Page 2 of Takeover-
He slid his fingers over the finely tailored fabric covering the man’s thigh and let his hand rest on the inside, near the knee. “I’ve already succeeded in that.”
The rope of muscle beneath Michael’s hand tightened, and the suit’s breath hitched. Not much, but enough. Michael had no doubt he was turning the man on. Michael’s cock hardened.
After a moment, the man relaxed and took another sip of brandy. “I guess you have.” His voice was low, with just a hint of surprise.
Michael slid his hand up, enjoying the slight shudder that ran through the man. “You’re not used to being in the passenger’s seat, are you?”
A soft laugh.
“But you crave it.”
Beneath Michael’s touch, the man trembled. He said nothing, but took a large mouthful of brandy and swallowed.
“Your name?” Michael skimmed his fingers farther up and traced the hard length of cock he found.
Silence for a moment. “Sam.” It came out almost as a moan.
“Sam.” Michael tested the name on his tongue. Short. Sweet. “Am I right?”
The vein in Sam’s neck fluttered wildly. Michael massaged the shaft beneath his fingers while waiting for an answer.
Sam traced the rim of his glass with a long, shaking finger. “No one has had the balls to even suggest it in a long time.”
“You’ll find I have rather large ones.” Michael pressed his palm against Sam’s dick. “But that didn’t answer my question.”
Sam raised the glass to his mouth and took another long draw before placing it back on the bar. “Of course you’re right. Neither of us would be sitting here if you weren’t.”
Perceptive. He liked that. With his free hand, he took hold of Sam’s tie and pulled him closer. Those pale eyes were wide. “I’m Michael,” he said before claiming Sam’s mouth.
Sam opened to him, parting his lips at the briefest touch of Michael’s tongue. He tasted of good brandy and desperation. Though Sam held himself still, he shook beneath Michael’s touch. Here was a man who needed—and craved—a good hard fuck. Just the type of stranger Michael wanted.
He broke the kiss. “Take me to your room, Sam.”
* * *
Sam Anderson couldn’t stopthe tremors running through his body. When he’d walked into the bar, he’d planned to order a beer to unwind after his flight, do a bit of people-watching, and relax enough to get his courage up to go into Willemstad tomorrow—not get picked up for sex fifteen minutes after checking in.
Michael, the man who had bought Sam a drink, stroked Sam’s erection through his pants and hadn’t let go of his tie. The taste of gin mixed with brandy filled his mouth and Michael’s last words tripped around and around in Sam’s mind.
Take me to your room.It wasn’t a question, it was a command.
Now it was up to him to obey or walk away. He should do the latter, but his body burned in a way it hadn’t in years, every nerve singing out with need. All for a dark-eyed, brown-haired stranger with glasses, in a hotel bar. Sam still wore the mask of his suit and the trappings of wealth and power that told his colleagues—and everyone else—he was not a man to be trifled with, but Michael had seen through that.
There really was no other choice to be made.
Sam picked up the last of his brandy and downed it. “All right.” He set the glass back down. This was the craziest thing he’d done in years. He had come to Curaçao to check out the gay scene, maybe indulge in some harmless flirting, not to submit to a fucking from the first man he’d met.
God, he wanted it so badly, needed to let go and let someone else tellhimwhat to do for a change. Feel the weight of another man on top of him again. His life didn’t allow for that, not anymore, not at his level. If anyone knew he was gay, let alone liked to bottom, he’d be fucked—figuratively more than literally, though he knew a few guys would attempt the latter. That was the kind of coup that would put Sam in his place.
But the man holding his tie had no idea who Sam was, which wasperfect.
Michael let him go and stood. He was tall, taller than Sam had anticipated. Thin material of a rumpled tropical-print linen shirt covered Michael’s broad shoulders and an obvious erection tented his colorful beach shorts. He was probably wearing flip-flops, but Sam wasn’t going to look down to check.
“You’re going to have to stand up.” Amusement colored Michael’s deep voice.
If Sam could. He hadn’t drunk that much brandy that fast in quite some time. He’d barely eaten today, what with an early start, then meetings and presentations, then the flight from Florida. Michael had managed to undo him in record time. No one had ever turned him on so hard so fast. He wanted—needed—more of this. Sam rose on wobbly legs.
Michael gripped his arm, his brow creasing for a moment, as if uncertain.
