Page 10 of Monsters Carve Thrones (Crowned Monsters Duet #2)

(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 is perfect .”

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.

I laughed breathlessly. “We’re going to rule New York from this room.”

“That’s the plan,” he murmured, placing a hand on my lower back.

The townhouse had three bedrooms, each more beautiful than the last. But it was the master suite on the top floor that took my breath away.

It was drenched in natural light, the bed already made in storm-colored linens, the walls a subtle gray-blue that felt like dusk.

Two sets of tall windows looked out over the back garden, where wildflowers tangled in a riot of color just beyond the wrought iron balcony.

I stepped toward the window, soaking it in. The neighborhood was quiet, nestled enough between the busy world and the one we owned in shadow.

Then I felt the monster behind me. Rafe pressed my back gently against the window frame, his arms wrapping around me. His lips brushed my neck. “You like it?” he asked, voice soft yet rough like gravel.

“I love it,” I whispered.

A genuine smile bloomed on his face before he captured my lips in an eager kiss. One hand gripped my hip, the other curled in my hair, pulling me into his chest like he could anchor me here forever.

I moaned into him, fingers tangling in his shirt.

Outside, the world was calm. In here, I was beneath a wolf’s jaws.

Rafe didn’t give me a chance to catch my breath.

His hands curled around my thighs, and in one smooth motion, he lifted me like I weighed nothing.

I gasped, clutching his shoulders as he carried me to another window.

The glass was cool against my back as he set me down on the wide sill, my skirt already bunched high from the kiss.

“Rafe–” I started, but the hunger in his eyes made the words die on my tongue. He dropped to his knees.

My heart thundered. His hands slid up my thighs with a possessive slowness, spreading them open.

My eyes snagged on the window he took me from, realizing that anyone walking past could see us like this.

I wasn’t stupid enough to believe that was a mistake.

He wanted people to see the kind of man he was.

A king who would happily bow on his knees for his queen.

The thought sent a reckless thrill down my spine.

His fingers hooked inside my thong, pulling it to the side. Cool air pressed against my pussy, and my hips shifted in response. The moment his hot mouth met me, my spine arched against the window. I bit down on a whimper, but he wanted me loud. He always did.

So I gave in.

He held my hips still, tongue relentless and fucking perfect. It wasn’t long before I came hard, shuddering, my fingers tangled in his hair, head pressed to the glass as pleasure washed over me like a tide too strong to fight.

He stood then, eyes burning, belt already unfastened. “Bend over,” he growled against my ear.

I did.

The window fogged in front of me as he slid inside with a groan that made my knees buckle. His hands clamped around my hips, and he took me fast, each thrust deep and rough. I braced against the glass, lips parted, utterly wrecked and loving every second of it.

When it was over, we stayed pressed together for a beat, breathless and tangled. He kissed the back of my neck before finally pulling back, fingers smoothing my skirt down almost tenderly.

“Well,” Rafe said, voice still husky. “We just fucked in our new home. Bathroom is just through there.” He pointed with a chuckle.

I laughed, breath still shaky as I turned to face him. “You were right. I do want it.”

He smirked, eyes warm. “Welcome home, Mrs. Sinclair-Vaughan.”

My heart stuttered. And just like that, the townhouse felt even more perfect.

***

The training mats reeked of sweat, and my body was already aching in the best way.

It was a far cry from the sensual haze of our honeymoon.

Gone were the beaches and candlelit moans.

Now it was grunts, bruises, and the sharp echo of fists slamming against leather.

Yesterday, Rafe purchased the townhouse.

Next weekend, we’d move in. I ducked just as Rafe’s fist came swinging.

Too close.

But I’d learned. I wasn’t just his wife now, I was his partner in the truest, most brutal sense. And that meant I always had to be ready for the unknown.

I spun low, slipped under his guard, and drove my elbow toward his ribs before pivoting around his back. My hand found the dull practice blade tucked in his belt and yanked it free with a grin.

His arms dropped to his sides, and he turned toward me with a smile that was half-predator, half-pride. “Well done, baby.”

I stepped back, breathing hard, with damp hair sticking to my neck. “That’s the second time I’ve disarmed you this week.”

“Then I’m going easy on you,” he smirked, sweat gleaming at his temples.

“You’re not.”

The two of his men watching from the edge of the mat shared a glance but said nothing. They’d learned by now that I didn’t need babysitting. Not anymore. Rafe circled closer, hand outstretched. I handed him the blade, and he slipped it back into place at his waist.

“You’ve earned it,” he said simply, voice low and thick from exertion.

“Earned what?”

“Whatever dinner you want.” He leaned in, close enough that I could smell the salt and musk of him. “And I’ll make it.”

My brows shot up. “Wow, so many options.”

“Get thinking, love.”

I laughed, giddy and flushed, letting him pull me in for a quick kiss that left me breathless despite my sweaty and sore state.

“Then I want pasta,” I told him. “The good kind. Homemade. With wine .”

His eyes sparkled. “Demanding.”

“I’m your wife. Comes with the title.”

He chuckled, sliding a hand along the small of my back. “Then you’re getting pasta.”

I was already thinking about a long shower and a glass of red before dinner.

***

RAFE

The pasta was edible. Maybe even good. Adela swore it was, though she might’ve been lying to spare my ego.

She’d curled up on the counter while I worked, hair damp from the shower, her legs swinging lazily like she didn’t just spar with a trained killer and win.

I liked that version of her–soft and flushed from training and still capable of slicing your throat if need be.

By the time Laura arrived, the wine had already been opened, and the food was disappearing faster than I expected. The townhouse tour was all they could talk about. It made me happy how excited she was about our new start.

“I still can’t believe you two are moving in this weekend,” Laura said, pouring another heavy-handed glass. “That patio is straight out of a damn fairy tale. Wildflowers? Come on. That’s too cheery for you, bloodthirsty murderers.”

“Shut up,” Adela giggled, nudging her shoulder. “You’ll come over all the time. I’m getting a little fridge just for wine.”

“You’re getting a wine fridge,” I corrected my wife, nodding toward Laura. “Not just for wine. For her wine.”

Laura smirked, eyes dancing. “The man is right.”

Adela blew her a kiss. “Don’t let him get too confident.”

They laughed like blood wasn’t bound to be spilled tonight. The cozy, celebratory world they were in now was a beautiful fucking lie.

And I’d kill to keep it intact.

I sipped whiskey while they got progressively drunker, leaning back in my chair, letting the lull of their voices fill the kitchen. Laura assured Adela the office was handled and that Sinclair Solutions was running smoothly, with no breaches and no chaos.

But my mind drifted.

There were still meetings to attend. Still names on a list. Moreau had left a mess, and I’d spent the last month picking through the wreckage like a dog in a graveyard. His biggest partners–dealers, smugglers, mercenaries–were all dead now.

Because I made it so.