Page 75 of Natural-Born Cullers

Martin frowned at the door, so bloody seriously, and when Gray traced a touch down his side, Martin snarled, shoulders going back against the wall, his stance widening, but not in any way to hide away from his heat.

Watching every move he made, Gray ran his fingertips down the V of Martin’s hips, how the muscles retracted to a sharp draw in of breath off him, then he slipped the duvet down, out of Martin’s grip.

Anger levelled on Gray, so bloody much, as he ran the back of his hand up Martin’s cock.

Martin seemed caught in indecision, so Gray helped him with it and wrapped a hold around his cock.

Martin hissed as Gray shivered. For a moment, Gray couldn’t understand why that shiver travelled through to him. He knew Jack’s body, how a gentle nip and lick at his throat got him groaning. How a swipe of thumb over the slit of his cock to stop him coming would get every fine muscle in his body writhing and twisting under Gray.

But this wasn’t Jack. It wasn’t Jan.

This was Martin.

No mind games. No sickness. No knowing how he like to be touched.

And that was it. Despite carrying every look of Jack, Martin wasn’t Jack. He didn’t know how to touch Martin like he did Jack, and that… maybe that was the finest mind game of Martin’s.

Innocence came with how Martin watched every play of Gray’s hand down his cock, and that only unravelled Gray more. That Martin could be… innocent. Pissed off, but still… innocent.

Martin came into himself then. All his anger over not trusting anyone but himself when it came to his body was snarled out, and he wrapped a fist around Gray’s, allowing Gray in close, but denying his control in the same breath.

Gray shouldn’t have let it rule his own body, but he briefly closed his eyes, his breathing bleeding out the need to dive in deep, take the control back, pin him against the wall, fuck him, but….

Head down, duvet pooled at his feet, Martin worked his cock hard through Gray’s touch, and Gray groaned against his neck, loving… wanting to learn and follow how Martin liked to be touched as much as he needed to take control and teach him how to enjoy being touched. Instead he gripped at Martin’s hair, pulling his gaze up and ghosting a kiss at his neck. Martin almost tried to shake him off in annoyance, but his breathing was too shallow. He was too close to coming.

Gray smiled into his kiss on his neck, hearing… feeling him come, and he nipped, licked just once at the line of perspiration it caused on Martin’s throat. It didn’t surprise him that Martin was hard and fast with release. Nor that he shook Gray off him in the next breath as soon as he found it. Nor that he left Gray chasing the need for his own release, up against the wall.

Seemed Martin was far from a stay-and-play-fair lover.

Christ. That didn’t do Gray any favours with the challenge, because Martin was the best out there.

“Jan can help you with that, right?”

Gray looked up. Martin paused, and his look rested on Gray’s cock, how it pushed against Martin’s hip.

Gray cocked a smile and folded his arms as he rested back against the wall. Martin got him going. He wasn’t hiding from that, and Martin snorted a small smile as he turned away from Gray. Heat had been cooled, now he seemed to need focus on why he’d switched.

Jan came through a moment later, and Gray picked up the housecoat and slipped it around Jan’s shoulders after he sneezed.

“He…?” Jan slipped a hold around Gray’s waist as they were left alone. “Martin okay?”

Gray held him close and shivered into what still raced his own body. “He’s… trying to find himself.” He ran a touch over Jan’s cheek, the warmth playing there that burned more aggressively than the heat that played his body a few moments ago. “Get back in bed. This isn’t just a cold.”

“Hm,” murmured Jan, rubbing at his head. “Maybe it’s not, and bed sounds damn good.” He gave Gray a smile. “But who’s gonna tell Martin he’s pinched the bloody covers, though?”

Chapter 23

Silver

As he made his way over the green to the summerhouse, night-time shadows playing around him, Gray paused and eased down, drifting a touch over the damage he saw. A rough scrape that cut into the dirt spoke of an assault, especially as the tent peg’s body lay a few feet away, calling out a kicking. Gray draped an elbow onto his knee, his look going across the green. It cried out Martin’s impatience over being tracked, or maybe just his pissing about over it, and he flicked a look back to the manor.

No switch had come since two days ago, and from how the fading scents of a takeaway roast drifted from the summerhouse, Gray guessed Martin was keeping his own tabs on Light with having gotten dinner served and over to them a few moments ago.

Jan was the concern. He’d gotten worse, and Gray knew Jack would be kicking himself for not being here. Where Gray had needed to work, Martin had been the surprise, stepping in with Jan, if only to sit and toss things at him to make sure he was still breathing. If Jan had had a headache, it was a full-blown,God, no more, let me just hide under the coversnow.

But it also concerned Gray how Martin stayed around. The switch hadn’t been accidental from Jack, and it had taken a few hours to reason over why. Simon was the only connecting factor. He usually sorted any business over at the summerhouse, and the last time Jack had seen him in the manor had been before Light had blown the summerhouse up and killed Cath. And Jack had bitten at Simon over being in the kitchen, needing him to leave.

Christ. Gray wiped a hand over his face. Everyone dealt in their own ways, and with Jack, he could look and feel fine as everything bubbled under the surface, away from that. But it was part of his disorders: disassociation.

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