Page 8 of Steel Trap
“Do you have an appointment, sir?” There was no hint of sarcasm in the use of the title. These people were well-trained.
“Just tell him Nelson Hatchetis here to see him.”
“One moment, please.”
Hatchet engaged the kickstand of his bike so he could relax in the saddle. He lounged for a few minutes and occasionally the camera above his head whirred and shifted its angle.
“Mr. Smith will see you, sir. Follow the drive to your right. You can park your vehicle in any of the spaces marked for visitors. Return to the front of the building for reception.”
The gates opened. Hatchet nudged his kickstand up then drove forward. The gates began to close immediately. A stray dog wouldn’t have had much chance to tailgate him inside. Hatchet left his bike with no concern for its security. He strolled to the engraved glass front doors, but had to wait for the locks to disengage before heading inside. The place bristled with cameras and the two uniformedmen behind the reception desk would have been at home on any battlefield. Hatchet knew ex-military when he saw it. He gave a brief nod.
“Any weapons must be left here, sir.”
Hatchet removed the snub-nosed revolver from his waistband. He laid it on the marble topped desk along with two knives—one from his boot, one from inside his jacket. He still got patted down. He kept his hands visible andhis stance relaxed. His objective was to get to Smith and if that took getting felt up, then so be it.
“Take the elevator on the left.” The guard pointed to two sleek, mirror-finished doors.
“Which floor?” Hatchet asked.
“It’s a private elevator, sir. It will take you where you want to go.”
There was another camera inside the elevator. Hatchet was beginning to wonder just what he was gettinghimself into. Smith had serious money, or backing, to live in this place. He pressed the single button and was carried upward with silent efficiency. What he’d seen of the building so far reflected Smith’s personality—cool, efficient and reeking of wealth and privilege. Hatchet stared at the scuffed toe-cap of his boot. Smith had hidden depths. Rich or not, underneath that brittle shell there wasa seething mass of unrequited lust that Hatchet couldn’t wait to tap.
The elevator door slid open and Hatch stepped through it. He didn’t take any notice of his surroundings because Smith, hands on hips, was waiting for him.
“How did you find me?” He was barefoot, wearing jeans and an open necked shirt.
“You’re the intelligent one. Work it out.” Hatchet’s cock pressed against his leathers.
Smith frowned and rubbed a hand through his sandy hair, leaving it spiked and messy. He blinked. “Shelton’s clothes. Damn it.”
Hatchet walked straight into Smith’s personal space, herding him against the nearest wall. “You have some explaining to do. Then we need to talk about this damn fool mission you’re planning. But first, you and I have an overdue date with a flat surface.” He shoved hisknee between Smith’s thighs, pushing them apart. “Your ass, my dick. It’s destiny.”
Smith whimpered but didn’t attempt to escape. “What gives you the right to invade my home and give me orders?”
“You invited me in, sunshine. No way would I have made it up here without your say so. This place is like fucking Fort Knox.” Hatchet raised his knee, putting pressure on Smith’s balls. “Now, eitherdirect me to your bedroom or be prepared to get stains on the flooring.”
“You can’t just…” Smith’s words ended in a squeak as Hatchet tore open Smith’s fly before shoving a hand down his pants.
“Rock hard and dripping,” Hatchet observed. “You’ve wanted me since the first time we met. You know it. I know it. So, stop with the damsel in distress routine and bend over.” Hatchet spun Smith aroundto press him against the wall. He squeezed his denim-clad ass then gave him a couple of firm spanks.
“Not here.” Smith’s capitulation was swift. “You could use some training in the whole romance thing, you know.” He took Hatchet’s hand and tugged him along a corridor lined with artwork. The bedroom door stood open, revealing an opulent room and huge bed.
“Black sheets, huh.” Hatchet smirked.“Nice. Now, strip.”
Smith scowled. Hatchet liked the look on him. He was a little ball of frustration but his dick, jutting from his open pants, was still rock hard.
“You really need to work on your foreplay.” Smith unbuttoned his shirt with jerky motions.
“And you really need to get laid. You’ve had a stick up your ass so long I’m surprised you can still walk.” Hatchet dumped his leather jacketon the floor. His T-shirt followed.
Smith licked his lips.
“Like what you see?” Hatchet smirked. He unfastened his boots, kicked them off then toed off his socks. His dick was challenging the confines of his leathers but he kept them on.
Smith dropped his pants and underwear before kicking them away. He folded his arms, a picture of naked exasperation. “Not bad. I’ve seen worse.” His eyesgleamed and there was a flush of color on his cheeks.
“Sit on the end of the bed. Spread your legs.” Hatchet waited to see if Smith would obey.
