"Excuse me?"
"It's a baseball cap. We don't wear cowboy hats. "
"All right, then. The sun's setting behind your precious cow and sunlight is just barely touching you, outlining your body. I can see the hint of sweat on your shoulders. " He smoothed his hands over them. When his fingers grazed Thomas' jaw, they paused to caress his lips. Thomas closed his eyes.
"He's just a farm boy taking a break after a hard day, never realizing how breathtaking he is in that one perfect moment. Everything about him is in that picture. "
"You're so full of shit. " Suddenly uncomfortable, Thomas flipped and attempted to heave Marcus off him. Instead, he found himself pinned full length under his Master's aroused body. He'd struggled, but when Marcus fisted his hands in his hair and kissed him hard, his tongue sweeping inside to claim his mind, that was that.
It had lingered with his muse, though, so he'd created the painting. He'd never done a self portrait and was glad to do it from the back. He did a photo session to get some perspective on points of himself he'd never seen, which included some close-ups he'd had to forcibly wrest from Marcus to destroy.
In the end, he'd found it oddly difficult to paint himself, trying to put together the pieces from photographs. The final effect gave the painting a brilliant starkness, almost as if the artist had painted the figure from inside to out, starting with the skeleton and forming muscle layers over which the skin was painted. The figure of the man was an absorbing contrast to the easy beauty in the green of the meadow, the vibrant colors of the sun.
* * * * *
"I kept that farm scene, because your soul is in it. You're living up to your responsibilities. " Marcus nodded toward the hardware store. "But you're looking toward that sunset, all the colors, the miracle of it, yearning for it.
"It was one of your best pieces. It was you. I wanted it. " Marcus' tone lightened, but Thomas heard the edge beneath it. "As you said, I get what I want. " Marcus leaned against the fence. There was just the space of one man between him and Thomas now. When Marcus put his foot up on the bottom slat, Thomas couldn't see if he was as turgid and aching as Thomas had been only moments before. And would be again in no time if Marcus didn't remove his chiseled face, sensual lips and lean strong body from Thomas' senses soon.
"I have a proposal for you. One that I hope you'll consider. It would allow you to be here and nurture your talent both. Are you ready to listen, or do you need further attention?" He flicked his glance over Thomas, letting his gaze slide down like the lazy path of hot oill on heated skin.
Oh yeah, in no time at all. "Just tell me. "
Marcus inclined his head. "Artists come to New York to make it because that's where you can get hip deep in the industry, make connections. You've done that. My gallery is in the center of things and the reaction at that auction says I can market your work without you. J. Martin is one of my biggest clients and he doesn't make public appearances at all. If you never want to cross the Mason Dixon line again, you don't have to. You provide the art, I'll sell it, get it distributed, build your name. "
"What do you want in return?"
Silence was a weighted thing, and Thomas felt it in Marcus' gaze. Suddenly, beneath it, he felt so out of place. Everywhere. He didn't belong here, but it was where he was needed, had to be. He didn't belong in Marcus' New York world anymore either, but when he'd been with Marcus, he'd felt like he belonged anywhere. Wherever Marcus was.
He couldn't be thinking like this. He started to fumble open the work apron and spread it over his damp groin. Marcus spoke.
"One of the buyers was Hans Joyner, a hotel mogul who's salivating to see more.
He'd like to put about fifty original pieces in his exclusive male salons across Europe.
No restrictions on the subject matter. Fifteen thousand each upon delivery. Take out my sixty percent and you're still bringing in six thousand dollars per completed work, in addition to what else you'll start selling when your name starts growing. "
As Thomas hesitated, Marcus sighed. "Thomas, you're working short-staffed at a hardware store that, while admittedly a tribute to a bygone age, only makes enough to break even. Barely. You run in the red half the time. You still have debts from your father's funeral and Rory's astronomical medical bills, not to mention that expensive medical college your sister's scholarship won't cover beyond the first year. If one of the big home improvement stores goes up in a nearer town in the next few years, it will end you and you know it. "
"You've no right to dig into my business. "
"No right. " Abruptly, the civilized veneer was gone. Thomas was blasted with the unexpected heat. Marcus pivoted and shoved him back into the same corner, slamming his palm against the side of the barn so Thomas was caged between Marcus' arm and the fence. Violence and desire always rode the same horse when it came to his feelings about Marcus. Despite a desire to shove back, Thomas abruptly wanted the taste of that mouth again, the feel of those hands gripping him so roughly. Gripping him any way Marcus desired.
The green eyes flickered with the knowledge. With fire.
"Do you want to kiss me, pet?" Marcus asked huskily. "Do you think I don't know just my voice can make you hard? You were hiding that stiff cock of yours behind the counter from your sister, because your body remembers everything about responding to my voice, my touch, the whisper of a command. Did you cream yourself when I grabbed your wrist?"
His hand dropped to cup Thomas' balls again, his thumb rubbing slowly along the ridged head of his cock. Marcus swore softly as Thomas groaned, clenching his teeth.
He wouldn't stop him, but Thomas grabbed the edge of the fence in one hand, holding it so his knuckles whitened, so he wouldn't be weak and seize Marcus again.
"What you want is for me to bend you over this fence and fuck you hard, fill you where you've been empty for far too long. "
"Haven't. . . been. "
"I'm sure. There's a wealth of eligible playmates for you down here. " Marcus' gaze shifted briefly over the open field. He leaned even closer, his lips a hairsbreadth away, his breath caressing Thomas' face. God, Thomas wanted that tongue, needed it pushing into his mouth the way he wanted Marcus' cock pushing into his ass. "But that's not the reason I know that. You're mine, Thomas. You've been mine from the beginning. If you let any other man touch you, I'd kill him. "
With that one statement, Marcus put it out there. Thomas had walked away, convinced himself it was over, whereas Marcus had never released the end of the leash.