Page 76 of The Girlfriend's Guide to Dating a Biker
Hard.
Final.
Like he’d seen the chaos brewing behind my eyes and decided to shut it down the only way he knew how: with mouth, tongue, and zero hesitation.
And that was how we ended up in his bed at six on a Thursday night having filthy dirty sex that was the fastest sex we’d ever had.
Spoiler alert: Jake did not teach me how to lube a chain. He did not bend me over his bike. He did not ruin my pretty throat before dinner. And he most certainly did not stuff me with his cum all night long.
You may be asking “why not?” And that would be a very reasonable question.
We were interrupted by Sarah. You remember her, right? Yeah, me too. Unfortunately. Jake still has to work with her, but I’ve only seen her once since we started dating (are we dating? is this actual dating? is a gangster’s girl an actual girlfriend?).
She knocked on the door while Jake was halfway to giving me an orgasm. With his dick. He’d already given me two with his fingers and mouth, but this one was going to be my best . . . and Sarah robbed me of it. I mean, Jake ignored the knocking, but she quickly moved onto the one communication method he never ignores: his phone.
He pulled on jeans and headed out of the bedroom to let her in while I got dressed and gathered my wits.
When I walked into his lounge room, Sarah stood there looking like a cross between a biker babe and someone who’d raided a very expensive army surplus store. Everything about her outfit screamed “professional badass.” It was all black, lots of pockets, and probably worth more than my entire collection of ergonomic keyboards.
Her eyes flickered to me for barely two seconds before dismissing me as unworthy of her attention. When she looked back at Jake, it was with the kind of focus I usually reserve for hunting down critical bugs in production code.
“We’ve got movement on the situation,” she said, all business. “Intel just came in.”
“How solid is it?”
“Very. But time sensitive.”
“Eden—” Jake turned to me, conflict clear in his eyes.
“Go,” I said.
He nodded and switched instantly to mission mode, gathering his things with quick efficiency. Sarah breezed all the way into his apartment like she had admin access, making a beeline for a backpack on the couch that she clearly knew would be there.
And me? I stood there doing my best impersonation of my computer when it’s processing too many requests at once. Because Jake and Sarah’s rhythm was effortless, like they were two halves of the same algorithm, already optimised to run side by side. It felt like watching someone else type inside my codebase—my personal space that I thought only Jake and I had access to. And I hated how easily it all still fit for them.
(Side note: Is there a Stack Overflow thread for “How to handle watching your hot biker’s ex navigate his apartment like she still has the master key?”)
Jealousy hit me like a critical bug in production code. Unexpected, messy, and impossible to ignore. I’d never been the jealous type before (trust me, I have spreadsheets tracking my emotional responses to prove it) but watching them together made my chest twist in a way that no amount of debugging could fix.
Talk about emotional conflicts with no clear resolution path. On one side of my mental decision tree: Jake had been honest about Sarah, had made it clear where he stood. On the other side: watching them move through his space with that kind of quiet familiarity, like they’d done this a hundred times before, was hard.
Sarah had left fingerprints on parts of his life I hadn’t even touched yet.
It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t anyone’s. But that didn’t stop the dull, heavy ache of knowing I was falling for someone whose past is still living in the room, breathing in the same air.
He caught my hand before leaving, pulled me close, and brushed his lips over mine. “I’ll call you later.”
And then they were gone, leaving me standing there trying to process emotions that definitely weren’t covered in any of my existing spreadsheets. Not even my emergency stash of Tim Tams could help me sort through these feelings.
Current status: Creating a new spreadsheet titled “Questions About Club Dynamics That Need Answers” because whatever just happened clearly goes deeper than surface level.
Entries so far include:
Nature of Sarah’s actual role
Level of club authority
Connection to larger operations
