CONTROL: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (Blackened Souls MC)

by Naomi West

  “I just—”

  “See women as objects rather than human beings.”

  He felt genuinely stung by that. “For your information, the girls I sleep with want to have sex with me. I’m not tricking anyone, or — or taking advantage…”

  “You make it clear it’s no strings attached?”

  He couldn’t tell whether she was teasing or judging him. He breathed deep, making his chest rise under her hand. “Most of the time.”

  She twisted her mouth to the side and raised her brows, clearly unimpressed. “Uh-huh.”

  “Look, nothing I can do about it now except change my ways, right?”

  She was quiet for a moment. He wished he could tell what she was thinking. “Look, if you want to sleep with other girls, I won’t stop you.” All the playfulness was gone from her tone. She didn’t sound angry — just serious. “It’s just, we have to always use condoms, and you need to get tested regularly.”

  He practically had to pick his jaw up off his chest. “What are you talking about?”

  She shrugged. “I know you were forced into this. I know you don’t actually want to be my husband. And since we don’t know how long this is for, I just want you to know I’m okay with you seeing other people. I kind of assumed that’s what you were doing already.”

  He sat up too, so their faces were level. He caught her hand as it fell from his chest. Held it in his own. Looked directly into her eyes. “I’m not sleeping with anyone else. Aside from the fact that your dad’s most likely spying on me everywhere I go, I don’t … I don’t want to be with anyone else right now.”

  She eyed him a little suspiciously. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

  “I’m not lying,” he said firmly. “I know these are strange circumstances, but I…” He couldn’t make himself say it. I really like you. “I’m your husband,” he finished gruffly. “I plan to honor that.”

  She continued to gaze at him firmly. “I don’t want a marriage that’s a sham. I want us to be honest about what this is. Loyalty isn’t really loyalty if you think you don’t have another choice. Then it’s just obligation.”

  He swallowed. Where did he stand on this? The marriage was a sham. He had some feelings for her, sure, but they were … mostly sexual, weren’t they? If it had been up to him, he wouldn’t have chosen to marry her; wouldn’t have married anyone. Wasn’t loyalty out of a sense of obligation better than no loyalty at all? And it wasn’t obligation, exactly — he wanted to protect her, wanted to care for her. Maybe not ‘til death do them goddamn part, but…

  Shit. He was losing it. “I’ll do what I can,” he said finally. “I can’t promise I’ll be the perfect husband. But the part of this where I want to protect you? That’s not a sham.”

  She closed her eyes briefly. Gazed at him and offered a fraction of a smile. “I trust you. I don’t always know why, but I do.”

  That made Pistol’s chest uncomfortably tight.

  “I like your vision of a first date,” he said after a moment. He trained his fingers up her naked belly to the underside of her breast. Watched her nipple stiffen, little goose bumps rise on her skin.

  She sighed, arching her back slightly. “That’s what I’d most like to do. I mean, I’ve never … maybe it wouldn’t be as romantic as I’m hoping. But I think I’d love it.”

  “We could go on that date,” he suggested.

  She perked up, studying him with her head cocked like a dog. “What?”

  “Well, yeah. What’s stopping us from going for a ride? Stopping somewhere in the desert to check out the stars. Then coming back here to…”

  He saw her blush deepen and grinned to himself. “Fuck like bunnies?” she asked.

  “That sounds about right.”

  “What if I…?” She bit her lip. “What if I suck at riding a motorcycle?”

  “There’s not much to it,” he replied. “You just hold on tight.” He shifted a little at the thought of Katrin’s arms wrapped around him as he roared down the highway. His dick started to harden.

  “And when do I get to try driving it?”

  He raised his brows. “You wanna ride?”

  She grinned, eyes lighting up with mischief and excitement. “Someday.”

  “You need a motorcycle license, first of all.”

  “What if we’re out in the desert, and there’s no one to check whether I’m properly … licensed?”

  “Well, in that case, I guess I could put you behind the handlebars.”

  Her grin grew more teasing. “You’re gonna teach me how to drive?”

  “We call it riding, not driving.”

  “Then what’s it called when I’m sitting on the back instead of steering?”

  Pistolthought for a moment. “I’d call that ‘ridingon a motorcycle.’”

  “Fine. Are you gonna teach me to ride? Really?”

  He gazed at her for a moment. “I’d like to.”

  Her smile slipped and she gave him that soul-searching, slightly quizzical stare. “But…”

  “But nothing. Let’s go.” He climbed out of bed.

  “Now?”

  “Yeah.” He turned to her. “I’m asking you out on a date. Our first date.”

  Shit, if anyone had told him he was one day go in for corny romantic shit like this, he’d have laughed in their face. But something about this woman made it feel not corny at all. He wanted to give her the romance she’d never experienced before. Wanted the two of them to discover together how to navigate this marriage business.

  She hesitated, then her face lit up with another smile. She climbed out of bed after him, her long dark hair falling to almost cover her breasts. She didn’t look shy, embarrassed. She looked happy, fearless. “All right. Let’s go.” She began pulling on clothes — tight jeans, a tank top, a hoodie. He watched her dress. She glanced up and caught him watching. She smirked and made a little shooing motion with her hand. “Go on. Get dressed.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Pistol led the way down to the garage. Katrinfollowed, heart racing.It’s happening. It’s really happening. She watched as Pistol found one of his old jackets in the box Deion had given him. “Here, uh—” he handed it to her. “It’ll be too big for you, but it’s better than nothing. Gonna be cold out in the desert.”

  She took the leather jacket.

  He didn’t have any gloves small enough for her, but he did have an extra helmet. It felt comically big on her.

  “I can’t get the strap—” she fiddled with it.

  “Here.” He tilted her chin up with one of his broad hands. She froze. Let her own hands fall to her sides. God, even a touch like this made her wild with desire for him.

  He tightened the strap, the gesture surprisingly intimate and gentle. That familiar heat coiled between her legs, making her thighs tense. Her panties dampened as she stared at him, as she imagined his cock inside her. The way his neck corded and his arms bulged as he fucked her.

  Don’t lose your head, Katrin. He might be hot, but this is still hardly an ideal situation.

  She didn’t want to think about that right now. Didn’t want to think about her father or her lie of a marriage, or even about Pistol’s dick. Instead she wanted to focus on her first motorcycle ride.

  “Where’syour helmet?” she asked him. She knew he didn’t wear one, and she’d never felt it was her place to nag him about it before. But if they crashed…

  “Oh, uh…” He grinned a little sheepishly. “I’ve had a lot of experience.”

  “Uh-huh.” She flipped the visor up on her helmet so he’d be able to hear her more clearly. “And all it takes is one drunk driver, or one patch of loose gravel… You think I want to see you splatted on the side of the road?” She flushed, a little taken aback by her own vehemence. She really didn’t want to lose him. Not on this ride, or any other.When did I start caring? Not that she’d ever have been okay with anything bad happening to him, but this feeling was … different. Protective. As though he really did be
long to her.

  He hesitated like he might protest. Then he reached reluctantly for the other helmet. Put it on. “Happy?” he asked with a grin.

  She grinned back. “That’s better. Safety first.”

  Pistol mounted the Honda, keeping the bike steady so she could straddle it behind him. She tried for a second to keep a polite distance, but she immediately slid forward so that her crotch was against his firm, jean-clad ass. Great.

  He turned his head to speak over his shoulder. “Put your arms around my waist.”

  “Okay,” she replied, her voice muffled by the helmet.

  “When you get more comfortable, you can try keeping your hands on my hips. But for now, hold on tight.”

  She wrapped her arms around his waist, feeling his hard abs flex under her arms. She swallowed. Jeez, what if she did fall off? What if Pistol crashed?

  I’m ready for this. I’m so ready, she thought, as Pistol faced forward and then walked the bike closer to the garage entrance, and Katrin’s heart rate ratcheted up. She placed her feet on the pegs and laced her fingers together.

  Pistol started the bike, and it rumbled to life under them. A thrill went up Katrin’s spine, and she grinned inside the helmet. “You okay?” Pistol called over the roar of the bike.

  “I’m great,” she shouted back.

  “Hold on!”

  Pistol gave the bike three revs, then started down the driveway. Katrin tensed reflexively, then forced herself to relax. No way was she going to let on that she was nervous.

  They went over the curb and started down the residential street. Katrin glanced over Pistol’s shoulder at the speedometer. They were only going thirty, but Katrin’s heart was still pounding. She leaned into Pistol’s warmth, watched the streetlights in front of the neighbors’ houses flash by. The breeze was chilly on her bare hands, but the jacket — and Pistol — kept her warm. The sun was just slipping below the horizon as they exited the neighborhood and turned onto Deveare Street. Katrin leaned into the turn, surprised by how smooth the ride was. At the traffic light, they pulled up beside an SUV. The kid in the passenger seat — a boy, maybe ten — was staring down at the bike. Katrin gave him a brief wave, then clung to Pistol once more as the light turned green and they roared ahead of the SUV.

  There were a couple of times when the bike accelerated and Katrin felt her heart leap into her throat, but for the most part, she grew comfortable quickly with the motion of the bike, with the way it turned and the feel of it humming between her legs, all power and sleekness.

  Then they turned off onto the highway, and their speed climbed. And climbed…

  She held tight to Pistol as the wind slammed her helmet and chafed her hands. She peered at the speedometer. Fifty miles an hour. Sixty. Soon they were blazing down the open road at seventy miles an hour. Katrin’s stomach clenched slightly at the thought of what would happen if they crashed at this speed, but fear soon gave way to pure adrenaline. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry, because she’d never experienced freedom like this, the sense that the world was wide open to her, that she could go anywhere.

  Oh God, they were going fast, so fast, and she was clinging to Pistol — Jax — her husband, and they were flying. The highway was empty before them, the sky a tremendous deep velvet blue with streaks of waning light along the horizon.

  Pistol started to swerve — long, snaking movements that made the bike lean from side to side. The first time he did it, Katrin grabbed him, stomach plummeting, afraid he’d lost control. Then she realized he was doing it on purpose and began to lean into each serpentine, terrified and alive, grinning like a maniac as the wind chapped her hands and bugs splatted against her visor. She risked taking one hand off Pistol’s waist to punch him gently on the shoulder. She could almost feel the grin in his body.

  As they moved farther away from town, houses grew increasingly intermittent. What she saw instead were patches of scrub catching moonlight; tall cacti casting shadows to her left and right. Rocky hills off in the distance, turned purple by twilight.

  She wasn’t sure how long they rode, but her butt was numb by the time Pistol pulled off the road and drove them to a patch of land near the base of a plateau. He shut off the bike, and the sudden silence was overwhelming. Katrin could still hear the thundering of the engine, still feel the buzzing between her thighs. They took off their helmets. She dismounted after Pistol and staggered a few steps away, setting her helmet on the ground. He laughed as he put down the kickstand. “You’re walking a little bowlegged, Ms. Smith.”

  She felt a flash of sadness, so sudden it overwhelmed her. Her father had insisted she take Pistol’s last name, legally. No matter that even if she’d been marrying the man of his own volition, she’d have wanted to keep her last name. So technically, she was Ms. Wilson — Mrs. Wilson — but she appreciated Pistol respecting her wishes.

  Even though she sure as hell would have liked to be rid of her father’s name too, right about now. Still, Katrin Smith was who she’d always been, and who she’d always be.

  Maybe it’s just because he doesn’t want to acknowledge me as Mrs. Wilson. But still, I appreciate it.

  She was overthinking this. She grinned at him. “Shut up.”

  He left the bike and came over to her. She froze, unsure what to do now. The ride had made her hotter than ever, her panties wet, her lips hungering for his mouth to claim hers. But all he did was put his arm around her shoulders, and together they gazed up at the sky. The stars had come out in full force, glittering like diamonds, stretching as far as the eye could see. The bands of light at the horizon had faded, and they were there, the two of them, in the chilly twilight, surrounded by the kind of beauty she’d only ever been able to imagine.

  “My God,” she whispered.

  “Something else, right?”

  “Do you ever come out here alone? Without your brothers?” She was curious.

  He hesitated. “Sometimes. I’ve gotten used to riding with them, but I used to ride alone a lot. Sometimes just me and Deion go out.”

  Katrin thought guiltily of the ride he’d had planned with Deion, up through Three Sisters.

  He spread out the thick blanket. “C’mon. Don’t be shy.” He plopped down on the blanket on his butt, arms around his knees. Groaned a little. “I’m not as young as I used to be.”

  “Oh please. You’re…” She paused. “Oh, my God. How old are you?”

  He laughed. “Twenty-five.”

  “When’s your birthday?” She couldn’t believe she didn’t know. She remembered wondering several times early on, but then she’d reached a point where she was so freaked out by the whole situation that she hadn’t wondered anymore. Her father had handled all official paperwork concerning their wedding, and she couldn’t think of a single document she might have seen Pistol’s age or birthdate on.

  “April sixth.” He grinned up at her, his face pale in the moonlight. “Now you know my darkest secret.”

  She shook her head, stepping closer and taking a seat beside him. “There’s just so much we don’t know.” She wished she could explain to him how strange it felt.

  He placed an arm around her shoulders. “We’ll learn. We are learning. That’s what tonight’s for, right? To make up for the dates we didn’t have — the ones where we learned each other’s birthdays and favorite flavors of ice cream and the worst things we ever did as kids…”

  He was right. She shouldn’t let herself get so freaked out. They had time. And he’d told her about San Antonio. About his mom. About the guy he’d shot. That all had to count for something. It proved he trusted her.

  She still wasn’t sure how to feel about Pistol’s past. He was a violent man in some ways. But so gentle in others. Was the worst of that violence behind him? Or did he still fight? Still kill when necessary?

  Don’t think about it. Not tonight. Tonight, we’re thinking about better things.

  “What’s your favorite ice cream flavor?” she asked, stretching out on her back.


  He stretched out beside her. “Moose Tracks.”

  She laughed, the sound soaring up to the stars. “You really are an overgrown kid, you know?”

  “Ohh, Ms. Smith. Don’t make that mistake.” He walked his fingers up her leather jacket. “I’m all grown up. You can be sure.”

  She smacked his hand away playfully. “Perv.”

  He laughed. Kept walking his fingers up to her zipper. “This would be more fun if this—” he tugged the zipper down “—weren’t in our way.”

  He helped her out of her jacket. She leaned back with him, fitting her body to his, kissing him. Feeling his lips against her own, the way he tilted his head to find the perfect angle, so that they fit together like puzzle pieces. The strength that coursed through him even in the quietest moments.