Page 12 of Always My Fate

Peaches rubbed her belly again and whispered, “We’ve got this, baby. Your daddy’s comin’ home soon.”

***

Blackie

Blackie killed the engine in the driveway and sat for a second, letting the quiet of the house settle over him. The ride back from Belle had been long, but the weight on his chest had eased some after seeing Horse’s solid setup. Now all he wanted was his woman. My Peaches.

He pushed through the front door quiet-like, boots left by the mat so he wouldn’t wake the kids. The house was dim, just the low lamp in the living room glowing. And there she was—spread out on the big couch like a goddamn goddess, dark heavy curls spilling over the cushions. Those green eyes lifted to meet his, and the slow smile that curved her lips hit him straight in the gut.

“Missed you, sweetness,” he rumbled, voice already rough as he crossed to her in three strides.

“Missed you more,” Peaches whispered, reaching for him.

Blackie dropped to his knees beside the couch, careful of her condition but unable to stop himself from burying his face against the side of her neck. She smelled like home—warm skin, faint citrus from her soap, and that underlying sweetness that was all her. His hands slid up her sides, reverent as fuck as they framed the roundness of her belly.

“Look at you,” he growled low, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone. “Carryin’ my baby, lookin’ like pure sin and heaven wrapped up together. Fuck, Lottie. You’re so goddamn beautiful it hurts.”

She arched into his touch with a soft gasp, and that was all the invitation he needed. Blackie rose, scooped her up gentle but firm, and carried her down the hall to their bedroom. He laid her on the bed like she was made of glass and gold, then stripped off his cut and shirt in one rough motion, tossing them on the dresser.

Climbing over her, he took his time, mapping every new curve pregnancy had given her. His palms worshipped the heavy swell of her breasts, thumbs brushing sensitive nipples until she moaned his name. Lower, he kissed the taut skin of her belly, murmuring filthy-sweet endearments against it.

“My fuckin’ queen. Growin’ my kid like a goddamn warrior. This belly...Christ almighty, Peaches, it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. You’re mine. All this is mine.”

“Blackie,” she breathed, fingers threading through his hair as he worked lower, peeling away her clothes with patient hunger. When he settled between her thighs, tasting her slow and deep, her hips bucked, and her green eyes fluttered shut. He devoured her like a starving man—tongue and fingers working in tandem until she came apart with a sharp cry, thighs trembling around his shoulders.

He crawled back up her body, shedding the rest of his clothes, hard and aching. “Gotta have you, baby. Need to feel you around me.”

Careful of her belly, he eased between her thighs inch by inch, groaning when she flexed her muscles, giving him the tight, perfect fit. “Shitfire, feels so good. Eating you out, you were so wet and hot for me. My perfect fuckin’ woman.”

Their rhythm built slow then became more urgent, each movement a deep, rolling thrust into her, brushing across her clit. The movement had her clutching his shoulders, nails digging in. Blackie kept above her, propped on an arm so he could look at her face, whispering raw praise between kisses. “Love you like this. Love you any way I can get at you, Peaches. But like this? Round with my baby? You’re my woman. Always my fuckin’ everything.”

When she shattered again, legs clenching around him, he followed right after with a guttural curse, burying himself in a staccato rhythm of deep strokes and holding her close as pleasure tore through him.

After, he stayed beside her as long as he could, stroking down her body like a shield. One hand tangled in her curls.

“Ain’t ever lettin’ you go, Charlotte,” he murmured against her temple, voice hoarse with emotion and spent lust. “You and our kids. Fuck, babe, this life we’re buildin’. It’s everything.”

Peaches turned her head, brushing a kiss to his jaw. In the quiet aftermath, with her breathing evening out against his chest, Blackie let himself believe it. For tonight, the club, the threats, the world outside could wait.

She was safe. She was his. And that was enough.

He carefully left their bed, ran some hot water over a washrag, and brought it back to clean up Peaches’ thighs.

Afterward, Blackie lay tangled with Peaches, her head on his chest. The house was finally quiet, kids long asleep, and for once the world felt right. Her breathing had settled into the soft rhythm of exhausted sleep, and he was just starting to drift when his phone buzzed on the nightstand—once, twice, then two buzzes—insistent.

“Motherfucker,” he muttered under his breath, careful not to wake her as he reached for it. The screen showed a secure line from one of their support clubs down near the border. At this hour, it couldn’t be good news.

He eased out of bed, pulled on a pair of sweatpants, and slipped into the hallway. Closing the bedroom door gently behind him, he answered on the fourth ring.

“Yeah,” he growled low, already pacing towards the kitchen.

“Prez, it’s Razor from the Border Reapers.” The voice came through tense and clipped. “Sorry to hit you this late, but we got movement. Looks like some MDMC stragglers, or at least assholes flyin’ their colors, are probing the border routes near Laredo. Two of our guys spotted a small convoy, armed and actin’ twitchy. Could be nothin’, but after what went down with Horse up in Belle, figured you’d want the heads-up.”

Blackie’s free hand clenched into a fist as he paced the length of the hallway, bare feet silent on the hardwood. “Goddamn cockroaches. How many?”

“Six, maybe eight. No direct contact yet, but they’re sniffin’ around routes we know feed into East Texas. Could be tryin’ to regroup or test the waters for retaliation.”

He stopped at the window, staring out into the dark yard, jaw tight. Part of him—the president, the brother—wanted to rally a crew right then, ride out, and crush the threat before it grew legs. But the other part, the man who’d just been buried deep in his woman, feeling their baby kick under his palm, knew he couldn’t roll out and leave Peaches alone with the kids. Not with her on bed rest and the doctor’s warnings ringing in his ears.