CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Ella
T he following Monday, Balor and I robotically stick to our routine. On Friday after my medical emergency, Trace drove me home and I didn’t hear from Balor all weekend.
I also haven’t looked at the box or Wesley’s letter. But it’s haunting me. I can’t stop looking over my shoulder. I’ve also decided not to tell Balor or my father. It’s none of their business.
Either of them.
This morning, I woke up Balor as usual and after I picked out his clothes, I left the bedroom.
Something feels so off with him. With us. We came so close to fooling around again and now he barely looks at me.
When the doorbell rings this time, I jump. But I smile seeing Erin, the stylist. “Hey, good morning.”
“Hi, good morning to you, too. I’m dropping this off for Mr. O’Rourke.”
I take the thick black garment bag, noting how heavy it is. “What is it?”
“His new tux. I had it tailored for him a few weeks ago. He didn’t need it until now.”
He needs a new tux now?
“Oh, right.” I play dumb. “And that’s for...”
“The Youth Music Program Fundraiser Saturday night.” She smiles. “All the O’Rourkes are going. I hear Mr. O’Rourke, the oldest brother, insists on the whole family attending. You know, show their strength. Their bond.”
My throat tightens. I get what she’s saying one hundred percent. I’ve pieced together that there are eight siblings, seven men and one sister. One brother is in Ireland as well as their parents. The six brothers who live here in Astoria and their five wives are a lot of damn O’Rourkes. A formidable group to screw with. Since they’re...
Mafia.
I wonder if Erin knows exactly who she does these stylist services for. She looks happy as a clam and not the least bit afraid.
“Well, I have to go. I have Mr. O’Rourke’s... Another one. I have a bunch of tuxes to deliver. See you soon.” She gives me a once-over. “You look nice. Do you like your new clothes?”
“I do. You were a great help. Thank you.” I smooth my new gray houndstooth pencil skirt with blue stitching.
Remembering how Jillian looked in one, I pushed aside my pride and wore the one Balor bought me. With a cashmere cardigan and a lace camisole underneath, I feel polished. And stronger.
I love how Balor looks at me when I’m dressed nicely.
After closing the front door, I take the garment bag upstairs.
Yesterday, Sara at Fredricks Elementary contacted me again. They can’t find an aide who’s a good fit for that little boy. She really wants me to take the position.
With these thoughts in my head, I walk into Balor’s bedroom without knocking. No point. He’d tell me to come in even stark naked. But he’s not in his bedroom, and his bed is still unmade.
I hang up the tux in his closet and then stand over the bed.
The messed-up covers look so damn sexy. I wonder if he’s brought one of his paid women here and fucked them in this bed. God, that hurts. I know he’s not been with anyone since me, but that won’t hold.
And I’m not sure I can bear it when his control breaks. Last week’s meltdowns proved that .
I pick up his pillow and smell it. The scent knocks me over. Woodsy, spice, and mint. I figured out that’s his shampoo.
A noise from the bathroom draws my attention and I tiptoe that way. A door separates the toilet from the vanity and shower.
Running water stills me. He’s in the shower. God, his body is amazing. I know I shouldn’t do this, but I push the door open slightly. A voice muffled behind the glass catches my attention.
“God, yeah. Take my cock,” he groans.
Oh shit...
I know he’s in there alone. That means he’s pleasuring himself. My core clenches, remembering his cock. Long and thick. Veiny but beautiful with a wide pillowy head that’s perfect.
“Let me fuck your ass, it’ll feel so fucking good...”
I close my eyes and my heart pounds. He did that to me in the shower.
Oh my God, is he imagining me?