An Exclusive "Deleted Scene" From: Rough Canvas
Book 6 - Nature of Desire Series
Erotic Romance - (Rated X-treme)
Copyright 2007 - All Rights Reserved
BACKGROUND – In this scene, Thomas and Marcus are in the parking lot outside of a nightclub. Thomas’s father died about eighteen months ago, but because of the things you’ll learn about when you read the book, he really hasn’t let himself feel the grief. Marcus of course has cracked him open, and in this moment outside the club, Thomas can’t hold back his reaction to the loss of his dad. However, he needs more than tears to release the compressed emotions inside of him. Thomas feels raw and open, and in need of Marcus.
This scene is pretty physical, because I had to shave some of the emotional set up from the beginning and end so as not to give too much away about the upcoming story, but when you read the book, you’ll recognize the last several paragraphs. Hope you enjoy this. Give the whole book a try on September 12. Even if you’re not a male/male erotic romance reader, I hope you’ll take a chance and see if I can prove to you – as I think I have in the past (smile) - that all that matters is the love story…
Deleted Scene
When Thomas crumpled the used tissue and put it in his pocket, his fist clenched. He held it there, like a mallet by his thigh. Marcus could tell his farm boy was fighting himself again.
“What is it, pet? What do you want?”
“What I can’t have.” Thomas shook his head. “You. Please. I need you…want you, right now.”
Heedless of who might be walking by, his usually shy lover laid the firm heat of his palm against the front of Marcus’s slacks. Rubbed the cock trapped beneath with an intent, determined expression on his face. Despite the fact Marcus knew Thomas was evading the real issue, it was hard to resist the fire in his dark eyes, the challenge. When he seized Thomas’s wrist, Thomas just pushed forward, unexpectedly switching their positions, crowding Marcus against the car, aggressive.
“I can’t stand to feel this much, knowing it’s only going to get worse.”
As Marcus caught his shoulders, Thomas leaned in and bit his neck, his leg moving forward to rub against his groin, a blatant invitation.
“You think you can push me around, pet?” Marcus responded, low. Thomas’s eyes flashed with triumph, swallowed by desperate need.
“Fuck me. Whenever, however you want. I just, I need--”
“I’ll tell you what you need,” Marcus countered. “Get in the car. Now.”
Marcus shoved him away, yanked open the passenger door and left it that way. But Thomas obeyed as Marcus strode around to the other side, got in. He turned the ignition, checked his mirrors and the parking lot, and hit the gas as soon as Thomas closed the door.
Marcus knew the area, enough to know that a quarter mile down the road was an abandoned gas station with a copse of trees behind it. As he turned out of the club parking lot, Thomas reached over, took hold of him, started to stroke him again.
“Stop.”
“Make me.”
Marcus swore. “I’m going to ream your ass until it bleeds.”
“Promises, promises.” Thomas’s voice was hoarse as he put his other hand inside the open collar of Marcus’s shirt, tearing it open, his fingers clawing at his nipple, then running through the light covering of hair. “Jesus. Hurry.”
Marcus was pushing seventy now. Taking it to ninety effortlessly, he swung into the parking area of the station with a spray of dust and gravel. He made the transition from broken pavement to the overgrown grass and low lying shrubs behind the station without a pause and cut the engine. “Get out.”
“Wait.” Thomas’s hands were busy at his slacks, had opened them. Marcus had long legs, which meant he kept the seat well-pushed back, so Thomas had no difficulty reaching in past Marcus’s snug stretch boxers and straightening his erection, tall between his legs, as imposing as the stick shift. Marcus tried to push him away, but then somehow Thomas had maneuvered his long frame to go down on him in the car, his mouth wet and hot, sucking hard, even biting. Marcus dropped his hand on the head rest of the passenger seat, hips pushing up to jam himself into the back of Thomas’s throat, giving him more of himself. When he hit Thomas’s gag reflex, he pushed harder. Thomas choked, then adjusted, growling in response, his hand digging into Marcus’s leg. Marcus seized the back of his hair then and yanked him off, cursing when Thomas’s teeth scored the ridge of his broad head, already viscous with response.
“Get out, now. I mean it. You bend your bare ass over the hood.”
The words sent a dangerous thrill through Thomas. His blood boiled over, his cock so hard he had to struggle out of the low riding sports car. He’d pushed Marcus past the point of giving him options, thank God. That’s what he wanted. Something beyond the loss of his dad, of the aching promise of Marcus’s words for things Thomas couldn’t have… He wanted beyond all that, to a place where there were no words or situations to analyze, to face. Just this, the feel of borderline fear, anticipating the pain he knew Marcus would deliver along with pleasure that would fry all his circuits.
He moved around to the driver’s side as Marcus got out of the car and stood behind the barrier of the open door. “Strip off the belt.”
Thomas complied, though some part of him wanted to see if Marcus could make him do it. As if reading his mind, Marcus’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t push this that far, Thomas. Obey your Master.”
Because he didn’t know how not to obey when Marcus used that tone, Thomas fumbled open his jeans, stripped the belt and shoved his pants to his knees, making himself bare-assed to the night.
Their surroundings were one step above the tawdriness of an alley. The field behind the service station was littered with automobile carcasses, grass grown up among their stripped frame skeletons to make them part of the landscape. Stacked tires, barrels for burning trash. The acrid smell of gas and oil fumes.
The rear wall of the building was painted cinderblock. Rust stains from the metal bay doors had formed red rivulets in the cracks. Beneath the fading gray paint was the impression of an old mural ad for cigarettes or motor oil, promoted by a busty Betty Grable type model, reminiscent of the fifties.
But just like his family’s hardware store, Thomas thought the age gave the place a vintage appeal. The abandoned cars gleamed silver in the green-white field, a quiet backdrop outlined in the moonlight. Just beyond the last vehicles, two deer had raised their heads, curious, waiting to see if they needed to run. Apparently so used to the appearance of men and their machines, the animals no longer bolted on pure instinct.
Beyond the deer was a forest, just a buffer to the suburban neighborhood built beyond it. He could see the lights shining through the foliage from the houses and streetlights. Homes with husbands and wives, kids, cable TV. Fights, making up. Getting up to go to work in the morning, knowing there’d be someone when you came home that would be glad to see you, whether you were thirty-eight or eighty-three. If you were lucky.
He inhaled the gasoline smell, felt it burn. “Fuck me,” he demanded.
“If you don’t stop issuing orders, I’m going to gag you with an oil rag,” Marcus promised. “Hand me the belt. Keep your head down.”
Thomas held it out, straightening his arm, keeping his head low, his elbows on the shiny red hood. Spreading his legs out to brace them better, he bucked when Marcus’s hand closed tight around his balls. He’d have to hold still, unless he wanted them ripped off.
“Don’t move an inch. Not until I give you permission.”
Thomas wanted to be pummeled, stretched, pounded until his bowels cramped. He couldn’t bear it.
He expected to be strapped first, and his fists were closed against the anticipation of the pain. Marcus wouldn’t allow that. “Fingers open, palms flat. No defenses, pet.”
“You’re going to kill me.”
“I’ll make sure you die happy.” It sounded like a threat and a promise, particularly when Marcus used that voice, the one that convinced Thomas without question that Marcus was in control, could truly take him down if Thomas tried to get away with anything.
Marcus’s hand slid down the back of his thigh. Biting his lip, Thomas held still while every nerve ending strained. Marcus molded his palm to the curve of one buttock, then the other. Then there was a rustle, the crunch of gravel, the strap of the belt brushing his knee, the buckle pressing into the meat of his right buttock under Marcus’s thumb.
Marcus had strong hands, and he spread Thomas wide, letting him feel the play of air along the rim of his ass a moment before the bliss of Marcus’s tongue invaded.
Thomas groaned, shuddered hard. His fists clenched and just as quickly flattened. God, he didn’t want him to stop. Or rather he did, but he didn’t. It made him want to be fucked all the more. Marcus rimmed him with that clever mouth, over and over, then stabbed into him. Thomas’s cock was iron against the side of the car. If he moved at all, he’d go off, and Marcus probably had known that when he’d commanded him to stillness. But even with the order, he was going to come if he kept doing that. God, he was so glad Marcus liked him to stay fully shaved. The feel of his mouth and tongue, caressing and fucking the smooth area, already so fucking sensitive…
“Master, I can’t…”
Marcus withdrew and Thomas arched, unprepared when the belt struck his ass with enough force to send fierce pain singing up his core and down through his legs.
“Still, pet.” Marcus said sharply. “Don’t move.”
Four more, with his eyes watering and his body in the center pivot of a seesaw between orgasm and agony. Trying so hard to stay still, while wanting so much. The tears he had shed had dried, but Thomas still felt the tracks, stiff lines on his cheeks. When Marcus finally dropped the belt and unzipped his own pants again, Thomas was shaking.
Despite his own fierce arousal, Marcus knew the state, reveled in it. He’d taken plenty of submissives other than Thomas to this, that spiritual level beyond thought or reason. Knowing he’d been goaded into doing it, that Thomas had wanted, needed him to take him there, didn’t make it less powerful. If anything, it made it more so, for pushing his Master this way was an act of trust, of surrendering.
Marcus had never wanted a man to surrender to his dominance, to everything he was, the way he wanted or demanded it of Thomas. A Master could demand, but when the sub was willing and seeking the Mastery, the collar, it had a sweet pain to it that made Marcus feel as if he’d been the one to take the lash of the belt.
Gripping Thomas’s reddened buttock, he dug his fingers into the vicious welts from tonight, as well as the older ones from earlier in the week. Thomas would still be sitting on bruises a week or two from now. He thrust into his pet, inch by excruciating inch. Thomas continued that involuntary shuddering, jerking, fighting to obey, to stay still. As he sank in, Marcus grasped Thomas’s cock, rubbed his thumb over the slit. Collecting the pre-cum oozing all over the head, he used it to further lubricate his way, making his entry even easier.
“Make…me…bleed…”
It was a muttered plea. Marcus brought his hand back to Thomas’s front to grasp the base of his lover’s cock as he slid all the way home, his balls brushing Thomas’s. Thomas pushed back against him, increasing the sensation.
“No, pet,” he murmured. “I plan to bang this fine ass of yours as many times as I can before you leave. I’m not going to let you get it too messed up.”
“Yours…not mine. It’s your ass. Master.”
Marcus closed his eyes, set both hands to Thomas’s hips and began to thrust in earnest. Slow, deliberate, deep fucking, savoring the sight of Thomas’s convex broad back, the ripe curve of biceps from his position, arms braced on the hood. Felt thigh muscles straining, testicles thumping, the slap of hips against buttocks.
Thomas groaned, clenched, taking him deeper.
“Please…harder.”
Marcus couldn’t resist him. Not on any level. He couldn’t prolong the torment any longer when it was what he himself wanted. He started to piston in, pushing Thomas down flat with a shove to the middle of his back that took jaw and chest to the car hood. Thomas snarled, tried to shove back up and Marcus pushed him down again, making it clear he was going to be fucked, and he’d lie there and take it.
“I can’t--”
Thomas, overwhelmed, reared up against him. This time Marcus seized his throat, held him plastered against his body, his other hand dropping to curl back around his cock, the heel of his hand pressing against his pubic bone. Holding him in place, Marcus worked him in rhythm with his thrusts.
“Come,” he snapped.
Thomas grunted like an animal, his body convulsing. Marcus milked out a thick stream that shot over the hood and into the grass and gravel on the other side, making him emit a snarl of satisfaction. Thomas reached back and gripped Marcus’s hips, fingers struggling for purchase on his buttocks, hooking in the loose fabric of his open slacks as he turned his head to Marcus’s shoulder. Marcus sank his teeth into his throat, biting deep enough to leave marks in the skin. Holding him fast, thrusting, thrusting, jetting hot and fast in him, so that his vision almost grayed.
Thomas cried out at the new sensation. They moved together almost like combatants, struggling with a need that went beyond technique or finesse and into trying to communicate what no words could.
The deer went away, leaping high above the grass, like earth spirits bounding back toward the sky.
It was a long set of moments later before Marcus could orient himself to his immediate surroundings. Slowly he tuned back in to the shape of the rusty oil drum three yards from the car and two plastic dishes next to it. One was turned over. Someone had a soft spot for stray cats. The breeze moved through the meadow, the grass making tinny noises against the bodies of the cars planted there.
When he withdrew, he reached down, gathered Thomas’s jeans and brought them back up his legs, hitching them over his ass as Thomas straightened, brought his hands up to help. With a murmured word, Marcus stopped him. He shifted to the car to find wet towelettes. He cleaned his farm boy by touch, feeling the architecture of shoulders pressed against his chest, the lower back against his abdomen. As he cosseted him, he brushed his lips against his neck. Thomas’s hands twitched at his sides, uncertain when Marcus moved from the front to the back of the still open jeans. Marcus slid the moist napkin into the crease, fingers caressing the area slick from his spilled seed.
“You need to eat. Your butt’s getting too skinny for my tastes,” he said mildly.
“Jesus, Marcus.” Thomas spoke low, his voice choked.
Marcus tossed the napkins into the trash barrel. Making sure Thomas was securely tucked in, he zipped up the jeans, rethreaded the belt through the loops while Thomas remained still beneath his touch. He nudged against Thomas’s ass with his knee. “Sore, pet?”
“Yeah. The good kind.”
Marcus noticed Thomas holding his breath when Marcus threaded the belt, his fingers low on his waist. When he tightened and flattened the tongue through the belt loop, Marcus smoothed a proprietary palm over the front of his lover.
“You didn’t need to…”
Marcus caught his thumb behind the belt and waist band, finding Thomas’s firm abdomen. His long fingers curled along the outside, provocatively near Thomas’s crotch, his body full length against the back of Thomas’s. Thomas let out a soft grunt of need as Marcus pressed his still half-hard cock against his ass.
“You think I wouldn’t want to wipe your ass for you when you need it, Thomas? Now, or fifty years from now?”
Thomas closed his eyes. “Don’t,” he said, low. “Just don’t.”
Marcus’s hand slid away and he stepped back, but he could tell he flustered Thomas when he walked him around to the passenger side of the car, opened the door and guided him in, hand lingering over his elbow, his hip. “Come on. I want to get you back home and into my bed as soon as possible.”
“You promised me food. Real cooking, where they use grease.”
“”Whine, whine, whine. God, worse than a two-year-old.”
When he got into his side of the car, he met Thomas’s eyes, flashed teeth. Ran a hand along the side of his head, ruffled his hair and was rewarded with a tired but genuine smile. As much as he’d like to take his lover over and over again, he was pleased Thomas was hungry.
For the short time they had, Marcus realized he really didn’t care where he was or what they were doing, as long as Thomas was part of it. The sands of time would run out whether or not they watched the clock. For now, since they’d tipped some of the overflow out of the container of tension they carried between them, he’d just enjoy watching Thomas eat a cheeseburger.
The container would refill in no time, all on its own.
Subject: Deleted Scene from Rough Canvas 
Tue Mar 30, 2010 10:10 pm
Good try and good luck with that 
