Page 19 of Takeover
A whip of desire lashed out from Michael’s core, flaying his nerves with pleasure and stealing his sight and breath. He came buried in Sam’s throat, shooting more than he thought possible into that willing mouth.
Sam milked him until the tremors subsided, then licked his lips. “Did that meet your expectations?” The devil resided in Sam’s rough voice and in the mischief dancing in his eyes.
Michael could only murmur Sam’s name. He pushed himself off the wall and held out a hand.
Sam took it and Michael pulled him into his arms. He kissed Sam, tasting himself on the tongue Sam thrust into his mouth. Sam’s cock nudged Michael’s belly and a zip of awareness—a warmth Michael did not want to name—ran through his blood. This man would be his undoing.
Michael broke the kiss, nipped at Sam’s neck, then spoke. “More than met.” He stepped out of Sam’s arms and retrieved the bottle of shower wash. He thumbed the flap open and drizzled the liquid over Sam’s shoulders and down his chest and back, then dropped the bottle, not caring about the noise it made. He ran his hands over Sam’s chest, lathering the wash, then moved to his back.
Sam tipped his head and his hard shaft pressed against Michael’s stomach again.
He shouldn’t leave Sam hanging like that, but he enjoyed seeing him on the edge, the way his body moved, the shudder of his breathing. Michael scrubbed lower, over Sam’s striped ass.
Michael dug his fingers into Sam’s cheeks, and Sam’s rough breathing turned into a cry.
“That hurt?” Of course it did, but he wanted to hear Sam’s answer.
“Yes.”
“Too much?”
A breathless laugh. “From you? Never.”
Michael scraped his fingers across the swollen lines from his whipping and Sam twisted. Time to end this—as much as he enjoyed having Sam at his mercy in this little space they’d carved out—the real world beckoned from beyond the shower. He ran a hand over Sam’s chest to gather what lather the shower hadn’t washed off and took hold of Sam’s cock. With the other hand, he slid a finger between Sam’s ass cheeks and teased his hole.
Sam moaned in Michael’s embrace and tangled his hands into Michael’s hair.
Michael plunged his tongue between Sam’s lips. God, Sam tasted so good. And his kiss… the sound of the shower lessened as Michael’s blood rushed in his ears. When this was over, then what? He pushed the thought—and the lump in his throat—away and stroked Sam’s cock. No gentle teasing, just a hard hand-fucking. He circled Sam’s hole with his index finger then pushed inside.
Sam’s grip tightened, pulling Michael’s hair taut, and he broke the kiss. “Oh fuck!” Sam repeated the curse into Michael’s neck.
Michael nipped and licked at Sam’s collarbone, tasting tap water, spice, and salt, then he bit Sam’s flesh and pushed his finger into Sam’s ass as far as it would go.
With a breathless shout, Sam came, his whole body shuddering with the force of his orgasm. After a few moments, Sam sighed and wilted into Michael’s embrace. “God, that was so good.”
It had been, better than Michael wanted to admit. This little encounter wouldn’t be enough to sate his appetite for Sam, which was a huge, huge problem. He kissed the spot he’d bitten that already shaded toward purple. “You’re going to be sore tomorrow.”
“I’m sore now.” Sam pulled away, grinning, and bent to claim the bottle of body wash. “I like that aspect.” He squirted wash into his hand then offered the bottle to Michael. “Keeps me sharp.”
Michael took it and worked on cleaning himself off. He had no marks on his body, no visible bruises, it was only his heart that hurt like hell. “We can’t do this again.” He choked out the words. He would drown in Sam’s needs—and his own—if they kept this up.
Sam’s smile melted. He looked down and rinsed off, a faint crease forming on his brow.
Michael took his turn under the water, then shut the stream off. The silence afterward was absolute. Mike grabbed his towel off the curtain bar, dried himself, wrapped it around his waist, then retrieved his sodden belt. He held up a finger to his lips.
Sam didn’t move. His throat worked his Adam’s apple up and down, but he said nothing.
Pushing the curtain half open, Michael stepped out into the locker room.
It was empty. Exhaling, Michael opened the curtain the rest of the way. “I’ll get you a towel.” He didn’t wait for a response before returning to his locker to grab his spare towel. He took it back and handed it to Sam.
“Thanks.” Neutral tone. Sam’s eyes were rimmed with red, probably from the extended shower.
He hoped to God it was from the shower.
They didn’t speak as they toweled off and dressed. But when Sam picked up his watch and grunted, Michael couldn’t help but look over. Suit pants. Crisp gray shirt. All the evidence of their time together hidden beneath cloth. Sam met Michael’s gaze and turned his watch. “It’s not as late as I thought.”
“What time is it?”
