Candy Boys (Hot Candy 1)

My brain starts to short-circuit.

“Candy…” She’s pressed against me, soft curves and sweet smell, and thin arms snug around my shoulders, and I can’t remember what am I supposed to say, and why I was trying to pull away. “Hell.”

“Tell me,” she demands, holding me down with her slight weight, and Christ, it feels damn good.

“Tell you what?” I breathe, my eyes glued to her lips and the way her tits are mashed to my side.

“What happened yesterday? Was it Donna asking for the diploma? Was that a problem? I was worried, Jethro. And so was Joel.”

My brows draw together. “He shouldn’t. You shouldn’t. I’m okay.”

Her hand drifts to the back of my neck, and it’s like electric currents connect that spot to my dick. I shudder when she squeezes. “Let me help.”

“You can’t.”

“You don’t know that. You only have to tell me why—”

“You can’t.” I shake myself out of my daze, hard dick or not. “You just can’t.”

“What happened? Why did you leave? If it’s something I said, I’ll—”

“Goddammit, Candy, I never finished school.”

It’s quiet, except for a few cars driving by. My head aches, a dull pain beating on the back of my eyes, in my temples.

I can hear her soft gasp as my words sink in, as they sink into my consciousness, too, and fuck, did I really say them out loud? I’m panting, my lungs working overtime. There’s not enough oxygen.

Fucking shit.

She doesn’t ask me if I’m kidding. She has to see I’m serious. Hell, my jaw is clenched so tight my teeth ache.

She’s silent for a while, resting her cheek on my shoulder, and gradually I relax in her hold. My hands slide up her back, crushing her to me, until we’re meshed together, holding on to each other.

My breathing eases out.

“I’m working on my GED,” I say against her neck—fighting the urge to lick her skin, taste her—“but I’m not ready. Need some more time. Didn’t think anyone would ask for it so soon.”

“Need any help with anything?” she asks, and I draw a breath, aware my mind is about to rebel at this show of concern. That I’ll push her away and start kicking at things.

But nothing happens. Another breath, and she’s still holding me, and it’s like a drug, her warmth, her body touching mine.

“I’m good at math and science. But I…” I close my eyes. “I have some trouble

with English. Literature.” I snort softly, suddenly amused at how fucking ridiculous this sounds. “Books. I have trouble with books. Hell.”

“You have trouble with what—reading?” She lifts her head to give me a wide-eyed stare. “You serious?”

“Deadly.” I fight the heat about to flood my face. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“I should never have applied for this job.”

“Why did you?”

I shake my head. Tell myself to shut up. But I can’t. “To see you again.”

Her hand lifts to my face, trails over my jaw, my mouth. My dick hardens, the jeans too restrictive. “It’s my fault.”