Time drifts as we lay in our lover’s bubble where nobody can touch us. The sun changes in the sky, filtering in through the bedroom windows. We nap. We cuddle. We simply be together without words. There’s no need for them.
By the time dusk arrives, I wriggle in Ryker’s arms, breaking his fortress of muscles surrounding me so I can sit up.
“You about ready to go to the party?” I ask, massaging his pecs, not giving a crap that my pussy is sitting atop his thickening member.
He holds on to my hips, fingers pressing in. “I’m ready for anything as long as it’s with you.”
“Even if we have to explain to the brothers for the millionth time, about Walker and Lucy?” I tease, winking at him.
When we arrived yesterday at the mother chapter compound, we were greeted with an abundance of club love. There were a few of his fellow brothers that oohed and aahed our twins. Even though, we all know they’re not. Yet, these men were too drunk to care. Because they kept prattling on about it like a bunch of hens. “They have the same eyes. Look at all that hair. They must be fraternal… yadda, yadda, yadda.” At first, I thought it was funny. Ryker never saw the humor. He’s a wee bit overprotective. If it weren’t for me, there would’ve been fists in faces and loads of cussing. Dickcheese would’ve gotten in on it at some point, to defend his brother. Which would’ve lead to more bloodshed, and most likely trips to the hospital. Not what we needed to deal with the day before our wedding. Bribing Ryker with a bathroom handy smoothed it over, and we both got a bit of somethin’ somethin’ outta the deal.
Ryker’s lips pull into a lazy smirk. “Yep, babe. Even if we gotta do that.”
“Without fists.”
“You’re no fun.” He pretends to pout, puppy dog eyes and all. I wiggle my ass on his boner to make him stop. Heat replaces the poutiness in a flash.
“It’s our wedding day. No fighting allowed.”
“They’re havin’ a huge party to celebrate Big’s kid tonight. There are brothers from everywhere here. There’s gonna be fists at some point. Somebody’s gonna say somethin’ wrong. Skulls are gonna get knocked around. It’s bound to happen. We’re bikers.”
“As if that explains everything,” I tease, knowing he’s right. Spending six months day in and out in the presence of bikers, you learn a thing or twenty. I’m not gonna say it’s been hearts and flowers. On the other hand, I have gained a whole new respect for the lifestyle. One, I never thought I’d live.
“It does. You married a biker, you know what you got yourself into.”
“Yep, and I love my big, sexy, biker.” My French manicured nails bite into Ryker’s pecs, cementing my statement.
“Hell fuckin’ yeah, ya do. Now ride me ‘til you come, sweetheart. Then I’ll grab your street clothes from the bike so we can go see our kids and party.” Ryker forces me up with the drive of his hips before he positions himself at my entrance. Lowering onto his shaft, we groan in unison as we merge as one.
“Goddamn, you’re sexy. Love you so fuckin’ much it hurts.” He palms my tits. Rubbing his thumbs across my hard nipples. Milk bubbles to the surface, and he licks his swollen lips in a trance.
“I love you, too.” I breathe.
“Then fuck me, my little Tiger. Wring my dick dry. ‘Cause I’m gonna go insane if you don’t. Need you too fuckin’ much.”
So I do. I ride my man ‘til my legs turn to Jell-O and my brain’s mush. When you love someone, that’s what you do, you give them what they need. And my need to love him whole is almost as strong as my need to breathe. Hopelessly devoted to each other some may say… I won’t deny that and neither will he ‘cause we know we’re meant to be.
Bonus Scene
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Hopelessly Devoted- BONUS SCENE
Contains Spoilers from the MC Chronicles
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P.S. Stay tuned for Book #4 of the Sacred Sinners- Texas Chapter series.
Wrecked and Restless Releases in March of 2019
Playlist
1. Ring of Fire: Johnny Cash
2. Hopelessly Devoted To You: Olivia Newton-John
3. King Cry Baby: James Intveld
4. Dear God: Avenge Sevenfold
5. No Matter What: Papa Roach
6. Hell & High Water: Black Stone Cherry
7. I Hope You Dance: Lee Ann Womack
8. Who I am with You: Chris Young
9. In Case you Didn't know- Brett Young
Note from Bink
Readers/Sisters/Friends, I want to say a huge thank you to everyone who’s taken this journey with Ryker and Kat from beginning to end. I hope you agree that this gave them the ending they deserve. Where will these characters go from here? Will Kade get his own story? Who knows. Time will tell.
As some of you may know, some may not, while writing this trilogy our family was devastated with not only one, or two, but three major deaths. The first put me in a tailspin, where I lost my writing mojo. The second, I was just getting back on the horse when it hit. Yet, I made myself persevere because he would’ve haunted me day in and day out if I didn’t. He was one of my biggest supporters. The third, took place a couple months prior to this release, when I was in the middle of writing it. I have to be honest, I was scared that I wouldn’t be able to carry on. But, I told myself I had to. That I didn’t have a choice. So, through the grief, and my own personal heartache, I’ve given you two beautiful souls who’ve endured years of their own heartache only to come out the other side intact. I think we can all learn a little something from Kat and Ryker’s journey… That everything happens for a reason. We may not understand it now. Nor may we ever. Life isn’t always fair. Life isn’t always just. It’s just life. Yet, we owe it to ourselves to make the best of the cards we’ve been dealt.
Through these books, Kat shows us what true strength really means. I’ve learned a lot from her over the last few years. We’ve bonded through my writing. She’s brought out things in me that were buried deep, that I was forced to resurrect in order to bring her to life. That’s why she’s my most cherished heroine to date. She’s the one who kept me sane throughout my own sorrow. The one who constantly reiterated, like a mantra in my head, “Bink, if I can survive what I have. I know you can, too.”
She’s right.
I can.
You can.
We all can.
No one would’ve thought, myself included, that I could learn so much about life itself through the eyes of one of my characters. But I have. And I hope, in the end, you have, too.
Thank you again, from the bottom of my heart, for reading.
Peace,
Bink
Sample of MC Chronicles: Volume 1
Monday, September 2, 2013
Today’s the day I start writing to you, and let’s just hope I can do at least this right. My birthday was last week. Last week I turned thirty; last week my life changed into another decade. A decade I swear that I’m going to do better. Considering I spent my entire 20’s bed-hopping from one bad boy loser to the next and never having a damn thing to show for it. No ring, no happiness, a big fat nada. Except maybe the extra ten pounds I’ve gained since high school. Ok, I realize you are probably rolling your eyes at me right now. Yes, ten whole pounds. All of it created by stress eating mass quantities of chocolate and all of it ending up in two places, T&A—need I say more?
Now… When I stare at myself in the mirror, I see boobs. Boobs is all I see. Or how my mom so delicately puts it, I’m ‘One Big Tit.’ A medium sized woman with boobs too big for her body. I’ve considered having them lopped off a time or two, but then where would my sporadic nipple orgasms go? I can’t jeopardize those, not when they make my toes curl and I’m clawing at whatever man is sucking them, nearly suffocating him in these giant bad boys. I’m a size six. Don’t hate me, I can’t help it. And if I gain wei
ght, I fear I might topple over as my breasts will undoubtedly get larger, they always do. I have a hard enough time buying bras at it is. A size 34 DDD, yes, I said it… Three D’s…I’m not stuttering.
My hair…it’s always been the same color, different styles, and lengths, but I refuse to dye it. It’s blonde, Goldilocks blonde, and it’s short, at least for now. I wear it close to my jaw now; I chopped off the majority of it after my last loser boyfriend and I broke up. My eyes are blue…Why the hell am I’m spouting this shit to you? No damn clue…but I’m at a loss of what to say or what the hell I’m supposed to even write… Just deal? Will ya? Oh, sweet Jesus, I’m talking to a diary now. Pathetic, huh? Yup, I’ve stooped to an all-time low. Okay, maybe not low-low, but low enough that I am sitting here in my living room, my laptop in my lap, the TV is on with some infomercial, and it’s five a.m. I am due to my second week of work at eight, and I can’t sleep. I can hardly ever sleep. A few hours here or there, and I’m lucky if I get that.
Glancing up from my computer screen, I scan my apartment with my eyes, taking in my life. Trying, in some way, to fathom how I’ve gotten nowhere fast. Landing my eyes across the room on the full bookshelf is the entire reason my life has been this way. Why I am the way I am. A picture of my parents rests there in an ornate silver frame, their eyes staring knowingly at me. Like they can see my deepest, darkest secrets, or some shit.
I guess, since I’m sitting here, staring, and reminiscing…and I don’t see any shuteye in my near future, I’ll explain a little more about myself. Since eye color really isn’t of any importance.
My name is Eva, or that’s what’s on my birth certificate. I can’t remember the last time anyone has ever called me that. To everyone else in the world, to all my family, and friends, I’m Bink, Bink Cummings. The daughter of Rodney ‘Steel’ Cummings. Who goes by Steel or Daddy, when I speak to or about him. My father is and has always been a badass, no-nonsense man, who just so happens to be the VP of the Motorcycle Club, Sacred Sinners. That’s how I grew up, surrounded by men in leather, drinking beer or liquor, fucking whores and bitches in front of me, smoking God knows what, and cussing so much it would make your grandma’s grandma blush. Those same men ride hogs; that’s what we call motorcycles, not those prissy bitchass crotch rockets made of plastic for men who have less balls than I do. No, big metal machines that make your pussy clench when you ride on one. And yes, I own my own little slice of heavy rumbling metal that I hold between my thighs and have to think of anything else than the orgasm that always consumes me when I’m on Black Betty, my pink and black vintage Harley. She was a gift from my daddy and his club Prez, Big Dick, when I graduated college a few years back with a bachelor’s degree in business management.
I’m a third generation biker. Both of my parents’ parents were in the Sacred Sinners. Pap-pap still is, going on eighty and still rides his Harley and hangs around the club on occasion. My mom’s folks passed on before I was born. My mom’s nine years older than my dad and had already considered him hers once he turned fourteen. Kind of gross when you think about it. A twenty-three-year-old broad getting wet for some kid. That’s my parents, though. Happy as ever, in love, and perfect for each other. Although I must admit, I’m not my mother’s biggest fan, nor my two sisters, for that matter. Yeah, there’s a whole damn litter of us. Two boys, three girls. Guess where I fit into all of this? The middle. I’m the middle child, the black sheep. My sisters both married off and moved away; both of them despise the MC and married some metro-sexual motherfuckers with tiny cocks and fat wallets. My brothers fell in line right behind my father—leather, bitches, hogs, and the whole gambit. I’m a strange mixture of both worlds.
Glancing up again from my computer, I catch a glimpse of Pretzel’s tail awakening.
“I know you’re up,” I tell him, and that whip of a tail goes wild as he rolls to his side, his eyes landing right on me. Yup, I’m a sucker for those puppy dog eyes. I love this damn dog. Got Pretzel almost two years ago, after another one of the club’s pit bull bitches had a litter and he came out the runt. Big Dick sold a few of the pups and when all was left was Pretzel and the two other dogs they were going to train, he’d pulled me to the side one evening at the club.
“Hey, Bink,” he’d boomed over the crowd, with a jerk of his chin, alerting me that he wanted to talk. The club was packed as usual. Which meant half-naked club whores, zero old ladies, and all the leather clad bikers that were patched into the club or prospects who wanted to join. I just happened to be dropping by to deliver some cookies I had baked for the men to munch on and was ready to leave. Once you’ve watched dozens upon dozens of men in your life, literally take a bitch over the bar, a chair, or wall in front of you or force a whore to suck his dick, you kind of become numb to it. Once you’ve seen one dick, you’ve seen them all. Well…sort of. You catch my drift.
As I approached Big Dick, his smile widened, and the whore between his legs kept up her desperate and failed attempt to fit his cock in her mouth. Pitiful sight. I knew he loved every single time a woman attempted the impossible. I’d heard as much over the years.
“I have a runt.”
My eyes narrowed, trying to understand what the hell he was even talking about.
“Huh?”
“Punta’s runt, nobody bought ‘em. Can’t keep ‘em. He goes to ground or you find him a place to rest his tiny head.”
This wasn’t the first time a runt hadn’t been bought, but it was the first time I’d ever been offered one.
“Big, you know I can’t afford one of your dogs.”
He shook his head, his long dark brown hair that was tied back with a rubber band swayed slightly. “He’s yours if you want him. He’s a cute pup—”
I grinned and had to hide my need to laugh when he said the word ‘cute.’ It just didn’t suit coming from the lips of a man who was properly road named Big Dick, who also happened to be approximately six feet eight inches tall, and pushing three hundred pounds of tight, hard muscle, with tattoos that littered his scarred, tanned flesh.
“What?” He stopped his sentence, realizing my expression had changed.
I shook my head, dismissing my need to laugh. He’d probably go off the hinges if I had even chuckled at him.
A growl, a deep, murderous, Hellhound growl snarled from his lips and my eyes went wide. Fuck! He was scary when he got like that.
“Tell me, Bink.”
I bit my lip, as he ordered again, more agitated this time. “Tell me, Bink.” His giant hand went to the whore between his legs, who was still trying to suck his fat cock. Gripping her hair, he yanked her off his erection, and I about fainted. Jesus. Fucking. Christ. I had heard about his dick. It was a legend. I just hadn’t seen it in person. As the whore, who I recognized as a newbie, fell back onto her ass, he grabbed between his legs and stroked his length. Holy. Hell. I went light-headed as all the blood rushed out of my brain and landed firmly between my thighs, instantly making me wetter than I had ever been.
“You can’t suck my dick for shit, whore. Get out of my sight.” He sneered at her in palpable disgust and she shrank away, mortified. Straight into the crowd of leather, sex, booze, and loud rock music she went.
“Now, tell me.”
I couldn’t have kept up my brush off any longer, not if I wanted to stay in the good graces of the club Prez.
“It’s nothing—” I stopped talking, and even though I didn’t want to, I looked at it again. The giant baseball bat between his legs was still being stroked as he grinned at me. The singular dimple on his face wound me tighter than an eight-day clock, and I knew if I didn’t leave soon, my pussy juices were going to start to run down my legs. I was that turned on.
Using his thumb, still giving me that grin, which showed he was rough, beautiful, and naughty as hell, he swirled the pre-come on the head of his monster cock and pinched the head between his fingers. Shhhiiitttt, it was sexy.
“Want me to take care of that, baby?” another club whore si
ngsonged, coming to stand beside me, and my stomach rolled. I wanted to puke. This one was naked and chubby, unlike the other who was also naked but skinny as hell. I hated that I was in the middle of this. I’d spent my adult years trying to avoid situations that included club whores.
The expression on Big Dick’s face was one of pure aggression and lust, as his lips curled over his teeth, and he not only growled at her, he nearly ate her alive with just a look. A look of pure evil, wrapped with sinister thoughts of slow, agonizing murder.
The chubby brunette didn’t even stand there a moment longer before she broke into a sob and ran full speed, away from him.
“Two, Big Dick, two fuckin’ whores tonight are gone. How much more ass am I gonna lose tonight before you cool the fuck off, man?” a member I recognized as Runner said, standing against the wall a few feet away, two bitches on their knees playing with his less than impressive cock.
“Out!” Big Dick snapped, pointing his free hand toward the front doors of the clubhouse.
Runner shook his head, exasperated, “Fine,” his words were clipped, eyes narrowed into tiny slits as he took the women by the arms and escorted them, along with himself, out the door. Both of the girls giggling like teenagers the whole way. Shit, who was I kidding, they probably were teenagers. I just didn’t care to notice or ask. Wasn’t my problem.
“Alright, now that that’s done.” Big Dick sighed, leaning back in his leather armchair. He was half-naked, his head reclined against the top.
“I didn’t want to laugh, but when you said the word cute, it doesn’t suit you,” I spit out fast, using all my air and quickly sucking a nervous breath.
“Cute?”
There it went again, a deep, gravelly voice like his and that word. I covered my mouth.
“Cute?”
HOPE TRILOGY: Sacred Sinners- Texas Chapter Page 63
