Violent Triumphs (White Monarch 3)

He slid in and out slowly, hitting me in a new spot, one that sent deep, satisfied rumbles of pleasure through me. I was already swollen, sensitive, and throbbing from my last orgasm, raw and aching.

I hadn’t known the meaning of lovemaking until this moment—I hadn’t known the meaning of love. I’d been foolish to think I had. I didn’t want to love Cristiano. It scared me, especially when I’d so recently feared him. Knowing him this way, when he could be taken from me, was more terrifying, though.

Everything he wanted to accomplish, everything he wanted to protect . . . I admired him for it, but it also put him in danger every day.

And yet, in a world of machismo and courage, Cristiano’s words earlier were the bravest I’d ever heard. Not just loving someone he could easily lose, but wanting love. Seeking it out.

I wasn’t as brave. Something told me that losing him would devastate me. And losing Cristiano was even more likely to happen than falling in love with a man I’d once wholeheartedly hated.

But it was too late now.

Cristiano groaned, moving into me, our slick bodies slipping against the other. He drew back, his expression pained as his eyes met mine, and his thrusts grew hard and firm, instead of fast and fevered like earlier. Water beat down on us, dripping from his nose onto me.

How could I love him so fiercely in so little time? And feel it returned without condition?

Our mouths met, savoring the taste of each other. “Don’t come inside me,” I said.

“I have to. I want to, Natalia.”

“But I want to taste you.” I pushed his chest, and he withdrew, his cock at full attention and bobbing between us. I got to my knees, took him in my mouth, and showed him my hunger, my desire to watch him unravel. With a hand in my hair and a groan on his lips, he spilled into my mouth without so much as a warning.

We exited the shower, and after toweling off, I slipped my wedding rings back on as he took his razor from a drawer.

“You’re going to shave?” I asked.

“If I don’t, it’ll be twice the length by the morning. You’ll wake up next to a wild animal.”

“Imagine,” I said sardonically, as if I wasn’t at the mercy of one every night. I rose onto the tips of my toes for a quick kiss, then ran a finger over his chin. “Sometime, when I’m not so tired, I’ll shave it for you.”

“Sometime,” he agreed. “When I’m a hundred percent sure I can let you near my throat with a razorblade.”

I laughed. “A wise man once told me one-hundred percent confidence is a death wish.”

As I turned to leave, he took my forearm, drawing me back in front of himself. He pressed his lips together, hesitation in his eyes.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“I want you to make me a promise.”

A breeze passed through the room, or perhaps it was just the chill of his grave tone that made my hair stand on end. “What?”

“If anything ever does happen to me, Natalia—and it could—tell me you’ll go on to live a full life. If your place is here, you’ll take the reins. You will be ruthless and gentle and prevail knowing you have my blessing from beyond. And if you choose another life, you will relentlessly pursue happiness.”

“I don’t want to think about that.” It hit too close to home. Of course I knew anything could happen at any time—it had to my mother. Death had almost caught Cristiano and myself. I was raw, physically and emotionally, both fucked and made love to tonight. And I’d conceded any last shred of resistance I might’ve had so I could love Cristiano with all of myself.

It was the greatest risk I’d ever taken because of how closely death hovered over him, and—

You will die for him, your love.

The soothsayer’s words shivered through me for the first time in a while. What was Cristiano saying? Why was he bringing this up now?

Because love wasn’t just a slippery slope; it was driving with no brakes and trusting you’d be safe at every hill, valley, and sharp turn. And Cristiano wasn’t used to being at the mercy of anything.

“You have to think of this,” he insisted. “It’s part of being a ruler. You need to promise me you’d pick up and move on if you had to.” He took my hand in both of his, bringing it to his unshaven mouth, scraping my skin as he kissed it with reverence. He put it to his forehead, as if in prayer. “Por favor, Natalia. Give me some peace in the afterlife. Tell me you’d continue on, and pursue happiness, if I were gone.”

“Fine,” I said, irritated that he was pushing this on me when I’d like to live just one day without the anxiety that I might lose everything I’d just found. “But give me the same gift of peace. If Belmonte-Ruiz had succeeded in killing me, you would’ve gone on. You will go on.”