A Proper Lover (Ganymede Quartet Book 2) (4 page)

Henry kissed his way over Martin’s ribs, down the flat of his belly, and rubbed his cheek against the sharp promontory of Martin’s hipbone. He buried his nose in the reddish curls around Martin’s cock and tasted the tang of sweat on the wiry hair. Henry made Martin spread his legs so that he could nuzzle and lick his balls, trembling all the while.

Breathlessly, Martin asked, “Do I get to smell you, too, Sir?”

Henry lifted his head from between Martin’s legs. “Do you want to?”

Martin laughed again, more gently. “Of course I do, Henry. You know I love the way you smell.”

Henry remembered then the second time they’d fucked, Martin burying his face in Henry’s lap and reveling in the scent. Perhaps Henry wasn’t as much of a perverted freak as he feared, or maybe both of them were, in which case how lucky it was that they’d found one another.

Martin helped Henry off with the rest of his clothing and pushed him down on his back. “Can I do it to you now, Sir?”

“Turn around so we can both do it.”

They arranged themselves on their sides, sucking each other’s pricks. Martin’s cock was a little saltier than usual, more flavorful, and Henry felt like he couldn’t get it deep enough in his throat. He felt a little frantic, like somehow Martin might escape, and so he gripped his ass tightly, keeping him as close as he could. Henry’s own prick was so hard it hurt, and Martin’s mouth was hot as blood, slippery and wet. Martin made his marvelous greedy noises as he brought Henry closer and closer to completion. Henry could finish, he could finish in just a moment or two if he’d let himself do it, but what he really wanted was to fuck Martin and kiss his beautiful mouth while he came.

“Stop, stop now, okay?” Henry reached down and smoothed Martin’s hair, a calming gesture.

Martin let Henry’s prick slide out of his mouth and lifted his head. “Sir?”

“On your back, all right?”

Martin sat up and kissed Henry tenderly, his hand resting lightly on Henry’s cheek. “Anything you want, Henry.” He lay down, his head on the pillow, then took the pillow and tucked it under his ass.

Henry got the oil from the nightstand drawer and held the bottle up to the light. “We’re almost out of oil,” he said.

Martin gave a low chuckle. “That was fast, Sir. I’ll get more, don’t worry.”

Henry was almost over being embarrassed about the slaves knowing about the oil, knowing that Henry was fucking Martin. It was what he was supposed to do, after all, for
health
. It had occurred to him, albeit somewhat late, that the slaves would know anyway. Martin’s bed wasn’t being slept in, for one thing, and most days Henry didn’t bother to put on pajamas at all so they weren’t being sent down to be laundered. There were probably lots of other tells that Henry wasn’t even thinking of; slaves were observant in ways that masters were not.

Henry oiled Martin’s asshole and his own cock and pushed inside, Martin inhaling sharply as he did so.

“Too fast?” Henry could feel Martin’s body clenching, adjusting to his presence.

“No, it’s good, Henry. I like it.” Martin wiggled a little from side to side and hitched his knees higher. “I love the way you feel.”

Henry bent over him and kissed him and began to move his hips, thrilling at the pull and slide along the skin of his cock. Martin’s lips opened beneath his own and Martin touched his face, just his fingertips arrayed along Henry’s cheekbone, while they deepened their kiss.

Henry fucked him with hard, steady thrusts, Martin moaning each time Henry’s hips slammed against his ass, his legs wrapped tightly around Henry’s back. Henry bent his head to lick Martin’s salty neck and groaned. It wasn’t going to take any time at all for Henry to finish, but he wanted to hold off long enough to make Martin come first.

“Can I come?” Martin whispered, his arms around Henry’s neck. “I really want to come, Sir.”

“Yeah, do it.” Henry sat back on his heels to watch, his hands on the backs of Martin’s thighs spreading them apart and pushing them down toward the bed. He kept up his rhythm, feeling a delicious, clenching drag on his cock.

Martin made little escalating cries and worked the length of his cock with efficient jerks of his wrist. “
Henry
,” he whimpered. “Oh, Henry,
harder
, please!”

Henry did his best, their bodies meeting almost violently with loud, wet smacks.

Nearly breathless, Martin begged, “Please come in me, Henry.
Please
. I want to feel it.”

Henry moaned and shuddered and felt Martin still beneath him and cry out, and so let himself come, too.

He remembered belatedly that he’d wanted to be kissing Martin when he had his orgasm, so he leaned out over Martin’s body and said, “Kiss me.”

Martin pulled him down into a tight embrace and gave him a passionate, leisurely kiss, his tongue twining with Henry’s, sliding along his teeth. Martin’s cooling semen was smeared across Henry’s chest in the process and, as usual, Martin was more unsettled by this state of affairs than was Henry.

Henry tried to keep Martin on the bed, clutching at his waist. “It’s not going to hurt me any if it’s on my skin a minute or two longer, Martin.”

“I need to get up anyway, Henry. I have to go down for my dinner.”

Reluctantly, Henry let him get off the bed. He was halfway to the bathroom when there was a knock on the bedroom door.

Henry dove under the covers and Martin grabbed Henry’s dressing gown and fumbled to get his arms through the sleeves.

Barely decent, Martin opened the door a crack. “Oh, hello, Paul. What can I do for you?”

Henry heard Paul say, “Mr. Blackwell’s magazine came in the mail today. It was misplaced downstairs, so please accept my apologies for not getting it into his hands earlier.”

“Oh, thank you, Paul. He’ll be very happy to have it.”

In a lower voice, Paul said, “You’re missing dinner, you know, Martin.”

“I’ll be right down. Thank you, Paul.”

Paul chuckled. “He’s keeping you busy, then?” Surely Paul had not intended Henry to hear that!

Martin laughed. “Thank you, Paul,” he repeated. He shut the door and locked it and came back to the bed with Henry’s mail,
Pals
in its brown paper envelope. “I think you heard, Sir, that it was misplaced. I’m sorry, but we won’t have time to read it until bedtime.” He put the envelope down on the bed and shrugged off Henry’s dressing gown. “Let me just get something to wash you with, Sir…”

Henry let himself be cleaned and lounged on the bed while Martin quickly dressed in his own room.

“I’ll be back to dress you soon, Sir.” Martin bent and kissed him. “I’m excited to read to you later!”

Henry didn’t even want to open the envelope until they were ready to read; he wanted to wait for Martin. Now that Henry knew that Martin felt the same way about Theo and George as he did, it was that much more exciting to have a new installment. It was so much better with a partner, someone else who was reading the story and aware of possible hidden meanings. He flopped back against the pillows and slept fitfully until Martin’s return.

Martin woke Henry with a hand on his shoulder, a little shake. “Wake up, Sir. You need to dress.”

Henry pulled him down into an embrace and rolled on top of him. “Did you have a good dinner?” He bent and kissed Martin’s neck, which still tasted of salt.

“Yes, Sir. If you want to talk about it, let’s do it while I dress you.” Martin pushed Henry off of him and stood up, holding out his hand. “Come on, Sir. You can’t be late.”

Henry took Martin’s hand and let himself be pulled to his feet. “What did you eat?”

“Chicken and potatoes and beans, Sir. Let’s see…we also had applesauce and bread and then chocolate cake for dessert.”

Martin held Henry’s drawers ready for him to step into, and he did so with a hand on Martin’s shoulder for balance. Martin handed Henry his undershirt and watched as he pulled it on overhead.

Henry’s head emerged from the neck of the shirt, his hair mussed, and he asked, “Do you think I’m having cake, too?”

Martin thought a moment. “I doubt it, Sir. It wasn’t a very elaborate cake, though it was delicious.”

“I like the plainer desserts better,” Henry said with a sigh. “The things my parents want are unnecessarily fancy, I think.” He slipped his arms into the sleeves of his shirt and let Martin button it and put in the studs.

“I can ask Cook to make you a cake for your weekend lunch, Sir,” Martin suggested. “What kind would you like?”

“I always like lemon.” Henry held out his hands so that Martin could insert his cufflinks. “But, really, anything would be lovely. Cook makes the best cakes.”

“I’ll be sure to let her know you think so, Henry.” Martin leaned in and kissed Henry on the corner of his mouth, then knelt down to hold Henry’s trousers ready for him to step into.

Dinner was uneventful. Mother pushed food around her plate with the back of her fork but ate very little. Father and Timothy conferred in low voices and Timothy took dictation while Father cut up his food with very precise movements of his utensils. Watching his father efficiently dissect his lamb, Henry observed that Father was a man who got things done in every fiber of his being; Henry did not take after Father at all.

“Henry,” Father said, as the cake plates were brought in, “I’ll want to see you in my study after dinner. We’ll go directly down after dessert.”

Henry froze. What had he done? Had someone found out what he was doing with Martin? Was Martin about to be taken from him? His hands shook so that his knife and fork rattled on the dessert plate; he thought it better not to eat dessert at all rather than show his nerves. Father either did not notice Henry’s distress or did not find it concerning.

Henry wanted to take Martin by the hand and run from the room, to leave the house and go somewhere, anywhere, where they wouldn’t be found again, but instead he sat in his chair, obedient and full of dread. He wanted to turn around to look at Martin but dared not even flinch in his direction for fear it would somehow hasten their separation.

Father pushed back from the table, Timothy moving his chair out of the way, and there was nothing for Henry to do but follow suit. Pearl helped Mother up and they all left the dining room and headed for the front hall. Henry always felt dwarfed in his father’s looming presence, and tonight, feeling helpless, Henry felt especially small.

When he looked at Martin, Martin seemed more confused than upset. “Do you know,” he asked in a whisper, “what your father wants, Sir?”

“No,” Henry whispered back. “It can’t be good, though.”

“Say goodnight to your mother,” Father prompted, and Henry obediently kissed his mother’s cheek. She and Pearl began to climb the stairs as Father and Timothy turned down the south corridor heading for Father’s office. Father looked back over his shoulder. “Henry,” he said. “Stop dilly-dallying.”

Henry’s mouth was too dry to speak; he swallowed and rasped out, “Yes, sir.” He dared to reach for Martin’s hand and gave it a quick squeeze.

In the office, Henry sat in front of Father’ desk in what he thought of as the lecture chair—and here he was, about to get another lecture, at the very least. Martin stood behind him, his presence a little comforting.

Timothy moved about preparing Father a drink and went to stand behind Father’s chair, smiling at Henry quite fondly, so Henry began to wonder if his fears were perhaps exaggerated. Timothy would not be so cheerful about taking Martin away from him, after all.

“It’s a serious matter we need to discuss, son,” Father began. “Timothy brought it to my attention, and I thought it best to discuss it with you now, early on.”

Was it about the oil? About Henry waiting so long to fuck Martin? Was it about all of Henry’s inappropriate actions, his wanton
lovemaking
? Henry sat very still, his face very hot.

“I want to let you know what would happen to Martin if some sort of mishap were to befall you,” Father said. “You’re such a young man—a boy, really—that I’m sure it’s difficult for you to imagine that you might die, but young men do die from time to time, after all. Timothy here has first-hand knowledge of that, you see, and it’s necessary that we have a plan. Timothy’s original people didn’t have a plan and it caused him all sorts of problems.”

Henry relaxed fractionally, exhaling a held breath. “I’m not in trouble for anything, then.”

Father frowned at him. “No, son. Didn’t you hear a word I said?”

“Yes, sir. I-I guess I’m just surprised.”

“Well, I need you to think on this, Henry. Of course, Martin is technically my possession until you reach 18, but I think it important for you to be involved in any decisions regarding his welfare.”

“Wh-what do you want me to think about, exactly?” Henry felt the heat rising in his cheeks. He felt so stupid. “I guess I don’t understand what you’d like me to decide, sir.”

“If something were to happen to you, son, we’d have no use for Martin in our household. He’s a good slave, and a valuable one, and while he’s young we could get a good price for him.”

The idea of selling Martin, even if Henry were no longer around to appreciate him, was panic-inducing. Stricken, Henry whirled to look at Martin; Martin gave Henry the tiniest shake of the head, his lips pressed together, and Henry struggled to pull himself together. It was shocking to him that his Father felt no allegiance to Martin, that he wouldn’t cleave to him in the event of Henry’s demise, but then again, why would he? Martin was Henry’s slave and Father had little do with him.

“For instance,” Father continued, “when I die, Timothy will be emancipated and a sum will be settled on him so that he can live as he sees fit.” Timothy didn’t look impressed by this at all; Henry imagined that Timothy wouldn’t adjust to being emancipated terribly well.

“Can I do that with Martin, then? Emancipate him?” Actually, he doubted Martin would like being emancipated, either.

“I don’t know that he’s earned it as yet,” Father said, seeming amused by the idea. “The current plan is that, in the event of your death, Martin would be resold.” He looked at Henry as if expecting a response, but Henry felt numb with horror and could not have spoken even if he’d had something to say.