Candy Ever After (Hot Candy Book 2)

by Jo Raven

  “I could be wrong about this,” I reluctantly admit, “but it does sound like you have the symptoms. I mean, I know this because my brother was tested for these things, even if the tests turn out negative. So…. Yeah, if you’re diagnosed with either, there are special accommodations to help you.”

  “So that means…” He swallows hard. “I’d have to visit a doctor or something?”

  “A psychologist.”

  “A shrink? No fucking way.” He shakes his head and wrenches himself free of my desperate grip. “Not pills. Not doing this ever again.”

  “Not a shrink. Jet, wait.”

  But he doesn’t stop, and I watch him walk away, my mouth open.

  Not again? He was seen by a psychiatrist in the past? What for?

  What do I do with this? Do I run after him, push for an explanation? Do I call Joel until he answers and coax it out of him?

  What the hell do I do to help them both?

  ***

  I drive to my apartment, my heart heavy. Brylee isn’t at home, and I sit at my computer, feeling out of sorts. It’s as if this isn’t my home anymore. It feels foreign, strange.

  My favorite people aren’t here with me, and what if it’s my fault? What if I pushed Joel too far, too soon? What if Jet is wrong, and Joel wasn’t ready?

  He had seemed so into it, though. He was the one who initiated the kiss and grabbed Jet’s cock to jerk them both together.

  It had been damn hot.

  And then Jet with those vague, alarming hints of his former life that make me wonder whether they really mean what I think they mean or if it’s my mind that’s twisted.

  Joel has to know about this, right? About what Jet told me—about running, about the vague hints of danger, about the shrink and the pills. Should I call him again? Should I call Jet?

  Frustrated, I boot my computer up and open my story files. I stare at the words, at the strangers making out on the screen.

  I have unread messages from Connie. Comments upon comments from the readers. I have an unfinished scene and…

  I can’t.

  I bite back a sob. Why can’t I write more? I love this story. Readers love it, too. I made friends over the posting of the chapters. I laughed and cried as I got it down. And what if my boys don’t know about it?

  This story is my secret. My one secret from them, my fantasy.

  But it’s turning sour anyway because I can’t. Can’t write. They aren’t like I imagined them.

  And they don’t know about it, which makes it feel as if I’m… abusing them somehow. Forcing them into doing stuff they don’t like doing.

  Would they do more? Would they go down on each other? Have sex with each other? They never touch much during sex with me.

  They aren’t as I imagined them, and I don’t care about my stupid story anymore if I can be with them, discovering new things about them every day, touching them, and pleasuring them, and living with them.

  I don’t want to write that story, because I’m going to tell them about it, and then I’ll delete it forever.

  In fact, I’ll delete it, period. I’m sorry for the readers who invested so much time in it, who loved my imaginary boys, but it’s not fair.

  Nothing is as I thought it was. Both boys are so different from the men I painted them to be in my story it’s not even funny. With every revelation, every tiny tidbit I learn about them, the tables are turned, my perception of them is changed.

  How Joel hesitated to touch Jet, how he vanished today. How Jet gets after those phone calls and the talk about shrinks and pills.

  But also the good sides. Jet’s artistic nature, Joel’s intellectual one and his awesome cooking skills, his protectiveness of Jet.

  As it turns out, they don’t give a damn about tantric sex. They want it rough, quick, slow, hard, in every way.

  I never thought they’d kiss so differently, or they’d prefer different things in sex, though—like how Jet is more passionate, Joel more aggressive and controlling, how Jet likes to play with my ass and Joel is more of a titty-pussy guy.

  And all these thoughts are making my face warm and my heart race, my pulse beat between my legs.

  My boys aren’t imaginary anymore. They’re real, and I’m in big, big trouble…

  Chapter Twenty Six

  JOEL

  “The world,” my father says, “is full of depraved men. Welfare cases, socialists, faggots. Joel would never turn out to be one of them. He’s my son.”

  You’d think that after fighting with paperwork all day at work and feeling paranoid about the covert looks and giggles I receive from some people, I wouldn’t have time or energy left to worry about other stuff.

  Like Candy. Like Jet.

  Like kissing him, getting us off together and then running.

  But I do. Worry, that is. Or maybe I just need time to think. To process this. Process the fact I kissed a guy for the first time in my life and liked it.

  His taste… unlike anything I’ve ever tasted. Strong. Salty. Spicy. Definitely male.

  One hundred percent Jet.

  I liked it way too much, and that’s scary shit.

  So unlike Candy’s taste. She’s sweet. Love her taste, God… I’d love to kiss Jet, eat up that spice, and then kiss her to wash it down with her sugar.

  I’m so fucked.

  After leaving the office, I sit in my car for a while, trying to come to grips with this realization and only panicking more.

  At a loss for what to do next, I grab my phone and call my sis. We don’t see each other much, lately, and that’s largely my fault. I’ve been so wrapped up in this thing with Jet and Candy, I’ve not been returning her calls and texts.

  I don’t know why, but I need to hear her voice.

  She picks up on the second ring. “Joey! Where have you been? I’ve missed you, big brother.”

  I grin, padding over to the window to stare out at the faint lights of the street below. “Missed you, too, Evie. What’s up? How’s Micah?”

  That’s her boyfriend. I’ve never seen my little sis so in love before. He’s a good guy. I wasn’t convinced at first, swayed by my parents’ vehement opposition to Evie dating him. He’s a poor, young inker at Zane Madden’s Damage Control tattoo shop, and the fact he’s an orphan and spent some time on the streets was enough reason to believe he’s trash, or so my parents insisted. So did Evie’s ex-boyfriend and ex-buddy of mine.

  I’m glad I listened to my own mind in the end and helped them be together. I’m happy for them. I wish I had something like that.

  And when did I turn into such a sap, huh? Fuck.

  “Joey. You there?”

  “Uh huh.” I turn away from the window, pinch the bridge of my nose. “Sorry, long day.”

  “What’s on your mind?” A pause. “You’ve found someone, haven’t you?”

  I’d deny it, but my sis knows me too well. “Yeah, well.”

  “So Ellen is finally in the rear-view mirror?”

  “Yup.” I huff, run my fingers through my hair. “I know you never liked her.”

  “Nothing against her,” Evie says, chuckling. “I just knew she wasn’t the one for you.”

  “And who is the right one for me, huh?”

  “Dunno. Only you can know that. The one that makes your heart pound, and your knees weak, that turns your brain to mush and you can’t think of anything but her. The one you worry about, you want to look good for, the one you want to kiss and have wild sex with… Are you taking notes, Joey? I’m not going to repeat myself.”

  I laugh. “Gotcha, sis. And if…” I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly dry. “And if I felt that way about a guy, what would you…?” Ah fuck. “Forget it.”

  “Joey.”

  That one word, my name, stops me from hanging up. I force myself to stand still, keep the phone against my ear. Waiting.

  “Joey, it’s okay.”

  “It’s not. I’m not a faggot, and I’m not a pervert. I just… I can’t…”

>   “It’s really okay.”

  “No, you don’t get it. I’m not saying there is a guy. Or a girl. Shit. Fuck.”

  She makes an excited sound. “Don’t you dare hang up. I have things to say.”

  I groan. “Fine. But Evie—”

  “It’s okay to like both girls and boys.”

  “It’s sick.”

  “Who told you that? Our parents? Listen to me, big guy. Wanting a guy, or a girl, or both, is okay. It’s okay to like both. Have you even Googled it? Sexuality. It’s not unusual to be bisexual, Joey. There’s absolutely nothing wrong about that, no matter what we were raised to believe. You should do what makes you happy.”

  I nod, although she can’t see me. I bow my head, struggling to calm down my breathing. “I don’t want a guy, though. Only a girl.”

  I don’t want Jet that way. I don’t.

  I can’t. Even if he tastes like sin. Caring for him as a friend is one thing. Wanting him is quite another.

  “Okay.” She sounds vaguely amused and sad at the same time. “That’s for you to tell, Joey. Just remember it’s okay to follow your desires. We’re adults. We can make our own decisions, as long as they don’t hurt others.”

  She’s wise for her years, my sis. I sometimes forget she’s not the little girl with pigtails I used to tease anymore. She’s wiser than me, although that’s not that hard. She’s accepted herself.

  I’m still struggling to get myself accepted by others.

  “You haven’t even told me the name of this girl who’s got you all twisted up,” Evie teases. I can hear the smile in her voice. “If not Ellen, then who?”

  “Candace.” I struggle to get my thoughts back in order. “Candy.”

  Evie giggles. “Really?”

  “Yeah. Why, what’s wrong with Candy?”

  “Nothing. Ooh that’s so funny!”

  “What is?”

  “There’s this blog that’s making waves lately because of a story the blogger has been posting. It’s a story about two guys and a girl getting it on, and, get this… It’s called Candy Boys.”

  I scowl at the dashboard of my car, which needs a good cleaning. Like my brain. “What’s that got to do with me?”

  “Nothing, I told you, it’s just that… she calls the boys J-One and J-Two. J & J, like you and Jethro. And her name is Candy…” She giggles some more. “Oh man, I read some of the chapters, and they’re superhot.”

  Right. That’s what you get when you call your baby sister for support. “Gotta go, sis. Have fun reading smut online.”

  “We should get together sometime. I want to meet this Candy. Call me?”

  “Sure.”

  I disconnect and lean back in my seat, my mind churning. J-One and J-Two? And a girl called Candy. That’s a hell of a coincidence.

  But it’s a coincidence, I tell myself. Nothing more. Candy would never write a running commentary on what’s going on with us.

  Would she?

  Cold sweat drips down my back. Not another scandal, fuck, no. But it’s not, right? Just because the names sort of fit doesn’t mean this has anything to do with us.

  With me.

  Candy Boys, huh? I’ll Google it later, just to see what it’s about. Paranoia is a hard weed to kill.

  ***

  The bookshop is closed and locked. I frown, glancing at my watch. Didn’t realize I was so late. Thinking they must be at home, I drive there, but when I let myself in, the apartment is dark and quiet.

  It seems empty, and there’s a strange pressure in my chest, a mixture of worry and yearning I don’t know what to do with.

  “Jet?” I call out. “You here, dude?”

  A noise from the kitchen draws my attention, and I wander toward it, shucking off my jacket and shoes on the way. I poke my head inside the door, and there he is, standing in the dark, his form outlined in silver from the faint glow of the summer sky coming through the window.

  “Whatcha doing like this, twatface? What’s up?”

  He turns away from me, and flinches when I grab his arm. “You’re back.”

  “Yeah, got off work late. Passed by the shop, but it was closed already. Sorry I missed you.”

  “No worries, mate.”

  But now I am, because he still hasn’t looked at me, and his shoulders are stiff. “Did something happen today? Come on, Jet, talk to me.”

  “Everything’s fine.”

  The brittle, hollow tone of his voice is what shatters my control. I grab his arm, yank him around and slam him back against the wall.

  “Stop hiding from me.”

  “Like you’re hiding from me?” His lips are bloodless, his eyes hooded. “Fuck you, J.”

  “Dammit, don’t.” I shake him and he flinches, hard. Rattled, I stop. “I’m not you. You know what you want, who you are. You know your place in the world. I’m fucking jealous of you.”

  “You’re fucking nuts, that’s what you are.”

  “I’m confused as hell,” I admit, my voice rough, my pulse deafening in my ears. “But I’m here for you. Have I ever let you down? Let me in, dammit. I know your family is a mess, but—”

  “You know nothing.” But sadness tightens his face. “J…”

  Fuck. “Tell me. You said, years ago, that your parents were kinda crazy, that they were never around. Is there more?” I can’t help it, I shake him again. I need answers. “Shit, Jet, I may be confused about a lot of things but not when it comes to caring for you. Talk to me, asshole.”

  His mouth twists. “Nothing you can do, J.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Fuck you.” But he presses back into the wall, as if he wants to disappear in it. His hair has lost its spikiness tonight. It tumbles softly on his forehead. It makes him look very young.

  And I’m pressed really close to him, holding his arm against the wall, and…

  “Tell me about your parents,” I say, and this time I’m not taking no for an answer.

  He has to see it in my face, because he deflates.

  “I always thought my parents were normal,” he says, his soft voice distracting me from the feel of his body on mine. “Only they weren’t. Mom was distant. Scared to speak or do anything but clean the house and cook, then rock in a chair at the window. And my father… He didn’t drink, or play cards, or even smoke. He went to work, came back. But he had terrible arguments with my mother, and occasionally he’d get violent with her.”

  “And you?”

  Jet shrugs. “He’d beat me sometimes. Nothing life-threatening. Sure, I was scared of him, but I never landed in the hospital or anything. Mom would send me to hide when they fought.” He licks his lips. “Once he beat her up pretty bad. I was little, but I think… I think I remember that. It scared me shitless.”

  Goddammit.

  “Life was more or less normal.” He’s shivering, his face very pale, so pale I’m worried he’ll slide down the wall. “Everything was okay, or so I thought. Then, when I was sixteen, my dad… he killed my mom.”

  Shock jerks me like a bullet through the chest. “The hell? How? Why?”

  Jet shakes his head. “They hadn’t even argued all that loud that day. Picked up a kitchen knife and stabbed her until she died. Who the fuck knows why.”

  Dread is seeping into my bones, cold like ice. “And you? Where were you?” His eyes flick to the window, his cheeks ashen, and it’s like a punch in the chest. “You were there. You saw it happen, didn’t you?”

  He nods. “I was there, on the stairs.”

  The ice is wrapping around my spine, crackling. “And then?” When he doesn’t speak, I dig my fingers harder into his arm. “Jet, did he hurt you?”

  He knocks his head back against the wall, and I wince at the thud. “He left. He turned, looked at me. He fucking looked at me, like he knew I’d been there all along, then he opened the door of the house and left. He was never found. Police declared him missing since then.”

  No wonder he always wears black.


  “Holy shit, Jet.” I lift my other hand to his face, rub his rough stubble with my thumb. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

  He just shrugs, his expression unreadable.

  “And your cousin calling you all the time? What’s that about?” He ducks his face, but I’m not letting him hide again, not after this. I grab his chin and turn it back toward me. “Tell me. I wanna help you.”

  “It’s… not connected to that.” He won’t look at me, though, and I can’t tell if he’s telling the truth or not.

  I brush my thumb over his mouth. Soft. Warm. He inhales sharply.

  “Fine. I’ll let you off the hook for that one. For now.” I brush his mouth again and his lips part, his breath washing warm over my thumb.

  I lean closer, press his arm harder on the wall. My intention is to tell him it’s gonna be okay. That he has me, now, that I’ll look after him. We’re best buddies, thick as thieves.

  What happens, though, is that I’m kissing him, my tongue slipping into his mouth, my lips desperately moving over his. Our bodies slam together, his hand comes up to my head, clutches the back of my neck, keeping our mouths fused.

  Oh hell. He’s hard, hardening against my leg, and I shift without a second thought, aligning our cocks. They press together through our pants, and he groans in my mouth—or maybe I’m the one groaning. I can’t tell.

  Not sure what’s happening, but it feels amazing. It feels right, to be kissing him, touching him, and the way he’s kissing me back, holding me close… frenzied, desperate, a little rough. Fuck, yeah. It makes my dick throb and my balls twitch.

  I only wish Candy were here, but then he bites on my lower lip, and my brain short-circuits. I can practically feel the blood rushing to my dick, feel it swell, pressing so painfully against my zipper I gasp and release his arm to reach down and adjust myself before permanent damage is caused.

  His hand follows mine, cups my dick through my pants. He squeezes and I buck into his palm, not caring about anything but some friction to ease the pressure.

  His tongue battles with mine and we pant, lips on lips, biting and breathing each other’s oxygen, hard, open-mouthed kisses that turn my blood to molten lava.