Page 35

CHAPTER 34

EMERSON

Steam fills the bathroom as I run my fingers through Gunnar's beard, feeling each coarse hair against my fingertips. "Getting scruffy," I murmur, tracing his jaw. Water droplets cling to the golden strands, and I'm struck by how different he looks from the clean-cut athlete in his milk commercial.

"Can't shave during a win streak." He presses me against the cool tile, his calloused hands sliding down my sides, leaving trails of heat in their wake. "Bad luck."

"Mmm. Very superstitious." I love these quiet moments- just us, no drama. Our apartment has become a haven for us in the past few weeks. I know I need to confront my family eventually, that I can’t hide behind a changed phone number forever. But for now, I have exactly what I need. I officially moved into Gunnar’s bedroom …our bedroom. I also transferred all my stuff into this bathroom, and I enjoy seeing the shelves with both our products blended together. United.

Zara has been very encouraging in helping me notice these small pleasures. We’ve been meeting twice a week, partly because I have the time and partly because she believes I can benefit from a lot from practical skills, such as setting boundaries. I haven’t spoken to my parents or any symphony personnel in weeks, which feels great.

And I’m learning to lower my boundaries with Gunnar, which feels even better. He’s been so amazing, sitting with me for therapy sessions and taking notes. He jokes that physical intimacy is the only homework assignment he’s ever enjoyed. And my goodness, am I learning to love physical intimacy. I don’t know if my body was waiting for Gunnar or if he just sets me free from whatever pressures were bottling up my sex drive, but I’m ravenous for his body and the things it can do with mine.

The shower feels warm and comforting as Gunnar’s hands cup my backside, and I gasp, arching into him. Our wet skin slides together, creating delicious friction. "Careful. I'm still tender from this morning."

He grins, that cocky smile that first drew me to him in Vegas. "You weren't complaining then."

"Never." I stretch up to kiss him, savoring his taste and touch. Everything about him feels like home—the solid warmth of his chest against mine, the gentle way he holds me despite his tremendous strength, the familiar scent of his soap mixing with the steam. I feel safe here, protected, and loved.

"God, I love you." The words slip out before I can catch them, carried on a wave of pure emotion.

Gunnar freezes, water running in rivulets down his face. For a terrifying moment, I worry I've ruined everything. Then his face breaks into the most brilliant smile I've ever seen, brighter than after any shutout victory.

"Say it again, Salty.”

My heart swells. "I love you."

He lifts me, pressing me harder against the wall. I love how he can haul me around despite my substantial weight. His beard scratches my neck, and his erection digs into my stomach as he whispers, "I love you too, Salty. So fucking much."

The kiss deepens, his hands everywhere at once. “I’ve wanted to tell you for weeks,” he groans.

“Me, too,” I pant, wrapping my legs around his waist, not caring about being sore anymore. This man, my husband, loves me—really loves me—not because of my family name or my musical talent or what I can do for his career. He loves me .

Breaking the kiss, Gunnar traces patterns on my skin in the shower. His touch is reverent, like I'm something precious. "Why didn't you?"

He pinches my nipple, and I gasp. “Why didn’t you?” I lower a hand to his cock and squeeze, loving the sound this draws from his throat.

"Didn't want to overwhelm you. With everything happening with your father..."

I silence him with a kiss. "You're nothing like him. You make me feel safe. Loved." I slide my mouth wherever I can reach. “Protected but not controlled. Supported but not stifled. Free to be myself.” I pull back and meet his eye. “Also, I don’t want to talk about my father right now.”

Gunnar laughs against my lips, hoisting me just a wee bit higher against the wall and I feel the blunt head of his cock pressing against my entrance. “You ready, baby? You want this?”

I nod. “Please.” The shower head is big enough with enough water pressure that neither of us is outside the warm spray. That, combined with the heat lamp in the bathroom, means the whole space is warm and slippery. Gunnar, soaped and rinsed and smelling amazing, licks the length of my throat as he eases inside my body, and every bit of me sighs at the welcome pressure. “Oh, I am so full, Gunny. Thank you.”

My head falls back against the shower wall as he starts to move. I cling to him as his hands dig into the flesh of my thighs while he utters filthy, appreciative words about my body.

“Look at those legs spread just for me, Emerson. Fuck, I’m so deep inside you. I feel every soft inch of your skin everywhere, baby. So wet and warm for me. Fucckkkkk.”

My skin hums with the need to release. After the day we spent together watching him crawl around the ice with rescued dogs and city kids who love his team, I’ve been desperate for this. I start to wriggle in his arms, rubbing my nipples along his chest, moaning at the friction. My nails dig into his tattooed flesh as he thrusts, grunting. It’s filthy and perfect and everything I never dared to want.

Being with Gunnar has let me become myself. “I love you,” I pant, tilting my hips until my clit is pressed against his pubic bone. “I love you so much, Gunny.”

I don’t mean to use a pet name for him, but it just feels right as my body starts pulsing. He beams at my words and reaction. “Oh shit, baby, I feel you starting to come. You like that?” I nod, biting my lip, so close I can see stars. “Yeah, take what you need, wife. Grind against me. I’m going to fill you up after you come. Fuck, Emerson. Fuck!”

I squeeze my legs around his waist, my belly jiggling with his thrusts, coming so hard I worry the waves will make him drop me. But I know he’s got me, keeping me safe. Gunnar presses his forehead against mine and bellows my name, a desperate shout as he pulses inside me, the warmth of his release as precious as the sound of him repeating that he loves me.

After, he lowers me to the floor, breathing heavily. “Salty, that was incredible. It’s never been this good for me.”

I smile, lazily running my fingers through his wet, shaggy hair. “Well, you know it’s never been good for me before you.”

He kisses my hand. “You just needed me to find you.”

“That’s more true than you know, Gunnar.” He kisses me, long and sweet, and reaches behind me to shut off the water. Someday, maybe I’ll care about our astronomical water bill, but for now, I just want to revel in the sensation of my giant husband patting me dry with a fluffy towel, tying a matching one around his waist.

“I can’t wait to lie in bed beside you again.” His grin is contagious. I don’t know if it’s normal to feel drunk after sex, but it’s certainly a common occurrence for me. I hum as I pad into our bedroom, still naked but with a towel around my hair.

I slide under the covers that smell like him, like us, and I smile, thinking of all our mornings and nights ahead in this room. A thud at the door interrupts my thoughts, and Gunnar pulls on his sweats to go investigate.

He pads back into the room, holding an envelope and wearing a puzzled expression as he climbs into bed beside me. “Did you know this was delivered? It was shoved under the door.”

I shake my head and burrow against his side. The envelope is addressed to me, and I open it to reveal crisp white paper with an embossed letterhead from Weintraub, Stein and Associates, LLP. My stomach drops at the sight of my family’s attorney. “Should we read it together or pass it back and forth like old people with a newspaper?” I try to joke, but my voice trembles.

He huffs. “I don’t like the look of this.” I trace my finger along the seal, hesitating. Taking a deep breath, I begin to read aloud. My hands start to tremble, and my voice falters after the salutation.

"What is it?" Gunnar asks, leaning closer.

"It's... it's from my parents' lawyers." I swallow hard. "They're... they're filing for a conservatorship over me."

"A what?" Gunnar sits up straighter, all traces of post-intimacy relaxation gone.

“They’re trying to be my guardians, like Britney Spears’ parents.” I continue reading, my voice growing tighter with each sentence. "They're claiming I'm 'mentally unstable' and 'unable to make appropriate decisions for my own well-being.' That I'm 'delusional' and... and that I 'believe myself to be married when no valid marriage exists.'"

Gunnar's face darkens. "Son of a bitch. I totally forgot that fucking headline.” He starts to yank on his hair.

I turn to face him. “What do you mean?”

He swallows and tells me he received an alert back in New York that “sources” suggested our marriage was invalid. “And then I fucking forgot about it, and things were going so great, baby. I just thought it was gossip.”

I blink at him. "The letter states that I've exhibited 'erratic behavior,' including 'abandoning a prestigious career for unsubstantiated claims of mistreatment.'" My voice falters. "That I require a guardian to protect me from further self-destructive choices."

"Holy shit, Emerson." Gunnar's jaw clenches. "This is about control. They can't stand that you're building your own life."

As the words sink in, my mind races with terrifying possibilities. Could they truly do this? Force me back to New York? Place me under their legal control?

Gunnar rubs his temples. "Damn it, I should have called Brian right away."

I stare at the letter, trying to keep my breathing steady. "They say that because our marriage wasn't legal, it's evidence I'm not thinking clearly. That I've been 'manipulated' and need protection."

"We were there. We're married, Emerson." He spins the silicone band on his finger. "Maybe not legally yet, but we will be."

"You don't understand." Fear grips my chest. "If they succeed with this, I won't have any control. They'll dictate everything – where I live, my finances, my medical decisions. They could force me into treatment I don't need nor want."

Gunnar's eyes flash with determination. He reaches for his phone. "I'm calling Tim right now. Your parents aren't the only ones with lawyers."

I grab his wrist. "Gunnar. I can't fight them. They have connections, resources?—"

"Hey." He cradles my face between his hands. "Look at me. You are not alone in this. The Stags fight like wolves for our own, remember? And you're one of us now."

His intensity steadies me slightly. "But what if?—"

"No 'what ifs.' We're going to fix this, Emerson," he says, pressing his forehead to mine. "I promise."

"How?" I whisper, the letter still clutched in my trembling hand.

"First, we call Uncle Tim. Next, we make our marriage official, iron-clad, witnessed by a hundred people if necessary." His thumb brushes away a tear I didn't know had fallen. "And then we show your parents – and anyone else who's watching – that you are exactly where you want to be."

I close my eyes, drawing strength from his certainty. "I love you," I tell him, the words feeling less like a declaration and more like a lifeline.

"I love you too, Salty." He pulls me closer, his heartbeat steady against my ear. "We've got this. Together."

I believe in him. For the first time in my life, I genuinely feel that I'm not facing my battles alone.