When his hands are everywhere, learning me, worshipping me.
When his mouth does things that make my back arch and my fingers dig into his shoulders.
"Gunnar—" His name comes out broken.
"I've got you," he says against my skin. "I've got you."
And god help me, I believe him.
Just for this moment.
Just for tonight.
I let myself believe.
I lie beneath Gunnar on the rumpled sheets, my breath coming in shallow bursts as his body hovers over mine, warm and solid.
The room feels smaller now, the air thick with the scent of our shared anticipation and the faint trace of rain from outside.
Heat radiates from his skin, the subtle tremor in his arms as he holds himself up, not pressing down but giving me space to breathe, to decide.
His eyes, those deep blue pools that have always seen too much, lock onto mine with an intensity that makes my chest ache.
"Ingrid," he murmurs, his voice low and rough, like gravel underfoot. One hand comes up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing away a stray tear I hadn't realized had fallen. "I need you to know something. You're not nothing. Not to me. Never."
The words pierce me, sharp and sweet, unraveling the knots I've tied around my heart over the last couple of years.
I want to argue, to push him away before he can see the fractures in my facade, but my body betrays me.
My hands slide up his back, fingers tracing the ridges of his spine, pulling him closer.
Gunnar lowers himself slowly, his chest brushing against my breasts, the contact sending a shiver through me that has nothing to do with cold.
Our lips meet again, softer this time, less frantic.
It’s a kiss of exploration, of reassurance, his mouth moving against mine with a gentleness that contrasts with the hunger from moments before.
I sigh into it, my legs parting instinctively as his hips settle between them.
I feel him there, hard and insistent against my thigh, but he doesn't thrust forward.
Instead, he pauses, lifting his head to search my face.
"Tell me if you want to stop," he says, his breath warm on my neck. "Anytime."
I shake my head, my hands tightening on his shoulders. "Don't stop. Please."
Gunnar nods, his expression solemn, and leans down to press a kiss to my collarbone, then lower, to the swell of my breast.
His lips are reverent, tasting my skin as if it were something sacred.
I arch slightly, a soft gasp escaping me as his mouth closes over one nipple, tongue flicking gently before sucking with just enough pressure to make my toes curl.
But it isn't demanding.
It’s attentive, like he is memorizing every reaction, every hitch in my breath.
His hand trails down my side, fingers splaying over my hip, thumb circling lazily on the bone there.
