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Blackout (The Leather & Lace Duet 1)
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After years of struggling with alcoholism and drug abuse, I got clean and put my best foot forward. I became the man worthy of Lacey Parrish’s love and made the girl with the sad brown eyes my wife. But I’m not the only one in our marriage with demons. Diagnosed a manic depressive, Lacey struggles daily with her mind, never willing to succumb to the stigma of mental illness.
*This is part one of the Leather & Lace duet and will conclude in Book Two.*
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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.
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.
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.
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.