Page 110 of Monsters Wear Crowns
But I wasn’t a woman who let men dictate her desires. I was the one in control. The one who madethemfall to their knees.
But then–his fingers dipped lower.
A slow descent down my stomach, dragging across the silk of my shorts, testing me. His touch was light, teasing, meant to unnerve. Meant to drag me to fucking hell.
I swallowed hard, my knees locking.
His smirk deepened. He knew exactly what he was doing.Exactlywhat effect he had on me. “You seem uncomfortable,” he noted, his voice a whisper against my throat. His fingers pressed just a fraction lower, and my breath caught in my chest.
I clenched my jaw, fighting the warmth coiling through me. I wouldn’t let him win.
But then his fingers trailed justbarelyover the thin fabric between my thighs–just enough pressure to send a bolt of heat straight through me.
I choked down a moan.
Barely.
And heknew.
His grin was victorious as he lifted his hand away like he savored my reaction. “I knew it,” he murmured, brushing his knuckles against my jaw. “A woman like you...you don’t just crave power.You crave the ones who wield it.”
I forced my expression blank, refusing to give him more.
He chuckled, taking a step back, finally granting me space. “Get dressed,” he said smoothly. “Come with me.”
I blinked. “What?”
His lips curled at the edges. “I want to talk somewhere morecomfortable.” Hesitation tightened my spine.Go with him? After all of that? After the way he’d touched me, toyed with me, pushed me right to the edge of a line I shouldn’t have been walking?
He waited, watching the war play out behind my eyes. He didn’t push, didn’t demand. He just left the offer hanging between us like an open door I had to step through on my own.
And I did.
I gave a slow nod.
He smiled like he was Satan luring a tired angel to salvation.
***
The car ride was silent, but not in an uncomfortable way. Moreau drove himself, which surprised me. No guards, no drivers. Just him, entirely at ease as we wove through the dimly lit city streets before turning onto a long, winding road lined with dense trees.
Eventually, the road opened up, revealing a modern, glass-paneled house nestled among the trees. It was sleek and stunning, with sharp edges and warm lighting glowing from within, the kind of home designed for a man who lived life on his own terms. There was a concrete barrier around the outer edges, and he had to be approved to enter past a few men.
I followed him inside, my heels clicking against the polished floors. I suddenly regretted changing into this black dress. The air smelled like pine, leather, and expensive whiskey. Funny, how similar powerful men were. He led me into a spacious living room with a sleek bar stocked with top-shelf liquor.
“Drink?” he offered.
I crossed my arms. “Only if you open a new bottle and drink from the same one.”
His brows lifted in amusement, and then he chuckled. “Paranoid, are we?”
“I think it’s just good practice when dealing with men likeyou.”
He laughed at that, a rich, smooth sound, then reached for a new bottle of bourbon, breaking the seal and pouring two glasses. “My dear, I am not some caveman who drugs women.” He handed me one, clinking his against mine before taking the first sip. I followed suit, letting the burn of the whiskey settle deep in my chest.
He leaned against the bar, studying me over the rim of his glass. “You shouldn’t be afraid of me, Adela.”
I arched a brow. “Shouldn’t I? You’ve threatened me and my company. And the man I love.”
