Tom’s heart beat so hard and fast against his ribs that his vision blurred. He tried to jerk his legs from Leighton’s grasp, but the bastard held firm, spreading him open and staring intently down at that thrice-damned mark, his dark eyes gone black. He had meant to keep his drawers on, to turn over and pull them down over his hips just enough to expose the only part of him Leighton would care about. He’d planned it out on the walk to this miserable place, how he’d distract Leighton with his hands and mouth, drive him to distraction until he’d have no attention to spare for anything Tom didn’t want him to see. And that plan had vanished like so much smoke from the goddess’s temple censers the moment Leighton put his hands on him. At his father’s insistence, not even his brother Arthur knew
