by Jay Ellison
Mr. Eisenberg touched his wife’s face tenderly. “I think my filly made a new friend in your pretty colt.”
“Speaking of which…”
“Yes.” Mr. Eisenberg nodded. “I would like their coupling to be part of your colt’s performance at the Dollhouse. The gents should be able to enjoy his lovely performance as we all have tonight.” He touched his heart dramatically. “Exquisite.”
“Thank you. I will make the arrangements.”
I was clearing the dishes from the table while they talked about Sasha and me and felt a shiver of pride that I had been able to move Mr. Eisenberg with my performance. It was very empowering.
Mr. Martín was the last to step up in front of Master. He seized Master’s cheeks and whispered some words low in Spanish before kissing him soundly on the lips. Master immediately responded, and, in seconds, the two men were sucking at each other’s mouths with ravenous hunger.
“I have enjoyed tonight, little prince, though I am still insulted to not have received an invitation.” He smiled at Master, licking his lips. “Your dinner was exquisite and your courtier is delicious.”
Master smiled in response, a real smile. “You would not have come if I had invited you, Enrique,” he said. “In fact, you would have deliberately avoided it completely.” He clenched the back of Mr. Martín’s neck and drew him close, resting his forehead against the other man. I felt the profound connection they shared. “I know you, my king. You will never do as you are asked, but you will always do that which is unexpected.”
Master’s words—his trickery—had the desired effect. “Cállate, hombre, por favor!” Mr. Martín suddenly exclaimed in frustration, throwing out his arms. “Guess, then, my next move, little prince!”
Master laughed joyously. “I dare not, my king!”
Mr. Martín gave him a surly look, went out into the foyer of the old townhouse, and returned moments later with two large travel suitcases. He gave Master a fiery look. “Did you anticipate this, then?”
“No,” Master said. “But I welcome it all the same.”
Mr. Martín harrumphed, still chaffed by Mater’s manipulation. “I shall be upstairs, showering.” Head held high, he marched upstairs with the suitcases.
“You knew he would come, but only if you didn’t invite him,” I reasoned.
Master turned to look at me. I had stopped loading the soiled dishes onto the cart and spent the last few moments gawping at the two of them—their easy, sexy familiarity. I could tell they had a very long history together, that they knew each other intimately, inside and out. I would be lying if I said it didn’t make me crazy jealous. “Yes. He does this all the time,” Master said. “You’ll get used to it.”
“Yes, Master.”
His eyes softened. “I’ve missed you, Timothy.”
“Me, too.” I stepped away from the cart and toward him. “I missed you as much as George. Maybe more!” I stopped myself and got down on my knees and bowed my head to the floor when I realized my mistake. I shouldn’t be speaking, and I should have assumed a more obedient and open position in his presence. “Forgot myself, Master.”
“Stand. And I want you to speak. I want to hear about everything you accomplished this past week. Tell me everything!”
The exuberance in his voice buoyed me. I stood and saw the desire darkening his eyes. I knew how much he wanted me.
I didn’t think about it. I did exactly as I had warned him I would. Now that we were alone, I raced to him, throwing myself upon him, and kissed him welcome home!
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CHAPTER TWELVE
I woke up in the middle of the night wedged between my two Masters, feeling sore and satisfied. It took a moment to figure out what had awoken me.
Master’s ringtone. Again.
He had seemed so happy when we first went to bed. We took a couple of the remaining, unopened bottles of champagne upstairs with us. I vaguely remembered laughing while Master held me down against the bed, taking sips of champagne from a bottle and kissing them into my mouth. His lips had tasted so sweet. We were still laughing when Sir stepped out of the shower, damp and beautifully naked, and joined us on the bed.
I remembered him saying to Master, “Well, now, little prince. You’re overdressed for the occasion.” Between the two of us, we managed to get Master undressed, and, soon enough, we were enjoying each other. Master and Sir embraced on the bed, with me in the middle of our little huddle. Sir wasted no time palming Master’s cheek and kissing him deeply and passionately. They ran their skillful fingers over each other’s silky muscles and bit wildly at each other’s mouths. It was incredibly sexy, but it only lasted a few minutes.
Sir, apparently fully aware of his protégé’s longing, sat back and said, “Love your beautiful courtier, Byron. He’s waited all night for you.”
Master was all over me, then—kissing, nipping, his hands gliding hot and heavy over the quivering muscles of my chest and lower belly. “Lie back and let me in,” he commanded. “I need to lose myself in you, my sweetness.”
It didn’t take long. In minutes, he was between my legs and pounding inside me so deeply, so wildly—so desperately—that I wound up crying out and thrashing my head on the silken pillows that Sir had piled up around my head. Sir enjoyed our performance so much that the moment Master had spent himself inside me, he took his place, holding me down against the bed while he thrashed inside me like some wild native, filling me with his seed. I nearly couldn’t breathe, I was so full of them both.
I was sore and exhausted from the evening. I fell asleep shamefully fast.
Now this.
I sat up, but Master was already leaving the room with his robe. I heard him say into the phone, “You’re being pigheaded! Yes, that’s right. Pigheaded! I can’t help you if you won’t let me.”
I crept down the stairs the way I had that last time and saw his shadow pacing quickly across the parlor. “How can I possibly prove my love for you?” he shouted suddenly, startling me.
With a cry, he smashed the phone against the wall. The sound of his anguish was like a knife in my heart. A moment later, the door opened in the foyer and then slammed shut like the door of a tomb as he stormed out—to where, I didn’t know. All I knew was he was cutting me off from his pain, and I was determined to get to the bottom of things.
One way or another.
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Look for
HIS MASTER’S VOICE, PART 4
Coming Soon!
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About the Author
Jay Ellison lives in the big city with his partner and several rescue dogs. He writes m/m romantic erotica. To see all of the Courtesan Press titles, visit http://courtesanpress.wordpress.com.
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