Rough Canvas (Nature of Desire 6)

When Marcus reached down and gripped him, Thomas groaned in his mouth and Marcus answered with a quiet murmur of pleasure. The straps loosened, fell away. It was all Marcus' fingers running over the cruelly chafed area, stroking up the length of Thomas, the sensitive underside, closing around him firmly, a sure knowledge of what would jack him off in no time. Damn if the bastard was able to set just the right rhythm while still keeping his mouth moving on Thomas' in that erotic, slow swim of a kiss, tongues tangling, lips sliding and teeth gently nipping.

Thomas' hips jerked and he yanked against the bonds on his wrists and ankles. Oh God. . . this was. . . He didn't know how long it had taken to bring Marcus to climax six times, but all the images and remembered sensations slammed back into him, assaulting him to mesh with the movement of Marcus' hand.

"Master, I - "

"Another ten seconds. One. . . " Marcus' tongue invaded, swept in, fucked his mouth relentlessly now as Thomas made noises of wordless protest, begging. Marcus' hand increased in strength on Thomas' jaw as his grip down below did the same. "Two. . . " He wasn't going to make it.

"You better make it, pet. " Menace, threat of more torture infused in the words like hot flame. Marcus' thumb rubbed the tip, pressed against the underside of his cock.

Thomas arched up, his thigh muscles straining. "Oh God. . . Shit. . . "

"Wait. " Marcus snapped it once, reining him in like a stallion who'd had the bit ripped against his mouth. He couldn't let go. Not until his Master said. Oh, but fucking hell, he was going to die. The world had slowed to a crawl, moving toward that countdown.

Marcus' hand left his jaw, found the towel. "Seven. . . eight. . . "

"Ten. "

He couldn't help it. The climax exploded from him, so violently that he tried to buck, yank upward. With his hands bound to his ankles he lost his balance, falling forward, nothing to stop him except Marcus' ready hand, sliding around his shoulders, holding him, his face pressed into the side of Marcus' neck and bare shoulder.

Their knees became interlocking puzzle pieces, one of Marcus' in between his legs, one on the outside, Marcus' cock and balls brushing Thomas' kneecap as he jerked and spewed against Marcus' hand under the soft abrasion of the terry cloth he had cupped firmly over him with one deft hand.

It was a cleansing, a scalding of the nerves of his body from his brain to his cock and through all the limbs, leaving Thomas quivering like an oak after the furious passage of a violent tornado. He felt every point of contact between their bodies, not just the clasp of Marcus' hand commanding his cock, but his cheek against his temple.

The still damp, amazingly semi-erect dick against his knee, the fingers around his neck, caressing the side of his throat, his pulse pounding beneath the pads of Marcus' fingers. As Thomas tried to straighten, the world tilted as if he were a bug in a jar being tumbled by a cruelly curious child.

"Easy. " Marcus steadied him.

Acting on desire and instinct, Thomas shifted, inching backward a slight movement at a time, hobbling on his shins to the short range of the ankle cuffs. Then he pressed against Marcus' touch, trusting him to balance him as he began to lean forward, down, down. He didn't know if Marcus would permit it, but he did, his face a soft blur, then Thomas' cheek was on Marcus' knee and he was bent forward all the way, his back curved, legs folded under himself.

His belly pressed on his spent cock as he brought his lips to Marcus' cock, brushed his cheek against his leg. Opened his mouth and drew him in, slow, savoring him, sucking him into the back of his throat.

"Jesus. " Marcus' soft utterance was like a prayer. His hand splayed out on Thomas' bare back, his other hand curling loosely over Thomas' bound hands, holding the joining point of the cuffs. His fingers betrayed a slight quiver Thomas savored as much as the taste in his mouth. He began to suck slowly in an almost trancelike state, licking, working the organ he knew as well as his own, trying not to think if there were others that could share that distinction.

This was now. He had no right to demand any more, certainly knew it would have been fair to expect far less than what Marcus had given him already. For now there was just the velvet steel of Marcus' cock in his mouth, elongated enough to press into the back of his throat and stretch his mouth again as Marcus splayed his knees and took over, pushing down on him harder.

It took a lot longer this time, because they'd both flat-out exhausted each other. But Thomas didn't mind taking it slow and easy. Marcus' groan as he released at last was a lullaby to Thomas. He swallowed the thick salty taste of him, thinking of how much of Marcus he had inside him now, both orifices.

He kept his head down, eyes closed, forehead pressed against Marcus' sticky cock, inhaling the scent of him as Marcus' palm rested between his shoulder blades, holding him there as Marcus breathed deep, shuddering breaths. Then the thighs shifted beneath Thomas' face as Marcus leaned forward to unlock the cuffs.

As Marcus raised him, they faced each other naked, knee to quivering knee. When Marcus brushed hair off his own brow with his forearm, Thomas watched, wishing.

Marcus seemed to understand, because he tilted his head, his attention moving to Thomas' now free hand. Thomas didn't pause, afraid Marcus would change his mind.

Reaching out, he threaded his fingers into that dark, thick silk. A lion's mantle added to the creature's virile beauty, and so too did Marcus' dark mane.

Thomas dared to let the heel of his hand caress Marcus' damp brow, the side of his cheek. When Marcus' hand closed over his wrist, he could feel Marcus' desire to remove it, take control of the intimacy. Thomas curled his fingers into his hair more deeply in response, tangling.

"When you were counting, before I came. . . you skipped a couple numbers, didn't you?" He noticed his voice was hoarse from the abrasion of taking Marcus four times down his throat. From the flicker in his Master's gaze, Thomas suspected Marcus liked hearing it. "You forget how to count?"

"You weren't going to make it. You were ready to spurt like a twelve-year-old with his first copped Hustler. "

"Asshole. " Thomas made the comment without rancor, for Marcus had let him go, was running his knuckles lightly along his forearm as he let Thomas keep his fingers in his hair.

"Let's get some food in you. " Marcus at last pulled Thomas' hand free, kissed his palm and then set it away from him, rising. While Marcus smiled, Thomas noticed it didn't quite reach his eyes. So much could be said with the violent power of sex, but it could leave emotions lingering in the air like the sharp, poignant residue of gunpowder.

When Thomas rose, he was forced to catch hold of Marcus' arm abruptly, causing them both to sway. As the two men regarded each other, Marcus' jaw at last relaxed into a rueful grin, easing some of Thomas' sudden tension.

"Look at us," Thomas managed. "Like a couple of drunk sailors. "