Days seem to pass by quietly, but the more time that slips by, the tenser everyone becomes. We’re all waiting for something, but I’m not exactly sure what. I have no idea if Rafael has made a move on Dominges or not, and I’m not sure I want to know. I’ve seen less and less of him since we moved here, and there’s a whole other type of tension lingering between the two of us. I’m no longer his captive or Nero’s collateral. But I chose him. And now we’re on lockdown, confined to this villa, and the weight of that choice has never felt heavier. Our dynamic has changed. He’s no longer obligated to keep me, but he wants me…only not in the same way I want him.

I’m permanently conscious of all the ways that I’m sadly lacking, unable to give what I know he needs. How long is a man like him really going to wait? He’ll get bored eventually.

He insists on sleeping in the same bed as me, and every night as he holds me, I think that maybe I could just have sex with him. I’ve done it with thousands of other men. Could I do it for him? To keep him? To keep his love? I’m attracted to him. I want his kisses, his touches, and his love. Could I do something so horrible with him? Or would Rafael become tainted in my mind? One of them?

The bedroom door clicks shut, and I twist my head, glancing through the patio doors. Rafael walks into the room, his vest soaked and his hair damp with sweat. He and Samuel seem to be training a lot here, sparring with each other on a daily basis in the gym. They never did that at the mansion. Yet another indicator of how tense Rafael has become.

Rafe grabs the back of his shirt and tugs the damp material over his head. My eyes drop slowly over the hard muscles of his body. He really is magnificent: powerful, lethal, beautiful. Like one of Michelangelo’s statues—a stone tribute to the male form. A drop of sweat rolls between his pecs before sliding along each defined ab. I swallow heavily and wet my suddenly dry lips.

A low growl has me snapping my eyes to his face. “Anna,” he says through clenched teeth. His eyes flash dangerously, something dark and desperate swirling in their depths.

“Yeah?” I force the word past my tightening throat.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he tosses his head back as he clenches and releases his fists. And then, without a word, he turns and walks away, heading towards the attached bathroom. The muscles of his back roll beneath the map of dark ink staining every inch of his skin from shoulder to shoulder and the entire length of his spine. The tattoo is of a woman on her knee’s, sobbing and praying as dark clouds roll across his shoulder blades, bringing with them the four horsemen of the apocalypse. It’s beautiful, the artistry second to none. And of course, nestled amongst the chaos on his right shoulder, is Violet’s bleeding rose.

He slips through the bathroom door but doesn’t fully close it, before I hear the shower turn on. A teetering curiosity starts to form in my mind before I recoil from it, but then it creeps back in. I imagine Rafael in the shower, the water pouring over his chiseled form, warping the inked images on his skin. Warmth radiates through my body at the thought, and my pulse skitters in… what? Anticipation? No. I shake my head as though physically trying to remove the images from my brain. I don’t want that. But his kisses make you feel so safe, so wanted, so cherished. A tentative need dances along the edge of my mind, igniting such unfamiliar feelings, but instead of shying away, I welcome it.

Curiosity killed the cat, and yet I find myself moving towards the bathroom, pushing the door open until steam starts to billow around me. The glass shower cubicle is misted, but I can make out Rafael’s form, his head tilted back as the water rushes over him. I stand there for a second, frozen between the need to bolt and a gentle longing to explore, to tread the ground in front of me, previously un-walked.

Closer, closer…

Rafael’s hand swipes over the glass, clearing the mist until those dark eyes zero in on me, hard and unrelenting. I freeze like a rabbit in headlights, taking a shaky step back. I shouldn’t be here. I should leave, but he imprisons me with his gaze, cementing my feet to the spot. A wicked smile dances over his lips, and he drags a hand over his wet hair.

“Are you going to join me? Or are you just going to watch?” I shake my head numbly. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know why I’m here. This is such dangerous ground with a man like him. “Just watch it is then.” His voice is rough and deep, carrying over the sound of the water splashing against tile.

He places one palm against the glass, allowing the water to wash over his back. Through the mist, I can slightly make out him dropping his other hand and moving it slowly, back and forth, back and forth. His eyes hold mine, imprisoning me right there in the bathroom as he watches me, watching him. The movement of his hand gets more violent. He swipes his free hand over the glass again, ensuring he can see me. The muscles in his neck tighten, his jaw twitching as his breaths come faster. His stare becomes so intense, and I feel like I’m burning under it, my body tingling with a foreign sensation.

A low guttural groan tears from his throat, feral and primitive, echoing off the shower walls. He never looks away from me for a second as his body tightens and jerks, hidden by the misted glass, but I know exactly what’s happening. It was my sole purpose, to give pleasure. I’ve seen it a thousand times before, but never like this. This is beautiful, intoxicating, hypnotic. Rafael’s eyes close for a second before they snap open, focusing on me once more. My cheeks heat and his blazing gaze makes me fractious, so instinctively, I turn and run from the room. I keep going until I’m outside the house—until I can breathe properly again.

What am I doing?