“What about club business? It’s finished?” I asked, breathless, when he ended the kiss.
“It’s done for now.” His hands gripped my face, thumbs brushing over my cheekbones, his voice rough. “Tonight, it’s just you and me.”
“Your mum’s asleep. We made chicken soup, but I was thinking I could cook something else for dinner if?—”
He cut me off with a finger to my lips. “Darlin, I just want you for now.”
He said that like he’d been thinking about me for hours. And the way he guided me to his bedroom with his hand firm at the small of my back was like he couldn’t risk letting me go.
In his bedroom, he took his time. Each touch felt intentional, meaningful. His fingers traced my body like he was discovering new territory. There was something different tonight, something unspoken in the way his hands lingered, in the way his breath caught against my skin.
He was intoxicated. Not with lust, but with me.
He dragged his lips along my collarbone, breathing me in. His tongue flicked over the pulse at my throat before his mouth found mine again, softer this time. A kiss meant to feel.
“You undo me, Eden,” he said, his voice quiet, but thick with emotion.
And when he finally slid inside me, it wasn’t with his usual fierce possession. It was intense, but tender, and every touch made me ache for more.
“Eden.” His eyes stayed locked with mine while he found the rhythm he wanted. Like he needed me to see how much this meant. How much I meant. Like he was giving me something more than just his body.
Afterwards, tucked against him, I ran my finger over the tattoos on his chest while he threaded his fingers through my hair. The domesticity of the moment struck me. How natural it felt to be here, to be his.
“You know what this means?” he asked quietly, his fingers trailing down my spine.
“What?”
His arm tightened around me. “You’re mine now. That means you don’t do life alone anymore. You’ve got me. You’ve got the club.”
I’m pretty sure the way he said “you’re mine now” should have been a red flag. A lot of women I knew would have balked at a man claiming them like that, like property. But me? No. I liked it. I liked it a lot.
“Does that mean I get a cool nickname too? So everyone knows who I am.” I teased, trying to lighten the intensity of the moment.
His laugh rumbled through his chest. “Darlin’, you’re in a league of your own.” He brushed his thumb over my bottom lip, gaze darkening. “Nickname or not, everyone will know exactly who you are. Mine.”
Current status: At Jake’s place, watching him sleep, trying to process the complexity of being with a man whose world is so different from mine. Also wondering if I should start a new spreadsheet titled “Biker Glossary: Understanding the Language of Leather and Loyalty.”
UPDATE (2:11 a.m.): Just caught Jake watching me pretend to sleep. The way he whispered “mine” before pulling me closer . . . My internal hard drive may never recover from this emotional overload.
UPDATE (5:22 a.m.) I may have tapped out a sneaky text to Megan while Jake was sleeping:
Me
HE’S SO GENTLE WHEN HE THINKS I’M SLEEPING.
Megan
Savage not so savage?
Me
Only with me.
Me
I’M HAVING FEELINGS ABOUT THIS.
Megan
