Page 99 of Gunnar

“What?” I ask.

He studies me.

“You still don’t get it, do you, Alexandria?”

“Get what?”

“That we don’t do that.”

I frown. “Do what?”

“Bring different women up here,” he says. “Or anywhere.” His voice is steady, matter-of-fact. “We don’t date around.”

I go still. “What do you do, then?”

He holds my gaze.

“We find our mate,” he says. “And that’s it.”

The words sit between us, clear and unsoftened.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes straight away. My thoughts scramble, trying to catch up—what he’s saying, what it means.

“And when you meet her,” I manage, “you’re sure?”

“Yes.”

No hesitation.

“I told you.”

I stare at him, pulse picking up, every part of me aware of him.

All I can think about is how much I want him to kiss me again.

“Gunnar—” I start⁠—

I don’t get to finish, because his mouth is on mine.

He leans over me, holding me tight as he pulls me up into him. The seat’s all the way back, and that massive, powerful body of his is right on top of me. I cling to him, drawing him in.

He kisses me deeper and deeper, and I feel it—hard, unmistakable, pressing through his jeans.

Heat rushes through me.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to drag his mouth down my neck, and I tip my head back without thinking, giving him more space.

His hand moves to my shirt.

Then he stills.

I look at him.

His eyes are darker now, fixed on me, waiting.

“Yes,” I whisper.

That’s all it takes.