Finding Serenity (The Unexpected Love Series Book 2)

by Black, T. E.

  FINDING SERENITY

  Copyright © 2016 T.E. Black

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this book may be reproduced, copied or transmitted in any medium, whether electronic, internet, or otherwise, without the expressed permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, locations, and names occurring in this book are the product of the author’s imagination, or are the property of their respective owners and are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual events, locations, or persons (living or dead), is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All trademarks and trade names are used in a fictitious manner and are in no way endorsed by or an endorsement of their respective owners.

  Contains sexual situations, violence, intense drug use, sensitive and taboo subjects, offensive language and mature topics.

  Recommended for age 18 years and up.

  Cover Design and Formatting:

  T.E. Black

  Model:

  Rachelle Nicole Hoffman

  Facebook Page

  Website

  Photographer:

  Dave Kelley; Dave Kelley Artistics

  Facebook Page

  Website

  Editing:

  Jenny Sims; Editing4Indies

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  Website

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Contents

  Dedication

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Sneak Peek

  A Note To Readers

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  Other Books

  More Romance

  Chapter 1

  Buy Now

  Mom, if you’re reading this, please put down the book and go back to watching HGTV. I love you more than anything but Trent Wallace is not the man for you. Love you!

  God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; Courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference.

  Credit - Serenity Prayer

  6 Months Earlier

  A$AP Rocky - "F**kin’ Problems”

  I PARK MY truck in the shop lot and rummage in my glove compartment for the keys to the front door. One would think I'd clean out the shit, but instead, I sort through old receipts and empty packs of smokes with ease. Ryleigh would have a fit if she saw this. She hates clutter almost as much as she hates my lifestyle, and that’s a big fucking comparison. But as the only woman in my life, I want to keep her happy.

  I snatch the pack, hopping out of the truck, and move toward the front door. I need to grab my stash from the office so I can forget who’s been polluting my thoughts for the past five hours. Shay Kirby. The bitch I love to hate. I just met her, and I already can't stand thinking about how fucking sexy she is. Her attitude problem is almost as big of a turn-on as the giant set of tits she's rockin'.

  As I reach the front door, the shop light is on, illuminating the lobby with a soft glow. The bitch had better not have left the light on or she's paying the fucking bill. I unlock the door, stepping inside while the overhead bell dings above me. I decide someone is here. I hope Gunner isn't banging some bitch in the back room or the lobby—or anywhere, for that matter. But better to be safe than sorry.

  With a steady pace, I move through the shop like a burglar in the night. The rustle of paper from the storage room alerts my instincts, and I move toward the closed door. I stand by the door with my ear pressed against it listening for movement again. Just as I’m about to call this all paranoia, I hear it again. Swish.

  My hand flies around to the pistol sitting in a holster on the back of my jeans. The moment my fingers graze the cool metal, a deep breath whooshes from my chest. My piece collects my nerves and tosses them in the gutter. It calms me. I know I can do more damage with it than the person on the other side of the door can manage.

  Pulling it out, I size up the door for the perfect spot to kick it open with my boot. But just as I'm ready to break the fucker down, the door swings open, and my pistol instinctively points itself at the lucky bastard walking out.

  "What the fuck, Trent! Why is there a fucking gun pointed at me! Is this some joke?"

  You have to be kidding me. Shay.

  One would think she'd be cowering in the fucking corner, but instead, the tough bitch is standing with her hands on her hips, staring down the barrel of a nine millimeter as if it's no big thing. Dammit all to hell. I'd be a fool to deny it doesn't make my dick hard as a fucking rock.

  "Jesus Christ, Shay! What the fuck are ya doing here this late? I could have fucking shot your crazy ass!" I snarl, lowering my pistol.

  She stares at me with squinted eyes and a look of disgust on her face. Well, I guess I pissed her off. She moves elegantly, never teetering on her black high heels as she walks past me, only to bump my shoulder on the way.

  "I'm working! Your filing is a total shithouse and don’t even get me started on the storage room! What the fuck are you doing here? We both made it clear. We should avoid each other for the rest of the time I’m working here," she questions, no doubt adding up the ways she could kill me without being caught.

  Her bitchy façade turns me on to no end as I watch her beautiful backside sway itself back to the reception desk. That ass right there is made for fucking, and if she ever wanted to explore her options, I'd be first in line to help her out.

  I adjust myself in my jeans before following her to the desk. Leaning over it, I rest on my elbows.

  "I'm here because I needed to grab something from the office, kitten. But, now, I see ya sitting there all pissy and hot, and I can’t help thinking something else needs to be taken care of. We both know you want me to take care of it," I flirt, almost praying she freaks out as she did earlier.

  I’d never seen a woman do something so sexy. Normally, it’s too easy for me to get with women. You throw out a couple of cheesy lines and they’re dropping their panties right there in front of you. The chase with Shay is something different, which I've enjoyed.

  She looks up at me through the rim of those black hipster glasses, eyes twinkling without her approval. Yeah, she wants it. So I keep going with my lines, praying we have hot, angry, I-hate-you-so-much-it-makes-me-want-to-fuck-your-brains-out sex on top of the fucking desk.

  "When's the last time someone got ya rocks off? My guess is it's been a long-ass time. I could help, ya know. No strings attached—just a quick fuck, and then we never have to talk about it again.
It's a win-win for both of us. I get to see what it’s like to have my cock in your beautiful mouth and ya get to experience what ten inches is like."

  She doesn’t speak a word, but her eyes hood with desire. She stands from her seat, smoothing her hands over her tight little fucking skirt that gives me have a clear view of the tattoos covering her legs. The material forms to her curves, causing my mouth to water. My brows rise in curiosity while I listen to the click of her heels walking around the counter toward me. She makes her way around, resting her red nails on my chest. With a small rough shove, she pushes me back a step, enough for her to slip between the counter and my body.

  The moment she shimmies herself up onto it, I take it as her acceptance of my invitation and move in for the kill. I run my hands along her hips, my fingers relishing in the feel of the curves underneath them. Fucking beautiful. That's what her body is. It's curvy, long, busty, and makes me want to lose control before this even gets started.

  I dip my head and run my nose along the buttons of her black dress shirt while my hands knead her hips. Shay lets out a little mewl, her fingers traveling up to unfasten the top four buttons of her blouse. I watch willingly, as with the pop of each button, a small amount of colorfully tattooed skin shows itself.

  "Those tits are perfect, baby. Ya want them in my mouth now or later?" I ask, moving my nose and mouth between them. I place kisses on the path that divides them, the taste of her skin on my tongue addicting.

  "Shut up and suck on them already, asshole," she snaps, grabbing the sides of my face and pulling me to them.

  I smile against her, letting her have the control. Although she won’t have it for long. I bring up one hand to pull down the cup of her bra and get to work lavishing her tit with the affection it deserves. She squirms under my mouth as her hands work their way into my hair. With each tug, I suck her nipple into my mouth harder. I become frantic with the need to pleasure her, lost in moments of sweat and euphoria. I taunt and pull at her breasts as I slip one hand underneath her skirt, push aside what I already know is a thong, and insert one finger inside her warmth.

  "Holy ... Ohh ... God ... I fucking hate you," Shay exhales, leaning down and biting my neck hard enough to break the skin.

  Her assault snaps something inside me, and the control I was holding on to slips away into a black abyss. My teeth graze her nipple and her moans echo through the quiet shop.

  "If it makes ya feel better, I hate ya too, kitten. Though one day soon, not only are my fingers gonna be in this sweet pussy of yours, but also inside that sweet ass. So unless ya want it to happen now, I'd suggest ya stop sucking the blood from my neck into your pretty little mouth." I hum, pulling my fingers free from her.

  I step back only to find myself longing for her harsh touch again. My eyes watch her chest rise and fall. I reach for my holster, pulling it free and setting it on top of the counter next to her. Shay looks up at me with wild eyes, waiting for my next move as I undo my belt.

  "You're fucking filthy, Trent Wallace," she barks, cheeks still reddened from the heat we've created.

  I free my cock from its cage. She looks down, no doubt not meaning to lick her lips at the sight of it. My fingers graze the tip, coursing in the sensation shooting through my body.

  "And you've got a filthy fucking mouth, Shay Kirby. Now, get down on ya knees, be a good girl, and put it to use."

  She hops down from the counter, almost falling to the tile floor. She kneels in front of me, her eyes staring daggers at me, but she still takes the tip of me into her mouth as if she’s starving. I groan in pleasure, pumping into her mouth without remorse. She takes every inch like a real cock-sucking champion would. She never misses a beat and never gags. She pushes into me harder, bouncing me off the back of her throat without my prompting.

  I wrap my hands in her long black and red hair, using it to guide her up and down, all the while encouraging her to take what she wants from me. I want to be used, run over, taken against my will, and contaminated by her filthy, sexy mouth. I want her to violate me like she would violate herself when she sticks her beautiful little fingers inside her pussy. I want to fuck her until she's screaming for more. I want to own her in every way I fucking could, and I will.

  The Weeknd – “In The Night”

  I RUMMAGE THROUGH the drawers looking for my Etched T-shirt but can’t find it anywhere. This is the second shirt that’s gone missing in the past week. Who would steal a stupid T-shirt? It has to be the world’s most boring one. It’s black and five sizes too small for someone with large breasts like mine. I hate it, yet Trent says I have to blend in with the rest of the staff. I work with men, so they don’t mind wearing the T-shirt. They’re fucking blockheads. The only guy I’m friends with in the shop is Gunner. I love him. He’s the kind one of the crew who also shares my love for French Vanilla lattes. I promised him I wouldn’t tell anyone. Whoops.

  “Mommy, Benny said you don't love me. Is it true?”

  I look down at my six-year-old daughter, Abby, with her arms crossed and pouting. Her long blonde hair is up in the pigtails she insists on wearing every day. It will be a goddamn miracle if I can get her out of this stage. The last thing I want is for her hair to wave permanently. Everyone thinks they want waves until they get them. Once you get them, you’re liable to chop off your hair, and then grow it back all over again as I did. Thank God, my hair grew back to what it was—long, black, and poker straight.

  Abby lets out a cry, pulling at the leg of my skinny jeans. I take my hand and remove hers from my pant leg, crouching to her eye level. My feet burn in my high heels as my position forces my weight on them. This should not be part of the effin’ dress code at the shop. Yes, you heard right. My boss, Trent Wallace, is a womanizing asshole. I wish I could throw him to one of those feminist groups you read about. His ass would be grass.

  After a month of working at Etched, my lovely boss decided I should wear heels and skinny jeans to work every day. I shouldn’t have to suffer for his issues, but I do every time I walk through the door. I wouldn’t even stay there if it weren’t for the generous hourly wage I get. Thank God Gunner did the interview and not Trent.

  “Mommy, is he right?” Abby repeats.

  I make eye contact and pull her into my arms for one of the big hugs she loves. She sniffles in my hair, and I rub small circles on her back to calm her.

  “Baby girl, you know that isn’t true. Benny is lying to you. He’s a mean boy, and he’s wrong. I love you more than anything. You’re my best friend, Abigail Christine Kirby. Never in a million years could I not love you. You got it, my little kangaroo?” She pulls back, nodding her head. I use the pads of my thumbs to wipe away the small water droplets adorning her now red cheeks.

  “I love you, Mommy,” she squeaks, her little hands tangling in my hair.

  Playing with my hair has been Abby’s thing since she was old enough to use her hands. I lost count of the number of knots I’ve had to take scissors to. She winds her fingers in there so tight that sometimes I’m afraid I won’t be able to pull them out.

  I place a kiss on her forehead, standing myself back up.

  “I love you too, sweetheart. Get Roo and meet me in the kitchen. I have to go to work soon. Mrs. Lidy is going to take you to kindergarten. Okay?” Abby nods her head, spinning around to retreat to her bedroom.

  I look around my room once again, trying to place my T-shirt. It’s no use. There’s no way I’m going to find anything in here. I’ll have to buy yet another shirt from work.

  I grab a plain black tee, stuffing it in my bag with my outfit for later, and hope to God Trent isn’t there when I walk in the door.

  “THANK YOU, MRS. Lidy. I’ll pick her up around midnight if that’s okay. I have some extra work to get done at the shop, and I can’t quite get it done at home with Abby.”

  She gives me a sympathetic smile, nodding her head in agreement. Mrs. Lidy is an elderly woman who just so happens to be the best neighbor ever. She loves Abby, and Abby lo
ves her, so it’s a perfect solution for a single parent. Abby’s father, Bruce, isn’t exactly around a lot. He’s a bastard, to say the least, but Abby loves him. I don’t have it in my heart to take her away from him fully. It’s not fair to her. She didn’t make him a recovering alcoholic who beat the shit out of me on a daily basis. He made the choice on his own. Even with him behind on child support right now, I still can't deny her.

  I fish through my purse looking for my wallet. When I spot it lying at the bottom of my bag, I snatch it and open it, pulling out a twenty for Mrs. Lidy. She sees the money in my hand and starts to wave her hands at me as she’s shaking her head.

  “Dear, how many times do I have to tell you? I won’t take money for watching the little angel inside my apartment. You work hard to support the two of you. And I know you’ve received eviction notices on your door every Friday for the past month. Mr. Daily has been here to see me about it, and I tell him I haven’t seen you. I am doing this because I love Abby, and I love you too. You’re the granddaughter I never had. Please, keep your money, dear.”

  I let out a sigh, stuffing the money back into my purse and saying my good-byes. I can’t believe that little dweeb Mr. Daily went to my neighbor about my overdue rent. It’s not as if I haven’t paid him at all. I’ve been dropping off a hundred dollars a week at the office. I have receipts to prove it, so he had better not try any funny business with me.

  I make my way down the elevator and out the front doors where my gray Kia Soul sits waiting for me. I scream at the asshole driver who almost kills me along with my driver’s side door as he speeds down the street without acknowledging me.

  “Asshole,” I mumble under my breath.

  I make it into my car successfully, buckling myself in before starting the car. The radio comes on playing the song “In The Night” by The Weeknd. I freaking love this song, so I crank up the volume and sing the lyrics loudly as I drive the busy streets of Boston.