Blue-Collar Bad Boys Next Door: The Full Eight-Book Collection

by Mazzy King

  I rise, pulling her body against mine. With no shoes on, the top of her head just reaches my chin. Our lips meet again, and my hands graze her back, down to the luscious curve of her butt. It takes all my willpower not to squeeze like a caveman.

  “Bedroom,” she says, pulling me toward it.

  Bongo remains out in the living room on his bed. Cecily shuts the door but doesn’t latch it, just in case, then returns to my arms. I find the zipper on the back of her dress.

  “May I?” I ask against her lips.

  “Please,” she replies, smiling up at me.

  I turn her around and slowly pull the zipper down, biting my bottom lip at the sight of all that white lace underneath. Her bra, and the garment that disappears between two round, bronze cheeks. She glances at me over her shoulder, her eyes heavy-lidded.

  “My, my, my,” I murmur, letting the dress slip off her and pool at her feet. I run my fingertips down her smooth, silky skin. “You are so fine, Miss Cecily.”

  She giggles.

  I lean forward, pressing my front to her back, and trail kisses from the side of her neck over her shoulder, then across her back and down her spine. She shivers a little.

  “Cold?”

  “Opposite,” she replies, arching her back and pressing her ass against me. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

  “I hadn’t noticed,” I say as she turns around in my arms and reaches for the top button of my shirt. Her front is as spectacular as her back, her breasts rounded and delectable and covered in white lace.

  I let her unbutton my shirt and tug it off, then unbuckle my jeans, before I push her back onto her bed. “I want to play with you some more.”

  Cecily gazes up at me as I lean over her, tilting her chin to meet my descending mouth. I leave her lips and graze kisses down her neck and chest, kissing over the cups of her bra before I undo the center clasp and open it, letting her breasts spill out. I waste no time latching onto a dark-pink nipple and teasing it with my tongue. Her head falls back and she lets out a soft moan.

  “God, you taste like honey and caramel,” I murmur into her skin as I slide across to the other breast. Her nipples harden on my tongue when I leisurely suckle them, standing out as if begging for more.

  By now, my cock is so hard it feels like it’s going to shatter if I so much as bump it against something, and it aches, too. I need her before I lose my sanity, but I’m not finished tasting her yet.

  I kiss my way down her stomach, over the ridges of her ribs and straight down to her navel, then lower, teasing her through the lace that covers the warm, damp mound underneath. Cecily squirms on the bed as I run my tongue over the crotch of her panties, her breath shaky and fast.

  I push her thighs farther apart, then tug the panties to the side and slide my tongue through her soft, smooth, wet flesh.

  “Major!” she gasps, gripping two handfuls of the comforter.

  My name on her lips makes my cock throb. I slide her panties all the way off, reposition her legs, and get back to work. She tastes like caramel flan, sweet and creamy, and I can’t get enough of her. One of her hands lands on my head, guiding me as I use my tongue to sop up every last bit of her.

  She comes hard and fast, her body quivering against my mouth as she lets out a soft, strangled cry. I lick her through her aftershocks, then stand and quickly shuck the rest of my clothes.

  Cecily reaches down and wraps her hand around my rod. Her fingers don’t quite touch. “Just like this,” she whispers, guiding me to her. “Make me yours, Major.”

  “Anything you want, baby.” I work my way into her slowly. She’s tight as a fist and I’m well-endowed, so it takes a few deliciously agonizing moments before I’m seated deep inside her. She gasps sharply, her fingernails biting into my skin.

  “Okay?” I ask tenderly, kissing her.

  She nods. “Yeah. It’s so good…”

  I thrust slowly, wanting to take my time and draw out the pleasure. Her creamy wetness coats me from root to tip, and she lifts her hips every time I bottom out to meet me. Gradually I feel her clenching down tight around me, little squeezing pulses over and over.

  I thread a hand into her hair. “That’s it, baby,” I groan. “You gonna come again?”

  In response, she bursts in my arms, her head tilting back into the pillow as her body trembles hard. She might have moaned my name, but I’m too intent on riding that orgasm out and seeing if I can draw another one out of her.

  A gentler ripple goes through her this time, but I got it.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” I say into her neck, driving into her.

  “Turn me over,” she murmurs.

  I flip her over onto her hands and knees and enter her from behind. She spreads her thighs wide and I can’t help myself. I grip two handfuls of her ass and drive into her, hard and slow and deep, until I reach my limit of control and come hard, filling her with my seed.

  After a moment, I don’t have the strength to be upright anymore and lay across her back. She mewls like a contented kitten.

  “Goddamn,” I mumble, holding most of my weight on my arms so I don’t crush her. “You are absolutely amazing.”

  “I’d say that goes both ways.”

  I slide out of her carefully, and she ducks into the bathroom to tidy up and offers me the space to do the same when she’s done. When I get back from the bathroom, she’s brought the wine and our dessert, chocolate cake, with her.

  “Wine and cake in bed?” I tease, crawling in beside her. “That could lead to some dangerous things.”

  Bongo creeps in, almost sheepishly, and curls up in another big, fluffy dog bed on the floor, his back to us.

  “Sheesh, Mom and Dad, you’re so embarrassing,” I say in a goofy voice, and Cecily bursts out laughing.

  “So, you’re volunteering to be his daddy, are you?” she asks, forking off a bite of cake and offering it to me.

  I gaze into her eyes, then lean forward for a chocolatey kiss. “Hope that’s okay. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

  6

  Cecily

  I wake to sunlight streaming in through the blinds and strong hands lightly skimming my skin. Smiling into my pillow, I say, “Good morning.”

  Warm lips press against my shoulder, then trail inward toward my spine. A burst of tingles follow in their wake, and I curl my toes. “Good morning.” His deep voice sends vibrations through my body.

  The lips continue their journey down my spine, making detours across my ribs until he reaches my naked rear end and plants wet kisses on each cheek. I giggle as I feel his hand lightly smack each side.

  “I will never get tired of doing that,” Major promises, then wiggles back up my body and plants loud, silly, messy kisses on my cheek until I scream with laughter and bop him with a pillow.

  It’s like we’ve been together for years. How has it only been…a matter of hours?

  My soul sat up and said, there he is.

  There he is.

  I roll over onto my back and blink up at him, hoping my face isn’t a total wreck. I did my best to clean off all the makeup after our first romp last night. Two more followed until we finally collapsed into an exhausted heap around two in the morning and promptly fell asleep, his arms around me.

  He smiles down at me. “Hi.”

  I trace the contours of his face, his cheekbones, the groove of a shallow dimple on the left side of his mouth. “Hi.”

  He leans down and kisses my lips softly, then the tip of my nose, then my forehead. “Let me make you breakfast.” Then he quirks a brow. “Okay, let me buy you breakfast.”

  “Useless in the kitchen?”

  “I’m an excellent sous chef,” he replies. “There’s a great greasy-spoon diner in walking distance of here, close to the park. We could take Bongo and eat on the benches.”

  I smile. “That sounds perfect.”

  “Great. But clothing isn’t optional, I’m afraid.” He grins at me, then vaults out of bed like a little kid, sea
rching for his clothes and then ducking into the bathroom.

  I listen to the sound of running water, stretching languidly. Felix is staying with Major’s parents all weekend, and I realize that’s a lot of time we’ll have together…to be together. Just the two of us.

  Major steps out of the bathroom and leans down to kiss me again, smelling of mint and soap. He grins broadly at me. “Still naked, I see. Time to shake a tailfeather, baby.”

  I grin at him, then deliberately kick a foot out from under the covers, shake it at him, and withdraw it. “There’s my tailfeather.”

  “Uh-huh.” He arches a brow at me, strapping on his watch. “Not too good at following orders, I see. The Army has punishments for that.”

  “Oh, really?” I roll onto my side, letting the sheet slip down a bit and reveal the tops of my breasts. “Tell me, Master Sergeant. What do you do to a naughty girl who disobeys you?”

  He prowls toward me. “I’ll make her go down…and give me twenty.” His dark eyes smolder down at me.

  I gaze back up at him.

  Then we both bust out laughing.

  “I don’t even know what that means,” he says, shrugging.

  I let out a groan. I’m not a morning person, but I’ll make the exception for him. “Okay, give me five minutes. Would you take Bongo to potty and then feed him?”

  Major tilts my chin up with his index finger and kisses me. “Of course I will.” He turns to the dog, calls to him, and Bongo rises from his cushy doggy bed and goes through his usual morning stretching routine, which isn’t complete until I say, “Oooh, big stretch.”

  Then he straightens and wags at Major before they clamber out of the room.

  I duck into the bathroom to wash up, throw my hair in a ponytail, and dress in a simple tee, shorts, and my favorite Adidas slides. Then I head out to meet my boys.

  After Bongo gobbles up his breakfast, I strap on his harness and leash and we head out. The morning is beautiful—brightly sunny, warm, with a slight breeze. I release a contented sigh.

  Major slips an arm around my waist. “Happy?”

  “Very.”

  “Good. Get used to it.”

  When we reach the café, I hesitate on the sidewalk. “I don’t think they let dogs inside. I’ll stay out here with him.”

  “No problem,” Major replies. We both examine the posted menu outside the door.

  “I’m a simple gal,” I say. “Biscuits and gravy and a caramel latte for me.”

  “All right.” Major opens the door and winks. “Be right back.”

  I find a seat on the small bench outside the café. Bongo sits beside me, panting and smiling at passersby. Several people stop to pet him, and he eats up all the attention. I smile. He’s the sweetest dog, even after all he’s been through.

  “I love you,” I murmur to him, and he turns his head. I could swear he understands what I mean.

  The café door opens and Major pokes his head out. “They’re all out of caramel syrup. Got a second choice?”

  I rise from the bench and step over to the door to peer inside at their menu. The barista calls out options to me, but I tend to get easily overwhelmed by too many choices, so I opt for an iced tea instead.

  “Hey! Hey!”

  The panicked shout behind me makes me whirl around. What I see hits me like a sledgehammer.

  “Bongo!” I scream, running forward toward the street.

  A man whose face I can’t see runs toward a plain, beat-up white van, my dog in his arms. Then he jumps in the back and slams the door shut. The door has a huge dent in the back, as if someone took a baseball bat to it.

  I’m only an arm’s length away from the van when it lurches into motion.

  “Cecily!”

  Major grabs me by the waist and hauls me backward as the scream of tires fills the air. A driver coming toward me slams on their brakes as I’m yanked backward.

  A couple on the sidewalk hurry over.

  “Was that your dog?” one of the men gasps.

  “Yes,” Major says flatly.

  “I just turned around for a second,” I say tearfully to Major. “One second!”

  He clenches his jaw, glaring off in the direction of the van as he pulls me to his side.

  “That van was sitting by the curb down the street for a while,” the other man says, pointing over his shoulder. “We were coming out of the ice cream place down there and saw it. Then a couple minutes ago, it crept up. We didn’t see you—we just saw the dog sitting by himself. Then some guy jumped out, rushed over, and grabbed him.”

  “Those are the people who’ve been harassing me,” I say in a choked voice. “I know it. I need to call the cops.”

  “You get the license plate by chance?” Major asks the first guy.

  “I did.” He recites it for Major, who types it into his phone. “Do you have GPSPet? They should be able to track it.”

  “He just has a regular microchip,” I say, my voice trembling. “I’ve been meaning to get GPSPet, but he’s always with me. I put it off. And now…”

  “Hey.” Major kisses the top of my head. “We’re going to get him back.”

  Tears stream down my face. I shake my head.

  By now, a small crowd has gathered on the sidewalk. Major has a fraternity brother on the police force and calls him.

  I find the “Unknown” text and give into my devastation, sending a violently emotional and threatening message. But I only receive an error in return.

  Bongo’s gone. My heart is shattered.

  7

  Major

  “You sure this is a good idea, Maj?”

  My good buddy Damien Willis casts a worried frown out the tow truck’s windshield at what looms ahead of us—the Port City junkyard.

  “I mean, my cop friend said this was an address they were investigating,” I reply.

  “He’d probably tell you this is a bad idea, then.” Damien arches a brow at me.

  “My gut says it’s right. Besides, what’re you afraid of, with your big-ass self?”

  “Getting shot,” he says firmly. “These dog-fighting rings can be brutal, man.”

  My frat brother on the force, Mike, told me privately in the days since Bongo was abducted that they suspected a dog-fighting ring operated near the junkyard, due to a connection with a relative of the yard’s owner, or something like that. Cecily and I gave him as much evidence as we could, which wasn’t much—the text messages on her phone, the call list, and some comments on her social media page we hadn’t seen before.

  Their investigation is slow-going. But when Mike called me last night to give me an update, I decided to take matters into my own hands and do some investigating myself. Damien’s along because he’s the biggest friend I have, and he can watch my back. He’s a retired Marine and a construction worker now, which means he’s built like hell and isn’t anyone to fuck with.

  Today, we’re here on the pretense of looking for scrapped car parts that we hope to salvage or refactor. Cecily doesn’t know I’m here. She’s working on a few senior portraits today while Felix is with my parents, after I asked my dad if they could keep him last minute. I could tell my father wanted to ask me all kinds of questions when I dropped Felix off, but I silently begged him not to.

  I’m glad Cecily is working today. She’s been so brokenhearted since Bongo was taken five days ago. I feel completely helpless, wanting to make it all better for her and not knowing how.

  Today’s the day I do something.

  The junk yard has a few buildings on the premises, a main office and a few other buildings. A man in coveralls walks out of the main office, shielding his eyes.

  “Hello,” he says. “Can I help you? You here to drop something off?”

  “Actually, hoping to find some car parts,” I tell him. He’s got a kind face, kind eyes. He just doesn’t look like the sort of person who’s stealing and brutalizing dogs. Then again, people do the craziest shit. I can’t put anything past anyone.

 
“Oh, sure.” He points in a southeast direction. “The garage and junk vehicles are back that way. Jerry’s in charge of that. He should be able to help you find what you’re looking for.”

  I thank him, and we head in the direction he pointed. There are mountains of junked out cars, and another warehouse-type building. Damien and I get out of his truck and walk toward it.

  Then I hear the faint sound of barking.

  “Hear that?” Damien murmurs.

  “Sure as shit do,” I reply.

  It could be nothing. It could simply be barking dogs. But that old, reliable tug in my gut tells me to be on my toes.

  We walk into the building. A rough-looking dude with full sleeves and face tats and a shaved head looks up as we walk in. His name tag says “Jerry.”

  “Can I help you?” he asks flatly.

  “Looking for some car parts cheap,” I tell him. “Engine, carburetor—whatever you can spare.”

  “Most of that shit is useless in these cars,” he replies, waving a hand. “But I got some vehicles in the garage that haven’t been stripped yet. Be pricier, though.”

  “That’s cool,” I say, wanting any chance to look around more thoroughly.

  Jerry leads us over to the warehouse, where rows and rows of cars are lined up, in various stages of disrepair. Some are whole, some are missing wheels or doors. Some are gutted, some have piles of parts lying on the floor next to them.

  “Looking for a particular kind of car?” he asks after we’ve walked around for a few minutes. There’s a slight edge of impatience in his voice.

  “I’m thinking a…” I trail off as my gaze settles on a white van a few rows away.

  A dented, dirty white van, with a huge dent in the back door.

  It’s missing the license plate, but I’d know that piece of shit anywhere. Okay, calm down. It could’ve come from anywhere.

  I try to think of a smooth way to start asking questions when I hear a few more distant barks. They sound like they’re coming from below us, as if there’s a basement under the warehouse.

  “That van,” I tell him. “Does it run? I’m actually looking for an old van.”