Blue Collar (A Boys Behaving Badly Anthology Book 2)
Blue Collar
Delilah Devlin
Elle James
Layla Chase
Adele Downs
Megan Mitcham
NJ Walters
Robie Madison
Kalissa Wayne
Tray Ellis
Jennifer Kacey
Mia Hopkins
Sukie Chapin
M Marie
Belinda LaPage
Kris Norris
Susan Saxx
Twisted Page Inc
Contents
Blue Collar
About this Book
Contents of Blue Collar
Introduction
1. We Drill Deep While Others Sleep
2. Elevation
3. Upside Down Love
4. Plays With Fire
5. Roadside Assistance
6. Cabin Fever
7. Shear Passion
8. The Traffic Stop
9. Special Delivery
10. The Boss
11. Challenges Met
12. In the Heat of the Moment
13. Renovating the Heart
14. Full of the Wild Life
15. Bountiful Lust
16. Mr. Big
About the Authors
About the Editor
ROGUES
Contents of Rogues
About Rogues
Blue Collar
Boys Behaving Badly Book #2
Edited by
DELILAH DEVLIN
New York Times & USA Today
Bestselling Author
We Drill Deep While Others Sleep Copyright © 2017 Mia Hopkins
Elevation Copyright © 2017 Megan Mitcham
Upside Down Love Copyright © 2017 Adele Downs
Plays With Fire Copyright © 2017 Elle James
Roadside Assistance Copyright © 2017 N.J. Walters
Cabin Fever Copyright © 2017 Kris Norris
Shear Passion Copyright © 2017 Belinda LaPage
The Traffic Stop Copyright © 2017 Kalissa Wayne
Special Delivery Copyright © 2017 Susan Saxx
The Boss Copyright © 2017 Jennifer Kacey
Challenges Met Copyright © 2017 Layla Chase
In the Heat of the Moment Copyright © 2017 M. Marie
Renovating the Heart Copyright © 2017 Robie Madison
Full of the Wild Life Copyright © 2017 Tray Ellis
Bountiful Lust Copyright © 2017 Delilah Devlin
Mr. Big Copyright © 2017 Sukie Chapin
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-62695-106-8
Print ISBN: 978-1-62695-107-5
First-round edits by LustreEditing.com, a full-service freelance fiction editing company.
Story selections and final edits by Delilah Devlin.
The stories in this book are works of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues are of the authors' imaginations and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. 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 an information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from the authors —except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper or on the web.
This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors.
About this Book
When it comes to love…Blue Collar is better! It’s time to set aside those sexy billionaires and enjoy stories about the everyday, even sexier bad boys you meet in real life. They may have dirty hands and wear tool belts and jeans instead of Rolex watches, but they’re earthy alpha males unafraid to get down and dirty when face to face with a woman in need—whatever her need may be! Just a few of the titillating stories inside... In “Elevation” by Megan Mitcham, an always-in-control policewoman trapped in an elevator shaft gets a sexy rescue from the handsome repairman. A single woman ready for adventure drives a thousand miles to meet an oil field roughneck ready for a long night of laying pipe in Mia Hopkins’ “We Drill Deep While Others Sleep”. Jennifer Kacey shows the lengths to which an enterprising gal will go to get the owner of an oil change shop to check her fluids in “The Boss”. And those are just a few of the sexy stories inside this collection about the everyday hero next door. These are men who’ve built their powerful muscles from hard work rather than a inside any gym, and they sure know how to use their hard-earned skills to pleasure a woman...
In “Elevation” by Megan Mitcham, a policewoman trapped in an elevator shaft gets a sexy rescue from the handsome repairman. A lonely woman drives a thousand miles to meet an oil field roughneck ready for a long night of laying pipe in Mia Hopkins’ “We Drill Deep While Others Sleep”. Jennifer Kacey shows the lengths to which a woman will go to get the owner of an oil change shop to check her fluids in “The Boss”. These are men who’ve built their muscles from hard work rather than inside any gym, and they know how to use their hard-earned skills to pleasure a woman...
Contents of Blue Collar
Enjoy these stories:
We Drill Deep While Others Sleep – Mia Hopkins
Elevation – Megan Mitcham
Upside Down Love – Adele Downs
Plays With Fire – Elle James
Roadside Assistance – N.J. Walters
Cabin Fever – Kris Norris
Shear Passion – Belinda LaPage
The Traffic Stop – Kalissa Wayne
Special Delivery – Susan Saxx
The Boss – Jennifer Kacey
Challenges Met – Layla Chase
In the Heat of the Moment – M. Marie
Renovating the Heart – Robie Madison
Full of the Wild Life – Tray Ellis
Bountiful Lust – Delilah Devlin
Mr. Big – Sukie Chapin
Introduction
If you’re like me, you have an eclectic appetite for book boyfriends. I can just as easily fall in love with a cowboy, a billionaire, a werewolf, or a Navy SEAL. One hero I can’t seem to find in abundance is that everyday alpha male—the blue collar working man.
And let’s be real. What woman hasn’t ogled a sweaty, well-built road construction worker flipping his Stop sign, and haven’t you gazed up at a lineman strapped to a telephone pole and thought, Oh. My. God.?
Once, I watched a pair of tree-trimmers swinging in the branches of the huge oak in my back yard, like aerialists from Cirque du Soleil, and I thought their act was the sexiest, most beautiful thing I’d ever watched.
So, asking authors to give me their fantasies featuring those every day, accessible, hard-working men, seemed like a pretty good idea to me. I hope you agree, because when it comes to love, Blue Collar is better!
Delilah Devlin
We Drill Deep While Others Sleep
Mia Hopkins
The highway is a ribbon of blacktop strung across a whole lot of nothing. Hours slide under my tires as I pass another filling station and another rest stop. In between? You guessed it. Nothing. I drive on. One sleepy country radio station bleeds into the next.
>
The time’s nearly noon when I pull into the parking lot of a brand-new motel, no doubt built to accommodate travelers on their way to the oil fields farther north. I spot Seth’s beat-up truck with its bumper sticker: We Drill Deep While Others Sleep. Oil worker humor. Dirty and punny. I remember him deciding between this one or Pump Her ʼTil She Squirts. Classy guy, my Seth.
I put the car in park and turn off the engine. I’m exhausted and wired at the same. I take out my phone and text him. I’m here.
His response is immediate. Room 254.
I check my makeup in the rearview mirror and grab my duffel bag off the passenger seat. It’s heavy as I walk upstairs. When I sidle past a housekeeping cart, the young maid flashes me a faint smile.
I knock on the door hung with a Do Not Disturb sign. When it opens, Seth fills my vision and blocks out all the light. Six foot two, all muscle and heat. The room is cold, because the windows are wide open. He’s always run hot. He’s wearing basketball shorts and a white cotton undershirt. The style’s called a wifebeater, but if he ever tried to hit me, I’d smash in his skull with a lead pipe.
“You’re late.” His voice is so deep.
“I know. I had a problem with—”
“I don’t want to hear it.” He reaches forward, grabs my arms, and pulls me into the room.
The door slams behind me. I drop my duffel bag in surprise as he pushes himself against me, pinning me against the door. “Seth—”
He cuts me off. “You’ve been driving all night.”
A statement, not a question. I nod. He likes me cool. Emotionless, even a little bitchy. But waves of heat rise off his skin. I can smell the clean, soapy sexiness of his body, and I can’t possibly act like he doesn’t affect me. He shaved. His lips tempt me, dare me, to kiss him. I’m shaking with horniness, and he smiles because he knows it. The bastard.
His green eyes narrow. “Too tired to fuck me?”
I should be tired. I’ve driven a thousand miles to see him, but I feel as if I have two bodies, one that clocked the miles, and one that rested up to meet him. Just like at home—one body to do the work and take care of the kids, and one body to sit around pining for him, aching in silence for his touch.
“Hailey.” He lowers his lips to my ear. “I asked you a question. Are you too tired to fuck me?”
I close my eyes, hot desire dripping from my brainpan down my spine.
“Answer me,” he growls.
“No, Seth.”
Despite the late autumn weather, I’m in a yellow sundress, a short cotton nothing with spaghetti straps, his favorite. I’m wearing heels, by request. I’ve done my makeup, and my hair is loose and carefree, the way I wore it before he moved away, in the hot summer when I fell asleep next to him every night and woke up at his side every morning.
“So sexy,” he murmurs.
He’s never said I look pretty. Never beautiful. But that’s Seth’s ultimate praise for a woman: sexy. In truth, I look like a whore right now, and with Seth’s rough-and-ready fingers reaching under my skirt, I feel like one, too. Sex delivered like pizza, hot and ready. And I am.
He holds me in place with his body. I gasp when his fingertips find my pussy. I’m wet and swollen for him. Two and a half months—I can’t believe we’ve gone this long without each other. I reach up and grab his shoulders. His rock-hard deltoids flex against my touch as he lets out a strangled groan. He’s breathing hard. We both are.
“This first one,” he whispers, “ain’t gonna be pretty.”
“I know.” I shut my eyes tighter as he swipes from the back of my hot slit to my clit. His fingertip lingers there, grazing tiny circles on me like he’s teasing the button to a nuclear bomb.
I open my eyes. “I don’t want it to be pretty.”
He doesn’t even kiss me. Eyes wild, he spins me around and crushes me against the hotel room door. I turn my head to the side as he lifts my skirt. I’m not wearing panties. I hear him slide down his shorts. Blindly, I stare at the laminated motel evacuation plan taped to the door and feel the hot slide of his cock teasing my dripping, ravenous pussy. I groan. Without another word, he rams himself into me, our shared frustration and loneliness focused on the single point where his body enters mine.
His first thrusts are deep and wild. He’s pushing me against the door, smashing me with his muscular body. The air escapes my lungs, and I make tiny gasps through my mouth, fire filling my veins. He’s barely touched me, but his familiar heat and size hit all my pleasure points, and soon I’m speeding toward climax faster than I ever have before. I shove my hand between my body and the door. A few caresses of my clit, and my poor stretched pussy clamps down on him. I come so hard, I can’t see, and when he feels the contractions, he tightens his grip, drilling into me without mercy, grinding out that first wild climax head-on like the beast he is.
“Fuck, I’m coming,” he whispers, but he doesn’t need to say anything.
I feel him explode inside me.
We clean up in the bathroom, and when I lie down on the bed, stark naked except for what I imagine is a slightly dazed expression, we still don’t talk. Since he left for this first hitch, our phone calls have been short and purposeful. We only exchange important information about bills, the kids, his work, documents I need to send him, banking stuff, and news about his mother. He’s always been a man of few words, even fewer over the phone.
I’m not a romantic. I feel his love in the practical things, the way he regularly deposits money in our household account, the way he asks after the kids and remembers what’s going on in their lives. I’m not a romantic, but I fucking miss him. When he said he’d gotten a job in oil, I had no idea what it would mean for our family, for us as a couple.
Right now he’s stripped naked, too, and in the fading sunlight, my gaze drinks him in. We’ve been together for a long time, but I’m still fixated on his body. His muscles are more prominent. Is he eating enough? He’s always lifted weights, but working on the rig has given him absolutely wicked forearms. I know he wears coveralls and a hard hat for protection, but his face is tanned, deep and dark, bringing out his green eyes. I stare at his tattoos, the old ones he’d gotten before I met him and the new ones—the names of our kids over his heart. His tattoos had slowly become invisible to me, the luxury of looking at a body I took for granted. Now my gaze greedily swallows each slate-green swirl, each faded line.
He’d worked as a loader at an oil refinery near our home before the layoffs. After two months on unemployment with no good prospects, he said, “I think I can get work as a roughneck.”
The paycheck? More money than I’d ever seen. The tradeoff? Twelve weeks on, two weeks off, thousands of miles apart. He’d be living in the middle of nowhere, drilling wells with a small crew.
I put on a brave face and told him we could do this. I had my own job at the dental office, and his mom would be around to help with the kids. But inside, I was a mess. Life without Seth? Could I be both mom and dad, handyman and disciplinarian, good cop and bad cop? Who would I go to at the end of the day to talk to, fuck senseless, and fall asleep with?
I felt guilty about these anxieties. Military wives did this. Women whose husbands worked overseas did this. And what about single mothers? What relief did they ever have?
When the time came for him to leave, I told Seth I was proud of him and waved him off. As he drove away, the kids wailed in my arms for their father while my heart wailed silently in my chest for my man.
We’d been apart nine weeks when I confessed. That day, Seth’s elderly mother had put a foil pie pan in the microwave and blasted it, Benny had gotten in trouble at school for biting, and Lauren was crying in her bedroom as I tried to comb her hair.
“Stop, Mama. Stop!” she screamed, clutching her stuffed lamb like I was torturing her.
“We have to comb your hair, Lauren,” I said, frazzled after a long day. “Pretty ladies comb their hair. Don’t you want to be a pretty lady?”
“No, I don’t wan
t to be a pretty lady. I want to be like you!”
That night I told Seth about this over the phone. He suppressed a laugh.
“It’s not funny,” I grumbled.
“It is, a little bit.”
I didn’t say anything. There was no more wine in the house. I had to settle for a juice box. Angrily, I sucked it dry until it collapsed into itself.
“You know you’re sexy, right, Hailey?” he said. “Ain’t no one sexier than you.”
I didn’t need my ego stroked. I needed him. For the first time, I said, “I can’t do this, Seth. I don’t think I can.”
He grew quiet. He didn’t assure me, didn’t try to. “Come see me,” he said instead.
“What?”
“Come see me. Between here and home.” He told me a date and a place.
“But you’ve still got three more weeks.”
“I get some time between shifts. We’ll have a few hours together.”
A few hours with Seth. Could we do this? “Your mom will burn down the house.”
“If it makes you feel better, take everyone over to my sister’s. Her kids are always at our house. Time she returned the favor.”
I did as he said. And now here I am, a thousand miles from home, lying stark naked in a hotel room, my nipples hardening under my husband’s hot green gaze.