A Healing Love
Copyright© 2025 by Marc Nobbs
Chapter 5: Tagging Along
Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 5: Tagging Along - Paul Robertson's journey continues as his past and present collide at a star-studded movie premiere, where a connection that once terrified him reignites with passion that threatens to consume them both. Fighting to forge a new future for himself and stop drifting, Paul must finally become the man he’s always been afraid to be. A beautiful, bittersweet exploration of grief, social responsibility, the healing power of love, and learning that sometimes loving someone means letting them go.
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction
She was insatiable.
And I mean that quite literally. From the moment the hotel door closed behind us, her ... Lust? Passion? Ardour? Call it what you will, it simply couldn’t be sated. She couldn’t be sated.
Once in the room and the door slammed shut behind us, she pushed me up against it and gave me the exact opposite of the type of kiss she’d been showering me with all day, from light and tender to ferocious and passion-filled.
Still kissing me, she tugged on my shirt and stumbled backwards, dragging me deeper into the room. Then she began to urgently strip me while I held her hips and kissed her back as passionately as she was kissing me. She frantically fumbled with every button and zip until my shirt was on the floor and my jeans and boxers around my ankles.
One hand went straight to my dick, stroking it vigorously, almost forcefully, while the other was on the back of my head, pulling my face to hers for a final, desperate kiss.
She was kissing me like she never wanted to stop.
I didn’t want her to stop.
But she did.
She dropped to her knees and began an almost reverent worship of my masculinity—kissing, licking and suckling my cock, while at the same time using one hand to fumble out of her own clothes.
“There’s been no one else,” she said. “Not since ... No one else.”
I smiled at her and reached down to cup her cheek even as she fellated me. Then I put my hands under her armpits, pulled her up and kissed her just as fiercely as she’d kissed me.
Two could play that game.
After touching her very soul with my kiss, I pushed her down onto the bed, and she scrambled to remove her remaining clothes—her skirt, winter tights and panties—while I stepped out of my trousers, kicked off my shoes and removed my socks.
Carly crawled backwards, further onto the bed, and lay back, propped up on her elbows, legs slightly apart and knees bent. She wasn’t quite ‘fully’ on display to me, but she wasn’t exactly shy about her pose. She stared at my rampant prick. There was something in her eyes. Not fear. More trepidation.
“Carly,” I said. She lifted her eyes to meet mine. “Are you sure about this?”
She nodded. “I’ve never been more sure about anything in my entire life. I need you, Paul. I’ve missed you so much, and I need you. Make love to me, Paul. Make me a woman all over again.”
I nodded. No more words were needed.
It must have been about midnight when I flopped onto my back, exhausted, and Carly crawled up beside me, draping pretty much her whole body over me so that she was almost lying on top of me.
I held her tight against me, like I never wanted to let her go.
Of all the encounters I’d had during my year in America, the three weeks with Carly had been by far the most satisfying. They may also have been the only encounters during the entire time where I’d gotten a full, restful night’s sleep—the disturbing dreams I’d become used to after every encounter aside.
And this was no different. Holding Carly in my arms, listening to her breathing slowly recover to something approaching normal, I quickly fell into a deep, satisfied sleep. Well, I fell asleep—I have no idea if Carly slept or not. And if she did, for however long, she clearly wasn’t ‘satisfied.’
I know that because it was about two in the morning when she woke me for the first time and got me to pin her down and pound her into the hotel mattress just the way she liked.
She didn’t have to ask me to do anything or tell me what she wanted. She simply pulled me on top of her, held me close and whimpered her way through at least one orgasm while I hammered her.
And it was just after four when she woke me for the second time for a threepeat performance—this time slow and sensual and languid, but no less satisfying for it.
The third time she woke me—that was about seven—I was so tired from the physical effort and disturbed sleep that I decided she needed to do some of the work. So, when she tried to get me to roll on top of her and between her legs, I instead pulled her up on top of me and impaled her on my prick.
During our three weeks or so together in Nashville, I could count on one hand the number of times Carly had ridden my cock. You’d have thought that a girl from the deep south would have liked to ride ‘cowgirl’—it was ‘cowboy country,’ after all. But Carly wasn’t a fan. It’s not that she didn’t like it—the few times we’d done it, she’d very obviously loved—I think it was just that she preferred me to get on top, pin her down and ‘make her mine,’ as she put it more than once.
But that fourth time we did it since first entering her bedroom, I lay back and let her go to town. She bucked her way through two body-shaking orgasms before I pumped a fourth load of cum deep inside her. Afterwards, I held her tightly against me, not ever wanting to let her go.
More than once, as we lay side by side—or with her on top of me—I asked myself why I’d been so foolish as to walk away from her. What madness had I been suffering from?
She was the sweetest girl in the world.
And I’d walked away from her without saying goodbye. What sort of man did that make me?
One who wasn’t in his right mind, that’s what sort.
But I was in my right mind this time. I’d clearly hurt her once.
I’d be damned if I was going to do it again.
She deserved better.
We didn’t fall asleep again after that fourth time because Carly needed to get up and get ready for the day ahead. But she still wasn’t fully satisfied, and she wanted to go one more round in the shower. I begged off, but only after promising to make it up to her that night.
Yeah, I think ‘insatiable’ is the right word.
“Glenn is meeting us in reception after breakfast,” Carly said as we headed for the hotel dining room. “I haven’t told him you stayed with me last night yet. Or that you’re staying with me all weekend.”
“What do you think he’ll say?”
“I don’t care. He’s my manager not my daddy. I pay him to run my career, not my life. And he’s doing a good job of it. Yes, I suppose he’s going to argue that a ‘well-balanced personal life’—” She made air quotes with her fingers. But only with one hand, the other was still holding my arm tightly. “—helps to ‘keep my career on track’ or something.” She made air quotes with one hand a second time.
“Sounds like you know exactly what he’s going to say. Almost like he’s said it before.”
She smirked. “He has said before that it’s easier to manage my career if there’s no drama in my life—but, Paul, ultimately, it’s not his concern who I choose to spend time with. Or who I choose to share my bed with.” She paused. “Not that I’ve ever shared my bed with anyone but you.”
“So ... He’s not going to be very happy then? I heard him ask you if it was a good idea to spend yesterday with me at the party on Wednesday night. He seems to know who I am, and it doesn’t sound like he likes me very much.”
Carly shrugged. “He doesn’t have to like you or be happy about us spending time together. He just has to deal with it, because I’m not letting you get away from me this time. I’m keeping you as close by as I can for as long as I can.”
She clung to my arm as we walked. The pretence that I was her boyfriend was going to go on for a few more days. If it was a pretence. I’m not sure it was. Not for her, at least.
As for me...
The truth was, all the feelings I’d had for Carly nearly two years ago that had scared me into running away from her had come flooding back over the course of our day together. She was still everything I’d found attractive about her in the first place—physically, obviously, as she was ‘just my type’—but everything else about her, too. She was charming, witty and a great conversationalist. She was bubbly without being annoying, and she was also thoughtful and considerate.
And I just wanted to spend as much time with her as I could. I knew she was going to be flying back home once all her promotional work was done, but she was right when she said we should make the most of the time we could spend together while we could.
So I decided to not worry about ifs or whats or whens or whys or anything else.
Carly was a great girl, and I felt privileged that she wanted to spend time with me—especially after I’d hurt her so badly. I don’t think I’d have forgiven me for doing what I did to her so easily as she had.
Glenn was indeed waiting for us—well, he was waiting for Carly, or should that be Kayla—in the hotel foyer when we finished breakfast. He was sitting on one of the sofas, looking at something on his phone when we entered the room. As we approached, he looked up and his eyes narrowed briefly when he saw me by Carly’s side.
He stood to greet us when we got closer.
“Good morning, Glenn!” Carly said, brightly. “So, what’s the plan for today?”
He looked at me and then at Carly, and then at me again, before finally addressing Carly. “I thought Paul was going back last night to ... wherever it was he’s at school?”
“Change of plans,” Carly said. She clutched my arm and looked up at me adoringly. “Paul’s staying with me until Sunday.” She looked at Glenn. “At least.”
“Sunday?” He looked at me again, his face a mixture of confusion and, I’d say, distrust. “Excuse us a minute, please,” he said to me. Then he took Carly’s arm and led her away a short distance. Not far enough that I couldn’t overhear the conversation.
“Carly, are you certain this is a good idea?”
“I’ve never been more certain of anything.”
“But ... I mean ... Look, I just don’t want you getting hurt again.”
She tilted her head and said, “Why not? It was certainly profitable last time, wasn’t it? And besides...” She looked over at me. “Paul isn’t going to hurt me, this time. I’m certain of it.”
Glenn took a deep breath. “If you’re sure. Just ... Just be careful, okay?”
She smiled. “I’m always careful, Glenn. You should know that by now. Now, what’s the plan for today?”
There was a car waiting to take us to the television studios for Carly’s first appearance of the day—a mid-morning chat show that ran from nine-thirty until the lunchtime news at twelve-thirty. It was a mix of celebrity gossip and guests, cookery segments and ‘human interest’ pieces—whatever that was supposed to mean.
Carly’s appearance was, of course, tied in with the release of Chloë’s film. In fact, Chloë was actually there! Carly hadn’t told me she would be, but it was Chloë and John Latham who were being interviewed, which I’m sure the show’s producers saw as something of a coup, because this type of show didn’t usually attract such high-profile guests. Chloë and John were actually more like guest presenters, there from ten until twelve and weighing in on almost every segment, which included Chloë and John racing against each other to cook an omelette with the regular celebrity chef. John won. I’d have to use that to make fun of my friend later.
Carly’s performance was just after that omelette segment, and Chloë came over to me where I was standing in the wings off-set after introducing Carly with one of the regular presenters.
“Hey,” she said. “What are you doing here? I thought you were going back to Westy yesterday?”
“Long story,” I said.
“Shorten it.”
“I spent the day with Carly yesterday, just showing her around town and taking a ton of pictures. Then I stayed with her last night, and I’m staying with her all the way through Sunday. I’ll get a train back home sometime in the evening, ready for lectures to start on Monday.” I paused. “Although they’re not really lectures. Just revision sessions. And they aren’t compulsory, so it doesn’t really matter if I miss them. I’m already pretty confident about the exams.”
Chloë stared at me. Then blinked. Then stared at me again. Finally, she said, “I still expect lunch at your sister’s place on Sunday. I’m still bringing Adam. And you’re still paying.” She smiled. “So why not bring Kayla ... I mean ‘Carly’ too. I’m sure she’d love the food. I mean, she’s heading to Westy herself tomorrow anyway, so—”
“What? Heading to Westy? Why?”
Chloë’s eyes widened. “She hasn’t told you yet, has she? Oh, to be a fly on the wall when she does.”
“Told me what?”
Chloë made a motion to zip her lips shut and throw away the key.
We’d missed the first part of Carly’s performance with our little exchange, but we watched the rest of it. And Good God Damn she was good. At the party, she’d performed with an acoustic guitar, but here she was sitting on a stool without the guitar, and she practically made love to the microphone as she performed—holding it gently, caressing it with first one hand, then the other, then both. It was mesmerising to watch.
And her voice ... It was like angels sighing. Have I stolen that line from a nineties’ song? I don’t care, that’s what it was like. It was full of light and shade, sadness and pain, but also hope and joy.
She was, quite simply, amazing.
And I’d get to watch and listen to her a second time in less than an hour.
After she finished performing and did a very short interview with one of the regular hosts, she came off set, received a hug from Chloë—and I’m sure there was some whispered message between them—then we were whisked away to the radio studios in the car Glenn had laid on for us for her Live Lounge performance.
Glenn hadn’t been at the television studio. But he was waiting for us at the Live Lounge. He and I waited in the technical area, separated from the performance area by a glass screen, while Carly conducted a sound check and prepared for the show.
“So, you’re Paul,” Glenn said as he stood next to me, watching Carly get ready.
I nodded. “That’s me.”
He turned to look at me. “I’m going to be frank with you, Paul. I’m not happy about this. About you. I’ve only known Carly for a year or so, but she’s like a daughter to me. Or a stepdaughter. And I don’t want you hurting her the way you did before, you hear?”
I stared at him. This wasn’t a surprise. I looked at Carly through the glass screen. It looked like she was about ready to go.
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