And under “Personal Growth Metrics,” I created a timeline of transformations:
From: Dropping keys on purpose to get attention
To: Knowing I have his full attention without trying
From: Googling “what does it mean when a biker calls you darlin’”
To: Knowing exactly what it means when he calls me his
From: Panicking about the blonde on his bike
To: Understanding the complexity of club allegiances (but still not loving it)
From: Hiding behind my laptop at parties
To: Finding my place by Jake’s side
I was so absorbed in my categorisation that I didn’t hear Jake return until his arms wrapped around me from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder as he peered at my screen.
“‘The Girlfriend’s Guide to Dating a Biker,’” he read, amusement colouring his voice. “Planning to publish this, darlin’?”
“Maybe.” I leaned back against his chest. “There’s a serious lack of helpful resources for women who find themselves dating dangerous men with dimples.”
His laugh warmed my neck. “And what does your guide say about what happens next?”
I turned in his arms, looping my hands behind his neck. “That’s the thing about guides; they can only take you so far. Eventually, you have to make your own path.”
“Together,” he corrected, his eyes serious despite his smile.
I threaded my fingers through his hair at his nape. “Together.”
And then he was kissing me, deep and thorough, until my laptop lay forgotten on the counter and my body was hard against his in ways that shut every other thought out.
We ended up in his bed, clothes scattered across the floor, hands tracing familiar territory with wild hunger. We were more intimate than we’d ever been. Sex between us was still hotter than anything I’d ever known, but it was shifting and was now less about claiming, and more about connecting.
Jake’s eyes locked onto mine as he moved inside me, dark and searching. The intensity of his gaze made me want to look away, made me feel exposed in ways that had nothing to do with our nakedness. But I forced myself to stay present, to let him see all of me. My desire, my fear, my vulnerability, my strength.
“Eden.” His voice broke slightly as his rhythm faltered. “Fuck, I?—”
He didn’t finish whatever he was going to say, but I felt every unspoken word in the way his body moved above mine, in his rough breath against my cheek, in the way he held me as if he could shield me from the world. As if I was his world.
And when we finally came, when the moment stole the air from my lungs, I saw it in his face—the unguarded truth neither of us had fully spoken yet.
He wasn’t just inside me.
He was in.
Afterward, our bodies remained close, skin still warm, breaths still uneven. His fingers roamed absently over my body. It seemed like he was a million miles away.
“What are you thinking about?” I asked, watching the play of emotions across his face.
“How fucking crazy it is that I only met you three months ago and now we’re here.”
His palm rested over my heart.
I threaded my fingers through his. “I like it here.”
He watched me silently for a long moment before his lips came to mine, urgent and almost aching, like he was trying to hold onto something before it slipped away.
