Unbeautifully

EPILOGUE

On my porch, juggling two bags of groceries, my purse, my extraordinarily large belly, and my keys, I tried valiantly to find the one key that would let me inside, allowing me to put down these insanely heavy bags, put on my pajamas, and go straight to bed. I frowned at the bags. What was so heavy anyway? Bread? Milk?

Whatever. Everything was heavy lately and I was always tired.

As are most women in the ninth month of pregnancy.

Although, I was rather lucky. Instead of gaining tens of pounds of weight over the past nine months, all I’d gained was a giant belly, while the majority of my body stayed mostly the same.

The pregnancy had been a planned one. After my kidnapping, Ripper refused to take our relationship at any other speed other than lightning fast.

We were married within a month, a ridiculously small ceremony at the town courthouse, and that night he’d begun trying to get me pregnant. Married at twenty-one and pregnant by twenty-two. It was official. I was a stereotypical small town girl.

But I was Ripper’s old lady.

And I loved every second of it.

“Shit!”

Shifting the bags in my arms, I tried to see where my keys had dropped, but all I could see was my belly.

Crying out in frustration, I turned around, ready to heave everything in my arms off the porch, and ran straight into the large, hard wall that was Ripper.

“Yo,” he said, laughing as he took the bags from me and set them down on the porch. Scooping up my keys, he stood back up and handed them to me.

Blowing out a frustrated breath, I glared at him. “Why’s the door locked? Where were you?”

“Chill, baby,” he said, reaching out to brush a sweaty lock of hair off my forehead. “I was out back in the shed.”

“Doing what?” I demanded, although I already knew. He was covered in sweat, grass, and wood chips.

“The usual,” he said nonchalantly. “Fuckin’ whores and killin’ puppies.”

Rolling my eyes, I turned away from him, and this time successfully managed to unlock the door. Ripper grabbed the groceries and followed me inside.

Throwing my purse on the kitchen table, I dropped into the closest chair and groaned.

“I hurt,” I complained dramatically. “Everywhere. And I’m dying of thirst.”

Ripper grinned. “I’m on it, baby.”

After setting the bags down on the counter, he headed for the sink, shirtless, sweaty, and dirty, and I couldn’t help but smile. He’d changed so much that sometimes I didn’t even recognize him. At first I’d thought he was overdoing it because he was terrified of my father, but the more time that passed, I realized that, no, it had nothing to do with my father at all. He’d changed.

And I loved him that much more for it.

“You stop by the club?” he asked, setting a glass of ice water down in front of me, then folding his large body into the chair beside me.

Grabbing the glass, I chugged as much water as I could, gasping for air when I was done.

“Yeah,” I breathed.

“You see Jase?”

I nodded. Everyone was worried about Jase. Almost a year had passed since Dorothy had been shot and her memory still hadn’t returned. Jase’s kids had come home, Chrissy had been tried and convicted of first degree murder and sentenced to life with the possibility of parole, meaning she could end up only serving ten years of a life sentence. I was unsure how I felt about this. As much as I’d liked Chrissy, she’d tried to kill Dorothy.

As for Dorothy’s relationship with Jase, it was non-existent. She didn’t come to the club anymore and refused to see anyone other than Eva, Kami, or me. Every few months Tegen came home to visit with her and her brother, an adorable little boy Dorothy had named after her own father, Christopher Michael Kelley.

And Hawk…

He’d taken Ripper’s place. Still nomad, he’d gone back on the road and would return periodically, but never stayed more than a few days at a time. I knew he saw his son on occasion, but just like Jase, Dorothy wanted nothing to do with him.

And ZZ…he never came back. I got the feeling my father had spoken to him a few times, may even know where he was, but I didn’t ask. ZZ had left because of me and I knew I had no right to any information about him or his whereabouts. But wherever he was, I hoped he was happy.

He deserved to be happy.

“He’s…okay,” I said. “He was drunk, as usual.”

Ripper grimaced. “Brother’s gonna drink himself to death.”

“You didn’t,” I said softly.

He looked into my eyes. “No,” he said, just as softly. “I didn’t.”

“I hate you,” I murmured, smiling at him. “You made me fat.”

He snorted. “Hardly. Not sure how you managed it, but I think that baby of mine has made your ass fuckin’ hotter. And speaking of ass…”

Standing up, Ripper bent over me and slipped one arm around my back and under my armpit. The other he slid under my knees and then he was lifting me up.

“I don’t wanna,” I whined, looping my arms around his neck. “I’m too tired.”

“No, you’re not,” he growled, nipping at my neck. “How many times I gotta tell you, you don’t get to make that decision?”

“Oooh,” I teased. “Because you’re the big bad biker man who gets to make all the decisions.”

“Damn straight.”

He laid me gently on the bed and proceeded to peel my yoga pants over my hips and down my legs.

“No underwear,” he muttered. “Why the fuck ain’t you wearin’ underwear?”

“Um, hello,” I said. “People are already staring at the giant baby growing inside of me. I don’t need the added embarrassment of underwear lines too.”

Ripper blinked. “Are you fuckin’ serious? You’re worried about underwear lines?”

I didn’t answer him and he started laughing.

“Fuck, baby,” he said, unzipping his jeans. “You are damn crazy.”

I tried to think of something mean to say, a witty comeback, but he’d quickly moved onto the bed and was now between my legs and pushing inside of me.

Clear thinking was no longer an option.

“Tits,” he groaned, reaching for the hem of my bright pink tank top. “I wanna see your tits, baby.”

“No,” I breathed, pushing his hand away. “Don’t look at my belly.”

He stopped moving. “Why the fuck not?”

“Stretch marks,” I said, wrinkling up my nose.

He stared at me. “Stretch marks,” he repeated. “This shit again?”

“I hate them,” I whispered, feeling embarrassed. “They’re ugly.

“Uh-uh,” he said, slapping my hands away. It took him a few minutes, but eventually he’d maneuvered me out of both my tank top and bra. Immediately crossing my arms over my chest, I looked away from him. Maybe it was ridiculous, but the several jagged red marks that had appeared on my stomach were ugly to me. And I didn’t want Ripper to find me lacking in any way.

Grabbing my chin, he forced me to look at him.

“All scars tell a story, beautiful girl,” he said, releasing me to trace the marks on my stomach. “Yours are tellin’ me how healthy and fuckin’ perfect my kid is gonna be.”

A tear slid out of the corner of my eye. “Shut up,” I whispered.

“And mine,” he said softly, grabbing my hand, trailing my palm across his cheek and then his chest. “Tell the story of how I found you.”

More tears fell. He would never stop ceasing to amaze me.

“I love you,” I whispered.

“Yeah, baby,” he breathed, pulling out of me, then pushing back in again. “Me too.”

He began moving faster and I closed my eyes, forgetting about stretch marks, forgetting about everything, and just let sensation rule.

I could feel everything…the prickly hair on his legs rasping against my smooth skin…the muscles in his back tensing, bunching, and releasing with every thrust of his hips…his hot breath on my breasts, dampening my skin…the scarred flesh on his chest rubbing over my swollen stomach, heightening my sensitivity.

“Ah, fuck baby,” he rasped. “So fuckin’ good.”

“Ripper,” I whimpered.

He slammed into me and my eyes rolled back.

“I love you,” I breathed, clutching at the sheets. “I love you.”

And I felt him, hard and full inside of me, stroking, moving, filling, as his hips continuously met mine, heartbeat after heartbeat, after heartbeat.

THE END