Page 112 of Monsters Wear Crowns
“You like playing with death,” he murmured.
I scoffed. “You think I don’t know that?”
His fingers–those same deadly hands that had built an empire, that had killed men–trailed up the inside of my thigh, slow enough to make my skin crawl with warning instead of want. Butthey never crossed the line. They hovered deliberately. Just close enough to feel the heat of my skin. Just enough to taunt.
I sucked in a breath, stiffening, refusing to give him the reaction he wanted.
Moreau’s smirk sharpened. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice like silk laced with arsenic. “You feel it too, don’t you? The tension. Thepossibility.”
I didn’t answer because my head was spinning, not from desire, but from the war between instinct and control, danger and dignity. The fire in my blood was real, but it didn’t belong to him. And I would not let him mistake it for consent.
His lips hovered over my jaw, not quite a kiss. Just a breath. Just a threat. And my body, traitorous and tense, reacted anyway. My breath caught in my throat.
He felt it.
“What would he say,” Moreau whispered, his mouth barely brushing my skin. “If he saw you like this? With me.”
Rafe.
His name hit me like a slap, and guilt crashed in with brutal, cold clarity. I jerked back, the motion sharp, my pulse spiking in defiance. My entire body was shaking, but not from want.
From rage.
Moreau only pulled back an inch, enough to meet my eyes. His pupils were wide, dark with hunger, but he didn’t advance again. He didn’t need to. The air between us was thick enough to choke.
“Regret?” he mused, head tilting.
“No,” I said quietly. “Control.”
He laughed softly, like I’d just told him the punchline of a joke he already knew. His thumb brushed my bottom lip.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I whispered, pulling my chin away before he could do more. “I’m not yours.”
His smile was slow and dangerous. “Not yet.”
My stomach flipped.
He leaned in again, his lips close to mine, but this time I didn’t flinch. I held my ground. His hand ghosted down my arm, barely touching. The movement was nothing and everything all at once. A calculated pressure. A reminder of how easily he could cross the line–and that he hadn’t. Yet.
“You think he’ll win,” Moreau said softly, eyes burning into mine. “That Rafe will walk out of this war alive. That he’ll still be standing beside you.”
He was close enough that I had to tilt my chin up to hold his gaze.
“When the dust settles,” he continued, his voice turning almost tender in its cruelty, “and he’s gone, when you’re alone and bleeding...I’ll come for you.” His hand came to rest on my hip, fingers barely there, nothing more than a whisper of possession. “And when that time comes,” he said, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear with sickening gentleness, “it won’t matter if you want to come or not. You’ll bemine.”
My breath faltered. It wasn’t the words, but the calm. The certainty. The promise of inevitability.No onewas allowed to claim me but Rafe fucking Vaughan. “I’ll kill you,” I said, barely more than a breath.
Moreau smiled like he believed me and...liked it. “I’m counting on it.” He didn’t kiss me or even touch me further. He didn’t have to. Because the threat had already sunk into my bones. And I knew, deep down, he would keep it.
He leaned in, so close I could feel his breath against my lips, and murmured against my skin. “You’ll think about this later. I know I will. I can’t wait. I’ll drench my hand in my cum even if it should have filled your delicious pussy.” Then, just as deliberately as he had started, he pulled away, leaving me shaken.
“Take me home,” I said, my voice stronger than I felt.
Moreau just let out a rich laugh. Of course, he laughed.
The car purred to life, and he shifted into gear, one hand on the wheel, the other draped lazily over the console. I clenched my jaw, folding my arms as I stared out the window. The roads were empty, the city bathed in the eerie glow of streetlights.
“You’re quiet,” he murmured.
