Chapter 8
ROLAND
—My Silver Lining
by First Aid Kit
Coker watches me for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
I should be wary of my growing erection, but it’s impossible with him sliding up my body even more, his hardness pressing against mine.
My eyes roll to the back of my head, and a whimper sneaks past my teeth, the sound startling me. God. Do men even whimper?
“Oh,” he says, his voice calm even as he keeps moving up my body. Because he’s shorter than me, I no longer feel his erection against mine.
He bites gently at the flesh of my neck then blows on it.
My body trembles, and I damn near come in my pants.
My brain is useless, fogged and scattered, trying to focus but failing entirely.
He must not notice the torture he’s putting me through, or maybe he does, because he continues speaking.
“I have to admit, you’re exactly my type. But this is a bad idea.”
His mouth is tracing a line from my jaw to my ear, the tip of his tongue flickering over the sensitive skin there.
I become incapable of forming thoughts, incapable of speech.
I am stuck between wanting to push him away and needing him closer, but every nerve in my body is alert and alive and aware of him in a way that leaves me trembling even as my mind screams at me to regain control of myself.
It really is a bad idea, I know. If the media gets a whiff of this, the damage will cripple both of our careers.
Not to mention Sandra’s reaction. What would she think of me if this gets out?
What if Coker tells her? But my body has taken over, keyed up so completely that thinking straight is impossible.
I should be the grown up here and stop this since he is still young enough to be reckless, but I have never been this on edge before, my body thrumming with the need for release.
I let my arousal take over my brain and mouth. My voice comes out breathless and pleading. “Please.”
That seems to snap something loose in him. He growls, low and rough. “I’ll regret this.”
Next thing I know, his hand is inside my boxers, wrapping around my cock with ease.
We both groan. Mine from the relief slamming into me and his from whatever reason touching a cock gives him.
I don’t care, though. All I care about is the friction, the feel of his hand moving over my cock, and the way it makes my brain go blank except for my need to explode all over his hand.
Thinking about it makes me even harder than I imagined possible.
I can feel every pulse and twitch, every shiver racing through my spine as he strokes me slowly and teasingly.
“What do I do with you?” he muses, his voice husky.
I shudder, feeling the precum leaking from my cock. “Anything,” I whisper “Just make me come.”
A grin curls on his lips. “Challenge accepted,” he says, and then he removes his hand from my cock and reaches for my trousers. “This goes off.”
In just a few seconds, I’m naked from the waist down.
He kisses a line up my body, but not in a gentle manner.
He is biting and licking my skin, and if he keeps doing this, he won’t need to touch my cock before I bathe him in my cum.
As if sensing how dangerously close I am, he ghosts his middle finger over the dark hair at the base of my cock, then he rests his nose against it; somehow, that makes me even harder.
My cock throbs, veins straining, pulsing with a need that feels bigger than me, bigger than anything I have felt before.
Finally, and mercifully, he takes my cock back in his hand.
A groan escapes my throat, I can’t stop it even if I tried.
His fingers collect the slick sheen of precum from the head of my cock, spreading it along my shaft before he begins to stroke.
My body sings with the pleasure of it. I can feel it in my thighs, in my stomach, in the muscles of my lower back.
My hips shift instinctively, chasing the release that is building fast, and it takes everything in me not to writhe beneath him.
I have received handjobs before and I’ve jerked myself off too, but it felt nothing like this.
Nothing that has made me feel so raw, so exposed, and so entirely at the mercy of someone else’s hands.
He keeps stroking me, so slowly that I start thrusting into his hand without thinking, trying to hurry things along.
My hips lift up, my fingers clutch the sheets.
I’m aware I’m muttering a string of profanities, but I don’t care.
He seems to take the cue, because his hand quickens and he pumps my cock harder, jerking me up and down with a rhythm that makes my head spin.
“I’m so close,” I rasp, teetering on the edge.
“No, you’re not allowed to come yet,” he says, removing his hand.
I whine, half in protest and half in need, but it’s cut off by him lining us up together.
His head rests on my chest, brushing my skin, and he kisses the hair there before his hands find us both.
His strokes are controlled, and the friction, the slide of our cocks together, sends a sweet zing through me that’s out of this world.
And—Oh my God—why haven’t I been doing this ever since I knew how good my dick could feel?
This is different, it’s exhilarating. The slide and glide of his cock against mine creates this delicious friction that sends something wild through me.
And the sounds Coker is making only fuels it.
If his low moans, wet little gasps, and the soft brush of his lips against my chest hair is anything to go by, I’m sure he’s enjoying this as much as I am.
“How do you know to do this?” I ask, voice hoarse, a needy whine tumbling out of me again, but I don’t care. I don’t care who hears, or what anyone would think, or what comes next. All I want is this, right now, until I find my release.
“You don’t know the beautiful ecstasy that is called frotting?” he says. I can’t see him with my eyes closed, but I can feel him smirking.
He’s a talented bastard, I have to admit. He keeps his leisurely pace as he continues sliding against me, his hand firm around the both of us. I shiver under him, my chest rising and falling unevenly, hips rolling into his hands, finding a rhythm we can both ride.
“You’re so perfect for me,” he grunts out in a low voice.
I freeze for a microsecond because I don’t think I am supposed to hear that.
But I think subconsciously I’ve been waiting to hear it because my body responds immediately, my orgasm crashing through me.
He thrusts us together for just a few more times, and we come together, our cum landing on my stomach and mixing in a slick, hot layer that leaves my skin feeling sensitive.
It is, without question, the hottest thing that has ever happened to me. Nothing even comes close.
I lie there, letting the aftershocks ripple through me, the pulse in my cock fading slowly, sweat cooling on my skin in little patches, and the faint smell of sex hanging in the air.
When I finally become aware that we need to clean up before the cum dries, I shift and tap Coker. “We need to get up.”
There’s no reply from him, so I look down towards where his head is resting on my chest, expecting him to groan or murmur something. But his breathing is even and I realise he has fallen asleep. I let my hand brush over his hair once, and take a long, slow breath.