Chapter Seven

Michael had expected dinner out. Much like the previous night, William insisted they hit the French Quarter, though this time William invited several others, including Michael’s likely new boss, Greta Bachman. Over seafood gumbo, she grilled Michael on testing standards, his methodology, how they used Four Rivers hardware in the office network—everything.

It was a damn fine conversation.

She sat back and picked up her wine glass. “Randy said you were good.”

“Randy?” Michael’s brain caught up with his mouth. “You mean Sam.”

“Randy—Sam.” She lifted her glass in salute to Sam, who sat two down from Michael. “Whatever the man’s going by these days. We were classmates, way back when we were too young.”

Interesting. Greta’s tone, her smile, seemed to indicate no animosity. Good. Michael watched Sam speak to some VP of Marketing or some-such department.

They hadn’t talked since Michael had handed Sam coffee in the morning. A flicker of dread chased through Michael. He pushed it away. There hadn’t really been any time to talk.

Michael returned his attention to Greta. “Was he always so driven?”

She nodded. “Got him into a ton of trouble with the department. He was a trailblazer in the true sense . . . he tended to set fire to everything he left behind. Mind you, it usually needed to be set aflame. Lots of old thinking in the hallowed halls.”

“Different school, but I remember.”

“I’m not surprised he ended up where he did, jumping from company to company and fixing them. Even in engineering, he saw what that needed to be improved on the business side of the world. A way to make space for people to do their jobs.”

“Well, he certainly did that at Four Rivers.”

“Sounds like you did, too, from what he said.”

Michael fished a shrimp out of his gumbo and digested her words. Since the board had taken over he had tried to insulate his people from upper management, give them room to perform and grow without the worry of looking over their shoulders. But his way was to push back at the suits—at the executives. Sam was the chief executive, and certainly more than just a suit.

So was Greta.

By dessert, Michael realized Greta was sussing out his opinions on more than just testing—she touched on software development, hardware, even manufacturing and purchasing.

“You guys should know all these things.” He spoke softly, over the edge of his coffee cup.

Her smile was as enigmatic as Sam’s could be. “From William, yes.”

Shit. He’d answered truthfully. With any luck, he hadn’t just sunk the acquisition. Who knows what the hell William had said.

They took the long way back to the hotel after dinner. Sam strode ahead with William and the other VP. There was no damn way to get anywhere near him without being exceedingly obvious. Michael wasn’t about to pull Sam aside in front of Sundra folks, especially not Greta—someone who had known Sam in college.

He stole another glance at her. Sam had been out once. Did Greta know? If she did . . . it was one more hole in the closet Sam had built.

How the hell was he going to break that down? Nothing had worked with Rasheed. Sam’s reasoning might be different, but the result was the same.

Back at the hotel, William and the VP headed for the bar. Sam paused, but it wasn’t Michael he addressed.

“Interested in a drink, G?” The familiarity in Sam’s voice and smile made Michael’s chest ache. Greta and Sam had formed a friendship over years. Would Michael ever hear such warmth from Sam in public?

Or would this be Rasheed all over again? Fuck.

Greta waved Sam to the bar. “I’m presenting tomorrow. I’ll be a wreck if I don’t sleep. Have one on me.” She offered her hand to Michael. “A pleasure. If you’re free, let’s meet here again at nine. I’d like to talk further.”

“I’m free,” Michael said.

Greta nodded. After she headed to the elevator, Sam finally addressed him. “You coming to the bar?”

Flat words, nervousness, but not the kind Sam had displayed in Curaçao. This spoke of walls and restraints, and not the fun kind. Same kind of look. Different guy.

“No,” Michael said, then felt his guts fall when Sam looked relieved. “I think I’ll turn in.”

“Good night, Mike.”

Ouch. That was a kick in the teeth. He tried to smile and failed. “Good night.” But Sam was already turning away.

Halfway to the elevators, Michael stopped.

What the fuck? He rubbed his temples.

The morning’s overtures had been promising and the coffee well received. Every signal Sam had given had been positive. Every one now was negative. Was Michael really going to walk away from Sam again? Every time he’d done that in the past, it had been disastrous for the two of them and Four Rivers.

Sam was not Rasheed.

Still. Michael couldn’t march over to the bar and ask Sam what the hell was going on. What he could do, however, was give Sam the option of telling him.

No chasing, but one last chance for Sam to decide what he wanted.

Michael fished in the little folder with the keys to his room, pulled one out and stuffed it into his coat pocket. He headed toward the laughter and clinking of glasses and slipped next to Sam at the bar. “Hey, you dropped your key.” Michael placed the folder on the counter.

Sam started and for an instant, he was the man Michael had seen enter a very different bar in a very different place. Hope, the reddening of his cheeks, but then a flash of fear.

He’s not going to take it. The ache started at the back of Michael’s head and spread down into his heart. So, just like that, it was over?

Sam picked the folder up and tucked it into his pocket. “Thanks. I owe you.”

It took every ounce of discipline Michael had not to react, even as euphoria lightened his head more than any drink ever could. “Good night, Sam.”

He didn’t wait for a reply before he strode to the elevator. The only question now was would Sam use the card?

***

Sam might as well have had a hot coal in his pocket from the way the key to Michael’s room made him burn. Two fingers of whiskey on the rocks, downed quickly, hadn’t calmed him or numbed his need to follow Michael upstairs. He managed to sit through forty-five minutes of drinks and chat before the pressure in his lungs, head, and dick grew to great to ignore.

The conversation—or rather William’s monologue—lulled enough that he could excuse himself.

William snorted. “Night’s still young, Randell. I was thinking we should hit a place with a bit more . . . entertainment.”

William meant a bar with barely clothed women. Not at all the scene Sam wanted. Keeping an eye on William didn’t mean Sam had to put up with his shit. “Wish I could. The day took more out of me than I expected. I’d only put a damper on the night.” He tossed down some bills for a bar tip and gave the men a nod. “But do enjoy yourselves.”

As Sam headed toward the lobby he distinctly heard William call him a prude.

If only that were true, life would be much easier at the moment. He pulled out the folder that held Michael’s keycard and turned it over. Room 823. Such a simple thing it would be to go up there and indulge in one last fling.

No one down here would know. Michael’s hands, mouth, and breath on Sam’s skin. The security. The trust.

After punching the elevator up button, Sam turned the folder over again. Despite the desire twining in his belly and the hardness of his cock, he knew better than to give in. Both were conditions he could alleviate with his hand and a cold shower. The tightness in his heart—that was something else entirely. Nothing would fix that but time and distance.

A roll with Michael would only worsen the situation.

The elevator doors opened to an empty car. Sam strode in and pressed the button for six—his floor. The doors closed and the car rose.

He was moving to Boston. He didn’t do relationships. This was for the best. If he repeated those things enough times, maybe they would sink in. He couldn’t have sex with Michael now—not so close to Sundra choosing Michael as a site manager. It would look like favoritism. If anyone found out, Michael would be out of a job.

Choosing the path Sam’s heart wanted would out them as lovers. That would fuck over Michael and the other Four Rivers employees.

It would also pretty much tank Sam’s career. He was good at what he did. Really fucking good. He loved the challenge, the freedom, and the excitement. It wouldn’t be anything like the situation in grad school—he’d not let that happen again. But it would mean stares and comments and a distinct lack of income. Yeah, it’s not all altruism, is it?

It was one thing to screw himself, but his wants were not worth the careers of others, especially not Michael’s. Desire for money had nearly ruined Four Rivers. Rasheed’s need to play straight guy had nearly destroyed Michael.

How were Sam’s needs any different? His lust would ruin everything.

Sam tapped the keycard folder against his palm. Michael would be waiting in his room. Naked? Dressed in that delicious suit? Sam exhaled a ragged breath as the elevator slowed and the doors opened onto the sixth floor.

If he did go, what would Michael do? Fuck him of course. But what else? Spank him? Use a belt again? Something else?

The doors closed, and it sounded like his heartbeat played from the speakers above his head rather than up-tempo jazz. The gleaming brass accents of the car interior swam before his eyes. He reached for the buttons and paused over the open door symbol.

He’d miss a good cup of coffee in the morning. Big deal. That was his life. No Michael.

Fire replaced his blood and burned his lungs. He couldn’t make his finger press the damn open button.

What would it be like to wake in Michael’s bed, in his arms? Sam stared at the panel. He could have that tonight. A good-bye in the morning. Something normal just this once, even if it were an ending.

Another voice from his past, this one akin to his own, whispered in his head. You going to let one bad night a decade ago dictate the rest of your life? You’re an idiot, Sam Anderson.

Sam punched the button for floor eight and backed up against the wall of the car as it rose, swallowing air in gulps. It took effort to force his arms to stop shaking.

How much of this bad idea was the whiskey, he didn’t know. Probably less than he’d like. Recklessness was becoming a habit—first sex in the shower and now this.

The elevator stopped and the doors opened to reveal the hallway of the eighth floor. He should press the six button and end this madness before it destroyed Michael. Instead, he stepped out of the car. The hallway blurred as Sam strode to the door of Room 823. He slid the key out of the folder.

Last chance to turn around, but then he never turned back. Sam took a breath and pushed the card into the slot. A whir, a green light, and then he was inside the room. The door closed behind him with an audible thump. After that, the only sound was the humming of the air conditioner and the rush of blood in Sam’s ears.

Michael sat on a couch, still dressed in his suit pants, shirt, and suspenders, but sans tie and jacket. No shoes, but dress socks. He set down the e-reader he’d been holding and stood.

Damn, the man was tall. Sam knew that, but the clothes Michael wore accentuated his height. No longer unassuming in Jimmy Buffet shirts and shorts, Michael was every stitch a man of power. That impression only grew as he closed the distance.

Sam couldn’t move. Hell, he couldn’t breathe.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come.” Michael stopped close enough that the buttons on his shirt shimmered as he spoke.

Sam followed the line of white circles up to Michael’s face. “Until I did, I wasn’t sure I would either.” He held out the keycard to Michael, who took it.

“Why?”

“Why did I come, or why wasn’t I sure?”

“I know why you’re here.” Michael brushed a finger along Sam’s jaw.

The feeling of his stubble moved by Michael’s touch sang down Sam’s every nerve. Heat and desire flooded his senses and he swayed forward. Michael caught him and tilted his chin up so that Sam had no choice but to look into Michael’s dark eyes.

“Tell me why you weren’t going to.” The faint scent of leather mixed with the earthy smell of Michael’s skin.

“We shouldn’t be doing this and I want—” He swallowed air. “I want more. More than I should have. More than is safe.”

“More?” Michael whispered in Sam’s ear before taking the lobe into his mouth.

Sam’s nerves exploded as heat traced down his spine. He wrapped his hands around Michael’s suspenders and closed his eyes against the onslaught of light that flashed before his vision. He clung to Michael because he wasn’t sure his legs would hold.

“More?” Michael spoke a second time, the heat of his breath warming Sam’s neck.

“More of you. More time. More of us.”

“A relationship?”

And there it was. Everything Sam had been dancing around since Curaçao. The one thing he could not have, not with his career, not with his nomadic life. “Yes.”

“And here I thought you only wanted me for my sense of style.” Amusement in Michael’s voice and a touch of something else, too. Approval?

Sam shivered. “What style? Parrots? Please.” Did Michael want what he did?

“You like the suit well enough.” Michael nipped Sam’s earlobe before whispering into his ear. “Is it the sex, then?”

“Not just the sex.” He paused. “Though at the moment, a good fuck would be just fine.” He was so damn hard it hurt.

Michael’s laugh rippled through Sam’s body, turning the desire twisting in his core into fire. Michael slid his hands down to Sam’s ass and pulled their bodies together. There was no mistaking the hard length of Michael’s shaft pressed against Sam’s belly.

“You’ll get more than that,” Michael said, right before he devoured Sam’s mouth.

Sam yielded to the deep kiss, opening to the thrust of Michael’s tongue before turning the tables and kissing back just as hard. Michael tasted of spice and wine. So close, the smell of the leather suspenders and linen sent Sam reeling into fantasies of different kinds of leather and cloth.

Michael pulled Sam up until their cocks slid against each other through their clothes. Sam didn’t register that Michael had picked him up until his back met the wall and he wrapped his legs around Michael. Braced against unforgiving plaster, Sam thrust, bulge to bulge, all while Michael explored Sam’s mouth.

Sam couldn’t even moan under the onslaught of pleasure spinning through his body. Dry humping would get him off at this rate.

Michael broke the kiss. “I need you naked.”

Sam didn’t hide the shudder that ran through him. “Good.”

Back on his feet, Sam stripped without care or thought. He kicked his Italian hand-tailored suit away, followed by his shirt, shoes, socks, and underwear. Michael remained dressed, which was just fine. “I do like the suit. You should wear one more often.”

Michael stood out of reach, his arms crossed and the outline of his hard-on visible in his slacks. He chuckled.

Oh to wrap his lips around that. “Although it would be distracting to see you like this every day.”

“It would be interesting”—Michael uncrossed his arms and removed the distance between them—“to see your reaction at work.” Michael ran his hands over Sam’s chest, sending chills down his arms and up into his brain. Goosebumps rose when Michael circled Sam’s right nipple, then brushed his thumb over it. When Michael gripped the nub hard, a sharp shock of pain went straight to Sam’s balls. Chill turned to fire.

He did moan this time.

“I thought you might like that.” Michael found Sam’s other nipple and applied the same pressure.

It was as if the world became both darker and brighter at the same time. Electrifying. Michael’s devilish smile wavered in Sam’s vision and his mouth turned dry. He gasped for air, suspended between wanting to pull away and wanting to beg for more.

Michael’s voice brought him back to earth. “Kiss me.”

Sam went up on his toes, thrust his tongue into Michael’s willing mouth and was rewarded with more pressure on his nipples. The sweetness of the pain almost drove him to his knees. That would have been fine by him.

Michael broke the kiss and loosened his hold. “I have something I’d like you to try.”

The words themselves were innocent enough, but in Michael’s gravelly voice they took on a tone that made Sam tremble, part from desire and part from fear. He followed Michael to the foot of the bed and sat where Michael pointed.

From a duffel bag on the coffee table, Michael pulled out a thin, silver-colored chain with heavier ends—clamps. Sam sucked in air and sparks danced across his skin from his ass to his toes.

Michael’s wicked expression was half a smile and half the look of a hungry predator. “You know how to stop me.”

Sam did. He resisted the temptation to strain toward Michael, beg for the pain, the desire, the security, and the calm in his mind that came when his senses were overwhelmed.

Michael applied a clamp and it was all Sam could do to remain sitting upright. The pressure turned to a thousand needles piercing his skin, insistent and hot like a burn. Lightning flashed up his spine to his head, hazing his vision and tightening his balls. “Oh fuck.” It took several breaths to get a hold on the pain—and then the bastard placed the other clamp. Sam wanted to double over, but Michael pulled him up and took his mouth again.

Sam answered by digging his fingers into Michael’s arms and pushing his tongue into the heat of Michael’s mouth. The moan from Michael sweetened the agony radiating through Sam’s body and turned it into a silky pleasure.

When Michael wrapped his hand around Sam’s cock and stroked, desire twined at the base of Sam’s spine. Too much, too fast. Sam broke the kiss. “I’m going to come.”

“Don’t.” Michael kept stroking, slowly. Firmly.

Sam fought against the rising pressure in his belly, the tightening in his balls. The clamps might as well have been two mouths sucking hard on his nipples. Michael pressed his thumb against the slit in the crown of Sam’s dick.

His whole body shook with the need for release—from the clamps, from Michael’s hand, from the growing fullness of his heart. He would never, ever get enough of Michael. He needed this man in his life. “Please.”

“No.” Michael took on a cheerful tone. “Put that type-A personality to some use.”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or curse. He moaned instead and used every ounce of self-control to keep from teetering over the edge into bliss. After several more strokes, Michael finally relented and released Sam’s cock.

In turn, Sam let go of Michael’s arms and slumped back to sitting on the bed. The clamps still stung and ached, especially when the chain swung between them, but the pain was down to a manageable level—if trembling were considered managing.

Michael loomed over him with the same wolfish grin as before.

“You like seeing your CEO like this?” Sam’s words were dusty to go along with the dryness of his throat.

Michael gripped Sam’s chin. “I love seeing you like this. I don’t give a rat’s ass that you’re my boss.” He trailed his fingers down along Sam’s throat, then took hold of the chain and pulled, ever so gently. “I don’t think you do, either.”

The dull sting turned sharp and drove away Sam’s retort. He tried not to twist and failed, turning his nipples into points of agony. Every moment of pain transformed into a sweet dagger of pleasure. It was hard, very hard, not to cry out.

Too many neighbors.

“Lovely.” Michael backed away and returned to his bag. Out came a bottle of lube and a strip of condoms, which he placed at the foot of the bed before rooting in the bag again. Sam couldn’t help the soft groan when he considered the foil packets.

“Since you’ve done beautifully with the clamps, come here and pick which of these I’m going to flog you with.”

All breath left Sam. A trickle of sweat ran down his back, cooling his overheated skin. Yes, he wanted to be thrashed, but to have it so plainly spoken of . . . it froze him even as the thought burned.

“Sam.”

He rose to his feet at Michael’s call, legs shaking, and crossed to the table with the black bag. Each step shook the chain suspended between his nipples. The added sharpness cleared his head and steadied his steps. When he reached Michael’s side, he could breathe again. Michael pulled him close and kissed the back of his neck.

On the table lay a flogger and a riding crop. Sam had never been hit with either but knew the effects well enough from the porn he watched. He was about to live his fantasy. Again. The decision was easy. Sharp, hard swats. “The crop.”

“Thought that might be your choice.” Michael nuzzled his neck, a gentle touch, odd in contrast to the dull burn of the clamps. Sam leaned against Michael, soaking in his warmth and strength.

A slip of a thought flickered through Sam’s head that he really should not be in Michael’s arms—and he shoved it away. Michael was right. He didn’t care. Navigating the consequences of this night could come later. “You didn’t pick these . . . toys up because of me, did you?”

“No.” Michael traced a hand down Sam’s belly to his thigh, skimming achingly close to Sam’s cock—but not touching it. “In college, I was pretty involved in the Scene. But Rasheed . . . wasn’t. I drifted away.”

“You didn’t do this with him.” Joy ripped through Sam. This was theirs.

“No. Never with him.”

“He missed out. You obviously enjoy being a Dom.”

Michael huffed a laugh. “I love whipping people, giving them the pain they want and need. I love topping. I love the joy of a scene well played. I hated being a Dom.”

That—didn’t make sense. “I don’t understand. You and me—”

Michael turned him around. “I adore you. If we weren’t stuck in this job together, if you were openly gay, I’d ask you out. I don’t want to run your life. I don’t want to tell you what to do—not all the time. I just want to make you fly.”

“You left.” Sam’s throat tightened and he swallowed. “In the gym, you ran when I said that.” He’d seen the fear in Michael.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m not running now.” He paused. “Whether I stay is up to you.”

Sam should have been running for the door. He hadn’t expected—hadn’t anticipated—Michael might feel the same way. That wasn’t part of his plan. He was taking a job in Boston and leaving. Going back to Beantown to exorcise some of his demons.

Except he was standing in a hotel room, wearing nothing but clamps on his nipples, and the man he was falling in love with was about to beat him with a riding crop. “There’s too much in my head right now.”

Michael tapped the crop against his hand. “I can fix that for you.”

“Please. Yes.”

Michael pointed to the wall. “Back to me, legs apart, and use your arms to brace yourself.”

Sam moved into position. Beneath his palms, the subtle wallpaper dug into his skin, but the abrasion was comforting. “Arms high?”

“Ideally, you’d be cuffed onto a rack or a cross, but since we can’t do that here, whatever position is most comfortable and you’re least likely to break,” Michael said.

A rack. A cross? The controlled heat in Sam’s balls threatened to spill out of confinement. He took a breath and concentrated. Arms down. He did push-ups regularly; it would be easy to hold the position under pain. Or pleasure.

Michael tapped Sam’s left leg with what felt to be the crop. “Wider.”

Sam obliged. Then waited, and waited more, his pulse ticking up with each second that passed. After a moment, he relaxed and opened his mouth to speak.

The crack of the riding crop against his right ass cheek echoed in the room before the pain registered in Sam’s brain. A shower of gold sparks exploded in his vision and the sting radiated to his fingertips. The next blow came, on the left cheek. Then another. This one on his shoulder blade. Sam pressed into the wall, scraping the clamps against the hard surface. The agony nearly buckled his legs. He closed his eyes and moaned.

Michael chuckled. “The clamps are a treat, aren’t they?”

Another blow from Michael stole Sam’s answer. Spots—gold, white, red—danced in his vision as sparks of desire, pain, and delight flooded his body and set his skin aflame. Each time the crop landed, his cock and balls tightened. He laid his head against the wall and fought the urge to twist under the blows. God, he wanted more. He arched his back and rose onto his toes. “Please.”

Another crack of leather against flesh, then another. Too many to count. Sweet torment sang in his veins and made his dick throb. Sam trembled, the pounding blood in his ears blocking all but the noise of the slap of the crop.

How long Michael continued Sam couldn’t tell, only that every blow sent light into his vision and lifted him higher, away from the world, closer to Michael. Closer to heaven.

This pain was so different from a true beating. Sweeter. Calming. He didn’t want it to end. But he was losing his grip on the wall and his legs felt like twisting rubber. Sam slid and the blows stopped.

Strong arms caught him before he fell to the ground. “Jesus, Sam. You need to tell me when you’ve had enough. That’s the whole point of safewords.”

“Haven’t had enough.” The word came out slurred. Sam peeled open his eyes to a world too bright. But it contained Michael, so that was fine. “Keep going.”

He couldn’t tell if the sound Michael made was a laugh or a moan. “No. Not if you’re like this.” Steady arms lifted Sam up and pulled him toward the bed. Even when Sam’s ass hit the comforter, Michael didn’t let go. “You want more than you can take.”

“Always.” The bedcover pricked against his aching skin and the pain sent a wave of pleasure up his spine. He shivered in Michael’s arms. “Teach me how to take more.”

“Not tonight.” He drew his fingers across Sam’s cheek, under the chin, and tipped Sam’s head back. When Michael’s mouth closed on Sam’s, the kiss wasn’t consumed by the ferocity of desire. Instead, Michael gave Sam a sweet, slow kiss that made all the soreness in Sam’s body blaze. He collapsed into Michael’s arms.

“Tonight, I’m going to teach you what comes after pain.” Michael tugged on the chain between Sam’s nipples before taking off the clamps one at a time.

The relief sent sparks down Sam’s spine and he groaned into Michael’s shoulder, grazing his teeth against shirt linen. Michael’s warm fingers massaged Sam’s abused flesh and he kissed Sam’s neck, then chin, before reclaiming Sam’s mouth.

Desire, like a rush of embers over dry tinder, kindled into flame. Sam responded, consuming Michael’s lips and tongue. Sam sought the hard line of Michael’s cock, still trapped inside suit pants, needing it to be free.

It was Michael’s turn to moan.

Sam knew what came next. “Pleasure comes after pain.”

“That wasn’t a question, you know.” Michael pushed Sam backward onto the bed and rose to his feet. “But is that what you think?” Still fully clothed, he looked nearly perfect, though his cheeks were red and a sheen of sweat wet the edges of his hairline. “Pleasure is what comes after?”

During pain, too. “What else is there?”

Michael said nothing, just loosened the cuff link—Sam’s cuff link—from his shirt and removed it.

That simple act spiked Sam’s heart rate. “So, will there be a quiz after this lesson?”

Michael chuckled. “Perhaps.” He placed the link and his glasses on the table.

Dark hair and eyes. Enigmatic smile. “God, you’re beautiful.” The words spilled from Sam’s mouth without care, without thought.

Michael slipped his suspenders off his arms and worked the buttons of his shirt open. “You’re glorious yourself. You have that well-fucked look, and I haven’t even been inside you.” Michael’s pants followed his shirt to the floor, then the rest until he stood naked at the foot of the bed, stroking his erect cock. He reached for a condom. “Can’t wait to see what you look like after we’re done.”

Michael ripped open the foil packet and another shiver twisted down Sam’s spine. His back itched and stung like mad just lying against the bedspread. Being fucked against the scratchy surface would be—intense. “You going to tell me what comes after pain. Or do I have to guess?”

Michael snorted. “If you don’t behave, you’ll never find out.” Michael pushed Sam’s legs up and wide. “Hold yourself open.”

Sam grabbed his ankles.

“Wider, Sam.”

The command forced a moan from Sam and he pulled his feet wider until his thighs ached from the stretch.

“Better.” Michael curved his mouth into a grin that held a great deal of lust—with hints of joy. Sam’s smoldering want burned in his belly when Michael reached for the lube.

“You should see yourself. So open. So needy.” Michael climbed onto the bed, his weight shifting the mattress and the cover under Sam’s back. “I love seeing you like this.”

The fabric stretched and scratched across what Sam guessed were bruises and raised flesh. The sensation electrified every inch of his skin, even the parts that hadn’t been caressed by Michael’s crop. The loud snap of Michael opening the bottle of lube tightened the need in Sam’s belly. A hollowness in Sam ached to be filled, not just by Michael’s cock, but by the taste of Michael’s skin, the smell of his sweat. His weight. His love.

Sam’s heart pounded against his ribs. Love.

“Please.”

Michael loomed, bottle in hand. “Please what?”

Sam’s whole body burned. Embarrassment fought with lust. He surrendered to the latter. “Fuck me.” It came out as a whisper.

“Hmm?” Michael stood still, obviously waiting for Sam.

“Fuck me.” Louder this time. “Use me.” Sam needed an answer. He spread his feet wider and arched his back, needing Michael’s touch. He didn’t know which hurt and pleased more, the crop or Michael not touching him. “Teach me. What am I supposed to learn?”

Cold liquid ran between Sam’s ass cheeks, swiftly followed by Michael’s finger. “Patience. Surrender. Learn to feel, Sam.” Gentle pressure teased the ring of his entrance and Michael coaxed him open, then pressed a digit inside. Fire snaked into Sam’s head and balls and he moaned as his emptiness filled. Michael thrust in hard but pulled out agonizingly slow, pressing all around, slicking Sam’s channel, occasionally lingering over Sam’s prostate, teasing the spot with tiny strokes.

Sam twisted on the bedspread. Feel was all he could do. The urge to jack off, to spend himself as Michael finger-fucked him was high, but he kept hold of his ankles and held himself wide for Michael.

Only for Michael. He’d never do this for anyone else.

“Do you trust me?” Michael’s question was as sensuous as the touch of the fingers inside Sam’s channel.

“Yes.” The answer sprang from his heart, because he did.

“Good.” When Michael withdrew, the loss of his touch ached more than the crop, but before Sam could utter a plea, Michael set the head of his cock against Sam’s hole and pushed inside. The sharp sweet burn of being stretched had Sam gasping for air. Light flashed in Sam’s vision and the longing inside Sam disappeared. Michael was there, inside him, above him, murmuring nonsense into his ear. Sam trembled, the honey taste of ache from his back, from being full with Michael, tightened his cock and balls. Every second ticked away in a tangle of hurt and joy and pleasure so close to perfection it was hard to breathe.

Sam couldn’t touch himself, not without letting go of his ankles, and he loved the tight fire in his thighs and arms, sweetening the mist of agony already surrounding him. Only Michael mattered, his rhythm flinging Sam higher, away from his thoughts. Feel.

Michael hammered into Sam and gripped Sam’s shoulders, digging fingers into flesh. His thighs slapped against Sam’s abused ass and the echo of those blows filled Sam’s ears. The room brightened with each stinging contact, until Sam was lost in the dizzying heights near release.

The bedspread grated Sam’s welts and bruises, those pinpricks of pain mixing with the spike of heaven every time Michael rocked against Sam’s prostate. Agony and bliss twisted together and whipped about in Sam’s heart and mind. He’d been on edge all night, desire swimming in his veins since Michael handed him the keycard. Sam needed the sweet release from the world only Michael gave to him.

Sam’s soul sang and his balls drew up. He twisted, trying to find relief for his cock. “Harder. Fuck me harder.”

“Of course.” Michael feasted on Sam’s mouth and pistoned into him so hard, Sam lost the grip on his ankles. His back turned into a sheet of agony. Sam returned Michael’s kiss for all that he was worth, tangling his hands into Michael’s hair and wrapping his legs around Michael’s torso.

Soaring over the edge of pain and the ecstasy of release, Sam broke the kiss. “I need—”

Michael wrapped his hand around Sam’s cock and fisted it with the same staccato tempo as his fucking.

Breath left Sam’s lungs. The cord of his desire cracked like Michael’s riding crop, sending a bolt of pleasure that seared into his balls. His vision turned white and he emptied his seed over Michael’s hand and onto his own chest. He couldn’t even voice his relief. That moment of abandonment, the clash between torment and rapture lasted forever and not long enough.

Through it, Michael kept fucking him and Sam rode the sweetness and sting of those strokes back down. When Sam’s vision cleared, the utter brightness of Michael’s smile, the crinkle at the edge of his eyes and the shimmer of dampness there cracked his heart open.

Open joy in Michael at Sam’s pleasure. Delight in fulfilling Sam’s needs.

I can’t leave him. He didn’t want to. Right now, he wanted to give back all that Michael had given him. Sam gripped Michael’s ass and pulled him in deeper. “Don’t stop. Keep going.”

“Fuck.” Michael sucked in air and his movements became erratic.

Each thrust sent shocks of sweetness up Sam’s spine. Warmth grew at the thought of Michael undone, of the man who took such command losing all control. Sam met Michael’s every thrust, twisting his hips and tightening down.

Michael shuddered, and drove into Sam, crying out his own release. His movements slowed and he fell into Sam’s arms.

For a moment, only their combined harsh breathing broke the stillness. Then Sam kissed Michael’s cheek. “That was phenomenal.” He stroked Michael’s damp and trembling back.

Michael stirred enough to pull out of Sam. “Holy shit. I saw stars. That’s never happened before.”

“Fun, isn’t it?”

Sam couldn’t place Michael’s look. It bordered on envy or awe. “That happens to you? Every time?”

He pushed damp curls from Michael’s eyes. “Only with you.”

“Give me a moment.” Michael pressed his lips to Sam’s, and Sam opened for a quick taste of a sweet kiss.

When Michael climbed off the bed, the air of the hotel room cooled the sweat and semen on Sam’s chest and he shivered. I want him back. I need him back. Not just now, but again and again. Thoughts of the future, the promises he’d made about Boston, what being with Michael would open Sam up to, those thoughts lurked in the back of his mind. He pushed them away. Later. He’d deal with that later. Feel, Michael had said. Sam did, drifting into the trembling afterglow of release, noting all the aches, the little stings from the welts on his back as he breathed.

Michael returned with a warm, wet washcloth and a towel. With care, he cleaned Sam’s chest, then tossed the cloths off the side of the bed. Pulling at the covers beneath Sam, he motioned for Sam to shimmy up the bed. “Let’s get under.”

They did, and Sam slid into the warmth of Michael’s arms as the soft sheets enveloped them. Breathing in Michael’s scent, listening to the sound of his heart—it was a perfect a moment. His back stung, as did his ass, but softly. A reminder, not a burden. For the first time in ages, a stillness took hold of Sam, not one born of fear, but a calm sprung from contentment.

“Sam,” Michael whispered into his ear.

“Hmm?”

“Did you find the answer?”

The question startled Sam. He said nothing and Michael didn’t pry. He rolled slightly to turn off the lamp on the side table.

In the darkened room, Sam traced the lines of Michael’s face in the faint glow from the windows. Trust. Security. Completion.

This was what came after pain, after pleasure, this was what Michael gave him.

He spoke his answer against Michael’s collarbone. “You give me peace.”

Michael didn’t speak, just held him tighter.

Which was exactly perfect.