Meeting Mum A Lesson in Heart Explosions #2
His eyes stayed locked on mine, dark and hungry, like every inch my hand travelled was testing the leash on something wild in him. “Dangerous game, sweetheart,” he warned, his tone equal parts promise and threat.
I bit my bottom lip and just watched him.
Then I reached for his belt buckle.
His hand snapped over mine, halting me just short of it. “We’re not taking this further until I know for sure it’s what you really want.”
Wait. Did he just...stop me?
Error 404: Male logic not found.
My brain was a spinning wheel of death while my hormones screamed “retry request.”
“Oh my god, did I just get cockblocked by your morals? Is that what this is?”
His mouth curved, but his eyes remained serious. “Are you ready for this?”
The intensity blazing from him held me still. Demanded my full attention. This was important to him. And holy shit, it was all new territory for me.
“You know,” I said, smiling slowly, “usually I get less ‘verbal contract required’ and more ‘boobs, yay!’”
“I’m not other men, Eden.”
“Yeah,” I said softly. “I’m getting that.” I threaded my fingers through his. “So, are we talking official sign-off here? Do you want me to check a box that says ‘yes, please ruin me responsibly’?”
His lips twitched with amusement. “You’re a menace. A smartass with no self-preservation.”
“I prefer ‘informed consent enthusiast with excellent taste in bad decisions.’”
That earned me a dark chuckle. “I’m serious though. I want this. Fuck, I’ve wanted this. But not if you’re second-guessing it tomorrow.”
“I won’t.”
“You sure?”
“I mean, I’ll probably overanalyse your thrust cadence in a blog post titled ‘My Biker Ruined Me Responsibly: A Cautionary Tale in Eight Positions’ , but emotionally? I’m good.”
He gave me a look that said, you’re insane and I like it too fuckin’ much . “Jesus Christ.”
“I’m in. I’m sure.” I hooked a finger through his belt loop and tugged him to me. “And also, I am very, very horny.”
Jake made a NSFW sound—one I would very much like to download in WAV format and turn into a vibration setting—and just like that, the contract was signed, and we entered the break me like a website on launch day phase of the evening.
His mouth crashed onto mine, no patience in sight, just indecent intent. One hand gripped my neck, anchoring me while he kissed me. The other slid down my back, firm and hot, until it found my ass and hauled me into him with the force of a man who’d been waiting too long.
And holy hell, there was no mistaking the thick ridge of his cock pressing into me through his jeans.
“Fuck.” His voice was raw against my lips when he palmed my breast through my dress. “You’re fuckin’ perfect.”
My brain had fully left the chat. I was running on lust commands only. And when Jake’s thigh slid between mine, my hips moved like they were chasing God.
“That’s it,” he rasped, watching me grind on him. “Take what you need, darlin’.”
I grabbed his face and pulled his mouth back to mine, kissing him, losing my damn mind over him.
Jake made a noise like he was only just holding it together and took the kiss deeper.
Rougher. Messier. He kissed like he meant to consume me.
He was all tension and urgency, hands everywhere, possessive and greedy.
When the kiss ended, I was panting, dazed, straight up running on Feral Girl OS.
Jake’s mouth didn’t give me time to catch my breath. It blazed a path down my neck, open-mouthed and filthy , his breath hot.
“I’ve been polite,” he said, voice vibrating straight into my bloodstream, “but fuck, I’ve wanted to bite this neck since the second I saw you.”
And then he did— bit me —right where my neck met my shoulder. Not enough to hurt, but enough to mark. Enough to make my knees go completely untrustworthy.
His hands left my breasts (RIP, they were not okay) to glide down and grip my waist before dragging over my hips.
Then he reached the hem of my dress and his hand slid under it with the confidence of a man who was finally cashing the fuck in on the box I’d just ticked that said “yes, please ruin me responsibly.”
His eyes stayed locked on mine as he rubbed my pussy through my underwear. Pure smut blazed in those blues of his.
“Fuck me.” The words dragged out of him, hoarse from want. “You’re soaked.”
Yes.
Correct.
Thank you for noticing.
His fingers teased the edge of my underwear. “I’ve been replaying every version of this in my head for weeks,” he said, kissing along my jaw between each dirty admission. “Bent over my bike. My bed. This fuckin’ kitchen counter. Naked. Legs spread. My name on your lips.”
Then he slipped his hand into my underwear and?—
Sweet mother of RAM.
Holy. Actual. Shit.
He found my clit with the skill of a man who knows exactly what he’s doing.
Well. That’s it. I’m officially owned. Good luck to future me.
He let out a sound so pornographic I swear I felt it in my cervix. “Jesus fucking Christ, Eden.” His words spilled hot against my throat. “Tell me you want my mouth on you, darlin’. Tell me to drop to my fuckin’ knees and bury my face in your pussy.”
Excuse me?
Excuse. Me.
Sir, where have you been hiding that mouth?
That voice? That tone? That filth?
I was not emotionally prepared for this plot twist.
My biker has been holding out on me like a goddamn gentleman while it turns out he runs a secret smut server in his head.
I opened my mouth to tell him what he wanted to hear, but at that exact moment, the pot on the stove had the audacity to blow its lid. It made a noise no appliance should make, and suddenly we had steam and an angry splatter of red everywhere.
Jake’s head whipped towards the stove as he tore his hand out of my underwear. “Fuck, hold that thought.”
Sir, I’ve been holding that thought. Barely.
He grabbed a tea towel and used it to yank the pot off the burner while I stared at the red-sauce massacre, clit abandoned, mourning the orgasm that almost was.
I was focused on a single tomato chunk sliding down the cupboard under the stove when a knock sounded at the door and a woman called out, “Jake? Sweetheart, are you home?”
“Shit,” Jake muttered, but in concern, not anger. “That’s Mum.”
My soul straight up left my body. Peaced the fuck out. Because of course. Of course the mother of the man whose fingers were just all over my pussy was at the door. My clit was still staging a protest, I smelled like sex and desperation, and there was literal sauce carnage across the kitchen.
“Oh god,” I whispered, quickly smoothing down my dress when his mum knocked again, louder this time.
“Easy, darlin’,” Jake murmured, steadying me when I swayed slightly. His eyes held both regret and lingering heat. “Bathroom’s down the hall. You’ve got maybe ten seconds before she decides I’ve been murdered and lets herself in.”
I darted to the bathroom on unsteady legs, splashing cold water on my cheeks and trying to make myself look less...well, less like I’d just been thoroughly undone in his kitchen. In the mirror, my reflection told the whole story. Flushed cheeks, swollen lips, my eyes still glazed with pleasure.
Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to focus. Jake’s mum was here. My mortification would have to wait.
I heard him let her in and then came her voice. “Shit, Jake. I was hoping you weren’t doing anything important, but it looks like I came at just the right time. What the hell happened in here?”
Bestie.
He was doing something very important.
Me.
He was doing me.
When I emerged from the bathroom, dignity still MIA, I saw her—the woman from the photo on Jake’s wall. Thinner now. Paler.
“I thought I’d be okay to go to book club tonight, so I caught the bus,” she was saying. “But I suddenly didn’t feel great, and the bus was right near here, so I got off. Just in case I needed your bathroom.”
She swayed slightly. Jake was at her side instantly, wrapping a steady arm around her. “I’ve got you, Mum.”
All I could do was stare. Because this man. This. Man. He was ruining me with tenderness now too? This was Savage. The man who terrified The Valley. Cradling his mother like she was made of glass.
Then her gaze landed on me. “Oh! I’m interrupting. I didn’t know Jake had?—”
“You’re not interrupting,” I said quickly, stepping forward. “I’m Eden.”
Her face lit up. “The spreadsheet girl? Oh, sweetheart, those movies have been keeping me sane. Especially on treatment days.” She turned to Jake. “You didn’t tell me she was so pretty.”
“Mum,” Jake warned, but he was smiling.
“What? I’m sick, not blind.” She tried to laugh but it turned into a cough.
Jake’s face tightened with worry. “Come sit down.”
I was already moving, grabbing cushions while he got her to the couch.
“I just need a minute,” she insisted. “Then I’ll leave you two alone and catch the bus home.”
“I’ll take you home,” Jake said firmly.
“But your date?—”
“Don’t worry about me,” I said.
The look Jake gave me, soft and intense all at once, made everything inside me go quiet.
Half an hour later, she was feeling well enough to head home. While Jake took a call out on his balcony, she looked at me with a warm smile.
“Thank you for the movies,” she said. “And for making my boy smile again.”
Her words wrapped around my heart, squeezing tight with unexpected emotion.
“And now,” she said as Jake stepped back inside, “I just need to use the bathroom.”
Jake’s hands came to my hips the moment she disappeared, pulling me in close like the last half hour hadn’t been a fever dream. “Sorry I can’t feed you,” he murmured.
“Tragic,” I said, trying very hard to sound normal while his hands reacquainted themselves with my body. “I was really looking forward to discovering if you cook better than you teach pool.”
His lips quirked. “There’s my smartass.” He bent to kiss my neck, just once, softly. “I’ll make it up to you when I get back. After I clean this fuckin’ kitchen.”
“I can clean it while you’re gone, if you want.” The words slipped out before I could stop them, and I instantly panicked. Was that weird? Offering to stay at his place? While he wasn’t home. Oh god, I was weird.
But Jake didn’t even blink. “Fuck no, darlin’. You’re not cleaning my mess.”
He brought his mouth back to mine for a kiss that was over way too soon and then pulled back with a frustrated exhale. “Jesus. What a shitshow this date turned into.”
The look on his face—genuinely baffled, like the universe had punked him—made me laugh. I’d only ever seen him calm and completely in control. Seeing him thrown like this was low-key adorable.
“You know,” I said, smoothing my hands up his chest, “I was going to give this night five stars. But I’m deducting one for the kitchen carnage and another for the orgasm that got away.”
He made a noise like I’d physically pained him. “You’re gonna make me walk out of here hard as a fuckin’ rock, aren’t you?”
“Sounds like a you problem.”
His eyes darkened, the heat flickering right back to life. “Don’t worry, darlin’. You’ll be the one begging when I get back.”
OH.
There it was again, that voice. That filthy gentleman thing he did.
“Is that your way of asking to come over later?”
“Asking?” The look in his eyes was positively sinful. “Darlin’, the things I’m going to do to you when I get back won’t be a request.” His teeth grazed my earlobe as his hand moved up my thigh under my dress.
The sound of the bathroom door opening had him pulling back. “I don’t know how long I’ll be,” he said quietly as we heard his mum’s footsteps approaching. “But I’ll text when I’m on my way.”
I nodded, somehow managing to form words despite the anticipation thrumming through my veins. “I’ll be waiting.”
Waiting.
Possibly vibrating.
Definitely rewatching The Princess Bride in an attempt to regulate my nervous system and not overthink the fact that I almost got railed on a kitchen counter before meeting his mother mid-sauce explosion.
Because that is my life now, apparently.
Dating a biker named Jake Savage.
Getting clit-teased, cockblocked, and complimented by his mum in the same hour.
And honestly?
Ten out of ten. No notes.
Current status : Sitting in my apartment trying to focus on anything except the promise in Jake’s eyes when he left. Also attempting to convince myself that checking my phone every thirty seconds won’t make his text arrive any faster.
UPDATE (9:46 p.m.): Every motorcycle sound makes my heart race.
UPDATE (10:15 p.m.): Just stress-organised my entire closet by colour. Found three identical black tank tops I’d forgotten I owned. Still no text.
P.S. To the delivery guy who just roared past on his motorcycle: you got my hopes up, mate. Not cool.
P.P.S. Is it possible to wear out a phone screen from checking it too much? Asking for science. No, really.
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