Candy Boys

by Raven, Jo

I haven’t dressed up for Riot, I tell myself. It’s just that I feel better, stronger when I wear my favorite pieces. I don’t care if he likes my dress, and he won’t be seeing my underwear no matter what. He won’t undress me or touch me.

  Don’t care if I see that flare of desire in his eyes like when we were last here. Shouldn’t forget it’s all an act. He’s trained for this—to make women feel wanted, desired.

  Remember he’s a good actor.

  Christ, I don’t know what the hell we’re doing here tonight. I shouldn’t have accepted. This is a stupid idea—one more of many.

  The doors open and a couple stroll out, their arms around each other. Seeing them sends a pang through my chest.

  Love.

  Not for the likes of us, Corey said. Well, he was only speaking for himself, but what chances would someone like me have of loving someone when I can’t even get over my fear for one minute to touch a man, kiss him, sleep with him?

  Corey is the better candidate of the two of us in this game, even if he doesn’t seem to know it.

  Taking a deep breath, I push through the door and enter the hotel lobby. I’m a bit early—nerves—so my plan is to sit and read on my phone until he arrives.

  I don’t expect him to be there, standing with his back to the wall and his arms folded over his broad chest.

  My first reaction is to take a step back, flee before he sees me. But like every time, he looks up as if sensing me, and that fine mouth turns up in a faint smirk.

  Sexy…

  Get a grip, Pax. I take a step back. Remember what you’re both doing here. A business. A transaction.

  Between naked bodies, my traitorous mind whispers, and I shush it. It doesn’t matter what sort of transaction it is.

  Stop lusting after him.

  And what use is lusting if you can’t touch? Shaking my head at myself, I stop before I reach the door. Force my feet to move forward, step after step, approaching him.

  He hasn’t moved from his spot. Still lounging. Still smirking. Still looking at me with those clear, gray eyes, his dark hair tousled and shiny like silk.

  Stop staring, Pax.

  Finally he moves, straightening and coming toward me. He moves with an easy grace, like a panther or a lion, well-honed muscles lending a light rolling gait to his step.

  You’re staring again…

  “Pax.”

  I’ve never cared much for my name, but I like the way his voice caresses it, wraps around the sounds like dark velvet.

  And crap, I’d forgotten I told him to call me Pax.

  “Riot.” I also like his name on my lips, wrapped around my tongue, like a kiss, as if my tongue is tracing the lines of his mouth, his body, his soul.

  “Have you booked a room?”

  That breaks through my trance-like daze.

  Crap. Doing it again. “Yes. Let me get the key.”

  He follows me to the reception desk, leans against it with his hands in his pockets as I ask for my reservation. The girl behind the desk keeps stealing glances at him, while he manages to look unruffled and a little bit bored.

  When he catches my gaze on him, though, he smiles, the dimples making an appearance. It’s almost as if I caught him on a happy thought that makes his eyes bright.

  So of course again I’m staring when the key is handed to me and I barely manage to catch it before it clutters to the floor.

  “Oops,” says the girl, tossing her long blond hair over her shoulder, and okay, did she do that on purpose?

  “Let’s go, sweetheart,” Riot says, leaning close to me, turning his back to the girl. “Can’t wait to get you into bed.”

  It makes me want to laugh, especially when I notice her outraged expression, but I follow him without another word.

  Can’t believe this bitch. I’d need to find another hotel, if Riot and I were to meet again.

  But we are not.

  ***

  He takes the key from my hand as we step out of the elevator and unlocks the door, then holds it open for me to pass.

  Clutching my coat closed over my chest, I step into the room, my steps muffled on the thick carpet. Heavy drapes frame the large window, and I approach, looking down at lights from the passing cars.

  “How’s things?” he asks, and I turn to watch him cross the room and toss his leather jacket on a velvet-covered armchair. His T-shirt is plain black and it stretches across his muscled chest and shoulders. “How are you, Pax?”

  “I’m okay.” I shiver, although it’s warm in here.

  “You look tired.”

  I turn toward the window. “Didn’t sleep well last night.”

  “You also look beautiful,” he says, and comes to stand beside me.

  “I bet you say that to all your clients,” I mutter.

  “The fuck I do.”

  I flinch. He’s scowling at the glass, at the night outside, his hands curled into fists at his sides. A vein beats fast in his neck.

  Silence settles over us, pulsing, hot and heavy. I’m caught in its web, unable to move, or breathe.

  “You’re beautiful, Pax,” he mutters then, breaking the spell. He’s still gazing outside, or at his reflection in the glass, I’m not sure. “The women who pay for my services usually aren’t, and I don’t tell them they are.”

  There’s a knot in my throat, and I’m not sure why. I wait for him to say something more, but he only turns his head a little, and I realize it’s not the lights outside or even his own reflection he’s been looking at.

  It’s mine.

  “What do you want from me?” I whisper. God, this guy confuses me so much. “What—”

  “It’s not about what I want,” he says. “You’re paying me, remember? This is about you.”

  “I don’t know what I want.”

  “Yeah, you do.” He cuts me a sideways glance, and his smirk comes back. “You want to have sex with me.”

  “Riot…” I turn and stalk back to the bed. I hesitate there, because, really, I’m on my way to the door. “That’s the problem. It doesn’t matter if I want it. I can’t go through with it.”

  “So you do want me.” He follows me, and boy, the way he walks is so sexy. “I can work with that.”

  “Work how?”

  “Do you know,” he sits on the bed and I’m rooted to the spot. He’s so close, I can feel the heat from his leg against my shin. “I have a kitten. His name’s Dex.”

  “Dex?”

  “Dexter. He’s black, and he only has three legs. It took him a long time to accept my presence, my touch. You’re like him.”

  “I’m like a three-legged kitten?”

  “But prettier.” He grins, and those deep, sexy dimples make their appearance, drawing my gaze. “My point is, you’re scared of me. Of men.”

  “And you think you can tame me, like you did your kitten?”

  “Dexter isn’t tamed. He just likes me. And I think I can make you trust me. Lose your fear of me.”

  I doubt it. Partly because he’s so hot I may burn, and partly because I don’t know what to do with that. But...a kitten. For some reason the thought makes me smile.

  “What?” He leans back on his hands, and he looks so good, sprawled like that in front of me, his legs spread. His black T-shirt is riding slightly up, showing me a stripe of muscled flesh.

  “Nothing.” I bite my lip to crush the smile. “You have a kitten.”

  “And a dog. His name’s Batman.”

  My smile can’t be contained anymore. A snort escapes me. “Batman?”

  “His ears are like this.” He demonstrates with this fingers. “Stiff, like Batman’s.”

  Giggling, I drop my purse to the floor and sit down beside him. “Does he also have three legs, or is he the traditional four-legged kind?”

  “Four legs, this one.” Riot’s eyes sparkle. “But he’s like an octopus when he gets excited, all paws, like when I bring him his favorite treats. He’s knocked me on my ass plenty of times.”

  “
So...a kitten and a dog. And a girlfriend?”

  “No girlfriend, no.” He sits up. “Just me and the boys.”

  We’re sitting side by side, our heads bent together. His scent wraps around me—his deep spice, cinnamon and pepper, and his shampoo that smells of cedar and apples. I can see the bright yellow and orange lines of his tattoo that disappear under his short sleeves, the fine hairs on his thick forearms.

  “I don’t have any pets,” I say, not even sure why I’m telling him this. “I’ve always wanted a cat.”

  “Even a three-legged one?”

  I snort. “Why is he missing one?”

  He shrugs. “Don’t know. An accident, maybe? He was hurt when I found him. I think kids abused him.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “Doesn’t prevent him from doing anything he wants, though. He climbs up my body to my shoulder every day.”

  “He does?”

  “I just need to make sure he bypasses my crotch.” He makes a face, and of course my gaze drops down between his legs, to the bulge there.

  My breath catches.

  Because it’s not that I don’t want and desire and need him. My body gets tight and hot when I see a sexy man, and Riot is...God, he’s sex on legs. My mind says, yes yes yes, do it, and I give in, I lean closer, I touch…

  And the memories crash over me, take me under.

  I hop to my feet, take a few steps away from the bed as if it has vipers coiling on top of it.

  “Pax?” He takes a deep breath, lets it out. “Take off your coat.”

  I swallow, glance at the door. Riot won’t hurt me. He can’t. He’ll lose his job. There’s that, right? Besides, it’s warm in here.

  “We can just talk, if you like,” he says, his voice low and even. “And you can let me hold your hand.”

  Harmless. Just talking.

  I unbuckle the belt and take off my coat, drop it on top of his jacket on the armchair.

  “Come here.” Riot pats the bed by his side. “Tell me about yourself. Your studies, your work, your family. Whatever you like.”

  “I can’t do this,” I whisper.

  “Yes, you can.” He sounds so sure of it, I sink down beside him automatically. “Your hand.”

  He waits until I place it on his palm. His fingers curl over mine, gentle.

  So close. Closer than we were the first time on the bed, closer than we were in my car, our legs touching.

  “I...I study.” I have to cough, clear my throat.

  “What then?”

  “Psychology.”

  “Well, this should be interesting,” he mutters, flashing me that dimpled grin, and tugs on my hand until we fall backward on the bed. We lie there, staring at the ceiling, our hands clasped together, tucked in the space between our bodies, and he folds his other arm under his head. “So what’s your professional opinion? Give it to me straight. Am I as crazy as I seem to think?”

  Chapter Six

  Riot

  She giggles again. I fucking love the sound, like cascading water or crystals tinkling. I look at her out of the corner of my eye, lying there beside me. She’s the most relaxed I’ve seen her so far.

  “You don’t think I’m crazy?” I prod. “Insane?”

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  “How about self-absorbed and arrogant and…” I rack my brain for more epithets. “A navel-gazer?”

  “I don’t know you well enough yet,” she says, still smiling.

  “Okay. How about hot?”

  “Hot?”

  “Yeah, do you think I’m hot?”

  Okay, I’m pushing it, but I need to move this to the next level. Holding my hand is a good step, but I need her to think about me as a man. As sex. As the thing that scares her. Can’t think of another way to fix this.

  “Sure, you’re hot,” she says quietly, and I grin. She tugs her hand, trying to free it. I resist.

  “What would you like to do with me?”

  Her eyes widen. She tugs harder and I release her. She sits up, her hair falling in her face. “Do?”

  “Yeah.” I fold both arms under my head, keep my body loose, my expression mild. “Do. With me. This body is yours for the night.”

  “For one hour,” she corrects me.

  Right.

  She chews on her lower lip, and it’s sexy how she takes me in, as if for the first time. I swear I feel her gaze traveling over me, over my face, my chest, my stomach, down to my crotch, and I’m hardening inside my pants. It’s slow, maddening, as if her attention is dragging the blood down to my dick, filling it up. A sweet ache fills my lower body, making it heavy and warm.

  Shit. Can’t remember the last time this happened to me, this getting hard not because I have to, not because I force myself to, but because a pretty girl is checking me out.

  The realization is like a kick to the stomach. My life stopped that night Markus died. I guess I knew it somewhere deep inside my head, but I never stopped to think about it.

  Stop to think how fucking sad it is that I haven’t felt this good in years, and she hasn’t even laid her hands on me.

  We’ll work on that.

  “You can touch.” I wink at her. “I won’t move. I promise.”

  “Touch what?”

  “Me.” I lick my lips, because Christ, this is turning me on like nobody’s business. Crazy. “Feel my body. No need to undress me.”

  “No?”

  “Well, not yet.” She hesitates and I fight the urge to grab her hands and put them on top of my throbbing hard-on. “Or ever, if you don’t want, Pax. This is your call. You’re in charge here.”

  This is it. This is fucking it. The moment when she has to make up her mind if she wants to go through with it. If she wants to explore what scares her. If her desire is stronger than her fear.

  I hold my breath as she clenches her small hands in her lap, a flush spreading over her cheekbones.

  Come on, Pax...Come on.

  She lifts one hand, trails it over my chest. Heat spreads where she touches, seeping through my T-shirt. Her eyes dart from her hand to my face and back, nervously, as if she’s afraid I’ll suddenly transform into a monster and bite her head off.

  Dexter was like that. Hell, Batman is still like that. I need to reassure him every day that I won’t harm him. It takes a while—and yeah, trying to distract myself with my pets’ reactions isn’t fucking helping my hard-on.

  Dammit, I’ll wait. I’ll take the time, if she’ll take it, too. Feels like a dark seduction where I’m not sure who is seducing who. I’m trying to tame her, and she’s driving me crazy. I’m asking her to touch me, and her touch is setting me on fire.

  Jesus.

  As she digs her fingertips into my pecs, pokes into my stomach, finds my bellybutton through the fabric and dips her forefinger into the small dent, I do something I haven’t done in years.

  I think unsexy thoughts. Just like when I was a fucking teenager, struggling not to shoot my load when a girl I liked crossed my path. When I had no control over my body.

  Like now.

  Her fingers continue their journey south and my breath grows shallow as they approach the bulge of my erection. Will she touch it? Touch my cock that’s throbbing, trapped in the thick denim? The barbells on either side of the crown drag against the fabric, sending small jolts of pleasure down my spine.

  She stops, an uncertain look crossing her face, and I bite back a groan of disappointment.

  Fuck. This isn’t about me, dammit.

  She doesn’t move away, though, her hand a warm weight on my stomach. “Riot…”

  “Hmm?”

  “Not sure what I’m doing.”

  “Touching me?”

  “Not that. I mean…” Her gaze is dark, thoughtful. “How will this help me? Touching you like this?”

  “It’s a start.”

  “A start to what?”

  “What do you think?” I wag my brows at her, and she laughs softly, glancing away.


  Score.

  Then her hand glides back up to my pecs, over my shoulder, down my arm. “Love your tats. They’re flames, aren’t they?”

  Shit. “Yeah.”

  “Pretty.” But she says nothing more.

  Of course she doesn’t, idiot. She has no clue what the flames mean. You think you’re still in the underworld with the shadows of men, blood, and death, but you’re not. You left. And by leaving you caused more death and more misery.

  You were supposed to die. Not Markus. Fix that now, if you fucking can.

  “Is Riot your real name?”

  Okay, this isn’t going the way I thought it would. Need to put this conversation back on track.

  “Something wrong with my name, Pax?”

  She shakes her head, smiles.

  “Too many questions. You asked for one hour. You’re wasting it.” I prop myself up on my elbows, and she stills. “Fewer questions, more touching.”

  “And if I don’t want to touch you?”

  “Don’t you?” I smirk at her, and she lifts her chin, challenging.

  Damn, I like that about her. Even terrified she won’t give up, she won’t let me do whatever I wish. I like it a bit too much.

  Hot.

  Suddenly she’s scooting away, climbing off the bed.

  “Whoa. What happened?” I sit up, my brain scrambling to switch from the thought of her hands on me, her sexy mouth, those soft tits showing over her cleavage—to her stepping away as if I grew fangs and fur. “Did I do something? Did I scare you?”

  “I need to go,” she says, grabbing her purse and coat from the armchair.

  “Where? Fuck.” I check my watch. “The hour isn’t up yet.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Riot.” She pulls on her coat, gives me a determined look. “This isn’t working. It makes no sense for me to stay any longer. I have an exam to study for.” She presses her lips together, makes a face. “You’re a nice guy. Thanks for trying to help.”

  “Pax...Wait.”

  Fuck. I thought that we were doing fine. That we were making progress.

  But she’s already leaving. “Goodbye, Riot.”

  “Yeah.” I clench my hands on my thighs, force myself to stay, not to go after her. “Goodbye, Pax.”

  Hell. It shouldn’t bother me. I shouldn’t give a shit. It shouldn’t matter. She’s a client, for fuck’s sake. I’m just the commodity. I don’t have wants and desires.