Rough Canvas by Joey W. Hill Page B

room in front of him, into a quiet and cool living area that was a warm, masculine comparison of wood tones, highlights of deep reds, the scent of wood reaching his nostrils. Dim light. A lantern and some candles. A fireplace.
    Marcus had been reading, for there was a newspaper open on the sofa, Neal
    Boortz’s fair tax book facedown on the arm. Cell phone and organizer next to a
    scattering of notes. His watchband was stretched out next to them. All familiar things, set out in a familiar way. Marcus had a method of arranging his personal belongings like carefully monitored chess pieces, whether he was at work or leisure.
    It gave Thomas what he knew was a false illusion. The sense that he was home.
    The door slid closed behind them and Marcus pressed against his back, sliding his arm under Thomas’. His hand moved to the front of the jeans Thomas was wearing and palmed him through them. Already semi-erect just from Marcus’ proximity, Thomas hardened immediately, his cock pressing against the restraint of denim to get to that touch.
    He was fueled by the energy of having thought about Marcus from the moment
    he’d gotten behind the wheel. Or since he’d come into the store, or after Thomas had walked out of his life. Oh hell, even before that, from the moment they’d met.
    It seemed everything inside him had been about Marcus always. Since Thomas
    knew that kind of thinking made sense only to people ridiculously, passionately in love, it made it all the worse to be unable to deny it.
    Marcus’ lips whispered along the back of his neck, his jaw brushing Thomas’. “I want you naked. All the way. Now.”
    He helped, his fingers slipping the button of Thomas’ jeans with strong, sure
    fingers, tugging at the zipper and taking it to half-mast before he withdrew his hand and stepped back. Waiting.
    Thomas took off the shirt first, pulling it free and tossing it to the arm of a nearby chair. He had to bend to untie the shoes, bring one up off the floor to tug at the heel.
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    Joey W. Hill
    When he did, Marcus’ hands gripped his hips, steadying him even as the touch seared through him, sending his emotions rocketing off balance.
    After he got the shoes off, Marcus withdrew again. Thomas removed his jeans, still feeling Marcus’ watchful presence behind him like fire coursing over every inch of skin he was revealing. His cock was leaking, no surprise there, so erect it brushed his belly.
    “Turn around.”
    He did, feeling inexplicably nervous. Marcus was physically perfect, and Thomas knew he’d dropped a lot of weight, even though he’d kept his leaner muscles hard from all the manual labor at the store. He hadn’t even gotten a haircut before he came up, had decided to go without a shave for the last twenty-four hours in finalizing things at the store, dealing with his mother’s final last-ditch effort to stop him, Rory’s biting insults.
    Hell, he’d basically fled like a fugitive with a small duffel of balled-up clothing he’d barely looked at. All that had mattered were the sketchpads and pencils. And Marcus.
    As Thomas completed the turn, Marcus’ voice was a quiet command. “Keep your
    eyes down.”
    His hands clenched, then opened as Thomas nodded, let out a breath. It had been like this the first time Marcus had taken control, dominated him as his Master.
    He hadn’t wanted to call it that then. Marcus hadn’t been his first sex with a man.
    Thomas had a couple of tangles with men in New York who’d validated with pleasant skill what he’d always known about himself, that it was a man’s touch he craved.
    Marcus had revealed a whole other level to him that took him by surprise. The click of the cuffs locking had been an answer to a question in his soul he’d never been brave enough to hear, let alone ask. It was as if the need had always been there, just waiting for him to look toward it.
    Thomas didn’t even know if it was a level he would crave with anyone else. He
    didn’t look at men and