A Free Choice (Ganymede Quartet Book 4.5) (10 page)

It
was
his.

He’d worried so much about Henry taking a lover, and he’d been so jealous of this imagined fellow who would salivate at the sight of Henry’s naked body and grovel for his favor, but Henry hadn’t even considered the possibilities. Henry only wanted him.

Oh, Henry
. His foolish, misguided, stubborn boy. Martin loved him so much, whether he deserved it or not.

He fisted his hand in Henry’s hair and pulled him off his cock. Henry looked up at him, lips and chin wet with spit, and willing, so willing, to put up with whatever punishment Martin might devise.

Henry kept saying he wanted to make it up to Martin, but there was no such thing. It was past, and nothing could make up for it. The only thing to be done was to do better by each other going forward. The game they were playing right now was exciting, and it was satisfying to be a little mean to Henry, but Martin would not let himself be truly cruel. This was just fun. Martin tried not to even think of the ways he could really hurt Henry, but they were there in the back of his mind.

If he really wanted to hurt Henry, he’d invoke his deepest fears. He’d tell him he was stupid. He’d ridicule his bashfulness, his tenderness. He’d discount his dancing skill and physical grace as being the talents of an animal, and he’d undermine what little confidence he had. If he
really
wanted to hurt Henry, he’d tell him that he’d loved Richard more, that Richard had been more deserving of love, that Richard had loved him better, and Henry would believe him. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t true.

But he didn’t want to hurt Henry, not like that. All the weeks when Henry had been so cold, Martin had really suffered, and it had been so unfair, but he was quite sure he didn’t want to make Henry go through similar pain. Perhaps that was maturity. What he wanted more than anything was for Henry to be good to him, and to have the opportunity to be good to Henry in return.

Henry’s tousled hair slipped through Martin’s fingers and Henry sat back on his heels, still shaky, mouth still wet. Hands still behind his back. “Do you want more? I’ll do it. Whatever you want.” His chest heaved as he caught his breath, and his cock hung half-hard between his thighs, his body uncertain how to react to this game.

Martin looked down at Henry’s face, his lovely face, with his flushed cheeks and wet eyes. He ran his thumb across Henry’s swollen lower lip and believed that Henry would do anything to prove he was sorry for the way he’d treated Martin. He believed that Henry was prepared to suffer, if necessary, but he also believed the fact that Henry would go that far meant it wasn’t necessary at all.

“Get up,” he said.

Henry swayed to his feet, hands behind his back.

Martin leaned in and kissed him, hard and insistent, nudging with his jaw. Henry opened to him, wet and silky and hot, the flavor of his spit as intoxicating as wine. For a desperate, hungry moment, it was as if he couldn’t possibly get close enough, and he kept pushing until Henry took a stagger-step back. Another hard kiss, their teeth clashing, and Martin bit Henry’s lip and tasted blood. He broke away gasping and rubbed his cheek along Henry’s jaw, their chests pressed together and hearts beating crazily. He clung to Henry’s shoulders, hanging from them. Henry’s hands were still behind his back, and Martin felt proud of him for remembering, for obeying. Henry’s cock was definitely hard now, slick against Martin’s belly and sliding alongside Martin’s own straining erection.

Martin made distance between them, patted Henry’s chest. “Lie down.” Quickly, he added, “Hands in front.”

Henry lay on his back on the bed, propped up on the pillows, knees up and apart. His hands lay at his sides, fingers twitching at the coverlet. He looked nervous, chewing at the inside of his cheek. “Are you…?” he began. He cleared his throat and said again, “Are you going to fuck me?”

“You said I could,” Martin reminded him. He got up on the bed and sat back on his heels between Henry’s feet. “I think you
want
me to.” He ran his hands up and down Henry’s thighs, soothing sweeps.

Henry flushed crimson. “I
do
,” he admitted, sounding as if this surprised him. “I
liked
it before. But…” His voice trailed off without finishing the thought.

Martin stroked the underside of Henry’s prick with a finger, coaxing it to greater stiffness. During their estrangement, he’d clung to memories of making love to Henry in the dismal hotel, remembering how sweetly Henry had come apart on his cock. He’d had a wildly selfish and terribly unrealistic hope that he’d be the only man to ever know Henry in that way.

It
was
unrealistic, terribly unlikely. But it might happen anyway.

He bent to kiss Henry’s knee. “Of course a dirty boy like you wants a cock in his ass.”

Henry laughed, his cheeks pink. “I’m nervous,” he confessed.

Martin picked up his hand and squeezed his fingers. “Silly. You don’t need to be. We’ve done it before.” He leaned over Henry to open the nightstand drawer and fished out the oil bottle.

“I never asked you,” Henry began. He hesitated, eyes averted, before continuing. “I never asked if…if you liked it with me. If I could do better, you should tell me what to do.”

Oh, Henry
.

“It was amazing with you,” Martin assured him. “I don’t want you to do anything differently.”

Henry looked dubious.

Martin leaned in between Henry’s raised knees and kissed him, a hand around the back of his neck, forehead to forehead. “If I’m on top, it’s more up to me to make it good for you. Just like you do for me.”

Henry said, “But—”

Martin didn’t want to argue about whose job it was to make sex good, or fun, or meaningful. It was up to both of them, of course, and with the connection between them feeling so deep and effortless, Martin truly felt Henry was his ideal partner. He suspected Henry was worrying about Ganymede boys, about Richard, but he was not in a mood to indulge these pointless fears.

“Hush.” Martin kissed him again. “Let me make love to you, and then you can tell me if you liked it.”

Henry snorted, amused, and pulled Martin down to lie on top of him. His hands ranged all over Martin’s back and ass and ruffled his hair. He wrapped his legs around Martin’s hips and squirmed beneath him. Martin kissed him hard and rutted against him and Henry moaned, his voice a little shaky. He was afraid, and he shouldn’t be, but Martin didn’t exactly mind that he was.

Martin sat back on his heels. “Knees up. Show me your hole.”

Henry made a nervous squeak but complied, flushing an embarrassed pink as he drew his knees toward his chest. His voice was scarcely above a whisper as he asked, “What are you going to do?”

Martin didn’t answer. He put his hands on the backs of Henry’s thighs and spit on his hole. It had been awhile since he’d last done such a thing, but he’d had lots of practice and his aim was good. Henry yelped and tried to lower his legs, but Martin leaned on him and kept him folded.

“Martin,” Henry said weakly. “Martin, you can’t. I-I’m sweaty.”

“You never care,” Martin pointed out. “What makes you think I do?” He watched his spit slide over Henry’s clenching hole and then spit on him again.

Henry moaned, full of dread, but his cock was still hard. He would have to be a lot more upset than this for Martin to be willing to stop.

Martin looked down on Henry’s cleft, lightly furred with soft, dark hair, and rubbed Henry’s spit-slick hole with the pad of his thumb. He smeared the saliva around, smoothing the hairs flat, smiling as Henry’s hole twitched and clenched, and Henry whimpered in anxious arousal.

Martin’s voice was gentle when he asked, “Does it feel good?”

Henry was trembling when he whispered a hoarse, “Yes.”

Martin rubbed the back of Henry’s thigh and pushed the tip of his thumb past the tight rim of his hole, in and out again, in and out.

“Oh god,” Henry said, sounding so worried. “Martin—”

“Let me do this,” Martin said firmly, pushing his thumb in to the joint. He shifted position, moving back to give himself room to work. He’d babied Henry enough.

Henry’s hole contracted erratically around Martin’s thumb. Martin bent and licked the rim where it pursed tight against his knuckle and Henry cried out in surprise. Henry
was
sweaty, musk and salt, but Martin didn’t mind. He licked all around his thumb, then up and down the cleft, while Henry whimpered in stunned arousal. Martin lifted his head to suck Henry’s balls and fucked him with his thumb as he did it, watching Henry’s cock jerk in tandem with the spasms of his hole.

“Please,” Henry said. “
Please
…” He sounded like he might cry.

Martin pulled his thumb out of Henry’s ass and spread his cheeks with both hands. Henry’s skin was shiny with saliva, his hole quivering. Martin bent and kissed him, sweet and slow with a gentle lick, just the tip of his tongue teasing at the rim. Henry made a choking sound and jerked beneath Martin’s mouth.

Martin wanted Henry to give in to pleasure, to lose himself. He wanted Henry to call his name. He wanted to make Henry feel so good he’d never have need of any other lover.

Martin kissed him again, a little rougher, scraping his teeth across the sensitive pucker, and Henry bucked beneath him and cried out, another desperate
please!
Martin licked him up and down and probed at his hole, coaxing him open, insinuating his way inside. Nibbling and kissing, making him whimper, making him melt. At last, he pushed the pointed tip of his tongue past clenching muscle to furious heat. Henry was delicate and close inside, the tissue soft as velvet; it was one thing to feel it with fingers, but it was special to know it like this, so intimate.

He licked Henry and fucked him with his tongue and pushed one finger and then two inside of him, and Henry panted and cried out and hitched his knees higher and opened for him, vulnerable and brave. Beloved dirty boy. Martin was nearly vibrating with the intensity of his arousal, his cock leaking onto the bedspread, and he wanted more than anything to feel Henry’s tight hole squeezing around him while he made them both come.

He lifted his mouth from Henry’s ass, fucking him with two fingers. Henry was glassy-eyed, his breathing harsh, his cock hard and dark. He looked at Martin with pleading eyes, tremulous mouth.

The eyes wanted an answer; the frightened smile pierced his heart. “Are you all right, Henry?”

With a soft groan, Henry tightened around Martin’s knuckles and hitched his knees higher, spreading himself wider. His lashes fluttered on his cheeks. He opened his eyes to look at Martin, pupils wide and black, and said, “I love you so much, Martin,” in a rough whisper.

“I love you, too.” Martin reached with his free hand for the oil bottle, then reluctantly withdrew his fingers from Henry’s body so he could grease his cock, Henry’s ass. Henry watched him do it and then reached for him, making little urgent grunts, and pulled him into a close, fierce embrace. They kissed deeply, passionately, and Henry shuddered when he tasted himself on Martin’s tongue.

Martin reached down between their bodies and positioned his cock. He broke off kissing, leaning his forehead against Henry’s and breathing his breath, and then pushed inside.

Smooth, tight, slick crush, as hot as blood. Martin’s voice was ragged as he breathed, “
Henry
.” Henry replied with a wordless, desperate sound and clutched at Martin’s shoulders. Martin sat back on his heels, hands on the backs of Henry’s thighs, and tilted his hips, pushing deeper; he drew back and Henry shivered and squeezed around him. All the hairs stood up on Martin’s skin and his nipples tightened almost painfully hard. He looked down into Henry’s face, and saw that Henry trusted him, loved him, was sorry.

Oh, Henry
.

He gave in to the urge to thrust hard, to fuck Henry at a punishing pace. His heart was a war drum, and his blood sang in his ears, but he listened over the roar of his own body for the evidence of Henry’s pleasure, a low keening broken by throaty cries, different from the sounds he made when he was on top, and the rough timbre of his voice went straight to Martin’s cock. Henry’s body clutched and pulled at him, and the drag on his cock was almost too much to bear, lush and harsh at once.

It probably shouldn’t make him so happy that no one else had ever had this, no one had ever had Henry but him.

“Who do you belong to?” he asked in a low voice, just short of a demand. His hipbones slammed into Henry’s ass, making the flesh quiver. When Henry didn’t immediately answer, Martin gave him another reckless thrust and another question. “
Who
?”

“Oh god.” Henry sounded almost despairing. “You, Martin. It’s
you
.”

His name
. Henry had said his name. He shuddered and reached for Henry’s cock, fucking and jerking him a few strokes before saying, “Touch yourself. Come for me.”

Henry groaned and took hold of himself, and the sight of Henry’s big hand around his big cock was almost too much for Martin to take.

“
Henry
,” he begged. “Please, Henry, come for me.”

Henry’s hand sped up and he closed his eyes, his brows angling down over his nose in concentration. His cheeks were lust-flushed, his lips parted, his hair a sexed-up mess, and his voice sounded out a deep abandon, ecstatic relief. His eyes fluttered open, and he looked up at Martin, and his hand stilled as his cock jerked, painting his chest in hot white streaks.

It was too much. Martin came, hard and wrenching, suddenly near tears, uttering a single
Henry
.

Dazed, Martin lowered himself to lie on Henry’s chest as his breathing slowed. Henry’s arms went around his back and they kissed, liquid and sweet. Martin felt so raw and open, unbounded and permeable. He looked into Henry’s eyes, and Henry looked back, trusting and fearless, letting himself be seen. For once, Martin had to look away first.

Oh, Henry
.

Martin found his voice and whispered, “I love you.”

Henry smiled. “I know.” He pulled Martin into a kiss, ran his fingers through Martin’s hair. “I love you, too.”