A Master's Fidelity (Ganymede Quartet Book 2.5) by Darrah Glass Read Free Book Online Page B

to me.” Henry took hold of Martin's shoulders and gave him a single hard shake. He looked so sad and hurt that Martin felt terrible for making the suggestion.
    Martin pushed his glasses up his nose. “Sir, I only meant—”
    “It's bad enough there were men before me, Martin. There aren't going to be any others after me.”
    “Of course, Sir.” He was flooded with relief, warm and golden.
    Henry strode off again and Martin hurried to catch up. “And why the hell would I want to go back?” he demanded. “What possible reason would I have?”
    Martin chose his words carefully. “It's just that the boys you know now will be your business associates in the future, Sir, and these sorts of activities bond boys together. It may be advantageous in the future, is what I'm saying, Sir.”
    Henry scowled and shook his head adamantly. “It doesn't matter to me, Martin. They're all careless and selfish, even Louis. I would never let them use you.”
    “Just so long as you know, Sir. I wasn't sure you understood the implications, seeing as how Mr. Blackwell is such an iconoclast—”
    “A what?”
    “A unique individual, Sir. A self-made man. Mr. Blackwell wasn't brought up understanding how things are done in high society, if you don't mind me saying so.” As Henry considered this, Martin added, “Thank you for considering my welfare, Sir. I appreciate how much you care for me.”
    Henry sighed and gave him an affectionate bump with his shoulder, and Martin was relieved that he wasn’t angry, that he wasn’t accusing Martin of wanting to participate in an orgy. They walked the rest of the way home in a comfortable silence.
    At home, Paul, obviously intoxicated, let them in.
    Henry shrugged his coat into Paul’s hands and turned to Martin. “Is he drunk? Are the slaves having a party? Did you know?”
    Martin laughed. “Keep it down, Sir. Don't wake the house!”
    “Can I go? To the slaves' party?”
    Martin didn’t want to drink anymore, and he didn’t want Henry drinking, either. He had another sort of celebration in mind. He steered Henry toward the staircase. “Why don't you let everyone have their little drinking party, Sir, and then we'll come down at midnight to set off the fireworks?” Paul had taken their coats and turned for the cloakroom, so Martin leaned in and licked the curve of Henry's ear unobserved and whispered, “I'll keep you busy until then, Sir, I promise I will.”
    Climbing the stairs, he felt giddy, effervescent. Henry hadn’t wanted Tom, or Stuart, or any other slave. Henry was satisfied with Martin and Martin alone, at least for now. Martin would take that, and would be happy with what he was given.
    Inside Henry’s room with the door locked, Martin felt frantic with joyous relief and couldn’t get their clothes off fast enough. They left a trail of mistreated garments inside-out and crumpled from the door to the bed. Naked, Martin backed Henry up to the bed, pushed him down, and kissed him all over—all the places Henry would allow, at any rate—and paid special attention to his nipples, liking the way he moaned and writhed as Martin licked and bit. Henry rarely said coherent words in response to pleasure, but this time he said oh god over and over in a worried whisper and then feels so good in a wondering little voice as he knotted his fingers in Martin’s hair and arched against his open mouth. Martin smiled against Henry’s skin, quite sure it was the whiskey talking.
    Martin oiled Henry’s cock and sat back on it, letting out a hissing breath at the intense stretch as it filled him. The pressure felt good, so good, throbbing with his pulse and winding him tighter. He squeezed Henry’s sides with his knees and rode his cock in triumph: it was his and none of his friends would touch it, or suck it, or even look at it. None of them would have the opportunity to feel what he was feeling right now. They should be jealous, every one of them, even Julian.
    Henry groaned and