Read The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 4 (MC Chronicles #4) Online
Authors: Bink Cummings
The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 4 (MC Chronicles #4)
The Diary of Bink Cummings
Volume 4
MC Chronicles
Bink Cummings
~~~
Copyright © 2016 by: Bink Cummings
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
Proofreader/Editor- Genevieve Scholl
Proofreader/Beta- Mary Bevinger, Jay Samia, Elizabeth Gilbert
Cover Artist- Bink Cummings
Photo provided from: Big Stock
Ebook Edition, License Notes
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(Note: This book/series is a work of fiction with some aspects based in truth.)
Contact the Author: Email:
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To all of the amazing women in the world who inspire us…who give us strength and hope.
This book is for
you
.
May your internal beauty outshine the ugliness of hate,
And
Your moments of sorrow be washed away by love.
Remember…
You’re an inspiration.
You can make a difference.
Your strength knows no limits.
You are important.
You are loved.
Laying on my side in bed, seized by pain, my hand cups my rock-hard belly. Another damn contraction. It’s time…
At forty-one weeks and counting, I knew I was going to give birth any day now. My midwife had threatened two days ago that if I hadn’t walked, jumped, or fucked this baby outta me in the next seven days, I was gonna be induced without question. With a softened cervix and four centimeters of dilation, she said it was a good sign. But my Braxton Hicks have been inconsistent, yet, overbearingly painful for the past two and a half weeks.
Last night, my sister, Jo, and her mother, Mandy, cooked up a delicious homemade meal at our house. Daddy, Jizz, Gunz, Beth, Jonesy, Big, and I all gathered around our formal dining table to break bread. Or, in this case, to devour a hardy helping of lasagna, salad, and garlic bread on our stoneware plates.
The severe spasms started right as dessert was served. Even though the pecan pie looked yummy, fresh from the oven, I couldn’t eat any. The pain robbed me of my appetite.
“I think I should lay down,” I said scooting my chair out from under the table as Jo plated slices of pie and topped them with canned whipped cream—my favorite.
Seated next to me, Big immediately slid his out, too, and stood beside me, offering me his hands. Which I gratefully accepted and allowed him to pull me to stand.
Curling me to his side, he kissed my damp forehead. “Another contraction, babe?” he soothed, lightly rubbing the side of my tight belly.
Turning into him, I buried my face in his chest as my hands curled around Harley. Then, I nodded, while biting my bottom lip to suppress a groan of growing discomfort.
Engulfing me in his embrace, Big’s lips pressed into my hair. “Sugar Tits, it’s a bad one, ain’t it?”
I couldn’t respond. My teeth gritted as a streak of pain shot through my back and into my stomach. I tried to breathe through it. I truly did. But it was hard. In through the nose and out through the mouth, my practiced breaths bathed Big’s t-shirt in hot air as I fought through the contraction, wishing it would go the hell away.
After the intensity had subsided, we said our goodnights to everyone, and then Big escorted me to bed, where he helped undress me and tucked me in before removing his own clothes. Sliding in beside me, I laid my head on his chest, my leg strewn over his hip. That was mere hours ago.
Turning over, I peer at the alarm clock. It’s 3:24 in the morning. My eyes shift to Big, who’s laying on his back, fast asleep, with the blankets kicked down to his ankles, leaving me a gorgeous view of his prone body wearing only a pair of black skull boxers. Even in the darkness, I find him sexy. How did I ever get so lucky?
It’s time. I can feel it. Today is the day we are going to have our daughter. I just hope he can handle what’s about to come. Hell, I hope I can, too.
As quietly as possible, I slide off the bed and tiptoe to the bathroom, trying not to wake Big. Easing the door shut, I hold my breath as the ‘click’ snaps in place, then head to the tub. Tossing back the curtain, I turn on the water before pulling the lever. I run my fingers under the tap until it’s hot. As steam fills the room, I carefully remove my panties and toss them into the hamper on the opposite side of the bathroom, trying not to topple over in the process. This big belly shit is no joke. I’m a beached whale. Don’t laugh. It’s true.
Finally ready, I release a low grown and place my hand on the shower wall to use as leverage to help me inside. Agonizingly slow, I lower myself to sit in the tub, stretching my legs out straight as the water mollifies my tense frame.
Another contraction is soon to replace the former. Cupping my stomach, I ride it out as I count the seconds that pass in my head … 1-2-3-4-5. A shot of pain lances down my spine, aching down into my ass. Another deep breath and I grind my teeth for a moment to push through, failing to remember where I left off.
Shit.
The tightness recedes, and I can breathe easy again. In a soothing motion, I rub my hands around my belly, feeling my daughter play ballet this morning and reveling in it. I know it has to be tight in there, but she seems to be doing just fine kicking mommy in the ribs on a regular basis. There are just some feelings in the world you could never describe or understand until you’ve felt it for yourself. Carrying a baby in your womb for this long is one of those experiences. You feel their every move, their hiccups, their kicks, and I often wonder if she’s doing it because she’s releasing her own frustration of being cooped up for so long. I know I’d be a raging bitch. Sadly, I can’t believe this will all be over today. No more movements, balloon ankles, or such a big belly I can’t see my feet or my pussy, or safely bend over for that matter. In the past month, I’ve learned the art of plie. It’s definitely a must-know when you’re pregnant.
Exhaling a deep breath, I tip my head back, permitting the water to pound my chest and top of my belly. The hot spray eases me as it always does when I don’t feel well. It’s been my go-to since childhood. One of the many reasons why I will be giving birth in a warm pool of water.
I just need to wait a few more hours before waking Big. He needs his sleep, and I don’t want to alarm him. He’s already been on constant edge about Harley’s birth. One twinge of Braxton Hicks and he’s forcing me to lie down. Coddling me has become his constant. It’s not that I don’t enjoy the attention because I do love my enormously sexy, overbearing protector. I just hate that he’s the one riding that razor’s edge of anxiety and overreacting more than I am. For example, three days ago he called my midwife when I refused to eat ice cream. He thought it was a sign that something was wrong. Like I said, he’s overthinking and running his mind ragged. I’ve tried to be understanding. Truly, I have. But I’ve spent countless minutes telling him to “chill the fuck out”. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to be working. He’s a giant ball of man nerves. I’m not sure if you know what that’s like, but picture a usually overbearing Neanderthal that is over a foot taller than you, who watches you like a hawk, gives you zero damn privacy, and messages you a million times a day. Now take that picture in your mind and amplify it times a thousand, then you’ll have Big. Crazy fucking picture, ain’t it? If you’re not nodding, ya should be.
Last week, I convinced Gunz and Daddy to take Big on a nonsense run just to get him out of the house. Things with the club are steady, and, aside from a summer run, everything’s been supremely mellow. Which is exactly what we need right now. Less stress for Big to deal with. We thought it would be a nice change of pace to force Big outta the house. When he was gone Deb, Jez and Pix came over to keep me company, and I talked to my sister, Jo, on the phone. Needless to say, he left at eight in the morning and they got back by six at night. Between those times, I had six phone calls and ten texts, all from him. All of which, my stubborn ass let go unanswered. So when he got home, it was his insecure wrath I had to endure. Oh boy, it sure was fun.
Not.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? You could have gone into labor and I wouldn’t have known!” he bellowed from the locked side of our bedroom door. I refused to let him in because he was acting like a jackass.
Pretzel sat at the door, his nosed pressed against the wood as Big proceeded to pound on it. “And what the hell was up with that bullshit run? Did you make Gunz do that? We went to a fucking Harley dealership and gun range! I shoulda been home with you! Answer me, Bink. Did you force Gunz into that shit?!”
Ankles crossed on the bed, hands on my belly, back against the headboard, I stared at the door with an odd fusion of contempt and humor on my face.
“Are you fucking listenin’ to me, Sugar Tits?!”
Yep, listening just fine.
“Hello? Earth to Pain-in-my-balls!” His fist beat harder. The sound ricocheted off the walls in the room, and I rolled my eyes at the ridiculousness.
The texts from him were full of overreaction, and I knew I shouldn’t have pushed his buttons. I knew I should’ve messaged back, but I had a relaxing Sacred Sister day. Pix painted my toenails a hot pink since I couldn’t reach them. Deb and Jez cooked a delicious lunch. We watched a movie. It took a load off my chest, and, more importantly, it took an overbearing asshole out for a day of peace. Sometimes ya just need a little peace. Sometimes, someone you love can get under your skin even when they mean well. Big has that gift. He’s damn good at getting under my skin, even though I love the man with every fiber of my being. I needed that damn break, and Gunz was more than willing to help me out. Hell, Deke had even offered, but I knew that would go over like a lead brick. Deke and Big’s relationship is still partially strained. Even though a fraction of his affection for me has sorta rubbed off on Jo. Now that’s an interesting story for another time.
Pretzel whined, scratching his paw on the floor as I expelled an exhausted sigh.
“Hello!” Big hollered.
“Hello!” I mocked in return.
“You’re bein’ a sassy bitch today, aren’t ya, Sugar Tits?”
Two could play at that game. “You’re being an overgrown man-child today, aren’t ya, Richard?”
A low growl rumbled. My pussy involuntarily reacted, clenching in the best and worst of ways
. Damn it!
“What the fuck is your problem?” he added.
Like a dam, everything within me broke and I lost it. Exhausted, emotional, and freshly horny, I had no real desire to fight, even though that was the box I was about to open.
“Yes! I asked Gunz to take you somewhere. No! I didn’t choose where. Yes! I could have gone into labor, but I needed the break. You’re smothering me. You won’t leave to go to the clubhouse. You won’t hang with your brothers. You won’t stop texting me even when I’m in the basement and you’re upstairs in the kitchen. You’re suffocating me. I’m cranky. I’m near my due date. I feel like a fucking cow. My ankles hurt. I pee a hundred times a damn day, and I have problems breathing part of the time. I’m uncomfortable and scared shitless about becoming a mother.” A silent tear broke free as I carried on. “I love you with everything I have. But you act like I’m gonna fucking break. I can’t even pee without you checkin’ on me. You’re the one nesting in this house. I’m not. All I wanna do is sleep, Big. I wanna sleep. I wanna fuck. And I wanna have our daughter without you bein’ up my ass all the time.”
His tone turned sweet. “Babe, I’m sorry I’m up your ass. But it’s a nice fuckin’ ass.”
With considerable effort, I tried not to chuckle, and failed. A little one broke free as I smiled like a fool, rubbing our daughter over my t-shirt clad belly.
Pretzel sniffed under the door, and I leaned up to see a set of thick fingers breaching the base to pet our pup’s nose. My heart thudded, forcing a delicious warmth to skitter through me. God, I loved the hell outta that asshole—my asshole.
“Shut up.” I laughed.
His fingers kept petting our pup as he talked. “It’s true. I can’t help myself. I worry, ya know? I’m not tryin’ to be a dick. I just need to take care of ya. You’re mine. She’s mine. You’re my heart, Sugar Tits. Always have fuckin’ been, and always will be. I’m tryin’ here to be a better man. I wanna be a good father. You think I’m not scared shitless to be a dad? If the man that raised me is any indication of what kinda dad I’ll be, I’m fucked. I don’t wanna be that way. I’m just tryin’ to do right by you both. Years of not havin’ ya in my arms, my lips on yours, my dick in that sweet pussy, sharin’ a bed and ownin’ your heart, it does somethin’ to me. Alright? Ya gotta cut me some damn slack. I’m makin’ up for lost time.” He sighed. “Now, open this motherfuckin’ door so I can eat that pussy.”
A little thrill whirled through my belly as I climbed out of bed and padded to the door. His words tumbled through my head, and I knew he was right. I was, once again, being unreasonable. Guilt ate at me a little, but I punched it down and blamed it on the pregnancy hormones as I unlatched the door. Pretzel was forced to move away as I stood in the frame, looking up at my sexy man that was smiling down at me, single dimple grinning. My pussy sparked at the naughty glint in his eye.
“A t-shirt and no panties?” He raised a brow. “Was this foreplay, Sugar Tits? You wanted to fight with me first?”
I crossed my arms over my chest, giving him a halfhearted ‘you’re full of shit’ glare. “No. I don’t wanna fight with you.”
Big took a step forward, and I took a retreating step back, my eyes never leaving his. My breathing accelerated. I knew what was about to happen, and every part of me couldn’t wait. I needed this—needed him. Yes, I wanted the break and enjoyed my day with him away. But those ice-blue eyes searing into mine, and that huge erection straining in his jeans. It made me giddy and my mouth water with needy anticipation. Hell, I was so fucked.