by Harley Wylde
“I… I feel…” she stammered and bit her lip as she moaned.
“That’s it, kitten. Come for me. Let go.”
“I… I…” She screamed as her hips bucked. “Damon!”
Fucking hell! A woman had never said my real name as she orgasmed, and even though I’d thought I was too damn old to get hard again so soon, my dick seemed to have other ideas. I slid my fingers out of her pussy, then sucked off her cream. Her eyes dilated as she watched me.
“I didn’t know men actually did that. I thought it only happened in books,” she said.
“You taste so damn good, kitten.”
Her gaze dropped to my cock. “You’re hard again.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Yeah. Seeing you come seems to affect me that way. I’ll be fine. You should get dressed and check on Caleb.”
She kissed me sweetly, then got out of the shower. Once she had a towel wrapped around her and was gathering her clothes, I turned the hot water all the way off and tried not to curse as the icy water beat down on me. It took a few minutes, but my dick finally deflated and I was able to get out.
Something told me that my life was about to get a hell of a lot more complicated. Now that we’d crossed a line, there was no going back. I only hoped that she didn’t regret it after she’d had some time to think things over. Clarity was the first woman I’d ever invited into my home, other than the invitation I’d extended to my daughter, and she was the first woman who had ever screamed my name like that.
No matter what she decided, I knew this moment was a life changing one for me. After being with her like that, someone as sweet and innocent as she was, club sluts would never do it for me. I leaned against my dresser and crossed my arms as I stared at the opposite wall. Logically, I knew I shouldn’t have touched her, should have never shared that moment with her. But I also knew I’d never regret it. Not even if she walked away and didn’t look back. It would be a memory I’d cherish the rest of my life.
Fuck. I was turning into a goddamn sap in my old age.
Chapter Five
Clarity
It was both frustrating and touching that Scratch had held back in the shower. I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted anyone before, but the fact he was thoughtful enough to consider protection and insist on using it kept me from being mad. The fact he’d given me my first orgasm, and it had completely rocked my world, definitely hadn’t hurt. My body was still humming. I had to wonder if he’d been able to make my knees turn to jelly just with his fingers, could I handle being in bed with him? If sex between us got any better, I wasn’t sure I’d survive it.
By the time I’d dressed and run a comb through my hair, Caleb was already awake. His blond hair stood every which way and reminded me a little too much of his father, but his dark eyes were definitely mine. Even though I’d inherited my father’s pale white skin, I’d gotten hair and eyes from my mom. I’d sometimes wondered if that was why my stepmom hadn’t seemed to want me around. She’d made racist comments on more than one occasion, and it had to make her burn that her stepdaughter was mixed race. Or maybe she’d just been embarrassed by me, since she’d always asked me to stay in my room when her friends came over.
I picked up a still somewhat sleepy Caleb, made sure he used the bathroom, then carried him downstairs. He’d never been around a staircase before, and I didn’t want to take a chance on him falling on the way down. If we were going to stay long-term, maybe I could talk Scratch into putting a baby gate across the top and bottom. Caleb was my entire world and if anything happened to him, something I could have prevented, I would never forgive myself.
Scratch was in the living room with his feet up in a recliner. He was flipping through TV channels when he saw me lingering in the doorway. He gave me a wink and smiled at Caleb.
“Hey, little man. Do you like watching TV?” Scratch asked.
Caleb shoved his fist in his mouth and nodded. My boy could talk, but he seldom did. If I’d had the money for a specialist, I’d have asked them to test him, make sure he didn’t have a learning disability or hadn’t been traumatized in some way that would make him go silent. He’d been a real chatterbox when he’d first learned to talk, then about six months or so ago, he’d suddenly stopped. I’d thought it was strange, but he’d seemed perfectly healthy. We’d gone to the free clinic the church hosted once a month and they’d assured me he was perfectly healthy.
I eased onto the couch, nearest to Scratch, and held Caleb in my lap. I was a little surprised when Scratch put an animated movie on TV, something Caleb hadn’t seen since it was still fairly new. Glancing his way, I found him watching me. Or maybe it was more that he was watching both of us.
“You watch cartoons often?” I asked.
His lips twitched and he smiled a little. “I added a bunch to my digital movie library in case the grandkid ever came to visit. So far, he hasn’t. I see him often enough, though.”
“Where does he live?” I asked.
“Alabama. His daddy is a Dixie Reaper, and our clubs get along just fine, but Bull would technically need permission to be in our territory. I have no doubt that Cinder would give it to him and it’s not a complicated process or anything, but it’s just easier for me to go there. I’m on good terms with their Pres and everyone knows me. Besides, routine is good for Foster. Maybe when he’s older they’ll come for a visit.”
“How often do you go visit?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t prying too much. I figured if I crossed a line, he’d let me know.
“Sometimes I’m over that way once a month, other times it’s a few months between visits. It depends on what’s going on with my club, their club, or my business. I usually head over there for a long weekend, or occasionally I’ll stay for a week. It’s nice getting to spend time with Darian after missing out on so much.”
I wanted to ask about Darian’s mom, but I didn’t dare. If she’d made Scratch think his daughter was dead, then I had a feeling she would be a sore spot with him. I was more than a little curious, though. What type of woman had he cared enough about to have a child with her? He’d said he’d never been with someone like me, but he must have cared about her at least a little. Unless his daughter had been a mistake, which was possible. Caleb had been the result of a rape, but it didn’t mean I loved him any less, and I could tell that Scratch loved his daughter, no matter who her mom was or how she’d been conceived. He definitely seemed crazy about his grandson. His eyes lit up every time he talked about the little boy.
“What about your parents?” he asked. “What made you run away from home?”
“My mom died when I was younger, and when my dad remarried, he picked a woman who seemed to hate me. My dad is white and so is my stepmom.”
“But your mother wasn’t,” he said.
“No.” I shifted Caleb onto to the sofa. “Wait right here.”
I shot up and ran up the stairs, going for the backpack I’d stashed in my room. I hadn’t had a chance to wash it yet, and I had to admit it was making the room smell a little funky, but it held my most prized possession. I hadn’t been able to keep much when we’d been evicted, but I did have a picture of my mom I’d salvaged from our stuff on the street and kept it in the front pocket.
I carefully took the picture out and carried it downstairs. Standing next to Scratch’s chair, I showed it to him.
“This is my mom. My dad told me it was taken around the time she found out she was pregnant with me. It’s the only one I have of her.”
He took the picture from me, holding it gently, and he grinned. “You look like her. Your skin might be lighter, but you have her eyes, her hair, and you definitely have her smile.”
I took the picture back from him, looking at my mom. She’d had such pretty skin, a light mocha that I’d often wished I had too. Anyone who’d seen a picture of my mom always asked how I could be so pale. If it weren’t for my decidedly non-white hair, no one would ever know my mother was African American.
“I have my dad’s nose,” I s
aid, wishing I didn’t look anything like him. Once upon a time, I’d loved him and I’d been convinced he loved me too. You didn’t throw away the people you loved, and as easily as he’d pushed me aside I had to wonder if he’d ever felt anything for me, or if he’d just been going through the motions.
“You’re beautiful, kitten, and so was she. I’m sorry you lost her and that your dad turned out to be an asshole. If you ever want to talk about her, or about how your dad made you feel, I’ll always listen.” He reached for my hand and tugged me down across his lap. “I can promise you right now, if I make you mine, I will treat Caleb like my own son. It doesn’t matter how he was conceived or who his birth father is, that boy will be mine and he will be loved.”
“If you make me yours?” I asked.
“Going slow, remember? Or trying to.” He smiled. “You seem to want to run full steam ahead.”
I curled against his chest and grabbed onto his shirt. I felt his heartbeat and let his scent surround me. If I could spend every night for the rest of my life just like this, curled up in his lap, then I would be happy. I’d never felt so content, so at peace, as I did right that moment. We watched the movie, and eventually Caleb came over, lifting his arms up.
Scratch helped him onto the recliner and I worried the chair might break with all three of us in it, but he didn’t seem to mind. He wrapped his arms around us. For a moment, I could picture Scratch as my husband, Caleb as our son, and us having a happy family. I didn’t think everything would always be all sunshine and roses if he did decide to keep us, but it would be the first time my son had been part of a complete family unit. I wanted that for my sweet boy, and I wanted it for me too.
When it was time for dinner, Scratch ordered some pizza and breadsticks. Caleb’s eyes went wide when he saw all the food and my heart hurt, knowing I hadn’t been able to do something like this for him. Even when I’d been working, our meals had been inexpensive but filling. Eating out had been a treat, and usually meant ordering off the dollar menu, or getting the special at the diner.
Caleb ate an entire slice and then reached for a breadstick, but his hand froze partway and he looked at Scratch. The fear in his eyes nearly took my breath away, his small hand trembling as if he’d done something wrong, and I didn’t understand what was happening. I’d always given Caleb as much as he wanted, often going hungry myself to make sure he was full. Not once had I disciplined him for wanting more food, or for helping himself to whatever was on the table.
Scratch met my gaze before looking at Caleb, and I knew he’d seen it too.
“It’s okay, Caleb. Take as much as you want,” Scratch said, his voice low and soft.
My throat tightened and my heart raced as I wondered what had happened to my small boy to make him that scared. Caleb ate his breadstick, eyeing Scratch as if the man might snatch it away at any moment. After dinner, we cleaned up and I bathed Caleb, then tucked him into bed. I shut off his light and pulled his door partway closed, then met Scratch back down in the living room. He was standing in the center of the room, his expression fierce and his arms folded.
“What the fuck happened to make him think he’d be punished for eating?” Scratch asked.
“I don’t know. He’s never done that around me before, and I always give him as much as he wants.”
I was wringing my hands and shifting from foot to foot, scared about what might have happened to my son, and not knowing who was responsible. There was only one person I could think of, but it scared me. My gaze met Scratch’s and told him my fears.
“When I was working, I would have to leave Caleb with a sitter. There was a woman two doors down who had a few kids. She said watching him wouldn’t be any trouble, and I paid her twenty dollars every shift I worked to make sure he stayed safe. No one else had access to Caleb, unless it was through her,” I said. “What did she do to my baby?”
His stance softened as did his expression, and Scratch came toward me, pulling me into his arms. “Did you notice any behavior changes in Caleb at all?”
“He stopped talking about six months ago. He talks, just not nearly as much. I wondered what would have caused it and had thought he was sick, but the doctor at the free clinic said he was fine.”
“I want the name and address of that woman,” he said. “I think I need to pay her a visit and find out what she did to that boy.”
“I’m scared,” I admitted. “I’m terrified you’ll find out something horrible, and I’m responsible for putting him in that situation. It’s my fault someone hurt my baby.”
I couldn’t hold back my tears and sobbed against his chest. Scratch rubbed my back and tried to soothe me, but my heart was breaking. I was supposed to protect my child, make sure he didn’t come to any harm, and I’d left him with someone who had possibly abused him. What kind of mother did that make me?
“Kitten, I’ll figure out what’s going on, and I will keep the both of you safe. Whatever it takes. Understand?”
I nodded and tried to dry my tears, but more kept coming.
“I failed him,” I said, sniffling.
“No, you didn’t. You left him with someone you thought you could trust, so that you could work and earn money to keep a roof over his head and food in his belly. No one is going to fault you for that. There are bad people in the world, and sometimes they wear really good disguises. Did her children ever look like they’d been abused? Were there any warning signs?” he asked.
“No. Her kids were always clean, looked healthy, and seemed well mannered. I’d thought maybe she was one of those super moms who had kids who always behaved.”
He chuckled. “I don’t think there’s such a thing as a kid who always behaves, but I get your point. Now understand mine. There was no way you could have known that she would do something to scare Caleb. If she never left a mark on him, and he couldn’t tell you what was happening, how would you have known? When he stopped talking, you took him to the doctor like any concerned mother would. It’s not your fault, kitten.”
I clung to him, wishing there some way to rewind the last hour or so, turn back time to when I didn’t know someone had hurt my little boy. I had suspected something was wrong, something that had made him feel like he couldn’t speak anymore, but maybe I hadn’t wanted to know what happened. If I knew, then it was real and someone had harmed my sweet little boy, and I wasn’t sure I could handle that knowledge.
“Can I stay with you tonight?” I asked softly, not daring to look up at him. If he rejected me, my heart might completely shatter.
“Do you just want to be held? Because I can do that if that’s what you need right now.”
I shrugged. “Yes, and no. I want that, but what if I decide I want more than just holding?”
“Then I’d better have a Prospect bring me a box of condoms.”
I tried to remember the biker show I’d watched a while back, but the word Prospect was drawing a blank. Scratch had told me before what he’d meant by calling them that, but I must not have paid close enough attention. “What’s a Prospect?”
“It’s someone who wants to join the club. They have to do whatever jobs we give them, have to prove themselves as loyal to the club, and after a while the members vote and decide who is allowed to patch in and who isn’t. We only have a few of them because our Pres is rather selective.”
“Like the men who put Caleb’s stuff together?” I asked. I remembered them wearing a cut like Scratch, but theirs had been different.
“Yes, those two were Prospects. Why don’t you go soak in the tub and change for bed? I’ll wait down here for him to bring the condoms, and then I’ll come up and we can go to bed. And if sleep is all you want to do, then I’m perfectly okay with that. You never have to do something you don’t want, and I don’t want you to feel obligated to have sex with me. Or with anyone for that matter.”
“I don’t feel obligated.” I looked up at him. “But I’ll go up and run a bath like you suggested. Maybe it will make me feel better, but
I doubt it.”
He kissed the top of my head. As I walked out of the living room, I saw him pull his cell phone from his pocket, and I heard him speaking to someone as I went up the stairs. Butterflies swarmed my stomach at the thought of sharing a bed with him, but they were quickly squashed by the horrid feeling someone had abused my child. No matter what Scratch said, I still felt responsible. I’d given that woman permission to care for him, paid her to do it for that matter, and it made me feel like I’d condoned her behavior. I knew deep down that wasn’t true, that I hadn’t known and couldn’t have known that there was something wrong with her. It didn’t ease my guilt any.
I soaked in the tub until my fingers and toes began to prune, then drained the water and dried off. As I looked around, I realized I hadn’t grabbed any clean clothes from my room, so I wrapped the towel around my body and walked down the hall to the spare room Scratch was letting me use. I pulled on some of the new things he’d bought me, a silky pair of panties with a cute shorts set that had stars on them. Then I padded into his bedroom. He’d removed his cut and shirt, and stood barefoot in nothing but his jeans.
My breath caught in my throat as I stared at him. In the shower, I hadn’t really taken the time to admire the scenery. He wasn’t overly bulky with muscle, but his abs were defined and biceps were still large in my opinion. The ink that swirled across his chest traveled along his shoulders and down his arms. He watched me, but didn’t make a move to bring me farther into his space. I put one foot in front of the other, until I stood right in front of him.
“Feel any better?’ he asked.
“Not really. I don’t think I’ll be able to relax until I know for sure what happened to Caleb, and even then I can’t guarantee it will change anything. I might actually feel worse depending on what you find out.”
“Whatever it is, I’ll handle it. If she hurt that boy, I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
My stomach clenched, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know exactly what he meant by that. He’d said that he’d done things I didn’t know about, bad things. I still didn’t think that made him a bad man. If he did something to the woman who hurt my kid, it wouldn’t make me see him any differently. I wouldn’t fault him for wanting to protect innocent children, no matter how he went about it.