BADGE BUNNIES: The Full 5-Book Box Set

by Mazzy King

  I scoop her up and carry her upstairs to the bedroom. I try to remember she has no other clothes with her and carefully peel them off her petite, curvy shape. Under her black ensemble she wears black lace panties and a matching bra that positions her delicious breasts just right. I strip out of my own clothes before crawling over her body.

  I rotate us so that she’s on top of me. I cup her glorious round, soft ass and push her hips down, so her lace-covered pussy grinds against my thick, nine-inch cock that’s already leaking with excitement. I undo her bra with a snap of my fingers, then cup her breasts in both my hands. They dangle in my face and I devour her nipples the way I did her lips until they’re hard little diamonds on my tongue and she’s moaning. She reaches down to stroke my cock, squeezing just right at the tip, and I growl.

  I yank her up until her pussy hovers over my mouth, then I lick the crotch of her soaked panties. She squeals, grabbing the headboard to brace herself. I tease her through her panties a little more until she softly cries my name. Then I whisper, “Sorry,” and rip her panties off.

  There’s nothing between me and her lush, wet pussy now, so I pull her hips down to my face and eat her with abandon.

  She moans loudly, working her hips and riding my mouth. Splashes of her juice trickle down both sides of my face as her pleasure peaks higher and higher. I want her to ride my tongue until she comes all over my mouth, so I grab her ass and hold her firmly in place.

  Lyra suddenly swivels around so she’s facing the other way, and leans forward. I know what’s about to happen, and yet I’m totally unprepared for the sensation of her warm, wet mouth enveloping my cock. I growl into her pussy, curling my toes, redoubling my efforts as she sucks with tight, leisurely pulls of her mouth.

  Her hips buck against my mouth, and I can tell she’s close. Her mouth around my dick grows desperately fast, and there’s nothing I can do to stop me from exploding in her mouth, shooting my hot, creamy cum down her throat as she groans loud and low in her chest and soaks my face, her body shuddering as she reaches her own climax. I don’t know what’s better—coming with her mouth around my cock, or her pussy in my face.

  I turn her around and gather her in my arms, then claim her mouth. My cock immediately jumps to attention as I touch her pussy and find it soaked.

  “Are you ready for me, Lyra?” I ask.

  “Yes,” she whines. “I want you to fuck me, Saint. I wanted you to fuck me the night we met. I just wanted you.”

  I bite my lip, containing a snarl of possessive pleasure. “How do you want it, baby? Tell me.”

  “Fuck me hard from the back,” she whispers, but it’s every bit a command.

  “You asked for it,” I breathe against her mouth.

  In a flash I raise up to my knees and pull her back by her hips. She spreads her legs wide and arches her back. When she tosses her head, her long, dark hair sprawls over her back, and I have to take a moment to just appreciate the beautiful sight before me—her round, pert ass stuck in the air, her swollen, wet pussy waiting for me, and her hair, just begging to be pulled.

  I line up at her opening and start gently working my way through her folds. “Holy fuck,” I grunt. “You’re fucking tight, baby.”

  “Give it to me, Saint,” she says in a breathless moan.

  I push all the way in, taking a second to keep my shit together at the feel of those tight, tight walls pulsing around my thick cock like a vise. Then I run my fingers through her hair, wind it up around my fist, and tug.

  “Yes!” she cries softly, her head tilting back. “Mm, fuck me, baby!”

  I drive my cock into her, slow and hard, one hand tight on her hip, the other tightly wound in her hair. She gushes around me with every thrust.

  “You’re so fucking big,” she gasps, arching her back and shoving her soft, delicious ass against me.

  “You were made for me,” I tell her, continuing my torturous pace. “Just like I was made for you.”

  Gradually, I kick up the speed, but make sure I’m still fucking her hard and deep the way she clearly wants. I’ll do anything she asks. I’ll give her anything she wants. I’ll do anything for her.

  “Lyra,” I murmur, feeling hot tingles of pleasure shoot down my spine and center themselves in my balls. “I…love you, Lyra. I’ve loved you since the second I saw you.”

  “I love you, Saint,” she moans. “Oh, yes, I’m coming!”

  Her pussy clenches around my cock even tighter, and I feel the wild, fluttering pulses as her pleasure seizes her. Her back bows as if her orgasm is too much, sobbing out her cries of insane, mindless pleasure.

  “Lyra!” I grab her hips in both hands and pull her flat against me as I come as deeply inside her as possible. I want to mark her as mine. I want to claim her. She’s my Lyra, I’m her Saint…but for now, I want to sin.

  We collapse in a heap. I’m utterly boneless, but she creeps off to use the bathroom and clean herself and brings me a towel to do the same. I only have the energy to drape it over my exhausted cock and pull her into my arms.

  For now, we’re safe. For now, a dangerous gang of car thieves isn’t on our tail. For now, Max Hendricks doesn’t want Lyra—my Lyra—dead. He can’t hurt her, ever again.

  I kiss her temple, listening to the contented, sleepy noises she makes in the back of her throat.

  I’ll make sure of it.

  Chapter 6

  Lyra

  When I wake up the next morning, it’s to Saint sitting back down on the bed, smiling at me, a steaming, grande cup from Starbucks in one hand and a croissant in the other.

  “I guessed,” he said, handing them to me. His soft lips brush my temple. “Good morning, by the way.”

  “Thank you,” I murmur, my cheeks heating. How can I possibly be embarrassed around him after the night we had? I mean, I rode his face for a good five minutes straight until he made me come my brains out.

  My lower half tingles as I remember the way his hand felt in my hair, wrapping tight as he impaled me with his huge cock, and tugging with just enough force to make me thrill at the feeling of total submission to his dominance. Dominance that showed little cracks in his power based on the way he gripped my hip with his other hand, his grunts of intense pleasure, the way he roared my name when he came deep inside me.

  To distract myself, I sip my drink, which turns out to be a vanilla latte. “Mm. It’s good.”

  He eyes, teething his lower lip. “So are you.”

  “Don’t bite your lip like that, Saint,” I warn him in a low voice.

  One corner of his mouth turns up. “Or what, baby?” And because he’s a shit, he bites it again.

  I carefully set my latte and croissant down on the nightstand. Then I launch myself at him and shove him down on his back, straddling his hips. I lock his wrists down against the bed.

  “You have the right to remain silent,” I murmur, kissing down his neck. “Any lip-biting you do will be held against you in bed with me.”

  He moans when I tease his earlobe with the tip of my tongue. “I don’t think I can do the silent part with you, baby.”

  I sit up straight on top of him, still naked from the night before. He runs his hands up my belly and ribs to cup my breasts and play with my nipples. Beneath me, I feel his cock harden through his jeans.

  “You’re a goddess,” he whispers, watching me grind on him. “A queen.”

  “Then that must mean you’re my king,” I whisper back. “Saint, I want you. Make love to me, now.”

  With a growl, he flips me on my back with practically no effort. His gaze is fixed between my thighs as he quickly strips off his shirt, jeans, and boxer briefs, freeing his enormous cock. The sight of it in daylight awes me—how did I ever take something so big?

  “I’m hungry,” he whispers, grabbing my hips and tilting them up. “I’m eating you for breakfast.”

  He lowers his mouth to my tingling, aching pussy and licks me thoroughly, suckling on my clit and sliding his whole tongue throug
h my wet folds. I moan loudly, my eyes roll back in my head. There’s something about a man who eats pussy and loves it—he’s a keeper.

  I grab a handful of his hair and work my hips against his mouth. “Saint!”

  “That’s it,” he murmurs, heat blazing in his eyes. “Fuck my mouth, Lyra.”

  I do just that, using his mouth and tongue until I’m coming hard, my body shuddering all over. When I can move, I get on all fours facing him, and, making sure my ass is tilted up in the air, I take him in my mouth, squeezing my mouth and cheeks around his girth and jacking the base of him. One of his hands winds in my hair, while the other caresses my upturned ass. He fingers my pussy as I suck him, hissing out little breaths of pleasure.

  Then he gently tugs on my hair. “You’re gonna make me come, and I need to be inside you,” he tells me. He lays me on my back and spreads my thighs, then positions himself at my opening and works himself in slowly, a little of him at a time. I rest my hands on his chest, staring up at him as he gazes down at me.

  The look in his eyes brings on an intense, tidal wave of emotion.

  “I love you,” he whispers, rolling his hips against me. His cock slams deep and slow, filling me to the brim and hitting everything I want hit.

  I dig my nails into his tattooed chest. Last night I said the same as I was coming, and it was an involuntary release of the truth. Now, I want to say it back so badly, but…I’m scared.

  I trail a finger over the cross between his pecs, then glide my fingers over to the word Trust tattooed on his rib. “Can I trust you, Saint?”

  He cups my face, lip between his teeth, as he continues to fuck me slowly. “You can trust me, Lyra. I’ll never hurt you. I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

  He slides an arm beneath one of my knees, pushing it up so it drapes over his shoulder and giving him deeper access. I cup a hand around the back of his neck, crying out with pleasure. Heat builds in my body as the tingles start.

  “Be with me, Lyra,” he begs, fucking me a little faster now. “Let me take care of you. You won’t ever have to do this shit again.”

  “Please,” I cry, hanging onto him for dear life. “Oh, fuck, Saint!”

  I explode around him just as he lowers his mouth to mine, our tongues finding each other first. He fucks me hard and fast, then grunts my name heavily as he comes.

  He lays on top of me for a moment, panting, before pulling out of me gently and rolling to his back. I scurry off to the bathroom, then return to snuggle at his side a moment later.

  He hands me my latte with a little self-satisfied smirk. “It’s still warm. Just so you know, I can last longer than that, but you…you’re too delicious. You’re the most amazing thing I’ve ever felt.”

  “I guess we’ll have to practice more,” I say, kissing his chest.

  He feeds me a bite of croissant. “I meant what I said. You don’t have to do this shit anymore.”

  “I don’t want to,” I admit quietly, the buttery croissant turning to ash in my mouth. I draw a deep breath, then lift my gaze to his. “What…what do you want me to do?”

  His brows lift a fraction of an inch. “What do you mean?” But his voice is steady, and he pins me with his eyes. I have the feeling he knows what I mean but wants me to say it out loud.

  “How…do I cooperate?”

  He releases a little breath, pulling me closer, and brushes the top of my head with his lips. “We’ll go to HQ. You’ll sit down with some detectives, and you’ll tell them everything you know. Names, locations, details.”

  “Why can’t I just tell you now, and then you can tell them?” The idea of going to Ridge City PD headquarters makes my chest tighten.

  “That’s not how it works, baby.” He kisses me again. “I can’t sit down and talk with you. We’ve…technically crossed a line. But I’m going to make sure my good buddy Gunner is with you. He’s been on this case since day one.”

  “That’s the guy from last night?”

  Saint nods.

  “What about a lawyer?” I ask. “Will…will I do any jail time?”

  Saint hesitates. “That’s not up to me, Lyra. But I know a good defense lawyer. And I’ll make sure the judge knows you were willing to cooperate. If we can prove Hendricks was forcing you, and threatening your life, you shouldn’t see any jail time.”

  “That’s easy to prove,” I mutter. I’ve got a couple years’ worth of abusive messages and recordings of his threats to me. I saved them all because I thought I might need them someday.

  It’s “someday,” now.

  “What did he do to you?” Saint asks softly, tipping my face up. He trails his fingers down my throat to the scar on my chest.

  I swallow. “One night, he wanted me to help him with a boost. I refused. I was done with that life a long, long time ago. But he got angry with me. He beat me up pretty badly, then he sliced my chest open here with his knife. He said this was a warning that next time I refused him, it would be my throat.”

  Saint’s eyes narrow and blacken with fury. “He won’t get away with it. I swear that to you.”

  I hate that my eyes fill with tears, but I can’t help it. “Saint, you make me feel…safe. I haven’t felt that way in so long. I want my life back. Whatever that means.”

  “You’ll have it,” he tells me. His fingers stroke my skin in soothing circles. “What do you want to do with your life, Lyra?”

  I don’t hesitate. “Art. Design. Graphic design.” I tilt my tattooed arm up. “I designed this myself.” It’s a complicated sleeve featuring the Egyptian goddess Bast in an intricate portrait. She’s surrounded by three-dimensional shaded lotuses and water lilies.

  “It blew me away the first night I saw you,” he says, tracing the design. “You drew it?”

  I nod. “A friend of mine did the ink. She wanted me to join her in the shop, be in charge of people’s designs, maybe learn how to tattoo myself. But…Max wouldn’t let me go. And now she’s moved.” I shrug.

  “Maybe…after all this,” Saint says, looking away, “you could go find her. Meet up with her. Start that business.”

  The idea of moving away from Ridge City used to be the only thing I wanted. Now, suddenly, it’s the last.

  But Saint hasn’t asked me to stay.

  “Yeah,” I say quietly. “Maybe.”

  We drink our coffees in a silence that’s suddenly gotten a little awkward. Then Saint slides out of bed.

  “We should get going,” he says. “I’m sure you’d like to shower and change your clothes, and I need to make some calls. Would you like me to take you back to your place? Would any of those assholes from last night be there?”

  “Only Max knows where I live,” I say, then chew my lip. “I don’t—I don’t know if he would be there.”

  Saint’s jaw tightens, and his eyes have a hard gleam. “If he is there, he won’t hurt you.”

  We dress, tidy up the safehouse briefly, then get back in the car. I guide Saint to my apartment, my gaze constantly shifting from side to side, from the front to the back to see if we’re being followed again. The ride is almost like a pleasant Sunday-morning cruise.

  If Sunday-morning cruises entailed a stop at the police station to flip on an organization of dangerous car thieves.

  Inside my apartment, Saint has me stay by the door while he does a quick sweep. He returns and nods at me. “It’s clear.”

  I hurry to my bedroom, throw my hair up into a messy bun, shower quickly, and step into my closet.

  What does one wear to a meeting with police officers?

  In the end I settle on a pair of slim black pants, a loose gray sweater, and black flats. I’m not trying too hard, but I also want to be taken seriously. I skip makeup and head back out to my small living room, where Saint’s murmuring quietly on the phone. He nods at me when I enter the room.

  I can only assume he’s talking to his fellow cops about me. I head to my laptop sitting on the coffee table and open it up. There’s just enough battery jui
ce left for me to send the files I need to Saint’s phone…to submit as evidence.

  Screenshot photos of text conversations between me and Max. Emails he sent that contain coded phrases about the ring, and very obvious, abusive statements and threats toward me.

  Then the hard part.

  The photos.

  Every time he raised his hand to me, I took a photo. Then I downloaded the photos onto my computer and deleted them from my phone. I couldn’t bear to look back at them and see what he’d done…what I allowed him to do. I hold so much guilt over the abuse—and it’s not my fault. It never was, and it never will be.

  “It’s not my fault,” I whisper aloud, staring hard at a photo of myself from the night he cut me. In addition to the cut, in the photo I also have a black eye and a split lip. The image makes me curdle inside. “It’s not my fault!”

  Then, I do something I haven’t done in years.

  I burst into tears and completely fall apart at the seams.

  Chapter 7

  Saint

  I’ve just disconnected my call to Gunner when Lyra’s cry pierces the quiet. I whip around from where I paced toward her front door while she did some things on her computer—downloading the evidence she mentioned earlier, I’d guess.

  She’s hunched over the couch, her head between her hands, and her shoulders shake with sobs.

  It shocks me for an instant before I rush over to her. “Lyra,” I murmur, gathering her in my arms. “What’s wrong?”

  My gaze catches sight of the image on her computer screen. It’s…her.

  Her chest is bloody. There are bruises on her neck. Her left eye is puffed and dark. Her upper lip I could spend all day kissing is split.

  It’s not my fault.

  An overwhelming surge of emotion rises up in me, a combination of sorrow that someone as beautiful and special as her endured something so terrible at the hands of a piece of shit like Max Hendricks. It makes wet heat prick my eyes.

  “No,” I say firmly around the lump in my throat. “No, it’s not your fault. Lyra, look at me.”