Page 48 of Takeover
Except he was standing in a hotel room, wearing nothing but clamps on his nipples, and the man he was falling in love with was about to beat him with a riding crop. “There’s too much in my head right now.”
Michael tapped the crop against his hand. “I can fix that for you.”
“Please. Yes.”
Michael pointed to the wall. “Back to me, legs apart, and use your arms to brace yourself.”
Sam moved into position. Beneath his palms, the subtle wallpaper dug into his skin, but the abrasion was comforting. “Arms high?”
“Ideally, you’d be cuffed onto a rack or a cross, but since we can’t do that here, whatever position is most comfortable and you’re least likely to break,” Michael said.
A rack. A cross? The controlled heat in Sam’s balls threatened to spill out of confinement. He took a breath and concentrated. Arms down. He did push-ups regularly; it would be easy to hold the position under pain. Or pleasure.
Michael tapped Sam’s left leg with what felt to be the crop. “Wider.”
Sam obliged. Then waited, and waited more, his pulse ticking up with each second that passed. After a moment, he relaxed and opened his mouth to speak.
The crack of the riding crop against his right ass cheek echoed in the room before the pain registered in Sam’s brain. A shower of gold sparks exploded in his vision and the sting radiated to his fingertips. The next blow came, on the left cheek. Then another. This one on his shoulder blade. Sam pressed into the wall, scraping the clamps against the hard surface. The agony nearly buckled his legs. He closed his eyes and moaned.
Michael chuckled. “The clamps are a treat, aren’t they?”
Another blow from Michael stole Sam’s answer. Spots—gold, white, red—danced in his vision as sparks of desire, pain, and delight flooded his body and set his skin aflame. Each time the crop landed, his cock and balls tightened. He laid his head against the wall and fought the urge to twist under the blows. God, he wanted more. He arched his back and rose onto his toes. “Please.”
Another crack of leather against flesh, then another. Too many to count. Sweet torment sang in his veins and made his dick throb. Sam trembled, the pounding blood in his ears blocking all but the noise of the slap of the crop.
How long Michael continued Sam couldn’t tell, only that every blow sent light into his vision and lifted him higher, away from the world, closer to Michael. Closer to heaven.
This pain was so different from a true beating. Sweeter. Calming. He didn’t want it to end. But he was losing his grip on the wall and his legs felt like twisting rubber. Sam slid and the blows stopped.
Strong arms caught him before he fell to the ground. “Jesus, Sam. You need to tell me when you’ve had enough. That’s the whole point of safewords.”
“Haven’t had enough.” The word came out slurred. Sam peeled open his eyes to a world too bright. But it contained Michael, so that was fine. “Keep going.”
He couldn’t tell if the sound Michael made was a laugh or a moan. “No. Not if you’re like this.” Steady arms lifted Sam up and pulled him toward the bed. Even when Sam’s ass hit the comforter, Michael didn’t let go. “You want more than you can take.”
“Always.” The bedcover pricked against his aching skin and the pain sent a wave of pleasure up his spine. He shivered in Michael’s arms. “Teach me how to take more.”
“Not tonight.” He drew his fingers across Sam’s cheek, under the chin, and tipped Sam’s head back. When Michael’s mouth closed on Sam’s, the kiss wasn’t consumed by the ferocity of desire. Instead, Michael gave Sam a sweet, slow kiss that made all the soreness in Sam’s body blaze. He collapsed into Michael’s arms.
“Tonight, I’m going to teach you what comes after pain.” Michael tugged on the chain between Sam’s nipples before taking off the clamps one at a time.
The relief sent sparks down Sam’s spine and he groaned into Michael’s shoulder, grazing his teeth against shirt linen. Michael’s warm fingers massaged Sam’s abused flesh and he kissed Sam’s neck, then chin, before reclaiming Sam’s mouth.
Desire, like a rush of embers over dry tinder, kindled into flame. Sam responded, consuming Michael’s lips and tongue. Sam sought the hard line of Michael’s cock, still trapped inside suit pants, needing it to be free.
It was Michael’s turn to moan.
Sam knew what came next. “Pleasure comes after pain.”
“That wasn’t a question, you know.” Michael pushed Sam backward onto the bed and rose to his feet. “But is that what you think?” Still fully clothed, he looked nearly perfect, though his cheeks were red and a sheen of sweat wet the edges of his hairline. “Pleasure is what comes after?”
During pain, too. “What else is there?”
Michael said nothing, just loosened the cuff link—Sam’s cuff link—from his shirt and removed it.
That simple act spiked Sam’s heart rate. “So, will there be a quiz after this lesson?”
Michael chuckled. “Perhaps.” He placed the link and his glasses on the table.
