Page 29 of Monsters Wear Crowns (Crowned Monsters Duet #1)

“Not yet, little doe. I want to have my fun with you first,” he murmured, his voice thick with a slow, dark promise. “You’re shaking, Adela. Is it fear…or something else?”

I glared up at him, masking the shudder that rolled through me. “ Don’t flatter yourself. ” The words came out sharp but thinner than I wanted, breathier.

He heard it. His gaze darkened, and the knowing gleam in his eyes made my stomach tighten. Then he leaned in, his breath whispering against my cheek. “You’re such a beautiful little liar.”

My stomach clenched.

He grinned as he set down the knife and shifted his grip–one hand still pinning my wrists, the other trailing down, down, until his fingers wrapped around my throat in a slow, possessive stroke.

I was scared. But Rafe wouldn’t actually hurt me. He was just proving a point, right?

His fingers flexed enough to make me swallow. I tilted my chin up in silent defiance.

“I hate you,” I whispered. It came out ragged.

Rafe’s lips curled against my skin, his breath warm as he chuckled. “You hate how much you want me right now.”

Damn him. Because he was right . Every inch of me was humming with tension, torn between shoving him off and pulling him closer.

He made me crazy –this unhinged, controlling man I never should have let into my life.

But when his hand slipped lower, skimming the curve of my waist, my resolve snapped .

“You think this proves your point?” I hissed. “ That I’m not safe here? Scaring me like this? ”

His fingers pressed into my skin. “No, my love.” The words were soft, almost tender. “ But it proves you need me. ”

My eyes narrowed. He was so fucked for doing this. What an asshole.

He watched me with that sharp, ice-blue gaze. “And I promise you,” he went on, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. “N o one else will ever get this close again. ”

Before I could fire back, his mouth crashed against mine.

I gasped against his lips, but he didn’t ease up.

He shoved me down, my back now flush with the couch, his weight pressing into me, his grip tightening.

My wrists ached where he pinned them into the cushion, but the ache only made me hyper-aware of how completely at his mercy I was. I shifted, testing the bonds.

Rafe noticed, and he smirked . “You like this,” he murmured, his voice low, rough, dragging over my skin like velvet and steel.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t . Not when my breath was already coming too fast, my pulse hammering in a frantic, erratic rhythm. My silence amused him.

He leaned in, eyes locked on mine, as his fingers trailed up my bare thigh. “You should be afraid, Dela,” he murmured.

“I’m not,” I whispered.

A lie.

Because the fear was there , coiled deep in my stomach. And that only made the pleasure sharper .

He hummed, a dark, knowing sound, his hand sliding higher. “No?” His fingers tightened to the point of pain, and I gasped.

“I–” The word broke off into a sharp inhale as he leaned in, his mouth brushing the curve of my throat, his teeth scraping just enough to leave a sting.

“Do you know what I could do to you like this?” he whispered against my skin. “Bound. Helpless.”

The breath left my lungs in a trembling exhale. My pulse throbbed in my ears. Every inch of me was burning, wired, alive.

“You’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

I should’ve said no. But my thighs pressed together instinctively, desperate for friction. My body already betrayed me–eager, trembling, and soaked. The ropes bit into my wrists as I shifted, and Rafe noticed. He always noticed.

He chuckled darkly, dragging his lips along my jaw. “You hate how much you want me,” he murmured. “I see it in your eyes. The fear. The desire.” His grip flexed, his mouth brushing my ear. “You love how fucked up this is.”

“I don’t–”

He caught my chin, hard. Forced me to look at him. His grip was unforgiving. “Lie to me again...” His voice dipped, filthy. “I’ll fuck you so hard, you’ll beg me to stop.” A pause. A wicked grin.

My breath stuttered. I was drowning in him, in the danger, in the primal roughness no one else had dared show me. And I didn’t want to come up for air.

“Do your worst,” I whispered, but my voice shook.

His eyes flashed, pleased and predatory. “Oh, baby.” His fingers slid between my legs. “I intend to.” The ropes seared my wrists with every twitch, reminders that I was fully his in this moment–a plaything beneath the beast. A sacrifice to the wolf.

He moved slow, torturously slow. Every stroke of his fingers skirted where I needed him most, teasing, denying, building a maddening ache inside me. I pulled at the ropes, not to get free, but to feel the burn. I hated him for making me want this. I loved him for knowing exactly what I needed.

Rafe’s eyes were glued to my struggle, something feral awakening behind them. He liked me like this. Bound. Gasping. Weak. And...I liked it too.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a different black mask. This one covered everything but his eyes. The shift was instant. Gone was the man who flirted with control. What remained was cold, detached command. My stomach tightened. Holy shit.

The couch dipped under his weight as he unbuckled his belt, the metallic clink loud in the thick silence. In his other hand, a knife, spinning lazily between his fingers like he’d done it a thousand times.

“Open,” he ordered.

I hesitated. My thighs pressed tighter together. Fear and arousal knotted together inside me, indistinguishable now.

With a sharp laugh, he forced my legs apart with his knee. I struggled beneath him, even if it were futile. His hand clamped around my throat, my breath seizing. His eyes, behind the mask, were cold and extremely focused.

“Last chance for the safeword, baby,” he said, his voice flat.

The air left my lungs. His control wrapped around me like chains.

I said nothing. He tilted his head like a predator watching its prey.

With a sudden, brutal motion, he ripped my panties down the center.

The fabric tore easily in his hands, like it had never stood a chance. I gasped, exposed. Powerless.

His fingers slid up my slit, finding me drenched. “You’re soaked for me,” he rasped, dragging his fingers through the slick mess he’d made of me. “You don’t get to pretend anymore, Adela.” His voice was low, lethal. “This is who you are. Mine. Fucking made for me.”

I writhed under him, gasping as his fingers thrust deep–hard, fast, and goddamn merciless. My cry was strangled in my throat.

“You think I’ll let you live alone after this?

” he growled, curling his fingers. “You think I’ll leave you in this penthouse with locks I can break in my fucking sleep?

” Another thrust. My back arched, my moan choked and raw.

“I’m done playing nice,” he said, voice tightening.

“You belong with me. In my bed. In my house. Under my fucking protection.”

He drove his fingers in again, and my body tensed as pleasure barrelled through me.

“You think I care if you like it?” he whispered against my neck, biting down. “You’re coming with me whether you scream or not.”

My orgasm tore through me, violent and blinding. I sagged against the ropes, broken open. And still, his mouth was at my ear.

“No more games, love. You move in with me, or next time…” His lips brushed my throat. “I'll be rougher.” He squeezed my throat enough to steal my breath. My lashes fluttered, and for a second, all I could hear was the rush of blood in my ears.

“No,” I rasped, my voice barely there.

“You can still run,” he murmured, his thumb stroking the side of my neck, coaxing, taunting. “But we both know you won’t.”

I swallowed hard. My pulse pounded against his palm. He waited, giving me one last out before he wrecked me with his cock. It gave me a little comfort, knowing how much he cared about me. But I didn’t move. I didn’t take the out.

His lips curved behind the mask. “Good girl.”

The ropes burned as I struggled again, but it was useless. He had me. His hand tightened around my throat again, fingers digging into my flesh like a vice. His other hand dragged the blade up my inner thigh, the metal glinting wickedly in the dim light.

“Don’t you dare scream,” he commanded, his voice a low, menacing growl, finally letting go of my throat.

I gasped, lungs burning as they filled with air.

With one hand, Rafe greedily bunched my denim skirt up around my waist, the rough fabric scratching against my skin.

He ripped my blouse open, buttons popping and scattering like tiny plastic hail.

His eyes, dark and hungry, swept over my full breasts before he bent down and scraped his teeth along a nipple and bit down, the sensation a sharp, electric shock.

I whimpered, the sound surprisingly pitiful and resembling fear.

He groaned against my breast, the vibration resonating through my chest as he pulled his cock from his black jeans, the sound of his zipper a harsh, metallic rasp.

I thrashed, my wrists still bound above my head, the rope chafing against my skin. He choked me again, his hand a brutal, rigid clamp around my throat.

“ Stop, ” he growled, the word a guttural warning, pulling back, aiming his blade between my thighs. Fear suddenly spiked.

“Please, don’t,” I whispered, my voice sounding small and pathetic, a mere shadow of myself.

He spun the blade in his hand, the metal a blur of silver, and, without a word, rubbed the handle over my clit, the sensation a harsh, jarring jolt.

My eyes rolled back, my body trembling, a traitor to my mind.

My logical brain was firing off, trying desperately to convince me that the masked man between my legs was a threat, a danger, a predator. And, well, he was.

But my body flooded with arousal when his head tilted, pushing the handle into my pussy. A choked sound left me, a mix of fear and pleasure.