Chapter 22: Rafael

I've never been good at holding back. Not with her.

She's a damn hurricane, tearing through every part of me, and I can't stop myself from letting her destroy me. The fire in her burns brighter than anything I've ever known. I want to watch it consume me, to let it rage until there's nothing left but ash.

But that doesn't mean I'm willing to go down without a fight.

I need to remind her who's in control. Even if she doesn't want to admit it yet, even if she thinks she can do this without me, we both know better.

Her hands are on me, clawing at my chest like she's trying to tear through the fabric, the skin, the armor I've spent years building. I can feel her body pressed up against mine, her curves driving me to madness. She's not the woman I thought she was—no, she's far more dangerous. But it's that danger that calls to me, that pulls me deeper into this mess.

I push her against the wall again, the sound of her breath sharp and quick in my ears. She doesn't resist. She doesn't pull away. And for the first time since I met her, I can see the hesitation fading from her eyes.

"I'm not your pawn, Rafael," she says, her voice husky with desire but laced with defiance.

I smile, the corners of my lips curling up. She's fighting it. I can tell. She wants me as much as I want her. But she won't give in. Not yet.

"You're more than that, Seraphina," I whisper, my lips brushing against her ear. "You're the only thing I've ever truly wanted."

I feel her shiver, and it's a fucking triumph. But I don't let up. I don't let her think she has the upper hand. Not now. Not when the game is only just beginning.

Her hands slide up to my neck, her fingers gripping me tightly, and I feel the tension rise again. She's not just here for a fight. She's here to win. And as much as I want to break her, to take her down to my level, I can't deny that there's something thrilling about the way she challenges me.

Something intoxicating.

Her eyes burn with fire, and she pushes herself up onto her toes to kiss me again, harder this time, more desperate. Her lips are demanding, her hands tearing at my shirt, my skin, as if she wants to consume me.

I pull her closer, crushing her body against mine. There's no gentleness here. No softness. This is about taking, and being taken. She knows it. I know it.

"Stay with me, Seraphina," I growl, my hands slipping under her shirt, feeling the heat of her skin. "I'm not done with you yet."

Her breath catches, and I can tell she's torn. She wants me just as much as I want her. But there's something else in her eyes too—something darker, something that tells me she doesn't trust me, and she probably never will.

But trust is overrated.

I kiss her neck, my lips brushing over the sensitive skin as I slide my hands down her body, tracing the curve of her hips, feeling the sharpness of her silhouette as if it's branded into my memory.

"You can fight it all you want," I murmur against her skin, my breath hot and heavy. "But in the end, you'll come back to me. You always do."

She doesn't respond with words, but the way her body reacts to mine tells me everything I need to know. She's not running away. She's here.

She's mine.

And she knows it.