Page 28 of Balthazar's Fire

“I loathe it,” she admitted, but allowed him to lower her hands to his chest. “It’s so ugly.”

“You shouldn’t.” His gaze bored into her. “As far as I can tell, Cherie, no part of you could ever be ugly.”

“I…”

Not for the first time, she had no answer for his generosity, but as he pulled himself upright, he only chuckled at her open-mouthed response. She gasped at his change of tack, awed by his strength and agility. Still dressed in his expensive suit and shirt, Balthazar was the picture of every woman’s daydream.

“Thank you for all of this.” She eventually managed, motioning around the room. “I don’t know what I’d have done without you this last day.”

I’d still be working for that monster, Monroe.

She gulped as the answer ran through her brain.

“You’re welcome.” Pressing forward, his face neared hers. “I’m enjoying getting to know you, Cherie.”

“Well,” she started, self-conscious now that the urgency of her orgasm had been abated. “You certainly know me well, now.” Nibbling her lower lip, she brooded on the idea, thinking of the way she’d submitted to his will. “Better than just about anyone actually.”

“You don’t need to fret about that.” Balthazar’s hand rose to the back of her hair, his fingers threading through her tresses. “I’m the master of discretion. No one else ever has to know the things we do unless we choose to share.”

“I’d appreciate that,” she replied, aware of his semi-erect dick still lodged inside of her.

“You’ve got it,” he assured her. “Not that there’s anything to be ashamed about.”

“No,” she added. “I agree.”

Although Cherie couldn’t quite shake the sense that there was something wrong with her, that women in this century shouldn’t get their kicks from relinquishing control to a man.

“I suppose it’s time I freed you.”

Tugging at her binds, his fingers started work on the process of unraveling his tie. She watched, breathlessly as he unwound the silky material.

“There.” Throwing the tie around his collar, he rubbed her wrists gently. “No damage done.”

“It was amazing.” There was a catharsis to the admission.

“No,” he insisted, tipping her chin with his index finger and ensuring she met his eyes. “You are, Cherie, and I meant what I said. I don’t want you to worry, not about your privacy, employment, or that swine Monroe.”

“I can’t ask that of you,” she squeaked, but even as she spoke, she longed for his words to be true, wanted more than anything for Balthazar to play that role. She’d been on her own—surviving—for so long that she was giddy at the idea of having him around.

“You’re forgetting how this works.” His chuckle deepened. “You don’t ask, beautiful. I command.”

“Oh, right.” She giggled, sighing as he kissed her forehead before easing himself from her body and carrying her to the nearby sofa.

Balthazar was so gentle, treating her as though she was a fragile flower he needed to tend to, and she appreciated him so much, but watching him wander to a nearby chair and select a blanket for her, the niggling thought lingered.

Could they ever replicate such an astonishing evening?

It’s worse than that, the paranoid chide grew louder.

Can anything ever be this good again?

Chapter Ten

Oliver Monroe

“Shit!” Slamming his fist into the desk, Oliver snarled. “How did this happen?”

How did I let this happen?