Chapter 38
We reach the house as the first hints of dawn are painting the sky in watercolor washes of pink and gold, the world waking up to a new day, while I feel like I’m emerging from a nightmare.
The SUV crunches over the gravel driveway.
The moment it stops, Gunnar slides out of the car with me in his arms before setting me gently on my feet.
His fingers lace through mine with a grip that’s both gentle and unbreakable.
His hand not leaving mine, he walks me through the foyer and past the kitchen, where this nightmare began, before leading up the stairs in silence.
We go straight to my ensuite bathroom, and he turns on the water to the clawfoot tub.
His movements are efficient but unhurried, letting it warm before he reaches for the bubble bath I keep on the shelf.
The scent of lavender fills the room, soft and fragrant, as the suds multiply.
Gunnar grips his shirt at the nape of the neck and pulls it over his head before tossing it haphazardly to the floor.
His bare chest is marked with scars I know the stories of, and some I still don’t.
He pulls me into him before I can fully appreciate the sight.
My face presses against his warm skin, and his heart beats, steady and strong, beneath my cheek as I breathe in his comforting cedar cologne.
After everything, I am in awe of how safe I feel with his arms wrapped around me.
His hand strokes lazily up and down the length of my spine.
“Are you sure he didn’t hurt you?” he asks, his words rumbling through his chest. There’s an edge of fear and worry that he’s trying to hide for my sake, but I can feel it in the tension of his muscles.
I nod against him, not trusting my voice.
Worried what I might sound like if I have to speak about what happened and what could have been if Gunnar had not arrived when he did.
Gunnar gathers the fabric of my dress into his hands—the blue one Jake insisted I dress in—and his expression saddens slightly. “Let’s get you out of this.”
I nod, raising my arms to help him. He lifts it over my head in one smooth motion before tossing it toward the trash with a force that speaks volumes about his feelings.
The cool air hits my skin, and while I expected to feel exposed and vulnerable, I feel free.
His fingers comb through my hair, gathering it into a makeshift ponytail before twisting it into a messy bun atop my head.
His eyes never leaving mine, he undresses himself the rest of the way.
He steps into the tub, and the water rises around his calves as he holds out his hand to me.
I take it, stepping in, the warm water soothing my tense muscles.
He settles with his back resting on the porcelain, pulling me with him and positioning me between his legs.
The water rises around us, the suds soft against my skin as his arms wrap around my waist, and his chin comes to rest on my shoulder.
He turns me slightly in the warm water, lifting a soft washcloth from the tub’s edge.
After dipping it into the sudsy water, he glides the plush fabric down my arm.
The gentle stroke is slow and methodical, as if he’s memorizing every curve and contour of my skin.
His touch is almost worshipful, moving from my shoulder to my wrist in unhurried passes that leave a trail of heat deeper than the bathwater itself.
Switching to my other arm, his fingers occasionally graze beneath the cloth to trace the sensitive hollow of my elbow and delicate bones of my wrist. Each stroke feels like an unspoken promise, a silent vow washing away more than just the day. He’s washing away the phantom touch of another man.
The washcloth glides across my shoulders, his free hand supporting my back as he works in slow circles, the soap creating a silky friction that makes my breath hitch. His palm, warm and sure, presses against my sternum as he cleanses the valley between my breasts with aching gentleness.
He’s painstakingly thorough, working the washcloth over every inch of me.
This is reclamation. Every inch he touches becomes his, not through possession, but through devotion.
The water laps around us as he continues his tender ministry, and I feel myself dissolving, becoming entirely, irrevocably his.
“I love you,” he confesses. The words are simple yet devastating. “I love you so much it scares me. I don’t know if there are limits to how far I would go for you. I would become the devil himself if it meant keeping you safe in my arms. You are my everything, baby girl.”
Tears spill down my cheeks, mixing with the steam and the water, and I don’t try to stop them. “I love you, too,” I whisper.
He pulls my chin over my shoulder, turning my face toward his, and he claims my mouth.
The kiss isn’t deep and passionate, but soft and gentle.
I feel him against my back, his cock growing hard and pressing against my spine.
I arch into him, needing more, wanting him to replace every memory of the last twenty-four hours.
He breaks the kiss, his lips brushing over my cheeks. “We don’t have to do anything,” he insists, his voice strained with the effort of control. “I just want to hold you. I just want to be close to you. We can just be here, just be together, just—”
“I want to,” I interrupt, my voice steady despite my trembling body. “I need to. I need to feel you inside me. I need to know I’m yours. I need to erase him completely.”
I brace my hands on his thighs, and the water ripples around us as I inch myself up his body, feeling his length jut against me, hard and perfect.
I reach between my thighs, finding his tip, and aligning him to my entrance.
I look at him over my shoulder, meeting his eyes, as I softly plead, “Please.”
His jaw tight and hands gripping my hips, he nods.
I slowly slide over him, and it’s like coming home.
The stretch is perfect, the fullness exactly what I need.
I settle fully onto him, taking him deep.
His groan rumbles through his chest into my back, and his forehead drops to my shoulder, his breath hot against my neck.
“Fuck,” he rasps. “Baby girl, you feel… you feel…”
“Like yours,” I finish for him, reaching behind me and wrapping my arms around his neck.
My fingers tangling in his hair, I begin to roll my hips.
Water sloshes over the edge of the tub with each movement, the sound mixing with our breathing and gasps.
I grind over him leisurely, the act more about joining us together than chasing our release. “I’m yours, Daddy. Only yours.”
“Always, baby girl. Always.”
His hands dust up my sides to cup my breasts, his thumbs swirling my nipples teasingly as his mouth roams over my neck and shoulders. We take our time, his palms exploring my skin as we repeatedly bring ourselves to the brink and back again.
“That’s it,” he whispers against my ear.
“Ride Daddy’s cock. Show me how much you missed me.
Show me how much you need me.” The words send heat spiraling through me, and I move a little faster.
My hips gyrate, seeking the friction I need to meet his demand.
His hands slide over my skin, one gripping my hip to guide my movements, the other pressing mine between my thighs and against my clit.
“Rub your clit,” he commands, moving my fingers in teasing circles around the sensitive nub.
“Daddy wants to watch you touch yourself. I want to see you make yourself come on my cock.”
I obey, my fingers rubbing it in the way that works best. The combination of his cock filling me and my fingers on my clit is overwhelming, and it sends me rushing toward the edge.
“Good girl,” he praises, thrusting to meet my movements, his hands gripping my waist tight enough to bruise. “Such a good girl for Daddy. Look at you, taking every inch, making yourself feel good. You’re so fucking perfect, baby girl.”
The orgasm crashes over me without warning, my body trembling in his hold as my broken cries echo off the bathroom tiles. I clench around him, my fingers still moving, to draw out the euphoria and make it last.
I’m still riding my high, my thighs trembling, when Gunnar abruptly slips me off his cock, stands and pulls me out of the tub. Water and suds drip down our bodies, pooling onto the floor. His hands supporting me, he kisses me as we walk, his mouth devouring mine as we stumble into the bedroom.
He lays me back on the cool sheets, the mattress accepting my weight as he climbs over me with deliberate grace.
His eyes hold mine—dark pools of lust softened at the edges with pure, unguarded love—as he settles between my thighs.
He sinks back inside me in one smooth, unhurried thrust, and my spine curves off the bed as the sensation of him filling me again floods through me.
My hands find his shoulders, and my fingers dig into his muscles before dragging roughly down the length of his back.
Fucking me tenderly, he worships my body with every languid drive of his hips.
There is no urgency or desperation, just the slow, steady build of pleasure.
His lips dust over my skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake as he peppers words of worship across my flesh.
“You might be mine, baby girl, but you own me. Every broken piece of me is yours.”
“Show me,” I pant. “Own me the way I own you.”
Gunnar’s movements build, his once leisurely strokes deepening, hitting that spot inside me with every thrust until I’m trembling beneath him and screaming his name as another orgasm crashes through me.
With his body rigid and head thrown back, he follows me over the edge. A groan tears from his chest as he spills every bit of his claim inside me. Our bodies still joined, he collapses onto the mattress and pulls me into his arms. “I love you,” he whispers with his lips pressed against my temple.
My heart full and body sated, I curl into him. My heart full, my body sated, and my soul finally at peace. “I love you, too,” I whisper back.