Eternal Temptations (The Tempted Series Book 6) (14 page)

“Blackie,” I whisper, wrapping my hand around his wrist and forcing his eyes back to mine. “I’m okay,” I assure, feeling guilty for not rising up and masking my depression.

“I know you are,” he insists, leaning over the wall of the tub and pressing his mouth against mine.

His lips are soft as they work mine, slowly easing them open sliding his tongue over mine. I lift my wet hands to his face, dragging my fingers through his hair as I kiss him back, hoping my kiss calms the worry in his eyes.

“Lean back,” he murmurs against my mouth before easing back from me. He squirts some body wash into the cloth and lifts it to my neck, slowly soaping me up. Intimately, with the gentleness he buried beneath his steel exterior, he takes care of me, calming my thoughts and forcing me to relax.

I close my eyes as the merry-go-round ride of emotions I was on comes to a halt. He works the lukewarm washcloth over every inch of my body in silence, the only sounds heard are those of our breathing and the water lapping around my body.

After a while he stops washing me and my body feels the loss of his touch, forcing me to open my eyes and watch as he squeezes out the washcloth and drape it over the mouth of the faucet. He turns his eyes back to mine and tips his chin toward my hair.

“Do you want me to wash your hair?” He asks huskily.

I shake my head as he pulls the stopper from the tub and lets the water drain before he rises to his full height and grabs a towel from the rack on the wall. He spreads it wide as I stand up and step out of the tub and into his arms. He wraps the towel around me. I feel his large palms circle my body, through the thin cotton of the towel as he pats me down. I glance down, secure the towel to my body, tucking the edge just above my breasts while I watch him take a step back and hold out his hands.

Blackie leads me into our bedroom, drops my hands as we reach the edge of the bed and he pulls down the comforter. He glances over his shoulder at me and extends one hand to my breast, unraveling the towel from my body, before looking back toward our bed.

I climb in and he draws the blanket over my body, bending his head to kiss my forehead.

“You’re okay,” he whispers, and for a moment I wasn’t sure if he was telling me so or trying to convince himself.

“Lay down with me,” I plead, watching his Adam’s apple as he swallows. He hesitated for a moment, pulling back from me as he took a deep breath. “Please?”

He nods, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and bends down to undo his boots. I lift my head from the pillow and rest on my elbows, watching as he strips down to nothing but his boxer briefs. He palms his cock, pressing down on it as he tears his eyes away from me and walks around the bed. His body is a work of art—tattoos decorating every corded muscle on display. I watch him pull back the sheet and climb in beside me, turning on his side to face me before lifting his hand to trace a finger down my cheek.

“So damn pretty,” he rasps, reaching for me with his other hand, tucking me against him as he rolls onto his back. I lay my head against his chest. I peer at the tattoo covering his left pec, the music notes to our song dance across his skin, reminding me of that first dance he gave me and all the ones that followed when my mind betrayed me.

No matter how broken down I feel, or how tired I am from the war I battle internally, I rise up because this man gives me the confidence I need to beat my demons. Laying here, wrapped up in his arms, I’m reminded of the hope we’ve brought into one another’s lives and despite all the heartache we’ve endured, it’s our love that prevails. We’re stronger than our demons and we’ve survived the most lethal of temptations. We’ll rise because we have each other and nothing can stop us—we won’t let it.

“I’ve had a bad day,” I confess, tracing my finger over the music notes.

“You want to tell me about it?” He asked softly, threading his fingers through my hair.

“I went by my dad’s today and Reina was glowing, talking about the baby and how she and my dad are already trying to decide on a name,” I pause, lifting my head from his chest to stare into his eyes. “She’s happy, so is he, and I look at them and I wonder how they’re not scared. I sound like a hypocrite because I don’t blame my father for my illness but the facts are there, Blackie. I’m bipolar because it runs in my family, because I inherited this from my father. I know he didn’t want this for me and that it kills him knowing I share his pain but then I think about the baby and wonder if it’s even crossed his mind that the child he’s about to have can be diagnosed too.”

I quietly watch as he absorbs my words and doesn’t respond.

“I’m not trying to dampen their happiness but I want to understand how they’re able to push away the fear and embrace the beauty of it…because I can’t. I tried putting myself in their shoes and thought about us having a baby and I don’t know if I could do that, if I could risk an innocent child the burden of my illness.”

He lifts his hand, brushing away the tears that slide down my cheek.

“I want kids,” I whisper. “I want to give you a whole house full of babies, but how selfish would that be of me?”

“Lace, you think for one second your father isn’t tormenting himself, asking himself those same questions? I don’t doubt he’s not consumed by that same fear but he’s got Reina there, hanging on to hope that their kid will be perfectly healthy. And if he’s not, then they’ll deal with it like every other parent deals with a child’s illness. Think about it, baby, there is no controlling what we’re handed. People who are healthy, who have no traces of illness in their genes have babies that are born with birth defects and sickness they never even heard of. It doesn’t make them bad parents, if anything it strengthens them, because it takes a special person to care for a sick kid, no matter what the illness.”

“So, if we had a baby, and she was like me—”

“We’d love her like we would if she wasn’t like you. We’d give her all we could because we’re those people…the ones that can’t be beat no matter how deep they’re dragged down. If our kid had any illness, bipolar or fuck, I don’t know, if she was born with a heart defect, that kid would have the best life we could ever give her because we didn’t give up on each other and there is no way in hell we’d give up on our baby.”

He cradles my face in his hands.

“Our baby could be perfect and grow up just fine, only to turn out like his dad…and then what? We let him rot? Or we drive his ass to rehab until he gets straight? We don’t get a choice in what we get…we grab it and hang on with all we have.”

“How do you do that?” I marvel, shaking my head as I stare back at him. “How do you always make it better for me? You’re always saving me, Blackie, and most of the time it’s from myself.”

“Yeah, well, it’s our thing. We’re both our own worst enemy but that’s why we got each other. I’ll keep slaying your demons, keep you smiling because that smile of yours, destroys all the ugly inside of me.”

“It’ll be okay,” I say.

“It’ll be okay,” he assures.

“We’ve got a lot of love to give a baby when the time comes.”

“A shit ton,” he agrees, smiling at me.

“And it might be fine.”

“Either way it’ll be fine, I promise.”

“Can we name our son Leather?” I tease, feeling the weight fade from my shoulders.

“No,” he laughs, wrapping his arms around my waist, flipping me onto my back as he leans back and stares down at me. “You’re going to be a great mom someday.” He smiles, bending down to kiss me. “And when the time comes, we’ll work through it, girl.”

Yeah, we will.

We’ll keep rising.

Because we’re Leather and Lace.

And we’re stronger than we know.

Stepping out of the shower, I lean over the vanity and wipe my hand across the steam fogging the mirror and stare at my reflection. I didn’t look so translucent anymore, the color returning to my complexion. The first trimester of my pregnancy was trying on me, and the first eight weeks of the second as well, spending most days hunched over the toilet, releasing anything I put into my mouth. The morning sickness has faded and I’m starting to look like my old self, still pale compared to Jack’s olive skin but I don’t look like I am knocking on death’s door. I’m still waiting to recognize that glow everyone seems to think I have. It’s probably a myth but I’m still hoping to see it.

My eyes travel downward as I turn to my side and drop my hand to my tiny belly. I narrow my eyes, hoping to find the slightest change from yesterday, or the day before that, desperate for more evidence of the life Jack and I created. The doctor has assured us that he or she is growing just fine and any day now my pants won’t fit me. Who is excited to buy maternity clothes? This girl right here.

“Come on lil’ Parrish. Mommy wants to be able to show you off.”

I bet he gets his hard head from his daddy.

He.

I don’t know why but I have this feeling we’re going to have a son, another little boy for Jack to love, a second chance for the man who lost his first son so tragically. Our son won’t take the place of Jack Jr., he’ll be his own person, with his own spot carved in our hearts and Jack Jr. will always have his place too. He’ll be a part of this new journey even if only in spirit and memory.

I lift my arm and stare at the puckered flesh that travels down my body, a reminder I survived a tragedy too. The rawness of my skin isn’t an angry shade of red anymore, slightly fading to pink, but always visible. Reaching for the scarring cream, I slowly work it over the keloids that mark my flesh. I used to hide from my scars, believed my life was over because of the ordeal I had gone through and then I met Jack. He claimed my scars as his own and as they slowly fade in color, they also fade from my mind. I don’t let them dictate who I am and I don’t hang onto them anymore. They’re a part of me but I am not defined by them any longer.

The door behind me opens and the cold air from the bedroom creeps into the steam-filled bathroom, setting a chill through the air. I feel goosebumps rise across my marred flesh and lift my eyes to Jack’s.

Silently, he struts up behind me and my hand freezes against my scarred skin as he wraps his fingers around my wrist and brushes my hand away from my scars. He reaches around me and takes the tube off the counter top and squeezes some into the palm of his hand before tracing the scars with his own hand, working the ointment into my skin.

Jack bends his head and presses his open mouth to my shoulder as his fingers glide over the scars he has memorized. He knows every ridge, every curve—all the damage left behind from the fire.

“Mine,” he growls against my skin. His teeth graze my shoulder before lifting his eyes to mine. “All fucking mine,” he hisses. His hands are greasy from the lotion but continue to slide down my sides until they take hold of my hips and pull me against his naked frame.

I feel the thickness of his erection press against my ass and I press into it, earning a deep, guttural groan from him in response.

“Goddamn,” he grunts, spinning me around with a twist of my hips so we are face to face. I clench my thighs as I stare into the dark pools of his eyes and before I can process the ache vibrating throughout my body, Jack grabs my ass, hoisting me onto the counter and spreads my legs wide to fit between them.

I grip the edge of the vanity as he arches my back and leans my head against the mirror. “Been too long since I had my fill of you, Sunshine,” he growls, tugging me closer so my ass hangs over the edge of the vanity.

“You had me last night,” I remind him breathlessly.

“Never enough,” he mutters, running the heel of his hand between my breasts, down my stomach, pausing just over my navel. Bending his head, he presses his lips to my belly before finally resting his hand over my pussy. Arching against his hand, I am desperate for him to give me more, to spread me apart and shove his fingers inside of me.

A wicked grin works his lips as he brushes my wet hair from my face and grabs a fistful tugging my head back so my neck was all his for the taking. His tongue runs along the nape of my neck, picking a spot to suck between his lips and mark as his own.

I cry out, lifting my hips and gyrate against his hand just as he runs two fingers between the lips of my pussy, rubbing my wetness against my clit. I was hypersensitive, something new since the pregnancy, and with every stroke my body threatened to cave. His fingers left my clit and pushed deep inside my folds, filling me as his lips closed around one my nipples.

To say we were both enjoying the effects of my pregnancy would be an understatement. Jack couldn’t get enough of my body and I was never satisfied. His fingers thrust in and out of my heat, working me up to my first orgasm of the day, knowing without a doubt I’d have at least two more before the days end.

“This pussy’s always so wet for me,” he grits, removing his fingers and bringing them to his mouth, sucking my essence from them before peering at me devilishly. “Sweeter than pie,” he growls, winking at me as he drops his hands to my knees and spreads me out.

“You’re killing me, Parrish,” I pant, lifting one hand from the edge of the vanity to grab my breast, I roll my thumb over my sensitive nipple. I drop my head against the mirror, banging it slightly as I lift my hips and beckon him to claim me.