Page 43 of Shattered Veil
Heated and clouded with lust, I manage to navigate the stairs and not fall down the entire flight.
In the kitchen, I open the stainless-steel fridge and without any requests, I get creative. I take out eggs, cheese, and veggies.
By the time Balor comes down, showered and dressed, I’ve plated two veggie omelets. I remember he said he doesn’t eat meat.
He struts in wearing an MIT T-shirt under a hoodie and faded jeans. “That smells amazing.”
“Not as amazing as you,” I mumble to myself, reachinginto the fridge for orange juice.
As I turn back, I nearly drop the container.
He’s practically pressed into me. “Did you say something, butterfly?”
“Nope.”
“Lying to your boss? That deserves a dose of dirty punishment.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” I bite my lip. “Juice?”
“Sure. I also need a protein shake for after my workout.”
“Absolutely. What do you—” I’m pointing inside the fridge, but he snags my hand and leads me back to the island.
“Eat before it gets cold.”
“Okay.” I pick up the fork, watching him take a seat on a stool on the other side. “I toasted up sunflower bread I found in the pantry.”
“My favorite.” He takes a bite.
“Who shops for you?”
“I have a housekeeper who comes in every day around noon. She makes up the bed. Does laundry. Cleans. Shops.”
“I see. Do I need to help her with anything?”
“No. She takes care of the house. You take care ofme.” The visceral annunciation makes my core throb.
“Right.”
THE NEXT TWO DAYS GOthe same way.
On Wednesday morning, I make protein waffles topped with fruit and a side of fried tomatoes. But Balor doesn’t come downstairs. I wrap up the food in foil and place it in the warming drawer, then climb the stairs to find him.
In his bedroom, he’s standing in a towel, slung low on his hips. The sight is nothing short of phenomenal.
“Problem?” I ask.
He spins around, and God, I wish that towel would fall to the ground. We can be friends with benefits. Because all I want is his cock. He’s a great man. But I’m not ready for a commitment yet.
“This is the worst part of my day. Picking out what to wear. Too much to think about.”
Taking this as a challenge, I step past him into the apartment-sized walk-in closet. Stacked wardrobes are filled with jeans, dress pants, casual pants, track pants, and suits.
I enjoy getting the hang of cooking and experimenting with breakfast recipes. But dressing himwillbe the favorite part of my day.
Nothing has a label, which means it’s all custom.
Don’t get me started on the ties. There are only a handful because he doesn’t wear one to the office, but they’re the softest things I’ve ever touched in my life.