Candy Ever After (Hot Candy Book 2)

by Jo Raven

  In fact, I rather doubt they’ll want me based on my stupid resume, even if Joel helped me put it together.

  Damn. Joel.

  He hasn’t come back yet since the shower incident.

  And now I feel guilty, although I didn’t do it on purpose. Couldn’t help coming. I’d been on the brink anyway, and the way he looked at me…

  I kick at the sofa, shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans, and go stand by the window. It’s dark outside, and the street lights and passing cars make the street below look festive, even though it’s an average, dirty street, on an average, dirty weekday.

  Where did he go? Should I call him?

  What should I say?

  Dammit, I knew something like this would flip him out. His family is totally conservative. Fucking nuts. I can imagine he feels like he betrayed his manhood just by looking, or something equally idiotic.

  I need to talk to him when he’s back, calm him down. Promise him he’s still straight as an arrow. That guys check each other’s dicks all the time.

  Thing is, I’m pretty sure we’d done so already back at school in the showers after PE, and at the gym in the changing rooms. He hadn’t freaked out then, so why now?

  Two possible explanations I can think of:

  One, the scandal at college fucked him up, though I don’t see any connection between that and what happened today.

  Two, I don’t know Joel as well as I thought. I mean, he’s an overconfident chick magnet, with no fucking doubts whatsoever about his sexuality, right? So what was that all about?

  Suddenly I remember him by the kitchen sink last night, telling me he needed my help with something, and I’m itching to know what it was.

  ***

  I’m floating in a half-formed dream involving Joel—who else?—and a horse. Not sure what the horse is supposed to be doing, but I’m sitting there with J, shooting the shit. We’re talking about our school days, and the bar fight I got into.

  He reaches over and touches the bruise on my face. I feel at ease with him.

  I’m also horny, and I can see that he is, too. His dick is hard inside his jogging pants, and he shifts uncomfortably on the sofa.

  “What we need,” I tell him, “is more.”

  “More what?” he replies, leaning back on the cushions, his hand moving down, toward the bulge at his crotch, and I swallow hard.

  Hard, so hard.

  “That.” I point at the horse, or rather where the horse used to be, but of course there now stands a girl with pretty, wavy, blond hair and lush curves. She’s naked, and the sight of her full tits and rounded hips makes my dick fucking weep with joy. “That girl.”

  That’s what we need. Who we need. She’s light, and darkness, and everything at once.

  But Joel sinks into the couch, shaking his head, sinking deeper and deeper in the cushions, until he disappears, and I wake up with a start, my heart pounding and my dick diamond hard.

  Fuck.

  ***

  A noise wakes me up. I’m lying sideways on the sofa, the TV playing some random program, my drawing pad and pencils making dents in my cheek. I blink at the sudden blinding light and throw up a hand in front of my eyes to protect them.

  “J?”

  Joel nods at me, opens the curtain further, letting in the morning light, then proceeds to yank the jacket I’d thrown over me off and stalk to his bedroom.

  Ow. Good morning to you, too.

  Wait, he spent the night out? As in, he didn’t fucking come home at all?

  Whoa. That’s a frigging load of freak out for seeing your best friend’s dick, right? Granted, my dick was shooting cum at the time, and we were looking at each other, but it’s not like it was my fault he barged in. A guy should be allowed to jack off in the shower in peace.

  Not like Joel doesn’t do it. Not like I haven’t fucking heard him before—and jacked off quietly on the other side of the wall, listening.

  Anyway, he doesn’t know that, so what’s his deal? I’ve done my best to stay out of his hair.

  Throwing my legs off the couch, I rub my hands over my face trying to convince my brain to start firing again, and I get up.

  Fall back into the couch, rub my face some more.

  Then attempt the standing-upright thing again.

  It works this time around, and I take some stumbling steps toward the kitchen, when a hand pushes me back down on the couch—oof—and pushes a steaming mug of coffee under my nose.

  “Drink.”

  “Like Alice in fucking wonderland,” I mutter but take the mug and sip at it, scalding my tongue. Still, it’s black and loaded with sugar, the way I like it. “Will it make me shrink or grow?”

  My eyes are finally open, and they widen more when Joel sits down beside me, heat seeping into me from where our legs touch.

  Schooling my face into a scowl, I drink more coffee, not giving a shit if my tongue blisters. “Had a good night?”

  “Fucking awesome.”

  “Where were you?”

  “Who are you, my mom?”

  We sit in seething silence. Well, I sit in seething silence. Joel’s probably grinning inwardly. Bastard.

  Wait, he’s grinning outwardly, too.

  “What am I missing?” I grumble, narrowing my eyes at him.

  And finally take in his running shoes and outfit. The light bulb goes on in a flash.

  “You went running.”

  “You’re a fucking genius.”

  “So you stayed the night here?”

  “Where else would I stay, dumbass? On the street? Or with my parents?” He gives a slight shudder at the thought. “You never stirred when I came back inside. I swear I’ve never seen a guy in deeper sleep unless it was a coma. I even held a mirror in front of your mouth to make sure you were breathing.”

  “Haha. You’re so fucking funny.” But the weight is off my chest. Fucker didn’t stay out. He wasn’t that upset. It’s okay.

  It’d damn well better be.

  He stretches, and my gaze follows the movement, the muscles rippling in his chest, the strip of golden flesh revealed when his T-shirt rides up. “Why did you sleep on the sofa? What were you watching?”

  I wasn’t watching anything, I was fucking waiting for you, dipshit. “Football highlights,” I lie.

  “You’re not sleeping enough.”

  Say what? His statement hangs in the air between us, and I freeze like soon-to-be roadkill caught in the headlights.

  He has never seemed to take notice before. Sure he’s my friend and sure he cooks for me sometimes. Forces me to do laundry and change my bed sheets once in a while, that sort of thing. And I could never ask for more, not from Joel who’s had my back since we met at school years back.

  Who knows so much about me—though not all—and hasn’t given up on my sorry self.

  And I don’t know how to deal with this.

  “Know what, I’m gonna hit the shower,” I say and start to get up all over again.

  “Wait.” He reaches over and pushes me back down.

  “Sure. Why the fuck not?” I grind my teeth together.

  This is beginning to feel like Groundhog Day. Will I never get up from this damn couch?

  And why is he looking at me like that? Like… like there’s something on my face? Or my chest? Or…?

  “Drink your coffee. I need advice.”

  Fuck that. “Advice on what exactly? How to ogle your friend jerking off in the shower?”

  He winces, and I glare back, because now the words have left my mouth, there’s nothing left to do but own them.

  “No,” he says. “To get a girl.”

  “A girl.”

  “Yeah, the girl, in fact. You know who.”

  “Wait. The nerdy one?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Dude, I didn’t know you were serious about her.” Joel often mentions girls, but he’s never stuck to one for more than a night.

  Then again, maybe it’s because he still h
asn’t banged this one? Hell if I know.

  “I… like her.”

  A beat of silence as I digest his words. “Like her.”

  “Like her, yeah. Why are you looking at me like that?”

  Because my chest hurts. Because Joel is all I have, and he seems serious, and scenarios that only seemed hypothetical until a moment ago seem all too real now.

  Of course one day he’ll find the perfect girl and leave. I knew that. I just didn’t expect it so soon.

  “And what’s the problem?” I ask.

  Joel’s mouth twists. It’s a firm, wide mouth, and I should stop staring at it. Dammit, I used to have more control than that.

  “You know how to get girls,” I go on. “Chat her up, take her out for drinks, go to the movies. What’s the problem? She’s nerdy, and deep inside you’re nerdy, too.”

  “I know.” He’s glaring at me like I’m an idiot. “Talking to her isn’t the problem.”

  “Then what, fucking her?”

  He winces again. “Shut up.”

  Wait a sec… “Fucking her is an issue?”

  He slumps back, pinches the bridge of his nose. “No.”

  “Then what? Can’t get it up?”

  “Sure I can.”

  “Then?”

  “I can’t… come.”

  This time silence settles over us like one of Godzilla’s claws.

  I swallow hard. “You’re joking.”

  “Fuck you, Jet. I’m fucking serious here.”

  “You can’t come?” He nods, but I still can’t believe it. “Is this a joke? Is it April Fools’?”

  “Jet, it’s July.” He’s staring down at his hands in his lap, after dropping this mega-bomb on me, before I’ve even finished my coffee or had any breakfast, and he expects me to… what?

  Make him come?

  Oh. My. Fuck.

  No, Jet, no. Do not go getting any dirty ideas about making Joel come. This isn’t about what you want. This is about what he wants, and he clearly wants a girl.

  That girl, and he wants to come with her. In her.

  And damn if this thought doesn’t excite me, either. If only I could watch…

  Focus, dammit. “Okay, J, let’s think. Is it because of what happened last year? The scandal? Did that put you off sex?”

  He shakes his head. “The problem began before that. It’s the reason I was in the whole mess in the first place, the reason I was in that photo with Ellen.”

  “What!” I’m incredulous now. “Ellen fucking knew about this? You asked her for help with it?”

  Asked her and not me?

  “I didn’t know someone would take a picture! Fuck.” He closes his eyes, and the flush in his cheeks is spreading to his ear tips. “I’d never have gotten Ellen into such a mess.”

  I’ve wanted to ask him since then why the hell Ellen ignored his atrocious flirting attempts for years only to give in on that unfortunate occasion.

  Ah fuck it. No time like the present. “Why Ellen?”

  “Huh?” He blinks at me. “Oh. It just happened.”

  “Bullshit. You never even went out with her.”

  “So what?”

  “How about the truth?”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  I see red. “None of my business?” In one movement, I have him pinned underneath me on the couch, straddling his legs, my arm against his throat. “You are my business, mate. We’re friends. Hell, I tell you stuff about myself nobody else knows.”

  “Not everything,” he shoots back, his blue eyes flashing with anger, and I deflate a little.

  He’s right about that, dammit.

  I lift my arm off his throat and he swallows convulsively. I watch his Adam’s apple bob, the scruff on his neck ripple in tiny waves.

  “I only asked to watch her and her girlfriend,” he whispers, and that jerks me back to reality. “Thought it could help me. And hey… you can never tell anyone what I just said, okay? Swear to me, Jet. You have to fucking swear.”

  “What am I, three? I won’t tell.”

  Fuck. Her girlfriend? Ellen likes pussy and not dick? Joel was after her for fucking years, tongue lolling like a dog in heat, hoping to dip his dick in her.

  The urge to laugh is cutting off my breath, but he’s staring back at me bleakly, his normally sunny blue eyes dark, and…

  And suddenly I’m aware of where I’m sitting—on his muscular thighs, our crotches aligned, heat seeping through the thin fabric of our pants—and I scramble off him.

  Shitshitshit.

  I stand in front of him, trying to think. “So you watched Ellen and her girlfriend make out. Did it work for you?”

  A pause, then he shakes his head.

  Ah. Not sure if to be relieved or concerned. “But chicks still do it for you?”

  A vigorous nod.

  “What about watching a guy and a girl get it on together?”

  He stares at me.

  “Porn, dude. Do you jack off to porn?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Okay. And you can’t get off?”

  “No, I fucking can’t. Happy now?”

  “Hey, I’m only trying to help.”

  What I can’t help is the blood heading south, the heat spreading in my dick, hardening when I think of Joel beating his meat while watching others going at it, his face flushed, his hand a blur over his dick.

  Because, by the way, hey, J, did you know I’m bisexual? Did you know I want you? Did you know I want you and a girl, together, to get off?

  “How about two guys together?” I ask, my mouth dry.

  “No,” he says slowly. “I don’t think that does it for me.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him if he tried, but nah, too soon, too much.

  “Lemme think about this,” I tell him and try to ignore the jubilant voice whooping in the back of my mind. “Don’t worry, buddy.”

  I’ll figure out what turns you on. What makes you come like a freight train.

  Oh, for chrissakes. Shut up, brain. Shut the fuck up.

  I try to ignore all the suggestions my subconscious is throwing at me, because this isn’t about me. It’s about him.

  A plan is taking shape. Simple, basic. Rudimentary.

  The fact it might give me a chance to be with Joel in a way that’s only been a fantasy so far is beside the point.

  Not about me. And I’m not about to jeopardize our friendship over my lust.

  It’s a crazy, improbable plan, but it might just work, and it’s not like I don’t wanna do this. I’d give my right arm for the chance. Right now, I’ll take anything I can get.

  Chapter Seven

  CANDY

  Title: Slick

  From Candy Boys (Blog serial)

  Their bodies are moving together, broad chests slick with sweat, muscular arms around each other, their cocks rubbing against each other.

  “You boys like that?” I move my hand over their bare, tight asses and scoot closer so that I can stroke up a sinewy back, a padded shoulder. “Now kiss.”

  J-Two grips his lover’s scruffy jaw and slams their mouths together.

  Oh yeah. I slip my hands between their bodies, find their cocks and stroke them as they kiss, their panting breaths filling the room. I stroke them good and hard until they can’t take anymore and come, writhing on the bed, their cum pooling between them.

  Damn, that was sexy…

  “Honey, your dad doesn’t fuck me properly.”

  As an opening act to one’s day, this one surely takes the prize.

  Only it’s not the first time my mom has done this to me. Her only daughter. She never thinks of the marks she’s leaving. I’m traumatized for life.

  “Mom, I don’t want to know if Dad is good or bad in bed, okay?”

  “Oh, honey, if he was good, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Sometimes I wonder how we manage to have you. He barely plays with me beforehand, and doesn’t even check if I’m moist before—”<
br />
  “Mom. Stop.” I’m not feeling so good. I might puke.

  “You should find a man who can satisfy you sexually, baby. And if one is not enough, then more. Sex is important.”

  A burning flush spreads over my face. “Can’t you give me any normal motherly advice, Mom? You know, to start my day?”

  Instead of advising me to do the one thing I want but shouldn’t want? She’s very cool for a mom, granted. Maybe a bit too cool. But there are limits to what a girl can take first thing in the morning.

  “Okay. Motherly advice.” She sounds uncertain. She’s on shaky ground here. “Um. Here goes. Are you listening?”

  “Yes, Mom, I’m taking notes. You can speak anytime now.”

  “Okay. Don’t forget to eat your breakfast. Most important meal of the day, except if you wake up late, of course. Then you can skip to lunch. Oh and eat fiber, it’s good for bowel movement.” A pause. “How am I doing?”

  “Awesome,” I sigh and close my eyes.

  At least we’re not talking about my dad’s sexual prowess—or lack thereof—anymore.

  Win.

  ***

  A shitty morning is a fitting start to a shitty week, as I discover. Book shipments arrive scrambled, the books torn and bent—and they are by Cynthia Sax, Stephanie Witter and JA Huss! This sucks so bad. Readers will be so sad.

  Donna is in a craptastic mood, and I don’t know if it’s PMS or menopause—asking her will probably not improve anything.

  Plus, Jethro hasn’t sent an application for the job—shocker, right?—and Joel doesn’t return.

  Pretty crappy, all in all.

  The good news, though, is that my blog is getting more and more views and comments than ever. Guess my latest super-hot boy-on-boy scene did the trick.

  As I sit at my computer after work, I wonder how many girls masturbate daily, compliments of my blog. I should charge them for this.

  Smirking at the thought, I log off—only to find Brylee sitting across from me, on my bed.

  “Aarrrgh!” I jump off my chair, sending it crashing to the floor, my heart pounding. “Shit. Bry! God!”

  “You serious right now?” She scowls. “I scared you that much?” She pats her hair. “Is it the new style?”

  “Crap. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “That much is obvious. You’re lost in a fantasy instead of living in the real world.”