Page 93 of Carved in Ruin

But no man, gay or not, is allowed to be this close to her without my permission.

She turns to him, murmuring an apology before grabbing my wrist and dragging me toward her bedroom.

When the door shuts behind us, I feel her hands push against my chest.

“What the hell was that, Rafael?” she snaps.

“I don’t care if he’s gay. No man is allowed to stay here with you.”

“He’s my friend!” she yells back. “He needed a place to stay and I wasn’t going to turn him away!”

I step closer, forcing her to tilt her head back to meet my eyes. “Do you think I care? Do you think I care about his sob story? He’s a man in your space, Mila. A space that’s mine.”

“You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” I growl, grabbing her chin. “But you knew that from the start.”

She glares at me, her chest heaving, and her defiance making me want to pull her close and remind her exactly who she belongs to.

“He won’t be staying here tonight,” I tell her as I lean against the doorframe.

“What?”

“I said he won’t stay here.”

Her brows furrow and I can see her preparing to argue. She opens her mouth, but I shake my head.

“No,” I interrupt. “I’ll find him another place to stay.”

“Do you think we didn’t consider that?” she snaps. “He can’t afford it.”

My jaw tightens. “Don’t talk to me about money. I have enough to fund a whole damn country.”

“Why not let him stay here, just for one night?”

“No.”

Her breath catches as my hand brushes against her cheek, my fingers threading into her hair.

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “He’s gay, Rafael. What part of that don’t you understand?”

“I don’t care,” I say, my voice like steel. Before she can argue further, I grab her waist and toss her onto the bed with ease, her surprised gasp like music to my ears.

“Rafael!” she yells, propping herself up on her elbows.

I ignore her protests, yanking the hem of her pajama top over her head, revealing her soft, delicate skin. My gaze devours her, lingering on the small swell of her chest. Perfect. Mine.

She’s trying to cover herself up, but the flush spreading across her cheeks tells me everything I need to know. “You can’t just—”

“I can,” I say, leaning down to press a kiss to her collarbone. She shivers, her protests faltering as my lips travel lower.

“You’re impossible,” she murmurs.

“Good,” I mutter against her skin, taking a nipple in my mouth, sucking and biting it, savoring the way she arches beneath me despite herself.

I flip her onto her stomach with one firm motion, my hands gripping her hips. She gasps, glancing over her shoulder, her eyes wide as I take off her pajama bottoms and panties.

“Oh god…” she starts, but her words are swallowed by her need.

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