The Dirty Martini

by George, G. R. ; George, Renee;

  Chris’s hands were everywhere, wrestling Marty’s shirt over his head as he undid the button on Marty’s jeans. Marty did the same to Chris, spreading his fingers wide to make as much contact with Chris’s skin as possible as he smoothed his palms down Chris back and pushed down the back of Chris’s jeans. He felt his cock, heavy as it sprung away from his stomach when Chris freed it from its denim prison.

  Chris’s breath came in a hot stutter into Marty’s mouth when Marty wrapped his fingers around Chris’s hard length and began to stroke. He’d never touched another man’s cock before, and the sensation of the silky shaft against his callused fingers left him heady with need. He felt wild and out of control as he quickened his strokes to match the small thrusts of Chris’s hips.

  Chris’s hands tangled in his hair, pulling him deeper into Nirvana until he yanked back and moaned. “Stop,” he pleaded. He dropped his hand over Marty’s. “You’re going to make me come.”

  “You don’t want to?” Marty’s words sounded as ragged as his breathing. He groped and touched Chris chest and arms and back—his hand finally settling on his ass. “I want to make you feel good. As good as you make me feel.”

  “You do.” Chris threw back his head with a sharp barking laugh. “You make me feel too fucking good.” He pulled Marty close until their bare chests pressed together. Next, he kneaded the muscles in Marty’s back, moving down until his hands found purchase on Marty’s muscled ass cheeks.

  Marty moaned. “So good. I love the way you touch me.”

  “What do you want from me, Marty?”

  “I want everything.”

  Chris fisted Marty’s hair. He stuck his tongue in Marty’s ear before tugging the lower lobe between his teeth. His words were fierce and dark with possibilities. “I want to fuck you, Marty. I want to be inside you. I want to your ass around my dick, squeezing it tight when you come for me, and you will come for me, I promise.”

  The sun fell on the horizon, and the reds, oranges, and yellows of the sunset mirrored the fire in Marty’s gut. He stared off for a second as Chris’s words settled in. Finally, he pulled his head back, and met Chris’s hungry gaze.

  “Yes,” he said. No more hesitation. No more worry or wonder. Maybe it should make him feel less a man—his straight friends might think so, but they’d be wrong. With Chris, Marty was more. So much more.

  Chapter 13

  Will You Wait?

  Chris’s eyes slid closed as he kissed Marty again, taking his mouth in a deep kiss full of longing and expectation. With other men, Chris had never felt this kind of passion or this kind of desperate craving. Until Marty, Chris had been a starving man. He just hadn’t realized it. Now, with Marty, a new hunger and ravenous appetite drove him to the brink.

  He traced the grooves and cuts of Marty’s muscular chest and abs as he kissed his neck, and stepped back, making room to turn Marty to the hood of the car. “Are you sure?” he whispered in Marty’s ear.

  “Do you have…you know?”

  “Protection?”

  “Yes.” Chris always carried condoms and packets of lube in his wallet just in case. Of course, when he’d started this trip he hadn’t really expected to be using them.

  Marty nodded. “Yes,” he repeated. His breaths had turned to hard pants. “Fuck, yes.”

  Marty braced himself against the car hood as Chris pulled his jeans and underwear over his hips and down his thighs. Goddamn. The sight of Marty’s curved muscular ass, bare and taut, waiting and willing, made Chris’s balls constrict. He kissed the base of Marty’s neck, his fingers lightly dancing up Marty’s arms to his shoulders, then down his back, until both his hand rested on Marty’s ass. He reached back and pulled his wallet from his pants. He took out the single lube packets and a condom.

  “Try to relax,” he said. He opened the corner of the lube square with his teeth. Fuck. His dick was already so fucking hard, ready to goddamn burst. He bit his lower lip as he slicked his fingers with the oily substance. He splayed Marty’s ass, adding more lube as he rubbed the spherical muscle. “You’re so hot. Such a hot fucking ass.”

  Marty turned his head over his shoulder to look at Chris. “Don’t.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t talk to me like I’m just another trick.” The emotion—raw and naked—in Marty’s eyes nearly drove Chris to his knees.

  “You’re not. I’m not.” Chris leaned forward, slanting his mouth over Marty’s, trying to show Marty how he felt without words. Marty would never be just another trick. Even if nothing else happened between them, he would always be special. Important. He broke from the kiss. “You’re more than that to me.”

  “Good.”

  “Do you still want to?”

  Marty gulped, but nodded. Chris could feel the tension in Marty’s muscled body. He pressed his groin to Marty’s ass, letting his cock slide down the crack as he reached for Marty’s waist and grasped Marty’s shaft. He pushed him forward, and with his lubricated fingers, pressed a tip into Marty.

  “Oh, God,” Marty moaned.

  Chris pushed in deeper when Marty took his next breath. The warm grip of Marty’s firm ass made his cock jerk and his balls burn. His own breathing was rapid and shallow. He felt as if he were standing on the edge of something important, knowing he would fall, knowing it wouldn’t matter where he landed as long as Marty landed with him.

  He stroked Marty’s shaft with the same rhythm he used to thrust his finger inside the snug space. He felt a clench, and knew Marty was close. He let go of Marty’s cock, and withdrew his finger.

  Marty shuddered forward. “Hurry,” he whispered, ragged and hoarse. “Hurry.”

  Chris swallowed the spit pooling in his mouth as heat fired in his groin. He rolled the condom down his length, adding more lubricant. “This may hurt some, but I’ll give you time to adjust.” He tried to hold Marty apart with one hand as he guided himself.

  Marty reached back and pulled the other cheek open. God, he was so fucking honest with his intentions. So vulnerable and exposed, but unashamed. So goddamn beautiful. He pushed against the closely drawn ring. Marty pushed back, taking Chris’s engorged head inside him.

  “Ah,” he moaned.

  “Am I hurting you?” Chris’s heart was beating out of his chest. The way Marty’s ass squeezed him, hot and snug, was almost more than he could take. He resisted the urge to shove his way deeper.

  “Yes and no,” Marty said, his voice strained. “The pain is sweet. With you, the pain isn’t pain. It feels sharp and alive. I feel alive.”

  “Goddamn…” Chris inched his way in, giving Marty time to adjust with each movement until he sheathed himself to his balls. Fuck! He wanted to thrust, needed to move his hips. His balls tensed as Marty clenched him so fucking forcefully. “I want to move in you. To stroke myself with your body.”

  “Do it,” Marty replied. “Take me.” He pushed back, his ass fitted to Chris’s groin, then rocked his hips forward, forcing Chris’s cock to withdraw a little. Then he pushed back again, moaning as he did.

  Chris put his foot on the car bumper to give him a better angle. He reached around Marty and fisted the soldier’s rigid cock. He began to stroke. He thrust his hips, slowly, in short jousts as Marty leaned back into him, turning to conquer his mouth in a kiss that made Chris’s knees weak.

  He stroked Marty faster, quicker, as his hips kept time. He loved the hugging pull of Marty’s ass milking his cock, taking everything Chris had to give and giving it right back.

  “Oh fuck, Chris.” Marty cried out. “Chris!”

  Chris felt Marty’s orgasm in his pulsing dick and the strong, driving clasps of his ass around Chris’s length. About the third hard pulse, Chris shouted Marty’s name as he unloaded his seed in a hard shattering climax that stripped him raw. When he finished, he collapsed against Marty’s back. He held the condom’s edge as his softening cock began to withdraw.

  “Fuck,” he finally said after Marty had turned around in his arms. “Fuck.” Emoti
ons overwhelmed Chris. It was as if this man, the miracle in front of him, had somehow unleashed a dam of feelings Chris hadn’t even realized he knew existed. He didn’t even try to hide when the first tear fell hot down his cheek.

  Marty held Chris when a choking sob followed the tear. He kept holding him for what seemed like hours, but in truth only minutes. When Chris could finally breathe again—finally talk, he wiped his face and said, “My dad died.”

  Marty ran his hand through Chris’s hair and kissed his forehead. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

  Chris nodded, as the depth of his sorrow and joy collided. The last two days had been the worst and best days of his life.

  “I’m going to give the Army my notice. I don’t think I can be what they need me to be.”

  Chris allowed himself to hope. “How long will it take you to get out?”

  “Six months, or around there.” Marty kissed him again.

  “I suppose you’ll want me to wait for you.”

  Marty smiled. It lit up his entire face. “Would you?”

  Chris shook his head and placed his palm on Marty’s cheek. “For you? I think I would.”

  “Fort Benning isn’t that far away.” Marty embraced Chris. “I won’t make you wait that long.”

  “Thank God,” Chris said. “I suppose we should get going. I’d like to clean up a little before I go to the visitation.”

  “What are you going to say to your mother?”

  Chris hadn’t really thought about it. As a matter-of-fact, he’d avoided thinking about his mother for a very long. He’d been so angry with her for not fighting for him. A mother should fight for her son. In Marty’s arms, though, he knew exactly what he would tell her when he finally saw her face-to-face. “I forgive her,” he whispered, his voice almost inaudible to his own ears. “I forgive them both.”

  “I’m glad,” Marty said, giving Chris a final squeeze.

  Chapter 14

  Finding His Way

  Marty watched Chris stand in line with his mother as the processional of mourners stopped to give them each condolences. His mother had embraced Chris, though neither had said a word to each other yet. Marty watched the love and grief in their exchange. Words had been unnecessary. Chris’s bravery had given Marty the strength to make his decision. Possibly the hardest of his life. Chris’s willingness to forgive his mother, gave Marty the power to at least try to forgive himself. Mike died. Marty lived. As Chris’s gaze found his, even through the throng of people, Marty knew he didn’t want to waste the life he’d been blessed with. Not anymore.

  Leaving the Army and forgiving himself would be tough, but it wouldn’t compare to the real battle in his future. How was he going to tell Jay and his parents about Chris? He smiled to himself and shrugged. Maybe Chris could go to medical school.

  The End

  Preview the next book

  The Old Fashioned - Wallbanger 2

  The Other Team, Book 5

  G.R. George

  Harvey’s Old Fashioned Recipe

  2 Cubes of Raw Sugar

  Angostura Bitters

  1 ½ ounce of Whiskey or Rye

  Club Soda

  1 tsp of water

  Two ice cubes

  1 strip of lemon peel

  Place the sugar cubes into an Old Fashioned glass. Shake three drops of bitters onto the cubes. Next, add the water over sugar cubes and break them up. Add the two ice cubes. Pour preferred liquor over top. Fill glass two-thirds with Club Soda. Give the lemon peel a twist and garnish.

  There is nothing better than a sweet Old Fashioned to warm your body.

  Chapter 1

  Old Fashioned

  Jay Lincoln brushed his teeth. The bathroom was large enough to have a corner tub with plenty of room for two people and a five-foot shower with a dozen jets and showerheads to hose off a small group. Two large, oblong crystal bowls with Roman faucets, the necks curved with high arches, sat on a green and black marble counter that stretched another five feet. The cabinets, including the mirrored one over the vanity, were a rich, warm mahogany. Actual mahogany.

  He rinsed his mouth, rinsed his toothbrush, and then carefully rinsed his spit from the sink. He placed his toothbrush in the holder behind the bowl and stared at his smiling reflection in the mirror.

  It was nearing the end of June, and he and Harvey Grace had been dating nearly three months. When Jay first began staying the occasional night at Harvey’s house, he’d pack a toothbrush. Last week, Harvey had put the extra holder, one that matched his own, behind the second sink. It had been an unexpectedly romantic gesture for which Jay rewarded him well.

  Jay’s cock hardened at the memory. Harvey might be forty-five years old, but there was nothing old about the way he made Jay’s heart race. The way Harvey made him feel scared the shit out of him. Things were going really well, but what if Harvey realized they had nothing in common?

  Harvey was a professional, a doctor, and not just a doctor—a surgeon. Highly educated, cultured, and if his home was any indication, rich. Even though Jay owned his own business, he’d only attended college for one year. He’d spent so much time between working as a bartender and partying, he’d flunked out of both semesters.

  He didn’t regret dropping out. Bartending had showed him another way to make a living doing something he loved. After almost a decade of working behind the bar, he’d finally gained enough knowledge and experience to open his own place. He took a lot of pride in The Other Team. He made enough profit to pay his employees a livable wage, pay his own bills, and have a little extra. Even so, he worried Harvey would realize that he could do better. Jay didn’t want to be Harvey’s mid-life crisis—an itch to scratch.

  In the large kitchen, all dark woods, stainless steel appliances, Harvey sat at the center island in one of the four pub-height chairs. He wore black sweat pants and a dark blue T-shirt that clung to his wide chest and shoulders instead of slacks and a button-down shirt—his normal work attire. Jay bit his lower lip as he thought about the treasure of silvery-peppered dark hair just beneath the cotton fabric

  Harvey read a newspaper while he sipped a cup of tea. His preferred morning beverage. He ruffled the noisy print as he turned a page. He looked up at Jay, his bright blue eyes crinkling at the corners, and smiled. Jay’s heart skipped a beat. God, he was so fucking sexy.

  “Good morning.” Harvey’s low voice, even when he wasn’t trying, was like a seductive caress. “I’ve made you a pot of coffee.”

  Heat rushed through Jay, but he didn’t try to hide his reaction. He walked to the counter, watching as Harvey’s gaze tracked him. There was a reason Jay hadn’t put on anything but his boxer-briefs. He loved the way Harvey looked at him.

  When Jay stayed the night, Harvey always made him coffee, even though Harvey didn’t drink it himself. Just like Jay always made certain he had Harvey’s favorite tea brand at his apartment.

  Harvey had put the cream and sugar next to an empty mug and a spoon beside it on a napkin. Jay grinned as he poured his cup, adding two sugars and a big dose of cream. He stirred the mixture until his coffee was the perfect shade of tan and took a sip. Full-bodied with no acid bite. Yum. “Really good coffee, Harv.”

  Harvey rewarded him with an even bigger smile. “It’s a Sumatran blend that a friend at work said was really good. I’m glad he was right.”

  Jay’s gut tightened. He forced the mild jealousy away. First, he had no idea who Harvey was talking about, so it probably wasn’t his ex-boyfriend Mark, another doctor and a total jerk. Second, Harvey had bought the coffee because he thought it would make Jay happy. He wasn’t going to spoil the gift by acting like an ass. Besides, they hadn’t put any labels on their relationship. They were frequent lovers, and Jay kept a toothbrush at Harvey’s house. Those were his only claims on the man.

  When Harvey’s brow narrowed with confusion, Jay forced a smile to his lips. He set his cup on the counter, crossed the smooth-tiled floor to Harvey and sidled between his thighs. He plucked
the newspaper from Harvey’s hand and placed it on the center island.

  “Your friend has good taste.” Jay cradled Harvey’s face between his palms as he drank in his gorgeous, light blue eyes—the color of ice, but so much warmer. He dipped his head—enjoying the way Harvey’s strong hands slid up his waist—before he slanted his mouth over Harvey’s.

  Harvey opened for Jay, his tongue tasting of honeyed tea. Harvey’s growing erection butted up against his groin. He smoothed his fingers through Harvey’s thick graying hair. “You know nobody reads newspapers anymore.”

  Harvey’s palms splayed across Jay’s chest, his fingertips dancing over Jay’s nipples. “How am I supposed to get the news then?”

  “The Internet, like the rest of the world.”

  Harvey shook his head then leaned forward and nibbled along Jay’s collarbone. “I guess I’m old-fashioned.”

  Jay burned with longing and need. He rocked his hips forward, rubbing himself against Harvey’s hard bulge. “I really like that about you.”

  Harvey wrapped one arm around Jay’s waist and drew him even closer, with his other hand he reached up and pulled Jay down to his mouth again. “I love the way you feel in my arms,” he murmured against Jay’s lips.

  “And I love…the way I feel when I’m in your arms.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. “Do you work this afternoon?”

  “No,” Harvey said. He kissed the dip between Jay’s neck and jaw. “You smell good.”

  Jay smiled. Coconut, lime, and basil. He’d used Harvey’s designer body wash. The first time Jay had slept over, he’d used the soap. The scent made him feel like Harvey was next to him all day. Now, he used the wash whenever he got the chance. “You have good taste in soap.”