Page 58 of Piston

Tendrils of fear snaked through me, but I shoved them down. I was a biker's old lady, damn it. I could handle this. Piston's hand tightened on mine and I met his gaze, drawing courage from those icy blue eyes.

"Let's do this," I gritted out as the next contraction built. "Let's meet our kid."

The pressure intensified and I bore down, a guttural cry ripping from my throat. Piston leaned in close, his voice fierce with pride and love. "That's it, baby. Push! You're fucking incredible."

I lost myself in a haze of pain and determination, Piston's steady stream of encouragement my lifeline. The doctor barked orders, nurses scurried. Minutes, hours, days could've passed. All I knew was the primal need to push, to bring our child into the world.

"The head is out!" the doctor called. "One more big push, Jenny. You can do this."

Piston's lips brushed my sweaty temple. "You got this, baby. Bring our kid home."

With a final roar of effort, I bore down, every muscle straining. Then, sudden release. A cry pierced the air, strong and indignant.

"It's a girl!"

The doctor lays the tiny bundle on my chest, and the world falls away. She was perfect, from her wrinkled little face to her tiny grasping fingers. Tears streamed freely down my face as I cradled her close.

Piston's hand shook as he reached out to stroke our daughter's downy head. "Christ, Jenny," he rasped, voice thick with emotion. "Look what we made."

I tore my gaze from our baby to meet his eyes, seeing my own joy and wonder reflected back at me. "We did good, Piston. She's... she's everything."

He leaned down, pressing a reverent kiss to the baby's forehead, then captured my lips in a searing kiss that spoke of love, pride, and a fierce, unshakable bond.

A nurse approached, smiling. "Dad, would you like to cut the cord?"

Piston accepted the scissors with uncharacteristic hesitance, his tough exterior melting away as he severed the physical link between me and our child. The nurse whisked the baby away to be weighed and measured, and I ached at the separation.

"Alright, mom, let's get you cleaned up," the doctor said. "You did great."

In a haze of fatigue and elation, I barely registered the rest of the delivery process. All I wanted was my baby back in my arms.

Piston's gruff voice cut through the fog. "Look alive, beautiful. Got someone for you to meet properly."

My head cleared instantly. The room was empty, save for Piston and I. And our daughter. He transferred her carefully into my waiting arms, then perched on the edge of the bed, one arm around me, the other hand cupping the baby's head.

I drank in every detail of her precious face - the rosebud lips, the dusting of dark lashes, the button nose. She blinked open hazy blue eyes and seemed to focus on my face.

"Hey there, little one," I murmured softly. "I'm your mama. And this big guy here? That's your daddy. We love you so damn much already."

Piston's arm tightened around me, and I felt a feather-light kiss on my hair. Gone was the hardened biker, the gruff clubenforcer. In his place was a man humbled and awed by the tiny life we'd created.

Together, we sat in comfortable silence, fully absorbing the magnitude of this moment. Our family, forged in love and strengthened by the unbreakable bonds of the Iron Reapers MC, was complete.

I tore my gaze from our daughter to look at Piston. A single tear tracked down his cheek. I reached up to brush it away, my heart so full it felt fit to burst. "You ready for this wild ride, dad?"

He turned to meet my eyes, his own shining with fierce love and determination. "With you two by my side? I'm ready for anything, baby. Anything at all."

"Time to blow this joint," Piston announced, carefully lifting the baby carrier. His eyes darted around, ensuring the coast was clear as we made our way out of the hospital room.

I shuffled alongside him, my body still sore from the delivery. But the discomfort was nothing compared to the overwhelming love and protectiveness I felt for our little girl.

Piston navigated the hallways with the same precision he used when riding his bike. His free hand rested on the small of my back, guiding me forward. "Easy now, Jenn. One step at a time."

I leaned into his touch, drawing strength from his unwavering support. "I'm good, Piston. Let's get our baby girl home."

The ride back was a blur of gentle bumps and hushed whispers as Piston drove with extra care. I sat in the back, my eyes glued to the baby carrier, making sure our daughter was secure.

As we pulled up to the house, Piston killed the engine and turned to face me. "Wait here. Gonna do a quick sweep."

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