Page 18 of Takeover-
Maybe they were. This situation was rash. Wrong. Michael broke off and opened up some space between their wet bodies. He tasted Sam with each bitter swallow.
Breathless, his cheeks red from more than the hot water, Sam gripped Michael’s arms before he could pull away any farther. “I know what’s going through your mind. Boss. Employee. Everything we said we wouldn’t do. But I can’tthinkright now. The board is breathing down my neck, engineering is whining about timetables, and I have a stack of shit to do, only I— Michael, please, please make the world vanish for a while. I need—” Sam gulped in a breath. “I need you.”
Michael’s own desire—to calm and focus Sam—voiced from Sam’s own mouth.Shit.That didn’t change who they were—the roles they played outside the shower. “I’m a piss-poor therapist.” As Michael loosened his grip, Sam tightened his.
“I don’t need to talk. I need a good fuck.” He dipped his head and took Michael’s nipple in his mouth.
The nip of teeth and the teasing of Sam’s tongue on that sensitive nub sent a bolt like lightning straight down Michael’s spine. Every inch of his body tingled and his cock tightened. Want coiled tight in his belly and all thoughts of leaving the shower fled. “You need your ass tanned.”
Sam chuckled and let up. “That’s part of my definition of a good fuck.”
Of course it was. Michael hooked a foot around Sam’s leg and pulled him off balance enough to spin him and press him up against the wall of the shower. He spoke into Sam’s ear. “Hands on the wall. Don’t move.”
Sam obeyed, his breathing heavy and his body shivering against Michael’s despite the warmth of the water.
Michael kissed the nape of Sam’s neck and stepped back.
From beyond the shower curtain, a locker slammed closed. Michael’s heart ticked up a notch and he took the belt off of his shoulder. His aching balls pulled tighter and desire snaked deeper into Michael’s center. To strap Sam with someone else in the room? That was pushing the very edge, for both of them.
He folded the belt in two and let the wet leather dangle down. Sam hadn’t moved, hadn’t flinched at the sound from the locker room. How much higher would it drive Sam to know someone else might be listening? How much did Sam want to be overheard?
If Sam was in the closet, how much did he want to be shoved out of it?
Michael’s skin burned like fire. He lifted the belt and laid a blow against Sam’s right ass cheek.
Sam flinched and gasped, and a thick red line appeared on his skin.
Silence from beyond the curtain. Either the person had left… or they hadn’t. Blood pounded in Michael’s ears as he strained to hear over the water. His fingers and toes tingled from too much need. It wouldn’t take much to make him come.
“Green.” Sam’s breathless whisper. “Please.”
So, Sam remembered his colors from Curaçao. Heat raced up Michael’s arms and legs and his reply was just as soft. “That’s not begging.” Before Sam could say anything else, Michael laid the belt three more times against Sam’s ass in rapid succession. Left. Right. Left. Wet leather cracked against wet flesh.
Sam writhed against the wall, his breathing labored.
If there were any other sounds coming from the locker room, Michael couldn’t hear them, not over the rushing of his own blood, the sound of the water, and Sam’s whispered words. “More, please.”
God, yes. The world dropped away to just running water and Sam’s shining body sliding against the tile wall trembling with pain and need. Sexy as hell, and all Michael’s doing.
This time, Michael started slower and softer, alternating sides of Sam’s ass, bringing up the speed and sharpness as Sam tried not to move with each blow. Stripes of red layered over the pale flesh of Sam’s cheeks until there was nothing but various shades of red that edged toward purple. Sam arched against the wall, his mouth open in a silent cry.
Michael held back his own moan. The shock up his arm when the belt met Sam’s skin, the slap, Sam’s breathless noises of agony and delight—it was nearly too much. The desire in Michael’s core twisted like Sam’s body. It wouldn’t take much to come. A few strokes of a hand. Or the velvet touch of Sam’s tongue.
That thought alone nearly pushed him over the edge. His balls tightened.
Michael whipped the belt four more times, hard and fast—striking the last blow across both cheeks at once.
Sam’s short cry echoed around the shower and his legs buckled.
Michael dropped the belt, caught Sam, and turned his quivering body around. Michael caressed Sam’s back and brushed fingers over the abused flesh of his ass. Pressing his lips against Sam’s neck kept words from spilling out of Michael.Let me take you to dinner. I want to hold you all night long. Be mine.Impossible, wonderful things. He wanted to be this for Sam—master him when he needed it, clear his head, then give him his control back.
God, Sam was everything he’d ever wanted, everything no other lover had been. Rasheed hadn’t even been able to stand a nipple pinch, let alone a strapping.
Sam’s face was a beautiful mess of lust, pain, and adoration. “God, that was—” His voice was as rough as the rattling of water against the tile. “I can’t even begin to describe—”
Michael stopped the rest of Sam’s words with his mouth. Maybe Sam wanted the same things he did. Maybe he didn’t. But they could not be like this—CEO and employee—for much longer. Michael couldn’t quit, not yet. Later, once everyone at Four Rivers was safe—or as safe as they could be in this industry. He owed that to them, owed it to himself to be there at the end.
And if the only thing Sam saw in Michael was a quick fix of endorphins, a fun way to de-stress? Or worse, if he was yet another man who was only gay in private? Fuck, he didn’t want to know.
