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When Marcus turned, his eyes narrowing, Thomas kept going. "You could throw me out of your place, but how do you get me out of your heart? Your head?" His voice quieted. "Your soul. I know I haven't figured out a way to get you out of mine. I guess as long as I figured I wasn't in yours, I could handle that.
"Hell, I could always go home, hide behind my commitment to my family and never acknowledge that the reason I didn't come back is because I didn't truly believe you wanted me so much that it would make standing up to my family worth it. That you'd really be there forever. "
He had Marcus' attention now. His Master had gone very still. "But here's the kick in the ass," Thomas continued. "Somehow it finally got through. You do need me as much as I need you. Maybe even more. And in the past twenty-four hours you've needed me more than you ever realized was possible. It's scaring the shit out of you, to the point you're standing there wanting nothing more than for me to get out before it spills out all over both of us. "
Thomas pushed up off the frame. Marcus was motionless, though his jaw was held so tight Thomas was afraid it might fracture. His eyes had gone from angry to cornered rage, a rage tinged with desperation. The shadows of his past had him in such an obvious stranglehold that Thomas acted on instinct. Just as he had the first time he'd decide to creep into Marcus' bedroom and lay his hand on his foot.
Reaching out, he put his hand on the side of Marcus' neck, threading his fingers under his hair, finding his nape, massaging him with light fingertips. "Sshh. . . " Marcus moved forward a reluctant step, every muscle rigid. Thomas took the cigarette from his tense fingers, put it in the ashtray. Brought him in another step.
Inside the doorway, away from the balcony. Tugging the sliding door closed, Thomas enclosed them in hushed silence, shutting out the sounds of the street. It brought him near enough to press his chest against his lover's, the cotton cloth of his T-shirt against Marcus' bare skin.
Thomas dipped his head, pressed his lips to Marcus' shoulder, th
e fine line of bone.
When Marcus' fingers brushed his hips, hooked onto his jeans to grip him tighter, Thomas felt a surge of triumph, and relief. There was a way in. Moving on to Marcus' throat, he nuzzled him there, smelled the abrasive combination of liquor and cigarettes, but Marcus was under it. Thomas set his teeth to him, tasted.
Marcus' breath expelled on his temple as he moved into Thomas now, his hardening groin touching his hip. Thomas reached down, found him and opened the jeans. When Marcus caught his wrist, Thomas stopped in the act of pulling down the zipper. Raising his head, he met the brilliant green of his Master's gaze. The only man he'd ever let own him, body, heart and soul.
"I want to take you, Master," he said. Marcus' attention settled on Thomas' lips in a way that had his own cock rising. He knew how much Marcus liked to make him go down on him. Almost as much as he liked doing it. But something else was driving Thomas now. "Take you deep and hard in the ass, be where you've never trusted me to be before. I want to tie you down when I do it. I want you to surrender to me the way I've surrendered to you, so you'll know I'm yours and you can trust me. Now and always. "
"I. . . can't. " It took a moment to register, but then Thomas realized he wasn't mistaken. Marcus, over six feet tall and almost two hundred pounds of hard, solid muscle, was starting to shake. As Thomas had done the first time Marcus had ever told him he was going to do exactly this to him. When Thomas had started shaking, Marcus' eyes had flared hot. . . much as his were doing now, he was sure, because the shaking told Thomas that Marcus was going to let him do it.
Marcus moved back, away, dropped into the chair. Thomas followed. Dropping to one knee, he covered Marcus' hand, resting tensely on his knee. The curved knuckles, the veins marking out the finger bones beneath.
Marcus turned his head and watched him, saying nothing, just staring at him with that haunted, fierce expression.
"It's hard for you. . . the idea of it. " Deliberately, Thomas circled one of Marcus' wrists, keeping his attention on his face. As he held the restraint, a quiver ran through Marcus' shoulders, something shifting in his eyes. Fear.
Abruptly Marcus jerked away, throwing the other fist. Thomas blocked it with his forearm. They froze there, their wrists crossed, Marcus' fist juxtaposed in the air with Thomas' open palm.
"Owen said there was one time, a group of men. That was when you went to the hospital, the first time he met you. . . "
"No. No. " Marcus' jaw clenched. "It wasn't like that. No one forced me, no one held me down except when I went willingly. I'm not some rape victim, a molested kid. I worked the streets, I protected what was mine. " Something darkened in his eyes as if somewhere his soul was falling into a deep pit. "It was just sex, Thomas. It doesn't mean anything, bending over and taking someone's dick.
"Like us? Just sex?"
"Yes," Marcus snapped.
Thomas smiled. "Don't be a bastard," he murmured. "It's not going to work on me.
Not ever again. I love you. "
At Marcus' closed expression, he cocked his head. "It never occurred to you the day might come when you'd win me over and I'd surrender to you, did it? I'm yours, Master. All yours. What are you going to do about it? Are you going to be a prick or are you going to surrender and let me love you, the way you want me to?" Thomas turned his hand then. Slowly, he closed his fingers over Marcus' wrist again. Under his grip he thought he felt the manacles of Marcus' memories, the things Marcus called choices.
He'd never thought of Marcus as one of the damaged. His polish was so bright and brilliant. But it was there in his eyes now, so raw and violent. It confirmed what Thomas now accepted, what finally made him and Marcus make sense. The key had been the unfinished thought Marcus had spoken at the farmhouse. I need that core of you. . . The core Marcus had lost.
Thomas rose to his feet, tugged. Brought Marcus to his feet, coaxed him one step, then another. They were moving down the hallway, Thomas moving backward, his footing sure, keeping his eyes on Marcus', like a dance. If the eye contact was broken, the rhythm could be lost. Marcus' chest expanded with a deep breath as Thomas stopped at the threshold to the bedroom.
"You can do this. You will. Your slave is begging you for the privilege. Please, Master. " Thomas grazed his thumb over Marcus' wrist pulse. "I know everything about your body. I know the way your cock likes to be touched, how to suck you into my mouth and make you come. How your fingers clench in my hair when my mouth and teeth mark your skin. I know how your ass tightens when I squeeze it, and I've wanted to get between those cheeks with my fingers, my mouth, my cock. " He was a bottom with Marcus. Always had been, even when he'd topped or taken turns with other men. But he'd wondered and wanted, at least once, to feel this.
They'd moved into the bedroom now. Thomas reversed their positions so Marcus was turned to face the bed while Thomas stood behind him. Another step and Thomas was pressed against Marcus, his cock a tight bulge under his jeans against Marcus' denim-covered, luscious tight-as-a-drum ass.
Reaching under Marcus' arm around to his flat abdomen, Thomas stroked the ridges of muscle before descending to the half-opened pants. Unzipping them fully, he pushed them down far enough to be out of his way. When he ran his hand over Marcus' buttock under the stretched cotton of the briefs, he felt the reflexive tightening. But Thomas sensed some of the tightening was tension.
"It's just me. " As he reached over to the night table, he noted the slight tilt of Marcus' chin, his attention following him. There were restraints still in the drawer, as he'd hoped and suspected. Thomas set the bottle of lubricant on top of the nightstand.
"Kneel down, Master. " He put a firm, inexorable hand to Marcus' shoulder and began to press.
