The Screwdriver - Dirty Martini 2 Read online

  “Wet your finger for me, babe. Stick it in your mouth and get it slick with spit.”

  Marty reluctantly let go of his shaft and put his index finger in his mouth, wetting it like Chris had told him. “Okay.”

  “Reach around your ass and touch your hole, get it nice and wet.”

  Holy shit, Marty thought. Am I really doing this? He’d never had phone sex before, never knew it could be so fucking hot. But also, a little embarrassing, especially if he was the only one getting off. “Are you touching yourself?”

  “Yes,” Chris said. “Oh yes. I’m so hard it hurts. Now, do what I say. Are you there? Is your finger circling that magnificent, tight hole?”

  “Hold on.” Marty slipped his boxers off, he grabbed his earbuds from the nightstand, plugged them into his phone, and put them in his ears. He put the phone next to his pillow. He wet his finger again and reached around until he could feel his ass. His anus pulsed as he swirled the slick digit in a circle. “I’m doing it.”

  “You’re doing what?” Chris asked coyly.

  “I’m playing with my ass.”

  “No,” Chris said. “I am. I’m swirling the tight hole with my tongue, licking and teasing.” Chris moaned now. “Fuck, how I love eating that ass of yours. I want to stick my tongue inside you, Marty.”

  “Yes,” Marty said, squirming, his hips rocking as he thrust his cock into one hand while he forced his fingertip through the taut circular ring of muscle. “Yes. You’re inside me. Feels so good.”

  “What do you want me to do next, Marty? Do you want me to fuck you again? Do you want me to sink my dick inside your tight ass?”

  “Yes,” Marty said, quickening his strokes. It burned as he pushed his finger inside himself to the knuckle. He pulled out a little and just worked that short two inches in and out of his body. “Fuck me, Chris.”

  “I can feel your grip on my dick, milking me with every stroke. You feel so fucking good, Marty. God, I want to see you come. I want to look into your eyes as I take you over the edge. I wanted to get lost in those pools of amber as I get lost inside you.”

  “I can see you,” Marty said, his eyes squeezed shut. “I can feel you. Oh. Ah.” Marty groaned as his climax exploded, shooting across his blanket.

  “Fuck!” Chris shouted. “Ah, ah—” After a brief moment of ragged breathing, Chris started laughing.

  Marty smiled, shaking his head. “That was something else.”

  “Entirely,” Chris agreed. “Have you ever—”

  “No,” Marty said. “Have you?”

  “Nope, the first time.”

  “You were pretty damn good for a virgin.”

  Chris laughed again. “I could say the same about you.”

  “I just followed your lead.”

  “As you should.” Chris paused on his end for a moment then said, “That wasn’t weird for you was it?”

  Marty shrugged even though Chris couldn’t see him. He wiped himself and his covers with his discarded underwear. He’d clean up better after he got off the phone. “Maybe a little.”

  “I hope your walls aren’t thin.” Chris laughed. “You’re not quiet when you come.”

  The edges of Marty’s ears heated. “I didn’t think about that.” He really needed to find a place off base.

  “Oh, don’t worry. I’m sure if you woke up the neighbors they’d be banging on your walls.”

  “How’s work?”

  “Good. Jay offered me an assistant manager position at the bar. Did he tell you?”

  “No, he didn’t say anything.” The offer surprised Marty.

  “Good,” Chris said. “Then I’ll probably take it. I could use the extra money.”

  “You having some financial problems?”

  “No,” Chris said. “I didn’t mean to sound like I did. I’m just…” There was another hesitation. “I’m just glad he didn’t offer me the job because of you.”

  Marty snorted. “I can guarantee he didn’t offer it to you because of me.” Jay was not a fan of Marty seeing Chris. He tried to warn him off the blond bartender more than once, but Jay didn’t see Chris the way Marty did. “If Jay wants you as his assistant manager it’s because he knows you’re capable of handling the job. No other reason. I promise you.”

  “I don’t know if I should be flattered or offended.”

  “Flattered,” Marty said. “Definitely.”

  * * * *

  Tell Me Your Secrets

  Chris had cleaned up in the bathroom during the conversation. He hadn’t bothered to dress after—the perks of living alone. He walked naked around his small apartment, the phone tucked between his shoulder and his ear. He was glad the job offer from Jay was legit, but he would have taken it either way. It was extra money, and for a guy without an education, he needed to take advantage of all opportunities. He straightened the kitchen, put his dinner plate, a white one with blue lines around the edges, in his dishwasher. The brown ceramic coffee mug had a little chip, but it was thick and chunky, which kept his coffee hot in the mornings.

  “I’ll tell Jay tomorrow that I’m going to take the job.” He cleaned out the reusable coffee filter and rinsed the pot.

  “Are you running water in the sink?”

  “Just a little light housework,” Chris said. “I’m multi-tasking.”

  “Do you have an apron on?”

  “I’m wearing nothing by my birthday suit.”

  “That’s a good suit,” Marty said. “Fits you perfectly.”

  He hung his coffee mug on a wooden mug rack, a little zing in his step. “You just like the way it hugs my hips.”

  “I like everything about it.”

  Marty’s baritone voice was like a caress against Chris’s skin. His stomach fluttered and his heartbeat picked up the pace. “Martin Lincoln, are you trying to seduce me? Again?”

  “Is it working?”

  “Yes.”

  The week he and Marty had spent together had been strangely isolated—just the two of them in their own magic bubble. But now, the real world stepped in between them. Could the connection they shared withstand a two-hundred-mile separation? He wanted to believe it could. This phone conversation was definitely encouraging.

  “When’s your next night off?”

  “It might change. I think Jay mostly wants me to manage the day shift.”

  “Text me your schedule, and we’ll set up another phone date.”

  “Count on it,” Chris said. “Do you need to go?”

  “No. Do you?”

  “I can talk a while longer.” Just hearing Marty’s voice on the other end of the line made him feel calm. Assured. It was all the rest of the time that Chris felt like an insecure ass.

  “So, go Royals,” Marty said.

  “Really.” Chris laughed as he opened the door off his living room to his bedroom. “You want to talk baseball?”

  “We can talk about anything you want.”

  “How’s your leg feeling?” He’d had to be careful during their intimate moments. The wounds of battle had healed into knotted scars on Marty’s left leg, but he was in pain most of the time.

  “The same,” Marty said, his tone flat. “I’m getting on.”

  “I know. Sorry.” Why was he bringing up such a serious subject? He needed to keep it light. Keep it fun. He didn’t want Marty to think he was clingy. “So, how about them Royals?”

  “They’re having a hell of a season.”

  “I think they’ll go all the way this year.”

  Marty laughed. “I think you’re right.”

  Chris sat on the edge of his bed. He finger-combed his hair. “Before you say goodbye, tell me something about yourself. Something that nobody else knows.”

  He heard Marty blow out a breath. After a short pause, he said, “Jay moved out of the house when he was eighteen to live in the college dorms. My parents had given me his room, it was larger than mine, and they turned my old room into a sewing room for mom. A year later, when Jay dropped out of sc
hool and came back home from college, they kicked me out of my new room until he could figure out what it was he wanted to do with his life. During those two months, I was forced to sleep on a rollaway bed—”

  “A what?”

  “A rollaway bed. One of those that you can fold up.”

  “Got it.” Chris smiled. “Go on.”

  “Anyhow, every night I had to go to sleep surrounded by quilt racks, stacks of fabric squares, the smell of sewing machine oil. You get the picture.”

  “Vividly.”

  “I love Jay, but I was twelve, just entering puberty hardcore, and I went from having a large, private bedroom to sharing space with my mom and her hobby.”

  “I bet you were pissed.”

  “Vengeful is a better term, I think.” Marty laughed softly. “I’ve never told a living soul this before.”

  “You can’t stop now.”

  “You can never divulge this secret.”

  “Scouts honor.”

  “You were a scout?”

  “No.” He lied. “Do I look like the kind of guy who would join the scouts?” He’d made it all the way to Eagle.

  Marty laughed again. “I guess not.”

  “So spill,” Chris said. “I will keep your confessional.”

  “Have you ever had milk go bad?”

  “Yes. It’s disgusting.”

  “It really is,” Marty said. “Well, I hid a small cup of milk on the shelf of Jay’s closet, at the very back behind an old baby blanket of his. For the first week, everything was fine, but by the second week, it was starting to get all toe-jam funky. Every now and then, as it would start to dry up, I would sneak into the room and add a little more milk. By the time he moved out, the rotten smell had started to infiltrate the hallway outside his room.”

  “Oh my God!” Chris guffawed. “That’s awful.”

  “Yeah, and he and my parents couldn’t figure out why his room stunk so bad.” Marty laughed again. “They thought an animal had died in the attic crawlspace. They would tease Jay about hiding a body in the wall.” Now he was laughing so hard, Chris could hear him fight for breath. “The smell miraculously cleared up when Jay moved out.”

  “I can’t believe you got away with it.”

  “Nobody suspected me at all.” He wheezed another laugh. “Okay. It’s your turn now.”

  “I don’t know how I can top that story.”

  “Come on,” Marty said. “You have to tell me something about yourself that nobody else knows. Just between you and me.”

  What could Chris tell him that he hadn’t told anybody else? He searched his memories for something that wasn’t too awful or too shallow. Finally, he landed one. “When I was ten, I was failing in school. I already knew I was different than the other boys in my class, and I found myself losing interest in classwork. I played sports, baseball, basketball, and football. My dad was really into all that.” His gut pinched as he thought about his father. He’d enjoyed his dad’s approval during his younger years. “Anyways, I had been blowing off English homework for about two weeks. And my teacher, Mrs. Mercer gave us a test. I failed it, of course. I ended up with a twenty-two out of one-hundred.” He scratched his head. “I’m really bad at telling stories. And this one…”

  “Come on. I told you mine.”

  “Okay. Well, instead of handing me back my test, she asked me to go outside with her into the hallway. When we got out there, she handed me my paper. I’ll never forget her expression. It was a mix of rage and disappointment. When I took the test from her, she slapped me across the face.”

  “You’re shitting me.”

  “No,” Chris said. He rubbed his cheek as if he could still feel the sting. “It happened.”

  “I hope you reported her.”

  “I didn’t, Marty. And I’ll tell you why. After she had slapped me, Mrs. Mercer said to me, ‘You are one of the smartest students I have, Christopher. I am so disappointed because I know you are a lot better than this grade.’” Chris swallowed at the lump in his throat and willed the heat in his eyes to dissipate as he thought of the old teacher. “After, she hugged me. It was the weirdest, and in a way, the most amazing thing that ever happened to me. I never told anyone about the slap, but after that day, I started engaging with class again. Started making A’s and B’s again instead of F’s. I felt as if Mrs. Mercer had seen me. A better version of me. The one I could be if only I cared enough. I wanted to be that for her. For myself.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah,” Chris agreed. His cheeks burned with embarrassment. Why had he picked this story of all stories to tell? It made him feel weak. “I have to go now, but I’ll text you when I have my schedule.”

  “Don’t forget.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Chris,” Marty said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you for tonight.” And with those final words, Marty hung up the phone.

  Chris stared at the spackled ceiling in his bedroom. He grabbed one of the three small pillows on his queen-sized bed and hugged it to his body. It was eight-thirty-five in the evening. A little early for bed, but he didn’t want to get up. He didn’t want to go out. But he did want to stop feeling lonely.

  Maybe he needed a cat.

  Chapter 3

  Mid-August

  Maybe You Should Kiss Me

  Marty pulled up into the parking lot of Chris’s apartment complex in his mid-sized rental car. The evening heat and humidity clung to his skin. He and Chris had talked at least three times a week since that first phone call a month earlier, but he’d really wanted to see the man again. They’d decided to meet up on Chris’s first weekend off since becoming day manager at the bar. Marty had the jitters. What if they didn’t have the same chemistry? The same spark? All their intimacies since June had been via phone.

  Chris had suggested video chat, but Marty had been too much of a chicken. Living in the military made a man paranoid about privacy. He pulled his tee shirt at the collar to let in some air, mustering his courage. The heat exacerbated the oily scent of the recently tarred parking lot. He smiled, remembering the choice words Chris had about the tar sticking to his tires. The outside steps leading to the second floor were concrete. Marty gripped the metal railing. His leg ached as he walked the flight to apartment 3B.

  He bit his upper lip, running his fingers through his hair, as he stood at the door. His stomach ached with a misery born of anticipation and fear. His impulse was to bang down the door, but instead, he simply knocked. Twice.

  The door opened. Chris smiled. “You made it.” Chris wore a kiwi-green tee shirt that brightened the green in his hazel eyes and a pair of low-slung jeans that hugged his narrow hips. His chestnut hair was neatly combed, and his narrow, angular face was clean shaven.

  “You look nice,” Marty said.

  Chris stepped back inside his apartment. “Come in. You’ve had a long trip. The bathroom is the door across the way.” There were two doors off the living room. Chris pointed the nearest one. “If you need to use it.”

  “I’m fine,” Marty said. The living room and kitchen were combined in the small apartment. Chris had a blue couch, a coffee table, a recliner, and a small flat screen on a stand across the room from the couch in the living room. The kitchen had a three-by-three wooden table, four chairs, a fridge, dishwasher, sink, stove, and limited counter and cabinet space. The place wouldn’t win any decorating awards, but it was clean.

  “Do you want to sit down?” Chris asked.

  “Sure.” Marty felt let down by Chris’s mild reaction. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but this congenial greeting hadn’t been it. “It’s good to see you.”

  “You too,” Chris said. “Can I get you a drink? Beer? Wine?”

  “Sure. I’ll take whatever beer you have.” He watched Chris open the fridge and heard the telltale clinking of bottles.

  Chris brought two beers into the living room. The bottles hissed as he popped the tops with an opener. He sat on the cou
ch next to Marty. “Here you go.”

  The cold bottle sweated against his hot, clammy hands. He swigged the beer, glad to have a reason not to talk for a moment. They’d talked so much on the phone over the past month that he’d assumed they’d never run out of things to say.

  “So,” Chris said. “Long drive, huh?”

  Wow, this conversation really was going nowhere. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah,” Chris said. “Yes, of course. Why? Is everything okay with you?”

  “Sure.” Marty scratched at the small hole near the knee of his jeans. “Good.” Why was this so goddamn hard? He turned to Chris and waited for Chris to meet his gaze.

  They both laughed nervously.

  “Maybe you should kiss me,” Marty said.

  Chris smiled, the angles of his face softening with relief. He leaned in close to Marty. “Meet me halfway.”

  Marty’s stomach fluttered as he remembered their first kiss. He put his hand on Chris’s cheek. “God, I’ve missed this face.”

  Their lips met in a warm press that sent a punch of energy through Marty. Chris’s mouth parted for him, and his tongue, cold with beer, swiped against Marty’s.

  Marty groaned, his muscles tensing as his excitement rose. Chris turned to him, pushing him until Marty’s back was against the couch cushions, and Chris was on top of him. Their kiss deepened, growing more ardently possessive with each passing second.

  Chris tugged at Marty’s shirt, lifting it above his stomach. Chris’s hands explored Marty’s stomach and chest, tweaking Marty’s nipples as they passed over them. Marty pulled his legs up on the couch, wincing as he got his left leg under Chris. Chris shifted his weight then nestled in between Marty’s thighs. Their hard erections pressed together, the fabric of their jeans and underwear painfully separating them. Marty felt a swell of elation to go with the swell in his pants when Chris moved against him.

  Chris’s muscles moved under Marty’s fingers as he kneaded and caressed the man’s back. He pulled him down until their chests collided, their breathless pants between kisses creating inelegant grunts as their passion became more frantic, more full of longing.

  Marty stripped Chris’s shirt over his head. Next, his fingers worked frantically to undo the tight jeans. He had trouble with the single metal button, and in sheer frustration, he shouted, “Goddamnit!”