A Proper Lover (Ganymede Quartet Book 2) (39 page)

Martin made a pleased sound and bent his head to kiss Henry’s shoulder. “I know I always tell you this, Henry, but you have the most beautiful cock.”

“Yours is much prettier,” Henry said, believing it with all his heart.

Martin shifted closer, fairly glued to Henry’s side. Henry was very aware of the sound of their rasping breaths and the wet, slick slip of their hands moving over their cocks. He watched Martin’s deft fingers slide his foreskin up over the glistening head of his cock and then off again, over and over, and he felt the pattern in his own body, unintentionally duplicating Martin’s rhythm, picking up speed.

Martin leaned harder still against Henry’s side, nearly on top of him, and made an impatient little grunt, as if he still couldn’t get close enough. He got up on his knees and turned to straddle Henry’s lap, which Henry had not been expecting and it threw him off his rhythm.

Martin said, “Keep going.” He braced his hands against the headboard, and kissed Henry tenderly, searchingly, making a little throaty sound of satisfaction as Henry licked past his lips. He did something sinuous and melting with his tongue that caused Henry to squirm with arousal, and that combined with his own hand moving erratically over his slippery prick made him moan into Martin’s mouth.

Martin rested his forehead against Henry’s and together they looked down at Henry’s hand moving over his length. Martin gave a low moan and his prick jerked against his belly.

“It makes me so hot to see you like this, Henry,” he murmured, his lips brushing Henry’s. “Showing me what feels good.”

It made him blush to admit it, but he said, “I-I want you to see.” He wanted Martin to know him utterly and completely. “
You
,” he emphasized. “Only you.”

Martin held Henry’s face between his hands and gave him such a fond smile. “Oh, Henry.” He kissed him again, lingering and ardent. “I want you to touch me now.”

“
Yes.
” Henry immediately reached for Martin’s pretty cock and found it hard and eager. “You touch me, too.”

Martin’s hand felt better than his own, a thousand times better, and he wondered if it was the same for Martin. They stroked and jerked one another while they kissed. Martin came whimpering Henry’s name, and Henry came with a tragic groan and crushed Martin to his chest.

Afterward, there was semen on their hands, their thighs, their bellies, and Martin frowned at the mess.

As Martin wiped spunk from the shallow cup of his navel, Henry asked, “Are you a little sore?”

Martin laughed. “A little. Just when I come. But it still feels good.”

“Oh, yes, of course it feels good anyway,” Henry agreed. “But I’d never considered that maybe there’s a practical limit to how many times we can do it, that it might hurt too much to keep going.”

“Well, we won’t torture ourselves.” Finished with his work, Martin put his basin down on the nightstand. “If it hurts too much, we’ll have to stop.” He lay down and curled against Henry’s side, within the curve of his arm.

“I can still keep going. Can you?”

Martin turned his head to kiss Henry’s chest. “Yes, I can, too.”

“Do you want to take a nap?” Henry asked. “Just a little one?”

“We can’t sleep too long,” Martin cautioned.

“We’ve done it five times,” Henry said. “We’ve already set a record.”

Martin shook his head, not content to rest on their laurels. “We can set a better record, I know we can.”

“Nap first,” Henry insisted, kissing Martin’s forehead. “I’m sleepy.”

“I’ll set an alarm, then,” Martin decided, rolling to reach for the clock.

Henry fell quickly asleep and dreamed he was called on in Latin class, and when he stood to give his answer, his hard prick jutted out the open fly of his trousers, and his answer wasn’t a declension, but a demonstration of his masturbatory technique. Unashamed, he took himself in hand, and when he finished with a flourish, Dr. Foster said, “Very good, Mr. Blackwell,” and gave him an A.

“Henry. Henry, wake up.” Martin shook him gently, breath warm against his cheek.

Henry yawned and rolled to face him. “I’m awake.”

“Do you feel rested?” Martin smoothed Henry’s hair back from his forehead and stroked his cheek, his jaw, the line of his throat, with an expression of such melting tenderness that Henry felt quite overcome with gratitude, so thankful for Martin’s boundless affection. He felt full up with love and wanted to give it all to Martin.

“I feel good,” he said, tracing the edge of Martin’s tattoo with his finger. “I’m ready to do whatever you want.”

Martin propped himself up on his elbow and smiled down at Henry. “I want to ride you and come on your chest.” He reached for Henry’s wrist and pulled Henry’s hand to his stiffening cock.

Henry could see nothing wrong with this plan. He fondled Martin’s cock, letting it grow hard and straight in his hand. Martin leaned in and kissed him, just the barest brush of his lips and a flick of his tongue. Martin lingered a long moment with their eyelashes tangling and then kissed him again, harder, with an emphatic little grunt as Henry opened his mouth to him.

As they kissed, Martin pushed Henry down on his back and lay down on top of him, everything lining up as if they’d been made as a set, a matched pair. Martin moaned in rhythm with the movements of his hips, his cock sliding alongside Henry’s between their flat bellies. He held Henry’s head where he wanted it and ravished his mouth, his tongue finding all the sensitive places and drawing urgent whimpers from Henry’s throat.

The closeness that Henry felt, it wasn’t just their bodies. Here, with Martin so ardent and intent, what they were doing felt momentous, vital. He wasn’t like his friends with their slaves, all casual rutting and careless treatment. What he did with Martin had an effect on him, shaped him. It wasn’t just that it felt good. It
meant
something.

Henry trembled, a seismic shudder, and clutched Martin closer. He broke off kissing and buried his face in Martin’s soft neck.

“Henry?”

“You’ll be with me
forever
,” Henry blurted, a plea and a demand, his voice muffled against Martin’s skin.

“Henry?” Martin tried to push himself up, but Henry wouldn’t let him go.

“You’re
mine
.”

“Hey…” Martin petted Henry’s hair and bent to kiss his head. “Of course I am. And you belong to me.”

“I
do
,” Henry insisted. This mutual belonging meant so much to him, and he wanted it to mean more than sex to Martin, too.

“You’re my own,” Martin said softly. “My own dear Henry.”

Just yesterday, Martin had said he hadn’t expected to feel so much for a master, and Henry believed him, believed Martin cared for him, but Henry wanted to put a word to their mutual regard, to label it and give it validity. He wanted to be like other people, normal people; he wanted to be able to own up to love, if that was what this was.

Nearly everything he shared with Martin was forbidden, but he hadn’t yet done every forbidden thing. He did his best to appear a passable gentleman, but he knew his compliance with a few specific proscriptions would not temper his friends’ scorn if they discovered his secrets. His restraint wouldn’t convince his father, either. But so long as he didn’t allow Martin to touch his asshole, he would tell himself he wasn’t a fairy, despite everything.

But it was worse, he knew, to allow Martin to touch his heart. A gentleman would never fall in love with a slave. A gentleman would never fall in love with another man. Combining two forbidden loves in one treasured person was somehow worse than the sum of its parts. If Henry told Martin he loved him, it might well crack the thin veneer of social acceptability he wore so uneasily. He had to keep silent. It was safer for both of them if he said nothing.

He thought that Martin had some inkling, however. Looking up into Martin’s face, he saw a reflection of his own fragile emotions, his own desire for intimacy. Their physical attraction was a huge thing, overwhelming, but it wasn’t everything between them. There was more. He met Martin’s eyes and held his gaze, trembling all the harder. More than anything, he wanted the closeness, but it terrified him.

Martin kissed him, soft and lingering, his hair falling to either side of Henry’s face like a curtain, making a private world. He broke the kiss but stayed still a moment, resting his forehead against Henry’s. He let out a soft sigh.

“Martin?”

“Let’s…make love this time. Be sweet to each other.”

Henry agreed readily. “Yes. I want that.”

Martin pushed himself up and reached for the oil. He shifted to straddle Henry’s hips, A fine string of fluid connected the tip of his pretty cock to Henry’s belly. He wet his fingers with oil and reached back between his cheeks to prepare himself, wincing a little at first. His expression was serious, almost solemn, though he had bright spots of color high on his cheekbones and his breath came through parted lips.

Martin put more oil on his hand, a more generous amount this time, and reached back to slick Henry’s cock. Martin’s slippery hand felt like silk sliding over his skin and Henry’s cock jerked in his grip.

Softly, Martin asked, “Are you ready?” He didn’t wait for an answer but knelt up, held Henry’s cock in position, and eased back onto it, once again wincing as his hole was breached. He gave a shaky sigh and let his head fall forward, his hair falling in a sheet, obscuring his face. “You feel so good inside me.”

Henry held his breath as Martin took him in. The slick pressure around the head of his cock felt so good, felt new every time. He pressed his hand flat against Martin’s belly, feeling the muscles work as Martin tilted his hips, arched his back. Martin lifted himself up until just the head of Henry’s cock remained inside his body and paused a moment there before sinking back down, a delicious molten slide that made all the hairs stand up on Henry’s fevered skin.

Martin moved like this a little while, languid but thorough, making use of Henry’s length, muscles in his thighs flexing beneath Henry’s palms. Despite his obvious pleasure, his expression remained serious, thoughtful. Whenever Henry looked at his face, he was looking back, meeting Henry’s eyes, and it was almost more than Henry could bear. Under Martin’s intensely calm gaze, Henry felt laid open. No one knew him like Martin did, and no one else ever would.

Henry took hold of Martin’s cock in a loose fist, just touching it while Martin moved, letting him push through the circle of his fingers. Martin let out a shaky moan and Henry gave his cock a gentle squeeze, ran his thumb through the slickness at the slit.

Henry felt impetuous words welling up, thick in his throat. He wanted to tell Martin of his outsized feelings, his burgeoning love, but instead he bit his lip and tried to express himself through his actions, his hand on Martin’s pretty cock.

Martin sighed and ground himself down on Henry’s lap. “Henry,” he said. “Oh, god,
Henry
.” He was wild-eyed, hair falling across his face. He leaned forward to brace his hands on Henry’s chest and began to move more forcefully, little grunts as his ass smacked against Henry’s thighs. Henry reached back with both hands and grabbed Martin’s cheeks, pulled them wide, and lifted his hips to meet Martin’s buttocks. As Henry thrust up into him, Martin let out a quavering moan and folded over onto Henry’s chest, his face pressed against Henry’s neck. Henry slowed his movements but kept fucking him, sliding steadily in and out, while Martin made little cat cries and clung to his shoulders.

Sounding almost bereft, Martin said, “It feels too good, Henry.
Too good
.” He shivered and kissed Henry’s mouth, messy and whimpering with need. He pressed his knees tightly against Henry’s sides and moved against his thrusts, his timing erratic, making greedy little grunts each time Henry plunged deep. Martin’s helpless desperation made Henry want to protect and ravish him both. He dug his fingers into Martin’s buttocks and fucked him in short, hard thrusts while they kissed, Martin moaning into his mouth.

“
Henry
,” Martin gasped. “Oh, god, Henry,
please
.”

“What is it?” Henry asked. “What do you want?”

“Can I come, Henry? Please?” As Henry thrust into him, he cried out and begged, “
Please
,” again.

“Do it,” Henry urged. “On me, like you said.”

Martin pushed himself up off Henry’s chest and tossed his hair back. He was breathing hard, shaking, with that same look of saintly suffering that had shaped his face while he played the violin, but then he smiled at Henry, bright as the light of a star. Looking at him, seeing how emotional he was, made Henry emotional, too: so happy, unbearably happy.

Martin lifted up off of Henry’s lap and took hold of his cock with his left hand and began to work it with efficient little flicks of his wrist. Henry grasped Martin’s hips, planted his feet firmly on the bed, and pounded up into Martin’s quivering ass while Martin made little injured-sounding cries, like a broken bird.

“Oh, Henry! Oh,
please
, Henry!” Martin shuddered and stilled, his cock jerking in his hand, and his hot spunk hitting Henry’s skin with force. “Oh! Oh,
god
!” The muscles in his belly contracted in rhythm with his flexing cock as he eased himself down Henry’s length. “You now,” Martin said breathlessly. “
Please
. Don’t wait. Come in me while I’m still shaking.”

Henry did as he was told, once again thrusting up into Martin’s plush, tight, perfect ass while Martin whimpered and gasped, hanging over Henry with his hands braced on the bed. Henry looked up and met Martin’s eyes, and for a moment he was absolutely certain that Martin loved him, too, and then he came in a cascade of dazzling white sparks, giving a shaky groan as he gathered Martin close and wrapped his arms around his back.

They stayed locked together until their hearts slowed, until it began to matter that it was hard to breathe holding each other so tight. With a sigh, Martin climbed off Henry’s cock, which was still hard. A white pearl of semen slid down the shaft and disappeared in coarse curls. Martin stretched out at Henry’s side and put his head on his chest, avoiding the skin that was slick with spunk.