MC Chronicles: The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 2: (Motorcycle Club Romance Novel) (10 page)

Too tired to drive the Hawk all the way back to
Chicago tonight, I follow Deke in his Jeep to a nearby motel and send him into
the shithole to get us a place to crash. Exiting the small lobby, Deke holds up
the metal key and points to our door. Sliding out of the car, I trudge my tired
feet down the cracked concrete and patiently wait behind him as he unlocks the
paint chipped door.

Swinging the door wide, Deke walks across the
threshold, and I have to take in a deep breath of fresh air before I step into
the musty outdated room.

“Home sweet home,” I say, stepping into the room and
searching for a peep hole, cockroaches, or something even less pleasing. Much
to my luck, it’s fairly clean.

“That was a strange night,” Deke
comments as he tosses himself fully clothed onto his bed, and sighs.

Slipping off my shoes by the door, I
go to sit on my own bed. The stiffness of the comforter flexes unnaturally
under my weight. Gross….

“Yeah, tell me about it. I just hope
Candy Cane doesn’t tell,” I comment.

Resting back on his elbows, he shakes
his head. “I don’t think she would.”

Yeah, I guess he’s right. I don’t
think Candy Cane would ever betray me. It’s not in her blood.

Sliding up the bed, I lay on my back,
cross my ankles, and stare up at the tar stained ceiling. This hotel room must
have been a smoking room, before the laws changed, restricting people from
smoking in pretty much any establishment. You don’t hear me complaining. I hate
cigarette smoke. Cigar smoke isn’t as bad, but they all stink.

Deke’s bed creaks as he sits up in
the bed beside me. Taking off his cut, he lays it on the nightstand that
separates our beds, and unlaces his boots before setting them on the floor in
front of the battered nightstand.

“So,” he lays back onto the
comforter, mimicking my exact position. “What did the women say about Cherry
and Ginger?”

Crap, I forgot to tell him.

Turning onto my side to face him, I
prop my head up with my hand and use my other to cradle my daughter. “They said
they’d have no problem keeping an eye on the girls. Jezebel’s daughter is
almost seven so she offered to baby-sit, and Candy Cane would be the one to
actually keep them. She doesn’t have any kids herself, but I don’t think it’s
because she’s never wanted them.”

Deke stares at the ceiling, deep in
thought. “Does she work?”

“Pixie and Debbie, do. Jezebel and
Candy Cane, do not. They only help around the compound. Debbie and Dallas do
the dog thing. He trains ‘em, and she grooms and bathes ‘em. It’s kind of a tag
team thing. Pixie owns a tattoo shop that she just opened in town. Candy Cane
is Tripper’s old lady. She was the redhead in the alley tonight. She’s really
nice, and I feel like I’ve known the woman forever. Nearly half my life, at
least.”

Candy Cane would be perfect to watch
Deke’s girls. They have the room in their four-bedroom house. Knowing the
Sacred Sisters, they will furnish Deke’s house to make it a warm welcome.
That’s what we do.

I remember like it was yesterday when
Mickey moved into the compound. At first he’d been given a room at the
clubhouse, which he still has. I was younger at the time, but I was well versed
in the traditions of the club. When the time came and Big had granted Mickey a
shared house with Gypsy, the women went all out. I made cookies and helped set
up his room, and we made a huge dinner for the entire club. There’s always a
reason to celebrate around the compound, and the men never seem to tire of a
home cooked meal, booze by the truckload, and whores. It’s like those elements are
cemented into their DNA. When Deke finally moves to the compound himself, I
will make sure the girls do just the same for him, giving him a warm welcome.

Flipping onto my back, I leave Deke
to stew in his deep thoughts. He’s one helluva thinker. Closing my eyes, I
relax my body and feel the world slowly melt away.

Thursday: March 6, 2014

Life is finally returning to some semblance of normal.
It’s been nearly two weeks since I’ve settled back in at Marshall’s. Somehow he
seems freer and less stressed than I’ve ever seen him. My work is flying by,
and his work is less stressful. He’s a tax attorney, by the way. Luckily we’ve
turned over a new leaf, falling into a stress-free routine
without sex
, but things could be worse.

Last weekend we
spent a night on the town, dinner and dancing. Dinner at a well-known bistro.
Dancing at a fancy uptown club. I wore a black flowy dress that brushed the
tops of my feet, and Marshall donned his usual black suit and tie. His eyes lit
up as he realized for a fat pregnant lady I’m quite light on my feet. One of
the many talents I picked up from the brothers. Who knew bikers can actually
dance? Big and Gunz both can. They taught me, and we all taught my brothers,
Jizz and Brew. It scored big time with the ladies. Probably got those two horn
dogs laid a time or two.

Posh couples humbly
commented throughout the night how beautiful of a couple Marshall and I made
and often raved about how radiant I looked, with my glowing skin and high baby
bump. I was polite and courteous, offering all the gentlemen and ladies smiles,
even if it killed me. It wasn’t like the club my Sacred Sisters had dragged me
to. This one was classy, refined, and what I’d call, stuffy. I sipped mineral
water, and Marshall drank an entire three hundred dollar bottle of wine, as we
flitted about the room socializing with many people Marshall knew.

“So you’re the
woman who’s been keeping Marshall from staying late,” a tall, slender, regal
woman, with a flawless complexion and high cheekbones said. Her hand slid over
Marshall’s shoulder in a strange display of dominance… ownership. I could see
straight through her fake façade of pleasantries.

“Margret, this is
Eva Cummings. Eva, this is Margret Eisenhower, a colleague of mine” Marshall introduced,
gesturing his hand between us, stupidly unaware of her interest. Men are
idiots.

She fake laughed
like a school girl with a crush feigning innocence, and batted her very fake
eyelashes whilst smacking him playfully on the shoulder, “Oh, Marshall,” she
gushed, “Just colleagues, nonsense.” Her French manicured hand tightened on his
shoulder. “We’re great
friends,”
Margret spoke looking directly at me. I nodded along, politely smiling, all the
while knowing she was a complete catty bitch underneath that royal blue
designer dress. A truly backstabbing social climber, if I ever did see one. She
made my skin crawl.

They talked
business for a while, and her eyes dazzled when she spoke to him. Even though I
often found her seething in my direction out of the corner of her eye, it didn’t
bother me one bit. I kept my own fake smile until she stepped in front of me
and pressed her hand to his chest, laughing and flirting like an idiot. I knew
he was coming home with me. I didn’t worry about that in the least, but I
needed to prove a point.

Still chatting away, I moved around her and cupped my
pregnant belly, forming the taffeta dress tightly over my growing bump.

“Marshall, honey.”
I
never call him that
.” I need to use the
ladies room. Can you please keep an eye on my clutch?” I pointed to the fancy
table where it lied next to my water goblet. I could have brought it with me, but
where was the fun in that?

He immediately shut
down from talking to fake Margret and stepped up to me. Reaching out, he cupped
my cheek with his hand, as the other came down to massage my belly. “Are you
alright, darling? Do you wish to go home?”

I shook my head,
leaning into his palm that rested on my cheek with a soft heartwarming smile. A
fake
heartwarming smile.
“No, I just need to use the ladies room.”

“Is the baby okay?”
he asked, full of concern.

I faintly nodded,
“She’s great.” Raising onto my tippy toes, I kissed him briefly, but enough to
make him smile blissfully ear to ear as his cheeks flushed like a teenage boy,
madly in love.

Pulling away, he
said, “Okay, darling, I’ll watch your purse,” before rejoining his colleague to
finish some conversation I wasn’t privy to.

I caught the silent
snarl and fiery hatred burning in Margret’s squinted eyes, as I walked with an
extra bounce in my step the entire way to the ladies room. It felt fantastic,
passive aggressively proving a point. Not usually my style. But hey, a girl can
learn, can’t she? Bink, 1. Thundercunt, 0.

“Hey, Bink.” Deke strolls into the office, sporting a
sincere smile, tugging me from my musings. He’s in a good mood today.

“Hey, Boss.” Closing down the file I am working on, I
lean back in my office chair. “How’d it go?”

Dropping onto the couch, and expelling an exhausted
sigh, he throws his arm over the backrest. “Very well. Nobody cried.”

“That’s good to hear.” I nod along. Deke and Candy
Cane met up yesterday at his house so she could collect his daughters and their
belongings. Vivian, his bitch ass wife, skipped out on them, moving in with her
boyfriend a week ago. I see it as a blessing more than a curse, since she’s not
home to traumatize her children. “Makes things easier, I suppose. Have you
talked to them this morning?”

“No,” he shakes his head, frowning. “Candy Cane
texted, saying they slept through the night and ate a big breakfast this
morning. Said she’s taking them to the school today to look around and
familiarize themselves since she’s already enrolled them. They start on Monday.”

“That all sounds great. How ya holdin’ up?”

“Fine,” he shrugs and runs a hand through his messy
blonde hair. “Candy seems competent, and she’s sweet. Talked to Tripper over
the weekend to make sure he was cool with it. He sounds almost as excited as Candy
Cane about the girls moving in.”

That’s not surprising. Tripper has always been good
with kids. Shoot, I think Debbie’s sons idolize the man. Kind of like my two
brothers idolized Big Dick and Gunz growing up. It’s cute. Not the smartest of
choices in terms of who you should mold yourself into becoming, but it’s served
my brothers well. They patched in young, and both are on their way to making a
real impact in the club’s hierarchy. One of my brothers is already road
captain.

My phone buzzes on the desk for the umpteenth time for
the day. I slide it open to check the newest text.

“Marshall,” I explain to Deke, pointing to my phone.

“Ah… how’s that workin’ out?”

I hold up my index finger, indicating he give me a
moment.

Marshall: Something interesting came in the mail. See
you home in a few hours. Love you.

I don’t reply and look up to meet Deke’s curious eye.

“It’s fine,” I try to sound casual. Ever since the
night in the alley with Deke, things have been better in terms of emotions and
normalcy. The lust filled cravings though have grown to the point where I’ve
orgasmed in my sleep two nights in a row this week. I woke up soaking wet from
the naughty thoughts. Like I had said before, I’ve been having some rather
vivid and highly sexual dreamscapes. This week was no exception, and the longer
I’ve been going without fulfilling my needs, the worse and more intense they
become. My clit throbs all day, nearly every day, and I have tried numerous
times to make myself come. I even bought a vibrator, which was a waste of
money. Something, whether it be mental or physical, is blocking my ability to
achieve climax on my own. I can rev myself up to the point of peak, but I can’t
seem to jump over the cliff, so to speak. Needless to say, it fucking sucks.

“
Fine
and women sayin’ it don’t mix,” he replies.

Sliding the mouse on the desk, I ignore his comment.
“If that’ll be all Deke, I’d like to get back to my job.”

He stands, “Guess that’s my cue to leave.”

“Have a great day, boss.” I wave to him as he exits,
shutting the door in his wake. Leaving that heady tonic of cologne to permeate
my room, and feed this incessant horniness I can’t seem to shake, no matter how
hard I try. I’ve tried hot baths with candles and relaxing music. I’ve watched
movies like Saving Private Ryan, which should never turn anybody on. I’ve tried
just about everything to deter my mind from reverting back to the same basic
carnal instinct of losing myself in beautiful life shattering ecstasy. The kind
you can only achieve when a man takes control, pinning you to a wall, and eats
your pussy like it’s the best damn thing he’s ever tasted.

Fucking Christ.

I groan, scrubbing my face, staring
at this stupid computer screen. Maybe I should just call the stupid bastard.
His voice is enough to get me wet; so maybe in this state of arousal it could
push me to climax too.

No, no.
I shake my head. I can’t do that.
Replacement Bink is the one getting the hot outdoor pussy eating and the
bestial growls that can only be described as raw eroticism. It’s this dark
sinister sound that makes you inescapably drunk in this vortex of deep wanton
desire.