Page 14

H aving pussy-breaking sex— a phrase coined by my Aunt Sofia, used in her romance novels that she pens under the name Z. Wolff —with the man of my dreams is officially my new favorite thing in the world.

It’s better than shopping.

Better than Dubai chocolate truffles flown in overnight.

Better than Haagen-Dazs vanilla bean straight from the carton with a gold spoon and my comfiest pajamas.

So much better.

My entire body is still humming, every nerve sweet and strung out, like I’ve been vibrating with pleasure for hours and haven’t come down yet.

I blink slowly awake, still nestled in a nest of silky sheets and heat.

Balor’s arm is heavy across my waist, his chest pressed along my back, his breathing slow and deep.

And I grin.

A full, satisfied smile.

Because this isn’t a dream.

Balor Cruz— brooding, inked, deadly serious Balor —is wrapped around me like a human blanket.

After round two— or was it three? —last night, he carried me into the shower like I weighed nothing.

Like I was something precious.

And when the water hit us, he didn’t just soap me up like it was foreplay.

He washed me like he meant it.

Tender hands, slow strokes, and when he pinned me to the tile with his body moving behind me and my palms flat against the wall— fuck yeah .

I’m getting wet just thinking about it.

My thighs press together on instinct, and right on cue, his chest rumbles behind me.

He squeezes me tighter, his hand sliding over my soft belly, and I don’t even try to pretend I hate it.

He likes my body as it is.

Fluffy, soft, and bigger.

Seriously, the man kissed, caressed, and held me all night.

Who knew the big, quiet, tattooed man was such a cuddler?

“Awake already?” his voice is gravel and silk, deep and raw from hours of use.

I hum. “Barely. You wore me out.”

His lips brush my shoulder, and my heart skips.

This is dangerous.

Not because it’s too wild or too fast.

But because it feels right.

Too right.

Like something more than sex.

I’ve never felt like this with anyone before. Never wanted to stay wrapped up in someone else’s warmth like it’s where I belong.

And yet, here I am.

Letting him hold me like he has a right to.

Like he wants to.

I turn slightly, looking over my shoulder to find him already watching me.

That mismatched gaze— half lightning, half storm cloud —pins me in place.

He brushes my cheek with his thumb.

And for the briefest moment, I think I might be in love with him.

My heart starts to pound, and I bite my lip before I say something stupid but then I hear it.

Crash!

The sound rips through the house like an explosion.

It sounds like glass shattering. Wood splintering.

Balor’s body goes from warm to coiled steel in an instant.

He jumps out of bed, naked, muscles flexed, eyes sharp, dangerous.

“Stay here!”

But I scramble to sit up, yanking the sheet to my chest just as a voice bellows from downstairs.

“LUCY!”

My blood turns to ice.

Oh, no.

Oh shit.

No. No no no.

“Is that—” Balor growls.

I swallow hard, my voice barely above a whisper.

“My dad.”