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

by Mazzy King

  I tease her lips with the tip of my tongue until her tongue slides out to meet me. “But I think first I need to taste it. Do you want me to?”

  “Yes,” Seline breathes.

  I slide her panties off and touch her again. Fuck, she’s wet. My cock shudders. I move to lay on my back, pulling her over me. “Ride my mouth, baby.”

  Above me, she braces her hands on the headboard, her soft thighs on either side of my face, and lowers her pussy onto my waiting tongue. I grip her ass to hold her in place, and her wail bounces off the walls of my room.

  She rides my mouth slowly, greedily, and I love every second of it. I love the way she uses my mouth mindlessly for her pleasure and her pleasure alone. Her soft, wet flesh is as sweet and ripe as a juicy peach, and little bursts of nectar fill my mouth as her excitement peaks.

  “I’m going to come, Rocco,” she breathes, her hips moving faster as she fucks my mouth. “Yes!”

  Her cry shatters as I suck and tease her clit, and her body quivers above me as she comes hard. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, but my cock is throbbing intensely with need.

  She scoots backward, trailing creamy wetness down my chest and stomach. Her mouth meets mine, and she sucks my tongue. “Now I’m going to ride this,” she whispers, reaching down to grasp my cock.

  “Fuck, yes, please,” I beg, and tip my head back into the pillow as I sink slowly into her tight, wet pussy. I grab her hips, my toes curling, cursing softly. “Goddamn, you feel amazing.”

  She gasps, bracing her hands on either side of my head. “So do you. Fuck, you’re huge, Rocco.”

  I push her hips back, then draw them forward, guiding her into a slow rhythm. She takes control quickly, and I can’t help but stare up at her in awe as she rides my cock with slow, deep, hard thrusts. I run my hands up her belly to her breasts squeezing and teasing her nipples as her head falls back.

  “You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen,” I tell her. “Beautiful. Perfect.”

  She gazes down at me, never ceasing the slow rolls of her hips. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you, Rocco.”

  I sit up and pull her against my chest. We plunder each other’s mouths. “I bet I can guess.”

  Then I flip her to her back and unleash myself.

  Her moans grow louder as I plunge in and out of her, paying close attention to every gasp of pleasure she utters. I slide my arm under her knee, pushing it back so I can angle in deeper. Her nails dig into my back as she spurs me on.

  Even as I feel the hot tingles of pleasure racing up my spine, even as my cock reaches its maximum hardness, a precursor to the blinding orgasm I’m about to have, I’m already picturing how I’ll have her next.

  How I want her forever.

  She cries out. “Rocco!” Her body seizes and she clenches down around me, her pussy pulsing tight on my cock as she comes.

  I swallow her cries, my mouth on hers, as I burst deep inside her an instant later.

  We continue our deep kisses in between pants for air.

  “Are you okay?” I ask softly, nuzzling her throat.

  She purrs. “More than okay.” Her eyes pop open. “Thank you. Thank you for being there for me tonight.”

  I run a finger down her cheek. “You don’t need to thank me for that. I’m sorry I couldn’t have stopped it from happening at all. Seline, I really think you should consider going to the police. You could talk to my friend Darby. He’s a cop. A really good guy.”

  She glances away. “I’ll…think about it.”

  “All right.” I kiss her nose. “I’m still cooking for you tomorrow, but I’m starving. How about pizza?”

  Seline nods. “Sounds great.”

  I pull on my boxer briefs and my jeans, then glance back. “I don’t want to be presumptuous, but…if you’d like to stay with me tonight, I’d love that.”

  Her smile knocks the wind out of me. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  6

  Seline

  It takes me the better part of a week before I stop jumping at every noise, before my heart stops pounding at the sight of every shadow.

  In that time, I had to tell Zeb what happened. He, predictably, freaked out and immediately pulled down the article, even though I begged him not to. I didn’t want to give into oppression, but he told me he refused to let me risk my life any further and made me take mandatory paid vacation for a couple weeks.

  Rocco called his friend Maddox to retrieve my car. The very next day, Rocco took me to pick it up, and assured me the cost to fix my battery had been taken care of.

  “You can pay me back in kisses,” he teased. “And, well…other things.”

  Since he rescued me from the parking garage, I’ve slept at his house every night since. It’s been a little strange, only because I’m worried I’m imposing, but he seems truly happy to have me around. And every night after a round or three of hot, sweaty sex, we fall asleep in each other’s arms.

  With my free time, I babysit Chaplin during the day. I made it seem like I’d be doing Rocco a favor, but the truth is, I love having Chaplin around. He’s a sweet, funny boy and his presence helps me feel safer and calmer. We go for long walks or to the park down the street. A week ago, I couldn’t have left the house. But with him at my side, I feel secure.

  The other thing I’ve done with my free time is more writing.

  Zeb might have pulled my article from the site, but he forgot I have thousands of followers on my personal blog, where I got my start writing about food in the first place.

  Ten days after the parking garage assault, I finished a new piece: How the Port City Mob Tried to Silence Me.

  Now, it’s been rewritten a few times, edited, and proofread. I’ve uploaded it to my blog. All I need to do is hit the button to publish it.

  My hand shakes as it hovers over my laptop track pad.

  I leap out of my seat at the kitchen table, shaking my hands out at my sides. Chaplin lifts his head and studies me alertly, as if to say, You okay?

  “I just need a second,” I tell him, pacing the linoleum floor. “Just a second.”

  He jumps to his feet with a whine, circling me.

  “It’s okay, buddy.” I ruffle his thick fur and turn back toward my computer. “It’ll be okay.”

  Chaplin lets out a low growl as I slide back into the chair. It’s almost like he’s warning me not to do what I’m about to do.

  But I do it anyway.

  I hit the “publish now” button, then slam the lid of my laptop shut. “Time for a walk!”

  It’s short lived, because I’m back to checking over my shoulder every few steps, and Chaplin can sense my anxiety. He’s the one who stops in his tracks after half an hour and turns around, like he wants to go back home. Normally, he can manage a few miles and has boundless energy.

  He knows something’s wrong.

  We head back to the duplex. Rocco sometimes comes home for lunch, but he’s got a packed schedule today, so I packed him something to take along with him before he left this morning.

  “What do you think?” I ask Chaplin, trying to ignore the urge to check the blog post for views and comments. “Should we have lunch?”

  He lets out a muted woof.

  I make us both hamburgers—just the patty, no seasoning for him, and the works and a bun for myself. We eat in the backyard, then play a little fetch, then go in to take a nap when it starts to drizzle. Chaplin stretches out alongside me so that my back is pressed to the back of the couch. It’s almost as though he’s trying to block me from getting up to check my computer.

  His soft snores eventually lull me into a light sleep. When we wake up a couple hours later, I take Chap outside to do his business.

  Then I give in. I can’t take it anymore. It’s been almost four hours since the posting.

  My eyes widen.

  In four hours, it has been viewed over fifty thousand times and has three hundred comments. I scroll through them, hardly read
ing them, my mouth agape.

  Then I land on one comment with an anonymous silhouette as an avatar. It simply reads: We warned you.

  My stomach plummets, but at the same time, I feel a flash of defiance. No one gets to oppress anyone. Journalism is about freedom of speech, the conveyance of truth, and I won’t be silenced—by anyone.

  I lean against the counter, reading the comments. Most of them are supportive, some are abuse left by trolls. There’s only one comment like the anonymous one. But I keep coming back to it.

  We warned you.

  We warned you.

  Suddenly, I jerk. How long has it been since I let Chap out? He loves to be outside, but when it’s rainy or has just rained, he gets a little fussy about having wet paws, so he does his business fast and then howl-barks to be let in.

  But there’s nothing but silence from the backyard.

  I set down my phone and walk outside. My heart kicks into another gear. He’s nowhere to be seen. “Chaplin? Chap? Where are you?”

  I walk around the side of the house, searching for him.

  The gate hangs open.

  Chaplin is gone.

  Tears fill my eyes as I run toward the front of the house. I know Rocco keeps the gate shut, and I know I didn’t open it today. I also know it doesn’t have a lock, because this is a peaceful, quiet neighborhood with goodhearted people who only want to be kind to one another.

  I brought this on.

  In my gut, I know Chaplin didn’t just wander off.

  He was taken.

  I don’t know what to do, other than call Rocco. So I turn on my heel and sprint toward the backyard again to go inside the house.

  I never saw the person standing around the corner of the house, waiting for me, until it was too late.

  Pain erupts in my head, and then…nothing.

  Rocco

  I frown at my phone as Seline’s voicemail picks up again. I’m not one to call someone over and over, but Seline hasn’t answered my calls or texts for the past couple hours, which is unlike her. That combined with the terrible feeling in my gut are what made me go by Darby’s house. Today, Monday, happens to be his day off so I knew he’d be home. Plus, I called first.

  He’s already got the front door open for me when I arrive.

  “Hey, man,” he says, the concern in his voice apparent as he gives me a handshake-hug combo. “What’s going on? You sounded worried.”

  His fiancée Harlowe pops up behind him. “Rocco, is everything all right?”

  I nod. “Sorry to steal your man on his day off, Har.”

  She shakes her head with a frown, waving me in. “Don’t even think of apologizing. Get in here.”

  Darby leads me to the living room where we sit on the sofa. “You said you can’t get a hold of Seline and you’re worried something happened to her.”

  I nod. “Remember when I told you about the restaurant she reviewed poorly?”

  Darby nods slowly. “I know, and I’ve been trying to socialize that at work, but Roc, it’s really hard to do that when you don’t have any—”

  “How about a public comment?” I interrupt, pulling out my phone. I show him the article she posted to her blog today. “Read that, then scroll to the comments. You’ll know the one I’m talking about.”

  Harlowe perches on the arm of the sofa beside Darby, reading over his shoulder. “Holy shit. Wait, they really did that to her?”

  I nod gravely.

  “I think I found it,” Darby says in a tight voice. “‘We warned you’?”

  “Posted three hours ago,” I tell him. “And no word from her since.”

  Harlowe looks at me keenly. “Did you check your security camera?”

  Ah, shit. Of course—I was so busy today, I turned my phone off to mute all notifications. And that security camera is so sensitive the wind can set it off, resulting in it alerting me hundreds of times a day. I turned those off too.

  I pull up the app with my heart in my throat. The sick feeling in my stomach intensifies, as if it were trying to lead me here the whole time.

  There’s a few video captures that were recorded in the last hour.

  I watch woodenly as a man in dark clothing enters my backyard. I see but can’t hear Chaplin barking his head off at the man, and then the man grabbing him and plunging a needle of some sort into his side. My dog goes limp and the man carries him off before another couple of men walk into the backyard. On the other side, a frantic Seline enters the picture, clearly looking for Chaplin. She runs to the front, covers her face with her hands, then turns and runs around the side toward the back.

  The third clip shows the two men who were lying in wait for her carrying her limp body toward a van parked at my curb, putting her inside, and driving off.

  An invisible hand rips my heart out of my chest.

  A light touch on my shoulder is the only thing that brings me back. Harlowe’s shaking her head, tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Rocco.”

  I realize Darby’s gone, then hear his voice from the kitchen. He’s speaking in a curt, edged tone to whoever’s on the other end of the line, and after a second, I realize he’s calling for backup.

  But backup to go where?

  “She could be anywhere,” I mutter.

  “They’ll find her,” Harlowe says emphatically. “They will.”

  My phone buzzes in my hand. It’s an 800 number I don’t recognize, and my thumb stretches toward the ignore button. Now’s not the time for a telemarketing call. But the number is somewhat familiar—I’ve seen it before. I just can’t place where.

  I go with my gut and answer the call.

  “Mr. Delucci?” a woman asks.

  “Speaking,” I say, my brows knitting.

  “Hi, this is Mary calling from GPSPet. We picked up a ping from Chaplin’s collar a little while ago from a location he hasn’t moved from in about an hour. It’s an address that’s not on your approved list of places he might be for an extended period.”

  My eyes widen.

  I completely forgot the special GPS tech I bought for his collar when I first adopted him. I was so scared of losing him I shelled out a few hundred bucks for the device. I gave the company a list of addresses of places he would likely be at for longer than an hour—my house, of course, the office, the park, close friends’ addresses. Anytime he’s in a location not on that list for longer than an hour, they call me to make sure he’s all right. They’ve called before when he’s been at a job longer than an hour or if I take him to a pet-friendly patio restaurant, or on a long drive. I always tell them he’s with me and he’s fine.

  But now…

  “He’s not with me,” I blurt. “I can’t find him. I’m with the police right now actually—”

  “Give me,” Darby says, materializing at my side. He takes the phone. “This is Officer Darby Cisneros with the Port City Police Department, badge number 1009. I’ll need that address. We believe there’s a missing person at that location too.”

  Harlowe’s hand on my shoulder tightens, but I don’t dare look at her. I know it’ll be full of hope, and I can’t risk feeling that hope myself…only for my world to come crashing down around me.

  Chaplin, my best and most loyal friend.

  And Seline…

  The woman I love.

  7

  Seline

  A splash of cold water on my face brings me to consciousness.

  Then, as I try and fail to blink to clear my eyes, the incredible pain in my head rushes forward to assault me, and I can’t hold back a groan of pain.

  I try to take stock of what I can feel—there’s cold metal beneath my butt, likely a folding chair. My wrists are encircled with sharp metal bracelets that clink when I try to move my hands. I can’t lift them more than a few inches. Handcuffs

  “There she is,” a voice says.

  I can’t make out anything behind my eyelids but a bright light. “Where’s my dog?” I croak.

  “Oh, he’s fine. Sleeping. You d
o what we say, and nothing happens to him.” The owner of the voice approaches me, smacking my cheeks. “Wake up. Open your eyes.”

  Another splash of water hits my face, then another.

  I force them open.

  I’m in some sort of dank warehouse. There’s only an overhead light and a few metal shelves, and what looks like an industrial freezer door behind three men who stand about ten feet away.

  An older man with salt-and-pepper hair and a white beard leans toward me. “Ah. So we finally meet—the young lady who’s caused so many problems for me.”

  “Let me guess,” I say. “You must be Angelo.”

  He inclines his head.

  “Considering you burned my apartment down, attacked me in a parking garage, and now have me cuffed to a chair God knows where, I’d say you’re the ones who’ve caused problems for me.”

  “That little exposé you wrote masquerading as a restaurant review ruined a lot of business for us,” the man said.

  “Pretty sure your bland, dry alfredo sauce managed that all on its own.”

  “I’m not talking about the food.” He lifted a brow. “I thought you were Miss Know It All. You hinted quite broadly at our other business endeavors. I had a lucrative business dealing out of my restaurant. And now, thanks to you, my business partners don’t want to work with me anymore. There’s too many eyes, too much heat on this place now. This month alone, you’ve cost me two million dollars.”

  I set my jaw. “Then if I’ve helped keep the streets clear of your guns and drugs, it was all worth it. You’re a cancer in this city.”

  Angelo smirks. “Is it worth your own life?”

  I think of the journalists I admire, the ones who’ve risked it all to get the truth out, up to and including their own lives. War journalists, city journalists, small-town journalists. I’m not on the front lines at war in any foreign country, but in some small way, I did my part to unearth a local terrorist right here in Port City. There will always be guns and drugs in society. But if I can make even a small dent in those numbers, I will.