Chapter One

Michael Sebastian sat at the poolside bar of his hotel, nursed a gin and tonic, and wondered how the hell he could have spent the past five nights in Curaçao and not gotten laid. Here he was on the most gay-friendly island in the Caribbean during the last night of his vacation, sulking in a nearly empty bar rather than being out on the town.

Lack of sex wasn’t for the absence of beautiful, willing men. No, there were plenty of those, even in the staid environment of the corporate hotel he’d spent his travel points on. A young man in a tight black t-shirt across the bar had been giving him looks all evening. Nice body, but too boyish a face.

The other nights he’d spent hitting the bars and clubs in Willemstad, flirting with men with rock-hard bodies and erections to match. He could have had any number of them, but he hadn’t because he was too damn choosy, too particular about what he wanted in a one-night stand.

He stirred his drink, avoided the gaze of the kid across the bar, and wished he had a bit more gin in his tonic. Who the hell had checklists for flings?

Tomorrow, he’d fly back to Pittsburgh, where it was bound to be cold, and return to his desk job. Back to fighting with the VP of Software Engineering not to release half-baked, untested crap to customers, even if the board of directors wanted them to.

Shit. The office should have been the farthest thing from his mind. This was his first real vacation since—

Since being screwed over by Rasheed and Susan. Since his demotion. And he damn well wasn’t going to dwell on what happened three years ago.

He should have taken up that tall blond’s suggestion of getting a room at a nearby hotel. That man had been willing to do just about anything and his inviting smile had stretched so wide, dimples had formed in his cheeks. Probably moaned prettily, too. Except he’d never been into blonds or obviously submissive partners. What he wanted, what he’d hoped to find was a man of power. Someone in industry or politics. A decision maker. A man no one would ever expect would want to be bent over and taken by a guy who drove an old Honda and wore shorts and t-shirts to work.

There were plenty of suits on the island due to the density of hotels with conference centers, but few of those men ventured into the heart of Willemstad to sample alternative options. Michael couldn’t blame them. The top echelon of business wasn’t exactly gay-friendly. He’d known more than one closeted guy whose title started with C, but he’d hoped that he’d find at least one on the island willing to step out of the mold, at least for a night.

He didn’t want to have to deal with a partner deep in the closet ever again, but for a fling? He could do that. Revel in it, even.

Or he could go with someone with no walls at all. The young man across the bar laughed at something the bartender said. Michael looked up and considered his options. Stay and flirt with black t-shirt, head back to his room and pack, or ask for another drink?

He was still ruminating over his choices when a suit walked into the bar. Short dark hair, charcoal jacket and pants that looked as if they’d had been tailored onto the man’s legs, crisp white shirt, and a power tie of reds, yellows, and oranges. Despite the confident stride, the suit’s shoulders slumped forward a bit too much and his gaze was downcast. His hands were clenched, as if the weight of the world sat on his back.

Now, there was a man who needed a drink. No ring on his finger, either.

The suit sat down at the bar, eight stools away.

Michael flagged the bartender. “The gentleman who just came in. Give him the best brandy you have, neat.”

A tiny smile crossed the bartender’s lips and he nodded.

Yeah, it was an obvious move, but it would answer the pertinent question quickly.

When the brandy appeared in front of the suit, he looked up, and the bartender nodded toward Michael. The suit swiveled in his seat and looked at Michael.

A slight parting of lips and a flush to his cheeks, but he didn’t turn away, didn’t bolt. Even from down the bar, it was obvious the suit was considering. Weighing options. Pale eyes. Sharp nose. Long, sculpted face. Not too young. The lines of worry Michael had seen before smoothed over, and the man picked up his brandy, stood, and strolled toward Michael as if he owned the place.

Yes. For the first time since Michael had arrived in Curaçao, a shower of pinpricks traced down his spine. The smoky, intense expression etched onto the suit’s face stiffened Michael’s cock.

Blue. The man’s eyes were pale blue. He sat next to Michael. “How did you know?”

“That you were gay?”

A nod.

“I didn’t. I took a chance.” Michael allowed himself to smile. “Besides, you looked like someone in desperate need of a hard drink.” With any luck, that wasn’t the only hard thing the suit needed.

“And here I’d thought I was hiding that, too.” He took a sip of the brandy and smiled into the glass. “Thank you for this.”

Silver glinted at the man’s wrists. Cuff links. Everything from the cut of the suit to the glimmer of a gold watch spoke of money and power. “For the brandy?”

He chuckled. “Do you know how long it’s been since anyone has bought me a drink? Or tried to pick me up?”

The tingling in Michael’s spine spread to his arms and legs, and down into his balls. “I’m not trying to pick you up.”

The suit stared at him.

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 stop the 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 tell him what 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 was perfect.

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.

“I’m fine,” Sam said. “I’m just . . .” Gay. Drunk. On fire. Longing for Michael’s touch. Sam swallowed. “You have no idea how right you are about me.”

“I do now.”

Those three words sent heat racing through Sam’s veins. Michael pulled him, gently, toward the lobby of the hotel. God, he was so glad he’d decided to fly here rather than stay in Florida. If any of the board members saw him, he’d be out of the job he’d just landed. It had taken two days to convince William that he could do what he said and turn their suddenly sinking routing company around. But the ink was dry, he might as well celebrate. No one here knew who he was. No one cared if he was gay. Hell, he’d had gotten picked up in no time flat.

Michael’s hold on Sam’s arm was firm, as was the press of Michael’s hand on the small of Sam’s back. They walked to the elevator across the well-appointed, gleaming lobby. Michael hit the up button. “Floor?”

“Fifth.” Sam took a deep breath. “The keycard is in my back pocket. Room five-thirteen.” The image they presented in the elevator doors was a contrast in opposites. Michael was at least four inches taller, and Sam, at five eleven, was not all that short. One businessman, one tourist. One in charge, the other following, only the obvious roles were reversed. Sam’s heart threatened to beat out from behind his ribs and his balls ached from the unfulfilled desire his hand could never quench. He had to be dreaming, because this could not be happening. He could not be letting a stranger take him back to his room for a fuck.

Michael slipped his hand into Sam’s pants to retrieve the card. “Not a lucky number, thirteen.”

“It is for me.” This was thousands of times better than a drink. Or maybe worse. The pain in Sam’s head had vanished completely. He didn’t fuck strangers. Hell, lately he didn’t have sex at all. Too much of a chance someone would find out he preferred cock to pussy. And he’d seen how the wolves around him ripped apart those who did step out of the closet.

Sam pushed away a momentary flutter of guilt. He’d seen what happened to that kid in grad school, and he’d run.

Though Michael had freed the keycard, he slid his hand into Sam’s back pocket. Sam swallowed the moan that tried to escape. “Too bad we don’t have a few days. I’d love to see how long it would take to make you come thirteen times.”

For a moment, the floor underneath Sam seemed to lose solidity and his knees threatened to buckle, but the strong hands holding him up didn’t let him fall. Michael chuckled and the elevator dinged. God. He was not going to survive this night if cheesy lines like that undid him. He stepped into the car, Michael right behind him.

“Press five.”

Sam was more than happy to obey, utterly aware of how obvious they’d been walking through the lobby. Finally, someone not intimidated by his clothing or the attitude he wore. It was as if Michael saw straight through the trappings to the man inside.

Sam didn’t even see that guy anymore. Hadn’t for years, because he never ceded control in business, ever. It was a rule he’d lived by. It’s why he got the job offers he did. He was a hard-ass who could outmaneuver boards, charm the pants off of workers, then sell off companies for millions. Always in power.

When the doors closed, Michael took his hand from Sam’s pocket, spun Sam to face him, then pushed him against the back of the elevator. The car lurched up. Michael’s hard length rubbed Sam’s cock. This time, Sam couldn’t hold back the wanton groan. Sweat trickled down his back, sticking his shirt to his skin. Every nerve wanted more of what Michael offered. Sex. Domination. Maybe even a little pain.

“Where were you four days ago?” Michael kissed Sam’s neck.

The scrape of Michael’s teeth sent another wave of fire through Sam and he shuddered. “In a meeting in Florida. I’m a—”

Michael claimed Sam’s mouth and everything slipped from Sam’s mind but the strength of the man in front of him. He gripped Michael’s shirt and thrust his tongue and cock against Michael. The elevator slowed to a stop.

Michael broke the kiss, breathless. “No title. No last names. The only thing I care about is what you are right now.”

High-powered CEO, technologist, ruthless businessman—gone in an instant. The elevator doors opened. “Yours,” Sam said. “I’m yours.”

“Good.” Michael pulled him from the car.

Somehow Sam managed to make it down the hall. Quite a feat, given how badly his desire and the brandy in his blood had screwed with his ability to walk. Everything about this was decadently reckless and terrifying. Before Sam knew it, they were in his room—his luggage sat on the rack and everything was neat and tidy, the way he’d left it. The door clicked closed and Michael took Sam’s mouth again. Gin and sex and power—a heavenly combination. The man tasted as hard as he felt. He gasped when Michael broke the kiss, and no amount of air made Sam any less breathless.

“You have condoms and lube?”

That question hammered home exactly what was about to happen. Sam froze. God, he wanted and needed this. But— But— To be fucked by a stranger in his hotel room?

He must have telegraphed his hesitation. Michael kissed him, this time on the cheek. “You can say no. It’s fine. This is fast and intense.”

Intense was too soft a word. Sam’s nerves wanted to crawl out of his body and every inch of his skin flickered from numb to on fire. Pain and pleasure. “You’ve done this before. I haven’t.”

Michael loosened his grip on Sam’s arms. “A man like you? Surely you’ve picked up guys before.”

Sam grabbed Michael’s wrists before the other man could back away. He would not lose this chance to his own apprehension. “Picked up, yes.” In undergrad, before he’d learned the hard way that preferring men was more than frowned upon in the top echelon of business. “Been picked up? Never.”

Michael’s smile was slight, but warm. “There’s a first time for everything.”

Hints of gold colored Michael’s dark brown eyes. That had been obscured by Michael’s glasses before, but this close Sam saw through the lenses. Michael would let him go if Sam wanted to back out, that much was obvious.

How long had it been since he’d let someone take control? College? High school? Jesus. He pushed the knot in his throat aside to speak. “I have condoms and lube. In my suitcase.” Because he hadn’t come to Curaçao just to flirt. Heat blazed in Sam’s chest and throat, but the impish grin on Michael’s face washed away Sam’s apprehension.

He’d do anything to keep that expression on Michael.

“Then get them and put them on the edge of the bed.”

Sam released Michael’s wrists and every step he took strengthened his resolve. He dug out the bottle and row of square foils. This had to be the oddest way he’d ever celebrated winning a new job—surrendering himself for sex. You want this. It’s been too damn long.

He placed the items on the bed, then faced Michael. That smile still graced Michael’s lips and there were tropical birds on his shirt. Good God, he was going to be fucked by a man with parrots on his button-down. Sam tried to bite back the laugh, but failed.

Michael’s grin widened and he strode forward. “What’s so funny?” He took hold of Sam’s tie again.

The pull of fabric around Sam’s neck tightened his balls. “You. Me. This.” He gulped a breath. “How did you know that I’d say yes?”

Michael closed his fingers around Sam’s chin. “I told you. I didn’t. But fortune favors the bold.” Then Michael’s lips were on Sam’s again, prying him open, making him lose track of the ground. Michael pulled back a few inches. “And you looked like a man in desperate need of a good hard fuck.”

Sam couldn’t breathe. His cock ached and he wanted far less clothing between him and the man holding his tie and chin. “Please.” He practically whispered the word.

Michael stroked Sam’s jaw with his thumb. “If anything I do gets to be too much, say ‘yellow’ and I’ll slow down. Say ‘red’ and I’ll stop. Understand?”

A safeword? Lightning ran through Sam’s veins. He couldn’t be that lucky. “Yes.” Sam leaned into Michael’s touch. “And if I want more?”

“You beg for it.”

Sam’s whole body ached. To be naked. Controlled. Entered. He couldn’t even speak. The fantasies he’d jacked off to for years didn’t even come close to this reality.

Michael chuckled and undid the knot in Sam’s tie. “I’ll need this later.” He freed the length of fabric from Sam’s neck and tossed it on the bed next to the condoms and lube, then slipped his hands under the lapels of Sam’s suit coat. He caressed Sam’s chest before pushing the jacket off and to the floor. The long length of Michael’s body was so close that every breath he exhaled warmed Sam’s face and made his limbs ache with the need to touch flesh to flesh.

Sam closed the tiny gap between them and found the waistband of Michael’s shorts. He dipped two fingers inside it and caressed Michael’s hot skin. They were both wearing too much clothing, but he wasn’t about to beg, not yet. He still had his pride, if nothing else.

Michael redirected Sam’s hand, pressing it against his erection. “Do you want me inside you?”

The floor vanished again. All Sam knew was the warmth of Michael’s touch and the hard thickness of the cock beneath a thin layer of fabric. He’d never wanted to be fucked this badly, ever. To hell with pride. “God, yes. Please.”

“Say it.”

Every inch of Sam’s skin blazed. Voice the desire—something he hadn’t done in years. No turning back now. “I want your cock inside me.”

Michael nipped Sam’s ear. “Then take off your shirt.” He backed away and waited.

It was all Sam could do not to rip off all his clothing. He focused on the bright feathers of the parrot to the left of Michael’s heart and worked the links free from the cuffs of his shirt. Then he removed his watch. Going slowly meant he wasn’t the only one in torment, judging from the flush of Michael’s skin.

When Michael held out his hand, Sam placed the items into his palm.

Michael examined the links. They were flat, and round, and etched with the Copernican model of the universe. “Nice. White gold?”

“Platinum.” Sam started undoing the buttons of his shirt, from the top.

Michael set the cuff links and watch down on the dresser. He never stopped looking at Sam.

With each button Sam undid, his heart rate notched higher. By the time he finished with the last one, his entire body strummed with the rhythm of his blood. He pulled the shirt off and the sweat on his back cooled instantly. Trembling, he dropped the shirt.

“Shoes. Pants. Socks.” Michael crossed his arms. The bulge in his shorts was enormous.

Sam kicked off his shoes, then made short work of his slacks, undoing the belt, then unbuttoning and unzipping. It took very little effort to push them off. Gravity did the rest, pooling them around his ankles. With care he stood on one leg at a time and removed his socks. Apparently yoga helped you balance even when you couldn’t feel the floor beneath you.

No more suit. No more mask. Not quite naked.

Michael wore a brilliant grin. “Nice color.” He unfolded his arms.

Sam’s briefs were blue. Not navy, but the color of the sky in the tropics. He shrugged, though his cock throbbed in time with the rapid beating of his heart. “Seemed appropriate for the climate.” And it got Sam off a bit to wear bright colors under his very conservative suits.

Michael’s laugh was musical. He strode forward and tucked his fingers beneath the waistband of Sam’s underwear then pushed the briefs over Sam’s cock and off his hips. “They look better on the floor.”

The scrape of the fabric against the crown of Sam’s dick took his breath away and pulled the desire coiled within him even tighter. At this rate, he’d shoot before Michael removed a stitch of clothing. “So do my knees.” Brazen. Begging? Maybe.

Michael huffed a laugh, then sucked Sam’s earlobe. His hot breath caressed Sam’s ear. “Prove it.”

Without hesitation, Sam sank to the ground. Blood pounded in his head, but he couldn’t blame the brandy for making him dizzy. He looked up at Michael. Please. Please say what I think you’re going to say.

He hadn’t wrapped his mouth around a dick since undergrad. After his first term in grad school, he’d learned that sucking cock wasn’t an acceptable pastime for the type of businessman he needed to be. Grad school had taught him that. Gay either got you ignored or the crap beaten out of you.

Hell, the handful of men who’d blown Sam since then thought he was straight, that he just got off on the power. That was the expectation at his level.

Michael ran a finger over Sam’s cheek. “Take my cock out and suck it.”

With pleasure. Sam’s hands were remarkably steady as he undid Michael’s shorts and pushed them and the white briefs out of the way and got his first look at the cock he’d only felt.

No wonder the bulge had been huge. Michael wasn’t any longer than Sam, but his girth . . . Jesus. Before the night was out, that cock was going to be buried in Sam’s ass. A wave of fire washed over him.

Michael caressed the top of Sam’s head. “Don’t disappoint me now.”

Sam kissed the crown. The sharp tang of the fluid at Michael’s tip tasted different from Sam’s own. He couldn’t remember what any of the others had tasted like; it had been too long. Sam pushed back the foreskin and took more of Michael in and was rewarded by Michael’s soft moan and his hands twisting into Sam’s hair.

Giving head was like riding a bike—you could be horribly out of practice but you never forgot the skill. Sam stroked Michael’s thighs and sucked more cock in. The thickness of Michael’s shaft stretched his mouth wide, making it hard for him to run his tongue over the thick veins, but he’d never backed down from a challenging situation.

Michael tightened both his hands in Sam’s hair and tugged sharply. The pain sent a shower of sparks running to Sam’s dick. His balls tightened, and when he groaned his pleasure, Michael thrust his cock against the back of Sam’s mouth. It took every ounce of Sam’s willpower not to gag.

There was no way in hell he’d be able to take all of Michael into his throat, even if he wanted to. And he did. Sam looked up. He wasn’t inexperienced—just out of practice. Because men who ran companies weren’t supposed to be the ones on the receiving end of a face-fuck.

“Sorry,” Michael said. “You just look so hot.” He pulled back and stroked in and out more shallowly.

Hot. On his knees with a cock in his mouth. Those weren’t boardroom qualities. Sam’s skin itched and pricked. But then again, he hated boardrooms and he missed this so damn much.

It didn’t take Sam long to get used to Michael’s rhythm, and it gave him the room to use his tongue more effectively. He pressed against the underside of Michael’s shaft near the head and hoped that got Michael off the same way it did him.

“Christ.” Michael withdrew completely, his voice rough and breathless. “You’re going to make me come if you keep doing that.”

Apparently, the answer was yes. Sam filed that away for later, then his heart sank to the floor. One night. No last names. There was no later, no reason to remember what pleased Michael, because Sam would never see him again. Shit. He pushed away the bitter taste that rose in his throat. “I thought that was the point.”

Michael snorted and ran a thumb that tasted of salt and spice over Sam’s lips. “Yes, but not yet.” He stroked Sam’s cheek with the back of his hand. “Up.”

Sam rose. One night. That didn’t seem fair, now. Then again, he hadn’t come to the island for anything but a fling. After this, it was back to the US, into a new job, and back in the closet. He nearly choked on his own bitterness.

“Turn around and kneel on the bed with your hands behind your back.” Michael’s command brought him back to the here and now, right where he wanted to be.

Sam did as told, the bed’s comforter cool against the overheated skin of his legs. When Michael slid the tie off the bed, Sam’s balls ached even more. Silk tightened around Sam’s wrists and he gasped. He was so damn hard and dripping from need. Now he couldn’t even touch himself. This was every one of his dreams come to life. One night. “Oh, God.”

Michael responded with a chuckle that would have made the devil proud. He finished binding Sam’s hands. “Too tight?”

Sam tested the makeshift binding. No way was he breaking free easily, but he could wiggle his fingers. “No.”

“Good.” Michael kissed the back of Sam’s neck, then pressed him forward and down until his forehead touched the mattress.

Again, Sam’s heart threatened to ram itself out of his chest and the breath that escaped his mouth sounded suspiciously like a whimper. He’d always wanted to be tied up and fucked, but had never found the right circumstances—or the right man.

“Spread your legs wide.”

He did, despite the tremble in them. Michael nudged Sam’s knees even farther apart and the result felt gloriously hedonistic. Bound and spread, his dick and balls hanging and easily accessible, his ass up in the air and the perfect level, he expected, for Michael’s cock to enter him. The coil of desire in Sam tightened and he couldn’t help squirming.

“Damn.” Michael’s voice was low and full of gravel. “If we had the time, I’d sit and watch you for a while. You’re stunning, moving like that. You want this badly, don’t you?”

Sam pressed his forehead into the bed. Yes, he did. Only, what the hell was he going to do when he returned to the States? This would never happen again, not with Michael. Not with anyone else. Hard enough to hide that he was gay, but this? Suddenly, he was very glad Michael couldn’t see his face. It burned, but not with need. More of himself to hide when he returned. A thin part of his mind whispered one word. Coward.

He didn’t hate himself for being gay. No, he hated himself for hiding that he was gay because it was bad for business. He’d seen what being out could do to a promising career. Swollen eyes staring back at Sam’s. The stink of stale water on brick.

The caress of Michael’s hand on Sam’s ass drew him from despair back into desire.

“You’re a runner?”

Sam turned his head sideways so he could speak clearly. “Yeah.”

“It’s your muscle tone” Michael said, answering the unasked question. “You’ve the legs, the thighs”—Michael slapped him hard—“and the ass of a runner.”

Sam barely heard the last words. Every part of his skin flamed when the sting from Michael’s blow radiated all over his body. He moaned. It hadn’t hurt, but it had done more to tighten his balls and stiffen his cock than any mouth or ass ever had. Holy shit.

Michael grunted, as if surprised. Then another blow landed. Followed by a third. After that, Sam lost track, because the world turned white. The pain . . . wasn’t. Each hit stung but also sang in his blood, vibrating him from the inside out. He twisted and rocked but not in any effort to get away from Michael’s hand. He thrust against air. Every slap melted his bones and tightened his cock.

When the blows stopped, Sam cried out, but more from frustration than anything else. “Fuck. No, please.”

Michael smoothed fingers over his backside. His breathing was as rough as Sam’s. “You want more?”

Michael was surprised? Sam pressed his face into the mattress. Just this single night—no time to figure any of this out. He lifted his head. “Yes, damn it.” His mouth was so dry. “God, I can’t take the waiting. Please just—”

The blow came and shut Sam’s brain down, and he dissolved into a wash of heat and light at the glorious sting of Michael’s hand. Sam’s balls drew up, but there was nothing around his dick but air. This close to release, every point of pain burst like fireworks in his vision.

Michael stopped. Again.

Sam tried to ground his teeth into nubs. His body shook and his throat was so parched, he couldn’t speak.

Michael whispered into his ear. “I have to stop. I’ll injure you if I keep going.” His touch was both soothing and enflaming. He was kneeling next to Sam. When had Michael ended up on the bed?

“Sam?” Concern laced Michael’s voice.

Sam’s ears rang with the pounding of his blood. He swallowed moisture into his throat and spoke. “I’m here. I’m fine.” Lies. He wanted more. That was a problem. After tonight he doubted he’d find anyone to scratch this itch—certainly not among his colleagues.

Yeah, that would earn their respect, Sam begging to be tied up and punished. Because he’d always wanted this. Dreamed it. All those videos.

He was sure some would love to beat him, but with fists, and hard enough to break bones. He knew that pain. Despised it.

This wasn’t anything like that.

Fuck. “I’m fine,” he repeated. “Please, I need . . . more.”

“Sam.” His name was a caress. “I wish I had met you earlier. That would have been better.”

“I can take it.”

“Your skin says otherwise.” Michael’s touch over Sam’s ass made him twist and shudder. Michael moved lower and fondled Sam’s balls. “There are other things I can do to you.”

The afterglow of the spanking merged with Michael’s not-so-gentle hold on Sam’s sac. Sam groaned into the sheets. The need pooling in his core threatened to spill out into the rest of his body.

Michael kissed him on the back. “You’re glorious,” he said, then climbed off the bed.

Except I only get one fucking night! That thought vanished with the click of the lube bottle. Slick, wet flesh—Michael’s hand—met Sam’s cock and Sam gasped. But the sweet touch wasn’t there long. Sam pumped against air and wished for all the world that his hands were free, and was glad as fuck that they weren’t. He didn’t have the control to keep from jacking himself off. He wanted this to last.

He suspected Michael did as well.

The sound of the lube bottle opening again sent a bolt of fire through Sam. When the cool run of liquid ran down the crack between his cheeks and over his hole, the heat in his stomach and balls rose out of control, pushing him to the verge. “I’m close.”

“I know,” Michael said. “It’s written all over your body.” He dragged a finger down after the lube, and circled the muscles at Sam’s entrance.

Sam’s vision blurred and his balls drew up. Lightning shot through his veins. God, not yet! Michael hadn’t even fucked him.

“Let go.” Michael massaged Sam’s ring, coaxing him open. That only made his need worse.

“Can’t.” Sam spoke through gritted teeth. He held on, trying to stave off the building pressure in his balls and in his brain. His blood was lava.

“Sam.” Michael’s call was strong and real, like the finger he pressed into Sam’s ass. “Come for me.”

Michael’s command shattered Sam’s control and he shot his load, groaning long and hard into the comforter. Every nerve snapped and stung with each push and pull of Michael’s finger and the haze of light returned. It was almost too much and it might never be enough.

Slowly, slowly, the world returned to Sam, as did the delicious sensation of Michael still stroking fingers in and out of him. How many? Two? Three? Hard to tell. Each push burned and stretched as Michael twisted and explored. Every touch kept the edge of Sam’s vision blurry and his head somewhere above his body. He hadn’t thought, hadn’t expected Michael to keep finger-fucking him.

“Better?” There was a vast amount of amusement in Michael’s voice.

“Yeah.” His body hummed and everything—the heat in his veins, the coil in his core—was less urgent. His ass stung, but not painfully so. And Michael’s fingers opened him. “That feels so good.”

Michael picked up the tempo, plunging in a bit harder each time—three fingers, given the way they spread Sam wide. “You’re nice and relaxed now. There was no way I was going to fit inside you, as strung out as you were.”

Sam moaned when Michael withdrew his fingers. Foil crinkled and more lube met Sam’s ass, and then the hot head of Michael’s cock pushed into him.

That wondrous sense—the slight burn of entry and then the overwhelming feeling of being stretched and split and taken—engulfed Sam. How many years since he’d last felt this with something other than a dildo? He drove his hips back to meet Michael’s forward stroke. Shameless.

Michael grunted and stilled; then the binding on Sam’s wrists loosened then fell away. Sam gasped at the sudden freedom, and drew his arms under him. They ached, but they also gave him the ability to press back harder on Michael’s cock, take more of him in. “I want all of you.”

“Fuck.” Michael pulled Sam up and rocked forward, thrusting in farther and hitting Sam’s prostate.

Sam shuddered in Michael’s arms, hardly believing the sparks of need coming alive in his veins. He hadn’t managed to come twice in a night since he’d been a horny teenager, and yet his cock rose. He met each of Michael’s strokes, taking more inside each time.

When Michael’s thighs and balls met Sam’s ass, it was like being hit all over again. Only this time Michael filled him, claimed him, and stroked Sam’s sweetest spot.

The burn from the slapping swept over Sam and his cock tightened. “Harder. Fuck me harder.”

Michael’s breath warmed Sam’s neck and he obliged, plowed into Sam with long, powerful thrusts. Everything fell away. All that remained was Michael, his strong arms, hard body, and his thick cock deep inside Sam, ramming him where he most wanted to be touched over and over again. Sam opened his mouth, but only a thin cry escaped.

Fire didn’t burn through him this time, it was ice cracking in his veins, wrapping his core with pain and pleasure and silence. Michael closed a hand around Sam’s cock and pulled. “Stay with me.” Hot breath on Sam’s ear. “I want you with me.”

There wasn’t anywhere else Sam could be. His vision clouded as Michael’s thrust became more erratic and the pumping of Sam’s cock more frantic. He’d finally undone Michael, this unflappable stranger. That was enough to push Sam over the edge again and he came, every nerve firing at once. Michael slammed into him and his guttural moan mirrored Sam’s. They hung there, suspended in pleasure, one being with two hearts.

Then the world slipped back between them. Michael loosened his grip and pulled out of Sam.

There were no words said. Sam didn’t trust himself to speak. Everything he wanted to say sounded foolish. Or desperate. Stay the night. Don’t leave. Give me your phone number. Where can I find you again? I need you.

The best night of his life would also be the worst. Sam remained in Michael’s arms and soaked up what little he could of the man’s scent. He kissed Michael’s arm, trying to etch the taste and texture of Michael’s skin into his mind. He knew what he wanted, what he couldn’t have, what he denied himself because of his pride. He’d risen far, but only by wearing a mask and running from place to place, seeking another company to save or sell. Yet here of all places, for one glorious moment, he’d been wholly himself. Complete.

All thanks to a stranger in khaki shorts and a parrot shirt. Sam found something to say at last. “Thank you.”

“The pleasure was all mine.” Michael kissed his neck. “You needed that, I think.”

“Yes.” More than even Sam had realized.

He didn’t know how long they sat there on the bed, holding and being held. Eventually, inevitably, Michael stirred against him.

Time to say good-bye.

Sam didn’t protest when Michael let him go—what would be the point? He pushed down the hollow feeling in his chest when they both stood. It was just sex after all. A fling. A single night where he could finally be the man he truly was. Sam’s heart tightened as if held by a fist.

Michael wrapped the used condom in some tissues and tossed it into the trash. Sam stared at the can until warm fingers lifted his chin and he found himself looking into Michael’s gold-flecked eyes. Somewhere along the line, Michael had lost his shirt and taken off his glasses. He looked older and wiser without the frames blocking his face.

“Are you going to be okay?”

He didn’t bother lying. “I don’t have much choice, so yes.”

Michael furrowed his brow. Obviously not the answer he’d been expecting.

Sam held Michael’s gaze. “I’ll be fine.” That wasn’t a lie. It would take a bit of time, but he’d manage. He had to. There was a new job waiting for him once he left Curaçao. A new challenge. A company to rescue and money to be made. He didn’t have the time to be an emotional wreck. William and the board would be watching.

Michael’s expression softened. “You’re an extraordinary man. You’ll find someone.”

Sam tried to keep the bile from his face. He had found someone. If his life had been different, he’d exchange numbers and try to see if there was more beyond extraordinary sex. But the person he was in this hotel room wasn’t the person he’d be once he stepped back onto a plane. “Thanks.”

Michael let go, stepped away, and started to dress. Sam didn’t have to. Didn’t want to—that meant slipping the mask back on. He bent to pick his clothes up off the floor and winced as the skin of his rear pulled and stung.

Right. “How bad is my ass?”

Michael’s chuckle sent a shudder through Sam. “No broken skin. I made sure of that. But you’ll be sore and quite bruised for a several days.”

“So I’ll remember you every time I sit.” Sam huffed a laugh. “I’ll have that, I suppose.” The memories.

Flip-flops were the last item Michael donned. Sam had been right about the footwear. Parrots. Shorts. Glasses. Perfect. “I’m glad I met you.”

Michael stepped forward and claimed a kiss. “Me too.” Then he headed toward the door. When that closed, everything would go back to the way it had been. A sick lurching gripped Sam’s heart and he couldn’t breathe. There had to be some change. He needed a reminder of this night so it would remain real. “Michael!”

The call halted Michael at the door. He turned.

Sam scooped up one of the cuff links, crossed the room and pressed it into his hand. “Take it. Please.”

For a moment, Michael looked as if he might protest. Instead, he nodded. “Good-bye, Sam.”

“Good-bye.”

Michael turned, opened the door, and left.

Sam stood in the entryway for a long time after the latch clicked, staring at the door handle. Then he shook himself and locked the hotel door.

Enough. His life was what he’d chosen it to be. He had a job to prepare for and a company to pull back from the brink of mismanagement. And one fewer cuff link.

It was the last thing that gave him the most hope.