Page 48 of Monsters Wear Crowns (Crowned Monsters Duet #1)

A husky laugh escaped him as his hands pressed me into the shelf.

“Are you scared, little doe?” His hand found my hair and yanked my gaze up to his.

“Are you fucking scared?” He pushed inside me again with possessive intensity, eliciting a startled yelp from me.

“Ugh, this pussy feels so fucking good, baby.” He kept his fingers tangled in my hair while he forcibly drove into me over and over.

He stimulated my clit every time he slammed his body against mine. It was only a matter of time…

“You going to come on my cock?” he asked with a smirk. “Look at you, you fucking slut. Enjoying being tied up and used like this?”

I whimpered, biting into the silk tie again while shoving at him. But his body was too strong, too big. Overwhelmed with pleasure, I suddenly reached up and hit his face with my tied hands.

“You want to play rough?” he chuckled. “Fine.”

Before I could even guess what he was about to do, I was swept from the shelf and thrown onto the soft, plush carpet. Within seconds, he was on me again, tugging my tank further down my body.

“There we go,” he grinned, pinning my hands above my head, his gaze sweeping across my full breasts. I wanted to take it further, so I quickly rolled, attempting an “escape.” But his hands found my hips and yanked me back.

“You’re not fucking going anywhere,” he growled, tucking me beneath him.

My eyes widened when I felt his cock pressing against my pussy from behind. And when he forced himself inside again, I cried out.

“That’s a good fucking girl,” he panted as he ground into me, his thickness threatening to rip me. “You’re so tight, baby.” My elbows dug into the carpet every time he slammed into me. I attempted to fight back, screaming through the tie in my mouth.

“Shhh,” he reached around and squeezed his hand around my throat.

“Stay right there, love. Your struggling is going to make me come.” That did it.

My second orgasm clawed its way out, ripping apart my entire soul.

A wild moan broke free, feeling him pick up speed, slamming his hips against my ass. His hold around my throat tightened.

“There you fucking go, come on my cock, baby,” he shoved deeper, harder. To draw it out longer, I thrashed under him, finding a sick pleasure in him holding me down. “Stop moving, I’m almost done,” he rasped, his lips brushing my ear. “Ugh, this tight little pussy is gonna make me come.”

I squirmed, the last of my orgasm whipping out in wild waves. I let out another muffled moan and attempted to crawl away, but he held me tight. “I’m going to fill this pretty pussy,” he panted, his hips grinding against my ass.

I whimpered, shaking my head vigorously.

“You don’t want that?” he asked with a breathy laugh.

I shook my head again, trying my best to get away, even though I was drunk off of pleasure. A sick fuck I was.

“Ugh,” he groaned, his hand drifting from my throat to my breasts, feeling them bounce.

I knew he was close, so I gave one last show of desperation by elbowing his chest. He answered by pressing his entire body against my back, one hand tangled in my hair, tugging my head back and the other bruising my hip.

“Shit, baby.” He buried himself as deeply as he could.

“Take my fucking cum,” he growled between brutal, forceful thrusts.

“Ugh, take it all.” I yelped, feeling his cock pulse.

“God, your pussy is so fucking good.” He slammed into me one last time, holding me still while he spilled into me.

Almost immediately, he slid the tie off my head and tossed it aside. “ God dammit , Adela,” he laughed breathlessly.

“ God dammit, Rafe ,” I answered, my head feeling light. It took us a while to get off the closet floor.

***

The following night, he got home late. But to my surprise and delight, he insisted on cooking.

I padded into the kitchen, drawn by the scent alone.

The space was bathed in the soft glow of under-cabinet lighting, warm and golden, releasing gentle shadows across the marble countertops.

The air smelled rich and decadent–garlic, butter, and something sizzling on the stove.

And there he was.

Rafe stood at the stovetop, flipping something in a pan with the kind of effortless confidence he carried in everything he did–business, sex, danger, even dinner.

But it wasn’t the food that caught my attention.

It was him . He was bare-chested, muscles flexing beneath sun-kissed skin, every smooth, defined line of his back and shoulders carved by violence.

The snake and flower tattoo curled over his ribs and left shoulder, stark black ink rippling as he moved.

His grey sweatpants hung low on his hips, leaving very little to the imagination.

And we were alone. For the first time since I’d moved in, the mansion was utterly silent. No lingering footsteps in the halls. No low conversations behind closed doors. No presence but his.

Just Rafe, cooking...looking like sin made flesh.

Arousal twisted hot and tight in my stomach. I leaned against the counter, arms crossed, letting my eyes trace the length of him with slow, lazy indulgence. He hadn’t seen me yet. I didn’t say a word. I just watched.

“You know,” I drawled. “If you weren’t a criminal overlord, you could have been someone’s doting house husband.”

He didn’t turn, but I caught the slight smirk on the corner of his mouth. “A house husband ?” He squeezed lemon juice over the pan. I smiled when I saw that it was salmon, seasoned rice, and broccolini. “That’s a new one, Dela . ”

I let my gaze travel over him, slow and hungry. “It’s the sweatpants.”

That got me a full, devastating smirk. “You like them?”

I sauntered closer. “A lot.”

He turned, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed over his muscular chest as he watched me with amusement. That smile-that fucking dimple on his right cheek. I reached out, tracing my fingers down his abdomen, feeling the tight muscles tense under my touch.

“You look good like this,” I murmured, my voice low, sultry. “Relaxed.”

His smirk twitched, softer than usual, but his eyes darkened with slow-burning heat. “You just keep surprising me, love.”

I let my nails drift lower, feathering over the taut lines of his abdomen before teasing along the waistband of his sweatpants. “Do I?”

His jaw flexed. A subtle movement. But I felt the tension snap like a wire between us. That was all the encouragement I needed. I sank to my knees in front of him, the cool marble floor pressing against my skin, the silence between us suddenly pulsing with need.

Then he laughed. A low, husky sound that curled down my spine like smoke. “Oh, baby,” he breathed, shaking his head, eyes raking over me like he wanted to devour me right there. “ Look at you. ”

I glanced up at him through my lashes, lips parted in a soft, innocent smile. “What?”

His hand came down, cupping my jaw. His thumb slowly brushed across my bottom lip. “You know exactly what,” he rasped. His voice was sandpaper and sin, dragging heat through every nerve in my body. “I can’t stop cooking,” he added, his voice half amusement, half arousal.

I smiled against his touch and tugged the waistband of his sweats down just enough to free him. His cock was already thick and hardening, straining toward me. He inhaled sharply, his focus flickering between the stove and me like he couldn’t decide what he wanted more.

He didn’t get the chance to choose.

I wrapped my lips around the head of his cock, soft and wet, letting my tongue swirl in lazy circles.

His breath caught. A quiet groan slipped from his throat, and his free hand threaded into my hair.

I let my other hand slip into my pajama shorts, finding the ache between my thighs and pressing my fingers to my clit.

I moaned around him, the vibration making him groan, his hips jerking toward my mouth.

“Jesus Christ, Adela,” he chuckled, breathless, his body tightening. “You’re gonna make me burn the damn food.”

I glanced up at him, eyes gleaming, and took him deeper, relaxing my throat as I slid down further.

His grip in my hair tightened, his control slipping.

I knew he wanted to fuck my face, but he let me set the rhythm.

I dipped two fingers inside myself, slick and ready, while my palm circled over my clit.

The filthy sound of my mouth on him, the smell of garlic and heat, the low rasp of his voice–it all blended into something primal.

“Look at me,” Rafe growled, tugging my head back just enough to force our eyes to meet. I obeyed. Those cold blue eyes were half-lidded with pleasure, with hunger. “You’re such a good girl.”

I smiled, then took him deep again, letting my throat clench around him.

He shuddered . “Fuck–oh fuck, ” he whimpered, and the sound destroyed me. I had made him whimper. That raw, helpless sound ripped through me. I moaned, shuddering as my orgasm crested. My thighs trembled, my fingers never slowing. He felt it. Heard it.

“Oh my god, ” he breathed, drawing the words out in a ragged exhale. “Dinner’s almost done, baby…” He said it like a warning. Like he was trying to keep it together.

I didn’t stop. I wanted to watch him come undone. His breaths grew faster, more ragged. His thighs flexed under my hands.

“Shit, baby, I’m gonna–” His voice broke off as his hand cradled the back of my head. I doubled down, taking him as deep as I could, moaning softly as I dug my nails into his thighs.

“Adela– fuck, ” he groaned, his muscles going tight, cock jerking in my mouth as he spilled down my throat.

He shook, just slightly, as I swallowed every drop, his hand still cradling me like I was something precious. And when I finally pulled back, licking my lips, he looked down at me like he was completely wrecked.

And maybe…a little in love.