Candy Boys

by Raven, Jo

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” He’s in my room, standing by my bed.

  “I couldn’t go through with it. Couldn’t bring her here, fuck her. If a girl doesn’t come, she can fake it, you know? But when a guy can’t come…”

  He kicks at the bed base, then shoves me. “Get up.”

  “What for?”

  “I said I’d help you, didn’t I?”

  Intrigued, I lift my arm. “How?”

  “Come on, dickbag. Move.”

  I give him a suspicious look. His dark eyes are sparkling. He’s up to something. “I’m not moving from here until you tell me what you’re planning.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  He saunters out of the room, and I stay where I am for a long moment, fighting curiosity and a weird sort of excitement that’s akin to fear.

  Curiosity wins out and I get up, loosening my tie. I went directly from work to pick Candy up, and I’m still in my confining office attire.

  He’s not in the living room, and I hear no sounds from the bathroom, so I push the door of his bedroom open and step inside.

  He’s bent over, rummaging in his closet, and damn, his ass is sexy in those jeans.

  I mean, muscular. Strong.

  Shit.

  Also, the closet reminds me I was going to search it for the mysterious item Jet was so hush-hush about.

  He straightens with a shirt in one hand and turns toward me, the ink on his arms shifting. “He has moved! He is alive.”

  “Shut up.”

  Yeah, I’m cranky. I’ve been hard all evening and most of the day, and instead of bringing Candy here and fucking her to a screaming orgasm, I told her I can’t do that. Instead, here I am standing in Jet’s bedroom in hopes that my lunatic roommate may have found a cure to my ailment.

  Maybe I should try sex therapy.

  “Come here.”

  “What do you have in mind?” I ask, wary. I’ve exposed myself to him more than I have to any other person, and now I wonder if it was a mistake.

  Not that he’d betray me. Never. But this could be potentially very embarrassing if he decides to help me get off.

  Somehow.

  And the possibility shouldn’t make me hard again, dammit.

  His gaze dips to my crotch, and a brow arches.

  “So?” I groan, sinking down on his bed.

  “Thinking of nerdy girl, are you?”

  “Yeah.” Among other things.

  Hell.

  “Okay, how about this. You like watching.” And I do watch, fascinated, as a flush rises to his cheeks. “You tried watching two girls together. How about watching different couplings?”

  “Couplings? As in—?”

  “Guy and girl,” he says quickly.

  That doesn’t sound too painful. Or useful, for that matter. “Jet, I told you I’ve done that. I’ve jacked off to porn as much as the next guy. It’s not working.”

  “Do it with me.”

  “What?” I blink stupidly at him.

  “Jerk off with me. Let’s watch a video together.” He shrugs. “Hey, bros do this. It’s nothing unusual. It may help you get into the moment. You need to experiment a little, dude. Sexuality is a wild ride. It’s not a one-way street.”

  Is he serious? Guys do this together? I know I’ve had kind of a sheltered childhood. My parents are damn conservative and don’t even like each other anyway. But in college I tried a few things.

  Well, I fucked girls, mainly. Went down on them. Tried a few positions.

  Damn, Jet is right, I should try something different, experiment a little. What would it hurt?

  So I nod, and he flashes me a bright, though somewhat nervous grin as he goes to grab his laptop. We stretch out on his bed, our backs propped against the wall, and fuck, my stomach is churning.

  Then he reaches behind his neck and pulls off his T-shirt in one movement. He leans back beside me, his lean chest rippling with muscles. His dark ink swirls over his pecs—a sinking sailing ship, and on his arms a skull, a raven, a distorted clock. His ink is familiar.

  This position isn’t. My mouth is suddenly bone-dry.

  Gets drier when he pushes down his pants, leaving him only in his black briefs, which are tented in the front with a very impressive hard-on.

  Fucking hell, I can clearly see the outline of his cock, jutting sideways inside his briefs.

  Oh yeah, he’s hard.

  And I’m so fucking turned-on I can’t breathe. Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I reach down, push on my erection to ease some of the motherfucking pressure, then start undressing, too.

  He’s not looking at me as I throw off my tie, unbutton my shirt and shrug it off, then start working on my belt and zipper to finally get rid of my pants.

  But when I’m done, left in my white briefs, I find his gaze on me, hot like fire.

  He grins, then reaches for his laptop and starts a movie he downloaded.

  The girl is pretty, a perky brunette, the guy strong and not bad looking, either—should I be noticing these things? Christ.

  “Pretend it’s nerdy girl,” Jet says, and I nod, trying not to look at him where he’s sitting beside me, half-naked and muscular and much more handsome than the guy in the video.

  The woman and the guy on screen start kissing, and she starts stroking him. He’s naked, and well hung, and he rocks into her hand. Then he goes down on her, and she goes wild, writhing underneath him, while he strokes himself.

  Fuck, this is good. I find my breathing going shallow, and I reach for my dick. Movement from beside me makes me twitch—Jet, I forgot for a second he’s here, too. He licks his lips, swallows hard, lifts his hips a little, and my gaze is helplessly drawn to his cock.

  The tip is peeking up from his briefs, flushed and wet, and oh fuck.

  I push down my briefs and grab my dick, needing to come so damn bad. The woman on screen moans, and now the guy is fucking her, ramming his cock into her in slow, controlled thrusts. Her tits are bouncing, and fuck, if this was Candy…

  Jet gasps, and I turn to find him jacking off. His hand is inside his briefs, only the top of his dick showing with every firm stroke. He licks his lips and looks at my cock, then my face.

  “I won’t last,” he rasps, and his words are like a spark behind my balls.

  “Fuck, me neither,” I grit out and start pumping my cock for real. He picks up speed, too, and as the couple on screen start to come—first her, then him, moaning and panting—I feel my insides clench.

  Jet suddenly reaches for my dick. His other hand is still on his hard-on, jacking himself off in short, hard pulls. “J.”

  His hand closes over mine, and together we milk my dick as he comes with a moan, his cum hitting his chest with a soft splash.

  Then I’m coming, too, my lungs seizing, my whole body tightening with the force of it, and I groan with relief as the pressure finally snaps.

  I spill all over myself, and Jet’s bed. It’s a mess. I’m a boneless sprawl on the cum-splattered sheets, and I can’t move one finger to get up and clean it up.

  Can’t even think about what this means—that I came jerking off to a video with my best friend, that I came with his hand over mine, while thinking of fucking Candy.

  Fuck, I can’t think at all.

  Chapter Nine

  JETHRO

  Joel elbows me in the ribs hard enough to bruise. “Hey, dude, you okay?”

  I’m fucking paranoid again, thinking I saw someone watching me, stalking me. Not that I’d tell this to Joel. He’s got my back, but no one in their right mind would be friends with a wacko, and he’s all I got.

  If he leaves…

  He’s always been a solid presence, ever since I walked into that classroom when I was seventeen, and he nodded at me. Strong, confident, he makes me feel safe, and even now his hand grips my arm, grinding my bones together, grounding me.

  How could I ever tell him I need more? I’d never tell him, not in a million years, and that’s the tr
uth.

  Well, fuck me sideways.

  Can’t believe what just went down—that J jacked off by my side, watching porn. That he allowed me to put my hand over his as he came.

  A day later, and the memory still has me going hard in nanoseconds.

  Not necessarily a good thing, especially when against all hope I landed the job at the bookstore, and today is my first day there.

  I tug again on my long-sleeved T-shirt, pat my black pants, and think, fuck it. I don’t have any other clothes, and I can’t tame my hair, so I should stop worrying about it.

  Can’t believe I got the job. Me, in a bookstore.

  Shit.

  I open the door, and a bunch of chimes sounds madly over my head, making me flinch. Rattled, I let the door close and take two steps inside.

  Smell of something floral and Windex. A short, slim woman with wild red hair comes out of an office in the back and smiles at me.

  “Jethro Connors?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good. Come on in, I’ll show you around, explain your duties until Candy comes in. She’ll fill you in about the details.”

  “Candy.” I grin, can’t help it.

  “You know her?”

  “She’s the one who gave me your card.”

  “I see.” A crease forms between the woman’s groomed brows, then she smiles again and says, “Come with me.”

  I’m so stressed my stomach hurts as the woman shows me around the shop. She never asked if I finished school. She assumed it, probably. I mean, what person working in a bookshop doesn’t have a GED?

  Me, apparently.

  It’s not like I can’t read or anything. I can. Write, too, and I’m pretty good at math. And I love stories, provided they’re in a form other than written.

  Still. I know drinks, fist fights and dark places so much better than books.

  I wish Candy were here already. The memory of her smile that day at the concert is calming. I’ve been looking forward to seeing her again ever since, though it took a lot of agonizing to decide to apply for the job.

  The woman—Donna Foster, manager of the shop—is friendly, and the job doesn’t seem too hard. Apparently I don’t need a PhD to do it, thank fuck. She says people may ask for recommendations, though, for books to buy.

  “Do you read a lot? From your resume it wasn’t obvious, and when I asked you on the phone, your answer was vague.”

  “I like books.” Hey, they’re pretty things, often with nice drawings inside.

  “That was exactly what you said.” She sends me a shrewd look. “If you don’t read much, Jethro, it’s not a problem, really. As long as you’re hard-working and polite to me, Candy and our customers, I’m happy. As for recommendations, you can do a few searches, check what genres we sell, check online and see the bestsellers in those categories. Be resourceful. We mainly want to sell books. It’s a business like any other. Now if you like reading books…” She grins, and I like this woman more and more. “Then it’s a bonus for you, because you may enjoy yourself more and read books when there are no customers around. Also we give discounts to our employees.”

  She’s being candid. And nice. I owe her the truth. Well, part of it.

  “I don’t read much. But I am good at organizing things, and good at selling things. I will work hard, Ms. Foster.”

  “Please call me Donna.” She nods. “I appreciate the honesty. I hope you will like it here.”

  “Me too,” I tell her truthfully, and man, I hope I will remember not to drop any f-bombs while at work. It was never a problem when working at a bar, but in a bookshop I have a feeling things are kinda different.

  The door chimes and I turn around.

  “Morning, Donna!” a bright voice calls, and I see a halo of blond hair and a curvy form. “I bring coffee and—”

  She stops dead, staring at me.

  I grin and wave.

  “Oh my God!” Her face is prettier than I remember, her smile blinding, although she’s wearing… glasses? “Don’t tell me. Oh crap, Donna, is this the new employee?”

  “He sure is!” Donna winks, and I see no trace of that earlier discomfort I sensed when she found out I knew Candy. “Jethro tells me you’ve met already.”

  “Jethro. Oh my frigging God.” Now Candy goes pale, stopping in her tracks. The blood drains from her face so fast, I’m rushing toward her before I even realize I’m doing it.

  “Sit.” I grab the coffees from her hands, plonk them on a nearby table, wrap my arm around her waist and drag her to the armchair on the side. “I’ll get you your coffee. You need sugar.”

  “I’m fine,” she protests, but I ignore that. Obviously something’s wrong, and I’m gonna find out what it is. Can’t stand the way my vision goes black at the edges when she’s like this.

  As if I can feel her distress inside myself.

  I check the names on the Styrofoam cups and hand her the right one, then turn to give the other to Donna—but she’s not there. I faintly make out her form through the glass door of her small office.

  Huh. What the hell am I missing here?

  Leaving the cup on the table, I hunch down in front of Candy, wrap my hands over hers where they’re gripping the cup. “Talk to me.”

  She shakes her head, a blond strand falling over her eyes.

  “Come on, maybe I can help. You made this happen, got me a job. Let me in.”

  “You made this happen,” she whispers, and why are her eyes so damn wide? It looks like shock, but damn if they aren’t doing great things for my dick that’s hard as a rock already from seeing her, smelling her. Touching her. “Not me.”

  “Whatever. If not for you, I’d never even thought of working in a bookstore. Now spill. Are you sick?”

  “Sick?”

  “Yeah.” I frown. “Sick. Dizzy. You keep going pale and shaky on me.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You are.” Man, if her eyes widen anymore, they’ll pop out of their damn sockets. I glare at her. “Talk.”

  “You’re so charming,” she squeaks.

  “And you’re so fucking pretty.”

  We stare at each other. She’s bent over me, the golden brown of her eyes warm, and damn, I wanna lick her mouth, her neck, her tits, every inch of her body.

  “I’m not… This isn’t good.”

  Fuck. I look away and clench my jaw. “You weren’t serious when you gave me the card, were you?”

  Of course she wasn’t. She didn’t know me. I shouldn’t have sent that resume. What a fucking idiot I can be sometimes. Just because I’m so damn drawn to her…

  “Hey, I was serious. I’m glad you’re here.” Her hand brushes over my cheek, and I glance back at her. A flush has replaced the paleness of her face, and it’s a kick-punch to my chest.

  There’s something about flushed cheeks that fucking slays me.

  Something about this girl that fucking destroys me, and changes me, and owns me. Not a leash, but a link. A connection, an attraction I can’t fight.

  I reach for her, take her glasses off, pull her face down to mine and kiss her. I taste her mouth, and sure enough, it’s as sweet as her name and her scent promised. I start slow and gentle, but find myself falling into the kiss, losing myself in it, gripping her cheeks and going deep.

  Hard. I’m so fucking hard right now. So fucking gone.

  And she gives in, sweetly, letting me taste her, fuck her mouth with my tongue, her hands finding purchase in the fabric of my T-shirt, curling against my chest.

  Soft, molding against me, winding around me, so unlike a guy. So unlike Joel, who’s all hard angles and padded muscle, and—

  She pulls away, and I resist before my brain catches up. I let go of her face, and she sits back, panting, her face crimson.

  “Oh God, I shouldn’t have. Shouldn’t have gotten involved. Gotten between you. I never imagined you’d want… Okay, scratch that. I did imagine it, but I never thought that in real life you’d ever want—”


  “What are you talking about?” I stroke her cheek and scowl when she draws even further back, almost sprawling in the armchair.

  Just then, the door chimes. Candy straightens with a gasp, but it takes me a moment to look away from her lips and follow her gaze.

  Even longer to place the voice, a voice I know better than my own, when it says:

  “Hey, Candy. Please, don’t shoot. I bear coffee the way you like it.”

  Joel. Joel is here.

  With coffee for Candy.

  My hand drops from her face. “You’re nerdy girl?”

  Christ.

  She snatches her glasses from my hand, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth.

  “Jet?” When I turn around, slowly, bracing myself, I find Joel staring at me. “What are you doing here?”

  “I got the job,” I mutter, my thoughts sluggish. “What are you doing here?”

  Although I know. Suddenly it’s all perfectly fucking clear.

  He’s trying to get Candy back, like I told him to. Trying to win over a girl, the only girl he’s felt so strongly about since Ellen.

  I mean, what are the odds that she’d also be the one girl I’ve felt an instant connection to? The one I’d do my best to win over and take to my bed?

  Fuck. Fuck! I kick at the table legs and stalk away toward the shelves, the stares of both Joel and Candy burning the back of my neck.

  At least he didn’t see me kissing her. Jesus. Can’t risk my best friend, dammit.

  Life is a fucking bitch.

  ***

  “Hey, Jethro. Where are you?” a voice calls from somewhere in the shop.

  It’s Candy’s voice, and I sigh, scrubbing a hand over my face. “Here.”

  The display is done, books propped facing outward all pretty and nice, and fuck if they don’t like it. The customers, that is. I hope Candy likes it. I hope this stint will work out—that I can keep this job, and keep from jumping her again the moment she comes close.

  But when she appears in front of me, eyes warm and lips parted, the taste of them still lingering in my mouth, I don’t know if I can do this.