How had he gotten himself into this situation?

Even Rafayel, ever composed and in control, couldn’t begin to explain the chain of events that led to this moment: tied to a chair with velvet restraints, shirt unbuttoned, chest rising and falling with every shallow breath. And you, standing above him like a deity of temptation, amused and unrelenting.

He should’ve known better than to flirt so boldly. He should’ve known your smirk was a warning, not an invitation. But here he was, helpless and at your mercy—and the worst part?

He was enjoying it far too much.

His silver lashes fluttered as another gasp escaped him, sharp and uncontrollable, when you dragged the soft edge of a rose over his chest—directly over a sensitive, already perked bud. His skin flushed beneath your touch, tension flickering across his jawline, muscles twitching under the delicate contact.

You leaned in close, just enough for him to feel the warmth of your breath over his neck. “Worried about breaking me?” he rasped, voice uneven but still laced with that signature charm. “I’m not that fragile.”

Your laugh was soft but cruel, smug as you moved the rose just a little lower, the petals whispering along the center of his torso. “Oh, darling… you’ve got it all wrong.”

Rafayel’s head tilted back with a soft groan, wrists flexing against the bindings. They weren’t tight enough to hurt, just firm enough to make a point. He was here on your terms, and his normally easy dominance was being unraveled thread by thread.

“This isn’t about breaking you,” you purred near his ear, voice silken and low, “This is about exploring every single one of your limits… slowly.”

He chuckled at that—but even the sound trembled. “So a thorough inspection, then?” he said, trying to reassert his signature confidence. “Don’t be shy about it.”

You smirked as you leaned forward, your hands gliding up his thighs with no shame, stopping just before you reached the area where he was clearly reacting. “Oh, I’m not shy at all,” you said, brushing your fingers back down. “You, on the other hand…”

He inhaled sharply, jaw clenching. He wasn’t used to being on this end of the power dynamic. The ever-perfect face of the "infallible" angel was flushed, lips slightly parted, every inch of him betraying just how much he was aching to be touched—but only on your terms.

Rafayel bit back another noise as you returned to teasing his chest, this time with your fingers. You circled one bud lightly with the pad of your thumb, watching his hips jolt despite himself.

“You’re so responsive,” you murmured. “You act all composed, but your body gives you away completely.”

“Then maybe you should listen to it,” he muttered with a grin, voice strained and husky. “It’s begging for more.”

Your nails scraped lightly down his ribs, and his breath hitched again. “So demanding for someone who’s tied to a chair.”

He shivered.

Your hand curled under his chin, tilting his face up so you could meet those pale, stormy eyes of his. His pupils were blown wide with lust, lips parted, a pink flush blooming beautifully across his cheeks. And he still tried to act cocky.

“You’re so sure of yourself,” you whispered, brushing your lips over his, but not quite kissing. “But I wonder how long you’ll keep that act up.”

The words were a challenge. You saw the way his breath caught. He wanted it. Craved it. Even if his words tried to say otherwise, his body screamed surrender.

“I can do this all night,” you said, pressing the rose against his sternum again. “Can you?”

There was the briefest flicker of hesitation before he responded, and that was enough. Enough to know you had him. You watched with delight as his muscles tensed again, his knees shifting, thighs flexing, hands curling in their restraints like he didn’t know whether he wanted to pull you closer or run.

“I hate how good you are at this,” he whispered.

You tilted your head. “Do you?”

He smiled through gritted teeth. “...No.”