Chapter One
Blackie
Drunk on pleasure, numb from pain, I drop my head against the pillow and stare up at the beauty riding my cock. Chestnut waves frame her face as she splays both hands against my chest and rocks her body over mine. Lifting my hands to her cheeks, I roll my hips and will her eyes to mine.
C’mon, girl.
Give me what I need.
Her long lashes flutter and those beautiful dark eyes that call to every part of my soul stare back at me. One look and I’m free. The hell I’ve been trying to escape fades from my memory. My burdens become weightless and my sins are absolved.
My Lace, my beautiful Lace.
Tracing the music notes inked to my chest, she sinks down on my cock. That perfect pussy tightens around me and her eyes become hooded as she murmurs my name.
“That’s it girl,” I growl, reaching for her hips. “Get it.”
The sight of her coming is enough to drive me over the edge but one hit is never enough. I always gotta go deeper. I always gotta take more. Never stop until I’m fucking drowning. Holding her steady, I lift and power into her. Pleasure quickly engulfs me, swarming my veins and as she tightens around me like a tourniquet, I lose myself to the cause.
There’s no pulling out.
Not this time.
Drown me, girl.
Take away my pain.
Give to me your lace.
Panting, she falls on top of me. Her perky tits press against my chest as she buries her face in my neck and whispers my name once more. Enjoying the high, I breathe in her sweet scent and wrap my arms tightly around her small frame. It doesn’t matter that I just came or that my dick is still swollen, pulsing inside of her, I’m already looking for another fix. Overdosing on Lacey wouldn’t be the worst thing to ever happen to me. Hell, I can’t think of a better fucking way to go.
“Blackie,” she calls softly, running her fingers down my arm.
“Hmm,” I murmur, flattening my palm against the small of her back.
“We didn’t…” her words waver as she lifts her head and turns her eyes to mine. “You know,” she whispers, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. Her gaze drifts to where our bodies are still joined, and the weight of her words penetrate through my haze filled head.
I wait for regret to replace my high. For panic to fill her eyes. I wait and wait and none of it happens. She doesn’t scramble off me and I don’t move to lift her either. There is no mad dash to the bathroom to wash my seed from her. There’s just us and the possible promise of something beautiful hanging heavy in the air.
“Blackie, say something,” she pleads, her voice thick with emotion.
Lifting my hands to my face, I comb my fingers through my long hair, pushing it away from my eyes. With nothing obstructing my view of her, I drink her in, watching as her thick lashes lower. I’ll never understand what the fuck she sees in me. She could have had her pick of men and yet she still chose me. Demons and all, the girl married me and took my name. Took a beaten down drug addict and gave him a purpose. A will to live and a goddamn future.
Reaching out, I cup her chin. The pad of my thumb caresses her lower lip as my gaze trails down her body, settling on her flat stomach. For a second my imagination carries me away and I picture her pregnant. My throat clogs with a mixture of emotions as I let myself entertain the idea a little longer and it isn’t long before I’m envisioning her with a baby in her arms.
My baby.
I don’t deserve Lacey and I sure as fuck don’t deserve the honor of being anyone’s father. I’m a fucking criminal with a rap sheet that spans as many years as my wife has been on this earth. These hands of mine have been covered in blood and aren’t worthy of holding an innocent child.
I’m a fucking addict too.
So, I’m clean—big fucking deal.
All it takes is one time.
One fucking slip.
Being an addict isn’t a choice. Addiction doesn’t go away because you got a woman thirteen years younger than you loving on you, wanting to give you a child. You’re not miraculously healed because you’ve done a stint in rehab and have a sobriety coach on speed dial. It’s a beast that lives inside of me and every day I open my eyes, I struggle to starve that fucking animal. Some days are worse than others.
Like today.
Today, I wanted to tie a tourniquet around my arm and shoot my veins from here to kingdom come. Instead, I came home and abandoned the weight of my burdens by sinking between my wife’s legs. I got lost in her sweet body and ignored the fact that the day I’ve been dreading is fast approaching. That day being the one when Jack Parrish loses his mind altogether and I take his place as the president of the Satan’s Knights MC.
It's a role he’s been grooming me for years to take on. Instilling all his wisdom and beliefs, sharing his vision for the club and making me lead in situations when he’s more than capable of leading himself. If you ask Jack Parrish whether I’m ready to take his place or not, they’ll be no hesitation, only conviction as he says yes.
But no one ever asks me if I’m ready.
Just like no one ever asked if I wanted the role in the first place.
For as long as Jack has had the gavel, I’ve been his V.P., the man who sits at his right. The guy who stands between him and any loaded gun. I’ve sacrificed myself on the sword more times than I care to admit. I’ve thrown my sobriety down the toilet and have done more stints in jail than any other motherfucker with a reaper on his back. Loyalty, respect, and honor—I’ve got it all in spades. I just don’t have a lick of it for myself.
Focusing my attention back to Lacey, I draw out a ragged breath and lift my eyes to hers. Hope radiates from her dark irises and I swallow the lump in my throat.
When Jack first took office, people called him a liability. They said a mentally ill man couldn’t possibly lead, that he’d act on impulse and recklessly get us all killed. Over the years, he proved himself. He took the hopeless pessimists and made them believers. If a deranged man can lead, then surely a recovering addict can follow in his footsteps.
Maybe I can lead my brothers.
Maybe I can be the man my wife needs me to be.
Maybe I can be someone’s father.
“You want a little Petra running around this house?” I ask hoarsely, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
God, if we have a baby, I hope she looks just like Lacey.
Cocking her head to the side, she splays her palm against my cheek and smiles at me. I swear that smile touches every part of my soul.
“I want ten little Petra’s running around this house,” she replies with a hint of amusement in her voice.
A laugh escapes the back of my tight throat.
“How about we start with one?”
Her eyes light up at the suggestion and the smile that spreads across her face makes me fucking feel invincible. Then again, drugs will do that to you. They’ll erase your pain and make you think you can conquer the world.
“Yeah?” she questions, pushing her fingers through my hair. “You want to make a baby with me?”
I want so much more than that. I want to give her the whole world. Every dream, every desire. I want to tie a perfect bow around them and give them to her. I suppose a beautiful baby is a good place to start.