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breath making Martin shiver. “He says that back home everyone loved to have you on the bottom. He says he’s never been with anyone else like you.”
    “I doubt that’s true,” Martin demurred, pushing Tom gently away again. Tom’s desire, his hot breath, and the hints of desperation and aggression, were arousing in spite of Martin’s determination to be loyal to Henry, and he was inconveniently hard. He glanced over quickly and saw that Henry was sitting on the sofa, sipping from a nearly-full glass of whiskey. Was he drinking too much? Martin felt it was his responsibility to keep Henry from getting too drunk, but wasn’t sure how he could manage that under the circumstances. He certainly couldn’t walk across the room with a hard cock and scold Henry in front of his friends.
    Tom leaned close again, “He says you love to have someone’s mouth on your ass. Is that so?”
    Martin bristled. “Stuart never did that for me.” Why was Stuart being so forthcoming, so inconveniently talkative?
    “Is it true, though, that you love it?” Tom gripped Martin’s arm tightly and his lips brushed Martin’s ear, lingering, almost a kiss. “ I’ll do it for you. I’ll put my mouth anywhere you want it.”
    “Tommy…” Martin frowned and pulled away, uncomfortable with this entire conversation.
    “Everyone wants to see us together, you know. Masters and slaves alike. Because we’re the beauties, see?”
    They would make an especially nice picture together, Martin was aware of that.
    “I’ve got a nice cock,” Tom said in a loud whisper. “Nice and thick. Little bit of an upward curve. Everyone I’ve ever been inside has told me he liked it.” Tom pressed himself against Martin’s side, warm and sleek and bold, and Martin felt guilty that he stood still for this treatment for even a few moments. Martin couldn’t help it; he felt a surge of arousal at Tom’s words and shuddered. He shouldn’t be listening to Tom talk about his nice cock because if Henry knew, it would make him so unhappy. Henry wouldn’t understand that it was just slave talk, idle seduction; Henry wouldn’t understand that Tom was just drunk and meant nothing—or, at least, very little—by it.
    “You have to stop talking like this, Tommy,” Martin told him, trying to sound stern and pushing him away yet again. “Mr. Blackwell would be very angry if he could hear you.”
    “Angry at me or angry at you?”
    “Both!” Martin snapped. “He might not let us be friends if he knew the kind of things you’re saying.”
    “Why? Is he that jealous?”
    Martin pressed his lips together in a tight line, frustrated. “Mr. Blackwell is very possessive, as is his right .”
    “I don’t think of you just as property to own,” Tom scoffed. “You’re a person to me, you know—you might be my favorite person.”
    “Mr. Blackwell definitely considers me a person, also,” Martin insisted coldly. “Please don’t presume anything about my relation with my master.”
    Hearing the acid in Martin’s tone, Tom changed tactics. “I’m sorry, Martin. I know you’re fond of Mr. Blackwell, and there must be reasons for that. It’s just that you never talk about him—”
    “He’s very private,” Martin said, slightly mollified. “I won’t ever be talking about him, so you’ll just have to take my word for it that he’s a good master.”
    They were quiet a moment, and Tom sighed and took Martin’s hand, playing with his fingers.
    “He’s lucky to have you, you know.”
    “I’m lucky, as well,” Martin insisted, his tone making it clear he wanted the subject closed.
    Mr. Caldwell and Mr. Franklin beckoned to Tom and Ralph, and Tom tore himself away from Martin with obvious reluctance, maintaining eye contact as long as he could manage.
    “I’ll see you inside, I hope,” Tom said, his yearning raw and apparent, and Martin felt bad for him because he was quite sure Tom would be embarrassed later for having worn his heart on his