Chapter 19 #2
I glance at her. “Is that how you feel with Arden?”
“Every damn day,” she says without hesitation. “Even when he’s being an overprotective caveman.”
We dissolve into giggles, and just like that, the heaviness lifts. We drift through the rest of the afternoon the way only the best girl groups can—lazily, lovingly, lost in stories and shared snacks and safe spaces.
By the time we’re gathering our things, I feel floaty in the best way—like I’ve been scrubbed clean inside and out.
“Same time next month?” Emily asks, already tying her hair up like she’s bracing for the real world.
“Absolutely,” I say. “This was exactly what I needed.”
“What we all needed,” Megan agrees. “Self-care is important. Especially when you’re busy being a boss bitch—and having incredible sex.”
“Everything comes back to sex with you lot.”
“Because you’re having the best sex of your life with one of the hottest mechanics in New Hope,” Yasmin points out.
I sigh dramatically. “Well, when you put it like that…”
As I drive home, Yasmin’s words circle in my head like a compass needle finally settling. About Jake helping me discover who I really am. And she’s right, because the version of me who walked into that workshop months ago never would’ve dared to want more. To lead. To love like this.
And definitely wouldn’t have had phone sex in a spa bathroom.
My phone buzzes in the cup holder.
Jake
Hope you had a perfect day, beautiful. Can’t wait to see you tonight.
Stella
On my way home now. Hope you’re ready to finish what you started.
Jake
Born ready, darl. Always.
My heart skips.
I grip the wheel, city blurring past as I roll down the window and let warm air whip through my hair—the kind that tastes like summer and freedom and maybe even forever.
This is my life now, unpredictable and passionate. Loud, messy, and mine. Full of people who love me not in spite of who I am, but because of it.
I wouldn’t change a damn thing.
The second I step inside—the door barely clicking shut—I hear his voice.
“Lock it.”
My stomach does a slow, delicious flip. I twist the deadbolt, bag still slung over my shoulder, and find Jake leaning against the kitchen bench like he owns the place—which, to be fair, he kind of does lately. Black T-shirt. Grease-stained jeans. Barefoot. And that look.
That I’m-going-to-ruin-you look.
He pushes off the counter and prowls towards me like I’m his next project, hands tucked casually in his pockets, eyes dark and hungry.
“Spa day treat you good, darl?”
“Until you got involved,” I murmur, legs wobbling as he stops a breath away. “Then it turned into a different kind of treatment.”
His smirk is lazy, cocky, completely unrepentant. “You didn’t sound like you were complaining.”
“I’m still not.”
Jake slides the strap of my bag off my shoulder, letting it drop to the floor. “How’d you feel?”
I blink. “What?”
“In the bathroom.” He leans in, mouth brushing my ear. “When my voice was in your head. Did it feel as good as I remember?”
My knees threaten to give. He wraps an arm around my waist and hauls me flush against him.
“Jake…”
“Bedroom,” he growls. “Now.”
“But I just walked in?—”
His mouth is on mine before I can finish. Hot. Deep. Possessive. His tongue slides against mine with the same slow deliberation he used in the fantasy he spun hours ago. By the time he pulls back, I’m panting, clutching his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
“I’ve been hard since you walked into that spa bathroom and called me,” he mutters against my lips. “You’ve got no idea what it did to me knowing you were wet and desperate with my voice in your ear.”
I shiver.
He guides me backwards, fingers finding the tie at the front of my wrap dress. “How about we pick up where we left off?”
“Thought you’d never ask.”
He peels the dress open with infuriating slowness, baring me inch by inch. Underneath: a lacy bralette and matching shorts. His gaze drags over delicate fabric, then locks with mine.
“Fuck. You wore this for me?”
“Maybe.”
“Fuck, darl.”
He strips the dress off my shoulders and tosses it somewhere over the back of the couch. Then he sinks to his knees on the hallway floor, hands curling behind my thighs, nose brushing my belly.
“Jake…”
He kisses the waistband. “Breathe, baby. I’m going to make you feel so fucking good.”
My hands find his hair as he hooks his fingers under the lace and eases the shorts down, slow and deliberate. When they pool at my feet, he nips the inside of my thigh, grinning at the tremble that ripples through me.
“You’re already shaking.”
“Maybe don’t tease if you want me to stay standing.”
“Not planning on you standing for much longer.”
He licks a slow line up my thigh, then lifts me effortlessly. My legs wrap around his waist on instinct, and I feel him—thick and hard—straining against denim.
We crash into the bedroom with shared urgency, clothes scattering. He strips me first, kissing every new inch of skin. His mouth trails over my breasts, ribs, hips, like he’s been waiting all day to memorise me.
“Lie back,” he says, voice thick with want. “Open for me.”
I do, and the second my back hits the mattress, he’s crawling over me. Shirtless now. Tattooed arms braced on either side of my head; eyes locked on mine like I’m the only thing that matters.
“You’re so beautiful, Stella. You know that?”
I nod because it’s all I can manage—especially when he ducks his head and draws my nipple into his mouth, sucking softly before letting it go with a sinful sound that shoots straight between my legs.
“Jake, please?—”
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, kissing down my stomach. “I always have.”
When his mouth finally finds me, I swear I black out for a second. His tongue is skilled, confident—slow at first, then purposeful as he devours me. One hand slides under my thigh, lifting it over his shoulder; the other anchors me as he circles, flicks, sucks with maddening control.
“Fuck—Jake—I’m gonna?—”
“Good. Give it to me.”
I come with a cry, arching off the bed. He groans into me like my orgasm is the only thing that matters, and he doesn't stop until I’m squirming, too sensitive, breathless, wrecked.
He climbs back up, kissing me until I taste myself on his tongue and moan into his mouth.
“You good?” he asks, brushing hair from my face.
“Better than good. But I need you.”
“You have me.”
He fumbles his jeans down with a growl, and the second he’s free I wrap my legs around his waist.
“No going slow,” I whisper. “I need you hard. Fast.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice.
He thrusts into me in one smooth stroke, stealing the breath from my lungs. We both groan at the contact—at how perfectly we fit.
“God, I missed this.”
“It’s been six hours.”
“Too long.”
He sets a punishing rhythm, hips slamming into mine, hands gripping my wrists and pinning them above my head. I meet every thrust, chasing the next high with his same ferocity.
“You love this, don’t you?” he pants against my throat. “Being fucked like this. Knowing the girls at the spa have no idea what you’re coming home to.”
“Yes,” I gasp.
“Say it.”
“I love it. I love the way you fuck me.”
He groans, shifts the angle, dragging a cry from my throat.
“Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours.”
He thrusts harder.
“Say it again.”
“I’m yours, Jake. Always.”
That does it. He shudders, spilling into me with a low, rough sound, and the moment tips me over the edge again—nails digging into his shoulders as my body shakes through my release.
We collapse, tangled in sweat and sheets and each other. Several long minutes pass before either of us speaks.
Jake kisses the top of my head. “Welcome home, darl.”
I smile into his chest. “Told you I was ready for everything.”
His chuckle rumbles under my cheek. “Hope you’re ready for round two after dinner. I’m not done with you.”
“Batman’s kinky cousin strikes again.”
“You love it.”
“Yeah,” I whisper, kissing his jaw. “I really, really do.”
We stay tangled, my body humming, his hand tracing slow, lazy patterns down my spine. The quiet settles around us—not heavy; just right.
His fingers pause at the dip of my waist. “You sure you’re okay?”
I nod against his chest, then tip up to meet his eyes. “More than okay.”
He brushes hair from my face, thumb stroking my cheek like he’s memorising me. “You sure? You went quiet.”
“I’m just…” I exhale, sinking into the mattress. “Happy. Like… full-body, stupidly happy, can’t-stop-smiling kind of happy.”
He pulls the sheet higher and tucks me in under his arm, drawing me close until I’m fully wrapped in him. His heartbeat drums beneath my cheek, settling as he exhales into my hair.
“This,” I whisper. “This is what I didn’t know I needed.”
He doesn’t speak at first. Just kisses my head, then murmurs, “You always needed it. You just didn’t know someone could give it to you without expecting something back.”
That undoes me more than anything else.
I curl my fingers into his chest. “You give me everything, Jake.”
“Only because you give it right back.” He presses a kiss to my temple. “You brought something to life in me too. Made it easy to stop pretending I didn’t want more.”
My throat thickens. “You mean that?”
He nods, jaw working as he holds my gaze. “Never wanted anything like I want you, Stell. Not just the sex—though,let’s be honest, it’s bloody incredible—but the rest of it too. Your smart mouth. Your ambition. The way you take no shit and still somehow make me feel like the luckiest bastard alive.”
“Jake…”
“I’m not great with fancy words. I’ll leave the poetry to your girl gang,” he says, half-grinning. “But I know what I feel. And it’s real. Big. A bit terrifying. But so fucking worth it.”
I press my forehead to his, smiling. “Terrifying, huh?”
“Terrifying,” he confirms. “I mean, have you met you? You can be scary sometimes. Especially when you're threatening to feed us to the pigs.”
I laugh. “And you’re infuriatingly sweet for a bloke with grease under his nails and a noose tattooed on his hand.”
“Batman’s kinky cousin, remember?”
“Exactly.” I shift closer. “My very own masked man.”
He wraps both arms around me, pulling me fully on top of him with a low groan. “Reckon I should wear the mask next time?”
“Only if you keep the dirty mouth to match.”
“Darl, that mouth is yours any way you want it.”
I kiss him slow and deep, letting it linger like a promise. And as we eventually drift into something softer—wrapped in sheets, limbs tangled, a movie humming low from the TV in the other room?—
I know this isn’t just love.
It’s home.