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Not just in the way he looks, which is sexy as hell, but in the way he moves.

In the way he holds himself.

In the way he’s held me together all night like I was the most important thing in the room.

No man has ever looked at me like that.

Usually they see the image. The curated version.

They want to fuck the fantasy—not me.

But Balor?

Balor looks at me like I’m real.

Like I’m not just something to possess, or put on a pedestal, but someone he wants. Someone he chooses.

And maybe that’s what breaks me.

Because I’ve built walls so carefully.

Smiled through so many performances.

Swallowed so many pieces of myself to fit the role.

And yet, one look from him and I’m unraveling.

Wild for him.

I am desperate for him, vulnerable in a way I haven’t ever allowed myself to be.

“I don’t want to wait anymore,” I whisper, reaching for him.

He’s above me, those eyes locked on mine, and God, he’s beautiful in the dim light.

Dark hair. That jawline. Those two different colored eyes that should feel mismatched but don’t. Not on him.

On him, it’s art.

On him, it’s truth.

I trace the ink on his arm, the sharp edge of a design I don’t understand, and feel his whole body react.

He’s watching me like I’m the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

And all I can think is please don’t break my heart.

Because I’ve never wanted anyone this badly.

And if he touches me the way I think he will, there won’t be any going back. Not for me.

“There’s no going back,” he agrees with me, and I know I said all that, things I should’ve kept to myself, out loud. “No secrets. No Lies. No going back for either of us, Angel. Tonight, we begin,” he growls roughly into my mouth.

Then his hands come up to my neck, and he’s holding me there, stilling me with his dominance. And I love it.

He reaches for his t-shirt, but I can’t move to give him room, crushed between the mattress and his delicious body.

The sound of fabric tearing has me gasping, and I guess I didn’t have to worry about that.