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I’m not a virgin.

But the sex I’ve had before?

It was rushed. Clumsy. Forgettable.

A teenage boy fumbling in the dark, mistaking want for love.

He didn’t know me. Didn’t see me.

Just the image. The illusion.

But Balor?

He’s cut from another cloth entirely.

Everything he does is deliberate.

Commanding. Grounded in restraint and laced with an edge I find intoxicating.

And when he finally lowers his mouth to me and licks into my center—holy fucking shit.

Stars.

They explode behind my eyes.

My hips buck. A helpless moan escapes my throat.

I can’t think. Can’t breathe. I’m not even sure I’m still on the bed.

His tongue is hot, his mouth relentless, and his growl vibrates against the most sensitive part of me.

“So fucking good,” he rasps, voice ragged as he devours me. “You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you, Angel?”

“Oh God,” I mewl, my hands clutching the sheets like I’m holding onto reality itself.

“That’s it,” he urges. “Want my mouth full of your pleasure. I want it dripping down to my chest. Now, give it to me.”

He slides two fingers through my slick folds, circling my clit with maddening precision as his tongue plunges inside me again and again, deep and hungry.

It’s too much.

It’s not enough.

I want more.

I want everything.

The pressure builds fast. It’s sharp and blinding.

I feel it cresting, hot and high and all-consuming, and before I can even warn him, it happens.

My body breaks.

I shatter.

Hard.

I cry out, thighs trembling as the orgasm crashes over me, stealing my breath and replacing it with him.