Madeline Sheehan - Unbeautifully

“I want you,” I whispered, closing my eyes, just breathing him in, letting the leather and cigarette smoke and the light undertone of soap-scented skin fill my nostrils.

“Fuuuuuck,” he groaned, pulling away, pushing me backward. “I…shit…your old man…baby, I—”

“He won’t find out,” I said quickly, slapping his hands away and returning to my position pressed firmly up against him.

Even as he hesitated, his hand lifted, hovering near my cheek. Making the decision for him, I leaned into his touch, feeling both exhausted and relieved. What I’d said had taken every ounce of my willpower.

He stared down at me and I stared up at him, knowing the exact moment he made up his mind. His hard, tormented expression eased infinitely as the tension holding his body captive instantly evaporated.

“Jesus,” he whispered, running his thumb along my mouth, tugging it open, gently stroking my bottom lip. “Why can’t I say no to you?”

My breath caught. Oh my god, was it going to happen? Were Ripper and I going to happen again?

His hand moved, sliding slowly back over my cheek, my ear, and then his fingers were gliding through my hair and his other hand was traveling down my spine, mesmerizing me into thoughtless submission, making me half delirious with this single-minded need.

Then his hand was moving up my side, along my ribs, sliding over my breast. He brushed his thumb across my nipple and…

All over my body, nerve endings were flaring to life. I wanted this; I wanted this suddenly so badly, my body had begun to ache for more of him.

“We do this,” he growled softly. “Means you’re in my bed and no one else’s, yeah?”

The trapped air shuddered through my lungs and exploded into my quivering stomach.

He wanted more…after this? Or…he wanted only me? Or he wanted me to be with only him while he did…what? Is that what that meant? God, I really needed to start asking some of these questions out loud so I didn’t just stand there staring at him like some sort of speechless freak. But then again, did I really care what he meant? This was what I wanted, right? I wanted him and this and I wanted it right now and everything else was just details that could be worked out later. Or not, because at this precise moment I didn’t care about the details but instead about the hands on me, all over me.

“Ripper,” I whimpered, arching my back, pushing my flesh into his hand. “Please—”

His mouth crashed down on mine and, oh my god…his tongue and my tongue and… Oh god, oh god, oh god…

Suddenly, Ripper was pulling away from me and turning around. I panicked, feeling confused and worried until I saw him pull his cell phone from his leathers and bring it to his ear.

“Yo… Yeah, I’m here now…yeah…yeah…she’s packin’, Prez…fuck…yeah, I know what the fuck lockdown means, I’m gonna get her there.”

Prez. He was talking to my father.

I winced, feeling like we’d been caught red-handed, that somehow my father would know what we’d been doing.

“Danny!” Ripper hissed. My eyes shot to him. He was holding the phone away from him and gesturing wildly to the stairs. Oops. Whirling around, I bolted up the stairs, burst into my room, and quickly changed out of my pajamas and into a short pink sundress and my cowboy boots. After throwing some clothing and makeup into my shoulder bag, I checked my reflection, smoothed my hair, and darted back down the stairs.

Ripper had already gone outside. I could hear the rumble of his Harley pipes from the foyer.

Hurriedly, I punched in the house alarm, flipped the lights off, and locked the door behind me.

He watched me rush down the walkway toward him, his expression disconcerting. Had he changed his mind already? Had talking to my father triggered his guilt?

Anger toward the man who’d taken a backseat role to my life the second his own had hit a road bump, surged to the surface. He kept ruining everything and now he was going to ruin this for me.

“Ripper?” I whispered, stopping beside him. His hard gaze met mine and my stomach flip-flopped. He looked a million times different than he had inside the house. Nothing remained of the hungry expression he’d been wearing only moments earlier.

“Fuck,” he muttered, startling me as he reached out and wrapped his arm around my waist. I stumbled forward as he hauled me up against him.

“Meant what I said,” he said, dropping his head, pressing his forehead to mine. “You’re with me, you’re with only me. I ain’t gonna share you with some teenage asshat whose dick ain’t full grown.”

Teenage asshat? Ha. Fat chance. My father had ruined any chance of me dating any male my age when he’d threatened my one and only boyfriend. No one wanted anything to do with me after that, leaving me to wonder what sort of pain and torture my father had threatened him with. But Ripper didn’t need to know any of that. He was jealous and I liked him that way.

“What about you?” I asked, before I could remind myself that the details didn’t matter, that this was what I wanted and I’d no right to be demanding anything from a man like Ripper. But damn it, I was fooling myself if I thought I was going to be okay being with him again, if he was just going to turn around and be with other people.

I did not want to share.

I would, that was how much I wanted him, but I didn’t want to have to. Even more so, I didn’t want him to want to.

I wanted to be enough for him but at the same time I wasn’t stupid. I knew what the boys did at the club, or on runs while their old ladies were at home with their kids.

If I wanted this man, I already knew what would be expected of me. Was I prepared for all that came with it? No. But I was a fast learner and everything about Ripper had my body screaming he’s worth it, he’s worth it.

He pulled away from me, his expression serious, yet full of unabashed need.

And just like that, seeing that, knowing that look was for me, that it was all mine, the details no longer mattered.

“I ain’t never did this shit before,” he said quietly and I could hear the internal hesitation, the insecurity lacing his words. And, god, it only made me want him even more.

“But I ain’t never wanted pussy like I want yours and…Danny, I ain’t gonna touch another bitch, don’t even wanna. Fuck, baby, since that night at the lake, I haven’t done shit but jerk myself off, thinkin’ of you.”

How could someone so gruff and crude be so soft at the same time? Ripper was perfect. Perfectly flawed and everything I hadn’t known I’d wanted in a man until this…him…us.

He only wanted me. Only me.

“Wish I knew what was goin’ on in that head of yours,” he said quietly.

“Nothing,” I whispered. “I’m just…I think…I’m…”

Just say it. Say it, you chicken! Just say it!

“Happy,” I finished breathlessly. And excited and nervous and pretty close to bursting at the seams.

Ripper loved riding. It was one of his few escapes from thinking about the hours of torture he’d spent at the hands of Frankie. So when he wasn’t working or sleeping or eating or fucking, he was riding. Constantly. No plan, no destination, no schedule…just him, his bike, and the open road. Riding gave him the peace of mind that nothing else could, not green, not booze, not pussy, nothing. Riding cleared his messed-up head and cleaned his shit-stained soul. For a little while.

With nothing but road stretched out in front of him and more road behind him, it was just him and his baby, completely in tune with each other. The past didn’t exist, his future didn’t matter; it was only right then, right there, she was him, he was her, they had melded together, had become not man and machine but one entity, lost to an endless stretch of road.

It was freedom and there wasn’t anything more beautiful than freedom.

And all that freedom had just been flushed down the shitter.

All he could feel was her arms wrapped around his middle, her hands resting just above his groin, her tight little body pressed into his, her muscular thighs locked around his hips.

From the moment Danny had climbed on behind him, he’d been hyper aware of everything about her, every slight movement, every part of her that was touching a part of him.

His heart pounded as wave after wave of heat rolled through him, blurring his vision, leaving him fairly certain he was going to run them off the road if he didn’t get his shit together.

Fuck me, she’d said.

He was ninety percent positive that had been the first time Danielle West had dropped the “f” bomb, making those two little words even hotter than they would have been without that knowledge.

Then Deuce had called and torn him a new one because he hadn’t gotten Danny back to the club yet. That’s when he decided this shit between them, whatever it was, whatever was going to happen, was going to have to wait until after lockdown, until they could be alone again…

…until her thighs clenched and her fingers began creeping down his abdomen, to the edge of his T-shirt where she paused, fingering the threadbare material.

His dick went rock solid. Probably punched a hole straight through his leathers; he was that hard.

No. No, no, no. Not now. He had to get her to the club before Deuce called again. If she kept this shit up, he was going to throw caution to the wind and be inside of her in about three seconds.

No? Who was he kidding? He was so fucked. Done for and completely fucked.