Special Delivery: Special Delivery, Book 1 (31 page)

Mitch nodded, but Sam couldn’t read anything on his face as he kneaded Sam’s hip. “We’ll go slow. You can back out at any time. I’ll keep him in check. You decide, Sam. You make all the rules. I won’t let anything happen you don’t want.”

When Mitch bent down to kiss him, Sam opened for him, both his mouth and his body, and he let himself go, praying he hadn’t made a terrible, irreparable mistake.

They started at the Watering Hole.

This was a small bar not far from Randy’s house which while not strictly gay, at the very least didn’t mind what way the patrons’ fences swung. Or maybe they just didn’t mind Randy. Everyone in the bar knew him and either greeted him with a lusty shout or a glare over the top of their drinks. The bartender served up a draft for him automatically, and Randy accepted it with some pride, clearly enjoying his position in this public court.

They recognized Mitch too, and his reception was different. It was a man at the end of the bar who saw him first. “Mitch Tedsoe!” he called out, and embraced him. Others soon followed, but there was no bellow of welcome for him, only quiet nods and subtle waves. Whispers flew as he crossed the room. Many people ogled Sam as well. As Mitch predicted, they regarded Sam with either derision or leers. As much as Sam said he didn’t care, he found that, actually, he did.

Randy returned to where Mitch lingered and took his hand, tugging him farther into the bar. “Come on, Old Man, and say hello.”

Mitch held back, but Sam nudged him forward. “You go on. I’ll sit here and get something to drink.” Frowning, Mitch reached into his pocket. Sam held up a hand. “I have money.”

Pulling out his wallet anyway, Mitch pressed a twenty into his hand. “Shut up and take the money, Sunshine.” After a gentle caress of Sam’s wrist, he followed Randy. Sam sighed and shoved the money into his pocket before heading to the bar.

The man who’d greeted Mitch raised his glass in silent toast to Sam and nodded to the empty stool beside him. “Come take a load off, sugar, and I’ll buy your first round.”

Sam sank into the chair, but he stuck out his hand as he did so. “Hi. I’m Sam.”
Please don’t treat me like a back-alley whore.

The man unwrapped himself and sat up, extending a long, beautiful chocolate hand to engulf Sam’s. “Tyke.” He gestured to the bartender. “What are you drinkin’, Sam?”

“Um—” Sam glanced quickly toward the taps, but he couldn’t see them. “Just a beer. Blue Moon would be nice, if they have it.”

They did, and Sam soon sipped at a tall pint with an orange in the bottom as he sat with Tyke, watching Randy and Mitch make their way around the bar. In the background, club music played, and Sam tapped his toe a little as he drank and soaked up the atmosphere.

“So the circus is back in town.” Tyke grimaced. “I thought those two were finished for good, but I guess not.”

“You know both of them?” Sam tried not to sound too eager for information.

“Ain’t nobody in here doesn’t know about them. Used to be the best show in town, to sit here at this bar and watch those two carry on. Sometimes they were fightin’, sometimes they were neckin’, and sometimes both. Of course, the best shows were when they brought in a third party.” He gave Sam a look up and down. “That gonna be you tonight, sweetheart?”

Sam said nothing and retreated into his beer, but he suspected his ears were red.

Tyke snorted. “Shit. Well, luck to you.”

“I’m not one for putting on a show.”

“Don’t matter. Randy will make sure you do.” Tyke watched as Randy waved his arms and told a story to a group of men at the far wall, while Mitch stood by, reserved. “You came in with the big one, didn’t you? You with him? Or did they pick you up together?”

“I’ve been traveling with Mitch.”

“Oh, one of
those
.” Tyke motioned to the bartender. “Joe, couple of tequilas over here, huh?”

Sam shook his head. “Um—thanks, but I’ll stick to beer.”

“Sugar, you’re gonna need at least three shots of something, if you’re tangoing with those two.” He grimaced, still watching Mitch and Randy. “If you’re with Mitch, that means Randy’s on your ass. He’s either trying to scare you or steal you. And trust me, sweetheart, it will be one or the other.”

“But Randy said he wasn’t interested in Mitch,” Sam protested. “I mean, I think he wants to sleep with him again, but he doesn’t—”

“That boy don’t know what he wants,” Tyke said with some disgust, “except that he wants the big guy. He doesn’t exactly want to fuck him, but he sure does love fucking
with
him, and I mean that in every sense of the word. They don’t sit well together, not for long, and something always blows up when they hook up, but they keep coming back.”

“They do?”

“I was here for their last one two years ago. Mitch came in with a boyfriend. He wasn’t going to pay any attention to Randy, he said. They were over for good.” Tyke picked up his tequila, swirled it and set it down before reaching for the salt. “By ten, the three of them were in a booth, the boyfriend’s legs hooked over their knees, eyes rollin’ back in his head. By eleven he was out in the alley getting it from behind by Randy. By midnight they’d taken off. Mitch got really drunk, and when Randy came back at two, gloating, Mitch punched him out cold. They had to take Randy to the hospital, and by the time he got out, Mitch was gone.”

Sam stared across the room, able to imagine this scenario all too clearly. Then Randy caught him looking, winked, and Sam retreated into his beer. When he put the glass down, Tyke pushed the tequila in front of him, and the salt, and Sam licked his wrist. Once he knocked the shot back, Tyke handed him the lime, but as his hand came away, his fingers lightly stroked Sam’s wrist.

“You want to blow off these losers, baby, and come party with me instead?”

Sam took the lime out of his mouth, stared at the bar a second, then gave in and laughed. When Tyke raised an eyebrow, Sam reached for his beer. “I have been hit on more in the past four days than in my whole life.”

“That’s just sad.” Tyke pushed another tequila at him. “Where you from? Kansas?”

“Iowa.”

“Shit.” Tyke licked his wrist and took the salt from Sam. “Wait, they got gay marriage in Iowa, don’t they?”

Sam drank the shot and reached for a lime. “But it didn’t do much for my dating stock.”

“Well, come on then, babe—let’s go party. Let those two fuck each other up.” Tyke’s hand slid up Sam’s thigh. “Let
me
fuck
you
.”

“Mitch is my ride home.” That felt too crass, too unfinished, so he made himself say the rest. “Also, I like him.”

“Fuck.” Tyke nodded at the bartender. “Joe, this poor boy’s drinks are on my tab tonight. It’s the least I can do.”

“
No
.” Sam stood, pulled out his wallet and produced the fifty he’d tucked behind his library card. He handed it to the bartender. “That’s for
his
drinks, and mine, and Mitch’s and Randy’s.” He lifted his chin. “If you take credit cards, I’ll cover their tabs at the end of the night too.”

He hadn’t tested his card after reactivating it, but he figured the odds Mitch would let him get away with paying were low anyway. What mattered was right now, where Tyke and the bartender and several other strangers looked at him, impressed. Either that or they thought he was crazy.

Whatever they thought, he felt good, and when the song shifted and Bananarama’s “Twisting” started to play, he turned to Tyke. “Dance with me.”

Tyke pulled back. “Fuck no, you aren’t dragging me into this bullshit.”

“I’ll let you grab my ass.” Sam delighted at the dark light he saw pass over Tyke’s eyes.

“You’ll let me grab your dick.” Tyke rose, taking Sam into his arms. The bartender grinned, reached over to a knob on the wall and the music got louder. Tyke led Sam to the dance floor, sliding his body against Sam’s own, spinning him so they were back to front, his hands traveling down Sam’s sides, his hips, his thighs and—with everyone watching—made good on his threat.

Sam lifted his arms, laughing, and wrapped his hands around the back of Tyke’s neck as he let the man lead him in an undulating dance. He ignored Randy, who looked surprised, focusing instead on Mitch, who was difficult to read. He paused, still moving with Tyke, but he kept watching Mitch, waiting for any sign this was too far and he should stop. But Mitch just watched, and then slowly gave him a tiny, sensual smile.

Randy came toward him, and Sam knew Mitch wouldn’t be far behind.
Here we go.
Sam shut his eyes and surrendered himself to his dance with Tyke, knowing it wouldn’t last long.

But Sam did dance a while with Tyke, all the way through the song, in fact, and when it was over and several of the patrons applauded, it was Randy who clapped the loudest. It was Randy who took his arm, slid his hand to Sam’s hip, and led him by his belt loop to where Mitch chatted with old friends. He kept Sam at his side, his hand on his back, his butt and his body in general, which Sam saw was quietly noticed by everyone.

Sam worried about what Tyke had told him, and for the sake of their audience he kept himself unresponsive, but this only emboldened Randy, which in turn aroused Sam. Humiliation—that’s what this was, what he was into. As he stood smiling and pretending to listen to the conversations around him, Randy fondled him openly and Sam bounced between reveling in the sensations and worrying the next thing he knew he’d be tied up in some S&M dungeon with a tail sticking out of his ass and a ball gag in his mouth while men peed on him.

Because he’d read about this sort of thing, and he knew what he was doing was turning into a
sub
. Subordinate. Submissive. Someone who wanted people to do things to him, to shame him, to punish him. It sounded fine, maybe exciting in theory, but when he saw some of the sites about submission—and worse, read the free online porn—he lost all his taste for it. He didn’t want to call Mitch Master or Sir. That was just weird. Fine for other people, but he’d feel stupid saying it to Mitch. But that was where the safe-word thing had come from. He’d figured that out. So Mitch must have been into this, or at least knew about it. Sam didn’t want to be in “the Scene”.

He didn’t want a collar. The tying up was okay. The kinky sex was absolutely fine. And he wanted to do whatever this was they were doing with Randy, though it was probably the stupidest thing he’d ever done. It was hot. It felt good. It felt dangerous. It was a dangerous man groping him and displaying his possession against Sam’s will, in front of Mitch, whom he actually wanted. Sam was an object, a thing to Randy, little more than a walking sex toy he could turn on whenever he wanted.

It felt so, so good.

So good, in fact, that he had to break off what Randy was doing to him or risk humping the edge of the table or at the very least crying out in breathy gasps. Randy and even Mitch, he suspected, would love that, but this was more performance than he was willing to give. Murmuring an excuse, he stumbled across the bar toward the bathroom with as much grace as he could manage, which wasn’t much at all. He did return Tyke’s salute on his way into the hall. Once he was inside the bathroom, though, he went to the corner, pressed his hands to the cool concrete block and sank wearily against it as he waited for his erection to go down.

When someone put a hand on his shoulder, he nearly leapt out of his skin, and he got ready for more of Randy’s molestation. “Just give me five fucking minutes,” he snapped, but when he looked up, it wasn’t Randy behind him.

It was Mitch. Chagrined, he started to back away.

Sam grabbed the front of his shirt, hauled him into the corner and kissed him. “I thought you were Randy.” He nibbled at Mitch’s lips before diving in again. “Oh my God, Mitch, I’m going to come in my goddamn pants.”

Mitch laughed, low and wicked, thrusting his tongue deep into Sam’s mouth before sliding his lips down his chin and neck. “I can take care of that.” He unbuckled Sam’s jeans.

“Not here,” Sam protested, but Mitch was already on his knees, and Sam’s erection, leaking precome, was in his hand and headed for his mouth.

“Wish you would have worn the ripped jeans.” Taking hold of Sam’s thighs, Mitch swallowed him down.

Sam came immediately into Mitch’s mouth. He twitched for several seconds after, pumping helplessly as Mitch lapped at him before zipping Sam away. He wiped at his mouth as he rose, looking pleased with himself. “Having a good time, Sunshine?”

With a strangled sound, Sam collapsed against him. “Oh my God, it felt so…lewd, standing there, letting him feel me up. I mean, he
grabbed my cock
once, right through my jeans. He had his hand down the back of my pants. He had his
finger in my ass
. Right there, where anyone could see.” He shut his eyes and nipped at Mitch’s buttons. “Mitch, am I depraved?”

“In the most beautiful, wonderful way.” Mitch kissed the top of his head. “Come on. Let’s go fuck with his head some more.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

“How was I fucking with his head?” Sam asked as Mitch led him back into the bar.

“You stood so still. You didn’t react at all, and then you ran.”

“I reacted. Trust me, he knew. He felt, anyway.”

Mitch patted Sam’s ass. “Keep up the good work, Sunshine.”

Sam followed Mitch to the booth, where Randy sat in the place where Mitch had been. He started to rise, but Mitch shook his head. Randy did look uncertain, Sam realized with surprise. He seemed even more confused when Mitch nudged Sam over to sit beside him.