Still chatting away, I moved around her and cupped my pregnant belly, forming the taffeta dress tightly over my growing bump.
“Marshall, honey.” I never call him that.” I need to use the ladies room. Can you please keep an eye on my clutch?” I pointed to the fancy table where it lied next to my water goblet. I could have brought it with me, but where was the fun in that?
He immediately shut down from talking to fake Margret and stepped up to me. Reaching out, he cupped my cheek with his hand, as the other came down to massage my belly. “Are you alright, darling? Do you wish to go home?”
I shook my head, leaning into his palm that rested on my cheek with a soft heartwarming smile. A fake heartwarming smile. “No, I just need to use the ladies room.”
“Is the baby okay?” he asked, full of concern.
I faintly nodded, “She’s great.” Raising onto my tippy toes, I kissed him briefly, but enough to make him smile blissfully ear to ear as his cheeks flushed like a teenage boy, madly in love.
Pulling away, he said, “Okay, darling, I’ll watch your purse,” before rejoining his colleague to finish some conversation I wasn’t privy to.
I caught the silent snarl and fiery hatred burning in Margret’s squinted eyes, as I walked with an extra bounce in my step the entire way to the ladies room. It felt fantastic, passive aggressively proving a point. Not usually my style. But hey, a girl can learn, can’t she? Bink, 1. Thundercunt, 0.
“Hey, Bink.” Deke strolls into the office, sporting a sincere smile, tugging me from my musings. He’s in a good mood today.
“Hey, Boss.” Closing down the file I am working on, I lean back in my office chair. “How’d it go?”
Dropping onto the couch, and expelling an exhausted sigh, he throws his arm over the backrest. “Very well. Nobody cried.”
“That’s good to hear.” I nod along. Deke and Candy Cane met up yesterday at his house so she could collect his daughters and their belongings. Vivian, his bitch ass wife, skipped out on them, moving in with her boyfriend a week ago. I see it as a blessing more than a curse, since she’s not home to traumatize her children. “Makes things easier, I suppose. Have you talked to them this morning?”
“No,” he shakes his head, frowning. “Candy Cane texted, saying they slept through the night and ate a big breakfast this morning. Said she’s taking them to the school today to look around and familiarize themselves since she’s already enrolled them. They start on Monday.”
“That all sounds great. How ya holdin’ up?”
“Fine,” he shrugs and runs a hand through his messy blonde hair. “Candy seems competent, and she’s sweet. Talked to Tripper over the weekend to make sure he was cool with it. He sounds almost as excited as Candy Cane about the girls moving in.”
That’s not surprising. Tripper has always been good with kids. Shoot, I think Debbie’s sons idolize the man. Kind of like my two brothers idolized Big Dick and Gunz growing up. It’s cute. Not the smartest of choices in terms of who you should mold yourself into becoming, but it’s served my brothers well. They patched in young, and both are on their way to making a real impact in the club’s hierarchy. One of my brothers is already road captain.
My phone buzzes on the desk for the umpteenth time for the day. I slide it open to check the newest text.
“Marshall,” I explain to Deke, pointing to my phone.
“Ah… how’s that workin’ out?”
I hold up my index finger, indicating he give me a moment.
Marshall: Something interesting came in the mail. See you home in a few hours. Love you.
I don’t reply and look up to meet Deke’s curious eye.
“It’s fine,” I try to sound casual. Ever since the night in the alley with Deke, things have been better in terms of emotions and normalcy. The lust filled cravings though have grown to the point where I’ve orgasmed in my sleep two nights in a row this week. I woke up soaking wet from the naughty thoughts. Like I had said before, I’ve been having some rather vivid and highly sexual dreamscapes. This week was no exception, and the longer I’ve been going without fulfilling my needs, the worse and more intense they become. My clit throbs all day, nearly every day, and I have tried numerous times to make myself come. I even bought a vibrator, which was a waste of money. Something, whether it be mental or physical, is blocking my ability to achieve climax on my own. I can rev myself up to the point of peak, but I can’t seem to jump over the cliff, so to speak. Needless to say, it fucking sucks.
“Fine and women sayin’ it don’t mix,” he replies.
Sliding the mouse on the desk, I ignore his comment. “If that’ll be all Deke, I’d like to get back to my job.”
He stands, “Guess that’s my cue to leave.”
“Have a great day, boss.” I wave to him as he exits, shutting the door in his wake. Leaving that heady tonic of cologne to permeate my room, and feed this incessant horniness I can’t seem to shake, no matter how hard I try. I’ve tried hot baths with candles and relaxing music. I’ve watched movies like Saving Private Ryan, which should never turn anybody on. I’ve tried just about everything to deter my mind from reverting back to the same basic carnal instinct of losing myself in beautiful life shattering ecstasy. The kind you can only achieve when a man takes control, pinning you to a wall, and eats your pussy like it’s the best damn thing he’s ever tasted.
Fucking Christ.
I groan, scrubbing my face, staring at this stupid computer screen. Maybe I should just call the stupid bastard. His voice is enough to get me wet; so maybe in this state of arousal it could push me to climax too.
No, no. I shake my head. I can’t do that. Replacement Bink is the one getting the hot outdoor pussy eating and the bestial growls that can only be described as raw eroticism. It’s this dark sinister sound that makes you inescapably drunk in this vortex of deep wanton desire.
Exhaling a hard breath from my mouth, I shake my head once more to clear it. I can’t be thinking about any of this. I made the choice, I put myself in this position, I made my bed, and now I am lying in it, fat belly, cankles, and all. Even if I can’t get this damn knot in my chest to go away, I will survive. Horniness is just a mental state with a physical repercussion. I can do this.
Clicking up a file on the computer, I get back to my job. It’s time to drown myself in work, and forget about the rest of my life. Wish me luck.
The door to the elevator pings opens to Marshall’s fifth floor apartment. I’m running late to get home. There was an accident, which delayed traffic, and my phone died. Needless to say, my afternoon has been filled with shit, shit, and more shit.
Walking up to our white apartment door, I can already smell the fragrant aroma of garlic, and I know Marshall’s made us dinner. I pray he’s not pissed that I’m three hours late. Unlocking the door with my key, I push the door open, and my eyes go wide. The entire apartment is littered with ivory candles in all shapes and sizes. Bright red roses are set on nearly every surface, and the smell of garlic dancing with the scents of unscented burning candles and roses fill my nose, as the sounds of Kenny G play in the background.
What the hell is this man up to?
I set my bag by the marble entry way and slip off my black flats. Since the cankles have arrived, I’ve had to give up the combat boots for a while. It really sucks because I miss them terribly. After Gunz made his rough introduction, I have worn whatever I wanted to work. No longer having to keep up appearances for Marshall. If I step out the front door in a pair of holey jeans and a Metallica t-shirt, he looks at me no differently than if I was wearing a designer blouse. This has made me like him even more.
“Honey, I’m home,” I call into our spacious apartment. It’s a nice place, a little too contemporary minimalistic for my tastes. However, it’s not my place to nitpick.
“In the kitchen,” he yells, and I follow the smells and his voice to the island. Standing in the modern, black cupboard kitchen wearing a pair of gray, loose knit bottoms and a whi
te linen shirt untucked with the sleeves rolled up his forearms is my Marshall slaving away at the stove, whistling. Now I am seriously wondering if I have wandered into the twilight zone. Cooking is one thing… but… I glance around the corner… dear God the man is barefoot. Is there anything sexier than a hot older man, barefoot, cooking you dinner? Ummm… well maybe… but this is such a turn on. Mental turn on….thought I might need to clarify. Considering the wind can blow just right, and I am physically ready to fuck for twelve hours straight.
Pulling out a high back stool, I hike up my leg and slide on, my hand strangely cradles my baby bump the entire way. It’s odd how you naturally do those simple involuntary actions.
Turning from the stove, spaghetti fork prongy thingy in his hand, he smiles at me, with his butterscotch eyes glistening with love.
“Here,” Marshall places a wine glass full of an amber liquid in front of me. “It’s sparkling apple cider,” he announces.
“Thanks,” I take a sip, enjoying the bubbles and bright flavor, bursting over my taste buds. It feels like forever since I’ve drank anything other than water. “What’s the occasion?”
Without speaking, Marshall fast walks to the side of the kitchen and retrieves a white envelope from the counter. Walking back, he drops it in front of me and leans back against the kitchen counter, loosely crossing his arms across his chest, in a relaxed non-threatening way.
Suspiciously, I pick up the envelope. It has been opened, and on the front it’s addressed to both Marshall and me.
I retract the navy blue invitation from inside the envelope, and it reads:
Rev up your engines and ride over to witness the wedding of Brock ‘Brew’ Cummings and Dixie Luanne East. On…..
My eyes get huge, centering in on the date. “It’s in two weeks!” I screech. “My brother is getting married to Dixie in two weeks? Since when are he and Dixie even an item? Holy shit, my brother is getting married in two weeks!” I squawk to myself.
“I already called into work, taking that Friday off so we can make a long weekend of it.”
Huh?
I glance up, bug eyed, and pin Marshall, wondering what the hell he is meaning. Make a long weekend of what? Who in the fuck said I was going? And who in the hell said he was going with me if I did go? Oh… this day just got worse….much, much, worse….This can’t be happening!
I blatantly ignore Marshall’s stupid assumption, climb off the stool, and sprint barefoot to my purse sitting on the table in the entry. Yanking out my phone, I hit text.
Me to Brew: What the fuck? I just get an invite to your wedding! That is in two weeks?! And to Dixie the club whore? What the hell?!
Carrying my phone back into the kitchen, I sit back down at the island. Marshall hasn’t moved.
“I know it’s a bit rushed, but we can still go.”
Aggressively, I raise my hand, showing him my palm. A silent gesture for him to shut up. Got to cover all of my bases first. This is some stupid shit!
Brew: Yeah… sorry… everyone’s invites got sent out at the same time. It’s kind of a last minute thing.
How in the hell can you decide to get married on a whim? Last minute? Uh!!! Is he insane?
Me: What? When did you become an item or claim her? Nobody told me that.
Brew: She’s knocked up with my kid, just found out. Decided I wanted to make an honest woman out of her.
What???!!
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I grumble, furiously pounding away at my screen.
Me: This isn’t the 1920’s. You don’t have to marry her just because you implanted her with your seed.
Brew: What the fuck? I am your brother, and she’s gonna be my wife. Show a little respect. I know it’s old fashioned, but I’ve liked her for a long time. She’ll make a good old lady.
Liked her? Since when do you get married because you like someone? Don’t get me wrong, I like Dixie, she’s a nice woman. Now to go off and get knocked up by my brother…Shit, the dumbass probably did this intentionally. I’ve got to talk to someone. I can’t take this. This is crazy!
Pulling up contacts, I click send on the first person I would normally call for advice or insight.
“Hey, Baby Doll,” Gunz answers on the third ring, sounding rather happy.
“Hey… so I’m going to cut to the chase,” I advise.
“Do you really have to warn me? I mean—”
“Get off the phone.” Someone, or should I say, Big, yells in the background.
“Ah… Shut it, old man!” Gunz yells back.
“We’re in church. Hang up the fuckin’ phone,” Big chastises.
“Hey, I can—” I start.
Gunz cuts me off, “Don’t you dare say let me go.”
“Get off the fucking phone!” Big is beyond pissed.
“Fuck, Prez, it’s Bink, she called me, and I am gonna talk to her. So shut it, brother,” Gunz snaps back at his president, and then I hear a whole new argument ensue.
“Let me talk to her,” Big demands.
“No, she called to talk to Gunz, not Big Dick,” he articulates with his rough, no nonsense edge. “If she wants to talk to you, she knows your number.” I can picture Gunz sitting there in church shaking his head in exasperation at Big, who’s sitting at the head of the oval table, wearing that sexy leather cut of his that fits him like a glove. Mmmmm… Oh shit, I gotta stop thinking about him.
“Ok,” I purposely huff into the phone. “I just got an invitation to Brew’s wedding. Care to tell me what the hell that is all about?”
The sound of a hand covering the receiver scratches in my ear, as even more arguing plays out. So much for calling to get answers. I wait impatiently, tapping my foot on the stool, ignoring Marshall as I listen to Big exchange heated curses with Gunz.
He comes back a few minutes later. “Sorry ‘bout that.”
Can’t control my impulse, so I let go and roll my eyes. “Control freak at his finest.”
“Yup, that’s him, and he’s been even more of an ass the past couple‘a days. Anyhow, back to Brew. Yeah, he’s gettin’ married to Dixie…knocked her up, but they’ve been spendin’ a lot of time together since he got back in September. I think it’s been headin’ in this direction for a while now. The baby thing just tips the scales enough to make ‘em do what we all know they’ve been thinkin’ about.”
“Why do they have to get married so quickly?”
“Fuck if I know. Your brother is my brother, and neither of us understand that dumbass half the time. He wants her, she wants him, and he’s been helpin’ plan the whole damn thing. We all like Dixie ‘round here, so it’s cool that she’s joinin’ the sisterhood with you all. Not a bad choice in an old lady.”
“Guess that means you got another grandbaby on the way then.”
“I do? I got another kid you know about?” he playfully cracks.
“Brew’s my brother, and Dixie’s pushing out a baby. Makes sense.”
Gunz barks a grumbly laugh, “That ain’t my grandbaby.”
Now I’m confused.
“What?”
“Just ‘cause Brew is your brother, he’s also my brother in arms. But his baby ain’t no grandbaby to me. Sure, the baby’s family and all, but I didn’t raise Brew or Jizz like I did you, Kid. The only grandbabies I am ever going to have are the ones you pop out. You gotta name picked out yet?”
How does one phone call go from my brother getting hitched to my daughter? I swear I wish things were less complicated. As for the name, I do have one I’ve been playing with, but I am not about to tell anybody except maybe you. Harley Cummings or Harley Darcy will be her name. I know it’s unique and pretty hardcore. I like it though. Suits her. She feels like a Harley, and I will keep that surprise name hush-hush until she comes barreling out of my cooch in a few months. So zip it, will ya?
Gunz and I carry on for a few more minutes, as my nerves begin to settle, and I’m left with basically the same understanding of my brother’s stupidity tha
t I had before I made the call. As I hang up the phone and lay it on the counter, it vibrates.
Gunz: Baby picture, please.
My heart swells. He’s such a sweet grandpa.
I lift my black t-shirt over my bump and aim the camera to snap the billionth photo I’ve sent to him the past few weeks of his newest pride and joy.
Clicking send, I push my shirt back over my bump and turn my attention back to Marshall.
“So…. now that you’ve got that out of the way. Can we eat dinner and talk about our upcoming visit to see your family?” I can tell Marshall is trying to be smooth and calm about it all. Probably did the whole candle and flowers thing as a way of buttering me up to soften the blow. Nice gesture, sorely mistaken on what kind of girl I am though. Not much for romance or hearts and flowers sorta shit. It ain’t my thing.
The question is how do I handle him? Do I do the normal Bink thing and be a bitch, calling it how I see it? Or do I take the respectable, less invasive stance and have a mature conversation about this where we talk it out without cussing, or passing judgment? That’s a hard one. The former is typically how I handle most things. Who woulda thought at thirty I’d be maturing even further? Not me.
“Dinner, yes, it smells wonderful,” I praise with a smile, and tilt my head up sniffing the air. “We can talk after.”
Marshall nods without complaint and returns to cooking, whistling away. I sip on my cider, mulling over a hundred different feelings at once. If I do take Marshall with me to my families, what will that mean? How will they react to an outsider that is so different than them? I could bring Deke as my plus one, and nobody would throw a fit about that. Although my daddy and Lindy Sue would probably get off on me bringing Marshall along, he would be a fine specimen of man to throw the brothers for a loop, if Gunz hasn’t already filled in the blanks for them already. The pregnancy thing is going to be enough to cause a mild uproar. Adding Marshall to the mix might even soften the blow. They’ll ask less questions, if they think my daughter is his. And they will have two aspects to my new life instead of one. It’s not like I can get out of going to my older brother’s wedding.
MC Chronicles: The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 2: (Motorcycle Club Romance Novel) Page 8