Special Delivery: Special Delivery, Book 1 (35 page)

The only way to know was to do it and find out.

Sam touched Mitch’s cheek. “I want you to stop holding back. I want you to show me what you want to do to me. I want you to look at me like you did in the bathroom. I want to be your object—for the game. I want to be there because I feel safe with you.” He turned to Randy. “And with you.” He took Mitch’s hand. “But I want you to show me everything you want. I want it raw and almost scary. I promise to tell you if it’s too far—
before
it goes too far.”

Mitch kissed him gently. Then he looked Sam in the eye and said, “Take out Randy’s cock and put it in your mouth.”

Sam kept his eyes down until he saw Randy’s waist. He eyed the bulge there, small but growing. He reached for it, glancing up at Randy, but Randy only watched, his eyes dark and eager but also patient. Sam undid the fastening and pulled down the zipper. He tugged Randy’s underwear down and his erection sprang up. He stared down at it, thinking about how it would taste, about how they would both watch him do this. About how Mitch had ordered him to do this.

About how Mitch wanted him to do this. About how
he
wanted to do this, for him.

Sam took Randy into his mouth.

He was still a little soft, but not for long, not with Sam’s lips around him, not when his dick slid a few times to the back of Sam’s throat. Sam shut his eyes and sank into his task, licking, sucking, bobbing, loving the soft-hardness of it, loving the feel of it on his tongue, between his lips, the tiny bits of precome he caught from the tip. He wormed his tongue inside the hole, carefully. He swirled the tip, took him deep, deeper, made a soft sound and fucked himself on Randy’s shaft. He fucked his own mouth for his pleasure and for theirs. He felt their hands on him as if from a distance, stroking his back, his arms, his hair, and Mitch slid his knee between his legs. Mitch unbuttoned him, taking Sam’s cock into his hand and stroking him idly, as if he had all night to play.

Randy ended it abruptly, lifting Sam’s head by his hair. “Slow down, Peaches,” he rasped. “Or you’ll get the Bellagio fountain all over again.”

“I want you to come in my mouth.” Sam dived for him.

Randy kept him away. “Yes, eager little slut, but I want to come on your face, and in your hair. And not yet. I’m not as young as you are, and I need to pace myself.”

Sam let his head rest on Randy’s thigh, clutching at the seat as Mitch continued to stroke him. “Can we go inside?” He sounded as if he were begging. He was. “Please?”

“What do you want to do inside?” Mitch’s voice was low and wicked.

“I want you to fuck me. I want you to make me do things for each of you. I want you to watch me. I want you to do all kinds of things to me. Together.”

Mitch’s hand tightened briefly on Sam’s erection. “What do you think, Skeet?”

“I think we need to take this boy inside and fuck him,” Randy replied.

Sam shivered, and Mitch let go of his dick to slap his ass. “Get inside, Sunshine, and we’ll play.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

They began in the living room by having Sam undress.

Mitch made the suggestion, but Randy gave the directions, and Sam stood in the center of the room between them, eyes moving back and forth as he undid his jeans, pushed them down—“slowly, move slowly, Peaches”—and stepped out of them. He stood naked but for his underwear, and he let them look at him. He raised his hands as Randy told him to, turned, and came forward, hands behind his head so Randy could touch his body. Randy murmured appreciatively, telling Mitch what he liked, stroking Sam’s belly, his thighs and his ass.

“Off with these.” Randy snapped Sam’s waistband. “Then bend over my knee so I can play with your ass.”

Sam fumbled as he stepped out of his underwear. He tried to lean over Randy’s legs, his cock humming in anticipation. But as he started to kneel, Randy’s hand slapped him smartly on his bare behind.

“The other way, please, so Mitch can see your finer attributes.”

Sam went around the other way, bracing his hands against the floor, and this time when he bent over, his ass was aimed at Mitch.

Randy skimmed his hand over the bare globes of flesh. “Very lovely. Very sweet.” He pushed them both together before separating them, so Sam felt the air on his hole. “Also lovely. Clench for me, Sam. Let me see your little pucker say hello.” Sam swallowed and did it. “Very nice.” Randy praised him as if he were a child performing a lesson. “Now spread your legs wider, and do it again.”

Sam did, and Randy pulled his cheeks wider at the same time. Sam flexed the muscles of his ass, feeling strange and dirty and aroused. They were inspecting him. Thinking about fucking him.

“Mmm,” Randy said. “What do you think, Old Man?”

“Looks good to me.” Mitch’s voice was husky.

“Come and take a sample.”

Mitch had eaten Sam out before, but not while someone else held him open, not while Sam leaned over someone else’s knees, spreading on command. Mitch had never been this slow, this maddening, as he ran his tongue up and down him, sometimes sliding over to lick Randy’s fingers too. Randy pulled Sam tauter, forcing him open almost to the point of pain, and then Mitch entered him, slick and soft and wet, and Sam groaned and opened even farther, surrendering to them.

Randy was harsher than Mitch. Randy enjoyed talking, and while Mitch tongue-fucked him, Randy talked about Sam’s hole, and how he wanted to fuck it, and how he admired the way he clenched, how good Sam looked. He talked about the toys he’d use on him, about how he’d tie him down on a bench, spread his legs wide and spank him with a paddle with a dildo rammed deep inside him, fucking him with every blow. His words were sharp and hard, and some of them were scary and more than Sam wanted. But they were just words, he realized. That was Randy. He fucked your head as much as your body. He found the edges in your mind and tried to send you over them.

Mitch, however, was all about Sam’s body. He said little because his mouth was fairly busy, but even when he went away and came back with lube, fucking Sam first with fingers and next with a series of dildos—Randy describing them in graphic detail, threatening to stuff one into his mouth because it looked so good with a cock inside—Mitch still remained silent, using Sam’s orifice as a sort of sensory laboratory. What did this dildo do? How did it look? What noises did Sam make when he fucked him with it, or held it deep inside him, or teased him with the tip? All the while Randy ran his commentary on what he saw and how he’d improve things. Sometimes Mitch took his suggestions. Sometimes he didn’t. They were a fitting team: both objectified Sam, but in complementary ways. Through it all, Sam remained pliant, spread and open for their use, and in the space between them, he found a strange, erotic peace.

When he complained his arms hurt, Mitch arranged Sam against Randy, arms around his shoulders, bent slightly while Mitch played with his ass a little longer. He used large dildos now, and Sam grunted and huffed as they went inside him. When he’d taken the largest and Randy had complimented him on how nice he looked stuffed and spread by the big black cock, Mitch led Sam to the bedroom with the dildo still deep inside. He whispered something to Randy as he helped Sam onto the bed, and Randy left the room. Sam lay on his back, bending his legs and arching his hips as Mitch lay beside him, toying absently with the dildo.

“I want to watch Randy fuck you.”

Sam blinked, rising out of his fog. He looked up at Mitch, who watched him carefully. He waited for Sam to say it was okay, Sam knew, but Sam wasn’t sure yet that it was.

“I want it, but I don’t want you upset. I don’t want you to think I’m choosing him over you.” He stayed Mitch’s hand, feeling awkward enough without being fucked while he confessed his insecurities. “I know it sounds stupid when I’ve let him do so much else. I don’t know why this is different. But it is.” He caught Mitch’s wrist and squeezed it. “What’s too far for you?”

Mitch put the dildo aside. He thought a minute, stroking Sam’s belly while he did so. “Kissing,” he said at last. His eyes met Sam’s bashfully. “I’m funny about kissing.”

Sam blinked. “Seriously?”

Mitch nodded. “That’s all, just kissing. You could fuck six men in a row and let me watch or not, and I wouldn’t care. To be honest, it really turns me on. I don’t know why. Probably some twisted power thing—if you fuck somebody and come back to me, I must be pretty good. But it’s hot too. I like to watch the way you move when another man touches you. You look so vulnerable, and so sexy, and then when you get nervous, you turn to me. Not them—me. I worried with Randy it would be different, that he’d charm you away, but if anything, you’ve charmed him.”

He still stroked Sam’s stomach, and between that touch and his words, Sam felt safe. He thought of what Mitch had said, about kissing, and he realized Mitch had avoided kisses initially, but now they kissed all the time. Not in public, not often, and never much when others could see. Kisses were private. Kisses were
theirs
. It was oddly charming.

“Did I kiss the man in Denver?” Sam couldn’t remember.

Mitch shrugged. “You didn’t know, and it’s kind of a strange thing to be fussy about, so it doesn’t matter.”

Sam was crestfallen. “So I
did
kiss him.”

Mitch’s fingers skimmed low on Sam’s belly. “Actually, you didn’t.”

Sam let out a breath of relief. “I won’t kiss anyone else,” he promised. “Ever.”

Their eyes met, and their inevitable parting cut across them both.

Mitch kissed his forehead. “Not now, Sunshine. Don’t think about that now.”

“I won’t kiss Randy.”

“He won’t try.”

Yet upon their arrival, Randy had tried with Mitch. Sam looked up at him. “I want him to fuck me, but I want you to watch. And I want you to touch me, sometimes, while he does.”

Mitch nodded and kissed him, gently at first, then deeper, his tongue stealing into Sam’s mouth, luring Sam’s into his own. The kiss was more powerful now that Sam knew what it meant to Mitch, and he sank into the mattress, opening not only his mouth but his heart and his soul, a lotus that kept expanding.

When Mitch rose, Sam lay there, sated and soft, but when he left, Sam knew what was coming, and he tensed a little, a virgin laid out for sacrifice. Randy came into the room with Mitch close behind, and the sensation intensified, but it turned him on as well, especially as Randy shed his clothes and knelt, naked, before him.

Sam lifted his legs for Randy, opening himself, inviting the other man in. He watched as Randy put the condom on and smeared himself with lube. He forced himself to relax as Randy probed him, first with one lube-slick finger and next with two. Then he fucked Sam with them, not roughly, but not sweetly, either. Sam looked into Randy’s eyes, thinking about what was about to happen, about what he was letting happen to him. He saw the darkness, the lust in Randy’s expression, and he loved it, but he feared it too.

When Randy pushed against him, Sam turned his gaze to Mitch. He was on the edge of the mattress, leaning on one arm and one hip, and his eyes were trained on the juncture of Sam’s thighs, where his friend was entering his lover.
That’s what I am,
Sam realized.
His lover. Mitch’s lover.
This was Mitch’s secret desire: to watch his lover be fucked by someone else. That was his edge, his danger, and Sam was giving it to him. As Randy pushed his legs up against his chest and thrust inside of Sam, Sam touched Mitch’s hand. Mitch lifted it, not breaking his gaze, and kissed Sam’s fingers and sucked them briefly into his mouth, matching the pulse of Randy’s increasing thrusts.

Randy was rough, but he was smooth too, lulling Sam into a strange sort of trance. Soon Sam begged Randy to fuck him harder, to please move faster, and he became incoherent as Randy ignored him and did as he liked, rolling his hips, withdrawing, pushing deep, raking Sam’s prostate with the same ruthless madness that he lived his life, until Sam was mad and raw with his own wanting. Just as Sam was almost there, when he was sliding over the edge, Randy pulled out, whipped off the condom and came all over Sam’s chest.

The spunk sprayed against his skin, a few strands hitting his cheek and mouth. He looked up at Randy, dazed, lost and still so horny he thought he would explode. Randy smiled at him, proud of himself. Then he glanced at Mitch. His expression darkened, his smile widened and Randy moved away.

Before Sam could cry out in protest, someone grabbed his hip, and the next thing he knew, Sam was turned over roughly onto his stomach. Someone gripped his hips again, this time with both hands, and roughly raised him up. When he tried to adjust himself, a sharp, strong slap on his ass stayed him. Sam gasped and held still, arms against the mattress, his head down, his eyes wide and staring between his opened legs. Mitch’s jean-clad knees filled his line of sight, and he whimpered as Mitch peeled them away, freeing his dick to place a condom on it. As he entered Sam, Mitch wrapped his arms around Sam’s waist and torso as he’d done so many times before, and Sam opened himself as he waited for what he knew was to come.

Mitch had never fucked him this hard. He had never made these kinds of sounds, like he was an animal, never had so little finesse that he was nothing more than rutting inside Sam. It was so possessive, so total, so incredibly arousing that Sam could only spiral up a short spike. He screamed into the mattress and came in a hot, almost adolescent spurt into the tangled sheets. Mitch thrust on, and Sam
bit
the mattress now, too sensitive to take this but too enthralled to make it stop, and then Mitch pulled out too. Sam shuddered into the mattress as hot come sprayed across his back. Mitch’s erection tapped his ass, and his hand slapped it softly. Sam held himself still, spinning from it all.