I’d wake up in a sweaty daze and there he’d be, staring at me with that hungry look on his face, leering at me from his corner. Like a predator waiting for the opportune moment to pounce on their prey.
I needed to get out of here.
I needed a real bed.
I needed human food. If I had to eat so much as another berry, I’d scream.
And this growing part of me—one that grew stronger by the day no matter how much I fought it—needed him.
That strange magnetism hellbent on drawing us together was growing stronger by the day.
The fucking bastard. I was going mad and he was over there, sitting on his seat, looking exactly as he had when we first got here.
Even if I wanted to keep searching, my body was set against me. My pussy was constantly wet and achy, and it only got worse when I felt his eyes hot on my back. Just waiting for me to cave.
My eyes were so tired, clover leaves blended together. So many times I swore I found my four-leaf clover, only to pluck it and find it with three leaves.
I needed more sleep. Maybe this time, the rest would help.
I curled up beneath a thicket of foliage, giving me a shred of privacy even though I could see his lower half peeking out from the leaves. Then I turned my back on him, closed my eyes, and allowed sleep to take me.
Another sex dream.
Balor, king of the giants, was as big as a skyscraper. I was naked and splayed out in the palm of his hand. My legs were spread and his tongue was on me. The monstrous appendage was so large that when he licked me it covered my entire body.
I could feel every taste bud, rough on my bare skin, scraping my nipples and wriggling at the junction of my legs. He left no inch of me untouched, leaving my skin wet and sticky.
This wasn’t my first dream I’d had of him, but this one was different from the others. This heat, his scent, his tongue… It felt so real, I wasn’t sure what was a dream and what wasn’t anymore.
Chapter Twelve
Balor
Ihad to hand it to the human, when she set her mind to something, there was no changing it.
I’d meant what I told her about being content to watch her on her hands and knees, searching for her four-leafed clover for all eternity if that’s how long it took.
At least, for this eternity, I’d get to watch her. Especially with her in that scrap of a skirt, no panties. Bent over and weeping for me, from one end or another.
Knowing that she was mine, and that our bond was just within reach…
All I had to do was get up and take her.
Every fiber of my being burned for her. Our unsealed bond was like an open wound, festering and rotting the longer we left it untouched.
But a deal was a deal, and I was a monster of my word.
As the days passed, I found myself growing soft to her, at least where my cock wasn’t concerned. I thought I’d known her before. It turned out, you could only know someone so much when stuck behind a painting.
I’d created a different version of Maeve McCrum in my mind. The perfect victim. That wasn’t the real her. This version of her was tender and sweet beneath the hard exterior she wore around me. I wanted nothing more to break her open and enjoy all her softness.
Maybe I would have killed her no matter what, regardless of the kind of person she was, and that the only thing that had saved her was the simple fact that I could touch her. The more time I spent with her, the more I doubted it. I liked her. Plain and fecking simple.
As my appreciation for my wee mortal’s personality grew, so did my lust. Day by day, my control was waning. No matter how much Otherworld fruit I ate, I couldn’t drown the taste of her cunt in my mouth.
My mouth watered, thinking about how thick and sweet her cream had been. I could be locked up for another eternity if it meant tasting her one more time…
I closed my eyes, trying to think of anything but her. Then she started to moan in her sleep again.
