Unbeautifully (Undeniable, #2)(62)

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, f*ck…I’m gonna f*ck you so hard…you’re gonna scream, baby…

I want that *, baby, gimme that beautiful f*ckin’ *.

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 f*ck was she doing in his room, in his bathroom, in his motherf*cking shower?

Was she in there with Z? Fucking f*ck, 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 f*cking in his shower?

Was this a f*cking 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 f*cking 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 f*cking.

He could both see and feel…f*ck, he could taste the rage radiating off her. Yeah, well, f*ck her, he was motherf*cking pissed off too.

It was frantic, desperate, thoughtless f*cking. 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 f*cking teeth out.