Candy Boys

by Raven, Jo

  Period.

  For him, I’m a job, and for me he’s...No clue what he is. My feelings are so jumbled I don’t even know what I’m feeling.

  “Come on, Pax, let’s get some moves on.” Corey grabs my hand. “They’re playing our song!”

  I laugh. “I don’t even know this song.”

  “Well, you live under a rock, so it doesn’t matter. Come on!”

  He drags me between tables to a small dancing area where a few daring souls are gyrating to the beat, and I let him. Why not? I’ve been mostly a recluse since the incident, but I used to like dancing. And drinking. And partying.

  Besides—meet boys, right? This is our mission.

  Not so many boys on the dance floor, though, and before the song is even over, Corey drags me to the bar.

  He’s giving me whiplash tonight.

  “I thought that was our song?” I whine as he orders beer for both of us.

  “Was it? I’m not sure anymore.” He’s eyeing a guy sitting on a stool a few feet away.

  Ah. All clear. “Yeah, maybe not.”

  The guy’s a California surfer kind of boy, with long blond bangs and blue eyes in a tanned face. Cute, I guess. By the time our beers arrive, Corey has made his move, asking the guy for his name and stepping closer to him.

  What happened to not being alone tonight?

  With a sigh, I turn my back to the bar, lean against it and sip at my beer. Too late I realize I’d been hoping Corey wouldn’t hit on someone right away. That we could dance and chat for a while longer.

  Kind of selfish, I guess. I do want him to have a good time and feel better. But was one hour too much to ask before he goes off and leaves me alone?

  Alone in a bar full of people.

  Alone in my life.

  And yeah, hello depression. I was supposed to have fun, so I will. Enough sitting around, doubting and longing for something—and someone—I can’t have.

  So I gulp down some more beer for courage, leave my half-empty glass and set out to cross the bar, check out the boys.

  There are many, standing in groups, talking, and I catch the eye of one. He’s tall and blond, much like Corey, but with a trim beard and nicely defined muscles that bulge under his gray T-shirt when he reaches up and rakes a hand through his hair.

  He’s handsome. Pretty blue eyes, nice features, nice body.

  Not like Riot’s, though.

  And why am I thinking of Riot again? Why can’t I imagine touching another guy?

  “Looking for someone?” he asks, suddenly close, and I backpedal.

  “Not really.”

  “Good.” He smiles, all white teeth. No dimples, though—and why does it matter? He puts his hand on my arm, and now he’s way too close. “I’m Gale.”

  “Hi. Could you just...?” I try to shrug off his hand, my heart pounding, and oh shit this isn’t good because fear is clogging my throat, taking my breath.

  Shitshitshit.

  “What the fuck are you doing, Gale?” a familiar male voice snarls, and Gale’s hand is gone from my arm, and so is he—another guy taking his place. Dark brows, dark hair, pale gray eyes.

  “Pax, are you okay?” Riot. Riot is standing in front of me, and how’s that possible? “Hey.”

  He’s not touching me, and I want him to touch me. Steady me.

  “What are you doing here?” I breathe.

  “Come on, let’s go talk. I want another drink.” He reaches for me, stops, his hand curling into a fist. “Pax.”

  I lick my lips and nod. “Yeah, let’s go.”

  ***

  We return to the bar. Corey is nowhere to be seen, and this time I’m grateful as I miraculously find a stool to sit on. I climb on it and watch Riot order his poison.

  Whisky, apparently. Somehow that doesn’t surprise me. He looks...rough tonight. Rougher than usual. He doesn’t seem to have shaved in days, and his hair is longer, hanging in his eyes.

  His glass is slid across the bar. He takes it and turns to me. Silent. Measuring me with his eyes.

  Probably wondering if I’m about to go into full panic mode and start screaming at him. Wouldn’t be the first time.

  But I’m calm now. He’s here, and I know nothing bad can happen to me.

  Crazy. This is crazy.

  He’s only dressed in a tight-fitting black tee and faded jeans, and his orange flame tattoos seem to glint like inlaid metal on his arm. The hoops in his ears glimmer in the half-light.

  He has a red line on his cheek. I frown, lean closer. A scratch?

  “You sure you don’t want anything? A beer?” he asks.

  “I’m fine.”

  “So you’ve met Gale.” He sips at his whisky. “Colleague. He likes hanging out here. It’s his favorite bar.”

  Right. Another escort. “Sorry I freaked out.”

  “You got nothing to be sorry for. He’s an idiot.”

  That makes me smile, and after a moment Riot smiles back. Which means I’m staring at his mouth, the full lips, the hint of a dimple.

  Stop it, Pax.

  Easier said than done, especially when he licks his lips and looks down at his glass, his long lashes casting shadows on his cheeks.

  “What did that to you?” I point at the scratch. “Dexter?”

  “You remember the name of my cat?” His smile widens, and whoa, there are the dimples. So hot I have to press my legs together, a throb starting low in my belly.

  “Dexter and Batman, the dog with the bat ears.”

  “That’s right.”

  He doesn’t say anything about the scratch, and I hesitate to ask again. He looks tired, really tired, like he hasn’t slept in days.

  Without thinking, I reach for him, drag my hand down his bare arm. “Are you okay?”

  He stills. Everything about him stills. His gaze drops to my hand. “Pax.”

  “What?”

  “You’re touching me. And I haven’t even asked you to.” I lift my hand and he makes a grab for it. “No. Leave it. I like it.”

  My heart is pounding again, but not out of fear. Excitement. I’m happy that he likes it. That he came to my rescue. That I’m seeing him, sitting close to him.

  Didn’t know a heart can pound in different ways.

  “So.” I have to clear my throat, my voice gone scratchy. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve had a rough week.”

  “I did, sorta.” His skin is warm under my palm and fingers, and his pulse beats where my thumb is pressing, strong and steady. Reassuring. “Yesterday was a shitty day.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugs and makes a face, as if he’s bitten into something sour. “Not all clients play nice.”

  What? “A woman did that?”

  He nods, and crap, my worry fades into jealous anger.

  I pull my hand away. How screwed up is that, that the first time in years that I want a guy it has to be an escort half of Chicago has slept with?

  He doesn’t try to stop me this time. He swallows the rest of his whisky in a long gulp and signals for the bartender to bring him another.

  “And you?” he asks. “How have you been?”

  “Okay. You know.”

  “I don’t know. You seem upset every time you leave me. I was worried about you. I couldn’t sleep.”

  My anger melts away. How could it not when he’s looking at me like that, saying such things?

  “You barely know me.”

  “I know you were hurt. I wanted to help but I’m not sure I made things better or worse.”

  “Better,” I say, because it’s true. “I just need more time to work through everything.”

  I have his attention. Those gray eyes are fixed on me. “Really? Fuck, that’s great. You have no idea…” He shoves a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face. “I thought I’d pushed you too far.”

  Crap, I’m drawn back to him, the need to touch him overwhelming. I lift my hand to his cheek, trace the scar. He flinches, clearly not expecting that.
/>   “You didn’t,” I tell him. “Not your fault, any of this.”

  He leans into my hand and God, this boy. I want to kiss his mouth again, cup his face and press my body to his, fear be damned. Taste him. Somehow I feel that underneath the surface, there’s more he isn’t showing.

  “Will you tell me what happened to you?” he asks quietly.

  His scruff tickles my fingertips. I trail them down to his mouth, trace it. So soft. He groans softly, his breath warm on my skin. His lashes lower.

  “I had a friend called Ethel,” I whisper, and wonder if he can hear me over the din of the bar. It doesn’t matter. “We were friends since we were little. She was the wild one, the crazy one. Always dressing up, chasing after boys. Bad boys.”

  He draws air to speak, and I cover his mouth with my hand.

  “It was my call. She didn’t force me into anything. I wanted to be like her. Free. Independent. Wild. Desired. We had just finished school, and there was this boy she really liked. He invited her over. She accepted. And she asked if I’d go with.”

  “Go where?” His eyes have darkened with concern. I love how they change with his moods—arousal, anger, affection.

  “I know now I shouldn’t have done it, that it was stupid. That I should never have followed Ethel to that bikers’ club out of town. Never should have stayed. Then I wouldn’t have had to watch as they raped and beat her.”

  “Jesus, Pax…”

  Not sure why I’m telling him. Why I trust him.

  “I managed to text for help before I was tied up to a post. Texted my parents. I wasn’t raped. Wasn’t killed. I was lucky.”

  “He hurt you,” he growls, and takes my hand, lowers it, tangles his fingers with mine—and it feels nice. Warm. “Someone hurt you.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Rescue came. The police. Picked everyone up, took us to the ER.” I look down at our hands, clasped together. “Her parents paid me a lot to keep silent about what happened. They gave me money and moved away with her.”

  “You never told anyone?” His eyes are wide, so wide they look silver like crescent moons.

  “I’m telling you.”

  “Christ. But you pressed charges, sent the assholes to jail, right? Tell me you did.”

  “I did.” He sags a little, but as a counterpoint his fingers tighten around mine. I don’t mind. It doesn’t scare me. It feels reassuring that he’s so concerned. “But I swore not to tell anyone else—friends, the press. I guess I was paid for my service, too. For my silence.”

  “As long as the assholes got put away, and you’re safe,” he murmurs. “You’re all that matters. Who cares what others think.”

  My whole body strains toward him. I’m dying to kiss him again. He makes me feel...important. Precious.

  Yeah, right, Pax. Wake up.

  “Anyway, now you know. Guess I broke my oath and I should give that money back.” Reluctantly I withdraw my hand from his, feeling instantly cold. “I should be going.”

  “Don’t. Don’t run away again.”

  “Our time is up.” I’m joking, but his jaw tightens.

  “Will I see you again?”

  An appointment? I thought I wouldn’t ask for another, but seeing him here, the feel of his soft lips still on my fingertips, I can’t remember why not.

  “You said it helped, what we did,” he whispers, and a flash of heat goes through me. “That it’s better now.”

  “Yeah, it is. But I’m not sure—”

  “I’d do anything to help you, Pax. Anything. More than I’ve ever done willingly with anyone. I’d let you tie me to the bedpost. I told you I would, didn’t I?” He swallows hard as I gape at him. “How about this? You reverse what happened to you. You do it to me, then make up for it. Fix it. Won’t that help?”

  Does it matter if it does or not? The image of him tied up—naked and aroused—is hitting me like a wall of bricks. Don’t know if I can formulate a reply.

  So I just shake my head and walk away.

  Chapter Ten

  Riot

  The appointment came through. Johnson sounded way too interested when he informed me. Asked who this young lady is who keeps booking me.

  Told him to fuck off and mind his own business. Probably not the best way to talk to the boss’s nephew, but seriously, fuck him. He’d better stay away from Pax.

  All men better stay away from her.

  Jesus, Riot.

  And I shouldn’t be going about my day like I’m floating on air because I’m meeting her tonight. Goddamn stupid. I’m so distracted I’m late for one of my appointments and the client is so upset with me she sends me away.

  Explain that to Johnson now. Shit.

  The next appointment goes better—at least I find the place in time, even wait a little. The woman is okay. She’s nice, not bad-looking, and doesn’t want anything weird.

  Some talking. Some kissing. But I just can’t get into it. She tastes wrong. Feels wrong.

  Not Pax. She’s not Pax, dammit.

  I’m so out of sorts I leave her house forgetting my bike. My fucking bike. That’s not happening. When has that ever happened to me? Un-fucking-believable.

  Grumbling, I return to get the bike, then I remember who I’m meeting later on and grin to myself.

  Oh man, that’s it, I’ve gone off the deep end. It’s as if I’m fall—

  No. Fuck no. That only happens to morons, to soft mama’s boys who think the world is all roses and fluffy clouds.

  Not to men who know life, like me.

  I’ve never fallen in love. I don’t believe in love. And that’s all there is to it.

  ***

  Same hotel, same lobby, same fucking potted plants and the receptionist girl batting her lashes at me.

  I’m early. Always early when I meet Pax. I just wish we could take this somewhere else, somewhere without prying eyes and awkward memories. Start fresh. Clean slate.

  As what, then? Girlfriend and boyfriend? Get real.

  “Do you need something?” the girl asks. “Something I can help you with?”

  “Waiting for someone.”

  She says something more that I ignore and lounge by the plants, hands in my pockets, head tipped back. Like every time, I think she might not come. Change her mind.

  As the minutes tick by, different scenarios flip through my head. She forgot about it. She made plans with another guy. She decided on another escort. She had a flat tire. She got kidnapped. She—

  The doors slide open and she’s there. Slim, pretty, in her charcoal coat and high heels, her dark hair coming out of her ponytail to frame her face.

  Uncertain.

  Goddamn perfect.

  Can’t believe my relief that she made it. That she wanted it enough to come. I grin at her and see her eyes light up, her mouth curve up in a smile.

  She makes my breath catch.

  I follow her to the desk where she asks for her key, and put my arm around her waist. She stiffens a little but doesn’t pull away.

  Win.

  The silly reception girl looks like she’s going to have a fit of rage. I drag Pax away before I do or say anything that might cost me my job, and head to the elevators.

  Same path, same steps, and yet different. She’s better. She called and made an appointment.

  She’s here.

  I take the key from her, open the door and usher her inside. She’s still smiling, and I’m grinning.

  Get a grip, Riot. Nothing has really changed.

  That’s right. It hasn’t. That serves to sober me up as I turn toward her and she pulls her hand free and takes a step back. She’s better. Not fine.

  Not yet. Need to work on that. Find a way to make her lose all fear.

  “Hey.” I don’t reach for her, let my hands hang loose. Safe. “I’m so fucking glad you’re here.”

  That brings back her bright smile. “You are?”

  “Shit yeah.” I nod. “Can I hold your hand again?”

  She giggles, but she
gives me her hand and I take it in mine carefully as if it might break.

  “What did you wanna do today?”

  “I said you should tell me. Forgot about that?”

  I haven’t, but I’m not gonna start giving her orders without asking her. “Will you let me touch you today?”

  She gulps. Too soon, I guess.

  I stroke my thumb over her fingers. “Will you touch me, then?”

  “Like last time?”

  “If you like.”

  “You said…” Red rises to her pale cheeks.

  “I said what?”

  “At the bar.” The color deepens. “That you’d let me.”

  “Let you what, Pax?” She tries to pull her hand away, but I don’t let her. Not yet. “If I said it, I’ll do it. Tell me.”

  “You said you’d let me,” a gulp, “tie you down.”

  That. Oh shit, that. Blood rushes south, straight to my dick, and since when do I like bondage?

  “Then you’ll tie me down, baby.” I wink at her, happy to see her relax a little. “Do with me whatever the hell you like.”

  ***

  She doesn’t know how to tie the ropes. I help her the best I can. Help her tie me up. Never thought I’d see the day. The knots are a bit too tight, but that’s all right. A bit of pain goes a long way when you need to keep in control.

  And boy, right now I’ll need all the help I can get with that. Sitting on the king-size bed, leaning against a mound of pillows, my hands tied over my head, I wonder if I’ve lost my mind.

  What a question, Riot.

  Yeah.

  She kneels beside me in her pretty short skirt and silky tank top. I can see down her cleavage, the curve of her tits, and I shift on the bed, uncomfortably hard. She glances down at my crotch and her brows lift.

  “You’ll have to undress me again,” I say. “Can’t do it myself.”

  “Or I can leave you here like this all night. You can’t come after me.”

  Shit. “That wouldn’t be so interesting for you, though. And a waste of your money.”

  “Oh, you can get a lot of bang for your buck with me,” she says in a false baritone, trying to imitate my voice, and it shouldn’t be funny, but it damn well is.

  I crack up. “You bet.”

  She laughs with me and I hear no fear in the sound. Maybe it’s the absurdity of the situation—me, tied to the bed and us laughing like loons.