Page 14 of Claimed By Her Monsters
I jab my finger at his cluster of blue hotels. “Every empire falls. Every dictator eventually chokes on their own power. Enjoy your evil kingdom while it lasts. I’m winning this. Watch me.”
He leans in close, his voice a silken taunt. “Oh, trust me. I’m watching you.”
My mouth goes dry at the hidden threat, the heat in those words.
Mick sprawls on his back in front of the fireplace. He throws an arm over his eyes and groans. “Christ, you two should just arm wrestle and get it over with.”
“Or make out,” Caspian mutters, just as thunder crackles outside and the lights in the room blink off, then immediately back on.
We go around and around the board, neither of us able to best the other. Sometimes Alister is ahead, then the pendulum swings back and I claw my way into the lead. It’s a stalemate, but one humming with electricity.
Finally, Mick sits up, the back of his hair mussed from where he’s been lying flat. He never put his shirt back on and all night, Alister, Caspian, and I have been stealing glances like his body is a sweet nectar, a slow poison that’ll kill us if we take too long of a drink.
“I’m bored,” he declares now, like a king pronouncing judgment. “Let’s pause Monopoly for a little while.”
In a feat of pure athleticism, he springs to his feet and prowls to the complicated-looking audio system Alister keeps. A twist of a knob, and the room swells with a slow, melancholy song. I don’t miss the look Mick darts at Alister when the lyrics mention heartbreak or how Alister shifts, uncomfortable, like invisible fingers prod old bruises.
The volume rises. The air thickens. The board lies forgotten.
The first tune bleeds into another, slower still. I’m half-lulled by the music and the background patter of rain on the windows when a shadow falls over me. I glance up and startle, surprised to find Caspian standing there, tall and uncertain, one hand extended.
His eyes are hidden under his shaggy fringe, his voice halting. “Do you…want to dance?”
Impressed by his courage, and maybe a little charmed, I rise. Moving slowly, careful not to spook him, I slide my hand into his. My skin is warm. His is cool, almost startlingly so, but I don’t let go.
He draws me gently into his arms. His movements are stiff at first, like he doesn’t quite know how to hold me, but when I rest my head against his chest, I feel a shudder ripple through him. His arms tighten, protective, almost possessive, and then his chin lowers, brushing the top of my head.
I close my eyes and let myself melt, tension from the day unraveling like a loose string pulled from a sweater.
“My turn.”
The words snap me back, and suddenly Mick is there, unceremonious as ever. He shoves Caspian aside like it’s a game of musical chairs.
“Mick—” I start, half protesting, but Caspian’s whisper cuts me off.
“It’s okay.” His smile is small but real, his shoulders squaring as if the dance gave him something he needed. When he steps back, the rug dents under his heel and the chair gives a quiet creak as he slips back into his seat. I’m left blinking up at the giant who now towers over me, broad grin firmly in place.
The song shifts brighter, faster, and Mick sweeps me up like I weigh nothing. His arms lock around me and he spins until the room blurs. I’m laughing, breathless, when he slows, raises our joined hands, and twirls me out, only to pull me back in.
I slam against him so we’re chest to chest, his body hard as granite, heat searing me through. My palms flatten against his bare skin, and I nearly gasp at the sheer wall of muscle that flexes beneath my hands.
His grin falters at my touch, slips into something more serious. His bright green eyes drop heavy-lidded, gaze scorching. The air between us vibrates like static, charged and dangerous. He leans down, mouth brushingmy ear so that every whispered word falls against my skin like a caress. “You sure are a pretty thing, our Maddie.”
The compliment shouldn’t matter. He’s drunk, he’s reckless, but it lights me up anyway, chases away shadows that have clung to my soul for too long. In place of all that pain, warmth fizzes, it bursts like fireworks, wild and impossible to quell.
For a long, lingering second, I let myself bask in it.
In him looking at me like this, like I’m rare. Desired. Beautiful.
His nose skims my hair as he breathes me in, slow and savoring. “You smell nice too,” he murmurs, lips brushing the crown of my head in a kiss that pretends to be chaste but isn’t. His hands, huge, warm, unyielding, press lower, spreading heat across my back as he drags me closer.
He doesn’t stop there. His mouth hovers, first at my temple, then trailing lower, toward my cheek. His breath ghosts over my skin, his lips so close that one tilt, one slip, would have us kissing.
My knees weaken. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. An ache grows, deep in my core, sharp with desire. Guilt nips at its heels. Alister’s handsome face flashes in my mind. The way Caspian held me earlier, gentle, protective. My stomach knots. What’s wrong with me? How can I want this, want him, when I’m still aching for Alister this very minute? When Caspian’s touch lingers on my skin?
I should pull away.
I don’t.
