The Biker's Rules novel Chapter 69

***POV – Damion

18 months later

Damion: I m sure that from lack of use, my sperm grew legs and looks like frogs instead of tadpoles. But the situation is going to be rectified before the night is over.

I touch my crotch with a groan, abstinence is definitely not my thing. These last weeks have been torture, being in bed next to the woman of my dreams and she won t let me even touch her. Fuck, a week without sex with Mel is a fudging long time, two weeks is a fudging excruciating fierce eternity.

My dick stirs at the forecast of ripping off her clothes and moves into a full-blown hardon when I look at the photo she sends me as her answer. She s fudging with me, the devious little witch but I keep staring at the picture of her feet, her toe-nails painted in a checkered flag pattern. Damn my soon-to-be wife. Even her fudging feet turn me on.

Damion: You make my balls so blue – sure this maltreatment is sexual abuse!

This time her answer is a photo of her butt, covered by a skimpy black undergarment with my skull logo in white printed on the right cheek side. I drop the phone on the bed with a smile and turn to look at my image in the mirror. Dressed in a black suit and black T-shirt, a single white orchid on my chest breaking the darkness like an angel. The dubious fact that I m getting married is still sinking in. Me? Damion fuck ... fudging Grimm getting married … it s a laughable matter. The bad-boy, man-whore biker who got knocked on his ass by his best friend s little sister – hard like a fudging wrecking ball. Shoved back, knocked out, bowled for a home-run and I wouldn t change it even if I could. Why would I? This is it, the moment I ve been waiting for for what seems forever, probably since I was 8.

Fuck, who knew that I would walk into a haunted house and meet an angel, one that would fight my demons, one by one – fixing a once broken boy to turn him into a man. I pick up the paper laying on the table and look at it with a huge smile - my new rules, set up by my soon-to-be-wife.

Rule 1: You know your demons now - don't let them feed on your guilt.

Rule 2: No more fighting - unless there's a good reason.

Rule 3: ALL girls (excluding your wife) are off-limits.

Rule 4: Your wife is in control of your sex life - your body belongs to her alone in any way she wants to use it. And you only have sex in the space where your wife is present.

Rule 5: Desire is necessary and needed.

Rule 6: Protection is overrated. (And doesn t always work)

Rule 7: Lose your heart over and over again - every day.

Rule 8: Get drunk on love and get a fix of your Mel-drug whenever you need it.

Rule 9: Your wife (and kids) will keep you fit and healthy.

Rule 10: Only do dangerous things with a clear mind.

These are definitely rules I can follow, forever.

The door flings open and Logan burst in, his face as white as the white flower pinned on his jacket and he runs into the bathroom. He makes a few dry gags, spitting into the toilet, before splashing his face with water. Right now I m supposed to be the one puking my nerves out, getting drunk or cold feet, or whatever it is guys on the brink of getting shackled usually do. But it seems that Logan is more nervous than I am. Actually, I m not nervous at all – I know Mel is 'the one and I want to marry her.

"You look like you ve seen a ghost." He looks up confused as if my words startled him.

"I have and it gets worse, I m fucked." He takes the open bottle from the table and gulps down a big sip before holding it out to me, quickly retracting his hand to knock back some more alcohol. Who pissed in his pants, I wonder? It s not like Logan to react like this. Well, maybe it is.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" He truly looks lost and I have no idea what it s about. The last time he looked like this was a few weeks back – he got pussywhipped by a one-night stand in Chicago whose name he doesn t even know. Poor guy hasn t been the same ever since.

"I m whipped, I m fudging ... fulk ... ug, fucking whipped, dude!" At least he tried not to swear. Eh, yeh, we're all struggling with that these days, but the ladies are strict as hell on this subject. He holds up the bottle and drinks some more. Somebody got hold of his balls, and I know how scary that feeling is. Mel still got her hands solidly on mine.

Shi ... p, my best man is going to be drunk and nervous, while I m cool and collected.

"Are you ready little brother?" Alejandro strolls in, followed by the rest of the gang and I glance at the clock. Just a few more minutes and then this shit ... ship is going down, for real. I grab the bottle from Logan and down some of the liquid courage – not that I need it, just because it s some good stuff.

"Slow the fuc … er heck down you little mongrel!" My father shouts from downstairs, trying to remember not to use curse words, but clearly failing. He got stuck on baby-duty because mom is busy helping her new daughter to get ready. It s no secret that Mel s my mom s favorite, above all 3 of her boys, but even she comes second to the wild little fucker dad is trying to lay his hands on.

But then again, he s wiggled everybody around his chubby little pinky – and I m the biggest fucking softie when it comes to him – balls down. I hear a faint giggling sound when dad yells "Gotcha!" His footsteps going downstairs again and we all smile at his one-sided pleading conversation with his grandson.

"Look pal, your mom is busy making herself pretty for that lame-ass of a daddy of yours … so you re stuck with me, get it! So please, just for today, can you keep your little ass out of trouble. Do it for granny, ok? And no shi-er pooing in your pants, I m not going to change your diaper little man." The little guy shouts joyfully and dad curses some more, probably trying to keep his hands on that wiggling little busy-body. I guess desperate times call for desperate measures, and my father is desperate.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify