Free Rough Canvas by Joey W. Hill Page B

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.
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    Joey W. Hill
    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.