The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 1 (MC Chronicles #1) (13 page)

Closing my eyes, I let him guide me to him. If I can’t
escape his presence, I will avert my attention. My breasts brush his stomach,
as his hand releases my bicep, and he steps forward, crowding my personal
space. Big’s arms enclose around me, hugging me to him. The sharp scent of his
leather cut engulfs my senses, along with his cologne, soap and the faint hint
of motor oil. As much as I wish my body would stay ridged and taut, to freeze
like the statue I am trying desperately to uphold, I weaken, I become pliable
and soft, and my body becomes lax. A traitor within itself. I begin to hate
myself for my weakness. I try to breathe through my mouth and not my nose to
ward off the heady scents. Big must know what I’m trying to do because he
presses my head firmly to his chest. My parted mouth smashes into the cotton of
his shirt, and I close it, to avoid drooling on him.

“Give us a minute,” he finally speaks, his voice
coming out deep and grumbly. The sounds of retreating footsteps diminish. I am
left listening to a strong heart hammering in his muscled chest, the smell of
home, and the warmth of a man who, up until yesterday, represented family and
protection. Leaving me to question everything in my life and most of all him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks with obvious concern.

I don’t say a thing. I am at a loss. When I have a
one-night stand or anything resembling that, this awkwardness never happens. I
never allow it to. I leave or he leaves beforehand, or it happens in a public
place so neither of us have to do the walk of shame. I’ve come across a few of
my flings a time or two when I’m out shopping or pumping gas, and we just go on
living our lives, ignoring each other. That’s what normal people do. I don’t
stand in the middle of the clubhouse, wrapped in my fling’s arms. This shit
doesn’t happen. It
shouldn’t
happen.

“Is this about last night?”

I remain quiet. Trying to come off strong, unyielding.
Even though I can feel it starting to crumble. A toxic mix of family obligation
and self-hatred combating each other. Should I speak to him about this? My mind
is firing off confusing signals. The strong, defiant part yells‘hell no’ while
the softer part says ‘This is your family and you need to work it out.’ Much to
my benefit, the former is kicking the other’s ass.

“Fuckin’ talk to me.” His hand deliciously slides up
my back, and he treads his fingers through the back of my hair. Tugging my head
backward, he growls. “Open your eyes.”

“No,” I whisper.

“Why not?”

“I can’t look at you.” Which is true. If I do, I’ll
either become a raving bitch, which is very likely, or I’ll fold and let stupid
shit happen. Case and point,
last night
.

“A man licks your pussy and gets you off, and you
can’t fuckin’ look him in the eye? That’s some seriously spoiled bitch shit
goin’ on. Do you think you’re too good to look at me?” He pauses for an answer,
but I refuse to give him one.

“Am I
that
disgusting?”
he emphasizes bitterly. I bite back my reply, which would have sounded something
like. ‘
Um, no, you stupid asshole, you’re
not disgusting. You’re hot. But you’re old enough to be my dad, and I don’t
like that one damn bit. I also don’t like you thinking you can talk to me or
order me around like this. It pisses me off.’
Yeah, it wouldn’t be
best to smart off at this moment. So silence it is.

He continues, “You didn’t seem to push me away last
night. I remember you dropped those shorts to the ground and hooked your knees
over my shoulders all by yourself. I didn’t force you to put your pussy in my
face, Sugar Tits.” With my head still tilted, hand on my lower back, he walks
me backward until I bump into the cool wooden edge of the pool table. His bare
foot snakes between mine and he kicks my feet apart, forcing me to widen my
stance. My heart pounds in my chest, bellowing up into my ears. Big’s leg
plants itself between mine and he raises his knee to my core, pressing into my
pussy, hitting my clit, and forcing me to tremble. I am losing control all over
again. My self-hatred amplifies to a cataclysmic level.

How can I be doing this? Why does it seem so easy? It
shouldn’t be. I should be fighting him; I should stand up and be the bitch I’ve
been known to be. Just like last night, I can’t seem to think straight, and my
body deceives me on a cellular level. The wetness of my pussy soaks into the
thin fabric of my pajama bottoms, and all I can feel, smell, and almost taste
is him. And for whatever fucked up reason, I like it. I like it a lot.

“Do I need to make you come again for you to talk to
me? Is that what this is about?”

I don’t respond.

“Fine,” he growls under his breath, grinding the top
of his knee into my clit. I lightly moan, unable to hold it back. Rubbing it
harder into my little bud, a louder moan expels between my lips in a wispy plea
to take away the burning he’s created, and soothe the dull ache that has
consumed me.

“What’s going on?” a familiar voice interrupts us,
entering the room. Big lowers his knee to the ground, but he stays in close
proximity, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body
between us.

“Nothing to see here,” Big replies dryly.

I’m still too much of a coward to open my eyes. So I
zip my lip and stand still, allowing Big to manage the interruption. He is the
club President after all.

“Looks like somethin’ to me,” Runner assertively
blurts. “Hope you know what you’re doin’, Prez. Steel’s going to find out when
he gets back next weekend, and we both know that ain’t gonna be pretty.”

“Runner…” Big Dick warns. “This is none of your
fucking business.”

“No, but I’m sure Bink would—”

“Don’t,” Big ruthlessly growls over Runner.

“What? You don’t think she’d be curious to know who
you banged last night after your little power trip in the yard?”

That admission opens my eyes, both literally and
figuratively. Who he banged?

“What’s he talking about?” I innocently gaze up at
Big’s unshaven face.

“Nothing,” he brushes off my question, like he’s
annoyed, and takes a step back, allowing me some space. Which for some odd
reason, aches. I don’t like it one bit. I am definitely starting to feel like a
head case.

“Oh, come on,” Runner sarcastically chides, rolling
his eyes, and pulling a pack of smokes from his cut. “After that display last
night…which I must say was quite convincing, I don’t think you’ll have Viper or
Slade barking up Bink’s tree any time soon.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Big grumbles, growing agitated.
His jaw locks, face reddening. The sinewy muscles in his biceps harden to stone
under smooth, tanned, and tattooed flesh. Flesh that smells of cologne-scented
soap…leather…Awe shit I gotta stop this now, my mind is fucked up.

“Sure she will.” Runner lights his cigarette and takes
a drag, tucking the lighter back into his cut. “I’m sure her highly educated
brain has been trying to decipher last night since she woke up. I’m right,
aren’t I?”

Big pivots training his eyes on me, crossing his arms
across his broad t-shirt clad chest.

How did he know?

“Well, yeah,” I admit.

“Marvelous.” Runner claps once, leaving his burning
cigarette to hang from his fat bottom lip. “Then you will be interested to know
that Big left your room and had a four-way with the triplets. I saw those just-fucked
sluts clamoring outta his room ‘bout twenty minutes ‘go. I must say, Prez, four
women in one night at your age is—”

With a demented growl, Big lunges at Runner and all
hell breaks loose. Runner is tossed like a sack of potatoes onto the ground.
Big towers over him, and his fists fly. A loud crack echoes in the room
followed by a pain-laden yelp. Big’s fist connects with Runner’s nose. Blood
surges, coating Big’s hands, and he swings, landing another punch. Desperately,
Runner attempts to dodge and block his President’s swift and deadly assault.

“You stupid fucker!” Big yells, straddling Runner,
unleashing his boiling aggression, leaving Runner no room for retaliation, only
a terribly sloppy offense.

Frozen in shock, I stand and watch the unmatched fight
occur, like a spectator to a merciless death match. The next weighted strike
forcefully slams into Runner’s chest, a rapid gust of air expelling from his
body.

The front door opens.

“Oh hell!” Gunz enters, springing into action, with
Viper right on his tail.

Subduing the beast that Big has unleashed is difficult.
Big’s left fist flies to impact Runner for the eighth or ninth hit except Gunz
barrels into Big Dick. Wrapping his arms around his chest, Gunz slams Big’s
back into the tile floor. It doesn’t seem to deter Big, as his fury stricken
eyes aim on another target—Gunz. He swings, and Gunz dodges his massive fist at
the last second.

“Stop it. Calm down, asshole,” Gunz orders, ducking to
the left to avoid the next blow Big is wielding.

Viper, crouching down next to Runner, talks with him. “We
need a medic,” Viper explains, patting the bloodied mess of a man on the
shoulder.

“Bink,” Gunz yells over the chaos, and I jump,
startled, breaking away from my foggy trance. Another swing of Big’s fist
toward Gunz and the frantic reality clicks deep inside of me.

“Stop it!” I scream, retrieving my voice. Stepping
forward, away from the edge of the pool table, I stride toward the mangled mess
of Big’s flailing limbs, while Gunz still has him flat on his back attempting
to subdue him, unsuccessfully.

I glance down. “Stop,” I gently order, and Big
instantly disengages his next attack before it impacts Gunz’s face. “Stop
fighting.” I stare into the monster’s intense ice-blue eyes and kneel next to
his head. Planting my palm on his moist cheek, never breaking eye contact, I
whisper, “Go, Gunz,” while pouring all of my concentration into the beast, who
is sweating profusely and breathing heavily, struggling to catch his breath.

Now, I’m sure you are wondering how I hold this much
control, essentially being Big’s kill switch. The answer is I have no idea. I
just do. And this isn’t the first time or even the fifth or sixth. I’ve lost
count over the years.

The first time it
happened, I was thirteen, living at the clubhouse. It was summer, and I had
been out of school for about a month. There was a running dispute amongst the
brothers, I never found out what, but it was kind of a big deal. During a
heated discussion, a former member became enraged and poked Big in the chest
with his finger. Now, I know I did that yesterday. However, I am fairly certain
I am probably the only person on the face of the planet that could get away
with that and not get into some deep shit. Anyhow, the guy technically struck
first, even if it was a finger, which set Big Dick off. I was just leaving my
bedroom, headed to grab an Italian ice from the kitchen when I heard the madness
ensue. Walking down the hall, I entered the common room where I found Big with
a cracked and heavily swollen fat lip. His handgun was out and pressed to the
brother’s temple.

“Stop it,” I
yelled.

Instantaneously,
Big lowered his gun, tucking it into the back of his leathers. And his
murderous glare softened just enough for him to reel in his inner beast.

You may have thought I was joking about Big Dick’s
beast. But it’s no laughing matter. It’s real, it’s sly, and it’s ruthlessly
deadly. And I know for certain that Big almost always carries a gun and pulls
it more than he swings his fist. That may sound strange, but I’ve learned that
Big will ‘hardly’ (and I emphasize that ‘hardly’ rather strongly) ever pull the
trigger. However, if he engages you with his fists, his brain doesn’t register
a damn thing. It goes into full attack mode, and it makes things ten times
worse for everyone. The adrenaline floods his system, his eyes become demented,
and the Big we all know is gone, replaced by a cunning beast out for blood.

“Bink,” Gunz pleadingly expresses, grabbing my
attention.

“Go. You know he won’t hurt me.” I’m firm, and I’m not
leaving him like this. Even if I don’t know what I’m feeling, my sense of
family is wound tighter, and my need to make sure he’s alright is way more
important than my measly emotions.

Out of my peripheral, I see Gunz stand and go to
Runner. “Alright, let’s get you cleaned up.” Together, Viper and Gunz escort a
battered and bruised Runner from the room, and I hold firm eye contact with Big
as he gathers his own bearings back.

Shifting myself but keeping close, I lift my left leg
and slide it across Big’s stomach so I can straddle him, my butt resting on his
hips. My knees are bent and touching the floor on either side of him.

“And here I thought that I didn’t think before I acted,”
I tease with a gentle smile, caressing his prickly cheek with the tips of my
fingers. The roughness of his unshaven face sparks little jolts of electricity
to shoot up my arm. Yet another odd sensation I’m unaccustomed to.

He grins and grasps my palm, pressing it to his face and
holding it in place. A softness that wasn’t there moments ago replaces the
hardness of his animalistic appearance. “I had to think of something to get you
to straddle me.”

Playfully, I smack at his chest and chuckle. “Not
funny, asshole. You hurt Runner.”

As sad as this may sound, I don’t really care that
Runner got hurt because he is my least favorite brother. He’s a male whore,
he’s nosy, and worst of all he gossips like a prissy school girl. Today is case
and point on that little fact. Even if he did enlighten me in a painful,
I-don’t-want-to-hear-it sort of way. Brothers aren’t supposed to tattle on each
other to any female. It’s code. I know this. So does Runner. I sure hope his
busted nose taught him a lesson.

“Yeah, well. His Prez told him to shut it, and he
didn’t. So we’re taking this shit to a vote. My fist won’t be the only action
he’s gonna face. I’m gettin’ the club involved in some serious disciplinary
ramifications.”