Bailey Morgan [Seven Brothers for McBride 1] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic ManLove)

by Anitra Lynn McLeod

  “Can I move faster?” Bailey was looking at Ferris, but Ferris was fairly certain his companion was asking McBride for permission.

  “Pull all the way out,” McBride suggested, which forced Ferris to release his hold on Bailey’s shoulders, but he let go without regret because everything their master had told them to do had resulted in tremendous pleasure. “Now, place your prick against him and slide within.”

  When Bailey did, Ferris rolled his eyes back at the sheer pleasure of his possession. The dilator had certainly done its work in preparing him. He welcomed the thrust of his companion’s cock and reveled in the amount of bliss they would share. Ferris was not a religious thrall, but he’d begged the universe to let him be bought by a good man. Turned out he had been, and then mercifully, that man had given him to another who cared deeply for him. Even if they never fell in love, Ferris still knew he was tremendously blessed.

  Ferris had been told that thralls didn’t find love. That wasn’t their purpose. They had been created to provide sexual pleasure and blood to slammers so they could in turn provide for their owner. That was all. But Ferris had already discovered a great deal of what he’d been told was terribly incorrect, so he suspected that tidbit about love was wrong, too. Already in his heart, Ferris felt some love for his companion. He felt gratitude toward his master. And he was deeply appreciative for the opportunity he had been given.

  The only lingering fear Ferris had was that Bailey’s brothers might hunger for him. McBride would provide them with companions, but given how choosy the man was, it would be a slow process. Still, Ferris had to place his care in the hands of his companion and their master. Surely, Bailey would fight to the death for him, and McBride, after what he’d said to the massive Caleb, wasn’t opposed to harsh punishments.

  Once, while Ferris had been out with other thralls to accompany their trainer to a play, he’d seen a landed gentryman disciplining one of his slammers. Ferris had no idea what the slammer had done to anger his master, but it had infuriated the gentryman to the point he shoved his slammer’s head into the stocks, cut off his trousers, and fucked him violently in the middle of the street for all to see.

  Ferris and the other thralls had stood transfixed. Every so often along the streets there were stocks for the purpose of reprimand, but Ferris thought they were more a visual deterrent to remind any wayward slammer of what could happen. In all his fifteen years, he’d never once seen or heard of anyone using them. When Ferris asked around, the other thralls hadn’t seen anyone be tossed in the devices, either. Their trainer explained that the tradition was an ancient one, dating back to when the world was whole and women walked the surface of the planets. During that time, slammers were kept in prisons and they were punished by being violently raped. In modern times, slammers were now kept by the landed gentrymen, but the punishment lived on.

  “But don’t some of them enjoy it?” Timon had asked, sparking a furious debate about slammers provoking their masters to abuse them as a twisted means of gaining pleasure.

  “Perhaps,” their trainer had agreed. “However, do you not see that just because one enjoys the abusive encounter doesn’t mean that both do?”

  Ferris had considered this idea for weeks. How could two men know what the other wanted unless they talked about it? Somehow, that idea seemed to take any potential romance out of the encounter, but it also ensured that one partner wouldn’t inadvertently hurt the other. Not that a slammer got a say in the matter. The only way his master could have sex with him was to do so publically and violently. Surely, there were heartless gentrymen who took exception to everything just so they could punish the slammer they secretly desired. Just as an amorous slammer could provoke his master to rebuke him, a master could do so in reverse. It seemed a dreadfully empty relationship with the physical aspects only being conducted beneath the public eye.

  When he’d ridden up to McBride’s tallos farm, Ferris had seen the stocks. They were simple in design, but they had a prominent place in the center of the cul-de-sac. When any of the brothers entered or left their houses, they would see the raised punishment device, which would serve to remind them to behave. McBride didn’t seem to be a cruel man at all, so Ferris doubted he’d ever used the device on any of his slammers.

  A trace of worry lingered about Bailey’s brothers trying to use him, but Ferris recognized this as part of his personality. He was a worrier, and probably always would be. Even though he was concerned, he also trusted that McBride would not tolerate the other brothers stealing what rightfully belonged to Bailey. However, all of Ferris’s thoughts fled when Bailey pulled out of him entirely and then plunged deep several times. The sheer intensity was astounding. He never thought anything could ever feel so good.

  “Kiss me. Please, my companion.” Ferris was shaking as he lay below his beautiful mate. “I hunger to taste you.”

  Bailey filled him and lowered his lips at the same time, which enhanced the pleasure of their merged mouths. When Bailey rose up to pull away, Ferris clung to his shoulders, sitting up.

  “Ah, Zooks! Your bottom is clenched around my cock like a vise!”

  Ferris dropped back onto the bed, terrified that he had hurt Bailey. “Are you injured?”

  “Not at all. It was just so unexpected.” Bailey soothed Ferris by smoothing his hand over his hair, brushing the blond strands off his forehead.

  “You were simply too tight.” McBride had settled on the upper part of the bed with his back against the headboard. He was close enough to watch and instruct them, but not so close he interfered. “When you are more accustomed to one another, Bailey will be able to handle you in that way. In fact, I think Bailey would be strong enough to hold you up.”

  “You mean fornicate standing?” Bailey looked down at Ferris speculatively.

  “Do not try it now,” McBride cautioned and then laughed gently. “You need not do everything in one night.”

  “Besides, I like having you above me.” Ferris teased his fingertips against Bailey’s face, just as Bailey had done to him. He wanted to memorize every feature. This would be a face he would see for the rest of his life. Quite suddenly, that thought made him happy.

  Bailey was able to thrust deeply without pulling fully away, which allowed them to kiss as they worked their bodies together. Each time Ferris thought he would climax, Bailey was instructed to pull back and encircle Ferris’s genitals to stop his release. It was a dance between their bodies, their breath, and even the beats of their hearts.

  “You are getting close to the point of orgasm.” McBride leaned up, presumably so he could get a better view. “Lower your hands to his hips.”

  Bailey did, his grip gentle.

  “Hold him steady as you increase your pace.” McBride settled back once Bailey found his rhythm. “Match your breath, your thrusts, and keep your eyes open so you can communicate your rise to orgasm.”

  Ferris held fast to Bailey’s strong shoulders as Bailey dug his fingertips ever deeper into Ferris’s hips. His powerful grip didn’t hurt but actually excited him. Being held down was arousing, almost as if Bailey were now so far gone he wouldn’t be able to take no for an answer. Not that Ferris had any intention of refusing him. Ever. Ferris couldn’t imagine a time when he wouldn’t want Bailey. No, he didn’t know him well, but he knew enough. Bailey was kind and concerned. He would never deliberately hurt him. His gaze held fast to Ferris’s as they rose higher into ecstasy.

  “Oh, my mate!” Bailey pulled Ferris’s hips up as he thrust down. The extra bit of depth startled Ferris and tightened him around Bailey’s cock. Ferris felt Bailey’s powerful climax deep inside his body while he found his own release against their bellies. They murmured nonsensical words of pleasure between hungry kisses. As quickly as they raced toward the final peak, once they reached the summit they slowed down. Bailey’s kisses were more gentle, deeper, and filled with relief. “Are you okay?”

  “I have never felt better.” Ferris couldn’t remember a time when he was
so aware of his entire body yet at ease with all that he felt.

  “No pain?” Bailey stroked over his neck. He frowned and then looked up at McBride. “Shouldn’t I have bit him?”

  “Not your first time.” McBride rose from the bed. “It’s too much to keep all the elements in your mind. Trying to fuck and drink at the same time, when both actions are new, could have overwhelmed you.”

  “I might have hurt him.” Bailey looked terrified by the very idea.

  “I don’t think you would have, but why tempt the fates?” McBride clapped him on the back. “Enjoy your first night together. I will return tomorrow for the second part of your training.”

  As pleased as Ferris was to be alone with his companion, he found he also missed the calm presence of their master.

  Bailey watched McBride go, and it seemed to Ferris he looked a little apprehensive. When Bailey turned back and looked at him, Ferris asked, “What will we do now that we’re alone?”

  Chapter 7

  McBride left Bailey and Ferris unaccompanied for the night. Their sweetness toward one another was beautiful but maddening. Watching them reminded McBride of what he wanted and didn’t have. Worse, he realized he wouldn’t get that kind of relationship any time soon. Too many other issues clamored for his attention.

  As he crossed the cul-de-sac, he caught the flicker of a curtain at Caleb’s. Rather than retreat after being caught watching, Caleb stayed at the window, apparently unconcerned that McBride was aware of his attention.

  The need to finish his nightly feeding was great, especially when his balls ached from a truncated release. However, McBride knew that if he returned to Caleb, he would do his best to make him climax with his own hand. McBride couldn’t let that situation go any further than it already had. In the future, he would have to contain Caleb to feed from him. He could avoid that for a while by simply feeding from one of the other Morgan brothers. Even with Bailey occupied, there were still five strong slammers who would graciously give up their necks for his use.

  Just when McBride was determined to simply let the situation go for the night so he could enter his home, bathe, eat, and sleep, Caleb met his gaze and defiantly lifted his chin. Although he was prepared to let that go, too, Caleb compounded his defiance by flashing McBride a crude hand gesture that stopped McBride in his tracks. An upward-thrust thumb had had various meanings over the centuries of man’s existence, but for a slammer to make that gesture to a landed gentryman went beyond simple defiance. It meant that Caleb would be happy to shove his cock up McBride’s ass. Moreover, the crude smile Caleb added to the gesture indicated that McBride would enjoy it as well.

  Astonished at his audacity, McBride decided the time had come to show Caleb once and for all who the master was on this farm. Turning on his heel, McBride strode over to the shed. He didn’t have to look to know that Caleb followed his every move with those damn intense eyes of his.

  Yanking open the door of the equipment shed, McBride extracted the restrictor. A complicated series of thick leather straps would hold even the biggest slammer immobile with his neck bared so a master could feed without having to struggle. Hefting the unit onto his shoulder, McBride grabbed the prod and then exited the storage unit. He slammed the door hard then strode over to Caleb’s mechanized home.

  Like the confrontational man he was, Caleb stayed at the window watching him. Caleb refused to step back, run, or do anything to show his fear of the device McBride carried toward him. The prod Caleb could handle, but the restrictor utterly terrified him, and they both knew it.

  Rather than knock this time, McBride opened the door and stepped in. Even if he wanted to lock him out, Caleb wouldn’t have been able to. None of the slammer houses had locks on the inside. However, there was a lock on the outside so that if he wished, McBride could lock his men in. He never had, but with the first companion going to the youngest Morgan brother, McBride might just have to lock Bailey and Ferris in for their own protection.

  Caleb was still standing by the front window, but now he was looking at McBride. Despite his casual stance, his fear of the restrictor was evident by the way his gaze shifted sideways to it very fast and then away. His dangerous eyes were wider than usual, and he nibbled at his bottom lip.

  “You showered,” McBride noted as he closed the door behind him.

  “And changed my clothes.”

  McBride nodded. In their off hours, his men were allowed to dress as they pleased. Caleb chose to go barefoot and wear only a pair of sturdy trousers fashioned out of one of the more expensive faux fibers. The material, the name of which escaped McBride, was black and clung to every muscle that Caleb possessed. He couldn’t have been more exposed even if he was completely naked.

  Suddenly, Caleb’s house seemed unnaturally small. Even from where he was standing, McBride could smell the soap that Caleb had used. It wasn’t a cheap brand, but one that had the infusion of pine essence. It was masculine and intriguing when mixed with his own unique scent.

  “You shaved, too.” McBride had a sudden urge to feel his cheek against Caleb’s as he drank. “What were you planning on doing tonight, Caleb?”

  “I was thinking I might go round to visit the new addition to the crew.” Caleb reached down and palmed his prick. He gave his hips a little flick that caused an answering flex of McBride’s buttocks.

  “You won’t touch him, Caleb. Ferris belongs to Bailey.”

  “Has he bitten him yet?” A full mating with a bite was a very strong bond, but that would have no meaning to a man like Caleb.

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “And there’s my answer.” Caleb smirked.

  When McBride tossed the prod on the table, Caleb showed no reaction. However, when McBride lifted the restrictor from his shoulder, Caleb visibly tightened and then chewed at his bottom lip. Rather than set it aside, McBride held it up and readied it for use. “I won’t have you causing chaos on my farm.”

  Caleb swallowed hard, but he didn’t retreat.

  “What is it about the restrictor that you fear so much?” Once he had the straps untangled, McBride settled the device on Caleb’s table. The leather and metal made heavy clunking sounds as it landed. Each bit of noise caused a corresponding flicker of fear in Caleb’s eyes. “You taunt me all the time to put you in the stocks, which is far more confining, yet you don’t fear it in the least. Explain that to me.”

  “I’m not afraid.” Caleb planted his hands on his hips, widening his stance. Damn but the man was simply enormous. McBride wondered if he looked that massive when he took that pose. When McBride matched his posture, Caleb frowned.

  “Are you going to drink from me again?”

  “Once I dress you up.”

  “I won’t fight you. I never do.”

  “You always fight me, Caleb. You fight with the look on your face, the turn of your cheek, the very way you refuse to pull your hair out of the way until I tell you to.” McBride almost always brushed his hair aside rather than making an issue of it. What maddened him was that Caleb’s hair was magically soft. Why couldn’t it be harsh against his hand, smell badly, or something that repulsed McBride? But no. Caleb’s hair was sinfully silky, smelled of some exotic spice he couldn’t name, and made him hunger to bury his face in the strands. Even earlier today when Caleb’s hair had been drenched in sweat, McBride had still wanted to stroke the strands that snaked down around his nipple.

  “Sit down, Caleb.” McBride pointed to the chair across from the table where he stood.

  Caleb didn’t rush to do his bidding, but he didn’t linger, either. He seemed determined to please McBride but still maintain his angry demeanor.

  “Please,” McBride murmured.

  The pleasantry caused Caleb to stumble almost imperceptibly as he moved toward the chair. Stunned, he flashed McBride a perplexed frown, just as McBride knew he would. Showing any kind of courtesy to Caleb made him suspicious. Under his weight, the chair creaked just a bit. Caleb looked up at McBride.
A central light that hung over the table cast a soft glow into his sage-green eyes, highlighting them, illuminating both his dull fury and his vulnerability.

  “Did my father make you wear the restrictor?”

  Caleb took a breath then released it slowly. “He never fed from me.”

  McBride frowned. There hadn’t been a scar on Caleb’s neck, but McBride had thought his father had just been more careful with him. Still, if that were so, then how could Caleb fear the device? “My father never fed from you?”

  “Your father had his needs met by a companion.”

  That was news to McBride. But there was a lot about his father and the farm that he didn’t know. They hadn’t been close, but in this day and age, clones never were. When his father passed and McBride inherited his holdings, he didn’t go looking for information on his father because he’d been too busy heading up the local law, learning to run a tallos farm, and just generally keeping his head above water.

  “What happened to my father’s companion?”

  Caleb shrugged, but his shoulders tightened when he glanced down at the restrictor on the table in front of him.

  McBride stroked his fingers over the clump of leather and metal. “Tell me.”

  Frowning, Caleb looked up at McBride. “Jonas disappeared shortly after your father passed.”

  “Why would he run?” McBride decided he would have no choice but to investigate. He had simply assumed his right to the farm and all of its holdings, including the Morgan brothers, was assured. Perhaps he’d been wrong. It would be just his luck to get everything running smoothly only to have someone show up out of the blue and claim everything was his.