by Jo Raven
“You got this,” Jet says again. “Go get them.”
Jet at least won’t yell at me if I come last.
I can do this.
Jesus, what sort of loser has doubts about something like that? I can date a girl, take her to my place and not fucking panic that I can’t perform. She turns me on. I’m fully hard whenever I’m around her.
This has to fucking work.
I run track. Marathons. I have endurance. I perform. In everything. Bring it on.
But as she walks out of the building toward my car, I find myself gripping the wheel of my car like a lifeline.
I shouldn’t have worried, though. Not about getting hard, anyway. She sways her hips a little as she approaches, and holy fuck, is that the same girl I kissed three days ago at the bookstore? My sexy little nerdy girl?
In a tight, short black dress and heels, with her blond hair swept up and her golden-brown eyes lined with black behind her glasses, she’s goddamn hot. Hotter than ever. The dress is pretty conservative, but the cleavage shows off the lushness of her boobs, the curve of her hip, the length of her shapely leg.
She’s still herself—and as she slides into the passenger seat I notice that her earrings are dragons, which pleases me in its nerdiness—but she’s also something else, something more. Something darker than the gold of her hair and the bronze of her eyes, the white of her skin and the pink of her cheeks.
An old soul. An honest soul. A girl who likes sex. Who wants sex. Who’s made for sex.
I’m so hard it hurts.
I reach for her glasses. I take them off, then I slide my hand around her neck, along her smooth, satiny skin, and pull her to me for a deep kiss. She gasps in my mouth, and I thrust my tongue past her sweet lips, needing her. My other hand, still on the wheel, is threatening to break it. My gut clenches so hard I think I might come just from her taste, the feel of her.
“Fuck.” I break off, pull back, lick my lips. Her sweetness lingers. “If I don’t stop, we won’t be going anywhere.”
She laughs, a little husky, her eyes brilliant and dark. She’s affected by the kiss as much as I am, and the thought thrills me.
“Buckle up,” I tell her and drive her to one of my favorite places—an old, tiny bar close to where she works with low music and dark décor. They serve some pretty good wine, and she tells me to order for her.
That’s fucking hot.
I order her a good white wine and a red one for myself. She’s sitting so close to me our legs touch, and every time I glance her way, my eyes are inexorably drawn to her breasts. Then her glasses, and her warm brown eyes behind them.
I want to throw her on my bed, rip off her clothes, leave her in her shoes and those sexy librarian glasses, and fuck her hard.
My dick is an iron bar in my pants.
We talk about history and books and comics, but I can’t focus. I want her. I want to touch her. Pleasure her. Hear her moan as I go down on her. As I thrust into her.
Will she be on board with that? Is it too soon? It’s just that I can’t remember ever being so hard for a chick, a chick I also happen to like as a person, and it’s fucking me up.
Throw in the stress about not performing, and I can’t take this any longer.
“Hey, wanna head out?” I nod at the door. “Go someplace else?”
Her dark lashes lower, her full mouth twitches, and Christ, what is it about her? She’s not a super model—she’s short, curvy, quirky, but she’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. The sexiest. I’m desperate to see her naked, to play with her body.
“Sure,” she replies and gathers up her purse.
I pull her out of the bar, back her up in a corner between a shop entrance and another shop and kiss her. Can’t stop kissing her. She tastes of wine and mint and pure sugar. She winds her arms around my neck and kisses me back, lets me take control of the kiss.
I like being in control. I like taking care of things, organizing, directing, managing. I’m taking her home. I wonder if Jet is home.
Next door to my bedroom.
He’d hear everything. And the thought shouldn’t thrill me. Behind my lids flashes an image of him on his knees in his bed, his hand between his legs—
I jerk back, take a few steps down the street, shoving my fingers through my hair.
“Hey. What’s wrong?” She’s right behind me, running with small steps in her high heels to catch up with me. “What happened?”
“Nothing. Fuck.”
I can’t. I can’t do this. No matter how pretty she is, I won’t come, I know it, and she’ll be left wondering what kind of a freak I am.
Why she’s not enough to get me off. The guy who slept with half the college. The guy who’s supposed to last all night.
“Joel—”
“Look, I have to go,” I tell her and see disappointment well in her eyes. Goddammit. “I’m sorry, it’s… it’s complicated.”
“Sure it is,” she bites out the words, and when I say nothing more, she turns around to go.
“Candy, wait!” I call after her, trying to think of something to do to make it better, to take it back, to convince myself to go through with my plan and take her home—but she ignores me, stomping away and calling a cab.
Christ. I’m an asshole. I fucked this up before it even started, like I knew I would.
With the one girl I really like. The first girl I’ve asked out in a year. The girl I can’t get out of my head, even though I still don’t know why.
Figures.
***
“What’s up?” Jethro calls from his sprawl on the sofa when I enter the apartment. “Weren’t you supposed to be out tonight?”
“I fucked up,” I inform him, and trudge to my room. I throw myself on my bed and press an arm over my eyes to blot out the world. “I’m such a pathetic failure.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” He’s in my room, standing by my bed.
“I couldn’t go through with it. Couldn’t bring her here, fuck her. If a girl doesn’t come, she can fake it, you know? But when a guy can’t come…”
He kicks at the bed base, then shoves me. “Get up.”
“What for?”
“I said I’d help you, didn’t I?”
Intrigued, I lift my arm. “How?”
“Come on, dickbag. Move.”
I give him a suspicious look. His dark eyes are sparkling. He’s up to something. “I’m not moving from here until you tell me what you’re planning.”
“Suit yourself.”
He saunters out of the room, and I stay where I am for a long moment, fighting curiosity and a weird sort of excitement that’s akin to fear.
Curiosity wins out and I get up, loosening my tie. I went directly from work to pick Candy up, and I’m still in my confining office attire.
He’s not in the living room, and I hear no sounds from the bathroom, so I push the door of his bedroom open and step inside.
He’s bent over, rummaging in his closet, and damn, his ass is sexy in those jeans.
I mean, muscular. Strong.
Shit.
Also, the closet reminds me I was going to search it for the mysterious item Jet was so hush-hush about.
He straightens with a shirt in one hand and turns toward me, the ink on his arms shifting. “He has moved! He is alive.”
“Shut up.”
Yeah, I’m cranky. I’ve been hard all evening and most of the day, and instead of bringing Candy here and fucking her to a screaming orgasm, I told her I can’t do that. Instead, here I am standing in Jet’s bedroom in hopes that my lunatic roommate may have found a cure to my ailment.
Maybe I should try sex therapy.
“Come here.”
“What do you have in mind?” I ask, wary. I’ve exposed myself to him more than I have to any other person, and now I wonder if it was a mistake.
Not that he’d betray me. Never. But this could be potentially very embarrassing if he decides to help me get off.
Somehow.
And the possibility shouldn’t make me hard again, dammit.
His gaze dips to my crotch, and a brow arches.
“So?” I groan, sinking down on his bed.
“Thinking of nerdy girl, are you?”
“Yeah.” Among other things.
Hell.
“Okay, how about this. You like watching.” And I do watch, fascinated, as a flush rises to his cheeks. “You tried watching two girls together. How about watching different couplings?”
“Couplings? As in—?”
“Guy and girl,” he says quickly.
That doesn’t sound too painful. Or useful, for that matter. “Jet, I told you I’ve done that. I’ve jacked off to porn as much as the next guy. It’s not working.”
“Do it with me.”
“What?” I blink stupidly at him.
“Jerk off with me. Let’s watch a video together.” He shrugs. “Hey, bros do this. It’s nothing unusual. It may help you get into the moment. You need to experiment a little, dude. Sexuality is a wild ride. It’s not a one-way street.”
Is he serious? Guys do this together? I know I’ve had kind of a sheltered childhood. My parents are damn conservative and don’t even like each other anyway. But in college I tried a few things.
Well, I fucked girls, mainly. Went down on them. Tried a few positions.
Damn, Jet is right, I should try something different, experiment a little. What would it hurt?
So I nod, and he flashes me a bright, though somewhat nervous grin as he goes to grab his laptop. We stretch out on his bed, our backs propped against the wall, and fuck, my stomach is churning.
Then he reaches behind his neck and pulls off his T-shirt in one movement. He leans back beside me, his lean chest rippling with muscles. His dark ink swirls over his pecs—a sinking sailing ship, and on his arms a skull, a raven, a distorted clock. His ink is familiar.
This position isn’t. My mouth is suddenly bone-dry.
Gets drier when he pushes down his pants, leaving him only in his black briefs, which are tented in the front with a very impressive hard-on.
Fucking hell, I can clearly see the outline of his cock, jutting sideways inside his briefs.
Oh yeah, he’s hard.
And I’m so fucking turned-on I can’t breathe. Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I reach down, push on my erection to ease some of the motherfucking pressure, then start undressing, too.
He’s not looking at me as I throw off my tie, unbutton my shirt and shrug it off, then start working on my belt and zipper to finally get rid of my pants.
But when I’m done, left in my white briefs, I find his gaze on me, hot like fire.
He grins, then reaches for his laptop and starts a movie he downloaded.
The girl is pretty, a perky brunette, the guy strong and not bad looking, either—should I be noticing these things? Christ.
“Pretend it’s nerdy girl,” Jet says, and I nod, trying not to look at him where he’s sitting beside me, half-naked and muscular and much more handsome than the guy in the video.
The woman and the guy on screen start kissing, and she starts stroking him. He’s naked, and well hung, and he rocks into her hand. Then he goes down on her, and she goes wild, writhing underneath him, while he strokes himself.
Fuck, this is good. I find my breathing going shallow, and I reach for my dick. Movement from beside me makes me twitch—Jet, I forgot for a second he’s here, too. He licks his lips, swallows hard, lifts his hips a little, and my gaze is helplessly drawn to his cock.
The tip is peeking up from his briefs, flushed and wet, and oh fuck.
I push down my briefs and grab my dick, needing to come so damn bad. The woman on screen moans, and now the guy is fucking her, ramming his cock into her in slow, controlled thrusts. Her tits are bouncing, and fuck, if this was Candy…
Jet gasps, and I turn to find him jacking off. His hand is inside his briefs, only the top of his dick showing with every firm stroke. He licks his lips and looks at my cock, then my face.
“I won’t last,” he rasps, and his words are like a spark behind my balls.
“Fuck, me neither,” I grit out and start pumping my cock for real. He picks up speed, too, and as the couple on screen start to come—first her, then him, moaning and panting—I feel my insides clench.
Jet suddenly reaches for my dick. His other hand is still on his hard-on, jacking himself off in short, hard pulls. “J.”
His hand closes over mine, and together we milk my dick as he comes with a moan, his cum hitting his chest with a soft splash.
Then I’m coming, too, my lungs seizing, my whole body tightening with the force of it, and I groan with relief as the pressure finally snaps.
I spill all over myself, and Jet’s bed. It’s a mess. I’m a boneless sprawl on the cum-splattered sheets, and I can’t move one finger to get up and clean it up.
Can’t even think about what this means—that I came jerking off to a video with my best friend, that I came with his hand over mine, while thinking of fucking Candy.
Fuck, I can’t think at all.
Chapter Nine
JETHRO
Joel elbows me in the ribs hard enough to bruise. “Hey, dude, you okay?”
I’m fucking paranoid again, thinking I saw someone watching me, stalking me. Not that I’d tell this to Joel. He’s got my back, but no one in their right mind would be friends with a wacko, and he’s all I got.
If he leaves…
He’s always been a solid presence, ever since I walked into that classroom when I was seventeen, and he nodded at me. Strong, confident, he makes me feel safe, and even now his hand grips my arm, grinding my bones together, grounding me.
How could I ever tell him I need more? I’d never tell him, not in a million years, and that’s the truth.
Well, fuck me sideways.
Can’t believe what just went down—that J jacked off by my side, watching porn. That he allowed me to put my hand over his as he came.
A day later, and the memory still has me going hard in nanoseconds.
Not necessarily a good thing, especially when against all hope I landed the job at the bookstore, and today is my first day there.
I tug again on my long-sleeved T-shirt, pat my black pants, and think, fuck it. I don’t have any other clothes, and I can’t tame my hair, so I should stop worrying about it.
Can’t believe I got the job. Me, in a bookstore.
Shit.
I open the door, and a bunch of chimes sounds madly over my head, making me flinch. Rattled, I let the door close and take two steps inside.
Smell of something floral and Windex. A short, slim woman with wild red hair comes out of an office in the back and smiles at me.
“Jethro Connors?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Come on in, I’ll show you around, explain your duties until Candy comes in. She’ll fill you in about the details.”
“Candy.” I grin, can’t help it.
“You know her?”
“She’s the one who gave me your card.”
“I see.” A crease forms between the woman’s groomed brows, then she smiles again and says, “Come with me.”
I’m so stressed my stomach hurts as the woman shows me around the shop. She never asked if I finished school. She assumed it, probably. I mean, what person working in a bookshop doesn’t have a GED?
Me, apparently.
It’s not like I can’t read or anything. I can. Write, too, and I’m pretty good at math. And I love stories, provided they’re in a form other than written.
Still. I know drinks, fist fights and dark places so much better than books.
I wish Candy were here already. The memory of her smile that day at the concert is calming. I’ve been looking forward to seeing her again ever since, though it took a lot of agonizing to decide to apply for the job.
The woman—Donna Foster, manager of the shop—is friendly, and the job
doesn’t seem too hard. Apparently I don’t need a PhD to do it, thank fuck. She says people may ask for recommendations, though, for books to buy.
“Do you read a lot? From your resume it wasn’t obvious, and when I asked you on the phone, your answer was vague.”
“I like books.” Hey, they’re pretty things, often with nice drawings inside.
“That was exactly what you said.” She sends me a shrewd look. “If you don’t read much, Jethro, it’s not a problem, really. As long as you’re hard-working and polite to me, Candy and our customers, I’m happy. As for recommendations, you can do a few searches, check what genres we sell, check online and see the bestsellers in those categories. Be resourceful. We mainly want to sell books. It’s a business like any other. Now if you like reading books…” She grins, and I like this woman more and more. “Then it’s a bonus for you, because you may enjoy yourself more and read books when there are no customers around. Also we give discounts to our employees.”
She’s being candid. And nice. I owe her the truth. Well, part of it.
“I don’t read much. But I am good at organizing things, and good at selling things. I will work hard, Ms. Foster.”
“Please call me Donna.” She nods. “I appreciate the honesty. I hope you will like it here.”
“Me too,” I tell her truthfully, and man, I hope I will remember not to drop any f-bombs while at work. It was never a problem when working at a bar, but in a bookshop I have a feeling things are kinda different.
The door chimes and I turn around.
“Morning, Donna!” a bright voice calls, and I see a halo of blond hair and a curvy form. “I bring coffee and—”
She stops dead, staring at me.
I grin and wave.
“Oh my God!” Her face is prettier than I remember, her smile blinding, although she’s wearing… glasses? “Don’t tell me. Oh crap, Donna, is this the new employee?”
“He sure is!” Donna winks, and I see no trace of that earlier discomfort I sensed when she found out I knew Candy. “Jethro tells me you’ve met already.”
“Jethro. Oh my frigging God.” Now Candy goes pale, stopping in her tracks. The blood drains from her face so fast, I’m rushing toward her before I even realize I’m doing it.