Candy Ever After (Hot Candy Book 2)

by Jo Raven

  “He’s stressed,” Jet says, his mouth lifting in a crooked grin. He folds his arms over his chest, and I get caught in his twinkling dark gaze. “The more he cooks, the more stressed he is.”

  “Oh.” I glance around the kitchen. “Oh God. This looks bad.”

  “Yup.”

  “What can we do?”

  “Distract him with food sex.”

  Instead of asking what he’s stressed about? No matter how much I’d rather jump Joel’s bones and forego any talk, I think talking this out is healthier.

  Besides, if he keeps cooking and we end up eating everything, I’ll never manage to get back into my favorite pair of jeans.

  “J.” Mindful of the knives and hot pots, I sidle in beside him and slide an arm around his narrow hips. “Why don’t you take a break?”

  “I need to finish the apple pie.”

  “And I’m sure it won’t finish itself, so I totally get it.” I quickly grab a piece of apple, but Joel seems more interested in watching me eat it than chasing me away. “Nothing will happen to the pie if you leave it alone for five minutes, right?”

  He blinks those expressive baby blues like he’s in a trance. “You and Jet are eating all the apple.”

  “Apart from that.” I lick the juice from my fingers, and he swallows, hard. He licks his lips, and I draw a deeper breath.

  A mistake. He smells heavenly, a mixture of candied sugar from what he’s baking and his spicy male musk.

  Holy shit, I’m suddenly dizzy with wanting him. My first instinct is to press myself to his tall, strong body, then maybe push him into a chair and ride him… have the brooding, dark-eyed man standing across the kitchen join us…

  I mean, seriously. How’s a girl supposed to think when caught between two hunks like these? Also, I’ve missed Joel today. At least I got to be in Jet’s arms back at the bookstore once or twice, while Joel was home.

  Probably why he’s had the time to overthink stuff and bake enough cakes to feed an army.

  “We need to talk,” I inform my way-too-sexy boyfriend and drag him away from the counter and the pie, trying to keep my mind on track.

  “About what?”

  “About you.”

  ***

  It’s not often we get the drop on Joel. He’s the bossy one, the one directing our moves and hauling us into his big embrace—but today we have him sandwiched between us on the sofa, still in his silly apron and briefs and nothing else.

  Jet’s gaze has gone dark as hell and heavy-lidded. He has an arm slung over Joel’s broad shoulders and he’s quiet. He’s clearly pitching a tent in his black jeans.

  I’m dying to do something about that, help him out—but not now.

  Also, we need to discuss his clothes color. I get why he’s been wearing black all this time, mourning his mom’s death, mourning his dad’s actions and apparent madness, but he needs to start putting it behind him.

  I’m not an asshole. I know it will take a long time and lots of therapy sessions, and at least he is going to therapy and I think it’s helping, but let’s face it: outward appearances don’t just reflect one’s mood. They also influence it.

  I need to take Jet shopping…

  “So, J. Spill.” Jet scratches at the dark stubble on his chin, then reaches down and adjusts himself through his jeans, not trying to hide it. “What’s gotten your pink panties in a twist this time? Is it the new job?”

  “What?” That snaps me out of my wandering thoughts. “You got a new job?”

  Joel grunts and folds his muscular arms over the apron pocket over his chest. His brows lower over his bright eyes. “Yeah, I got a part-time job in a small company until I figure out how to do this thing I wanna do.”

  This thing. “The publishing company?”

  He nods. Glares at the far wall.

  Oh boy. “It will be great, I know it. Jet and I will help, and Simone was saying today that she has been working as a freelance editor and formatter, and would love to be part of this project.”

  “She did?” Jet’s brows arch.

  “Yeah, she’s totally interested.” Okay, she said it sounded like an interesting project, but I bet she was dying to ask if she could take part. I’ve almost figured her out, okay?

  Almost. She’s like a fuzzy pink landmine.

  Unlike Brylee. I know Brylee, got to know her much better during the year we lived together. She’s crazy, but in a good way, and she’s dependable, as long as you don’t ask her for love—even less sex—advice. Then you’re better off reading children’s books and watching Disney movies.

  See: fairytale obsession.

  “That’s good,” Joel mutters. “It’s fucking awesome. I mean, it’s a crazy idea anyway, so why the hell not? Now, if you guys don’t mind, I’d like to finish that pie and go for a run before—”

  “Not so fast.” Jet tightens his arm around Joel’s shoulders. “If it’s not the job, then what’s going on?”

  “Nothing’s going on,” Joel snaps.

  “Yeah right.” Jet scowls. “The last time you cooked so much was after the scandal with Ellen. I had to knock on the door of every apartment in the building and then go down to the street and offer pies to everyone.”

  “Shut up. It wasn’t that bad.”

  “You shut up. We still had to throw away pies.” Jet sighs nostalgically. “Damn good pies, too. The pecan ones, man. You should bake those again.”

  I gape at them. “Guys. Are you serious right now?”

  Boys and food. Jesus.

  Joel looks affronted. “My pecan pie is to die for.”

  “You still haven’t told us what’s bothering you.” I slide my hand up his muscular thigh, perilously close to his crotch, close enough that I feel the heat through his cotton briefs. “Come on, J.”

  “Nothing’s bothering me.” He starts to get up again, not seeming to notice where my hand is heading. “Like I said.”

  “Something’s definitely wrong,” I tell Jet.

  “Yeah.” Jet’s gaze has narrowed. “I’ve been hard since we entered the kitchen and he hasn’t even mentioned it.”

  Joel blinks. “The hell?”

  “You need to talk to your parents, man,” Jet says. “It’s been eating at you. See how you reacted to Candy’s parents. You freaked out like a motherfucker.”

  “Fuck off, Jet.” This time he shoves at Jet and manages to get to his feet. “I don’t need to talk to my fucking parents. I got nothing to tell them.”

  I scramble off the couch and start after him, but hesitate. I turn to Jet who’s still sprawled on the sofa, rubbing at his eyes with this knuckles. “You really think this is what’s troubling him? This thing with his parents?”

  He shrugs, broad shoulders rising and falling. “It’s stressing him. He pretends he doesn’t give a damn, but he hasn’t told them.”

  “Hasn’t told them what?”

  “About us.”

  I shake my head, lost, and glance again helplessly at the kitchen where Joel is shoving the apple pie into the oven. “What do you mean?”

  “His parents don’t know he’s with us. They don’t know he’s in any relationship, let alone with a girl and a guy.”

  “Crap.” I thought Joel had told his parents something about us. I thought he hadn’t discussed it, hadn’t forced them to accept it, that he’d, I don’t know, left a message, or sent an email, or just called and told them.

  I hadn’t realized he simply hadn’t mentioned it to them.

  “They don’t even know he resigned from his previous job,” Jet says. “Last time he spoke with them was before my dad went apeshit and tried to fucking… kill me.”

  The pause has me turning my full attention back on Jet. He’s rubbing a hand over his chest, the gesture familiar, and I sit back down, taking a good look at his face.

  He’s still recovering from his dad’s attack. The terrible gauntness of the days after the hospital is long past, but his scar still hurts sometimes, and often when I wake up a
t night or in the early morning, he’s not in bed with us, and I find him drawing, or drinking coffee and staring at nothing.

  “And what about you?” I draw his hand down from his chest and rub his palm with my fingertips. “Are you okay? J’s not the only one who won’t talk.”

  Jet always says he’s fine when I ask, but I know better.

  This time he doesn’t say he’s fine, though. He lets his head drop back and closes his eyes. “I’m not sure.”

  A band tightens around my ribs, constricting my breath. “What’s wrong?”

  His lashes lift. “We should go talk to J.”

  “In a minute.”

  “Candy…” He gazes at me, his pretty dark eyes full of something I can’t name.

  Though it looks a lot like fear.

  Then it’s gone as if it had never been there and he grins, reaching for me.

  “We should talk,” I mumble, but he’s already standing up, pulling me up to his side. “Did something happen? Did—?”

  “Nothing happened, Sugar Pop. Let’s go ambush J. He deserves it.”

  The thought is distracting. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Maple syrup.” He winks down at me. “And I think I saw some whipped cream.”

  This man can seriously read my thoughts.

  Chapter Eight

  Joel

  Once upon a time, I thought my parents knew what was best for me and my sister. I took their side, parroted their words, channeled their way of thinking.

  And then I realized I had a will and opinion of my own. That I disagreed with them on lots of things. That I wasn’t them. Never would be.

  It’s been a while since then, but I still can’t shake off their hold on me. Even when I know that the strings are all in my mind.

  Fucking shit.

  I’m perfectly fine. I’m just stressed about this new job, like Jet said, and my project. I’m not sure what I’m doing. Me, a publisher. I don’t have the funds. I don’t have the experience.

  I just want it.

  In any case, that’s what’s bothering me. It’s natural. I gave up a good position in a big company, a position I admittedly hated, among colleagues more interested in finding out dirt about me than their own damn business. I wasn’t comfortable or happy there.

  What I don’t fucking need is to talk to my parents. I don’t give a flying fuck about what they think of me. They won’t approve of me changing jobs, or loving Jet and Candy. I know that.

  And I don’t fucking care.

  Goddamn Jet, insisting I should talk to them, saying… Fuck. No, time to stop thinking about it. Why am I still thinking about it?

  I slam the fridge door so hard the wine bottles inside rattle. My hands are shaking.

  “Still not done?” Jet drawls from behind me and I whirl about, almost faceplanting.

  “Shit. Don’t do that.” Man is barefoot and he walks quietly like a cat when he wants to.

  And okay, for whatever reason I’m still on edge. My heart is hammering.

  Jet leans back on the doorjamb, his hair tousled as if he just raked his hand through the soft spikes, something like amusement glinting in his eyes.

  “He’s busy,” Candy says, draping herself all over him, her hands sliding under his T-shirt.

  Her blond hair has come loose, falling on her shoulders. She’s also shed her sweater, and her blouse molds on her small frame, clinging to all the right places. Her round tits are perfectly outlined.

  I lick my lips. Damn, I’m not sure she’s wearing a bra.

  Or maybe that’s just my dirty mind. I often find myself imagining I meet her at the bookstore and drag her behind the shelves, that I slip my hand under her skirt only to find her bare, that I lift her sweater and she’s braless so that I can put my mouth all over her.

  Fuck, now I’m hard.

  “Yeah, he’s busy,” Jet mutters and gazes down at her, a light flush in his cheeks. “That’s okay.”

  And with that, he cups the back of her head and leans down, fusing their mouths together.

  Shit, that’s hot. Especially when he walks her backward, to the kitchen table, and lifts her up. Thank God I happened to move the pancakes to the counter just minutes ago, or she’d have ended up covered in syrup.

  And the mental image hits me like a sledgehammer. My dick hardens so fast I gasp. Now I’m pitching a tent behind the apron, the head of my dick poking right in the middle of one of the stars decorating the front.

  I lean back against the counter, my knees going weak when Jet pushes up Candy’s skirt and drags down her lacy panties.

  She was wearing panties.

  Not anymore.

  “We won’t bother you,” she says, panting lightly, glancing sideways at me.

  “What?” I croak, my fingers clenching on the edge of the counter.

  “Finish your pies,” Jet says, not even sparing me a glance. “I’ve been horny all day, and all the food has made me fucking hungry.” He bends over Candy, spreads her legs wider, and reaches to the side to grab the bottle of whipped cream from the counter. “Very hungry.”

  I swallow hard. “Jet—”

  “It’s okay if you just wanna watch,” Jet says, shaking the bottle, then squeezing out the fluffy cream between Candy’s legs. “You being so busy with cooking and all.”

  And he throws her legs over his shoulders and goes down on her, hands braced on the table, her moans ringing inside the small kitchen.

  Jesus Christ. I’m in serious danger of blowing my load. I’m about to burst. My hand wanders down to my crotch without any conscious thought. My dick hurts, it’s so hard, and I push it down, trying to ease some of the pressure. I wanna grab the bottle of whipped cream from the table and cover her tits with it, then lick them clean. I wanna push Jet out of the way and taste her.

  Or maybe use the cream on him. I haven’t gone down on him in a while.

  Fuck. I love feeding them. The combination of food with sex is blowing my mind. Why didn’t I think of this first?

  Jet lifts his head, shooting me a glance. Yeah, I’m watching. Nothing could tear me away right now. Let the damn pies burn in the oven.

  “Pass me the syrup,” he says, and I struggle to move, my body tense with need. “I think it will go well with the cream.”

  I grab the bottle and pass it to him, squeezing so hard syrup overflows from the top. Just like my dick. Leaking.

  It’s like all the tension in my mind and body has converged in my cock, turning it into a pole of steel. Just the friction of the cotton in my briefs might prove too much if I don’t take matters into my own hands soon.

  Literally.

  Jet dribbles syrup over Candy’s spread pussy. She’s breathing hard, her pretty tits rising and falling. I’m dying to free them from that blouse, run my tongue over her nipples.

  Impatiently, I tear the apron off me and slide my hand into my briefs, biting the inside of my cheek not to groan out loud when my fingers curl around the hot length of my dick. Pleasure shivers up my spine, and my balls tighten.

  Jet pours more sticky syrup and Candy moans as it coats her folds. My breath catches when Jet bends over her again, a wicked gleam in his eyes, and I move closer, needing to see more.

  “J…” Candy rolls her eyes toward me, her body trembling as Jet eats her out, her hips lifting. “Kiss me…”

  Oh shit, yes. I want her to come as I kiss her, to feel her shake against me. Now I’m panting, too, unable to get enough air. I pull my hand out of my briefs and lean over her, pressing my mouth to hers.

  Her hands lift and clamp on my shoulders as she starts to shake and cries out in my mouth. This is hotter than hell, this is…

  “Sexy,” Jet growls, straightening and lowering Candy’s legs from his shoulders to the table. He licks his lips and grins at us.

  I pull back for air, and Candy flops back on the table, shivering. She looks delicious like this, sated, relaxed, her eyes dazed. I need to get inside her.

  But I also want J
et.

  In one swift movement, I push him against the wall and he gasps, startled. He’s overdressed, but he’s so hard his cock is fully outlined through the thick fabric of his jeans.

  He swallows, the knot in his throat bobbing, his eyes a bottomless black. “Whacha gonna do, J?”

  “Guess.” I pull back just enough to undo Jet’s pants, and have to bite back a moan at the heated look he sends me.

  I’m vaguely aware of Candy sitting up on the table top and watching us, but then I focus on pulling his jeans and briefs down his strong legs. His dick juts out, rock hard, thick veins standing out on the underside, the flared head flushed.

  Then I reach for the syrup and Jet groans, the back of his head thumping against the wall.

  “Damn,” he breathes.

  “What, thought you were the only one allowed to play with your food?”

  He chuckles, then grunts when I close my hand around his dick and give him a few good tugs, before lifting the bottle and letting syrup trickle along his length.

  “More,” Candy says, and damn, she’s undressing, slipping off her blouse.

  I was right. She’s not wearing a bra. She cups one boob and rubs her hardening nipple, licking her lips.

  And… I might be drooling at this point. Between her and Jet, it’s like I’m caught in a fucking wet dream.

  “He likes it.” she whispers. “More syrup.”

  I comply, because why the hell not? Tearing my gaze off her curves, I bathe Jet’s cock in syrup.

  She’s right, he seems to like it a lot. He moans, trembling against the wall, his eyes fluttering shut.

  Then I get on my knees and start sucking the maple syrup off Jet’s cock. He moans louder, his legs trembling, his hands landing on my head, tugging on my hair. His knees bend a little and he thrusts into my mouth. The sweetness of the syrup mingles with his salty taste, and it’s a heady thing.

  To think I hadn’t blown a man in my life until recently… Although, this is Jet. I love everything about Jet. He’s mine, and it feels so fucking right.

  Not to mention it’s going straight to my dick—all of it, his taste, his fingers in my hair, the desperate sounds he’s making, the feel of how damn hard he is, impossible to take all in. I’ve been wanting to learn how to deep-throat him, but I’m nowhere near there yet.