Page 35 of My Ex-Military Biker
"Yeah?"
"You chose this. Remember that tomorrow when you're sore and second-guessing everything. You chose it, you wanted it, you asked for it."
"I know I did."
"Good. Don't forget."
He reaches over and takes my hand, just holds it simply.
We lie there with our hands linked loosely, both still trying to catch our breath properly.
This is what choosing feels like, I realize. Raw and real and completely mine.
And I don't regret a single second of it.
Chapter 7 — Tate
I wake up before dawn and she's still in my bed.
That's the first thing I process. Not the wound pulling slightly when I shift position, not the soreness in my muscles from yesterday, just her.
Still here. Still breathing steady and slow beside me.
I've never wanted someone to stay before. Not like this. Not in a way that made waking up alone feel like a problem that needed solving.
She's on her stomach, face turned toward me, one arm stretched across the pillow. Her hair is everywhere, dark against the white pillowcase.
Her back is bare where the sheet has slipped down to her waist.
I can see marks I left. Bite marks on her shoulder. Bruises forming on her hip where my fingers dug in. The evidence of what we did, what I did, written across her skin.
Should probably feel bad about that. Don't.
She chose it. Asked for it. Took everything I gave her and came apart underneath me twice.
I shift slightly to see her face better and the movement wakes her.
Her eyes open, unfocused for a second before they find me. Small smile. "Hi."
"Hi."
"What time is it?"
"Early. Before six."
She makes a small sound. Closes her eyes again but the smile stays. "You always wake up this early?"
"Yeah."
"That's terrible."
"You get used to it."
She opens one eye. Looks at me. "Do I have to get used to it?"
The question lands different than she probably meant it. Implies a future where she's here enough mornings that my schedule becomes something she adapts to.
"You planning on being here enough mornings for it to matter?" I ask.
