Before I stroll to the door, Gunner gently pulls me by the arm and bends down. “Wear my favorite rainbow socks. I want to fuck you in them,” he whispers in my ear then nips the tip of my earlobe, and I blush hard.
I email Izzy and tell her about the date, and how I’m excited about it, then I sort out Gunner’s emails. I organize his calendar for next week.
Several moments later, Mason strolls through the door with a blank facial expression. He stares at me for a minute too long.
“You can do better than him. When things go south, you know where to find me.”
I don’t respond, and he strolls out the glass door heading to the private elevators. He must be high as a kite if he thinks he has a chance with me. I need to know why Gunner called me his girlfriend, which prompts me to wiggle the mouse and click on the Google icon, shooting him an email.
From: Gia Gallagher
To: Gunner Underwood
Subject: Why tell
What’s up with you telling Mason that I’m your girlfriend?
PA, Underwood Banking
He responds immediately.
From: Gunner Underwood
To: Gia Gallagher
Subject: Re: Why tell
Mason wants to fuck you. And he will not leave you alone, and the only way he will get the hint is if I flat-out told him you’re with me. You’re not allowed to fuck anyone else, and I won’t be sticking my dick in new pussy. But don’t get your hopes up, I’m not interested in a serious relationship.
From: Gia Gallagher
To: Gunner Underwood
Subject: Re: Re: Why tell
Good, I wouldn’t want my boyfriend to find out about us. He gets really possessive and mean.
PA, Underwood Banking
Even though my heart is sad after reading that he doesn’t want a relationship, I try to make light of the situation.
From: Gunner Underwood
To: Gia Gallagher
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Why tell
Your boyfriend’s looking rather pathetic. First, he leaves you homeless, then he allows you to move in with a guy who’s been waiting forever to fuck you. Tell him you found someone better-looking with a bigger dick. Because it’s obvious he isn’t fucking you properly if you agreed for me to fuck you.
After you finish reading over this document that needs to be sent to the HR department, go home and get ready for our date.
I’ll be home at four.
P.S. Delete these messages, so IT won’t flag them.
Gia
Gunner is late. Like thirty minutes late. Not that it’s a surprise, he’s always running late for meetings and everything else. Sometimes, I think he has no sense of time.
I changed my outfit five times already.
After all, I’m going on a date with a man my heart has been doing cartwheels for since college. The same man I dreamed about while I lay next to my ex at night.
I wear my lavender tank top and my white jean shorts with my rainbow knee-high socks and lavender oxford shoes. I stand in front of the marble counter in the bathroom, staring at my reflection in the wide mirror as I apply white eye shadow. I brush my wavy hair for the millionth time.
Finally, Gunner lurches inside the bathroom, removing his clothes. My cheeks burn as I stare at his junk as it dangles between his legs.
Oh, my God. It is huge. It’s veiny and hard. So red it’s almost purple.
“You’re hung like a horse!” I blurt out then cover my mouth. I did not mean to say that out loud.
Gunner chuckles and takes long strides toward me.
“We can always skip the date, and I’ll fuck you right here and now.”
“No,” I say, gathering my makeup from the counter and tossing it into my pink bag. I turn around. His erection rubs against my stomach, and my sex is wetter than the ocean.
I want to go to town on his erection, but I want to do things the traditional way so I hurry out of the bathroom, grab my camera and his car keys on the way out the door, and wait in the building’s underground garage until he finishes getting dressed.
On our way to the fair, a two-hour drive from NYC to Atlantic City, we talked about everything: politics (we are both not into it); television shows (we agreed horror movies are overrated, and reality shows kill brain cells more than smoking); our views on music (I made him listen to Young Gunz and Muse, he still thinks modern rock music is garbage); his favorite colors (black and gray, which I already knew).
Instead of resting his hand on the gear or tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, he keeps his hand intertwined with mine, or he rests his hand on my thigh. I don’t mind, his touch is comforting.
When Gunner pulls up to the parking lot, I grab my camera bag from the back seat and strap it over my shoulder, then exit the car.
He should have checked the weather before we drove all the way here. The sky is a happy gray, and black clouds hover over us, ready to unleash a beautiful thunderstorm.
As we stroll to the front entrance he grabs my hand and we head to the booth, bypassing the long line. Gunner paid extra for us so we won’t have to wait long in order to get on rides.
He slings his arm over my shoulder, meshing my body with his, kissing my lips. “I’m going to beat your ass in some games, dope you up on sugar, then after this date, I’m going to fuck you like I’ve wanted to do since I was twenty-one years old.”
He smacks my butt as I squeal.
“This date sucked,” I say, laughing as I shake my soaked hair like a wet dog. Our clothes are drenched from the rain. I love it—the way the cool drops splatter on my heated skin, and the way the thunder claps in the sky.
We perch in the leather seat with the heat blasting. This is one of the worst dates I’ve ever been on. And that says a lot because I’ve only been on two others. The last date I went on was four years ago when I wanted to give my love life that good old college try. The guy I went out with worked as an IT guy at an Apple Store. He was nice and all, but I didn’t like the fact that we had to take his mom with us, and I felt like I was on a date with her, not him. Thinking back, this date isn’t so bad by comparison.
First, we got stuck on the Ferris wheel. Second, I accidentally spilled my Coke on Gunner’s white shirt because I was so nervous thinking about tonight. He then bought a new shirt from a hippie smelling like weed. That’s when the rain started pouring down on us.
“The next date will be a lot better.” He removes his damp shirt, tosses it into the back seat and shifts the gear into drive, pulling onto the wet asphalt.
The wipers whimper as they slap water away from the windshield. Rain splatters against the roof, creating music to my ears.
My clothes are wet and dried-up mud coats my oxford shoes.
“You want to check into a nearby hotel?” I suggest.
“Anxious for me to dick you down?” His tone is smooth. He reaches over to squeeze my thigh, and my stomach clenches at his words.
“Maybe,” I say through a smile.
“Be patient, little Rainbow. We’ve got all night for me to fuck you until you’re numb.”
I play with the end of my soaked shorts. “It’s been nine years since I’ve had sex.”
“Why?” He entwines his thick fingers with my tiny ones and squeezes my hand gently.
“Personal reasons.”
I don’t want to go into details about the night that I left my ex, and I don’t want to put a damper on the mood.
For the two-hour drive back, we remain silent, and my stomach breaks out in a bad case of butterflies.
I’m not nervous about actually having sex because my old therapist told me that what happened to me wasn’t my fault and what my ex did to me wasn’t sex. I’m surrendering my body to Gunner because I trust him. He’s my security blanket. I’m nervous about the scars ingrained in my flesh, which haven’t been seen by another man. My insecurity weighs a ton in my stomach, like it’s trying to pull my gut to the floor.
These scars are a remin
der of a past I’ve been spending almost a decade trying to forget. Every time I look in the mirror, I avoid looking at them. I feel like a slave to these scars. I can’t wear shirts that show my belly, or if I go to the pool, I can’t wear a two-piece bathing suit because I know I’ll get pitying looks.
When we drive through the streets in this gorgeous community, I’m surprised by the size of the mansions. They’re so big they can fit three huge houses into one, and each one is spaced out from each other.
We drive through imposing wrought-iron gates and continue down a winding driveway and finally pull up to Gunner’s mansion. It stands out like a sore thumb; it resembles a castle made out of different shades of gray stone. It actually fits his personality. Depressed, cold, and sad. Gargoyles perched on the rooftop remind me of the castle from Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. It kind of scares me. He pulls up to the garage, kills the engine, and I slowly unbuckle the seat belt to follow him through an oak door connected to the garage into the kitchen. A whiff of Gunner hits me like a ton of brick, cinnamon and whiskey. He smells like lasciviousness and ardor. I want to bathe in his scent. His home feels lonelier on the inside than the outside. Clean. Bare. And boring.
Expensive black lava countertops that match the black marble floor. Alcohol bottles decorate the top of the fridge.
He grabs my hand and leads me through the living room and upstairs to his bedroom, not bothering to give me a tour of his estate.
All righty then.
Straight to business.
After he closes the door behind him, he cups my face and assaults my mouth with hard kisses. My body is hot like it’s ready to combust. He tugs at the hem of my damp shirt, and I push his hand away. I need to think of an excuse to avoid taking my clothes off without raising suspicion. I continue to let his tongue roam my mouth, then I break our kiss.
“Gunner . . . Please. I . . . Uh . . . I need to leave my shirt on, or can we at least do it with the lights off?” I mumble.
“Why, Rainbow?” He strokes my cheek, and I look down at the dark wooden floors as shame and fear grip me by the throat, crawling their way out of my mouth.
So much for not raising suspicions.
“It’s just . . . that . . . my body is different from what you’re used to.”
I’m pretty sure the women he sleeps with don’t have butt-ugly scars smiling back at them every morning.
“I’m sure I like what you look like.” He tries to pull up my shirt, and I slap his hand away.
“I’m serious.”
“I want to see how you look.” His voice is stern. My chest tightens at the thought of revealing my scars to him. I feel naked and exposed even though I’m fully clothed.
“You won’t like it.”
I know I’m killing all the sexual vibes here, but he has to understand he can’t see me naked.
“That’s for me to decide,” he says. My eyes stay glued to his face as he slowly lifts my damp tank top over my head. He breaks our stare-down as his eyes venture down south and tears trail down my face like a stream. My heart leapfrogs in my chest and the acid that burns my throat threatens to make it’s debut on his floor.
Does he want to see how broken I am?
He stares at my scars, not uttering a word as he traces his fingers over my pale pink scars that have faded over the years, but I still know by heart. The scars are like a history book of wounds that will never heal—physically and emotionally.
“I don’t understand why you’re trying to hide this from me. You’re beautiful, Gia. Everything about you is, from the way you say random facts to the way you like to have the last word. The scars on your body don’t take away from your beauty. If a person doesn’t like your scars then fuck them. Means they’re a piece of shit anyway.”
Then he bends down and presses his warm lips against my pale scars like his kiss is rewriting history. His kisses send a message to my scars that I’m the most beautiful woman in the world, despite my imperfect body.
It’s okay to have battle scars, and he accepts every inch of me. I wipe the tears with the back of my hand. He scoops me up by my butt. I wrap my legs around his waist and he rains kisses on my face as if he’s kissing my soul.
His mouth breaks from mine and he chuckles. “I should punish you for being a liar.”
“What did I lie about?” I rub my nose against his, giving him Eskimo kisses. My wet bra presses against his firm chest.
“You put up this front that you can’t stand me, but deep down you want me. You want me to fuck your little cunt until you’re begging for me to stop.”
“You’re so crass.”
“Just admit you want me. It isn’t that hard.”
He lays me on his king-size bed. My body clings to the black cotton sheets as he unbuttons my shorts and slides them down along with my panties, tossing them to the floor, leaving me in my bra and rainbow knee-high socks.
“I’ve wanted you since college,” I admit, and his eyes twinkle like stars. “When you were being a creep, stalking me at the library, I used to imagine what it would be like to be yours, and you to be mine.”
He drops down to his knees and spreads my legs, staring at my sex like he’s about to feast on it. “Oh, yeah? How does it feel like now?”
“Like I’m on a high, right before it crashes.” Nervousness seeps through my pores as he rubs his nose against my inner thigh then bites gently. I bite my bottom lip to muffle my moans.
This is happening right now.
Right. Now.
“Gunner?” I whisper, and I stare at the black lion that’s carved into his headboard, his bed is fluffy and soft.
“Yes, Rainbow.”
“D-d-did you know oral sex can make the penis longer?”
I feel his wet tongue on my clit, massaging it and twirling on it. The feeling is intense, and pleasure shoots up my spine like an arrow.
As I push up on my elbow to get away from him, he grips my hips tighter, keeping me in place as he licks my clit harder like he’s punishing me.
His name is leaving my lips as I grip his thick auburn hair. Several moments later, my orgasm tickles my spine, my toes curl, and I arch my back before I scream so loud my voice bounces off the walls. He sticks his tongue inside my sex, licking me like he’s dying of thirst.
It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced.
He pushes himself off the floor, pulls his dark shirt over his head and pulls down his jeans and boxers. Fully naked and manly. His angry erection is hard as stone, veiny, and pre-cum sits at the tip of it. I want to suck him off. Before I can stand and try, he goes to the nightstand and pulls out a condom from the drawer. He tears it with his teeth, rolling it down his length.
“Get on birth control,” he orders. “We’re going to be doing a lot of fucking, and I won’t always have a condom on me.” He yanks me off the bed, lifting both of my thighs, and I sling my legs around his waist. My vagina creams his lower stomach. Before I know it, my back is pressed against the black cold wall. “And I’m going to fuck you anywhere and everywhere, no place is off-limits.”
“Not even work?”
“Oh, I’m fucking you every chance I get there.”
“You get rid of that couch, and we’ll talk.”
“I’ll order a new one ASAP.” He grips his erection, nudging it against my entrance, and finally pushes inside me.
My body feels full and I feel alive, more alive than I’ve ever felt. He slams into me hard then he pulls out and keeps thrusting in and out of me. Pleasure ripples through me as my vagina grips his erection like a vise. His balls slap against my butt cheeks as he makes grunting noises. I feel his tortured soul through mine. Emptiness. Sorrow. Anger.
“Gunner, please don’t stop. I want more, more, and more,” I keep saying as he pounds inside me.
Nine years I’ve been waiting for this moment, and he’s far better than I imagined he would be.
His abs contract as his hips thrust against me, then he bites and sucks on my n
eck hard, like a vampire dying of thirst. It’s so erotic as his grunts turn animalistic. The way he screws me like I’m his. But I knew I wouldn’t be, not in a way I want to be. I want every part of him, even his tortured soul and even after this experiment.
His skin glows with sweat, and it trickles down to my forehead. My sex feels so needy clamping down on his erection, it’s thirsty for his cum. Then my climax chokes my spine and goosebumps blanket my body, sending my vagina into hypersensitive mode. As I sag against him, he continues to thrust into me, chasing his own climax. When he makes one last thrust, his mouth attacks mine. Then he bites hard on my bottom lip, drawing blood as he comes, throbbing inside me.
He licks my bottom lip and it stings; I don’t mind though, I actually like it. He lets me down and pulls the condom off his semi-erection, tying it in a knot, and heading to the bathroom. I stand there still in a haze of lust at how we released nine years of pent-up sexual frustration.
Gunner walks back into the room, goes straight to the drawer, and pulls out another condom. He tears it with his teeth, rolling it on his now fully hard erection, then he strides toward me with predatory eyes as if he’s going to eat me alive.
He grabs my hand, pulling me on to the bed, sliding between my legs, placing my legs over his shoulders. He attacks my mouth with kisses, then pulls away.
“You sure you want to continue this?” he murmurs. And for some strange reason I know he isn’t talking about the sex, but he’s speaking about our relationship.
It is my turn to bite him, and I do on his plump bottom lip. I can still taste me on him.
“Yeah,” I say. He thrusts, and I feel him deep inside me, and I moan loudly.
“Good,” he whispers in my ear.
And my stupid dumb heart smiles and jumps for joy.
Gunner
“Can two people with fucked-up pasts have a healthy relationship?” I ask Hannah through the phone. I close out my email. I decided to catch up on work, so I’ve been in my home office for an hour or two.
Chasing Gunner (Chasing Series Book 2) Page 11
