Chapter 16 #3
“I’ll... I’ll cum!” I screamed when the pressure became too much, when I couldn’t hold it back any longer.
Rafael’s hands grabbed my waist with bruising strength, holding me exactly where he wanted me.
His voice was low, commanding, and darkly possessive against my ear. “Go on... cum for me, Loretta. Let me feel you.”
He slammed into me with even greater force.
My body shuddered violently as the wave crashed over me.
Everything went white.
Pleasure detonated inside me in a huge, shattering release that drained every ounce of strength from my limbs.
It took several long moments before I even realized I was still on his bed, trembling and gasping beneath him.
With three or four more deep, merciless thrusts, Rafael followed right after me. He came hard and passionately inside me, his groan low and guttural as he emptied himself deep in my body.
Then he collapsed gently on top of me, careful not to crush me, and took my lips in a slow, devastating kiss — as if this moment, this connection, meant everything to him.
Even as he remained buried deep inside me, his mouth moved against mine with tender possession.
After a moment, he rolled to the side and pulled me with him so that I was lying on top of his chest, his cock still nestled inside me.
His strong arms came around my back, holding me close.
I wondered briefly if he wanted me to ride him, but he simply murmured against my hair, his voice soft yet commanding in that quiet way of his.
“Rest.”
That single word was soothing, almost gentle.
His hand began to massage slow, firm circles along my spine.
Our sweat-slicked skin mingled despite the cool air from the conditioner.
I stayed draped over him, still trying to recover from the intensity of what we had just shared, already fantasizing about the next round — about climbing on top and taking control.
But exhaustion won.
I didn’t even realize when I drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep in his arms.
I WOKE SOMETIME LATER to find myself alone in the large bed.
For a few seconds, I didn’t move.
The world felt suspended in that strange, hazy space between sleep and awareness, where everything still carried the memory of touch even when the hands were gone.
The duvet had been pulled carefully over my naked body, tucked in with an unexpected gentleness that didn’t quite match Rafael’s usual severity.
But the space beside me was empty and cold.
Rafael was gone.
I exhaled slowly, staring up at the ceiling as the silence of the room settled properly into my awareness.
A strange mix of satisfaction and emptiness stirred in my chest, colliding in ways I didn’t know how to name.
Physically, I felt... different. More awake. More alive than I had in years, like something inside me had been uncoiled after being tightly wound for too long.
But emotionally—
The absence of his warmth beside me pressed in harder than I expected.
My thoughts, uninvited and sharp, began to creep in.
Would he consider last night a mistake?
Would he wake up this morning and return to that version of himself that kept distance like it was law?
Or worse—
Would he retreat entirely, sealing himself back behind grief and discipline, convincing himself that what happened between us was a betrayal to Zara?
The thought made my stomach tighten unpleasantly.
I pushed the duvet aside and sat up, letting the cool air brush against my skin.
My body protested faintly—still carrying the lingering ache of everything that had happened—but it wasn’t unpleasant.
If anything, it was a reminder. A quiet, undeniable proof that last night had been real.
I stood.
The floor was cool beneath my feet as I made my way into his bathroom.
The space smelled faintly of his cologne even here, like he existed in every corner of the house whether he was physically present or not.
I took a quick shower.
Not long enough to escape my thoughts, but enough to gather myself again.
Enough to steady the parts of me that felt a little too exposed, a little too changed.
When I stepped out, steam still clinging lightly to my skin, I reached for the nearest thing within sight.
His shirt.
It lay discarded over a chair like it had been thrown there in passing.
Dark fabric, soft from wear.
I slipped it on without thinking too much about it, the material immediately swallowing my frame.
It smelled like him.
Sandalwood layered with something darker.
Masculine in a way that made my breath catch for no logical reason at all.
The hem barely reached mid-thigh.
Too short. Too intimate.
I paused for a moment, fingers gripping the fabric lightly at my sides, suddenly aware of how exposed I still was despite being dressed.
Dangerous, I thought faintly.
Not because of the shirt.
Because of what it meant.
I left the room.
As I stepped out into the corridor, I caught it immediately—voices drifting faintly from downstairs.
Rafael’s house always felt controlled, almost silent, so sound carried differently here.
His bedroom was on the upper floor, so I moved carefully toward the staircase, drawn by something I couldn’t quite define.
Tension, maybe. Or instinct.
Or the simple need to know where he was after waking up alone.
I took a few cautious steps down.
And then I heard him.
His voice.
Sharp. Ice-cold.
“...Bring him straight to my house. No excuses.”
A pause.
Then the call ended with a decisive click.
Silence rushed back in, but it didn’t erase the echo of what I had just heard.
Rafael stood in the living room, one hand still holding his phone, the other clenched so tightly at his side that the veins along his forearm stood out sharply beneath his skin.
His posture was rigid. Like something inside him had already snapped and was only being held together by force.
I continued down the stairs slowly, my bare feet making no sound against the marble.
Part of me wondered what had put him in this state so soon after what we had shared.
Another part of me already knew better than to assume last night had softened anything permanent inside him.
I reached the bottom step.
Only then did he turn.
It was immediate—like he had sensed me before I made a sound.
His dark eyes landed on me at once, sharp and assessing.
Then they dropped.
His gaze traced the oversized shirt I was wearing, the way it hung off my frame, the way it barely covered what it was meant to.
The hem stopped high on my thighs, exposing far more skin than I was used to showing in front of him.
His expression shifted.
Subtly at first.
The cold fury didn’t disappear—but something else slid beneath it.
His gaze lingered on my bare legs a moment too long.
When he finally spoke, his voice was lower than before.
“Loretta.”
A pause.
“You should still be resting.”
“I woke up alone,” I said quietly.
My voice came out steadier than I expected.
“I thought maybe you regretted what happened.”
That got his attention fully.
His eyes lifted back to mine.
And then he moved.
A slow step forward.
Then another.
But it made the space between us shrink in a way that felt far more intense than if he had crossed it quickly.
His gaze didn’t leave me—not once.
“I don’t use the word regret lightly,” he said at last.
His eyes flicked briefly down again—just for a second, like the sight of me still disrupted something in him despite everything else going on in his mind.
“But you walking around my house like this...”
His voice lowered further.
A faint edge of something almost unreadable slipped through.
“...you test my control more than you know.”
The words settled between us like a live wire.
Even after everything from last night, even after what we had already crossed, the tension hadn’t faded.
He glanced sharply toward the front door as if expecting someone to walk in at any moment.
The shift in him was immediate.
The tension in his jaw tightened, his posture subtly adjusting.
Without another word, he reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it off in one smooth motion.
The fabric slid over his broad shoulders, revealing the sculpted expanse of his torso beneath.
I had seen him like this before—but seeing him again, so bare and unguarded in the middle of this charged silence, still stole something from my breath.
He stepped closer.
The shirt came down over my shoulders before I could fully process the movement.
Warm fabric settled against my skin, his scent immediately surrounding me.
Then his fingers moved to the buttons.
Each one clicked into place with careful precision, like he was forcing himself to focus on something practical rather than the fact that I was standing in front of him half-dressed in his world.
His fingertips brushed my skin occasionally—brief contact, but enough to send quiet jolts through me that I didn’t bother hiding.
“You can’t walk around like this,” he said.
His voice was low, roughened slightly at the edges.
My eyes lifted to his face.
“Why is that?” I asked, tilting my head slightly.
A heavy sigh left him.
For the first time since I’d known him, he looked... mildly strained. Not weak. Never that. But human in a way he usually refused to be seen.
His hand ran through his dark hair, fingers dragging back through it in a rare sign of frustration.
And that was when I noticed it.
My gaze dropped instinctively.
The front of his trousers had tightened noticeably again, the unmistakable outline pressing against the fabric with no attempt at concealment.
Heat rushed to my face almost instantly.
So it wasn’t just me.
He had reacted again—just from looking at me standing here.
Something in my chest tightened at the realization, equal parts disbelief and something far more dangerous.
Rafael followed my gaze.
His expression didn’t change outwardly, but the air between us shifted.
Then he exhaled slowly, as if forcing himself back into control.
“Bruno has been found,” he said finally.
The shift in topic was abrupt, almost jarring in its contrast.
My focus snapped back to his face immediately.
“He is being brought over.”