He growled and leaned in, biting her neck. “It was always going to end here, Olive.”
Relief swamped her.
He felt it too.
He did.
But the years of learning to guard herself, against him and everything, pushed her to be spiky in return.
“I am not an inevitability,” she said.
Except she knew she was. This was. It had been set in stone perhaps since the dawn of time.
Her body was trained to respond only to Gunnar Magnusson, whether it made sense or not. And it didn’t. Because he was the antithesis of all that she should want.
Except... She was a smart, ambitious woman, and she could not accept a man who was any less of those things than her. So of course... The modern-day Viking raider who wore a suit with ease, but also looked like he could wield an axe, was all she wanted.
Anything else would be a compromise.
And Olive had never been taught how to compromise.
Conquer. Destroy. Dominate.
The word made her knees feel weak.
Because the truth of it was...
She thrilled at the idea of a man strong enough to dominate her.
A man that she would want to submit to. To let him make her feel the kinds of pleasure he dictated.
And that, well that, was exactly why Gunnar appealed to her, even while driving her crazy.
“For me you are.”
And that was when he pushed his hand down beneath the waistband of her pants, her panties, his big, rough fingers sliding between that damp cleft there, finding her wet and ready. “Is this not inevitable, Olive?”
And it was the strain in his voice that nearly sent her over the edge.
The way the ferocity in his gaze stood as an admission to his own desire.
That she wasn’t simply claiming this for herself, but that he was claiming it for him too.
Which made it theirs.
Oh, this fire was theirs and that drove her higher, faster.
He stroked her, rubbing her sensitized flesh with the pad of his finger, before thrusting it deep inside of her.
She gasped, grabbing hold of his broad shoulders. “Gunnar.”
“It feels inevitable to me. You’re so wet for me. This cannot be the first time you’ve ever thought of giving yourself to me. You must think about it. Often. Not just that night you tried to kiss me.”
And she wanted to admit it. That he was the only man she’d ever wanted. That she’d dreamed of him for years. That when she’d turned eighteen she had a fevered fantasy of sneaking to see him—another birthday that she had in office buildings, because of her father’s business dealings. Another time when Gunnar had been in a hotel room close to hers.
And she had thought... She was legally an adult, and could go to his bed if she wanted to.
In the end, she had been too afraid to do it.