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Licking my lips, I savor the eyeful of all that is Big as his hands come to rest on my shoulders and he shoves them back. I let out a tiny surprised squeal as I drop back into the mattress. My heart shoots into my throat.
I can’t believe he just did that!
Before I’m able to bitch at him, Big kneels on the floor at my feet, spreading my legs. His hands slip up my dress, pushing it upward over my belly. “I said, naked,” he remarks.
“Well, I didn’t,” I shoot back, trying to wiggle away, smacking his hands. It proves to be impossible when Big’s lips press to my belly and his fingers dip into the waistband of my lace panties, holding me in place.
What does he think he’s doing?
Chuckling heartily, he brushes his lips over my swollen belly. “Harley, please tell mommy to stop strugglin’ before I get the cuffs out. All Daddy wants to do is give her some lovin’.”
Did he seriously just speak to me by using our daughter? I can’t decide if that’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard or the most infuriating. At this moment, my stomach does a fluttering dip and my heart warms. Guess my body is going with cute though my mind still hasn’t decided.
His lips continue their sweet assault by kissing our daughter, while his hands slowly tug down my panties. “You’re gonna be beautiful,” he speaks to her, “And Daddy is always gonna take good care of you and Mommy.”
My eyes grow soft, and my insides turn to mush. I love this man so much. Sometimes I forget how amazing he really is and how sweet and loving he can be. I feel like the luckiest woman in the world. And I know for sure he will make the best dad a daughter could ever hope for.
Big’s lips cascade down my belly in a waterfall of tender kisses. His hot breath fans over my sensitive flesh, and I feel my pussy clench. Biting my lip I relish in his magical touch. Everywhere his hands move, sliding over my skin it feels perfect…right.
Lower he moves until his mouth is at the cleft of my pussy. Leaning up a little, so I can see over my belly, my eyes meet his. They’re glistening with love watching me watch him.
“I love you, Sugar Tits,” his tongue pokes through my lips, and he delves his tongue inside my wetness, as his hands lift my legs, hooking them over his shoulders.
My legs tremble. “I love you most,” I moan.
With an approving growl, Big swipes his tongue over my clit, and my back slams into the bed, arching as I scream out my pleasure. My hands fist the sheets. His tongue sweeps over my bud again, and I wail his name.
Oh my fuck!
“Your pussy tastes so fuckin’ good,” he circles his tongue around my clit, not touching it. I whimper with need. “You’re everythin’ to me,” his tongue swirls again. “And I’m gonna spend the rest of my life showin’ ya how much I love you,” he stops and tenderly kisses my clit, groaning his satisfaction.
I blow out a shaky breath, riding the edge of bliss.
“Now it’s time to make my old lady come,” Big declares.
The End
If you're at this point it means you've finish Vol 3 or you've skipped ahead to the end. If it's the latter, don't cheat and get your ass back to the front of the book. You're not supposed to read the ending yet. For those who've just finished I want to say thank you for taking another wild ride. I know that there were a lot of bumps and bruises along the way but now it's through... you can breathe, have a stiff drink, and eat some chocolate. I know that’s what I did when I finished writing it, I was a fucking mess.
I hope y’all will stay tuned in the future to my MC Chronicles series.
The next in the lineup will be Big's book, written from his point of view. It's gonna be another crazy ride. I hope you're ready.
Peace, Bink.
Bink Cummings
www.Facebook.com/BinkCummings
Email:
[email protected]
Coming Soon
(Unedited--Copyright © 2015 by: Bink Cummings)
Pulling up a wooden chair I sit across from the leather couch in the clubhouse common room. Crossing my legs I drop my tape recorder into my lap and click it on. Big is already seated. His boot clad foot is resting on his knee, bouncing, while his arms are hooked over the backrest spread wide, palms down, gripping the top.
“So, are ya ready to get this show on the road?” I test the waters. I know he’s not exactly thrilled to be doing this interview for his book, but I couldn’t pass it up when I convinced him to let me do the interview while we were having sex. A little coercion in the heat of passion never hurt anybody. Right?
His lip curls and he shakes his head. Okay, maybe’s not as excited about this as I would have liked.
“Are ya gonna cooperate?” I tilt my head to the side assessing his body language. His bouncing foot is quite the distraction. Pretty sure he’s nervous.
“Are you gonna let me fuck ya after we’re done if I do?” He shoots back with a sly grin. What kind of old lady would I be if I didn’t give it up for this kind of interview? He’s going above and beyond the call of duty for me, all in the name of love. So to answer his question that would be a yes, although I’m not going to give him the green light too easily. I know better than that.
I bob my head, “Yes, if you cooperate like we discussed.”
He scoffs under his breath and shakes his amused head, grinning. “Discussed? You’re gonna play that little card?” he raises a daring brow, “How about me askin, ‘Tell me what ya want baby,’ when I’m pounding ya from behind, and slapping that fine fuckin’ ass. To have your response be, ‘Do an interview for my book.’ while you’re moanin’. What the hell did you think I was gonna say?”
“You said ‘anythin’ you want, Sugar Tits.’” I remind him.
“Yeah, yeah,” he rolls his eyes, “I know what you said, I said. I don’t remember it.”
I call bullshit, he’s just changing his story now.
Now it’s my time to roll my eyes, I make it a better show than his, “We’re not leaving here until I get all the goods I need, now, do want something to drink?” I sweep my hand in the direction of the fully stocked bar, knowing damn well he is going to tell me no.
Just like I thought, he shakes his head, “No gonna happen, a drunk me, means you might get more outta me.”
I knew that was the cause, this is why I was secretly hoping he would drink. A loose Big with me in the same vicinity, is a chatty Big. He’s not much for talking with strangers, or even the brothers for that matter. But me and him in a room or with the sisters, and he can’t shut the hell up. Although I think he offends people easily. You have to have a strong backbone to take his brutally honest conversations. And… people think I’m bad.
I don’t comment or show my disappointment. I let it go. No drinking, will have to suffice.
“I have a list of questions to ask you,” I state a matter-of-factly.
“I figured, let’s just get this over with.” Although his words sound bitter, his face tells me otherwise, he’s merely teasing and trying to get under my skin.
Not sure of which questions I should ask or in what order I start in the middle of my mental list. I did write them down but I didn’t bring the paper along. Seems more organic this way, or that’s what I thought before I decided to have this interview here. I couldn’t do it at home or he would be all over me, baiting me with sex. Harley’s with grandpa Gunz so I could get this time to interview Big. The clubhouse is where he grew up, I figured it was as good of a place to reminisce about his past.
I shift to get more comfortable in my chair.
“You know you could just come and sit beside me,” Big winks and drops his hand to the couch, patting the cushion beside him.
“And what? Have you touching my tits the entire time?” I look at my boobs and back to his face, “I don’t think so.” I shake my head, smirking.
“Fine,” he doesn’t sound angry, maybe a little let down? I dunno, I don’t care. His hand goes back to the top of the couch.
“So your name is?” I start with an
easy one.
“You’re seriously asking me that stupid fuckin’ question?”
“Yes.”
“My. Name. Is. Richard. Darcy,” he talks slowly like I have a learning disorder. I resent him for that and flip him the bird.
He shrugs, “Alright, if that’s what you want, I’m down,” he pretends like he’s going to get off the couch but doesn’t.
“I’m not gonna fuck you.”
“Then don’t offer me up the goods this early.”
“You’re being an ass.”
His hand from the back of the couch motions for me to get on with it. I do.
“Ok, Big, people are gonna wanna know how you feel about me writing a book from your point of view, about you. What are your thoughts?”
“I don’t care,” his face contorts into this expression that tells me this is yet another dumb question. “I thought we went over this when you decided to publish in the first place? As long it’s not club business and you’re careful with what you share, I could care less. If people like to read it, then give it to ‘em. If not, then I don’t give a fuck. I’m not readin’ this shit anyhow. As far as I know, you’re painting me to be some knight in shining armor that rides my trusty steed.”
He isn’t taking a lick of this seriously, his devilish grin tells me as much.
“Trusty steed? Seriously?” I mock.
“What?” he shrugs, “I don’t read romance novels. History or mystery, remember?”
I remember that well. Big hates romances novels. Doesn’t care who reads them, but he’s a man and thinks men should read badass testosterone driven books. Apparently romance doesn’t qualify………… to be continued.
My Top 5 MC Must Reads
By: Bink Cummings
Reapers Property: Joanna Wylde
It Ain't Me Babe: Tillie Cole
Renegade Lady: Dawn Martens & Emily Minton
Holding On; Lights of Peril: AC Bextor
The Devil's Ride: K.A Merikan (M/M)
I wanted to show a little love to my readers and a fellow Indie Author, so here’s a little taste of SLOW BURN by: Autumn Jones Lake
Hope y’all enjoy.
Peace, Bink
Slow Burn
(Lost Kings MC, Book 1)
Copyright © 2014 by Autumn Jones Lake
Chapter One
It wasn’t love at first sight when I met her. Lust? Definitely. I don’t think I believed in love at the time, but one look at her beautiful face, and all the bad stuff around me melted away. Not an easy feat for a guy in handcuffs.
Someone as innocent as her should never have gotten involved with a man like me. By innocent, I don't mean she was some breathy, eighteen-year-old virgin ingénue. No—when we met, she was a thirty-one-year-old married lady. When I use the word innocent, it is in terms of never having killed someone. Never seeing someone die in front of her. Never breaking the law.
True violence had never touched her life.
Violence and I had been close personal friends for a large part of my life. Along with crime. And death. I used violence as a tool to keep order in my often chaotic world, just as she used the law to keep things orderly in her black-and-white one.
She was a lawyer. I was a criminal. She was married to a decent, hard-working, honest guy. I fucked any willing girl who hung out in my club, and made my living in less than honest ways.
She was kind. I didn't know any nice women. Hadn’t known one since my mother died shortly after my eighth birthday. I don’t have many memories of her, but the ones I do have are warm and pleasant.
None of the tramps my father brought home after her death had an ounce of compassion for a motherless brat. The strippers that danced in my club seemed younger every day. A lot of them were bitchy drama queens, and the older I got, the less patience I had for emotional scenes. The girls who attended to the members of my motorcycle club were down to fuck, but not much else. That’s how I liked them.
We met in a courtroom. I sat in the area designated for prisoners. Shackles laced my hands and feet together. I shuffled into the room wearing a spiffy orange jumpsuit, the county correctional logo stenciled across my back in big white letters—just in case anyone thought I suffered from bad fashion sense.
She sat in the front row. I didn't hang my head when I entered. I stood proud and tall looking over the entire room. Some of my brothers stood along the back wall, waiting to see if I'd get bail.
I couldn’t find my attorney in the sea of people. His big, shiny, bald dome should have been easy to spot. My gaze wandered back to the girl in the front row. Long, straight, reddish-brown hair flowed down past her shoulders. Straight bangs across her forehead framed brilliant green eyes. Even from where I sat, I spotted freckles splattered across her nose. The deep green suit she wore emphasized the creaminess of her skin. The banister separating the criminals from the common folk blocked my view of anything below her shoulders, but that angelic face hooked me right away.
The sheriff leaned over and whispered to me, "Your attorney called to say he's running late." I nodded and mumbled a "thanks" without taking my eyes off the girl. Was her old man locked up? Was she a witness to a crime? Would my asshole lawyer get here so I could get free and talk to the girl?
"Any other message?" I asked Deputy Brown. He was a decent guy as far as pigs went. He'd treated me with respect, hadn't tried to bash my head into anything, and even brought me a donut before leading me upstairs to court. He didn’t get a chance to answer, because the bailiff made a big show of telling me to shut up. Arrogant prick wasn’t good enough to even be a cop, but he sure acted like one. I'd dealt with him before.
My eyes returned to the girl. She sat patient and attentive, waiting her turn. Once or twice, she looked at the clock. Only a slight twitch of her lips indicated her annoyance.
After what seemed like an eternity, the bailiff called the next case, and the girl stood up. She hauled a battered briefcase over her shoulder and stepped through the swinging gate up to the table across from where I sat.
Holy shit.
If I'd been anywhere else in the world, I would have whistled long and low to express my appreciation for the soft curves of her body. The skirt she wore fell to her knees, but it clung to all the right spots and showcased a fantastic set of calves. Her modest heels clicked over the wooden floor, calling my attention to her slender ankles. I was so busy drooling over her I missed it when she stated her name.
The dickhead bailiff brought over a chair and actually smiled at her. She thanked him politely. The judge made some chit-chat with her, and she let out a girlish giggle. People seemed to know her. Like her.
"Attorney Kendall?"
"Yes, your honor." She stood up. Ah, she was a lawyer. That explained the chit-chat. She argued some civil matter I didn't understand or care about. I listened to her make her case, then watched her sit down. Her opponent didn’t have a lawyer. He bumbled around and generally made a fool of himself. She listened with a passive expression, then argued her position again. The judge ruled in her favor.
I wanted her. In more ways than one after her performance. The courtroom was almost empty. My guys still occupied the back row, but that was it. If my lawyer didn't show up soon, I'd be screwed.
I nudged Deputy Brown with my elbow. "Can she represent me?"
"I don't think she's a criminal attorney."
"Just for the arraignment. To get me out."
"I'll ask."
The deputy motioned to the bailiff to watch me and went to talk to the clerk. She nodded, and when the judge had a moment, she whispered in his ear.
Fuck. The girl was putting her stuff away and getting ready to leave. I really wanted her. I mean, I wanted to fuck her, of course. But I also wanted her to represent me. People seemed to like and respect her. I'd been in and out of the criminal justice system long enough to know getting out of trouble was sometimes less about what you knew and more about who you knew. If I'd gotten picked up in a different county, I coul
d have used my connections to make this go away. Here, I was kind of stuck. I needed her.
"Attorney Kendall, could you stay and do an arraignment, please?" the judge asked off the record.
Her jaw dropped, and the color drained from her face. "Uh, I'm not a criminal attorney, your honor," she stammered.
"It's pretty simple. Mr. North's attorney got delayed. Don't make me appoint you," he teased.
"Well, um, just for the limited purpose of this arraignment?" she asked with a hopeful lilt to her voice.
"That's fine."
The judge waved me over next to her. Her big eyes widened in shock as I lumbered over. I was mildly insulted. Had she really not noticed me the entire time I'd been sitting there?
"I can pay you," I whispered down to her.
She looked startled. "It's okay. What are we dealing with?"
I liked the way she said "we."
"Weed."
She gave me a blank stare.
"Marijuana. Got caught with a couple blunts." Acting on a bad tip from one of the club’s many enemies, the cops had been hoping to pin a whole hell of a lot more on me. This was why, instead of ignoring the weed like most cops did these days, I was standing here in shackles and the orange jumpsuit.
"Oh geez." She rolled her eyes. At me or the charge, I wasn't sure.
"Do you have a record?"
"About a mile long."
That stopped her. She stared up at me, searching my face for the truth. Apparently deciding no one would joke about that, she nodded her head.
"Can you post bail? Do you work? Have a family?"
"Yes, yes, and yes."
She didn't ask what kind of work. Or what kind of family for that matter.
"Your honor, I've had a chance to confer with my client."