HURT MYSELF
Rafael stretched out beside me. “Thank you, beautiful. Your pleasure, your submission, is a gift.”
I blew out a breath that puffed my cheeks. “What can I do for you? I’m a little shaky after all that, but I’ll try.”
He kissed my brow. “No need. I have what I wanted for tonight, and I suspect you are too tired to give me a proper thrashing. Edging only makes it sweeter.”
Right, he’d mentioned his desire to receive pain.
“I’ve never been part of the community, but I’m familiar with kink.
” I plucked at a loose red curl, looping it around my finger.
“A little light spanking was enough to put my last boyfriend over the edge. He wanted to call me Mommy and have me baby talk to him. Which I did not love, but I played along because I didn’t want to make him feel bad.
” God, I’d love to introduce David to Rafael.
Just to watch the little worm piss his pants in fear, if nothing else.
“No baby talk. I want you to be vicious.” Rafael laughed low in his chest. “Forget your cute little thuddy floggers. If it does not bruise or draw blood, save it.”
“Oh, you’re a for-real pain pig.”
Apart from David, my only other kink experience was with Jerome Johnson, a self-styled pleasure dom who’d thought that meant ‘pleasure himself with every girl in a thirty-minute drive radius’, not ‘make me come until I passed out’ like Rafael just did.
Jerome was also a lead singer in a cover band, and the reason I’d started saying musicians were a red flag. We’d broken up within three months.
Fuck, I was really in trouble.
“I prefer ‘pain slut’ and I recognize that evil sparkle in your eye. You want to discover if you can break me.” Rafael’s lecherous, knowing smile stole my breath.
Forget a trickster god and feathers. This man might actually be the Devil himself.
“You are certainly welcome to try, but not tonight. You will need to be rested for that. I want you to stay over, but I am a poor bedmate, so it is your call. When I sleep, it is often fitful.” He grimaced. “I sometimes have night terrors.”
I traced the sharp line of his cheek down his jaw, skipped his neck, and continued across his clavicle and down the center of his sculpted chest. No self-harm scars marked him anywhere other than his arms that I could see. I walked my fingers across the lattice on his shoulder.
“What happens when you have a night terror?”
“They usually occur when I am stressed or very tired. I never remember anything, but from what I have been told, it is mostly thrashing and crying out. I may sit up, say nonsensical things, or get up and pace. It may seem like I am awake, but I am not. Speak to me gently and slowly. Do not touch me. Do not try to wake me; it will only make me more agitated. If I do get agitated, you may need to go to another room until it passes. I cleaned off the guest bed, so it is available if you need it.” He sighed.
“I am sorry to dump all these rules of engagement on you.”
Certain horror movies flashed in my mind. “Are night terrors dangerous?”
“Not unless you try to restrain me.” Rafael’s nose wrinkled. “I apparently backhanded someone once because of that. Did not actually hurt him, but he refused to believe it was not on purpose.”
He’d mentioned lashing out in violence before. Was it safe to sleep next to him? My heart said yes. My instincts were not so sure. Rafael watched me like he could read my thoughts.
“I’d like to stay,” I really fucking want to stay, “but I need to know some things first.”
“Ask1.” He held my gaze.
I took a deep breath and asked the uncomfortable, absolutely necessary question. “Have you ever hurt a partner when you were awake?”
Rafael’s eyes dropped. “Not on purpose. I had a terrible girlfriend about six years ago. She told me my triggers were overreactions, that I ‘just needed to man up’. She kept pushing until one day while I was restrained, she shoved her hand down my pants and groped me.”
He swallowed. “I am told I threw her against the wall and broke her shoulder and hip. I have no memory of that either—I woke up alone in my bedroom, surrounded by destroyed furniture. Supposedly, her brother came and carried her out.
“To this day, I do not know why she did not press charges. I paid all of her medical bills through that brother.”
Fuck, that was intense, but given the circumstances, understandable. “Have you ever had a reaction like that to an accidental touch? Like if I tripped and brushed against you or something?” It felt wretched to ask, but he was too big and strong for me not to be cautious.
Eyes still down, Rafael shook his head. “I may freeze up, but only deliberate groping makes me lash out.”
“Were there others?” I didn’t really want to know, but I needed to.
“A woman at a bar climbed into my lap after I told her to leave me the fuck alone. I shoved her off harder than intended. She hit her head on the floor and blacked out. I was kicked out of the bar, and never learned what happened to her.” Rafael scrubbed at his hair.
“Another one took it personally when I said no to her sexual advances. She tried to pin me down and choke me, and I popped her in the mouth. I knocked out a couple of teeth and paid those bills too.” He dropped his head to the mattress.
“I deserve to be charged for these things.”
The odds of charges sticking to a wealthy, attractive man with a recognizable name were slim-to-none. But I fully believed his stories. He told them with the same heartbreaking self-doubt as every survivor I’d ever met.
I inched closer. “No, you don’t deserve to be charged for any of that. Those women sexually assaulted you. You were within your rights to defend yourself each time.”
Rafael looked up, startled. The movement rolled me toward him.
“People call me an abuser.”
“Those people are assholes and perpetuating rape culture. I’m sorry that happened to you. It sounds like your boundaries have always been clear, and these women chose to assault you anyway because they assumed men can’t say no or don’t really mean it.”
He blinked rapidly. God, was he holding back tears?
My heart surged, but I maintained my composure. “I hate to ask you this, but have you ever become violent with male partners who push you too far, or is it only women? Or nonbinary folks, if that applies?”
“Surprisingly, women have been more aggressive with me overall. I hate saying I beat up women, but I lead with those stories because I feel the most guilt there.” He exhaled.
“I have hurt many men; partners and hopeful flirts alike. Some deserved it. Some did not. Some I do not fully recall, at places where I am no longer welcome. This is why I do not like crowds or to be impaired by drugs or alcohol. I once broke a man’s jaw and gave him a concussion for kissing my neck without consent. ”
“Did you pay his medical bills as well?”
“Not that time. He did it in front of witnesses at a fucking industry party. I did catch a charge for that one, but the case was dismissed.” He lowered his eyes.
“My more extreme reactions are not always from being directly triggered. I was diagnosed with Intermittent Explosive Disorder, which is psychiatry speak for ‘shitty fucking temper I cannot control’.”
I chewed on his words, hoping they wouldn’t give me indigestion. “Have you laid hands on every partner?”
Rafael’s shoulders heaved with a sigh. “It is not like that. Happened more frequently in my 20s, but I have only physically lashed out at the ones who triggered me. This is why I lead with all that shit now and try to avoid charged situations. I do not want to be that kind of man.” The shame in his voice curled through my ribs, squeezing them.
“But I have to vent the rage, or it comes out in ugly ways. It is never intentional with intimate partners.”
“And the fights help with that?” Hope glimmered at the edges, but was it wishful thinking?
“They do. I want you to feel safe, but I also want you to understand what you are getting into. We can comfortably argue and debate all day, but if you raise your voice at me or dig into triggering topics when I tell you to stop, I will leave the room for your own protection.” Rafael arched a brow.
“If I leave, do not chase me, eh? We can pick it up later when I am calm again.”
My breath puffed out my cheeks. “You’re right, that’s a little scary. But it also seems like you’re pretty self-aware. Or trying to be. Are you on good terms with any of your exes?”
I was a hypocrite in that realm. The closest I came to ‘good terms’ was with Marcus, and only because he hadn’t lied about his cheating or thrown a tantrum when I’d confronted him. I still avoided him if possible.
Rafael winced. “Not many. Less than I would prefer.”
“Thank you for being honest with me.” Was I already in too deep? This huge, powerful man had hurt people, even killed people, and was already warning me about a terrible temper. But my fear was hopeless against his magnetism.
He let out a breath. “Will you stay? Please?”
“I want to.” The thought of leaving now squeezed the air out of my lungs. “I’m not exactly prepared, though.” I should have been, but insecurity had gotten in the way, as it always did.
Rafael reached for his phone. “What do you need? I will order it.”
My eyes roamed around the spartan, white-walled room. The giant bed must be custom if it was large enough for Rafael to sprawl out without reaching the edges. God, I’d probably stained the duvet cover after all that gushing.
He must not spend much time here, either. Very little art on the walls, no books, no personal items anywhere. The only detail of note was the Tiffany lamp.
“Can’t order my meds.” I chewed my lip. “Or my nightguard. I need it because I grind my teeth. It’s very sexy.”
Rafael pushed my sweaty hair back from my forehead. “What would you need to stay longer?”
“Like, for a few days?”
“Like, forever.” His gaze was unwavering.
God, I didn’t want to say no, but… “Slow your roll there, hoss. We barely know each other. You haven’t met my friends or even know where I live. I’ve learned a lot about you, but I haven’t seen you get mad yet, and I don’t even know when your birthday is.”
He smiled indulgently. “Late October. I claimed the 29th because I like prime numbers, but I did not want Halloween. You might be surprised at what I know about you, my windup girl, with all the time you spend on social media. Such as your birthday on July 4th, which you like to complain about.”
That pet name had me internally squealing and kicking my feet. “You’re a fucking Scorpio? That tracks. No wonder you’re stalking me online.”
“I had to be sure you were not an axe murderer.” Rafael’s mouth twitched. “Are you one of those astrology girlies?”
“You say that like it’s an insult. And no, it’s just a passing interest. Cancers supposedly get along with Scorpios, but all my worst exes were Scorps. I seem to have a fatal attraction to them.” I chewed on my lip with a sigh. “What if I can’t beat you up the way you like?”
Rafael shrugged. “Either you learn, or I hire a professional and you watch.”
Oof, that was direct. My stomach sank.
He sat up, alarmed. “I would not hire a pro against your will. More like someone to teach you techniques if you are open to it. I only meant this is a necessity for me. I will help with conditioning, since it takes some stamina and upper body strength.” He prodded my soft arm, brow pinching with concern. “Is this a dealbreaker?”
Was it? Again, he was upfront, not slinking around behind my back.
My gut told me to give him a chance. “No, no, I’m just wrapping my head around the concept. I don’t have a problem with sex workers, and I can see the potential need.”
“I do not expect you to agree to anything until you understand the extent of what I am asking. Consent in all things, yes?” Rafael pulled his hair back and tied it into the low ponytail he favored.
The dance of serratus muscles across his ribs mesmerized me.
“Hmm. Do you like baklava?” He pronounced it ‘bahk-LAH-vah’.
“I…what? Yes? Where did that come from?” Was he deliberately trying to throw me off balance?
From the mischievous twinkle in his eye, yes, absolutely. “I made some in case you wanted dessert. Pistachio flavor. All yours; I do not like sweets.” With those abs, he’d probably never eaten a carb in his life.
“Ok, Trickster God, you feathered devil. What are you trying to pull?”
“I would say ‘your clothes off’, but I have already accomplished that.”
I snorted and swatted his bare shoulder. “No dessert right now, thanks, but yes, I do like baklava. Let me go home and pack a bag. I have work on Monday, but I can stay tonight and tomorrow night. And you have to at least meet Deandra, since she has an excellent radar for terrible men.”
“I already told you I am a terrible man. You refuse to listen.” His eyes narrowed into slits, and he sucked his teeth. “Only a single bag? I will allow it. This time. But I am driving you.”
I struggled back into my unpleasantly damp underwear and my clothes. He led me to the garage, past the guest parking, through another gate. Oh god, not an Escalade.
Rafael paused, noting the look on my face with a grimace. “I know. This was not my first choice, but it is one of the few vehicles with enough legroom that is not a fucking pickup truck. Wretched to drive in the city. Worse to park. Great for hauling bodies, though.”
1 “My Love/My Tomb” – Stoneside. & Connor Sweeny of Loathe