A Proper Lover (Ganymede Quartet Book 2) (24 page)

“Hold my wrists,” Martin urged in a loud whisper. He arched beneath Henry, lifting his head to lick Henry's neck. “Hold me down so I can't get away.”

Henry took hold of his wrists and held them flat to the sheets near his shoulders. “Like this?” Martin grinned in answer and began to squirm and struggle in seeming earnest, his cock hard like an iron bar and his breath coming in excited pants. Henry almost lost his left wrist, held it with a lucky grab, and became more serious about his task: Martin wanted a fight. “You like this?” Henry asked, knowing that he did. “You like disobeying me? I'm trying to keep you still, and all you do is wiggle around.” He used his legs to pin Martin's to the bed.

“I'm not sorry,” Martin said, his voice full of breathless delight. With a defiant toss of his head, he tried again to pull his hands free, but Henry was just enough stronger and heavier than him and was putting his weight into it. Martin lifted his hips against Henry's and groaned at the pressure against his cock. “Oh!” he moaned. “Oh, Sir! Do you want me to suck your cock, Sir?”

Here the ‘Sirs’ seemed part of the game. “Yes!” Henry assured him; he
always
wanted that!

“Make me do it, Sir,” Martin urged. “Make me suck your cock.”

Henry rolled off of him then knelt up, slightly unsteady on the soft surface of the bed. Martin lay on his back, panting and eager, so aroused he was shaking. “Don't just lie there,” Henry said. “Suck my cock, Martin. Do it now.”

“Sir,” Martin said, his voice low and desperate, “Oh, Sir,
make
me do it!”

Henry wished Martin had explained this game to him a little before they’d begun to play. He didn't know what Martin wanted, but he had to try something. He reached down and grabbed a handful of Martin's hair and pulled up. Martin let loose a yelp of pain and Henry's first impulse was to stop what he was doing, but instead he hauled Martin scrambling up onto his knees, then pushed his head back down so he was confronted with Henry's hard prick. “Suck it,” he repeated.

Martin looked up at him, his excitement evident. He took Henry's cock into his mouth, tongue swirling around the head, and began to suck. Henry moaned, his fingers loosely knotted in Martin's hair, but when he let his grip relax, Martin pulled off of his cock and said, “Sir,
make
me do it,” in a pleading tone.

Henry buried both hands in Martin's hair and made fists, and Martin gasped around his cock. Sounding more sure of himself than he felt, Henry said, “Suck my cock, you stupid, lazy slave,” and Martin groaned. Henry sat back on his heels and pulled Martin’s head over his lap. Martin's position was awkward, doubled over in front of Henry, the angle surely uncomfortable, though he made no complaint. He was nothing but willing submission, and he made loud, sloppy noises as he sucked. Henry held onto the back of Martin's head and pumped his hips, forcing his cock down Martin's throat, and Martin made a high, frightened sound, but he licked and sucked with even more greedy hunger than before so Henry guessed that he liked it. He tried to forget that this was Martin, tried to think of him as just an
outlet
, a means to an orgasm, and increased his pace. Martin moaned loudly and made his greedy noises. Henry put a hand on Martin’s neck and felt him gag around his cock, muscles jerking in his throat.

Henry didn't want to come like this, selfish and cruel. He pushed Martin's shoulders back, pulling his prick out of his mouth. Martin’s eyes were watering and he was flushed, gasping for breath. “On your back,” he said. “Hands up.” Martin obeyed, holding the backs of his wrists flat against the sheet to either side of his head. Henry ran a finger up the underside of Martin’s cock and Martin whimpered at the contact. Henry leaned over him and once again held his wrists down on the bedding and Martin immediately began to writhe beneath him.

“Oh, Sir,” Martin gasped. “You're too strong, Sir.” Henry moved against him, gratified by his moans, and did not let up on his wrists. “Do you want me to come like this, Sir?” Martin asked, his breath hot in Henry's ear, “Or do you want to fuck me?”

“I'm going to fuck you,” Henry told him. “But I need the oil. You have to hold still while I get it.” He looked Martin in the eye. Martin was breathing hard, lips parted, his eyes glazed with lust. “I'm going to let go, but don't move your arms. Obey me, understand? If you don't, you'll be in so much trouble.”

“Yes, Sir.” Martin made his arms stay where Henry had left them. His chest was sheened with sweat and his belly was wet beneath the head of his cock.

Henry poured a little oil into the palm of his hand and reached down between Martin's thighs. Martin brought his knees up to give him better access. He made a satisfied hiss as Henry's fingers breached his asshole, and wriggled to get them deeper inside his body. “Oh, that feels so good, Sir! I'm ready for you now.”

“You're not,” Henry said, taking his fingers out of Martin's ass to put more oil on them. “You're not ready and I'll hurt you.”

“I don't mind, Sir,” Martin said. “I don't mind it if you hurt me a little, Sir.” He lifted his hips up to meet Henry's oiled fingers. In a husky voice, Martin added, “It feels good when you hurt me.”

That seemed so wrong, but it made Henry hard. He slicked his cock and pressed the head against Martin's asshole. Martin whimpered and gave a little cry, a fearful sound, as Henry pushed in. “Does it hurt?” Henry asked him in a low murmur, pushing his hips forward. “Just a little?”

Martin didn't answer the question, but arched his back and moaned as Henry worked his cock in all the way to his balls. “Sir,” he said, his breath coming in rapid pants, “Sir, did you see? I was obedient. See my hands?”

He had not moved his arms at all; they were still as they had been when Henry had released him. Henry leaned over him and grabbed his wrists, pressing them down into the bed with all his weight. “You’ll never get away from me,” he told him.

Martin strained against him and Henry only held him down with effort. Even though he fought, he gasped out, “I don't
want
to, Sir.” His asshole spasmed around Henry’s cock and he rocked his hips, greedy to have more of Henry inside him.

The things Martin said! Henry felt so much love for him; all he wanted to do with his life was make Martin happy, discover all the ways to make him come. He bent to kiss him and Martin met him halfway, lifting his head off the pillow and craning his neck. Henry fucked Martin a little harder than he was comfortable doing because he knew Martin would like it, and Martin let loose a string of insistent little cries that built up and up in intensity until at last he came with no hand on his cock, which left Henry feeling extremely pleased with himself.

“Did you like that?” Henry knew he had, but he wanted to hear it.

Martin laughed happily. “I did.”

“Did I hurt you?”

Martin laughed again. “Only as much as I wanted. But I won't be surprised if I have bruises.”

Henry looked at Martin's bony wrists. The skin looked pink and chafed.

“But those are easy enough to hide, and in any case I…I like the idea of you marking me.”

They showered and Martin went down to dinner with wet hair while Henry lounged on the bed thinking about the game they had just played. It had been exciting and dirty, and he felt a little guilty for having enjoyed it. He didn’t like the idea of hurting Martin, but if Martin liked it so well, then Henry could play along. He thought about doing it himself, kneeling down and letting Martin abuse his mouth, and supposed he could do that, too, if Martin really wanted. It had been clear from the beginning that Martin was ready and willing for rough treatment, and perhaps they would have to find a way to balance out the kind of play that Martin especially liked with Henry’s more tender impulses.

His mind drifted to the ride through the park, and how he wished they’d been able to gallop around the reservoir like they usually did, though he supposed it had been good for him to stay patiently with his sister. He would have to be kinder to her, pay more attention. Martin obviously enjoyed spending time with her; he probably missed all the little ones at Ganymede.

When Martin came upstairs to dress him, he was thinking about Cora, too. “Don’t you think she looks like you? A little Henry with ringlets?” He fastened Henry’s braces in the back while Henry buttoned them on in front.

Henry snorted at the idea of himself with long curls. “We both look like Mother and her people,” he said, “so I guess we look alike.”

“Same mouth. Same nose and eyes. Same coloring. You have a stronger jaw, and her ears stick out more, but I imagine I’m seeing what you looked like at age 7.” He held Henry’s waistcoat ready and Henry slipped his arms through.

“With ringlets.” Henry laughed.

Martin did, too. “Yes, with ringlets.”

When they went down to the dining room, Martin pulled out Henry’s chair for him to sit and his sleeves rode up above his wrist bones, showing pink, chafed skin beneath the crisp white cuffs, and Henry was suddenly reminded of how his wrists had gotten that way and could think of nothing else. Thus preoccupied, he did not realize when his father asked him a direct question, but instead stared into space with a dull-witted expression.

“I
said
,” Father repeated in a loud, irritated voice, “How are you progressing with Latin, Henry?”

“Oh, I’m doing fine,” Henry lied. “I understand it better now.” Diverting attention from his Latin performance, he added, “We just had an algebra test and I got another A.”

Father had always been happy with Henry’s mathematics grades. “Another A! Well, you may prove useful after all,” he said jovially, and at first Henry was pleased with what sounded like praise, but in thinking on it a moment more, he wasn’t sure Father had meant to flatter him after all.

After dinner, after family hour, as they climbed into Henry's bed, Henry said, “Let me see your arms.” Martin held them out and Henry took his hands. There were lavender bruises about the bone on both wrists and Henry kissed them all.

Louis called on Sunday after he got home from church and insisted that Henry come over immediately, unwilling to go into the particulars over the phone. Henry was curious about Louis’ dance hall experience, though not terribly eager for intimate details, but since Louis was his best friend he felt he was obligated to listen to whatever Louis wanted to tell him.

Inside Louis’ room, the door locked, Louis grabbed hold of Henry’s arm in his excitement and spoke in a loud, pressured whisper. “I did it, Henry! I had sex with a girl!”

Henry couldn’t help but be happy for his friend. “Congratulations! You did it!”

The Briggs laundress had brought a basket of clothing up for Peter to put away and he set to work on this, though it was clear from the way he kept an ear cocked that he would have preferred to be part of the dance hall conversation. Henry thought Martin would want to hear, as well, and kept him close by, sitting on the edge of the bed at Henry’s side.

The boys had gone to the dance hall at eleven o’clock, all with their slaves this time. Miss O’Malley’s friends and all the rest of the girls were eager to meet some uptown boys, and Louis said he wouldn’t be at all surprised to find that he wasn’t the only boy to get lucky. Miss O’Malley had been thrilled to see him and they had simply kissed for a good long while.

“She says I’m a good kisser,” Louis said. “It’s a relief to find that out, you know?”

Obviously, he had never kissed Peter, and Henry really hadn’t expected that he
had
.

“She had to have felt that way from the beginning,” Henry pointed out, “or you never would have gotten this far with her anyway.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Louis said agreeably. “She likes me, that’s clear!” He could not seem to stop grinning, and Henry liked seeing his friend so happy.

Miss O’Malley had taken him upstairs to the balcony where they joined other couples in furtive, dimly-lit grapplings. She had helped him to put the rubber on and straddled his lap.

“Actually,” Louis admitted, “the rubber made it so I could barely feel anything, but the
idea
of it made it good anyway, that and the kissing. But, really, using Peter
feels
better. If I could have convinced her to do it without the rubber, though…that would have been amazing!”

Henry glanced at Peter to see how he was reacting to this. Peter seemed not to mind that Louis preferred the girl to him despite the superior sensations he provided, and Henry supposed he had no reason to think Peter would be upset. For all Henry knew, Peter was relieved. For all he knew, Peter had a girl of his own.

“Are you going to keep seeing her?” Henry asked.

“I think so,” Louis told him. “So long as she doesn’t try to get serious, I’d like to keep having fun with her.”

“Do you think she’s going to get serious?”

“Well, eventually,” Louis said. “I mean, I’m rich, and I know that hasn’t escaped her notice. At some point, she’s going to want to take advantage, don’t you think?”

Henry rather thought that
Louis
was the one taking advantage, but did not say so.

Louis continued blithely. “Before James left for college, he always had a girl or two, and when they got clingy and demanding he’d just pay them off and move along. He always told me that the girls don’t like how taking the money makes them feel, but they take it all the same because they’re poor. After that, they feel dirty, since they just let you treat them like a whore, and so they keep their distance.”