FORBIDDEN SERIES—TAKING MARIUS'S COCK 2

My heart slammed against my ribs like it wanted to crack them open.

Marius’s words—“Try to be a good boy throughout your stay… or don’t. I’m not picky”—still burned in my ears, low and rough, wrapping around my cock like a fist. I gulped, throat clicking dry, saliva thick on my tongue. No words came. None. I just nodded, sharp and jerky, my fists clenched so tight at my sides the knuckles popped white.

That smirk. The exact same one from four years ago on his driveway. Slow, knowing, dangerous. It made my balls draw up tight.

“Come help me in the kitchen if you get bored sitting alone,” he said, voice casual like he hadn’t just set my blood on fire. Then he turned, apron strings swaying against the swell of his ass, and walked away.

My legs moved before my brain caught up. The kitchen smelled like garlic and sizzling oil, warm and thick, wrapping around me as I stepped in. Marius handed me a bag of carrots without looking back, his tattooed arm flexing. “Chop these. Small dice.”

I took the knife. My fingers trembled around the handle. Silence stretched, broken only by the rhythmic chop-chop-chop and the soft sizzle from the pan. My cock was already half-hard, pressing against my zipper, every heartbeat pulsing in it.

“How’s college treating you and Jace?” he asked suddenly, stirring the vegetables with a wooden spoon. His back was broad, muscles shifting under smooth skin.

I found my voice, barely. “It’s… alright. Always boring when Jace isn’t around, though.”

Marius chuckled, deep and low, the sound vibrating straight to my groin. “No girlfriend to keep those bored days interesting?”

I stuttered, knife slipping on the carrot. “N-no.”

He turned just enough to glance at me, one eyebrow raised. “Why not? You interested in someone you’re scared to approach?”

My mouth went dry. My fists clenched again around the knife handle, wood biting into my palm. “Yes.”

He came over then, close enough that the heat of his body rolled over me like a wave. I could smell him—clean sweat, faint cologne, something darker underneath. My breathing turned uneven, chest rising too fast. He reached past me for the diced carrots, his hip brushing my side. My cock jumped.

Marius leaned down, lips inches from my ear, breath hot and damp against the shell. “Why are your fingers shaking, Mikel?”

I hadn’t even noticed. The knife clattered against the cutting board. “I—I don’t know.”

He straightened and walked back to the stove without another word. I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding, shaky and wet. My thighs pressed together, trying to ease the ache in my dick. I watched him from behind—the way his sweatpants hugged the curve of his ass, the shift of muscle in his thighs as he stirred. Fuck, he was perfect. Still perfect after four years.

“How long are you planning to keep admiring me like that?” he asked without turning around.

I coughed hard, face burning. “I wasn’t—”

He finished the stir-fry, turned off the burner, and faced me fully. Those gray eyes were no longer empty. They were hungry. Dark. Predatory. He crossed the space between us in two strides. My back hit the cupboard with a soft thud, the edge digging into my spine. Trapped.

“You know it’s forbidden, right?” His voice dropped to a growl. “Looking at your best friend’s dad the way you did four years ago and still do. Stealing glances. Getting hard in my driveway. Thinking about me pinning you down and calling you a good boy while I fuck you raw.”

I stuttered, “I—I’m sorry—”

His face was inches from mine now. His breath—warm, minty, with a hint of the sauce he’d tasted—ghosted over my lips. I could see the stubble on his jaw, the faint scar on his lower lip. Four years of aching, jerking off in secret to the memory of his voice saying my name, crashed over me.

I couldn’t hold it back.

I surged forward and kissed him—just a slow, trembling peck on his lower lip, soft and desperate.

I braced for disgust. For him to shove me away with a punch. For everything to shatter.

Instead, Marius took one slow step back. His hands went to the apron strings. He untied them deliberately, letting the fabric drop to the floor.

Holy fuck.

His body was even better up close—broad chest, dark hair trailing down to the waistband of his sweatpants, abs carved deep, that heavy bulge straining the gray fabric. My mouth watered. My fingers itched to touch. I swallowed hard, throat working.

Marius leaned in again, one big hand cupping the back of my head, and claimed my mouth in a hot, passionate kiss. His tongue pushed past my lips, stroking deep, tasting me like he owned me. Pleasure exploded through my veins, hot and liquid. I moaned into his mouth, loud and shameless, grinding my aching cock against his thick thigh. The friction was electric—rough fabric dragging over my denim-covered dick, pre-cum already soaking my boxers.

He lifted me like I weighed nothing, hands gripping my ass, setting me on the cupboard edge. Then he scooped me up fully, my legs wrapping tight around his waist, ankles locking behind his back. I felt every hard inch of him pressing against my ass as he carried me.

Next thing I knew, my back hit the living-room couch, soft leather cool against my heated skin. Marius broke the kiss, hovering over me, lips shiny with spit.

“Four fucking years,” he growled, voice wrecked. “Jerking off to the thought of this tight little hole every time I remembered how you looked at me that night. Be a good boy and let me ruin you.”

I yanked him back down, crashing our mouths together again. My hands roamed—fingers threading through his thick hair, tugging, then sliding down the ridges of his back, nails digging in. He groaned into the kiss, the sound vibrating through my chest.

He kissed every inch of my face—forehead, eyelids, cheeks, jaw—then moved lower. Fingers worked my shirt buttons open with surprising patience, pushing the fabric aside. His mouth found my nipple, hot and wet, sucking hard. I arched off the couch with a broken moan, the sharp pull shooting straight to my cock. He switched to the other, teeth grazing, tongue flicking until both peaks were red and swollen.

My hips bucked helplessly. “Marius—fuck—”

He didn’t stop. Hands moved to my belt, unbuckling it with a metallic clink that echoed in my ears. He yanked my jeans and boxers down in one rough motion, my cock springing free—hard, leaking, flushed dark at the tip. Cool air hit wet skin and I shivered.

Marius kissed down my stomach, slow, open-mouthed, leaving a trail of spit. He nuzzled my inner thighs, stubble scraping sensitive skin, then took my cock into his mouth in one smooth glide.

The heat—wet, velvet heat—swallowed me whole. I cried out, fists clenching in the couch cushions, knuckles white. His tongue swirled around the head, sucking the pre-cum like it was candy, then he sank deeper, throat relaxing, taking every inch until his nose pressed against my pubes. The suction was obscene—tight, rhythmic pulls that made wet, slurping sounds fill the room. Gluck-gluck-gluck as he bobbed, hollowing his cheeks, one hand cupping my balls and rolling them gently.

Pleasure slammed through me in waves. My thighs shook. “Oh god—yes—fuck, Marius—” I couldn’t believe this was real. My best friend’s dad on his knees for me—no, me on my back while he devoured my cock like he’d been starving for it.

He hummed around me, the vibration shooting sparks up my spine. My hips jerked, fucking his throat shallowly. He let me, eyes locked on mine, dark and burning. Tears pricked my eyes from the intensity. My balls tightened.

I came hard, hips stuttering, cock pulsing as I spilled down his throat. He swallowed every drop, throat working around me, milking me dry.

Marius pulled off with a wet pop, lips swollen and shiny. He climbed up my body and kissed me deep, letting me taste myself on his tongue—salty, bitter, mixed with his own flavor. While our tongues tangled, his big hand wrapped around my spent cock and started stroking again—slow, firm, twisting at the head.

Pleasure built again impossibly fast. My cock hardened in his grip, oversensitive and throbbing. I whimpered into his mouth, hips chasing his fist. Just as the edge rushed up—

He stopped. Hand gone. I whined, chasing the friction, cock twitching desperately in the air.

“Not yet,” he murmured against my lips, voice dark with command. “You come when I say.”

He stood, towering over me, sweatpants tented obscenely. My eyes followed the thick outline, mouth watering all over again. Marius walked to the kitchen, bare feet silent on the tile. I lay there panting, cock red and aching, chest heaving, every nerve singing.

He returned carrying two plates of the stir-fry, steam curling up, the savory scent mixing with the smell of sex in the room. His eyes raked over my naked, spread body like he wanted to eat me instead.

“Dining room. Now.” His voice left no room for argument. “No clothes. And you don’t come again until I give permission. Understand, boy?”

I nodded frantically, heart hammering so hard I felt it in my throat, my cock leaking fresh pre-cum onto my stomach at the sheer dominance in his tone.

Marius smirked that same dangerous smirk and turned toward the dining room.

I pushed myself up on shaky legs, completely naked, cock bobbing hard and heavy between my thighs, and took the first step after him.

The front door lock clicked.