Page 21 of Racer (Iron Rogues MC #15)

RACER

Five years later

T he smell of hickory smoke drifted in the breeze, curling through the branches of the big oak tree at the edge of our yard.

Sunlight filtered through summer leaves, dappling the gravel driveway in patches of gold.

The sizzle of burgers on the grill and the sound of laughter from the backyard rippled across the open space.

Emily and I had built a home on a few acres at the edge of town, just a couple of miles from the farm I’d grown up on right outside Old Bridge.

My brother, Jack, owned it now, running it with his wife and three kids.

Emily and Marie had become good friends, but I loved how tight my woman was with the other Iron Rogues’ old ladies. It only knitted our family even closer.

I was crouched beside a sleek black-and-red go-kart parked just in front of the garage, one knee on the warm pavement, both hands steady as I buckled in the most important driver I’d ever trained.

My son, Archer—four years old today—was already bouncing in his seat, legs too short to reach the pedals without the custom rig Axle built last week.

The kid looked like he was ready to win the Daytona 500.

“Steering tight?” I asked, tugging the straps snug across his chest. His Iron Rogues ball cap sat backward on his head, and a streak of chocolate cake still smudged the corner of his mouth.

He gave a serious nod, biting his bottom lip the way he did when he concentrated. “Ready to ride, Daddy.”

“Alright then,” Axle said, wiping his hands on a shop towel. “Let’s fire this thing up.”

My brother-in-law had grease under his fingernails and his boots planted wide, looking half proud, half exasperated—as though he couldn’t believe he was helping a kid who just learned to spell his own name get behind the wheel of a tiny machine capable of hitting forty.

If I hadn’t added a governor to keep it from going that fast.

Jack came around the corner from the backyard and chuckled. “Just like his dad. You’ve been riding bikes since you could balance one. And you were racing at what? Fourteen?”

“To his mother’s terror,” my mom added as she and my dad joined us.

Grinning, I straightened, rolling my shoulders as the engine whirred to life and Archer let out an excited whoop. Before I could step back, I heard it—the soft click of a camera, followed by a voice that spread warmth through my entire body.

“My boys,” Emily murmured, barefoot on the driveway as she held our one-year-old daughter, River, on her hip, snapping a photo with her phone.

She looked like summer herself with her long blond hair braided over one shoulder, white cotton sundress fluttering around her knees, glowing tanned skin, and that gorgeous smile that filled every dark corner of my life with light.

Our little girl rested drowsily against her, cheeks pink from the heat, and her chubby fingers tangled in the lace trim of Emily’s dress.

I walked to them with purpose in my step, the space between us vanishing like nothing.

Emily tilted her head back, her lips parting slightly just before I kissed her—slow and soft, savoring her flavor as though I hadn’t tasted her in weeks instead of hours.

I leaned in to kiss our daughter’s head, breathing in her sweet baby scent.

Then I wrapped my arms around them both, one hand stroking the dip of Emily’s back, the other cradling her waist.

Together, we stood and watched as our son took off, the go-kart zipping down the long stretch of driveway with just enough wobble to make my heart lurch, then steady again.

“This,” I said low against Emily’s ear, “is what heaven looks like.”

She let out a shaky breath, and when I looked down, I saw tears glistening in her eyes.

“Hey,” I murmured, brushing my thumb gently beneath her lashes. “What’s wrong, angel?”

“I just…” She laughed softly, her smile sheepish, but her voice thick. “He’s getting so big, Jude. I swear, I blinked, and he turned four. And next time I blink…he’s gonna be sixteen and asking to borrow the Charger.”

I snorted, pulling her tighter against me. “Not a chance in hell. He’s not touching her till he’s got a full beard and a fuc–uh, freaking mortgage.”

“Fuh!” our daughter yelled suddenly, tossing her arm toward her brother’s go-kart as if she was cheering him on.

Emily gave me the look. “Seriously?”

“I didn’t even really say it,” I argued, lifting my hands. “Swear to?—”

Her eyes narrowed further, and I cut myself off with a cough.

Some of my rougher edges might have smoothed a bit over the years—married life had that effect—but I was still me. And that meant trouble rolled off my tongue before I had time to catch it. My wife just shook her head and kissed our daughter’s cheek before heading back toward the house.

I watched them walk away—two pieces of my soul wrapped up in sunshine and a low hum of love that never went away. Then I turned to look at my son again, tearing down the driveway with joy painted all over his face. And for a moment, the whole world went quiet.

There was nothing but contentment. Pure and sweet.

That night, after the sun went down and the grill was cooled, my family—both by blood and oath—all headed out.

Emily and I got the kids to bed, a feat of epic proportions when they were stimulated from the party and stuffed with sugar. Then we showered off the sweat and barbecue smoke.

I admired her as she stood in the doorway of our bedroom, brushing her hair in slow, sleepy strokes while one of my old club shirts hung loosely off her shoulders, barely skimming her thighs. Her nipples pressed against the thin fabric, her curves soft and tempting in the warm lamplight.

She caught me watching. But then I hadn’t bothered to hide it.

Her smile was slow and knowing as she let the brush drop to the dresser before she stepped toward the bed. I reached for her, dragging her onto my lap, one hand slipping under the shirt to cup her bare tit.

“You still sad, baby?” I asked quietly, brushing my thumb over her nipple.

She shivered, and I whipped the shirt off before leaning down to flick it with my tongue. Warm milk beaded at the tip, and I groaned. Fuck, she tasted sweet.

She gasped, rocking her hips over my growing erection.

“Maybe a little,” she whispered. “I love watching them grow, but I miss the days when he was tiny.”

I wrapped an arm around her waist, dragging her under me as I leaned her back onto the bed.

“Then let’s make another one,” I suggested, my voice rough and my cock already throbbing against her belly. We both wanted a big family, so I knew it wouldn’t take much convincing, if any, for her to agree.

She moaned, arching into me. “Really?”

“Hell, yes. I want to fill this house with the sound of little feet and giggles.”

Emily sighed dreamily. “You mean it?”

“Angel, I’ve been meaning it since the moment you gave me our son.” I bent to suck at her other nipple, drinking her sweet cream and savoring the way her fingers tangled in my hair. “Every time I see you swollen with my baby, I swear I fall in love all over again.”

“Jude…”

“It’s sexy as fuck, baby. Especially when your tits are swollen and dripping.” I caressed her flat belly and murmured, “Want you full of my kid, round and glowing. Want everyone who sees you to know who you belong to.”

She grinned through a breathless laugh. “Admit it, you enjoy showing me off. Like some kind of caveman proving his virility.”

“That too.” I grinned as I nudged her thighs apart. “And we make damn cute kids.”

What followed was slow and filthy, a promise in every thrust, devotion in every kiss.

“Gonna breed you, angel,” I growled when my spine began to tingle and her pussy tightened, ready to climax. “Come, baby. Want you to take every drop.”

Emily grabbed a pillow and shoved it over her face right before she screamed. Her muscles rippled around my cock and milked me until I filled her with my seed, groaning her name and whispering how she was mine—always.

I collapsed on top of her, our heartbeats racing and panting as we tried to catch our breath.

“Mamamama!” Our daughter’s voice crackled through the baby monitor.

I dropped my head to the valley between her tits and sighed. “These little cockblockers.”

Emily giggled, her fingers running through my damp hair. “At least she waited this time.”

“Fair point.” I kissed the tip of each breast, then her collarbone, and finally her throat. “Still want another one?”

“Are you sure you do?” she teased, voice sweet and lazy.

I flexed my cock inside her, making her gasp. “Hell yes. Seeing you pregnant is the hottest damn thing on earth.”

Her smile turned wicked. “You just like the way people look at me when I’m carrying your baby. So it’s stamped all over me that I’m yours.”

“It is.” I kissed her hard. “But I like the truth of it, too. You’re mine. Forever.”

“Mamamama!” River shouted again, sounding a little put out this time.

Emily giggled happily as I rolled off the bed, tugging on a pair of sweatpants.

“Get some rest,” I told her, brushing a lock of hair off her flushed face. “Gonna go take care of my baby girl. Then I’m coming back to make another one.”

A shiver ran through her, and her eyes heated, the blue turning to sapphire.

Before I left, I leaned down, kissed her softly, and murmured, “I love you, angel.”

She smiled brightly, as though it was the first time I’d ever said it. Maybe in some way, it always was. Every time I said those words, they meant more than the last.

Because with Emily, everything only got better.

And I was never letting go.

If you’re curious about Kane, there’s good news!