MC Chronicles: The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 2: (Motorcycle Club Romance Novel) (24 page)

“But somebody in this room, by the
name of Gunz, decided he didn’t think Bink, or little Evie, which is what we
called her at the time, should have her binkies taken away. So he kept buyin’
her new ones and stashin’ ‘em for her in the most random of fuckin’ spots.
Turned into a big joke. Pissed the cunt off, and Steel was gone a shit ton on
runs. That’s why she ended up at the clubhouse a lot. We’d usually find her
roamin’ around the compound by her lonesome or sometimes with Brew. She’d sneak
out and one of us would catch her, and she’d always be suckin’ on a damn binky,
hiding behind a bush, in the garden, by the dog kennels—somewhere. After a few
months of this, Lindy Sue stopped tryin’ to find her. Cunt of the year,” he
rolls his eyes. “And little Evie decided to park in her new favorite hidin’
spot— under my back porch with this mean old tomcat.”

“I remember him,” I nearly shout,
becoming submerged into his story. “He was ugly and orange, and I named him
Fuzzy.”

“That was him,” Big affirms winking at me, grin still present. “Fuzzy, the tomcat, was a mean old bastard. When little Evie would hide under my porch, that stupid fuckin’ cat would be curled up in her lap, and she’d be petting the fucker like he was the most docile creature alive, and in her mouth would be a damn binky. I’d try to get her out, but that meanest bastard of a cat would scratch and hiss at me. I’d hiss right back and try to convince Evie to climb out, so I didn’t hurt her kitty.”

I don’t remember any of this. I was
too young. I just remember Fuzzy because he lived forever, and I was the only
person on the compound he warmed up to. Now I know why. If I was Fuzzy, I
wouldn’t have warmed up to Big either.

“This one time, after probably the
sixth or seventh time I’d caught her under the porch with Fuzzy, she refused to
come out, and it had just started to rain. I hated that cat, I wanted him dead,
but I couldn’t kill him cause of Bink. So I left her and found Brew bouncin’ a
basketball in front of my house; he was headed home because it’d just started
to downpour. I ordered him to grab some of the brothers from the clubhouse to
help me. Gunz and a few of the other brothers showed up. Five of us in all.
Each of us got down on our damned hands and knees in the rain, getting our
jeans muddy, to get her safely away from that crazy cat and inside before she
got sick.”

“What happened next?” Marylou asks
excitedly, riveted by the story like the rest of us.

He turns his head to gaze upon her,
“I took her into my house, washed her up, let her keep the binky, and had her
wear one of my black t-shirts, which was like a giant, extra-long dress on
her.”

Aww! I wish I would have known this
story sooner. This is the sweetest thing ever! I think I just melted into
another puddle of sappy pink goo, along with all the other women at the table
eating up Big’s loveable story with dreamy, star filled eyes.

He continues, “I carried her into my bedroom, covered her up with a blanket, and laid down next to her tiny little body. I had church and a bunch of other shit to do, but she needed me. When I pulled the binky from her mouth tryin’ to get her to talk to me instead of sucking on that fuckin’ thing, she whined for a minute until I shoved it into my mouth. ‘My bink’ I said, play suckin’ on her binky. She tugged it from my mouth, sucking it back into hers, blubberin’ ‘my bink,’ We did this back and forth, laughin’ each time until she grew sleepy and passed the hell out, as I combed my fingers through her tiny blonde curls.”

‘Aww’
all of us women sigh, our wombs
collectively clenching with motherly need. Or mine is at least.

“So how’d she get her name?” Marylou
asks, knowing that he hasn’t divulged the full story yet. I’m excited to find
out myself.

“That night started a ritual.” Big
smiles adoringly at me, and the butterflies make a brief appearance. “When I
was home, not on a run, she’d hide under the back porch for me to find her.
Instead of fightin’ to come out and leave Fuzzy, she’d crawl out to me. I’d let
her take a bathin’ suit swim in my claw foot tub with lots of bubbles, and we’d
lay in bed, playin’ share the binky game, watchin’ cartoons, or readin’ a
story. Eventually, after ‘bout a month of this, I started grabbin’ her instead
of the binky and saying she was
‘my Bink,’
and I’d pretend to suck on the top of her hair like I did her binky. A week or
two later, she gave up the binky because she just wanted me,
her Big
, to get
‘his Bink.’
She’d curl up into my arms, I’d pretend to suck
on her hair, and she’d eventually fall asleep her head against my chest, hands
clinging to my cut. Sometimes I’d take her home; other times, I’d make sure it
was cool with Steel that I kept her. That was the only time I ever stayed at my
house much. Most of the time, I’d sleep here,” he glances around the decorated
room. “But she was a little-little shit, and I didn’t want her subjected to all
these roughnecks,” he gestures with the jerk of his chin to the rowdy bikers,
absorbed in various activities. Two tables are wrapped up in playing Euchre,
and others are just shootin’ the shit, while many of them are tossing back
shots, playing quarters.

“After a while, she started calling
herself Bink.
Big’s Bink
. Until
right before she started kindergarten she was
Big’s
Bink
, and every time she’d hug me I’d pretend to suck her hair by
pressing my lips to her head and making silly sucking sounds. She’d giggle and
burrow herself into my chest, then I’d read to her, listen to the Eagles or
Skynyrd, or sometimes we’d sit in the kitchen eatin’ Italian Ices.”

Now, I remember part of that. I
remember burrowing into him, and him pretending to eat my hair. How did I never
know the rest of this story? Common sense would suggest that you’d know your
full namesake. I knew about the binky obsession, not the rest. What a dummy
I’ve been.

“Why didn’t I know about this sooner?” I inquire evenly, not wanting to come off defensive.

“I never told it until today. Gunz
was the only brother to know how I’d gotten you to stop your binky addiction.
The only reason he knows—”

“The asshole told me if I didn’t stop
buyin’ ‘em for you,” Gunz interrupts, announcing his arrival, and placing his
hand on my shoulder, “he was gonna insist on a club vote, and then he’d drag my
ass behind the dog kennels to beat me with his belt. I stopped buyin’ ‘em after
he told me what he’d been doin’ to break you of ‘em.”

I glance up to Gunz. He snickers and
bends down to place a sweet kiss on my forehead. It warms my belly with
happiness.

“Love you,” I mutter, still looking
up at him.

“Love you more,” he squeezes my
shoulder and presses another simple kiss to my upturned forehead.

Big clears his throat, as if he’s
uncomfortable, and abruptly stands.

“Be right back,” he states, swiftly
striding away from the table, leaving us to enquire about his hasty departure.
Our hawk eyes follow his every step, as he crosses the room headed straight for
the DJ station, where he stops to chat up the young DJ.

“That was weird,” Marylou affirms,
taking the words right out of my head. That was strange. One second we were in
reminiscing mode, the next he’s jumping ship.

Not going to lie, that delightful
story has lessened my resentment towards him and Marylou’s kitchen game of hide
the sausage. The relationship between the two of us is hot and cold. I think
I’d settle for lukewarm, if I ever got lucky enough for it to stay constant.

The Aerosmith song that was midway
through playing is cut off, and the DJ two finger taps his mike. “This song is
for a special lady,” he broadcasts, and Big turns around from the black
makeshift DJ booth, and stares out over the crowd as the distinguishing
instrumental intro of Bon Jovi’s
I’ll Be There For You
serenades us.

Holy fuckin’ shit…. this is not that
song! He did not.

Big’s piercing blue eyes dart to me,
watching me watch him. He raises both brows, points at me, mouthing ‘come ‘ere,’ then flips his palm over to seductively sweep the come-hither finger my
way. At the same time, he offers me the sexiest fucking single dimple grin on
the planet. I feel like I’ve been hooked, and I’m being drawn in. I gravitate
out of my chair without even realizing it and float through the room, never
registering anything except the lyrics of the song and his intense adoring eyes
boring into mine, guiding me to him.

My heart dances in my chest, and my
palms dampen like a teenage girl, ready to dance for her first time. I shake
them at my sides to rid the clamminess.

Big opens his arms, as I stop at the
edge of the cleared dance floor. “Come ‘ere, Sugar Tits.”

I go to him. It’s like I’m living a
perfect dream. Stepping toe-to-toe with Big, he wraps his arms around my
shoulders, treads his fingers through the back of my hair and gently pushes my
face to nuzzle his cut clad chest. I don’t object. I melt into him, deeply
inhaling his soul seeping scent that instantaneously makes all of my limbs turn
into overcooked noodles. The only thing keeping me upright is his protective,
loving arms enveloping me. I sigh, nuzzling my nose and cheek to his thick pec.
God, I’ve missed this. I’ve missed him. Where there’s no fighting, no pain,
there’s just us.

Big leads, swaying our conjoined
bodies slowly in a small circle. My feet sluggishly skim across the floor with
his. I tug my arms out from in front of me to latch around his torso, holding
him tighter. Big’s warm lips graze the top of my head, and I hear him scent me
before pressing a slow tender kiss into my hair. The strong beat of his heart
warmly serenades my left ear, while Bon Jovi croons his promises of always
being there into my right.

“I’ll be there for you. I’d live, and
I’d die for you. I’d steal the sun from the sky for you,” Big subtly sings,
through parted lips against my head. His hot breath drifts through my hair and
over my tingling scalp.

Swallowing down the emotional lump in
my throat, I close my eyes to prevent the happy tears that are muddling my
vision from teeming down my cheeks. Curling my fingers around the base of Big’s
cut, my fingertips slightly brush his jean-clad ass. The rest of the world
fades into oblivion, and I shut my brain down to enjoy this moment of serene
paradise. Heat emanates from his chest, as his lungs propel strong breaths in
and out. The sounds of his singing to me I hear echoing in his chest, somehow
making the intimate moment even more special. This is the Big I know and love.

Turning in our tiny circle, Big stops
guiding, when the song ends. “Now it’s time to really dance with me,” he states
into my hair, before kissing it once more.

I rub my cheek to his shirt. “Huh?”

“We are going to dance and show
people how it’s done,” he confirms, unlatching his arms from around me. I don’t
want to release him yet. Not wanting to come off clingy, I inhale his leather
and musk scent one last time and let go, just enough to separate our bodies.
His knuckle reaches out to tip my chin up, forcing me to make eye contact.

“You ready?” he asks.

Not sure if I want to dance-dance
with him or not, I give in anyhow. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” I offer him my
hand, and he takes it, at the same time nodding at the DJ.

Nickleback’s
Far Away
begins, and my hand goes to Big’s
shoulder as my other stays clasped in his giant hand. He pulls me forward so my
stomach is touching him while he keeps his eyes on me and me alone. Guiding me
around the dance floor, he spins me out and twirls me back in. I giggle with a
fresh smile, and return to dance frame. This song isn’t much for dancing, but
it serves its purpose. The lyrics are significant enough to our relationship and
mean far more than anything else.

“You picked this song for a reason,” I
comment, coming back to him from a double spin, and rocking back on my heel for
him to sweep me into a small dip.

“Yes,” he states, snapping me upright
into his arms.

Dropping my hand, he pulls me in
tighter, his body bending forward enough that his hands are able to slide down
my back and glide sensuously over my ass. Tucking my head into his broad
shoulder, my face turned toward his neck, I brush my nose against his exposed
flesh, and he hisses his blatant arousal. Devilishly, I grin at the power I possess.

“Why are you touching my ass?” my
fingers thread together around the nape of his neck, holding him close, his
long hair tangling in my fingers. “You know people are going to talk.”

“So what,” he grunts, no longer
smoothing his hands over my cheeks. Instead, he digs his possessive fingers
into the round meaty flesh. “You have a hot ass. Nobody’s gonna blame me for
touchin’ it.”

“Your girlfriend might,” I quip.

The shoulder my head is resting on
lifts in a shrug, “And?”

“And it’s gonna make her jealous.”

My head jumps again from an even
harsher shrug, “Do you really think I give a fuck if she or some pansy-ass
lawyer cares?”

Well if he puts it that way. No.

“Guess not,” I mutter, nudging my
nose further into his taut neck.

“You better stop that shit,” he
demands.

I know why, but I’m going to ask him
anyhow because this is fun.

“Why?” I act innocent and bite my
bottom lip to keep the giggle from bubbling out.

“You know why, Sugar Tits. I’m hard.”

I don’t really need to know this, but
I’m gonna ask this too. Call me a glutton for heartache. “But…didn’t you just
fuck Marylou in the kitchen?”

“No,” he pulls away with an angry
huff, and my hold around his neck severs, as he stands up tall. His hands that
were just on my ass are defiantly tucked across his chest. Puffing his chest
out, he makes the corded muscles in his forearms deliciously bulge. I can’t
help it. Even though he’s heated and his stance defensive, I still want to lick
him all over, climb him like a tree, and devour that scowl right off his face
with a brutal kiss.