Page 139 of Monsters Carve Thrones

He dropped into the oversized chair in the corner, his body a weapon of muscle and violence, and pulled me onto his lap, straddling him.

I moaned when I felt him already hard and thick against me. He didn’t wait. One strong hand guided me down onto him, and I sank inch by inch, gasping as he filled me, stretched me, and split me in the way only he ever had.

“Fuck, Adela…” he growled, burying his face in my neck as I started to move. “Just like that. Take it, baby.”

I rode him hard, rolling my hips, nails digging into his shoulders for leverage. His hands gripped my ass, lifting me slightly with each stroke so he could drive deeper. My body was still humming from the night, from the screams and fire andvictory.

“You killed them all,” he whispered, teeth grazing my collarbone. “You didn’t flinch. You didn’t fuckingflinch,Dela.”

I kissed him again, breathless while he cupped my breasts.

He smiled, thrusting up harder now, his biceps flexing as he wrapped me tighter in his arms. “You were made for this life,” he whispered. “For me. Look at you. Strong. Savage.Fucking mine.”

I moaned, head falling back. “God, Rafe… if there’s a heaven,” I breathed, rocking against him faster now, chasing that edge, “I’m not getting in.”

He bit my throat, groaning deep in his chest. “Then we’ll burn together, little doe.”

And fuck, I would.

If this was hell, let it take me. I’d go down on top of him, screaming his name. His hand gripped the back of my neck, pulling me into another kiss as I tightened around him, pleasure spiking.

He whispered praise into my mouth over and over, words like“perfect,” “deadly,”and“mine.”

I shattered in his arms, riding it through with a scream muffled against his lips. He came a second later, holding me tight to him, every muscle locked, pulsing hard inside me with a wild and primal groan. We stayed there for a moment, breathing heavily in the dark, our hearts still racing from the war we’d fucking won.

Chapter 26

Italy, Weeks Later

The sea crashed against the cliffs below, turquoise and shimmering. I sat in a stone tub carved into the terrace, the scent of salt and lemon trees threading through the warm evening air. The sun was sinking over the water, casting everything in honeyed gold, and for the first time in months, maybe longer, I didn’t feel like I was waiting for something awful to happen.

Steam curled around my skin as I leaned back, letting the heat soak into sore muscles and faded bruises. My legs floated in the water, marked with symbols of survival instead of shame. A jagged scar on my ribs caught the last rays of light. I traced it idly.

This body had been through war, but it wasmineagain. No other men would ever hurt it or use it again. No one but my husband.

Somewhere inside the house, soft music drifted through the open windows. Andrea Bocelli, of course. Rafe had a flair for drama even when he was calm. He’d been in the kitchen earlier, barefoot and shirtless, humming along to the music as he sliced blood oranges. I could still smell their sharp sweetness in the air.

My heart ached in that quiet, sudden way it always did when I let myself feel too much. I closed my eyes and let the breeze lift strands of damp hair from my shoulders. Somewhere below, a boat motor sputtered across the water. It was the kind of place where I could breathe. It was an old stone villa tucked into a cliffside that overlooked the sea.

We hadn’t spoken much about what we’d done. There wasn’t much to say after returning from Europe.

They were dead. Every last one of them. And it made headlines everywhere.

A soft creak behind me made my lips curve before I even turned. I felt the weight of his presence and his gaze. “You watching me again, Mr. Vaughan?” I asked, eyes still closed.

“Always,” came Rafe’s voice, with that sinful rasp that still made something tighten deep inside me. “You’re a vision, love.”

My eyes fluttered open. He leaned against the balcony door, barefoot, loose white linen pants hanging low on his hips. His hair was damp from a shower. He hadn’t shaved. There were still traces of a bruise near his jawline, and God, he looked like sin dipped in sunlight.

He walked toward me slowly, eyes locked on mine. “You’re brooding,” he said.

“I’mreflecting,” I corrected.

“Same thing when it comes to you.” He stopped beside the tub and knelt, brushing his knuckles down my arm, histouch so gentle it nearly made me cry. “How are you feeling this morning?” he asked quietly.

I looked back at the ocean, lips parted but silent for a moment. “I feel at peace, Rafe,” I said. “I feel that we genuinely have a chance now. We’ve experienced so much together. And I’m honestly ready to just...befor a while.”

His mouth curved into that dark, dangerous smile I’d fallen for. “Good thing Laura is heading Sinclair Solutions for a while.”