Unbeautifully

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

One week later…

“Danny,” ZZ whispered in my ear. “Wake up, baby. I fuckin’ want you.”

Yawning, I stretched languidly, allowing ZZ to roll me onto my stomach. Spreading my legs apart, he situated himself behind me and began pushing inside.

I moaned softly as I stretched for him, enjoying the pleasurable burn as he fully seated himself. Spreading my legs farther apart, I dug my fingers into the pillows and arched my hips up, pushing back against him. One of his hands came down over my own, interlocking our fingers.

“Fuck,” he growled, moving slowly in and out of me. “Fuckin’ angel wings are hot as fuck, baby.”

I smiled against the pillow. My angel wings were my newest tattoo, taking up almost my entire back. It had taken eight separate sittings, but the heavily detailed and beautifully done wings, with tips that curled around my waist, ending at my belly button, were worth it. I absolutely loved them.

“Harder, Z,” I whimpered, writhing under him.

His hips slammed into mine, over and over again, harder and harder but…

It was never enough. Sex with ZZ was always good, but something was missing. And no matter what I did to fill the hole, nothing worked. Most times, I didn’t finish.

“Stop,” I said, getting to my knees, pulling away from him. I scooted down on the bed on my back and held my arms out for him. Grinning, he covered my body with his and pushed back inside of me, groaning heavily.

“Go slow,” I whispered, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and my legs around his backside, holding him close.

I kept my eyes tightly closed as ZZ began his slow, leisurely thrusts, picturing a different man in my arms, moving inside of me, loving me.

But no matter how hard I tried to pretend, reality always ended up winning.

Ripper was gone.

Pulling out of me, ZZ rolled onto his side. “Fuck, that was good. Love you, baby.”

“Love you too,” I whispered, brushing my lips across his shoulder. “Gonna go get something to drink, you want?”

He didn’t answer me. He was snoring, already sound asleep with the condom still on. Rolling my eyes, I crawled over him and hopped out of bed, headed for the bathroom to clean up.

After filling up an empty glass with tap water, I leaned against his bathroom doorway and studied him.

I’d never had any intention of being with another man ever again, and after my embarrassing incident with ZZ, I’d certainly never expected to end up with him. I’m still not even sure how it happened. He just sort of started integrating himself into my life. Watching television with me, eating meals with me, finding excuses to talk to me about pointless, random things, things I’d known he wasn’t interested in and to be honest, neither was I. Not anymore. In fact, I’d had little interest in much aside from sleeping, eating, and of course, breathing. That was an important one.

Then one day, in the middle of a particularly gruesome horror movie, he kissed me. It was an awful kiss; foreign lips and a taste I didn’t recognize, belonging to a mouth I didn’t love. After several emotionally brutal seconds, I had to pull away. But ZZ wouldn’t let me go.

“I wanna be your man,” he whispered.

Fighting tears, I looked down at my hands.

My man. He couldn’t be my man, no one could.

I’d already had my man…

And lost him.

There would be no one else. It was a fact I could feel deep within me, one that made my body ache in remembrance.

“Already talked to your old man, Danny.”

Surprised, I glanced up at him and noticed for the first time his black eye and a rather large gash on his cheek. Always so consumed by my thoughts, I’d somehow looked over the fact that ZZ had been badly beaten.

“Oh my god,” I whispered. “He did this to you?”

ZZ laughed. “I’m fine, baby. It’s worth it, anyway, if it means I’m gonna get what I want.”

Me. He wanted me. He’d taken a beating just for the opportunity to ask me out.

Ripper hadn’t…

Ripper hadn’t ever wanted to tell my father.

“Kiss me again,” I said hoarsely as my tears blossomed. And he did.

It was still awful. And wrong. But instead of stopping, I kissed him harder, I held him tighter, I encouraged him to touch me roughly.

I continued to torture my already broken heart; I made it hurt, more and more, until I didn’t think I could bear the pain for one more second.

And then he was inside of me.

Like a bullet cracking out of its chamber, in an instant, the pain was gone.

In its place…a quiet numbness.

We’d been together ever since.

Did I love him?

I did love him, like I loved…my brother.

It wasn’t his fault. He was a good man, kind and generous, and he truly cared for me. But no matter how much time passed, every time I climbed onto the back of his bike and put my arms around his middle…

It felt wrong.

He wasn’t Ripper.

Turning away with a sigh, I grabbed a pair of ZZ’s sweatpants and shoved into them, tying them tightly. Searching through the bedding, I found my black camisole and slipped it over my head. Grabbing ZZ’s cigarettes, I lit one, shoved the pack in my waistband, snatched my keys off the dresser, and headed for the door.

Noise greeted me in the hallway, a mixture of happy shouts and clinking glass.

Knowing the boys and their exorbitant capacity for alcohol, I figured the wedding celebration had begun a day early.

Halfway down the back hall, I stopped, checked right, then left, making sure I was alone before unlocking Ripper’s door and slipping quietly inside. After locking the door behind me, I tossed my keys and smokes on his unmade bed, flipped the lights on, and headed for his bathroom.

Three more drags and my cigarette was shot and flushed down the toilet. I undressed quickly, started the shower, and stepped inside, sighing happily under the stream of hot water.

Because he’d left his shampoo and soap behind, here was the only place I could still find a piece of Ripper. Not even his bed smelled of him anymore, and so I took advantage of this small retreat down memory lane whenever the opportunity to slip away arose.

I washed my hair first, breathing in the sharp, clean scent of his generic 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner. The tiny sliver of soap that remained, I glided up over my arms and legs, up and down my body, slowly, slower, until I could feel the warming stirrings of arousal deep in my belly.

The soap slipped through my fingers as I pressed one palm against the wall and slid the other between my thighs.

Fuck… Fuck, Danny, fuck…I’m gonna fuck you so hard…you’re gonna scream, baby…

I want that pussy, baby, gimme that beautiful fuckin’ pussy.

Here, now, I could pretend all I wanted. I didn’t have the reality of ZZ smacking me in the face. Here I was surrounded by nothing but Ripper and my memories of him.

Here, I had no problem coming.

Picturing his big, beautiful body covered in scars, in tattoos, laden with heavy muscle, I cried out as my fingers increased their pace.

I was so close, almost there and I needed to finish, I needed it more than I needed my next breath.

It was all I had left.

The shower curtain suddenly ripped open with an audible snap. Startled, I spun around, nearly losing my balance and came face-to-face with…

Ripper.

Poof…he’d disappeared.

Poof…he was back.

Just like that. Standing there in front of me looking the same as ever. Well, he was bigger, his neck and arms were thicker, his clothing tighter. His head was shaved, only a layer of blond fuzz remained, showing off the two long scars on the right side of his skull that I’d never known about.

But still Ripper.

Just standing there looking at me as if the past year of my life hadn’t been one long, bitter stretch of unbearable agony.

I tried to speak, to say something, to move, but all that happened was a large exhalation of shuddered air and a tiny, pathetic squeak.

• • •

Everyone had been happy to see him. More than happy. Fucking ecstatic. After nearly an hour of hugs and back slaps and enough shots to give him more than a good buzz, Ripper had finally managed to sneak away.

The first sign of something wrong was the fresh smell of cigarettes that greeted him inside his room. The second, the Hello Kitty key ring and nearly full pack of smokes on his bed. The third, the running shower.

He knew. He knew who was in there. There was only one bitch associated with this club who sported Hello Kitty bullshit.

What the fuck was she doing in his room, in his bathroom, in his motherfucking shower?

Was she in there with Z? Fucking fuck, he’d flip.

He stalked toward the bathroom, the sounds of soft moaning stopping him in his tracks. Nearly a year had passed yet he instantly recognized Danny nearing orgasm. Raw jealousy and ugly hatred flooded him.

They were fucking in his shower?

Was this a fucking joke? Did God hate him this much?

Or just Danny?

Crossing the tiny room, he envisioned his hands choking the life out of…

He ripped the shower curtain open and all his blood drained straight to his feet.

She looked…different.

Aside from the full back piece that initially spanked him in the face before she’d whipped around, she was thinner, less muscular, and softer looking.

And tired. She looked downright exhausted.

And still fucking beautiful.

Ripper stared at her; her blue eyes wide with surprise, her drenched body heaving with heavy breaths, her slim legs quivering.

He wasn’t sure who moved first. But it didn’t matter; they both were moving, crashing into each other and he took immediate control, wrapping his hand around her neck, shoving her up against the shower wall as he yanked open his leathers. With her arms wrapped around his neck, she hoisted up off the floor and locked her legs around his waist.

Fully clothed, soaking wet, full of seething, jealous anger and a longtime pent-up need for her, he found her entrance and in a single thrust, jammed himself inside of her. Her following scream of pain sending a perversely thrilling spike of pleasure straight through him.

They were fighting more than they were fucking.

He could both see and feel…fuck, he could taste the rage radiating off her. Yeah, well, fuck her, he was motherfucking pissed off too.

It was frantic, desperate, thoughtless fucking. Each of them physically screaming for more, for as much as they could get from the other.

Amping it up, he powered into her, uncaring that her head was bashing repeatedly against the wall, uncaring that her nails had surpassed skin and were well on their way to puncturing his muscle, uncaring that instead of kissing him, she was biting him without restraint and blood was filling his mouth.

Grabbing a handful of her hair, he pulled her head to one side and sunk his teeth into her neck; shudders wracked his entire body as she cried out against his shoulder, again and again and again.

But she didn’t try to stop him. In fact, later, when he stopped to really think about what had happened, he would realize that the more he’d hurt her, the more she’d hurt him, the more pain they’d wanted.

This wasn’t love. It was hate. And love.

That fine line had been destroyed.

Mutilated.

He wanted to knock her fucking teeth out.

No, he wanted to take her to bed and fuck her the way he used to, feel the way he used to feel when he was inside of her. Not like this, never like this. This shit was nothing but an outlet for empty rage and bone-crushing heartache.

He wanted to cry.

Instead, he came.

“Fuck!” she screamed, shoving at him. “Get out of me! Ripper, pull out!”

He stumbled backward, bent over, groaning as he continued to finish.

“You fucking asshole,” she hissed, kicking him in the calf. “You came in me!”

“Sorry, bitch,” he gritted out, glaring up at her as he straightened out his body. “Didn’t mean to piss all over Z’s territory.”

He should have expected it after the way they’d just fucked, that one wrong comment and she was going to go ballistic, but he was still in shock from finding her in his shower, from fucking her and then coming only seconds ago.

The moment she barreled into him, her nails going right for his face, his feet slipped out from under him and they both went down hard. Cursing, he tried to grab her, but she was flailing, soaking wet, and he couldn’t get a good grip on her. Finally he just gave up, lay there on the bathtub floor, trying to shield his face until she tired herself out.

At least that had been the plan until something she said in between her bouts of cursing and hysterical nonsense shocked the ever-loving shit out of him.

Renewed strength born from heart-stopping rage had him grabbing her, throwing her carelessly over the side of the tub, and following her over. Pinning her arms above her head, he straddled her and grabbed her chin hard enough to bruise, forcing her to look at him.

“What the fuck did you say?”

“That I fucking hate you!”

He squeezed harder and she whimpered.

“Answer me,” he growled.

“I was pregnant,” she hissed. “And I had an abortion. Happy?”

Was he happy? Was he motherfucking happy she’d killed his kid? Never once during the five billion psychotic voice mail messages she’d left him had she mentioned being pregnant or having an abortion. He would have come home. He would have come the fuck home.

Releasing her, he got to his feet. “Get out,” he snarled. “Get the fuck outta my room!”

Trembling with rage, Danny rolled over and jumped to her feet. “You left me,” she vehemently accused. “You fucking left me!”

“All that cryin’ you fuckin’ did, callin’ me all the time, and not once did you mention bein’ pregnant! Not once!”

“You left me!”

“Is that all you know how to say?” he yelled as he bent down to grab her clothing. Shoving it at her, he pushed her backward, out of the bathroom and into his bedroom. “GET OUT!” he roared, then slammed closed the bathroom door.

He waited until he heard his bedroom door open and close, then sank to his knees. Pregnant. Pregnant. She’d been fucking pregnant. And she’d killed it. She’d killed his baby.

His baby.

Jesus, he was going to throw up.

Staggering to his feet, Ripper sent his fist into the bathroom door, then his boot, then his fist again and his boot again, and again and again until he was tired of beating on the door and spun around only to be greeted with his fucked-up reflection in the mirror.

“FUCK YOU!” he roared as his fist shot out. The mirror shattered on impact.

Shattered.

Just like his fucking life.

He’d stay for the wedding but afterward he was putting miles of road between him and anything to do with Danielle West. And this time when he left, he was throwing his cell phone in a lake and making sure no one, not even Deuce, would be able to find him ever again.