Free A Most Personal Property (Ganymede Quartet Book 1) by Darrah Glass Page B

“It’s like Christmas, Sir,” he said. “Better, even.”
    “Not really,” said Henry. “It’s only shirts.”
    “Beautiful shirts, Sir,” Martin told him. “Like gentlemen’s shirts. They teach us about quality, you know. I had no expectation of ever having things so nice.” He put folded stockings into a drawer and gave them a little pat.
    “What sort of man would dress his slave poorly?” Henry scoffed. This was something Father had said and Henry was, in fact, unsure of the answer, though obviously it wasn’t the sort of man he ought to emulate.
    “I knew you’d be kind, Sir,” Martin said happily.
    When he had put all of his new clothes away, Martin suggested that he might acquaint himself with the contents of Henry’s wardrobe and, grateful for Martin’s enterprise, Henry readily agreed. He sat on the side of his bed wishing frantically that he had something masterful or intelligent or even simply cordial to say, while Martin praised his taste in suits and neckties. They were thus engaged when Timothy knocked on the door and told them he was ready for Martin, if Henry didn’t mind. Henry did not mind; he was, in fact, relieved to be alone.
    It was all proving to be so much more difficult than he’d anticipated! Martin was too much of what Henry had dreamed of for Henry to feel comfortable with him—or to feel superior to him, which he was quite sure he was supposed to do.
    With Martin gone, Henry was suddenly at a loss as to how he might entertain himself, or at least pass the time. He flipped through Pals again but could not concentrate. He recalled Martin offering to read to him and wondered what sort of books Martin enjoyed, if boys in the Houses read adventure stories as avidly as free boys did.
    He considered whether he might take advantage of this time alone to release a little tension, but he wasn’t sure when Martin might return, and he definitely didn’t want to be caught with his prick in his hand. Just having Martin under the same roof was arousing and confusing both, and Henry wouldn’t even allow himself to think about what could happen later on, after dinner and the family hour, when he would be alone with Martin for the entire night.
    Overwrought at the prospect of some intimacy with his new slave, Henry went to look into Martin’s room, trying to ignore how his stiffening prick was pinched by his trousers. Martin’s room showed little more sign of habitation than it had before Martin’s arrival. Henry opened the wardrobe and surveyed all the unworn clothes. They were for Martin, but bore no trace of him as yet. Henry wondered what had happened to the tight breeches Martin had worn all day long, but saw no sign of them.
    In the bathroom, Martin had placed his few toiletries on a shelf, everything still in wrappers. Henry picked up a bar of soap and breathed in vetiver, the same scent he’d smelled on Martin’s hair in the carriage, and his cock jerked alert. His hands shook as he put the soap back where he’d found it. Maybe, if he hurried… He locked the door and unbuttoned his trousers.
    With a deep breath, Henry took himself in hand and thought of Martin taking hold of his wrist, pressing his hand to his belly, so warm and taut and silky and alive. He thought of Martin naked before the mirror in the haberdasher’s shop. He thought of all the things he could do to Martin if he dared. He was ready to come, had been all day since he’d first seen Martin on the dais, and it took only a few strokes to finish. He caught his mess in his handkerchief and wadded it up in his hand, prepared to shove it in his pocket if Martin had returned while he was behind the locked door.
    Martin had not returned. Henry went to put his handkerchief in the laundry basket and discovered it had been moved from a corner of his own room into Martin’s room, as collecting Henry’s laundry would be Martin’s responsibility from now on and not Billy’s. Henry hid the crumpled cloth beneath the