Page 31 of Monsters Carve Thrones

He shot me a look over his shoulder. “Keep talking like that, and I’ll prove you wrong. Again.”

I grinned. “Promises, promises.”

***

A couple days went by with more sore muscles and wild sex. Today was my first break in a while from training. Rafe seemed a little distant, his mind mulling over the various phone calls he'd taken this morning. He was barely there when we ate a fresh charcuterie lunch and wine. So when he got out of the shower, I felt the courage to press him a little.

Steam from the bathroom filled the bedroom as I watched him from the doorway. Rafe stood by the mirror, slipping the final button of his black dress shirt into place. The fabric hugged him like it was designed just for him–sharp angles, cut to kill. His hair, naturally straight and tousled, looked even more enticing when it was damp. The way he moved captivated me, every flick of his wrist being so controlled.

His suit jacket lay draped across the bed, waiting for him like an obedient thing. The gun holstered at his ribs peeked out beneath the fabric.

God, he looked like violence dressed in Armani.

“You’re quiet,” I said, stepping closer. My bare feet barely made a sound on the hardwood. “Too quiet.”

He didn’t look at me at first. Just reached for his watch and clipped it on with that same eerie calm he wore when his mind was elsewhere. “I have a meeting tonight,” he finally said. “Important.”

“I figured,” I said, crossing my arms loosely. “Can I come?”

That made him pause. His jaw tightened. His eyes lifted to meet mine in the mirror, pale and cold like a glacier threatening to crack. He turned slowly, and when he looked at me fully, I saw the weight behind the stare. “No.”

I tilted my head. “Why not?”

He hesitated. That alone told me this wasn’t a typical night. “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he said, voice low, unreadable. “You know that. But… tonight’s different.”

“How different?”

He took a step forward. Then another. Until he was inches from me, one hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from my face with almost worshipful softness. “Many influential people will be there,” he said, gaze heavy on mine. “Some of the meanest, most corrupt people in my world. People who smile while bleeding countries dry. You’ve seen the man I am behind closed doors, and you never looked away. You accept me, darkness and all.”

I nodded slowly, my heart pounding.

“But I’ll be the most powerful man in that room,” he went on. “Which means I’ll have the biggest target on my back. Several of Moreau’s former partners will be there. We’re restructuring… deciding which empires stay and which ones fall. It’s a black-tie event at a secret location. I can’t control every variable, Adela.”

“You think I’m a liability?” I asked, not accusatory, genuinely curious.

His hand cupped my jaw. “No,” he said, softer now. “I think you’re my weakness.”

The words should’ve scared me. Instead, they bloomed like a bruise against my ribs. I swallowed. “I still want to go.”

He exhaled through his nose, just the barest trace of amusement, like he expected that answer all along. “Then you’ll look real nice for me.” His thumb traced my lower lip. “Something black. Something that tells the room you belong to me without ever having to say it.”

I leaned in, brushing my mouth against his just enough to breathe him in. “Ialwayslook nice for you.”

The way his eyes darkened told me he knew exactly what that meant.

I ended up slipping into a snug black floor-length dress. It clung to my curves and flared out below my hips, a high slit cutting up to the top of my thigh. The straps were thin, and the neckline plunged between my breasts, showing off ample cleavage. I paired it with my trusty red-bottom black heels.

His hand gripped the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles were white. Jaw clenched. That beautiful black suit stretched over muscle and power, a god carved in wrath and wool. Rafe hadn’t spoken in a few minutes, his mind clearly circling whatever carnage awaited him at this secret little hell-gala.

But I didn’t need him to speak to feel him. Because I was already aroused. Perhaps it was the storm clouds rolling in above the highway, which matched the dark vibe of the night. Maybe it was the smell of his spicy cedar cologne. Or maybe it was just his control, his silence, his tension.

I bit my bottom lip and slowly parted my thighs beneath the slit of my dress. The silk pulled tight against my skin as I shifted in the seat, watching him from the corner of my eye.

His gaze flicked down. Quick. Precise.

Then, back to the road.

His knuckles flexed on the wheel. His neck cracked as he rolled it, easing the pressure. “Behave,” he warned, his voice a growl.