Page 44 of Gunnar

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?”