A Proper Lover (Ganymede Quartet Book 2) (47 page)

As usual, Pearl read after dinner. They were nearing the end of
Best Intentions
, a rather tedious moralizing tale about a well-off do-gooder and his little working-class helpmate, who was clearly in love with him. The story had featured no heaving bosoms, no rakish sons, and no shocking content whatsoever, for which Henry was grateful, but neither had it been interesting, unfortunately.

Henry used the family hour to consider what he should do to Martin as soon as he was given his freedom. The pleasure of having eaten something that he so enjoyed had him wanting to keep putting things in his mouth.

Pearl closed the book and smiled at Henry. “Tomorrow I’ll read the last chapter, Ma’am, Sirs.”

Mother was possibly asleep, and Father was busy, as always.

“Thank you, Pearl,” Henry said. “You have such a nice reading voice.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Pearl colored a little at the praise.

“Father? May I be excused?”

“What? Oh, certainly. Go. Goodnight.” Father waved him off, and Henry left the room at a fast walk, Martin right behind him.

“Sir?”

“Come on.” Henry reached back for Martin, grabbed his wrist and pulled him forward. He leaned close and said, “More than anything, tonight I want to suck your cock.”

Martin gave a throaty laugh and picked up his pace. “I certainly won’t deny you the pleasure, Sir.”

They kissed behind the locked door, tugging at each other’s clothes and unbuttoning whatever they could reach. Their jackets fell to the floor, followed by their waistcoats. Henry pulled the tie out of Martin’s hair and let it fall loose around his shoulders, held it in handfuls and lifted it off his neck. Martin tilted his head to the side, arching his neck, offering it for Henry’s mouth. Henry kissed Martin’s throat and fumbled with the buttons of Martin’s braces, then the buttons of his drawers, and then pushed everything down off of his hips, trousers crumpling around his ankles. Henry lifted Martin’s shirttails and Martin’s cock stood stiff and exposed, slick at the head.

“Let me,” Martin murmured, and he stripped off his shirt and undershirt while Henry impatiently waited. Martin took Henry’s hands by the wrists and pressed them against his bare skin while they kissed.

Henry dropped to his knees, eyes level with Martin’s cock. He held onto Martin’s hips and pushed him back against the door then nuzzled the wiry hair at the base of his cock and pressed kisses along its length. He inhaled, breathing in Martin’s smell, and wondered if other men could possibly smell so good, if the scent of any other man’s cock and balls would get him so hard or make him so excited.

Henry looked up past Martin’s hard cock to his beautiful face and the expression of dreamy satisfaction he wore. “I’m so looking forward to this,” he said, caressing Henry’s cheek and smoothing his hair back from his forehead, then added, “I think you were made to suck my cock,” in a rough voice.

Henry loved the idea that he had been destined for this, and that Martin would claim him for the job. At this assertion, a volley of painless explosions went off behind Henry’s eyes, his vision going briefly white. He gave a shaky moan and took Martin’s cock into his mouth, eyes closed, the bitter-salty flavor so familiar and all the more arousing because of it.

“
Oh, Henry
,” Martin said in a hushed, reverent tone, petting Henry’s head and tucking his hair behind his ears. “How I love your mouth!”

The flared head of Martin’s cock slid over his tongue and pushed into his throat, and Henry made the effort to suppress his gag reflex because he loved the way it felt to be so full of Martin, so full up he couldn’t breathe. Martin held his head lightly, ever-so-lightly, guiding his movements with such deft touches, encouraging Henry to take his cock deeper into his throat. Henry knelt up with his nose pressed flat against Martin’s belly, his throat spasming around Martin’s cock, his fingers digging into Martin’s ass, and Martin shuddered, crooning at him, his fingers tangled in Henry’s hair.

“Make me come,” Martin said in that same hushed tone. “Make me come in your mouth.”

Henry worked the length of Martin’s cock with his lips and tongue and throat, sucking it in deep and letting it slide almost all the way out again at a leisurely pace while Martin groaned and squirmed and pawed at his head. Henry was so blissfully aware of everything, the flex of Martin’s thighs, the texture of his cockhead, and the little gasps he made as Henry’s busy tongue molded itself to the shape of his cock. Henry opened his eyes and Martin was looking down at him, lips parted and eyes hazy, and his cock flexed in Henry’s mouth.

“I’m close, Henry, I’m so close,” Martin breathed, frantically combing through Henry’s hair with clawed fingers. “
Please
, Henry. Make me come.”

Henry redoubled his efforts, intensely sensitive to Martin’s reactions, every whimper and twitch. He knew Martin was almost finished when he began calling Henry’s name with a familiar rhythm and urgency,
Henry, Henry, oh, Henry
, and shuddered to a sudden stillness, just the faintest tremor in his long thighs and his fingers knotted tight in Henry’s hair. Again, Henry took him in all the way, nose to belly, and swallowed as he came. His own cock throbbed, pulsing just short of orgasm, and he thought it would take almost nothing to make him come, too. He held Martin’s cock in his mouth for as long as Martin would let him do it but, as always, he was too sensitive to tolerate it for long.

“That’s enough.” Martin stroked Henry’s hair, patted his head. “Oh, Henry, that was
so
good.” He crouched down in front of Henry on shaky legs and kissed him, tasting himself in every corner of Henry’s mouth, his arms looped around Henry’s neck. He broke the kiss and asked, “What about you? You must want to come, too.”

Henry
did
want to come. “Let me fuck you.”

“Anything you want.” Martin stood up, then bent over and removed his boots and kicked off his hobbling trousers and drawers. “What about your clothes?” He offered Henry a hand and helped him stand, then felt his cock through fabric and squeezed. “I’ll just help you with your boots.” He knelt at Henry’s feet and began loosening his laces.

Henry unbuttoned his braces. He yanked at the front placket of his dinner shirt, forcing the studs out of the stiffly-starched bib. He stripped off his undershirt while Martin reached up and unbuttoned his trousers and then his drawers.

Martin knelt up and kissed his cock. “Do you want me here or on the bed?”

“Let’s get on the bed.” Now it was his turn to help Martin get to his feet.

Martin crossed to the bed and lay down with his knees drawn up, his expression expectant and eager. “Do you want me to get myself ready for you?”

Henry smiled and shook his head as he came to join him. “I’ll do it.” He liked to feel the clutch of Martin’s asshole around his oiled fingers, liked to see the look on Martin’s face as he slid his fingers inside. He got the bottle of oil out of the nightstand drawer and sat back on his heels between Martin’s feet.

“Have you been hard for me all this time?” Martin propped himself up on his elbow and reached for Henry’s cock with his other hand, petting the slick head so fondly.

“Yes,” Henry admitted, face flushing with the admission. “I love sucking your cock.”

“Kiss me, Henry,” Martin urged, reaching for him. “I have to kiss you for saying a thing like that.”

Henry bent over him and they kissed, Martin’s mouth hungry and urgent, his hands ranging over Henry’s back.

“Let me get you ready,” Henry said, breaking the kiss. He wanted to come; he wanted to feel Martin gripping him tight, hot and slick. He was a little careless in preparing Martin, pushing two oiled fingers into his body and then almost immediately adding a third. Martin licked his lip and spread his legs farther apart and made a little sound, not so much pained as intrigued, and tilted his hips to meet the pressure of Henry’s hand.

“You don’t need to wait,” Martin assured him. “It’ll feel so good if you fuck me now.”

Henry chose to believe him, though he suspected it might hurt him a little, too. He oiled his cock and lined himself up and drove inside, and Martin let out a long hissing breath and reached for Henry, wrapping his legs around his back.

“Oh, god, Henry,” Martin sighed. “You belong inside me.” He lifted his head to kiss Henry’s neck.

“I’m not going to last,” Henry warned him. “You feel so good to me.” He bent and nuzzled Martin’s neck and held him close, trembling and ready to come.

“Don’t hold back. Come when you’re ready. Let me help you.” He held Henry’s face between his hands and kissed his forehead. “What are you waiting for?” He pressed kisses all over Henry’s face, a tender lick to the corner of his mouth.

Henry didn’t know what he was waiting for. He didn’t know the words for what he was feeling. He began to move and felt his orgasm rushing toward him, almost ominous, as unstoppable as the shadow of a cloud passing overhead. His actions slipped his control and he was overcome by a dizzying combination of pleasure and panic and cried out, embarrassing himself, but Martin met his cries with tender encouragement, loving whispers. Henry came, the inside of his skull going white again, and his hips stuttering to a standstill. He looked down at Martin, feeling so delicate and raw, and Martin looked back at him with his beautiful clear eyes, and Henry thought that it might just be possible that Martin cared for Henry every bit as much as Henry cared for him. If love was something more than this, Henry didn’t think he could bear it.

They lay wrapped around each other a few minutes, but eventually Martin nudged Henry aside and went for his basin.

Clean, curled together and headed for sleep, Henry thought back on James’ predicament and Louis’ dismay, and of how his opinion of James had altered over the course of just a few months. “There’s something I don’t think I ever told you about James.”

“What’s that, Henry?”

“It’s a little embarrassing. Before I met you, I thought I was in love with him.”

“No! Henry, not really!” Martin was aghast.

Henry laughed. “Well, he’s handsome, and I thought he was exciting! He’s so utterly without care. I wanted to be like that, too.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re not,” Martin said firmly. “You’re nothing like him. I know I shouldn’t say so, but I think he’s terrible! He does horrible things to slaves.”

“What has he done, then? I know the others must tell you about what happens at these parties they’re going to.”

Martin wrinkled his nose. “Awful stuff. At the Halloween party, he singled out Tom and made him do things that I don’t even know the names for. Mr. Briggs made him take two boys in his ass at the same time! Tom was terrified he was going to be seriously hurt.”

“How did that even work?” Henry tried to picture it, where all the limbs would go.

“I don’t know.” He hugged Henry tighter and gave a shudder of distaste. “I’m glad you didn’t share me with him.”

Henry had not forgotten James threatening to fuck Martin at Halloween, and even if it had been just an idle threat, as Louis claimed, it had still been exceedingly ungentlemanly to make it. “I’ll never let James or anyone else hurt you,” he promised. “I’ll protect you always.”

“I know you will, Henry.”

Henry thought a moment about the scenario Martin had described, poor Tom stuffed full of cocks. “So what he did to Tom, that’s definitely not usual, is it?”

“Oh, no! I understand that the parties your friends normally have are much less extreme. It’s only Mr. Briggs who goes out of his way to hurt slaves.”

“What other sorts of things happen at James’ parties?”

“Nasty things. Slaves are fucked in the mouth until they throw up. Slaves are made to drink until they pass out and then they’re fucked by whoever wants a go. Mr. Briggs goads masters to be cruel and dares them to do things that they might not otherwise do. Terrible things like that.”

Henry grimaced, finding this quite disturbing. “Why would a person even want to do any of that?”

“Mr. Briggs is just horrible,” Martin said with conviction. “Peter tells me that Mr. Briggs finds it all very funny.”

“Peter doesn’t like him?”

“I don’t think
any
slave likes him.”

“What about his own? What about Joseph?”

“Well, Joseph is stuck with him, isn’t he? But Joseph is tired of Mr. Briggs hurting him, so he helps him find new victims instead. Peter doesn’t much like Joseph, either. He thinks Joseph’s a bit of a bully, too.”

“What about Freddie?” It had just occurred to Henry that Tom’s master would have been there to witness Tom’s harsh treatment. “Why didn’t he stop James from hurting Tom?”

“You know how Mr. Briggs is, Henry. He’s older and harder, and he has all those mean-spirited drunkard friends to back him up. The young masters want to seem worldly and tough to the college boys and end up being intimidated into letting terrible things happen to their slaves.” He shook his head, frowning. “Mr. Caldwell didn’t stand up for Tom.”

A madman could get away with doing all sorts of awful things to a slave in private, of course, but Henry didn’t understand how James was able to get away with tormenting slaves in front of whole crowds without anyone attempting to stop him. He did it in front of the slaves’ masters, even!

“Aren’t you glad I don’t swap you?” Henry pulled Martin closer and kissed the side of his head.

“I’m glad you’re so concerned about how I’m treated.”

It was amazing to Henry how his opinion of James had changed in such a short period of time, and it had all been through the filter of Martin, of caring what happened to Martin. It was as if his affection for Martin had made him more aware of the people around him, let him see more clearly facets of their personalities that might have seemed inconsequential before. James had always seemed wild and exciting, but now that vicious, charismatic energy seemed dangerous, unstable and unkind. Henry’s regard for Martin had made him more concerned about everyone’s behavior and character, more interested in determining who was a force for good, and who for ill.

With James at home for the foreseeable future, Henry would have to be more cautious in accepting invitations to the Briggs house. He didn’t trust James to leave Martin alone, and, although he thought he could win, he didn’t want to have to fight him. It was better to arrange things so the situation would never arise.