Chapter Eight

Michael woke to an empty bed. The mattress beneath his fingers still radiated heat but ice touched his heart. “Sam?”

The sound of running water from the bathroom eased the pressure in his chest. He sat up when Sam stepped into the room. Though sweet to behold, Sam was blurry in Michael’s vision.

“Could you get me my glasses?”

“Of course.” Sam’s voice was heavy and soft with the dredges of sleep. He yawned before grabbing Michael’s glasses. Sam sat on the edge of the bed close to Michael.

Michael took the offered glasses and put them on and Sam sprang into sharp view, all curled messy dark hair and slumber-drenched eyes. Sam’s back was a mottle of red and purple. No broken skin, but a good bit of bruising and some welts. Beautiful. Michael’s cock stirred at the sight.

A glance at the alarm clock told Michael they still had a while before they needed to be up, even if they were to go fetch good coffee. He pulled back the covers a bit. “Come back to bed.”

Sam’s expression was akin to the rest of him, messy around the edges. He shook his head. “Need to think.”

The ice that had melted away returned to grip Michael’s heart harder. “About what?” He already knew the answer.

Sam didn’t frown, not quite, but his posture, the whole of his body seemed to twist, then still, but not into relaxation. “This,” he said. “Us.”

Michael hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until he let it out. He rubbed his face with his hands and tried to calm his pulse. “I’d tell you to stop thinking, but I doubt that would work.”

Sam chuckled. “No, it wouldn’t.” He took Michael’s hand and entwined his fingers. “I’m moving to Boston.”

A chasm opened up beneath Michael and he fell, hard and fast, tumbling into the unknown. The bed remained. Sam remained. Everything was where it had been before those words had been spoken. Michael tried to yank his hand away but Sam held him tight. His head hammered, ringing from the inside out. “Boston? Why?”

“I’m taking a job there.” Sam crawled onto the bed and knelt in front of Michael, never breaking his grip. “At least that had been my plan before I came here.” He took Michael’s other hand.

Michael’s arms shook. Hell, his whole body shook. They’d come this far and now he would lose Sam? After last night? “And now?”

“I don’t know.” Sam pulled Michael forward into his arms until they held each other. “I had it all planned out. It would be the best thing for both of us. Then I walked into this room last night. And this is . . . what we have . . .” He seemed to search around for a word. “Shit.” Sam kissed Michael’s shoulder. After a moment, he continued. “When we’re together, when we’re like this, everything is simple and right. When I step outside the room, into the rest of the world, it’s all so fucking complicated.”

Sam trembled, whether from the cold of the room or from the conversation, Michael couldn’t tell. He pulled the covers up around them.

Fear was as potent as ice. He didn’t want to be having this conversation. But he’d promised he wouldn’t run again, and Sam was here talking with him. “I thought you had to stay until Sundra buys Four Rivers or the company folds.”

“Sundra’s buying. It’s a done deal. They’ll announce on Friday.” That pronouncement should have been joyful, but there was no emotion in Sam’s voice. “There will be three weeks or so until the acquisition. End of July.”

Three weeks. The tightness and frost in Michael’s heart crept into his lungs. “And you’re gone once they come in.”

“Of course. That’s the way these things work.”

Off to another company to become someone else’s corporate savior, leaving Michael and Four Rivers behind. Just like that. “Do you want to go?”

Sam sat back a little, and peered at Michael. “Are you asking me if I want to leave you?” A hint of annoyance creased his brow, entered his tone.

A spark of hope leapt into Michael’s soul and he tried not to cling to it. “If I weren’t in the picture, would you want to go to Boston?”

Sam got the distant look that meant he was thinking. Considering. “Their technology is interesting and something that should be doing well in the marketplace. Their leadership has let the company down. I know I can make a difference. If this were six months ago, I’d jump at the chance. It’s the kind of opportunity I live for, what I do best.”

Michael caressed Sam’s face. “Do you want to stay?”

Sam closed his eyes. “I can’t. For your sake, I can’t.”

For a moment, those words stilled Michael and his heart contracted so hard, he thought blood would stop pumping. But leaving him wasn’t Sam’s entire answer—the love that lurked behind that statement kept him breathing. He stroked Sam’s cheek. “That’s not the question I asked.”

Sam opened his eyes. They were still brilliant, even when they conveyed exasperation and pain. “I know what you asked. God, yes. Yes, I want to be with you. It’s just not possible.”

The response tied knots in Michael. Sam wanted to stay, wanted to be with Michael. “Why isn’t it possible?”

Sam lifted Michael’s hand from his cheek, his face a mix of fear, hope, and sorrow. Sunlight filtered in around the edges of the curtains, gilding lines across the bed. “They’re going to make you site manager.”

Those were the last words Michael had expected to hear. He spat out two of his own. “What? Why?”

Sam shrugged. “Pittsburgh will become an R&D lab for the next generation of Sundra’s routing products. They won’t need a CEO, maybe not even a VP, but the office will need someone to oversee and manage the team there. You’re the obvious choice for that role.”

What did it have to do with them? How did that chase Sam away? “How the hell did I become the obvious choice?” Michael reeled. Too many pieces and not enough sense.

Sam coughed a laugh. “By doing your job well. You’re the person everyone at the office respects.” He paused and added, “Plus you impressed Greta quite a bit with your knowledge.”

Well, shit. “I hate management.”

Sam waved those words away. “You were a fucking Founder. You’ve been management the entire time, despite what you or anyone else says. You hired most of the office. You should be a VP. This corrects all that.” Sam lips twisted into a grin, the one Michael loved to nip and pinch and beat away. “Technically, you’ll be a suit, and I know how much you abhor suits.”

“I like them. On other people.” On Sam, especially, right before he stripped it off. He exhaled. A suit. A promotion. It was a good thing. Suddenly, the reasoning behind Sam’s earlier statements made sense. “If you stayed in Pittsburgh, dated me—”

“Everyone will know we’re lovers.” Sam finished the thought. “I doubt you’d be willing to hide a relationship again.”

“Fuck no. I got enough of that with Rasheed. I’m not going to hide who I am and who I love ever again.” He had been doing too much of that these past few months, anyway.

Sam nodded. “Except everyone at the office, and probably quite a few people at Sundra, will think you got the job because I’m screwing you.”

“Other way around.” Something else occurred to Michael. He watched Sam carefully when he spoke his suspicion. “If you were to stay, everyone in your executive social circle would know the real reason you don’t like titty bars.”

There it was. Sam colored and looked down. “That’s not the reason.” But his manner belied his words.

Silence for a good, long minute. Michael broke it. “Damn it, Sam. You shouldn’t care what they think.”

“I don’t!” Sam sighed and scrubbed his face. “Okay, maybe I do. A bit. It’ll be a change and I don’t know how they’ll react. But that’s not why I can’t stay.”

Michael didn’t say anything. He stroked Sam’s arm, then took his hand.

“I don’t want to ruin your career. Your future,” Sam said.

“I can’t see any way in which being with you would ruin my future.” He squeezed Sam’s hand. “I mean, what more could you do to my career than what’s already been done?”

“But—”

“Sam, Pittsburgh high-tech is close-knit. Everyone knows I’m gay. Hell, I’m sure there are folks who remember me from my days in the Scene. It’s not an issue. No one’s going to think I slept my way to the top. They know how I work.”

“Sundra isn’t Pittsburgh.”

Now that was true. Michael twisted his mouth and looked down at their hands. Chances were there would be folks in Sundra who would think he got his position by bending over and taking it, even if the reverse were true. He looked up.

Sam’s smile held nothing but pain. “This is why I have a rule not to get involved with people at the office.”

“Except we were already involved.” One intense night in Curaçao. A single cuff link. Michael let Sam go.

“Yeah, I never expected that. Hadn’t planned for it.” He traced his fingers over Michael’s thigh. “I’m so sorry.”

Michael shook his head. There were other options. “I’ll quit. Go with you to Boston.”

Sam pulled back, shock loosening his features for a moment before they hardened again. “No. You can’t. Don’t do that for me.”

Michael gripped Sam’s ankle. “And why not?” More and more, Sam’s actions, his statements pointed to a truth that wasn’t one Michael liked—he was good enough for Sam to play with, but not to stay with in the long term.

Sam stilled.

Michael’s heart hurt. “Is it all a lie? I’d rather you just tell me you don’t want me—at least not as a partner. This fucking around with my head—”

Sam tugged his foot out of Michael’s grasp. “That’s not it at all. Damn it, Michael. I want to be with you. More than anyone I’ve ever met. That’s why I’m in your fucking hotel room!” He paused for a moment. “But you’re not mine to keep.”

“I’m not asking you to keep me.” Michael ran both hands through his hair. “Shit. I’m asking for a date. A night out. I already went through this bullshit with Rasheed. If you’re not willing to be seen with me, then there’s no point to any of this. You prefer the closet to me.” The words were out before he could bite them back.

Sam swayed for a moment. “Now that’s fucking unfair.” Color drained from his face. “You have no idea what it’s like for me. I’d fucking shout from the rooftops that we’re together if it made you happy. But I don’t want you destroying your life for me. I care about you too much, and I’ve seen what happens . . . Shit. Just forget it.” Sam shimmied backward and slipped off the bed. “You won’t listen.” He took two steps then stopped. “Look. What Sundra is offering, it is everything you’ve worked for at Four Rivers, everything you deserve. It’s what you should have had from day one, what you were cheated out of. Don’t abandon your career, your dreams, just for a chance to date me.”

“I can get another job. Anywhere.” Hell, headhunters called him every other week as it was.

Sam drew himself up to his full height. Even naked, that sense of power held. “Do you give a damn about all the folks who trusted in you? You’re willing to leave them to navigate this merger all by themselves so you can follow a man you’ve known for a couple months? Is that loyalty?”

Those words were a knife between Michael’s ribs. To leave the team behind without any warning—God, that would be just as shitty as what Sam was doing to him. He’d stayed three years ago to prevent that. “You’re going away.”

“I don’t have anything to leave behind. You’ve spent nearly two decades building a life in Pittsburgh.” Sam scooped up his underwear and pants. “There’s quite a difference.”

Michael shifted to the edge of the bed and stood. “So I’m nothing, then? This”—he gestured at the bed, the scattered clothing, the crop and the clamps—“isn’t anything?”

Sam reached for his shirt. “That’s not what I said but if it makes you hate me, if it makes you let me go, then yes. It’s nothing. It doesn’t mean anything.” The gravel in Sam’s voice betrayed the lies in his words.

Fuck this shit. It took only a long step to reach Sam. Michael pulled him upright and claimed Sam’s mouth, attacking with lips, tongue, and every hurt in his heart and soul. If talking didn’t work, he’d fall back on what always had.

Sam stiffened every muscle in his body at the first onslaught, but an instant later, he yielded, folding fast and hard. He opened himself to Michael, moaning deep in his throat. Clothes hit the floor and Sam wrapped his arms around Michael, kissing back with a passion and intensity that rivaled Michael’s own. This was real and true, not the words Sam had said.

Michael broke the kiss and Sam grunted his disappointment, his cock hard against Michael’s thigh.

“You can’t tell me you don’t want me,” he said into Sam’s ear.

“If you think I don’t want you, you haven’t been listening.” Sam nipped Michael’s shoulder, then untangled from Michael’s grasp. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a friend. A lover.”

“Then why the hell are we fighting?”

Sam ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not fight— Look, my life isn’t anything I’d wish for another. I go from job to job, city to city. No friends. No home.” He looked around the room. “I don’t know whether to grab my stuff and go or beg you to fuck me until this all vanishes.” A touch of panic entered Sam’s voice.

“What are you running from?” Michael hadn’t seen Sam’s fear before, but should have, given Sam’s need to be removed from the world. His mistake.

Sam’s bark of laughter was too high pitched. “Me.”

Well, yes. “Why?”

Sam stared at him.

“Why?” Michael repeated the word. He removed the distance between them and walked Sam back to the bed. A small push made Sam sit before Michael.

“There’s always another job,” Sam said. “So I go.”

Michael shook his head. “That’s not an answer.”

“You’re not my fucking therapist.”

“No, I’m not.” He curled his palm around Sam’s chin and tilted his head back. “I’m your lover. And your friend, like it or not.”

Sam’s hands bunched up the sheets and his breath hitched. “I’m the closeted gay guy who is too damn afraid that coming out will sink his career. I’m a coward and a hypocrite. I’m everything you hate, Michael.”

Michael let go. Now they were getting somewhere. “Except I don’t hate you.”

Sam looked at his feet. “You should.”

Anger in Sam’s slumped shoulders. If Michael had to guess, Sam aimed his fury inward.

“What happened?”

Sam opened his mouth, then closed it. Slowly, the tension in his body slackened. “I met a guy in grad school. He was out and proud—a lot like me at the time. First week of classes, he was jumped in an alley and had the shit beaten out of him. For being a fag. I never—I didn’t do anything. I should have done something.”

“You saw it happen?”

Sam tensed again. “Yeah. I mean, it was dark, but yeah. I saw it.” Sam shuddered. “I was there.”

The lines of anguish in Sam, the way he stared at the ground, it spoke so much more than Sam’s words—a physical knowledge of the event.

Shit. Oh, shit. Suddenly everything made sense.

“Sam,” Michael spoke the question as neutrally as he could. “That student? Who was he?”

***

Michael’s question rebounded in Sam’s skull. So many ways he could answer that. When he looked up, all options but one fell away. The line of Michael’s mouth, the compassion in his eyes, they reflected back what Michael already knew. Sam’s bones ached to voice the truth.

“Me.” He breathed the word.

Michael exhaled and took a seat next to Sam on the bed. “Do you want to talk about it?”

No. Yes. He could taste the blood in his mouth, smell the stale dampness of unwashed tarmac and brick. “I didn’t start at Yale. I started at Harvard.”

“You transferred to Yale after . . .”

“After I was beat up, yes.” Sam balled his hands and waited for the pity, the pithy statements of compassion that didn’t mean a damn thing.

He didn’t get either. Michael was silent for a time, his brow creased in worry. It smoothed over. “It’s okay if you don’t want to—”

“I want to.” Needed to. “Hell, it wasn’t even that bad, in the grand scheme of things. They punched me a few times in the face and gut. Dropped me to the ground and kicked me, then they ran.” He’d been sore for days. That pain—had been so unlike anything else. Nausea-inducing, gut-wrenching. He’d been so damn scared he’d pissed himself. “They didn’t even break anything. A cut lip, a bloody nose, and a bunch of bruises. That’s all I had. I got off light.”

Michael fidgeted, his breathing shallow. Probably reacting to what Sam wasn’t saying. He hadn’t been raped. He hadn’t been killed—unlike so many others. He’d only thought he was going to die. Hey fag, where you going? He shook away the memory and continued. “It was my first week there. I’d found a nice apartment close to campus. Met my professors and some classmates. Everything was great. Loved campus, enjoyed my classes—so different from computer science. I adored Boston. And then . . .” He shrugged.

“What happened?”

“I went to a meeting for the LGBT student association. Got jumped on my way home. That’s pretty much the story.”

“No, not if you transferred to a different school.” There wasn’t any recrimination in Michael—and no pity. Just curiosity.

I don’t deserve this man. Not his care. Not his understanding. “I should have gone to the police. Reported it. Given them my clothes or something. For DNA. I didn’t. I ran home, took a long, scalding shower and tossed everything I’d been wearing into a dumpster.”

“Understandable. You were probably in shock.”

“I was furious. At myself for not fighting back. At them for being ignorant fucks. At the world and everyone in it.” Sam swallowed. “The next day, I went to classes and got stared at. Pitied. I was seen as weak.” Sam looked at his hands and lowered his voice. “The worst thing was that I kept hearing those voices, that laughter. Everywhere. Half the men around me sounded like the shitheads who jumped me.”

Michael held out his hand, palm up. An invitation. Sam took it, twining his fingers between Michael’s.

“They probably weren’t even students, but I couldn’t shake the uncertainty, the anxiety, so I transferred halfway through the term.” That had been rough, playing catch-up on coursework. But he’d also impressed his new professors when he maintained high marks. “I decided to wait a bit before coming out at Yale. Check the waters before jumping in.”

“Makes sense, considering.”

That had been eye-opening. On the other side of the table, he’d heard what people said when they thought you were one of them. “I discovered a subtle, more pernicious kind of discrimination. It wasn’t out there in the open, but gay men and women didn’t make the same kinds of connections. They weren’t invited to the same parties. They weren’t hired by the same caliber of company.”

Michael squeezed his hand. “Yeah, I know. That was part of the appeal of founding our own company.”

Sam hadn’t even considered that. He looked at Michael.

“No one ever picked a fight with me,” Michael said. “That’s an advantage of being six four. Doesn’t mean I didn’t notice the other things—wasn’t subject to them. The comments under the breath. Being excluded from dinners. Off-campus parties. All the other shit.”

“I never thought—” But in a way he had. Assumed Michael’s life had been easier—despite the shit with Rasheed and Susan. So turned-in on himself, Sam had never considered anyone else’s pain. He let his hand slip from Michael’s. He really didn’t deserve this guy. “I wanted to beat them all at their game. Make it big. Prove that a gay man could do it. But in order to do that—”

“You had to not be gay.” Michael leaned back on his hands. “Are you happy with your choice?”

A few months ago, he might have believed the lie enough to say yes. Now? “You know I’m not.”

“Then do something about it.” Michael pushed himself off the bed. “Stay here. Date me. Start your own company. Times have changed. DOMA’s dead—hell, look at all the states that allow same-sex marriages. I bet you’d have people knocking on your door even if you named the place Sam Anderson’s Big Gay Consulting Firm.”

Sam didn’t know whether to choke on laughter or anger. “It’s not that easy!”

“It’s exactly that easy,” Michael said. “You take risks all the damn time. Am I not—is what we have—not worth the gamble?”

A different kind of ice pricked through Sam’s veins. What Michael suggested . . . almost made sense. He’d be willing to try it, if only he knew Michael would be fine, if this would work. But that wasn’t a guarantee. Hell, he didn’t even know if he could date again—or if Michael would want him when the glow wore off. “I don’t gamble.”

“The hell you don’t.” Fire in Michael’s words, in the way he crossed his arms. He looked down at Sam. “You take a gamble with other people’s lives, their careers, every time you walk into a company. It’s not like you risk your own hide, no matter what you said in that speech.”

Words caught in Sam’s throat, along with his own anger. He pushed them out. “I know I’m an asshole. I’m a corporate money-taking jerk of a suit. If I fail and a company tanks, I get to walk away with a wad cash and I don’t have to think about anyone I leave behind.” He swallowed. “I’m not that all the time. I wasn’t that person this time. But yes, I am when I need to be. Is that really the person you want to be with? Because that’s who I am on the other side of that door.”

God knew what Michael was thinking now. He’d gone from concerned to angry to unreadable. He had relaxed a bit, though. “Do you like being that person?”

Sam didn’t look away. “On occasion. I’m not . . . I’m far from perfect. I can be quite an ass.”

“Yeah, I remember. You did threaten to fire me if I got in your way.” Pain in Michael, and wariness.

That was exactly what Sam wanted to avoid. But he supposed he deserved it in this case. “If I had known your history, I wouldn’t have.”

“Doesn’t matter now, does it?” Michael ran a hand through his hair and looked around the room. “Look, maybe you should go.”

Sam’s heart froze. He couldn’t move. “What?”

Michael bent down and started collecting the pieces of the suit he’d been wearing. “All I wanted was a couple of normal dates, some time to figure out all of this, see if it would work beyond the office. A movie. A bike ride. Something other than fucking you in a shower at the office.” He picked up the riding crop and tossed it into his duffel bag. “But if I’m not worth the risk to you, if you’re not willing to put anything on the line, then that’s that. You can say anything you’d like, but it’s actions that count.”

Cold fear punched a hole in Sam’s stomach. Every damn thing Michael said was correct. “I’m trying to protect you.” The words sound feeble, even to him.

“Oh, bullshit.” Michael flung the nipple clamps into his duffel bag. “You tell me how you’d move the stars if you could, except you can if you want to.” He turned to face Sam. “Which means you don’t want to and I was just a fun diversion for you while you were here.”

“That’s—that’s not how it is.” God, he was going to lose him. Probably had.

“Then how is it?”

He couldn’t answer, couldn’t fit the words around the memory of bruises and whispers and those fucking nights they’d sent hookers to his room.

Michael turned away. “I told myself I wouldn’t do this again. At least with Rasheed, I understood.”

The pain in Sam’s gut folded him over. “I’m terrified,” he whispered.

Michael’s feet came into view, then his knees. Then his strong, warm hands tilted Sam’s head until they were eye to eye. Michael knelt on the floor in front of Sam. Amazingly, there was still no sign of pity in the long lines of concern in Michael’s face. “Of what?”

“That there isn’t anything beyond the CEO anymore. If I stop running, it’ll all crumble away—not just the career, but me too. Because there isn’t anything else there to find.” He shook. It might have been from the cool air in the hotel room. Probably not. He hated this—the wrenching in his heart, the memories. All of it.

It needed to stop.

Michael brushed a thumb over Sam’s cheek. “Sam, did you ever talk to anyone about that night?”

“Oh, hell, no.” Sam choked a laugh. “Just ran. Kept running. Nothing to tie me down.” Sam uncurled and looked up. “Know any good therapists?”

Michael’s deft fingers caressed the back of Sam’s neck. “Several.” His smile was thin, but real. He gave a halfhearted shrug. “I was a wreck after Rasheed and Susan left. It was either a good therapist or a lot of alcohol.” He paused. “And I don’t like being that out of control.”

Neither did Sam. But here he was, spiraling into the unknown. Might as well keep going. He exhaled a long, shuddering breath. “I haven’t signed the contract yet. For Boston.”

Hope lit Michael’s face for a moment. “Will you?”

After all this, Michael still wanted him? “I don’t know. I need you so badly. I broke every single rule I have to be with you. Hell, I shouldn’t have even said yes in Curaçao. Should have sent back the drink.”

“I have no regrets.” Michael’s smile and tone confirmed that.

“Neither do I. And I should. That’s part of what terrifies me.”

Michael let go and sat back. But his expression was thoughtful, so Sam pressed down the slight panic at the loss of his touch.

After a moment, Michael spoke. “Maybe it’s time to find out who you are when you stop running. Make a stand. Not for me. Not for Sundra, but for yourself.” The corner of Michael’s mouth lifted into a smirk. “Lead by example, you could say.”

Sam couldn’t help the choke of laughter. His words, thrown back at him. Maybe there was something under Randell Anderson after all. “Jerk.” He didn’t put an ounce of malice behind the word.

“Don’t forget pigheaded and stubborn.” Michael took Sam’s hands in his. “And if we’re talking flaws—I get a kick out of flogging people, then fucking them.”

Warmth ran up Sam’s spine. “That’s a flaw?”

Michael grinned. “Only to some.”

But not to Sam. Calm settled into him, chasing away the remaining wisps of terror. What he’d said the night before was true. Michael brought peace, and into that space, that freedom, Sam let the sparks of excitement catch fire. A gamble? Oh yes. For both of them.

“Let’s try.” He pulled Michael closer. “Once I’m not your boss, once this merger is behind us, let’s give this a shot. I’ll stay in Pittsburgh. Start something new.” He was shaking. “It’s nuts, but you’re right. Everything I said, everything I say”—Sam reached up, removed Michael’s glasses, and set them on the bed—“means nothing if I’m not with you.” He cupped his hand around the back of Michael’s head and tugged him into a kiss.

And this time, he was in charge, probing, thrusting, demanding. In response, Michael wrapped his arms around Sam and pressed fingers against the welts on his back.

Sam moaned, and deepened the kiss. His cock stirred.

Michael broke the kiss. “Are you sure?”

He pressed his forehead against Michael’s collarbone. “I want to be. Help me be. Teach me to be.”

“I can do that.” Michael pushed him back onto the bed, and crawled on top. They touched and explored and kissed—not in frantic need, but slowly, tenderly, until they were both hard and panting. Sam’s back sang, his nerves reminding him of the night before. If only there were time for a repeat. He glanced at the clock and stilled.

Michael followed suit, squinting. “What?”

“There’s still time for the coffee you promised.”

Michael found his glasses and looked again. “More than enough.”

Sam pulled him close and nibbled his ear. “And I also need you inside me again. Figured we can multitask on sex and cleanup.” He felt Michael tremble for a second, before Michael pulled their hips together, his shaft answering Sam’s need.

“Practical.” Michael rocked his hips, his cock brushing against Sam’s. “And this time we have condoms and lube.”

Perfect. They pulled each other off the bed and stumbled toward the bathroom.

The world could wait for now. Everything else, Sam would figure out later.

***

Michael had expected Sam to be assertive after the heart-to-heart, but not quite this aggressive. Sam rammed Michael against the door to the hotel bathroom, locked his fingers in Michael’s hair and pulled him down into a kiss that curled Michael’s toes and very nearly had Michael on his knees at Sam’s feet.

Someday, he’d do that—just to see Sam’s reaction—but not today.

Sam broke the kiss. “I hope you have condoms and lube in the bathroom already.” He nipped at Michael’s collarbone. “Because I don’t want to let you go.”

Fuck. “They’re in the duffel.” Well, the condoms, anyway. The bottle of lube was probably somewhere on the floor from last night.

Sam’s nip turned painful. “Then, go get them.”

An order? Michael tangled his fingers into Sam’s hair and yanked his head back, not too hard, but enough to serve as a reminder of who was in charge—at least in the bedroom.

Sam gasped, moaned, and melted against Michael.

“Care to rephrase that?” He smiled down into Sam’s lust-filled face.

Oh, the wicked light in those blue eyes. “Please go and get the condoms and lube?”

“Why?”

Sam rocked his cock against Michael’s. “So you can fuck me until I can’t see straight?”

“With pleasure.” He pressed a kiss to Sam’s exposed neck, then let him straighten up. “Wait here.”

He found the lube under a shirt and pulled a strip of condoms out of the duffel on the table. Sam still stood by the bathroom door, a picture of need and desire—so very different from a scant few minutes before.

Sam was still here, had chosen to be with Michael. For a moment, it seemed as if the floor dipped. Michael caught himself on the table and fought for breath, heart full of all the words, the endearments he wanted to blurt out before it was too late. There was time, now, to say those things. More than one night. A future. A chance.

He pushed off the table and made his way back to the bathroom. “Inside.” He gestured for Sam to lead, then admired the welts that covered the long line of Sam’s back—the marks he’d left, the pain and pleasure and peace he’d given Sam. There was that dizziness again. He put the condoms and lube on the counter. “Sam.”

Sam turned, all teeth and brilliance, and dropped to his knees.

“If you—” The rest of Michael words, even what he’d planned to say disappeared when Sam wrapped his lips and hand around Michael’s cock. Michael groaned and barely had enough time to grab edge of the bathroom counter before his legs crumpled.

God, that hot, tight, wet mouth. Sam pumped Michael’s shaft with one hand, gripped Michael’s hip with the other, and his tongue—that fucking tongue of his—slid back and forth against the underside of the head. Lightning danced down every one of Michael’s nerves, setting his skin on fire.

Bracing himself against the counter, Michael tightened his fingers in Sam’s hair and took back some of the control he’d lost to that talented mouth, slowing Sam’s bobbing—but not his damn tongue. He thrust forward, deeper each time—inviting Sam to surrender.

As before, Sam relaxed and opened, taking Michael’s stroke down to the root. Again and again. All the time, Sam never missed an instant to tease Michael with tongue or hand—that is, when Michael let him.

That slick heat, Sam’s low moans around his shaft, the fire racing down his nerves with every thrust—it all felt too damn good. The sight of his cock sliding in and out of Sam’s stretched lips, Sam’s deep gasps for air mixing with Michael’s own harsh breathing. Every sensation enflamed, ached his balls, need like a cord binding him to Sam. The musk and sweat and sex in the air, in his mouth. The pounding of blood, the fire winding tighter and tighter in his core. In his soul.

Sam looked up and met Michael’s gaze—his pale eyes full of desire and surrender—and something far deeper. Hope. Love. Michael closed his eyes against the blinding light of his orgasm and spilled himself down Sam’s throat.

When Michael could see again, when the trembling stopped and he didn’t need the counter to keep his legs under him, he looked down and found Sam still sitting at his feet.

“You’re stunning when you come, did you know?”

The warmth in Michael now had nothing to do with his fading orgasm. “No one’s ever told me that, no.”

Sam rose, somehow graceful in his motions, despite his breathlessness. “Pity.” He closed the distance and kissed Michael. As an equal. A lover.

Yes, they played games, took on roles, but this—this was heaven, too. And God, he loved tasting himself in Sam’s mouth. Michael broke the kiss. “And here I thought you wanted me to fuck you.”

“I do.” Sam turned and eyed the glass-enclosed shower. “Looks big enough for all kinds of fun.”

Maybe it was just from the exertion, the sweat, but the lines on Sam’s back looked redder and more tender. Michael traced his fingers down Sam’s skin, over the angry, raised flesh. “When we’re clean, I have some lotion for these.”

Sam shivered under Michael’s touch. “I don’t mind.”

Michael chuckled. “You will later. Trust me.” He drew Sam back and wrapped his arms across his chest. Sam hissed and arched against the contact, no doubt feeling every stripe the crop had left.

“Really, really don’t mind.” His voice, deep and gravelly, dripped with need.

Michael slid his hand down Sam’s chest and abs, then gripped Sam’s erection. “If you want another flogging, you’ll need to heal.”

“If you say so.” Disappointment in that whisper.

He kissed Sam’s neck. “I do.”

That Sam wanted more didn’t surprise Michael. Sam pushed every limit—both his own and Michael’s. Just how much pain could Sam take? How much did he want? How much could Michael give him and still feel comfortable? He’d made Sam fly each time, but had not even come near the space where Sam would ask him to back down.

And Sam had been beaten—truly beaten. Ice chased down Michael’s spine and he let Sam’s cock go. “I need to know something.”

Sam must have heard the change in Michael’s voice, felt the tension in his body. “Anything.”

“Why this, Sam? Why, after all you’ve—”

Sam rotated in Michael’s loosened grip and swallowed the rest of Michael’s words with a breathtaking—literally—kiss.

Michael sucked in a gasp of air when Sam freed him.

“That’s why.” He grinned in a way that should have been illegal in most states.

“I don’t understand.” And he wanted to—needed to—before this went further.

Sam sobered. “I want this, Michael. Crave it. What you do—it’s so far away from a punch in the face or a kick to the ribs or having your leg stomped on”—his breath caught—“it might as well be another planet.” Sam ran a hand over Michael’s shoulder, down his pecs, as if mapping the contours with his hand. “You’re loving. Careful.” He looked up. “And I can stop you with a word.”

Sam could. Michael pressed his lips into Sam’s hair, tasting the silky strands, the lingering scent of shampoo, sweat, and sleep. “It’s just a bit weird when I stop and think about it.”

“Then don’t.” Sam spoke against Michael’s throat. “I trust you. Hell, you won’t even take me as far as I want to go because it’s not safe.”

“Not yet, anyway,” Michael murmured against his hair. “We’ll get there.” God, he wanted to go there, too, see Sam writhing in as much pain and pleasure as Michael could tease out of his beautiful body. The thought of it flamed every one of Michael’s nerves, reawakening desire. “But if we go too fast—”

“You’ll hurt me?”

Michael had to laugh at that. “Yes. But in the wrong way.”

“See? There is a difference.”

There was. He’d been there with other subs, that moment when something went wrong and the pain went from fuck me to fucking stop right now.

Sam opened space between them and met Michael’s gaze. “You need to trust that I’ll say if I need you to stop.”

It was, of course, the heart of every bit of play. Trust. Surrender, on both sides, to some extent. “I know this,” Michael said, more to himself than Sam.

“Then start doing it.”

There went that mouth again. Michael raked his fingernails down Sam’s back in one hard, quick stroke.

An instant later, Sam arched up on his toes in a silent cry, his hands clenching Michael’s arms and a mixture of surprise, pain, and lust painted onto his face.

Just that nearly undid Michael—that vision of pain and bliss, Sam caught in what only Michael could give.

Then Sam slumped against Michael and groaned so deeply it rattled bone and marrow—and Michael’s cock. Sam might get his wish after all.

“Like that?” Michael grazed his lips over Sam’s ear.

“Yes.” Sam slurred the word.

“Want more?”

Sam tilted his head back and grinned. “Always.”

“Then get in the shower.” He let Sam go, and damned if the man didn’t strut to the glass enclosure like he owned the place. Michael scooped up a condom and the lube and followed, dropping the items on a high shelf. He’d need them soon enough, but not quite yet.

Sam turned on the water and adjusted the temperature, and the water sluiced over his shoulders and down his beautifully marred back. Thin parallel lines rose where Michael had scratched him. Michael pressed up against Sam’s back, savoring the shudder and the soft moan that rumbled through Sam.

The temperature Sam had chosen was warm, but not overly so. Michael nudged Sam out of the way and turned it a notch hotter, then switch the head of the shower from a gentle steady stream to a hard, pulsating massage. Michael put his back into the stream, letting the abrasive thump of steamy water ease the tension from his muscles.

It was going to sting like hell on Sam’s welt-covered back. Perfect.

Seemed Sam knew as well. He eyed the showerhead with a mix of trepidation and desire. “Shit.”

Michael chuckled, then pulled Sam close and took his mouth. This time, Sam surrendered to the kiss, letting Michael explore and lead. He groaned low in his throat when Michael pressed nails against the inflamed skin of his back, then thrust his hard cock against Michael’s thigh.

The friction rekindled the desire to be surrounded by Sam, to hear his cries and witness the pain—and pleasure. He spun them both around, moving Sam into the stream of water, deepening the kiss.

Sam’s whole body stiffened when the water pounded against his back; then Sam was the one kissing Michael, taking Michael’s mouth for his own—and Michael surrendered to the onslaught. Today wasn’t about last night—it was about tomorrow and the next day, and the one after that.

Sam wanted Michael. Needed him. Chose to be with him, even over a lifetime of fears. Michael had no issues switching roles, on occasion. Besides, having Sam kiss like that while rocking his cock against Michael? Hotter than hell. Knowing Sam was in pain and loving every second of it? Even better.

Sam broke their kiss and sucked in breath after breath. “God.”

“How’s the back?”

“Hurts like fuck.” Sam coughed a laugh and smiled. “I love it.”

Michael pushed wet curls out of Sam’s eyes. “Still want me inside you?”

“Yes, please.” Sam nipped Michael’s shoulder. “Until I can’t think.”

With pleasure. He pulled Sam out of the stream, rotated him once more, then pressed his front against the wall of the shower. “You know, it’s going to take a while for me to come.”

Sam arched back. “Really? I hadn’t considered that at all when I went down on you.”

Of course he had. Michael bit Sam’s neck, hard enough to evoke a flinch, then spoke in his ear. “Yes, but how long can you keep from coming?”

“As long as you want me to.” Sam turned his head to the side and there was the edge of that sly smile. “Until you say I can.”

“A fine answer.” Michael kissed the spot he’d bitten, then stepped back and retrieved the condom and the lube, and sheathed himself before spreading lube on his cock. Then he worked a slick finger into Sam.

Sam hissed. “Don’t . . . need to be gentle.”

“Maybe I do.” Michael eased the head of his cock inside Sam and groaned against the tight heat of his ass, then worked himself deeper with slow, easy strokes.

Sam’s breathing hitched with every movement, half moan, half gasp, entirely unrestrained. When there wasn’t any space left between them, Michael held himself deep in Sam and enjoyed the way Sam trembled against—and all around—him. “Maybe I should just—” Michael kissed the drops of water on Sam’s back. “Just fuck you like this.”

He withdrew and thrust in again at the same languid rate, as far into Sam as he could. “You feel so damn good.”

Again and again, he slid into Sam, savoring Sam’s every groan and shudder, his wordless sounds of pleasure, the slow slap and grind as flesh met flesh. The ever-present pulse of the shower, like a heartbeat.

Sam shuddered and his hands slipped down the wall. He rocked back as Michael slid forward, taking every inch of Michael’s cock. Michael wrapped his arms around Sam and pulled him up, holding him—them both—still. Together.

Sam lolled his head back in a silent cry.

“Do you like this?” Michael whispered into Sam’s ear.

“Yes.” The word was a tiny thing, all air and quiver.

Michael moved again, gentle thrusts that rocked them against each other. “And this?”

“Yes. Don’t—” Sam lost himself in a groan when Michael pushed in deep. “Don’t stop.”

Michael didn’t, lost in Sam’s heat, the rush of Sam’s lungs, his groans, and the taste of Sam’s water-splashed skin. The shower thrummed until the very air seemed to hum with the pulse. Sam shuddered and slid against him, wet and warm, his fingers splayed on Michael’s hips. What felt like eternity might have been minutes—so hard to tell this far into the trance that was Sam, but a sharp need prickled over Michael’s skin, quickened his blood.

He thrust faster, with more force, and Sam threw back his head and gasped. That was all the invitation Michael needed to pick up the pace.

“Fuck.” Sam bent his head down, hands once more braced against the tile in front of him. Flesh against stone, muscular arms full of strength. He matched Michael’s rhythms and force, milking Michael’s cock with each stroke, singeing Michael’s nerves with fire.

Michael’s vision grayed, a sudden spike of pleasure cascading lightning down his veins. He hissed against Sam’s back, fighting against the need to bury himself deep and repeatedly in Sam’s lithe body until they both shattered. After a moment, Michael slowed down and caught his breath against the knife’s edge of want.

Seemed that same blade had found Sam as well. Short puffs of breath shuddered Sam’s back and his arms were locked against the shower wall, nails biting into the grout. When Michael wrapped a hand around Sam’s cock, Sam’s whole body quaked.

“Close?” Michael stroked Sam’s cock and thrust deep.

Sam grunted low, then answered. “Fuck, yes.”

He sped up. “How close?”

This time the only answer Sam gave was a laugh that sounded more like a sob that only intensified the headiness, the buzzing in Michael’s blood.

He kissed behind Sam’s ear. “Good.”

Sam hissed and rammed back with each thrust. Any control Michael thought he had disappeared, along with everything else in the world but Sam. Need gripped him tight, flaying skin and bone. He plowed into Sam, jerking him off at the same rapid rate.

From Sam’s guttural cries and unintelligible cursing, he was barely staving off orgasm.

Just for Michael.

Fire engulfed Michael. His balls tightened and he let out a harsh cry of his own, and then leaned over Sam and spoke one word. “Come.”

Sam did, with a shout that echoed against stone and glass and he tightened around Michael’s cock.

The shower hazed out and burst into a sea of stars and Michael spilled over into his own orgasm and he emptied himself deep inside Sam. Every movement seared into Michael’s skin until couldn’t move anymore, could barely stand.

He wasn’t sure if he was shaking or if the quaking was Sam—probably both of them. Sam clung to the shower wall while Michael held Sam, breathless and panting, the aftershocks rolling down Michael’s limbs.

Sam shifted. “Please do that to me again, sometime.”

“Anytime you’d like.” Michael eased himself out of Sam.

A groan from Sam. “Not anytime, or we’ll never get anything done.”

Wasn’t that the truth. “Give me a sec.” Michael slipped out of the shower long enough to ditch the condom, then was back in Sam’s arms. He kissed Sam on the forehead, then the mouth, then brushed a thumb over his cheek. “Still need coffee?”

Sam tilted his head back. “I will always need coffee.” His smile was brilliant. “You?”

“Yes.” He could take or leave coffee, to be honest. But that wasn’t the question he answered.

It was Sam that he’d always need.