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Marcus slid the door open, tugged Thomas so he stepped into the room in front of him, into a quiet and cool living area that was a warm, masculine comparison of wood tones, highlights of deep reds, the scent of wood reaching his nostrils. Dim light. A lantern and some candles. A fireplace.
Marcus had been reading, for there was a newspaper open on the sofa, Neal Boortz's fair tax book facedown on the arm. Cell phone and organizer next to a scattering of notes. His watchband was stretched out next to them. All familiar things, set out in a familiar way. Marcus had a method of arranging his personal belongings like carefully monitored chess pieces, whether he was at work or leisure.
It gave Thomas what he knew was a false illusion. The sense that he was home.
The door slid closed behind them and Marcus pressed against his back, sliding his arm under Thomas'. His hand moved to the front of the jeans Thomas was wearing and palmed him through them. Already semi-erect just from Marcus' proximity, Thomas hardened immediately, his cock pressing against the restraint of denim to get to that touch.
He was fueled by the energy of having thought about Marcus from the moment he'd gotten behind the wheel. Or since he'd come into the store, or after Thomas had walked out of his life. Oh hell, even before that, from the moment they'd met.
It seemed everything inside him had been about Marcus always. Since Thomas knew that kind of thinking made sense only to people ridiculously, passionately in love, it made it all the worse to be unable to deny it.
Marcus' lips whispered along the back of his neck, his jaw brushing Thomas'. "I want you naked. All the way. Now. "
He helped, his fingers slipping the button of Thomas' jeans with strong, sure fingers, tugging at the zipper and taking it to half-mast before he withdrew his hand and stepped back. Waiting.
Thomas took off the shirt first, pulling it free and tossing it to the arm of a nearby chair. He had to bend to untie the shoes, bring one up off the floor to tug at the heel.
When he did, Marcus' hands gripped his hips, steadying him even as the touch seared through him, sending his emotions rocketing off balance.
After he got the shoes off, Marcus withdrew again. Thomas removed his jeans, still feeling Marcus' watchful presence behind him like fire coursing over every inch of skin he was revealing. His cock was leaking, no surprise there, so erect it brushed his belly.
"Turn around. "
He did, feeling inexplicably nervous. Marcus was physically perfect, and Thomas knew he'd dropped a lot of weight, even though he'd kept his leaner muscles hard from all the manual labor at the store. He hadn't even gotten a haircut before he came up, had decided to go without a shave for the last twenty-four hours in finalizing things at the store, dealing with his mother's final last-ditch effort to stop him, Rory's biting insults.
Hell, he'd basically fled like a fugitive with a small duffel of balled-up clothing he'd barely looked at. All that had mattered were the sketchpads and pencils. And Marcus.
As Thomas completed the turn, Marcus' voice was a quiet command. "Keep your eyes down. "
His hands clenched, then opened as Thomas nodded, let out a breath. It had been like this the first time Marcus had taken control, dominated him as his Master.
He hadn't wanted to call it that then. Marcus hadn't been his first sex with a man.
Thomas had a couple of tangles with men in New York who'd validated with pleasant skill what he'd always known about himself, that it was a man's touch he craved.
Marcus had revealed a whole other level to him that took him by surprise. The click of the cuffs locking had been an answer to a question in his soul he'd never been brave enough to hear, let alone ask. It was as if the need had always been there, just waiting for him to look toward it.
Thomas didn't even know if it was a level he would crave with anyone else. He didn't look at men and think of being restrained by them, marked by them. He might be attracted to them, but it became clear that was about sex. Apparently, there was only one man he wanted as a Master. Whether that was something about Marcus or something about himself, or about their chemistry together, he didn't know. Any other sex was just sex. He didn't know if that was a blessing or a curse.
What he did know was that Marcus' way of taking him over fed his soul the same way his painting did. It fulfilled a yearning inside him that had no names. No form, only a dense substance that could choke him with feeling, like now. Which was yet another reason why it was fucking crazy to be here.
But that was the type of thing Marcus was so good at. Showing up after just the right amount of time had passed, when he'd had a shitty enough week to be tempted.
Te
mpted beyond refusal. So he told himself.
Marcus closed his hand around Thomas' cock. Thomas shut his eyes, his balls drawing up dangerously.
"Don't you dare close your eyes. "
"I'm afraid I'll come. Master. "
"Turn back around and get on your knees. Elbows on the floor. Spread your thighs out so I can see you. "
Thomas swallowed, that universal sign of nervousness, but complied. He heard Marcus walk away. Though he kept his head down, Thomas managed to sneak a look at him moving across the room and down the hallway, leaving him there waiting in a position to be fucked at his Master's pleasure.
Marcus looked so good it hurt to see him. The curve of his bare heels, the way the slacks fit his ass and thighs. Not tight. Marcus was GQ all the way. To get a good view of his ass, Thomas had to wait for him to wear jeans or be naked, and holy Christ, even if it took until Judgment Day, it was worth the wait.
