Page 46 of Heartless Boss
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’sBeauty 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?”
