Stealing My Heart

by Stephani Hecht, Jambrea Jo Jones, A. J. Llewellyn, Carol Lynne, D. J. Manly, Jaime Samms, Serena Yates

  “I do.” Marky smiled at him, though a bit of a tremor ran through the expression.

  “I’m going to secure you to the bed, and this time, you’re going to let me fuck you while you’re still bound.” Rolly’s fingers caressed his cheek, his neck, travelled over his collar bone. He straddled Marky, his hard cock dripping onto Marky’s stomach. “Are you ready?”

  Marky shifted his hips under Rolly and nodded. “I’m ready.” He gripped the headboard in two fists and took a deep breath. Once he was secured to the bed, he was trapped and at Rolly’s mercy. It would be easy for Rolly to keep him here. The breath let out in a long sigh, and Marky wiggled his legs free and spread them.

  Rolly smiled down on him, caressed his face again. “Good boy.” He secured Marky’s cuffs to the bed, and spent a few minutes in soothing attention, kissing and stroking his fingers through Marky’s hair. “This is going to be quick, okay? But it’ll be good. I want you just to relax.”

  Marky could only concentrate on breathing. Rolly’s touch was nice, comforting, but not completely distracting from the anxiety of being tied down and taken, even if he was crazy about the man who was doing it. He closed his eyes and focused on Rolly’s lips, making their way across his jaw to his ear where he paused to whisper.

  “Fingers first.” He shifted to the side, lifted one of Marky’s legs to his shoulder and pushed slicked fingers into Marky’s opening. “Okay?”

  Marky nodded, then sighed as Rolly stroked across his prostate. “Good. Do that—”

  Rolly did.

  “—again.” He rocked his hips again, enjoying the now familiar sensation of Rolly’s preparations. His cock hardened as Rolly caressed him inside and gazed down on his face, clearly enjoying his task.

  “You like me watching, don’t you?” Rolly asked.

  Marky could hardly deny it as his erection lifted off his belly and his breath came faster with the every thrust of Rolly’s fingers.

  “God, you have a good ‘Fuck me’ face.” Rolly leaned down and kissed him, a hard, possessive claim on his mouth that stole any response he might have made.

  The kiss proved distracting enough for Rolly to pull his fingers free and position himself to take Marky without Marky tensing up again. The breech was fast and as possessive as the kiss. Rolly grunted with the effort, but stilled to allow Marky to adjust before he began to move. As he’d promised it would be, it was quick. His hard thrusts hit home sending shots of pleasure up Marky’s spine. More than once, he tried to grab Rolly’s shoulders, but the cuffs aborted the movement, and brought home how utterly he had surrendered to this man. And he liked it. Every thrust accentuated how much he liked it. Before he was ready, his body tightened, his balls contracted, and he cried out, his release spurting in a warm flood across his abdomen. Rolly came a moment later, his face buried in the crook of Marky’s shoulder.

  And Mark couldn’t hold him as he shuddered through it. He could only turn his head and kiss Rolly’s hair, wrap his legs around him, whisper his name until the blond head finally lifted.

  “You were right,” Marky whispered as green eyes looked into his. “Short, but very, very good.”

  “And you’re still going to go.” It wasn’t a question, and Marky had to give him points for that.

  “Yeah. I’m still going to go.”

  This time, when Rolly kissed him, the possessiveness was underlaid with something more intense, more tangible, even if Marky couldn’t put a name to it. The effect lingered with him long after Rolly had released him and he’d showered and dressed.

  Chapter Four

  After only three days, it should not have been that hard to walk out the door. It wasn’t like he was never coming back. He’d see Rolly the next night, but something fundamental had changed. Marky was not Mr. Leibow’s creature any more, despite the cuffs, and the feel of Rolly’s hard fuck still tingling about his backside. He was on his own like he’d never been, not when he’d had parents to love him, or fellow gang members to rely on. The cab waiting on the white stretch of gravel was taking him to something new and a lot scarier than being cuffed to a bed and fucked.

  “You’re sure about this?”

  Marky pressed close to Rolly, tucked his cheek against Rolly’s neck. “No.” For a minute, he stood there, Rolly’s arm around him, and his heart pounding. It shouldn’t be so hard. He’d spent years on the street looking after himself. This was nothing compared to that. He had a safe place to live, a guaranteed meal a day, and a lover who wanted to help. The cab horn blew a sharp reminder that he’d already made his decision. He pulled himself away and smiled. “But yeah. I’m sure.”

  Rolly pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and handed it to Marky. “Just in case.”

  Marky looked at the cell resting on Rolly's palm and picked up the new duffle bag at his feet, with it's contents, new clothes Rolly had insisted on buying for him. All he had left that Rolly hadn't given him was the familiar leather jacket, a heavy comfort on his back. "You've given me enough."

  "Take it."

  Marky nodded and pocketed the phone. “Thanks.” He backed down one step. “Don’t worry. I’ll see you tomorrow night. At the club.”

  “I’ll be there.” Rolly stood on the front step, hands in his pockets, until the cab rounded the curve in the drive. Marky knew, because he glanced back at that last minute, and Rolly raised a hand to wave.

  Dean’s shelter was a huge brownstone set back from the street with a waist-high iron fence across the front yard. A messy, slightly overgrown garden graced the lawn and most of the walk leading up to the door. A series of pots with wilting petunias marched up the steps beside him. A young man in a James Dean denim look opened the front door when he rang the bell, but left the screen closed.

  “Who’re you?”

  Marky swallowed, but before he could answer, a middle-aged man wheeled up behind him.

  “Scott. Manners.” The wheelchair-bound man smiled. “Marky?”

  Marky nodded. “I’m looking for Dean? Roland Leibow sent me.”

  “I’m Dean.” He backed his chair away from the door and nodded at Scott, who flipped open the lock and walked away.

  Marky opened the door and stepped inside. The interior looked just as it should; lots of craftsman style wood and high, detailed stained glass windows letting in light filtered to a golden hue. Evidence of many young men lay everywhere; sports magazines, sweaters, empty water bottles, and a pizza box of crumbs on the coffee table. Still, it was a lot better than the Hole.

  “Good to meet you, Marky. Roland mentioned you needed a place to stay, and one of the guys just found himself a nice place on Riverside, so we had a room. Welcome.”

  “Thanks.” Marky stood awkwardly, gripping the handles of his duffle.

  “Your room’s upstairs.” Dean rolled, not to the stairs, but around the bottom step and into the hallway. “We had the dumbwaiter modified…” Dean wheeled himself onto the large, re-enforced platform and motioned Marky on beside him. He was quiet as he pushed the button and the lift brought them up to the second floor. They passed down the hall to the east end, and Dean motioned to the door on the left. “Small, but should do you.”

  Marky stepped into his new home. A single bed, a dresser in the corner, and a tiny wardrobe were all the furniture that fit in the room. A large window showed a view of a back yard sorely in need of a good trim, more gardens overflowing their confines, and an empty fountain. Behind him, Dean sighed.

  “Sorry about the view. Paul used to…” His abrupt pause made Marky turn. “Sorry. My partner. Paul. He took care of the yard work. He got sick.” Dean shrugged. “It was over pretty quick. In the spring, he was planning out the new landscaping, and by mid-summer…” He shrugged again. “Make yourself at home. Peter’s not expecting you until tomorrow. Come on down and find me once you’re settled. We’ll see what we can work out about those gardens.”

  “I don’t know anything about—” But Dean was already wheeling away down the hall, and Marky was l
eft with heavy silence and messy view.

  * * * *

  “It’s fairly straightforward this time of year,” Rolly said, sitting back in his office chair. Marky sat across from him nursing a hot coffee and watching the dancing. “Dead head everything. If it isn’t green, cut it down. Of course, that doesn’t apply to shrubs.”

  “How do you know this?” Marky’s gaze shifted to Rolly, and for a moment, he was caught up in the way the lights played behind him, giving him a shifting, rainbow halo. He snorted at the appropriateness.

  “What’s so funny about me working in a garden centre? Paid my first three semesters of college I’ll have you know.”

  “No. Not that. Nothing’s funny. Sorry. Deadhead. Got it. I can do that.” He was quiet a while, fingers of one hand turning one of the rings on the cuff of the other. “So.” He leant forward. “Dean and Paul. What’s that about?”

  Rolly sighed and dropped his feet from where they rested on the desk. “Twenty years is what that was about. Twenty years of shit and aggravation, and they never once stopped loving each other. Paul hated the idea of the shelter at first. Thought it would be too dangerous, and maybe he was right. One kid,” Rolly shook his head, “couldn’t let anything go. Brought his past and his fucked up life to their doorstep, and Dean got a bullet through his gut trying to protect the idiot. Never walked again. And if that’s not shitty enough, Paul got HIV from a messed up blood transfusion so Dean wouldn’t bleed to death. Fucking shared everything, the two of them. Five years in, and both of them with a life sentence because they cared too much. Dean says he’s fine, but he’s not. Too thin, too tired.” Rolly rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “You get to know the signs after a while. And I don’t think he cares any more. Not since Paul…”

  Marky rose, put his mug down and knelt in front of Rolly’s chair. “It’ll get better. He’s still mourning. Once the place starts looking decent again, it’ll get better.”

  “Maybe.” Rolly kissed Marky’s knuckles. “How was work? How’s Peter?”

  Marky smiled. “A slave driver.”

  “He’s a huge proponent of hard work. Idle hands and all that.”

  “He’s a good guy. God, he can cook!” Marky patted his stomach. “And pushy. I think I’ve put on five pounds already.”

  “In a week?” Rolly laughed and pulled Marky up into his lap. “You need some meat on these bones.” His smile shone up at Marky, though. “It’s good. This is good, yeah? You’re happy?”

  Marky nodded. “I am.” He caressed Rolly’s face and leant down to kiss him. “I know they’re all about helping me get back on my feet, but it goes both ways. They need me. I like that feeling.”

  “I need you too.” Rolly took Marky’s hand that he was holding, and pushed it down between them, to the growing erection in his pants.

  “That’s an entirely different kind of need,” Marky teased.

  “One you are uniquely positioned to satisfy.” Rolly stood, dumping Marky back onto his feet. “Or will be, in a minute.” He snapped off the light. The office went dark, making it near impossible for anyone in the bar to see through the expanse of window above. “Bend over, Baby.” Rolly pressed the back of Marky’s neck until he was leaning over the desk.

  “Someone might—”

  “See me fucking you?” Rolly reached around, undid Marky’s jeans, and yanked them down. “So?”

  “So…” Marky’s breath caught as his cock sprang free and slapped against his belly. Rolly didn’t waste any time lubing and getting his fingers up Marky’s ass. “So…fuck.” He dropped his head and reached for his cock and the leather ring surrounding its base.

  “Uh, uh.” Rolly slapped his hand away. “I told you to wear it. I didn’t tell you to take it off. Wait for it.” He did stroke Marky a few times, though, good, firm strokes that made him moan. “So what if someone did walk in and find us with my cock up your ass?” Rolly asked, his voice a raw rumble that crawled up Marky’s spine and raised the hair on the back of his neck.

  “So,” Marky’s voice hitched, his breath caught as Rolly slid into him. “They’d know I was yours.” Rolly’s cock ran over Marky’s prostate, drove into him, deep and satisfying, and he gasped. The next few minutes narrowed to Rolly’s greedy pleasure as he thrust into Marky, intent on getting himself to the edge of release. It worked for Marky, too, driving him to beg. “God, please, Rolly.”

  “Not yet.” Rolly leant forward and clamped Marky’s hands to the desk with his own. “Say it again. With conviction.”

  “I’m yours,” Marky whispered, breath too short to allow anything more.

  Rolly licked at his ear. “Louder.”

  “Yours.” Marky found his voice, the need to come, the need to please his lover overriding everything. “I belong to you. Please. I wanna come.”

  Rolly chuckled, a soft, loving sound that wrapped around Marky, just as his arm did, as he unfastened the cock ring. The invitation to finish was not even off his lips before Marky’s orgasm thundered through him, leaving black spots and limp satisfaction in its wake. Rolly was still holding him tight in the wake of his own release as Marky blinked his vision clear.

  “God…good,” Marky muttered, voice wavering, and arms shaking to hold him up.

  Rolly held him close, stroked in and out a few more times with his softening cock, before pulling out with a happy sigh. He kissed Marky softly between the shoulder blades. “You so own me,” he whispered, pressing his cheek to the soft cotton of his T-shirt.

  Marky felt his lips move again, but the din from the bar, and his own pulse still hammering in his ears drowned out the actual words. He straightened up and turned in Rolly’s embrace to ask what he’d said.

  Rolly held out the cock ring to him with a smile. “Clean up quick, now. We have dinner reservations.”

  Marky grinned. “Yes, Sir.” He took the bit of leather, shuffled to the bathroom to rinse himself off. He was just fastening the ring back in place when Rolly came in behind him. He turned, jeans still around his knees and the narrow band of black surrounding his cock and balls. The hungry look in Rolly’s eyes was deeply gratifying.

  “You’re so beautiful.” Rolly ran a finger along his cock. It twitched lethargically. “Not uncomfortable, is it?”

  Marky shook his head. “It feels good.” He grinned. “Can’t forget it’s there when I have to ask your permission to pee.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “I don’t mind, or I wouldn’t.” Marky touched his cheek. “You’ve never made me do anything I didn’t want to do. Now are you finished ogling? Can I put my pants back on?”

  Rolly grinned and nodded. “For now.”

  “Promises, promises,” Marky muttered, though it made his heart skip a beat, because it was a promise. One he could count on, and that was a nice feeling to get used to.

  Chapter Five

  There were a lot of things Marky was finding it easy to get used to. Peter’s cooking, for one, and Dean’s easy, giving nature, though the sadness underlying it worried him. He was beginning to enjoy the fact he no longer had to look over his shoulder for cops, or rival gangs, or the sudden appearance of one of his own, finally come to exact the price of leaving. Under the right conditions, some days, he almost could believe this was his life, something he could keep, maybe even something that could make up for the past, if he played it right.

  So when the bright green bandana hanging out a back pocket of a man sitting at Peter’s deli bar caught his eye one day, the cold shiver that ran through him was a nasty reminder that he’d been living on borrowed time.

  Peter glanced up when he entered, face grim, eyes shadowed. Marky stopped. He knew that ‘not-in-my-place’ look in Peter’s eyes, and nodded.

  “Skate.”

  The man at the bar turned. Blue eyes, so much like his brother Gig’s, glimmered at him. “Marky.”

  Marky held the door open and motioned outside. “Come on.”

  Skate picked up his board from where it leant on th
e counter and followed Marky outside.

  “What do you want, Skate?”

  “Nothing, man.” Skate thumped his shoulder. “Just to see how an old pal’s doing.”

  “I’m fine. You’ve seen. You can go.” Marky ran a hand through his hair, backed his way toward Pete’s Deli.

  “Hmm.” Skate dropped his board on the sidewalk. “You know Drag is seriously pissed at you.”

  “Why? ‘Cause I didn’t let him shoot me? Poor baby. He’ll just have to get over it.”

  “Right.” Skate smirked. “He just gets over shit like that. Dayton’s ridin’ his ass to find you.”

  Marky frowned. “Obviously, he knows where I am. What’s stopping him?”

  “Shit. What kind of friend do you think I am? I know where you are. Doesn’t mean they do.”

  “Not yet.”

  “I ain’t about to tell them, Marky.”

  “Why wouldn’t you? I got your little brother killed.”

  “He got himself killed, Marky. You think I don’t know that?” Skate focused on the ground again. “You an’ me, we’re still okay. I mean, I know you left, but,” Skate straightened, flipped his board up into his hand and met Marky’s gaze. “The Greenbacks aren’t perfect. I know that. I’m in and I got no way out. Not like you. I just…” He nodded as if he’d decided something. “I had my little brother to worry about, right? To make sure he didn’t do this same stupid shit I did. Only no one ever listens to me. Gig sure as fuck didn’t. Look what it got him. I thought he…you… I know you tried. I appreciate that, so I’m not going to tell anyone where you are. I just thought you should know Drag’s been poking around, and someone needs to do something about that, cause you know he’ll go through whoever he has to to get to you. Hell, asshole shot Gig, he’ll shoot anyone.” His scowl momentarily covered the sadness in his eyes, and Marky didn’t envy him his position. “You got a life here. I ain’t gonna let him take that away from you. I know what it’s like to have someone to protect and not be able to. All I’m sayin’. This time, I’m gonna do right.”