Pairing: Bálor XReader
Overall Summary:It's Thanksgiving—the start of your favorite time of year. Now a successful author, you love to pay it forward and give back in thanks for all the possessions and blessings you've accumulated over recent years. You know what it is to be poor and hungry, so on Thanksgiving day when you come across a homeless man you do everything in your power to help him.
However he's not exactly what he led you to believe he is. He's more. Much more. In truth, he has everything he could ever desire. With the exception of one thing... Love.
You.
Part 1 Summary: You reflect back on last year's chaotic Thanksgiving holiday as you prepare meals for the homeless.
Disclaimers: I own nothing or anyone associated or affiliated with WWE. I own only the original characters. This is just a fictional story that came from my imagination.
Story Content & Trigger Warnings: Some violence, some fluff and a lot of smut. And some mind/body manipulation. This story is absolutely not for readers under the age of 18.
The Demon King's Favorite Holiday
Part 1
You sighed softly as you bagged up the overwhelmingly numerous sandwiches you'd made up for the Thanksgiving holiday. It was tradition for you every year to make a ton of hot turkey sandwiches and sack them up with bags of potato chips and bottled water to hand out to the homeless around the city on Thanksgiving night. Sure, you could always volunteer at a soup kitchen, or make a huge monetary donation to the salvation army or something similar—and you did those things as well, but that just wasn't your favorite way of giving. You enjoyed doing something more personal—more hands on. You were asked so many times, "How did you get to be so passionate about aiding the less fortunate?" Your answer surely always seemed mundane and repetitive, but it was nevertheless true and genuine:
You could empathize.
You knew what it was like to be poor and hungry. Thankfully, you'd never had to be without a roof over your head. But as a child, teenager, and even through some of your adult years you'd gone to bed with an empty belly. Sometimes, you'd lie awake at night thinking up stories in your head to get your mind off the rumbling of your stomach until you could fall asleep. Which was how you came to love story-telling.
Now, as a successful author with a writing career you'd worked yourself to death to obtain, you had everything you needed and pretty much anything you wanted. You were blessed. And you were thankful. And what better way to show your gratitude than to give back? You paid it forward any time there was an opportunity, but it always seemed so much more special around holiday time. It was your favorite time of the year, as well as your favorite time to help others and lift their spirits if even for only a few minutes.
You sighed again as you placed another wrapped sandwich in a bag with shaking hands. "Except now... I'm scared," you uttered softly. And alone, you added to yourself; sadness changing your mood from bad to worse. Then you rolled your eyes at yourself. "Get over it. He changed his mind. That's all there is to it." You'd have thought the past Thanksgiving was simply a dream, it had been so crazy. But, you looked down at the claddagh ring that absolutely would not come off your left ring finger. It had not been there on Thanksgiving night, but you woke up the next morning to find it glinting in the sunlight.
It wasn't a dream, that much you knew. That night had been frightening—at first. Then it was... romantic. Delicious. And then it—he—was gone. And you hadn't been the same since.
Deciding you needed a short break from packing up the food, you left the kitchen and entered your den. After crossing the room to your favorite puffy armchair, you curled up in it and reflected back on the past Thanksgiving night. The night that had changed your life as you knew it—frightened you and made you question your sanity. But it also left you feeling unbalanced. You'd felt love—briefly. Then it was snatched away from you and left you a depressed shell of yourself. Your past year had been one hell of an emotional roller coaster.
You'd just about finished up handing out your home-made turkey sandwiches; you only had a couple left in your huge duffle bag. You smiled, thinking back on the people you were able to converse with and offer a few moments of companionship as you gave them a meal for the holiday.
You were only a few blocks away from your elegant townhouse when you spotted a feeble elderly woman hunched over—seemingly in pain and trying to make her way down the street.
"Hello," you called out to her. "Ma'am, are you okay?" You hurried up to the skinny old woman and lightly touched her bony back with your hand. "Let me help you." You bent down a little so you could see her face. Blood streamed from her temple and dripped down her cheek. "Oh, no," you gasped, "What happened to you? Let me call you an ambulance." You fumbled in your coat pocket for your cell phone only to have it batted from your hand immediately. You cried out from the force of the blow and took a step back. Something was far from right.
"Y'r sweet, kind li'l heart makes d'is so easy," a low, seductive female voice proclaimed, thick with an Irish accent. It seemed to come from the little old lady. "Like stealin' candy from a babe."
"Ex-excuse me," you stammered slightly, beginning to feel your fight or flight response kicking into high gear.
"Why Bálor wants you—a mere mortal li'l human... I'll never know. Especially when 'ee could have an immortal like me." She remained stooped over as she spoke, which you found quite unnerving.
"Wh-what?" Your voice cracked slightly as you backed up another couple of steps. "I d-don't know what you-" You swallowed hard, fighting the nausea churning around in your stomach. "What you're talking a-about."
Bálor, you thought. What's a Bálor? She claims to be immortal... Has she lost her mind?
Slowly the woman rose to stand. She reached her full height and seemed to tower over you. The gleaming silver hair that adorned her head seemed to darken, and the wrinkles on her face began fading. Within seconds, a stunning young woman with long hair, black as pitch stood before you. She was dressed in a rather provocative red dress with a plunging neckline down to her waist and a slit in the skirt that went all the way up to her hip.
It was then that you began wondering if it was your own mind that was lost. An injured frail old woman had just transformed into a young woman before your very eyes! Had it been Halloween, you'd have thought it was just some elaborate prank.
But it's not freaking Halloween, you thought, dropping your duffle bag and preparing to flee. It's Thanksgiving!
Having seen enough, you turned and ran the other direction; bolting down the street as tears burned your eyes. You had no idea where you were going. You only knew you had to get away! A sob burst past your lips as you ran. You had no idea how long you'd been running when you found yourself roaming through a bedraggled looking neighborhood—what many people would refer to as 'the wrong side of the tracks'.
"I don't care where I am," you whispered to yourself, swiping at your tears. "As long as I'm away from her!"
Suddenly exhausted, you walked to the side of the deserted street and sat down on a curb, trying to catch your breath. You were in very good shape, but you realized you must've ran two miles at least! You rubbed your temples trying to ease away the tension headache that developed behind your eyes.
I need to find a phone and call a cab, you thought, resting your head against your knees. I'd never make it home by foot as tired as I am now. You stood to your feet and took in your surroundings, trying to figure out the best direction to move in when you heard a footstep nearby. Spinning around, you caught sight of a man's silhouette. The moonlight cast shadows all around him and prevented you from making out his features. He appeared to be fairly tall, trim, and wearing a dark suit along with a long black coat belted at his waist.
Instinctively, you took a step back just as he spoke.
"Are ya alright, lass?"
His voice was melodic—soothing, and held a thick Irish accent just like the woman who'd frightened you so terribly. And he seemed a little too good to be true; happening up at just the right moment.
It could be that... that woman again—disguised, you thought, stumbling back a step. "Fool me once, shame on you," you uttered softly, almost as if it was some incantation that would protect you. "Fool me twice..."
You didn't stick around long enough to finish the expression, instead you turned and bolted down the street.
"Please, don't run from me, mo banríon."
The soft voice vibrated gently through your head. "Stop it," you cried out loud, covering your ears with your hands even though his voice wasn't being picked up by your ears. It was inside your head.
"I can't... I won't..."
"Stop! Please!"
Quickly, you flung yourself around a corner and sprinted down a dark alley. Maybe not the wisest of choices, but it certainly provided some potential hiding places. You dove behind a dumpster and crouched down, hoping he—or she—wouldn't spot you. You sat there silently, shaking and scared out of your mind when a sudden icy chill shuddered through your body. Cold breath brushed over the back of your neck just as a hand with freezing skin clamped tightly over your mouth.
"I do love a good game of hide-an'-seek—even d'ough 'tis not remotely a challenge fer me."
You tried to scream; attempted to throw your elbows back into your attacker, but she already held you in a vice-like grip, pinning your arms to your body.
"I normally only drink a man's blood, but I'd love to help myself t' y'rs—ya smell delicious. But, unfortunately, I'm in a wee bit of a hurry seein' as Bálor is close by." Your coat was torn away from your body and you struggled some more as you tried to make sense of her words. Then there was a sharp jab to your chest. You felt a slight pricking and a lot of pressure built up within your lungs, making it difficult to breath. Your head went light and you felt as if you were floating. The woman's arms released you and you clung to the dumpster so as to stay standing. Wet warmth ran down your chest and stomach. The wind was knocked from you then as you were suddenly slammed up against the brick wall behind you.
"Oh, y'r blood... The smell is s' rich." The woman hissed in your ear, now in front of you and trapping you against the wall. "Alas, I canna resist a taste..."
"No..." You barely managed to croak out. Wh-what...a-are you?"
The beautiful woman grinned, fangs reaching down to her chin. She was no longer beautiful. And it hit you then—one moment of clarity within your muddled mind. Her beauty was merely an illusion. An illusion used to lure and entice her victims into a false sense of security.
"I'm Dearg-due." She rattled off some foreign term as if you knew what it meant. Then she scoffed at you with obvious disdain. "I'm a vampire, you imbecilic girl." She latched onto your hand and gripped it tightly. "And I am hungry..."
You tried to scream, but the protest came out a pathetic wheezed whimper. Your resistance went ignored as the creature lifted your arm upward to her mouth and sank her teeth into your wrist. Puzzled that you heard your own flesh tear but didn't feel much pain as her teeth pierced your skin, you instantly grew more dizzy. The vampire moaned in delight as your blood flowed freely into her mouth.
"S-someone... H-help me..." you whispered shakily, pushing at her face, but she simply dug her scarlet nails into your arm and pulled you closer—drank more greedily. "Please..." You grew cold all over as your blood left your body.
"SCAOIL MO BANRÍON, BITSEACH!"
The strange Irishman's voice roared out in the alley, and in the next instant the creature was ripped away from you. Once again, you clung to the dumpster to gain your equilibrium, tears streaming down your face. "I've gone crazy," you panted out. Your head was down as you rested it against the hard metal of the huge garbage receptacle, but you could clearly hear the sound of tearing flesh and spraying blood. Amidst the horrific sounds, you also heard the evil woman screeching in agony, until her screams finally died down to nothing.
With a sob, you lifted your head and wearily eyed the man who'd—you hoped—just saved your life. You could see him better now. He was tall—taller than you, by far. His dark hair was short, cropped close to his head. A mustache and neatly trimmed beard adorned his insanely handsome face and framed a sensuous mouth with slightly full lips. His light skin was flawless and he had the bluest of eyes that seemed to light up the alley.
He was absolutely breathtaking.
"Are ya all right, agra?"
His voice was soft—tender and caring. Realizing you had little left to lose, you decided to put what little trust you had left, in him. Shakily, you moved away from the dumpster, and showed him your wrist.
"I t-think so... Other than this," you said softly, motioning to your wrist. "She... She b-bit me... and hit me in the chest... or something... But I think I'm okay now-" You stopped as you noticed his intense blue gaze trained on your chest. Something resembling fear crossed his face. Perplexed, you looked down at yourself and saw a massive red stain covering the front of your cream-colored cashmere sweater.
A dagger protruded from your heart.
"Oh," you gasped softly. "She stabbed... I'm..." You couldn't seem to form a coherent sentence as your brain clouded over. Blankly, you reached up and pulled the knife from your heart. The stab of pain that roared through your chest buckled your knees. As if in slow motion, the dagger slipped from your hand, and you felt yourself falling; a soft whimper passing your lips as you went down.
Strong arms went around you before you could hit the pavement, and eased you to the ground so you were lying down.
"Nay," the man uttered in earnest, ripping your sweater open at the front. "Nay! You won't die. "Ní chuirfidh mé in iúl duit."
"Hel-help... me, pl-please..."
"I will, love," he said, gently checking your wounds. He cursed loudly when he saw how much blood was pooling underneath you. "Why didn't ya stay wit' me? I would've never allowed d'a fuckin' bitch t' touch ya. Ya wouldda been safe, lass." His soft words seemed scolding, but his tone was a combination of regret, fear, and self-loathing.
You watched through blurring vision as he hurriedly pulled off his coat and suit jacket, then rolled up one of the sleeves of his black dress shirt. "I w-was... scared..." you managed to whisper to him.
He nodded in understanding, realizing that he'd frightened you as badly as the vampire had. He held his fingers over the harsh bite at your wrist and closed his eyes, murmuring something in another language. Instantly you felt the pain in your limb begin to dissipate.
"Wh-what... H-how'd you... do that...?" you asked, your voice wavering slightly. "Who... a-are you?"
"Irish healing magic, m' love," he replied gently. "I'm Bálor. An' d'at's all ya need t' know right now."
"You're Bálor?" Your voice grew weaker as more blood flowed from your rapid-beating heart.
With a nod, he lifted his arm to his mouth and bit into the meaty flesh of his forearm without so much as a flinch. You cried out softly, horrified by what you were seeing.
"Shhh," he reassured you, as he held his forearm over your chest wound. "Ye'll be fine, love. I'm goin' t' take care o' ya."
His blood dripped into your wound and you tried to reach up and move his arm away. "Blood type..." Was all you had the strength to utter.
"Ya don't need t' worry 'bout d'at,muirnīn. Ye'll find d'at my blood is a wee bit special in your case." He shook his head almost regretfully. "I didn't want t' have t' do d'is so soon. The bonding shouldn't happen yet. But I have to. Ye've lost too much blood. Ye'll die if I don't."
The pain in your chest began to dispel as Bálor again closed his eyes and muttered in the other language. Warmth tingled at the tips of your fingers and toes and then began moving up your legs and arms. You whimpered softly at the reassuring heat.
"Yer wound is closin' up quickly," Bálor whispered near your ear. "Do ya feel d'a warmth?"
You nodded, still weak but less frightened.
"My blood is minglin' wit' yers. Da heat is just yer body's way of adaptin' t' the change. Ye'll feel sleepy soon, but t'will also-"
You cut his words off with a sharp gasp as the soothing, tingling heat finally reached the apex of your thighs as well as your breasts. The warmth took on a seductive tone as it roamed over you, as if a lover's hands and mouth were caressing you and stroking you in the most intimate of places. A soft moan passed your lips, and you felt Bálor take your hand in his; kissing the back of it.
"But 'twill also make ya climax," he finished softly. "Don't be afraid. Just let it happ'n, honey."
"I've lost my mind," you whispered, your back bowing against the ground as your body began to burn and tighten with tension. "This can't be-" Your words halted momentarily as your core fluttered softly. "C-can't be real." Your head shifted against the gravelly concrete, and you felt Bálor lift your body into his lap, cradling you in his arms so you'd be more comfortable.
"'Tis real," he said, tracing his lips over your temple. "'Tis very real."
Slowly, as if testing for your reaction, his hand traveled up your stomach and lightly traced where your wound had been. An electric-like current made you jolt at his touch and shuddered through your body. You whimpered softly, arching your back and all but begging for more of his touch.
"Y'r wound is gone," Bálor mumbled. His head bent down and his soft, wet lips brushed over the healed area. The electric sensation zapped you hard this time and your heart felt as if it was sprouting goosebumps as he kissed your chest. A sudden rush of pleasure swept to your womb and settled there, driving you out of your mind and wreaking havoc on your body in the most delectable way possible.
"Oh, please..." You moaned an almost agonized sound as you writhed in his lap.
"I canna take ya. Not yet," Bálor whispered. "And I wouldn't want t' in d'is foul place." You watched as his sapphire eyes scanned the atrocious setting with disdain. "But, I will help ya wit' yer climax, if ya want, love."
Your core felt as if it was expanding and dilating as his delicious voice washed over you. You cried out and your head threw back of its own accord.
"Do ya want me t' touch ya, banríon álainn?"
"Please," you gasped out. Your voice was frantic. "I'm sorry... I'm n-not... a p-promiscuous person... B-but... I need you... s-so much..." You knew you weren't making much sense, but the sensations flooding your body made it impossible to think coherently.
Little did you know, it was only going to get worse—or better. All in how you looked at it.
"I know, m' love," Bálor barely whispered into your ear, nuzzling the skin behind it. "I know all 'bout ya. I've watched over ya f'r years... I know ye're a virgin. Completely untouched and meant for me—ye're mine, Y/N. And d'at's why ye're reactin' da way ya are." He paused a moment and brushed his thumb over your full bottom lip eliciting a full-body shudder from you. "S' beautiful..."
"Please, Bálor... Touch me," your tone was begging, and your body arched toward his, hungry for more of his touch. You flushed in embarrassment at your actions. I must seem like such a slut, you thought, repulsed at yourself, begging a man I've just met to all but make love to me. A tear slipped down your cheek in mortification. Bálor immediately brushed it away with the pad of his thumb.
"Don't cry, love," he said. "Ye're not a 'slut', as ya put it. Ye'll come whether I help ya or not." He smiled softly at you, and swiped another tear away. "'Tis because I've bonded us, when I gave you my blood. A climax is the result."
Before you could wonder how he heard your thoughts, he gave a sudden wave of his hand and the next thing you knew, you were both in a soft, huge four-poster bed. Curtains of fire surrounded it, making yours and Bálor's skin glow and flicker with the dancing flames. Red satin sheets surrounded you, brushing erotically against the bared skin of your torso. Bálor lay behind you, but quickly pulled you flush up against his front. His arms wrapped around you, and a surge of what felt like an intense case of butterflies flew throughout your body. A soft whine passed your lips as one of his hands brushed over your stomach.
And it occurred to you that this all had to be a dream. There's no way this other-worldly gorgeous Irishman has the hots for little ol' me, you thought sardonically. Not to mention the fact he was doing things that were downright impossible.
"I' m not going to let your first climax happen in that decrepit alley. Now, tell me what ya want, mo banríon," he whispered in your hair. "Show me."
"Touch me," you pleaded, leaning back into his muscled frame.
"I am touching ya."
You could hear a smile in his voice, which infuriated you and made you even more frantic with the need to feel his hands on your body.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
Your accusing tone seemed to amuse him even more. "Oh, yes, l'il lovely," he chuckled, tugging on your earlobe with his teeth. Your core shuddered then with sharp little flutters that burned all the way to your womb. You cried out softly, gripping at the sheets, the pillow underneath your head, Bálor's wrist—anything that would provide you some stability from the mind-blowing sensations shooting through your body. "I'm enjoyin' it immensely. Take my hand an' show me where ya want me t' touch ya."
It's only a dream, you told yourself. Might as well enjoy it to the fullest.
Panting with need, you snatched one of his hands and tugged it to your breast, pushing it underneath the cup of your bra. You relished in the feel of his warm fingers caressing the soft globe. Your head tossed back onto his shoulder and you moaned loudly. Your hips began rolling of their own accord and consequently grinding your rounded bottom into Bálor's arousal. You heard him growl into your hair then.
"I still have a free hand, mo mil beag. Where else should I touch ya?"
You nearly yelped as his fingers began plucking at your hardened nipple. The flutters in your core transitioned quickly into threatening spasms. Shakily, you grabbed his remaining hand and with only a moment's hesitation, pushed it down into the front of your jeans and past the waist band of your panties. Immediately, his expert fingers sought your core, lightly tracing his fingers through your slick folds.
"Tá tú chomh fliuch domsa. S' very, very wet."
You barely heard the uttered words over your loud cry. You were coiling inside; tighter and tighter in the pit of your stomach. You could feel Bálor's hips thrusting against your backside rhythmically. A soft sound resembling a purr rumbled in your throat.
"Ya sound just like a kitten," he whispered. "Do ya like d'at? Hmmm, love? Do you like what I'm doin' t' ya?"
You had no time to answer as his fingers shifted and then he was barely stroking the hardened little pearl of nerves between your thighs. Your back arched almost painfully as you cried out. The pressure built in your pelvis, but Bálor showed no mercy as he teased your clit.
"D'at's it," he whispered, kissing your neck. His fingers strummed hard over your nipple, sending shock-waves all the way to your core. "Don't hold back, love. I wanna hear every scream, every moan. D'ey belong t' me—just like you." He nipped the skin of your neck then and smiled at your tense moan. "Let me hear ya say it, honey. Tell me ye're mine."
Your teeth snagged your bottom lip and hung on to it as the friction of his fingers scraped lightly over your clit.
"Come on, l'il kitten..." Bálor's melodic voice coaxed, literally pulling you further into your orgasmic bliss. His hand abandoned your breast and shifted down to your legs, tugging one up at the knee so you were more open to him. His fingers quickened, and rubbed furiously at the little pearl. "Tell me."
Your center hummed and tightened even more and you felt yourself slowly becoming rigid. "I'm... y-yours, Bálor..." you cried. "Yours... I'm yours! Completely!"
"D'at's my sweet queen," he murmured in your ear. He groaned softly, his hips thrusting once again. "I t'ink I'll reward ya, love..." He nipped your earlobe again, and softly whispered in your ear, just one word:
"Come."
Instantly, your body froze and seemed to almost petrify as your core's walls tightened and coiled more and more, burning as they stretched. You screamed as you arched against him and then your body erupted. Spasm after delicious spasm vibrated through your core as your clit throbbed and pulsed while Bálor continued stroking it.
You were just starting to come down from the climax, when Bálor mumbled again into your ear; a note of satisfaction in his tone. "Come. Harder."
You gasped as your core and entire body tightened up to the point you almost couldn't breathe. Then you erupted again and screamed his name through the spasms that rocketed through you.
"D'at's it. D'ere ya go, m' love."
His soft voice coaxed a few more tremors from your lithe frame and then he shifted you so you were both face to face and his clothed body was knelt between your thighs. He spoke once again.
"Look at me, honey. Look into my eyes."
Breathing hard, you did as he commanded. Your gaze shifted up to his, and you gasped. His sapphire-colored eyes were now glowing orbs of scarlet.
"I want t' watch y'r face d'is time."
"B-Bálor," you started, feeling drained. "Please, I-I can't any-anymore." Your words slurred out breathlessly. "T-too much..."
His lips turned up in a gorgeous smile and he licked his sensuous lips, slowly. "D'ere's no such t'ing as too much pleasure, kitten." he murmured, gazing at your mouth. "Oh, I'm going t' have SO much fun teachin' ya what y'r body is capable of—how much pleasure ya can truly handle. Humans t'ink d'eir borin' sex lives're so gratifyin'." He scoffed and shook his head, then scanned your face with his reddened eyes; settling on your gaze. "Idiots. D'ey have no fuckin' idea..." He slowly rolled his hips against yours, letting you feel his erection through the fabric of his pants. You gasped at the pressure building within you yet again, and so quickly.
"Can I look at you," you asked suddenly, eyeing his dark suit. "Touch you?"
"Please do," Bálor chuckled, brushing his lips over your cheek. "I'm dyin' t' see what d'ose l'il hands o' y'rs will feel like on my body."
His lips twitched in amusement as you eagerly reached up and ripped his black dress shirt open. Buttons scattered to the four winds—you couldn't get to his skin quick enough. You shoved the shirt over his shoulders and discarded it, eyeing his chest and stomach. Slightly intimidated, you lifted your hand to his chest, grazing your fingertips lightly over one of his pebbled nipples. He hissed in response, almost as if your touch scalded him. A quick look up at his face, however, let you know that it was anything but pain he was feeling. Your fingers slid downward, brushing over each and every ripple of smooth muscle in his stomach. A soft, frustrated moan emerged from his mouth as you inspected his washboard abs.
"You're amazing," you whispered, glancing up at him. "You're so..."
"Hard," he finished for you, with a lifted eyebrow. He took your hand and guided it lower, to the impressive tent formed at the crotch of his suit pants. He settled your hand on his arousal and encouraged you to feel it—to stroke it. "Tell me somethin' I don't know, love."
You felt your face flush at his bluntness, and distracted yourself by exploring the hard tent within the fabric of his pants. Your fingertips found the tip of his erection and gently prodded it; ran your fingers over the head, again and again. Your gaze shifted to Bálor's face, curious of his reaction to your ministrations. His jaw was clenched, eyes closed, bottom lip tucked between his teeth. A tiny rivulet of blood dripped down his chin.
"Don't," you exclaimed, releasing him. You reached up and urged him to release his lip. "Don't hurt yourself."
"Can't help it, honey. Y'r hands feel s' good on me. And d'at's when I still have some clothes on. I can't begin t' imagine how ye'll feel skin on skin."
You felt your face burn again at the mental images he was implanting in your head: His muscled frame pinning you to the bed, his hips rolling sensuously against yours in a slow, tortuous rhythm. His mouth on you; everywhere. Your fingers curling into his taut backside as your head tossed back and you cried out.
Shyly, you brushed your hand over his cheek. It's a dream, you reminded yourself. I might as well enjoy it. "You're more than welcome to find out."
A look of torture crossed his handsome face. "I will—we will. But not tonight." You must have looked crestfallen, because he hurried to spare your feelings. "Trust me, kitten. I want to. I want not'ing more d'an t' rip our clothes off and just... bury myself inside ya. But, I can't yet."
Suddenly, you were furious, and you glared at him. This was your dream. How dare it not cooperate! You latched onto the back of his neck with your hands yanking his face closer to yours, and wrapped your legs around his sculpted waist. "Freaking. Make. Love. To. Me. Jerk," you demanded, staring into his eyes; willing him to obey. You'd never had a dream you couldn't control. You weren't about to start now.
Bálor seemed puzzled as he scanned your face. Suddenly, his handsome face broke out into a huge grin. "Ya t'ink d'is is just a dream, don't ya, lass?" He chuckled as he tenderly traced your bottom lip with his thumb.
You promptly bit it.
"Ouch!" His startled yelp brought you a little satisfaction. He looked up at you in astonishment. "Ya bit me!"
"You were being a jackass," you returned. "Now, if you're through making a fool of me in my own dream, I think I'll wake up and get on with my life. Thank you very much for the little quickie," you snapped, shifting and turning onto your side; consequently throwing Bálor off balance and he fell to the mattress.
You'd just risen from the bed, having initially been enthralled by his curtains of fire, when you were yanked back onto the mattress, Bálor pinning you against the pillows.
"A 'little quickie', kitten?" His voice had gotten low, almost threatening.
"Wound your pride, did I," you shot at him. "Now, you know what it feels like!"
"My pride is fully in tact, love," he said, his voice still held a tone of warning. His eyes were slowly fading from red to pitch black. "No, you just issued me a challenge. If ya t'ink what I made ya feel before was merely a li'l quickie... Ye've not felt anyt'ing yet..."
Your breathing quickened as you realized what you'd done. Part of you wondered if you'd survive, and the other part of you was long past ready for the party to start.
Bálor dipped his head down and lightly kissed your shoulder. "Ya really have no idea what ye've awakened in me, sweetheart. Add in d'a fact d'at I can't even claim ya tonight, and... Well, I'm goin' t' be one very frustrated king."
"Bálor, please," you started, reaching up with your hands and running your fingers through his hair; hoping to calm him a little. "I'm sorry. I-"
Your words were cut off as he grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head. "Tsk-tsk," he admonished you, his face close to yours. "Too late f'r d'at, lovey. Ya brought d'is on y'rself." Seeing the fear on your face, his tone softened and his hand came up to brush over your hair. "I won't hurt ya—never. But ye're damn sure gonna learn t' not insult my ability t' satisfy ya again."
He released your wrists, only to make a parting motion with his hands, and your clothes instantly disintegrated into thin air. A shocked gasp shot past your lips and by reflex, you moved to cover yourself. Bálor sort of smirked down at you as the remainder of his clothes disappeared as well. Your gaze slid over his naked, muscled body in awe. There didn't appear to be an ounce of fat on his sculpted frame. Your eyes shifted down between his legs, and you couldn't stop the intimidated whimper that escaped your throat.
Bálor smiled almost adoringly at you as he drank in the erotic sight of your naked body. "Ye're s' beautiful—from y'r head t' y'r toes. And no o'ter man will ever touch ya. D'ey'll die if d'ey even try." He lowered his head again and then his mouth was traveling down the valley between your breasts. Instantly, your back arched, urging him to shift his attention to your breasts directly.
"Not yet, honey," he whispered as he kissed your sternum. "I'm in control, not you."
"I need-"
"Teacht," he said suddenly, his tone soft but commanding.
With absolutely no warning, your body erupted with an orgasm. You cried out as your frame shuddered with each spasm through your core. Your hips thrusted through the climax, frantic for his touch.
"Feel good?"
You nodded, breathless and already growing exhausted.
"Ya want s' more?"
You nodded again, frenzied this time. "Please."
He grinned as he leaned down and kissed the soft globe of one of your breasts.
"Oh, Bálor... please..."
"As you wish, m' love," he whispered, and kissed your breast once more. Then your breath caught in your throat as he finally latched onto one of your nipples with his mouth. You shifted your hands, trying to curl your fingers into his hair, but he stopped you.
"No moving, love. And no touching me. This is about you." He whispered something in Irish then and your body melted against the mattress, limp and immobile. Your eyes grew heavy, but you remained awake.
"T'ink of d'at as my own special form o' conscious sedation," he chuckled. "Ye'll feel every single t'ing I do t' ya, but you won't be able t' move. But feel free t' scream, kitten. I love da sound of y'r moans and cries, so I'm not doin' anyt'ing to prevent da use o' y'r voice."
Within the fog he'd placed you in, you wondered if you should be frightened. But you couldn't bring yourself to be scared. He wasn't going to hurt you—he'd made that clear.
"Teacht."
Another climax claimed you, and seemed to intensify when your body only laid limp and helpless on the bed. A frantic cry ripped from you as you struggled to move. The erratic throbbing in your center traveled up to your womb.
You were just starting to come down when Bálor lowered himself down onto you and kissed your neck. "Did ya feel d'at?"
"Y-yes," you panted. "Yes, I did."
He nuzzled your shoulder and cupped your breast in his hand, strumming his fingers over the hard peak. "Teacht."
Your breathing quickened as another orgasm washed through you. Just as it peaked, Bálor whispered in your ear, "Teacht." A choked moan burst from your throat as another orgasm tore through you before the first one had even finished.
"Ohhh, ya felt d'at f'r sure, didn't ya?" Bálor chuckled, then leaned down and tugged one of your nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it over and over. "Teacht... Teacht... Teacht!"
"Oh, please, Bálor... Please..." you gasped out as three separate climaxes hit you and melded into one colossal orgasm. It scorched through you and settled directly in your core. Spasms and sharp flutters took your breath and rolled your eyes back in your head. "I-I can't... It's s-so..."
"I'm not done wit' ya yet, love. I don't t'ink ya've quite learned yer lesson." He smiled down at you and kissed the tip of your nose. "And besides... Do ya really, truly want me t' stop?"
"N-no," you admitted without hesitation. "Never felt something like this before." You met his eyes and pleaded, "But, please... Let me move now? I want to touch you. I want to hold onto you," you finished with a scarlet flush to your cheeks.
"Soon, m' love," he answered with a smile. "I love t' watch y'r face. It says everyt'ing d'at y'r body can't. It's quite breathtakin'." He leaned down again, brushing his lips across your collarbone before nibbling it. "Y'r eyes go wide." His mouth skimmed lightly up your neck placing scattered little kisses along the tender skin. "Your lips part..." He kissed your jawline a couple times before kissing a path to your ear. "I can hear ya gaspin' for air..." The tip of his tongue flicked across your earlobe a few times, tickling it and making your toes curl involuntarily, despite the spell he'd used on you. "And da sounds d'at pass d'ose pretty lips o' yers just makes me wanna say t' hell wit' it, and make ya mine right now."
"Then do it," you cried in desperation. "Take me!"
"On our weddin' night," he said softly. "Ye're pure. And I want it t' stay d'at way until our weddin' night." He puffed out a sigh. "As difficult as 'tis, it'll be da perfect way t' celebrate." His gaze went hungry as he looked into your eyes. "T' know d'at when I slip inside ya, 'twill be da first time ye've ever been claimed... Takes m' breat' away."
"But if this is just a dream," you argued, "It'll never happen if you don't do it now! I don't want to wake up and-"
"Teacht," he said suddenly, and your body erupted with no warning whatsoever. You knew he was just distracting you from your argument, but you couldn't bring yourself to care as the orgasm whirled through you, stealing your breath.
"Look at me, now," Bálor said softly. "I want t' see y'r eyes watchin' me as ya come."
Obediently, you met his gaze. His eyes were red again.
"Don't look away from me," he commanded. "And don't close yer eyes." A second later he spoke, "Teacht domsa."
Your core tightened instantly, and fighting the urge to clench your eyes shut, you screamed instead as the climax plowed through you. Your inner muscles were growing fatigued and achy with what your body was being put through, but the minor pain seemed to exacerbate the pleasure instead of dulling it.
Bálor parted your legs then and settled between them, watching your face intently; taking in every detail, every sign of your pleasure. He admired the sweat glistening on your body and gave a prideful smile because he knew he was responsible for it. "S' stunnin'," he whispered. His gaze moved back to yours again, "I want t' hear ya moan my name, love. You sound s' amazin'. Can't imagine how my name will sound when ya cry it out." He lowered himself and kissed the side of your neck before mumbling in your ear: "Teacht."
"Touch me," you whispered breathlessly as your core clenched. "Please, touch me."
Immediately, you felt Bálor's mouth at one of your nipples again; suckling it roughly. He spread your limp legs further apart and then his thumb stroked violently at your clit. "Teacht. Teacht níos deacra." His tone was urgent, as if he was on the edge of losing control of himself.
Your breath hitched as the orgasm built upon itself and traveled lazily up through your body, as if it had a mind of its own and was deliberately toying with you. You had the strong notion that Bálor had something to do with it. And you fully welcomed the slow burn torturing you as you sobbed out his name. You felt his lips brush over your shoulder as the orgasm continued to surge within you.
"Let me hear ya again, sweetheart." His voice was thicker—filled with emotion.
Your climax swelled into a crescendo then, and you cried out loudly, "BálorBálorBálorBálorBálorOhYesBálor!" You chanted his name over and over again, and was faintly aware of his soft growl in your ear, followed by a soft kiss to your temple.
"Sin mo banríon." he whispered as you quietened down. "Ye're s' damn perfect."
A contented sigh left you and you fought the urge to close your eyes and sleep when you heard Bálor utter something else in Irish. You could finally move. However, you didn't wish to. You just wanted to curl into him and fall asleep in his arms.
"No sleeping yet, honey," he said softly, shifting your legs to hug his waist. "Hold on to me." With a drowsy smile, you hugged your arms around his neck and nuzzled his jaw.
"You smell good," you slurred slightly, and giggled softly.
His chuckle rumbled near your ear, "Sounds like ye've almost learned yer lesson, agra."
And with that, he slid his hips over yours, scrubbing the underside of his arousal over your clit. Your head dropped back as you let out a soft sob of relief. The orgasms he'd given you were amazing, but still... nothing was better than real physical contact. Your core was already throbbing for release.
Bálor bit his lip again, stifling a growl. "Yeah, ya like d'at, don't ya, m' l'il queen?"
"Oh, yes," you said softly, "I do, Bálor. Please, don't stop."
He let his growl rip past his lips as he thrusted against you again. "I love m' name on yer lips, lovey."
"Keep going and you'll hear it a lot more," you replied, then moaned loudly as he brushed over a particularly sensitive area. Your core fluttered in approval. "Yes, Bálor. Right there. Feels... So a-amazing..." You slid your hand down and cupped it around his erection as he thrust against you. A loud curse shot from his mouth. "Does that feel good," you asked him, tightening your hand as he moved.
"Níl aon smaoineamh agat," he uttered. "Yes. It feels very good, sweetheart." He bit his lip once more. "I'm gonna come soon." He swallowed hard, and met your eyes. "I want t' mark ya, Y/N."
You nodded, and reached up with your free hand to cup his bearded cheek. "I want you to, also."
His thrusts became more frenzied and rough over your clit. You felt your core tighten to a painful level and all of a sudden, you tumbled over the edge into your orgasm. You heard Bálor mumble, "S' beautiful" as the rough spasms racked your frame. Then he let out a growl of tortured desperation before he roared. Wet warmth flooded over your stomach and flowed to your chest as you came down from your climax. Instinctively, you stroked your hand over Bálor's arousal, milking every bit of pleasure from him you could. He let out a sound that was a mixture of a moan, growl, and shout. Then he slumped over you, breathing hard. "Ní dhéanfaidh aon ní ... m-mar sin ... r-roimh ..." he stammered.
You smiled as he rolled to the side of you and pulled you with him. His lips pressed into the crown of your head and a contented groan rumbled in his chest.
To be in his arms was the safest you ever felt—the happiest. And the most loved.
"If I'd come inside ya, love, you'd be pregnant with my l'il babe right d'is very minute." There was a note of regret in his tone. "But d'at will happen soon enough." His lips kissed your head again as his arms tightened around you. "I can't wait to see our child growin' inside ya."
As darkness closed in on you, your throat vibrated in contentment at the beautiful visions he put in your head.
"Oh, how I love t' make my l'il kitten purr," he whispered in your ear.
Your consciousness fell away gradually. You were only vaguely aware of the sensation of being cleaned up, gently; then carried, your limbs hanging limply and useless before you were laid on another bed. It felt familiar to you. My bed, you realized, as you grew sleepier.
"Is breá liom tú. Soon, I'll come back for you." You heard Bálor's voice rustle softly at your ear. You felt something slip onto your left ring finger, and then with a slight smile, you welcomed sleep. Blackness claimed you, and you felt a whisper of warm lips brush over your cheek.
You came back to yourself; back from the sweet reverie of that night. You found tears streaming down your face and didn't even bother to wipe them away. Why bother? There'd be many more to replace them. You bit back a sob as you gazed down at the claddagh ring on your left hand. You'd woken up the morning after Thanksgiving with it on your ring finger, and it absolutely would not come off.
You'd thought that night was a dream, and you still wondered to be honest. You felt as if you were going crazy. You had the most amazing night of your life—a night full of evil and good; magic, love. It was just insanely unrealistic. Yet you woke up naked, with the ring on your hand and you were wrapped in a red satin bed sheet; the clean smell of Bálor'scologne clinging to your skin.
It had to be real, you thought, looking at the ring again. More tears trickled from your eyes. "But if it was, he lied to me. He never came back for me." You curled up further in the arm chair and buried your face against your knees; sobbing.
There'd not been a day pass since that night that you'd not wept in your grief. The first night or two after Bálorhad returned you to your bed, you'd lain awake; both frightened of what you'd gone through with the vampire who'd tried to kill you, and sad at the loss of Bálor. After a few minutes of the heart-wrenching sobs racking through your body, you could've sworn you felt Bálor'sarms close around you. But no one was in the bed with you. Nonetheless, the feeling of security and love blanketed you and helped you to sleep. But you didn't feel it again after that. And your hours of sleep each night dwindled.
"He must've changed his mind about me," you thought out loud, rising from the chair. You went down the hall and headed back into the kitchen. Picking up your cell phone, you dialed the new number in your contact's list intent on canceling the blind date you'd been pushed into for the next day. Your agent had thought it was a bright idea to set you up on a date with one of his newest authors.
"You never get out anymore, Y/N," he'd said. "And you haven't written a word in almost a year. You've not been the same since last Thanksgiving. I don't know what happened, but this isn't healthy—you need to get out and actually live your life. This guy is perfect for you. You both have a lot in common." At your silence, he'd added, "If you won't do this for yourself, then please, do it for me."
The guilt trip was well-played because you wound up agreeing.
Except now, you just flat didn't feel any desire to do anything but lay up in your bed and cry.
You were jarred from your thoughts when the familiar male voice answered. You cleared your throat and tried to sound as if you'd not been crying your heart out only minutes before.
"Hi. It's Y/N. Listen... I'm really sorry, but I'm afraid I won't be able to follow through with our date tomorrow night."
"Well, that's really disappointing, Y/N, but it's okay. Are you all right? You sound a little sick."
You decided to go with that. It was as good an excuse as any.
"Yes, I'm okay. But I am sick, actually. I seem to have caught a bad cold. Maybe we could take a rain check?"
"Of course! Take care of yourself, and we'll go on our date when you feel better."
You smiled slightly. "Thanks so much for understanding, Kenny. I'll talk to you soon."
With that, you hung up the phone, and finished preparing the meals you'd be handing out a little later.
Translations (According To Google Translate, As Well As in the Irish section):
"Mo banríon" - "My queen"
"SCAOIL MO BANRÍON, BITSEACH!" - "RELEASE MY QUEEN, BITCH!"
"Ní chuirfidh mé in iúl duit." - "I won't let you."
"Muirnīn" - "Darling"
"Banríon álainn" - "Beautiful queen"
"Mo mil beag" - "My little honey"
"Tá tú chomh fliuch domsa." - "You're so wet for me."
"Teacht" - "Come"
"Teacht domsa" - "Come for me"
"Teacht níos deacra" - "Come harder"
"Sin mo banríon." - "That's my queen."
"Níl aon smaoineamh agat." - "You have no idea."
"Ní dhéanfaidh aon ní ... m-mar sin ... r-roimh ..." - "Nothing...l-like that...b-before..."
"Is breá liom tú." - "I love you."