Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Jordyn

We reach a shadowed alcove away from the hustle and bustle going on in the club.

The music's still pounding, but it's muffled a bit here.

Bama leans against the wall, arms crossed, his golden blond curls catching the dim light.

I take a moment to study him—athletic, but not overly muscular.

There's an intensity in his posture I haven't seen before, which only makes me wonder why he wants to have this little chat.

I lean against the opposite wall, trying to play it cool. "What's up?"

He shifts his weight, looking down for a second before meeting my gaze again.

His eyes are searching, almost vulnerable. It's not like him.

Usually, Bama's all confidence, the guy who can charm anyone with a smile and a joke.

Tonight, though, there's something else lurking beneath the surface.

"Jordyn," he starts, voice barely above a whisper. "I've been wanting to tell you something for a while now."

"Yeah?" I tilt my head, intrigued. "So, spit it out." I make sure to layer on a playful tone, because he's obviously nervous.

"I don't wanna be too loud," he says, glancing around.

"Okay then, this better?" I step closer, the tension between us thickening.

He takes a deep breath, and for a moment, I think he's going to back out.

But then he locks eyes with me, and I see that fire in them again, the fire that beckons me.

"Jordyn," he says, each word measured, deliberate. "I've had my eyes on you for a long time. This isn't just some one time fling for me. I want more, and I hope you do too."

My heart skips a beat, caught off guard by his admission.

Part of me wants to laugh it off, make a joke, but the look on his face tells me this is no laughing matter—he really feels this way.

"Wow, Bama," I say, struggling to find the right words. "I . . . I just got out of something bad, you know that."

"Yeah, I know," he replies, stepping closer. "But I'm taking my shot now. I don't care about your past. I care about how good we could be together."

His bluntness hits me like a punch, but in a weird way, I respect it. No games, no bullshit. Just raw honesty.

"You're serious?" I ask, searching his face for any hint of doubt.

"Dead serious," he says, eyes never leaving mine.

A smile tugs at my lips despite my reservations.

He's got guts, I'll give him that. And maybe, just maybe, that's exactly what I need right now.

"Okay, Bama," I say, finally letting the smile break through. "Let's see where this goes."

His face lights up, and for the first time in a long time, I feel a flicker of hope. Maybe this can work.

Out of nowhere, the joy on his face shifts to something else entirely.

"Hey," I nudge his arm playfully, trying to shake off the weight in the air. "What's with the long face? You look like you just lost your favorite surfboard."

He chuckles, but it's half-hearted. "Just got a lot on my mind, babe."

"Yeah?" I raise an eyebrow, giving him a teasing smirk. "For a guy who's dead serious about me, you sure seem distracted."

He runs a hand through his golden curls, his ocean-blue eyes clouded. "Am I that obvious?"

"Like a neon sign, Bama." I try to keep my tone light, but inside, a knot starts to form.

What could be bothering him now, right when things are starting to look up?

"Look, it's nothing," he says, shaking his head. But his words lack conviction, and it only makes the knot tighten in my gut.

"Come on, out with it." I lean in closer, dropping the playful edge. "You know you can tell me anything."

He hesitates.

For a moment, I think he might actually open up, but then he shuts down again, shaking his head. "It's club stuff. Nothing for you to worry about."

‘Club stuff' usually means trouble or worse.

My mind races, conjuring worst-case scenarios.

Was it another screw-up?

Is someone gunning for him again?

Could it be something worse than what I'm imagining?

"You're starting to make me worry," I confess, voice softer now.

He sighs deeply, avoiding my gaze. "Jordyn, trust me, it's . . . complicated."

‘Complicated' is never good. And the fact that he won't meet my eyes sends alarm bells ringing in my head.

The clubhouse is loud around us—laughter, music, clinking glasses—but here in our little corner, it feels like we're in a bubble of tension.

Bama clears his throat and speaks up, "I hope you know I'd do anything for you, including beat the shit out of your dumbass exes."

I laugh loudly, "I appreciate that," Licking my lips, my tone grows a bit more serious. "Blake did break me. He fucked with my head in ways I never thought he could. He broke pieces of me. Pieces I never thought could break."

"Then let me help put the pieces back together," he says, stepping even closer until I can feel the heat radiating off him. "I don't care about your past. I care about you."

"Why now?" I whisper, still trying to catch up with everything he's throwing at me. "Why tell me this now?"

"Because seeing you with other guys, knowing you're hurting , , , it kills me," he confesses, his hand reaching out to touch my arm gently. "I couldn't stay silent anymore."

"Jesus, Bama," I mutter, my mind racing. "You sure know how to get right into a girl's heart."

He runs his thumb tracing gentle circles on my skin. "Yeah, well, it's exactly what I'm tryin' to do."

"You're really serious about this?" I ask, needing to hear it again, to believe it.

"Dead serious," he replies, his voice steady. "I want to be there for you, Jordyn. In every way."

"God, Bama," I sigh, feeling a strange mix of fear and hope bubbling up inside me. "This is crazy."

"You're probably right," he grins, that familiar spark lighting up his eyes. "But sometimes crazy is exactly what we need."

"You're really not scared off by all my past relationship baggage?" I ask, half-expecting him to flinch, to show some sign of hesitation.

"Not in the slightest," he replies, his tone firm, unyielding.

A slow smile curls on my lips.

It's impossible not to admire the sheer audacity of this man standing before me.

Here he is, laying it all out, no bullshit, no games. Just pure honesty. And damn if that doesn't make my heartbeat kick up a notch.

A touch of amusement seeps into my voice. "I guess we're really doing the damn thing and seeing where this goes."

His face lights up, relief mingling with excitement.

There's something raw and real in his expression that makes me believe maybe—just maybe—this could be different.

Blake never looked at me the way Bama is right now, and that's so cool.

My hand reaches out on its own accord, fingers brushing against his tattooed chest. His skin is warm beneath my touch, and I can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

"You're full of surprises, you know that?" I murmur, more to myself than to him.

"Stick around, and you'll see just how many," he grins, his eyes sparkling with that familiar mischievous glint. "Come on, let's get a drink."

We make our way to the bar, and I feel the stares from some of the club members.

They're curious, maybe even a bit judgmental. But Bama's presence next to me feels like a shield, warding off any unwelcome attention.

He orders us a couple of beers, sliding one over to me with an easy grin.

He raises his beer bottle, "To seeing where this goes,"

I echo him and smile.

We both take long swigs, the cold liquid a welcome distraction from the intensity of our earlier conversation.

The clubhouse starts to fill up, the air buzzing with laughter and loud conversations.

People drift in, greeting each other with rough hugs and slaps on the back. This really is a second family to a lot of people.

"Looks like it's gonna be a full house tonight," Bama observes, his eyes scanning the room.

"Yeah," I agree, taking another sip of my beer. "Guess everyone wants to blow off some steam."

"Can't blame ‘em," he says, turning his attention back to me. "But right now, all I care about is you."

"Smooth talker," I laugh, shaking my head. "You always like this?"

"Only when it matters," he replies, his gaze unwavering.

"Well, keep it up," I say, feeling a strange mixture of vulnerability and excitement. "I kinda like it."

"Good to know," he smirks, leaning closer. "Wanna go upstairs?" Bama's voice cuts through the haze of smoke and chatter.

He licks his lips, eyes locked on mine, making my pulse quicken.

"Upstairs?" I tilt my head, eyebrow raised. "You mean your bedroom?"

"Yeah," he says, straightforward as ever.

His blue eyes burn with a mix of need and something deeper—something that makes my entire body run hot.

The room around us bursts with life. Laughter, shouting, the clink of bottles, kids running around and screaming. But right now, it's just background noise.

It's just me and Bama, standing in our own little world.

"I think that's a great idea." I nod, trying to sound casual, but my stomach does a flip.

"Let's get outta here." His hand finds mine, rough yet reassuring.

We weave through the crowd, dodging elbows and spilled drinks.

His grip tightens as we near the staircase, like he's afraid I'll slip away.

We reach the bottom of the stairs, and for a moment, I hesitate.

My past flashes before me—broken promises, shattered trust.

But then I look at Bama, and there's something in his eyes that tells me this is different.

This could be the real thing and I haven't experienced it . . . so I should give it a real shot, right?

"Ready?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

"Yeah," I say, taking a deep breath. "I'm ready."

With every step up those creaky stairs, anticipation coils tighter in my chest.

We reach his door, and he inputs a key code, unlocking it.

Inside, the room is a surprising contrast to the rough exterior. Warm, southern touches—a quilted bedspread, rustic wooden furniture, photos of Alabama landscapes—makes it feel like I'm right in the south.

"You've decorated very nicely," I say, taking it all in.

"Thanks," he replies, shutting the door behind us. "I've never lived away from Alabama until I came here. Guess I tried to take some of it with me."

"I think you did," I admit, turning to face him. "And that helps me learn more about you."

Bama chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that sends shivers down my spine. "Glad it's a good thing."

I barely have time to process his words before he's on me, closing the gap between us in a heartbeat.

His lips crash into mine with a hunger that catches me off guard.

It's not sweet or gentle—it's raw, primal, like he's been starving for this moment.

His hands cup my face, fingers tangling in my hair as he deepens the kiss.

I respond instinctively, my own hands grasping at his leather cut, pulling him closer.

The scent of his faint cologne fills my senses, grounding me in this electric moment.

The world outside his room fades away.

There's just Bama and me, tangled up in a whirlwind of pent-up emotions.

Our breaths become ragged, mingling in the heated air between us.

Every touch, every movement is charged, like we're both testing the boundaries of this newfound connection.

He pulls back slightly, just enough to look me in the eyes.

His gaze is intense, filled with unspoken promises and a fire that matches my own. "Jordyn," he whispers, his voice rough, "You have no idea how much I've wanted this. I've waited so damn long."

"I'm glad we're here now," I manage to say, my voice barely more than a breath. And it's true. Despite the fear, despite the past, this feels right. It feels inevitable.

"Then let's not waste any more time," he murmurs, leaning in again.

This kiss is slower, more deliberate, but no less consuming.

It's a promise sealed with passion, a step into the unknown.

And right now, I'm ready for whatever comes next.

Bama's hands move with a kind of reverence, sliding my shirt up and over my head.

A shiver runs down my spine as his lips brush against my collarbone, each kiss leaving a trail of fire on my skin.

He moves slowly, savoring every inch of me like he's been starved for this moment.

"God, you're beautiful," he murmurs, his breath hot against my neck.

I can barely think, let alone respond, as he unhooks my bra with practiced ease.

The cool air hits my bare skin, but it's nothing compared to the heat radiating from his touch.

Piece by piece, he undresses me, taking his time.

Each article of clothing falls away, leaving me exposed under his intense gaze.

His fingers trace the lines of my tattoo, lingering on the roses wrapped around the skull.

A soft smile tugs at his lips, a rare glimpse of vulnerability that makes my heart skip a beat.

"Always loved this ink," he says, his voice husky. "It suits you."

"Thanks," I manage to whisper, my voice trembling with anticipation.

He kneels in front of me, sliding my jeans and underwear down in one smooth motion.

My breath catches in my throat as his lips follow the path of his hands, pressing gentle kisses down my belly, my hips, my thighs.

It's almost too much, the way he worships every part of me.

"Relax, darlin'," he whispers, looking up at me with those ocean-blue eyes that seem to see right through me. "Just let me take care of you."

And then he does.

His mouth finds its mark, sending shockwaves of pleasure through my entire body.

I grasp the edge of the bed, knuckles white, trying to steady myself.

His tongue works magic, precise and relentless, driving me to the brink and back.

"Jesus, Bama," I gasp, unable to contain the moans that spill from my lips.

Every flick, every stroke feels like a promise kept, a testament to the connection we've both been craving.

"You're so damn sweet," he mutters against me, the vibrations adding another layer to the bliss. My legs start to tremble, and I know I'm close, teetering on the edge of something profound.

"Don't stop," I plead, my voice barely recognizable, thick with need. And he doesn't.

He pushes me further, drawing out every ounce of pleasure until I finally shatter, crying out his name.

As I come down from the high, he looks up at me, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a satisfied grin on his face. "Told you I'd take care of you."

"Yeah, you did," I say, breathless and dazed.

And for the first time in a long while, I feel safe, cherished, ready for whatever comes next.

His mouth leaves me, but only for a moment.

He shifts, his body pressing against mine, and I can feel the heat radiating off him.

His eyes lock onto mine, and there's an intensity there that makes my heart race. God, why is he so hot?

"You're not done yet," he murmurs, his voice a gravelly promise.

"Good," I manage to reply, my breath hitching as he positions himself between my legs.

Then he's inside me, filling me completely.

It's overwhelming, this connection, this raw, electric sensation.

I wrap my legs around him, pulling him closer, needing more.

His rhythm is slow at first, almost teasing, but it quickly grows more urgent, more demanding.

"Jordyn," he groans, his breath hot against my ear. "You're incredible."

"Don't stop," I whisper, my nails digging into his back, desperate to hold onto this moment. "Please, don't stop."

He doesn't.

He drives into me with a purpose, each thrust sending waves of pleasure crashing through me.

I can feel myself building again, that sweet tension coiling tighter and tighter within me.

And then I'm there, shattering around him, crying out his name as I come undone for the second time.

"That's it," he encourages, his voice thick with desire. "Let go, baby."

I do. Completely. My body trembles in the aftermath, but he doesn't let up.

His pace quickens, becoming almost frantic, and I can tell he's close too.

The room is filled with the sounds of our shared ecstasy, and it's intoxicating.

"Jordyn," he gasps, his movements growing erratic. "I'm gonna?—"

"Do it," I urge, tightening my grip on him. "Come for me, Bama."

It's all he needs. With a final, powerful thrust, he finds his release, and the feeling of him spilling inside me sends me over the edge once more.

It's like nothing I've ever experienced, this perfect blend of passion and intensity.

We're both panting, spent, as he collapses beside me, pulling me into his arms.

For a moment, we just lie there, soaking in the afterglow.

"You're . . . amazing," he finally says, his voice a reverent whisper.

"That was... wow," I manage to reply, still trying to catch my breath. "Best sex I've ever had."

"Yeah?" He grins, looking pleased with himself.

"Yeah," I confirm, snuggling closer to him. "You set the bar pretty high."

"Good," he says, his tone serious now. "Because I meant what I said earlier. I'm not gonna hurt you, Jordyn. Not ever."

"I know," I reply, looking up into his ocean-blue eyes. "I believe you."

And in this moment, wrapped in his arms, I realize something.

Maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of the best relationship I've ever had.