by Raven, Jo
A blush spreads across Jet’s cheekbones and I kiss his jaw, I can’t help myself, he’s so pretty. “Low blow, mate.”
“But you still love me,” Joel says, reaching out to ruffle Jet’s hair.
Jet swats his hand away and sticks his tongue out. “Asshole.”
“You shouldn’t call your boyfriend names.” Joel tsks. “Your girlfriend may get upset.”
I laugh against Jet’s neck.
Jet’s diagnosis came last week. Dyslexic with some ADHD and low-level depression. Initially he was upset about it, but now he seems… easier in his skin. More confident. Glad there is an explanation as to why he failed school, why he has trouble reading and writing.
He knows now that he’s not a loser, not stupid. He’s getting help, and he will take his GED test next month.
I love this boy.
Joel dumps the box on the huge bed and wraps his arms around Jet, managing somehow to hug us both in the process. “How are my favorite people today? Ready to play?”
God, I love this boy, too.
“Play, how?” I look from Jet’s flushed face to Joel’s smug one. “What are you two naughty guys up to?”
“You wound me to the heart,” Joel says. “This is all Jet’s fault. I’m a good boy.”
Jet snickers.
I glance at the box. It looks ordinary and plain, sitting there on the comforter. “What’s in there?”
“Toys.”
I lick my lips. “Are we talking about what I think we’re talking about?”
“Now who’s the one with the naughty mind?” Jet mutters, smirking and starts walking me backward, toward the bed, Joel following.
“What will you do?” I’m breathless with excitement. We’ve never used toys before. Never needed it, but it could be fun… I guess? I trust them both.
“Patience.” Both of them climb up on the bed and haul me up until I’m spread in the middle of it.
“We’ll play with you,” Joel says.
“And pleasure you,” Jet adds.
“And make love to you,” Joel whispers.
“Make you forget your own name.” Jet runs his hand down my legs, then opens the clasp of my skirt and pulls it off me. “I’ve wanted to do this with you and J for ages.”
Joel is tugging off my light blouse, and I lift my arms to let him. I’m curious, and nervous, and aroused. I’ve had lots of firsts with the boys, but I hadn’t anticipated this.
Then again, lately we’ve been busy with so much else that sex has taken a backseat and settled into a gentler rhythm—what with Jet’s healing injuries, the investigation into his father’s motives, Joel changing jobs for a smaller company, a publishing company of all things—and my own fight with Connie.
Connie who hacked into my computer, posted the picture of me and the boys and told everyone online who J and J are.
She wasn’t shy about telling me why, either. Apparently, I’d let my readers down, and that was a punishable crime. Also, how dare I turn my fantasy into reality? So not fair. J and J were hers, she said, and I was selfish to want it all for myself.
I was too shocked to even find the right words to reply. She’s entitled to considering my fantasy boyfriends her own, I guess—but my real ones? Nobody touches them and keeps their fingers intact.
She got no reply from me. I hope she’s one of those people for whom being ignored feels worse than a heated argument. One can only hope.
Bitch.
I took down the story. Hell, I took down the whole blog. I know my fans are devastated, and I am really sorry, but my boys deserved it.
I printed out the story for them. Joel smirked when I asked if he read it. Said he’s helping Jet with the more difficult words, like ejaculation.
I’m pretty sure I didn’t use that word in my story.
Did I?
Warm hands pull down the straps of my bra and then cup my boobs, distracting me from my thoughts. “Where did you go?” Joel’s blue eyes twinkle as he looks down at me. “Are we that boring?”
Laughing, I reach for him and drag him down for a long, deep kiss.
“Guess that’s a no.” He grins, straightening, and reaches down to adjust himself in his sweats. “Damn.”
Jet’s hands travel over my thighs, my stomach, then grab my panties and tug. His smile is wicked as I shiver, exposed at last. He strokes between my legs, drawing a moan from me when he brushes over my clit.
“So pretty,” he breathes, then bends over me to give me a good, long lick that has me writhing. “So wet. And we haven’t even started.”
“I want a taste,” Joel mutters, trailing his fingertips down my ribcage.
“Don’t be greedy, dude.” Jet shoves at Joel’s shoulder. “We have a plan.”
“You do?” I whisper, twisting to look at the mysterious box again.
Joel gives me a fake military salute. “Always ready, Ma’am.”
“That’s what Scouts say,” Jet says.
“No, it’s not.”
But who cares, really?
“Here we go.” Joel drags the box toward him, and I tense.
“Relax,” Jet tells me, stroking my belly.
“How about this?” Joel pulls something from the box. A piece of string? With pegs?
“Not yet,” Jet says.
“This?”
“Yeah.”
“This” is a dildo. I think. It’s a light blue, and it has a strange shape. I swallow hard. “Um… Why can’t I just have you inside me? Do we need a dildo?”
“You’ll see, sugar.” Jet’s hand parts my folds, stroking back and forth until I’m restless, aching and needing to come. “This will be good. Today is the day we pleasure you.” He presses his fingers inside me and I gasp as he strokes me inside. “The day we thank you for being with us.”
“I don’t need—” He draws his fingers out and pushes my legs further apart. “No need for thanks, Jet, I—”
Joel rubs the strange dildo over my seam, and I bite my lip not to moan. He’s coated it in lube, and it slides up and down, over my opening, teasing my clit, but not giving me enough friction to get off.
“I want…” I lift my hands to his face, scrape them over the stubble on his cheeks. “I want you two inside me.”
“This is just foreplay, girl.” He grins and pushes the dildo inside me, until I arch my back and pant. It’s not as big as Jet’s or Joel’s cock, but it’s big enough to spread me wide. “Oh yeah.”
And he stops, leaving the dildo lodged in my pussy, my legs apart.
“Now these,” Jet says, and I blink heavy-lidded eyes at the two pink rubber cones he’s taken out of the box.
Then he bends over me and licks my nipples. They’re already hard and aching, and I moan as his tongue lashes at them.
He fits the soft cup of one of the cones over one nipple, and I gasp as the cone tugs on it, like it’s sucking it in. He fits the other one over the other nipple, presses something on the tip of the cones and I groan when a buzz starts around my nipples.
“They are nipple suckers,” Joel whispers, licking his lips like a cat about to pounce on his prey.
“Ah…” Ohgod, ohgod. The vibrations travel from my breasts straight to my kitty, making it purr and clench. My hands are clawing at the comforter, my hips are helplessly lifting. “Please…”
“Since you ask so nicely…” Joel’s hands trail down my hips and between my legs, his thumb flicking over my clit, then pressing the dildo deeper inside me, pressing at just the right spot that makes me see stars and—
“Oh God!” Vibrations. Vibrations deep inside me, and my back arches off the bed as the pressure coils and tightens. I’m panting loudly, harshly, my body taut like a bow string, shaking on the mattress. “I can’t…”
“You can,” Joel whispers, brushing his fingers over my clit, over the vibrator, then lower, dribbling more lube, rubbing it into my hole. “You will.”
My brain is officially shutting down and leaving on vacation. My body is a
universe of need and sensation, my pussy aching from the pressure.
His finger pushes inside, rubbing me, a counterpoint to the vibrator, while Jet pushes the vibrator a tiny inch deeper in me, and that’s all it takes.
I explode with a cry, the pressure shattering, pleasure drowning me. Their hands hold down my writhing body as exquisite convulsions wrack me, and I sob their names.
I’m not even sure when the nipple suckers disappear, or when the vibrator is shut off and taken out of me.
All I know is that when I finally manage to lift again my heavy lids and look around, they’ve shed their pants and are kneeling naked on either side of me, stroking their cocks, tugging on condoms and slathering them with lube.
Then Joel is pulling me to his lap, pushing inside me, and I shiver as more pleasure pools in my belly. He was right. The vibrator was foreplay.
This is the real thing.
As Jet moves behind me, his cock breaching me, as they both slide inside me, I know I’m about to come again, to come apart, only held together by the two of them. They’re already moving, thrusting into me, their moans filling my ears, and I wrap my arms around Joel and close my eyes.
This is it. The fantasy becoming reality, the fullness becoming pleasure, me and my lovers becoming one. Jet is gripping my hips so hard it hurts, Joel’s hands are on my waist, controlling my movements, and I feel them inside me swelling, hardening more.
Close. We’re all so close.
We come apart together, holding on to each other, riding the waves of release, sliding together like water.
“Love you,” I manage as we slowly stop moving. “Love you both.”
“You’re ours,” Jet says, kissing my neck. “We’re yours.”
My Candy Boys.
JO SAYS…
This book is a spin-off of MICAH (Damage Control 1). If you read MICAH, you probably remember that Evangeline (Evie) has a brother called Joel, and that Joel has a mysterious roommate named Jethro… Well, this is the story of Joel and Jethro and the girl who gets them both… in every way.
You don’t need to read MICAH or any other book to enjoy this one. Candy Boys is a true standalone.
Now if you’re wondering whether there will be more books like this one to come… What kind of books I mean? Well, funny, sexy, with plenty of boy torture and boy-on-boy action. That kind.
The answer is… maybe? If you like this one, and I get plenty of reviews telling me to write more like this, then why not? I loved writing this book. It was fun. So if you want more, just let me know. I love hearing from readers.
I hope you have enjoyed Candy Boys. I really loved writing this book—then again, writing is always a pleasure for me, so that’s not a shocker…
Another book I love very much is RIOT (Bad Boy Escorts) about an escort with a heart of gold and a damaged girl who falls for him. Like Candy Boys, it has its funny and its dark moments and quite a lot of suspense.
It’s a standalone full-length novel as well, although it may turn into a series someday.
Here is RIOT. Enjoy!
RIOT
(Bad Boy Escorts)
By Jo Raven
Chapter One
Paxtyn
Can’t believe I’m doing this. Can’t believe I’m waiting in a hotel lobby for a man I don’t know, and even less why.
That’s it. I’ve officially gone off the deep end.
Wait a minute. I do know a thing or two about him. For one, I know his name. And his face, from the picture on the website.
Most importantly, I know what he is: an employee of Bad Boy Escorts. A guy for whose company I’ll soon be paying good money.
Which brings me to the why and the craziness of it. But I don’t want to think about this right now, because I might chicken out and run along home. Corey, my bestie, will never let me live it down. You see, he’s already told me many times over that this is crazy, that I am crazy, and that things don’t work in the real world the way they do in my messed-up mind.
He’s probably right.
Oh God, what am I doing? What the hell am I doing?
Grabbing my purse from the seat next to me, I push to my feet and totter across the lobby in my high-heeled boots. It’s raining outside. A cold breeze slithers around me, and I shiver, pulling my coat closed with a shaky hand.
I halt.
Someone has just walked inside, a tall guy in a leather jacket. He shakes himself like a dog, dark hair flying, raining droplets all around. I hiss when one lands on my face.
He looks up, and I freeze on the spot.
It’s him. The escort I asked for. I recognize him from his picture on the website.
He’s giving me a once-over, his eyes hooded in the dim lights of the lobby, his lashes wet and dark. Silver hoops glint at his earlobes.
“Hey,” he says, his voice deep and raspy, “are you Paxtyn Page?”
Do I have my name written on my forehead? How does he know it’s me?
Crap.
“Yes, that’s me.” I clear my throat, and try not to stare at his bright eyes, the scruff on his square jaw. “And you’re Riot.”
He grins, revealing deep dimples, and cocks his head to the side. “That’s right. Nice to meet you, Paxtyn.”
I nod, my heart racing. God, he’s different from his photos. More...present. Taller, wider. So handsome. Even from this distance, he gives off heat. His energy fills the space between us.
A bad boy. One hundred percent bad—tattooed, pierced, muscular and rough. The agency claims that he’s the real deal.
Load of bullshit. Escorts make lots of money. The bad boy image sells. I bet they slap some tats on them and pass them off as genuine—like a horse with painted zebra stripes to look exotic at a circus.
The real deal...I know that kind well. Always ready for a fistfight. Aggressive. Handsome, but arrogant and dangerous.
The only difference is that this one is fake. He’s some upper class boy who wants to make money to pay for his vices and his expensive drugs. His nice lifestyle.
Doesn’t matter. The main thing is, he has to do what I say. To get my money, he has to dance to my tune. The agency ensures that. Training the escorts, placing restrictions on everything they do with the clients.
Still...I know other women pay these bad boys for the thrill of doing something exciting; to pretend they’re risking something. They have no idea.
I’ve risked it all, and lost. Thought I could handle a real bad boy, and now I know better. Now I’m paying one of those bastards to try and heal my wounds. Like someone with a snake phobia touching snakes in a zoo. Like someone who almost drowned returning to the water.
“Is everything all right?” He’s moved infinitesimally closer. His eyes glint, some pale shade of gray. “You haven’t changed your mind?”
“Not at all,” I say, glad he hasn’t asked why I was about to step out into the rain when we said we’d meet inside the hotel. That would have been awkward. “Let’s go.”
***
The Atrium Hotel is a new discovery of mine. Located in downtown Chicago, it’s a boutique hotel—small but sophisticated, with antique furniture and a dimly lit bar with mahogany tables and ornate mirrors on the walls.
I glance at Riot as I lead the way to the bar and perch on one of the stools. He has a swagger in his step, a way of rolling his hips like a cowboy as he struts his stuff.
Confident. In control.
A shudder goes through me. For a moment I see another face superimposed on his, a bearded one with a cross tattooed on one cheek.
No. That was in the past. Not now.
He takes off his jacket, drapes it over the stool next to mine and sits on it, rolling up the sleeves of his blue shirt. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” I try not to look when he folds his muscular arms on the bar. “Perfectly fine.”
He lifts a dark brow at this, but says nothing.
I wonder if he feels out of his element here. If he was real—if he was a biker, or a r
acer, or a gambler used to dark dives—then he’d feel like a fish out of water.
He shows no sign of it, though, glancing around him and lifting a disdainful brow. He’s used to places like this. It reinforces my certainty that these boys aren’t what the agency paints them to be. It’s just marketing. They aren’t street bad. They’re only greedy for easy money.
And we’re not here for his comfort. I’m paying him money. He accommodates me. That’s how business is conducted.
My cell buzzes with another text from Corey. He’s been texting and calling me all day, begging me to reconsider, to talk to him first.
No way. I’ve made up my mind. I’m doing this. I’m going to fix myself and move on with my life.
“So…” Riot waves a hand at our surroundings and turns his sleet-gray gaze on me. He grins lopsidedly, a dimple flashing, and although my brain is caught up in doubts and memories, my body tightens, recognizing the sexiness of it. “I’m here. You’re here. Shall we lay our cards on the table? Or rather the bar.”
He taps his large hand on the polished bar, and that earns him an annoyed look from the bartender who’s serving a martini to another customer at the other end.
I shouldn’t be amused. I should be annoyed, too. Turning away from him, I hide the twitching of my lips.
Jesus.
“I told the agency what I want,” I say, turning back toward him, my face composed once more. “I know your price.”
“Right.” He clears his throat, and a flush rises to his cheekbones. “My price.”
“You know what I mean,” I whisper, realizing how it sounded.
“Yeah, of course.” The flush lingers, though, and a strong emotion glitters in his eyes. “I hope they told you that specific details are worked out between me and the client.”
“Details?”
“Conditions. Restrictions. Extras.”
Ah. I knew there would be a catch. After all, they aren’t as costly as some of the other escort agencies out there.
“Will you give me a price list?” I ask.
That hotness in his eyes flares for a second, before he looks away.