Page 42 of Monsters Wear Crowns
“There you go, gorgeous,” he growled, voice shredded with need, breath hot against my mouth. “So fucking good for me.”
He thrust harder, deeper, hunting his own release. His jaw was tight, chest heaving, muscles flexing above me, slick with sweat. And fuck, he looked like a god–dangerous, beautiful, mine.
He flipped me onto my stomach, yanked my hips up, and drove into me from behind, one hand tangled in my hair, the other gripping my throat.
“Come for me,” I gasped, nearly choking from his strength. “Come inside me, Rafe. Please.”
His rhythm faltered. A brutal sound tore from his throat. “Fuck.” His grip on my hips turned savage as he slammed into me one last time so deep it made me cry out again, and then he spilled inside me, groaning my name.
He stayed there, panting, trembling, his breaths hot against my ear as he gave a few more slow, deep thrusts, wringing every drop of release from both of us.
Then he snatched my face, bringing my mouth to his. It was messy and perfect, with him still buried inside me. And when he finally pulled back, breathless and soaked in sweat, he stared down at me like he was already addicted.
“You’re never fucking anyone else again,” he growled, voice rough with satisfaction.
I should’ve been scared. Maybe I was. But all I could do was smile. Because nothing in this world had ever felt as good as his cock still pulsing inside me. And I knew, with terrifying certainty, that I’d let him destroy me all over again.
“Neither are you,” I breathed.
And he kissed me again, pushing his thickness even deeper. “Wouldn’t evendreamof it.” The scent of sex and sweat filled the air, a heady perfume that clung to our skin, a reminder of our passion. The room was a mess, sheets tangled and damp, pillows askew, but none of that mattered. All that mattered was him, us, our bodies entwined, our breaths mingling, our hearts beating as one. The world outside could wait. This...this was everything.
Chapter 9
The room was quiet except for the slow, steady rhythm of our breathing. My body still hummed, a tired ache spreading through my limbs, but my mind…my mind was anything but still.
I rolled onto my side, watching Rafe as he stretched out on his back, one arm flung behind his head. His skin was flushed, his hair deliciously tousled, but the sharpness in his eyes hadn’t dulled. If anything, it had deepened–like the fire between us had only fed whatever darkness lay beneath the surface.
And I wanted to know what was hiding there. The silence stretched on, but I refused to let it settle.
“You never really told me much,” I said softly. “About your business.”
Rafe’s head turned toward me slowly. He didn’t speak right away–just studied me, his eyes a slow, dangerous sweep over my face.
“I told you,” he said finally, his voice low and lazy. “I move things people want. Things they shouldn’t have.”
“Not good enough,” I countered, padding into my bathroom.
“Sorry.”
I nearly jolted when I saw my reflection in the mirror. I looked…sated. Like a glimmer of light had returned to my eyes. They looked…bluer than usual. “I don’t understand why you just can’t–”
“Leave it,” he said swiftly, his gaze landing on mine as Ireturned to the bedroom.
I narrowed my eyes, but before I could push further, he slid out of bed. I watched him disappear into the bathroom, and when the sound of running water reached me. I found my red silk camisole and matching shorts and slipped them on, suddenly hyper-aware of how exposed I felt. As if the armor I always wore in public had been stripped away with my clothes.
When Rafe returned, I was brushing my now-messy hair in front of the tall mirror. He leaned against the doorframe, watching me with that unreadable gaze.
“You’re too beautiful when you’re thinking,” he murmured.
I rolled my eyes, but my stomach flipped all the same. “And you’re too evasive when you’re cornered.”
He smirked. “I never get cornered, love.”
I set the brush down, walking toward him slowly. “Spend the night,” I said, my voice softer than intended.
Something flickered in his face, not fear, but caution. Like the idea of staying was far more dangerous than the fire we’d just played with.
“Adela–”
