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No pretense. No armor.

Just me.

And God help me, I think he might be the only one who’s ever truly deserved it.

“You got me, Angel. Now, come here. Gimme what’s mine.”

Then he moves, dragging me to him.

My lips part and my head lolls back as he spreads my thighs and kisses my aching pussy.

“So fucking sweet,” he growls, grabbing on to one of my thighs.

Balor squeezes and lifts my leg, draping it over his shoulder.

Dear Lord, please don’t let him stop.

“Been dying to get my mouth on you ever since you walked down the aisle in that fucking dress. That white fucking dress,” he growls, licking into me like a wild thing.

“Oh, God!”

“Not God,” he snarls, and bites the inside of my thigh. I squeak.

“It’s Balor or Husband. That’s what you yell when I’m eating you, Wife.”

“Oh my Go—Husband! Husband! Please,” I whimper.

“Good girl,” he grunts and rewards me with a sloppy wet kiss on my pussy.

I preen at the praise. I want to be his good girl. So damn bad.

Balor’s bi-colored gaze locks onto mine. Never leaving as he licks a path from my asshole to my clit.

And. My. Knees. Buckle.

Good thing I have a big, strong, sexy-as-fuck husband to hold me up—because I’m coming apart at the seams.

Sex has never felt like this.

I have never felt like this.

I’m not the kind of woman who melts this easily, who comes undone from just a touch, a look, a lick of attention—but Balor?

He makes everything feel raw and urgent and right.

I’ve never been this easily turned on.

Never so wanton.

Never so needy.

But he worships me like he owns me, like the space between my thighs holds every answer he’s ever needed.

I swear, the way he shoves his face into my sex—licking, nibbling, devouring with reverence and hunger—it has me spiraling.

I’m seconds from detonating into the stratosphere, and all I can think is this is what it feels like to be wanted. To be chosen. To be his.

I’m grabbing onto his short hair, crying out when he wrenches my other leg off the floor so he is the only thing holding me up.