Chapter 6 - Annie
"I'm not most people. And I'm definitely not Alicia."
I've just crossed a line I told myself I wouldn't cross, but standing here in Raphael's kitchen, the taste of his kiss still on my lips, I can't bring myself to regret it.
"You should be," Raphael says, his voice dropping to a deeper register that sends shivers down my spine. "You should be running in the opposite direction."
"Maybe I should." I take a step closer instead of away. "But I've spent three years playing it safe, Raphael. Three years being the responsible daughter, the diligent student, the good girl who never takes risks."
"And now you want to take a risk with me?"
"Is that so hard to believe?"
He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Annie, you have no idea who I am. What I've done."
"I know you're Marco's father," I say softly. "I know you'd do anything to protect him. I know you grew up without parents and swore never to abandon your own child. That tells me more about your character than whatever it is you do when you leave this house."
Raphael runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in the tense set of his shoulders. "It's not that simple."
"Nothing worth wanting ever is."
His eyes snap to mine, darkening further. "Is that what this is? You want me?"
Heat floods my cheeks, but I hold his gaze. "Would it be so terrible if I did?"
"Christ, Annie." He turns away, bracing his hands on the counter. The muscles in his back flex beneath his shirt, and I find myself wanting to trace them with my fingertips, my lips. "You're twenty-one. You work for me. You take care of my son."
"I'm aware of all those things."
"Then you should also be aware that I'm not the kind of man you should want." He glances over his shoulder at me, his expression tormented. "I've done things that would make you hate me."
I move to stand beside him, close enough that our arms almost touch.
"My father was undercover narcotics. I'm not naive about what that entailed.
Sometimes he'd come home with this... emptiness in his eyes.
Like he'd left pieces of himself behind.
" I take a deep breath. "I saw that same look in your eyes tonight when you came home. "
Raphael turns to face me. "You're too observant for your own good."
"So I've been told. But now... Tell me something about yourself that no one else knows," I say suddenly, desperate to break the tension before I do something truly reckless like throw myself at him.
Raphael blinks, caught off guard by the shift. "What?"
"Something secret. Something you've never told anyone." I move back to my barstool, putting safer distance between us. "Think of it as a trust exercise."
A smile tugs at one corner of his mouth. "A trust exercise?"
"Mmhmm." I take a sip of my wine, trying to appear more casual than I feel. "I'll go first if you want."
He considers for a moment, then nods. "Alright. You first."
I set my glass down, thinking. "I still sleep with the stuffed bear my dad gave me when I was six. His name is Lieutenant Fuzzy."
Raphael's expression softens. "Lieutenant Fuzzy, huh?"
"Dad was so proud of that name," I say, smiling at the memory. "Said every bear needed a proper rank."
"I can see why you kept him."
"Your turn," I prompt.
Raphael leans against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. The position makes his biceps strain against the fabric of his shirt, and I force myself not to stare.
"I'm afraid of heights," he admits finally. "Fucking terrified, actually. Can't even go up glass elevators without breaking into a cold sweat."
This surprises a laugh out of me. "You? But you're so..." I gesture vaguely at his imposing frame.
"Big?" He grins. "Size has nothing to do with it. Gets embarrassing in my line of work sometimes."
"I can imagine." I try to picture this mountain of a man cowering in an elevator and find it endearingly human. "How did that happen?"
"Foster home when I was ten. Got locked on a roof for two days as punishment for talking back." His tone is matter-of-fact, but I see the shadow that passes over his face. "Never quite got over it."
My heart twists. "That's horrible."
He shrugs. "Not the worst thing that happened in the system."
The casualness with which he dismisses his trauma makes me ache for the child he was. "Is that why you're so protective of Marco? Because of what you went through?"
"Partly," he acknowledges. "But it's more than that.
When he was born..." Raphael's expression transforms, softening in a way I haven't seen before.
"When they put him in my arms, this tiny red-faced thing screaming his lungs out, something awoke in me.
Like the world suddenly had a center point, and he was it. "
"That's beautiful," I say softly.
"Your turn again."
I think for a moment. "I've never been in love," I admit. "Never even come close. My friends think I'm some kind of robot because I've turned down every guy who's asked me out in college."
Raphael raises an eyebrow. "Why?"
"They all seemed so... boring." I fidget with my glass. "Like they were playing at being adults, with their fraternity parties and their business majors. None of them felt real."
"And you want something real."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "Yes. Even if it's complicated or difficult or... dangerous." I meet his eyes on that last word.
Raphael's jaw tightens, and I notice his hands clench into fists at his sides.
"Your turn," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
"I haven't been with anyone since Alicia left," he says roughly. "Two years of nothing but my own hand for company."
Images flash unbidden in my mind. Raphael alone in his bed, those large hands working over his cock, his head thrown back in pleasure.
"Why?" I manage to ask, my mouth suddenly dry.
"No time. No interest in casual hookups. Too much risk bringing strangers around when you have a kid." He runs a hand through his hair again. "And then there's the job. Hard to explain why you might need to leave in the middle of the night, or why you sometimes come home with bruised knuckles."
I nod, understanding. "That makes sense."
"Your turn."
I take a deep breath, then decide to go for it. "I'm still a virgin."
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?"
He leans into my touch, his eyes closing briefly. "Sometimes. And sometimes I'm just the terrible person."
"I don't believe that."
His eyes open, searching mine. "You should go to bed, Annie. Alone."
"Is that what you want?"
"What I want," he growls, "is to bend you over this counter and fuck you until you can't remember your own name. I want to taste every inch of your body and hear you scream when you come for the first time with something besides your own fingers inside you."
His words send liquid heat pooling between my thighs. I've never been spoken to like this—so raw, so honest, so viscerally sexual—and my body responds with an intensity that frightens and thrills me.
"Then why don't you?" I whisper.
"Because you deserve better than a quick fuck in the kitchen with a man who just committed murder." His hands slide down my arms, then release me completely. "Because your first time should be special, not desperate and rough with someone who can barely control himself around you."
The tenderness beneath his crude words undoes me. This dangerous man, capable of violence I can barely comprehend, is concerned about making my first time special. It's this contradiction that draws me to him even more than his physical appeal.
"What if I don't want gentle and special?" I challenge, though my voice trembles slightly. "What if I want desperate and rough? What if I've spent twenty-one years being careful and good and responsible, and for once I want to be reckless?"
Raphael's eyes darken to nearly black. "Don't tempt me, Annie. My control is hanging by a thread here."
I glance down again, unable to help myself. His erection strains visibly against his pants. As I watch, it throbs again, pressing insistently against the confining fabric.
"I should go to bed," I say reluctantly, recognizing that we're both too close to the edge. "Alone. Like you said."
Relief and disappointment war on his face. "That's... probably best."
I take a step back, putting space between us, though every cell in my body protests the distance. "But Raphael?"
"Yes?"
"This conversation isn't over. Just postponed."
A smirk touches his lips. "Noted."
I turn to leave, then pause in the doorway, looking back over my shoulder. "Sweet dreams."
"There won't be anything sweet about them tonight," he growls, and the naked want in his voice follows me all the way back to the guest room, where I collapse onto the bed, my heart racing and my body aching for something I've only just begun to understand.