Page 48 of Gunnar

“Clothes off, baby girl,” he interrupts, his voice sliding into the gravelly tone that makes my knees weak. “I want to see you in this one… and then watch you try on the others.”

Before I can argue further, he walks from the closet and crosses my bedroom to the chair in the corner. He grabs the velvet-and-carved-wood arms and drags it across the floor. The legs make a soft scraping sound against the floor as he positions it before the double doors of my enormous walk-in closet.

He drops into it, his legs spread slightly as he shifts forward and rests his forearms on his thighs. “I’m waiting,” he muses, looking at me with an intensity that makes my skin feel too tight for my body.

I know this game, the rules, and the stakes. Yet every time he issues a command, stripping away pretense and my autonomy, I feel the same rush of heat deep in my core. I reach for the hem of my T-shirt, and I pull it over my head in one smooth motion. The air in the room is cool, raising goosebumps along my arms and across my chest. Behind me, I unclasp my simple white lace bra and let it fall to the floor.

“I’m starting to feel like this was a ploy to get me out of my clothes,” I tease. My voice comes out breathy, betraying my attempt to hide my arousal.

“Less talking.” Gunnar’s lips curve wickedly, as his stormy-blue eyes roll over my bare skin. “More undressing.”

I unbutton my jeans, shimmying them down my hips, and step out of them. I’m left before him in only my underwear, a pair of little pink panties I know he likes.

Gunnar’s gaze is hungry, raking over every inch of my exposed skin with a thoroughness that makes me feel simultaneously vulnerable and powerful. I can see the effect I’m having on him. His jeans have grown tight, and his hands are curled into loose fists as if he’s restraining himself from reaching out to touch me.

After carefully removing the ugly dress from the hanger, I step into it. The fabric is stiff against my skin, the metallic paint scratching slightly. I catch a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror as I zip up, and I shake my head, suppressing a laugh. It is somehow even worse than I thought it would be. The gold paint catches the light in patches, making me look like I rolled in something while the orange shag skirt adds bulk in places no one wants bulk.

I step out of the closet, and Gunnar’s expression is priceless. His eyebrows are raised, and his mouth is slightly open as a laugh rattles from him. It’s real and bold, crinkling the corners of his eyes and transforming his face from dangerous to devastating.

“Jesus Christ,” he exhales, shaking his head. “I don’t… I don’t even have words for how awful that is.”

“I told you I wouldn’t wear it,” I huff, but I’m laughing, too, feeling lighter than I have in days. Weeks, maybe.

“Take it off,” he commands, his laughter fading but his eyes still bright. “Next one.”

I retreat to the closet, shedding the monstrosity and reaching for the second garment bag. This one is heavier. When I unzip it, I find a halter dress. It’s a beautiful milky white, covered in intricate beadwork that catches the light. The back plunges so low, it will reveal the dimples at the base of my spine. And probably my ass crack.

I slip it on, and when I turn to check the mirror, I can’t believe how good it looks. The dress clings to every curve, the beads creating a texture that demands touch, and the back is indeed scandalous. But as expected, it plunges to the crack of my ass, a detail only accentuated by a thin strand of beads.

I walk out to where Gunnar waits, and his expression shifts from amusement to dark and possessive. His eyes travel from my face down my throat to where the halter cups my breasts. “Turn.” He swirls his finger in the air. I do a slow spin, letting him see the back. I hear his sharp intake of breath as his eyes follow the line of my spine to the dimples beneath it. He tightens his hands on his knees as he shifts in his seat, undoubtedly to adjust the discomfort of his unmistakable arousal. “That’s more like it.”

Heat brushes over my cheeks as his stare bores through me. I walk back into the closet, my hips swaying far more than necessary. After removing the scandalous dress and rehanging it, I open the third bag. I don’t even know whether I can call this one a gown. It is nothing but black lace, an unlined slip dress that is sheer in all the places that matter. I hold it up, and through the delicate lace, I can clearly see the outline of my hand.

Watching me examine the dress through the archway, Gunnar shifts in his seat. The stiff velvet groans as he spreads his legs wider to accommodate his ever-growing desire. “As much as I like those little pink panties you’re wearing. I don’t think they go with that dress.” My racing heart thuds as I hook my fingers in the waistband of my underwear and shove them down my thighs, letting them fall to the floor around my ankles. I step out of them and kick them away. “That dress is going to suit you,” he proclaims, clearing his throat as his voice drops even lower. “Especially with that smooth pussy I’ve been keeping bare for me.”

I blush, heat flooding my face and chest before spreading down my body like wildfire. Gunnar shaves me almost daily, turning what was once a mundane grooming task into a ritual of intimacy and dominance. He uses the razor with careful precision, spreading me open with his fingers and making me hold still while he removes every trace of hair before testing his work with his mouth and tongue.

With my back to him, I step into the dress. The lace whispers against my skin. I know that when I turn around, the thin barrier between the man he shows me and the monster he keeps caged will dissolve completely.

Devyn slides the spaghetti strap onto her shoulder, the thin fabric catching the light as it settles against her skin. Her fingers reach behind her, finding the short zipper, and she eases it up her back with a slow, deliberate motion that makes my jaw tighten and my pulse skyrocket.

Every inch of her is on display in this dress. There’s no liner, just delicate black lace that reveals everything it’s pretending to conceal. Through the intricate web of fabric, I can see the curve of her ass, the perfect roundness of it, the crease where it meets her thighs, and that shadow beneath it that leads to heaven. The lace clings to her curves, and when she shifts slightly, turning to check her reflection in the mirror, I can see her pussy through the sheer panel at the front, the slit barely veiled by the pattern.

Blood rushes to my already swelling cock with such speed it makes me dizzy. My throbbing length jutting into the zipper of my jeans, hard and insistent, straining against the denim until the metal teeth bite into my flesh. The pain is a sharp, welcome distraction from the overwhelming need to claim her. When she fully turns around, facing me, the sight nearly undoes me.

The lace cups her breasts like hands, the dark circles of her areola visible through the pattern, her nipples already peaked and poking through the delicate threads. Lower, the fabric drapes over her hips, doing nothing to hide the cleft of her pussy or the arousal glistening at the apex of her thighs. The dress cocoons her endless fucking legs, extending down to the strappy black heels that wrap around her ankles like ribbons.

She’s a vision in sin. A fucking wet dream in the flesh. It is unreasonable to expect me to sit here and behave.

I adjust my cock, palming the rigid length through my jeans, trying to relieve some of the pressure. The sensation makes me groan despite myself. “Fuck,” I rasp.

Devyn walks from the closet, closing the distance between us with a sway in her hips that she probably doesn’t even realize she’s doing. The lace shifts with each step, revealing and concealing in equal measure, playing peekaboo with her nipples and her pussy. She’s modeling it for me, putting on a show, and the innocence and seduction in her expression snaps the last thread of my control.

I push from the chair, the wood scraping on the floor, stalking toward her before I’ve fully registered the decision to move. She stops, her breath hitching, and I see her rapid pulse fluttering in her throat. I don’t stop until I’m right in front of her, until I’ve caged her against the wall with my body, my hands braced on either side of her head, and my hips pinning hers.

She’s trapped. And she’s mine.

I lower my head, my mouth finding the column of her throat. I kiss my way along her neck, sucking and biting as I mark her with my teeth and tongue. She tastes like salty sweetness, and I can’t get enough. I move over her shoulder, my lips tracing the strap of the dress. Catching it with my teeth, I slip it over her shoulder. The fabric falls away, the lace sliding from her chest until her breast tumbles free. The dress hangs precariously low, her taut nipple on display, begging for my mouth.