MC Chronicles: The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 2: (Motorcycle Club Romance Novel) (22 page)

“Yes, you can.” Scooting up onto my
mattress, I spread my legs and lift my dress to expose my glistening pussy to
him. He stops, takes a good long look, growls, licks his kissable lips, and
returns to pacing.

Guess this is harder than I thought.

“Come on, Big. You said you want it.
Come and take it. I’m wet for you,” I seductively mutter.

He stops pacing, turns, and rakes his
gaze down my body. I shiver at the intensity of his blazing ice-blue eyes.
“No!” he huskily shouts, his eyes zeroing in on the slick folds of my pink
heat. I bite my lip with anticipation, arching my back.

Will he ravage me? Dear God I hope
so. Come on Big, you can do it.

He blinks rapidly like he isn’t sure
if this is real or a dream.

“No!” his voice weakens and waivers,
breathing labored. He wants this as much as I do. I can see it in his desire
filled eyes, his cock rock-hard in his jeans, the way his hands twitch at his
sides, and his mouth quivers, wanting to feast on what I’ve decided is his
favorite place on my body—my pussy. I am offering it up on a platter. I am
tired of being alone, not being pleased like my body needs. I know he is the
perfect man to supply me with all that I long for— carnal satiation of the
hottest variety.

He stares at my plump folds that I
feel puff more under his watchful eye, like an animal putting on its best show
to entice its mate. I’m enticing mine, and I want him. No, I
need
him to take the bait.

“No,” his voice softly croaks, his
resolve fading fast.

Reaching between my legs, I slide a
finger between my lips to open up the treasures inside. He groans, flicking his
eyes from my pussy to my face and back again. This is the hottest thing I’ve
ever done for a man. Swirling my own finger around the hardened bud of my clit,
I whimper with pleasure.

“I need you,” I huskily whisper. My
body is burning with red-hot fire of lust and love and need for him and him
alone.

“I can’t,” he shivers, and I watch
the next few seconds in slow motion. Big gives my pussy and entire body one
long glance, slumps his shoulders in defeat, and turns on his heel, opening my
bedroom door. I open my mouth to protest; nothing comes out but a faint croak.

He sidelong glances at me one more
time, his body half out the door. Big’s eyes droop into heart wrenching
sadness, which makes my mouth go dry. And he expels a deep breath as my door
comes to a full close.

No!

Why is he leaving me like this? I
know he wants it too. I know I wasn’t imaging his desire, was I? I’m not that
far gone, am I? That I would picture any man lusting after me like I know he
was. Was that real? That didn’t just happen? How did he walk out?

Throwing my head back into my
mattress, I tug my dress down over my knees, and pound the bed on either side
of my body with my fists. Son of a bitch!

Trying to catch my breath, I don’t
even realize how worked up I am until I become lightheaded from breathing too
hard. Swallowing down my Sahara dry throat, I close my eyes and wish the last
ten minutes away. I opened myself up to him, and he walked out on me. Since
being with Marshall, I’ve been well versed in being rejected, and I’ve hardened
myself to the painful reality that my boyfriend doesn’t want to sleep with me.
Now the only man on the face of the earth that I truly want in all ways doesn’t
want me. Shit, that hurts. It feels like an elephant is crushing my heart.

Reaching up, I rub my chest.

A knock sounds at my door, and I
don’t get a chance to ask who it is before the person invites himself inside.
Opening my eyes, I turn my head to see Marshall.

“Hello darling, Big said you needed
me?” he steps into the room, slowly making his way over to sit on the edge of
the bed. “You okay?” he reaches out, running a tender finger down the length of
my arm.

I want to yank away and to tell him
to leave me the fuck alone. How is he all of a sudden so concerned about me? He
didn’t want a fucking thing to do with me all damn day. I’m mad at him.

No… No…Bink…you just got your pussy licked by the club
president. You don’t have the right to be angry.
You just cheated on your nice, normal boyfriend who
has endured your biker family. He’s here to comfort you, like he always does,
my
conscience reprimands.

Guilt doesn’t seem to set in. I don’t
feel an ounce of guilt over what Big and I just did. I’m heartbroken he
walked out on me and sought out Marshall to come to my room instead. Presumably
to take care of my sexual appetite. However, I’m not mad at myself from what
else transpired. Not one iota. I can’t quite wrap my head around if I should be
fuming that he sent Marshall, my boyfriend, in to feed my insatiability, or if
I should be happy that he was that considerate. Or maybe I should be even more
destroyed because he only went to Marshall because he had no desire to fulfill
my needs himself. My heart and brain can’t come to a conclusion on that one
quite yet. I can tell you one thing for sure, I am
not
even attempting to have sex with Marshall. I will be
turned down and my fragile mental state can’t take another jab. And there is no
way Marshall could service me like I need to be serviced anyhow. No offense to
him, but he’s too vanilla and I don’t need vanilla. I need wild dangerous no
holds barred sex, not careful calculated love-making. That’s for romantics
anyhow. I am not a romantic in the slightest, at least not in the traditional
sense.

“What do you need?” Marshall asks, in
his buttery-soft loving tone. Dunno why, but right now it’s giving me the
willies. I suppress a creepy shiver and flip into my side, away from him.

“I’m fine. Dunno why Big sent you.
I’m good. You should go back out there, and hang with those imposters.”

“Those what?”

Me and my big mouth.

“Sorry, I meant my mother and sisters,” I try to recover, holding my tone neutral.

“You said imposters.”

“I didn’t mean it. You can leave.
It’s okay.”

“I really like your mom and sisters.”

“You don’t say?” I can’t hold back my
sarcasm now. He doesn’t just like them. He
really
likes them. That’s even worse. “And how do you feel about the rest
of my family?”

“Which ones?” he asks, continuing to
rub my arm affectionately.

“The ones who have colors on their
backs, steeled toed boots on their feet, and carry guns,” I inform.

“Your brothers both seem nice. Big
Dick, other than his eccentric name, seems agreeable.”

Agreeable? I internally scoff at the
thought. Nobody in his right mind would describe Big as agreeable. Brutish?
Decisive? Protective? Yes those fit him to a T. Agreeable? No. Not even close.

Marshall continues, “Gunz, I can’t
say I am a fan of him. He’s too,” he pauses trying to come up with a word, “
intense
.”

“That would be Gunz,” I admit.
Big too
.

“Most of them seem satisfactory. I
guess I’m just not cut out for this type of social interaction,” Marshall
admits.

“You mean alcohol, nudity, and
impropriety?” I’m speaking his aristocratic language now. What I wanted to say
was -- you mean horny drunk bikers who treat fuckin’, drinkin’, and sayin’ the
word fuck as a sport? That’s a little too imaginative for Marshall’s fancy
vocabulary to digest without making him squeamish.

“That would be correct.”

My eyes flutter as they roll into the
back of my head, steeped with agitation. Why did he have to come? And why did I
have to
come
in Big’s mouth? Too
many whys. I’ve had enough thinking for tonight. This is my brother’s wedding
reception, and I have to treat it as such. I am going to put on my big girl
panties back on and power through the rest of the night until tomorrow when
Marshall and I ride on outta here in sleek German style. Just that thought has
a wave of dread crashing through me.

“I think it’s time to rejoin the
party,” I dampen my lips and push myself to sit on the bed. “You go ahead and
spend more time with my family that you won’t see much of.”

“They are coming to visit in a couple
of weekends. I invited them to the city,” he says.

“You what?” I try to remain calm and
take in a deep cleansing breath, “Never mind.” I shake my head back and forth,
tossing the impending visit from my mind before I go bat shit crazy.

“We will deal with that later.”
Waving the notion off with my hand, I scoot off the edge of the bed to head
toward the bathroom to use the facilities, freshen up, and throw on a clean
pair of panties. Since my other ones are too noticeable if I grab them, as well
as too damp from my arousal. I’ll toss them into my dirty laundry bag later on.

“See you later,” I shuffle across the
floor and into the bathroom. I shut and lock the door from possible intruders.
Using the facilities, I finish and wash my hands. Staring at myself in the
mirror, I look like I’ve just fucked. My hair is a disaster, lips red and
swollen from biting them in ecstasy. My cheeks are even rosy, as my eyes
glisten from carnal satisfaction. I’m positively glowing and look a hundred
times better now than I have in weeks. Wow, it’s amazing what a singular
earth-shattering climax can do to you not only internally but externally.
Thank you, Big.

Reaching into my makeup bag that’s
resting on the counter, I reapply some clear gloss and powder my face to buff
the sheen away. Dropping the compact into the bag, I delve my fingers into my
hair and toss it around, giving it an even more spastic, just-fucked
appearance. I’m too lazy to purposefully make it look messy-composed. Since Big
sent Marshall into the bedroom to service me, I want him to think he did just
that. Killing two birds with one stone. Lastly, I dig into my suitcase on the
floor, find a pair of sexy red lace panties, and glide them on, over my shoes,
up my calves and thighs, to secure them over my girl bits.

Finished, I shake out my nerves, flip
the lock, and open the bathroom door. Marshall is patiently waiting for me on
the other side. I go to open my mouth and argue that he didn’t have to stay,
but the loving smile and offered elbow tells me he wanted to be there for me.
Alright, maybe I’m not as mad at him anymore. He is sweet, after all.

I accept his arm, threading mine
through, as he pulls the bedroom door open, and we both emerge from the bedroom
into the hallway arm in arm. Escorting me down the hall, we pass a few brothers
and their dates along the way. Entering into the common room, I get an eyeful
of bikers, bikers, and more bikers. They are in the full swing of the party
scene. Some people are standing around conversing in groups, throwing their
heads back in amusement, laughing loudly, and drinking like fishes. Others are
seated and doing the same from the confines of their chairs. The music isn’t
blaring as loudly as it usually is on a party night. A DJ has set up where the
buffet table previously was. They must have broken it down while I was
preoccupied with Big. The bride and groom have returned and are seated with
some of the brothers; the people at my table haven’t moved an inch. Big is
seated next to Marylou, his arm thrown over the back of her chair, like nothing
between us ever happened. Pixie has pulled up a chair to the table, and so has
Mickey.

“Where do you want to sit?” I ask
Marshall.

“Where do you think?”

I glance over to see him scanning the
room and stopping as his eyes lock on the table that my mother and sisters are
still occupying. My father still hasn’t joined them. Now that I think about it,
I’ve barely seen him today, and I’ve yet to see him and Lindy Sue interact.
Something is very off about that.

“You can go sit with them,” I jerk a
nod in their direction, and he exhales a sigh of relief. I release his arm.

“Thank you,” he mutters, kissing my
cheek. Then off he goes bobbing and weaving through the throng of leather to
rejoin those despicable human beings. Following his example, I make my way
through the crowd as they part ways for me to find my seat which remains
untouched at the far side of the round table, directly across from Big.

“There she is,” Deke raises his hands
in the air with drunken gusto.

“Here I am,” I reply dryly, pulling
out my chair and dropping into his with an exhausted huff. I could already use
a nap and right now. I am not only tired, I am jonesing for some sugary
goodness. Harley needs a sugar high.

Leaning over to Jezebel, I whisper, “Are there any
sweets ‘round here?”

She leans in too, her acidic beer breath blasting me
in the face. I hold my breath. “I think so,” she slurs. “There should be some
cake left in the kitchen. They cleared out quickly for the DJ to set up.”

“Okay, thanks.” I scoot my chair back and place my
hand on the edge of the table to push up. A raucous growl interrupts my
movement as Big penetratingly glares at me with broad questioning eyes from
across the way, ignoring his girlfriend and the conversations swarming around
us.

“Where are you going?” he demands a little too
possessively that his girlfriend, the dunce, finally takes notice. From the
scrunched up expression, I think a light bulb might have just clicked on in her
head. It’s about damn time.

Controlling my reaction, I show no signs of his
outburst affecting me. “I’m hungry,” I state, pushing up the rest of the way to
stand. “I’m going to go to the kitchen to see if they have any cake.”

Big shoots up from his chair so quickly that I’m
stunned it doesn’t topple backwards. “No, I’ll go,” he doesn’t offer, he
commands roughly. His voice taking on its stringent inhuman air. He’s
transforming into this ferocious beast like state in front of my very eyes. But
why? I didn’t do anything to warrant this. His emotions have been an unbridled
jumble since we first started talking. It’s like he can’t seem to control them
at all. Big with no restraint in a room this large with this many people scares
the shit out of me. I’ve seen him go off the reservation a few times, not with
this many people around though. To avoid a blowout, if I do snap back at him, I
decide to stamp down any cocky retort I wish to impart that would go something
like, ‘
Fuck off, bossy assbag,’
and muster up a compromise.