Epilogue #3
And a man came up to the register with three five-quart jugs
of motor oil, a gallon of wiper fluid and a spray bottle of Armor All, so
Hugger went to the register to grunt his greeting, scan his shit with bad humor
and grunt his “I’m done with you, get the fuck out of here.”
All of this being precisely what Hugger did.
So the customer left, looking confused about why he’d just
paid money to have someone be ambiguously rude to him.
And that meant that, after the doors swooshed closed behind
him, Dutch started laughing.
Dutch lay on his back, staring at his woman who was
sitting on his still-hard cock.
Uncontrollably laughing.
He loved her laugh.
He loved she was doing it wearing nothing but the earrings
in her ears that were interlocking CCs with dangly bits coming down that had
little pearls on them. Earrings she’d barely looked at before she was pulling
the ones she had in her ears out to switch them with the ones in box.
He loved that they’d had a great dinner where he got to
stare at her looking gorgeous and happy while they cuddled together in one side
of a booth, neither of them giving that first shit what anyone thought about
them being that far into each other.
And he loved that he’d just watched her ride him until she
came, then kept watching her ride him until he did.
What he didn’t love was, after she gave them that, she’d
leaned down while he was still thrusting the last jets into her, and said in
his ear, “My new source in the DPD said Jackson got canned today for sexual
harassment. You wouldn’t have had anything to do with that, would you, honey?”
Which of course made him clamp her on either side of the
head, force her to look at him, and the only thing he could manage in that
moment was to force out, “Georgie, the fuck?”
Which took them to now.
Georgie having pushed up and she was sitting on his dick,
busting a gut.
Her laughter dwindled and he waited until she was simply
smiling down at him.
Hugely.
“You done?” he asked irritably.
Then it came over her.
With a new look on her face, she bent slightly toward him
and ran her fingers along his cheekbone, down his jaw, along his throat, and
ended this journey with her palm pressed over his heart.
He waited.
He waited for her to say what was shining in her face.
He waited for her to repeat what she’d said earlier that
day.
So he could repeat it.
And they could stamp it clear, right there, in their bed,
between them.
Forever.
And she did say it.
Absolutely.
She just didn’t use the usual words.
Instead, she whispered…
“Cute.”
And right on cue, after she said that, Murtagh jumped on the
bed.
“Mwrrrow,” he called his
“are you done?”
Dutch framed Georgie’s face in his hands, her hair pressed
against his flesh, and he smiled up at his girl.
She smiled back.
And it was stamped clear, right there, in their bed.
Forever.
Georgie slid him out and then melted into his side.
Dutch wrapped an arm around her and reached the other out to
their cat.
Murtagh settled in, ass to bed, body draped over Dutch’s
side, resting into his paws on Dutch’s abs, Dutch scratching his booty, Georgie
scratching his head.
And all was right in the world.
Meanwhile
Meanwhile…
As Dutch slept with Murtagh on his
pillow…
Georgiana slid carefully out of bed.
She went to the bathroom, grabbed her robe off the hook on
the back of the door and shrugged it on.
She then moved out of the room and down the hall to the
mudroom.
They’d had their minds on other things, so they’d put their
anniversary gifts on the counter in the mudroom to deal with later.
She went to them now.
She ignored the Chanel bag that held the box and ribbon and
camellia flower with her discarded pair of non-Chanel earrings.
And she threw open the top of the box that Dutch had opened
at dinner.
What he’d discovered inside caused him to instigate a makeout session that she had to admit might have bordered
on obscene.
But from where she was sitting, it was all kinds of awesome.
She nabbed what was inside and walked back to the bedroom.
She set it up on the nightstand on Dutch’s side of the bed.
Then she went back to the bathroom, took off her robe, put
on her nightie, and moved back to the bed.
She should have known.
She should have known she couldn’t leave him without his
knowing.
And he knew.
All of it.
He demonstrated this by gathering her in his arms,
front-to-front, and murmuring, “You couldn’t even wait the night.”
“Is it okay?” she asked, a little worried.
He bent and kissed the tip of her nose in the dark.
“It’s perfect, baby. Absolutely perfect.”
She settled into him.
She then settled into sleep.
Eventually, he rolled to his belly like he always did.
And she woke enough to adjust to fitting herself to his
back.
But this time, catching it in her periphery, she woke a
little more.
And in the moonlight, on his nightstand, she saw the double
frame.
The left side contained the picture of Graham Black tossing
his beloved firstborn son up in the air, the toddler beaming down at him.
The right side held a photo of Shepherd Ironside and Dutch
Black both leaning into beers over the bar in the Chaos Compound, their heads
turned right, their eyes aimed at Georgiana, who stood at the end of the bar
holding her phone trained on them.
Georgiana loved both those pictures, but she had to admit,
she liked the one on the right the best.
Because Dutch had a particular look on his face in that
photo.
And it was beautiful.
Dutch
“Stupid snow,” Georgie groused to the side window of
his truck.
“Babe,” he replied, amused.
“At this rate, I’m not gonna ride
on the back of your bike with you for maybe, I don’t know, forever.”
He loved she wanted on the back of his bike.
He was not a fan of the fact it had been either cold, or
snowing, since they met so he could not put her ass there.
Mostly, he loved how this had become an obsession of hers
after he told her how his father had never put another woman’s ass on his bike
except his mother’s.
Graham Black waited until he found the right one. And when
he found her, she was the only one who rode there.
And Dutch could not tell Georgie he’d never had a woman on
the back of his bike, because he did not know this story until after he’d done
that.
But since he’d learned it, he’d ridden solo.
Though he told her, the minute that option was open, her ass
was there.
And the obsession began.
Through these thoughts, he laughed then he said, “I think
you’re being dramatic.”
“Whatever,” she muttered.
“It’s Christmas Eve. We’re gonna
have a white Christmas.”
“Whatever.”
“And Wilder loves snow.”
She made a huh noise.
She adored his baby brother.
So he knew that’d get her.
And it did, since she quit bitching.
Her adoration for his brother was further proved when he
parked next to Jag’s truck in his ma and Hound’s driveway.
And she wasted no time grabbing one of the bags of their
presents (they had three, two of them filled with shit for Wilder, and that was
enough proof right there, but it didn’t end there), this as well as the bag
stacked with three tins of Christmas cookies she made.
And she hightailed her sweet ass to the front door.
It was open before they got there.
By Jag.
“Please, fuck, tell me you brought some of those butter
cookies,” he said as greeting.
“Jagger Black!” his mother could be heard shouting from
inside. “Watch your mouth around your little brother.”
Grinning unrepentantly, Jagger stepped aside to let them in,
divesting Georgie of all she was carrying, even if she tried to protest.
Though, one of the tins held her butter cookies, because she knew how much Jag
liked them, and Jagger probably knew that.
Jag getting her hands free was a good call.
“Georgie!” Wilder squealed as he raced into the
room.
He hit her so hard, if Dutch didn’t put a hand to the small
of her back, she’d have gone down.
“Yo, bro,” she greeted, her hands
smoothing back his messy dark blond hair.
He tipped his head back. “It’s Christmas Eve! Santa’s
coming!”
“He sure is,” Georgie agreed.
And he sure was, because there was another bag of presents,
not only for Wilder, in the truck. Presents Dutch had been forced to promise he
wouldn’t bring in that he was going to go back out and get when the time came.
Presents that were from “Santa.”
He’d informed her the adults knew there was no Santa Claus.
She’d replied, “Santa only dies if you let him, and file
this away, bad boy, I am never, ever gonna
let Santa die.”
Since she was so cute saying that, Dutch didn’t push it any
further, not even to tease her.
“C’mon.” Wilder grunted as he pulled at her hand. “Daddy and
me are wrappin’ Momma’s gift and you gotta help ’cause Daddy sucks
at it.”
“Boy,” Hound warned from the mouth of the hall.
“You do. You suck at it, Daddy,” Wilder declared.
“You’re right, son, I do,” Hound agreed. “I’m not talkin’ about that. I’m talkin’
about the words you’re usin’.”
“Well, how do you say someone sucks at something when they
really, really suck at it?” Wilder demanded to know…loudly.
“If you two don’t give me granddaughters…I…will lose…my
effing…mind,” Keely, standing in the door to the kitchen, declared
Georgie and Dutch’s way.
“Momma said effing!” Wilder screamed with glee.
His baby brother was his usual hilarious.
But Dutch was thrown.
It wasn’t that Keely had not accepted Georgie. She had. From
that first night.
It was that she’d been holding back.
Maybe because of how Carolyn did Jag dirty.
Maybe because she sensed Dutch was going through some shit.
Maybe it was just a Ma Thing.
But this was the first indication she’d given that she was
all in.
“I hate to tell you this, Wilder, but I’m not too hot at
wrapping presents either,” Georgie admitted.
“I bet you’re better at it than Daddy,” Wilder shot back.
Probably couldn’t argue that.
And Georgie didn’t.
Giving Dutch a look, she let herself be led away.