The Morning After Protocol （Or Why Jake Makes Coffee Dangerous）
Things they don’t tell you about waking up after a night of sex with a biker:
The way their tattoos look in morning light may cause an inability to adult
Watching them make coffee in nothing but low-slung jeans may affect focus for hours
Your brain will completely forget it exists when they call you darlin’ in that early morning voice
Finding their heavy silver rings on your bedside table does hazardous things to your heart
Everything smells like leather and man and sex
I woke to an empty bed. For a moment, I thought I’d dreamed everything. The way Jake had touched me, the possessive growls, the feeling of being thoroughly wrecked. But then I rolled over and saw his rings on my bedside table, and oh. OH. Definitely not a dream.
Slipping on his discarded black T-shirt (which somehow smelled even better than it had last night), I headed into the bathroom. When I was finished in there, I followed the sounds of movement to my kitchen. And holy hell, nothing could have prepared me for the sight that greeted me.
Jake stood at my coffee maker, all inked muscle and tousled sex-hair, wearing nothing but low-slung jeans. The muscles in his back flexed with each lazy movement while he made coffee, but it was the ink that pulled me in.
A winged skull stretched across his shoulder blades, fierce and unapologetic. The words Storm Motorcycle Club were etched into a scroll beneath the skull, the whole design dark and sprawling and masculine in a way that made my mouth go dry.
In the blur of last night’s orgasms, I hadn’t exactly been focused on ink. A shame, really. Because holy shit, this tattoo? Fully feral. I wanted to trace every line with my tongue.
I stepped closer and let my fingertips ghost over the edge of one wing. “Jesus, Jake.”
He glanced over his shoulder, one brow raised. “You staring at my ass or my ink?”
“Both. But I think your ink might’ve just outranked your dick.”
“Dangerous talk,” he said, turning around. “You sure you wanna tempt me into proving you wrong?”
As he said this, his gaze dropped to my body and heat blazed to life in his eyes. Coffee forgotten, dangerous talk forgotten, he was backing me against the counter.
His hands settled on my hips, exactly where he’d left marks last night. “You’ve got no idea what seeing you in my shirt does to me.”
“I might have some idea.” Feeling bold, I traced the scratches I’d left on his chest, evidence of just how well he’d made me lose control. The low sound that rumbled through him made my confidence soar. “Though you could always show me.”
His laugh was whiskey and smoke. “Careful what you ask for, sweetheart.” His thumb gently brushed over a mark he’d left just below my collarbone. “This hurt?”
The tenderness in his concern, contrasting with the raw energy he radiated, made my breath catch. “No.”
He stared at the marks he’d left for a moment longer and then he brought his mouth to mine and kissed me. And goodness, morning kisses from Jake instantly became my new favourite thing.
His mouth claimed mine with a hunger that woke me up faster than any coffee could, his hands sliding under the shirt I was wearing to find bare skin.
I ran my hands up over his chest as he deepened the kiss and I wasn’t even a little bit ashamed of the moan I made when he ground himself against me.
“ Fuck .” He ended the kiss, and I felt every ounce of regret he had over that. “I wanna stay here and do filthy shit to you, but I need to get to the workshop,” he said against my lips, though his hands suggested he had other plans.
“Have you got a busy day?”
“Yeah.” His hands found their way to my breasts, and I saw the war he was waging with himself over leaving.
“I’ve got a classic Harley coming in that needs special attention.
The owner wants her restored, and while he’s a dick to work with, he’s one of our top customers, so I need to make sure this job is done well. ”
I threaded my fingers up into the back of his hair and arched into him.
Pulling his face down to mine, I kissed him and then murmured, “You should stop touching my tits then and finish making me coffee.” I gripped his hair harder.
“And just FYI, I’m wearing this shirt to work, so you can’t have it back until tomorrow. ”
“Jesus.” He snaked his arm around my waist and rested his hand on my ass while his teeth grazed my lower lip. “Here I was thinking you were a good girl and there you are saying dirty shit to me that’s guaranteed to keep me hard all fuckin’ day.”
I grinned, loving the heck out of this entire moment.
Jake in my kitchen doing domestic things.
His hand on my ass.
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.
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