A Proper Lover (Ganymede Quartet Book 2) (3 page)

“I’ll bet his is faster,” Ronald said. “If you want to test them—”

“I don’t,” Henry said firmly. He nodded at Partita. “She’s already run one race today.”

“Suit yourself,” Ronald said with a shrug. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a wadded dollar. “Here you go. You won it fair and square.”

“Give it to him,” Henry said, gesturing toward Martin. “He won it, not me.”

Martin turned and gave Henry a dazzling smile along with some very meaningful eye contact, and Henry felt quite sure that Martin would reward him for his largesse later.

They resumed their circuit of the reservoir, the slaves riding behind at a sedate pace. Henry had rather hoped that the race—and Ronald’s obvious disappointment in Nick’s loss—would mean the end of their time together, but Ronald seemed content to remain in Henry’s company.

“I can’t believe you never even raced him,” Ronald said, shaking his head. “That’s the first thing I did.”

“Whose is faster, then?” Henry asked.

Ronald colored a little. “His,” he admitted. “I thought about trading horses with him, but mine’s a better fit for me anyway.” Looking at Ronald, Henry realized he was a little bit short, shorter than his slave, to be sure.

“Earlier,” Ronald said, “when I was asking you about parties—”

“Er, yes,” Henry said nervously. “Parties.”

“Yes, well, I was curious because I met some boys from Powell Prep a few days ago and they claimed they played some really strange games at their parties, but after thinking on it a bit, I’m pretty sure they were just trying to put one over on me.”

“What sorts of games?”

Ronald leaned closer. “
Rule-breaking
games. All kinds of touching. And
kissing
.”

Henry drew back, titillated and shocked.

“Basically, it was a version of Truth or Dare, with all the Dares being forbidden things. But, really, who would want to play those games? Just by wanting to play, you’d be saying something pretty incriminating about yourself, don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” Henry turned his face away to try to hide his blush. “Who’d want to play?”

“So no one does that at your school, either?”

“No,” Henry told him, quite confident that this was true. “I think you’re right; I think those guys were just messing with you.”

Ronald seemed satisfied with this, nodding his head. “Every guy I’ve ever met from Powell has been a real bastard.” After a brief pause, he said, “I haven’t met that many guys from Algonquin, I guess since it’s such a small school and there aren’t that many to meet in the first place.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Henry said, shrugging agreement. He could hear Martin chatting quietly with Nick at his back and wished he could take Nick’s place.

“What else do you like to do besides ride?” Ronald asked.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Henry said bashfully, hating to be put on the spot. “I read a lot.”

“Really?” Ronald seemed to doubt this, which Henry found slightly insulting. “I’m not much of a reader, not unless I have to for school. If you read all the time, you must get good grades.”

Henry blushed again. “Not really,” he admitted.

“You’re being modest,” Ronald said with unwarranted confidence. “Of course, Algonquin’s kind of an easy school, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“Oh, I’m not trying to be insulting or anything. It’s just the reputation your school has, that’s all.”

Henry glowered and kept silent. You couldn’t go around telling people that their school was for dummies and then not expect them to feel insulted.

“Really, I’m sorry for how that came out,” Ronald said, sounding sincere. “I go to a pretty hard school, after all, so practically all the others seem easier than what I have to put up with.”

“Do
you
get good grades, then?”

“Oh, sure,” Ronald said cheerfully. “My father would kill me if I didn’t!”

Henry had so been looking forward to a ride with Martin, just Martin! He wanted to be rid of Ronald as soon as possible. “Let’s go faster,” he suggested. “My horse needs her exercise.”

They trotted around the reservoir. Ronald tried to draw Henry out on a number of topics—vaudeville shows he had seen, arcades he frequented, the Giants baseball team—but Henry kept his answers terse and was as unresponsive as he felt he could get away with without blatantly insulting his new acquaintance. As they made swift progress around the reservoir, Henry could hear Martin’s voice and occasional laughter behind him and felt bitterly jealous of Nick as the recipient of Martin’s attention.

As they moved south through the park, Ronald asked, “How often do you ride, anyway? I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen you around before, and I think I’d have remembered your horses.”

“This is only Martin’s second ride,” Henry admitted. “He’s only recently gotten the horse.”

“Well, is it like every other day? Or every Wednesday? What’s your schedule?”

Henry realized uncomfortably that Ronald was interested in riding with him again, even though he’d done his best to be boring and borderline rude. “Er, well, we really don’t have a schedule,” he said. “We just ride when we want to.”

“Well, if you want company, you can telephone me,” Ronald suggested. “We’re in the book. My father’s Ronald Hastings also.”

“Okay, sure,” Henry said, just to say something. The bridle path curved around to the east, back toward the gate. Soon they would leave the park and then he’d be alone with Martin at last.

But this wasn’t the case. The Hastings horses were stabled a block from the Blackwell horses. Ronald chattered away quite amiably as they traveled the few blocks to the row of stable buildings. As Henry reined Marigold in in front of the Blackwell stable, Jerry came out to meet them with Arthur close behind. Henry got down from Marigold’s back in a hurry.

Sensing his agitation, Jerry became concerned. “Is everything all right, Sir?” he asked, “Is Marigold all right?”

“She’s fine, Jerry.” He raised his voice a little and added, “I just need to get home. I’ve got a lot of homework.” He darted a glance at Ronald as he said this, but Ronald did not seem to have heard.

Martin was talking to Arthur in a low voice, presumably about Partita’s race, his face alight.

Henry turned to Ronald and repeated his remark. “I have to get home. I’ve got a lot of homework.”

“Oh, all right then,” Ronald said agreeably. “Well, I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again.”

Henry’s smile was probably unconvincing. “Oh, yeah. I’m sure.”

Ronald reeled around on his horse. “See you later, Henry! It was great meeting you!” He gave Henry a jaunty wave and took off at a trot, Nick close behind.

Arthur passed by, leading Partita into the stables. “Sir,” he said, bobbing his head.

Martin stood with the sun in his hair, his teeth gleaming in a broad smile. “Wasn’t that fun, Sir?”

“Fun?” Henry felt like he’d been doused with cold water. “You had fun?”

Martin looked puzzled. “Sir?”

“I wanted to go riding with
you
,” Henry said. “That guy was driving me crazy!”

“Let’s get away from here, Sir. Let’s go home.” Martin took Henry’s arm and led him away from the stables. As soon as he had gotten Henry out of earshot of the grooms, Martin leaned close and asked, “Are you angry at me, Sir?”

“Angry? What for?”

“Because I had fun, Sir.”

Henry thought about it a moment. “No, not really. I’m just surprised.”

“Well, Nick was very nice, Sir, and I thought he was a good sport, too.”

“Ronald wouldn’t shut up about swap parties and Algonquin being a dummy school.”

Martin dared to put a hand on Henry’s arm and gave him a look of such sincere sympathy that Henry immediately felt a little better. “I’m sorry you didn’t have a better time, Sir.”

“I’m glad you won your race,” Henry said a little grudgingly. “I guess you know I don’t care about stuff like that, but I know you like to compete.”

“I told Arthur all about it, Sir,” Martin said, his pleasure in the win still very apparent. “He’s very proud of Partita, of course.”

“You’re still happy you chose her?”

Martin laughed. “Oh, yes, Sir. She’s an amazing horse. You’ll have to ride her, and then you’ll see.”

“We’ll switch horses one of these times,” Henry said agreeably. “But what if I decide I like Partita better, then? What if I want to switch for good?”

The idea clearly made Martin unhappy. “Well, of course you can do whatever you like, Sir,” he said glumly.

“You know I wouldn’t do that to you,” Henry chided him gently. “I won’t take her away from you. Marigold is a good horse, and I’m very happy with her even if Partita is faster.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Martin said softly, gratitude in his eyes. “And thank you for letting me race. I used to love to race.”

“At Ganymede.”

“Yes, Sir. At Ganymede.”

“Did you win races there, too?”

“My horse—Bonnie—wasn’t the fastest, Sir, but she had a lot of heart and sometimes that would be enough for us to win.”

Henry nudged Martin with his shoulder as they turned onto 5th. “Sometimes I wish I’d grown up with you,” he admitted. “At Ganymede, I mean.”

“Really, Sir?”

“It seems like you had a really good time. I know you worked hard, of course, but you had fun, too. And you had all those other boys around for company. I was pretty lonely growing up, you know. I would have loved to have had brothers, not just Louis and James and my school friends.”

“Well, you have me now, Sir,” Martin said softly, his mouth close to Henry’s ear. “I’ll do whatever I can to make up for all those years without another boy in the house.”

Henry laughed. “You’re not making me think very brotherly thoughts right now,” he told him. “The things I want to do with you, I think they’re actually illegal to do with a brother.”

They picked up the pace and at the Blackwell house took the front steps two at a time. Paul let them in and they hurried past, straight up to Henry’s bedroom.

The door safely locked behind them, Henry took Martin into his arms and kissed him. Together they made it to the bed and fell onto it still embracing, their dirty boots hanging off the edge. Martin’s mouth was hot and sweet and he nipped at Henry’s lip and broke away, saying, “Do you want me to wash, Sir? I got quite sweaty!”

Henry blushed and hid his face against Martin’s neck. “No. I want you the way you are.”

“I’ll be salty,” Martin pointed out. “But if you don’ t mind, Sir…”

“I don’t mind,” Henry assured him. Quite the opposite. Martin kept very clean, but Henry loved the hints he got of what Martin might smell like in a more natural state. When he’d had occasion to experience it, Henry had loved the mineral flavor of Martin’s unwashed skin, the intensified scent of his balls, the sharp smell of his armpits. He had thought about asking Martin to wash less often to see what that would be like, but knew that Martin would be miserable, and if Martin were miserable, then Henry wouldn’t really be able to enjoy himself, either.

Martin got up on his knees at Henry’s side and shrugged off his jacket. He turned and dealt with his own boots, then pulled Henry’s off his feet, before unbuckling his own gaiters and then Henry’s. He then started on his waistcoat buttons, and Henry lay back and watched him do it.

“When we were talking earlier, Sir,” Martin said, “about Ganymede and about brothers, Sir…did you realize, Sir, that if we
were
brothers, I’d be the elder one?”

“Oh.” Henry was surprised he hadn’t thought of this himself. “I guess you would be. But only by four days.” He pushed himself up to a semi-seated position so he could wriggle out of his jacket.

“I’d be four days’ more grown-up, Sir. Four days’ more experienced.” Martin shrugged off his braces and tugged his shirt free of his trousers. “Of course, I’d want to teach my little brother
everything
, Sir.” He pulled his shirt and undershirt over his head and tossed them aside.

Henry sat all the way up and put his hands on Martin’s chest. “I’d be eager to learn,” he assured him. “Whatever you wanted to teach me.” He ran his hands up and down Martin’s torso and then set to work on the buttons of Martin’s breeches.

Martin lifted his arm, his hand drooping gracefully at the top of its curve, and bent his face to sniff at his armpit. He wrinkled his nose and said, “I do stink, Sir.”

“Not to me you don’t. And call me Henry, all right?”

“I’m sorry, Henry. My habits are very ingrained.”

“It’s okay,” Henry told him. He pulled Martin down to the coverlet and rolled him onto his back. “Just try to remember.”

“I’ll try, Henry.” Martin lifted his hips and let Henry strip off his riding breeches and drawers.

Henry bent and kissed the right side of Martin’s neck, kissed his way over Martin’s collarbone and across the slope of his chest toward his armpit. “Lift your arm.”

“Sir,” Martin said. “
Henry
. I really am very sweaty!”

Henry took hold of Martin by the elbow and tugged his arm up. “I don’t mind. I like it. Come on, Martin. Let me.”

Martin raised his arm and let it fall back bent against the pillow, exposing the tender pocket of his armpit with its curls of reddish hair. “Remember, I’m ticklish, Henry.”

“I’ll try not to tickle you,” Henry promised. “I just want to smell you.”

Martin laughed. “You’re a funny boy, Henry.”

Henry ignored him and bent his face to sniff Martin’s sweat. It was a complex odor. There was a saltiness and a warmth that were part of the smell somehow, and then the smell itself was sharp and still fresh, reminiscent of a green log burning in the hearth. The scent made Henry’s cock iron hard, made his hands tremble.

Henry licked him, trying not to tickle him too badly, though Martin snickered and quivered beneath his tongue. Martin’s skin was salty, musky, the taste full of subtle flavors Henry didn’t have the words to describe.

“Do you really like it so well, Sir? Henry?” Martin’s voice was very close to his ear.

Henry shifted up so that he could put Martin’s hand over his hard cock. “This is how much I like it.”

Martin laughed, delighted, and arched his back a little. “My prick got sweaty, also, you know, Sir. My balls, too.”