Page 3 of Shattered Veil

I can tell by his tone—which isn’t harsh, just insistentwith quiet power—that he’s used to getting his way.

“Yes, sir.” The flight attendant snaps to attention. “And you, Miss?”

“I would adore a glass of red wine.”

I bend at the waist to tuck my bag in front of me, and when I look up, the man’s eyes bore into mine.

He shuts the closet and says, “Would you like the window seat?”

Shocked that he’d care to offer, I shake my head. “No, thank you.”

The idea of being confined and pinned into a tight space triggers me.

“If you change your mind.” He swaggers back to his seat, his scent wrapping around me.

Spice, mint, and leather.

“Thank you.” I finally plant my ass into the comfy seat of buttery-soft leather.

Settling in, I tuck my arm close so I don’t hit his. But that’s unnecessary because First Class seats are huge, while narrow coach seats are for making new friends.

Or enemies.

My body relaxes and melts into the luxuriously, overstuffed seat. Movement next to me yanks my attention toward my neighbor sliding those dark horn-rimmed glasses back on again. The Clark Kent/Henry Cavill vibes have me nearly sliding off my seat.

I sigh, and all movement next to me stops.

The sexy Irishman hits me with a volcanic expression.

I quirk an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Is that how you sound when you come?” The honey-over-gravel thing is real.

Mixed with the brogue, I’mreadyto come. But I blink at him, feigning outrage. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He takes more liberty with his once-over this time. “It’s nice to see someone dressed up for aflight. The pajama look really grates on my nerves.”

I pinch my skirt. “This trip was last minute. I was...”

Embarrassment floods me. On a date. A bad one. But bad dates with men I’ll never see again are a thousand times better than what I went through with my ex.

“Anyway. How would I know how I sound?” God knows I haven’t had an orgasm with a partner in years.

I get myself off, but it’s pathetic to cry out masturbating. Although, Jerk here will flash into my mind next time and it might make me more vocal.

“Me, I love a screamer,” he offers unsolicited. “Whimpering my name because you’re so mindless with pleasure is my kink. Among other things.”

Is this happening? I just met him. I don’t know his name and we’re discussing orgasms. And kinks!

“Wow,” I laugh. “Before we continue this conversation, how about first telling me your name.”

After a pensive stare, he says, “Balor.”

Damn, that’s a sexy name.

“Balor,” I whisper, liking the way it rolls off my tongue. “Like valor.”

“I don’t mind the comparison.” He smiles like I’ve pleased him somehow.

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