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

Marshall is
Brittany’s dad. After I had settled into the apartment, it was painfully
obvious that Marshall’s constant visits had nothing to do with his daughter and
everything to do with me. At first it was simple visits where he’d drop off
doughnuts, but there were always more than enough for Brittany and me. That
would always lead to casual conversations where he would ask if I’d found a job,
and how I liked Chicago. Then it turned into him inviting me along with him and
Brittany for deep-dish pizza once a week. This progressed over an entire month.

Until….one stormy
night…. Isn’t that how all good stories go? Well… this one is no different.

The power had gone
out, and the entire block was pitch black. Brittany and I had a single candle
burning in the living room, as we cuddled up with blankets, talking nonsense,
when a knock sounded at the door. I threw my blankets off my queasy stomach and
padded to the door. I had been sick for nearly a week now, throwing up
constantly, but I didn’t have the money to go to the doctor. I was pretty sure
it was just the flu. I’d been through worse.

“Who’s there?” I
called to the visitor.

“The Boogeyman,” his
deep grumbly voice replied. I smiled, holding back my impending chuckle with my
hand.

“Oh no, Mr.
Boogeyman, I don’t think we should let you in. We’re two innocent girls in
here, and we don’t like scary monsters,” I mocked seriousness, as I heard Brit
giggle from the couch.

“I’m not a scary
Boogeyman. I come bearing gifts.”

My smile grew
wider. “Really? What kind of gifts would those be?” On the inside I wanted to
ask if he had a hard cock, or a motorcycle ride as my gift, but that was the
old Bink and they didn’t even know that name. Everyone in my new life calls me
Eva. Or, for the most part they do.

Instead I added, “I don’t want any Frankincense or Myrrh, if
that’s what you’re packin’.”

He chuckled deep and sensuously. It had been far too long since
I’d had a man amuse me like him. “Eva, open the door, please. I promise you and
Brit will love what I’ve brought.”

I melted at Marshall’s sweet voice and opened the door. On
the other side he stood, wearing the cutest Tasmanian devil pajama pants and a
Chicago Bears t-shirt underneath a black, unzipped hoody. It was the very first
time I’d ever seen Marshall out of business clothes, like his typical suits or
Docker pants and a button down. Something about the pajama pants was hot and made
me smile.

“Do you like?” He winked, twirling around in the hall,
holding his lantern clutched in one hand, and a deep-dish pizza in the other.

I giggled like a damn girl and waved him in. “Yes, now come
in, Boogeyman. We could use some company.” Stepping back, I let him pass and
shut and locked the door once he entered. We all sat around the living room
eating our pizza straight from the box, on napkins I’d fetched from the
darkened kitchen, as Marshall asked Brit about her classes.

“They’re fine, Dad,” she sighed, annoyed. I’ve come to learn
that Brit hates her dad’s constant interest in her school. I know it comes from
a good place though. He’s a great father to her. Brit’s mom, Marshall’s
ex-wife, had moved away and sort of disappeared from Brit’s life when she was
twelve. Marshall had raised her with the help of his mother since then. That’s
why he’s so close to her, and his mother too. She cared for Brit when Marshall
put in long hours at the office. He’s a lawyer, by the way, a partner at a
prestigious law firm here in Chicago.

“You know, Brit, if you ever need any help, I’m here.” I
offered, trying to take some of the heat off her. I knew there were a couple
classes, math in particular, she hated. It wasn’t difficult work; it was the
teacher that she despised.

“Darling, hey, darling,” Marshall
says, tearing me from my memories, and entering into our bedroom with towel
secured around his waist, and a bright smile directed at me.

“Oh, sorry,” I playfully wink. “I heard
you. I will talk to Raoul, but you know what will happen when I do.”

Marshall rolls his butterscotch eyes
and flashes me a crooked smirk. “Yeah, yeah, I know, Darling, I know. Looks
like Raoul and I will probably have to have another man to man chat.”

“Oh yeah? What is the big bad lawyer
going to tell our doorman?”

Without a word, Marshall stalks powerfully towards me.
His towel drops away, revealing his semi-hard cock. I bit my lip watching it
swing until he stops directly in front of me, and bends down, capturing my lips
in a searing kiss. Pushing me back onto the bed, Marshall opens my legs and
crawls up between them. His cock, now hard, rubs me through my pants, as my
nipples harden. Grabbing hold of my hands, he threads his fingers through mine
and balances himself above me, as he pushes our intertwined fingers into the
mattress. Deliciously bucking his hips and grinding his cock to my core, forces
a wanton moan to rattle in my throat.

Thrusting my breasts upward and brushing them against
his bare chest, Marshall groans breaking our kiss, leaving me breathless. “I
will tell Raoul that this beautiful woman that I love is Eva, and she is off
limits to anyone except me,” he states looking directly into my eyes, using his
lawyer tone that makes me wet. Leaning back onto his knees, he knowingly grins
at me.

“You’re excited aren’t you, Darling?”
he taunts. “Sorry, but I have to get to the office, and you’re almost late for
work. I will make love to you later.”

With a quick peck on the lips, Marshall climbs off the
bed and heads straight to his closet, leaving me needy for his cock. I’m always
needy for it. I’m utterly insatiable, and he isn’t equipped to handle a woman
like me. I know this, he knows this, but he tries nonetheless.

Men in the club that I grew up in,
fuck like rabbits. That’s where we are similar. Marshall is, well, he’s
vanilla. Sweet, caring, careful, attentive, pleasing— yes, he’s all those
things. A man who would just fuck me to fuck me is never going to happen. Doggy
style, slapping my ass, eating my pussy—more things that will never happen with
him. He’s too precise with his pleasure giving skills. The man can kiss though.
He’s one helluva kisser. But the rest is just plain old everyday, boring
vanilla. I enjoy it, don’t get me wrong, but every now and again I want
chocolate, strawberry, or nuts. You know what I mean.

I sit up in our bed just in time to
see him reemerge from the closet in a black suit, charcoal grey tie, and the
black onyx cufflinks that I bought him for Christmas.

“I can’t sue your work if you’re
fired for being late,
Eva
,”
Marshall teases with a gentle smile, blowing me as kiss as he walks back into
the bathroom to fix his hair.

I slide off the bed and go to stand
in the doorway of the bathroom, my hip leaning on the frame. “I know, but the
men don’t care if I’m late. You know this.”

“Do you want to gel my hair today?”
he asks, watching me watching him, through the mirror above our marble vanity,
completely ignoring my comment.

“No, I like watching you do it though.”

Truth be known, I really like
Marshall. He’s a perfect gentleman, even if he is a bit controlling. That’s
something I am quite accustomed to. Fortunately he isn’t a cheater, and he
takes care of me, loves me, and he would never raise his voice or a hand to me.
Plus, the man is sexy as hell… in a clean cut, no hair out of place, toned, not
ripped sort of way. Marshall is five foot ten and full of lean muscle, since he
runs on our treadmill at home every morning. He has shorter black hair, peppered
with grey that he styles with gel. Marshall reminds me of a slightly matured GQ
model, very easy on the eyes and the heart.

And no, in case you’re wondering, I’m
not in love with him. He knows as much. We’ve discussed it a hundred times
over. It only took the man three weeks after we started seeing each other to
drop the ‘L’ word into my lap. Sadly, I don’t feel the same, and I feel
insanely wracked with guilt all the time for not opening my heart to him.
Marshall’s a good man, a great man, but he’s a man who could never understand
me for me. He knows little to nothing of my past or my upbringing. The man
doesn’t even know that I’ve been called Bink my entire life, or where I
actually work every day.

“You okay?” Marshall asks, tugging me
from my thoughts again.

I nod, smiling sweetly to him. “Yes,
I’m fine.”

Marshall finishes his hair, and I
follow him out of the bathroom as we both go to gather our workbags and coats
from the kitchen, before we lock up our apartment and take the elevator, where
we ride in silence to the bottom floor.

Out front, Raoul hails Marshall a
cab, and I kiss him goodbye, waving to him from the curb before I convey the
message about the package to be delivered from Marshall’s mother.

Marshall and Raoul don’t much care
for each other since I moved in with him part time. Raoul is a young, handsome,
Latino man, who spends too much time ogling my tits every time I see him. So
I’ve taken the liberty to handle all correspondence with Raoul myself, since
Marshall has claimed he is at his wits end with the man, and is seriously
considering filing a lawsuit against our apartment building for Raoul’s sexual
candor. In other words, Marshall wants to have a pissing contest because
someone else is looking at my tits. If only he knew how much they are drooled
over at work.
That
would surely
cause an uproar.

“Hey, Bink,” Jones waves as I enter
in through the squeaky side door.

“Fifteen minutes late, Cummings. In
my office, now!” Larry gruffly orders with a snicker, picking his teeth with
his ever-present toothpick.

“Fuck off, Larry. How many times I
gotta tell ya, I won’t bend over the desk for ya to spank my ass, you sick
fuck.” I wink at him with a dirty smile and stick out my tongue, as I walk into
my office and leave the door open.

“That tongue’s for lapping my balls,
honey,” Larry retorts loudly from the shop.

I chuckle, “Listen you sick, old
fuck. Pretty sure those balls are too old to lick, bet they’re shriveled up
raisins by now.”

Dropping my work sack on the old
dingy sofa, I pull out my real clothes for the day and listen to the men in the
shop teasing Old Larry, as I kick off those prissy kitten heels and black dress
pants, to slide on something more comfortable, like a pair of my favorite holey
jeans and combat boots. My stupid shirt is last to come off, and Deke enters
the room, clearing his throat as he watches me tug on my black oversized Harley
tee.

“Feel better?” He eyes me
appreciatively with a naughty half grin.

“Which part, boss? The one where I
put Old Larry in his place? Or changed out of those hideous clothes?”

He shrugs his cut clad shoulders,
“Both I suppose.”

Yes, my boss, whose name is Deke,
happens to be a biker. A Sacred Sinners nomad to be exact. Deke owns this
vintage car and bike restoration shop on the outskirts of Chicago. I found out
about it and the job opening when Pixie called to tell me Axel’s old buddy Deke
ran a shop round here, and he’d called in a favor. Then one thing led to
another, and I got the job. It’s one helluva ride to and from work Monday
through Friday, but it’s the best job I’ve ever had. I get to run the legal
books for a shop that restores and customizes bikes and cars. What’s not to
love for a vintage car whore like myself? Plus, my boss is a S.S. member with
an old lady and two kids. The shop’s kind of dingy but I love the homey feel it
provides, which keeps me from becoming homesick most of the time.

Five guys besides Deke work here.
They’re all kind of a close-knit crew. Larry is the oldest man here at sixty,
and he happens to be my favorite, besides Deke, that is. Larry’s an old, thin
as a rail, harmless pervert, with the heart of gold and the funniest sense of
humor. Deke’s sort of a cross between a hardcore biker and a golden retriever.
He’s hard and shaggy, but he’s a hugger, unbelievably sweet, and adorable as
hell. Where Big is this huge, thick motherfucker, Deke is a lean, tall, toned
man, with bright blonde hair, lighter than mine, and the greenest eyes I’ve
ever beheld. He’s four years older than me, and his wife Vivian is my age. Who
just so happens to be a complete raving bitch, and kind of reminds me of my
mother and Linda in a lot of ways. Not sure why Deke’s married to a woman who
is so awful, but I don’t ask, as it’s none of my business. I just listen to him
when he needs someone to vent to, and the fact he’s standing here in my office
looking a bit haggard suggests this is one of those times.

“Can I help ya, boss?” I raise a
brow, rounding the lip of my shabby metal desk to sit in my office chair.

“Yeah.” He shuts the door, and lifts
my bag from the couch. Setting it on the floor before he plops down on the
overly worn cushions that squeak in anger under his weight. Leaning forward,
his elbows meet his knees, and his hands thread into his shaggy blonde locks.
This tells me something big is on his mind.