The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 4 (MC Chronicles #4) Page 3

  My daddy doesn’t want to be in the room to see his granddaughter born because he can’t unsee things—his words not mine. So now he intends to party while I’m upstairs going through a grueling birth process? That doesn’t seem very fair, now does it? Fucking men. I wonder what Mandy had to say about this.

  “And Mandy?” I grumble through clenched teeth. The fingers probe more and I shift my bottom, wanting to scoot away. Instead, I release a pent-up breath.

  “I didn’t ask. But she’s downstairs helping Big set up.”

  Of course she is. My dad and she are a match made in heaven. She’s even staying here with him, now that my mom’s shit is gone. Out with the old and in with the sorta new. I like her much better, anyhow. She’s a sweet lady.

  The fingers stop moving and my midwife’s hand is removed from my pussy. Breathing a sigh of great relief, I glance down at her for an update. Peeling the gloves off her hands, she turns them inside out before stuffing them into a plastic bag that she has in her pocket. My legs are released, so I readjust myself and sit up with some serious effort. Jezebel chuckles from my side, knowing that it’s not easy to move when you’re this big. Turning my head, I give her a dirty look and she grins knowingly. I roll my eyes, wanting to tell her off, yet, think better of it.

  “And?” I direct the question to my midwife, losing my patience with all of this.

  After Big had left this morning so I could rest, I got about twenty minutes of interrupted sleep and then finally gave up and came upstairs. Big was nowhere to be found, so I made myself a bagel and some orange juice to keep my strength up. Big returned home just as I took my first bite of food at the kitchen counter. Long story short, I was scolded for not telling him I was up, and that I shouldn’t have walked upstairs without his assistance. As if I’m some fucking weak bitch who needs to be doted on hand and foot. Sometimes I think he doesn’t know me at all. The argument lasted a couple of minutes, and ended when another contraction robbed me of speech. Deb came over shortly thereafter to keep an eye on me, and everyone else has been showing up in a steady stream ever since. It’s a full house.

  “You’re between six and seven centimeters,” she answers, fiddling with her phone. Most likely imputing information.

  “And that means what?” Pixie probes, no longer counting the spots on the ceiling. Her finger tucks a piece of blue hair behind her ear.

  “That Bink is…” She pauses to finish with her phone, then tucks it into her back jeans pocket. “It means that Bink is in active labor. It should only be a few more hours. I’d say three to four at most.” She looks to me. “But since you were already four centimeters the last time I checked and you held there for a while, I’m not sure how long it’ll take.”

  “Should we ready the pool?” Deb interrupts, entering the room with an armful of fresh towels, straight from the dryer. I can smell the Downy scent from here.

  Arms relaxed at her sides, my midwife turns to her. “It looks like she’ll be progressing quickly, so have all of her birthing aids on standby.”

  Deb nods, her brown hair falling over her slender shoulders. “Okay. We’re on it.” She glances over to Pixie and Jezebel. “Ball, pool, towels,” she raises her arms, gesturing to the towels with the incline of her head, “bowl, baby blankets, and wash cloths. They need to be set on the couch in the living room a-sap. Enlist Gunz to help if you’d like. He just arrived.” She finishes her directives, and before anyone can get a word in edgewise, she’s pivoting on her heel, heading into the other room.

  “Where’s my favorite girl?!” Gunz hollers down the hallway. I have to grin at the wonderful sound of his voice as I pull my long nightgown over my exposed parts. Out of habit, my arms curl around my beach ball sized belly.

  “We’ll go help Debbie.” Pixie waves for Jez to follow and they both exit the room just as Gunz stops outside, peering around them to find me sitting at the end of the bed, my feet dangling off the floor.

  “I’ll go get my stuff ready.” My midwife moves around Gunz and heads in the same direction as the rest of my Sacred Sisters.

  Gunz welcomes himself into my space, which somehow fills with a profound serenity just having him this close. I haven’t seen him in two days, and I’ve missed him. He doesn’t say a word as he saunters over to the bed and drops down beside me. The bed bows under his weight and I wobble a little, my shoulder momentarily knocking with his before I even out. A pair of suckers are tugged from his cut. He unwraps them both, handing me one. Popping it into my mouth with a sigh, a layer of companionable silence settles over us, leaving only the distant voices of the men downstairs and my sisters in the living room to keep us company. I suppress a moan of sweet satisfaction as I twirl the sugary goodness between my teeth, bathing my tongue in root beer delight. A cramp in my lower back starts and I know the next contraction is seconds away. The feeling curls up my spine and radiates into my belly as the increased tightness grips like a vice. Inhaling a ragged breath, I clamp my teeth around the sucker stick to transition through the growing pain. My muscles tense and I release a tiny noise from my throat. Jesus, this fucking kills.

  “Contraction, huh?” he asks, and I say nothing. Gunz’s hand slides down my spine in long caresses. It does little to dull the ache. “You’re doin’ good.”

  Trying not to hold my breath, the sensation of my belly turning to marble robs me of that ability. Air seizes in my throat, a knot forming there. Closing my eyes, I pray to the heavens above, asking for a moment's reprieve. Seconds feel like hours. Sweat drips from my temple, down the sides of my cheeks. I can’t believe it could get any worse, but I was so very wrong. Ages pass, and the tension builds in my body at an all-time high before the vice, gripping my center, relents.

  “Seventy-two seconds, Baby Doll,” Gunz counts beside me, his hand settling on my thigh.

  Slumping my shoulders forward, weighted with exhaustion, I turn my head to garner eye contact. Those caring orbs reach into me, delivering a needed surge of adoration. A temporary calmness settles, relaxing my frame. I exhale a breath, removing the sucker stick from my lips. Gunz plucks it from my fingers and slips it into his jean pocket.

  “I think this is gonna be a tough day, but we’re here for ya. Ain’t nothin’ gonna happen to my girls.” His arm lays over my shoulder, tucking me to his side. Dropping my head, I rest it on him and dampen my lips with the sweep of my tongue.

  “I know, but it’s been hours of this. And that was the worst one yet,” I express as I absentmindedly rub my belly. Gunz’s hand joins mine.

  “This okay?”

  “Yeah. Until I have another contraction.”

  His hand continues its love. “How’s Big been handlin’ this?”

  “My labor?”

  Even though I can’t see it, I feel him nod.

  Knowing there’s not much to say, I shrug. “He’s been fine. It’s been hours of this, and from the sounds of it, hours more.”

  Powerless to throttle my groan, it kind of slips out, foreshadowing my growing distress. When you choose to have children, you hear about how magical it is. I’ve held onto that notion for months. Even through the times with Marshall and my mother kidnapping me, I’ve held on to the concept that being a mother is all that matters—that my daughter is all that matters. It’s true, and it’s gotten me through some pretty dark spots in my life. Not knowing if Big could accept me—us. Our constant battles. It’s been my saving grace. However, today, the day that I finally get to become a mom. It doesn’t feel magical. It doesn’t surround me in this growing love and warmth like I suspected it would. I’m filled with tension and relentless anxiety. Questions that I’ve tried to keep buried have surfaced, nagging me with no end in sight. Will I be a good mother? Will she be healthy? Is this something Big truly wants, or is he just going along for the ride because he loves me? Will my daughter love me? Knowing that my own mother spent my entire life hating me for the most selfish of reasons, I can’t help but worry. Everything is coming to a head. My body is tired. My
brain a muddled mess. It’s been hours of contractions, of throbbing, of locked jaws and back pain so severe I want to crawl into a ball and cry. I knew giving birth naturally wasn’t going to be easy. I’ve watched videos, I’ve read countless books. But nothing, and I do mean, nothing, prepares you for this. You can’t rest, you’re nauseous, pain spikes to levels you didn’t know were humanly possible, and you don’t want to eat or drink. All you want is for it to be over so you can hold your prize. Please tell me you’ve been where I am before. That I’m not alone in this. Please tell me that it gets better.

  A tear drips down my cheek, and I wipe it away before Gunz notices.

  No more crying, Bink.

  Jezebel appears in the doorway. “We’re all set out here. Pool’s full, ball, music, towels, and everything else is ready whenever your sexy ass is.”

  “Thanks, Jez,” Gunz says.

  “Yes, thank you.” Sincerity clings to my every word, and she bows her head in recognition before leaving us once again.

  The edge of another contraction nears and I prepare myself the best I can. Gunz seems to notice the tightness in my stomach when he removes his hand and holds me closer. “You can do it, Baby Doll.” His voice is strained just like Big’s has been when I go through these. I can sense their unease through their words. They want to take it away, to make me feel better, I know this. I can feel it in the way Gunz sways me with his body, side to side, as the contraction strengthens.

  Seconds later, the pain subsides and Gunz stands, offering me his hands. “Let’s get ya into the living room so you can have my grandbaby in there.”

  Folding my fingers through his, I allow him to pull me to my feet. I wobble a bit, so he wraps his arms around my shoulders to steady me. Embracing his middle, I lay my head on his chest, taking a deep breath to scent him. God, he always smells so damn good.

  Taking a step back, he folds his arm through mine to escort me to the living room where I get to experience the most painfully beautiful experience of my life. I just hope I can do it.

  “Come on, Sugar Tits.” Standing in nothing but his black swimming trunks, Big puts his hands out, palms up. “Dance with me.” His crotch is in my direct line of sight, and those shorts leave nothing to the imagination. Pretty sure I’ve seen all of the women take a gander at his junk a time or two since he slipped them on. The bulge is thick and defined. Our midwife has even blushed because of it. Beth, who just arrived ten minutes ago, couldn’t stop staring, so Jez had to snap her fingers in front of her face a few times to make her focus. Under normal circumstances, I would seize this opportunity to lean forward on this red rubber ball and nuzzle my nose there until he’s rip-roarin’ hard, begging for me to suck it. Now, though, I’d rather chop it off for putting me in this fucking position. I’m hurting bad and don’t understand how Big thinks dancing is going to make it any better. Doesn’t he realize my pussy hurts? I do have our daughter trying to push her watermelon head through the tiny hole. At eight centimeters dilated, I’m ready for her to be out. My pussy is nearly ready for her to be out. And I’m sure she’s ready to leave my womb over being squished in there for months.

  “Do you think dancing is going to make her come out any faster?” I cock my brow at him, then drift my gaze downward over his solid abs before landing on his bulge.

  Covering his junk with one hand, he waves the other toward his face. “My eyes are up here, babe. Quit staring.” Not sure if he’s teasing or being serious, I meet his gaze. It’s alight with humor. His single dimple’s out, making me all fuzzy inside. “That’s better.” He winks and I shake my head, trying not to smile, but fail miserably when the corner of my lip quirks up. I can’t believe I love this big lug. And to think of all that we had to go through to get to this moment…

  “You’re the one who bought those trunks. What do you expect?” I test.

  “She’s right. Bink’s havin’ a baby, but you’re pretty much puttin’ on a strip show with that package,” Jez torments from the edge of the couch.

  Next to her, Beth makes an uncomfortable noise in her throat and blushes, averting her eyes to her lap. Gunz, who’s seated on her other side, chuckles warmly while dropping his arm over her shoulder, tugging her closer. Stiffly, she presses into him, her fingers busy fumbling in her lap. By the rise and fall of her chest, I’m pretty sure she’s freaking out that Gunz is touching her.

  After the Runner bullshit, Beth’s been quite standoffish with all of the men—even Big, who’s kinda taken her under his protective wing. Pretty sure he’s doing that for my benefit since the Runner situation continues to piss me off. We’ve had fights about it.

  You’d think since Runner ‘supposedly’ cares about Beth, that he’d stop being a pigheaded whore. Wrong. He’s even more of a whore now. It’s gotten to the point where he does it in front of her as much as he can. The more women, the better.

  Not too long ago, when my sisters and I went to the clubhouse to clean and check supplies, he was there drinking at the bar with two chicks. Instead of taking them into his back room where he could fuck them in peace, he decided to take them right there in the common room, on the pool table. Things got a little heated when Beth ran crying from the room. Needless to say, I might have punched him in the face. And I might have also slapped one of the club whores. Hey, I’m not saying that I did. I’m saying that I might have. My vision hazed to red at that juncture. Fueled by hormones, I remember screaming at him. I remember Jez and Deb trying to remove me from the situation by grabbing my biceps and attempting to steer me into the hallway. Too pissed off, I wasn’t budging. Also, I recall Runner finding my outburst hilarious as he continued fucking a whore, doggy style, despite the fact I yelled at him. Jez and Deb had tried to be the voices of reason and convince him to take it elsewhere. He refused. Then, they released my arms—big mistake. That’s when shit happened so fast, it’s kind of a blur. My fists connected with flesh. The fucking stopped. And the next thing I knew, Runner was holding his nose as blood gushed between his fingers onto the floor, and Big was there carting me away, kicking and screaming. My fist throbbed, but I didn’t give a shit as I continued to spew profanities at the asshole for messing with my sister. Now, Runner is forbidden to talk to me. And Big has tried to persuade me into cutting the man some slack. As-fucking-if, I’m not doing that. He’s hurt Beth and I’m sick of it. At least she’s letting Gunz give her some lovin’. Everyone knows that Gunz loving is some of the best, so she better soak it up while she can. He’s not always this complacent.

  Hell, did you just see that? He offered her a sucker from his cut, and she accepted it with a timid smile. I want to say something, but another contraction steals my capacity to speak. Silently, I breathe through the raw agony as my legs tremble. A cold sweat breaks out all over my body, causing me to shiver.

  Big’s hands land softly on my shoulders, massaging them. “You’re doin’ good. Only a little more. That’s it. Breathe,” he coaches.

  Soon, the contraction subsides and Big comes to stand in front of me, offering me his hands again. Accepting them this time, he tugs me to my feet and into his arms I go. I don’t hesitate to lean my cheek against his hot, heavenly scented chest. Inhaling deeply, a heady burst of his scent makes my knees go weak. I lock them to keep them from buckling. Damn, he’s addictive.

  “Deb, can you please put on that song that I told ya about?” he asks, then lifts me just a bit so my bare feet are atop his. Resting my chin on his chest, I peer up at him as those caring ice-blue eyes clash with mine. He smiles, that adorable dimple creasing. “I know you’re hurtin’. But movin’ might help break your water since you refuse to let Doc do it.” He’s right. I won’t. At the last exam, she’d asked permission to rupture my membranes. Nope. It’s natural or nothing at all. I’m already miserable, so what’s another hour? Right?

  Kissing his bare chest, I nuzzle my nose there. “Okay.”

  A gooey sweetness envelops me as a song from when I was a child begins to play over our surround sound—I L
ive My Life For You, by Firehouse. Big’s arms encircle me, keeping me protected. Latching my limbs around his torso, my butt sticks out as he proceeds to dance around the outside of the blue inflatable pool that sits in the middle of our living room. The brothers in the basement yell about something. My midwife moves past us to sit on a folding chair next to Pixie. Beth, Jez, and Gunz carry on amongst themselves. The basement door opens and closes as I listen to Big’s heart thump steadily against my ear. His hands soothe along my spine in slow strokes of comfort. Another contraction breeches my aching lower back, alerting me of what’s about to come.

  “Contraction,” I grind out through the mounting pressure.

  “I know. Just let me hold you.”

  The tangible need in Big’s voice overpowers my pain as he moves us slowly by spreading my legs a little and then bringing them back together. Over and over, he dances with me through the contraction. Burying my face in his chest, I breathe through it, bathing his naked skin in my dense pants. Holding him tighter, my nails claw at his back to the point of nearly drawing blood. He doesn’t seem to notice as he continues our swaying with my feet atop his like I weigh nothing. Quietly, he sings to me through the plateau, his lips pressed to my hair, hot breath fanning over my scalp. The song ends and is immediately followed by another Firehouse classic. I know he picked these songs for us. God, he can be amazing when he wants to be.

  For quite some time, Big carries me on his feet. Songs pass, and contractions fold into new contractions as they grow closer and more intense. The mounting pressure in my lower half triples, urging me to lie down. But I don’t. I push through it, relishing in my man’s embrace, his scent, his gentle words of encouragement. He treats me like a delicate flower, and I’m not sure if I should be offended and karate chop him in the nuts, or if I should feel special. I choose the latter as his lips press a kiss to the top of my damp head.