Page 15 of Shattered Veil
“I’m glad you think so.” My eyes stray to Balor’s body. Too many shadows. I roll over and flick on a lamp. “I have to see you better.”
He stands up stark naked, breathing heavily, gazing atme with wicked thoughts written all over his gorgeous face.
He pauses as I look him over. Each arm has dark, banded tattoos that I know hurt. “Like what you see, aye?”
“You have no idea.” I sit up and pull a pillow in front of me, feeling not so perfect. But few women can achieve the cut look I’m staring at.
He doesn’t seem interested in my body other than my pussy. And that’s fine by me.
“Are those washboard abs from a few hundred sits-up a day? Or smoothies?”
He laughs. “I have a martial arts training regimen.”
“Ahhh.” I take a deep breath as he holds my gaze. “Are we done?”
“Not even close.” He stretches, giving me a show I’ll never forget. “Get into the shower, butterfly, so I can fuck your ass.”
THREE HOURS LATER...
“I ordered room service,” Balor says, pulling up his pants over his still-swollen dick.
“You ordered me breakfast without my input.” I wobble from the bathroom in the softest robe, ever. “Now you chose dinner for me? I’ll knock a grand off if I can get a say for one damn meal.”
“You don’t like bacon cheeseburgers?”
My stomach growls loudly, and I clear my throat trying to cover it.
I plop onto the bed of tangled sheets as I wait for my heart to stop pounding after the incredible sex we just had in the shower and then the gigantic bathtub with jets. “You got me pegged.”
His jaw ticks at that word. “Most people love cheeseburgers.”
“You?”
“I don’t eat red meat.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing.”
A loud knock at the suite door startles me and I sit up.
“Get dressed, take your time. I’ll take care of the food.”
Ugh, I have to put that damn dress back on. It’s been how many hours? I lost track.
I have extra panties in my carry-on, but I skip them in case Balor wants access to me. I’m thinking he’s not done with me. We have another five hours on our flight to New York.
I brush my teeth, and using the hairdryer, I tousle my long auburn waves, then fix my makeup. What’s left of it.
Dressed and reinvigorated, but sans panties, I stroll into the suite’s main room, alarmed to see a strange man standing there.
“Um, hello. Who are you?” I blink, wondering if I missed something.
“Name’s Trace.” His Irish brogue sounds deeper, sultrier but he’s just as striking as Balor.
“Oh... Kay... Where’s—” I flush with embarrassment, thinking the mysterious stranger who fucked me for five hours straight probably gave me a fake name.
“He had to leave.”
“Oh? Will he be back?”