Page 12 of Monsters Carve Thrones (Crowned Monsters Duet #2)

The townhouse truly felt like ours just two weeks after moving in. It smelled like wood polish, Rafe’s cologne, and the candle Laura insisted on calling “sex in wax form.” It had a vanilla and citrus scent, but it could have honestly fallen from heaven.

I padded barefoot through the kitchen, still wearing one of Rafe’s shirts–oversized, soft, and hanging off one shoulder. Morning light spilled through the back windows, pouring gold across the hardwood floors.

Rafe had gone to meet with two of his men, something about “clearing routes” and “confirming loyalty,” but he’d kissed me three times before leaving, like he hated the idea of being away at all. And it seemed he even brewed coffee for me before he left. He was fucking amazing.

Things were perfect. Genuinely, terrifyingly perfect.

We cooked together most nights. Had quiet mornings.

Fucked on nearly every surface of the house.

I periodically caught myself smiling for no reason, just standing in the shower or watching how the light hit his jaw while he was reading.

Rafe still came home with blood under his nails and coating his shirts sometimes, but did an excellent job at hiding me from most of his dirty work.

He promised I would be involved only when I needed to.

I poured my coffee and settled onto the loveseat by the window, legs tucked beneath me, scrolling lazily through emails. A soft and warm breeze rolled in through the cracked window, smelling like spring.

My guard was all the way down.

And that was the thing about peace, I realized. It lulled you. Even when our lives were shrouded in illegal activities and death, I could still smile at the sun.

Daylight was just starting to fade, the remnants of golden sunlight retreating from the rooftops. Our private backyard was surrounded by high stone walls and dense greenery. It was fortified and secure, but still not enough to stop the pounding of my heart as Rafe came at me again.

His shirt was already discarded, chest slick with sweat, muscles flexing with every step he took. I blocked his jab and ducked the next, but his foot caught mine and sent me stumbling back. He didn’t give me time to breathe.

“You’re holding back,” he growled.

“No, I’m–”

He lunged, sweeping my legs. I hit the mat hard, grunting, but I rolled with it, catching his wrist as he reached for me and twisting. He stilled, just for a beat. Then he smiled. “Good girl.”

I yanked harder, and this time, I had him off-balance. He landed with a heavy thud, and I straddled his waist, pinning him down with everything I had. He looked up at me, flushed and panting, his icy eyes glowing with something dark and hungry.

“Still holding back?” I teased, breathless.

He moved before I saw it coming. One hand clamped around my wrist, the other fisting in my sweat-damp hair. I gasped as he yanked my head back, forcing me to meet his gaze. Fuck, he was so fast and... lethal.

“Ow, Rafe, please–”

“Adela?” he asked, tugging my body against his with a smirk.

I narrowed my eyes. “What? Do you have some genius advice–”

“Don’t ever beg for your life,” he interrupted swiftly, his voice rough. “Not to anyone .” His grip tightened just enough to sting, sending a jolt straight between my legs.

I squirmed in his hold, heat flooding my body.

“Beautiful women begging…” He leaned in, eyes flicking to my lips. “That’s how you get powerful men hard.”

I glanced down, noting that he was already hard. The bulge in his shorts pressed up against me, thick and throbbing.

“Are you hard, Rafe?” I whispered, sneering despite the way my scalp prickled beneath his grip.

“Only when you fight like this,” he said. “But let me make one thing clear…”

He yanked me closer, nose brushing mine, his eyes nearly black with lust. “You never beg for anyone but me.”

“Yes, sir,” I breathed, trembling.

He growled and shoved me onto my back. His body covered mine, his hand still fisted in my hair. His mouth hovered over mine. “Say it again.”

I swallowed, lips parting. “Yes, sir.”

“Good fucking girl.”

His mouth crashed into mine, and my body automatically jolted. He ripped my sports bra up, shorts shoved aside. The mat burned against my back, but I didn’t care. I was soaked and aching, pulsing for him.

“Here? In our backyard?” I asked, my voice shooting up an octave.

He chuckled. “I’ll take you wherever I want to.” He drove into me without hesitation, hard and thick. I cried out, clutching his back as his hips slammed into mine, relentlessly. “Couldn’t not fuck you,” he snarled into my ear. “You were looking too good, little doe.”

I laughed, breath stuttering as he pounded into me. “You like when I hit you?”

“Love it.” He pulled back, then drove in again, deeper. “I love it when you fight me… and still get overpowered.”

I whimpered, legs wrapping tight around his waist, sweat mixing between us. His rhythm was punishing and perfect. My head was spinning .

“Come for me,” he growled, biting my neck. “Give it to me.”

“Harder,” I whimpered, pleasure building like a goddamn fire.

“You got it, baby,” he smirked, giving me a sharp slap across my face. And then I shattered, clenching around him as he let out a guttural curse, emptying himself inside me with a few final, deep thrusts.

We collapsed together, breathless and ruined, bodies tangled.

Rafe’s weight pressed me into the mat, his body still trembling slightly against mine.

His breath warmed my neck, coming in deep, steady pulls as he tried to catch it.

I lay beneath him, boneless, dazed, my skin slick and burning in the best possible way.

He didn’t move right away, and I didn’t want him to. Darkness had finally descended, the evening breeze cooling the sweat clinging to our skin.

“You’re gonna kill me one day,” I murmured, fingers lazily drawing circles on his shoulder blade. “Death by sex and combat training.”

Rafe gave a low chuckle, deep in his chest. “At least you’ll go out strong.”

He finally lifted himself just enough to look at me, brushing damp hair from my forehead. His expression had softened, like all sharpness had been tucked away. “I mean it, Adela.” His voice was quieter now, serious. “No begging. Not for anyone .”

I blinked up at him, heart tugging at the rare vulnerability in his eyes. “I won’t,” I whispered. “Only for you.”

His lips brushed mine differently from the earlier frenzy. They were tender and warm. His palm cupped my face, and his gaze reflected pure need. “I fucking love you,” he said.

My throat tightened. I felt wrecked, thoroughly loved, and seen . “I love you, too.”

Eventually, he helped me up, both of us grimacing with the stiffness that followed intense training and intense fucking. He tossed me a towel, smirking. “Come on, warrior princess. I’ll draw you a bath.”

“You’re the one who needs it,” I teased, limping slightly as I followed him into the house. “You’re the one who got wrecked.”

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.”