A Collar and Tie (Ganymede Quartet Book 4) (8 page)

Lips at Martin’s ear, Henry whispered, “You can’t escape
me.”

Martin growled in protest, his whole body trembling with
effort. Henry straddled Martin’s thigh and rocked against him, relishing the
feeling of Martin’s cock hard against his own through all their layers of
clothing.

With a burst of determined energy, Martin strained against
the restricting jacket and Henry’s superior strength, but got no further than
he had before. He slumped against the door, chest heaving.

“You give up?”

Martin shook his head, less a denial than a circumvention of
the idea. He craned his neck for a kiss and Henry gave it to him, crushing
their mouths together with bruising pressure. Martin’s teeth were sharp on
Henry’s lip, the sweep of his tongue muscular and melting. Martin whimpered and
rubbed against him, not really trying to escape anymore, and their hectic play
slowed into something heavy and deliberate, grinding against one another in a
fevered daze.

Henry loved having Martin pinned, loved the license to hump
against him as he saw fit, but he wanted Martin’s touch. He broke their kiss
and leaned upright a little unsteadily, holding onto Martin’s shoulders. Martin
was wild-eyed, his mouth wet; he licked his lip and looked at Henry with
unmistakable lust, his heated gaze wanton and full of intent.

Henry slid his hands down from Martin’s shoulders to his
elbows and the crumpled jacket. With some effort, he pushed the sleeves down
toward Martin’s wrists, and Martin renewed his struggles, shuffling a step away
from the door to make it easier to free himself. Henry helped, tugging at the
cuffs. With his left hand free, Martin impatiently yanked at the right sleeve
and let his jacket drop to the floor. He grinned at Henry, eyes bright, and
came into his embrace. He looped his arms around Henry’s neck, and kissed him
hard and deep.

Now that they were freed, Martin’s hands were everywhere,
yanking on Henry’s clothes and his own, and touching Henry all over as they
stumbled haltingly toward the bed. By the time they reached the bedside, Martin
was naked and Henry halfway there. Martin dropped to his knees to untie Henry’s
boots, and Henry bent to pull the tie out of Martin’s hair, running his fingers
through the strands and holding them in handfuls. Laces loosened, Henry kicked
off his boots, then his drawers and trousers, and Martin stood up into his
arms. Henry kissed his way up Martin’s neck to his ear, tasting his skin and
testing his flesh with his teeth. He licked the delicate shell of Martin’s ear
and Martin moaned, his cock jerking against Henry’s belly. They swayed on their
feet, leaning against the side of the bed.

Martin whimpered and arched his neck. “
Please
, Henry.
All day I’ve been wanting to come with your hands on me.”

“All day?” Henry murmured, believing him but wanting the
flattering words. He slid his hands down Martin’s back and cupped his ass,
rubbing his own cock against Martin’s hip.

“Since this morning,” Martin said. “Since I woke up.”

“I was still asleep when you woke up,” Henry pointed out. He
nudged Martin’s shoulder to turn his body, then pushed him backward with a hand
in the middle of his chest. Martin sat down on the bed with a bounce and leaned
back on his elbows.

“You were,” Martin agreed. “Do you know what I like to do
when you’re asleep? I pull back the sheet and look.” Martin put his hand on his
own cock and gave it a languid stroke. “You’re all defenseless and exposed, and
I look at your naked body as much as I want. I touch your cock and make it hard
and listen to the little noises you make while I play with it.”

The idea of Martin toying with his naked body unbeknownst to
him was shocking and dirty, and Henry burned with a heated flush. He felt
slightly violated, but his overwhelming feeling was one of forceful arousal.
His cock throbbed powerfully as he asked, “D-do you really do that?”

Martin grinned, wicked and sharp. “Sometimes. It’s very wrong
of me, I know.” He did not seem at all sorry of this. “I love it when you
whimper. Someday maybe you’ll say my name.”

Henry could say it now. “Martin.” He stood between Martin’s
thighs. His cock was very hard, insistently hard. Martin lay back and drew his
knees up, letting them fall out to the sides, exposing his tender asshole.
Henry looked down at Martin’s hole with deep affection. It was tougher than it
looked, he knew, but the sight of it still made Henry feel overwhelmingly
protective.

“Scoot back a bit,” he said, pushing at Martin’s hips. He
bent and licked Martin a little, making him nice and wet. He imagined doing
this to sleeping Martin, listening to him moan while his eyelids fluttered and
pretty cock jerked. Martin’s hole clenched under Henry’s tongue and his balls
drew up tight to his body.

“Henry,” Martin breathed. “
Henry
.”

Henry stretched to get the oil bottle out of the drawer and
stood again between Martin’s dangling feet. The little green glass bottle was
half-full of oil and he poured a thin stream of it on the skin above Martin’s
asshole and watched it run down the cleft before spreading it around with his
fingers. He asked, “What kind of noises do I make?” and pushed his thumb past
the muscle, into Martin’s hole, fucking him with it.

Martin moaned and his hands tightened on the backs of his
own thighs, white-knuckled, drawing his knees higher still.

“I sound like that? Really?” Henry laughed and pulled his
thumb out, replacing it with two fingers, and Martin gave a shuddering sigh. Henry
bent and licked the underside of Martin’s cock and it jerked beneath his
tongue. He kissed the head and sucked it into his mouth and then smiled around
it as Martin groaned. While he sucked, he fucked Martin’s hole with his oiled
fingers, hard movements of his arm that jolted Martin’s body, and Martin gave
little grunts with each thrust.

Martin petted Henry’s head, twisted his fingers in Henry’s
hair. “Henry,
Henry
, please, I want your cock.”

Henry took his fingers out of Martin’s ass and admired his
open, twitching hole while oiling his cock. He poured a little more oil on
Martin, too, wanting him slick.

“Not too much,” Martin said hopefully. “You know I like it
rough.”

Henry was only willing to tolerate so much roughness. “It’s
not too much,” he said, petting Martin’s hole and working the oil inside. “I’ll
fuck you hard, though, all right?”

Martin whimpered and looked up at him with pleading eyes. “
Please
,
Henry.”

Henry rubbed the head of his cock up and down the cleft of
Martin’s ass and over his sensitive hole. Martin pulled his buttocks apart,
stretching his hole wide in invitation. He gave a shaky moan, still looking at
Henry with hungry, beseeching eyes.

The pressure around Henry’s cockhead as he breached Martin’s
body was hot and intense. He resisted the urge to just wildly thrust inside and
lingered a moment, savoring the anticipation. Martin made an impatient sound
and wrapped his legs around Henry’s hips, urging him on.

“Please, Henry, I thought about you
all day.
”

Henry leaned forward and put his hands on Martin’s
shoulders, intending to keep him in place, and pushed his cock all the way
inside. Martin’s body was tight and close around his cock, but Martin accepted
him with ease; Martin had said that Henry had been lucky in choosing him, that
other slaves might not have been able to take such a large example. He thought
fleetingly of Perry Whitman, who was compelling, to be sure, but no doubt could
not take a cock at all. He felt full of love for Martin and so lucky, so
incredibly lucky.

He’d promised a hard fuck, so he’d do his best to give it.
He began to move, a few easy thrusts, slick and satiny, that only made Martin
impatient, and then he began to fuck him with jarring impact, perhaps not his
maximal effort but hard enough to feel dangerous. Their bodies came together
with loud slaps, punishing sounds, and the flesh of Martin’s ass quivered with
each thrust. Martin reached up and wrapped his fingers around Henry’s wrists
and held on tight. Martin said Henry’s name but nothing more, and gave broken,
hitching moans with each pistoning of Henry’s hips.

Despite his claims that he wouldn’t do it fast, Henry set
himself a brisk pace. He slowed to catch his breath and bent to kiss Martin,
who pulled him down into a closer embrace and wrapped his legs around his back.
Martin was trembling, and Henry realized he was, too. He felt abuzz, his skin
humming, and every point where his skin touched Martin’s was on fire. He kissed
Martin again, his tongue sliding over Martin’s lips and flicking at the corners
of his mouth, and fucked him more gently while the sweat cooled on their skins.

As they kissed, Henry kept picturing it: Martin teasing his
cock hard while he dozed, his own face slack with sleep, Martin’s expression
sharp and avid, his cock bobbing upright into Martin’s waiting hand. He
imagined the wanton sounds that would issue from his mouth, unmitigated by
wakeful propriety. He wondered what exactly Martin could do to him, how far he
might be able to go before Henry would wake. The entire scenario was mortifying,
but wildly exciting; Henry couldn’t shake the idea of being helpless and
utterly at Martin’s mercy, subject to Martin’s skilled manipulations.

In a way, this sleeping game Henry had been unwittingly
playing put Martin in the master’s role.

The notion was shocking, and Henry’s heart thudded in
startled panic, but he certainly didn’t dislike the idea. Martin being in
charge sometimes would put them on more equal footing, and Henry wanted that
more than anything.

Martin moved beneath him and gave a low growl, almost a
purr, as he arched against Henry’s weight and wrapped him in arms and legs,
holding tight.

“Henry,” he said, his voice rough. “Oh, it feels so
good
,
Henry. Fuck me more.”

Henry was happy to oblige, resuming the hard ramming that
took Martin’s breath away, digging his fingers into the tops of Martin’s
shoulders and pulling him back toward his cock with each stroke. The drag on
his cock, even with the extra oil, was intense, almost unbearably good. It felt
as though their bodies were blurring together, that he was feeling all that
Martin felt, and when Henry looked down into Martin’s face, he believed it was
the same for Martin, too.

Breathless, Henry slowed again. Martin reached for him and
drew him down to kiss, resting forehead to forehead, Martin’s panting breaths
warming Henry’s lips.

Just the slightest movement of his hips sent shivers of
pleasure over his skin, radiating out from the point where his cock was
sheathed in Martin’s slick flesh. Henry pressed his face into Martin’s neck and
whimpered as he made his shallow thrusts, the sensations almost too much to
bear.

“Do I feel good to you?” Martin whispered, though surely he
knew the answer.

Henry did not feel capable of a reply. Instead, he kissed
Martin, hard and deep and searching, trembling with the force of his emotion.

Martin broke the kiss, his arms around Henry’s neck, and
looked into his eyes. “Fuck me hard,” he said. “Like you said, Henry. Fuck me
and make me come.”

Henry would do it, whatever Martin wanted. He would mark him,
leave bruises, make him cry. He pushed himself up on straight arms and
determinedly pounded into Martin’s body, his hips meeting Martin’s ass with
meaty, punishing smacks, until Martin was sobbing tearlessly and they both were
shaking and wild-eyed.

Henry shuddered to a halt and let himself lie down atop
Martin and cling. Martin wrapped arms and legs around him, his hands ranging
over Henry’s back and ruffling the hair at the nape of his neck. Henry’s blood
was singing, roaring in his ears. He left off kissing the pulse in Martin’s
throat and instead kissed his beautiful, wanton mouth that opened for Henry’s
tongue with a tremulous groan.

“More,” Martin begged. “More, Henry,
please
!”

Henry began pumping hard again, knowing it wouldn’t be much
longer, full of the urge to conquer, to triumph. He wanted Martin to understand
how much he loved him, how fiercely he loved him. He wanted to make Martin
come, and he wanted to make Martin love him forever, and he felt that maybe he
could do both if he just fucked him hard enough.

Martin was so hot inside, hot as blood, and tight and
clinging, perfectly fitted to Henry’s cock. The drag against Henry’s skin was
rougher than he wanted, but he knew Martin liked it this way and so did not
stop to add more oil. His cock felt heavy and almost raw, and when he thrust it
into Martin’s flesh it was like a cudgel, a brute-force tool leaving a mark. He
wanted Martin to remember this sex for a long time. He drove into Martin as
hard as he knew how, as if he could break him.

“
Henry
,” Martin breathed, his tone urgent and
pressured. “Oh god,
Henry
!” Martin stilled, his body tense, and his
untouched cock jerked out ribbons of spunk over his belly and chest.

Upon seeing Martin spill, Henry came in a cannonade of
searing white lights, rocking his hips against Martin’s ass and staying as deep
as he could through the last of his spasms. He felt lightheaded, sore, and
deeply happy.

Henry lowered himself to lie on the bed at Martin’s side.
Martin gasped for breath, his eyes closed. He felt blindly after Henry and took
hold of his hip.

“Henry,” he said. “Tell me you love me.” He turned to look
at Henry and smiled, his expression dreamy and fond.

Henry caressed his cheek and kissed him. “I do,” he
admitted. He wanted to say more, to make dramatic promises, but he really
didn’t have a concept big enough to contain his feelings for Martin; ‘love’ was
just the tip of the iceberg.

“I love you, too, Henry,” Martin murmured shyly. He shifted
his hips from side to side and winced with a sharp intake of breath.