Candy Ever After (Hot Candy Book 2)

by Jo Raven

  Maybe they’ll do it again? I mean, it’s not like I forced them into it, or even asked them or anything. That was Joel going at it from his own volition.

  Has to mean something, right? That he wanted it. That he really wants Jet sexually. I could see his face behind Jet as he fucked him, the raw need in his eyes, the force of his motions. I could barely focus enough to look toward the end, but the sounds they both produced…

  Holy shit, so sexy…

  The memory heats my blood and warms my face as I rush to dress and drive myself and Jet to work. I can see his cheekbones flushed, too, and I know he’s also remembering last night.

  I want to laugh and dance and drive right back to the apartment. Haul both my boys back to bed and start all over again.

  Damn you, real life. Why do you have to keep getting in the way with work and adult commitments? I don’t want to adult today.

  I want… I want to tell them how I feel. Tell my boys I love them. The thought of anything happening to them has my stomach in knots. The thought of spending time with them makes my heart light.

  But I hesitate. Guys often bolt when the L-word is spoken, don’t they? Maybe they don’t feel that way. Maybe they don’t feel anything at all, except lust.

  Nah. They do feel something. I just know it, from the way they take care of me, the way they hold me, the way they talk to me.

  I steal another glance at Jet. He catches my gaze and smiles.

  Boom. Like a bullet to the heart. I reach over, catch his hand, and squeeze. That dark gaze dips to my mouth, to my boobs, back up to my face, and his smile widens.

  I can’t help but smile back. “Everything okay?”

  “When I have you and Joel…” His gaze dips, the flush on his cheeks deepens. “Then everything’s perfect, Candy pop.”

  Perfect. It feels that way for me, too.

  “Last night was hot.”

  “Sure was.”

  “You really love Joel, don’t you?” I glance from him to the street ahead and back. “Really want him, like he wants you.”

  “Yeah? I’m not so fucking sure.” Uncertainty crosses his features. “I often think I want… so much more from him.” He snorts. “I want from him what I want from you.”

  My heart booms. “I’ve imagined you two like that so often.”

  He glances at me, his long lashes throwing shadows on his cheeks. “Like what? Like last night?”

  “Yes. I, um… I’ve been writing a story.” Crap, why am I telling him this? Oh God. “Featuring you two. I didn’t really know you back then, so I hope you don’t mind. I’m going to take it down now, though,” I rush on. “Doesn’t feel right anymore. Sorry.”

  “What are you sorry for?” He licks his lips, his eyes gleaming. “So is it like… erotic? Do we fuck, all three of us?”

  Hearing him saying it like that, crudely, sends fire skittering over my skin and an ache between my legs. “Yeah. We do.”

  “And Joel fucks me, too?”

  “Oh yeah.” I park the car, my face flaming. “He sure does. As do you.”

  “As do I what?”

  “You fuck him.” I clap a hand over my mouth, torn between laughing and groaning in mortification. “Oh God, please don’t hate me.”

  “Hate you? You’re fucking kidding me.” He leans forward, grips my face and kisses me, hard, though his eyes are laughing. “When can I read it?”

  ***

  He gets no chance to read it, though, because it’s a busy day and customers file in and out, keeping us on our toes. Plus, he seems distracted. Very, very distracted. He keeps glancing out of the glass storefront at the street, but when I ask if it’s Joel he’s expecting, he shakes his head.

  I’m so relieved he’s been so nice about my revelation about my blog, I give him a pass on his crappy mood.

  He vanishes during lunch break to the back of the store to make a phone call and doesn’t surface again until later, when I see him help out an old lady who’s apparently looking for a guide to great sex.

  “It’s for myself!” she clarifies, loud enough that I hear her across the store.

  Well, kudos. I bet my mom would approve, although I snicker at Jet’s blank face as he shows her our selection.

  Then Donna draws him aside, her face serious, and to check the sex guides. Jet follows her to her office, his back rigid.

  I stare after them, worried. What now?

  But with Jet gone, I’m left so busy I don’t have time to think. I see glimpses of him later and try to catch his eye, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

  Weird.

  Even weirder is that he leaves before me, before, in fact, I even notice he’s gone. I stand still in the empty shop, a strange pain in my heart. This is the time we’ve sat together for a week now, reading together, waiting for Joel to come pick us up. Take us home.

  I take out my phone to call Jet, but my finger remains poised over his name. Why should I call him? What’s this—he’s giving me the cold shoulder? Why, after everything we’ve discussed, everything we’ve shared, he won’t come to me and I should run after him?

  I’m angry. Oh crap, I’m angry at one of my boys. And scared.

  Scared that I misjudged. That I fell too hard.

  Then again, I was afraid of that all along. Afraid that, in real life, happy endings aren’t the norm.

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  JOEL

  “Sometimes,” Jet told me once, “there is no getting over something when it’s sunk its claws too deep. You can only drag it with you and get used to the extra weight as you move on.”

  I stare in shock at the image on Christa’s phone. She and Sarah, her office mate, are silent.

  If I hadn’t walked inside, cursing my paranoia all the way, I wouldn’t have seen it. But here I am, looking at a picture of myself with Jet and Candy outside our building, all of us holding hands and smiling, myself in the middle.

  And worse still… it’s posted in the comments of a blog called Candy Boys. The blog my sis told me about. The caption says, “The real Candy Boys—Joel and Jethro.”

  That’s it. But the comments below have exploded, asking who we are, where we live, what we do, if we’re really as kinky as the story describes us. If Jet really tops me. If I like taking it up the ass. If Jet likes spanking. If we like fucking Candy on the kitchen top.

  Jesus Christ.

  “Give me back my phone,” Christa demands, but her voice is unsure.

  I ignore her. All this time I was worried about the old scandal when a new one was brewing. My chest is so tight I can barely breathe.

  Back then, I was naïve. I hadn’t realized anyone could see me with Ellen and her girlfriend from the back well enough to take that picture.

  But I thought I could trust Candy. She never mentioned this blog. I had to find out by chance, and even worse… this picture. And our names.

  Why? I thought we had something good going. I thought she cared for us like we care for her.

  Fucking stupid, Joel.

  “Hey, Joel?” Christa is behind me, and I jerk around, dizzy. “Um, look, I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry.” The blog is open for everyone to see. Anyone. Everyone can see it.

  Fuck.

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Sarah says, and I expect her to start laughing, but she looks quite solemn. “Being with Candy and Jethro.”

  “It’s the twenty-first century,” Christa chimes in, and it all sounds like a bad joke to my ears. “Maybe you wanted to keep it a secret for longer, but so what? As long as it works for you. I’m happy for you.”

  She’s not happy for me. This is all fake, a façade. Who else has she shown this to in the office?

  Hell, I could lose my job over this shit. The boss might have turned a blind eye to the first scandal, but now?

  Jet. Has Jet seen this? What if someone tells him? What if his boss finds out?

  “Have you told anyone else about this?” I demand, shaking the phone at her.

 
Christa actually takes a step back. “Calm down, Joel. We haven’t. It’s just a blog. Not many people would recognize you. It’s not even a clear picture of you.”

  The hell it isn’t. I throw the phone on her desk and turn to go.

  “What’s the big deal anyway?” Sarah asks. “You’re not in the closet or something, are you? We’re open-minded, but are you?”

  Her question echoes in my skull as I gather my jacket and my keys from my desk and get the fuck out of here.

  I need to find Jet.

  ***

  I call his cell phone, but he doesn’t answer. Typical. Probably forgot to charge it, or switch it on—or he’s walking. I pass by the store, but the Closed sign is on, so I drive on home, wondering what I’ll do if Candy is there.

  Lose it like a motherfucker, probably.

  Which makes me glad there’s only Jet when I enter the apartment. He’s in the bathroom, hands braced on the sink, shirtless, only clad in his briefs. He meets my gaze in the mirror, and it roots me to the spot.

  Anger. Sadness. Misery. Despair.

  Fuck, he knows. Now it makes sense why Candy isn’t here with him. I can picture it in my head—Jet seeing the picture, the comments, confronting her.

  I have no fucking clue why there’s a heaviness in my chest, or why my eyes ache. I’m so fucking angry, dammit. So fucking mad.

  And horny.

  There’s no conscious thought involved. I grab Jet and turn him around, push him back against the sink and slam my mouth on his.

  He reaches for me, kissing me back like he’s punishing me, and that’s good. I need that. He’s all lips and tongue and teeth and stubble, his hands threatening to break my bones where they’re gripping my biceps.

  I push, and he pushes back. We wrestle in the bathroom, hitting one wall, then the other, until I manage to pin him against the shower stall. I push a knee between his legs, and in return he bites my lower lip so hard I’m pretty sure it’s bleeding. He yanks me to his chest, thrusts his tongue deep inside my mouth.

  Rough and angry and desperate, like me.

  His hands slip down my sides to my pants. They find my zipper and open it. I do the same for him, and we fumble with our underwear until we grip each other’s dick, rough, hot hands on rock-hard cocks.

  But that’s not enough.

  I push his hands away. He struggles against me, and I shove him back so hard his head hits the wall.

  “Fuck,” he whispers.

  I pull down his briefs and kneel at his feet with my hand on his cock.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” He glances down at me, tries to pull back.

  “Stop fighting me, Jet.”

  “You’re the one who’s been fighting this.”

  “Then let me have you.”

  He stills, his eyes wide. “Hell, I’m yours, J. Always was. But—”

  “Good.” I lap at his cock, tasting him for the first time and he jerks in my hold.

  “Fuck…”

  I suck him in, taking him as deep as I can, and he groans, a deep, needy sound. Both his hands land on my head, tangling in my hair.

  So this is what a man tastes like, I think, licking at his salty bitterness. What Jet tastes like. I tried my own cum once, but wasn’t crazy about it.

  Jet, though… Dark, musky, salty, strong like booze. His taste turns my dick to diamond. He jerks on my hair, the sting of pain another jolt straight to my gut, making my balls heavy. I suck him harder, deeper, drawing a long moan from him.

  He’s staring down at me, his eyes round and black with arousal. I curl my fingers around the thick base of his cock, tugging in time to my lips sucking him, and lift my other hand to his balls, wanting to feel them.

  They’re drawn up and heavy. Full.

  His dick twitches, and more saltiness floods my mouth. I drag my tongue on the underside of his cock, and he gasps, his legs trembling.

  Then he’s coming with a shout down my throat, and I barely manage to swallow his load and wipe my mouth before he slides down the stall to land on his ass on the floor.

  “Hell,” he whispers. “Goddamn.”

  And I return to reality, on the bathroom floor, on my knees, with the taste of Jet’s cum in my mouth.

  What the hell am I doing? Have I lost it completely? Didn’t I come here to talk with Jet about that damn blog and Candy? Without Candy, why was I kissing Jet, going down on him?

  “J?”

  I shrug Jet’s arm off me, push to my feet and stagger out of the bathroom, pulling up my pants. Jet is calling my name, but I don’t stop. I stumble into my bedroom, take off my shirt and shrug on a clean Tee, then I grab my jacket, my wallet and my car keys and walk back out.

  When I enter the living room, though, Jethro is leaning against the wall, naked, eyes dark and dangerous, and Jesus fuck, my mouth waters at the sight of him and my heart starts pounding harder.

  This isn’t normal. This is sick, and I have to stop. Stop looking and touching and thinking about him that way, about the three of us.

  There is no “three of us” anymore. Not without Candy.

  Fuck, I need to clear my head.

  “Where are you going, J?” he asks, his voice low and raspy, and I stop at the door. Lean against it, my hand on the handle, my thoughts a jumble.

  “Out.”

  He shakes his head, says nothing more, and I glare at him, although I’m not sure how this is his fault, right before I open the door and bolt.

  ***

  The night air is crisp. I zip up my jacket and thrust my hands in my pockets, walking briskly down the street toward my car. My first thought is to run, put my head down against the sharp breeze and race until my lungs give out and my mind falls quiet.

  My chest feels too full. My head aches, too much rattling inside. Shame. Anger. Desire. Sadness.

  Fear.

  I don’t want Jet. It’s not him who turns me on. It’s Candy. He’s just familiar. He’s my friend. I’m comfortable with him.

  Everything’s fine.

  Then why do the same damn feelings keep churning over and over again, making me feel sick? I reach my car, unlock it and slip inside, fighting the urge to bang my head against the steering wheel.

  I think of calling Evie, but decide against it. Not sure what I can tell her. How to explain the problem, or what she can do. Besides, she’ll tell me everything’s fine.

  And it’s fucking not.

  I start the car and head into traffic, driving aimlessly through the night. The urge to run is still there, but I didn’t think to grab my running shoes when I rushed out of the apartment, so that’s out of the question now.

  A thought strikes me. I have an old pair of running shoes at my parents’ apartment. I’ll pass by, say hi, pick the shoes up and then drive somewhere where I can let loose this pressure, this oppressive energy that’s filling me up.

  I’m on autopilot as I drive south, turn onto the familiar street and park, telling myself it’s the cold that has my skin feeling so tight over my bones. I lock up, use the keys I still have to enter the building, and jog up the stairs.

  Dunno why I’m keeping the keys. Dad, who gave them to me back when I was starting college, never asked for them back, but it’s not like I visit often. My folks and I, we don’t exactly see eye to eye. I mean, they’re okay. They never mistreated me or anything. In fact, they’ve always made it clear they’re proud of me and that they’re there for me, but…

  The sound of too loud TV hits me first as I unlock, after ringing the bell a few times for good measure. Baseball. It’s always been either that or the fitness programs Mom watches.

  “Hey, Dad.” I step inside, shut the door behind me. It’s so weird, finding myself back here. It’s as if years start falling off me with every step I take, sliding off me like raindrops. By the time I reach dad’s armchair, I’m a kid again, unsure and clumsy.

  There’s an itch between my shoulder blades—or maybe it’s under my skin. The urge to turn around and leave hits m
e.

  I plant my feet more firmly on the floor. “Dad.”

  He waves a hand at me. “Look what the cat dragged in. Joel. Come sit down.”

  I hesitate. “You’re busy.” And drunk. He has quite the collection of beer bottles on the coffee table, and his eyes are red and glassy. He always gets drunk when Mom’s not home. Not even Evie knows that, but he used to insist we do this together—watch sports and drink.

  Bonding experience, he called it.

  “Never busy for my only son,” he says and waves me over again.

  I cross the room and take a seat in the armchair across from him. “Where’s Mom?”

  “At the gym, with her friends. Got tired of waiting for you to show up.”

  “Dad—”

  “About time you remembered your family, or did you think to wait until our funeral to come by?” He thumps his fist on the armrest, glowering. “Since that lowlife bastard moved in with you, we never get to see you anymore. Bad enough that your sister chose to move in with a street bum…”

  “Evie’s boyfriend is a good guy.”

  “Bullshit. He’s a good for nothing who used to live on the street.” He sighs, then slides a beer toward me. “Here.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Suit yourself.” He tsks.

  I know what he’s telling me. What he has always told me. A good son, a real man, would watch baseball and get wasted with him. Even though I finished my degree and got a job at a respectable company, a job he wanted me to get, it’s not enough.

  Never enough.

  “Look at them, playing like faggots!” He waves his beer bottle at the TV, his attention riveted back to the game. “Pussies, all of them. I bet they rub each other’s dicks afterward. Goddamn pansies.”

  “What did they do now?”

  “Do? Nothing, that’s what. They’re doing nothing. That’s how faggots are. A fucking disease. Degenerates, good for nothing.”

  “Who says they’re faggots?” The word sticks in my mouth, but I force it out. I suck in a breath.

  “Have to be, to play like that. Look at them, throwing themselves all over one another. Disgusting faggot bitches.”

  My heart is hammering. “That’s just how the game is, Dad.”