Stranded (Boys Behaving Badly Book 4)

by Delilah Devlin

  He froze.

  My eyes fluttered nearly shut as his pleasure flooded me with the sound of his frantic heart. And I shared in that pleasure freely. His cock was magnificent—soft skin covering a steel-hard rod, smooth and warm to the touch. I sighed.

  He dropped his head into the crook of my shoulder. “What are you doing?” His voice was more beast than man.

  “You finish what you started, or I will do it for you.”

  With a feral grunt, he lifted me and shoved me against the tree trunk. I gasped when pain shot through me. Had to be my ribs, I concluded vaguely, but caught up in the moment, I wasn’t going to let anything stop me. My legs wrapped naturally around his waist. I discovered I’d lost my pants in the process when the tip of his staff pressed into my core. Slick with wetness, my pussy lips parted eagerly when he nudged. He hesitated at the barrier to my virginity, but I pulled him in for a kiss, pressing into him with fevered abandon, until he lost all semblance of control and joined me in my madness.

  His cock drove home with blissful fury. He moved against me, sliding deeper and deeper until I could feel every lush inch of him. White heat scorched my body with every thrust, blinding me to everything outside of being stretched, owned, loved.

  Drowning in sensation, I nearly missed the moment when his mouth descended onto my shoulder. His hot breath was my only warning before his open mouth kissed the flushed skin and I felt the tell-tale grazing of extended canines. The next second, pain and pleasure exploded as Gavin Lazarus bit down hard, marking me as his Mate.

  We reached our peak together, him spending himself inside me as I unraveled in his arms. He kept holding me long after the turmoil was over, licking over the wound on my shoulder, his hands caressing me back to earth.

  “Mine,” I heard him murmur against my skin, and just like that I found anchor.

  No longer stranded.

  Switching Call

  By Lucrecia Christina

  It was inevitable. Just when he’d fall asleep, the damn phone would ring because some idiot put their vehicle in a ditch. Why couldn’t they just call a cab, an uber, Superman, anybody but him?

  Whenever he was on call, he slept on his couch, fully clothed, his boots on the floor beside him, at the ready. He didn’t want to waste time looking for his shit at midnight, four in the morning, or whatever time the cops, or the idiots, would call.

  Sure enough, this night, his cell started crying. He’d forwarded the on-call number to his cell and made the ring tone that of a crying baby. A sound he couldn’t ignore. He checked the digital clock—02:30. Yup, just after “last call”. A DWI for sure.

  He scrubbed his hand down his face as he reached for the phone. “Yeah, Ottawa Towing, this is Guy,” he rasped. “Hey, Smiley.” He groaned inwardly hearing the deputy’s voice on the end of the line. He’d hoped it was a wrong number. “Where’re they? Beecher Hill? Shit, why the fuck did they go up there? Dumb shits. They blow? Holy shit! Point 3-2? Did they drink the town dry? Ha! Yeah, yeah. Okay. Gimme…ah, gimme twenty minutes. See ya in a few.”

  Guy slid his feet into his boots, pulled his waist-length hair into a leather tie and left the cool, dry comfort of his apartment. When he stepped outside, he was immediately drenched to the skin by the summer storm that had arrived. Well, shit. That was going to put a wrench in the works. Beecher Hill was treacherous on a good day, but any kind of inclement weather and that fucking road was a nightmare.

  Guy continued to cuss all the way to the tow truck. This wasn’t even supposed to be his night on. He’d switched with Todd so he could go to his daughter’s cheer competition. “Fuck you very much, Todd. You’re taking the next two calls, asshole.” Guy slammed the truck door on the last word.

  The drive to Beecher Hill was slow. The night was as black as pitch, what with the storm and no moon. The headlights barely cut through two feet of the blackness ahead of him. The rain hadn’t alleviated any of the humidity either. As a matter of fact, it seemed to make it worse. Guy rolled his window down about an inch to get some air because he had the heat on the windshield to keep the glass from fogging over. What a clusterfuck of weather this was.

  He slowed to make the left turn onto Beecher Hill Road, but didn’t dare accelerate much past 35mph. The previous Spring, a mild rain had washed out nearly half the road. No telling what this rain would do.

  Just as that last thought formulated in his brain, a deer darted out into the road.

  Guy did the thing he was always taught not to do, but his instinct kicked in. He swerved to miss hitting the damn thing. The back end of the truck fishtailed, and Guy cranked the steering wheel to try to bring her back under control, which worked. A sigh of relief broke from his lips then turned quickly to, “Oh, fuck!”

  When Guy pulled the truck back from the impending accident, he failed to notice the hairpin turn, which led to the top of Beecher Hill and the accident towards which he’d been heading. The truck made straight for the embankment as if drawn there by a supercharged magnet. Guy had no time to change the truck’s mind this time.

  With a sinking feeling, he knew was going to wreck. No doubt about that. He did have just enough time to throw the truck into 4-Hi on the four-wheel drive just as the front tires hit the ditch. The front end tilted up about 45 degrees for a breath stealing half-second, then bounced back to the ground. Once on the ground, Guy hit the accelerator, which made the back tires spin, but they caught purchase, and the truck surged forward another twenty feet into the middle of the biggest mud puddle he’d ever seen.

  As muck suddenly gripped his tires, Guy lurched forward against his seatbelt, his teeth rattling in his head. His hope sank as quickly as his rims.

  He twisted his neck from side to side and rolled his shoulders, testing their range of motion. He felt okay. Since he seemed to be all in one piece, he slammed the four-wheel drive into 4-Lo and stomped the gas pedal. The engine whined, the tires spun and mud flew, but the truck remained where it had landed.

  “Jesus-fucking-Christ! Fuck!” He hit the steering wheel, picturing Todd’s face. He pushed the buckle release and threw off the shoulder strap. Pissed off wasn’t even close to describing Guy’s mood as he pushed the truck door open to get out. When he stepped out, his foot was immediately immersed in about six inches of water and sludge. “Fucking awesome,” he growled.

  There was nothing for it except to get completely out of the truck to try and figure out this clusterfuck. With both feet now immersed in mud, Guy’s mood did not improve, especially after slamming the truck door shut. The force of him shutting the door caused him to slip, both feet sliding out from under him, and he landed on his back in the water.

  What he hadn’t realized during this ridiculous debacle, was there was a witness to the accident and the events immediately following. Her presence gradually became known as he lay in the puddle, kicking his feet and screaming expletives into the night.

  At first, he thought it was an animal chittering at him, but he soon realized the sound he was hearing was laughter. A woman was laughing, hysterically, at him and his antics. Well, fuck her. He didn’t find any of this the least bit funny.

  Rolling over in the puddle, he pushed up on his hands and knees to try to stand. “What the fuck are you laughing at?” he growled. He reached his hand up to grab onto the truck’s door handle to use it as leverage. Beyond the steady roar of rain hitting the truck and the puddle, he could still hear the woman laughing, which pissed him off even more. He swung his head toward her, just making out the outline of her slim figure in the darkness, standing at the edge of the growing “pond.”

  “I’m laughing at you,” she said, gasping. “Definitely not with you. Oh, shit. I’m going to piss my pants! That was funny as fuck. Wait, I’m wrong. It’s still funny as fuck.” She bent over, holding her stomach, still laughing louder than the falling rain.

  Having finally made it to a standing position, Guy scowled. “What the hell are you doing out here anyway?” He moved to the back of the truck, h
olding onto the side for support, should he slip again.

  “I live…oh, shit…I live just over there.” She turned and pointed the same direction he’d been going when he’d wrecked. “I saw the accident and ran out to make sure everyone was okay.” She continued to giggle, though she was at least attempting to stifle her mirth at this point. “Listen, I’ve got a Jeep with a tow cable. I can—”

  “You? You’re going to tow me out? With a Jeep? Yeah, right, lady.” Still scowling, he scrubbed his hand across his face to wipe away the water stinging his eyes.

  She brushed her wet hair off her face and slammed her hands on her hips. “My Jeep is on the road about fifty feet from here. I have about two hundred feet of tow cable. I’m pretty sure I can get your piece of shit tow truck out of my field, no problem.”

  It took him all of four seconds to recognize her. He didn’t know her name, but he’d seen her in town a few times. She was no bigger than a minute with a head full of thick black hair and dark eyes. If he remembered correctly, her mouth looked like it was set in a permanent pout, and right now, she looked about as terrifying as a puffed-up kitten. The last time he’d seen her at the diner, he’d had the fleeting thought of asking to join her.

  Even with as pissed off as he was, he couldn’t stop the laugh escaping from his gut. Suddenly, this entire situation was funny as fuck.

  His bad mood abating, Guy righted himself and cleared his throat. “Okay, chickpea, go get your tow cable and get me the fuck out of here. I’ve gotta call Smiley to let him know I’m…delayed.” Guy made a slow about-face, keeping one hand on the truck for stability, and trudged back to the cab. He blew out a heavy breath, praying he didn’t fall on his ass again as he opened the driver’s side door. Thankfully, he’d thrown his phone on the passenger’s seat rather than tucking it in his pocket, as he usually did before getting out. He grabbed the steering wheel for support as he leaned across the seat for his phone, swiped the screen, and dialed.

  “Hey, Smiley. Yeah, I’m on my way still. Uh, I missed the hairpin…yeah. Fuck you. Just take those guys in. Make sure they leave their keys. I’ll be there soon enough. Do me a favor and keep this shit quiet, ’kay? What? Well, fuck you twice, douchebag.” Smiley was a lot of things, town cop, store manager, but a secret keeper he was not. Guy was going to come into a shit-ton of crap for this fuck-up. Exasperated, he threw his phone back in the truck and slammed the door shut, holding onto the handle this time. No way was he going down again.

  In no time, the girl was back with a large hook and a cable as thick as his thumb.

  Well, shit, this just might work.

  And fuck him, she was hot. Her jeep’s headlights pierced the darkness to reveal her slim frame, soaking-wet in jeans, hot pink muck boots, and black T-shirt. Too bad it wasn’t white, he would have loved seeing what she had packing underneath that cotton. And now, he couldn’t recall why he hadn’t asked to join her for lunch. Dumb ass.

  “Are you going to keep staring at me or are you going to hook this up?” She held the hook out to him, swinging it from the cable like a pendulum.

  He snatched it from her. “Jesus, you’re polite. What’s your name, anyway?” He held firm to the truck with one hand and the cable with the other.

  “What’s yours?” she retorted, following him to the rear of the tow truck. She halted halfway and grabbed him by the shoulder to stop him. “Why would Smiley call you all the way down from Canada?”

  He gave her an incredulous look. “What? Canada?” He swiped the water from his face, not that it did any good as the rain continued its incessant downpour. He finally made it to the back of the truck, trying to figure out what in the hell she was talking about.

  “Ottawa’s a place in Canada, right?” she asked, circling around to his right and leaning on the rear bumper, her arms crossed over her chest.

  Guy had crawled under the truck to hook the tow cable onto the rear shackle. When he emerged, he furrowed his brow at her then stuck his hand out to her. “Guy Ottawa, nice to meet you. I’m not Canadian. It’s my last name.”

  The woman smacked herself in the forehead, obviously embarrassed at her faux pas. She shook his hand. “Well, don’t I feel like a horse’s ass. I guess that’s what being awake at almost 3 a.m. will do to a person. Guy, huh? Your parents really didn’t stretch their imaginations too hard for that one, did they?”

  “Jesus, you’re polite. Hell, I think I said that already.” Guy tested the slack on the cable. It was tight enough to keep the hook in place but loose enough to give the Jeep some purchase to get him the fuck out of this swamp-ass field. He looked back at her, still stung by her dig at his name, “What’s your name, anyway? Periwinkle Vandersneeze?”

  “Huh. I guess I deserve that. You’re pretty close, though. Uh…” Again, she brushed the hair off her face. “Plush. My name’s Plush.” She sighed and rolled her eyes.

  Guy quirked an eyebrow at her and felt his mouth curve into a smile, “Seriously? Plush?” He knew he should stop right there, but after the rash of shit she’d given him over his name, he couldn’t hold back. “Is your last name Toy? Or…or Carpet? Jesus, please tell me it’s Carpet. Then a guy could call himself a real carpet muncher.” This time, he failed to keep hold of any part of the truck, and as he doubled over in gales of laughter, his feet once again slid out from underneath him, and he landed on his back in the mud. This time, however, he didn’t care. He snorted his laughter to the rain-filled sky and even rolled over, punching the ground.

  Next thing he knew, he felt a kick to his midsection, though it was somewhat buffered by the puddle. Then he saw Plush land next to him in the water, which caused him to laugh even harder—for just a second. “Shit, are you okay?” He reached over to make sure she wasn’t hurt.

  She brushed away his hand. “Fuck you. I’m taking my cable and leaving your dumb ass stranded.” She tried to stand, but her muck boots, though good for regular mud and gunk, apparently didn’t stand up well to several inches of water. She slipped back into the puddle, this time almost landing on Guy.

  Guy grabbed her waist and pulled her on top of him. “I know we got off on the wrong foot. I wasn’t in a great mood before you arrived. But are you always such a bitch? I mean, as bitchy as a puffed-up kitten can get?” She struggled against him, which caused a serious uprising in his pants.

  “Let me go.”

  He did as requested and pushed her tiny frame off his and back into the puddle.

  “Hey! What the hell did you do that for?” she huffed, as she knelt, scowling at him.

  Guy made it to his feet and stared down at her. “Seriously? You told me to let you go.” He’d thought her sassiness had been flirting. Well, now he knew better. He moved back to the cab of the truck and wrenched the door open, bad mood restored. “If you’re going to help, help. If not, take your fucking cable and go home. I’m sure your man’s waiting on you.”

  Guy was not a game player with chicks. There was no push-pull with him. If a woman wanted his cock, she got it. If not, well, he had a hand to use. He thought maybe Plush was in the ‘want’ category, especially once she’d wriggled on top of him. He knew what he’d felt—she’d thrust her pelvis against his. Which was why he was so damn confused now.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as she stood and moved to the back of the truck. He thought for sure she was going to take off with the tow cable and his only chance of rescue. But instead, she leaned on the bumper, staring into the dark.

  Great, now he felt guilty for laughing at her. Damn it. “Listen, Plush. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings or…whatever.” He was bad at this part.

  She looked back at him, still standing at the driver’s side door, “Koppette. My last name is Koppette. Plush Koppette. So, you were close. And as for a man? Well, my ex-husband sought greener pastures in another woman. Ah, several other women...and a couple of men. Again, you were right. I was being a bitch.” She shrugged. “Whatever. You’re an asshole. I guess that makes us even.”


  He shrugged off the asshole comment. He did resemble that remark, after all.

  While she spoke, Guy made his way to her. He stepped in front of her, legs straddling hers, a smile playing across his lips. “Your name is Plush Koppette? That’s funny…and really hot.” He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “You know, I wasn’t kidding when I said I…munch. I mean, I have in the past. Hell, I don’t know what the fuck I’m saying right now. And you can kick me again if I’m moving too fast.” This was a hell of a lot better than a date at the diner.

  She tilted her head and slowly smiled. “I know what you’re saying. And I like it. It’s just…it’s been a long time for me. A really long time.”

  That last bit sounded like a challenge. “How long, Kitten?” he said, his voice taking on a low, dangerous tone. This night had gone from bad, to worse—to now—and what he wanted now was her, naked in the rain.

  She bowed her head and shook it.

  He used his index finger to raise her face. “How long?” This time, the question was a command to speak.

  A soft breath hit his hand as she exhaled and said, “Eight. Eight months.” She leaned her face against his hand and met his gaze.

  He rubbed his thumb across her bottom lip. “Tell me.”

  Her nose scrunched. “T-tell you what?”

  Guy leaned down, running his tongue up her cheek to her ear lobe. He felt her body shudder. He nipped her ear lobe then whispered, “Tell me what you want, Kitten.” Except for licking her and his thumb caressing her lips, he still hadn’t touched her.

  Her hands, however, had roamed his entire body. She stroked his arms and back. She made a shy grab for his cock, before moving her hands back to his ass to try and pull him against her.

  He held still. She needed to want him, to need him inside her, and he’d only give her that once she’d consented and begged for it. “I can get a little rough. Demanding. I’ll talk dirty, call you names. You have to want that, too.”