Free A Collar and Tie (Ganymede Quartet Book 4) by Darrah Glass Page A

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