Rough Canvas (13 page)

“Love to,” Andrew responded. Marcus flipped him off to laughter from the other

players. Ben looked over at Thomas. “You staying in?”

“Yeah, let’s go another round.” Thomas tried not to pay attention to the affectionate smile that crossed Marcus’ face as he took the call, indicating it was more personal than business.

Though he couldn’t help watching Marcus’ body language as he settled into the

beach chair. Was he imagining the infinitesimal tightening of his grip on the phone, the way someone did when talking to someone they cared about? The rock of his heel in the sand, the way Marcus laid his fingers over his knee, stroking his own skin absently.

Thomas couldn’t hear the words at this distance, but he could definitely hear the tone.

Carl, the newest member on the team, passed Thomas the ball. Or rather, pressed it to his stomach, his other hand brushing the small of Thomas’ back. His fingertips swiped just below the waistband of the cut off jeans serving as Thomas’ swimwear.

“Your serve, sweetmeat.”

* * * * *

“Why the hell are you calling me when we’re two weeks away from the Prague

show and you owe me one more piece?”

“Well, hello and how the fuck are you?”

Marcus grinned. “If I’m nice to you, you’ll think that you’re hot shit and lose your focus. How are you, Josh?”

“You know how I am. I’m calling to see how
you
are. Lauren said you called her this morning to scope out some pretty scary symptoms. I know I’m not running late enough to cause you an ulcer, so what’s going on?”

“It wasn’t for me, you idiot. It’s for a friend I’m worried about. To get an ulcer, you have to have a conscience. You know I was born without one.”

“Horseshit.” Josh sounded distracted, telling Marcus he probably was up to his

elbows in sculpting medium, but it would be a mistake to assume his second favorite artist and closest friend was not paying attention to every word he was saying. With his next words, he proved it.

“Lauren mentioned you made a trip to North Carolina a couple weeks ago.”

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“I had a craving for barbecue and pickled pigs’ feet.”

“Is he with you? Did you bring him back?”

“If I hang up, you’d just call back, wouldn’t you?”

“Worse. I’ll pee in a jar, put an anatomically correct naked orange Gumby in it and call it a statement about the decay of a materialistic society.
That
will be the last Prague piece.”

“You’re a vicious bastard. I talked him into spending a week with me in the

Berkshires, getting his work off the ground again. Out of his ass where it had crawled.”

“Nice visual. And you and him?”

“A work in progress.”

“Keep me posted.”

“Why? Are you starting a betting pool on the Internet?”

“Absolutely. My money’s on you. You said you’re in the Berkshires? The Zone just bought out a fetish club up near Boston. It’s been renamed Detonation, catering mainly to men. Tyler has a part interest in it. You could take your work in progress there.”

“I was planning to. But now that I know Tyler Winterman owns a part interest, I may spend my money elsewhere.”

“You’re just mad because he outbid you on that Takahura sculpture.”

“There was a real samurai blade in it. I keep hoping he’ll trip on it one night on the way to the bathroom and lop off his balls.”

“Ouch. Sore loser. You just can’t stand the fact he’s more arrogant and just as obnoxious a son of a bitch as you are. You should have come and crashed his wedding with us. He wouldn’t have minded.”

Marcus snorted. “One arrogant and obnoxious S.O.B. at a function is enough. I can’t believe he found a woman willing to put up with him.”

“She’s a Mistress. I did a private on her that would have had you salivating.”

“Tyler married a Domme?” Marcus chuckled at the thought. “Oh, there’s karma for you. Two Dominants paired for life. Sounds like they have a competition problem they decided to turn into a lifetime psychosis.”

“No, it was a good thing. I don’t know why it works, but when you see them, you know it’s right. Tyler is one lucky bastard.”

“Does Lauren know she has competition?”

“Stop it,” Josh said mildly. “You know that’s crap. You’re sure it’s not you that you called about?”

“Everything is not about me, you know. And before you can say it, fuck off.” Over Josh’s chuckle, Marcus continued, “I should set up a show with you and Thomas. If he survived the heart attack at the mere idea of it, you two would make me a tremendous amount of money.”

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“Shut up, Marcus.” Josh’s voice lowered. “You know Lauren and I love you. So we’re here, all right? If he hurts you again, I don’t want to be anywhere near him.”

The line went dead. Marcus knew Josh had done it on purpose, denying him the

ability to come back with something flippant, a rapid parry before the weight of those words could strike his shields and land a harsh blow on his defenses.

“Asshole,” Marcus muttered.

When Marcus flipped the phone closed, he saw they’d brought in another guy to

balance the teams. He could enjoy watching Thomas at his leisure. He stretched out in a reclining position in the low beach chair and set the phone aside, laying his head back on the headrest to take advantage of the sun and keep an eye on his lover at the same time.

It amazed him, how unaware Thomas was of his own appeal. The way the other

men checked him out, the passing of the ball that allowed them to brush hands, make those subtle overtures that when men were involved were not so subtle. The occasional slap on the back or somewhat lower, for a point well played. The beach environment removed inhibitions, and of course there was always the chance of some quick action in the dunes if you could get a prospective partner stirred up enough.

Marcus watched the newest man, whose name he caught as “Carl”, maneuver

closer to Thomas, his hand lingering on his shoulder as they spoke strategy. It dropped briefly to Thomas’ waist as he told Thomas something that caused a quick smile.

Thomas moved out of range. Not as far or as deliberately as Marcus would have liked, but then it was a close contact sport. Ben, evidently a peacemaker, murmured

something to the man, shooting a discreet glance toward Marcus’ location.

Carl laughed, pushed him away. Since Marcus was downwind, it was easy to catch

the gist of the response. “—shouldn’t leave his ass alone then—”

As Marcus studied the man behind the screen of his sunglasses, he wondered how

Carl would look with his foot stuffed up to the ankle into his own rectum.

On the next rotation, the man made another move, far more blatant. This time his hand closed in a flirtatious squeeze on Thomas’ ass before he took the ball. Thomas pushed away, but not with anger. He elbowed the man away with a grin. A fucking
grin
.

Marcus’ eyes narrowed, taking a harder look at that replay. Thomas didn’t grin that often. Usually it qualified as just a smile. This grin had been high wattage, a little forced. And yes, that was definitely an eye cut in his direction.

The bastard was trying to make him jealous. Seeing if he was paying attention.

Marcus set aside the sunglasses and rose. He inclined his head at Andrew when he was noticed, but he moved toward the water, indicating his intention to take a swim.

He held Thomas’ gaze a fraction of a second before he continued past the play area.

As Thomas watched Marcus move down to the water, he was sure of two things.

Marcus had noticed his pathetic adolescent act. And in his sophisticated way, he’d 67

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given it the attention it warranted. Thomas had walked out on him and only committed to one week with him. Who the hell was Thomas to make demands?

He was the guy who was here in front of Marcus, damn it. The one who’d come at

Marcus’ encouragement, despite his mother’s tears and his brother’s crude accusations.

Despite the fact his gut was going to eat him alive when he had to walk away at the end of the week, while Marcus would go on with his urbane, privileged life.

Carl made a muffled protest as Ben elbowed him aside with little fanfare and took the ball from Thomas’ hands. “Thanks for joining us.”

“What—”

Ben corralled Thomas with a friendly but firm arm around his shoulders and

shepherded him to the edge of the court. He dropped his tone. “If you don’t go after that after the look he just gave you, you’re an idiot. Stop being stupid and dicking around with this snaker.” He raised his voice. “Later today, why don’t you and Marcus plan on joining us for a coffee? There’s a great place not far from here.”

Practically every man on the beach, as well as the few girls, had simply stopped what they were doing, even if they pretended not to, to watch Marcus walk down to the water in nothing but that brief scrap of swimsuit. He’d always been completely aware of how attractive he was, but Marcus didn’t flaunt or minimize it. It was just an asset.

An asset Thomas knew carried the potency of a lethal weapon.

Ben gave him a friendly, firm push. “Thanks again.”

“Our pleasure,” Thomas managed, saving face with the response before he turned

on his heel and walked away with forced casualness toward the surf. Marcus was

already in to his waist, showing remarkable fortitude for the New England

temperatures. Even in late summer, Thomas’ blood was more accustomed to the

southeast coastline. But he could use cooling off anyway.

He splashed in, gritting his teeth at the surge of cold water, and followed Marcus as he moved further out. He resented that he didn’t look back. Resented that he was the one following him like a puppy, resented that fucking phone call and whoever’d been on the end of it. It would have been better if he’d stayed in North Carolina. At least there his tortured imaginings of Marcus sleeping around were exactly that, not actual, in-his-face realities.

Marcus went under and came back up, water running off his shoulders down his

back, his now-wet ass in the briefs visible for a glimpse as a wave passed. He dove under it as Thomas closed in, moving past the surf line into the quieter waters. Marcus didn’t resurface.

Thomas turned to see if the current had pulled Marcus further down the beach. The water swirled around his legs, the brush of something his only warning as Marcus surfaced behind him, close enough to shoot an arm around his neck and sweep

Thomas’ legs out from under him, taking them both under the next wave.

Thomas struggled, throwing elbows. Marcus hung on even as they surfaced on the

other side, now deep enough the water lapped at their chests. He had his arm wrapped 68

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around Thomas’ chest, holding him back against him. His lips were close to his ear.

And his cock was a bar of iron pressing against Thomas’ all-too-eager ass.

“You wanted my attention, pet. You got it.”

“Let go. You’re not going to fuck me as a surrogate for whoever just got your dick hard on the phone.” Thomas normally wasn’t crude, but he was angry and helpless as Marcus’ hand grazed over his nipple, made it draw up in response.

“You were the one who got my dick hard, farm boy. Trying to tease me with that

piece of shit.” He had his grip clamped on Thomas’ opposite side under the biceps, a highly effective and uncomfortable restraint, and Marcus was using their several-inch height difference to his advantage, making it difficult for Thomas to plant his feet and shrug him off.

“You need a reminder of who your Master is, so you won’t be so quick to doubt?”

Marcus dropped his other hand neatly into Thomas’ shorts, their loose fit and lack of underwear making it easy to grasp a buttock, pull it aside and slide two fingertips just inside the tight pucker of his anus, teasing him.

Thomas struggled, his cheeks flushing, biting his lips. “You son of a bitch, when I get free, I’m going to—”

“You’re going to what?” Thomas bucked as Marcus’ fingers started pressing in.

“Stop…” Thomas caught hold of the arm Marcus had across his chest, anchoring

himself as Marcus pressed in, squeezed. His bare feet stepped on Marcus’ as Thomas clumsily tried to find a purchase.

“Hold onto my neck,” Marcus murmured.

Thomas reached back, latched on, his head dropping on Marcus’ shoulder as

Marcus released his chest, opened the cut-offs and clasped his hand over his cock, working him fast and hard while Thomas pistoned back and forth like a hooked fish between the two stimuli, squeezing back on Marcus’ fingers, thrusting forward into the powerful grip of his hand.

“You…ever…” Marcus punctuated each word with another thrust and stroke as

Thomas’ breath clogged in his throat. “Let…another man touch you like that…and I will beat your ass until you can’t walk. You hear me? You got it?” As if he had the devil’s own sense of timing, he stopped, holding Thomas just on that frantic edge.

“Who was on the phone?” Thomas snarled, his breath rasping.

“Stubborn bastard.” Marcus started stroking again. Thomas sucked in his breath, came so close and then cursed as Marcus withdrew and settled one arm like a bar back across his upper body, still manacling the hard pulsing cock in his other hand, tight at the base. He didn’t move now, squeezing in warning when Thomas tried to, and simply let them drift with Thomas in his arms, vibrating with the near climax.

“Is he competition?”

Marcus chuckled. Thomas’ teeth ground together. “Hardly. He’s married, and his

Mistress is very protective of him.”

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“But you’ve fucked him.”

Marcus’ tone turned cool. “I wouldn’t characterize it that way, no.”

“Is there another way to characterize putting your dick in someone’s ass?”

Marcus’ teeth latched onto his throat, bit and Thomas shuddered. “You’re spoiling for a fight. Fine. How do you go about it with your little fiancée your mother wants to chain you to?”