She was still caught between the hard surface of the closet and the even harder presence of the man standing before her. Her breath hitched, her towel feeling increasingly fragile while her fingers tightened around the dress she held.
"Wh.._ what are you trying to do?" She asked, her voice a little lower than intended. There was a tremor in it.
And as he continued to stare at her, he did not smile, there was seriousness on his face that almost frightened her. His eyes, black and unreadable, dropped to her mouth, then slowly returned to her eyes.
"You should be asking, what am I not trying to do." He murmured, his voice deep, yet dangerous making her swallow hard.
He leaned slowly, deliberately, like a predator toring with its prey. His hand grazed the closet behind her, not touching her but close enough to make her pulse pound in her throat. Their lips were nearly brushing, but before they could touch, his head moved away and drifted to her ear.
"I want us to go out today." He murmured, voice low and commanding.
Pushing against his chest, she created a space between them. "I already have plans. I'm supposed to meet with my friends today." She responded, her voice more confident now, trying to anchor herself to normalcy.
His gaze didn't soften. It sharpened.
"Then cancel them."
Her mouth parted, indignation flaring_ "So, now that you married me my life is meant to stop the moment you say so. I am not going anywhere with you because as far as I can remember, you clearly said that this marriage is nothing but a fuss_"
Her words were cut short when he interrupted her. "I was not requesting Halle. You can make plans with your friends some other time."
There was no mistaking the dominance in his voice, but he was not barking orders. No_ this was Raphael in control, knowing too well that it was his word against hers.
He then turned without another word and strode to the bathroom, disappearing behind the door with effortless grace.
Halle stood frozen in the silence that Raphael's absence left behind. The bathroom door had closed, muffling the sound of rushing water, but her pulse still raced from the encounter moments ago.
How dare he? she thought.
Her fingers clenched tighter around the dress in her hands. He had no right to tell her where to go or what to wear. Married or not, she wasn't some object to be dictated on when and where she was supposed to go. She huffed, biting back the words she would have said had he still been in the room.
Not wanting to stay exposed and vulnerable any longer, she darted behind the open closet door, casting one last glance at the steamy haze that curled beneath the bathroom threshold. Her heart still pounded, but she forced her hands to steady as she quickly pulled on the soft mauve dress she had chosen earlier. It hugged her figure gently, a modest, simple thing—nothing like the glittering gowns that were worn by models and famous celebrities that would be worn by the women dating Raphael.
She combed through her curls with quick fingers, tied them into a loose braid, slipped into a pair of flats, and left the room before the echo of her resentment could fade.
---
In the bathroom, the cold water hit Raphael's skin in stinging sheets, but it did little to calm the fire simmering beneath his flesh.
He braced both hands against the marble wall, head bowed, water cascading over his sculpted back and shoulders, and exhaled slowly. His jaw clenched.
She had been right there. So close. And that towel.
The way it barely held to her waist, exposing the creamy slope of her back and the teasing swell of her hips. Her skin had been dewy from the shower, glistening like a lure, and her scent—warm honey and something more primal—wrapped around him, digging under his skin like thorns laced with sugar.
His wolf stirred violently beneath the surface, pacing, growling, restless with want.
She didn't even know what she did to him. How the curve of her neck looked like a promise. How her eyes, bright with frustration, made him want to tame and worship her all at once.
His fingers raked through his wet hair in frustration. Having her so near yet completely untouched was torment. It was a game of slow death. His body ached with the desire to claim her, to bury himself in her scent, to hear her voice breathless from something other than anger.
But she wasn't ready. Not yet.
Raphael closed his eyes.
He couldn't just take—he wouldn't. He needed her trust. Her mind. Her affection. Her love. He wasn't some brute from the woods, even if part of him belonged to beasts.
So he was pacing himself. Invading her space with subtlety. Letting her feel his presence, the pull between them. Letting her realize how good it could feel when the cold shell of her marriage began to crack.
But gods, how he wanted her.
Her small frame, so strong beneath her softness. Her bold tongue and the way she challenged him instead of cowering.
She was his wife. His chosen. And even if the marriage had started as a transaction, Raphael had no intention of letting it stay that way.
He stepped back from the water, water droplets gliding down his toned chest. His muscles tensed again, and a low growl hummed deep in his throat.
Some part of her wanted to be selfish and claim her, mark her as his own and even in the midst of the storm arising in his mind, he did not want to forget the part where he craved to have her looking at him with eyes of love and not wariness.