Page 17 of Takeover
Michael held Sam’s gaze. Last chance. Either push this over the edge or walk away.
They stood on the precipice until Sam kicked his shoes off. His socks followed, and then his shirt. Michael exhaled a breath he hadn’t even known he’d been holding.
Sam hooked his fingers around the waistband of his shorts and underwear and pushed them down in a long, slow motion that exposed the smooth skin of his hips and the ever-widening trail of hair to his dick. It took forever for the cloth to travel over the bulge of Sam’s erection and fall to the floor.
The little tease. “You do realize a coworker could walk in here, don’t you?” Michael said.
A wide and wicked smile answered that question. “Isn’t that half the fun?” He turned away and headed—without a towel—toward the showers.
An exhibitionist? Michael slipped his hand between the edges of the towel around his hips and ran his thumb over the head of his cock before stroking it a few times. Oh, the possibilities there. Except Sam—
Sam should have been off-limits. Michael closed his eyes and let the warmth of his arousal and the tug of his hand on his cock wash over him, tighten his skin, and strengthen his resolve. What the hell was he doing? He wasn’t this reckless. In the past he’d wanted to be, would have loved to slip in a kiss with Rasheed while at work, but that never happened. This—was a bit much, even for him.
Then again, Michael had never wanted any man more than he wanted Sam. Every part of Michael’s body cried out to give Sam what he wanted—and to claim his Sam again.
The gym bag—his work gym bag—lacked condoms and lube. Because you didn’t fuck your CEO while at the office. Every inch of his skin tingled as he pulled his belt out of the locker and the bottle of body wash from his bag. Sam enjoyed a bit of pain, and there were other options for pleasure.
Running water echoed in the locker room, creating a blanket of sound over the utter silence of the space. Would it be enough if someone walked in? With any luck, they wouldn’t need to find out.
Michael followed the noise to the farthest shower in the bank and pushed aside the curtain, rattling the rings on the bar. Under a stream of water, surrounded by steam, Sam stood, leisurely tugging at his dick. His eyes were closed but he had a shit-eating grin on his face. Of course he did. He’d won, the master manipulator that he was.
Michael flicked the nonbuckle end of his belt against Sam’s thigh with enough force to get his attention.
Sam flinched backward and gasped, his expression a beautiful mix of shock, pain, and lust. He wasn’t masturbating anymore. Instead, his hands were pressed against the tile of the wall he leaned back against.
A red mark rose on Sam’s thigh. Lovely. “If you want to jack off, you can do that on your own time.” Michael stepped into the stall and pulled the curtain closed before unwrapping his towel from his waist. He threw that over the curtain rod.
“Sorry.” The focus of Sam’s attention slipped down Michael’s body, then back up. “Can I suck your dick?” Sam was barely audible underneath the rush of water against tile. “As an apology?” The grin returned.
Like hell Sam would dictate any of this. “No.” Michael set down the body wash and looped the belt over his shoulder then crossed to Sam. The scalding water stung Michael’s skin as he entered the stream, but he ignored the shock, grasped Sam’s arms, and crushed his lips against Sam’s.
Sam groaned and opened to Michael, his chest grinding against Michael’s. With his tongue, Michael thrust inside, claiming Sam’s mouth for his own, roughly exploring every part. He slid his hands down to Sam’s waist and pulled their bodies tight until thighs and cocks pressed together.
Sam shuddered against Michael, all sinew and stress, and kissed back as if they were at war.
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?
