Chapter 22
I spend twenty minutes staring at the same tiny gray fleck in the island’s white marble counter before I accept that Gunnar isn’t coming back anytime soon. Whatever crisis pulled him away is clearly going to take a while to resolve.
After rinsing my bowl and setting it in the sink, I climb the stairs to my office, the room that is also my sanctuary.
The floor-to-ceiling windows and vast bookshelves make the space unique, letting sunlight flood the room and providing an amazing view of the Pacific Ocean’s vastness.
My glass-topped desk sits in the middle of the room, allowing me to enjoy the sight while I work.
I remove the now-unnecessary sweater and settle into my chair, the white leather creaking softly as I reach for my laptop.
Once I’ve opened it, I scroll through my playlists before deciding to hit shuffle.
The opening notes of “Shake It Off” fill the room, and I kick up the volume.
Singing along to beat pulsing through the speakers, I open my email and scan through the massive amount that has accumulated overnight.
There’s a synopsis from a director about some prestige drama shooting in Vancouver: a role that would require me to be on location for six months.
I scroll through it, noting the character description, arc, and potential for awards consideration.
One from my agent about a brand partnership for a skincare line.
Another from my lawyer about contract negotiations for a project I agreed to before my life flipped upside down.
My phone rings, cutting through the music. I reach for it while simultaneously hitting the volume button on my laptop to turn Taylor’s singing down to hum in the background.
“Devyn,” Leslie chirps when I answer, her voice brisk. “I’ve got your schedule for next week. We need to go over the details.”
“Okay,” I exhale, leaning back in my chair, staring out at the ocean. “Hit me.”
She runs through the mundane administrative details of my life, appointments, fittings, and meetings.
There’s a dermatologist appointment on Tuesday; a script reading on Wednesday; and a conference call with the producers of an indie film I expressed interest in.
I make notes, my pen scratching against paper, trying to focus on Leslie’s words and not on the brooding giant standing on my office’s threshold.
He fills the doorway, his broad shoulders almost touching either side of the frame, his body casting a long shadow across the sun-washed floorboards behind him.
He’s dressed the same as he was earlier—a black T-shirt that stretches over his chest and jeans that hang low on his hips—but he looks different from when he left the kitchen.
There’s a darkness in his eyes that wasn’t there before, a heaviness that steals my attention.
Heat blooms up my neck and over my cheeks as he stares at me with a ravenous, predatory focus. I smile sheepishly, unable to help myself, feeling the familiar flutter in my stomach that he inspires with only a look.
Gunnar lets himself inside, shutting the door behind him, the lock turning with a soft click.
My pulse kicks up a notch, and he crosses the space between us until he’s standing behind me.
His fingers delicately brush my hair aside, exposing the column of my throat.
My nostrils flood with his warm cedar cologne when he leans closer.
His mouth finds the crook of my neck, the sensitive hollow where it meets my shoulder, to place a warm, wet kiss.
“Leslie, can you hold on a second?” I quickly mutter into the phone, sounding clearly distracted.
“Sure, but I need to—”
I lower the phone, pressing it to my chest to muffle the call, and rest my head back against Gunnar’s shoulder. “Hey,” I whisper.
“Hey,” he murmurs against my skin, his breath hot.
“I need a few minutes. I’m busy scheduling my life,” I whisper, smiling as my heart thuds.
With his hands on my shoulders, he insists, “Finish your call.” He kneads at the tension in my upper back before his hands make their way lower as I continue my conversation with Leslie.
Gripping my waist, he presses his lips to my free ear.
His voice drops to a deep, gravelly tone that makes my thighs clench together, and he whispers, “Be a good girl, and let Daddy play with you.”
A small, needy sound spills over my lips as his words send a shockwave straight to my core.
He uses the moment to urge me out my seat.
When he kicks it out of the way with a rough shove, the chair rolls across the floor and bumps against the bookshelf.
After positioning me with my hips pressed against the edge of the desk, he kneels behind me.
His rough, calloused hands run up and down the backs of my thighs before lifting the hem of my blue dress and gathering the fabric around my waist.
“Don’t you dare hang up that call,” he commands in an authoritative tone.
I fumble with the phone, bringing it to my ear with a shaking hand. “Sorry, Leslie, I’m here,” I blurt, hoping I sound normal and that she can’t hear how fast I’m breathing or that my heart is currently in my throat.
“—and then there’s the red-carpet event for the Morrison premiere,” Leslie continues, oblivious, running through details about gowns, stylists, and car service.
Gunnar’s mouth finds the curve of my ass, pressing kisses over the round flesh, his short beard scratching against my skin deliciously.
I bite my lip—hard—to keep from making a sound.
His fingers hook into the waistband of my panties, pulling them to the side, exposing me to the cool air of the office.
“Are you listening?” Leslie asks.
“Yes,” I gasp, the word coming out strangled, as Gunnar places a kiss directly on my freshly shaved pussy, his tongue darting out to lick lightly, where I’m already wet and aching for him.
He swipes his tongue again, slow and deliberate from entrance to clit, and my knees buckle.
My free hand grips the edge of the desk so hard, my knuckles turn white.
He works me with his tongue in light, teasing strokes, designed to torment, to keep me on the edge without pushing me over.
I can practically feel him smiling against me and the hum of his satisfaction as I struggle to maintain my composure.
“—need you to confirm by Thursday,” Leslie instructs, her voice tinny and distant as though it’s coming from another world. “The designer is pushing for a fitting.”
“Thursday,” I repeat, the word breaking as Gunnar circles my clit with the tip of his tongue in a featherlight and devastating lick. “Yes. Thursday. Works. Perfect.”
He pulls back, and I feel the loss of his mouth like a physical ache.
I glance over my shoulder slightly to find him a few feet behind me before I hear the unmistakable sound of his belt buckle and the zipper of his jeans.
He steps forward, freeing his already swollen cock.
The moment he reaches me, his hand slides up my back, bending me over the desk until my cheek rests against the cool glass, my breasts flattened on top of the scattered papers beside my laptop.
“Gunnar,” I whisper desperately, the phone still pressed to my ear.
“Shh,” he murmurs, his hand running up my spine, soothing and claiming all at once. “Daddy will be gentle until you’re done.”
He eases himself inside me slowly, inch by inch, his thick length stretching me, filling me until I’m full. I whimper, the sound escaping before I can stop it, and Leslie pauses mid-sentence. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I manage, my voice high and strained. “Just… stubbed my toe.”
Gunnar stills, fully seated inside me, throbbing against the tightness of my walls.
He moves with slow, leisurely thrusts that I’m certain are designed to drive me absolutely mad.
His hands roam over my body, cupping my breasts through the thin fabric of my dress, pinching my nipples until they’re hard and aching, then sliding down to grip my hips, the curve of my waist, and my ass.
Every touch is deliberate and possessive, marking territory that he has already claimed.
“—and the red-carpet event is black tie, obviously,” Leslie drones on, her voice becoming background noise, white static against the symphony of sensation Gunnar is conducting between my thighs.
“The designer is sending over a few options, but I think the emerald silk would be stunning against your coloring—”
“Mmhmm,” I muster, a noncommittal sound that could mean anything. Gunnar’s hand snakes between my hips and the desk, his fingers finding my clit. He rubs in slow, tight circles that make my vision blur as he folds himself over me. “Green… is… good.”
He chuckles darkly behind me, the sound vibrating through his chest where it presses against my back.
I feel it in my spine, echoing through my core, and to my throbbing, desperate center.
He dusts his lips over my shoulder and his breath is hot and damp against my bare skin.
“You’re being so good for me,” he whispers with his lips pressed to my ear.
The words are barely audible, meant only for me, as Leslie lists seating arrangements and press obligations into the other.
“So fucking tight and wet. Can you feel how perfectly you fit around me, baby girl? Like you were made to take my cock. Like this pretty little pussy was designed to milk me dry.”
I bite my lip so hard, I taste copper, my free hand flying to my mouth and teeth sinking into the fleshy pad to stifle the moan that wants to tear itself from my throat.
He keeps talking, his voice a low, filthy litany of praise and possession, describing exactly what he’s doing to me.
I can barely hear Leslie as Gunnar tells me how good I feel, that I’m dripping down his shaft, and how greedily my little pussy is clenching around him to pull him deeper.
Everything dissolves into the leisurely rhythm of his hips rolling against me, hitting that spot inside that repeatedly makes stars burst behind my eyelids.
I chew on my own palm, leaving crescent marks behind, my body trembling with the effort of keeping quiet as he brings me over the edge.
He fucks me slowly and devastatingly deep, silently demanding another.
“—need your confirmation by end of day, Devyn,” Leslie says, and I have no idea what she’s talking about. In this moment, I couldn’t form a coherent thought if my life depended on it.
His thrusts unwavering in their pace, Gunnar’s voice is rough with arousal when he whispers, “Time to hang up, baby girl. I want to finish in that pretty little mouth of yours. I want your lips stretched around me as you swallow every drop.”
I clench around him at the thought, making him groan low in his throat.
“Leslie,” I sputter, my voice breaking and desperate. “I have to… I need to… There’s someone at the door. I’ll call you back.”
“Devyn, wait, we still need to discuss—”
I don’t get to finish the excuse. Gunnar reaches around, his large hand covering mine.
He plucks the phone from my trembling fingers and brings it to his own ear for a brief second.
“She’ll call you back.” His voice is perfectly calm as he ends the call and tosses the phone onto the desk, where it slides across scattered papers and comes to rest against my laptop.
His hands wrapped around my body as he withdraws his cock.
He pulls me up from the desk and turns me to face him.
Dress wrinkled and panties askew, my body is flushed and trembling as he lifts me into him.
His mouth crashes down on mine, his tongue sweeping inside, tasting me, claiming me, and sharing the flavor of my arousal that still lingers on his lips.
The kiss is all-consuming. Gunnar’s hands frame my face, his thumbs stroking my jawline with a tenderness that contradicts the wild hunger in the way he devours me.
When he finally breaks away, we’re both breathing hard. His storm-blue eyes darken with intent as he commands softly, “On your knees.”
My body obeys before my mind can process the words.
I sink to the floor, the surface cool against my knees, looking up at him from below.
He towers over me, magnificent and imposing, his jeans splayed, and his cock glistening.
The thick, hard length strains toward me as he gathers my hair in his hands.
He twists it into a makeshift ponytail, wrapping the length around his fist, holding me in place with gentle but unyielding control.
I lean forward, parting my lips, and take him into my mouth. The tangy flavor of my own cum coating his heated length and his salty precum washes over my tongue. I moan around him, the vibration making him hiss, his hips bucking slightly before he regains his composure.
“Suck your delicious cunt off every inch of me,” he growls. “Every drop. Clean me up, baby girl. Show me how much you love what I do to you.”
I hollow my cheeks, taking him deeper, my tongue working along the underside of his shaft, tasting every ridge and feeling every vein, as his thighs tremble beneath my hands, where they grip him for balance. I work him with my mouth in slow, worshipful bobs that draw desperate sounds from him.
He strokes my cheek with his free hand, his touch soft and adoring. “Fuck… You are so fucking beautiful with my cock sliding between those pouty pink lips,” he breathes, his voice thick with awe and possession. “Open your eyes. Look at me.”
I stare up at him through my lashes, and the sight steals my breath.
His head is thrown back, the column of his throat working as he swallows.
Gunnar’s jaw is tight with restraint, and his chest heaves with each ragged breath.
Those storm-blue eyes of his are fixed on me with an intensity that makes me feel like the center of his universe.
“Fuck,” he chokes out, his grip tightening in my hair. His hips begin to lose their rhythm, stuttering in short, desperate thrusts. “Just like that… Watch what you fucking do to me… Watch how you destroy me, baby girl…”
His hips jerk, and his cock grows more rigid against my tongue.
He comes hard, his release flooding my mouth in thick, salty spurts.
I swallow greedily, taking everything he gives me, milking him with my lips and tongue as I suck him gently.
He groans my name, his body shuddering through the aftershocks with his hand trembling in my hair.
When he finally stills and the last tremor has passed through his powerful frame, he looks down at me worshipfully. He strokes my cheek again, his thumb tracing my swollen lower lip, and he drags his softening cock from my mouth. “Perfect,” he whispers, his voice raw. “You’re fucking perfect.”
Lifting me as if I weigh nothing, he pulls me from my knees to my feet. Crushed against his chest, his arms band around me, holding me so tight I can barely breathe, as his mouth finds mine again.