Page 50 of Gunnar

“You take my cock so good,” I grunt against her calf, my voice strained. “So fucking good, baby girl. You were made for this. Made for me. This tight little cunt is just waiting for Daddy to fill it.”

She moans, her hands gripping the sheets as her head throws back. “Oh God! Yes! Daddy!”

“Are you going to come again for Daddy?” My pace is merciless. “Come on. One more. Come on my cock like a good girl. Let me feel you squeeze me.”

Her walls flutter, and her breath falters to sharp gasps, every muscle in her body tensing beneath me. She’s so fucking close. I reach between us, my thumb finding her clit and rubbing it in tight circles. I work the sensitive nub hard, demanding her release.

She comes with a scream that tears from her throat, her back arching off the bed, and her pussy clamping down on my cock so hard that it’s my undoing. My orgasm crashes over me like a tidal wave, starting at the base of my spine and exploding outward. I roar as I spill into her, thick, hot pulses that fill her little pussy with my cum.

My rhythm falters, and I thrust through every twitch of my cock until I’m spent. I collapse over her, my chest heaving and heart racing. Both of us are breathless, the smell of sex and sweat enveloping us. My lips meet hers, and I kiss her tenderly, relishing in the soft sounds that fill my mouth. I climb onto the bed fully, pulling her with me and arranging her limp body on top of mine.

We lie there in silence, our breaths slowly returning to normal. She curls into me, her head on my chest, and her leg thrown over mine. Dusting my fingers up and down her spine, I pepper kisses on the top of her head, still unable to get enough of her, as she traces patterns through the short hair on my chest.

She snuggles deeper into me, and with her voice muffled against my skin, she playfully says, “Leslie is going to be so mad at you when she finds out she has to call that designer.”

Despite the bone-deep exhaustion from being claimed so thoroughly, I find myself wide awake with Gunnar’s strong arm wrapped around me, anchoring me to his side. We snuggle together with his fingers dusting over my hip and his breath warm over my temple. It’s quiet and comforting in a way I couldn’t have imagined possible. The perpetual undercurrent of anxiety I feel these days seems to subside when I’m in his arms.

“We can’t lie in bed all day, baby girl.” Gunnar breaks the silence, pulling me back to reality. I still have things to do today. I groan in protest, and his hand slides from my hip to my ass. His fingers press between my cheeks, and I startle slightly at the unexpected touch. “But if my good girl is willing to let me fuck this tight little hole, I could be convinced to stay a little longer.”

I gulp at the thought, more with nerves than excitement. While I have dabbled with a finger here and there during sex throughout the years, I’ve never been brazen—or trusting—enough to allow a partner to perform anal sex on me. Trust with Gunnar isn’t the issue. The sheer size of him, on the other hand…

“I… uh…” I stammer like an inexperienced virgin instead of a grown-ass woman who is usually quite comfortable talking about her sexual history.

Gunner’s fingertip presses a little firmer, rimming the taut hole, as his voice kicks up with a tinge of excitement. “Is this a virgin hole?”

“Yes.” My answer is short but honest.

He groans with satisfaction, continuing to tease without penetrating. “Another time then. After I take my time stretching you, so your ass accepts my cock as greedily as your pussy does.”

Gunnar’s hand retreats with a lingering caress, and he rolls onto his back with a resigned sigh, the sheet sliding dangerously low on his hips. “Come here,” he murmurs, pulling me across his chest for one last kiss. His thumb strokes my jawline as we separate, his pale blue eyes studying me with an intensity that makes my stomach flutter all over again. “Shower with me.”

I shake my head, sliding away from the warmth of his body, suddenly aware of how thoroughly used I feel. There is a pleasant ache between my thighs, a tenderness where his stubble burned my neck, and a stickiness between my upper thighs where his release is slowly seeping from me. “If I get in there with you, we both know we’ll never leave this room.” I retreat to the bathroom while he’s still in bed to quickly clean between my thighs, grabbing my discarded clothes from the closet floor on my return. “And I actually like Leslie. I’d rather figure out how to tell her about the little mishap”—my gaze darts to what used to be a very expensive designer gown—“sooner than later.”

He chuckles as he throws his legs over the edge of the mattress, giving me an unapologetic view of his bare back, his broad shoulders tapering to a trim waist. “Your priorities are skewed, baby girl, but fine. I’ll make something to eat and pretend I’m not thinking about training your ass later.”

Shaking my head, I leave him alone and naked in my bedroom before padding down the hall. My mind races through the logistics of damage control, trying to figure out how to tell Leslie that one of her carefully negotiated loan pieces has been destroyed by my overzealous…

What?

Boyfriend?

Protector?

Lover?

The labels all feel insufficient for what Gunnar is to me.

Maybe I’ll just tell her I caught it on my heel and tripped. Yeah… that seems easier.

Taking a seat in the chair of my office, I reach for the stack of envelopes Sarah left beside my laptop. I shuffle through them, pulling out a few pieces of fan mail forwarded from the studio. They’re all sweet letters, requests for autographed photos, mostly from fans who saw my last film and felt moved to write. I’ll have Sarah tend to these in the morning, sending them a standard headshot with my signature scrawled across the bottom in silver Sharpie.

After I set those aside, I reach for a thick manila envelope with a production company logo stamped in the corner. I tear it open, pulling out a script bound with brass paper fasteners. I thumb through it briefly, skimming a few pages of dialogue and noting the solid structure and compelling premise: a woman who discovers her neighbor has been impersonating her online. It has promise. I decide to give it a full read in the morning, when my mind isn’t quite so scattered, and set it on the corner of my desk.

My hand finds another manila envelope at the bottom of the stack. Lifting it, I turn it over in my hands, looking for a return address or company logo. Assuming it’s an oversight, I slide my finger under the flap and tear it open. When I pull out the contents, my heart leaps into my throat with such violence that I feel like I’m choking. I try to scream, but the sound comes out like a strangled gasp.

Struggling to breathe, I stare at the photograph in my hands. It’s Gunnar and me in this very office a few days ago. He has me bent over the desk, with his hands on my hips and my dress wrapped around my waist. The image is clear. There is no mistaking that it is anything other than the two of us engaged in raw, carnal sex.

My hands are shaking so badly that I can barely hold the still-full envelope. I pull out the contents with trembling fingers, and they spill across my desk. Gunnar and me on the terrace, his mouth on my throat. The two of us in my bedroom, my back pressed against the glass balcony door, and my legs wrapped around his waist. A late-night swim, entwined and glistening under the moonlight. The pile is a never-ending invasion.