A Most Personal Property (Ganymede Quartet Book 1) (43 page)

Martin allowed himself a small smile, the sight of which flooded Henry with relief.

“I don’t think it’s like me to say something so cruel,” Henry continued, still floundering to comprehend the enormity of what he had threatened. “I was scared, which is no excuse, but people say things when they’re scared that they don’t mean, don’t they?” He looked hopefully at Martin, who seemed to be listening, if not necessarily agreeing. The shameful heat rose in his face again. “You’re the last person in the world I want to hurt, Martin. I’m so sorry. Will you please forgive me?”

Martin looked at him a long moment, then slowly smiled. “I can’t help but forgive you, Henry,” Martin said. He came and stood at the bedside, between Henry’s legs, and stroked his hair.

Henry put his arms around Martin’s waist and pressed his face against the front of his shirt. “I’m really sorry,” he repeated. “You did the right thing by going to Timothy. It’s how things are done. I overreacted.”

“No one would fault you if you didn’t apologize, Sir,” Martin noted, “but it means so much to me that you did.” He broke free of Henry’s embrace and bent and kissed him, and Henry felt that he had truly been forgiven.

“Do you have to get dressed now?” Henry asked plaintively. “Is it dinnertime already?”

Martin’s smile broadened. “No, Sir. We can be naked awhile longer if you like.” His hands went to the placket of his shirt and undid the buttons. He shed his clothing in a pile on the floor and climbed onto the bed with Henry.

They held each other, Henry lavishing Martin with caresses and kisses, wanting to make up for his horrible mistake. Martin responded with enthusiasm and passion, as if Henry had never been cruel at all. Surely it was in the nature of a slave to be forgiving of a master’s transgressions, but it was miraculous that Martin seemed to have genuinely put Henry’s threat behind him.

Henry played with Martin’s pretty cock, loving the way Martin’s breath hitched in his throat as Henry fondled the slippery head, loving the way Martin abandoned himself to sensation. Martin whimpered and gave a little shiver, eyes closed, lips parted, and all Henry wanted to do was make him feel good. All Henry wanted to do was erase his blunder by giving Martin pleasure, boundless pleasure.

He kissed Martin’s lips and Martin kissed him back, so welcoming and generous that Henry felt humbled. He didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve something this good.

“Do you want to fuck me again, Sir? We should have time before my dinner.”

Henry opened his eyes and Martin was looking back at him, his expression playful and willing.

“No,” Henry decided. “I-I want to suck you.”

Martin’s surprise was written clearly on his face. “You don’t want me to suck you instead, Sir?”

Henry shook his head. “I want your cock in my mouth.” He was flooded with delicious shame and felt his cheeks burn.

Martin smiled, seeming very pleased. “Well, I only want to make you happy, Sir. You’re a dirty boy, too, aren’t you?” He caressed Henry’s face, tucked his hair behind his ear, and leaned in to kiss him lingeringly. “How do you want me, Sir?”

Henry wanted him standing while he knelt at his feet. Martin suggested he might have a wall at his back and so Henry backed him up to the wardrobe, where his shoulder blades and buttocks made blurry smears on the mirrored door. He held onto Martin’s hips and nuzzled his cock, breathing him in, masculine and intimate. Martin’s prick hardened alongside his cheek and Henry turned his head to mouth it, unformed kisses, open lips. Martin’s hands rested lightly on his head, fingertips stirring his hair.

Henry took his right hand off Martin’s hip and held his cock at the base, encircling it with index finger and thumb, holding it steady so that he could lick the head. Martin moaned and Henry glanced up to see him looking back at him with such fondness, such need, and it was like his fantasies, Theo and George, Theo on his knees before his beloved slave. He sucked on the tip, tongue in the slit, reveling in the sharp taste, like bitter salts, and Martin whimpered and his fingers tightened in Henry’s hair. The fat head throbbed urgently against Henry’s parted lips; he sucked it in and let his tongue swirl over and around the curve of it, tasting and probing, his eyes closed so that he could feel it better. Henry’s own cock was rigid and felt so hot, so overstuffed, that he was almost afraid to touch it, but it was so exciting to have Martin’s cock in his mouth that he couldn’t hold back. He let go of Martin’s cock and wrapped his fingers around his own, groaning around the flesh weighting his tongue.

“Sir,” Martin murmured. “Oh, Sir, your mouth!” He carded his fingers through Henry’s hair, pulling a little, tilting Henry’s head back. Henry opened his eyes and found Martin looking down at him, pupils dilated, gaze hazy. Martin smiled at Henry like Henry was making his dreams come true, such affection in his eyes; it took Henry’s breath away.

Henry leaned in, taking Martin deeper into his mouth, lips tight around the shaft, his tongue still moving and curious. Again, he let his eyes fall closed; it made him feel what he was doing so much more intensely. He pulled back, a wet slide that made Martin groan and clutch at Henry’s ears, then sucked him in again. He settled into a rhythm, a steady pace, his mouth moving over Martin’s cock and his hand moving over his own.

“I’m going to come in your mouth, Sir, if you keep going,” Martin warned in an urgent whisper.

Henry couldn’t imagine why he’d want to stop. He made an emphatic noise of encouragement around Martin’s cock and moved faster. His jaw was starting to get tired, but he wanted to feel Martin come, wanted to taste him.

Martin began to pant and groan and his hands tightened in Henry’s hair, pulling hard enough to hurt. “Oh, god,” he said. “Oh, god,
Henry
!” He went rigid and his cock jerked against Henry’s tongue, coating the back of his throat with bitter spunk.

Henry shuddered and his lashes fluttered over his cheekbones as he swallowed. He was so close himself, so close. He didn’t want to give up Martin’s cock and kept it in his mouth until Martin eased it out from between his lips and dropped to his knees.

He kissed Henry hard and deeply. “Stand up, Sir.” Breathless, eager.

Henry stood, bracing his hands against the wardrobe door, and watched in the mirror as the back of Martin’s head bobbed back and forth over his cock. Martin clutched Henry’s ass with both hands, pushing Henry’s cock deeper into his throat, and he made his greedy noises, like Henry’s cock was the best thing he’d ever been fed. Henry came quickly, blushing, made shy by the mirror but also intrigued by his own reactions.

Henry’s legs were shaky; he sat on the carpet, leaning back against the side of the bed, and sneaked peeks at himself in the mirror. He had never been happier. He fought not to grin like a fool. Martin crawled over to be with him, sitting between his thighs and leaning back against his chest, smiling at him through the mirror. They were very handsome together, Henry thought; he was more attractive basking in the light of Martin’s regard than he’d ever been on his own.

Martin sought to get up and Henry clutched at him reflexively.

“Please, Sir,” Martin said, laughing, turning his head to kiss Henry’s arm. “I have to eat if I’m going to have the strength I’ll need to be with you.”

Henry let him go. Martin went to his heap of discarded clothing and picked up his trousers, pulling them on over bare legs.

“What about your drawers?” Henry asked.

Martin smiled, a hint of devilment in the way his lips turned up. “I won’t wear any, Sir, but only you and I will know.” When he was finally fully dressed, it was true: no one but Henry would know. Henry loved that they had this secret. He loved all of their secrets.

Martin went down and Henry was left to his own devices. He got up from the floor and flopped down again on the bed, hands behind his head. He wished he had someone he could share the events of the past few days with, someone who would be happy for him, but Louis would be horrified, and he would never even consider telling any of his other friends. But he was so excited, so happy! He had always wanted to know what it would be like to suck a cock and now he knew; now he was even getting
good
at it!

Giddy, he rolled around on the bed, messing up the blankets. Best of all, he’d have Martin beside him for the rest of his life; this would never have to end! Thinking of Martin, of Martin’s sleek, angular body and plush lips, Henry became aroused anew and petted his cock with more affection than he’d felt toward it in years; it wasn’t just his cock anymore, but something that Martin liked, something of theirs.

When Martin returned, Henry had worked himself into a fevered state, and Martin laughed happily to see him so, but gently put him off. "If we do anything about it now, you’ll be late for dinner, Sir, and there’ll be questions." Henry saw the sense in this, and reluctantly agreed to dress. But when Martin offered him clean drawers, he shook his head.

"I’m not wearing them, either. It’s our secret, right?"

Martin laughed again and kissed him. “You like having secrets, don’t you, Sir?”

Henry embraced him and nuzzled his neck. “When it’s just us, Martin, won’t you use my name?”

“I’ll try to remember, Si—
Henry
.”

At dinner, Henry had the sudden fear that Timothy had told his father about the oil, with the inference being that Henry hadn’t been using his slave properly since bringing him home over a month ago. But either Timothy hadn’t told, or Father didn’t care, and Henry supposed either possibility was equally likely.

Henry ate his terrapin without tasting it, thinking all the while of Martin’s cock and balls hanging free in his trousers. His own half-hard cock arched against the placket of his dress trousers and the fine wool felt surprisingly rough against the sensitive head compared to the soft knit of his drawers. He could have Martin lick it, make it better. The thought sent blood rushing to his groin, leaving him lightheaded.

Mother said, “Henry, darling, are you all right?” Father looked up from his paper, curious

Henry gave a little shudder, shaking it off. “Sorry, Mother, what?”

“You looked a bit…” Mother paused, slightly confused. “Well, you seem fine now, darling.”

“I
am
fine, Mother, thank you.” Henry ducked his head to hide his blush and forked up another bit of terrapin. If
Mother
was noticing something unusual about his behavior, then certainly any sober person could see that something was going on. He tried to think of things other than Martin, ordinary things, unexciting things. School, Louis, Adam. Anything other than the weight of Martin’s cock on his lower lip, on his tongue; the salty-bitter taste of Martin’s semen. Anything other than the fact that Martin stood just behind him, within arm’s reach, wearing one less layer of clothing than usual.

After dinner, Henry noted that Pearl had two books on the side table in the parlor:
The Wicked Master
, nearly completed, and a new one titled
Cherie
, which Mother had also chosen, about the tribulations of a pretty chambermaid. This promised to be of dubious literary merit, even more so than
The Wicked Master
, and Henry rather expected Father to say something, demand another choice, but Father let it pass unremarked.

Henry did not think he could get away with skipping the family hour two nights in a row, so sat impatiently listening to Pearl read. He crossed his legs one way, then the other, foot jiggling, hands fidgeting in his lap.

“Henry, be still!” Father sounded utterly fed-up with him, and Henry did his best to comply.

The Wicked Master
ended on a saccharine note, with the master utterly redeemed by the love of a virtuous woman and his slaves all happy—or at least reconciled to their lives under his control. Henry had found the story ludicrous and boring, but Pearl had done a good job reading it, so he applauded her anyway.

“Thank you, Pearl. Well done.”

She smiled at him, ducking her head in acknowledgment. “Thank you, Sir.” She turned to Mother and said, “Ma’am, I’ll just return this to the library and be right back to help you.”

Mother, who had been resting with her eyes closed, opened them now and looked around, dazed. “Of course, Pearl,” she said vaguely. “Whatever needs to be done.” Her gaze snagged on Henry. “Are things still going well with your slave, darling? It’s been some time since I’ve asked.”

Henry felt hot embarrassment flood his cheeks and leaned out of the lamplight. “Er, yes, Mother. We’re getting along very well, I think.” He heard a noise that might have been a stifled chuckle from behind his chair.

Henry turned to Father. “May I be excused, sir?”

In a tone that made it clear it was nothing to him what Henry might do, Father said, “Say goodnight to your mother, then.”

Henry hurried down the hall, just short of a full run, Martin clinging to his arm, laughing conspiratorially.

Martin shut and locked the door behind them and took off his glasses with a flash of his dazzling smile. He went to stand beside the bed and Henry joined him.

“What were you thinking of during your dinner, Sir?
I
was thinking about your bare cock. Did you think of me making a mess of my trousers while
I
was thinking about
you
?”

He put his arms around Henry’s neck and kissed him, then took hold of Henry’s wrist and pressed his hand against the front of his trousers, where Henry could feel that he was hard and straining at the placket.

“We’re terrible, Sir, making more work for Mary.” He pressed Henry’s hand more emphatically against his cock, and Henry took up the cause, tracing the outline of Martin’s cock through his pants, feeling how the fabric was wet over the head, soaked through. Martin sighed and leaned his forehead on Henry’s shoulder, watching as Henry fondled and squeezed.

“Touch me, too,” Henry said hoarsely. “Touch me, Martin.” He was already hard, and Martin’s touch made muscles contract deep at the root of his cock, pushing forth a surge of fluid from the tip. He shuddered as Martin worked his buttons and pulled his pants off his hips. His cock bounced free, standing stiff and straight between them, a thick, glossy droplet at the slit.