Candy Boys

by Raven, Jo

  Like it matters. Like I’ll ever see his piercing.

  Like I’ll ever have sex with him, or any man.

  Jesus. What’s left to try? I’ve visited therapists. I’ve tried yoga and meditation, hypnosis and crystal therapy, color therapy and cold and hot baths. Yeah, I have a trauma. I know that. I’ve read books about it, scoured the Internet for an answer.

  Corey was right. My only bet at this point is a shrink. Drugs. Pills. What the hell ever. I’ll do whatever. Can’t keep on living this way, like a hermit in a cell, unable to face the world. Unable to face men and sex.

  All because of one night, one dreadful night that changed my life.

  Or...maybe I’m meant to live this way from now on. Alone. With a few trusted friends. Buried in books and studying. Spend my life trying to understand how my brain works and why the fear won’t leave me.

  And maybe one day I’ll know why, even if it’s too late to live my life like every other twenty-year-old girl around here.

  ***

  I hop from foot to foot outside the coffee shop, shivering with cold. If possible, I’m even more nervous meeting Riot this second time than I was the first. We have history now, and not a very good one. To be honest, I’m surprised he agreed to the appointment. In his shoes, I’m pretty sure I’d have had a long hard laugh and called it off.

  Unless he needs the money. For his expensive hobbies. For his gambling debts or whatever. I really should watch this Gigolos Show. Corey is addicted to it.

  God, I don’t want to face Corey any time soon. When he finds out how bad my decision turned out to be, he’ll never let me live it down.

  Especially if he finds out I made another appointment with the same guy.

  Ugh. Yeah, thinking about all this isn’t helping with the nervousness.

  You asked for this, I remind myself. You set this up. So suck it up.

  Warmth envelops me as I step through the door of the coffee shop, and the familiar scent of cinnamon and coffee is calming. It will be okay. I’ll grab a hot drink, find a seat, and compose in my mind what I’ll say to him when he arrives.

  So I order my strawberry latte—Latte! With strawberries!—and hum under my breath while waiting for it to be ready. I’ll apologize to him, of course. That’s first on the list. I’ll give him a vague explanation about a past trauma. Or maybe say I wanted to experiment, but it scared me.

  Yeah, this might do. I doubt I’m the first one of his clients to freak out with bondage. And then I’ll—

  The door of the coffee shop swings open and he walks in.

  The words vanish from my head like puffs of smoke.

  Holy hotness. Was he that handsome the first time I met him? I guess I was so terrified I was making a huge mistake; it’s all a blur. I mean, I can’t remember much, except for his deep dimples when he smiled. And now...

  Now he seems to fill the small coffee shop with his big frame and his aura of strength. His eyes glint like smoky glass in the overhead lights.

  Okay. Don’t stare, Pax, just don’t stare.

  Too late. His gaze lands on me, and there’s a breathless pause, a moment of stillness as if he debates approaching me or turning around and leaving.

  “Your strawberry latte, miss,” Helen, the sweet girl behind the counter tells me, and I smile distractedly at her, reaching for my mug.

  By the time I turn back around, he’s right in front of me.

  I gasp and juggle my cup, hot strawberry latte spilling over my fingers, scalding them.

  “Paxtyn.” He grabs the cup, steadying my hold, his hand covering mine. He studies my face, his gaze somber, no trace of his teasing grin from the other day, and I shouldn’t miss it so much. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah.” I draw a deep breath, and even in the stuffy air of the coffee shop that’s laden with smells, the light spice of his sweat fills my senses. Musk, and citrusy body wash, and a faint whiff of motor oil.

  “Okay. Good.” He lets go of my mug, shoves his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. “You wanna sit here? Or go somewhere? What did you have in mind?”

  He’s standing there, stiffly, obviously ill at ease, probably remembering what happened and how badly it ended.

  “Shall we have a coffee? Here?” I lick my lips, my mouth gone dry. “That okay?”

  “Okay? Yeah, sure.” His eyes narrow. “If that’s what you want.”

  I nod and gesture at the list of drinks on the wall. “Choose your poison.”

  Eyeing me warily, shoulders hunched, he orders a latte, and belatedly I remember I’m supposed to pay for his drinks when we’re out. By then he’s taken out his wallet, but I reach over and hand the cashier my card.

  “My treat,” I say, and he puts his wallet away, his shoulders relaxing a little.

  Yeah. I shouldn’t forget this isn’t a meeting between friends. There are rules, and there’s money paid and services offered. This is business.

  Stick to the rules, Paxtyn.

  We stand in terse silence as his latte is prepared. The noise of the other customers surrounds me like a fuzzy blanket, and the familiar smells cocoon me, but still I’m too aware of him—his tall presence, his warmth, and the new, invisible wall between us.

  “You didn’t complain to the agency,” he says at last, as his latte is placed on the counter. He takes it with a nod and turns toward me. “And you paid.”

  “It was the least I could do,” I tell him and lead the way to a table at the back. It’s kind of dark here, but I like having the wall at my back. Makes me feel safe, like nobody can sneak up on me.

  Haven’t felt safe since that dreadful night and I doubt I ever will again.

  “So…” He puts his mug on the table and draws the chair back to sit. “Paxtyn.”

  “Call me Pax,” I say and bite my tongue. Crap. That’s what my friends call me. It’s too intimate, too friendly too—

  “Pax,” he whispers, his deep voice caressing my name until I shiver.

  Oh man, I really like the sound of my name coming from him. And Christ, stop it, Pax. Right now.

  “What’s on your mind?” he asks, before I decide what to say. “Want to try again?”

  Okay, this is it. Get it over with. Do your thing. Apologize and go your merry way.

  “Hey, I wanted…” Wait a sec. What did he just say? “Try again what?”

  He leans forward, his gray eyes meeting mine boldly. “Sex.”

  I flinch, try to hide it. “No. God, no. That was...it was a mistake.”

  He leans back in his chair and lifts his steaming mug to his lips. “Are you sure? We could take it slower this time.”

  “What are you…?” I shake my head, confused. He wants to try again after that fiasco? Is he insane? “I wanted to apologize.”

  He puts the mug down, clenches his jaw. “You don’t have to, Pax.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “No, see, such things happen in my line of work. If I failed to deliver what you wanted, then you were right to be upset.”

  “That’s just it. You did all I asked of you. What happened wasn’t your fault.”

  “Then why did you freak out?” He’s observing me with those gleaming eyes like he can see right into my soul.

  “That’s not important.”

  “Damn right it is. It’s the only thing that’s important. Pax…” His soft mouth tightens. “Why are we here today?”

  “Told you. Wanted to say I’m sorry.” I lift my cup to my lips to stall for time.

  “You said that already. Now what?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you’re paying for this. What do you want to do with me?”

  Do with him. All sorts of naughty images rise to my mind—Riot bent over me, kissing me, fucking me, touching me—and they all come crashing down.

  Because I’ll never be able to do that now. My idea didn’t work out. Being with Riot—or any man—won’t happen.

  “I can’t,” I whisper, my eyes suddenly burning,
and push my chair back. I grab my purse. “Sorry.”

  “Can’t what? Pax!”

  I’m on my feet and crossing the shop before I even know what I’m doing. I have to get out, have to end this conversation before I say something I regret, before I panic, and I’m vaguely aware of his voice still calling my name.

  It doesn’t matter. It’s done. Now I can go on living my life like before, hiding in my shell and hanging out with Corey who’s too sweet to be real and discussing his dream boyfriends.

  Hell, I tried. Not my fault my experiment went up in flames.

  Chapter Four

  Riot

  What the hell’s going on?

  I run after Paxtyn through the packed coffee shop, trying to catch her, but she’s fast, slipping between the chairs and tables like an eel. She’s out before I reach her.

  Bursting out onto the street, I look right and left until I locate her. She’s half-running, half-striding along the sidewalk, and I start after her.

  Not sure what I’m doing. I should let her go. When a client is done, then she’s done. As for payment, she’ll probably pay me through the agency.

  I won’t see her again.

  That’s the thought that keeps spinning inside me head, the reason I’m running after her, the feeling that something’s wrong, and I’m not talking of the mess of our first meeting.

  To say I was surprised when the agency called with her request for another appointment is the understatement of the year, more so when I found out she didn’t complain about me and that she paid in full.

  The feeling of wrongness persists, though. What really happened in that hotel room? Why did she asked me to tie her up, touch her and hurt her, and why did she lose it afterward?

  There could be a perfectly good explanation for all this, I tell myself as I jog down the sidewalk. She wanted something wild, and got scared. Don’t read too much into it.

  But I don’t know why, I can’t let it go. Can’t let her go just yet, not without knowing what it is, what upset her, scared her. What she’s running from.

  Which is stupid. Real stupid, Riot. You don’t need this shit. You’ve got enough on your plate and you know it.

  “Pax!” She hasn’t slowed down. Fuck. I open my stride, ignore the curious passersby giving me looks. Damn, she stops at a car and opens the door. I start running full out. “Wait. Dammit, wait!”

  I reach the car as she starts the engine. With a curse, I open the door and climb inside.

  “What are you doing?” She’s glaring at me. “Get out.”

  I would, but her eyes look red and shiny with unshed tears. “The hour isn’t over.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You’re paying me for one hour. It isn’t over. Use it.”

  “What for?”

  “Whatever you want. Use me.” I suck in air and look away, because saying the words hurts somewhere deep inside I don’t want to acknowledge. “Anything, Pax.”

  It’s just my job, I tell myself. That’s all.

  “I...I don’t know,” she whispers, and the pain in her voice forces me to turn back to her. Those chocolate eyes are still too bright, and I shouldn’t care, but for whatever inane reason, I do.

  “Don’t know what?” I ask.

  “What to do.”

  Okay, rewind. “About what?”

  “My life!” She bangs her fist on the steering wheel and a tear slips free, rolling down her smooth cheek.

  “Pax…” What the fuck do I do now? See the messes I get myself into? “Talk to me.” I reach over, pull her small fist from the wheel, hold it in mine like a precious stone. “Tell me what’s wrong. It’s what I’m here for.”

  “I can’t…” She sniffles, and the sound snaps through me like a gunshot. My hand tightens around her fist. “Can’t be with men. Too scared.”

  “Be with men. As in…?” I’m torn between laughing and gaping. “As in sex?”

  “As in anything.” She starts to pull her hand away from mine. “As in touching and sitting close to them.”

  I stare at her. I am staring, and I fucking know it, but what the fuck? I sure didn’t expect this. Yeah, she screamed at me at the hotel, but that was after I tied her up and touched her and…

  Fucking hell. “Christ, Pax. Then why? Why the bondage and slapping and—”

  She’s crying. Her sobs are quiet, barely shaking her, and the tears slip down her face and drip on her coat, leaving shiny trails.

  Fuck me. “Hey, now.” I want to put my arms around her, but she just said...she said she doesn’t touch men, or sit close to them, so what the fuck do I do? Where do I find the rules for this sort of situation? “It’s all right.”

  Whatever. I mean if she’s telling the truth, it can’t be fucking all right, can it? But without knowing why she’s in this state, not much I can do.

  At least she’s not screaming for me to leave this time.

  “Listen,” I try again, feeling like shit that I can’t think of a better way to comfort her. “Can I hold your hand?”

  She lifts her tear-streaked face and stares at me.

  Yeah. Not a question I thought I’d ever have to ask in this job. Can I touch your tits, sure. Want me to fuck your ass, oh yeah. Wanna try the flogger, absolutely.

  Can I hold your hand? Jesus. First time ever.

  “You want,” her voice hitches, “to hold my hand?”

  Yeah, like I said. Crazy.

  “Yeah. I like your hand.” I really do. It’s small and fine and her nails are a pale pink. “Can I?”

  She hesitates.

  “I won’t bite it, or crush it, or hurt it in any way.” I don’t know why I think she needs to hear this, but she seems to relax a little, which is fucked up, I swear. “I just wanna hold it.”

  When I reach for it, she lets me. I lift it in my bigger hand like a prize. I smooth my thumb over the slender bones, and she shivers.

  “What now?” she whispers.

  Yeah, Riot, what’s your fucking brilliant plan now?

  “Will you tell me why you’re so scared of men?”

  She shakes her head, dark hair dancing over her face, hiding her expression.

  Big surprise.

  “A man hurt you,” I say. Not hard to guess. “Sexually. Did he rape you, Pax?”

  She jerks, tries to pull her hand free. I tighten my hold just a little. She can still break the hold if she wants.

  She doesn’t. “No.” Her voice is small, so small I barely hear it.

  But I hear it. And I can breathe again.

  Whatever happened to her, it wasn’t that, and although obviously something bad did happen, I have a feeling I could help her get over it.

  Slowly.

  If she lets me.

  “Did he beat you?” I recall what she asked of me in the hotel. “Did he put those small scars on your hips? Did he slap you and touch your breast?”

  She nods. A tiny nod, but I see it.

  I hear and see everything when it comes to this girl. Can’t help myself from paying attention. She’s my focus more than any other woman I’ve ever been with.

  “He tied you up.”

  She bites her lip, nods again, and fuck, I want to punch a hole through the car window. Motherfucker who did this to her ought to be dead or rotting in prison for life.

  “Will you let me?” I ask her, and she blinks those dark, wet eyes at me.

  “Let you do what?”

  “Help you. Take away your fear.”

  “Riot…” A shudder goes through her body. “I tried.”

  “You tried the hard way. You tried to relive it all, didn’t you?” Dammit, it’s all falling into place now. “At the hotel. And it only scared you more.”

  “And what can you do?” This time she does rip her hand out of my hold. “Huh?”

  “Like I said. Take it slow. A step at a time. Show you I won’t hurt you. That it can be good, Pax. So good, and so liberating.” I stare at her, will her to look back. “I’ll let you tie
me up, if that’s what it takes.”

  Her gaze flares, her brows draw together. “You would?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. Damn right I would. For you.”

  Can’t mistake the interest in her eyes. She likes the idea, or likes the thought of having me under her power—maybe punish me for what happened to her?

  What am I doing? Jesus.

  And yet...Never had any girl or woman tie me up, and the thought of Paxtyn doing it has me hard in two seconds flat.

  Right now, I’m not sure who’s more fucked up: her or me.

  “You really think you can help me?” There’s hope in her voice, and God, I wish I could promise her it will work.

  “You won’t know until you try, right?” Like with everything.

  “I need to think about it.”

  “Of course.” Because this isn’t just a leap of faith for her. It’s also a matter of money. “I could ask the agency if they can do a discount for you.”

  Bullshit. They don’t do that. But I’d pay the difference.

  See how fucked up I am? My protective instincts are up like red flags. They’ll be my downfall someday. They’re the reason I’m in this line of work in the first place—and sleeping in a dump, living out of cans and ramen noodle packages.

  “Don’t,” she says, and my stomach twists.

  She won’t let me in. She won’t let me help.

  Fuck.

  “As you like, Pax. It’s your decision.” I turn to open the car door. I shouldn’t feel so sad, so angry and helpless. I barely know her, for fuck’s sake, and she’s only a client.

  “Don’t ask for a discount,” she says from behind me, and I still. “Money’s not the problem.”

  Licking my lips, my heart pounding like a machine gun in my chest, I turn back to her. “Yeah?”

  “Let’s give it one more try.” She lifts her chin, and Christ, I want to crush my mouth to hers, kiss her until we pass out for lack of air. “At the same hotel. I’ll leave your name at the reception.”

  “When?”

  “I’ll call the agency. They’ll let you know. One hour.” She lets out a small huff. “Same price?”

  That little question lands me back to reality with a crash.