Jonathan Sims

"Good," John replies, settling his hands on Martin's upper arms and letting his own weight press him down against the cushions. He continues bestowing a few light kisses along the line of Martin's neck, taking his sweet time with it, feeling the radiating heat of Martin's flushed skin against his cheeks and the rabbiting beat of his pulse against his lips. Then, with infinite patience, he seals his lips against the soft skin of Martin's throat and begins to suck — firmly enough to leave a temporary mark, but not quite hard enough to bruise.