The Rampage MC #2: Beard and Emily

Epilogue (Beard): Bring It On

When an amazing, intelligent, hot-as-fuck woman who also happens to be the mother of your babies agrees to marry you, you don't waste one fucking moment getting her tied to you legally. So when Emily opened that ring box, I barely gave her time to exclaim over the three-carat, emerald-cut diamond in a platinum setting before I slid it on her finger.

"A week from this Saturday, we're getting married. On the compound."

"Beard!" she managed to protest while still admiring her ring.

"No, Em," I said, and she knew that tone and those words. They were always followed by not yet and were the same ones I used when I was edging her and she was begging me to fuck her. "I've been waiting for months. I know you already have the dress -- yeah, I know you went shopping for it last month -- so no excuses. Joy'll organize the food. I told her to be ready to go at a moment's notice, and the cake bakery is one of our MC-sponsored businesses, so they'll do whatever you want without much notice. I've had the florist on tap for months, the brothers'll build a platform for us to stand on with a what-the-fuck-ever-you-call-it to stand under, one of the brothers is a professional photographer, and another is a DJ, so it's covered. Your mother said she'd rent the chairs, tables and the tent to eat under. Wedding and reception handled."

"But, Beard --"

"No, Emily. You made me wait and I'm not waiting any more. A week from this Saturday, five o'clock."

"Really? Just laying down the law, Beard?" Hmmm. Hands on the hips weren't a good thing, I didn't think, but I could tell she'd be pissed if I texted Genny right now to verify.

"Just for this, Emily. You had your way with seeing if we could live together compatibly for four fucking months." Grabbing her hips, I pulled her toward me. "Please, Em? I need you married to me."

Sliding her hands up my chest, she gave my beard a gentle tug. Nothing like the twins' grabs that made me feel like they were going to yank my hair out by the roots. 

"OK, Beard," Em said, and then she kissed me, such a sweet kiss I couldn't imagine how I'd ever lived without that kind of intimacy before. 

I should have known she was about to figuratively nail me in the balls, but this woman never telegraphed her deviousness. "But you have to ask my dad's permission first, or I just don't feel I can marry you."

My heart sighed in happiness. Emily, my Twist, was a sneaky, badass bitch, and I was the lucky bastard who won her heart. She'd never be easy, and I'd love every fucking minute of being kept on my toes.

"And you have to wear a tux," she said, expecting me to protest. Little did she know, I'd wear fucking pleather pants and loafers if she wanted me to. The Barry Manilow T-shirt was a no-go, though. I'd hold firm on that if it came down to it.

"I'll wear a tux for the ceremony, but my cut'll be under the jacket." There. That would show her I could compromise.

"Then as soon as my dad gives you his blessing, we're good to go," Emily smirked at me. She'd marry me anyway, but she wanted to make me squirm. Probably payback for telling her to suck my dick for medical expenses, but I deserved it.

"We're good to go anyway, Em, but I'll ask him for you. He knows how bad you want me," -- she laughed at my outrageousness -- "so he can't help but say yes."

"No. Absolutely not."

I sighed internally. I'd known Fabio would give me shit when I came to ask for Emily's hand in marriage, but I hadn't expected a flat-out refusal.

"Gil, come on. I love Emily, she loves me and we have two beautiful babies together. We've been living together for the last four months. We're already practically married, and in the eyes of the MC we are since I made her my old lady."