Candy Boys

by Raven, Jo

  I cry out, clenching around his fingers, my body going supernova. The pleasure washes through me in great ripples, taking away my breath. Again. And again.

  Holy crap.

  “God.” He nips at my neck, his hard-on huge at my back. “Need you. Oh fuck.”

  “Please.” Can’t form the words to tell him. “Inside me.”

  “No condom. Not here.”

  “No need. I’m on the pill.” I frown. “If you’re clean. Tested—”

  “I’m tested. Get tested every month. Never done it without a condom, Pax. Ever. With any woman.”

  I blink, absorbing this.

  He shifts, leans back. “Do you want me?” His voice is rough and throaty. Sexy.

  “Yes.” No doubt about it.

  He lifts my thighs so that my feet are braced on the bathtub, and strokes his thumb down my seam. Then he pushes his cock into me.

  I gasp. He’s lying back in the water, and I’m sitting on top of him, his cock slowly sinking into me. It feels so much bigger this way, like it’s going to split me apart, but it also feels good, so good I can’t help but moan as he stretches me.

  “It’s weird,” I gasp again, “not to see your face.”

  He sits up again, and the angle of the penetration changes, his cock pressing forward, increasing the pressure, his piercings rubbing inside me. So incredibly good...We both cry out this time as he rocks into me, his arms coming around my waist, pressing me to him.

  “I’m here,” he whispers in my ear. “Behind you. Under you. Inside you.”

  Holy shit, no way to forget about that, not with his big cock filling me so completely, the barbells sending sparks into my belly with every tiny shift.

  I rock back into him, and he hisses.

  “Fuck, yeah. Do it again.”

  I do, rolling my hips and oh God, the pleasure. I’m shaking with it. It’s different than when he was stroking me, or getting me off with his fingers. This is deeper and sharper and as he pumps in and out, his cock sliding against my inner walls, it’s almost pain, but it’s not.

  It’s mind-blowing pleasure, pressure that’s mounting and mounting, until I can’t take anymore without shattering.

  He groans, reaching down my belly to where we’re joined. He likes feeling it, and when he brushes his thumb over my clit, I jerk and the pressure crests.

  God, oh God...I come apart, moaning, shuddering, stars exploding against my eyelids. And then he comes, too, calling out my name, and the rush of his cum fills me and overflows, hot like fire inside me.

  We rock together, riding the aftershocks, panting and splashing in the cooling water. He’s trembling, his arms tight around me, his cock still twitching in my core.

  “You okay?” he whispers, his voice catching on a moan. “Fuck…”

  “Yeah.”

  He slides his hands up, caressing my sides. He kisses my neck. “Didn’t mean to do this,” he breathes. “I only wanted to help you feel better.”

  “I do feel better,” I reassure him, laughing. “Much better.”

  He chuckles, vibrations traveling from his chest down my back. “Good.” He quiets then. “I’d do anything for you, Pax. I hope you know that. You only have to ask.”

  I blink, my eyes suddenly too hot. I don’t know what to say. After fighting it, telling myself to be rational and cool-headed, he says something like this that knocks reason on its ass, something that hooks me and reels me in, giving me no choice but to fall in love with him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Riot

  Cradling Pax against my chest, my dick still buried inside her, I’m the closest to happiness I’ve ever felt. I was so worried before I came looking for her. Worried when she said she was sick, worried I couldn’t make her well. That she didn’t want me here.

  That she’d send me away.

  And although I bet this won’t last—she’ll come to her senses soon enough and remember I’m not what she’s looking for—I can’t find it in me to care. Not now. Not when I’m still floating on a post-orgasmic haze unlike any I’ve ever felt.

  Maybe it was because it was without a condom, flesh against flesh.

  Or maybe it’s because it’s Pax and I want her every hour of every day and night. Anything we do together is mind-blowing. But still, this one was...Whoa. My dick is slipping out of her, little by little, and I have to bite my lip not to groan at the sensation.

  Dammit, the water is cooling already. She shivers in my arms. Need to get her warm and into bed, then...Food. She needs to eat.

  I have no clue what to do about that. Take-out? I don’t know how to cook to save my life, except for out of the package Mac-and-Cheese, deep-frozen pizzas and sandwiches. My foster mom wasn’t much of a cook. Besides, two of the three years I spent in her house she was battling cancer. The last thing on her mind, especially toward the end, was cooking.

  And these past years of living alone haven’t helped either. Let’s just say Dexter and Batman aren’t into cooking, either. We make do with whatever is lying around.

  As I lift her from the water and wrap her up in a huge fluffy towel she has hanging on a hook, as I grab a smaller one and dry her long hair, I think about what I could make her to eat.

  Or try to, because touching her in any form and way makes me want her, makes me happy.

  I’m way past the danger line. Now I’m full and well in riptide territory. Might as well stop fighting it. Let the current take me deep into the sea.

  I find another towel, which I fasten around my hips, and I walk her to her bedroom. She’s drowsy, leaning heavily against me. Pulling back the covers, I have her sit, then unwrap her from the towel and lay her down.

  “I’m naked,” she whispers as I drag the covers over her.

  “Just the way I like you,” I whisper back and wink.

  She laughs. I love the sound of her laughter—soft and tinkling like a small bell. “You could grab me clean pajamas from the closet.”

  “I could.” I grin at her, but then decide maybe she’ll be warmer that way and I open her closet. It’s made of heavy, dark wood, carved with flowers. Inside she has shelf after shelf stacked with folded clothes. “Um, is there a coding system? A sign pointing toward the pajamas?”

  She laughs again, and I grin like an idiot, proud of myself for wringing that sweet sound out of her. “Bottom right shelf.”

  Right. I grab light blue bottoms and a white top. “Panties?”

  “Top left drawer.”

  I open it, stick my hand inside, and pull out a lacy white thing. Thong? What in the name—?”

  “Riot, did you find them?”

  Turning around, I show my loot. “Yeah.” I eye her thoughtfully. “I might just put them back, though, and climb into bed with you.”

  “Riot!” But she’s laughing delightedly, and if I grin any wider, my face will split in two. “Gimme my clothes.”

  “What will you give me in return?”

  “What do you want?”

  “Oh, I can think of a thing or two.” I approach the bed, look down at her. “We could pick up where we left off in the tub.”

  Color rises to her cheeks. She bites her lip, and yeah, I think getting under the covers with her is the best idea I’ve had all day. My dick agrees with me, hardening, making a nice sizable tent in the towel that’s threatening to fall off my hips—when the doorbell rings.

  Fuck.

  “Expecting someone?” I give her the clothes and look around for mine.

  “Could be Corey.”

  “Your friend?” A bitter wave of jealousy hits me as I shove my legs into my pants.

  “Yeah.” She sounds uncertain. “I told you about him, right?”

  That he’s her best friend. And brought her a bottle of whisky, the one we hit on the other night.

  “He probably brought me some food. He’s been worried. He checks on me.”

  Oh I see. Worried, huh?

  “I’ll go get the door.” I zip up my jeans and don’t bother wi
th anything else. Vaguely I’m aware I’m staking my territory.

  My girl.

  And if this Corey who acts all concerned about her is good looking, I’ll redecorate his fucking face.

  Hell.

  ***

  “So you’re the famous escort Pax won’t talk about.” Corey is giving me a blatant once-over, blond head cocked to the side, one brow raised. “Holy shit, the girl has taste.”

  I blink at him. He isn’t what I expected. None of this is. I mean, the guy’s handsome, I guess, almost as tall as me with bright green eyes, but the vibe he’s giving off…

  “And you’re Corey.”

  “In the flesh.” He beams at me and wanders into the living room, hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Didn’t expect to find you here.”

  “Okay, go back for a sec to what you said.” I wave a hand, trying to sort my thoughts. “Famous escort?”

  “Ah-huh.”

  “But one she won’t talk about.”

  “That’s right.”

  “So how can I be famous if she doesn’t—”

  “Oh God, have you no imagination?” He strikes a dramatic pose with his hand on his chest.

  I stare. What the fuck is he doing? “No, I don’t. So?”

  “Great.” He relaxes, grins. “Let me explain. Pax has been my friend since our school days. She rarely shares what’s in her heart. But she trusts me.”

  My hands curl into fists. She trusts me. Me, not this moron. “Really.”

  “Really.” Oblivious, he props his hip against the back of the sofa. “She told me what happened two years ago, asked for my advice on what to do. I told her to go to a therapist but she decided to come...to you.”

  Again that appraising look.

  Wait a sec. Is he checking me out?

  “She said it didn’t go too well, and I thought it was over, but then…” He shakes his head, rolls his eyes. “Then she refused to say another word about it, or you.”

  “So?”

  “So if you knew Pax well, you’d know the things she doesn’t talk about are the ones foremost on her mind.”

  “That’s a stretch.”

  “Not at all.”

  “You’re not a mind-reader.”

  “No, I’m her best friend.”

  What are we even talking about? Shit. “So she never talked about me.”

  “That’s correct.”

  Dammit. “And that means she’s been thinking about me.”

  “You’re a little slow on the uptake,” he winks, “but so hot I’ll forgive you.”

  Blink, blink. “Are you hitting on me?”

  “Nah. I wouldn’t do that to Pax. Can’t compete with her anyway.”

  Holy shit. Laughter bubbles up inside me and I force it down. “No, you can’t.”

  “I thought so.” He looks pleased about that. “Has she eaten today?”

  “No. I was gonna…” I huff. “Prepare something for her.”

  “You can cook?”

  I shake my head.

  “Right. Let me go say hi and you can help me. We’ll make her a feel-better soup.”

  “Feel-better soup?”

  “Yeah. Stay put. Or even better, go and put a T-shirt on or something, otherwise I’ll never get anything done. Oh boy.”

  Fanning his face he pushes off the sofa and walks out of the room, when all I can think of is—Pax’s friend is gay, and I was on her mind.

  ***

  “Say again what soup this is gonna be?”

  “Curried carrot and celery soup.” Corey says the words as if that’s what everyone who’s sick should have for dinner and is chopping carrots as if he was born doing it. He’s not even looking at the chopping board, the knife or his fingers, for chrissakes.

  “Right. That.” I focus on cutting up the spring onions he has passed me. “You do that often?”

  “What, cook for Pax?” He throws the chopped carrots into the pot, and grabs a jar of curry paste from the cupboard. “We sometimes cook together. She’s a good cook. Girl has talents, if only she lets herself go.”

  Talents. Oh yeah, when she lets herself go, she’s like a naked flame. My body heats up thinking of how she rocked on top of me, how she—

  “Pass me the onions when you’re done, will you?” He’s stirring the pot, his eyes half-closed. “And grab me the fresh cream from the fridge.”

  “Yes, sir.” I stick my tongue out at him and turn to the fridge. Fresh cream. I hope it says so on the pot. Or jar. Or carton?

  “Hey, it was you. I knew it.”

  “Come again?” I grab what I hope is the thing he’s asking for—Crème Fraiche says the label—and turn.

  “You’re the one Pax was asking about. See, told you that you were on her mind.” He has a smug look on his face, and I’m torn between the desire to wipe it off and curiosity.

  Curiosity wins out. “Where?”

  Besides, Pax will never forgive me if I punch her best friend.

  “At the tattoo shop where I went to get my ink.” Corey waves the wooden spoon he’s been using to stir the soup. “Here, give me the cream.”

  I give it to him on autopilot. He sets it aside, checks the pot. The smell is damn great. It makes my stomach growl. Come to think of it, can’t remember eating today, either.

  “She was asking about me at a tattoo shop. Why?”

  “Because of the ink on your back. That skull and the flames and that word. Hellfire.”

  She mentioned that, didn’t she? “And what happened?”

  He adds a pinch of salt, sniffs at the fragrant steam rising from the pot. “Happened? What do you mean? Ethan told her about the fighting club.”

  “Ethan?”

  “The tattoo artist. Good friend of mine.”

  “Right.”

  “Wanna see my new tattoo?” He reaches down, lifts his pant leg, and I catch glimpse of a star and words before he straightens. “He rocks his ink.”

  “I don’t care about your tattoo, man. What did Ethan tell her?”

  “That you’re probably a fan of the club. Trying to protect her, I guess. He’s a nice guy. Heart of gold.”

  “Protect her. From what?”

  “The truth.”

  I freeze, my hand propped on the counter. “What the hell do you mean?”

  “Oh, come on, Riot. Don’t be coy.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You’re not a fan of the underground fighting club. You used to fight for them.”

  A shiver wracks me. “Bullshit.”

  “You should come clean, pretty boy. She really likes you. Wouldn’t want her finding this out from anyone but from yourself.”

  Fuck. He’s right, goddammit, so I ignore the pretty boy comment. “How did you know?”

  “You mean apart from the badass tat on your back and the flames on your arm?” He turns the heat on low and leans back on the counter. “You don’t look like a rent boy, Riot. I’ve trawled the escort sites, I’ve seen plenty. You don’t look soft. You look like a fighter.”

  I shrug, partly pleased to hear it, partly annoyed. “I’ve left all that behind.”

  “Yeah, I bet you did. Why the agency, though?”

  “None of your business,” I grind out. “I’m gonna check on Pax.”

  “She won’t settle for anything less but the whole of you,” he calls after me. “You know that.”

  Hell, of course I know it. I just didn’t think I ever stood a chance with her, and now her friend says I do, I have no fucking clue what to do.

  ***

  “What are you and Corey making?” She’s sitting up in the bed, her back propped against three pillows. Her cheeks are rosy. She looks much better than she did last night when I came over.

  “A get-better soup. With carrots. And curry? I think.”

  She claps her hands. “Oh, the curried soup? I love that one.”

  I kinda hate how there’s so much history between her and Corey. Like, they’ve shared so much and know each other’s pr
eferences and can practically read each other’s minds.

  Then again...I was on her mind.

  And she doesn’t sleep with him, like she does with me, so…

  Heh.

  “You have a strange expression on your face,” she says. “Come sit with me.”

  I perch on the bed. “What?”

  “You look like the cat that ate the canary.”

  “Yep. Roasted and with a honey glaze.” I bare my teeth at her, and she laughs.

  Score.

  “Sounds like Corey has already imparted some of his culinary secrets to you?”

  I snort. “Takes longer than half an hour to teach me how to cook, babe.”

  “That’s because Corey’s cooking is as complicated as his twisted brain.” She makes a face. “What has Corey told you? Should I be afraid?”

  I put my hand over hers on the covers. “Of me? Never.”

  “I’m not afraid of you.” There’s truth in her dark eyes.

  “Good.” A protective growl rises in my throat.

  Would she be afraid of me if she knew about my past? Dammit, Corey is right. I need to tell her.

  But I can’t. Fuck, I can’t. Not now. I’ve never been more scared of losing someone in my life.

  “Did he show you his new tat?”

  When I shake my head, she sighs. “What?”

  “It’s a heart struck by an arrow on his chest. He thinks he’s in love with the tattoo artist of Under Your Skin. Ethan something.”

  A heart? “Thinks he’s in love, huh? What if he really is?”

  “Corey? No.” She glances at the door, as if expecting him to walk in on this conversation about him. “If he was, he’d have gone back for another tattoo.”

  Ah fuck. I chuckle to myself and turn my face away to hide it. “Right.”

  If the fresh star tat on his leg is any indication, Corey can read Pax better than she can read him. At least, that’s my hope. He says she thinks about me—but what does that mean anyway?

  What the fuck am I doing?

  ***

  The soup is freaking delicious. Spicy and tangy, it explodes on my tongue like a firework. I swear I can taste color. My ears pop.

  Son of a bitch, Corey. If he wasn’t gay, I’d seriously be scared of Pax choosing him over me on the merit of his soup alone.