Chapter 5

Rocky

Iwas in the middle of a good dream after hours of being unable to fall asleep. Twins with big tits were in my bed. One rode my cock and the other rode my face, and it was an overwhelming sensation of pleasure that sent me to the edge. I was in heaven, pure fucking heaven, as four big titties and two tight cunts fucked me to within an inch of my life. I knew it was a dream but it I didn't give a fuck. My cock was hard—for once—and in my hands while the twins moaned and shouted their pleasure as I fucked and licked them to oblivion.

It was pure fucking bliss and I never wanted it to end. I gripped my cock tight, pumping fast, close as fuck to the release I needed. Craved.

In the distance, a loud pounding sounded. But nothing mattered more than the pleasure I was chasing.

When it happened again, my groggy mind wouldn't let it go and with a snarl, I sat up and looked around my bedroom, lit only by the moonlight that filtered in through the blinds. A quick sweep of the room showed nothing but darkness.

The pounding sound grew louder and more insistent. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and blinked quickly to clear the fog from my eyes. It was the middle of the fucking night, and someone was banging on my door like the goddamn police.

I grabbed my boxer briefs from the floor and stepped into them, picking up my gun as I made my way downstairs to the sound of the uninvited guest. The pounding hadn't stopped, and I risked a quick look through the peephole before I yanked open the door. "What the fuck do you want?"

A squeak sounded at the face on the wrong end of my nine-millimeter. I couldn't see shit other than a mass of red curls.

"Jesus, is that necessary?" a feminine voice, deep and honeyed, asked on the other side of my gun.

"Not entirely, no. But when someone stops by at two in the morning, it's a necessary precaution."

In an act of incredible boldness, the anonymous redhead moved the barrel of the gun to the side and stared up at me with big blue eyes.

At the sight of her face, my annoyance dropped down a notch. She was the hottest, most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, which was saying a lot since I'd seen a lot of stunners in my day. She had curves for days, from her tits to her tiny waist and flared out hips, and all the way down to thick, creamy thighs. She carried a hoodie in one hand, and on her feet were sneakers with no socks on. In her pajamas, in the middle of the night, she looked like someone who was running away from something, quickly.

"Sorry for invading your sleep." The thin lilac pajamas she wore hid nothing from my view, not the dark pink nipples, hard beneath her tank top, not the patch of slightly darker red hair at the apex of her thighs, and not every tantalizing inch in between. "But maybe we could get that fucking thing out of my face, please?" Her voice was like whiskey shaken with honey, husky and smooth and a balm to whatever it was that bothered me.

Gorgeous and half naked, this feisty redhead was either a fiction of my overworked and over-tired imagination, or this was some kind of fucking trap. I moved my gun to point at her chest and tipped my head.

"I can and I will, as soon as you tell me who you are and what you want." I couldn't be too careful, especially when a woman straight out of my dirtiest fantasies showed up on my doorstep in the middle of the night.

"Okay." The word came out on a whisper, and when she peeked around the gun, I saw tear-stained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes, swollen from crying. "You're Mr. Lombardi, aren't you?"

I frowned. No one ever called me Mr. Lombardi. That was my dad, who was technically Colonel Lombardi. Her formality intrigued me.

"Depends on who's asking." I didn't know this chick, and though for the first time in ages my cock stood up and took notice, my survival instincts took over.

"Right." She bit her lip. "My name is Peyton. I'm friends with Nolan—until earlier today we attended the same college. I, um, suddenly find myself in a fucking heap of trouble. Nolan mentioned that you were a military badass back in the day and that you have connections, so I thought that maybe you could…offer some assistance?"

Despite everything she said, my mind focused on one thing only. "You know Nolan?" I loved my kid dearly, but he was a bit of an introvert and always studying, and the fact that he knew a woman like her was shocking, to be honest.

"Yep," she said, her blue gaze darting all around the porch and over her shoulder. "We're…friends."

"That sounds like a lie." I lowered my gun to my side. "You want my help? Tell me the truth. All of it." My chest heaved as I took in the stunner without the obstacle of my gun or anything else.

"Nolan and I dated for a little bit, but it didn't work out. We're better as friends, which we have been ever since." She startled at the sound of a car in the distance, peeking over her left shoulder and then her right with wide, paranoid eyes. "That's it. That's the truth. But some shit went down tonight, and you are who I thought of, or at least what Nolan told me anyway." Her gaze was terrified and insistent at once.

"What's going on?"

The gorgeous redhead looked around once again before she leveled me with her deep blue gaze. "I'm kind of freaked out and I feel really exposed, so please invite me in, or tell me to fuck off so I can go hide in my car."

She was spunky, I'd give her that much. But she looked scared as fuck, so I stepped back and waved her inside, keeping my distance because a man could never be too fucking careful. She was too tempting, too hot, and that splash of vulnerability was irresistible. "You've been drinking." It wasn't a question so much as a statement of fact.

She laughed bitterly. "No shit. I graduated today and I was out celebrating with my friends, including Nolan. I came home afterwards and found my apartment covered in blood and my roommate with her throat slit in the living room. Blood was everywhere, it was all over the apartment, and I stepped in it. I mean, it was every-fucking-where and the smell?" She gagged, and I found a trash can for her to puke in.

"Here, use this."

She nodded and doubled over, emptying her guts—which smelled mostly of booze—into the plastic lined bin. "Oh fuck, I'm sorry. Shit. It's just thinking about Chloe," she began, and puked again. "Shit. Thank you, Mr. Lombardi."

Nothing in the whole goddamn world could make me feel older. "Rocky. Call me Rocky, Peyton."

She nodded, still doubled over the trash can, though it appeared she had nothing else to give. I rubbed soothing circles in her back before she looked up with a half-smile. "Thanks, Rocky."

That smile. That moment. It was when I knew I should have pulled back and sent her on her way, because my fingertips pulsed with electricity and her silky soft skin sent a ripple of heat through my body. I jerked my hand back and then settled it on her once again, determined that she wouldn't have an effect on me. But it was still there, the buzz, the heady lightness that I couldn't quite name. "You're all right," I said in a low, soothing tone.

"I'm really not," she said on a body-wracking sob. "She was murdered inside our apartment, brutally, and that's awful enough, horrible in its own fucking right. But now some fuck-face detective is trying to imply I had something to do with it."

"Do you?"

Her lips curled defiantly, and she put the trash can down with an annoyed thump. "No. I didn't like her, but we tolerated each other for the sake of cheap-ish rent. It wasn't all that serious, but cops are cops, ya know?"

More than she realized. "You ask for a lawyer?"

"No," she sighed, her shoulders slumping, and I directed us across the room towards some seats. "I don't have lawyer money, but I refused to let that prick bully me. I answered the questions until I didn't, but that's not why I'm here." Her gaze fixed on my face again, serious and inquiring.

My brows furrowed but I nodded. "Okay. Why are you here?" I motioned for her to take a seat at the informal dining room table, and I took the seat at the head of the table, directly to her right.

"I was leaving to go to my best friend's house when I got a message that was fucking unsettling."

I bit back a smile at her blunt assessment. "Can I see the message?"

Peyton shoved the phone at me without looking at the screen, as if the message itself could hurt her.

The message was a clear threat. I shot off a quick text to Diesel and Slate to see if they could figure anything out. "Any idea who would send a message like that to you?"

She shook her head. "No. Honestly, I have no fucking clue. I work and go to class and hang out with my best friend. I don't have lots of men or lots of friends, so what in the actual fuck is that about?"

She was getting riled up, panicked and angry, and I needed her to calm down. I placed one hand on each shoulder and squeezed. "Peyton. Calm down."

She sucked in an outraged breath and glared at me. "Don't tell me to calm down, not when I've had the night from fucking hell."

A snort escaped me. "Okay, fair." I stood and went to the bar, which was just my kitchen counter, and poured us both two generous fingers of Maker's Mark.

"Still, calm the fuck down, sweetheart. You're not helping yourself if you spiral." I pressed the glass into her hand and waited until she finished the glass. "Good girl."

She sighed and checked her shaking hands with a half-smile. "Thanks. That helped."

"I'll have my guy check your message. If there's anything to be found, Slate will find it. But in the meantime, what is it you think that I can do for you?"

Peyton let out a low, husky laugh that was pure fucking sex. "Honestly? I have no fucking clue. I knew I couldn't go to Lisa's place and put her at risk, which makes me sound like an asshole because I shouldn't put you at risk, either. But you look big and strong enough to handle yourself, so maybe it's not so bad." My eyebrows rose at those words, right alongside my ego, and I stifled a smile at her bluntness while she continued. "I'm used to handling shit on my own, but I'm not sure this fits the bill. You have any suggestions other than the fucking cops?"

My lips pulled into a tight line at her question. "None that I can come up with now in the middle of the night, without knowing more." My gaze raked over her supple tits once again and my cock twitched to life. Down boy. "I need a good night's sleep and I think you do, too. I have a spare room. It's yours if you want it."

She blinked slowly, blue eyes framed by dark coppery lashes. "Seriously? You don't even know me."

"No, but I'm confident I can take you if you try anything."

She smiled. "Yeah, I suppose that's true. I don't want to impose, but there's no obvious connection between us, so this has to be safer than my bestie. No one's about to guess that I came here right off the bat, right?"

I shrugged, but offered her a smile. "You're safe here, Peyton."

She sat up taller and nodded. "Okay, then, yes, I accept the offer." She glanced around and nodded again.

"Do you have any bags?"

She shook her head, "Cops wouldn't let me take anything, there's a bag on the backseat with my gym clothes, I guess I can wear them until they let me back in."

"I'll fetch it," I said, and plucked the keys from her grip.

"I can do it," she said to my back.

"But I'm already doing it, so relax."

I strode out the door before she could protest any more. She had a small duffle bag tossed haphazardly in the backseat and I grabbed it with one hand, then quickly checked under the car for trackers or anything else that might lead someone to my house.

When I walked back inside, she had her arms wrapped tightly around her midsection and had gotten up from the table, standing instead right in the darkest corner of the room, her eyes darting all around.

"Peyton?"

"It's fine. I'm fine, really. I'm good," she said unconvincingly.

"You're not fine," I said. "You shouldn't be."

Peyton shook her head. "I didn't even like her, why am I responding to her death like this?"

"It's your first dead body, which always hits a little different than the rest."

"Right. My first body, of course. Why didn't I think of that?" she said sarcastically.

"Because I'm the big, strong badass, to use your words," I said with a grin. "It's my job to know, so you don't have to."

That earned me a very cute glare, but then she rolled her eyes and let out a laugh. "Yeah, okay."

"Come on. It's time for both of us to get some sleep." I grabbed her bags and carried them upstairs, dropping them on the floor beside her bed. "Towels and toilet paper are in the closet just across the hall. Shampoo and conditioner should be in the shower."

"Thank you." She hesitated and tried to stand on her own. "You wouldn't happen to have an extra toothbrush, would you?"

I frowned. "Careful, that's serious relationship territory, or so I've been told."

Peyton laughed. "They wouldn't let me get my toiletries because apparently the bathroom was part of the crime scene." She shuddered again and I nodded, tugging on the door in search of toiletries.

"Here you go."

"Thanks," she whispered. "I appreciate this, Rocky. All of it. Thank you." She gripped my shoulders and stood up on her toes, pressing her plump lips to my cheek. "Good night."

"Good night," I bit out. It wasn't that I didn't want Peyton in my personal space, in my house. But goddammit, I didn't need a sassy redheaded siren under my roof making my cock stay up all night thinking about all the ways he could make her come.