Free Rough Canvas by Joey W. Hill Page A

tempting.
    Even the graceful arches of his feet. Every inch of Marcus stirred Thomas, kept him hard, and he suspected the harness was going to leave a permanent collar imprint on the base of his cock. He didn’t like to think just how appropriate that was.
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    Marcus reached for his wine, took a swallow. His hand rested on the chair arm, his palm on the upside down book. Thomas could imagine him picking it up, choosing to pass the next half hour in reading another chapter or two while his slave suffered watching, the hard-on making him dizzy as he contemplated the perfect beauty of his naked Master, hungered for his hands, his mouth. Any kind of attention at all.
    Marcus was not in a mood to be that cruel anymore, however. Thank God. He rose, picked up a folded hand towel from the kitchen and came around the table. As he dropped to one knee before Thomas, Thomas’ shaking increased. Cupping his jaw,
    Marcus framed his face, ran his thumbs over Thomas’ lips so that he parted them.
    Thomas tried to catch a finger in his teeth.
    “Sshh. Be still. Keep your eyes open.”
    Did Marcus know how hard this part was for him? Had always been? Staring into
    his Master’s face, seeing the way Marcus looked at him as he gently caressed his jaw, his forehead, touched the corners of his eyes, traced the line of his nose.
    “So straight, pet. You’ve got such a patrician nose.”
    It was a far different torment than all the rest, because it was the one Thomas hungered for most. Despite all the sweat-covered images that haunted him, these were the memories that plagued him most of all.
    Marcus leaned in, fitted his mouth over Thomas’, his hand holding his jaw and
    throat, controlling the moment, controlling everything even as Thomas shook as though he had an infectious fever. Marcus made an approving growl deep in his chest. With his hand he restrained the sudden fierce need Thomas felt to crush, tangle tongues like combatants. His Master kept it slow, steady, wet.
    Marcus’ aroma was in his nose, the damp hair on Marcus’ forehead brushing his,
    then his cheek and jaw.
    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.
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    Rough Canvas
    “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