His ass pushed back slightly. Deliberate. Testing.
“Do not think,” I said quietly, my mouth too close to his ear. “Just react.”
He dropped his weight like he'd said. I held firm, adjusted my stance to compensate. My cock ground against his ass. He made a small sound. Not pain.
“Good. But your elbow. Higher. Aim for solar plexus, not ribs.”
I adjusted his arm, guiding the angle. My hand wrapped around his forearm, feeling the play of muscle and tendon under skin. Feeling his pulse hammering.
His ass ground back against my cock. Harder this time. Unmistakable.
“Again,” I said, voice rough.
We ran through it three more times. Each time, he moved faster. Smoother. Each time, his ass pressed back against my cock with more pressure. More intent. Each time, I had to bite back groans. Each time, my hips rolled forward slightly. Answering. Grinding.
Each time, letting go felt like losing something.
“Now attack me,” he said, turning to face me. His cock was fully hard. Thick and long, pressing up toward his hip. A wet spot darkened the fabric where he'd leaked. “For real.”
“Sebastian—”
“I mean it. If I'm going to learn, I need real pressure. Not theory.” His eyes challenged me. Dared me. “Unless you're worried you can't control yourself around me.”
The words hit like a fist. Because he was right. I was worried.Worried that putting my hands on him would break whatever discipline I had left.
“Alright,” I said. “But controlled.”
“We'll see.”
I moved fast. Grabbed his wrist, twisted, tried to bring him down the way I would an actual threat.
He pivoted. Used my momentum against me. Almost broke the hold.
Almost.
I swept his legs. He went down but rolled immediately, came up in a crouch. Breathing hard. Eyes bright with fury and arousal. His cock straining against fabric.
“Again.”
We went again. And again. Each round, I increased pressure. Each round, he adapted. His body learning what his mind couldn't process fast enough. Each round, our cocks rubbed together when we grappled. Each round, the contact lasted longer.
On the fourth round, he caught me off guard. Ducked under my guard, got behind me, drove his knee into the back of mine. My leg buckled. I went down on one knee. His arm wrapped around my throat from behind.
Not tight enough to choke. But the position was sound.
And his cock was hard against my back. Grinding.
“Yield?” he asked. Voice rough against my ear. Breathless. Triumphant. His hips rolled, dragging his cock against me.
I could've broken the hold. Could've used my weight advantage to throw him off.
I didn't want to.
“Da,” I said. “You win.”
He let go. Stepped back. I stood, turned to face him.
He was grinning. Feral. Wild. Covered in sweat that made his skin gleam. His cock was obscene in those shorts. Thick and hard, the outline clear. Wet spot spreading.
