Page 8 of Raziel
I fucked her.
Protected her.
Would give her my last name on paper.
But I didn’t want to.
And I didn’t want her.
Her fingers moved absently across my chest.
“You love me most, don’t you?”
I didn’t answer.
My jaw clenched. My body stayed still.
“Raziel?” she whispered.
I closed my eyes, pretending to be asleep.
I saw Maya.
She was so fucking gorgeous it made my chest ache. Curvy in a way that demanded attention—hips that moved to their own rhythm.
Breasts pressed tight against every dress she wore.
Her skin was deep brown, smooth and warm. Her eyes, the same color, always looked like they were keeping secrets.
I loved her lips.
Open and wild when she was moaning.
The way they’d curve into a smirk when she was mad.
The way they got all pouty when she was teasing.
She felt familiar—and I didn’t know why.
Even her tattoos got to me.
I’d never liked them on women.
But the one running up her forearm—the slave breaking chains, running barefoot through flames—said everything about her without her saying a word.
Maya was soft.
But she was a survivor.
She carried fire under her skin.
She wasn’t built for moderation.
But I had to… restrain myself.
Restrain.
That word felt weak. It wasn’t enough.
