Page 53 of Beautiful Savage
I climb the service stairs on tired legs. Gunner sits at the desk, laptop open, that complete stillness that means he's deep in something operational. Hallstein's photo is visible on the screen for a moment before he minimizes it. He looks up when I enter, and something shifts in his gray eyes. Hunger, relief, possession.
"How was it?"
I cross to him, summarizing in the dry register he knows is really me. "Sera was warm and called mepaloma. The Siren was generous about my dance. Isa gave me nine words total. Juliet was a relief. Normal friendship, imagine that. Marisol was Marisol."
"So it went well."
"Parts of it."
I don't wait for him to move. I sit sideways in his lap, and he shifts to accommodate. One arm coming around my back, his other hand settling on my thigh. I rest my head on his shoulder, breathing in his cedar soap smell.
"Marisol really doesn't like me," I say against his neck.
"She doesn't trust you. There's a difference." His hand tightens on my thigh, fingertips pressing into muscle in a way that makes me remember exactly how those hands felt inside me. "She protects what's hers fiercely. Always has."
"And I'm not hers."
"Not yet." His hand moves higher on my thigh, deliberate now. "But you're mine."
"Yes." The word comes out soft, certain. His hand slides between my thighs, cupping me through my jeans. Even through the denim, his touch makes me gasp. "Yours. And I think you like reminding me."
"Always." His voice drops, rough and dangerous.
Before I can respond, he's standing, lifting me with him. My back hits the wall beside the desk, his body caging me in. Hishands grip my wrists, pin them above my head with one hand while the other goes to my jaw, forcing me to look at him.
"You walked through my building today," he says, voice low and controlled. "Let my family see you. Let them assess you." His thumb traces my lower lip. "But you came back to me."
"Where else would I go?"
"Nowhere." His free hand drops to my throat, not squeezing, just holding. Possessing. "You don't go anywhere anymore. Not without me knowing. Not without my permission."
The words send heat flooding between my thighs, the way they always do when he talks to me like this. He feels it. The way I press closer instead of pulling away, the way my breath catches.
"You're exhausted," he observes, but his grip doesn't loosen. "Walking through their judgment, earning their acceptance. You think you need rest."
"Don't I?"
His laugh is dark. "No,paloma. You need to remember who you belong to. You need me to fuck every thought out of your head except my name."
His mouth crashes into mine, hungry and demanding. His hand releases my wrists to grip my hair, angling my head where he wants it. I moan into his mouth, my hands finding his shoulders, nails digging in through his shirt.
He breaks the kiss, breathing hard. "Take off your clothes."
"Gunner…"
"Now." The command in his voice makes my pussy clench. "Every piece. I want you naked while I'm still dressed. I want you to feel the difference."
My hands shake as I pull off my shirt, unhook my bra. His eyes track every movement, dark with hunger. I push down my jeans and underwear together, step out of them. Stand naked before him while he's still fully clothed, the power dynamic making me wetter.
"Good girl." He steps back, just enough to look at me fully. "Now get on your knees."
I drop without hesitation, the floor hard against my knees. He unbuckles his belt slowly, deliberately, making me wait. When he finally frees his cock, it's already hard, already leaking for me.
"Open your mouth."
I part my lips and he pushes inside. Not gentle, not slow. His hand fists in my hair, controlling the pace as he fucks my mouth. I take him deep, tears forming at the corners of my eyes, but I don't pull back. This is what he needs. To claim, to possess, to remind us both who I belong to.
"That's it," he growls. "Take it all. Show me how much you want to belong here."
