When I intervened to stop the new kid getting bullied I didn't expect us to have such an instant connection
The bell rang, shrill and piercing, echoing through the draughty corridors of St. Edmund’s Secondary School. I slouched in my seat, doodling in the margins of my exercise book, as the classroom door creaked open. A lanky boy with dark, messy fringe half-covering his face shuffled in, tugging nervously at the zip of his navy blazer. His green eyes darted around the room, taking in the rows of wooden desks scarred with years of graffiti and the peeling posters of Shakespeare and the periodic table plastered on the walls.
“Right, settle down, you lot,” barked Mrs. Hargreaves, our form tutor, a wiry woman with grey hair scraped into a tight bun and eyes that could spot a chewing gum wrapper from across the room. “This is Coben, our new transfer student. Introduce yourself, lad.”
Coben cleared his throat, his voice wobbling slightly. “Er, hiya, I’m Coben. Fifteen. Nice to meet you all.” His accent was soft, maybe northern, and his lean frame—probably about 5 foot 6—made him look like he’d blow over in a strong wind. But there was something about him, those sharp green eyes and the way his black hair fell just so, that made my stomach do a weird flip.
The class erupted in sniggers. A balled-up piece of graph paper sailed from the back, smacking Coben square on the forehead. It bounced off and landed on Mrs. Hargreaves’ desk, right next to her chipped “World’s Best Teacher” mug. She snatched it up, her lips thinning into a dangerous line.
“Who threw this?” she snapped, waving the crumpled paper like a battle flag. “Own up, or I’ll have the whole lot of you in detention scrubbing desks till your fingers bleed.”
Liam, the class prat with a permanent smirk and a knack for trouble, raised a lazy hand. “That’d be mine, miss.”
“A note, is it?” Mrs. Hargreaves unfolded the paper, her eyes narrowing as she read. “Goth poof. Get lost, you twat.”
The room exploded into laughter, chairs scraping as kids turned to gawp at Coben. His face went scarlet, eyes glued to the scuffed lino floor. His fists clenched, then disappeared into his blazer pockets. I felt a pang in my chest—poor sod didn’t deserve this.
Mrs. Hargreaves slammed the note down and fixed Liam with a stare that could curdle milk. “Liam Carter, you’re off to the head’s office. Now.”
Liam stood, stretching like he had all the time in the world. He shot Coben a filthy look, flipping him the V-sign. “You’re knackered, mate,” he muttered, loud enough for the whole room to hear. Coben glanced up, then quickly away, as Liam sauntered to the door, letting it swing shut with a soft thud.
Silence fell, thick and awkward, until the door flew open again with a bang. Liam’s head poked in, grinning like a hyena. “Emo shirt-lifter!” he bellowed, and the class lost it again, cackling like a pack of jackals. Coben stood rigid, his jaw tight, eyes shimmering with what looked like tears. I wanted to shout at them to shut it, but my courage was stuck somewhere in my throat.
Mrs. Hargreaves slammed both hands on her desk, making her mug rattle. “Enough! You lot are a disgrace!” she roared. Turning to Coben, her voice softened slightly. “Coben, don’t mind that idiot. Liam’s just a thug. Sit next to Blake, there.” She pointed at me, and my eyebrows shot up.
Coben looked over, his lips twitching into a half-smile—more of a smirk, really. He walked over, all lanky grace, and slid into the seat beside me. “Alright?” he said, his voice low, those green eyes scanning my face like he was trying to figure me out.
“Yeah, hi,” I managed, feeling my cheeks heat up. “I’m Blake.”
“You didn’t laugh,” he said, almost a whisper.
“Not funny, is it? Bullying’s a load of bollocks,” I replied, trying to sound casual.
He grinned, properly this time. “Coben Harris. Nice one, Blake.”
“Cody Bennett,” I said, flashing a grin back. “Good to meet you, mate.”
Mrs. Hargreaves launched into a lecture about quadratic equations, but I barely heard her. I kept sneaking glances at Coben, his profile sharp and oddly captivating as he scribbled notes.
After class, I nudged him. “Fancy grabbing some grub at lunch?”
“Yeah, sounds good,” he said, quick as a flash.
We headed out, but as we passed the lockers, Liam was there, leaning against the chipped metal like he owned the place. Without warning, he shoved me hard. I stumbled, my shoulder crashing into the classroom door, the handle digging into my ribs. I gasped, pain shooting through me. Before I could recover, Liam grabbed Coben by his blazer collar and drove a fist into his stomach. Coben doubled over, clutching his gut, his face twisted in agony.
I saw red. Scrambling up, I launched myself at Liam, tackling him to the ground. My fists flew, landing two solid punches to his jaw before he shoved me off, his trainer slamming into my chest. The air rushed out of me, and I wheezed, clutching my side.
“Piss off, Bennett!” Liam snarled, standing. “This is between me and the emo freak.”
Students were already circling, phones out, chanting, “Fight! Fight! Fight!” like it was a bloody football match. I staggered to my feet, positioning myself between Liam and Coben, who was slumped against the wall, still winded.
Liam lunged for Coben again, grabbing his throat and pinning him to the wall. “Gonna make you bleed, you little git,” he growled, raising his fist.
I didn’t think. I charged, slamming into Liam’s side. He stumbled but didn’t fall, his elbow catching my cheekbone with a crack. Pain exploded across my face, but I grabbed his arm, yanking it off Coben’s neck. We hit the floor in a tangle, Liam’s weight crushing me as he landed on top. “You’re dead, Bennett!” he roared, his fist cocked.
Before he could swing, a hand clamped around his wrist. Mr. Pritchard, the headteacher, loomed over us, his face like thunder. “What the bloody hell is going on here?” he bellowed, hauling Liam off me.
I coughed, rubbing my aching chest. “Liam’s picking on Coben, sir.”
Mr. Pritchard’s eyes narrowed at Liam. “You, Carter. My office. Again.”
Liam’s glare could’ve melted steel as he dusted off his blazer. “This ain’t over, Harris,” he spat, before stalking off under Mr. Pritchard’s glare.
The head turned to the crowd. “Clear off, the lot of you!” The students scattered, muttering. He looked at Coben, softening. “You alright, lad?”
“I’m fine, sir,” Coben said, voice shaky but steadying.
“Clinic?” Mr. Pritchard asked. “Nurse might sort you out. She’s not half bad, either.” He winked, trying to lighten the mood.
Coben managed a small smile. “Think Blake needs it more.”
Mr. Pritchard glanced at me, noticing the blood trickling from my cheek. “Right, both of you, off to the clinic. Blake, that was brave, standing up for him.”
“Had to, sir,” I said, wincing as I touched my face.
He chuckled. “Get yourselves patched up. Dismissed.”
At the clinic, Nurse Patel—fit as anything with her warm smile—gasped at my bloodied face. “Blimey, Blake, what’ve you done to yourself?” she said, guiding me to a bed. She
cleaned the cut, her touch gentle but stinging like hell. My body reacted in ways I didn’t want to think about, heat pooling in my gut.
Coben hovered nearby, smirking. “You look like you’ve gone ten rounds with Tyson.”
“Feel like it,” I muttered, attempting a grin.
Nurse Patel finished bandaging me and left us alone. I tried to sit up, but Coben pushed me back down, his hands firm on my shoulders. “Stay put, you numpty.”
I laughed, then, without thinking, grabbed his waist and pulled him onto the bed beside me. “Oi!” he yelped, half-laughing.
“What?” I said, grinning, my heart racing.
He went quiet, then looked at me, his green eyes intense. “You bi or summat?”
“Nah!” I said, too quick, my hands dropping from his waist. He sat up, studying me.
“Sorry, shouldn’t have asked,” he said, but there was a glint in his eye.
Before I could respond, he leaned in, his lips crashing into mine—hard at first, then softening, achingly tender. My body froze, then melted, a moan slipping out as his tongue brushed mine, all heat and velvet. My hands found his shoulders, gripping tight, as the world narrowed to just us, tangled in a fire I didn’t know I’d been craving.
Coben’s lips crashed against mine, not just kissing but devouring, a ravenous edge to his hunger that set my nerves alight. His mouth was hot, relentless, tasting of mint and something darker, primal, that made my head spin. I’d never been kissed like this—never felt this kind of fire, this raw need that pulsed through me like a current, making my skin tingle and my heart pound so loud I swore he could hear it. His tongue swept into my mouth, bold and claiming, and I met it with a clumsy fervour, my inexperience drowned by the overwhelming want surging in my chest. What the hell is happening to me? I thought, my mind reeling as my body leaned into him, craving more despite the voice in my head screaming that this was uncharted territory.
His hand slid down my side, fingers tracing the lean curve of my waist with a deliberate slowness that felt like a caress and a tease all at once. My breath hitched as his touch grazed the slight jut of my hips, each movement sending sparks skittering across my skin. Then his fingers—confident, almost brazen—slipped beneath the waistband of my trousers, cupping my hardening cock through my briefs. The jolt was electric, a shockwave that made my knees buckle and my vision blur. I’d never been touched like this, never felt someone else’s hand there, and the intensity of it—his firm grip, the heat of his palm—made my head swim with a mix of thrill and terror. This is wrong, isn’t it? my mind whispered, but my body arched into his touch, betraying every ounce of hesitation.
“Coben…” I gasped, my voice thick and unsteady, barely recognisable as my own. His fingers teased me to a throbbing, aching hardness, each stroke deliberate, skilled, unraveling me thread by thread. His kisses trailed from my lips, hot and wet, along the sharp line of my jaw to the tender skin of my throat. Each press of his lips, each gentle suck, sent shivers racing down my spine, my skin prickling with goosebumps as he nipped lightly, leaving faint marks that pulsed with my heartbeat. How does he know how to do this? I wondered, my thoughts a chaotic jumble as my hands roamed his back, feeling the taut muscle beneath his blazer, the heat of him seeping through the fabric, grounding me even as I spiralled.
A low groan rumbled from Coben, raw and unguarded, vibrating against my skin as he pressed himself closer, his body a solid, warm weight against mine. My hands clutched at him, fingers digging into the firm ridges of his shoulders, desperate to anchor myself as my resistance crumbled. My brain screamed that this was madness—the school clinic, with its creaky bed and sharp antiseptic tang, was the worst possible place for this. The stark white walls, the sterile tray of medical supplies glinting in the corner, the faint hum of the fluorescent light overhead—it all felt like a warning. What if someone walks in? The thought sent a spike of panic through me, but my body didn’t care, melting under his hands, my cock straining against his palm, begging for more.
Coben’s fingers moved with purpose, deftly unbuttoning my trousers and tugging them down, the fabric catching briefly on my thighs before falling away. The cool air hit my skin, making me shiver, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his hand as he freed my cock from my briefs, stroking with a rhythm that tore a ragged moan from my throat. I yanked my shirt up, shoving my trousers further down, exposing the lean lines of my stomach and thighs. My body felt foreign to me, taut and trembling, every muscle quivering under his gaze. Coben’s green eyes raked over me, dark with a hunger that made my stomach flip. He’s looking at me like I’m… something to devour, I thought, a thrill mixing with my nerves as he took in every inch of my exposed frame, his gaze lingering on the hard planes of my abdomen, the way my cock stood proud and leaking.
He groaned against my skin, his breath hot and damp as he slid a hand under my hips, lifting me closer until our bodies pressed flush. The hard ridge of his arousal, unmistakable through his trousers, ground against my thigh, and the sensation sent a jolt of panic-laced excitement through me. He’s hard… for me. The thought was dizzying, intoxicating, and terrifying all at once—this was spiralling too far, too fast, into a place I’d never been, a place I wasn’t sure I was ready for. Every nerve screamed to surrender, to let him take me wherever this fevered moment was leading, but a flicker of sense, a tiny shred of my usual caution, held me back.
“C-Coben, please… we can’t…” I stammered, my voice barely a whisper, trembling with the effort to hold onto reason. My wide blue eyes met his, pleading, even as my body arched toward him, betraying my words.
He lifted his head, his eyes glazed with a desire so intense it made my breath catch. A muscle twitched in his jaw, his lips tightening into a tense line, but his hand didn’t stop, stroking faster, more precise, each movement coaxing louder moans from me. The slickness of pre-cum made his fingers glide effortlessly, matching the wild, filthy thoughts racing through my mind—thoughts I’d never dared entertain before. I want him to keep going. I want… more. The realisation hit me like a punch, shame and lust warring in my chest as I fought to stay coherent, to not lose myself completely in the heat of his touch.
For a split second, I pictured Nurse Patel bursting through the door, her sharp eyes catching us in this compromising tangle—my trousers around my ankles, Coben’s hand on my cock, our flushed faces and heaving breaths. The fear was visceral, a cold spike through the haze of pleasure, but it only made the moment sharper, more dangerous. I’ve never done this. Never let anyone… The thought was cut off by another moan as Coben’s thumb circled the head of my cock, spreading the slickness, making my hips buck involuntarily. I’d never gone this far, never let another boy touch me like this, only to pull back. It felt unfair to Coben, who couldn’t know the storm of want and guilt tearing me apart, the way my body screamed for him even as my mind grappled with the unknown.
“I’m sorry…” I managed, my voice cracking, my eyes locked on his, wide and vulnerable, begging him to understand.
He froze, his hand stilling, then slowly, reluctantly, let go, his frustration clear in the tight set of his shoulders, though his eyes softened with understanding. The throbbing ache in my cock pulsed against his retreating touch, drawing a low groan from me as I fought the urge to pull him back. He sighed, easing back to give me space, his fingers lingering for a moment before gently tucking me back into my briefs, his touch careful, almost reverent. Unable to stop myself, I leaned in, brushing a soft, tentative kiss against his lips, my heart hammering at my own boldness. What am I doing? I thought, but the taste of him, warm and lingering, silenced the doubt.
“Cheeky,” I murmured, my voice shaky but teasing, trying to lighten the tension coiling between us.
He flushed, a sheepish grin breaking through the haze of desire. “Couldn’t help it, mate,” he said, his voice low and rough, his fingers brushing my thigh as he adjusted my trousers,
the gesture oddly tender after the intensity of moments before. Just then, the clinic door creaked open, and Nurse Patel stepped in, her sharp eyes flickering over us—my flushed cheeks, Coben’s disheveled hair, the faint sheen of sweat on our skin. She didn’t say anything, but the faintest smirk curved her lips, like she knew exactly what we’d been up to.
“Rest up, Blake,” she said briskly, her tone professional but laced with something knowing. Coben shot me a look, his green eyes glinting with promise, his voice dropping to a whisper. “We’ll finish this later, yeah?”
My stomach flipped, a mix of nerves and anticipation sparking at the thought. Later. The word echoed in my mind, a dangerous, thrilling promise that left me wondering just how much further I’d let myself fall.
As we trudged home that night through the damp streets, the grey sky spitting rain, we chatted about nothing—football, the crap school canteen food, anything to fill the silence. Out of nowhere, Coben glanced at me, his fringe falling into his eyes. “Why’d you stick up for me back there?”
I shrugged, hands stuffed in my pockets. “Dunno. Who wouldn’t?”
He gave a small laugh. “Most people, probably. It’s… new, someone having my back.”
“Mate, that’s what mates do,” I said, nudging his shoulder.
He grinned, but it faded slightly. “I always get stick for… y’know, being like this.”
“What, a goth?” I teased.
He rolled his eyes. “Not proper goth, am I? Just like my hair like this and dark stuff. Doesn’t mean I’m slicing my wrists or summat.”
“Didn’t think you were,” I said, though my tone might’ve sounded a bit sharp. “Thought all goths were into that, though.”
His face went blank for a second. “Being ‘goth’ or whatever—it’s not about hurting yourself or loving black. It’s just… who you are.”
“What’s that mean, then?” I asked, genuinely curious.
He sighed, kicking a pebble down the pavement. “It’s not one thing. It’s your vibe, your personality. Labels are bollocks anyway.”
I laughed. “Proper philosopher, you.”
“People’s person,” he shot back, and we both cracked up, the tension from earlier dissolving into the misty air.
Coben and I ambled down the drizzle-soaked pavement, the neon glow of shop signs casting a hazy sheen over the bustling road. My house was just a short walk away, and Coben’s was a few streets over. “Fancy coming in for a bit?” I asked, heart thudding as I tried to sound casual. He nodded, a sly grin tugging at his lips, and we trudged through the wet streets to my front door.
As we stepped into the warmth of my terraced house, the smell of Mum’s shepherd’s pie wafted from the kitchen. “Blake! Who’s that with you?” her voice rang out, sharp and curious.
I glanced at Coben, his green eyes widening slightly. “Just a mate from school, Mum!” I called back, trying to keep my voice steady.
Mum appeared in the hallway, wiping her hands on a tea towel, her sharp gaze raking over Coben from his damp fringe to his scuffed trainers. “Well, it’s nice to see you’ve made a new friend,” she said, her tone softening but still probing. “And you are?”
“Coben Harris, Mrs. Bennett,” he said, flashing a disarming smile. “I live just a few streets over.”
She nodded, her eyes lingering on him. “You seem a decent lad. Look after my Blake, alright?”
I felt my cheeks burn. “Mum,” I groaned, but Coben just chuckled. “Will do, Mrs. Bennett.”
She retreated to the kitchen, and I gave Coben a playful shove on the arm. “Race you upstairs,” I said, and we bolted up the creaky staircase to my room, our laughter echoing off the peeling wallpaper.
The door barely clicked shut before Coben’s lips grazed mine, soft but electric, sending a jolt through my core. “Easy, Blake,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “Just wanna kiss you.”
His mouth pressed harder, sweet and insistent, lips parting mine with a gentle urgency that made my head spin. His tongue slipped in, tentative at first, then bolder, dancing against mine in a slow, sensual rhythm that tasted of mint and the faint salt of rain. I kissed back, my hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer as the heat built between us, a fire igniting low in my belly. The world narrowed to the wet slide of his lips, the soft sighs escaping us, each kiss deeper, more demanding, until I was breathless, my body pressing against his, feeling the hard lines of him through our clothes.
The air between us crackled, all restraint snapping like a brittle twig. I didn’t think—just let the heat of my desire pour out, raw and unfiltered. A guttural groan tore from Coben’s throat as he pulled me closer, his arms strong and sure, guiding me down to the worn rug on my bedroom floor. The carpet was soft under my back, but all I felt was the weight of him, the way his body moulded to mine.
His lips traced a scorching path along my jaw, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin just below my ear, sending shivers racing down my spine. He moved lower, his breath hot against my throat as he sucked gently, marking me with faint red blooms that throbbed with each heartbeat. His hands roamed, slipping under my shirt to caress the smooth planes of my back, fingers tracing every vertebra as if committing them to memory. He tugged my shirt up and off, the cool air hitting my exposed skin, making my nipples pebble instantly. Coben’s eyes darkened as he took me in, his gaze hungry, almost predatory.
Leaning down, he captured one nipple between his lips, swirling his tongue around the hardened peak while his hand teased the other, pinching and rolling it until I arched off the floor, a moan ripping from my throat. “Coben… fuck,” I gasped, my fingers threading through his dark hair, holding him there as waves of pleasure crashed over me. He switched sides, lavishing the same attention, his teeth grazing just enough to send sparks of pain-laced ecstasy straight to my groin.
His hands slid lower, gripping me through my trousers, stroking the straining bulge that pulsed with need. His touch was firm, deliberate, each stroke sending jolts of fire through my veins. The fabric barrier only heightened the tease, making me buck against his palm, desperate for more. “Bloody hell, Coben,” I panted, voice thick with lust. “Don’t stop… please.”
He didn’t. Instead, he hooked his fingers into my waistband, yanking my trousers and briefs down in one swift motion, my cock springing free, hard and leaking pre-cum. The air was cool against my heated skin, but Coben’s hand wrapped around me immediately, stroking slow and tight, his thumb circling the slick head. Each pump had me moaning, my hips thrusting into his fist as pleasure coiled tighter in my gut.
Coben leaned over, his breath ghosting over my cock before he licked a long, slow stripe from base to tip, tasting me with a hum of appreciation. His tongue swirled around the head, dipping into the slit to lap up the pre-cum, the sensation so intense I nearly came right then. “You taste so fucking good,” he murmured, his voice vibrating against me as he took me into his mouth, sucking deep and slow, his cheeks hollowing with each pull.
I groaned, my head falling back, lost in the wet heat of his mouth, the way his tongue pressed against the underside, tracing every vein. His hand cupped my balls, rolling them gently, adding another layer of sensation that had me trembling. “Coben… oh god, yes,” I whimpered, my fingers tightening in his hair as he bobbed his head, taking me deeper each time, his throat relaxing around me.
The pleasure built, a relentless tide, but before I could tip over, he pulled back, his lips shiny and swollen. Standing, he scooped me up, his strength surprising for his lean frame. He carried me to the bed, the old springs creaking as he laid me down under the slanted eaves. I reached up, trembling fingers fumbling with his blazer, pulling it off to reveal the tight lines of his torso. In the dim glow from the streetlamp outside, his six-pack gleamed, each muscle carved and glistening with a faint sheen of sweat. My breath caught—he was bloody perfect.
I barely noticed him peeling off my remaining clothes until the cool air hit my cock, hard and throbbing at five and a half inches. A shiver ripped through me as his fingers grazed my length, stroking with a rhythm that made my hips buck. “Fuck, that’s good,” I groaned, my lips brushing his chest, tasting the salty tang of his skin, his scent—a mix of soap and raw, masculine heat—driving me wild. My hands fumbled with his belt, desperate to feel him.
Coben’s hand kept working me, each stroke sending jolts of pleasure through my core. His green eyes burned with a fierce, almost feral intensity as he bent down, nuzzling the flushed tip of my cock before flicking his tongue over it. I moaned, my fingers tangling in his dark hair, urging him closer as he licked and sucked, each movement sending rivulets of fire through my veins. My hands found his balls, kneading the soft, heavy weight, and he shuddered, a low growl escaping him.
“Blake… fuck,” he rasped, his voice raw as I arched into him, the hard press of his cock against my stomach undeniable proof of his own need. His hand moved faster, stroking me with a precision that had me teetering on the edge, pleasure coiling tight in my gut.
“Shit, Coben, I’m—” My words dissolved into a moan as my cock pulsed, hot cum spilling over his hand, splattering across my chest and stomach. He leaned in, kissing me hard, his tongue plunging into my mouth, tasting of salt and heat as I sucked it greedily, my body still trembling from the release.
“Don’t matter,” I panted, my breath ragged. Nothing mattered but the electric current between us, the way his touch kept me tethered to this moment.
Gently, he pushed me back onto the bed, the mattress dipping under our weight. His eyes softened as he stripped off his trousers and pants, his cock springing free—five and a half inches, rock-hard, a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip. He lay beside me, his smile reassuring as he brushed a strand of hair from my face. His fingers trailed down my cheek, cupping my chin, and he kissed me again, light and teasing, his tongue tracing the curve of my lips before diving deeper.
My hand slid down his chest, fingers grazing the taut skin of his abs before wrapping around his cock. I rubbed the swollen head with my thumb, drawing a moan from him as his hips twitched. My own cock pressed against his silky thigh, the friction sending fresh sparks through me. “Fuck, Blake,” he groaned, his voice thick as my fingers worked him, slow and deliberate.
His mouth moved to my neck, kissing the hollow at my throat, his hands stroking my back in slow, firm circles that made me shiver. “Knew it,” he murmured, his breath hot against my cock. “Your back’s a bloody goldmine.”
I laughed, the sound catching as his nails grazed lightly down my spine, sending shudders of delight through me. Eager to give as good as I got, I pumped his cock harder, my other hand cupping his balls, rolling them gently. His whole body trembled, a low moan tearing from him as I leaned down, taking his cock into my mouth. I sucked gently, my tongue flicking over the slit, tasting the salty bead of pre-cum.
“Blake… I’m gonna—” His warning came too late. I sucked harder, my hand massaging his balls as he bucked against me, his cock pulsing as hot cum shot into my mouth. I swallowed, savouring every drop of his hot, salty, slimy release, then pulled back to tease the sensitive tip, drawing a shuddering groan from him.
His breath was uneven, hot against my cock as he returned the favour, licking the underside with slow, deliberate strokes. I thrust gently against his face, his nose brushing my length as he took me into his mouth again, sucking deep. His fingers wrapped around my balls, squeezing just enough to make my vision blur with pleasure. My hips moved instinctively, chasing the release building inside me.
“Coben, fuck—” I groaned, clutching his cock as my own pulsed, cum spilling across his lips and chin. He sucked harder, milking every drop, his fingers tightening around me until I was gasping, my body shaking with the intensity.
We collapsed side by side, breathless, the air thick with the scent of sweat and cum. “Fucking hell,” I muttered, my chest heaving.
Coben gave his cock a light squeeze, sighing. “Yeah, mate. That was… unreal.”
“Wanna try something else?” I said, my voice hoarse but eager.
His grin was all the answer I needed. I slid to the foot of the bed, kneeling between his legs, my eyes locked on the pink, puckered rose of his anus. I leaned in, my tongue tracing the sensitive rim, and he groaned, his body trembling under me. I licked deeper, probing with slow, deliberate strokes, circling the tight ring of muscle, tasting the musky, intimate flavour of him. His moans grew louder, his hands fisting the sheets as I flattened my tongue, lapping broadly before pointing it to press inside, just a little, teasing the entrance.
“Blake… oh shit,” he whimpered, his hips lifting off the bed, pushing back against my face. I hummed in response, the vibration making him shudder, his cock twitching back to life against his stomach. I sucked gently at the rim, my hands spreading his cheeks wider for better access, my tongue dipping in and out in a rhythm that had him panting, his body slick with sweat.
I wet my index finger with saliva, circling his entrance slowly, feeling the muscle clench and relax under my touch. “Relax, Coben,” I murmured, pressing kisses to his inner thighs as I pushed in gently, the tight heat enveloping my finger inch by inch. He gasped, his voice breaking into a high-pitched whine as I crooked it slightly, searching for that spot inside him.
When I found it, brushing against his prostate, he arched off the bed, a cry tearing from his throat. “Fucking hell, Blake! Right there!”
I thrust my finger deeper, adding a second one after a moment, scissoring them to stretch him, my mouth returning to his cock, sucking the head while my fingers worked him open.
His body shook, moans spilling from his lips in a continuous stream, muffled only when he bit down on his fist. The sounds he made—raw, desperate—spurred me on, my own cock throbbing painfully between my legs.
Pulling my fingers out, I gave him a moment to catch his breath, his chest heaving, eyes glazed with lust. Then I readied my index and middle fingers again, sliding them in together with a slow, insistent push. He bucked, his moans barely contained as I thrust in and out, curling them to hit that spot over and over, each movement drawing shudders from him. His cock leaked pre-cum steadily now, and I lapped it up, the salty taste mixing with the heady scent of our arousal filling the room.
His body was a live wire, trembling with every touch, and I loved the power of it, the way I could unravel him completely. “You feel so good,” I whispered, my voice rough as I added a third finger, stretching him further, preparing him for what was next. He writhed, his head thrashing on the pillow, words tumbling out incoherently—pleas, curses, my name repeated like a mantra.
Finally, I withdrew my fingers, positioning myself above him, my cock hard and aching as I pressed it against his entrance. “You good?” I asked, voice rough with need.
He nodded, biting his lip, his green eyes dark with want and a hint of nervousness. “Yeah… do it, Blake. Please.”
As I positioned himself above Coben, my cock throbbing and slick with anticipation, I pressed the flushed, swollen head against Coben’s tight, pink sphincter. The initial contact was electric, a jolt of raw heat that made my breath hitch. Coben’s entrance was warm, impossibly tight, the muscle clenching instinctively against the intrusion, a firm barrier that resisted my gentle push. I pushed in slowly, the tight heat enveloping the head of my cock, making my knees weak with the overwhelming sensation. The resistance was exquisite, his body clenching around me as I inched forward, savouring every millimetre. “Fuck, Coben, you’re so tight,” I groaned, my hands gripping his hips to steady myself. He moaned, his nails digging into my shoulders, urging me deeper.
The sensation was intense, a delicious pressure that sent a shiver up my spine, my cock pulsing with need as I fought to stay controlled, not wanting to rush or hurt Coben. I eased forward, the resistance growing, a taut knot of muscle that seemed unyielding, gripping the tip of my cock in a vice-like hold. The tightness was almost overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and challenge, like pushing against a velvet wall that both invited and defied me.
My hands gripped Coben’s hips, steadying them both as I applied slow, steady pressure, feeling the muscle tense and quiver under my touch. Coben’s breath came in short, sharp gasps, his body trembling, the faint sheen of sweat on his skin catching the dim light. “Relax, mate,” I murmured, voice rough with lust, my thumb brushing soothing circles on Coben’s thigh.
The knot of resistance held for a moment longer, unyielding, making my cock ache with the effort to breach it. Then, with a sudden, exquisite pop, the sphincter gave way, the tight ring of muscle parting to envelop the head of my cock in a warm, constricting embrace. The sensation was indescribable—a rush of heat and pressure, like sinking into molten silk, the muscle clamping down around me, pulsing in time with Coben’s ragged breaths. I groaned out, my knees weakening as the tight, slick channel gripped me, drawing me deeper with each shallow thrust.
Coben screamed in lust, moaning, a low, primal sound, his body arching slightly as the initial breach sent a tremor through him. The pop had been a release for both of us, a moment of surrender that opened the way for me to slide in further, inch by inch, the velvet walls of Coben’s arse hugging every ridge and vein of my thick cock. The sensation was overwhelming—tight, hot, and intimate, each movement sending waves of pleasure radiating through my core. I’d never felt anything like it. As I pushed deeper, fully seating myself, the connection felt raw, profound, our bodies locked together in a dance of heat and need, Coben’s tightness easing just enough to let me move, but still gripping me with a possessive intensity that made my head fucking spin. The fullness, the heat—it was almost too much, pleasure bordering on pain as I held still, letting him adjust. His breath came in short gasps, his eyes locked on mine, filled with a mix of awe and desire. “Move… please, Blake,” he whispered, his voice trembling.
I obliged, pulling back slowly before thrusting in again, the slide smooth and deep. Each movement built the rhythm, my hips snapping forward with increasing force, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the room. Coben’s moans grew louder, his legs wrapping around my waist to pull me closer, deeper. I angled my thrusts to hit his prostate, and he cried out, his cock trapped between us, rubbing against my stomach with every push.
“Harder… fuck, harder!” he begged, his voice raw, and I gave it to him, pounding into him with abandon, the bed creaking protestingly under us. Sweat slicked our bodies, making every slide easier, more intense. His hands roamed my back, nails scratching lightly, sending additional sparks through me.
The pleasure coiled tighter, a spring ready to snap. “Coben, I’m close,” I warned, my thrusts erratic now, chasing that peak.
“Me too… come inside me,” he gasped, his hand reaching between us to stroke his cock in time with my movements.
“Coben! Fuck! Fuck! Fuuccckkkk!” That pushed me over, my cock stiffening as I came hard, pulsing deep inside him, hot cum filling him as waves of ecstasy crashed over me. He followed seconds later, his arse clenching around me, milking every drop as his own release spilled between us, sticky and warm.
I collapsed onto Coben, my cheek pressed against his slick, heaving chest, our sweat-soaked skin sticking together as I gulped for air. Our bodies were streaked with cum, glistening in the dim light, the air thick with the musky, primal scent of our release, heavy and intoxicating, like the room itself was saturated with our passion. He lay still, eyes closed, a faint smile on his lips as he caught his breath, slipping into a light doze. I watched him, his face soft and unguarded, the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. No pain, just peace.
Then three sharp knocks at the door jolted me upright, my heart racing.