Page 15 of Takeover-
Chapter Three
Michael strodealong the North Shore Trail, past PNC Park, and toward the Fort Duquesne Bridge and wiped away the sweat that threatened to trickle into his eyes. The weather was unseasonably warm for early May, but he wasn’t about to complain, even if he had to break out shorts for his afternoon walk.
The office building had a gym with showers, but nothing beat being outside, tromping pavement, climbing steps, and crossing bridges. Quite a workout, if you walked at a decent rate, plus sun, city, nature, and a bunch of other office dwellers outside getting healthy. Walkers, runners, bikers—everyone flocked to the trails when the weather turned nice.
A sunny day in Pittsburgh? You savored those like fine wine.
Plus, he needed out of the office and away from Sam, at least for a bit.
Sam had been fine as CEO so far, winning over the engineering staff in the last couple of weeks. His business sense seemed spot-on and he understood much of the technical aspects as well. The man could even code, though Sam admitted he was horribly rusty. Yes, he was hard-nosed and pushing everyone to meet deadlines, but he was also often the first person in the office and one of the last to leave. Sam practiced what he preached.
The office followed Sam’s lead, plunging into a working pace Michael hadn’t seen since the early days.
Sam wasn’t the usual type of CEO, and not simply a suit. Michael reluctantly agreed that the board had done something right for a change. Sam wasn’t the board’s pawn, and they seemed to be letting him work toward their mutual goal of acquisition.
Michael and Sam had even managed an easy business relationship, on the surface.
Underneath, Michael still undressed Sam in his mind and fantasized about bending that taut body over the executive conference room table and fucking him until they both came. Leave Curaçao behind? Hardly. He relived that night far too many times. Only it wasn’t the thrill of undoing a man of power anymore—it was all about the Sam he knew now.
How easy it would be, too. A whisper, a suggestion, he could have Sam on his knees. He’d caught Sam watching him when no one else was looking, the subtle flush and the shifting of his suit coat to hide a larger-than-normal bulge in his trousers.
No, Sam hadn’t put aside their time together either. The desire was there, burning as hot as ever.
Michael picked up the pace of his walk, passed under the Fort Duquesne Bridge, and then headed up the stairs to the walking bridge over the Allegheny.
The worst part was that MichaellikedSam. The more time he spent with Sam, the more he wanted to spend with him, and not just in a state of undress. Sam liked Marvel flicks, shot pool, enjoyed fishing, and even ate his catch. He’d mentioned wanting to rent a kayak from the place under the Roberto Clemente Bridge and paddle up the Allegheny to see the shore from the water. Sam had even suggested a company-sponsored night at PNC Park in the summer for one of the Pirates’ fireworks nights.
Those were all things Michael wanted to do. Heck, they’d even talked about their mutual desire to bike down to DC along the Great Allegheny Passage.
Unfortunately, Michael’s lust was also still present and as potent as ever. Certainly they had sexual chemistry, but what that hell did he do with a budding friendship on top of all that? He couldn’tdatehis own damn CEO any more than he could bend Sam over a chair and whack his ass in the middle of the office.
He didn’t even know whether Sam was openly gay. There was nothing—nothing—that Sam did or said that pointed to being out. But there wasn’t much that pointed to him being in the closet, either. They didn’t discuss family or relationships, which was probably just as well, since Michael had a piss-poor history with other men, anyway. They either wanted Michael to control every aspect of their lives, or they were like Rasheed—deathly afraid of being gay.
Sam was a little too domineering to want the former. The latter—he could see Sam in the closet, easily. After all, the man had flown to Curaçao to be fucked when there were plenty of gay bars in Miami.
Michael crested the short set of stairs to the walking bridge and pushed his pace faster, climbing the slight bow toward the center of the bridge. He wanted to run, stretch his body to the limit to burn off some of his energy, but the brace on his knee reminded him just how foolish that would be.
Even as a friend, he couldn’t go out to dinner with Sam. Too much had passed between them that night in the tropics. Michael looked out at the confluence of the Allegheny and Monongahela Rivers and at the huge plume of water from the fountain at the Point. Too much water under a bridge.
The water under this bridge was blue-green, reflecting the clear sky. Cars and trucks whooshed past nearby, separated from the footbridge by a strong wire fence and the coils of yellow-painted steel cable that ran from the deck to the arch above. Bikers, runners, and fellow walkers passed in the other direction, but the noise of the traffic on the main bridge blotted out most of the quieter sounds. Like the footfalls of a runner coming from behind and stopping right next to him.
One moment he was alone; the next, Sam walked beside him, breathing hard through a smile that was as cheerful as the weather. “Great day, huh?”
Michael skittered to the right slightly and glanced over. Then took a second look. God.
Sam wore running shorts and a loose tank that let Michael see far too much of his body. Wet with sweat, Sam’s skin glistened in the sunlight. Heat ran down Michael’s spine and the pounding of his heart had nothing to do with the quick pace of his walk. Sam looked like a freaking cover model. “Yeah. Unusual for this time of year.”
That grin didn’t disappear. “Did I startle you?”
“A bit.”
“Sorry.” The amusement in Sam’s voice said the opposite.
Michael couldn’t help chuckling.
They walked in silence the rest of the way across the bridge. Once away from the sound of traffic, Michael stole another look at Sam’s long body, his powerful legs, and tight ass.
Jesus. Get a grip. Stop checking out your boss.
