When The Night Changes

Chapter 3: Flustered, Vulnerable, and Undeniably Aroused

I thought I only needed one night with Jake. That was the plan, after all. A fleeting moment to fulfill my own desires. But now that I’ve had it, now that I’ve done what I set out to do—selfishly, I admit—I’m left with an ache I can’t shake. It’s as if something precious is slipping away, someone I can’t bear to lose.


“Give me a minute,” Jake says, his voice breaking through my swirling thoughts. He stands from the sofa, the shift in his posture pulling me back to reality. With a deliberate motion, he reaches down and grabs his shirt, draping it over me like an impromptu blanket.


“Thanks,” I whisper, too overwhelmed by the gesture to find any words beyond that.


When Jake leaves the room, I pull the shirt closer, inhaling the familiar scent of him. His warmth lingers in the fabric, and for a moment, it feels like he’s still here. I let the shirt slip over my head, its fabric soft against my skin, covering my waist and thighs. I glance at the scattered remnants of my clothes, debating whether it’s worth the effort to get dressed. Honestly, I’m too tired to move, the satisfaction of the night still settling in my bones.


My gaze drifts around the room, taking in the rich, dark walnut floors. The wood contrasts beautifully with the trim of the windows, creating a warmth in the space that feels almost familiar. It reminds me of my parents’ cabin by the lake—cozy, rustic, the kind of place that holds all the pieces of childhood memories. But then my thoughts darken, the last visit to that cabin still fresh in my mind. It was supposed to be a retreat, a place of solace, but instead, it became the scene of one of the worst moments of my life.


The weekend before everything fell apart, my family and I spent the last few days at the cabin. The snow blanketed the landscape, creating a perfect winter wonderland. I invited my boyfriend for the final night, wanting to end the trip on a high note. It was fine, for the most part. The only argument was a playful one, a competitive snowball fight that got a little too intense.


But later that week, when I realized I’d left my favorite college sweatshirt on the bench outside, I decided to drive the two hours back to retrieve it. Everyone else had their own plans, so it seemed like a good opportunity for a quick trip.


What I didn’t expect to find was my so-called boyfriend already there, helping himself inside earlier that day. And right in front of the massive brick fireplace—the one we always gathered around during family trips—I found him. My ex, with his large ears and smug grin, was getting it on with a girl who had bleached-blonde hair. On my favorite white fluffy rug.


I hate to admit it, but I froze. No yelling. No tears. No fighting. Just a complete shutdown. I couldn’t even process what I was seeing. My ex and his new partner scrambled to gather their things, their hurried movements a slap to my already bruised heart. I was left behind, sitting stiffly on the back of the leather couch, my face as blank as my mind. The only action I took was throwing a small, pointed moose statue at him as he left. Of course, I missed.


The tears came after, in waves. The humiliation. The betrayal. It’s been five months, and I’m still working through the wreckage of that moment. Not just the sting of that day, but the toxic gaslighting relationship that led up to it. The whole experience still haunts me. I shouldn’t feel this lost, this messed up, over a guy who never truly loved me. But here I am, still trying to pick up the pieces, still wondering if I’ll ever feel whole again.


Just as I begin to lose myself in the weight of it all, Jake’s voice pulls me back. “Don’t you look cute,” he says, flashing an easy smile.


“Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about you,” I respond, my eyes drifting to his bare chest and the gray, loose-fitting shorts he’s wearing.


His lips curl into a grin. “I can get you a fresh shirt,” he offers, his tone light and teasing.


“No, I’m fine with this one,” I answer quickly, the warmth of his kindness settling in.


My stomach rumbles—loudly. It’s that type of growl you fear will echo in a quiet room full of people, like a cruel reminder of your famished self.


“Are you hungry?” Jake asks with a chuckle, clearly amused.


“Starving, actually,” I admit, my cheeks flushing slightly.


“What can I get you?” He stands and stretches, moving toward the kitchen with an easy confidence. “What sounds good?”


“Chips, cookies, crackers… whatever you’ve got,” I reply, my voice soft but hopeful.


“All the healthy stuff, then,” he teases, raising an eyebrow.


“Exactly,” I confirm with a grin.


I listen to the sounds of him rummaging through the cupboards, the clink of bags and containers filling the silence between us. My mind drifts, trying to make sense of everything that’s happened. Jake’s kindness overwhelms me in a way I wasn’t prepared for. I’ve known him for less time than it takes to watch a movie, and already, he’s taking care of me like I’ve known him for years. I can’t help but wonder—does he know how much this means to me? Is he just being a hospitable host, or is there something more behind his warmth?


Jake returns, one arm cradling a collection of snacks—Doritos, pretzels, and Cheez-Its—while the other holds an open Tupperware container.


“Okay, no cookies, but try one of these homemade lemon bars,” he says, offering me the container.


“These look amazing,” I say, my excitement evident as I pick one up, the scent of lemon filling the air.


“My mom makes them every summer,” he says with a proud grin. “I keep telling her she should sell them at a local shop.”


“Yes, she should,” I mumble, covering my mouth with my hand as I take a bite. “Please tell her these are the best lemon bars I’ve ever tasted.”


“I will,” Jake replies, settling next to me on the sofa.


“Are you close with your parents?” I ask, brushing powdered sugar from my lap.


“I’m fairly close with my mom,” Jake begins, his voice softening. “My dad… not so much. He’s never missed an opportunity to give me a hard time about my career choices.”


“Which one?” I ask, tilting my head. “Performing or bodyguarding?”


“The latter,” he replies, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “My parents don’t know about the singing. They know I enjoy it, but they have no idea I perform in front of people.”


“Oh,” I murmur, surprised. “Would they not support you?”


Jake leans back, his gaze distant. “If my dad knew, he’d probably laugh in my face. The family farm is all he cares about. Since I stopped being a working part of it, I’ve been the family’s disappointment—or so he makes sure I know.”


“That’s… incredibly selfish of your dad,” I say, frowning. “It’s your life. You should get to choose how you live it.”


Jake scoffs, the sound low and bitter. “My dad doesn’t see it that way.”


“I’m sorry,” I say softly, leaning my head against the couch.


Jake shrugs, but the weight of the subject lingers. “I’m just thankful I have my music. It’s my outlet. Helps me deal with the frustration.”


My gaze drifts to the guitar propped in the corner, and I can’t help but smile at the thought of him playing. When I glance back at Jake, he’s already caught me staring, a knowing grin lighting up his face.


“Can you play a little for me?” I ask, my voice hopeful but tentative.


Jake leans forward, his expression suddenly serious. “Hmph, I don’t know. I don’t usually do solo performances unless it’s for a special reason.”


“Oh. Okay,” I mumble, lowering my gaze, the disappointment sharper than I expected.


“Darlin’, I’m kidding,” he says, his voice thick with amusement. “Of course I’ll play for you. Here I am, trying to give you a hard time, and you just give up on me that easily?”


“Hey, I’m tired,” I protest, shoving his arm lightly. “I just had an intense, vigorous workout.”


Jake drops his head and laughs, the sound rich and unrestrained. “You’re right. That was quite the ride.” His smile lingers as he pats my leg and stands. “I’ll never forget it.”


His words send my heart into a freefall. There’s a finality in his tone that twists something deep inside me. I don’t want tonight to be his only memory of me. Of us.


Jake grabs his guitar and then settles back on the couch, angling himself sideways. “Cover song or original?” he asks, adjusting the instrument in his hands.


“Whatever you feel most comfortable with,” I reply, tucking my legs beneath me.


“How about a little Tim McGraw?” he suggests, strumming a few chords with an easy familiarity.


The soft twang in Jake’s voice takes me completely by surprise. There’s a rawness in his little rasp, paired with a lively tone that gives his voice an edgy timbre—a sound that sends a shiver up my arms while soothing my ears all at once.


“I don’t know why I act the way I do,


Like I ain’t got a single thing to lose.


Sometimes I’m my own worst enemy.


I guess that’s just the cowboy in me.”


Jake’s eyes close briefly during the chorus, his expression shifting to something tender, almost vulnerable. In this moment, he’s more than just a man sitting across from me. He’s showing me a beautiful, unguarded piece of himself.


“The urge to run,


The restlessness.


The heart of stone I sometimes get.


The things I’ve done for foolish pride.


The me that’s never satisfied.”


Though the words are only lyrics to a song, they feel personal. As if he’s sharing his own struggles, his own doubts. The honesty in his voice strikes a chord, and I find it so achingly attractive, so deeply passionate.


“The face that’s in the mirror when I don’t like what I see.


I guess that’s just the cowboy in me.”


By the time the song ends, my face hurts from smiling so hard. Jake’s performance has my heart bursting, my chest so full of joy and admiration I can hardly stand it.


“That was—wow,” I stammer, struggling to find the words. “I can’t even… Jake, you’re so talented.”


His eyes crinkle as his cheeks lift in a shy smile. “Thank you. But it doesn’t hurt that I’ve got a beautiful, attentive audience.”


Heat rushes to my chest and spreads to the roots of my hair. “Hey, I’m supposed to be the one handing out compliments, not the other way around.”


He chuckles, the sound rich and low, and as his laughter rumbles, I catch the subtle flex of his abs. It’s almost impossible to tear my eyes away.


“Have you ever posted yourself on a social platform?” I ask, distracting myself by grabbing my phone from my jeans.


“No,” he answers quickly, shaking his head. “I’m not into any of that.”


“Not even a video on YouTube?” I press, my curiosity growing.


“You’d think at twenty-six I’d be well-versed,” he says, a little self-deprecating smile creeping onto his face. “But it’s never interested me. I guess I’m old-fashioned.”


“I get it,” I say, nodding. “Social media has its flaws and drawbacks. But it could really help you in this case.”


Jake shifts slightly, his tone turning thoughtful. “I feel like it cheapens the whole experience. For most people, it’s about the fame. But for me, it’s about enjoyment and expression. The dream is to make enough to sing full-time—maybe record a couple of albums, go on a few tours. But more than anything, I want to make people smile. I want to see the joy in their eyes and know I made a difference.”


“That’s a beautiful dream,” I say softly, meeting his gaze. “And it pairs perfectly with your beautiful voice.”


Jake opens his mouth to respond, but I grab his guitar before he can speak. “Don’t you dare compliment me back,” I warn, narrowing my eyes at him.


He laughs, a small chortle that cracks my serious expression and pulls a laugh from me in return.


“You gonna play something for me?” he asks, perking up in excitement.


“Hmm,” I say, pretending to ponder. “I might know one song.”


His eyes widen in surprise. “Go for it.”


Taking a breath, I press my fingers to the strings, testing the chords. It’s been a while since I’ve played, and my technique is rusty. The buzzing, muted notes make me cringe, my ears instantly unsettled. I avoid Jake’s face entirely, too embarrassed to look at him.


But he’s patient, sitting quietly as I fumble with the strings. Slowly, I manage to apply the right pressure, and for a few fleeting moments, the melody falls into place.


Then the music falters.


“Why did you stop?” he asks, his brow furrowing with concern.


“I can’t remember the rest,” I admit, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks.


“That was ‘Dreams’ by The Cranberries, right?”


My mouth drops. “You got that from my terrible playing?”


Jake chuckles. “My mom adored Dolores O’Riordan. She used to play that song on repeat when I was a kid.” He reaches for the neck of the guitar. “How about I play, and you sing?”


“Only if you sing with me,” I counter.


“Deal.” He nods, then strums the opening chords with perfect precision.


I hesitate at first but start singing the first verse. Jake doesn’t join in right away, though his encouraging nod and warm smile keep me going. The pace is gentle, soft—just like the way my uncle used to play it.


Jake averts his gaze a few times, likely trying to make me feel at ease. It works, at least a little. Even though I love to sing, doing so in front of someone this talented isn’t easy.


Eventually, he begins to sing with me, his voice blending seamlessly with mine. The twang from earlier is absent now, replaced with a smooth, melodic tone that’s just as captivating. His ability to adapt his voice surprises and impresses me even more.


As we reach my favorite part of the song, warmth spreads through my chest. Singing the lyrics together makes the moment feel even more intimate.


“And now I tell you openly,


You have my heart, so don’t hurt me.


You’re what I couldn’t find.


A totally amazing mind,


So understanding and so kind,


You’re everything to me.”


Time seems to blur as we go through song after song—some country, some not. My mediocre voice doesn’t faze him. He’s far more focused on the joy of recreating these melodies together. At one point, he shifts his playing to the floor, sitting cross-legged, then moves back to the couch in a carefree, relaxed rhythm.


The vibrations of the music ripple through me, creating a natural high. We share countless smiles and laughs, the kind that leave your cheeks sore. Jake looks equally euphoric—there’s a sparkle in his blue eyes and a brightness to his smile that I haven’t seen before.


Eventually, exhaustion starts to creep in, and I lean back on the sofa with a deep breath. Jake glances at his phone and announces, “It’s three in the morning.”


“Oh wow.” I blink, sitting up slightly. “I should get going.”


“Or,” he says, placing his guitar on the ground with a deliberate slowness, “you could stay.”


Jake leans back, his legs spreading slightly as he settles into the couch, watching me with an expression that’s both relaxed and intent. It’s as if he’s giving me the space to make the choice, but the slight curve of his lips tells me he’s rooting for one answer.


The invitation feels heavier than it sounds, weighted with the promise of something more—more time, more connection, more of this. And even though I should probably leave, the idea of walking out that door feels impossible right now.


I pretend to mull it over, then slowly grin. “OK. I’ll stay.”


“Great. To be honest, I wasn’t looking forward to walking back to the bar.”


“You were really going to walk me back?” I lift one leg onto the couch, settling into the moment.


“Darlin’, how is that even a question?”


I wrap my hands around my knee and shrug. “I don’t know.”


Jake’s regard for me shouldn’t surprise me anymore, but somehow it does. I’ve never had a guy make me a priority like this. The way he expresses concern—so casually and naturally, yet deeply sincere—leaves me feeling both comforted and unsteady.


“I have to be at the bookstore by nine,” I explain, breaking the comfortable silence.


“Then we should probably catch some Z’s,” Jake replies, laying his guitar on the sofa and stretching with casual ease.


I rise to my feet, phone resting loosely in my grip, and follow him down the short hall to his room.


Much like the rest of his apartment, Jake’s bedroom is understated but functional. A sturdy wood bedframe holds a king-size bed, its gray and navy comforter neatly spread. The walls are bare, except for a single large window that lets in just enough moonlight to soften the room. In one corner, a small writing desk holds a few neatly stacked notebooks, their spines worn and full of character. The natural wood grain of the desk and dresser match, adding to the room’s effortless charm.


“Left side OK?” Jake asks, pulling back the comforter on one side.


“Sure,” I mumble, slipping into the bed. The chilly sheets make me shiver instantly. “It’s cold in here.”


“Yeah,” he admits with a small laugh. “The old AC unit keeps this room icy while the rest of the place feels fine.”


He climbs in beside me, settling onto his back with the kind of ease that makes the bed seem more inviting. My eyes are drawn to the stretch of his torso peeking out from under the sheet, the definition of his abs shadowed by the moonlight. One strong arm rests behind his head, and his calm, restful expression helps quell the unease in my chest.


Sliding my phone along the covers, I check my messages.


A text from Riah:


”You’re not home yet and this isn’t like you. Can you please let us know you’re alive?!”


My reply is vague but reassuring:


”My heart is still beating. Don’t wait up.”


Another message pops up, this time from Taylor:


”OK, but how big is it?”


I laugh quietly, quickly typing back:


”You’re a dork, Tay. Go to bed.”


Jake shifts beside me, his gaze curious. “Anything you can share?” he asks, one eyebrow raised in playful intrigue.


I smirk and shake my head, switching my phone off. “Nope.” Sliding out of bed, I announce, “I’m using your bathroom.”


By the time I return, the room is dark except for the faint glow of the window. The cold air is relentless, and I shiver as I slip back under the covers, pulling them up to my chin in a futile attempt to get warm.


Jake notices my trembling and makes an offer that’s both inviting and tempting. “It’s a lot warmer over here.”


Without hesitation, I slide closer, angling my body sideways and resting my head and arm against his chest. His warmth seeps into me immediately, chasing away the chill and calming the shivers that had taken over.


“You’re right,” I murmur, letting out a small sigh of relief. “This is so much better. Thank you.”


We fall into a quiet lull, the kind of silence that feels comfortable rather than heavy. But my mind begins to wander, and one question presses its way to the surface.


“Hey, Jake,” I whisper, my fingertips lazily tracing small shapes on his chest.


“Hm?” His response is a low, contented hum as his hand moves in soft, absent circles along my back.


“What was your first impression of me?”


I feel his body stiffen slightly, and I know he’s hesitating.


“Well…” he starts, his voice thoughtful. “At first, I figured you were probably on the rebound, looking for someone to boost your confidence. And honestly, I wasn’t interested—even though I thought you were incredibly attractive.”


“Why not?” I ask, my hand pausing mid-motion.


“Because,” he says slowly, “I knew you could easily keep my attention if I let you.”


“And what’s so bad about that?” I ask, giving him a playful poke in the ribs.


He chuckles softly. “Like I told you earlier, I wasn’t looking to complicate my life with a serious relationship.”


“I get it,” I admit, my voice low. “I wasn’t looking to open my heart either. Not even for someone as charming as you.” My finger resumes its path, drawing small, aimless circles on his chest. “Relationships have never worked out in my favor.”


“You and me both,” he replies with a wistful edge, his tone filled with unspoken memories.


Peering up at him, I say, “I know this might sound cheesy, but tonight has turned into one of my favorite low-key nights ever.”


He kisses the top of my head and smiles. “That might be my favorite thing you’ve said tonight.”


I squeeze him tighter, grateful for the warmth. One of his arms rests gently on my lower back, just above my bare skin. If I weren’t so exhausted, I’d be ready for another round with him. But as my eyelids grow heavier, fatigue quickly takes over. I drift off to sleep, lulled by the steady rhythm of Jake’s heartbeat.





*





The morning sun cuts through the curtains, casting a sharp ray of light across my face, nudging me awake. I’m surprised to find myself still wrapped in Jake’s arms. It’s unusual, considering my tendency to toss and turn throughout the night. The stillness of my body tells me I slept deeply, peacefully.


Jake stirs beside me, his eyes blinking a few times as they adjust to the light. I can’t help but admire his calm, rugged profile. His gaze meets mine, and for a moment, we share a silent, sleepy smile.


“I wonder what time it is,” I murmur, sitting upright and stretching my arms above my head.


Jake leans over to his nightstand, letting out a soft grunt as he grabs his phone. “It’s ten till nine,” he says, his voice gravelly with sleep.


“Shoot!” I exclaim, hopping out of bed in a hurry. “I overslept! I don’t even have time to run home and change.”


Jake props himself up on one elbow, watching me scramble. “Is it really that big of a deal if you’re late? It’s Saturday morning. Who’s out buying books at this hour?”


I glance at him over my shoulder, my expression tight with urgency. “You’d be surprised.”


Jake follows me into the living room, leaning casually against the doorframe as I frantically gather my clothes.


“This isn’t like me,” I say, slipping on my underwear. “I’m never late.”


“Hey, take a breath,” he insists, his voice soft yet firm as he heads toward the kitchen. “At least let me make you a cup of coffee before you run out the door.”


I pause and exhale. “Okay, thanks. I really appreciate it.”


Stuck in my thoughts, my mind races with worries and what-ifs, making it hard to focus. I reach beside my pile of clothing, yelling toward the kitchen. “I wish I could stay longer. Being a responsible adult really sucks sometimes.”


Jake doesn’t respond, the sound of cabinets opening and closing filling the silence instead. A slight knot forms in my stomach. I take a hesitant step toward the kitchen, my hand still holding an article of clothing.


When I come into view, Jake glances at me, his smirk playful and suggestive. “Need help with that?” he asks, tilting his head toward the black strapless bra dangling from my fingers.


I roll my eyes, but a smile sneaks onto my face. “Funny,” I mutter, unable to keep the amusement out of my voice.


He pulls out a container from the fridge and gestures with it. “Creamer?”


“Yes, please.” I lean against the counter, crossing my feet at the ankles. “Hey, did you hear me earlier?”


“Yep,” he replies casually, continuing his search through the cabinets. “You said it sucks being a responsible adult sometimes. Couldn’t agree more.”


The knot in my stomach tightens. Why does that answer feel so… flat? His usual attentiveness, the thing that’s made me feel so seen, seems absent.


I shift on my feet, hesitating. “I really am sorry I can’t stay longer.”


Jake shrugs, pouring the coffee. “It’s fine,” he says simply. “I get it.”


The nonchalant tone catches me off guard, and for a moment, I’m left wondering what changed.


Reluctant to meet my gaze, Jake continues his task, pulling a black travel mug from the cupboard.


“You see, the store isn’t doing that well,” I say, feeling the need to explain myself. “Every potential book sale matters right now. And I have a few regulars who show up promptly at nine every Saturday. They rely on that routine.”


“People like their routines. I get it,” he says, his voice even as he secures a lid on the cup.


“Hey,” I say softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Will you look at me, please?”


His movements pause, and after a beat, his eyes finally meet mine. His expression is serious, steady. “I know you have responsibilities,” he says calmly. “I would never ask you to ignore them. It seems like you’re the only one struggling with that right now, darlin’.”


I glance down at the oversized shirt draping my frame — technically his shirt — and feel a flash of guilt. He’s right. I’m the one dragging my feet. But there’s something about his tone, the weight of his words, that makes me sense there’s more to his mood than he’s letting on.


“A half hour,” I say abruptly, the words spilling out before I can think twice. “That’s all I can spare.”


He raises an eyebrow, curiosity flickering across his face. “What for?”


A smile creeps onto my lips, playful and suggestive. “To give that boner some relief.”


After a quick downward glance, Jake locks eyes with me, a sly smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “You sure about that?” he asks, his voice low and teasing as he lets go of the coffee mug.


I nod shyly, the weight of anticipation swirling in my chest.


In one fluid motion, he scoops me up by the waist, and my legs instinctively wrap around him. His strength is effortless, and his closeness sends a rush of heat through me. As he carries me toward the bedroom, he leans in close, his breath warm against my ear. “Guess it’s my turn to take the reins,” he murmurs.


His words crash over me like a tidal wave, sending pulses of arousal through my entire body and igniting a heat deep within me. I’m already aching, ready, without the need for anything more.


Jake lays me gently on the bed, his movements both deliberate and commanding. His lips find mine, starting with a delicate, testing press before deepening into something fierce and consuming. Every kiss feels like a spark, leaving me craving more of the fire he so effortlessly brings.


“Don’t move,” he whispers, his voice low and commanding as he pulls away from me.


A thrill courses through me at his words, and I obey, staying perfectly still, my anticipation heightening with every passing second. My heart pounds as I hear him rummaging through his nightstand, the faint sounds stirring my curiosity.


Lifting my neck slightly, I catch sight of him standing at the edge of the bed, focused and deliberate as he rolls on a condom. The sight sends a wave of heat through me, and I quickly raise my knees, wiggling just enough to slide my underwear off and toss them aside.


He doesn’t rush. Instead, he moves with purpose, his body lowering over mine as he gently spreads my legs, his warmth and weight anchoring me in the moment. With heedful measure, he inserts his swollen erection in my wet slit, drawing out an immediate gasp of pleasure from us both”


“You’re so tight,” he murmurs, his voice strained as he eases further into me, his movements slow and deliberate.


“That’s a good thing though, right?” I manage, my voice catching as my body adjusts to the stretch.


He dips his head lower, his breath warm against my lips before capturing them in a kiss. It’s firm yet unhurried, ending with a sensual tug on my lower lip that sends a shiver down my spine.


“Yes, darlin’,” he answers, his tone full of heat and tenderness. “It’s absolutely a good thing.”


“I love when you call me that,” I admit softly, a breathy moan escaping me as I settle into the moment.


“I can tell,” he murmurs with a knowing grin, his words laced with satisfaction.


The rhythm of his hips quickens, coaxing a symphony of unrestrained moans from my lips. The slick, intoxicating sounds of our bodies colliding fill the room, adding to the heat of the moment.


Jake takes me by surprise, pulling out just enough to leave me breathless before plunging back in with deliberate force. Each time he repeats the motion, my body responds, climbing higher and higher on a wave of unrelenting pleasure.


His voice, low and teasing, pulls me back. “You think you can handle more of me?” he asks, his gaze locking with mine. “Because I’d love to give you a proper pounding.”


My breath catches, and in a trembling voice, I murmur, “Yes, Jake. I want all of you.”


The teasing grin he flashes ignites a warmth across my cheeks. There’s something about his smile that leaves me flustered, vulnerable, and undeniably aroused all at once—a confession I’m not ready to share with him.


Jake gently lifts my legs, sliding out with deliberate care. The urge to beg for him rises within me, but I don’t have to wait long. He leans over me swiftly, pressing me into the mattress with the solid weight of his body. As he thrusts back inside, a sharp gasp escapes my lips, and my hands instinctively clasp the backs of my calves, seeking something—anything—to steady myself.


My body yields completely to his rigorous rhythm, each movement making me feel profoundly submissive yet utterly alive. The deep, guttural grunts of his exertion blend with the low moans slipping from his lips, the raw sound igniting something primal within me. Each breath, each noise, seems to draw me deeper into the moment, amplifying the pleasure coursing through me.


“Please don’t stop,” I beg, my voice shaky with need.


Jake leans down, his lips brushing against mine in the softest, most tantalizing kiss. The light touch is almost maddening, sending shivers through me. “Not until you cum for me,” he whispers, his breath hot against my skin, his words sending a deeper thrill through me, leaving me aching for more.


As the low hum slips from my lips, the slow, deliberate rhythm of Jake’s movements sends a rush of anticipation through me. Each thrust feels like a promise, teasing but intoxicating. The tension builds, and then, with a commanding touch, he presses my legs back, positioning me with a gentle yet unmistakable dominance. His grip on my hands tightens, guiding them to a point where I can’t help but submit, my body reacting instinctively to the firm, assured lead he takes. My breath catches in the space between us, my body aching for what I know is coming, his relentless, intense pounding.


I gasp sharply, anticipation tightening in my core. His thrusts grow harder, faster, each motion igniting a rapid, fiery tension. Pleasured cries spill from me, raw and uncontrollable.


“Good girl. Let it out,” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding as his movements deepen with deliberate precision, each one more attuned to my every response.


Another wave of pleasure crashes through me, my toes curling and hands clenching as I finally reach my peak. A sharp cry escapes me as the pressure shatters, my soft, pliant walls pulsing in rhythmic contractions. But the intensity doesn’t fade—Jake hasn’t surrendered to his own release yet.


With his continued rapid pounding comes a loud, unexpected groan. The mix of exhilaration and exhaustion in his voice fuels each deep thrust—hard and demanding at first, then gradually slower and gentler. Finally, with his release, my body softens, able to relax in the aftermath.


The collapse of tension in his body causes him to roll off of me. He lies flat on his back, catching his breath, and I can’t hold back the unexpected tears that follow.


“Are you crying?” he asks, his voice thick with concern as he tilts his head toward me.


“It’s not sadness,” I explain, wiping my eyes. “I’m just overwhelmed. I’ve never experienced anything like that before. It was a much-needed emotional release.”


“Are you sure that’s all it is?” he presses, his voice soft but insistent.


I turn onto my side and prop my head up with my arm, trying to compose myself. “Yes, cowboy. You’re unbelievably talented.”


His warm demeanor appreciates the sentiment, but his concern still lingers. “Then tell me… why do I still sense sadness in your voice?”


I hesitate for a moment, feeling the weight of what I’m about to say. “Maybe because I’m thinking about what you said last night,” I start, my voice uncertain. “I know you aren’t interested in a relationship right now, and I totally respect that. But I also don’t want this to be the last time I see you.”


Jake shifts his position, mirroring my posture, and looks at me intently. “I don’t want that either,” he admits, taking a moment to reflect. He looks at me fondly, deeply. “How would you feel if I came by the bookstore later?”


“That would be more than OK with me,” I say, trying to mask the excitement in my voice.


His pleased smile lingers as he gets up and heads to the restroom. I take my turn to clean up, using his wooden paddle brush to carefully work through my tangled hair. I swipe his deodorant, making sure to place it back exactly where it was on the countertop. A shower would be ideal, but there’s no time.


I retrieve for my phone, only to realize it’s dead. With a sigh, I tuck it into the back pocket of my jeans and head toward the door. Jake is there, waiting, holding a fresh cup of coffee for me.


“Thank you,” I say, gratefully accepting the travel mug.


He smiles and opens the door for me. As I step out, I feel a familiar ache in my stomach.


“It’s been fun,” I say, trying to sound as lighthearted as possible.


“The best kind of fun,” he replies with a grin.


I step out of the door, relieved that he agrees with me, yet still struggle to pull away.


“I’ll see you soon,” he says, giving me just the push I need.


“OK. Bye, Jake,” I say, my voice trailing off as I walk away.


“Bye, Avery,” he says, and for some reason, hearing my real name from him feels odd. I’d much prefer “Darlin’.” But I file that thought away as I continue on my brisk walk toward the bookstore.


As I approach my parents’ store, I notice the unusual number of cars parked outside. But there are no people waiting in line, which strikes me as odd.


Wait — why are there people inside? How are there people inside?


My heart begins to race. Panic creeps in as I remember my phone is dead, leaving me unable to call for help.


Just as the fear starts to take over, I spot a familiar white sedan. Everything clicks. My parents are here, running the store for me.


Relief floods through me… until the realization hits me.


My parents are here, running the store for me!


Shit.