QUOTE : True to form, Tom reached around to torture him, playing with his cockhead, running a finger around the crown. “Gonna come if you do that,” Prophet told him, his voice husky to his own ears. “Not allowed to,” Tom reminded him. “Then don’t fucking touch me.” “You’re not making these rules, bébé.” Tom’s tongue dragged up his spine, too lightly to be anything but squirm-inducing. And then he began to bite the taut skin along Prophet’s back, biting, sucking, claiming . . . It was the same area he’d been drawing on, almost obsessively. Definitely mapping out his space on Prophet’s body. “Marking me?” Prophet asked, like he did every time. Because he liked to hear Tom’s answer. “Better fucking believe it. Problem?