“Third time’s a charm,” I quip.
“Is my wife gonna come on my cock before I go?” His eyes delve into mine. Soul chaining to soul.
“I think…” Yes. Yes, I am. Lifting my head off the ground to fuse our lips in a delicate kiss. My thighs quiver as my sex milks his dick with all she has. Another slow in and out, his balls collide with my ass, and that’s all she wrote. I come. Not hard. But softly. Warmth cascades throughout, sparking little bursts of pleasure from toes to fingertips.
“Husband,” I whisper, kissing his chin.
“Wife.” A guttural prayer on his lips as he spends inside me one last time.
I’m dead. This has to be what heaven feels like. I’ve never, in all my life been this thoroughly dicked. Twice he came in my pussy and once in my mouth. If I was able to get pregnant, we’d be growing another baby by now. Thankfully, I had my tubes tied two months ago. No more kiddos for us. Speaking of which, I hope they’re doing okay. The babies especially. They don’t do so well being away from mama for any length of time. But we can worry about all that later.
Rolling off, dropping onto his back on the floor with a sated groan, Ryker tugs me closer. I lay my head on his sweaty chest not caring one iota how gross it is. Nuzzling my nose to his heated skin, I inhale his yumminess. Sweet Jesus, how’s it possible for a man to smell even better after sex? He does. Ryker’s scent is a damn aphrodisiac. If I wasn’t exhausted, I’d… screw it.
Not having enough connection, I climb on top of my man, straddling his waist. I return my cheek to his pec. Yesss. I sigh. This is much better. He’s warm. So, so very warm. It’s delicious. Those big arms of his fold around me in a Ryker cocoon. I wish we could freeze this moment and come back to it for always, when I’m ready to throttle him or put his nuts in a meat grinder. This right here is why I love him.
“You’re amazing.” Ryker peppers the top of my head with kisses. Somewhere along our sex fest route my fancy up-do came undone. Right now I could care less what my hair looks like.
He’s not finished. “Sometimes I wish I would’ve married you sooner. Not that I don’t regret the past and the choices I made. But knowin’ that we’re here after all this time with four beautiful kids. Happy. Together. In love. It almost makes all the shit storms worth it.”
I couldn’t agree more. Walker wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for all we endured apart for those years. Do I wish we’d had more time together? I’ll always wish that. But, the bitterness is gone now. He’s right. We have four beautiful kids. We’re together. We survived Hell and dug our way out of the ashes on the other side. I’m stronger for it. He’s stronger for it. And together we’re stronger as a unit.
“I’ve always loved you. Even through the pain,” I mutter, drawing designs with my fingertip on his opposite pec.
“Even through the pain,” Ryker mimics.
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.
The End
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Hopelessly Devoted- BONUS SCENE
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Note from Author
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
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Beyond Her Words
(Standalone. Out Now.)
“We’re not in Kansas anymore, Viola.”
I firmly grip the steering wheel of my restored ‘69 z28 Camaro—Viola. She’s my pride and joy. Leaning forward in my seat like an old lady, I try to gain visibility through the torrential downpour. My windshield wipers swish maddeningly back and forth, doing little good. Brilliant streaks of light flash through the murky sky, quickly followed by a heart-stopping boom. A knot forms in my throat and I swallow hard, trying to dislodge it.
This storm’s the worst I’ve driven through, and it’s right above me, creeping at a snail’s pace, looming overhead. It’s like the darkness that is my life. It’s lurking around every corner, between every nook and cranny, waiting to swoop in and sip the happiness from my marrow like a fine wine. I won’t let this storm win, though; not this time, not again. Tenth time’s the charm, right? Or maybe it’s the eleventh? Crap, I dunno. But for my sake and sanity, I hope so.
Strong wind wickedly batters the sides of my car, swerving it to the left. I hold on tighter to the wheel, keeping the tires on the road. I can do this. I know I can. I can find a place, any place, along this never-ending country road to get gas and suitable shelter. My body needs a break and a place to rest my tired head from this hellacious storm.
After eight hours of driving straight through, with the exception of two shitty pit stops, my patience is wearing thin. But, the more pavement that rolls under my tires, the faster I get away from Jonathan and his sick, addictive behavior. Why I’d spent the past six months hoping he might be the one to cure me, I can’t be sure. Loneliness, maybe? Stupidity? This inherent need to help people? I have no clue. I just know that yesterday was the last straw.
At thirty-two, I’m too gosh damn old to put up with men’s bull-honky. Guess that’s what I get for dating younger men. This time, it was only by four years. But in women’s years, it might as well have been ten. When they say women mature faster than men, no truer words have ever been spoken. I’m just glad I didn’t waste another six months trying to help him cure his alcohol addiction, which regrettably transposed his dependency to me and everything I do. I became his need. His drug of choice. For a woman like me, that doesn’t mix. I can’t fill that tall order, no matter who the man is. I don’t have it in me. My soul’s too damaged; my heart too broken.
Through my water-logged vision, the broken sign swings from a pole on the side of the road—Miller’s Gas Station, one mile. I pray this gas station is still in operation. I’m pushing less than a quarter tank in an engine that devours gas and need to fill up.
Quickly, I steal a glance at my passenger side floorboard. The box holding my potted garlic bulbs is still keeping them safe; no soil has been spilled. I blow out a relieved breath and focus my eyes back on the road.
Those garlic bulbs are the only thing I have left from my grams’ garden. They’re my most prized possession, aside from the two rings I wear on my left hand and my beloved car. Who knew so much love could be wrapped in these otherwise insignificant possessions? Not me. Not until everything was stripped away, and all I was left with were these objects, the clothes on my back, and a dirty box of old photographs.
Red lights flash up ahead in a store window—OPEN. A single uncovered pump sits in the middle of a gravel drive. The price for unleaded fuel is written in white on the shop's window. Unable to pump gas in these conditions without drenching myself in the process, I idle to the front of the rundown gas station. There are no marked parking spots, so I make my own. Through the rain I see a short, older woman curiously peer out of a window with a shotgun in her hand. I can tell she wants me to see it when she raises it above her head and shakes it a few times to get her point across. I’m not going to mess with her, but I suppose she can never be too careful out here.
A gust of wind jostles my car as the storm boisterously ensues from above. I lean over my shifter and grab my purse from the floor. Reaching into the front pocket, I fist the crinkled wad of cash before turning off the car and tossing my keys on the passenger seat.
Leaning back into the soft leather, I try to relieve the tension in my back and numb butt. A tired groan escapes my lips as my eyes scan the lot, waiting for the rain to slow so I can go inside. At the back of the rural property sits an older and heavily rusted mobile home. Parked beside it sits a flashy motorcycle with a blue tank and a red pickup truck. Must be where the owners live. Though I’m pretty sure the woman in the window, who’s still staring at me, won’t be riding that bike anytime soon. Although I could be wrong—wouldn’t be the first time or the last.
Shoving the money between my legs, I absent-mindedly pick at my nails and wait for the storm to slow. It has to let up sometime; it can’t last all dang day. Figures, I’d be the one to get caught up in a storm on my drive to the East Coast. I don’t really care, though. I just have to get away from small towns, and, more import
antly, away from lazy, crazy, or drug addicted small town men. Men who are pros at bullshitting their way into your pants right before they try to stake claim over your heart. Not like I’d ever give them that. You can’t give them something you don’t have.
Which is the main reason why I’m sitting here in this gravel lot right now, staring out my window, daydreaming and talking to you. You’re the only real person who I’ve got to listen to me anyhow. Men surely don’t care what comes out of my mouth if they’re not getting the candy in my pants, and usually not even after that. Trust me—us girls gotta stick together. Chicks before dicks. All for one and one for all—you know, all that female power bull-honky. If that actually exists. Does it? I dunno. Probably not.
Not like I think you’d like me anyhow if you got to know me. Nobody does. I’m easily forgettable. I mean, what can you do when you're the person that nobody sees? The tomboy; the girl with grease on her face and dirt under her nails? How do you cope with boys seeing you as one of them, not a person with XX chromosomes? How do you handle all the women being jealous of you because you're one of the guys? Like that’s something to strive for. It’s not. I’m the living, breathing proof.
I’ve spent too much time wishing I could tell people, and make them understand, that two people molded me into the person I am. Two people who really cared. Two people who were just as odd and backward as I am. And that those two amazing people are dead, buried, and never coming back. Ever. It’s a harsh reality I am faced with, day in and day out. Something that wrecks me on a daily basis, leaving me only a tiny sliver of my former self—a hollow shell.
Both of my people tragically died four months from each other to the day. Both of them ripped from my soul, leaving me to painfully wander the world alone. That was ten years ago. And I've been adrift, floating haplessly through a meaningless life ever since. Living a shoddy existence, where I roll into a town just as quickly as I roll out of it, never staying more than a year or two at most.
Hopelessly Devoted: (Sacred Sinners MC - Texas Chapter #3) Page 19
