“Jesus, you’re fucking soaked,” I growl, breaking our kiss.
Panting, she peers back at me and raises an eyebrow.
“What’re you gonna do about it?”
It’s not so much a question but rather a dare and fuck if I don’t love it. Sliding my fingers under the lace, I rip her panties to the side and press my thumb against her clit.
“You need to get off, girl?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” she whispers, closing her eyes as she moves against my hand.
She’s a fucking sight.
A goddamn dream.
My fingers plunge into her and her eyes open wide at the intrusion. Leaning forward, my mouth finds her ear. As I slide in and out of her, my teeth sink into her earlobe and she whimpers.
“When I get home, I’m fucking you for a week straight. You won’t be able to walk. You won’t be able to sit. All you will be able to do is lay there, take my cock and come over and over.”
“Yes,” she cries. “Keep talking.”
“When you can’t take any more, I’ll eat you like you’re my last fucking meal. I can’t wait to taste this pussy again. In fact...” My words trail as I remove my fingers. She watches intently as I shove them into my mouth. One taste and I’m fucking gone.
“You’re killing me,” she groans.
Releasing my fingers, I bring them to her lips.
“Wanna taste?” I taunt.
Narrowing her eyes, she wraps a hand around my wrist. Her eyes lock with mine and I nearly come in my pants as she licks my fingers. Before I embarrass myself, I snatch my fingers back. I slide them back inside her pussy and work her until she’s writing on top of me, coming and crying my name.
Her body goes lax against mine. Wrapping her arms around my neck, she lays her head on my shoulder. I kiss the top of her head and slide her panties back into place. I cover her tits and slide the strap of her dress back too.
“What about you?” she murmurs, not moving her head from my shoulder.
“I’ll take a cold shower when you leave,” I reply. She doesn’t need to know my hand will probably fall off tonight when I’m alone in my bed, jerking my cock and replaying the scene of her riding my fingers.
“That doesn’t seem fair,” she says, lifting her head. She stares at me for a beat, tucking my hair behind my ears. “I hate this, Blackie, but I as much as it sucks, I know it’s the right thing for you and for us. I’m proud of you.”
I’m proud of you.
Those four words are everything.
“You know what I wanna do when I get out of here?”
“You just told me,” she teases, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.
I shake my head.
“That’s actually third on the list. First, I’m going to hold our daughter,” I tell her, dropping my hands to her belly. I smile sadly as I stare at her bump. “I may never let her go.”
She covers my hands with hers and I lift my eyes.
“I wanna marry you again.”
Shock wears on her pretty face and I smile at her.
“That’s if you’ll still have me.”
Once was a goddamn miracle.
Twice might be pushing the envelope.
“If I’ll still have you?” she croaks, tears filling her eyes. “You’re my whole world, Blackie. My everything. There’s no questioning of whether I’ll have you or not. The question is if you still want me.”
If I still want her…
There is nothing I want more than her.
Not a fucking thing.
I don’t get a chance to tell her that or even ask why she would think otherwise because Sunny enters the room. Lacey quickly scrambles off my lap and bends to retrieve her jacket. I get to it before her and help her slip in on her shoulders. I reach for her hand, but she moves away. Suddenly everything feels rushed. The energy is different between us and it feels like theirs a brick wall separating us. She lets me kiss her goodbye, but it’s quick and impersonal. She tells Sunny it was nice to meet her before she hurries for the door. I tag her wrist before she can make the quick getaway, she’s so desperate for and her eyes find mine.
“I love you,” I tell her, my voice full of conviction.
“I love you too.”
But there’s something not right, and she doesn’t give me a chance to figure out what it is.
A minute later she’s gone leaving me alone with her voice ringing in my ears.
The question is if you still want me.
That’s not a fucking question.
It’s a goddamn cry for help.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Lacey
I made a colossal mistake that day I visited Blackie. I let my insecurities get the best of me. My mask slipped, and he saw me, the me I try to run from. In a flash, I erased the life we built together and all the years we spent loving one another. I took us back to the beginning of us. To the dark day when I was a girl fighting with her mind, begging an addict to notice her. To love her and take away her pain. But he isn’t that same man. He’s in recovery. But I’m still that girl who fights with her mind and during that visit, I was begging him to notice me. To recognize my pain and erase my doubts.
I was jealous.
There he was conquering his demons while I wrestled with mine. Logically I knew he wasn’t healed. That he will spend his whole life as a recovering addict. There will be days he struggles just like me. But he was getting the tools he needed to help himself. He was getting relief.
My relief comes in an orange bottle. It comes in the form of a pill and it’s nowhere in sight. Nine months didn’t seem so long when I threw that bottle at the wall. But every day that passes feels like a lifetime and I’m so tired of fighting.
I’m so tired of feeling worthless.
I tried to remind myself it was all for a good cause. I’d stand in front of the mirror, look myself in the eye and tell myself I was doing it for my daughter. I even recited all the possible birth defects taking Lithium could cause, thinking if I heard them with my own ears, it would help. That the sound of my voice would overpower the one in my head, encouraging me to hurt myself. I told myself if I hurt, she hurts. But I was losing sight of my daughter. I could feel her kick and watch her grow but the connection was fading, and I couldn’t stop it.
Blackie adhered to my call for help, just as he always does. He tried to reassure me that I was what he wanted and often asked if I was okay.
“Lacey, I might not be there with you physically, but I’m here. You can talk to me. If something is bothering you, we can work it out,” he said one night on the phone.
I so desperately wanted to believe him, but I was too ashamed to admit my truth. How could I tell the man who was getting well for our daughter that I was losing my will to bring her into the world? Instead of confessing my dark thoughts, I continued to pretend like everything was okay.
I have never welcomed the manic side of my disease more than I have in the last month. Those days when the switch flipped, were the days I gave my best performances. I went shopping with my mother and bought everything I saw. I agreed when my father suggested he turn my late brother’s bedroom into a nursery and when Blackie called on those days, we tossed baby names back and forth. To anyone watching, I was the poster child for expectant mothers everywhere.