Page 23 of Monsters Carve Thrones

“But not tonight.” His voice dipped again, sensual and commanding. “Tonight, we shower. We fuck. And tomorrow, we’ll tour the townhouse.”

I smiled, tension melting off my shoulders. “That sounds perfect.”

We pulled into the estate minutes later. The gates slid shut behind us with their familiar whir, and the driveway wound in darkness until the mansion came into view. Golden light spilled from its arched windows like warmth waiting to devour us.

He parked, and I climbed out slowly, every muscle still buzzing. By the time we stepped into the foyer, he was already pulling me close, his hands gripping my hips, his mouth dragging along the curve of my neck.

We barely made it to the shower. Rafe’s hands were on me, pressing me back against the cool marble wall as the hot spray rained down over our bodies.

He kissed like a man still hot from the hunt. All hungry, slow, and deep. His tongue slipped between my lips, tasting me like he had all the time in the world, like he’d earned this with every body that hit the floor tonight.

“Turn around,” he rasped against my mouth.

I obeyed, slick water sliding down my spine as I braced myself against the wall. His hands roamed, fingers dragging along the curve of my waist, over my hips, gripping hard, pulling me back into his muscled body.

He was already hard, already throbbing against me, but he didn’t rush. He kissed my shoulder, then my neck, his teeth scraping my skin, making me whimper.

“God, you’re addicting,” he muttered. “You and that pretty little war face. Covered in blood, and still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever fucking seen.”

A moan escaped me as he slid inside, slow and thick, stretching me open until I was gasping. The water masked the wet sounds of us, but I felt everything. The flex of his hips, the low growl vibrating in his throat, the way he held me like I was a goddamn doll.

His pace was punishing yet so intimate, every thrust perfectly reflecting our relationship. Every snap of his hips was meant to claim me further.

When I came, I bit down on a sob, head falling back onto his chest as my muscles clenched and trembled around him. Rafe followed with a filthy curse, burying himself deep with a final groan, hands gripping my hips so hard they’d likely bruise again.

He’d often come home and fuck me after having these confrontations. It was like he needed to release his tension from killing. And honestly... I was more than okay with that. He was a whole other animal after killing, and I loved it.My body loved it.

After, we stood under the spray, quiet except for the sound of water and the slowed rhythm of our breaths. He pressed a kiss to my shoulder, then my temple.

We dried off in silence, too spent to speak. The sheets were cool and soft when I collapsed onto the bed. Rafe’s body curled around mine protectively, his hand slipping beneath my silk tank and splaying over my stomach.

I’d never been so happy in my life. Even if my new hobby was murder.

Chapter 5

(TW: Somnophilia)

The townhouse stood tall and elegant behind a wrought iron gate, its creamy stone facade bathed in soft morning light. It looked like it had been plucked straight from a Parisian dream. Black-trimmed windows lined each floor like watchful eyes, and ivy curled against one side of the entryway as though even nature wanted to cling to it.

I stood just outside the gate, heart fluttering like a girl on her first date.

Rafe unlocked the gate for me and gestured with a crooked smile. “Go on,” he said. “Take a look at our new home.”

It felt like a ribbon was being cut in my chest. “We haven’t purchased it yet.”

“I already know you’ll want it.”

My brows shot up. “Oh, you know me so well?” I stepped inside.

“I’d like to think so.” He followed close behind, and my jaw dropped at the beauty of the place. The air smelled of citrus and vanilla, likely from the various candles lit throughout the living room. Everything was already furnished in tones of matte black, soft beige, and textured cream. Polished wood floors creaked softly beneath my heels. Each room flowed into the next. Decorated, but definitely not cluttered.

The living room was sun-soaked and open. A marble fireplace anchored the space, and beside it, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, half-filled with leather-bound editions and room for more. I imagined myself curled on the velvet chaise with coffee and a case file… or maybe in Rafe’s lap.

I ran my fingers over the curved edge of the dining table as we passed. “This place isperfect.”

Rafe’s voice was low behind me. “You haven’t seen the office yet.”

I grinned, following him up the stairs. Double doors opened into a sleek, split office space. One side was darker with black steel and sharp lines.His. The other side was softer, built with deep walnut wood, brass accents, and a moody green velvet chair that looked straight out of a villainess’s fantasy.Mine. It was functional and decadent all at once. Dual monitors, high ceilings, and a glass decanter already half-filled with scotch.