Page 103 of Gunnar

“Shall we take it to bed?”

The words hit me like a jolt.

I go still.

Her voice is quiet. Almost careful.

When I turn, her pupils are huge, her lips parted.

“To bed,” I repeat, slower this time. “Are you sure?”

She wets her lips, swallows.

“Yes,” she says. “Never been surer.”

Every instinct in me is pushing forward, urging me to close the distance, to throw her over my shoulder and carry her to bed.

But that’s not going to happen. I’m going to make sure every moment of this is perfect.

So I make myself slow.

“Come here,” I say.

She does.

She comes to me like she’s already decided.

Mine.

I pull her into my arms, and this time I don’t hold back.

I kiss her, deep, hungry.

She makes a sound—low, surprised—and then she’s kissing me back, and it’s that shift, that instant where she meets me instead of yielding, that snaps the last thread of restraint.

I run my hands up her back, feeling her bare skin, and she shudders against me.

“Gunnar—”

My name breaks against my mouth and I drag my lips from hers, down her jaw, feeling the way she reacts to it. The way her body answers before her mind can catch up.

She lets out a shaky breath that sounds nothing like caution.

Her hands are on me now—everywhere—uncertain at first, then bolder, exploring.

That’s it.

I lift her right off her feet.

She gasps, but as I sweep her into my arms, she clings to me.

I carry her straight to the bedroom and set her down on the bed.

Her hair is damp, falling loose around her shoulders. Her lips are swollen from my kisses and her chest is rising and falling rapidly.

My hand comes to her face, thumb brushing along her cheek, and she leans into it with a soft sigh.

“You tell me if you want me to stop,” I say.