He understood her fear. The pregnancy had been a shock to him as well, especially being so soon after his parents’ death. And, hell, Preacher had no idea how to be a father and hadn’t pictured himself ever becoming one. Still, it was just a matter of time before there was no choice but to accept his fate—he was becoming a father whether he liked it or not.
So instead of wallowing, he told himself that a baby was something to look forward to, something pure and good in a cruel world.
And lately, he needed all the good he could get his hands on.
Preacher bent his head and placed a kiss on Debbie’s lips. “You smell like cookies,” he mumbled. Traveling to her neck, he sniffed her skin.
“Somethin’ you wanna tell me ‘bout you and Tiny?” Sniffing turned to kisses, and he kissed his way back to her mouth.
“Ew, Preacher! Gross!” Laughing, she shoved at his shoulders until he released her. Moving off his lap, she leaned back against the pillows.
Preacher got to his feet and began undressing. “How’s things at the club? Anything I need to know about?”
For a moment Preacher thought Debbie looked troubled, but the look vanished nearly as quickly as it had appeared, leaving him wondering if he’d only imagined it.
She shrugged and then grinned. “Same shit, different toilet.”
“Jesus Christ, Wheels. No more hangin’ ‘round Hightower for you.”
“But he’s my favorite,” she replied, her tone as sweet as sugar. Preacher paused in unbuckling his belt.
“How you gonna say that shit to me?” he demanded. “I thought I was your favorite.”
Debbie smiled slyly. “Oh, you are… when you’re here. And Hightower’s my favorite when you’re not.” She shrugged again.
Preacher yanked his belt free from his jeans with a loud crack. Tossing it aside, he quickly finished undressing and climbed into bed.
Narrowed eyes on Debbie, he growled, “You wanna try that again, smartass?”
Debbie rolled toward him and slung her arm around his stomach and tucked her leg between his. “You could just never leave again. Then you won’t ever have to wonder who my favorite is.”
Already the stress of the last several weeks was beginning to wane. Preacher’s head was clearing. The tension between his shoulders was evaporating. And his dick was waking up and taking notice of the beautiful girl on top of him.
Debbie had become Preacher’s drug of choice. And when he was gone too long, like a junkie craving his next fix, Preacher craved his girl.
He rolled them over, flipping their positions. “I missed you.”
“I missed this mouth.” He nipped at her bottom lip.
“This ass, too,” He slipped a hand beneath her and squeezed one perfectly round cheek.
Debbie wrapped her arms around his neck and slid her fingers through his hair, freeing it from its binding. Spreading her legs apart, she hooked her feet around his calves.
Gazing up at him through hooded eyes, she whispered, “What else?”
He shifted his hips, brushing himself against her. “This what you’re lookin’ for?”
Debbie made a noise—a sexy combination of a gasp and a moan. Arching her back, she slowly dragged her pussy over the length of his dick. Grinning, Preacher pulled away from her only long enough to rid her of her nightgown.
He took his time entering her, watching with male satisfaction as her breath hitched and her eyes flared wide with every inch he claimed.
Ahhh, goddamn. Preacher dropped his face into the sweet-smelling space between her neck and her shoulder. Debbie’s arms tightened around him. Her fingers dug into the skin on his back. Her body arched, she crushed her breasts to his chest. Then her hips began to move—small, jerky movements in an attempt to get him to increase his pace.
“Impatient,” he grunted, and gripped her hip, stilling her.
“Control freak,” she whispered, wriggling wildly beneath him.
With a growl, he increased his speed. And with it, everything quickened. His mouth on hers. Her breaths. His heartbeat. Her hands roaming his back and ass.
Debbie dragged her nails across his shoulders and moaned his name—a sexy-as-hell something she always did right before she came. Glancing at her face, he found her perfect features tightly drawn, and barely breathing. He watched, rapt, as her breath abruptly punched past her lips and her eyelids fluttered erratically. Gasping, she cried out his name twice more. And as she clenched and pulsed around him, he doubled his speed and finished only moments later.
Preacher collapsed on the bed beside Debbie and spent the next several minutes just catching his breath. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he turned to look at her. Her eyes were already on him, gleaming with satisfaction.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“Yeah?” He started to smile. “That mean you’re gonna take back that shit you said about Hightower?”
Preacher caught Debbie’s hand before she could smack his chest, and quickly gathered her in his arms. Laughing, he buried his face in her neck.
“I can’t believe Tiny slept through all that screamin’,” he murmured, breathing in the salty scent of her sweat-dampened skin.
Debbie huffed. “I wasn’t screaming.”
“You were definitely screamin’.”
“Was not.”
“Was.”
“Was not.”
Eventually they fell silent, and Preacher soon grew drowsy. Untangling himself from Debbie, he rolled over and turned off the light.
“Preacher?”
“Yeah?”
“I know you can’t tell me what you’ve been doing on the road, but… you haven’t been saving girls at truck stops, have you?”
Although he couldn’t see her face in the dark, and her tone was light, Preacher picked up on her underlying unease.
She worried for nothing. Yeah, he had opportunities to be with other women, but he always passed on them. Because he gave a shit about this girl. Loved her, even.
If there was anything losing his parents had taught Preacher, outside of his newfound thirst for revenge, it was not to take the people he loved for granted.
Reaching out blindly, he pulled Debbie to him, tucking her tightly against him.
“Not a chance in hell,” he said. “I learned my damned lesson the first time.”
Chapter 28
“Joey didn’t say nothin’ about a party,” Sylvia hissed.
Seated inside Sylvia’s cherry red Chevy Chevette, Debbie peered up at the looming brownstone. The music coming from inside was loud enough to be heard from the street. Both the street and the alleyway beside the clubhouse were littered with at least a hundred motorcycles.
Looking over the dozen or so people lounging on the stoop and walkway, men and women that Debbie didn’t recognize, one thing in particular caught her eye: the Viking warrior emblem on the men’s denim vests.
The Road Warriors were here.
Debbie bit down on her bottom lip. Was that why Preacher had insisted she stay away from the club?
For weeks neither Debbie nor Sylvia had been allowed at the club. All the women had been ordered to stay away without being given any real reason why. It was club business, they’d been told. Worse, Preacher was always at the club now. When he did come home, he came home late and was usually gone before she woke in the morning.
Debbie looked at Sylvia. “Is this what they’ve been doing this whole time? Partying?”
Sylvia dark eyes flashed angrily. “Joey hasn’t been home in two weeks. His last phone call was four fuckin’ days ago.”
A wave of anxiety rolled through Debbie and her hands flew to her stomach.
She knew she shouldn’t compare her relationship with Preacher to Joe and Sylvia’s unhappy marriage, yet she couldn’t help but suddenly make those comparisons.
Joe resented Sylvia, and to some extent his son, for trapping him in a marriage he clearly never wanted—that was obvious to anyone who knew them. Yet Sylvia seemed oblivious.
Was that what was happening to her and Preacher? Was he sick of her already and slowly shutting her out of his life? Was that why she wasn’t welcome at the clubhouse anymore?
Tears pricked her eyes. Had this god-awful pregnancy ruined everything?