I lose myself just a little more—wanting more, needing more, yet terrified of the surrender it implies.
Raphael knows he’s my first. I know he will guide me.
And yet, I’ve never felt anything like this, and the pull is relentless, dizzying, overwhelming in the best way.
I gasp softly against him, a mix of shock and yearning, as my body continues to warm, ache, and melt under the pressure of his kisses. My mind can’t name it, can’t define it—but my body knows. It wants him. All of him.
And I’m terrified—and desperate—to see what comes next.
Raphael lays me gently across the back seat of the limousine, his movements slow, deliberate, never rushing me.
The soft leather creaks beneath me as I shift, heart hammering.
He shrugs off his jacket, tosses it aside, then pulls his shirt loose from his pants.
The dim overhead light catches on the edge of his wedding band as his hands move.
My own hands move before I think, sliding up under the material of his shirt. Heat radiates from his skin. My fingers trace the firm planes of his chest and back, feeling the tension coiled there like a live wire.
He leans down, undoing the first buttons of my blouse, his mouth brushing a trail of kisses between my breasts, lower, over my stomach. When he lifts my skirt, a jolt of fear and panic floods through me, sudden and overwhelming. My hands fly to his head, tangling in his hair, halting him.
His eyes flick up to mine instantly, dark and steady. “Relax, Princess.”
“I don’t… I don’t want my first time to be in a car,” I blurt out, voice trembling.
He stops completely, sitting back just enough to give me space. “I’m not going to fu—” He cuts himself off, jaw tightening, then softens. “I’m not going to make love to you in a car.” His thumb strokes my hip gently. “But I want you to experience what it feels like before we have sex.”
My heart thuds harder. “What… what feels like?” The words are barely a whisper.
Raphael’s mouth curves into a slow, dangerous smile, but his eyes stay soft. He leans down again, pressing a kiss to my stomach, his breath warm on my skin. “Let me show you,” he murmurs.
My pulse races. Part of me still trembles, unsure, but another part—the part he lit on fire a year ago—wants to know. Wants to feel. Wants him.
Raphael, pushes up the skirt and kisses the inside of my leg. Instinctively, I try to snap my legs closed. He pushes his face into me and breathes deeply, then his tongue strokes me. I jolt at the sensation and he does it again.
“Let me taste you,” he whispers.
Confused by the emotions and lust coursing through me, I stare at the ceiling of the car, not knowing what to do.
“Open your legs, Princess.”
Embarrassed, I put an arm over my eyes and do as he says.
“Perfect,” he whispers and then I feel his mouth on me.
His tongue flicks over my nub and instinctively I spread my legs wider.
This is no clumsy lover. Raphael sucks and flicks his tongue and I find myself threading my fingers through his hair and holding him to me as I grind on his face.
Abandoning all feeling of embarrassment as my body feels like it’s reaching for something.
My thighs feel like they are on fire, then he inserts his tongue inside me and my body feels as though it’s shattering.
He sucks on my nub as wave after wave pulses through me.
I scream his name as he keeps up his assault.
It’s only when every last tremor stops that he, kisses his way up my body and lets me taste my own desire on his lips.
Panting, trying to steady my breathing, I feel Raphael’s hands move with surprising gentleness as he fastens the buttons of my blouse again, one by one. His touch is warm, steady, almost protective now, and then he draws me into his arms.
“You’re going to make a fine lover,” he whispers against my hair.
A nervous laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “Will it… be like that all the time?” My voice sounds small, unsure, but there’s a thread of curiosity laced through it that I can’t hide.
Raphael chuckles softly, low in his chest. “No.” He presses a kiss to the side of my face, lingering just long enough to calm the wild flutter of my heart. “Your first time won’t be like that. But I promise you, as I learn your body, I’ll do my best to make you feel good.”
Something in his tone—steady, confident, but almost tender—settles the storm inside me. I still don’t know what’s coming, but with his arms around me and his breath warm against my skin, I start to believe he means it.