Special Delivery: Special Delivery, Book 1 (7 page)

This was the man he’d let fuck him against a box, a man who had made him feel slutty, wonderful and sexy. This was the man who had made him feel that and took off, leaving Sam to swim in self-recrimination. Now here Sam was, fucking himself so that man could listen.

“You’re so hot, Sunshine.” Mitch’s breath came fast too. “God, I wish I could see you. I wish I could taste you. I wish that was my tongue inside you, or my fingers, or my cock. I wish those were my fingers, and I wish my mouth was on you, sucking you tight, letting you fuck my mouth, moaning with you, waiting to drink you when you came. I wish I were fucking you. I wish I were there fucking you right now. Fuck yourself for me. Fuck yourself really fucking hard.”

“
Ohmygod,
” Sam gasped, his voice low and almost gurgling. He didn’t even sound like himself. “Oh my God, I’m gonna come.”

“Do it. Come for me. Come hard, and be loud. I’m underneath you, sucking you. Come in my mouth. Fuck my mouth. Fuck my mouth. Fuck me. Fuck me, Sam.
Fuck me.
”

Sam’s orgasm was already building, but when Mitch growled, “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” it snapped, swamping him in a wave. He shouted, so loud he hurt his own ears. He shouted again, his orgasm kicking at his teeth, and then he groaned as his semen poured out of him in ropes. He shuddered, once, twice, three times, then sagged against the side of the bed as Mitch whispered soothing approval at him.

“That was so good, Sunshine—oh my fucking God, that was so good. Sweet Christ, I’ve never been so blue-balled. I just about came right here. Boy would that be something.”

Sam could barely move, and his brain still drifted somewhere above his head, but the
right here
comment snagged him back down. “Where are you?”

“I told you—in the truck stop.”

Sam’s eyes opened. “
In
the truck stop? You aren’t in your truck? You’re—you’re out in the
open
?”

Mitch’s wicked laugh curled Sam’s toes. “Don’t worry, hon. You’re not the one sitting in a booth with your dick threatening to bust open your pants. That’s me.”

“But—people are there.”

“Yeah. A bunch of dirty old men drooling at videos of women young enough to be their daughters getting come sprayed over their faces. This isn’t exactly the Ritz.”

Sam slid sideways until he sat on the floor. He caught sight of the mess he’d made on the mattress and winced before letting the side of his head fall to the bed. “Do you do this a lot? Talk dirty to people on the phone?”

He’d meant it as a casual comment, almost a tease, a release of his own shock at his behavior. But the tenor of the silence that came after left him uneasy.

Sam tried to backpedal. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“I used to.” Mitch’s teasing was gone, and now
he
sounded guilty. “I used to do a lot of things like that, but I haven’t in a while.”

But you did with me. Am I special?
Sam rolled his eyes at his own idiocy. Yeah, he was so special Mitch wanted him to stick his fingers in his ass and hump his bed. “I’m so stupid.”

“You aren’t stupid.” Mitch’s voice drifted gently through the phone. “Never mind me. You’re—you’re a good kid, Sam.”

God, he’d rather be stupid. “I’m not a kid. I’m twenty-one.”

“I’m not. I’m an old, jaded man. You remind me of someone I used to know, is all. Kind of makes me feel funny.”

There was no justification for the jealousy Sam felt, but that didn’t make it go away. “Some other
kid
?”

“Nope. He’s an old man now too. Old Man Trouble, determined to take me to hell with him. Anyway, don’t listen to me. You’re sweet, baby. Sweet and sexy.”

Sam felt warm and pleased, and in that moment, not guilty at all. “Thanks. You’re not bad yourself.”

There was a pause, but it wasn’t awkward this time.

Mitch cleared his throat. “I would mail your phone, but I’m afraid it wouldn’t make it. I’ll be through Iowa next week. Can I see you then? Bring you your phone? Take you to dinner?”

Dinner. A date.
Sam’s stomach was immediately full of butterflies. “Okay.”

“A late dinner, probably. I’ll get to Middleton on Wednesday. That work?”

Sam felt dizzy. And elated. “Yes.”

“Good. Where and when am I meeting you?”

Sam tried to think quickly. He remembered his earlier conversation with Emma and seized on the idea. “Los Dos Amigos. It’s Mexican. Do you need directions?”

“I can find it. Time, Sunshine?”

Sam mentally ran through his Wednesday schedule. “Eight?”

“Eight it is. See you then. And don’t string poor Darin out too long.” Mitch hung up.

Sam sat on the floor for a minute, still reeling from the entire experience. He set the phone down and cleaned up, both himself and the side of the bed. He got into a pair of old sweatpants, went back upstairs, tossed the pot stickers into the garbage and curled up on the couch, hugging the San Pellegrino bottle as he restarted
Dancing with the Stars
.

He barely noticed Gilles Marini or anybody else. He was too busy thinking of Wednesday, and Mitch.

Chapter Five

It was warm but not hot when Sam parked in the street near Los Dos Amigos on Wednesday. His car had nearly died again, this time at the stoplight on Main Street, but by some miracle it had started back up, and he got to the restaurant on time. The unseasonal chill of May was easing into hints of summer, and Sam declined to wear a coat. He’d worn, in fact, as little as possible, and made sure what he wore was
tight
. Delia had given him a pointed look, but he’d ignored her. Nothing and nobody was going to ruin this night.

Emma, surprisingly, had tried.

“The new confidence is good, and I love that you’ve dumped the creep-show boyfriends, but I think you’re kind of building this all up in your head. It’s only dinner and another boinkfest. I don’t know where you’re going to do it, because your aunt and uncle will be home.”

“We’ll work something out, I’m sure.” Wasn’t she supposed to be on his side?

At any rate, it was Wednesday now, and he was here, ready for the night to begin. Los Dos wasn’t a big place, and if someone wanted to be nasty, it qualified as a bit of a dive. But it
was
excellent Mexican, possibly because it was run by actual Mexicans. Not that this was so novel anymore, even in Iowa, but Sam always thought it helped. Besides, the waiters were nice to him.

Mitch was at the bar when Sam came in the door, and he grinned and came off his stool to greet Sam. “Howdy, Sunshine.” His smile widened when Sam blushed. Then he fished into his pocket and pulled out Sam’s phone.

Sam took it from him and resisted the urge to stroke it lovingly. “Thanks.” He started to put it into his pocket, but he stopped, realizing it wasn’t going to work, not with these jeans.

Mitch watched him struggle, a look of appreciation in his eye. “Hmm,” he said, after a lengthy perusal. Then he held out his hand.

Sam handed the phone back over. “Thanks. I won’t forget.”

“Me either.” Mitch’s eyes were still on the jeans. When he lifted his gaze at last, his lips twitched, a wicked glint in his baby blues. He nodded at the dining room. “Where do you want to sit?”

They ended up in a booth. Sam chose the one in the far corner, the one farthest from the door and cloaked half in shadow. There were only about fifteen people total in the place, but Sam felt like they were all watching him, and as much as he hated it, he worried what they thought. He’d never just gone out with a guy. He’d thought he would relish it, but so far he was too nervous.

Of course, was this really a date? It was sort of backward when their “relationship” had officially started with a fuck in the trailer of a semi. It would have been more appropriate to simply take the phone and christen the walls of the alley with come. Yet here they were, flirting politely and having dinner. It confused Sam, and he felt shy as he slid into the booth.

Mitch was already poring over the menu. “Okay, I wanted burritos, but now I can’t make up my mind. Jesus, it all looks good.”

Sam’s stomach growled as he scanned his own menu. Paychecks weren’t until the end of the month, and he’d borrowed five bucks from Emma so he could order à la carte. “They have combination plates, and then some bigger dinners that have variety.” He reached over to point out the section to Mitch. “More expensive, but you get a lot of food.”

“A lot of food sounds good.” Mitch squinted at the page. “Sunshine, this isn’t expensive. You should see what they charge for this sort of stuff in L.A.”

“You’ve been to Los Angeles?” Sam didn’t bother hiding his wistfulness.

“I’ve been just about everywhere.” Mitch kept reading the menu. “But I get out west a lot.”

“Las Vegas?” Sam was surprised when Mitch’s face shuttered.

“Not in awhile, no. But I am heading west, generally, in a few weeks, after a quick run east.”

“Do you go all over? All the time?”

“I do deliveries on contract, and I try to stagger them so I get around pretty much everywhere. I hate sitting too long in one place.”

The waiter appeared and asked how they were doing and what they wanted to drink. It was Damario, one of Sam’s favorite waiters, and Damario looked hopeful when he saw Sam. Mitch ordered a Bohemia with some relish. Sam eyed the margarita menu longingly but asked for a glass of water. Damario’s expression fell. He knew when Sam started with water he’d get an order of less than five dollars and a tip of about fifty cents.

When the waiter put down the bowl of chips, Sam’s stomach growled so loudly he worried Mitch had heard. He quickly scooped up a few of the chips, not even bothering with the salsa in an effort to get something into his stomach. He realized in hindsight he should have eaten a few spoonfuls of peanut butter before coming.

Sam dipped chips two at a time into the dish of salsa. “That’s kind of cool how your company sends you so many places.”

“I don’t work for a company.” Mitch waited until Sam cleared the bowl a second time before taking a more modest serving of salsa for himself. “I operate independently, one gig at a time. Sometimes I contract out for a bit.” Mitch nodded thanks at the waiter as he brought their drinks. He eyed Sam’s glass of water with open criticism. “Not a drinker, huh?”

“No, I—” Sam shifted awkwardly in his chair and clutched at his glass. “I only wanted water tonight, is all.” He took a drink and reached for more chips.

“You travel much?” Mitch sipped at his beer. “Got a favorite part of the country?”

“I haven’t gone much of anywhere.” God, he was so hungry. Had he eaten lunch? “I got as far as Minneapolis and Chicago for school trips, and when I was six, Mom took me to the Black Hills, but I don’t remember much of it. Otherwise it’s been Middleton with a few trips to Des Moines every now and again.” He ate more chips, telling himself these would be his last for a while, but he got distracted and reached for more as he spoke. “I
want
to travel. It just doesn’t work out so well.”

“Why not? You got legs.”

“But not money.” The confession felt too bald out loud, so Sam sipped at his water and shrugged, trying to make light. “I’m busy enough with work and school. Maybe someday.”

“Maybe so,” Mitch agreed, and sipped his beer.

Damario came and replaced their empty chip tray, and Sam dove in before the waiter set the bowl down.

Mitch picked up his menu again. “Hell, Sunshine, I can’t decide what to order. What are you getting?”

“Two tamales.”

“There’s a combo with tamales? Where?” Mitch frowned. “I don’t see it.”

“I’m not ordering a combo.” Sam pointed to the à la carte menu. “There are a few dinners with tamales, though.”

Mitch gave him a long, hard look. “That’s
all
you’re getting?”

“I’m not really hungry,” Sam lied. When Mitch indicated the rapidly emptying bowl of chips, Sam fought like hell not to blush.

Mitch opened the menu to the dinner section. “Well, if you
were
hungry, what would you get? Help me make up my mind.”

Sam moved his water and leaned over the booth. “Number one and number two are both really good. If you’re after tamales, though, you want number six. Or eight, but eight is pretty small. Though it has enchiladas, and their enchiladas are to die for. But if you still want burritos, get number three and ask them to swap the chalupa for a tamale. They charge most people to switch, but they won’t because you’re with me.”

Mitch ran his finger down the list of entrees. “What about this steak fajita?”

Sam’s mouth started to water. “That’s good too.
Huge
, though.”

Damario reappeared with his pad and pen at the ready. “Are we ready to order,
amigos
?”

Mitch spoke before Sam could. “I’m gonna get the steak fajita, but get me a burrito to go too—just wrap it up in foil or something and put it in a bag.” He glanced at Damario as he pointed at the menu. “Sunshine here’s having number six.” Sam sputtered, but Mitch ignored him and continued speaking to Damario. “What’s he usually drink when he comes here?”

Damario scribbled madly and, Sam knew, trembled over the tip potentials. “My
amigo
Sam usually has a strawberry margarita. A large.”