by Raven, Jo
“Haha. You’re so fucking funny.” But the weight is off my chest. Fucker didn’t stay out. He wasn’t that upset. It’s okay.
It’d damn well better be.
He stretches, and my gaze follows the movement, the muscles rippling in his chest, the strip of golden flesh revealed when his T-shirt rides up. “Why did you sleep on the sofa? What were you watching?”
I wasn’t watching anything, I was fucking waiting for you, dipshit. “Football highlights,” I lie.
“You’re not sleeping enough.”
Say what? His statement hangs in the air between us, and I freeze like soon-to-be roadkill caught in the headlights.
He has never seemed to take notice before. Sure he’s my friend and sure he cooks for me sometimes. Forces me to do laundry and change my bed sheets once in a while, that sort of thing. And I could never ask for more, not from Joel who’s had my back since we met at school years back.
Who knows so much about me—though not all—and hasn’t given up on my sorry self.
And I don’t know how to deal with this.
“Know what, I’m gonna hit the shower,” I say and start to get up all over again.
“Wait.” He reaches over and pushes me back down.
“Sure. Why the fuck not?” I grind my teeth together.
This is beginning to feel like Groundhog Day. Will I never get up from this damn couch?
And why is he looking at me like that? Like… like there’s something on my face? Or my chest? Or…?
“Drink your coffee. I need advice.”
Fuck that. “Advice on what exactly? How to ogle your friend jerking off in the shower?”
He winces, and I glare back, because now the words have left my mouth, there’s nothing left to do but own them.
“No,” he says. “To get a girl.”
“A girl.”
“Yeah, the girl, in fact. You know who.”
“Wait. The nerdy one?”
“That’s the one.”
“Dude, I didn’t know you were serious about her.” Joel often mentions girls, but he’s never stuck to one for more than a night.
Then again, maybe it’s because he still hasn’t banged this one? Hell if I know.
“I… like her.”
A beat of silence as I digest his words. “Like her.”
“Like her, yeah. Why are you looking at me like that?”
Because my chest hurts. Because Joel is all I have, and he seems serious, and scenarios that only seemed hypothetical until a moment ago seem all too real now.
Of course one day he’ll find the perfect girl and leave. I knew that. I just didn’t expect it so soon.
“And what’s the problem?” I ask.
Joel’s mouth twists. It’s a firm, wide mouth, and I should stop staring at it. Dammit, I used to have more control than that.
“You know how to get girls,” I go on. “Chat her up, take her out for drinks, go to the movies. What’s the problem? She’s nerdy, and deep inside you’re nerdy, too.”
“I know.” He’s glaring at me like I’m an idiot. “Talking to her isn’t the problem.”
“Then what, fucking her?”
He winces again. “Shut up.”
Wait a sec… “Fucking her is an issue?”
He slumps back, pinches the bridge of his nose. “No.”
“Then what? Can’t get it up?”
“Sure I can.”
“Then?”
“I can’t… come.”
This time silence settles over us like one of Godzilla’s claws.
I swallow hard. “You’re joking.”
“Fuck you, Jet. I’m fucking serious here.”
“You can’t come?” He nods, but I still can’t believe it. “Is this a joke? Is it April Fools’?”
“Jet, it’s July.” He’s staring down at his hands in his lap, after dropping this mega-bomb on me, before I’ve even finished my coffee or had any breakfast, and he expects me to… what?
Make him come?
Oh. My. Fuck.
No, Jet, no. Do not go getting any dirty ideas about making Joel come. This isn’t about what you want. This is about what he wants, and he clearly wants a girl.
That girl, and he wants to come with her. In her.
And damn if this thought doesn’t excite me, either. If only I could watch…
Focus, dammit. “Okay, J, let’s think. Is it because of what happened last year? The scandal? Did that put you off sex?”
He shakes his head. “The problem began before that. It’s the reason I was in the whole mess in the first place, the reason I was in that photo with Ellen.”
“What!” I’m incredulous now. “Ellen fucking knew about this? You asked her for help with it?”
Asked her and not me?
“I didn’t know someone would take a picture! Fuck.” He closes his eyes, and the flush in his cheeks is spreading to his ear tips. “I’d never have gotten Ellen into such a mess.”
I’ve wanted to ask him since then why the hell Ellen ignored his atrocious flirting attempts for years only to give in on that unfortunate occasion.
Ah fuck it. No time like the present. “Why Ellen?”
“Huh?” He blinks at me. “Oh. It just happened.”
“Bullshit. You never even went out with her.”
“So what?”
“How about the truth?”
“It’s none of your business.”
I see red. “None of my business?” In one movement, I have him pinned underneath me on the couch, straddling his legs, my arm against his throat. “You are my business, mate. We’re friends. Hell, I tell you stuff about myself nobody else knows.”
“Not everything,” he shoots back, his blue eyes flashing with anger, and I deflate a little.
He’s right about that, dammit.
I lift my arm off his throat and he swallows convulsively. I watch his Adam’s apple bob, the scruff on his neck ripple in tiny waves.
“I only asked to watch her and her girlfriend,” he whispers, and that jerks me back to reality. “Thought it could help me. And hey… you can never tell anyone what I just said, okay? Swear to me, Jet. You have to fucking swear.”
“What am I, three? I won’t tell.”
Fuck. Her girlfriend? Ellen likes pussy and not dick? Joel was after her for fucking years, tongue lolling like a dog in heat, hoping to dip his dick in her.
The urge to laugh is cutting off my breath, but he’s staring back at me bleakly, his normally sunny blue eyes dark, and…
And suddenly I’m aware of where I’m sitting—on his muscular thighs, our crotches aligned, heat seeping through the thin fabric of our pants—and I scramble off him.
Shitshitshit.
I stand in front of him, trying to think. “So you watched Ellen and her girlfriend make out. Did it work for you?”
A pause, then he shakes his head.
Ah. Not sure if to be relieved or concerned. “But chicks still do it for you?”
A vigorous nod.
“What about watching a guy and a girl get it on together?”
He stares at me.
“Porn, dude. Do you jack off to porn?”
“What do you think?”
“Okay. And you can’t get off?”
“No, I fucking can’t. Happy now?”
“Hey, I’m only trying to help.”
What I can’t help is the blood heading south, the heat spreading in my dick, hardening when I think of Joel beating his meat while watching others going at it, his face flushed, his hand a blur over his dick.
Because, by the way, hey, J, did you know I’m bisexual? Did you know I want you? Did you know I want you and a girl, together, to get off?
“How about two guys together?” I ask, my mouth dry.
“No,” he says slowly. “I don’t think that does it for me.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him if he tried, but nah, too soon, too much.
“Lemme think about
this,” I tell him and try to ignore the jubilant voice whooping in the back of my mind. “Don’t worry, buddy.”
I’ll figure out what turns you on. What makes you come like a freight train.
Oh, for chrissakes. Shut up, brain. Shut the fuck up.
I try to ignore all the suggestions my subconscious is throwing at me, because this isn’t about me. It’s about him.
A plan is taking shape. Simple, basic. Rudimentary.
The fact it might give me a chance to be with Joel in a way that’s only been a fantasy so far is beside the point.
Not about me. And I’m not about to jeopardize our friendship over my lust.
It’s a crazy, improbable plan, but it might just work, and it’s not like I don’t wanna do this. I’d give my right arm for the chance. Right now, I’ll take anything I can get.
Chapter Seven
CANDY
Title: Slick
From Candy Boys (Blog serial)
Their bodies are moving together, broad chests slick with sweat, muscular arms around each other, their cocks rubbing against each other.
“You boys like that?” I move my hand over their bare, tight asses and scoot closer so that I can stroke up a sinewy back, a padded shoulder. “Now kiss.”
J-Two grips his lover’s scruffy jaw and slams their mouths together.
Oh yeah. I slip my hands between their bodies, find their cocks and stroke them as they kiss, their panting breaths filling the room. I stroke them good and hard until they can’t take anymore and come, writhing on the bed, their cum pooling between them.
Damn, that was sexy…
“Honey, your dad doesn’t fuck me properly.”
As an opening act to one’s day, this one surely takes the prize.
Only it’s not the first time my mom has done this to me. Her only daughter. She never thinks of the marks she’s leaving. I’m traumatized for life.
“Mom, I don’t want to know if Dad is good or bad in bed, okay?”
“Oh, honey, if he was good, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Sometimes I wonder how we manage to have you. He barely plays with me beforehand, and doesn’t even check if I’m moist before—”
“Mom. Stop.” I’m not feeling so good. I might puke.
“You should find a man who can satisfy you sexually, baby. And if one is not enough, then more. Sex is important.”
A burning flush spreads over my face. “Can’t you give me any normal motherly advice, Mom? You know, to start my day?”
Instead of advising me to do the one thing I want but shouldn’t want? She’s very cool for a mom, granted. Maybe a bit too cool. But there are limits to what a girl can take first thing in the morning.
“Okay. Motherly advice.” She sounds uncertain. She’s on shaky ground here. “Um. Here goes. Are you listening?”
“Yes, Mom, I’m taking notes. You can speak anytime now.”
“Okay. Don’t forget to eat your breakfast. Most important meal of the day, except if you wake up late, of course. Then you can skip to lunch. Oh and eat fiber, it’s good for bowel movement.” A pause. “How am I doing?”
“Awesome,” I sigh and close my eyes.
At least we’re not talking about my dad’s sexual prowess—or lack thereof—anymore.
Win.
***
A shitty morning is a fitting start to a shitty week, as I discover. Book shipments arrive scrambled, the books torn and bent—and they are by Cynthia Sax, Stephanie Witter and JA Huss! This sucks so bad. Readers will be so sad.
Donna is in a craptastic mood, and I don’t know if it’s PMS or menopause—asking her will probably not improve anything.
Plus, Jethro hasn’t sent an application for the job—shocker, right?—and Joel doesn’t return.
Pretty crappy, all in all.
The good news, though, is that my blog is getting more and more views and comments than ever. Guess my latest super-hot boy-on-boy scene did the trick.
As I sit at my computer after work, I wonder how many girls masturbate daily, compliments of my blog. I should charge them for this.
Smirking at the thought, I log off—only to find Brylee sitting across from me, on my bed.
“Aarrrgh!” I jump off my chair, sending it crashing to the floor, my heart pounding. “Shit. Bry! God!”
“You serious right now?” She scowls. “I scared you that much?” She pats her hair. “Is it the new style?”
“Crap. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“That much is obvious. You’re lost in a fantasy instead of living in the real world.”
She really seems to take personal offense at that.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“Come out with me.”
“No way.”
“Candy…what did we say about fantasy guys?”
“They are real. I met them both now, you know. In the real world.” And she saw Jethro at the concert, so she should know.
“Yes, fine. But did either of them ask you out?”
“One of them came close,” I say defensively.
If I hadn’t let my big mouth run with no filter.
“Or not.”
“Bry…”
“Let me do your hair. And make up your face. You’ll look so pretty. Come on, Candy…”
“You want to use me like a doll to play.”
She scrunches up her nose. “That sounds harsh. I just want you to let out your real you.”
Okay… “My real me will be freed through the use of make-up and the curling iron?”
“The outside reflects the inside.” She puts her hands on her ample chest, and her face contorts melodramatically. “If you look good outside, you will feel powerful inside.”
There may be something in what she says…
“I’m going now.” She waves a manicured hand at me and smacks her ruby-colored lips. “Think about it. Want to get the boys? Work a little for it. The offer stands.”
I watch her go.
Hey, I’m sure Joel would have asked me out had I not inserted my foot into my mouth. Right? Or is that really super-wishful thinking?
What would I have to lose by following Brylee’s advice except for lots of time I could have put to better use?
I blow a blond curl from my face, pull my braids back, purse my lips. Have I overdone it? Did I bury my real self too deeply? Also, do I look like a crazy person?
It is a possibility.
With a heavy sigh, I get up and open my closet. I push aside my Star Wars- and Lord of the Rings-themed clothes and reach for clothes I haven’t worn since before Liam.
When I was still hopeful, when I still believed it was fine to lust after two handsome guys and want them both. That trying to get them wasn’t stupid.
That I was a sex kitten with claws and I could dress to show it.
***
Stupid or not, the next day Donna whistles when I enter the shop and put my purse behind the counter.
“What happened to you?” She winks at me and flickers her tongue in and out like a snake.
Creepy. “No idea what you mean.”
“Yes, you do. Are we expecting Very Important Visitors?”
“VIV?” I sigh. “Nope. Can’t a girl dress for herself?”
“No,” Donna says matter-of-factly, scrolling through her emails. “Or we’d be lounging around braless, in yoga pants and with greasy hair every day. Hey, wanna hear the newest in the resume world?”
“How about I go grab us some coffee first?”
“Nah. You should wait.”
Baffled, I linger at the door of her office. “For what?”
“You’ll see,” she says cryptically, because she sometimes likes acting like an oracle and asshole all wrapped in one. It’s a hobby of hers.
Sighing deeply, I go flip the door sign to OPEN and make sure everything’s ready. “Whatever.”
Two minutes later, the door chimes and a familiar set of broad shoulders fills the opening. Dark, floppy hair,
blue eyes, a panty-melting grin, cheeky dimple.
Two Styrofoam cups with lids on.
“Morning, ladies.” He thrusts the cups toward me. He’s a gorgeous sight, in his work suit, gray pants and blue shirt, gray tie, polished shoes… Woo. I’ve never seen him dressed up for work, and he sure cleans up good.
Very good. Way better than my imagination ever made him out to be.
This day is getting hotter by the minute.
“Good morning,” I say uncertainly, not sure what’s going on, and making sure to check my chin for drool. Joel Kingsley is back, and he’s… brought us coffee?
Donna appears and grabs one cup. “Thank you, sweetie.” She winks at me and wanders back into her office.
Leaving me all alone with him.
“This one’s for you,” he says, and I take the cup, my hand shaking. My name is scrawled on the side. “Lots of milk, sugar and cinnamon.”
“How do you know how I like my coffee?” I blurt out.
“She told me.” He nods in the direction of Donna’s office. “I asked.”
“But why?”
He steps closer, looking down at me, his blue eyes darkening. His chest is a wall of muscle, pecs straining through the fine fabric of his shirt. I want to grab his tie and pull him down for a kiss. I want to put my hands on his chest, feel its strength under my palms.
I take a sip from my coffee.
Scald my tongue.
“Oh shit!” I jerk back, slap a hand over my mouth and manage to slosh hot coffee from the tiny opening of the cup cover on my hand.
He grabs the cup before I drop it to the floor, handsome face scrunched up in concern. “You okay?”
“Burnth my thongue.” I wave my burnt hand up and down. “Thit.”
“Thit?”
I swallow, blink back tears and sigh as the pain slowly subsides. “Shit.”
He chuckles. I love the sound of his chuckle, low and deep, like thick, dark chocolate dripping on my skin. “Shall I bring you some water?”
“I’m fine.”
And he’s still there, still close enough to touch, to smell, and—oh God, he reaches for my face and cups my cheek in his big hand.
“I like you, Candy.”
“You do?”
I take a moment to pinch myself and ow, that’ll leave a bruise.