Page 34 of Blackbeard
“Popeye cares about you,” Blackbeard said.
I exhaled a dry, humorless laugh, fixing a smile in place.
“Sort of. In his own way, I guess. But according to Baby Doll,everyone can see that my daddy sacrificed me like a useless little pawn.”
“Fuck,” Blackbeard sighed. “I knew you two had done some damage to each other.” He cupped my elbow and led me into the living room. “Sit.”
“I’m fine,” I protested.
“Glad to hear it. Now, sit.”
I plopped onto the couch, draping my arms over my head with a lazy, cat-like stretch. The hem of my T-shirt rode up my thighs, revealing the lacy edge of my blush-pink panties. Blackbeard’s gaze skittered up my bare legs for a split second before he sat on the couch beside me.
Curving his tattooed fingers around my ankle, he guided my leg into his lap. Pressed his thumb into the soft flesh of my instep, massaging in slow, measured circles.
My head was fuzzy, my thoughts sluggish from pickling my brain in all that beer. I should have known better than to lower my inhibitions. All I wanted to do was curl up in Blackbeard’s lap and cuddlefuck the night away with sweet, sappy sex.
But that wouldn’t get me the upper hand in this power dynamic. The only time this man had been willing to fuck me was when I first walked in his door, to put me in my place, to teach me a lesson. There had been nothing gentle or soft about it.
I scrambled to get myself back into that character of an obnoxious wife he didn’t like.
“If you rub a little higher, you’ll find heaven,” I said.
Blackbeard dug his thumb into my foot. I whimpered and tried to pull away, but his fingers clamped tight around my ankle and I couldn’t escape.
“Ow! That hurts, asshole.”
He eased up on the pressure again, but he didn’t let go of my ankle.
“What’s gotten into you?”
“Nothing,” I spat. “That’s the point. What does a girl have to do around here to get some dick? Parade through the house naked?”
Blackbeard remained unflinching despite my verbal attack. He continued to rub ceaseless circles in the bottom of my foot, his fingers caging my ankle in a light, firm grip.
“I haven’t heard you mention your mom,” he said. “Is she in the picture at all?”
I snorted.
“She left when I was five. Zero maternal instincts. Hated being a mother from day one. Having a biker for a husband didn’t help.”
Why was I telling him all this? Apart from the club, I didn’t talk about my personal life with men I slept with, and they didn’t care enough to ask.
But with Blackbeard, everything seemed to just slip out unintentionally. I could blame the booze, but I usually held my liquor better than this, so I didn’t have any excuses.
“That must have been difficult for you,” Blackbeard said with a hum of sympathy.
Something deep and cold and dark in my chest melted at his words. I glanced away, fidgeting with my ring.
Dad didn’t talk about Mom very much, and there were no other women in my life. I got along well enough with his club, but being the only woman among a herd of savage men was often rough and isolating.
The bunnies that passed through the clubhouse tended to keep me at arm’s length. Being the President’s daughter, I held a position in the club that granted privileges they would never have access to. So I couldn’t blame them for the resentment they harbored toward me in that regard.
A few of the Forsaken had wives at home, but we didn’t have much in common. They were busy raising kids, keeping a house,while I was sleeping around, unattached, and stirring up trouble with the boys.
I tried not to think about how lonely it really was to be a princess sometimes.
“Any siblings?” Blackbeard ventured. “Aunts, uncles, cousins?”
