A Master's Fidelity (Ganymede Quartet Book 2.5) (4 page)

Henry licked the head of Martin’s cock and Martin moaned, deliciously ashamed of how lost he sounded, how needy. Tension coiled deep in his gut, building at the base of his cock, and he wanted to thrust hard into Henry’s mouth, just rudely shove into the silky wet heat of his throat. Henry reached around and rubbed a wet fingertip over Martin’s hole and Martin
did
push his hips forward with a little grunt, and Henry gagged and let Martin’s cock slide out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Martin offered. “I didn’t mean to choke you.”

“No, it’s okay. But won’t you suck mine, too?” Henry sounded so wistful, so sweet, and Martin was behaving selfishly.

“Sorry, yes, of course I will.” He’d let himself be distracted by how good it felt, but he needed to pay attention and do his part. Martin took hold of Henry’s prick and gave it a squeeze, loving the density of it, the thickness and weight. Henry had only the barest understanding of how beautiful he was, what a nice cock he had. Martin never really talked about Henry anyway, but he would definitely not
ever
be telling his friends about Henry’s cock in any detail. They’d all think he was making up stories, anyway.

Martin licked the wet head of Henry’s perfect cock and it flexed in his fist as Henry groaned. Delicate skin, soft as suede, stretched taut over flesh surging with blood. He tasted like salt and iron, primal and elemental. Martin sucked on the head and rubbed it with his tongue, swallowing all Henry’s slickness, and took him deep.

It was easy to choke on a cock like Henry’s, and Martin liked to push himself to a place that felt risky, a little scary. He took Henry’s cock deep and Henry grabbed a handful of his hair, holding his head in place, and Martin struggled to stay calm while his body fought for air, gasping and spasming around the heavy length in his throat. Henry moaned with Martin’s prick in his mouth and the vibration made Martin shiver. He felt overwhelmed, so much sensation; the muscles in his throat clutched at the head of Henry’s cock, and his hips jerked to push his own prick further into Henry’s mouth. He began to move in accordance with the dictates of these warring sensations, and he writhed and clung to Henry, wanting to be buried in Henry, wanting to have more of Henry inside himself.

Henry slid his fingers into his mouth alongside Martin’s prick and got them wet, and Martin began to shake again, knowing what was coming. Henry rubbed his wet fingertips over Martin’s hole and Martin whimpered, pleading sounds, desperate encouragement. Henry pushed inside, two fingers to start, just as Martin liked, and Martin groaned around Henry’s cock and squirmed, trying to force Henry’s fingers deeper inside. He felt like he was coming unstrung; everything felt so good, and he felt so many different things: velvety wet suction around his cock, and raw, harsh pleasure from Henry’s fingers moving in his ass.

Henry had asked Martin to suck him, and maybe he’d intended to finish that way, but Martin needed Henry’s cock in his ass, filling and stretching him. He let Henry’s cock slide out of his mouth and unsteadily asked, “
Please
, Henry, will you fuck me? I need you to fuck me.” His voice hitched, almost a sob, begging.

Henry pulled off Martin’s prick. “I’ll do whatever you want,” he said, as he always did. He was such a good master, generous and undemanding, and Martin was so indulged. He was lucky, so lucky. If Henry wanted another boy’s mouth on his cock, how could Martin begrudge him that?

“On your back,” Henry said, giving Martin’s shoulder a little shove. He got up on his knees between Martin’s thighs and leaned over him to dig in the nightstand drawer for the oil bottle.

Martin lay trembling, his cock leaking onto his belly, knees up, hands gripping the backs of his thighs, spread open for Henry. Shameless and wanton, willing to give Henry anything he might want, anything at all.

Henry sat back on his heels and oiled himself. He contemplated Martin’s hole a pensive moment, then bent and licked him and Martin’s hips jerked hard as he cried out. Henry put his hands on the backs of Martin’s thighs and held him still and licked him over and over, shivers racing over Martin’s skin with each swipe of Henry’s tongue across his hole, and he was begging,
please, Henry, please
. Henry lifted his head and smiled at Martin, who felt quite beyond smiling, desperate and breathing hard through parted lips. He wanted to say so many things to Henry, inappropriate things. He tried to communicate some of his extravagant emotion with his eyes, beseeching.

Henry oiled his fingers and prepared Martin quickly. His cock was shiny with oil and his own fluids. He lined himself up and tilted his hips, and Martin moaned aloud as Henry slid into his body, little thrusts as he eased his way in. He felt so good, so perfect, like he’d been made to fit inside Martin. Henry knelt close, the muscles in his thighs flexing against Martin’s ass as he fucked him, and he felt so strong and solid slamming into him. The stretch felt incredible; the drag raw and intense, each stroke of Henry’s cock making him quake.

“Oh god, Henry,
Henry
, please…” He felt so desperate, almost sick with wanting, and he felt on the verge of coming, his pulse pounding in his ears and throbbing through his cock, everything feeling urgent and wild. He dug his fingers into Henry’s wrists, holding on, buffeted and battered by steady surges of pleasure as Henry pounded into him. The feeling crested, sharpening to a razor’s edge, and he shuddered still and came, calling Henry’s name as his cock pulsed hot jets of semen across his belly.

Henry watched him come and moaned, his cock swelling harder in Martin’s ass, always especially pleased when Martin came without either of them touching his cock. He fucked Martin a few more strokes, a few more hard slams, and Martin felt the hot gush as Henry came deep inside his body, cock jerking hard as he let loose the wounded sounds that made Martin desperate to soothe and protect him.

Henry lowered himself to lie on Martin’s chest, his face against Martin’s neck, and Martin wrapped his arms around Henry’s back and held onto him tightly. What they had was so special, and he wanted to tell Henry that it wouldn’t be like this with anyone else, wanted to insist it, but it wasn’t his place to do any such thing. He already got so much from Henry that wasn’t owed to him, to any boy in his position, and he should be grateful for it and not expect anything more.

Just me
, he wished.
Want only me
.

He was grateful to his body for responding so well, so fortuitously, to Henry’s efforts. Achieving release without the use of hands had happened to him at Ganymede, but not often, and he knew it never happened to most boys at all. He could try to impress upon Henry how unusual it was that it happened so frequently between them, but it would require talking to Henry about his past experiences, and he felt that could easily backfire. Also, Henry might conclude that it was simply his special cock making this happen rather than the combination of himself and Martin, and Martin wasn’t sure that wasn’t actually the case. It could be that any boy Henry fucked would come without touching himself because Henry was so good at sex and his cock was so perfect.

Henry kissed his neck and asked, “Can you breathe? Am I squashing you?”

“I’m a little squashed,” Martin admitted. “I should clean us up anyway.”

Henry sighed but let him up, and Martin went to the bathroom on shaky legs and got his basin out of the cupboard. He washed quickly at the sink, wiping Henry’s semen off his ass and thighs and his own off his chest. He took his basin and cloth back into the bedroom and sat at Henry’s hip. Henry had his forearm over his eyes, but he lifted it and looked up at Martin and smiled.

“Hey.”

Martin returned the smile. “Hey, yourself.”

He reached for Henry’s hand and Henry let him take it, his fingers relaxed as Martin cleaned them. He took Henry’s cock in hand and pushed the foreskin back and washed it thoroughly, and it stiffened a little at the contact, uncoiling lazily, and Martin bent down to kiss the tip quickly, embarrassed by his affectionate impulse. Henry had absolutely no idea how special his cock was.

It occurred to him suddenly that maybe Henry’s cock
wouldn’t
be so special to another boy. Maybe he really was made for Martin. Maybe another boy would find Henry’s body and performance ordinary—though it was hard for Martin to imagine this, what with the size and shape of his cock, its aesthetic superiority, and the clean, musky taste and scent of it. Martin had had familiarity with a great number of cocks, and Henry’s was, in his opinion, the best one by far. That seemed like an objective fact, but perhaps it was more open to opinion than Martin believed.

“You seem worried,” Henry said, touching his thigh. “What’s the matter?”

Martin made himself smile and shook his head. “Just thinking a bit. Nothing’s wrong.” He set his basin aside. “Did you want to get up, or would you rather nap?”

Henry stretched and made a jaw-cracking yawn. “Come lie down with me. We’ll sleep until it’s time for your dinner.”

Martin went into Henry’s arms and fit himself against Henry’s side. It was plain he wasn’t going to get any answers out of Henry about swapping unless he asked directly, and he couldn’t bring himself to do that. He was supposed to be the best of the best, and as such it wasn’t his place to question what Henry might do. It wasn’t for him to bargain or argue.

He waited until Henry was asleep and dared to whisper in his ear
Want only me
, making a wish. Henry sighed in his sleep and tightened his hold on Martin, burying his face in Martin’s neck. Even in his most extravagant, improbable dreams about his life, Martin had never imagined there could be anything so meaningful between a master and himself. Henry had flaws, of course, many flaws, but he was perfect for Martin regardless, and he couldn’t help but think that he was uniquely suited to Henry. He could only hope that Henry would feel the same and act accordingly.

Want only me.

On New Year’s Eve, upon their arrival at the Rosses’ house, Henry was surprised that their footman knew Mr. Briggs, but Martin was not. Because Henry made it a point to avoid swap talk, Martin knew what Henry did not, which was that most of his friends were in the habit of gathering at Mr. Ross’ house each weekend to trade their slaves. The Rosses’ footman knew Mr. Briggs because he welcomed him into the Ross home on a regular basis. The parties were usually held at Mr. Ross’ house because he was a spoiled and indulged only child and his parents let him do most anything he liked. If Henry had only wanted to participate, his own huge, empty house with all its unused parlors and bedrooms might have been an ideal location for parties, as well. Martin had thought these things, but he had never discussed them with Henry and never would, not unless Henry broached the topic himself.

While Mr. Ross was welcoming his friends, Simon was welcoming the slaves. He was a little drunk, pressing a wet kiss to Martin’s cheek.

“We’re all so excited you’re here,” Simon confided, squeezing his hand.

“Don’t get too excited,” Martin cautioned. “You know Mr. Blackwell has strong opinions about swapping.”

“But he’s here,” Tom said, emerging from the crowd to put his arm around Martin’s waist. “That’s a good sign, I think.” His breath smelled of gin and his touch was a little more proprietary than was seemly.

“I think he just wanted to come to the party,” Martin explained. He was almost certain this was the case. “I don’t think he’ll swap.”

With a glance over his shoulder at the masters, Tom leaned close and breathed Martin in. “You always smell so good,” he said. “Is it cologne…?”

“It’s just soap,” Martin said, giving Tom a firm but friendly shove. “Don’t smell me, Tommy.”

“Why not?”

Because I’m not for you
, Martin thought, but he said nothing and only shook his head. “Have you had a lot to drink already?”

Tom laughed. “I’ve had my share.” He gave Martin a squeeze and waved at Julian, who held an open flask, the cap dangling on a chain. “Julie! Bring that here!” He turned to Martin again. “You should drink, too. Get in the proper mood.”

He wouldn’t get drunk, but he would let himself drink a little bit, just enough to calm his jitters. He was almost positive Henry wasn’t going to swap, and perhaps he should have steeled himself to ask and have settled things once and for all, but now it was too late, and he’d just have to go along with whatever Henry decided. He took the flask from Tom’s hand and put it to his lips, tilting it back. Gin burned going down, tears stinging his eyes.

“Feel better?” Tom asked, smiling.

He made himself smile back. “Better,” he agreed, handing the flask to Ralph. It would be fine, he told himself. He would make sure it was a good party for Henry. He would do whatever Henry might want him to do, and surely Henry would continue to appreciate him and his good service, and he’d remain Henry’s favorite no matter what else happened, no matter how good any of Martin’s friends might be at sucking cock.

He couldn’t bear the idea of Tom, his very own Tom, touching Henry’s skin or tasting his prick, but if Henry wanted anyone, it would be Tom, he was quite certain of it. Martin loved Tom as a friend, but he thought he might easily hate him if he bent over for Henry. Martin knew full well it wasn’t as though Tom would have any say in the matter, but he wanted him to refuse anyway.

Mr. Ross recruited some of his friends to infiltrate the adult party to steal liquor, and when they returned with their plunder, there were bottles for the slaves as well as the masters. Will came to stand before them with a bottle of gin, which Tom took from his hand. “I’m excited Mr. Blackwell’s here,” Will said, and, judging from his avid expression, this was quite true. “I think he’s so handsome.”

“He is,” Martin agreed stiffly.

“Put in a good word for me, will you? I’m sure he’ll go for this one—” here he nodded at Tom “—because they all do, but
I’m
actually enthusiastic.”

Martin would definitely not be doing this, but he nodded grudgingly anyway.

“
I’m
enthusiastic, too,” Tom insisted. “He’s very good-looking, and he must be at least a little skilled, since he seems to keep you happy.” He gave Martin a friendly nudge with his hip.