Page 46 of Monsters Wear Crowns (Crowned Monsters Duet #1)

“Oh, I have.” His gaze dragged over me, slow, assessing.

“But none quite like you. I am no stranger to beautiful, powerful women. Although, most women I surround myself with are the kind to get on their knees the moment I demand it. But you…you remind me of a wildfire. Bold, untamed, willing to destroy.”

I swallowed hard at that. There was something deliciously dangerous about the way he watched me. Something taunting in the way his fingers traced the rim of his glass.

And then, with the same casual ease, he asked, “Is Rafe as good in bed as everyone assumes?”

I nearly choked on my wine. “ Excuse me? Who assumes that?”

His smirk deepened. “Oh, come on. A man like that? With a reputation like his? I have to wonder if he lives up to the assumption.”

I scoffed, setting my glass down on the coffee table. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re avoiding the question.”

I sighed dramatically, my head tilting back against the couch. The wine had loosened my tongue far too much. “Fine. If you must know, yes. He’s amazing.”

Moreau hummed, leaning back, stretching his arm over the back of the couch, his fingers just barely brushing my shoulder.

“Interesting,” he mused. “But I wonder…does he satisfy you completely? ”

I blinked, the question sobering me for half a second. Then I laughed, shaking my head. “You are so full of shit.”

“I’m only curious.”

“No, you’re just a bastard who enjoys stirring the pot.”

His smirk widened, and he leaned in just a fraction. “Maybe. But you didn’t answer the question.”

My breath stuttered as his hand moved, fingers trailing down the curve of my arm, slow, barely there. My skin prickled in awareness, my body betraying me.

I swallowed, trying to ignore how my pulse fluttered in my throat. “He’s…everything I need.”

Moreau’s fingers traced my wrist, his touch featherlight, teasing. “Need,” he echoed. “Not want? ”

I sucked in a breath, my heart hammering. He was too close. Too warm. Too intoxicating.

I tried to play it off, rolling my eyes as I shifted slightly, but he only used the movement to press in closer, his breath brushing against my jaw. This fucking wine made my entire body tingle.

“You like playing with death,” he murmured.

I scoffed. “You think I don’t know that?”

His fingers–those same deadly hands that had built an empire, that had killed men–trailed up the inside of my thigh, slow enough to make my skin crawl with warning instead of want.

But they never crossed the line. They hovered deliberately.

Just close enough to feel the heat of my skin. Just enough to taunt.

I sucked in a breath, stiffening, refusing to give him the reaction he wanted.

Moreau’s smirk sharpened. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice like silk laced with arsenic. “You feel it too, don’t you? The tension. The possibility .”

I didn’t answer because my head was spinning, not from desire, but from the war between instinct and control, danger and dignity. The fire in my blood was real, but it didn’t belong to him. And I would not let him mistake it for consent.

His lips hovered over my jaw, not quite a kiss. Just a breath. Just a threat. And my body, traitorous and tense, reacted anyway. My breath caught in my throat. He felt it.

“What would he say,” Moreau whispered, his mouth barely brushing my skin. “If he saw you like this? With me.”

Rafe.

His name hit me like a slap, and guilt crashed in with brutal, cold clarity. I jerked back, the motion sharp, my pulse spiking in defiance. My entire body was shaking, but not from want. From rage.

Moreau only pulled back an inch, enough to meet my eyes. His pupils were wide, dark with hunger, but he didn’t advance again. He didn’t need to. The air between us was thick enough to choke.

“Regret?” he mused, head tilting.

“No,” I said quietly. “Control.”

He laughed softly, like I’d just told him the punchline of a joke he already knew. His thumb brushed my bottom lip.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I whispered, pulling my chin away before he could do more. “I’m not yours.”

His smile was slow and dangerous. “Not yet.” My stomach flipped .

He leaned in again, his lips close to mine, but this time I didn’t flinch. I held my ground. His hand ghosted down my arm, barely touching. The movement was nothing and everything all at once. A calculated pressure. A reminder of how easily he could cross the line–and that he hadn’t. Yet.

“You think he’ll win,” Moreau said softly, eyes burning into mine. “That Rafe will walk out of this war alive. That he’ll still be standing beside you.”

He was close enough that I had to tilt my chin up to hold his gaze.

“When the dust settles,” he continued, his voice turning almost tender in its cruelty, “and he’s gone, when you’re alone and bleeding.

..I’ll come for you.” His hand came to rest on my hip, fingers barely there, nothing more than a whisper of possession.

“And when that time comes,” he said, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear with sickening gentleness, “it won’t matter if you want to come or not. You’ll be mine.”

My breath faltered. It wasn’t the words, but the calm. The certainty. The promise of inevitability. No one was allowed to claim me but Rafe fucking Vaughan. “I’ll kill you,” I said, barely more than a breath.

Moreau smiled like he believed me and...liked it. “I’m counting on it.” He didn’t kiss me or even touch me further. He didn’t have to. Because the threat had already sunk into my bones. And I knew, deep down, he would keep it.

He leaned in, so close I could feel his breath against my lips, and murmured against my skin.

“You’ll think about this later. I know I will.

I can’t wait. I’ll drench my hand in my cum even if it should have filled your delicious pussy.

” Then, just as deliberately as he had started, he pulled away, leaving me shaken.

“Take me home,” I said, my voice stronger than I felt.

Moreau just let out a rich laugh. Of course, he laughed.

The car purred to life, and he shifted into gear, one hand on the wheel, the other draped lazily over the console. I clenched my jaw, folding my arms as I stared out the window. The roads were empty, the city bathed in the eerie glow of streetlights.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured.

I didn’t answer.

He let out another low, amused chuckle. “Regretting that you stopped me?”

I shot him a glare, but he wasn’t even looking at me. His expression was relaxed, his fingers tapping lazily against the wheel. He was toying with me. And it was working. And annoyingly, he let me stew in it. It wasn’t until we pulled up to my building that he finally spoke again.

“Good night, beautiful,” he murmured as I opened the door. “Dream of me.”

I slammed it shut behind me.

Finally, at around 3:30a.m., I collapsed into bed. Exhaustion weighed me down, but my mind...it wouldn’t stop. I curled onto my side, burying my face in the pillow, trying to will the thoughts away. But they came anyway. Moreau.

The way my body responded to his proximity. Both disgust and arousal had bloomed inside me under his sinfully beautiful gaze. I squeezed my eyes shut.

But in the darkness, I saw it all. I fucking hated myself for it. For the ache lingering between my thighs. For the way my breath still came just a little too fast. For the way I wondered– What would have happened if I hadn’t stopped him? What if I had let him take me apart? What if–

I turned onto my back, staring up at the ceiling, my chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

I was losing control again, my hand venturing beneath my pajama shorts.

But now, I was safe in my own bed. I closed my eyes, imagining Rafe’s perfect, muscular body and the sound of his moans.

The orgasm came quick and wild, whipping through me with a beautiful kind of clarity.

I held back tonight. And I finished thinking of the man I loved.