Candy Kiss Read online

  Candy Kiss

  Cameron Riley

  Copyright © 2017 by Cameron Riley

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. This book contains sexually explicit content which is suitable only for mature adults.

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  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

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  Prologue

  Do all guys go weak at the knees?

  Elliot couldn’t speak for all men, but every time he looked directly into Draven’s dark, green eyes, he usually needed to sit down or steel himself against something. Now he was in a better position, however, he was kneeling. He sat beside Draven, who laid on the bed, grinning with anticipation. Rough hands gripped Elliot’s hips, he rubbed his naked balls over Draven’s steel-like abs. A stiff cock pressed into his tailbone.

  “Jesus Christ, you’re fucking killing me,” Draven said to him. “I fucking need you.” He caressed Elliot’s thigh, took hold of his erection and began stroking it through the narrow piece of fabric, which drove Elliot wild.

  “Oh my fucking God,” he breathed, arching up he threw his head back and moaned. “That feels good, really good. Keep touching me like that.” Strong calloused hands ran their way up his back, biceps flexed as arms wrapped around him, and then pulled him downwards so that his mouth dropped down on top of the biker’s hot lips. Shit, Elliot leaked more precum as their abs squashed his cock.

  Every time he kissed Draven, it was like rediscovering how beautiful the other man’s mouth was, exploring pleasure, fear, and excitement in an instant. Draven’s full lips parted as he panted raggedly.

  As they parted, he kissed a trail down Draven’s chiseled body, pressing his lips into the man’s warm flesh, he inhaled deeply, and that’s when Draven’s scent hit him.- A heavenly, musky scent, powerful and male that he drew deep into his lungs, becoming hopelessly addicted to every breath. Needing more, Elliot licked around one of Draven’s dark nipples and pinched the other with his hand, using his fingertips to graze and tease it.

  He closed his eyes as Draven ran a hand over his ass, the man’s fingers sunk into his buttocks and gripped it firmly. Then he felt a finger at his hole, playfully circling the rim, prodding at his entrance, drawing all the heat of his body and sending pleasure zinging down his nerve endings with the pad of his finger. And even though he was expecting it, Elliot couldn’t brace himself for what happened next.

  He relaxed as he felt Draven insert his hot finger into him, pushing past the tight ring of muscles with explicit slowness. Another finger jammed into him, working its way into him, coaxing a borderline-painful, powerful jolt through his body.

  Elliot fought to control his breathing as two fingers nestled inside him, it was deep and filling and satisfying. Minutes passed of breathy gasps as he wiggled himself onto the long fingers. Elliot tried to suppress a moan. He failed. Draven stroked his taint - the fucker never left any stone unturned.

  Elliot let out a loud groan, contracting around the fingers thrusting into him with such intensity that he thought he lost himself to the waves of pleasure. Soon the pain disappeared and he was filled with pleasure. He was vaguely aware of the words that oozed out of his mouth, two choked syllables rising from his throat as he cried out Draven’s name.

  What’s happening? My body is on fire.

  The next few minutes were essentially Elliot being tossed by the force of the orgasm that rocked his body. He came on Draven’s stomach.

  An arm like a steel bar folded around his waist, wide-set shoulders rose to meet him, corded forearms and bulging biceps ensnared him; he was soon surrounded by the gorgeous scent of the only man he wanted. Draven’s mouth clamped over him.

  Everything about Draven was hot, fierce and frighteningly intense. He was the sort of guy that Elliot had been taught to steer clear of, avoid making eye contact with and never speak to. Yet, he was Elliot’s first kiss, his first love and now they were about to fuck, and not for the first time. The first time Elliot let Draven take his virginity, he wasn’t prepared to get his daylights fucked out. Elliot hoped he was prepared this time.

  All he wanted was Draven.

  He released a delirious breath and gasped for air, lightheaded and dizzy. He was assaulted by a tsunami of conflicting emotions. Whenever in Draven’s presence, he felt torn between red-hot attraction and icy fear.

  Elliot was enjoying the steady humming vibrations throughout his body when a slap on his ass snapped him out of it.

  “I wanna fuck you,” Draven growled.

  Just hearing those words stirred Elliot’s arousal up and he was hard again. As he shifted to climb off Draven, blood circulation returned to his fingertips and he could feel again. During his orgasm, he gripped onto Draven’s pecs so tight that his fingers went numb.

  Elliot got into the position that made him feel most comfortable - on all fours with his head turned to the side, relaxing on the pillow. It was the position that was safe for both of them, he wanted to feel dominated and yield absolute control to Draven. He loved getting smacked on the ass and held firmly while feeling Draven’s large manhood thrust into him.

  The one thing he never wanted was intimacy. It was okay when Draven took charge, the man could take Elliot out of his comfort zone anytime. Everything about Draven was out of Elliot’s comfort zone. That was perfectly fine. Draven had the power to bring him back. However, if Elliot shared how he really felt toward Draven, what he really wanted, it would be dangerous for both of them. Elliot was inclined toward intimacy, it was his world, but the problem was that if he took Draven into his world, he wasn’t sure if he could bring him back.

  A member of an outlaw motorcycle club, Draven didn’t do intimacy, he was lust and power and sexiness incarnate.

  I don’t love him. How can I love him?

  “Fuck, me, Draven. Fuck me!”

  Chapter 1

  Draven

  “I know a fuck-up when I see one and you’re a real screwball, you know that?” Warden Clarkson sat across from Draven with his fingers clasped in the form of an X. He was a lean, pale man whose fixed grin had something of a permanent quality to it. “You were sentenced to six years for aggravated assault and battery.”

  The office was cold, double-windowed against the August heat, insulated from sounds of prison life outside of the room. Two prison administrators sat on either side of Clarkson and two prison guards stood behind Draven.

  Draven sat calm and cool with his hands in his lap. He thought about Michael, his boyfriend, and how he wanted to screw him the moment he got out of this hell. It had been three years, two months and thirteen days since he’d breathed the air of a freedom, since he’d worn his MC patches and since he’d had a good fuck.

  From the moment he was brought into this place, he had his pick of every kind of ass he could have desired, skinny, muscular and firm, they were practically lining up to be the vice president of Devil’s Sons. Bu
t he had a boyfriend on the outside and one thing that Draven was known for was his fierce loyalty. Once he was in love with someone or something, he was fully committed.

  “The idea that you, a member of Devil’s Sons, the boy of Creed Lawson, can make a positive contribution to society, is a joke,” Warden Clarkson sneered.

  Draven stared into the Warden’s eyes and he saw that behind the suit, glasses and authoritative exterior sat a man who was terrified of him. Draven couldn’t care less. He just wanted his freedom. He wanted to ride again, to hold his lover again and to live a life where he wasn’t told when to sleep and shower.

  He caught himself staring into the Warden’s eyes and looked away. The Warden smiled at the feeling of power this must have given him. Draven felt nothing. He didn’t want to rub the man the wrong way. He was out in five days so he needed to be extra careful not to fuck things up. The wrong decision and they wouldn’t hesitate to slap another year onto his sentence.

  “You know what I don’t get about you, Draven?” Clarkson asked, leaning closer.

  “No, sir,” Draven said.

  “You’ve been here with your old man for three years and I haven’t had any reports of the two of you ever speaking. I mean, he’s serving a life sentence. You could have at least paid him a visit every now and then.”

  “You’re right, sir,” Draven said. He always suspected that the Warden kept tabs on him, hearing it from the man’s mouth not only confirmed his suspicions but meant that his dad made the right decision when he sent a message to Draven on his first day, telling him to stay away from.

  “But you still didn’t see him? That’s why I say that you’re a bit twisted up here.” Clarkson made a crazy in the head gesture. “Since the moment you stepped foot in here, you haven’t been in any fights, you haven’t made any friends, you’ve barely spoken more than two words to your fellow inmates. What’s going through that head of yours, I wonder?”

  Draven knew exactly how to respond to the Warden. He said nothing. He resolved to appear neutral, maybe even cool, not wanting to give too much or too little of himself to the men in the room. He heard whispers about inmates going crazy when their release was denied or when they were given a few extra months. Draven wasn’t about to give them the luxury of seeing him vulnerable.

  “I would have liked it if you’d stayed here longer, but as it turns out you’re due for release on Wednesday. Well, I have good news for you, Lawson…” Clarkson stopped and looked at him expectantly, hoping to inspire a change in Draven’s expression. But when he barely reacted, Clarkson cleared his throat and flushed red. It was the hardest fucking thing for Draven to keep his face straight.

  Clarkson continued. “...we’re going to be releasing you tomorrow. Now, isn’t that great?”

  Draven waited. He wasn’t sure how to respond, so he just sat and listened. He never let down his defenses.

  “You’ll get the chance to call someone to take you home. And of course, it goes without saying that you’ll stay away from your biker thugs?”

  “Yes, sir,” Draven said.

  “Good. If it were completely in my hands, I would have you rot in here with your dad, but it’s not, which is such a shame. But then again, Lawson, I look at you and see your old man and I just know that you’ll be back here in no time.” Clarkson smirked.

  Draven flew across the table and slammed his fist into the warden’s face before the guards were able to stop him. It felt great. It felt worth it. He closed his eyes, savoring the warden’s squeal of pain. It was worth every second of every hour that he would spend in solitary confinement. Every month of every year that he would spend in prison.

  He opened his eyes. The place was quiet. Clarkson still sat in the same place with all of his teeth in place. Draven would have loved to carry out his fantasy, but he knew better, it would have cost him big and it would have been playing right into the warden’s hands.

  “Take him back to his cell,” Clarkson said.

  Chapter 2

  Draven

  Six men on six motorcycles were waiting for Draven as he left the prison. They were all in jackets, some sleeveless, all tattooed and most with long hair. One of the men hopped off a Harley and Draven climbed onto it and fired up the engine. It roared to life.

  “How does it feel?” asked Hunter, who was older and bulkier than Draven. Yet, he was never one to hide his admiration for Draven.

  “Beautiful,” Draven said with a grin. “It’s been too long, brother. But they couldn’t keep me inside there.”

  “How’s Vicious holding up?” Hunter asked. Vicious was how club members identified Draven’s dad. He’d been inside for thirty years after he killed the leader of Nine Gate, another club, who were their bitter rivals at the time. Most of the new recruits only knew of Vicious as a legendary president of the Devil’s Son, but Hunter was old enough to have known him personally.

  “I never spoke to him directly,” Draven said.

  “So, the rumors were true. Shit, that must have been tough,” Hunter said.

  “They were on me 24/7,” Draven said. “I couldn’t slip. But it’s true, my old man runs that place. We’ve got enough brothers in there.”

  “Figures,” Hunter said. “It took a while to weed out the rats.”

  They sat for a few more minutes. Draven felt the powerful engine beneath him and he could feel himself regaining control again. Three years inside, playing the quiet, detached inmate, but an inmate whom everyone knew not to fuck with, had been difficult. Even though guards and inmates alike stayed clear of him in order to secure his freedom, Draven had to tolerate them. Tolerate how they circled him, lying in wait, hoping that he would make the wrong move. That they would be the one to shank Vicious’s son, the vice president of Devil’s Sons. Or there were the other types of inmates with their fawning affection, their fake friendships and the favors, which were all declined. He was no fool.

  Sweat pooled along his collarbone, trickled down his back and soaked his shirt. Before them was the vast bowl of emptiness, stillness and shimmering heat that was the California desert. Waves of white heat stretched off into the horizon, baking the landscape from the blazing sun that poured brightness in every direction.

  “I can’t wait to get back to Good Hope,” Draven said, thinking of his boyfriend. “Let’s ride.”

  And with that, they took off, and then it all came back to him. The heat, speed, thrust, the roar of their engines as they shot across the flats and hit 300 miles an hour. He needed Michael’s touch, and then he would truly know that he was back.

  Chapter 3

  Draven

  “Goddamn it, Draven, you tryna sneak up on me or something?” Michael whirled around and jabbed a finger at his face.

  “Surprise, babe,” Draven said and handed his boyfriend the bouquet of flowers that he grabbed before he came. Michael’s front door had been open when Draven arrived. It couldn’t be overstated that some things never changed in Good Hope. It was a close-knit community, located in San Joaquin, a town where people all knew each other, therefore, locking the front door was almost offensive at times.

  Michael tossed the flowers aside, threw his arms around Draven, and kissed him hungrily. Draven’s chest blossomed with excitement. This was the reception he’d hoped for over the three years. He picked Michael, the smaller man, up on his toes. As they wrapped their arms around each other, hearts thumping wildly in their chests, Draven heard Michael whispering in between his kisses.

  “Eff me, eff me here on the countertop, I'm still your dirty little bitch,” Michael said. Sweeping his hand over the surface, he sent dirty plates, cans, and cutlery crashing to the floor, just so he could sit on the surface.

  Draven shook his head at Michael’s impulsiveness. Just twenty-one, Michael was the craziest, most self-centered and unstable guy he knew. He could be the warmest, most loving guy one minute and a cold, heartless, backstabbing bitch the next.

  He undid the button on his jeans, threw his knife on the tab
le, yanked his pants off, then shucked his boxers down and his erection sprang up. Draven suddenly felt as if a dam had burst, and all of his pent-up lust flooded him, threatening to overwhelm him. Draven was six-foot-three, so as he fell onto his knees, he found himself level with Michael’s cock. He was desperate for it.

  He took Michael’s small cock between his fingers and felt the warmth of the other man’s erection in his palms. Closing his eyes, he could have cried tears of joy. Night after night of jerking off in his cell just to bring himself pleasure, trying to hold the image of Michael in his mind as he masturbated and the feeling of emptiness after he came. He didn’t know how he survived prison without Michael’s cock.

  A hand gripped his hair.

  “Beg me for it,” Michael said with a smirk. Impish was the perfect way to describe his naughty expression whenever he teased Draven during sex.

  “Fuck you, I take what I want,” Draven said, gazing up into Michael’s dazzling brown eyes. “Get naked.”

  Michael slowly peeled off his shirt and allowed Draven’s eyes to feast on the sight of the man’s sexy, lithe frame, his taut nipples that he missed sucking and the tiny hairs on his chest.

  “You happy now?” Michael asked.

  “For now,” Draven said, lowering his gaze back down to the straining erection in his hand. He was ready to give it his full attention, and he went right to it, delivering a single lick to the slit. The reaction this got out of Michael made Draven smile. The other man squirmed and hissed. A string of precum stretched from Draven’s tongue to the tip of Michael’s cock.