Page 35 of Monsters Carve Thrones
My mind reeled at what he’d just done to me. My body was still trembling, my lungs struggling to catch up with the rest of me. He set me down carefully and kissed me hard.
Possessive. Brutal. Loving.
When he pulled back, he cracked his neck again, that subtle roll of his shoulders like he was easing himself back into predator mode. His eyes swept the room, sharp and cold, daring anyone to say a word.
He looked like the baddest motherfucker in existence.
And he was.
He turned to me, flushed from release, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Satisfaction looked good on him. “It’s time to go,” he said. He reached into his suit pocket,and with an arrogant flick of his wrist, held something out to me. My red lace thong.
I stared at it for half a second before laughing under my breath and taking it from him, curling it into my palm.
“Remember,” he whispered as we passed the sea of curious, half-drunk, half-fucked strangers. “Be a goddess.”
I held my head high, my heels clicking confidently against the floor, his dark figure beside me like a shadow I’d chosen or been cursed with. But as we moved through the room, I felt his cum trickling down my thigh.
My face burned, flushed from the rawness of it, from the humiliation thatshould’veexisted… but didn’t.
Because he was right.
He was the wealthiest, most feared man in that entire goddamn room. And I was the one he fucked. I was the only one heeverfucked. That thought sent a strange kind of thrill through me.
We moved toward the exit, the air cooler near the doors, the tension of the night slowly peeling off my skin until I felt the weight of a stare. I glanced back instinctively.
Waylon hadn’t moved. He stood in the same circle of men, glass of amber liquor lifted halfway to his mouth. But his eyes were locked on me.
And then he smiled. Not fully. Just enough to lift the corner of his mouth around the glass. A silent message. My blood cooled, but I didn’t look away. I met his stare with every ounce of power I had left pulsing through my spine and followed Rafe out of the building. He had definitely watched Rafe fuck me, and that made unease curl inside me for a moment. Whatever game Waylon thought he was playing, I had just survived the monster who ruled the room.
The moment he opened the car door for me, my heart was still rioting in my chest. I slid into the seat, my thighstrembling, my skin flushed with what he’d done to me. The city lights blurred poured over the windshield as he slid in beside me, started the engine, and gave me a look that nearly made me come apart all over again.
That wicked, smug smile.
The kind of smile only the devil could wear after sinning.
His hand found my thigh like it always had. His fingers skimmed up, brushing the evidence he left inside me, and I squirmed beneath his touch, hips shifting with a silent need I didn’t even try to hide.
“How does it feel,” he murmured, voice deep and dripping with smug delight, “to be owned by me? Claimed by me in a room full of people who hate me?”
His finger pressed firmer.
“Whorespectme.”
Deeper.
“Fearme.”
God.
My head fell back against the leather seat, eyes fluttering shut as a slow pulse built inside me again. My blood still burned from the first time, and now he was stoking the fire all over.
Finally, I found my voice. “Alive,” I whispered.
He laughed, dark and full of pride, before grabbing the back of my neck and yanking me into another possessive kiss that was all tongue and heat. When he pulled away, he didn’t stop smiling. Just stared at the road like he hadn’t just ruined me.
“Don’t think I’m finished with you tonight.”
An embarrassing sound caught in my throat. I swallowed it back, half a moan, half a plea. His hand slid between my thighs again, and then his finger found my clit.
