Scars of Yesterday (Sons of Templar MC Book Book 8) Read online

  “Babe, you got a condom?” he asked again against my mouth.

  A condom?

  I’d been married for well over a decade. No, I didn’t have a fucking condom. The mere thought of it started to yank me out of the moment.

  That couldn’t happen.

  “I’m on the pill,” I murmured. It was more for the regulation of my cycles than anything these days. I took them out of habit. Because I wanted as many things to stay the same in my daily life as I could. Even the smallest of things.

  Kace’s eyes were dark. “You sure?”

  I let out a frustrated sound at the back of my throat. “I’m fucking sure,” I commanded. “Now fuck me.”

  He moved quickly, freeing himself and thrusting into me. Hard. Brutal. Brilliant.

  My eyes squeezed shut under the intensity of it all. My skin felt like it was going to burst open. Like I wouldn’t survive another orgasm, even as his cock coaxed another one out of me.

  “Open your fucking eyes,” Kace demanded, voice guttural.

  I obeyed him immediately, without thinking. His eyes were glued to mine, holding me captive as he moved. “You’re keeping them here, on me,” he grunted.

  My hands scraped down his back. He hissed in pleasure.

  “Yeah, baby. Fuckin’ let your claws out. I can handle it. I won’t break.” He moved harder. Faster. “Neither will you.”

  He was wrong.

  I could break. I had before.

  And he did break me again. Into millions of little pieces I’d scramble to get back after this was done. Pieces he’d managed to steal for himself. Of course I hadn’t known this at the time.

  We were on the floor.

  I couldn’t quite remember how we’d moved from the bathroom to here, but there were blankets tangled around us, yanked off the bed I wouldn’t allow us to use. As if that would’ve made any difference.

  “I meant what I said before,” I panted, only starting to get my breath back. I still kind of felt like I was floating five inches above the bed. Id’ forgotten what sex could do. What good sex could do.

  No, great sex.

  Which we’d just had.

  Three times.

  Every single one of my muscles were no longer functional. I was pretty sure I’d never be able to move them or use them again.

  And I was totally okay with that. Who needed muscles after sex like that?

  “That you believe pizza should only have one topping?” he teased, rubbing my back then moving down to cup my ass.

  I winced ever so slightly at the pain that came with that touch. A delightful pain. Kace had helped me discover that I was into pain now. Rough, borderline angry sex. I was more than into it. I fucking loved it. Wanted bruises and marks. Wanted anything but love and tenderness.

  “Believe me, I can tell you’re very serious about pizza,” he murmured.

  “No, I meant about the relationship thing,” I said, voice raspy. “I’m not ready. Not in any kind of way. Nor are my kids ready for a man in their life whose connected to their mother. Or anyone knowing about this.” I waved my hand up and down our naked bodies.

  “So you want this to be a one-time thing?” he asked, voice even and not letting me go.

  My entire body reacted at the mere thought. It was an unexpectedly dramatic response. I shouldn’t have felt such a deep-seated surge of panic about that. Shouldn’t feel this attached to this man and all the pain and pleasure he gave me. The escape he’d given me.

  “No!” I exclaimed, louder than I should’ve, a lot of that deep-seated panic saturating my voice.

  He moved me so my eyes were glued to his. There was too much amusement there. “So you need this to be secret sex?”

  I didn’t like the way he said that at all. That he was teasing me about this. “I’m saying that I do not want anyone to know about this, especially anyone in the club.” My tone was cold.

  Something moved on his face now, the twinkle in his eye receding. “Babe, know that you don’t know much about me. But know that I’m not the kind of fuckin’ man to take you to bed without knowing this ship is bein’ steered by you. I’m following your lead. I want your pussy because it’s sweet. Your body because it’s hot and hungry and makes my dick sing. Straight up like spending time with you ’cause you’re unlike anyone I’ve ever known. You’ve got no real proof that I’m a good guy. But I’m telling you right now, it’s an insult to even suggest I’d go back to the club and talk about this. Disrespect you in that way. That’s not the kind of man I am. No matter what happens with this, you call the shots. Not gonna push you for more ‘cause I know that you gave me everything you could just now. And I’m more than fucking happy with that.”

  I was taken aback by all of that. The passion in which he spoke. It hit me in different places throughout my body. Not just between my legs.

  It was too intense. He was too intense.

  “Okay,” I said, moving. His hands tightened around my body for a second, as if he was considering not letting me move from his grasp, but then he slackened and let me go.

  Despite what we’d just done, three times, I was uncomfortable with my nakedness. There was something more intimate about moving around our bedroom—my bedroom, everything that was ours was now only mine—not wearing a thing.

  I’d had two children. My body hadn’t ‘bounced back’ without effort. I was young when I had Jack. That had been easier. I’d had more energy. Exercised. Ate well, and then didn’t have time to eat because I was too busy using all my energy on another human. Lily came when I was older. Bouncing back from her birth took longer. I’d been self-conscious about the fact that it took me longer to return to how I’d looked before, or at least as close as was humanly possible, after having two humans. Pregnancy, birth, motherhood… all that altered a woman’s body in unchangeable ways.

  Or only in ways that could only be changed with a scalpel.

  Not that I judged any mother who went that route. I’d been tempted, looking at myself in the mirror, seeing the evidence of my children like a roadmap of everything we’d gone through. I wouldn’t give them up for anything. They were my world. Sometimes, though, selfish vanity whispered.

  But I’d had a husband who had worshipped me. Who’d made it very clear he loved the evidence showing I’d carried his children. Who’d left no room for me to be insecure.

  And even with what had happened in our darkest of days, I’d never worried about the young club girls with tight asses and fake tits. What he did back then was not about the woman. Was not about sex or desire.

  It was about Ranger’s demons. His fears. His scars. In so many ways, he was my perfect man. Perfect husband. But humans couldn’t be perfect. We were too prone to damage. To self-sabotage. We wore the traumas of the world on our souls. Ranger was damaged in irreversible ways. So I’d had to love the parts of him he hated. Had to forgive the actions that were driven by those parts.

  It was hard. It hurt. But we overcame it. We’d had a marriage that I was proud of. A love we worked at. I’d never thought I’d be walking around in our bedroom with my naked body on show for a man who wasn’t him.

  It made me sick.

  What I’d done.

  That my husband was no longer the last man to see me naked. To touch me. Fuck me.

  I was disgusted with myself as I shrugged on my robe, tying it so tight it hurt. Kace must’ve felt the energy in the room move, because he got up and dressed quietly. I didn’t look at him, just listened to the rustle of his clothes as he put them on. I held my breath so I didn’t have to smell his scent, the smell of sex that coated the room.

  The silence between us was awkward now. It was harsh. I’d never experienced anything like this. The weirdness that came after sex with someone who was little more than a stranger. Even when Ranger and I had been separated, I’d only had sex with one other man. A boyfriend I’d had for six months before doing that. He’d been kind, gentle and just a nice guy. Nothing more than that. He was nonthreatening bec
ause I’d only ever thought of him as a nice guy.

  Kace was threatening.

  I’d already known that.

  I prayed for him to leave without a word. To not try to salvage this moment with words that would only make it more awkward.

  His boots thumped on the floor, but the door didn’t open. My hair moved from my neck, lips settling over my skin. My body reacted immediately, despite everything swirling in my head. I relaxed a little, sinking back against him.

  “Until next time, baby,” he murmured. His lips hovered for a moment longer then my hair fell back in place. Boots thumped against the floor, the door opened and closed. I stayed standing where I was for a long time. No tears. No breakdowns. I just stood there. I snapped into action First, I took a shower. Then I stripped the sheets from the bed, took the blanket from the floor and put them in the wash.

  Got ready for my kids to come home. Tried to pretend it never happened.

  But I dreamed of him that night.

  It was the first night in over a year I hadn’t dreamed of my husband.

  Chapter 11

  Three Weeks Later

  “I need to go,” I groaned, trying to pull myself out of bed.

  Strong arms held onto me, yanking me back into bed.

  He smelled of leather and sex.

  “You need to come...” he murmured, his hand moving down my stomach.

  My eyes rolled to the back of my head at the thought of yet another orgasm. I was like a teenager. We both were.

  Sex was working to be the ultimate distraction. Addiction. We stole moments whenever and wherever we could. Usually at my place when the kids were at school. Or when they were asleep. His place on rare occasions. I didn’t like it there, though. Not because it was messy. Not because it was strange, foreign. Because it made it real that I was with another man. A man who had a home that was sparsely decorated but with comfortable, good quality furniture. A man who kept his bathroom clean. Who made his bed every morning. Didn’t have a sink full of dishes. Liked scented candles.

  I didn’t want to learn any of this new stuff about Kace. Didn’t want what we were doing to be more intimate than it was. But his place was safer, not as many people could drop by. I could scream as loud as I wanted. Kace liked to make me scream.

  Once, when I’d had too many cocktails at the latest Sons’ party, we’d slipped into a room in the back.

  Yes, I was desperate. Never full of him. And when were together, I felt distracted by pain and pleasure, by the fact that he physically demanded everything from me.

  But then came the guilt. Shame. The self-hatred and promises made that I was never going to do it again.

  Yet here I was, not exactly fighting him when he yanked me back into the bed.

  “I have to go home to change then pick the kids up from school,” I said, voice breathy as Kace moved his hand downward with frustrating slowness.

  “You don’t need to change clothes,” he murmured, his mouth running along my neck. “I have it on good authority that you look hot as fuck in those clothes.”

  I sucked in an uneven breath as Kace trailed his hand across instead of downward, brushing over the small scar from my C-section.

  “Those are sex clothes,” I argued, though my voice was weak with submission. “I can’t wear sex clothes to pick up my children.”

  His hand paused, and I clenched my teeth in frustration. “Sex clothes?” he repeated. “I distinctly remember ripping those clothes off you before I fucked you.”

  My body shivered at the memory. I distinctly remembered that too.

  “Yes, but they are sex clothes by association,” I explained. “Plus, I smell of sex. I have sex hair. I have friends who are also going to be picking up their children from school who are like fucking hawks at spotting sex hair. I don’t need to answer questions about that. So I need to go.”

  Although I was supposed to be sounding firm and strong, I barely convinced myself.

  Kace’s hand moved again. It snaked down. All the way down. His fingers moved expertly, maddeningly coaxing an orgasm from me within minutes.

  Then they stopped.

  I let out a mewl of protest, hating the sound, hating myself for making it.

  “You need to go,” he reminded me, pushing me gently up to my feet.

  I stood on shaky knees, watching him move his fingers up to his mouth, tasting me while maintaining eye contact.

  My eyes didn’t move from him, reveling in him tasting me like that.

  The corner of his mouth turned up in amusement, his eyes still dark with desire.

  “Don’t you gotta go, sweetheart?” he asked blandly, not hiding the fact he was checking out my naked body.

  I narrowed my eyes at him, a small tickle of irritation helpful in stopping me from forgetting about everything and jumping right back into bed with Kace.

  “Yes, I do have to go,” I snapped, snatching my panties, shoving them on, then going for my bra. “And this is the last time we’re doing this,” I added while putting on my jeans.

  Kace moved so he was sitting up in bed, not bothering to use a sheet to cover himself. He was proud of his body. His nakedness. As he should’ve been. His body was nothing short of perfection. Which would’ve intimidated the fuck out of me if he hadn’t constantly showed me how much he worshipped my non-perfect, birthed two children and rapidly approaching forty body.

  “Sure thing, babe,” he said easily, watching me dress.

  He wasn’t bothered by me trying to break off... whatever the fuck this was. Not since I said this almost every time. Then, usually less than a few days later, I’d make a fool of myself by ending up naked with Kace again.

  “I mean it this time,” I declared, pulling my shirt over my head. “This... this isn’t good. I shouldn’t be doing this.”

  Kace no longer looked amused. He moved from the bed to stand in front of me, hands firm on my hips. “Lizzie, fuck it hurts to see you like this. Every damn time. Every damn moment I’m not inside you.” There was frustration in his voice. Fury.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about watching you doubt everything you do. Like you’re failing some impossible test you’ve set for yourself. Like somehow you can only live with yourself if you’re constantly in pain. Constantly punishing yourself for every single decision you make. Everything you want. I’ve been keepin’ my mouth shut because I know this is something you gotta work through. Even though it’s fuckin’ torture. But I can’t anymore. So I’m not going to let you say this shit out loud. I can’t control what you think. Maybe, in time, I’ll be able to help change that. Maybe not. But however long I’m fuckin’ you, however long I’m in your life, secret or not, it’s my mission to make you stop punishing yourself for any second of happiness or pleasure.”

  His words hit true.

  Not just the words but the feeling behind him.

  He had feelings. For me. Which was a problem. A big fucking problem. He was too young. This was too soon. He was in the club.

  And worse than that, I was getting feelings for him too.

  Which was why I walked out of the room without saying another word, without looking him in the eye.

  I went through the motions of the afternoon. Picked up the kids. Took them out for ice cream which we ate on the beach.

  Took them home. Made them shower off the sand, do their homework and then get ready to go for our weekly dinner at Evie’s.

  Sometimes it was a huge dinner with everyone from the Sons coming. A dinner that usually turned into a party. Other times it was a mishmash of whoever could arrive. But once a month, it was just us. The two Sons of Templar widows. It sounded pathetic, but with Evie involved, it definitely wasn’t pathetic.

  The routine consisted of us ordering in whatever we wanted, whatever the kids wanted, with wine or whisky, depending on the mood. It was a night for talking about everything, while usually skirting the subject of our dead husbands.

  Evie had taken S
teg’s death in her typical stride. On the surface, at least. I knew she was suffering. Bleeding. Trying to make sense of a life without the man she’d been next to for decades.

  As much as I hated any activities that were born out of my husband’s death, I actually looked forward to dinner with Evie. Being around her, I didn’t feel like such a broken, weird shell of a person.

  “You look different,” Evie stated the second she let me through the door, the kids already running toward the ‘toy room’ Evie had set up for the various Sons of Templar children who visited on a daily basis. Despite being the most unlikely of grandmothers, she sure knew how to entertain.

  Shit.

  I knew I should’ve made some excuse to miss this week. The bitch was far too perceptive for her own good. But I’d reasoned that canceling our plans would’ve only made her more suspicious.

  “I got my hair done,” I lied, walking into her home.

  It was warm. An interesting description, especially when looking at Evie. There were a lot of things that came to mind looking at the biker queen, but warm was nowhere on the list.

  For a start, it was huge. There were enough guest bedrooms for the many families that had needed them over the years during lockdowns, wars, weddings funerals.

  There were three different living rooms, one with a huge L-shaped sofa in a deep brown. Sitting on that couch was like laying on a cloud. There were pillows. Throws. Candles. Books on the coffee table. A huge TV. Pretty much everything inviting you to stay awhile. Her and Steg had always had two cats, Boris and Nigel who were most likely hanging out with the kids. The two kids who’d named them the oddest cat names in the world.

  Photos decorated almost every surface. The Sons of Templar throughout the years. Her and Steg. Wedding photos. Baby photos.

  Memories of the legacy she was a part of. The life she’d lived.

  I walked into her huge kitchen, where I’d helped cook many Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners, snatching two whisky glasses from a cupboard filled with various types of alcoholic drinkware.