HOPE TRILOGY: Sacred Sinners- Texas Chapter

by Cummings, Bink

  It’s a trap. My brain seizes. Abort abort.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I let the words fall freely from my lips without hesitation. “It’s pussy. It’s wet. It gets ya off. Serves a purpose. Not much else to say.” There. Not so bad. The truth without crude specifics.

  “How’d you pick the women?”

  “Whores, Kat. Whores. Club Whores. This ain’t no match makin’ service.” I’m defensive as hell. Sweat tickles the base of my neck. Mouth goes dry. We shouldn’t be discussing this. I’m keyed up. Ready to fight the invisible elephant sitting on my chest, making it difficult to breathe.

  “I don’t like that word,” she utters meekly, not very Kat like. See, I knew this would jeopardize the rare peaceful rapport we had.

  “It’s not a nice one. I’ll give ya that. But that’s what they’re called. Are you sure we should be talkin’ about this? It’s gonna make you mad.”

  “I’m not mad. I wanna know what it’s like. How you pick. I’m not a child that needs protected. We should have this conversation. It’ll clear the air.” That backbone of hers inserts itself into her voice. It’s about damn time. Her posture changes. Kat sits back, blanket up, eyes focused in my direction. She folds her hands in her lap. Well, not exactly her lap. More like our daughter. Feelin’ her.

  “At first, I picked chicks that reminded me of you. When that didn’t work, I picked ones who didn’t. For years, I pretty much swapped back and forth between the two.”

  “Fat like me, and skinny like Vanessa?” Her tone is level. Expression unreadable.

  That’s not gonna fly.

  Knifing up on the couch, I aggressively two finger point at her—my anger anointing the air. “You don’t talk about yourself like that,” I growl. “You’re the most beautiful woman on the planet. You got me? You’re not fat. You ain’t ever been fat. You got a round ass, full tits, and curves for days. Men like me don’t want skin and bones. Doesn’t mean I haven’t banged a few skinny whores in my life. But that’s not what makes my dick hard. There’s a lot of shit you’ll do to forget. Includin’ gettin’ so hammered you don’t realize what hole you’re pushin’ into.”

  Kat does that tame the beast hand thingy again. “I wasn’t talkin’ down about myself, Ryker. Calm your tits. I was merely tryin’ to understand the difference between women like me and not. That’s all. But thank you for defending my body’s honor and paying me sweet compliments that are unnecessary when we’re talking as friends. I’m good. You’re good. Do you need a beer?”

  I don’t care what she says. Callin’ herself fat is gonna get her the same response every time. I won’t tolerate that kinda talk. It’s bad enough we live in a world where women think a certain size means they’re sexy. Sexy has zero to do about the size of your jeans or the numbers on a scale. Men don’t give two fucks about that. If they do, you’re with the wrong type of man.

  Grumbling, I reposition myself on the sofa exactly like before. Holy hell. Did she really tell me to calm my tits? If she’s not a perfect woman for me, I dunno who is. Any other chick to tell me that would be told where to fuck off.

  “No. No beer,” I eventually answer after I’ve cooled down and my voice has returned to normal.

  She sweeps her hand toward the kitchen. “You sure? You’re still breathin’ awfully heavy.”

  “I don’t like you talkin’ badly about yourself.”

  “Whether you see it or not, Ryker. I am a lot fatter than your wife,” she reasons.

  “I know you’re not the same size. I’m not blind. That doesn’t mean you’re fat, though.” When Kat opens her mouth to spew some argumentative nonsense, I cut her off. “Don’t even think to fight me on that, baby, ‘cause we can go rounds about your body all night long. In my mouth. Ridin’ my dick. Those big tits bouncin’. And the whole time you’ll know for damn certain you ain’t fat. Ain’t ever been fat. Won’t ever be. Vanessa is thinner. Just ‘cause you don’t wear the same pant size as her doesn’t mean you’re fat. Do you not remember a minute ago when I mentioned gettin’ so hammered you don’t realize what hole you’re pushin’ into?” My eyes lock on hers, pausin’ a beat so she can see the truth in that statement. “Nuff said. We’re done havin’ this conversation, or I’m liable to get angry again.”

  “Again?” she snickers.

  “Angrier. Better?”

  “Much.” She winks, smirking.

  Time for a subject change. “How about you? How’d it feel, not whorin’ around?”

  I thank my lucky stars every single day that she didn’t. Double standard? Yep. It totally is. And I own that shit. Be pissy if you want. It ain’t gonna change my stance. ‘Cause the thought of multiple dicks inside what’s mine makes me wanna commit murder. Not the decent, bullet through the skull kinda murder, either. The string you up by your toes, slice off half your cock, and let blood run down your chest and into your mouth, slow kind of torture.

  Starin’ at her bump, she massages the roundness. “It was lonely.”

  Go ahead, stab me in the heart. Carve it from my chest with a rusty blade. It couldn’t hurt any less than what Kat’s doin’ to it now. Lonely? Christ. I’ve been lonely, too.

  Untucking one of the hands from behind my neck, I pat my thigh. “Come’ere.” She won’t ever be lonely again if I have any say in the matter.

  “W-what?” she stammers.

  Sitting up, I spread my arms wide. “Let’s cuddle for a little while. It’s been a long week. You need to cuddle.”

  “Ryker, we can’t cuddle.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Because you’ve been hard almost the entire night.” She peers at my crotch, so I do the same. It’s not that hard. Half a chub. That’s progress.

  “So?” I prompt.

  “I don’t want you gettin’ any ideas.”

  Ha.

  “Trust me I already have those ideas whether you cuddle me or not. I’ll even give you a foot massage to sweeten the deal.”

  Kat shakes her head, tryin’ to hide a smile behind her hair. “We both know what foot rubs lead to.”

  “You think I can’t keep my hands to myself?” I’m offended.

  She nods, humored. “Yes. I think you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

  Gasping in mock horror, I pound my suffering heart for show. “You wound me.”

  Katrina giggles. It’s the loveliest sound. Light and tinkly. “Thank you for the offer. Truly. But I don’t think it’s smart.” She shuffles her butt off the chair and stands, blanket in hand.

  “Wh-where are you goin’?”

  I gulp. Is this happening? Is she gonna let me cuddle her? Fuck. I hope so.

  Kat comes closer, and for a split second, the world comes to a standstill. Then my hope crumbles when she offers me the blanket. “I’m going to bed. Thank you for the talk. Hope we can do it again, sometime.”

  Screw the blanket. I grab her hand, wanting her to stay a little while longer.

  Don’t leave me. I want to beg like a lost boy. Let me run my fingers through your hair. Kiss you. Tongue your slit. Cuddle. Anything.

  Gazing up at my love, I kiss those warm fingers one at a time, and she gasps. I know she feels the spark, too. The electric current that passes between us. It’s always been there. Merely touchin’ her soft hand settles my heart. My trembling insides. My dark soul. Yep. I’m a pathetic bastard.

  Kat’s pretty eyes glaze over in lust as I take her other hand and do the same to it. Drawing each kiss out. Desperately wanting to suck her fingers into my mouth and swirl my tongue around them to taste her. Her thighs scissor together, needin’ clitoral friction. I wanna give her that. I do. But what I want more is to respect her wishes. I’m barely toeing the line as is. With one final kiss on the top of Kat’s hand, I release her. It hurts more than anyone can understand. Though, it’s the least I can do. Trust takes time to rebuild, and I’m at the starting line.

  Slippin’ her pants down her thighs and takin’ what I want isn’t the right way to rebuild a d
amn thing. It’ll feel good for the moment until she shuts me out again. Questioning my motives. Actin’ as if I’m using her body to sate my own. When that couldn’t be further from the truth.

  Stunned to silence, Kat sways toward me. I cup our daughter to steady her, and so I can get a little daddy lovin’. Needin’ another minute. Just one. I lift her shirt, pepper the taught skin with kisses, and whisper my love yous to my kid, who’s gotta be asleep because she hasn’t moved yet. Then I drop my old lady’s shirt back in place, palms still on her bump. My eyes lock with Katrina’s. “Goodnight, beautiful. I’ll see ya in the mornin’. Don’t forget to set your alarm for seven thirty. If it’s any earlier, I’ll fix that tonight. I’ve got the girls. You need rest. Especially with ya stayin’ up to talk with me.”

  Katrina nods in dazed compliance, skims a shaky hand over my bald head, and pulls away.

  “Goodnight, and thank you,” she whispers from the mouth of the hall.

  “Anytime.”

  Once the click of her door sets, I heave a sigh, flop onto my back, unlatch my jeans button, and shove a hand down my boxers, fistin’ my rager. Five painful strokes are all it takes to have me archin’ my back, head smashed into the couch, as the first jet of cum paints the inside of my boxers to the image of Kat’s tit in my mouth.

  Not givin’ a single fuck, I jerk myself empty, heavin’ to catch a single breath. Then I wipe the sticky mess on my thigh to clean up later. I’m tired. Perhaps tonight I’ll get a little shuteye.

  Later.

  Twenty-Seven

  Kat

  The slap slap of my bare feet on the hardwood echoes down the hallway to the sound of Scarlett cheering loudly in the kitchen. Who needs an alarm when you have your child’s voice to rouse you? Approaching slowly as to not disturb whatever it is they’re boisterously up to, I falter a step at the sight spread before me. On the stool, her back to me, Scarlett’s going wild—fist pumping the air, dancing in her seat. While Roxie lays on Ryker’s bare back as he does pushups. And they’re not just any pushups. We’re talking on the knuckles, back to his hands, one armed, the next arm, one leg up, then down. If there weren’t drops of sweat pooling on the floor beneath his face, I wouldn’t think he’s winded at all. Pausing midway down, in a plank pose, his face tilts up, and he notices me. A giant, albeit slightly naughty, smile curves at the corners of his lips. His blue orbs dance with mischief. I’m half tempted to escape back to my bedroom, where he can’t bewitch the butterflies in my middle that’re going berserk at his presence. They started last night even before he kissed … made love to my fingers. Who knew a few simple touches would start a blazing fire between my thighs? When I’d gotten back to my room, I didn’t make it two steps before I was fingering myself to a knee-buckling climax. If it weren’t for the wall to help support me as I banged my quivering sex to oblivion, there would be bruising on my knees this morning. He’s a sex God incarnate. Sweaty and shirtless with our daughter on his back? Sweet baby Jesus. I might as well surrender my ovaries right now. They’re begging to make six hundred more babies with this panty dropper … soaker … incinerator.

  Ryker mutters something to Rox, whose chin’s resting on his shoulder. She glances up, smiling broadly. “Mom!”

  Padding into the kitchen, my presence no longer a secret, I stand next to Scarlett. “Hey, Mom! Ryker has done fifteen pushups with Roxie on his back. Isn’t that cool?!” Her exuberance is a few decibels short of rupturing eardrums.

  Patting my daughter’s shoulder, I kiss her cheek. “Ya don’t have to yell. I’m right next to you.”

  Scarlett covers her mouth with her hand. “Ooops. Sorry. I’m just so excited! He’s super strong.”

  Ryker resumes his pushups at a slower pace, gaze fixed on Scarlett and me. I wonder if he can tell I masturbated to him last night. Gee. I hope not. That’s embarrassing.

  Heat suffuses my cheeks at the thought.

  “That he is,” I comment, watching Ryker hold his opposing leg and arm up at the same time without falter. The defined muscles in his shoulders ripple. Oh my fairy unicorn princesses, this is not fair. There’s eye candy everywhere in the world. Like a single piece of deliciousness you savor and move on. Then you have my ex who’s a candy buffet the size of Walmart. The supercenter ones. Not the lame ass, basic bitch stores without grocery.

  “Mom should get a turn, too,” Scarlett announces, brushing a blonde strand of hair off her face.

  “No!” I object vehemently; in the same breath, Ryker says, “Sure.”

  Shaking my head, I take a step back, poised to flee to the bedroom. “Not happening. No way.”

  Ryker lowers himself to the floor, and Rox climbs off, but not before she pecks his cheek in thanks. Not sure how I feel about that one. I’ll digest it later.

  Now upright, Roxie strides my way and wraps me in a tight hug. Scarlett joins in from the side. A second later, they’re shuffling me forward, toward their Dad. I try to drag my feet, knowing these little girls are up to no good. Except it’s impossible when you’ve got two children your size throwing their weight around.

  Ryker’s hand seizes my ankle once I get close enough. “Come on, Kat. Join in the fun.”

  “Yeah, Mom. Don’t ruin the fun,” Scarlett begs.

  “You can do it, Mom,” Rox steps away, taking her sister with her. From the floor, Ryker pleads with terrible puppy dog eyes for me to play along.

  Defeated, I harrumph, and tap tap tap my foot on the floor in agitation. “Just this once. I don’t wanna break your Da—Ryker’s back.” Oh no! Please say they didn’t pick up on the tongue slip.

  Ryker saves the day when he thumb points to his taut back that’s littered with ink. “Sit down, facing my ass, legs straight out over mine. If you need stability, hold my shoulders or sides.”

  Following his instructions to the T, I get in position. Palms curve over his damp shoulders. His skin’s incredibly warm, and his scent heady. All man, Old Spice deodorant, and pheromones. Any time now my panties will combust.

  “You ready?” Ryker prompts.

  “Yep. Don’t break anything.” I’d feel awful if he did.

  “You don’t weigh that much, Kat. We talked about this last night. If you feel like you’re gonna fall, tell me, and I’ll stop. Girls, get to countin’.”

  One-by-one, Ryker pistons his ridiculous hard body up and down in quick succession. Slow down, fast up. Roxie and Scarlett chant each pushup. By the time we crest fifteen, I start to freak, worried I’ll injure him if he goes any longer.

  At twenty, when he becomes sluggish, I almost call it off.

  “Four more,” he grits, the slick muscles beneath me vibrating under strain.

  I wait it out, nervous he’ll not be able to move afterward.

  Ages pass and the final pushup ends. Ryker lowers himself carefully to the hardwood and expels a rushed breath, body deflating, arms fanning out above his head. I scurry off, sitting on the floor beside him so he can breathe easier.

  Ryker turns his flushed face in my direction, cheek resting on the floor. “You should sit on me more often,” he grins tiredly, drawing lungfuls of air through his nose. The muscles on his shoulders twitch every now and again, bald head glistening.

  I nudge his ribs with my foot. “Be good. There are children present.”

  Ryker scowls, lips pursing. “I am. I wasn’t talkin’ dirty. It’s good for me to have you sit on my back. There’s only so much training you can do with weights. You have to adjust and be more conscious of each movement when you’ve got somethin’ precious sittin’ on you.”

  Oh. My mistake.

  Opening my mouth to sincerely apologize, I falter when Ryker sits up, exposing the world to his glorious physique. Men like this aren’t real. They’re not. I close my eyes in disbelief and open them again. Ryker orders the girls to get their school stuff around. It barely registers because I’m too busy shamelessly objectifying perhaps the sexiest man God’s ever crafted. And God has created some mighty fine specimens. The Rock
; need I say more? However, Ryker’s hotter. He’s gotten thicker—more chiseled since I saw him at Thanksgiving. When we had sex last, I didn’t take the time to appreciate his body in all its glory. I’m starting to sound like a broken record, aren’t I? Going on and on about his hotness. Well, I’m sorry. It can’t be helped. I’m a recovering Brent aka Ryker addict, who was just reintroduced to my drug of choice. Like most drugs, it sounds good. Looks good. You want another hit. But you know it ain’t good for you to relapse because you’ll be stuck going through detox all over again. And detox sucks.

  Going about their business, the girls disappear, and Ryker climbs off the floor with the grace of a gazelle. He offers me a hand to help me up. I’m no fool, so I accept. With his assistance, I’m slightly less of a grunting pregnant mess getting off the floor. This is why chairs are lovely. They’re easy to get up from. The floor at this size, not so much.

  Once I’m safely on two legs, I dust my sweatpants off out of habit. They’re not dirty. “Thanks.”

  Ryker lifts his chin in acknowledgment, wipes his face off with a towel on the countertop, and guzzles a full bottle of water. Each pull of the cool liquid forces his throat muscles to constrict. There’s never been a sexier neck. Holy Moses. If I’m gettin’ off to throats, I think it’s about time I get laid. Between last night and today, I’m having a hard time keeping my wits about me. It’s difficult to remember why you’re keeping a distance when the hungry cooter in your pants wants to play hide the sausage. Whoever said only men think with their dicks was dead wrong. Pussies are demanding horndogs, too.

  “What other exercises did you do today?” I ask lamely, trying to make casual conversation and failing.

  “I ran two miles before I woke the girls up.” Ryker stretches his arms high, to the side, and pulls them across his chest. They’ve gotta be tight after that work out.

  Desperate to find things to discuss, I scan the kitchen. It’s devoid of any dishes. “What’d the girls eat?”