His eyes locked onto mine.
His complete attention.
He pulled me in tighter and kissed me again. When he’d had his fill, he said, “You’re never giving that shirt back.”
He finally pulled away to finish making coffee, but his eyes kept finding mine across the kitchen. Each look felt like a caress, filled with the kind of desire that was going to make focusing on my work impossible today. Especially when he reached up to grab mugs from my top shelf and his jeans rode lower, giving me an eyeful of more skin.
When he passed me my mug of coffee, he said, “I probably should have made you a double shot since you kept me up late last night.”
“Funny.” I took a sip, noting how good his coffee-making skills were. “I seem to remember that being mutual. Very mutual. Multiple times mutual.”
His grin was the hottest grin of life. “No complaints here, darlin’.” He backed me against the counter again, caging me in with his arms. “I fuckin’ loved the fact you woke the whole building.”
Heat flooded my cheeks. “I wasn’t that loud.”
“Sweetheart,” he said, voice deliciously low, “I had to cover your mouth at one point.”
“Oh god. Mrs Primrose is never going to look at me the same way again.”
“Good.” His mouth came to my ear. “Let ’em hear what I do to you.”
I ignored the way his rasp affected me and sat with him at my kitchen table to drink our coffee together. Jake asked me what I had planned for the day and listened to every word I rambled about the problems I had to fix at work today.
And somehow, I felt no morning-after anxiety or awkwardness. I didn’t overthink every moment or feel any doubt. Jake made me feel confident.
When he finally had to leave, it was with the kind of kiss that completely bewildered me. His hand tangled in my hair while his mouth claimed mine one last time, leaving me breathless and aching for more.
“Work’s gonna be torture today,” he said on his way out. “Knowing you’re sitting at your desk in my shirt.”
Current status: Trying to focus on work while dealing with the fact that Jake’s shirt still smells like him, that my body is covered in reminders of exactly how much he wanted me, and that every time I move, I find new places that ache in the best possible way.
UPDATE (11:45 a.m.): Got a text from Jake: “That shirt better be the only thing you’re wearing when I come over tonight.” I texted back: “I was thinking about not wearing anything .” All he replied with was: “Fuck.” I think I’m going to enjoy dating a biker. Wait. Is this dating? Are we dating? I may need a spreadsheet for this.
P.S. To my neighbours who definitely heard everything last night: I’m not even sorry. You would understand if you experienced his mad skills with a vagina. Or if you’d seen him making coffee this morning. Or just existing, really.
Comments: Still Disabled
Share: Only if you want the entire apartment complex to start a betting pool on how many of Jake’s shirts I’ll end up stealing
RADIO SILENCE AND EARLY MORNING BLONDE SIGHTINGS (OR: THREE DAYS OF HELL)
Posted by Anonymous at 8:12 a.m.
April 4
Things I’ve learned about dating a biker (are we dating? is that what this is?) over the last three days:
Sometimes “club business” is actually club business
Checking your phone 613 times doesn’t make cryptic messages make sense
Creating a spreadsheet tracking “Hours Since Last Contact” doesn’t help
But throwing yourself into work sometimes does
The wall between my apartment and Mrs Primrose’s is NOT soundproof, as evidenced by her very loud “Oh dear, he still hasn’t called” commentary to what I assume is the entire Wine Club on speakerphone
Our last text exchange keeps playing in my head:
