Page 47 of Takeover
When Michael wrapped his hand around Sam’s cock and stroked, desire twined at the base of Sam’s spine. Too much, too fast. Sam broke the kiss. “I’m going to come.”
“Don’t.” Michael kept stroking, slowly. Firmly.
Sam fought against the rising pressure in his belly, the tightening in his balls. The clamps might as well have been two mouths sucking hard on his nipples. Michael pressed his thumb against the slit in the crown of Sam’s dick.
His whole body shook with the need for release—from the clamps, from Michael’s hand, from the growing fullness of his heart. He would never, ever get enough of Michael. He needed this man in his life. “Please.”
“No.” Michael took on a cheerful tone. “Put that type-A personality to some use.”
He didn’t know whether to laugh or curse. He moaned instead and used every ounce of self-control to keep from teetering over the edge into bliss. After several more strokes, Michael finally relented and released Sam’s cock.
In turn, Sam let go of Michael’s arms and slumped back to sitting on the bed. The clamps still stung and ached, especially when the chain swung between them, but the pain was down to a manageable level—if trembling were considered managing.
Michael loomed over him with the same wolfish grin as before.
“You like seeing your CEO like this?” Sam’s words were dusty to go along with the dryness of his throat.
Michael gripped Sam’s chin. “I love seeing you like this. I don’t give a rat’s ass that you’re my boss.” He trailed his fingers down along Sam’s throat, then took hold of the chain and pulled, ever so gently. “I don’t think you do, either.”
The dull sting turned sharp and drove away Sam’s retort. He tried not to twist and failed, turning his nipples into points of agony. Every moment of pain transformed into a sweet dagger of pleasure. It was hard, very hard, not to cry out.
Too many neighbors.
“Lovely.” Michael backed away and returned to his bag. Out came a bottle of lube and a strip of condoms, which he placed at the foot of the bed before rooting in the bag again. Sam couldn’t help the soft groan when he considered the foil packets.
“Since you’ve done beautifully with the clamps, come here and pick which of these I’m going to flog you with.”
All breath left Sam. A trickle of sweat ran down his back, cooling his overheated skin. Yes, he wanted to be thrashed, but to have it so plainly spoken of… it froze him even as the thought burned.
“Sam.”
He rose to his feet at Michael’s call, legs shaking, and crossed to the table with the black bag. Each step shook the chain suspended between his nipples. The added sharpness cleared his head and steadied his steps. When he reached Michael’s side, he could breathe again. Michael pulled him close and kissed the back of his neck.
On the table lay a flogger and a riding crop. Sam had never been hit with either but knew the effects well enough from the porn he watched. He was about to live his fantasy. Again. The decision was easy. Sharp, hard swats. “The crop.”
“Thought that might be your choice.” Michael nuzzled his neck, a gentle touch, odd in contrast to the dull burn of the clamps. Sam leaned against Michael, soaking in his warmth and strength.
A slip of a thought flickered through Sam’s head that he really should not be in Michael’s arms—and he shoved it away. Michael was right. He didn’t care. Navigating the consequences of this night could come later. “You didn’t pick these… toys up because of me, did you?”
“No.” Michael traced a hand down Sam’s belly to his thigh, skimming achingly close to Sam’s cock—but not touching it. “In college, I was pretty involved in the Scene. But Rasheed… wasn’t. I drifted away.”
“You didn’t do this with him.” Joy ripped through Sam. This wastheirs.
“No. Never with him.”
“He missed out. You obviously enjoy being a Dom.”
Michael huffed a laugh. “I love whipping people, giving them the pain they want and need. I love topping. I love the joy of a scene well played. I hated being a Dom.”
That—didn’t make sense. “I don’t understand. You and me—”
Michael turned him around. “I adore you. If we weren’t stuck in this job together, if you were openly gay, I’d ask you out. I don’t want to run your life. I don’t want to tell you what to do—not all the time. I just want to make you fly.”
“You left.” Sam’s throat tightened and he swallowed. “In the gym, you ran when I said that.” He’d seen the fear in Michael.
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m not running now.” He paused. “Whether I stay is up to you.”
Sam should have been running for the door. He hadn’t expected—hadn’t anticipated—Michael might feel the same way. That wasn’t part of his plan. He was taking a job in Boston and leaving. Going back to Beantown to exorcise some of his demons.
