The Master by Malin James

Author:Malin James
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sweetmeats Press
Published: 2015-06-02T11:17:10+00:00

When Tom entered the locker room, only Cerra was there, drying off.

“Where are Voloshin and Bisset?”

The Spaniard shrugged. “I do not know about Bisset, but Voloshin is gone. The method did not suit him, I think.”

Tom nodded but didn’t say anything. If Voloshin had left, there was nothing to say. Every man had to sort it out for himself. Cerra finished drying off and hung his towel up. Less than twenty-four hours before, Tom’s cock had been down Cerra’s throat. While his body wouldn’t have minded an encore, the rest of him held back. It was odd, Tom reflected. The embarrassed, submissive boy was still there, twinned by the Cerra in front of him—a man with the poise of a cipher.

“Few people are what they seem,” Cerra said, as if he’d read Tom’s mind. “Voloshin was an exception. He lives on the surface. Better to leave than to push.”

Suddenly, Cerra turned and held out his hand.

“Good luck, Granger,” he said. The Spaniard’s grip was deceptively firm, very much like the man.

“Thanks, Cerra. Good luck to you too.”

Cerra smiled, his smooth, young face, unreadable. Then, without another word, he left the room. Tom shook his head. The whole exchange had been strange. At this point, he wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that Cerra was the Master …

The news about Voloshin had him vaguely concerned about Bisset, but he was nowhere in the showers , or the dorm. Tom shrugged, and headed back to the locker room to grab a cursory shower. There was nothing left to do. He might as well sit in the sauna and keep his muscles loose.

The welts on his chest and thighs had already begun to itch, but he ignored the discomfort as he opened the thick glass door, releasing a wall of heat and steam. Removing the towel from around his hips, Tom sat down and filled his lungs with thick, moist heat.

Despite the buzzing silence in the hot, little room, Tom could still hear the metronome ticking in his head. Experimentally, he ran a hand over his length. Running the second exercise with Bisset had been one of the hottest, non-sexual things he’d ever done. There’d been so many dynamics to play with, and all while Elle Mason watched, and pulled the strings.

Tom thought of the last time he’d seen Bisset. They’d been naked then too, though for entirely different reasons. He began to stroke himself. He didn’t think of Bisset that often, but when he did, it always came to this—his hand on his cock and a chunk of lead in his gut. He’d taken advantage on the strip … Tom leaned his head back and closed his eyes, breathing in the heat as his hand kept up the rhythm to an invisible metronome.

Wisps of cool air over his feet.

“Hello, Michel,” he said, not looking up. “Close the door, will you. You’re letting out the heat.”

“Of course … Tamás.”

Tom looked up then. Only three people had ever called him by his given name.

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