Page 122 of Desperate People

I bite my lip and glance at the clock.

Five o’clock.

Damn. I must’ve been out cold.

Not surprising, really—not after the way we went at it in the dining room.

Just thinking about it has my skin flushing, my thighs clenching.

The hunger between us.

It isn’t normal. It’s consuming. Addictive.

But it’s what came after that undoes me.

The way he held me. The quiet reverence in his eyes.

Like I wasn’t just a woman he wanted, but a woman he cherished.

I slip on my robe and pad barefoot through the house. I’m expecting chaos.

Maybe a trail of clothes, a chair knocked over, definitely remnants of flowers or wine or something.

Instead, the place is spotless.

There’s no sign of what happened except for the faintest trace of citrus and cedar from the cleaning products.

Even the faint scent of sex is gone.

And I know, without a shred of doubt, that Balor did this.

No way would he have let someone else come in while I was asleep.

He wouldn’t risk it. Wouldn’t violate that small, sacred trust.

Tears sting the backs of my eyes.

This man.

God. I really do love him.

And maybe that should terrify me—but it doesn’t.

It just is.

Like breathing.

Like gravity.

I walk to the kitchen and make a quick coffee, needing something to ground me.

As I sip it in silence, I send a message to my mother, trying to figure out why we’re being summoned.

She confirms dinner but adds it won’t just be them.

Uncle Adrik and Aunt Sofia.

Uncle Andres and Aunt Ellie.

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