Chapter 19
The clouds shift, letting the morning light spill through the blinds in thin, golden strips, painting stripes across the bed.
Devyn is curled against my chest, her back pressed to my sternum, and her ass nestled against my groin.
Her breathing is deep and even, sleep having taken her as hard as I did.
Her chestnut hair is tangled across the pillow, spilling over my bicep, which is wrapped it around her.
We’ve been like this for nearly an hour as I’ve listened to the sweet sounds of her slumber and watched the light dance over the highlights in her hair. I need to get up and return to the root of why we’re here—searching for her stalker—but I hate the thought of disturbing her.
I shift carefully, easing my arm out from beneath her head. She stirs, a small murmur of protest escaping her lips when my warmth recedes. Her eyes flutter but don’t open as her hand reaches out for me. “Shh,” I whisper, leaning down to press my lips to her forehead. “Go back to sleep, baby girl.”
She makes a sleepy, discontented noise, turning toward me. The sheet slips down, exposing the curve of her breast and a mark I don’t remember leaving on her collarbone. My cock stirs at the sight, and I fight the urge to climb over her and take her again before she fully wakes.
“Shower,” I drone against her temple, running my thumb along her jaw.
“I’m going to shower. You can join me if you wake up, or stay here and rest. Your choice.
” She nods sleepily, and I force myself to get up, swinging my legs over the side of the mattress.
The floor is cool beneath my feet. I stretch, feeling the pleasant ache of exertion and the pull of muscles well-worked.
After quietly making my way into the bathroom, I turn the water on hot, letting the steam build up before I step under the spray.
It hits my shoulders, and I tilt my head back, letting it wash over me.
I run my hands through my hair and down my face, trying to clear my head, but the thoughts of her are relentless.
The glass door of the shower opens, and a breath of hesitation passes before she steps in. Her hair is wildly tangled, and her eyes are still heavy. The steam swirls, cocooning around her naked body. She’s fucking beautiful. “Hey,” she mumbles, her voice rough from sleep.
My hands find her waist, and I pull her into me. Her skin is cool from the air-conditioned bedroom, a shocking contrast to the heat of the water and my own body. She sucks in a sharp inhale when we connect, her breasts pressing against my chest and stomach against my cock.
“Hey,” I parrot gravelly, cupping her face in my hands and tilting her face toward mine.
Her eyes search mine like she’s looking for regret or second thoughts.
Neither of which she will find. I have zero regrets about claiming her.
In my eyes, all she will find is hunger, possession, and the same fierce need that consumed me hours ago.
Dipping my head, I press my lips to hers. It’s slow and exploratory, learning the feel of her again. It deepens quickly—as though inevitable—my tongue sweeping past her lips. She melts into me, her hands sliding up my body and fingertips digging into the expanse of my upper back.
Breaking our kiss, I pivot us until Devyn is directly beneath the spray. She gasps as the hot water hits her, her eyes widening in surprise.
I tip her head back with a gentle hand at her nape, letting the water cascade over her face, her hair, down her body. Blinking the water from her lashes, she looks up at me, confused. “This isn’t quite what I was expecting when you said to come join you.”
I reach for the shampoo, squeezing a generous amount into my palm. “You’ll learn,” I tell her, my voice steady and sure. “I take care of what’s mine.”
She stills at that, her gaze narrowing slightly and brow cocking up. With familiar defiance, she sasses, “Yours?”
The challenge in her tone ignites the dark, predatory part of me that I no longer intend to suppress.
In one motion, I tug her tight against me and band my arm around her waist. My other hand fists in her wet hair, pulling—not gently—roughly tipping her head back until she’s forced to meet my gaze.
When her eyes widen, fixed on mine, I growl, “Yes. Mine. Don’t play games with me, baby girl.
Not about this.” The fight drains from her face, submission falling over her features like a curtain.
Her body pliant in my hold, I tighten my grip on her hair and demand, “Say it.”
“Yours,” she breathes, the word barely audible over the spray of the water. “I’m yours, Daddy.”
Fuck.
The honorific on her lips, given so freely, sends a jolt of lust straight to my cock. I release her hair slowly, my touch gentling. She stays exactly where I’ve positioned her, trusting and waiting.
“Good girl,” I praise.
She practically glows under the words as I begin to lather the shampoo through her hair, massaging her scalp. After rinsing it clean, I apply conditioner, working it through the lengths with a care that belies my roughness, before rinsing it as well.
Lathering soap between my palms, I move to her body.
I take my time. This isn’t about hygiene.
This is about caring for her, demonstrating in a language far deeper than words that she belongs to me.
I clean her shoulders, down her arms, and across her chest. I pay special attention to her breasts, watching her nipples tighten under my touch.
“Gunnar,” she exhales, her breath hitching.
I gently shush her, my hands moving lower, over her stomach and to her hips.
“Let me take care of you.” I turn her under the spray to wash her back, the curve of her ass, and down the length of her legs.
I kneel, running my hands down her calves, over her ankles, and between her toes before reaching for the razor.
She looks at it, then at me, uncertainty flickering across her face. “Gunnar, I can—”
“Be still,” I interrupt, nudging her thighs apart as I find her stare. “I wouldn’t want to mar this perfect little pussy.” Her cheeks flush pink as she leans against the tiled wall, widening her stance and offering herself to me.
Fuck, the sight of her.
I smear shaving cream over her skin and work the razor with careful strokes up her calves, then her thighs, before moving higher.
Her breath comes faster, her chest rising and falling as I press the razor to the flesh above her pussy.
She’s already well-groomed, neat and trim, but I want her bare.
I want nothing between my mouth and her skin.
I work slowly, meticulously, the razor gliding over her plump lips.
“You’re trembling,” I observe, not looking up from my task.
“I can’t help it,” she admits, her voice strained.
“Nervous?”
“Excited,” she corrects, and I can hear the smile in her voice.
I finish, rinsing away the last of the shaving cream before running my fingers over her skin to ensure she’s smooth.
Fucking perfect. She’s slick and bare, and the sight makes my mouth water with the memory of how sweet she tasted last night.
“Beautiful,” I whisper, leaning in to press a kiss to her inner thigh, just beside her pussy.
After turning off the water, I open the shower door and reach for a towel.
“Come here,” I command.
She steps out, and I wrap the towel around her, enveloping her completely.
I wrap another around her hair before drying with the same thoroughness I used to wash her.
I don’t miss an inch as I make my way from her face to her feet, lifting each to pat between her toes before wrapping the towel around her body.
She watches me with an expression I can’t quite read—wonder, or maybe confusion. “What?” I ask, unwrapping the towel from around her hair.
“You really are going to take care of everything, aren’t you?” she asks softly.
I meet her eyes. “Every single thing,” I confirm. “That’s what it means to be mine. I don’t do things halfway. I don’t share. I don’t neglect what’s mine. You wanted me unleashed—this is what you get. Sometimes gentle. Sometimes rough. But always everything from me.”
She swallows hard, nodding.
Grabbing another towel for myself, I quickly run it over my skin and hair, before leading her back to the bedroom.
I pull open a drawer, retrieving a clean T-shirt that will be far too large for her.
I hand it to her, then find a pair of my boxer-briefs, also clean and too big.
“So you don’t have to walk back to your room in only a towel. ”
She takes them, looking at the clothes, then at me. “You want me to wear your shirt and boxers?”
“I want you covered in my scent,” I correct. “I want you to feel me on your skin even when I’m not touching you.”
She dresses without argument, the shirt falling to mid-thigh and the boxers loose on her hips. She looks ridiculous. And perfect. Having dressed myself in jeans and a T-shirt, I walk with her to her room at the far end of the hall.
We stop at her door, and she looks up at me, suddenly uncertain. “Whatever that thought is dancing your head, let it go,” I gently insist before she can speak. Cupping her face, my thumbs stroke her cheekbones. “I’m not walking away this time.”
She nods, and I lean down, capturing her mouth in a kiss that’s deep and full of promise. I pour everything I can’t say into it, the absolute certainty that this is right, that she’s mine, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to let her go.
“Go get dressed,” I kiss the words across her lips before fully pulling back. “Take your time. When you’re ready, come downstairs for breakfast.”
She blinks up at me, confused. “You’re not staying?”
I shake my head, running my thumb along her jaw one last time before forcing myself to step back. “I’m going to head down first. The guys are definitely all waiting.”
Understanding dawns in her eyes. “Gunnar, you don’t have to—”
“I do,” I cut her off, a wry smile tugging at my mouth. “Jagger’s going to have a field day. I’d rather face the firing squad alone and let him get all his shitty jokes out of his system before you walk into it.”
Her lips twitch, fighting a smile. “He is pretty relentless.”
“He’s fucking incorrigible,” I counter. “But while he’s a pain in my ass, he’s like my brother. That said, I’d still rather absorb whatever he’s got planned than have to kick the shit out of him for humiliating you.”
“I can handle it. I can handle them.”
“I know you can.” I mean every word. She’s strong and resilient, but this isn’t about her capability. It’s about protection, shielding her from the inevitable awkwardness. “But I’m going to insist.”
She studies me for a moment, then nods. “Okay. I’ll take my time.”
“That’s my good girl.” I lean in, pressing one last kiss to her forehead, lingering longer than necessary. “See you downstairs.”
I force myself to walk away. Each step feels like I’m moving through water, resistance pulling at me to go back, scoop her up, and barricade us both behind closed doors for the rest of the day. But reality calls.
Hearing Hawk and Jagger’s voices in the kitchen, I pause at the top of the stairs for a moment and squaring my shoulders. I descend them, the conversation dying as they hear my approach. It stops entirely the moment I cross the threshold.
“Well, well, well,” Jagger drawls, leaning back in his chair, his coffee cup halfway to his lips. “Look what the cat dragged in. Or should I say, look who finally dragged himself out of the cat.”
“Come on,” I grunt, moving to the coffee maker.
“Get it out, and get it over with.” I pour my coffee and take a long sip before turning to face them.
Hawk and Damon both glance at me with quiet intensity, but Jagger looks like he’s about to burst. Setting down my mug, I lean against the counter, cross my arms and huff. “Fucking spit it out.”
“Is that what you told her, too?” he snickers like a fucking school-boy.
“Jagger,” Hawk warns, all of us knowing exactly where this is going.
“What?” Jagger throws his hands up. “He disappears for a few hours, and I’m not supposed to say anything when he strolls in with a hickey on his neck?”
My hand rise to my neck instinctively, and a bark of a laugh rattles from Jagger. “Gotcha! There is no hickey, but the fact that you checked means there could be! Not that anyone in this house could’ve missed the signs.”
“The signs?”
“The headboard was banging against the wall so loudly, I thought someone had taken a construction crew upstairs.”
“You’re a fucking child,” I grumble, unable to stop the corners of my lips from curling upward.
“It took you long enough, by the way. I had money on two days ago.”
“You bet on this?” I ask, immediately regretting opening my mouth.
“Hawk did, too,” Jagger blurts, pointing at him.
Hawk shrugs, unrepentant. “It was obvious, brother. It was only a matter of time.”
“And you?” I ask Damon, who’s been suspiciously quiet.
Damon uncrosses his arms, moving to refill his own coffee. “I had next week. I figured you’d get there eventually. You’re always stubborn as hell.”
“So.” Jagger settles back into his stool, plopping his elbows on the counter and resting his chin on her perched hands. “Details. I need details. Was it romantic? Did you carry her over the threshold? Did you whisper sweet nothings?”
“Absolutely not,” I gruff.
“Has it been that long? Have you totally forgotten how to treat a woman in bed?” Jagger sighs, shaking his head.
“No, jackass. I just don’t care to share the details with you idiots.” I’m about to lay down some ground rules, mainly about Jagger not being an ass, when I hear Devyn making her way down the stairs. Every head in the room turns toward the sound.
She appears in the doorway, dressed in a blue sundress topped with a creamy cashmere cardigan, her hair still damp and slightly wavy. She looks fresh and beautiful and completely unprepared to walk into a den of wolves who’ve been dissecting our love life for the past ten minutes.