Blue Collar (A Boys Behaving Badly Anthology Book 2) Page 2

  “Hey,” he says quietly.

  “Hey, yourself.”

  I stare at him and crack a smile. We weren’t young when we got together. He’d been married before. I was almost thirty-five, no great beauty, and long resigned to the idea of spending my life alone. But we fell in love through the clear eyes of adults. We see each other, even our flaws and vulnerabilities, and that’s what I need. A man who sees past my bullshit. A man who doesn’t think I’m too stupid to see past his.

  When it comes at last, the kiss we share is sweet and slow. Everything that was missing from that first hard fuck we give each other now. Gentleness. Affection.

  I love kissing him. He tastes sweet, my Seth, and his lips are hot. Still locked in his kiss, I prop myself up on my elbow and lean over him, my hand resting against his hard chest. I stroke his smooth skin, the faint raised etchings of his tattoos, the tender pink tips of his nipples, so vulnerable on top of all that muscle. He shivers when I graze my nails along his side and rest my fingers in the deep groove at the top of his hip.

  He’s in amazing shape. He knows I have a thing for muscles, so he’s never stopped working out, never stopped being a little vain. Honestly, I’d love him even if he were five hundred pounds. But he hasn’t decided to go there just yet. So for now, I’ll enjoy my beefcake and the sideways glances of admiration he gets whenever we go out.

  I don’t care. He’s mine.

  I embrace him, skin on skin. He groans deep in his chest and pulls me close. His kiss grows hungrier, and his tongue slides against mine. He’s holding on to my ass, kneading the cheeks in both hands. His cock hardens against my thigh.

  He breaks the kiss but holds my gaze. “Did you miss me?”

  I nod as I graze my hand over his abs. He shivers again. The smooth, hot skin gives way to sparse golden hair below his belly button, and I follow the happy trail to his searing, rock-hard shaft.

  He palms his big balls as he stares at me.

  “So, how much did you miss me?” His green eyes narrow.

  I grip the base of his cock with both hands and lower my lips. I tease him with my tongue, licking the slick head like an ice cream cone. He tastes clean and familiar. My mouth waters, and my pussy clenches. When my lips slide down to take him deeper, I feel him shudder. His abs flex, and he reaches forward to stroke my hair.

  “That’s my girl,” he says.

  I suck him hard, my hands working in rhythm with my mouth. I close my eyes, losing myself in the task. His cock swells and thickens between my lips. A few minutes pass. Even though he’s just come, already he’s twitching and trembling, ready to shoot off another load.

  “Hailey,” he warns.

  But I don’t care. I open my eyes.

  He throws back his head on the pillows and lets out a strangled cry.

  I tighten my grip, and his cock goes completely rigid in my mouth. When hot come hits the back of my throat, I take him as deep as I can. Now he’s pulsing straight down past my tongue. I can only taste hints of that familiar sweetness as I stroke his balls, cradling them, emptying them. The last drops shudder through him as I watch. His chest heaves as he swallows huge lungfuls of air. His nipples are hard and a darker pink than they were before. His skin is flushed. Handfuls of blankets and sheets are crumpled in his enormous fists. I release him gently, and his heavy cock twitches in the cool air. I drop soft kisses along his inner thighs and stroke his rock-hard quads. I look up at him, my big bad roughneck, and the love I feel for him washes over me like a tidal wave.

  Seth sets the timer on his phone, and we sleep like the dead for two hours. I wake up to the sound of my duffel bag unzipping. The sky is nearly dark outside. Seth turns on all of the lights in the motel room, even the lights in the bathroom. He turns the T.V. to some shopping channel.

  He digs through the bag. “You brought everything I sent you?”

  I yawn and rub my eyes. “They’re all there.”

  “You use any of them?”

  I’m silent for a second. The first package came three days after he left. One came a week after that, and another the week after that. “Just the silver one.”

  “That’s it?” He looks at me with a scowl. “I told you to try each one.”

  “They’re all really loud. I can’t use them in the house. Are you crazy?”

  “The glass one’s silent.” After laying down a towel from the bathroom, he throws all our new toys on the bed next to me. He props up his phone on the nightstand and adjusts the angle.

  “Not my face,” I whisper.

  “I know.”

  This is for him. He’s told me he’s tired of porn. I guess I should be flattered he wants to jack it to a video of his wife.

  I prop myself up on the pillows.

  He puts both hands on my knees and draws them apart slowly. His eyes widen, and his pupils dilate. He’s breathing harder.

  I can’t see his dick, but I’m pretty sure it’s hard.

  His hands slide down from my knees to my inner thighs. He spreads my legs wide.

  Now I’m on view for him and for the tiny lens on the back of his phone.

  He lowers his mouth and licks me long and slow.

  Soon I’m breathing hard. I reach down and run my hands through his soft hair.

  “Yes, baby,” I whisper.

  It doesn’t take much to get me wet. Since the kids arrived, we’ve perfected the art of the quickie, and my body responds fast. We’ve rarely had a hotel room and hours to ourselves, and the time apart has sharpened our hunger.

  He hardens his tongue and drags the tip through my folds, slowly zigzagging up.

  My toes curl when he swirls the tip of his tongue around my clit. I’m so wet I can feel the moisture pooling in my pussy. If he tipped me forward, I’d spill out like a pitcher of cream.

  I’m close. When he leans back, I frown.

  He smiles and says nothing.

  The tiny packets of lube he sent me have long nozzles, like the beaks of hummingbirds. He breaks one and very gently slips the applicator in my ass.

  I squirm. We haven’t done this much, but Seth loves it. I knew he’d want it today.

  He tortures my clit with feather-light licks as he squeezes the tube inside me. The gel is cold, and I clench. When the tube is empty, he pulls it out.

  I know what comes next—the glass plug. He coats it in lube and presses its gently pointed end against my ass, working it past my tight muscles. My body resists him, but he’s patient, teasing me with his tongue and pulling back until I’m ready again. His tongue is torturously good. When the head of the plug slips past my opening at last, Seth lets go. Like a reflex, my body pulls the plug deep into place.

  That’s when I hear the hum of the silver bullet vibrator. The egg is tiny in his hand as he runs it up and down my slick pussy lips, lingering in my opening before dragging it back over my clit. I’m so keyed up that I jerk against the mattress.

  Seth smiles and presses it into me. He yanks gently on the filament of a cord.

  My body grips the vibe, resisting him.

  “Fuck,” he whispers, eyes on my pussy. “So sexy.”

  On their own, my hands go to my breasts. I’m breathing hard as I play with them, kneading them and lightly pinching my nipples. The air’s so cold in the room. My skin is covered with goose bumps, but I feel like I’m going to combust, blood pounding through my body, and my nervous system overloaded with sensation.

  I watch, half-coherent as Seth lubes up one more toy. An expensive pink silicone thing with multiple speeds. When he presses it to my clit, my body goes rigid, and my head falls back. I shut my eyes and gasp. I’ve never felt anything like this. Between the vibe and the bullet, the pleasure is so powerful my body can’t handle it. I’m on the knife-edge of coming when Seth pops out the silver bullet and withdraws the pink vibrator.

  “Nope. Not yet,” he says.

  I look into his wicked face and grind my teeth in frustration. The angry words slip out before I can stop them. “Everyth
ing has to be on your terms, doesn’t it?” I hiss.

  I immediately regret what I’ve said. His expression is neutral.

  Fuck.

  I’m so emotionally charged, a sob escapes my chest. And now I’m the weirdo with a butt plug up her ass crying in the homemade porno.

  Quickly, Seth removes the plug, drops everything, and turns off his phone and the TV.

  When he reaches for me with a placating look in his eyes, I slap his hands away. I don’t want him to see me like this. Messy and weak.

  “No,” I say. “Stop.”

  He tries to wipe my tears, but I turn away. I’m embarrassed, and he knows it.

  “Babe—”

  “Just give me a minute, okay?”

  He leans back. “Okay.”

  We can’t choose when our emotions come to the surface. Now is the worst possible time. I crush the pillow against my chest and let out another sob. I need to get over this.

  A minute passes. When he takes the pillow away, I let him. When he looks into my eyes, I feel lost. I agreed to this. I love him with every part of me. So why am I so angry?

  I’m struggling with what to say when Seth speaks first.

  “I feel it, too.” He reaches out a tentative hand. His rough fingers stroke my hairline with the barest touch. He’s studying my face but avoiding my eyes. “Give me a year. We’ll pay off the credit cards and as much as we can on the house. We’ll put something in the kids’ college funds. I’m hauling in a lot of money right now, but it’s boom and bust, not meant to last. This is not forever.”

  I’m blinking at him, chest imploding with pain. We’ve talked about this. I nod. “I know. I know it’s not forever.”

  His voice softens as his fingers skim my eyebrows, my cheekbones. “Since the moment I met you, we’ve never spent more than a week apart. I thought about it yesterday, Hailey. Eleven years.”

  His touch soothes me. My nerve endings sparkle with pleasure, but my heart is too hurt to enjoy it.

  “I miss our house. Our bed. My wife.” He pauses. “Life...it’s not really life without you.”

  When he pulls me into his big arms, the warmth and weight of his body settle me. He strokes my head and doesn’t say anything when I finally break down and cry. I close my eyes, and my tears soak his chest. I hold on to him.

  “Talk to me,” he whispers.

  Okay. Here goes. Truth time. “I’m angry that you’re doing this,” I say. “I’m angry that you’re gone all the time, and I just have to deal with it.”

  He points to his phone. “I’ll call them right now. Quit. We can go home.”

  “That’s not what I want—”

  “We’re in this together. I never want to see you hurting.”

  “No. I’d be hurt more if you did that.” As soon as I say it, I know it’s true. The issue’s not the money. It’s his pride. I’m doing this to protect his pride. The kind of pride Seth has—it’s not the fragile, egotistic kind. It’s the deep-down kind that drives a working man to take care of his family. I can’t take this away from him.

  When we make eye contact, it’s like he can read my thoughts.

  “I’m asking a lot of you,” he says. “I know that. Thank you, Hailey.”

  At his words, something happens. Like a sore neck or a stiff shoulder or a cramped leg, the muscle of my heart releases its pain at last. Was that all I needed? An acknowledgement?

  I sniffle and wipe my face on the towel.

  Seth looks at me.

  I know my makeup’s smeared. My eyes are puffy and red. I must look like hell.

  “Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he whispers.

  He’s always called me sexy, but never beautiful. I smile. “Who are you, and where is my husband?”

  “Right here.”

  The next time we make love, we’re face-to-face. No cameras, no noise, no talking. Just me and Seth, doing what we do best. Our lovemaking’s deep, slow, and rough. He isn’t gentle. I don’t want him to be. I feel my heart getting stronger, the pieces welding back together by the heat of our fucking.

  When he’s close, he looks down with those feral eyes. Drilling into me with that big dick, he pumps me hard until I can’t hold back any more. We come together, wet and nasty, and it’s so good we’re laughing, too happy to keep our joy inside.

  When it’s time for him to turn on his camera again, I’m ready for my wicked, horny husband. In goes the lube and the plug. His eyes are wide as he makes me come with the silver bullet deep in my pussy and the pink vibrator on my clit. Then he switches the two and makes me come again. By the time he slips the plug out of my ass with a soft pop, I’m aching for him, my body on fire.

  His dick is so hard, it’s purple. He takes his phone in one hand and his shaft in the other. On all fours, I bury my face in the sweat-soaked sheets and moan when he prods my asshole with the blunt, lube-slicked head of his cock. Between my legs, I’m holding the pink toy in place, its oscillating vibrations bringing my tender clit back to life.

  I’m ready for the pain, because I know it also brings pleasure—the deepest kind. Seth gives me both, in bed and in life.

  “Don’t be gentle,” I rasp.

  “I won’t be,” he says.

  He isn’t.

  For the rest of the long, sleepless night, we fuck the way life has fucked with us—hard. But here, in each other’s arms, we’re the ones who win.

  At dawn, Seth pulls me close and draws the blankets over us. We’re sweaty and spent.

  “I love you,” I whisper.

  He gives me a squeeze. “I love you, too.”

  Closing my eyes, I rest my head on his chest. I fall asleep, lulled by the sound of his heartbeat—strong and steady, just like him.

  Elevation

  Megan Mitcham

  Laurel shoved through the precinct door and let the heavy thing slam on her partner’s cocky face. Tomlin’s “oomph” offered little consolation to the irritation that had built over the last ten hours—and three months—she’d been assigned to the flagrant womanizer.

  “Come on, Hutton.”

  The thick glass muffled his pleading. Damn the man, but he pulled the door wide and breezed through with his full Latin lips stretched into a wide smile. He pointed to his crotch with both hands, as though offering the most magical gift in the universe.

  “You can’t tell me you’ve never wondered what it would be like.”

  “Oh, I know what it would be like.” She forged ahead, aiming for the shift sergeant’s desk.

  “Fucking amazing, right? Best moment of your life.” He nodded and hurried past her toward the locker room.

  “More akin to sucking a sewer pipe. Thanks, though.”

  His dust-powdered boots screeched to a stop on the worn vinyl floor. He whirled and clutched his heart. After a fake teeter of rubbery knees, he chuckled, shot his finger pistols, and skated for the showers.

  Laurel snagged his sleeve before it moved out of reach and reeled him back. “Paperwork, then blow job.”

  “Blow job!” Someone hollered from rows of desks, perps chained to chairs, and piles of godammed paperwork. “Tomlin, you givin’ ’em?”

  “Fucking hilarious,” her partner shot back.

  Her shoulders shook, and lightness seeped slowly past the horrors of the long day, easing their hold on her heart.

  Tomlin fist-bumped a fellow officer at the first desk and started running his mouth about their last call.

  Thoughts of the suicide attempt dragged her newfound buoyancy to the bottom of the ocean. Teenagers should be playing video games, sports, or dreaming about getting laid, not threatening to throw themselves off the top of an under construction high-rise.

  “Hutton, you looking for me?” The sergeant’s gruff voice barked from over her shoulder.

  She fought the natural instinct to jump or the trained one to turn and attack. Either would be viewed as a sign of weakness. Perceived weakness in any officer could mean the difference between life and death, for themselv
es and others. A hint of weakness in a female officer and she’d find herself behind a desk faster than Tomlin could find a chick to suck him off.

  “Yes, sir.” Laurel exhaled smoothly, turned, and offered a thick stack of paper to the paunchy man who made her life as difficult as possible four out of seven days per week. Each detailed report meant another perp wouldn’t slide out of court or a troubled kid would get the help he needed to become more in life than a stain on the street.

  “Nice work, talking that kid down. Way to end the week.” Sergeant flipped through the pages, carefully eyeing each one.

  “Thank you, sir.” Laurel nodded stoically, but in her head celebrated with gyrating hips and double fist pumps.

  “You’re missing a signature.” Her superior stomped all over her little victory dance. Before she could ask for clarification, he thrust the offending sheet at her. “Get it, or the kid won’t get his psych evaluation.”

  What? She hadn’t missed a dotted “i” on that damn report. The kid struck a cord with her, and most days she couldn’t allow that to happen. A reaction incited others to react. To lead in a crisis, she had to display fortitude and nothing more. That kid, Jeremy, had needed a connection. She scoured the page. What Sarge returned wasn’t her report, but a witness’s account of the event. At the bottom of the page, the elevator installer’s signature—the one Tomlin had “gotten”—was missing. She’d sent her partner to get the guy’s signature, because she hadn’t wanted to deal with the all-American hottie while still so vulnerable from her exchange with Jeremy.

  “Yes, sir.” Laurel stepped to her desk and dialed the witness’s number, a Mr. Nash Briggs. “Tomlin.” She barked his name across the room. No one’s head turned, not even her partner’s. “You were supposed to get the witness’s signature.”

  “I did.” He stood from his perch on another officer’s desk.

  “No, you didn’t.” She held up the page. The phone line rang in her ear.

  “My bad, Hut. I appreciate you covering for me though.” Tomlin kissed the first two fingers on each hand, blew her peace signs, and walked backward into the hallway.