Special Delivery: Special Delivery, Book 1 (34 page)

Randy lifted an eyebrow at his best friend. “Want to go have your cigarette now?”

Mitch settled into his chair. “I like to watch.”

Randy faltered, but Sam grabbed his hand and dragged him to the floor. “Come
on
. I want to dance.”

They did dance, until the music paused for an amateur strip show, which they all enjoyed, Sam especially when Mitch leaned over and said he thought that was a good idea for later. He kept imagining he was the one up there, taking off his clothes for the crowd. He knew he wasn’t ready for it in real life, but it was still fun to pretend.

He ended up on Randy’s lap at some point, which meant before long Randy’s hands wandered over him, and after a few more drinks, he tugged at Sam’s T-shirt to remove it, and Sam let him. Randy slipped his hands into Sam’s waistband, undid his pants and soon Sam’s T-shirt was a flimsy camouflage for the hand job Randy gave him right there in the middle of the bar. Sam tipped his head against Randy’s shoulder, watching Mitch watching him be fondled. Mitch’s eyes had gone dark, and Sam realized at the house things would get even more interesting. The thought made him harder, and he forgot people were probably watching, forgot that technically if the bouncer caught them they’d be in big trouble, and he made soft, breathy sounds as he closed his eyes and let Randy take him away.

“I’m going to slip out and have a cigarette,” Mitch said, “and then we can go.”

Sam, much as he enjoyed what was happening to him, wanted to go now. But when he suggested to Randy that they follow him and let him smoke on the way, Randy shook his head.

“‘I’m going to have a cigarette’ is Mitch code for ‘I need to think’. Unless he’s driving, he makes sure he does it alone most of the time.” Randy traced his tongue along the outside of Sam’s ear. “A lot of the time it’s because he’s nervous. Right now, I think he’s planning.”

“Planning?” Sam’s belly flexed as Randy’s hand cradled his balls.

“What we’re going to do with you.” Randy’s finger moved lower, teasing at Sam’s entrance. “This has all been a warm-up to the big game, Peaches. You’re going to be the plaything of two men. You ready, baby?”

If Sam were more ready, he’d blow up. “You—you’ve done this a lot? Taking home a guy, and sharing him?”

Randy’s tongue explored Sam’s ear. “There’s a difference between taking home a guy from a bar and someone like you, who we know. A trick is just a fuck. But with you, Sam—shit, honey, we’ve been fucking you, and each other, all night.” His free hand stopped tracing Sam’s nipple to stroke his hair. “Head games. Jockeying to see who’s on top—metaphorically, but I suppose technically too.”

“Who won?” Sam let his legs fall farther open so Randy could reach him better.

Randy’s chuckle made his body tingle. “You did, Peaches.”

Sam frowned. “But I didn’t want to win.”

“I know.” Randy nipped at his nose. “That’s what’s throwing the game.”

Why did it have to be a game at all? “I want— I like when you guys tell me what to do. When you do things to me.”

“Then that’s what will happen.”

“But—”

“Open your legs and hook them over my knees.”

The command in Randy’s voice caught at Sam. He gentled and complied. When Randy’s finger pressed against his hole, he bit his lip and relaxed as Randy carefully entered him.

“If I had lube,” Randy whispered, “I’d push harder into you. I’d fuck you right here for everyone to see.” Sam gasped, and Randy sucked briefly on his earlobe. “If people asked what I was doing, I’d tell them. I’d ask them if they wanted to watch.” His finger pressed a little deeper. “You’d lie here, sprawled like a whore, and you’d let them.” He kissed Sam’s cheek and his jaw with lewd, wet kisses that left his skin damp. “You want that, don’t you, Peaches. You want to be my whore. You want to be a whore for Mitch and me together. You want us to use you, all night. You want what we did in the bathroom at the Paris and you want it to keep going. You want us to make you feel dirty, don’t you, Sam?”

Sam, who had been lost since
sprawled like a whore
, gasped open-mouthed against Randy’s neck. “Yes.”

“Then we’re going to give it to you.” Randy thrust into Sam. “He’s coming back now, and we’ll go to the house. Open your eyes and look at him, and let him see what you want. He knows where my hand is. Show him how much you love it when he sees you being used.”

They were all the right words, all the secrets Sam had written on the darkest parts of his heart, but that only made it all the more terrifying to lift his head, open his eyes and see Mitch coming toward them. He wanted to be apprehensive, to hold back, to not let him see, but he knew Mitch wouldn’t let him see his lust until he saw Sam enjoyed it too. So he did his best to let go, to do what Randy told him and let Mitch see, let him see what Randy’s masturbating did to him, what it made him feel, to let him see how dirty and depraved he truly wanted to be.

He saw the dark light in Mitch’s face, saw his own lust, his own depravity, feeding off Sam’s.

Randy’s finger stilled and left him, and then his hand tucked Sam into his pants and did up the fly.

They led Sam out together, which was good because he was in a complete sexual coma. He was still without his shirt, vulnerable and naked and therefore even more turned on as they wove their way through the crowd, Mitch in front, Sam in the middle, Randy at the rear. Sam felt the eyes of others on him sometimes, and he wondered if they knew, if people sat at tables thinking,
those three will go have sex now.
He wondered if people cared. He thought about Middleton, or tried to, but his hometown and all the guilt and shame it telegraphed were far away in so many ways. It didn’t matter, not now. Nothing mattered. Only this.

The walk to their garage was long, and Sam felt even more naked walking shirtless on the street. He let himself be aware of people they passed, saw their judgment, their appreciation and their indifference. Even when he saw a group of men make faces and mouth
fag
at him, he didn’t fear, not with this crowd, and not with Randy and Mitch around him. Especially with Mitch. He worried a little as they went into the garage, worried the men would follow, but they didn’t, and the next thing he knew Randy nudged him into the truck. But Randy didn’t follow. Instead, he stood at the door and said, “Take off your pants.”

“What?” Sam stilled halfway across the seat.

“Your pants,” Randy repeated. “Your jeans. Take them off. I want to molest you on the way home.”

The thought of riding through Las Vegas naked while Mitch and Randy fondled him, fully clothed, was heady. But his mind raced ahead and found the flaw. “The parking ramp attendant will see. I can’t.”

“Put your shirt over your crotch.” Randy made a hurry-up gesture. “Come on, Peaches.”

Sam turned to Mitch, who regarded him impassively. “I can’t,” he whispered.

Mitch said nothing.

Randy took hold of Sam’s belt loop.

“
Violet.
”

Mitch’s hand came across the seat, staying Randy’s. “That’s a no.”

Randy blinked. “Good to know.” He let go of Sam and slid in beside him. Mitch did too.

Sam’s heart beat in his ears as Mitch pulled out onto the street. He hadn’t thought about it, he’d simply shouted, and he still reeled from that while the others easily accepted the end to the game. Sam was relieved but confused. Were they done? Had he wrecked it? He shifted in his seat, feeling awkward and remorseful.

Randy watched him. “Is this his first time using the safe word?”

“Just once before,” Mitch confessed.

This seemed to flummox Randy. “Have you played that tame?”

Mitch took a second to answer. “Sam gets off on a different kind of domination. Some humiliation, yeah, but inside his own head. He doesn’t want it from other people.”

Sam quieted at this, rolling the words around in his mind. They were true. He’d just never thought of it that way before.

Mitch was talking again. “Though, yeah. Mostly, we’ve been tame by your standards, Skeet.”

Sam turned to him. “You didn’t need to be. I—I would have done more. I will too.”

Mitch rubbed his chin. Then, with some reluctance, he reached for his cigarettes and lit one before he answered. “I was being tame for me.”

“Oh.” Sam felt shame creeping up like a frost.

“No, Peaches. That’s my fault.” Randy sank into his seat. “Well, what now?”

Mitch smoked a little and shrugged. “That’s up to you.”

Randy made a bitter noise through his nose. “Please. I’m not in charge.”

They were speaking in some sort of code, and it was driving Sam crazy. “What’s going on?”

Mitch said nothing, only continued to smoke. Randy sat quietly at first but finally swore under his breath. “Fuck. Fine, but if you want your five minutes of honesty, you pay for it. I’ll swap you your previously mentioned blowjob for some answers.”

Sam thought it sounded kind of fucked, but he wanted to hear this. Plus, sex would get them out of this weirdness and back to where he wanted to be. “Okay.”

Randy stared out the window as he spoke. “What’s going on is that the last few times Mitch and I did this, it went badly. He started liking the third guys we introduced, and I fucked it up every time.”

“It wasn’t exactly that.” Mitch flicked his cigarette ash out the window. “I made some of my own mess. And we rigged the outcome by the guys we were picking. They couldn’t handle it, and we knew it.”

“Oh, so you tell me all this now, after I’ve stewed in my own guilt for two years?”

Mitch shrugged. “You had some of it coming.”

Randy seemed somewhat chagrined. “Fair point.”

This was still confusing, but definitely more interesting. “So what did you guys do to them?”

“Same thing as you,” Randy said. “Took them out, fucked with their heads, brought them back, fucked their asses.”

“What did you do that was weird?” Sam turned to Mitch. “Why don’t you want to do it anymore?”

Mitch said nothing, just kept smoking.

“Because if he has to choose,” Randy said reluctantly, and with no small amount of disdain, “he’ll choose ‘emotional connection over kinky sex’. That’s a direct quote.”

Sam tried to digest this, but it didn’t make sense. “But—Mitch, when we met, the first thing you did was fuck me in the back of your trailer.”

Mitch pushed the spent end of the Winston out the window and reached for another one. “I thought you were asking
him
questions.”

“I want to know whether or not we’re about to blow everything up.”

Randy snorted. “Well, see, you’re a conundrum. You’re both. You’re kinky and emotional at once. But how far, with both? What will happen to you if we take you too far? Will you hate him? Will you decide you like me better?”

“No,” Sam said emphatically.

Randy sighed. “Yes. But you still might reject him, if he’s the one who takes you too far. And he doesn’t want that.”

“You can shut up anytime, Randy,” Mitch growled.

“Did you ever think, Old Man, that maybe we’d have encountered less trouble if we’d had this conversation with the others?”

“If we’d said half this shit to any of the others, they’d have fucking jumped out of the truck.”

“Yeah, and what does that tell you?”

Sam glared at them both. “Do I need to be here for this conversation?”

“You
are
this conversation.” Randy glanced at the clock on the dash. “You have one more minute of truth. Use it wisely, Peaches.”

Sam turned to Mitch. “Do you want to forget this? Do you want to call it off? Because I don’t want to do this if you don’t want to.”

He glared at Sam. “So you’re going to ask
me
all the questions and give
him
the blowjob?”

Sam leaned into him. “Please, Mitch.”

Mitch drew on his cigarette and tossed an angry glare at Randy. “You want to answer this one for me too?”

“Sure,” Randy said, but there was no malice in his tone. “He wants this. He wants this so much it scares him. But mostly he wants you.” He sighed. “He needs this, the three of us tonight, more than either you or I want this. And it scares him to death.”

They pulled into the drive of the house. Sam stared at Mitch while he put the truck in park and turned the ignition off. “Is that true?”

Do you really want me? Do you need this the same as I need this with you?

Mitch stared back at him, his poker face down, his expression as naked as it had been the night of the storm. “Yes.”

Sam’s heart swelled, and he took Mitch’s hand. “I need it too.”

“You two,” Randy said from behind him, “make me ill.”

No we don’t.
We make you jealous.
Sam realized how little time he had left with Mitch, and he found he was jealous too. He wanted more. He wanted this to go on forever. But maybe that was part of the magic, because their time together was so brief.

Would it make a difference if they didn’t finish this game? Would it change him in the way Randy hinted if he did? Would it be more kinky sex? Would he be more or less able to stay with Mitch if he did this? Was this that important? Or was it simply sex?