Modern gladiator, p.9
Modern Gladiator, page 9
He crosses the living room and stands next to me in the kitchen. “Ready to do this?”
“I, uh, need to wash my hands first.” I grab the soap and wash my hands a second time, still uncertain of what I should say.
“You seem nervous.”
“Maybe you should get your eyes checked,” I snap, my anxiety bleeding into irritation. “I’m perfectly composed.”
“You sure?”
I don’t say anything.
The real problem is, I want to say the right things, but the words aren’t coming. I’m sure if I was more suave or debonair, I would know exactly how to phrase my attraction. But uncertainty eats at my composure.
Keon steps close to me. “We don’t have to talk, ya know. Not if it’s going to make you uncomfortable.”
I turn around and face him, my mouth dry and my breath shallow. “It’s not that.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“There’s lots of nonverbal ways to express what you’re feeling.”
Again he takes a step closer.
He has to be hitting on me. There is no other explanation.
Keon waits, staring down at me with the same steady gaze he had before. He wants me to do something. Should I make a move? I might as well. It’s not like I see him on a daily basis around my school or something. If this doesn’t work out, I can avoid him, as cowardly as that may be.
I hold my breath and close the last few inches between us by scooting a bit closer. I place my hand on his chest. He doesn’t move or question the gesture. His heavy heartbeat sends shivers down my spine. I move my hand up to his neck and caress the exposed flesh. Even the muscles around his jugular could kick my ass. No part of him is neglected.
He leans down. I tilt my head back. Right before our mouths connect, he stops, and I finish the last bit, desperate once again to taste him.
My lips press against his. The heat startles me. I didn’t think he would so warm or soft. The smell of his shower still lingers, and his skin tastes like savory honey. Keon licks me—lightly, testing me—and I open my mouth to continue our exchange.
His tongue runs the length of mine, and I shiver. Although my hands had been idle, I consciously force myself to graze his torso, my fingers finding the grooves of his abs and counting them while I drown in his kiss.
Six rock-hard rectus abdominis muscles.
Keon presses hard, pinning me against the counter. I suck on his lower lip, and he returns the favor with a hint of teeth. I catch my breath, and he half smiles but never breaks contact. His hot breath mingles with mine, stoking the fire building in my gut and spreading to the rest of my body.
I want this—I want him—but I stop myself and pull away.
“I, uh,” I say, my thoughts an unsolved jigsaw puzzle. “You’re okay with this?”
“More than okay.”
“R-really? You’re not joking with me?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
The gruff seriousness in his voice tells me everything I need to know. I stare up at him, meeting his intense gaze. Then I swallow and remember why we came here in the first place.
“We should, uh, do the things for… your shin.”
Keon strokes my jawline. Up close, his dark eyes look like chocolate amber. “Yeah. You’re right. Where should we do it?”
“My couch, or, uh, the bed.”
He chuckles, and I know, taken out of context, my answer could be for a completely different question altogether, but I’m trying to be serious.
“Let’s do this,” he says as he walks back to my bedroom, never even giving the couch a second glance.
My heart rate doubles again, beating at four times the speed. I can’t believe we’re about to enter my room. Well, the medicine first. I should stay focused.
Still, my gaze lands on his sculpted back—I’ve always found muscular backs attractive—and I’m struggling to think of anything else.
Focus, Corbin. Focus.
Chapter 9: Relationship Status
Corbin Friel
I ENTER my room and Keon takes a seat on the edge of my queen-size bed. I probably shouldn’t have opted for queen over twin, since the bed takes up most of the space in the room, but I’ve always been glad of the decision when it comes to intimate moments.
God, it seems insane that I’m with Keon, especially since my day didn’t start with this as the intended ending. I should count myself lucky. I’m still in a mild stupor. I don’t mind, though. No complaining on my end.
“So, what do we do?” Keon asks.
“I don’t know,” I say, almost a whisper. “What do you normally do?”
He lifts an eyebrow.
What does he want from me? I exhale. “I’ve only ever been with one other person.” I talk a little too fast, so I try to slow my words. “I’m not skilled at these types of encounters.”
Keon chuckles as he runs a hand over his face. “I meant for the medicine. What do we do for that?”
Heat floods my whole body. Oh, right. We were going to do that first. How have I already forgotten? I’m even holding the medical kit in my hands!
I laugh, more nervous than jovial, and walk over to him. “Lie on your stomach. I’ll give you the shot in the back of your knee, and then you’ll swallow this antibiotic.”
Without questioning me, Keon slides up onto my bed and lies down. I rub the back of his leg. Everything about him screams stiff. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t flinch. I don’t even think he’s breathing. It amuses me he’s so afraid of shots and medicine, but I know I shouldn’t mock. I should be glad he’s willing to have this done. If I hadn’t insisted we do the examination, his infection would’ve gone undiagnosed, and then he really could have lost his leg.
I open the kit, take out some cleaning alcohol, and prep a small portion of skin, cleaning the injection area over the top of the calf muscle. Keon’s tension never wanes. If anything, he’s tenser—he grips the blankets of my bed like he’s trying to strangle them.
Whenever I got nervous in my mother’s clinic, she would explain the process. The knowledge assured me. Not knowing what was happening made it scary. My imagination would run away with all sorts of terrible scenarios.
“This is an intramuscular injection,” I say. “The fluid goes straight into the muscle.”
Keon growls something in response, but I can’t make it out. I rub my hand along the length of his leg, and I finally hear him inhale and exhale. Is he relaxing? I can only hope so.
I stick him with the needle. To my surprise, he never moves. Most people grimace, but I guess Keon has a high amount of willpower.
“Injections straight to the veins are the hardest.” I empty the contents of the syringe. “Because of the difficulties locating adequate entrance locations. This type of injection will be over quickly.”
Sure enough, after a few seconds, everything is done. I withdraw the syringe, sterilize it, and then walk it back to the kitchen so I can deal with it later. When I return to the room, Keon still hasn’t moved. Perhaps he thinks I need to do something else?
I sit next to him and pat his uninjured calf. “We’re all done. You were a perfect patient.”
He sighs heavily into my pillow. “What about the antibiotics?”
I hand him two pills. Keon takes them to the bathroom, pops them in his mouth, and drinks directly from the sink. He walks back to the bed and rolls onto his back.
With a shaky hand, he rubs the bridge of his nose. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Lie with me.”
His command catches me off guard. The lustful heat had disappeared for a moment while I worked as a pretend doctor, but that brings it back full force. I scoot across the bed and rest next to Keon’s warm body. He wraps an arm around me and holds me close, my head resting on the edge of his chest. The beat of his heart matches mine—accelerated, but not panicked. The memory of earlier, when our lips were locked, plays in my mind. I kiss his side, light and quick.
“Nervous?” he asks.
“What?” My mouth feels like cotton. I try to swallow but never manage it. “I’m excited you’re here and… we’re doing this.”
He rolls onto his side so we’re facing each other.
“You’re very… attractive,” I say, struggling to articulate my true feelings.
“Like what you see?”
“Of course.”
“I’m yours for the night.”
His confidence melts the last of my reservations. I want him, and he’s here and willing. I can think of nothing else.
Keon Lynch
I HOLD Corbin close, pressing his body against mine. He’s hard already; it’s easy to tell. I run my hands across the length of his body, familiarizing myself with every inch I can reach. Then I grab his shirt and pull. He hesitates and stops me.
“My glasses,” he mutters.
Corbin removes them and sets them on the tiny nightstand. I tug at his shirt again, and he doesn’t offer further protest. There’s a lean quality to his body. No definition to the muscles, but he’s sleek and smooth. I lace my fingers through his dark brown hair, and he returns the gesture, playing with my mohawk like he’s never really seen one before.
He smells fresh and clean, like he’s recently showered. Something about it excites me. I nuzzle my face into his shoulder and lick at the point where his neck meets his body. When his breath catches, I know he’s enjoying every second of my affection. It gets me harder and hotter. I suck his skin until it bruises, enjoying the way he pants, the taste of his raw flesh. His hands grip my shoulders, his nails digging in past my shirt.
The slight pain gets me smiling. Reminds me of some of my fight training. It quickens my pulse and brings back the thrill and excitement that comes from human contact.
I roll onto my back and drag Corbin on top of me. Everything about his presence—his weight, his hardened length, the way his breath mingles with mine—I wish this could last for hours. It’s been so long since I’ve engaged in any sort of bedroom play.
“You don’t have to leave after this,” Corbin says before anything else happens. He keeps his arms posted on my chest, keeping his distance.
“You want another round in the morning?” I ask. “I’m flattered. We haven’t even gotten to the best part and already you want seconds.”
He becomes a shade of red like he’s equipped with a light switch for the color of his face. Still, he doesn’t move away or flail. He leans down closer, bringing his mouth to my collarbone and kissing the ridge.
“I mean,” he says with a strained voice, “I’d like it if… you’d consider staying with me. For longer than an evening.”
“I’ll consider it.”
“You will?”
He sounds surprised. Did he think I wouldn’t want to date anyone? Then again, I really shouldn’t. What if someone finds out and reports it around the fighting circles? It could be trouble… but I’ve already gotten into a mess of trouble already. What’s a little more?
“I want to see where this goes,” I say, my voice husky, betraying my lust.
Corbin gives me a nervous smile. But then he melts back down onto me and grinds his hips against mine, our dicks rubbing together, the fabric of our pants the only thing between us.
I kiss the bruise I left on the base of his neck and then lick the mark. Corbin tastes as clean as he smells. With each rocking motion, he moans, low and quiet, like he’s trying to hold back any noise. The walls may be thin, but I don’t care. I like it when my partner’s loud.
“We should use a prophylactic,” he says between heavy breaths.
What the fuck is a prophylactic? “I don’t use sex toys,” I say.
Corbin cocks an eyebrow. “What? I mean, we should use a condom.”
“Then why didn’t you say so?” I drag my teeth up his neck and nibble his earlobe. “If you want to do something that involves a condom, I like that line of thought.”
He leans into my affections and continues his grinding. “A-all right.”
Corbin has a nervous stutter to his voice, but his actions speak louder than words. He wants this. Maybe his mind is running through a hundred terrible scenarios, but his body has its marching orders, and he’s ready to rumble.
I grab a fistful of his hair and yank back, my strength more than I counted on. I expose his neck fully, and something about the roughness must excite him, because he half moans and half whimpers. He’s harder than before, an iron bar trapped by the fabric of his pants. I bite at his neck, growling with feral desire. I release him, and he locks his lips with mine, sliding his tongue into my mouth before I can take another breath.
Corbin moans while we kiss, running his hands all over my body. I undo Corbin’s belt, toss it to the side, and push down his slacks. He removes his boxers and the last of his clothes, his length leaking and swollen. He yanks at my shirt, silently pleading to see me naked. I smile, break away from him, and undress in record time. For a moment, Corbin stares, never breathing, just soaking in the sight. The admiration fuels my lust. Knowing he’s excited removes all doubt and hesitation.
He wants me, and I want him.
Each beat of my heart tells me there’s no need to delay. I flip us both over and pin him to the bed, my hands on his shoulders, his wide eyes betraying his shock. He fans his fingers and runs them down my chest and stomach. Then he grabs my dick and strokes, half petting and half clutching. My precome gets his hand slick, and everything slides easy. I fuck his hand for a moment, but the sensations aren’t enough.
“Well?” I growl. “Where’s your prophylactic, or whatever the hell you called it?”
Corbin reaches over and opens a drawer in the nightstand. He gives me the condom, his hand unsteady, and I rip it open and apply it with the same eagerness as my very first time. I didn’t realize how much I wanted this until right now. I’m so desperate for the touch, for the relief, for the companionship—to hell with the consequences or anyone hassling me for my choices.
“You like it rough?” I ask, each word wrenched from my throat. I don’t want to speak. I just want to fuck him, but I have to make sure—he’s small enough I worry I might hurt him in my desperation.
He nods.
His whole body trembles as I grab his hips and slide him down the bed, positioning him with his legs spread. Normally I like the guy facedown, riding him like an animal, but I want to watch Corbin’s face as I enter. I want this to be personal—to make sure I do it right and he enjoys it.
The prelubed condom helps me slip into position. Already I can tell he has a tight hole, but he relaxes enough to allow me entrance without too much force. The moment I get the head in, Corbin scrunches his eyes and grabs me, but nothing looks to be contorted in pain. After a second, he opens his eyes and stares at me, ready for the rest. I tilt my head back and groan, the pleasure intense and ripping through my body as I slide in.
Corbin moans and then pleads, “Yes, please….”
God, I love it when my partner begs me to continue.
I thrust in, my self-control disappearing at a rapid rate. I continue, driving myself home, until I’m flush against his tight ass. He keeps his eyes scrunched tight, but he continues to whimper encouragements.
“Yes…. Right there….”
Corbin raises his arms and buries them under his pillows. I keep on my knees, my posture straight, and I lift his hips wherever I need to get deep. Then I pump—at first slow, but then to a punishing pace, my heart thrashing in my chest, ready for the climax.
After a few minutes, Corbin rocks against me with each thrust, yelling his moans and arching his back. His throbbing dick bounces against his stomach, twitching and leaking. I grab it and pump, adding to Corbin’s feverish noises. I think he tries to say something, but it comes out as a mess of syllables and breathless pleading.
Sweat clings to everything, pooling together in droplets. It drips off me as I pound Corbin, the fire of relief building in my lower gut. Corbin swells in my hand, and he orgasms first, shooting his seed all over his chest and neck. The sight of him in ecstasy, overtaken by pleasure, is enough to send me over. I clench my teeth and groan, emptying myself inside him, straight into the condom.
Corbin sucks in his breath as I remove myself.
“Gently,” he whispers.
I finish at a slow and easy pace. He breathes out and relaxes afterward, a picture of contentment.
I throw the used condom into the trash and caress Corbin’s ass with my spare hand. He flinches under my touch but quickly calms. He sighs and keeps his legs spread under me. He’s still semihard, and I stare down, pleased with the conquest. If it weren’t so early in the damn morning—0400, to be exact—I’d do him again, but fatigue has finally caught up to me.
With a deep exhale, I roll onto the bed and pull Corbin close. He rests against my chest, his eyes closed and his breathing evening out. He must be exhausted, and I don’t blame him. He’s not the type of guy who has a ton of stamina.
I close my eyes.
And then my mind goes blank.
0600 AND my eyes snap open.
My body has a set rhythm. Every day I do the same damn thing. Wake up, do my morning exercises, go to work, go to the gym, come home, and then sleep. I do it with such exactness that I’m sure I could do it all without a clock, even blind.
I glance down. Corbin’s arm rests across my chest, and his head is tucked into my armpit. I move him with gentle motions. The guy never wakes. He never even snorts or snores. Once free of his affectionate grasp, I scoot out of his bed and amble over to the bathroom. I take a much needed piss before dressing and then walking out into the living room and kitchen combo.
The apartment building stirs with obvious movement. The others must be up and about.
I stretch, thankful for last night. I needed it. Even the fear of my leg doesn’t seem like such a big deal. I didn’t even bump it during our sexual escapade, for which I’m eternally grateful. It would have sucked to be knocked out of the moment by a boatload of unexpected pain.
