Page 52 of Gunnar

Gunnar stares at me for a long moment, his expression shifting. He makes a sound that’s a mixture of laughter and a growl, and he pulls me close again. “Of course he’s jealous,” Gunnar ventures. He tilts my chin, his thumb brushing over my lower lip as his eyes fall to the erotic spread on my desk. “Look how well you take Daddy’s cock. Anyone with eyes could see how much you love it.”

I blink at him, shocked by the crude words falling from his lips in this moment of vulnerability. “Gunnar⁠—”

“I’m serious,” he says, with a wicked gleam in his eyes, a deliberate attempt to pull me from the abyss of fear. “He watched us, didn’t he? He saw you come apart for me. He saw how you beg for it, how you take every inch, how you scream my name when you⁠—”

“Stop,” I interrupt as his hand slides down to grip my hip, his fingers digging in with possessive intent. “He’s jealous because he knows you belong to me. That your body knows it. Your heart knows it. He can see it every time I touch you, that you’re mine in ways he can never replicate. He’s watching something real and true, and it drives him mad because he’ll never have it. He’ll never have you.”

His words wrap around me, shielding me from the darkness. He’s reframing the violation as evidence of our connection, our bond.

“He called me a whore,” I sniffle, realizing how trivial this small thing is in the grand scheme of things.

Gunnar’s expression darkens, the humor fading into a fierce and protective stare. “He’s wrong. You’re not a whore, Devyn. You’re mine. And what we do together… What he saw… that’s sacred. That’s ours. He doesn’t get to define it. He doesn’t get to touch it.”

He kisses me, hard and claiming, his tongue sweeping into my mouth with a desperation that speaks of his own fear and rage at this violation. When he pulls back, we’re both breathless and clinging to each other.

“We’ll get through this,” he promises, resting his forehead on mine. “Together. I won’t let him take anything else from you. Not your peace, your safety, or what we are.”

“And what are we?” I whisper timidly.

The question hangs between us as I wait what feels like an eternity for Gunnar to answer. His thumb brushes away a tear trickling down my cheek, and his eyes search mine with an intensity that makes it hard to breathe. “Everything,” he exhales. “We are everything.”

I swallow hard as his eyes hold my stare, and his voice drops into a whisper when he roughs out, “I spent years convincing myself I didn’t need anyone. Years coming home to empty rooms because silence was easier than disappointment. Easier than letting someone close enough to leave. I got good at being alone. And then you happened.”

His hands cup my face, pulling it up toward his as he places the softest kiss against my lips.

“Now, every part of my day begins with wondering where you are. Whether you’ve eaten, if you’re smiling, and making sure you’re safe. When you laugh, I swear I breathe easier. When you’re beside me, everything inside me finally settles. The only time my mind is actually quiet is when you’re in my arms.” His jaw flexes, and emotion burns behind my eyes, tears threatening to fall. “You are the first person who’s ever made life feel like more than surviving. The first person I’ve wanted to build my world around.”

A tear slips free despite my best effort to hold it back as I stare at him, barely able to breathe. His lips dust across my cheeks.

“I don’t know how to be halfway with you. You’re my peace, baby girl. My home. The only place I’ve ever belonged.” His normally stormy blue eyes flood with vulnerability as he lightly shakes his head. “So, when you ask me what we are…You’re the woman I didn’t realize I’ve been waiting my whole life for.”

The air leaves my lungs in a shaky exhale, and before I can find the words to respond, he cups the back of my neck and kisses me. This time, it isn’t with desperation or possession, but with certainty. His lips move over mine as though he’s sealing every vow he’s just made. It is slow and unhurried, patient enough to let me feel each heartbeat between us.

I melt into him, my hands finding his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath my palms. My eyes burn as he slowly pulls away and rests his forehead on top of mine again.

I don’t say a word. I don’t have to.

Somewhere between his promises and this kiss, my heart stopped wondering if it belonged to him. It has simply accepted that it does.

“Is this really necessary?” I ask, standing on a fitting pedestal that lifts me a good six inches off the floor, surrounded by more fabric and finery than I’ve encountered in my entire life. The jacket in my hands probably costs more than my entire wardrobe combined, which isn’t saying much, given that my standard attire consists of cargo pants, tactical boots, and athletic shirts that wick sweat.

Hawk leans against the wall beside the entrance, his massive arms crossed over his chest, his eyes scanning the street outside through the boutique’s windows. He’s been watching the door since we arrived, watching for potential threats, while I’m very unwillingly preoccupied. “You can’t exactly go to a red-carpet event dressed like you’re going to the gun range,” he teases without turning around.

“Says who?” I grumble, holding up a charcoal jacket with a price tag that makes me want to vomit. “I’ve seen photos of these people. Half of them look like they got dressed in the dark.”

“Yeah, famous people,” Jake, Devyn’s agent, interjects from the seat beside her with an expression that hovers between amusement and exasperation. “You are a famous person’s date. You need to dress accordingly.”

Considering he’s partially to blame for my current predicament, I don’t exactly appreciate his condescension. And by blame, I mean he recommended his tailor to Devyn before inviting himself along to help me prepare for the event.

I huff, “Fine. I’ll wear the damn suit.”

“Tux,” Jake corrects, and I roll my eyes.

Devyn leans into the upholstered arm of her chair, her legs crossed at the ankle, a magazine open in her lap that she hasn’t actually read in twenty minutes. She’s been watching me instead, her eyes dancing with barely suppressed laughter. I detest this fitting. “And I’m the brat?” she teases sweetly.

I smirk at her, arching a brow as my gaze travels down her body in a way that promises retribution. “Oh, baby girl, you’re going to pay for that one later.”

She playfully smiles in return, clearly getting exactly what she wanted—the knowledge that I’ve filed away her impertinence for future correction. Her eyes sparkle with mischief, and she shifts slightly in her seat, subtly pressing her thighs together. She’s already anticipating whatever punishment I devise.