Chapter 2 #2
"You feel... incredible," he breathes, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Like you belong here. With me."
Tears prick my eyes again, but this time I don't hide them.
I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss as my hips rock experimentally.
Gunnar groans into my mouth, the sound vibrating through me, and begins to move.
His thrusts are measured, deep and unhurried, each one pulling a quiet moan from my lips.
He angles his hips just so, hitting that spot inside me that makes stars burst behind my closed eyes, but he watches my face the whole time, adjusting based on my responses.
My hands roam his back, nails digging in lightly as pleasure builds, slow and steady like a tide rising.
I feel cherished in his rhythm, the way he braces one arm beside my head to keep his weight off me, the other hand stroking my side, my breast, my thigh.
He kisses my neck, my shoulder, murmuring words of affirmation between breaths. "So beautiful." "I need you." "You're everything."
The emotional weight presses down as much as the physical, making me cling tighter.
I meet his thrusts, my body rising to his, our skin slick with sweat.
The friction builds heat between us, my pussy clenching around his cock as he drives deeper, but it is the connection in his gaze that undoes me.
Gunnar cares—truly, deeply—and in this moment, I let myself believe it.
He shifts again, rolling his hips in a way that grinds against my clit with each stroke, drawing out my pleasure without overwhelming it.
My breaths come faster, my fingers tangling in his hair as I whisper his name. "Gunnar..."
"I'm here," he replies, voice strained with his own building release.
He captures my lips, kissing me through the rising wave, his pace quickening just enough to match my urgency.
I feel it cresting, the tension coiling tight in my belly, and when it breaks, it is with a cry muffled against his shoulder.
My body shudders, walls pulsing around him, pulling him deeper as ecstasy washes over me.
Gunnar follows moments later, a low growl rumbling from his chest as he thrusts once, twice more, spilling inside me with hot pulses.
He buries his face in the crook of my neck, holding me close as we ride out the aftershocks together, bodies trembling in unison.
We lie entwined afterward, his weight a comforting blanket over me.
Gunnar doesn't pull away.
Instead, he kisses my temple, my jaw, tracing lazy patterns on my skin with his fingertips. "Stay with me tonight," he says softly, not a demand but a plea.
I nod, my cheek against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
For the first time in years, the fear recedes, replaced by a fragile peace.
In his arms, I feel seen, wanted—not as a fleeting distraction, but as someone worth holding onto.
And as sleep tugs at my edges, I allow myself to hope that maybe, just maybe, this could be more.
But, reality comes back slowly.
First the sound of our breathing, harsh and ragged in the quiet room.
Then the feeling of sweat cooling on my skin.
Then the weight of Gunnar's arm draped across my waist, holding me close.
Then the panic.
Oh god.
What did I just do?
This was Gunnar.
Gunnar, who's my friend.
Gunnar, who's Vail and Vanir's son.
Gunnar who I just—
I need to leave.
Need to get out of here before this becomes something I can't take back.
Before he says something that makes it real.
Before I do something stupid like admit that this felt different.
That he felt different.
That for the first time in I don’t know how many years, I didn't feel worthless during sex.
I carefully extract myself from his arm, trying not to wake him.
My clothes are scattered across the floor—jeans, tank top, bra, underwear, marking the path from door to bed like evidence of my terrible decisions.
I grab my underwear first, pulling them on as quietly as possible.
Then my bra.
My hands are shaking.
"Where are you going?"
His voice makes me freeze, jeans halfway up my thighs.
I don't turn around. "Home."
"It's three in the morning."
"So?"
"So you're still drunk and it's not safe."
"I'm fine." I yank my jeans up, fasten them. "Thanks for the ride. And the—" I gesture vaguely at the bed. "This was fun."
Fun.
Like it was just another hookup.
Like it didn't mean anything.
Like my heart isn't trying to claw its way out of my chest right now.
"Ingrid."
"I should go."
"Look at me."
I can't.
If I look at him, if I see whatever expression is on his face right now, I'll break.
"This was a mistake," I say, grabbing my tank top from the floor. "I’m drunk and this shouldn't have happened and—"
"Stop."
"Stop what?"
"Running."
The word hits like a slap.
I spin around, clutching my tank top to my chest. "I'm not running."
He's sitting up now, sheet pooled around his waist, hair messed up from my hands, looking at me with those eyes that see too much.
"Yes, you are. You've been running for longer than I can remember."
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" He stands, completely unbothered by his nakedness, and crosses the room to me. "You spiral, you post about it, I come get you. You push everyone away and pretend you don't need anyone. You act like you're only good for one thing because a few assholes convinced you that was true."
"They didn't convince me of anything. They just showed me reality."
"Bullshit."
"It's not—"
"It is." He's right in front of me now, close enough to touch. "They showed you who they are. Cowards who couldn't handle what you are. That's not the same thing."
"And what am I, Gunnar? What exactly do you think I am?"
"Everything they were too stupid to see."
My throat closes.
No.
No, he doesn't get to say things like that.
Doesn't get to make me hope.
"This is just sex," I say desperately. "It doesn't mean anything."
"Doesn't it?"
"No. We're friends. I got drunk and we fucked and now it's over."
"Is that what you want? For it to be over?"
Yes.
No.
I don't know.
"It has to be," I whisper. "Because I can't—I can't do this again."
"Do what?"
"Believe that I matter. Believe that someone actually wants me for more than just—" My voice breaks. "I can't survive it when you throw me away too."
Understanding floods his face. "I'm not going to throw you away."
"That's what they said."
"I'm not them."
"Everyone says that."
"Ingrid—" He reaches for me but I step back.
"Don't. Don't make promises you can't keep. Don't tell me I'm special or different or worth something when we both know—"
"This isn't like the past," he interrupts, voice firm. "This is different."
The words I've been dreading.
The words I've heard before.
The words that always turn out to be lies.
"That's what Bjorn said." My voice is shaking. "That's what Njal implied. And they both—"
"I've wanted you for years." The admission stops me cold.
"Fucking years, Ingrid. Watching you hurt.
Watching other men touch you. Watching you destroy yourself because two assholes made you believe you weren't worth keeping.
I've been going out of my mind wanting you and knowing I couldn't have you because you can't see yourself as anything but broken. "
I'm crying now, tears streaming down my face, and I hate it.
Hate that he's breaking through my walls.
Hate that I want to believe him.
Hate that I'm terrified of what happens if I do.
"You don't want me," I say. "You just think you do because I'm a project. Something to fix. Something to save. And when you realize I'm not fixable, you'll—"
"You don't need fixing." He cups my face, thumbs wiping away tears. "You need someone who sees you. Really sees you. And doesn't run."
"Everyone runs eventually."
"Then I guess you'll have to wait and see if I do."
My heart is breaking.
Or maybe it's healing.
I can't tell the difference anymore.
"Stay," he says softly. "Just for tonight. No promises. No expectations. Just stay."
I should say no.
Should grab my pants, my shoes, and walk out that door.
Protect myself before he can hurt me.
But I'm so tired.
Tired of running.
Tired of pretending.
Tired of being alone.
"Just for tonight," I whisper.
"Just for tonight," he agrees.
But we both know it's a lie.
Tonight is already everything.