Special Delivery: Special Delivery, Book 1 (6 page)

He’d eaten two pot stickers and had a flutter over Gilles Marini as he drew his partner close at the end of a tango when the phone rang. He groaned and almost let it go, but he realized without his cell phone, his aunt and uncle’s phone was now his phone too.
Maybe it’s Mitch,
his traitorous heart whispered hopefully, which was why Sam tensed and avoided looking at the caller ID as he picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Do I need to come over with the vodka?” Emma asked when he answered. “Or are you better now?”

Sam felt even more ridiculous at his disappointment. “I’m fine. Delia and Norm are out, so I’m watching TV upstairs and eating pot stickers.”

“What are you watching? Maybe I’ll come over.”

“
Dancing with the Stars
.”

Emma groaned. “I’m not coming over. Do you want to meet up later, though? Maybe go out?”

Sam considered his wallet. He might have a dollar, and it was weeks until payday. “No, I’ll stay in. I should study.”

“You aren’t going to study,” she pointed out.

“Okay, I won’t study. But I do want to stay in.”

“Are you pouting?”

“I am not pouting. I’m trying to watch quality programming. I have two week’s worth of the show to get through.” He gentled. “I’m fine, Em. I really am.”

“All right.” She sounded unconvinced. “But if you change your mind, call me back.”

“I will,” Sam promised. He hung up the phone and restarted his show.

Not even two minutes later, the phone rang again. He stopped the show, picked up the phone and glared as he saw the ID.

“What?” he demanded.

Emma ignored his rudeness. “I just remembered. It’s margarita night at Los Dos. Pick me up in an hour, and I’ll take you—my treat.”

“What is this determination to liquor me up?”

“You need some release.”

Sam did a quick flashback to the trailer, feeling both a hum and a pang. “I’ve been released. Trust me.”

“Not sex, you nitwit. Energy release. You need to cleanse your aura.”

“With two-for-one margaritas?” Sam shook his head at the ceiling. “Emma, go get laid. Please.”

She sighed. “I can’t. Steve isn’t interested.” That was the part-time pharmacist Norm had hired, who was hot but so straight you could use him for a unit of measure. “I all but jumped him earlier tonight, and he actually recoiled. Come on, hon. We both need to get out. I’m worried about you, Sam.”

“I’d be fine if you’d let me eat my dinner and watch my show.” Sam hung up on her.

When the phone rang a third time, he was seriously pissed off.

“I told you,” he said as he lifted the phone to his ear, “to go and get laid.”

“I will take that under advisement,” a low, sexy and amused drawl purred into his ear. “Did you have anyone in mind, Sunshine?”

Sam dropped his forkful of pot sticker and forgot, briefly, how to breathe. “Mitch?”

“Hello, Sam. Are you, by any chance, missing a phone?”

Chapter Four

For several seconds, Sam could do nothing but open and close his mouth like a fish.

“Sam?” Mitch called again, more concerned and less amused.

“Sorry.” Sam tried to pull himself together, but all he could think was
Mitch, Mitch, Mitch.
“I— How did you get this number?”

“It’s on your phone. I tried the one listed
work
but got a machine. It said Biehl, though, in the name, and this was a Biehl number, so I took a chance. Thought I’d get your boss and not you.”

“It’s my aunt and uncle’s pharmacy. I live in their basement. Just for now,” he added quickly, afraid he sounded pathetic. “Until I finish college.”

“I take it our little adventure wasn’t discovered?”

“Mostly,” Sam admitted.

“Good.” The pitch of Mitch’s voice lowered. “That was a right pleasant buzz you gave me, Sunshine, all the way to Minneapolis.”

Sam’s face went hot. “Oh?”

“Oh yes.”

Sam reached for the Pellegrino and took a big swig, not knowing what else to say. Why wasn’t he happy to get his phone back? He wasn’t feeling much—maybe he was in shock. He felt drunk. He eyed the bottle suspiciously, momentarily wondering if he’d grabbed vodka after all. No, only mineral water. It was Mitch making Sam woozy and weird.

The silence stretched out. Sam cleared his throat so his voice wouldn’t break. “Where are you?”

Mitch grunted. “I’m fifty-five miles from the middle of fucking nowhere, trapped in a stinking hole of a truck stop full of greasy old men drooling over magazines full of women with plastic tits while it rains like crazy outside. That’s where I am.”

The image was horribly clear in Sam’s mind. “Sorry to hear that.”

“Me too.” Mitch sighed. “So, what are you doing home on a Saturday night, Sunshine?”

Sam glanced at the TV, where Gilles and his partner were frozen mid-dip. “Eating. Watching a show.”

“Not out with—who was it? Darin?”

Sam went still. “How do you know about Darin?”

“He keeps texting you, wanting to know why you aren’t coming over. I can assure you he has lube, and the last text promised he cleaned up his apartment and bought beer. He’s also apparently very fond of the way your ass looks when it opens up. I have to say, I agree.”

“Oh God.” Sam shut his eyes and sank into the couch. He’d forgotten Darin entirely in the drama of Mitch and his phone. Now Mitch was reading Darin’s X-rated texts? “Oh
God
.”

Mitch laughed. “Sorry. They keep popping up, and I don’t know how to turn them off. It took me ten minutes to unlock the screen.”

Sam felt sick. “Darin isn’t— Darin is—” He rubbed the side of his face, groaning inwardly. “Darin is a mistake.”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that.” Mitch sounded unconcerned. “Though I admit I am curious to hear why he mentioned still having plenty of empty pizza boxes.”

Sam redirected the conversation. “So why are you fifty-five miles from the middle of nowhere?”

“Stuck by a storm. Heading to Milwaukee, but I’m going to be late. It’s severe weather all the way across, and I have to cover a few dicey roads. But it works out, because then I was free to try and hunt you down.”

Sam put his plate on the coffee table. “Can you enjoy the night off, at least?”

“Not here. There was one guy eyeballing me, but I couldn’t tell if he wanted to fuck me or punch me, and I’m not interested in either with him. But I am enjoying talking with you. So tell me, college boy. What are you studying?”

“Nursing.” Sam braced himself for the jokes.

Mitch gave a low whistle. “Tough stuff. Good career, though. They will always need nurses.”

“I want to do RN,” Sam admitted. “I want to work in a clinic. But it’s longer for that degree, which means more money and tougher classes. This semester is pretty tough, actually. I need to buckle down more, or I’m not going to pass.”

“You’re a smart one. I bet you’ll pass just fine.”

The conversation lulled. Sam dwelt on the weirdness of the entire experience, still not quite understanding how or why he could converse so casually with Mitch. He honestly hadn’t expected him to return the phone. He figured it would get lost, or he’d toss it aside. He was kind of flattered Mitch would take the time to hunt him down.

It’s only to bring your phone,
he scolded himself.
Don’t get any stupid ideas.

“Do you know something, Sam?”

Mitch’s voice was low, and it turned Sam on. “What?”

“If I close my eyes, I can still taste you.”

The words hit Sam in the center of his chest. He said nothing, but he breathed a lot harder.

“I see you too.” Mitch spoke so softly Sam had to strain to hear. “Such a pretty pink hole. Honey, I wish I could have spent an hour at that ass.”

“
Hhhuh.
” The sound out of Sam’s mouth was more a whisper of air than a word. He was aroused, but nervous too. Mitch was hundreds of miles away, but Sam felt suddenly exposed and unsafe. He reached for a pillow from the other end of the couch and crushed it against his chest.

“You liked that too, didn’t you,” Mitch went on. “Sweet Jesus, the sounds you made. Just thinking about the way you moaned makes me hard. Was I the first one to rim you, Sunshine?”

“No—I mean—” Sam couldn’t figure out how to answer that. Yes, Mitch was the first, but he didn’t want Mitch to think he was some virgin. “Yes, but—” He remembered the way it had felt, and he lost it again. “The—the tongue—
oh God.
”

“Nobody ever tongue fucked you? That what you’re trying to say, shy honey?”

Sam swallowed. The sound was audible enough Mitch probably heard it. “No.”

“Such a shame. I’ve never seen somebody so hot for it. You need that done to you twice a day, I’m thinking.” Mitch’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Wish I were there to do it right now. I’d turn you over, spread those cheeks—” He gave a long, agonized sort of groan, a man imagining a forbidden pleasure. “And because I’d have time, I’d sit there a minute and talk dirty to it, because you’d moan and squirm, and your ass would pucker. I’d stare at it, watching it wink.”

“
Nghyh.
” Sam gripped the phone and the pillow so tight he thought he might crush the first and tear the latter. He glanced around the room in sudden terror, as if his aunt and uncle might appear at any moment and catch him listening to someone talking dirty to him.

“Then I would lick it, Sam. I would lick your hot little hole until you were pushing back against me, same as in the trailer, and then,
then,
baby, I would spread you wider and push my tongue inside you. Way in, honey. Maybe you didn’t know, but my lips were sucking at your pucker the other day, and I licked you as high up as I could. I licked you and fucked you, sweet thing, until you were mush, and then I listened to you sing same as right now. Only a lot, lot louder.”

Sam
was
moaning, his hips moving too. He’d been hard since Mitch said
taste you
, and his body remembered. He could
feel
that tongue inside him.

“You wish I was there to put my tongue inside you?” Mitch’s voice was so rough it was practically gravel. “Are you thinking about my tongue fucking your ass right now?”

“Yes.” Sam doubled over, clutching the pillow to his chest, imagining Mitch behind him, his hands spreading Sam wide.

“Are you home alone?”

For a moment he panicked, but then he remembered Mitch was many miles away. Then he remembered he’d actually rather be in the room with Mitch. “Yes.”

“I want you to take your pants off.”

Sam balked. “I can’t—”

“Take them off. Nobody’s there to see you, and I can’t do it myself. Take them off. Take off your pants. Put down the phone if you have to, get rid of everything south of your bellybutton and let me know when you’re done.”

“I can’t—they might come home.”

“You got a bedroom, right? Go to it, Sam. Go to your room, take off your pants and bend over.
Do it.
”

Sam did it. He couldn’t believe he did it, but he stood, all but stumbled to the basement and locked the door behind him once he was inside his room. He put the phone down on his bed. He nearly fell over, he was so nervous, but he managed to remain standing long enough to undo his button and zipper.

After shoving his jeans to his ankles, he kicked them off, letting his underwear follow. Then he took off his socks, because he felt ridiculous with them on. Above him, the TV had bailed on the VCR, and some woman cheerfully attempted to sell him dish detergent. Sam let his head fall against the bed with a shaky sigh as he picked up the phone once more. “D-done.”

“Bend over the bed. Kneel on the floor and aim your bare ass at the wall.”

Sam did this too. He didn’t know why. He felt disconnected, floating almost. But he did it. He knelt on the floor and put his head down on the mattress, tucking his chin into his chest so he could breathe. He put the phone to his ear and let out a soft, desperate sound into the receiver.

“Suck on your finger. Make it really wet, then put it in your ass. Push it way, way, in, as slowly as you can.”

Sam’s hand shook as he fumbled to put his finger in his mouth. Which one? Middle? Index? He sucked both. He had never done this. He didn’t understand how he was going to do this. He felt ridiculous, embarrassed and very nervous, as if a film crew would burst in at any minute, ready to announce on the evening news that at 9 p.m. Samuel Daniel Keller of Middleton, Iowa, knelt beside his bed and stuck his own finger in his ass.

“Suck hard. Get it really wet, baby. Dripping. Yeah. I can hear you. Do it harder.
Harder.
Yeah, honey.
Yeah.
” Mitch’s litany put Sam in a trance, the whole world gone except for that voice in his ear. “Now reach behind you.”

Sam touched a finger to himself.

He gasped.

“
Yes,
” Mitch growled. “Push it in. Push it in
deep
. Moan for me, Sam. Let me hear you sing again.”

Mitch’s instructions became a low, lewd litany, and Sam did everything he said. He listened to every dirty word, did everything Mitch told him to do, and above all, he made noise, because that was what Mitch wanted. He forgot about his aunt and uncle possibly coming home at any minute, and he let go. He cried out. He moaned. He felt like an animal. He
was
an animal. He fucked himself with his finger, first one, then two, and he humped his bed, all the while with the phone to his ear, grunting out his pleasure to a man many, many miles away.