Page 125 of Monsters Wear Crowns
There was somethingwildabout it–something wicked and powerful. The rush of knowing I had a criminal’s cock down my throat. A man who’d killed without blinking. Who could break necks and run empires, and yet… hegroanedfor me.Shudderedfor me.
There was power in pleasuring a monster and hearing him come undone.
“Do you like what you’re reading?” I asked, voice thick with amusement.
A soft, breathless laugh left him. “I see why you enjoy it…fuck.”
I took him deeper still, hollowing my cheeks and working him with slow, relentless pressure. Hewhimpered, and the sound lit me on fire.
“I have to admit…” His breath faltered, voice hoarse. “When I hacked your account and saw the filthy shit you were reading… I couldn’t stop myself. I jerked off to it that night. Imagined it was you. I came so hard, Adela. So fucking hard.”
A fresh wave of heat crashed through me. My lips tightened around him, and I worked him deeper, letting my throat massage every inch of him. He groaned, head falling back against the pillow.
“Jesus. I couldn’t wait to fuck you. Toownyou. When I followed you to Florida…” He cursed under his breath. “I nearly lost control. I wanted to rip your clothes off, bend you over the damn balcony, and take you raw. I wanted to see the fear in your eyes as I stretched your tight pussy.”
I pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, a wicked smile on my lips. “You’re distracting yourself,” I teased. “Keep reading.”
He huffed a laugh, the sound nearly a growl. “Yes, my queen.”
I dug my fingers into his thighs at his words. And it didn’t take long before the book was slipping in his grasp, his head tipping back as his fingers clenched in my hair, hips rising. His breaths came fast and ragged, his chest heaving, sweat slick across his skin.
A harsh groan ripped from his throat as he spilled down mine, body trembling, hands clutching at me like I was the only thing tethering him to reality.
“You’re incredible,” he whispered, voice wrecked, reverent, utterly undone.
I winked, settling under the covers. “You started it.”
He laughed low in his throat, that warm, content sound that made something inside me melt. Then he pulled me close, his arm wrapping around my waist like a tether, his bare chest pressing against my back. I sighed, relaxing into him, my body still humming from everything he’d just done to me.
We lay there in the quiet dark, our bodies tangled, the scent of sex still in the air. I reached for his hand under the blanket and laced our fingers together, the gesture soft and intimate.
He didn’t speak again. Just exhaled slowly. I felt it when his muscles went slack, and his breath evened out. His heartbeat against my back steadied into a slow, peaceful rhythm.
I blinked up at the ceiling, my own pulse slowing. The silence wrapped around us. And in that stillness, wrapped in his arms, I realized something:
Rafe Vaughan–killer, criminal, violence incarnate–was calm.
With me.
***
New York was a symphony of honking cabs, conversations spilling from all around, and the distant wail of sirens. But today, none of it touched me. The chaos was a world away because, for the first time in a long time, I had no responsibilities, no meetings, and no threats lurking in the shadows.
Just Rafe.
He held my hand as we walked, his fingers wrapped around mine with effortless possessiveness. He looked almost relaxed in his dark coat, the wind teasing his inky hair. We wandered through the high-end shopping district, the crisp air carrying the scent of fresh espresso from the cafés lining the streets.
He was impossibly patient, letting me drag him into whatever boutique caught my eye. He barely batted an eye when I tried on dresses, even when I deliberately chose the ones I knew woulddrive him insane.
But Isawthe slight tick in his jaw. The way his fingers flexed when I smoothed a silk dress down my body, watching him in the mirror. Still, he never complained.
I squeezed his hand. “You’re surprisingly patient,” I mused, glancing up at him. “I thought you’d be miserable after the first store. Men usually are.”
“Boysusually are,” he corrected with a smirk, gaze sliding over me. “Menwill happily go see and judge what articles of clothing we’ll be destroying later.”
I scoffed, nudging him. “You areshameless.”
He lifted my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles, his voice dark and amused. I noted how his knuckles had finally begun healing from his late-nightmeetings.
