Then Marcus moved his hand to the front, opened Thomas' jeans and reached in, gripped him.
"Les. . . Rory. . . " Thomas managed to tear his mouth away and gasp. "They might come check. . . "
"Then you better let me fuck you with no arguments to slow us down," Marcus growled. He pulled at Thomas' shirt, simply tore it open and shoved him to the floor, making him stumble and fall, roll to his back. Marcus was down on him in an instant, his hand gripping Thomas' throat, holding him flat to the floor in an instant as his mouth and teeth closed over Thomas' nipple.
Thomas bucked, thrust against Marcus, but his knee firmly anchored him and Thomas couldn't dislodge him, even though he gave it his full strength, suddenly fueled by his own delayed reaction to the intensity of what had just almost happened here, what it all meant.
Marcus was terrifyingly invincible when he was furious. And Thomas wanted it so badly he could come from the power of that anger alone.
She'd destroyed it. . . but she couldn't destroy this, could she? He shoved it from his mind, the idea of Marcus being painted out of his life by slaps of thick white paint. He tried to rear up again and Marcus slammed him back down by that hold on his throat so Thomas could only latch onto his hip with one hand, clinging, pulling, digging in, seeking some sense he was in control.
Marcus worked him in the other hand now, his touch rough, sure, jerking him off with no intent but to prove he could bring it out of him whenever he chose.
"Marcus - " he had to gasp around the hold on his throat, but Marcus was relentless, releasing him only for a moment to pull him over, shove him back down on his stomach, yanking up his hips so Thomas had to scrabble for purchase on the throw rug before Marcus was jerking down his jeans, still fisting his cock, his mouth on his bare spine while Thomas shattered, unable to get a rhythm, unable to do anything but go along on the ride.
He savored every brutal touch, even as he knew this was being taken by force, no choices in truth. Marcus fully intended to fuck him whether he said no or not. His fury and violence had to go somewhere other that breaking his mother's neck, and apparently this was the channel for it.
Thomas welcomed it. Needed it.
Marcus plunged his fingers into his ass, working him with those clever fingertips.
Thomas spurted, shouting out hoarsely despite himself.
While he was still jetting milky fluid into the rug, Marcus rammed home deep, hard, ruthless. This wasn't making love, or having sex. Or even fucking. This was ripping Thomas' soul out of his body through his cock. It had all the vicious brutality of rape, every touch intended to punish, to prove Marcus had power over him. Yet, because they couldn't stop being themselves, all Thomas wanted was more. He tightened his ass muscles, moved back against Marcus and earned a snarl, but he kept doing it.
Marcus seized Thomas' hair and yanked his head, holding it at a savage angle, letting Thomas feel his strength, his ability to snap his spine, his life in his hands.
Thomas knew he could do anything to him. But that sword, like his life, could have two edges. He worked Marcus' cock inside him, squeezing, stroking as Marcus pumped.
Felt triumph when hot seed flooded him, going deep and then overflowing, leaking down his buttocks, his quivering thighs.
Silence brought disquieting thoughts, the smell of fresh paint. Thomas closed his eyes. Marcus sat up on his haunches and abruptly yanked Thomas up by the shoulders, collaring him. He held him back against his body, still embedded in his ass, making him face the painting.
"Is that what you want? Are you going to wait until she whitewashes your whole fucking life?"
Thomas stared at it. A part of the tree still remained, and behind the paint he saw faint traces of limbs, both of the tree and the bodies. As if knowing what the most painful and tempting part of the painting had been, his mother had painted the lovers entwined under the tree first, obliterated them entirely. He put his hand up to Marcus' on his throat, laid his fingers over his long ones.
Stroking the knuckles, Thomas stared at it some more. Moved up to Marcus' hair, the feathering at the forehead, feeling him, working backward in his awkward position down to where Thomas could grip the shoulder of Marcus' shirt and hold on, gripping tightly enough to strain the seams.
Marcus let out a sigh, pressed his lips to Thomas' throat. Bit hard, suckled the skin past the point of pain while Thomas stayed still, trembling. Marcus' hand slid over his pubic area, gently took his semi-erect cock and began to manipulate it, fondle it, making Thomas jerk at the hypersensitivity of its post-climactic state.
"Christ, you drive me crazy. Can you fix it?"
Thomas nodded. "I took photos of all of them," he said thickly, though he shuddered at the idea of another night like the one when he finished it. "Kept the sketches. I can recreate it. I'll just change the lock and make sure she can't get in. You can take the rest and I'll ship it up to you next week. " Marcus nodded. "All right. " He took a deep breath, his chest expanding against Thomas' back. "I'm not here just for that, pet. Get dressed. I bought a piece of property.
The Hill farm right down the road. I want you to go look at it with me. "
Chapter Seventeen
After dropping that major bomb, Marcus withdrew almost politely from Thomas' ass. He asked where he could clean up, which he proceeded to do at the utility sink, using paper towels and soap. As he gestured to Thomas to take his place, he refused to answer any questions, simply told Thomas he'd meet him in the car.
Thomas saw his sister at the door of the store as he crossed to the parking lot. When he opened his mouth, she nodded, waved him on. "We're quiet right now. Just come back for the post-lunch rush. "
"I told your sister I would have you back in an hour, assuming you get a lunch break. " Marcus was standing beside the rental car. "She told me to take as long as we need. "
When Thomas got in, Marcus pulled out of the gravel parking lot, gunned the engine to pull ahead of a slow moving pickup truck. Mr. Gardelli, coming to get more fertilizer, Thomas assumed. Who'd probably be eyeing the fast car and muttering about Yankee invasion. "I like your sister," Marcus commented.
"She wants to ditch the next semester to stay home and help. Says I shouldn't be carrying it all. "