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Say what? I stare at her words. Had I left the story at such a point? J-Two is Jethro, and Jethro was about to fuck Joel? Really?
In the serial, Jethro is aggressive. Loud. Touchy-feely.
And J-One, that is, Joel, is more reserved, quieter, but he’s also the one who keeps pushing Jethro to sleep with him, and me, to try new things, new positions.
But… that’s not how they are.
I mean, sure Jethro likes to throw his arm over Joel’s shoulders, especially when someone is taking a photo, grinning like a maniac—but in real life, he’s the quiet one. He’s the artist who draws comics and struggles with reading. The one who holds my hand when we walk in the street.
And Joel likes to be in control. He also likes books. And history. And taking care of Jethro. Of both of us.
“You’re gone again?” Fist-shaking emoji. “Candy?”
“Here.” After a moment, I add a tongue-sticking emoji. “Thinking.”
“That why you vanished? What happened with the fantasy boyfriends?”
That’s the thing, though, isn’t it? They aren’t a fantasy anymore.
They also aren’t my boyfriends. Are they?
“They’re well.” Evasive maneuvers in process. “Awesome.”
“What did you do?”
Uh oh. Failure in my evasive maneuvers. “Nothing.”
“You had sex with them.”
Did I mention before that Connie knows me better than I know myself? Well, I lied. She has taken over my brain and is apparently conducting experiments. She can read my thoughts and rewind my memories for better viewing.
What I did with the boys tonight… their cocks pounding into me… their hands all over me… holy shit. My pussy—and my ass—twinge both in pain and pleasure, and heat spreads in my belly.
“You did. You let both of them fuck you, didn’t you?”
See? Told you.
“At the same time? Candy, answer me.”
Why? She already knows everything. I push away from the laptop, in case the flames licking my face set it on fire.
“Candace Riley. Get your fingers on the keyboard and answer me, dammit.” Angry emojis line the screen. “You can’t leave your bestie out of the loop!”
No. I can’t. Can’t confirm it, in case I jinx it and never see the boys again.
Who am I kidding? I already jinxed it.
“I ran away,” I type slowly, and the words I’m typing make no sense to me.
What have I done?
“Ran away? Why? From where? When?”
“From them. Tonight.”
“Whyyyyyyyyyyyyy?”
I stare at her question. Because I’m stupid? Because I was spooked—by what I revealed, by the intensity of my feelings, by the amazing sex?
