Chapter 6: Morning After, New Beginnings
Consciousness returned to Evie in a warm, heavy wave. The first thing she felt was the solid band of his arm across her ribs, the heat of his chest against her back. She was still dressed only in the oversized sweater and the thin black choker, the wool soft against her skin. Jay slept in his boxers, his breathing deep and even against the nape of her neck.
She shifted slightly, and his arm tightened, pulling her closer. He stirred, nuzzling into her hair before he pressed a soft, sleep-warm kiss to her shoulder. “Morning,” he murmured, his voice gravelly.
Evie turned in his arms to face him. In the stark morning light filtering through the cheap curtains, the motel room looked even more threadbare, but his face was all she saw. She kissed him, gentle and exploratory, a world away from the frantic demands of the night before. He kissed her back, lazy and thorough, his hand cupping the side of her face.
“We should get you back,” he said eventually, though he didn’t let go.
He helped her dress. He found her bra on the floor and she put it on under the sweater, her movements slow and stiff. Her jeans felt rough against her bare skin as she pulled them on. She patted the floor, searching.
“Looking for these?” Jay held up the shredded black lace of her panties, dangling from one finger. A smirk played on his lips. “Souvenir.”
A hot blush crept up her neck. Before she could form a response, he was moving. He closed the distance, his hand coming up to cradle her throat, his thumb pressing just enough to make her pulse leap. He pulled her into a kiss that was anything but gentle—possessive, claiming, a sharp reminder of everything they’d done. She melted into it, a soft sound escaping her.
He broke away with a low growl, his own breathing slightly ragged. He rested his forehead against hers, his grip on her throat softening to a caress. “Christ. If I start, I won’t stop. And you’re sore.” He said it like a fact, a piece of data from his personal engine diagnostics.
He stepped back, running a hand through his messy hair. “Look. I usually…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “This isn’t usually my thing. The morning after shit. But I don’t want this to be a one-night thing with you, Evie. I want… more. If you do.”
The words landed in her chest like a lit flare, brilliant and warm. More. Not just a secret shame in a dirty motel, but something that existed in the daylight. She nodded, her voice small but sure. “I want that. Too.”
They swapped numbers, the transaction feeling strangely formal after the raw intimacy of the night. He helped her into his truck, the powerful engine growling to life. His motorcycle was secured in the bed. The campus loomed in the distance, a world of routine and expectation.
“Jay?” she asked as they neared the student housing. “The last bit… on the bike? Please?”
He glanced at her, one eyebrow raised, then a slow grin spread across his face. He pulled over, unstrapped the motorcycle, and kicked it off the ramp. The rumble was a visceral tremor through the quiet morning. He handed her a helmet and she climbed on behind him, wrapping her arms tight around his waist.
The wind whipped at her hair under the helmet. She pressed her cheek against his leather jacket, the world blurring into a stream of color and sound. He took the long way, circling the dorm blocks, the bike’s roar shattering the Sunday morning calm. Students in pajamas getting coffee turned to stare. A group of guys wearing frat letters outright gaped as the bike slowed near her building.
Jay helped her off. She pulled off the helmet, her hair a wild mess, her body humming. She saw their looks—the shock, the curiosity. For once, she wasn’t invisible. She was the girl who got off the back of a stranger’s murderously loud bike.
She grabbed the front of Jay’s jacket, stood on her toes, and kissed him hard. It was a statement. He kissed her back, his hand firm on her hip. “I’ll text you,” he said against her mouth.
Then he was gone, the bike’s growl fading into the distance. Evie turned toward her dorm, her legs unsteady. A deep, pleasant ache radiated from her core with every step. She felt raw, used, and impossibly light.
She pushed the door open to her shared room and staggered the first step inside.
Mia was perched on the edge of Evie’s neatly made bed, arms crossed. She was already dressed for the day in a crop top and leggings, her makeup flawless. “Well, well,” she said, her voice laced with theatrical concern. “Look what the bad boy dragged in. And then apparently threw down a flight of stairs. Where the hell have you been? I was two seconds from calling the cops.”
Evie closed the door and leaned against it, a tired smile on her face. “I was with Jay. The guy from the bar. He had a race last night. I went.”
Mia’s eyes widened. “You went to a bike race? You, Evelyn Cross? Did you borrow my personality for the night?” She uncrossed her arms, scrutinizing her sister. “You look… rumpled. And happy. It’s weirding me out. Everything okay? You’re not, like, secretly engaged to a Hells Angel now, are you?”
“Everything’s fine,” Evie said, pushing off the door and heading to her desk. She winced slightly as she sat. “Better than fine. It was… fun.”
“Fun.” Mia dragged the word out, her gaze dropping to Evie’s careful posture. A wicked grin spread across her face, identical to Evie’s but somehow brighter, sharper. “Oh my god. You slept with him. That’s why you’re walking like you just rode a horse for a week.” She laughed, a bright, bubbling sound. “So? Spill. Was it good?”
Evie felt the blush return, a full-body flush. She busied herself with opening her laptop. “It was good.”
“Just ‘good’? Please. You’re practically glowing, and you’ve got that ‘I just got properly wrecked’ limp.” Mia flopped back on Evie’s bed, grinning at the ceiling. “Damn, Evie. Who knew? Quiet little you, bagging the scary biker guy. He must have one hell of a cock.”
Evie’s laugh sounded breathless, even to her own ears. She kept her eyes on her laptop screen, the glow painting her hot cheeks. “It was more than good, Mia. But I’m not doing a play-by-play.”
“Ugh, you’re no fun,” Mia sighed, rolling off the bed with a dramatic flourish. She stretched, her own body loose and unmarked. “Fine, keep your sordid secrets. I’m just glad you finally got some. Real some, by the looks of it.” She grabbed her gym bag from the door. “I’ve got spin class. Try to walk normally by dinner, yeah?”
The door clicked shut, and the performative energy Mia carried with her evaporated. Silence pooled in the room, thick and sudden. Evie let out a long, trembling breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
Alone, the memories descended, not as thoughts but as physical echoes. Every movement triggered a sensory flashback. Standing up sent a deep, hollow ache through her pelvis, a reminder of being filled. Walking to the closet made her aware of the specific, tender sting elsewhere, the proof of his patience and his claiming. She found clean clothes—soft cotton panties, a loose skirt—and each brush of fabric was a startling contrast to the violence of the lace he’d destroyed.
In the shower, the hot water needled her skin. She watched soap suds spiral between her thighs, washing away the last invisible traces. Her fingers trembled as she washed her hair, the scent of motel shampoo replaced by her own vanilla soap. The water couldn’t touch the feeling of his hands, the grip in her hair, the certainty of his touch as he cleaned her.
Drying off, she caught her reflection in the steamy mirror. The girl staring back had the same dark hair, the same petite frame. But her eyes were different, quieter yet deeper, holding a knowledge that felt heavy and bright. Her fingers went to the black choker, always there. It felt different now, less like a hiding place and more like a seal. A promise he’d seen what was beneath.
Dressed, with her backpack slung over one shoulder, she paused at the door. The ache was a constant, low hum, a secret she carried into the daylight. It was a comfort. A truth.
Her phone buzzed in her skirt pocket. A single text lit the screen, from an unknown number saved under a simple ‘J’.
Miss the smell of you on my sheets. Thursday. I'll pick you up. I’ll cook.
A slow, private smile touched her lips. She typed back, her thumb steady.
"I can't wait"
She stepped out into the hallway, the ache a familiar ghost moving with her, and closed the door on the quiet room.