The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 3 (MC Chronicles #3) (5 page)

Big chuckles, obviously finding me cute. He finds a lot of the shit I do amusing when it shouldn’t be. That pisses me off too. Come to think of it, a lot of the shit he does pisses me off.

Staring at the wall, refusing to spare him a glance, I mutter through gritted teeth, “Just go get the fucking bags.”

I hear him move and a warm set of lips press to my hair. “Okay, Sugar Tits, I’ll be right back. And if it tickles your fancy when I’m gone, you can get naked. I’ll make it worth your while,” the cocky son of a bitch says. Before I can give a nasty retort, he’s gone.

Irritably reaching across the bed, I grab his shaving kit, set it in my lap, and unzip it. Inside he’s got all his essentials, razor, toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush, hair ties, shaving cream, shampoo, and other shit. Good, at least he knows how to pack that properly himself.

The nosy part of me can’t help it when I fish to the bottom of the case, in search of condoms. If he has condoms that means he’s planning on straying. My heart lightens a fraction from the implication that he’ll cheat. When I see there are no condoms or lube in the bag, a small weight feels lifted. Not that he’d ever need lube. He’s so good with his hands and mouth, it would be impossible for a woman not to get wet.

Feeling a little better, I sit the bag down, slide off the edge of the mattress, and get back to work. A few minutes’ later Big strolls back into the room with his two bags, his leathers, weather gear, and weapons. He drops his stuff on the bed, and I take over my duty until it’s complete.

“Do you really need to bring two knives and four guns?” I scan the bed full of gear and clothes. I’ve already folded and rolled his chaps into a roll and placed his rain gear into their bag, which they weren’t in to begin with.

“I always take that many,” he admits, standing next to me, arm thrown over my shoulder tucking me to his side.

“Right…. so how many of them do you actually use?” I glance at the two 9’s, silencer, .22, and .38 revolver. I know he uses the 9’s; he carries them in his holsters. The other two seem pointless, especially since he’s got to pack ammo for them too.

“The 9’s mostly,” he answers.

See, I was right.

Pulling away from him, I crawl across the bed and slide the .22 and .38 to the edge so he can put them back in the safe. “If you don’t use them much, take extra clips and ammo instead. Just don’t take the guns.”

Surprisingly, Big doesn’t argue. He helps me off the bed by offering me his hand until I safely reach the floor. Turning me so that I’m facing him, Big cups my chin and tilts it up so I can look into his eyes.

Tipping his head down, he smiles warmly at me, the creases of his eyes deepening. “I love you, Sugar Tits. You pack my bags if ya wanna. I’m gonna make a few calls, and if there is room, pack the .22. If not, I’ll just take the 9’s. Deal?”

Faintly I nod, his fingers still trapping my chin, “Deal.”

Big grins and threads his fingers through the sides of my hair before bending down to brush his lips across mine. A groan I’m unable to swallow bubbles to the surface, and Big chuckles, knowing exactly how this affects me. “Too bad we can’t fuck, Sugar Tits, ‘cause I’d really love to see ya bouncin’ on my dick right about now.”

“Do ya always gotta be such a fuckin’ pervert?” I wickedly goad, with my lips grazing his.

“Yes, when my old lady looks as good as you do.” He lightly kisses my lips, then my cheek, and moves up to my forehead where his lips linger and his fingers tighten in my hair, holding me in place.

Awkwardly peering down at my belly, I wrap my arms around Harley, “I’m not good looking, Big. I’m fat, and have you seen my feet? They’re huge.” It’s true. I don’t know how some women go through pregnancies with no stretch marks, no fat ankles, no swollen feet, and a tiny baby bump. I look like I’ve swallowed one of those first place fair pumpkins, and I just keep getting bigger. I even waddle now when I walk; it’s embarrassing and it makes things worse when the brothers start to tease me. Okay, not
the
brothers, just
my
brother, Jizz. I swear he’s a twelve-year-old bully trapped inside a six foot, blonde haired, blue eyed, cleanly shaven, overly tattooed, leather-clad roughneck. He finds it hilarious to tease me about my waddle, my feet, and pretty much everything else. And since Big has started this whole new persona that’s basically straight out of the fucking twilight zone, he finds it funny too. So much for his love and support. At least I’ve got Gunz; he’s got my back.

A sudden sharp pain sears through the sides of my scalp, and I yelp, as Big yanks my head back to look up at him. “Don’t you ever talk about you not bein’ beautiful. You’re the sexiest fuckin’ bitch I’ve ever seen in my whole goddamn life,” he growls, his eyes squinted in anger. “You got me?”

I open my mouth to argue, only to be silenced when Big’s mouth crashes to mine, stealing my air and all thoughts as his tongue jams into my mouth claiming it as his. Eagerly I submit to his fevered hunger and lavishly intertwine our tongues in a heated battle. My hands reach up to curl around his neck as his fingers maul my hair. Our bodies meld together, my nipples sharply hardening in my bra, and his cock strains in his jeans as it brushes my belly. Propping myself on my tippy toes, I hug him closer, unable to get my fill. My pussy wants him. I want him. I want his hands all over my body, and his mouth worshiping me like he has for weeks. I want him loving me like I’ve never been loved. And I want that filthy fucking mouth of his to tell me all the nasty things he wants to do to me. I want it all. I want to fuck his brains out.

Lifting my leg to wrap around his hip, Big growls into the kiss, and then it ends all too soon. He swiftly breaks away, leaving my hair a mess, my leg with no hip to hitch onto, and my hands to unfasten from his neck, falling to my sides. I try to advance on him, reaching out my hands as I pant for breath, my lips deliciously throbbing in sync with the ache between my thighs. An ache that can only be cured by him right now.

“Don’t,” Big warns, dodging my advance and skating across the room warp speed. Bending forward, he places his hands on his knees and his head tucks to his chest, as he too attempts to catch his breath. I stay rooted in place, my hands instinctively return to my belly and our daughter as she begins her ballet lesson for the day.

“We—um—wow,” I stupidly sputter out. Maybe I shouldn’t be trying to speak after hot tongue action.

“Yeah,” he huffs, nodding his head.

Standing up, he shakes out his hands at his sides before running them through his hair. I can’t imagine what mine looks like right about now.

“I just about lost it,” Big groans, reaching down to rub his cock over his jeans.

“Lost what?”

“Myself in you,” he licks his lips, eyes dancing with mischief as he blatantly checks me out from head to toe. “One more second, and I woulda had ya bent over the bed with my dick slammin’ into that perfect fuckin’ pussy, and I’d have been in heaven. But there will be no divine pussy till that baby makes her way here. Heaven’s gonna have to wait,” Big two finger points to my belly, a warm smile curling from his lips. “She’s too important.”

What is wrong with me? He’s right. Here I am supposed to be the sensible mother, and all I can seem to do is stare at his dick and think about all the hot, nasty, kinky things I want do with it. I should be ashamed of myself, but I’m not. I can’t help it. I think part of me is sad he’s leaving, so I could be craving him more because of that. But the logical part of me knows that’s not true.

“You’re right,” I admit even though I hate to say he’s right. He is. We have to wait.

“Excuse me?” he perks up a brow, using a sarcastic tone. “What did you just say?”

Fuck, now I’m never going to hear the end of it.

“I didn’t say shit,” I shake my head, refusing to give up the goods. I said it once, and it ain’t going to come out of this mouth again.

“Yeah, ya did,” he strides over, and bends down, getting in my face, his cocky know-it-all smile glued in place, and eyes dancing with delight. Sure glad he could get that little ego bump. Won’t be happening again. The smug bastard better live it up now.

Shaking my head again, I smirk. “Nope, you’re hearing things. Must be the old age.” Reaching out, I pat his pecs, “Now back to this whole packing thing. Don’t you have some phone calls to make?”

Big brushes his nose to mine, chuckles, and gives me a chaste kiss. “You’re such a pain in my balls,” he affectionately states under his breath.

I wrap my arms around his neck, threading my fingers in his hair, “Oh, honey,” I sarcastically gush. “I just love being a pain in
your
balls.”

Big encircles my wrists with his fingers and pulls my hands from his neck, bringing them to his lips. “As long as it’s you givin’ me the pain, Sugar Tits, I’ll take it,” he winks and kisses my fingers before releasing them. “Now I’ve got to work, and we’ll grab some dinner tonight at the clubhouse. Debbie and Candy Cane are cookin’,” he says as he moves around me toward the door.

“Okay, I’ll come get you when I’m done so you can load up your bike.”

Big winks at me once more before he leaves. Pretty sure this is the first time since Big and I have officially gotten together that I’ve had to deal with being wet on my lonesome. Since we all fucking know he’s not about to do anything about it right now and I don’t have the time or ability to get myself off, I guess I should get back to packing. I’ve got all of his first aid shit to sift through, among a hundred other things that need to be checked, along with packing him and the brothers some protein bars. That’s something I’ve done since I was a teenager. I’d stock the clubhouse supply closet with protein bars for the road. It helps when the sun is beating down on you for hours, and you start to become lightheaded from the weather exposure. A nutrition boost is a sure fire way to help curb the exhaustion. You don’t realize how much energy riding a bike takes, especially in sweltering heat or when the wind is gusting.

It’s time to work.

Turning over in bed, I reach over to cuddle Big, and all I hit is a cold mattress. Where the fuck has he gone?

Tilting my head. I glance at the clock on the dresser. The bright numbers read 1:53 a.m. I fell asleep early tonight in Big’s arms. I was emotionally drained today from all the worrying I’ve been doing. Guess he didn’t plan on sleeping; I wish he would have told me.

Sliding out of bed, Pretzel perks up a sleepy head from the foot of the bed. “Go back to sleep, boy,” I whisper, and he groans, laying his head back down with a thump.

Dressed in one of Big’s t-shirts and boy-short panties, I pad my way out of the bedroom and down the hall to the living room, where I flick on the lights.

“Big,” I call out and hold my breath. No response. The only sound I hear is the noisy refrigerator incessantly humming.

Turning to look at the basement door, I see that it’s been left cracked, and the stairwell is illuminated. Big must be at the clubhouse, and he’s drinking. He only leaves the stairwell lit when he knows he’s going to be stumbling home drunk. That’s a little tip I’ve picked up over the past couple of weeks.

Dashing back to the bedroom, I pull out a pair of my maternity yoga pants from the dresser and slide them on. By the bedroom door, I slip my feet into the pair of skull slippers Pixie bought me last week. Now it’s time to go find Big. He better hope he’s behaving; if not, I’m going to kick his ass.

Strolling back down the hall, up the basement stairs, out the door, and into the upstairs hall, I round the corner to the front entrance. Opening the front door and stepping onto the covered porch, I can see the glow of a fire burning at the back of the clubhouse, as the smell of bonfire clings to the air on this crisp spring morning.