Page 116 of Monsters Wear Crowns
I whimpered, shaking my head vigorously.
“You don’t want that?” he asked with a breathy laugh.
I shook my head again, trying my best to get away, even though I wasdrunkoff of pleasure.A sick fuck I was.
“Ugh,” he groaned, his hand drifting from my throat to mybreasts, feeling them bounce.
I knew he was close, so I gave one last show of desperation by elbowing his chest. He answered by pressing his entire body against my back, one hand tangled in my hair, tugging my head back and the other bruising my hip. “Shit, baby.” He buried himself as deeply as he could. “Take my fucking cum,” he growled between brutal, forceful thrusts. “Ugh, take it all.” I yelped, feeling his cock pulse. “God, your pussy is so fucking good.” He slammed into me one last time, holding me still while he spilled into me.
Almost immediately, he slid the tie off my head and tossed it aside. “God dammit, Adela,” he laughed breathlessly.
“God dammit, Rafe,” I answered, my head feeling light. It took us a while to get off the closet floor.
***
The following night, he got home late. But to my surprise and delight, he insisted on cooking. I padded into the kitchen, drawn by the scent alone. The space was bathed in the soft glow of under-cabinet lighting, warm and golden, releasing gentle shadows across the marble countertops. The air smelled rich and decadent–garlic, butter, and something sizzling on the stove.
And there he was.
Rafe stood at the stovetop, flipping something in a pan with the kind of effortless confidence he carried in everything he did–business, sex, danger, even dinner.
But it wasn’t the food that caught my attention. It washim. He was bare-chested, muscles flexing beneath sun-kissed skin, every smooth, defined line of his back and shoulders carved by violence. The snake and flower tattoo curled over his ribs and left shoulder, stark black ink rippling as he moved. His grey sweatpants hung low on his hips, leaving very little to the imagination.
And we were alone. For the first time since I’d moved in, the mansion was utterly silent. No lingering footsteps in the halls.No low conversations behind closed doors. No presence but his.
Just Rafe, cooking...looking like sin made flesh.
Arousal twisted hot and tight in my stomach. I leaned against the counter, arms crossed, letting my eyes trace the length of him with slow, lazy indulgence. He hadn’t seen me yet. I didn’t say a word. I just watched.
“You know,” I drawled. “If you weren’t a criminal overlord, you could have been someone’sdotinghouse husband.”
He didn’t turn, but I caught the slight smirk on the corner of his mouth. “Ahouse husband?” He squeezed lemon juice over the pan. I smiled when I saw that it was salmon, seasoned rice, and broccolini. “That’s a new one, Dela.”
I let my gaze travel over him, slow and hungry. “It’s the sweatpants.”
That got me a full,devastatingsmirk. “You like them?”
I sauntered closer. “A lot.”
He turned, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed over his muscular chest as he watched me with amusement. That smile-that fucking dimple on his right cheek. I reached out, tracing my fingers down his abdomen, feeling the tight muscles tense under my touch.
“You look good like this,” I murmured, my voice low, sultry. “Relaxed.”
His smirk twitched, softer than usual, but his eyes darkened with slow-burning heat. “You just keep surprising me, love.”
I let my nails drift lower, feathering over the taut lines of his abdomen before teasing along the waistband of his sweatpants. “Do I?”
His jaw flexed. A subtle movement. But I felt the tension snap like a wire between us. That was all the encouragement I needed. I sank to my knees in front of him, the cool marble floor pressing against my skin, the silence between us suddenly pulsing with need.
Then he laughed. A low, husky sound that curled down myspine like smoke. “Oh, baby,” he breathed, shaking his head, eyes raking over me like he wanted to devour me right there. “Look at you.”
I glanced up at him through my lashes, lips parted in a soft, innocent smile. “What?”
His hand came down, cupping my jaw. His thumb slowly brushed across my bottom lip. “You knowexactlywhat,” he rasped. His voice was sandpaper and sin, dragging heat through every nerve in my body. “I can’t stop cooking,” he added, his voice half amusement, half arousal.
I smiled against his touch and tugged the waistband of his sweats down just enough to free him. His cock was already thick and hardening, straining toward me. He inhaled sharply, his focus flickering between the stove and me like he couldn’t decide what he wanted more.
He didn’t get the chance to choose.
