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Marcus was a strong son of a bitch, and his grip now proved it as he rocked Thomas against him, his tongue tangling with his. Thomas was sure it was obvious what they must be doing from the beach, but God, who cared? It was safe here. Marcus had brought him somewhere safe, so he could drink his fill of him.
"Oh - " He choked on the reaction as Marcus' fingers eased into him, working him now as cleverly as Thomas was doing that long, fine cock which was hot and hard in his hand. He fondled Marcus' balls, felt them draw up. He was close. And he was going to explode.
Despite Marcus' threat to refuse him release, they came almost together. So often when they'd been together they'd had the timing down perfectly. Marcus had taught him the searing Tantric pleasure of holding out, so when they both finally came it was that much more intense. Even now, goaded by the urgency of absence, both past and anticipated, they still managed to pull it off.
The liquid heat of Marcus' seed shot past his wrist, against his belly. Thomas fought back his own release for a second to watch his lover's face, the tense jaw, the slight bow to the head as he was trapped by the orgasm. Unguarded, unpracticed, just raw animal reaction straining Marcus' features.
Marcus clung to Thomas' nape, fingers burrowing. Thomas felt the trembling of his muscular thighs as Marcus thrust against his hold savagely, letting Thomas take him all the way over and beyond. Thomas groaned out his own climax then, his hand losing its finesse, jerking hard on Marcus as he catapulted with him into the same realm, those fingers in his ass knowing too well how to take him higher than he expected to go.
It made him forget for a time the phone call and who was on the other end of the line. It also almost erased his apprehension about what Marcus planned for them tonight.
Almost.
Chapter Seven
When they came out of the water at last, it was an effort not to stagger. Thomas' knees were quivering, whereas Marcus looked as if he could run a marathon. In the interest of trying to appear as if he wasn't shaken to the core, Thomas mentioned Ben's offer as he slogged out of the surf.
"Sounds like a plan. " Marcus picked up a towel when they reached their spot, pressed it against Thomas' back. "Stand still. "
There was a different tone when it was a Master's order, a tone that snapped at Thomas' attention like the end of a whip, tightening up everything inside. Despite being drained literally moments before, his cock stirred weakly. Marcus put his hand on his shoulder, his fingers casually resting on the base of Thomas' throat.
Thomas swallowed against his touch as the towel rubbed between his shoulder blades, down over his ass, Marcus squeezing firmly, briskly, coming around the front to do the same to Thomas' chest and belly. Then his hair, letting the terry cloth momentarily blind him before Marcus pulled it away, dropped a kiss on his shoulder.
"You'll do, pet. Lie down on the towel and take a short nap. I'll massage those kinks out of your shoulders. "
Thomas didn't need a second invitation. Marcus' touch was often demanding. But when all that strength was channeled into being gentle and firm, stroking over Thomas'shoulders, digging into the muscles, down across the wide plane of his back, sweeping circles, kneading, then going to the dip of his lower back, eliciting a grunt. . .
"Like that, do you?"
"You always gave one hell of a massage. "
"Mmmm. You've always had one hell of a body. You've had an injury here. Like you've tied the muscle into a knot. "
"Yeah. Fell off a ladder. Damn step moved. "
Marcus didn't laugh. Just kept kneading that area. Thomas wasn't going to tell Marcus he'd been working on something at two in the morning because he couldn't bear to lie on a mattress and imagine Marcus right next to him, hearing his even breath.
They'd only lived together officially for a handful of months, and he'd felt like a grieving widower.
A grieving widower who couldn't share his grief with anyone, not even the person whom he had to treat as if he were dead, no longer part of his life. Thomas squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to go there. He needed to turn off a little while, wanted to just focus on Marcus' hands on him.
Instead, he sat up, latched onto Marcus' wrist. "How many?" he asked, his jaw set.
Marcus' eyes narrowed. "I know you're not asking what I think you're asking. "
"I have the right to know. " Not because Thomas had a claim on him, but because of the way he felt about him. Not that he could or would say that.
Marcus studied him, his expression moving between anger and something else.
"Two. I've gone to the clubs, but there've only been two men I've fucked in the time you've been gone. One of them wasn't exactly. . . mine. He's a friend and belongs to a Mistress, who is another friend of mine. It was a one-shot deal, unusual circumstances, because he's straight. We shared him. The man I was talking with on the phone. They're married. "
Thomas nodded, though he felt like he'd swallowed one of the spiny balls from a sweet gum tree. Marcus had gone to the clubs. Often? Occasionally? A hell of a lot could go on in fetish clubs. He could have been blown every other night.
"It's eating you, isn't it?" Those green eyes saw far too much. "You're thinking of all the things you saw when I took you to those types of places, how turned on you got.
When I took you home and fucked you, you couldn't get enough. "
"Stop it. " Thomas shook his head, reached over to the cooler to withdraw a beer, but Marcus laid a hand on his thigh, arresting him in mid motion. Thomas stared at the long fingers lying on the tense line of muscle, close to his groin.
