HOPE TRILOGY BOX SET: Sacred Sinners MC- Texas Chapter

by Bink Cummings

  One second, I’m seething, and the next, I’m biting his lip and sucking it into my mouth as he groans his approval. Carefully setting me on my feet, he pulls away just long enough to tear my leggings and panties down my legs in one fell swoop. I don’t know what possess me, but I hold onto his shoulders and step out of them without hesitation. As reward, he presses a chaste kiss to my lips, then lays down on the tiled floor, knees bent. Unzipping his pants, he extracts the most beautiful monster cock from its denim prison. Springing into the air, a dribble of pre-cum rolls down his bulbous cockhead, onto his shaft.

  Fisting the base of his manhood, Ryker waves me forward. “Ride me.” He smears the clear liquid into his skin using his thumb.

  Back against the wall, trembling with a surplus of pent-up emotions, I frantically shake my head. There’s no way I’m fucking him. Kissing is one thing. But screwing is what got me into this mess in the first place. Bending down, I go to grab my clothes to put them back on, but Ryker is faster. He seizes my hips and drags me to him like I’m weightless. Forcing me to straddle him, he positions himself at my entrance and thrusts upward to breach my core before I can scramble away. Holy fuck! Tossing my head toward the sky, I moan at the fullness. I can’t help it. I don’t want to like it, but I do. I love it so damn much.

  His cockhead resting just inside my pussy, I shove the flaps of his vest apart and shuck his t-shirt up his rippled abs to expose his pecs. Without a second thought, I sink my long nails into the meat, and he moans so loudly that I almost come on the spot. Eyes rolling back into his skull, chest driving upward toward my fingers like he wants me to hurt him more, he digs his own digits into my curvy hips, but not too hard that I’ll bruise.

  “More,” he chokes, swollen lips parted, gasping.

  “You want me to hurt you?” I rake my nails down his chest, loving the red streamers they leave in their wake.

  “I want you to make me pay. I deserve it.” Holding my hips, he glides me back down his shaft to the hilt. It aches from being stuffed so fully, but it doesn’t take long for me to adjust.

  Slowly, I trace a nail around his pierced nipples. They were never that way when we were together. It’s sexy. The silver barbells are a stark contrast against his tan skin, and make my mouth water, eager to suck. Biting my bottom lip, I flick the barbell with my nail, and he shudders, ousting a groan. I do it again for good measure and his hips lurch. This could be fun—torturing him because of all the shit he’s done to me. To show him who’s in charge. To make him weep with the need to come. The prospect is rather enticing.

  Reaching behind me, I cup his balls in my palm. He sucks a pained breath. “These are gonna be sore for a few days,” I remark, squeezing and rolling them just slightly to make his eyes bulge and thighs quake.

  “They already fuckin’ hurt,” he grouses.

  “And why is that?”

  “’Cause I couldn’t leave you alone like I was supposed to.” Ryker’s hands securing my waist begin to tremble, and his abs contract, tightening the stupidly gorgeous ridges, all eight of them. A mistiness glazes across his heavy-lidded eyes.

  Swiveling my hips, I bask in the feel of him hitting deep. “And why couldn’t you do that? Huh? You had no problem abandoning your daughters…” And me.

  “’Cause you fuckin’ own me.”

  Anger spikes in my heart at his barefaced lie. I don’t own anything of his. If I did, he wouldn’t have done all that he has. Slashing my nails across his abs in retribution, I lift myself off his cock, only to slam back down again. We both cry out, so I fuck him harder, riding his dick, impaling myself on the only cock I’ve ever had. Fingers embedding in his chest, I take what I want, rejoicing in the power and delicious satisfaction. Each stroke bottoms out, cracking the foundation of my pain as my clit rubs against the dusting of coarse hair above his manhood.

  Lost to sensation, I let everything go. Moans and groans of unadulterated ecstasy pour from my lips as I pleasure myself using him like he used me. Just like he deserves. “I fucking hate you so much,” I cry out as he thrusts upward at the same moment I drive down, meeting in a beautifully raw connection that delivers a shot of bliss straight into my g-spot, nearly sending me over.

  Damn!

  Ryker knives up and maneuvers my legs so they curl around his waist, and we’re flush together, my belly molded against his, our lips a hairsbreadth apart. He pushes my hair over my shoulder, opening my neck up for him to feast on, and so he does. Licking and sucking there, he rocks our pelvises together, driving me mad.

  “Why did you … have to break my… Oh … God…” He nibbles beneath my ear, and I dig my heels into his bare ass. Just a little more. I just need a little bit more…

  “You’re close. I can feel it,” he growls.

  Clenching my walls around him, I rasp a shaky, “Y-yes.”

  Ryker slides his cock out of my pussy, only to fuck me harder on the down stroke. “Take what you want, beautiful. Take it. Make yourself come,” he demands. “Fuckin’ take it. Come all over my dick.”

  Coiling tighter and tighter, I quickly stave off my orgasm, not wanting to give it to him yet. “No,” I bark, slamming our bodies as one. The sloppy sounds of our coupling mixed with the scent of sex makes me groan. Stuffing my face into the crook of his neck, I bite him there, sinking my teeth in hard enough to leave a mark.

  Mmmm … his skin tastes good. Just like I remember.

  “Fuck, Kat. That’s it. You’re gonna make me lose it.”

  Oh hell no. He does not get to come. Not before I finish the second time. Leaning back just enough, I wrap my fingers around his throat and squeeze at the same moment I bury his cock to the hilt and still, refusing to let him spill into me just yet. Not that I should let him come at all. He’s not worthy of that. Not anymore.

  A satisfied rumble vibrates in his chest as if he’s totally okay with me refusing him. Perhaps he’s just as fucked in the head as I am.

  Lifting my mouth to his, fingers still on his throat, I tease his parted lips with the wet tip of my tongue. “You’re not coming. This isn’t about you. You’re the asshole who left your kids and me. You chose your club over us. You don’t get to come. You don’t get a fuckin’ thing from me, you asshole.”

  “I am an asshole. Your asshole.” His voice is gravelly, strained. It only makes me hotter, wanting to do nastier, naughtier things to him. Things we used to do when we first met. But that can’t happen.

  “You’re not mine. Not anymore.” It hurts to admit that aloud. I’ve never said it before. Not to anyone. Tears well in my eyes, but I refuse to let them run over. So I briefly close them instead to wash away the melancholy before it consumes me. Then release his throat.

  Kissing my top lip, Ryker then pushes his hands between our bodies and pulls a gold band off his left ring finger. I’d never noticed it there before, but it makes sense that he’d wear one since he’s married. See, I’m such a homewrecker. Why am I doing this?

  Spreading his fingers, he motions his chin toward them. “Look at my ring finger.”

  I do, and what I see has my heart leaping into my throat as I gasp a noiseless breath. My initials. Ryker has my initials on the inside of his ring finger. He tilts his hand so I can see the other side, and there, inked into his flesh, is my birthdate.

  I open my mouth to ask him why would he do such a thing, but he beats me to it. “Six months after I left, I was going insane and at everybody’s throats, fighting with Ghost every damn day. I started hittin’ the bottle hard to dull the pain. Then one day, Pops told me he was takin’ me to get my first tattoo. Said it was better therapy than drinkin’ myself to death. That’s when I got these.” He wiggles his ring finger.

  Uh … Wow … Just … Wow…

  “That was your first tattoo?” I ask in awe.

  “Yeah; it was. But my artist touches it up for me every year so it doesn’t fade.”

  That’s oddly sweet, kind of romantic, and also a bit painful. He didn’t care to do that when we were
together, yet it was important afterward. He doesn’t make any damn sense. Who does that?

  “And what does Vanessa think about that?” I’d be pissed if my husband had another woman’s initials and birthday under our wedding band.

  Ryker shrugs one shoulder as if he doesn’t give a crap. “I dunno. Never asked.” Tossing his ring on the floor, it clinks then tinkles as it slides to a stop. Curling his fingers under the hem of my shirt, he drags it over my belly and sets his big mitt on top of the bump. The urge to shove it away is great, but I let it go for now. “So, when’s my daughter due?” he tests, raising a serious brow, his still-hard cock flexing in my pussy.

  “W-what?” I stammer, then clear my throat, forcing my expression to remain neutral.

  Tenderly caressing my stretch mark littered belly, he absentmindedly traces hearts and other designs across the ruined skin as he stares at my face. “You heard me. When is my daughter due?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie, knowing exactly what he’s talking about, but not wishing to discuss it.

  “Come on, Kat. Don’t play me for some fool. You gotta be due in March. I already know how far along you are.”

  “How do you know that?” I croak.

  “Because I know a lot more about you than ya think.”

  Huffing, I narrow my eyes at him so he knows I’m not playing. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “That means, the night I showed up to your house at two in the morning, and we had sex on your back patio, I know I knocked you up.” He’s way too composed to be having this conversation. How could he possibly know that? He couldn’t. I didn’t mean to let my guard slip. I swear. I didn’t mean for that encounter to happen.

  Sleeping peacefully next to Derek, my boyfriend of almost five months, I’d gotten up to use the restroom and grab a bite of chocolate from the kitchen. There was a knock at the door that startled me from my late night snacking. I can’t help it. It’s always been one of my secret addictions. Chocolate at four in the morning is pretty normal for me. When I’d heard the shallow raps, I peered through the peephole, and my heart literally sputtered to a stop. With an unsteady hand, I’d cracked the door open to see what in the hell Brent was doing at my house looking haggard. He appeared like he hadn’t slept in weeks, and his gaunt, overgrown face was sharper than I remembered, even if he’d bulked up everywhere else. Shoulders filling out his t-shirt to max capacity gave me the perfect outline of his pecs under the glow of the moonlight. He was a sight to behold. One that tipped my world upside down in a matter of seconds.

  To keep from going into too much detail, let’s just say Brent decided to play games with not only my head but my heart that night. He’d begged me to come outside. Told me he was sorry for everything. That he’d made a mistake, and was moving back to make things right again. He’d even gotten teary eyed. I fell for it like a damned fool and went to comfort him, telling him that we’d figure something out. I was trying to be the bigger person and not let my shattered past cloud my judgment. I’d come a long way over the years, and slowly began to accept the loss. But that night, he’d torn everything asunder. My emotions were jumping like a pogo stick all over the place. My body was unstable, shifting from goosebumps to trembling and sometimes a mix of the two. I was half-awake and an utter mess. However, regardless of my inner turmoil, I’d still sought to make everything better for him. To whisper sweet nothings in his ear like years hadn’t passed, and we were back to the time when we were happy together. One thing had led to another, and he’d kissed me. It tasted of desperation, and I tried to say no, but the words died a thousand deaths on my lips. I couldn’t seem to tear myself away no matter how hard I tried. Everything operated on autopilot, including my hopeful heart.

  Succumbing to the heat of the moment, we’d made love on the patio table in my backyard. And when I say made love, that’s what it felt like. It was gentle and deliberate. He drew out all of my orgasms, one right after the other. Every part of me melted into a puddle of relief and happiness being in his arms again. He’d even came twice, filling me to the brim. When it was all said and done, he’d promise to contact me once the girls had woken up so we could attempt to repair what he’d broken. And like the stupid, optimistic woman I am, I believed him. Even my gut believed him without signaling a single twinge of warning.

  Not caring one iota that I would have to break Derek’s heart in the morning, I’d fallen asleep on the couch with the biggest smile on my face and Brent’s cum deep inside me, right where I felt it belonged. Little did I know that my happiness would be short-lived. One day turned into two and then three, and I soon realized that I’d been duped, played for a fool. The scars that had long healed splintered, leaving them just as raw as the day he left. I cried for a week and didn’t tell a soul about what had happened. A few weeks later, when the nausea started, I knew his super sperm had spun its magic once more.

  My daughters and mother have repeatedly asked who the father is. However, I’ve been too much of chicken to admit my shortcomings. Especially since Roxie and Scarlett don’t deserve to be hurt by the news that their father dropped by one mysterious evening and now their mother is pregnant. As far as they know, it was a guy I dated, even if I’ve never slept with a single one of them—it never felt right. I mean … what was I supposed to say? What would you do? Would you have told them all the truth? It’s not like I enjoy lying. But if it saves my girls from heartache, I’ve got to try and protect them, right?

  Resting my palms on his relaxed shoulders, I focus on what I want to know. Screw his questions. “Did you know I was pregnant before I got here?”

  “Yes.” It’s monotone.

  Of course, he did. With the volume of deceitful things he’s done, this shouldn’t surprise me.

  “Did you think she was yours?”

  Looking away, he says nothing. Though his guilt-stricken features are confession enough.

  Gripping his chin, I turn his eyes back to mine and hold him there. “What else do you know that you’re not tellin’ me?”

  “Nothing,” he mumbles, lying all over again and pissing me off.

  Arg! I’m sick and freaking tired of being someone’s plaything. Hell, he probably had every intention of breaking in here to sleep with me. And being the gullible, dumbass that I am, I believed him when he proffered his body as a whipping post to ease my hatred. And what did I do? I didn’t walk out, or slap him, or beat his ass some more, despite my guilt. No; I allowed him to manipulate me. And I’m too damn stupid to see that I’m just another pawn in his sick and twisted games. What an idiot I’ve been. Falling for it, and allowing his cock inside of me where it’s always felt at home. Even if that in itself is the biggest boldfaced lie of them all. Home. Sheesh, what a joke. He’s a player to rival them all. He doesn’t care about me. If he did, he wouldn’t have done the shit he’s done over and over and over again. Will I ever learn? I sure as hell hope so.

  Ousting a frustrated huff, I unhook my legs from around his waist, plant my bare feet on the cold tile floor and try to stand, using his shoulders as leverage. Only, I barely budge an inch, if that, when those bulging arms of his lock around my middle as his half-hard member slips from my pussy.

  “Please don’t leave,” he half begs, sounding unexpectedly sincere.

  An infuriated grumble rolls up my throat, and I slap his shoulders, blasting two more shots of pain up my arms. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I snip.

  “You’re angry with me again? I thought we were over that. Why are you mad now?”

  “Because I was stupid enough to sleep with you against my better judgment. You mess with my head, and you know it. Now you lie to me again. Are you ever going to stop playin’ with me? I’m not just some notch in your belt. I’m a human being.”

  Ryker snorts a humorless laugh, arms still locked around me. “I mess with your head? That’s rich. Really fuckin’ rich, Kat. ‘Cause you’ve been fuckin’ with my head since the moment I laid eyes on you.” />
  “Liar!” Wiggling in his embrace, losing my shit, I try to get away. It’s futile. It always is. Gah!

  “I’m not a liar. I’m being honest with you!”

  “No. You’re not. You won’t tell me how you know things. Or what you know. Then you expect me to just spill my guts to you. I’m not doing that again, Bre—Ryker. Not after all this shit I’ve been through.”

  “If I tell you, Kat, You’ll never wanna speak to me again.”

  “I’ve barely spoken to you in years, anyhow! So why do you care?”

  “Because, I never stopped caring about you!” Great. Now we’re officially screaming in each other’s face.

  “Gee. That’s wonderful. Great. Fantastico. You still care. Well, let me clue you in on a little something, you big over-muscly-boy.” I jab my finger into his unforgiving chest, trying not to snap a bone. “You can care about someone all you fucking please. But actions always speak louder than words. And since your actions suck some major donkey nuts, I could give two rats’ asses if you cared or not.”

  “I know you’re pregnant with my child because I had someone talk to Derek,” he blurts, and everything inside of me coalesces into an atomic bomb to rival all others. Exploding, it sends me into a frenzy.

  “You did what?!” I shriek, banging on his chest with my fists like a gorilla. It’s not hard enough to hurt him, but loud enough that the resounding thuds sound like someone’s being killed in here as I curse him up one side and down the other, spewing the F-word like a trucker.

  Take that, you shithead. The side of my fist collides with his collar bone. Then another and another land haphazardly any place I can connect.

  Patiently, Ryker sits motionless and lets me run out of steam.

  Exhausted, heaving for oxygen, my arms burning from exertion, sweat streaming down my cheeks and clinging to the edges of my hair, I lazily deliver my last punch. It’s pathetic and aches something fierce. “F-fuck you, you stupidly good-looking asshole,” I wheeze, slumping against his chest, cheek resting over his sturdy heart. Curling his protective arms around my back, palms resting just above my butt, he holds me close, kissing the top of my damp head.