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.
