It was nice, opening the shop and finding a “new” normal with Balor. But knowing we were going back to the Otherworld tonight, away from work and our normalish lives to indulge in a night of magical monster fuckery, had me vibrating with excitement.
Balor was excited too. He was happy helping around the shop, dusting and organizing and asking me all sorts of questions about the modern world. He took pleasure in making new items and oddities to sell. But I knew he was looking forward to our return to the Otherworld, probably our first of many.
When the last customer of the day left, the shop bell jingled. Balor no longer flinched every time it rang.
I practically skipped to the front door, locked the deadbolt, and made sure to put enough kibble in Gilly’s bowl to tide her over for the night.
I flew upstairs to primp for our night out. When I came back down a few minutes later, Balor’s gaze filled with lust and fire. “I see yer wearin’ my favorite outfit.”
His favorite outfit was in fact, nothing. I was in the nude, wearing only—brand new—St. Patrick’s Day socks.
With a giggle, I spun around to show off my outfit, or lack thereof.
“Fecking beautiful, wee one,” my mate praised, unable to take his eyes off me as he summoned the portal in a swirl of flame and sparks.
A shiver of excitement and apprehension danced up my spine when we stepped through to the other side. Was I really about to go through with this? Fuck yes. I was living out my monster fucker fantasies, and I wasn’t going to let a little bit of nerves get in my way.
Balor’s castle ruins were always hauntingly beautiful, with the fantastical foliage growing thick around the crumbling walls and giant bones. It was especially beautiful tonight, bathed in moonlight.
The giant king picked me up beneath my arms and set me down on the broken pillar where he’d fallen in love with me those handful of weeks. I sat cross-legged, buzzing with nerves. “What now?”
It was a silly question. Now was the part where he’d get all big and do unspeakable things to me, things I’d only read in monster romance books.
He grinned, taking several steps back to give himself space to shift. “Ya know what comes next well enough, little human.Though, I still don’t think ye realize just how big I can get. Much too big fer a wee thing like yerself.”
Butterflies whirled in my belly. I’d heard that one before. “Yada yada, ‘you’ll make it fit’ yada yada. Or something along those lines. You’ll be careful with me. All that crap you said before about not being a gentle giant was just a bunch of goblinshite.”
The giant king’s laugh had his flames leaping high into the night. The bright light fell over his face, illuminating the love and adoration carving his face. “Such a bratty, defiant wee thing ya are, Maeve McCrum.”
It was funny to think that, just a handful of weeks ago, I didn’t think he was capable of love. Especially love for me. But everyday he proved to me that he really had let go of the revenge he’d spent centuries plotting. Because he’d found something better.
Balor’s visage swelled, pulsating and thrumming with red hot magic. His entire physique grew right before my eyes, expanding until he was taller than the trees.
I knew he’d be tall, but fuck me. There’d been zero exaggeration about his size and just how “wee” I was compared to his true form.
My mind ran wild as I pried my attention from the bulge tenting the front of his trousers and craned my head to gawk at the visage of fiery death looming over me.
Balor of the Evil Eye was terrifyingly handsome, looking every bit the giant king he’d once been with the moon positioned behind his head like a halo, and his hair lighting up the night.
He took a step closer and my legs went weak as the earth quaked.
I knew there was nothing to be afraid of. Balor would keep me safe, but that animal part of my brain had fear shooting throughmy system. My heart thundered, my mating mark burned white-hot and my pussy pulsed, juices trickling down my bare legs.
In all honesty, I was a little scared. And I wassoturned on.
Balor’s nostrils flexed as he inhaled the night air, and the bulge in his pants grew larger as my scent filtered into his lungs. “I smell the cunt of an Irish woman.”
Despite the gravity of the situation, I cracked a smile. We’d been reading fairytales before bed, catching him up on all the stories his reign of terror had inspired. Knowing what a hopeless monster fudger I was, he incorporated some lines here and there during playtime.
Sometimes I couldn’t help laughing at him, but it never failed to work me up.
We’d talked about this moment countless times. I wasn’t supposed to run. Or put up a fight. But the combination of archaic survival instincts telling me to flee and the urge to make our fucked-up game a little more twisted had me turning tail and running.
I didn’t get far.
“Where do ya think yer going?” He growled, reaching for me. I couldn’t outrun him, even if I wanted to.
Huge fingers closed around me, and I watched the ground below shrink away.
