Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Ingrid
I’m kissing Gunnar.
That's the only coherent thought in my head as his mouth moves against mine, hot and demanding and nothing like I expected.
I’m kissing him.
And he's kissing me back like he's been starving for it.
His hands are in my hair, tilting my head to deepen the kiss, and I make a sound I don't recognize—desperate, needy, raw.
This was supposed to be simple.
Validation.
Proof that I still matter to someone, even if it's just for tonight.
But his kiss doesn't feel simple.
It feels like something breaking open inside my chest, something I've been keeping locked down for two years, and I don't know if I can handle it.
"Ingrid." He says my name against my mouth, rough and reverent, and it does something to me.
Makes me feel seen in a way I haven't felt since—
No.
Don't think about them.
Don't compare.
This is just sex.
Just another night, another guy, another mistake I'll regret in the morning.
Except it's Gunnar.
Gunnar who came to get me.
Gunnar who always comes when I need him.
Gunnar who's looking at me right now like I'm something precious instead of something easy.
"We shouldn't—" he starts, pulling back slightly.
I cut him off with another kiss, harder this time, demanding.
"Don't," I whisper against his mouth. "Don't think. Don't talk. Just—"
I pull at his cut, shoving it off his shoulders.
He helps, shrugging out of it, putting it on a hook on the back of the door.
His t-shirt is next—I yank it over his head, and then he's bare-chested in front of me, and I forget how to breathe.
I've seen Gunnar shirtless before.
At the clubhouse, working on bikes, swimming at someone's pool party.
But I've never let myself look.
Never let myself notice the lean muscle, the tattoos across his ribs, the way his jeans sit low on his hips.
Now I'm looking.
And he's letting me.
"Your turn," he says quietly.
My hands shake as I reach for the hem of my tank top.
The tight white one I wore specifically because it shows off my tits, because I wanted attention, wanted to feel wanted even if it was shallow and meaningless.
But the way Gunnar's watching me isn't shallow.
Isn't meaningless.
It's intense and focused and makes me feel like I'm the only thing in his world right now.
I pull the shirt over my head and drop it.
I'm wearing a black lace bra that barely contains anything—another calculated choice from earlier tonight when I was getting ready to go out and cause trouble.
His eyes darken.
"Fuck," he breathes.
"Like what you see?" I try to make it teasing, casual, but my voice comes out shaky.
"You know I do."
He steps closer, hands settling on my waist, thumbs brushing the bare skin above my jeans.
The touch is gentle.
Too gentle.
I need this to be rough, fast, meaningless.
I need to control this before it controls me.
I reach for his belt, but he catches my wrists.
"Slow down."
"Why?"
"Because I'm not—" He stops, jaw tight. "This isn't just—"
"Don't." I pull my hands free. "Don't make this into something it's not."
"What if it already is?"
The question lands like a punch.
What if it already is.
What if this matters.
What if he means it.
What if I let myself believe that, and he destroys me worse than Njal and Bjorn combined.
"It's not," I say firmly. "It's just sex."
Something flickers in his eyes—hurt, maybe, or frustration.
But then he's kissing me again, and I stop thinking.
Stop questioning.
Just feel.
His hands slide up my back, finding the clasp of my bra.
He pauses. "Can I?"
The question is so unexpected, so different from every other man who just took what they wanted, that I almost cry.
"Yes," I whisper.
The bra falls away.
Cool air hits my skin, and then his hands are on me, reverent and careful like I'm something that might break.
I'm not something that might break.
I'm already breaking.
He walks me backward until my legs hit the bed and we tumble onto it together—him above me, solid and real and looking at me like I matter.
Like I'm worth keeping.
Don't believe it, my brain screams. Don't fall for this.
But my body doesn't care what my brain thinks.
My body wants his hands, his mouth, his weight pressing me into the mattress.
Wants to forget, just for a little while, that I'm the girl nobody kept.
He kisses down my neck, my collarbone, then lower.
Takes his time like we have all night.
Like this isn't just a quick fuck before I sneak out and we pretend it never happened.
I reach for his belt again and this time he doesn't stop me.
Just helps, kicking off his jeans and boots until he's in just boxer briefs that don't hide anything.
He's hard.
For me.
Because of me.
The thought sends heat pooling low in my stomach.
"Jeans," he says, hands on my zipper. "Off."
I lift my hips and he pulls them down, taking my underwear with them in one smooth motion.
And then I'm completely naked in Gunnar's bed.
Vulnerable.
Exposed.
Terrified.
He's looking at me like I'm art.
Like I'm beautiful.
Like I'm something other than just a body, just a warm place for men to forget themselves.
"You're staring," I say, trying to sound confident but failing.
"Can't help it."
"I'm not that special."
His eyes snap to mine. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't talk about yourself like you're nothing." His voice is rough. "You're not nothing, Ingrid. You've never been nothing."
The words hit too close to the part of me I keep buried.
The part that's screaming that I am nothing, that I've always been nothing, that this will end the same way it always ends.
I pull him down into another kiss before he can say anything else.
Before he can make promises he won't keep.
Before I start believing.
His body covers mine, skin against skin, and it feels right in a way that terrifies me.
This is where I should be making my exit.
Planning how to leave without making it awkward.
Protecting myself before he can hurt me.
But I can't think about that when he's touching me like this.
When his hands are everywhere, learning me, worshipping me.
When his mouth does things that make my back arch and my fingers dig into his shoulders.
"Gunnar—" His name comes out broken.
"I've got you," he says against my skin. "I've got you."
And god help me, I believe him.
Just for this moment.
Just for tonight.
I let myself believe.
I lie beneath Gunnar on the rumpled sheets, my breath coming in shallow bursts as his body hovers over mine, warm and solid.
The room feels smaller now, the air thick with the scent of our shared anticipation and the faint trace of rain from outside.
Heat radiates from his skin, the subtle tremor in his arms as he holds himself up, not pressing down but giving me space to breathe, to decide.
His eyes, those deep blue pools that have always seen too much, lock onto mine with an intensity that makes my chest ache.
"Ingrid," he murmurs, his voice low and rough, like gravel underfoot. One hand comes up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing away a stray tear I hadn't realized had fallen. "I need you to know something. You're not nothing. Not to me. Never."
The words pierce me, sharp and sweet, unraveling the knots I've tied around my heart over the last couple of years.
I want to argue, to push him away before he can see the fractures in my facade, but my body betrays me.
My hands slide up his back, fingers tracing the ridges of his spine, pulling him closer.
Gunnar lowers himself slowly, his chest brushing against my breasts, the contact sending a shiver through me that has nothing to do with cold.
Our lips meet again, softer this time, less frantic.
It’s a kiss of exploration, of reassurance, his mouth moving against mine with a gentleness that contrasts with the hunger from moments before.
I sigh into it, my legs parting instinctively as his hips settle between them.
I feel him there, hard and insistent against my thigh, but he doesn't thrust forward.
Instead, he pauses, lifting his head to search my face.
"Tell me if you want to stop," he says, his breath warm on my neck. "Anytime."
I shake my head, my hands tightening on his shoulders. "Don't stop. Please."
Gunnar nods, his expression solemn, and leans down to press a kiss to my collarbone, then lower, to the swell of my breast.
His lips are reverent, tasting my skin as if it were something sacred.
I arch slightly, a soft gasp escaping me as his mouth closes over one nipple, tongue flicking gently before sucking with just enough pressure to make my toes curl.
But it isn't demanding.
It’s attentive, like he is memorizing every reaction, every hitch in my breath.
His hand trails down my side, fingers splaying over my hip, thumb circling lazily on the bone there.
He doesn't rush to the core of me, doesn't demand entry.
Instead, he explores, palm sliding over the curve of my thigh, lifting my leg to hook around his waist.
The movement brings him closer, his cock nudging against my entrance, slick with my arousal, but he holds still, letting me feel the weight of him, the promise.
My heart pounds, a mix of fear and longing swirling in my chest.
I can feel the vulnerability creeping in, the fear that this will shatter me if it means more than a night.
But Gunnar's touch grounds me, his free hand weaving into my hair, cradling my head as he kisses my forehead, my eyelids, the tip of my nose.
Small, tender gestures that speak louder than any declaration.
"I've got you," he whispers, echoing my earlier thoughts. "Let me show you."
With that, he shifts, guiding himself to me carefully.
The head of his cock presses against my folds, parting them slowly as he eases in, inch by inch.
I tense at the stretch, the fullness of him filling me in a way that is both overwhelming and comforting.
He pauses halfway, eyes on mine, waiting for my nod before continuing.
When he is fully seated, buried deep inside my pussy, he doesn't move right away.
He simply stays there, our bodies joined, his forehead resting against mine.