Candy Boys

by Raven, Jo

  I pull back, struggling for breath, and he pushes my dress further up. Raising my arms, I let him take it off. It falls to the floor, and I’m left in my underwear, stretched out on the sofa, his long, hard body bent over me.

  “Fuck, you’re beautiful”, he mutters, one hand propped by my head, the other tracing a path down my arm. “Most beautiful girl ever. Can’t say it often enough.”

  So why does he sound sad? He’s acting weird again tonight, but different from the other time. Not distant, or cold. The opposite. Too hot, too jittery. On edge.

  And very aroused. His hard-on is an iron bar, heavy and thick, burning through his jeans, branding my thigh.

  “God, I want you, Pax.” He places hot kisses on my breasts, his hands cupping my ribcage, lifting me off the couch. “Can’t believe how fucking bad I want you.”

  “Then have me,” I breathe, my pussy wet and throbbing, clenching on nothing. I lick my lips and tell him what he always tells me. “Do what you want with me.”

  He groans, his face twisting as if in pain. “Don’t say such things, Pax.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I just might.” He reaches down between us, tugs down my panties, rubs his fingers over my seam. “Take you as I want. Think I’m allowed to do whatever I desire.”

  “You are.” I gulp as he parts my folds, presses a fingertip into me. “You should.”

  “You call the shots, Pax. You pay.”

  “I don’t want to think about that. I don’t want…” I clamp my mouth shut before I say more. Crap.

  Don’t want him to do this because it’s his job. Want him to do it because he really wants me. And how screwed up is that? It is his job. How can he be anything else but an escort I am paying for sex?

  He stills, his gaze searching. Whatever it is he sees on my face, it sends shadows flitting through his eyes. “Okay.”

  That’s all.

  But his finger breaches me, presses into me deeper, and I moan, pleasure zapping across my nerve endings. I clutch at his arms, his shoulders, my fingers digging into his solid muscles. He strokes me, in and out, in and out, until I can’t do anything but writhe, clenching around his finger, coming in great shudders that rock me to my soul.

  God. Oh shit. I hiss out his name as I ride the aftershocks, and he’s still stroking, still fucking me with his finger.

  His eyes look almost black in the half-light when he finally pulls it out of me, and his expression is so intense, it might have scared me if I wasn’t a boneless pool of satisfaction on the sofa.

  “Riot.” Have to stop and draw more air to speak, my heart racing. “You.”

  His lips quirk, and some of the previous intensity fades from his gaze. “Me what?”

  “I want you.”

  He smiles, dips his head, dark hair falling in his eyes. Says nothing.

  I sit up slowly. My panties are still on, as is my bra. I tug down the straps and reach behind me to unclasp it. One final pull and it’s off, letting my breasts bare.

  “Hot damn, Pax…” He’s staring at my breasts like he can’t get enough. His hands cover them, toying with my nipples, and how can I want more when I’m still feeling the orgasm he just gave me? “Take off your pretty panties.”

  I freeze for a second. He’s still holding my breasts, teasing them, building my arousal. He lowers his face to them, licks and suckles, and the pressure rises between my legs.

  Can’t believe how I need to feel him inside of me. I push down my panties, wiggling out of them, and I’m naked, while he’s still in his pants and biker boots.

  He likes that fact, apparently, as he draws back, his hands still kneading my breasts, his hot gaze raking over me.

  “Goddamn pretty,” he whispers. “Can’t believe you’re here. I missed touching you. Holding you. I just can’t…”

  His face twists again, and this time he looks away and rocks back on his heels.

  Hiding from me.

  What’s going on? The unease from earlier on returns full-force.

  “Riot. What happened? Please tell me.”

  “I told you, nothing happened.”

  “You’re lying.”

  The accusation hangs between us like a storm cloud, dark and heavy.

  He makes a small noise in the back of his throat and turns to sit on the sofa, swinging his legs off. He props his elbows on his knees and buries his hands in his hair.

  He looks...lost. Battered. Exhausted. Worry tightens my chest.

  “Hey.” I sit beside him, put my hand on his cheek. “I’m here. Please tell me how to help you.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Riot

  Her hand on my face startles me and I flinch away before I can stop myself.

  “Pax.” My heart is racing, my hard-on flagging. Great. “Gimme a minute.”

  I get up, pace a little, fight to calm down my ragged breathing.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Sure.” I try for a smile, but it feels like a grimace, so I stop and clasp my hands behind my head. “Fuck.”

  Should be okay. Not the first time something like this happens, and I’ve always managed to put it behind me the same night.

  Except for the dreams. Yeah, the dreams are sneaky motherfuckers, bringing everything I try to forget back to the surface, and today...Today was spectacularly bad. I don’t wanna sleep tonight, in case the dreams come.

  She gets up, comes to me. Naked. Beautiful. She puts her arms around me, rising on tiptoe to kiss me, and I tell myself not to move, not to let anything show.

  But when her hands press into the small of my back, sending a flare of pain down my spine, I flinch again, despite my efforts.

  Fucking hell.

  “I’m okay,” I say hastily when she starts moving around me to see. “I’m fine. Please, Pax, don’t—”

  “You’re hurt.”

  There’s fire in her voice. She’s upset. “Not really. Just a fucking scratch, that’s all. Pax, leave it be.”

  But she won’t be dissuaded, and she ducks under my arm and stands behind me, her hands on my hips.

  A horrified little gasp escapes her. “God, Riot.”

  Goddammit. I haven’t even had time to see what it looks like, and now she’s seeing it. I’m supposed to be pleasuring her. Holding her. Not having a small freak out and have her stare at the damage.

  “You have welts. Frigging bloody welts, Riot. What did they do to you?”

  Moot question. She can see exactly what they did.

  “How?”

  “With a belt.” The buckle, fuck, that hurt.

  “And your wrists.”

  Hell, forgot that. “They bound me.”

  “Too tight.”

  I shrug.

  “How? Why did you let her do this to you?”

  “Because the agency told me it was this or lose my fucking job.” I wince when she traces one of the welts. “Can’t afford it.”

  “Why?”

  I shake my head. Can’t tell her without spilling everything about my past, and if she freaks out and the agency finds out...That’s it.

  Like I said: can’t afford it.

  “Clients aren’t allowed to hurt you.” She breathes out. “Are they? I mean, I know you said some bondage is okay, but this…”

  It’s not. It’s against the regulations, but fucking Johnson is all too happy to see me punished for my “insolence” while telling the boss I’m being picky and difficult.

  “She had a man with her,” I mutter, not even sure why I’m telling her. Didn’t I decide this isn’t something she should know about? “Like the other times. He ties me up, beats me up and she gets herself off.” I shiver. “Watching me.”

  “Jesus.” She presses her lips to my spine, and a pleasurable shiver travels down my back, to my balls and to my half-hard dick. “This is awful. There has to be a way to get it to stop.”

  “Can’t think of one.”

  “Leave the agency.” Her mouth moves a little, leaves an
other hot kiss, and fuck, my dick is rising like a flagpole. “There have to be more jobs out there.”

  “Not any that pay so well.” Except illegal fighting. But I promised myself I wasn’t going back, and besides, my club kicked me out. “I didn’t even finish school. What kind of job could I find?”

  “Wait a minute…” She moves away, and I turn to face her. “Did you say there were other times like this?”

  Oh shit. Me and my big mouth.

  “This happened before?” she demands.

  “Not like this.” I frown. They never left marks before. It’s as if they realized nothing would happen. No repercussions. Not as long as I’m tied to the agency.

  “What happened the other times?”

  I study the determined expression on her pretty face. She’s angry on my behalf and it makes me smile a little. What happened to the confused, frightened girl I met only a few weeks ago?

  “It’s okay, Pax. Let it go.”

  “I want to know.” She comes forward, puts her warm hands on my chest, and it would be so easy to grab her in my arms, bury my face in her fresh-smelling hair and confess it all. Tell her everything: about the club, about the night that changed my life.

  But she’s still worrying at it. “It has to be illegal. Nobody should suffer like this. How could the agency allow it?”

  “The agency doesn’t care, Pax. It’s a business. Kind of a shady business, in fact, and this client pays good money. So the boss lets Johnson do whatever he likes as long as the money flows in. Besides.” I sigh, exhausted. “They were careful, these two. Walked right on the edge between what is allowed and what isn’t. And they are the boss’s friends.”

  “Christ.” She presses close to me, and hugs me, her hands settling higher up my back, avoiding the welts.

  I hug her back, my throat closing.

  “You have to tell the agency. You should never meet that woman again. This...Johnson. The one who answers the phones?”

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  “What an asshole.”

  I laugh. Never heard her cuss before. “It’s okay. I’ll survive.”

  “But you shouldn’t have to fight to survive. It shouldn’t be an issue.”

  I hug her tighter. “This is my mess. Forget about it. Let’s go sit down.”

  She lets me drag her back to the sofa, but I can almost hear the wheels turning inside her head.

  Need to distract her, avoid more questions, because today’s a shitty day and I might just crack and spill. Talk and then not be able to take anything back.

  I don’t waste time. Depositing her on her back, I slide down her naked body and bury my face between her thighs. She squeals when I lick her, then moans when I circle her opening with my fingertip.

  I never do this. When asked for it, I may do it with protection. It’s not my thing.

  But with Pax it’s different. Her scent, her taste...Everything about her turns me on, and I could spend hours with my tongue on her clit and my fingers fucking her, licking up her sweetness and getting so turned on I’m about to come in my pants.

  Distracting her. Distracting me. Whenever I think how that guy tied me up and whipped me with his belt, I have red crossing my vision. I hated every second of it. That feeling of helplessness and frustration and fear.

  Is that how Pax felt in that biker club? What scarred her so deeply she was too scared to be with a guy for years?

  Fuckers. Getting off on others’ fear and pain. If I had them now in front of me, I’d punch them to pulp.

  Pax shakes underneath me and I focus on her. She’s about to come, I sense it, and I work her faster, my own body trembling with need, the pressure in my gut painful.

  “Riot, I…” Her voice breaks on a keening cry, and I gasp, feeling her pussy contract around my fingers.

  Fuck, so close. My dick twitches, leaking inside my briefs.

  I pull back, rubbing my fingers back and forth, prolonging her pleasure, and I press with my other hand on my cock, to ease some of the pressure.

  She’s coming down from it, her eyes glazed, her lips parted, her breath coming in short, harsh pants. “Riot.”

  “Right here.” I draw my fingers out, slowly, and she shudders and moans. “God, I want you.”

  “Do it. Want to feel you.” She licks her lips. “Inside me.”

  I should ask again if she’s sure, if it’s not too soon after coming, but it’s as if I’ll come apart if I don’t get inside her soon. Like I’m held together by a wish and a prayer, and only she can put me back together.

  So I shuck off my boots, socks and pants, and crawl up over her, my hard-on dragging over her naked body, leaving shiny trails. Grabbing a condom from my jacket, I tug it on quickly.

  I’m so hot my blood burns under my skin, inside my cock. I’m burning for her. Need her so much. Her hot body, her dark eyes, her past and her pain, her sweetness and her concern.

  Fucked-up.

  “Look at me,” I whisper, and she puts her hands on my shoulders as I push into her. “God, look at me.”

  See me. Not a random escort. Not someone you pay for. Not a thing. Me.

  Her dark eyes lock with mine, and I thrust inside her all the way, groaning deep in my chest at the way she clenches around my cock.

  God, I wish I could ditch the condom and spill inside her, feel her around my dick as she convulses and cries out my name.

  Skin to skin. No barriers. No lies and half-truths.

  But that’s not gonna happen. She’s concerned now, but she won’t like it. Won’t like my truth. My past.

  So I start moving, to drown out the looping thoughts driving me crazy. Drown them out in need and pleasure. I capture her mouth in a long kiss as I move faster, my balls drawing up, my cock swelling until I think it’ll burst through the condom.

  Need her to come. I won’t last. I reach with one hand between us, find her clit, press.

  “Come for me, baby,” I gasp as she tightens around me and mewls her pleasure. “Fuck. Come with me. Now.”

  “Oh God,” she moans into my mouth and squeezes around my dick. “God, Riot.”

  “I’m gonna come,” I warn her, because even if she tells me no I can’t stop it. “Gonna come with you.”

  She arches off the sofa and I tumble headfirst into a shattering orgasm. I long moan rises up my throat, lost against her lips, as my dick jerks and my balls clench and my whole goddamn body pulses with it.

  Fire. Pain. Pleasure. Release.

  Pax, it’s Pax, all around me, holding me close, holding me inside of her, and I don’t ever want to leave.

  Dammit. I want to stay like this, with her forever.

  Why is it that the first girl I’ve ever fallen for in my life had to be one I can’t have?

  ***

  She’s making tea and I’m slumped on her sofa, an arm over my eyes. I’ll have to confront Johnson, I know it, and it’ll be a fucking mess. He could kick me out of the agency.

  Motherfucker.

  And if it was only that...The feeling I’m being watched has grown worse. I don’t know what the hell that’s about, but it makes my scalp prickle.

  Maybe I’m losing it. The stress of this past week is getting to me.

  “How are the boys?” Pax asks, returning to the living room and depositing two steaming mugs on the table. “Dexter and Batman?”

  I sit up, take my mug. I’d much rather drink some more whisky, but that’s not a good idea right now. “They’re okay. Batman’s opening up. Not so jumpy anymore.”

  “Like me,” she says with a mischievous grin, and I gulp down hot tea, not trusting my face.

  Pretending I don’t care is wearing me down, wearing down my mask of indifference and polite smiles. My face has lost its rigidity, and no matter how I try, I can’t hide.

  Not from her.

  “And Dexter?” She settles down beside me, naked, and my dick is hardening already, just because she’s close. “How big is he now?”

  I show her with my hand�
�he’s tiny, really—and she squeals, her eyes filling with stars.

  “Oh my God. So über-cute!” She beams. “Can I meet them?”

  “If you can—?” I snap my mouth closed. That would mean coming to my rough neighborhood, my trashy apartment. Seeing. Knowing. “Pax—”

  She sighs, puts her mug down. “Why do you always say my name like you’re mad at me? It was only a question.”

  “Mad at you? Is that what you think?”

  Jesus.

  “I don’t know what to think. You won’t tell me much.” She reaches for her dress that’s in a pile on the carpet. Pulls it on without bothering with underwear.

  And despite my fears and worries, I’m fully hard now, because that’s so hot. She’s sexy in everything she does, even when she’s upset and wary of me.

  “What do you want to know? And why?”

  “Why? Because…” She bites her lip and I reach for her, grip her hand. “Because I think maybe I was wrong about a lot of things.”

  “What sort of things?”

  She glances at me sideways, then looks down, long lashes brushing her cheeks. “About you.”

  Shit. “What did you think of me?”

  “Nothing bad,” she reassures me, and I relax a little. “But I thought you were some debauched rich boy with a gambling debt.”

  “And that’s not bad?” I huff, torn between righteous anger and laughter, but what right do I have to righteousness anyway? “Hell.”

  “Well, not very bad.” She gives me a faint smile. “Is it?”

  I guess not. “A rich boy, huh?”

  “I know the agency says you’re the real thing,” she rushes to say, a little breathless. “But I was a little leery of the whole bad boy thing.”

  “So I’m not a bad boy.”

  “I don’t know what you are.”

  So honest. Fearless. She’s coming out of her shell in colors and flashing lights.

  “Does it matter what I am?”

  She smacks my arm. “Yes, it does.”

  “Why?” Why, why? I hold my breath, not even sure what I expect her to say, why my heart is booming in my chest. “Tell me.”