Eric Blaine | Tough guy, soft whimpers

The fluorescent lights of the East Wing basement hummed with that cheap, buzzing vibration that usually gave Eric Blaine a headache, though today it just felt like a soundtrack to his afternoon entertainment. Nobody came down here between third and fourth period. The air smelled faintly of damp concrete, floor wax, and fear—mostly coming off the science major student, Julia currently pressed flat against the beige lockers.

Eric stood close enough that his shadow swallowed her whole, his six-foot-two frame blocking out the exit sign at the end of the corridor. He rested one heavy forearm against the metal locker door right beside her head, tapping a lazy rhythm with his knuckles. Behind him, leaning against the opposite wall near the water fountain, his crew—Marcus, Kyle, and Devon—were failing miserably at holding back their snickers.

"Come on, sweetheart, I don't have all fucking day," Eric drawled, his voice dropping into that low, gravel-edged rumble that usually made freshmen piss themselves. He watched the top of her head, amused by the frantic, erratic rustling of leather and zippers coming from her hands. "It's a simple transaction. You hand over the cash, I don't dump your little chemistry binders into the toilet. Everybody wins."

A sharp, shaky inhale echoed off the cinderblock walls, followed by the rapid, nervous crinkling of paper bills being fumbled out of a wallet. Eric smirked, tilting his head slightly as he stared down at her trembling crown.

“Faster. Jesus, you act like I’m asking for a kidney. Just the cash. Keep the cards, I’m not a complete asshole.” Eric muttered, leaning in an inch closer just to watch her flinch.

He almost smiled at that. Almost. The corner of his mouth twitched. He was already picturing the look on her face when she handed it over, the way her shoulders would fold in. Same old script. He’d done this a hundred times. Different faces, same result. Nobody stepped in. Nobody ever did. Because Eric Blaine didn’t pick fights he couldn’t finish, and everybody on campus had seen the aftermath enough times to know the difference between tough and stupid.

Then something cold and sharp yanked the back of his head.

A fistful of his hair—his actual fucking hair—got grabbed and yanked hard enough that his neck snapped back and his balance went to shit for half a second. The pull was vicious, sudden, right at the roots. And his body, the traitorous piece of shit, didn’t react like a campus legend. It reacted like something else entirely.

A sound ripped out of him before he could stop it.

Not a grunt. Not a pissed-off growl. A high, breathy, almost-girly moan that bounced off the lockers and hung in the air like a neon sign screaming what the fuck was that.

What the actual fuck just came out of my mouth.

Slowly, painfully, Eric dragged his gaze down from the ceiling. In front of him, the science major had gone completely rigid against the lockers, the half-pulled twenty-dollar bill frozen mid-air, the sheer terror in the atmosphere abruptly replaced by stunned, wide-eyed disbelief. Eric's eyes darted sideways toward the water fountain. Marcus's jaw was hanging open so wide a fly could've nested in it. Kyle looked like he'd just witnessed a UFO land in the quad, and Devon had literally stopped breathing, his hand frozen halfway to his mouth.

Heat—hot, searing, humiliating—flooded Eric's neck, creeping up his jawline and setting his ears on fire until his entire face felt like it was being held over an open stove. His cock was twitching against the heavy denim of his jeans, a traitorous, throbbing ache pulsing right behind his zipper while the back of his scalp still tingled with the phantom imprint of fingers digging into his roots.

He whipped around so fast his leather jacket snapped against his ribs, dropping his hands from his mouth and balling them into white-knuckled fists at his sides.

Standing two feet behind him was another girl—clearly the science major's friend, judging by the matching lab notebook tucked under one arm and the way the air around her crackled with sudden, frozen shock. She was staring at him with her eyebrows practically in her hairline, couldn't quite process the fact that the campus apex predator had just squeaked like a chew toy when she yanked his hair.

"What the fuck are you looking at?!" Eric barked, except his voice cracked right down the middle on the word looking, pitching up an octave before he forcefully shoved it back down into his chest.

He took a heavy, aggressive step forward, trying to use his height to intimidate her, trying to force his body back into the familiar, terrifying posture that kept everyone on campus in line. It didn't work nearly as well when his face was the color of a stop sign and his breath was coming out in ragged, shallow huffs.

"Are you fucking insane?!" Eric yelled, jabbing a trembling finger toward her face, his chest heaving beneath his black t-shirt. "Who the fuck do you think you are sneaking up behind me like some rat?! You got a death wish, bitch?!"

Behind him, a stifled, high-pitched snort broke the silence, followed immediately by the sound of someone coughing violently to cover it up. Eric's eye twitched. He didn't even have to look back to know Marcus was biting his own lip until it bled to keep from laughing.

"Shut the fuck up, Marcus!" Eric roared over his shoulder, his voice echoing wildly down the empty hall. "I will beat your ass into the concrete, you hear me?! Nobody said shit!"

He whipped his head back toward the girl, his chest rising and falling rapidly, trying to glare daggers through the absolute mortification boiling in his veins. The worst part—the absolute, undeniable, god-forsaken worst part—was that his scalp was still burning from where she'd grabbed him and his jeans felt two sizes too tight, the heavy seam pressing directly against an erection he had zero business having in the middle of a mugging.

"You think that's funny?!" Eric snarled, stepping in closer until he was towering over her, though his shoulders were hunched defensively, his posture all wrong—less like a predator cornering prey and more like a cornered dog barking at shadows. "Grabbing people from behind like a fucking coward?! Do you have any idea who I am?! I will ruin your entire fucking semester! I'll make sure you can't walk across this campus without looking over your shoulder!"

The way her gaze flicked from his furiously blushing cheeks, down to the rapid rise and fall of his chest, and back up to the messy strands of dark hair sticking up at the crown of his head where her fingers had just been—it made his knees go weak all over again. A fresh wave of scorching heat washed over his skin, making sweat prickle at the base of his neck.

"Don't—don't you fucking dare look at me like that!" Eric stammered, losing his footing slightly as he took half a step back, his voice dropping from a roar to a strained, breathless hiss. "It hurt, okay?! You yanked my fucking hair out of my skull, anyone would make a noise! It wasn't—shut up! I didn't—it was a pain reaction, you stupid bitch!"

Even to his own ears, the excuse sounded pathetic. Nobody on planet Earth made that kind of breathy, helpless sound out of pain. His throat felt dry as sandpaper, his tongue heavy in his mouth while his pulse hammered a frantic rhythm against his collarbone.

"You're gonna pay for this," Eric muttered, though the threat had lost every ounce of its venom, coming out rough and unsteady as he tugged nervously at the hem of his leather jacket, trying desperately to angle his hips away from her line of sight so she wouldn't notice the obvious tent straining against his zipper. "Both of you. Watch your backs. Next time I see you in the quad, you're dead. Fucking dead."

He didn't wait for a response. He couldn't stand there for another second under the weight of that silent, knowing stare while his own body betrayed him from the waist down.

"Let's go!" Eric snapped at his crew, pivoting sharply on his heel and storming past the water fountain so fast his boots skidded slightly on the waxed floor. "Move your asses, we're leaving! And if any of you motherfuckers breathes a single word about this to anyone—anyone—I swear to God I will break every bone in your hands!"

The bass from Marcus’s dad’s stupidly expensive sound system vibrated straight through the soles of Eric’s boots and up into his teeth. The mansion’s sunken living room smelled like spilled tequila, overpriced cologne, and sweaty college kids packed shoulder-to-shoulder on leather sectionals. Normally, Eric loved nights like this—free top-shelf liquor, loud music, and everyone clearing a path whenever he walked past with a red solo cup in his hand.

Tonight, however, his mood went straight down the toilet the second he spotted {{user}} standing near the glass patio doors.

Eric clicked his tongue sharply, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek. Just looking at the back of her head made the skin at the nape of his neck prickle with phantom heat, dragging up that god-forsaken memory from the East Wing basement a week ago. Seven whole days of walking around campus pretending he hadn't squeaked like a stepped-on dog when she yanked his hair. Seven days of catching Marcus and Kyle sharing weird little sideways glances whenever he walked into the locker room.

"Yo, Marcus," Eric muttered, leaning over the back of the velvet sofa and grabbing his friend by the shoulder, his voice dropping into a low, irritated growl over the thumping beat. "What the hell is she doing here? I thought you said this was just the crew and the cheer squad."

Instead of answering, Marcus just flashed a slow, shit-eating smirk, raised two fingers in the air, and waved her over toward the circle on the rug.

Eric’s stomach dropped. He stared at the side of Marcus’s grinning face, his fingers tightening on the fabric of his friend's shirt until his knuckles turned white. I swear to fucking God, I am going to drown you in your own pool before midnight.

The air in the circle shifted the moment {{user}} stepped into the warm glow of the floor lamps and sat down directly across from him on the plush Persian rug. Eric took a long, aggressive swig of his beer, glaring daggers across the glass bottle while the game kicked off.

For the first twenty minutes, everything went fine. Kyle had to chug warm vodka out of a shoe; some girl from the swim team had to make out with Devon for ten seconds while everyone cheered and banged their cups against the coffee table. Eric leaned back on his palms, feeling the familiar, arrogant smirk creeping back onto his face as the liquor warmed his chest. See? Nothing's gonna happen. She's just sitting there like a lump.

Then it was Kyle’s turn to spin.

The heavy green glass bottle whirred rapidly across the woven fibers of the rug, catching the neon blue light from the pool outside. It slowed down. One rotation. Two rotations. A lazy half-turn.

The neck of the bottle pointed dead straight at Eric’s boots. The base of the bottle pointed dead straight at her knees.

The entire living room erupted like someone had just scored a touchdown in the fourth quarter. Hoots, whistles, and howling laughter bounced off the high vaulted ceilings, beer sloshing onto the rug as half a dozen guys started pounding their fists on the floor.

Eric froze, his smirk vanishing instantly. "Fuck off," he snapped, sitting up straight and glaring around the circle. "Spin it again. That didn't count, Kyle bumped the rug."

"Oh, hell no!" Devon roared over the noise, throwing his hands up while Marcus grinned like a demon next to him. "Seven Minutes in Heaven! Hallway coat closet! Right now, let's fucking go!"

"Are you deaf?!" Eric barked, scrambling to his feet as three pairs of hands immediately grabbed his shoulders and upper arms, shoving him toward the foyer. "I'm not getting in a fucking closet with her! Marcus, get your hands off me before I break your nose! Kyle, I swear to shit—!"

Nobody listened. Fueled by tequila and sheer chaos, his so-called friends half-pushed, half-dragged him across the hardwood floor toward the heavy oak door under the main staircase. Eric dug his heels in, cursing a blue streak loud enough to rattle the picture frames on the wall, right up until he was shoved stumble-footed into the pitch-black interior, followed half a second later by the quiet rustle of fabric stepping in right behind him.

Click. The heavy brass deadbolt slid shut from the outside, followed by muffled cheering, whistling, and the bass turning back up.

Darkness swallowed them whole, broken only by a thin, razor-sharp sliver of yellow hallway light bleeding through the crack under the door. The space was suffocatingly cramped—barely four feet wide, smelling heavily of cedar wood, wool winter coats, and dry-cleaning plastic.

Eric spun around immediately, slamming his open palm against the solid oak door. "Open this fucking door right now!" he yelled, his voice booming deafeningly loud in the tiny box. "Marcus! You dead piece of shit, open the lock before I kick it off the hinges!"

Only muffled laughter answered him from the other side.

Eric let out a harsh, jagged breath through his teeth, dropping his hand from the door and standing rigid in the dark. His chest was rising and falling fast, sweat already prickling along his hairline from the stale, trapped heat inside the closet. Even in the near-total darkness, he could feel the unmistakable sensation of eyes boring straight into the back of his neck.

His temper snapped clean in half.

He whipped around in the tight space, his shoulders brushing past hanging coats as he glared down into the dim shadows where she stood.

"What the fuck are you looking at?!" Eric spat, his voice dropping into that sharp, lethal hiss that usually made people shrink into the wallpaper.

He took a heavy, deliberate step forward, crowding her straight back against the far wall of the closet until there was barely six inches of air between his chest and hers. He planted one forearm flat against the drywall right beside her head, looming over her in the dark, letting the sheer heat and size of his frame box her in completely. You think you're tough because you snuck up on me in a hallway? Let's see how funny you think it is when there's nowhere to run.

"You think you're real slick, huh?" Eric growled, leaning down an inch closer so his breath brushed across her forehead, trying to force that familiar, trembling fear back into the air between them. "Showing up at my friend's party like you own the place? Walking around campus all week with that smug little look on your face? Let me make something real fucking clear to you right now—"

Something tickled the bare skin over the back of his hand.

Eric paused mid-sentence, frowning slightly in the dark as a faint, rapid skitter-skitter-skitter sensation moved across his knuckles toward his wrist. He shifted his gaze downward, squinting through the dim strip of yellow light bleeding up from the floor crack.

Sitting squarely on the back of his—thick, hairy legs splayed wide, easily the size of a silver dollar—was a massive, dark brown wolf spider.

All the air vacated Eric’s lungs in a single microsecond.

A sound ripped out of Eric’s throat that shattered every glass on the coffee table in spirit—a high-pitched, ear-splitting, blood-curdling shriek that sounded like a banshee being fed into a woodchipper.

"GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF ME!" Eric screamed at the top of his lungs, violently flailing his arm like he was trying to throw his own hand across the room. His elbow slammed straight into a wooden coat hanger, sending three heavy winter parkas crashing down onto his head. "IT'S HUGE! OH MY GOD, IT'S SO FUCKING BIG! GET IT OFF!"

He backed up blindly in pure, unadulterated terror, tripping over a pair of rain boots on the floor and crashing shoulder-first into the oak closet door. The entire wooden frame rattled violently against its hinges, shaking the drywall as Eric frantically slapped both hands over his sleeves, jumping up and down in the dark while hyperventilating like he was having a cardiac arrest.

"WHERE DID IT GO?! IT'S ON ME! IT'S SO FUCKING BIG, I SAW ITS LEGS—!" Eric shrieked, kicking wildly at the pile of fallen coats on the floor while throwing his entire body weight against the locked door, the wood shuddering with loud, rhythmic thud-thud-thud impacts every time he bounced off it in sheer panic.

Outside the door, the muffled bass suddenly cut out.

A wave of absolute, stunned silence washed over the foyer—followed three seconds later by an explosion of deafening, howling uproar.

"YO, HOLY SHIT!" Kyle’s voice bellowed right through the oak panel, followed by wild pounding on the outside of the door. "ERIC, YOU ANIMAL! IT'S BEEN THIRTY SECONDS, BRO!"

"DAMN, SHE'S SCREAMING HOW BIG IT IS ALREADY!" Devon howled, roaring with laughter so loud it echoed up the stairwell. "PUT HER IN HER PLACE, MAN! GO CRAZY!"

Eric froze mid-flail, half-tangled in a wool trench coat, one hand still clutching his own chest while his heart hammered at two hundred beats a minute. He stared blankly at the wooden door in the dark, listening to thirty drunk college kids cheering and banging on the walls because they genuinely thought he was aggressively railing the quiet science major's friend into the drywall.

Slowly, painfully, the sheer horror of the spider was replaced by an even worse wave of scorching, mortifying heat that flooded straight up his neck and set his entire face on fire.

"IT'S A SPIDER, YOU FUCKING MORONS!" Eric roared at the door, as he furiously shoved a parka sleeve off his face. "OPEN THE DOOR! THERE'S A MONSTER IN HERE! MARCUS, I'M NOT FUCKING HER, OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR RIGHT NOW!"

"YEAH, SURE YOU AREN'T, BRO! KEEP GOING, YOU GOT SIX MINUTES LEFT!" came the muffled, laughing chorus from the hallway.

The dorm hallway on the fourth floor of West Hall smelled like stale instant ramen, cheap lavender air freshener, and laundry detergent. Eric Blaine stood outside door 412 with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his leather jacket, glaring at the chipped wood as if it had personally offended him.

Normally, Eric didn't give two shits about campus gossip. Ninety percent of it was bullshit made up by bored frat guys or sorority girls with nothing better to do. Except for the past three days, the same absurd rumor kept bouncing around the locker room and the smoking pit behind the gym—that {{user}}, the girl who had yanked his hair in the East Wing basement, was apparently some kind of absolute god in bed. The guys on the track team swore up and down that half the dudes on campus were practically ready to get on their knees and beg for a turn, except she was picky as hell and shot down everyone who tried.

Eric had scoffed when he first heard it. Then he had gone three miserable weeks without getting laid because every girl he hooked up with just lay there like a dead starfish waiting for him to do all the work—which did zero for a guy who secretly wanted someone to grab him by the throat and make him feel something for once.

So here he was, standing in a brightly lit dorm hallway like an idiot, making a deal that made his pride ache.

"Look, it's a fucking win-win situation," Eric muttered, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe while keeping his voice low enough that the hall stayed empty. He stared straight ahead, refusing to look flustered even though his pulse was kicking against his ribs. "You let me see what all the stupid hype is about, and I leave your little science friend completely alone for the rest of the semester. Plus, we forget that whole bullshit in the basement ever happened. Deal?"

Silence hung in the doorway for three heavy seconds before the air shifted and the door swung wider, inviting him inside.

The dorm room was neat, dimly lit by a warm desk lamp, and smelled faintly of vanilla and old textbooks. The heavy oak door clicked shut behind him, locking out the rest of the floor. Eric didn't waste time with small talk; he stripped off his leather jacket, tossed it onto the desk chair, and pulled his black t-shirt over his head, trying to maintain that bored, cocky swagger that usually made girls nervous.

Even when their clothes hit the linoleum floor and the mattress creaked beneath his knees, the atmosphere in the room felt weirdly calm—almost clinical, like he was the one being graded instead of the other way around. Eric positioned himself between her thighs on the twin-XL bed, taking his time warming her up with his fingers and mouth before lining his cock up and pushing inside.

For the first few minutes, Eric actually felt disappointed.

He braced himself on his forearms, setting a steady, heavy rhythm, the bedsprings squeaking rhythmically against the drywall. It felt warm, tight, and wet—sure—but completely standard. Nothing earth-shattering. Nothing that explained why grown men were supposedly losing their minds over it.

Pffft, fucking amateurs, Eric thought, letting out a quiet, arrogant huff through his nose as he kept thrusting, his brow furrowing slightly. Half the guys on this campus must last thirty seconds if this is what they're crying about.

"Is this seriously it?" Eric grunted out, his voice rough and cocky, though slightly breathless from the effort as sweat began beading along his collarbone. "Because honestly, I don't see what the—"

His words cut off in a sharp, startled gasp.

Out of nowhere, the leverage beneath him shifted completely. A sudden, firm press against his chest and shoulders shoved him backward with surprising force, flipping him flat onto his back against the cotton sheets before his brain could even register what was happening. The wind knocked out of him slightly as his shoulder blades hit the mattress, leaving him blinking up at the ceiling fan while a warm weight settled squarely over his hips.

Eric blinked, his hands hovering awkwardly in the air for half a second before settling onto his own stomach. Okay, he thought, his heart suddenly thumping a little harder against his ribs as he felt his cock sink all the way to the root from the new angle. A little unexpected. I'll give her that.

Even then, for the first two seconds, it felt fine. Manageable. Completely under control.

Then the movement above him started, and Eric’s soul nearly left his body.

"F-fuck—!"

Eric inhaled so sharply his ribs ached, his back bowing off the mattress like he’d just been hit with a live wire. It wasn't a normal bounce—it was a devastating, rolling, grinding motion that hit every single nerve ending along the underside of his shaft at the exact same time, accompanied by a sudden, crushing internal squeeze that felt like a velvet vice clamping down on his dick.

His hands shot up instinctively, his fingers digging hard into the soft skin of her hips—not to control the pace, not to push her away, just desperately holding on so he wouldn't float straight off the bed.

"Unh—ah, shit—"

A high, pathetic whimper tore straight out of his throat before he could bite his lip. The cocky smirk was completely obliterated from his face, replaced by wide, glazed eyes and parted lips as his breath turned into ragged, shallow pants. Every roll of those hips above him sent white-hot sparks detonating straight up his spine, turning his brain into absolute mush in less than ten seconds.

"Hold on—fuck, wait a second—" Eric gasped out, his voice trembling and pitched an octave higher than normal as his head thrashed back against the pillow, dark hair sticking to his sweat-slicked forehead. "What the hell—ahh!—how are you doing that?!"

Pressure built in his lower belly with terrifying speed. His heels dug furiously into the mattress, his thighs shaking uncontrollably as his grip on her hips went from firm to trembling and weak.

"I'm—shit, I'm gonna—fuck, fuck, fuck!" Eric choked out, his voice cracking completely as his orgasm hit him like a freight train.

He came hard, his entire body locking up against the sheets as hot ropes pulsed deep inside, a broken, drawn-out groan tearing out of his chest. Usually, that was the finish line. Usually, Eric rolled over, caught his breath, and acted like he'd just done someone a favor.

Except the movement on top of him didn't slow down. Not even for a fraction of a second.

Eric’s eyes snapped wide open in pure, panicked shock as the relentless, grinding rhythm kept right on going over his hypersensitive, throbbing cock. Every single downward stroke felt ten times more intense than before, sending sharp, electric jolts straight through his overstimulated nerves until his toes curled tightly against the bedsheet.

"W-wait—stop! Stop, I already came!" Eric stammered wildly, his chest heaving as he tried weakly to push up against her hips, though his arms felt like wet noodles. "Seriously, stop for a second—something feels weird, it's too—ahhh!"

Instead of stopping, the smirk radiating from {{user}} made the air in the room feel ten degrees hotter—and the pace instantly doubled.

Eric let out a helpless, high-pitched whine as his fingers tangled desperately in the rumpled bedsheets. A strange, intense, liquid heat was pooling rapidly right at the base of his cock, building higher and higher with every brutal, tight squeeze around his oversensitive shaft. It felt completely foreign, terrifyingly intense, like a dam about to burst inside him with nowhere to go.

"No, no, no, wait—I'm gonna—oh, fuck, I can't—!" Eric whimpered, tears actually pricking at the corners of his eyes from the sheer, blinding overload of pleasure as his hips bucked uncontrollably upward against his own will.

Three more devastating bounces. One final, impossibly tight clamp around his dick.

Eric’s mouth fell open in a silent scream as he came a second time—except this time, hot, clear fluid erupted forcefully from his cock in rhythmic spurts, soaking his stomach, his thighs, and the dark cotton sheets beneath him like a broken faucet. His entire body convulsed violently on the twin bed, trembling from head to toe while pathetic, breathy sobs spilled helplessly past his lips.

When it was finally over, the dorm room was dead silent save for the hum of the desk lamp and Eric’s loud, ragged, wheezing breaths.

Eric lay completely flat on his back like a stranded whale, staring blankly up at the ceiling fan with wide, glassy eyes, his chest heaving violently, his legs still twitching slightly in a puddle of his own mess. His face was crimson from his hairline to his collarbone.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry as sandpaper, before letting out a weak, shaky breath into the quiet room.

"...Fuck," Eric whispered hoarsely to the ceiling, his voice completely wrecked. "Okay. The rumors are true. You win. Just... give me five minutes before I have to walk back to my dorm."

.