Page 107 of Stolen Harmony
David was even broader, thighs spread wide, trying to project nonchalance but failing utterly. Rowan nudged his face into David’s lap, his lips skating along the rough denim, breath ghosting through the fabric. David’s hand twitched, hovering for a second over Rowan’s head before clenching into a fist at his side.
Rowan turned his head, dragging his cheek from one side of David’s fly to the other, rubbing slow circles with his nose, lips parted like he was breathing in David’s scent. The air felt thick,sticky with anticipation and forbidden thrill. David let out a noise—half-groan, half-laugh—his body betraying him, cock swelling visibly against his jeans.
I couldn’t look away. Rowan’s eyes flicked to mine, hungry and triumphant, as if he knew exactly how this was affecting me. He lingered, letting his tongue dart out to trace the metal button through the denim, then dragged his jaw along the length of David’s cock, the shape clear and defined even with the barrier of clothing.
Tom watched, breath held, face flushed, every muscle tight with tension. David let his head fall back, a helpless sound escaping him.
Rowan pressed his cheek flat, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles, then turned so his lips brushed the tip of David’s cock, hidden by the thick denim. He let out a low, appreciative hum, the vibration of it making David shudder.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” David breathed, and it was impossible to tell if he was protesting or begging for more.
I felt drunk on the sight—the power, the mess, the way Rowan commanded all of us with just his mouth and the press of his body. The jealousy and pride tangled inside me, pleasure and possession warring as I watched him flirt with disaster.
David’s composure finally snapped. He reached down, rougher than he meant to, cupping Rowan’s jaw and hauling him up for a kiss. It was wild, almost angry, mouths colliding with too much force, all teeth and gasping breath. For a heartbeat, no one moved—too stunned, too mesmerized by the sight of David, solid and straight-laced, unmoored by want.
Rowan melted into it, hands curling in David’s shirt, letting himself be taken. The sound they made—a soft, surprised moan—sent a bolt of heat through me. The deck felt too small, the air crackling with the impossibility of what was happening.
Tom stared, wide-eyed, mouth open in shock. “Holy shit,”he whispered, voice hoarse, as if he’d just witnessed a crime and a miracle in the same breath.
David broke away, looking dazed, his lips red and slick. He let Rowan go with a muttered curse, running a hand through his hair like he was trying to reset the world.
But the spell was already broken, or maybe cast. Because Tom was moving next, all false bravado gone, reaching for Rowan with a reckless hunger. He tugged Rowan close and kissed him—softer than David had, but just as needy. Rowan gave in, letting Tom taste him, letting the tension between all of us snap and spark. I watched Tom’s hand fist in Rowan’s hair, watched the heat build and build, watched Rowan’s hips press forward, desperate for friction.
Tom finally pulled back, eyes blown wide, face flushed and disbelieving. “Fuck, man,” he whispered, “what are you doing to us?”
Rowan just smiled, breathless and a little smug. “Whatever you let me.”
My body was vibrating with want. I didn’t care who was watching—I couldn’t have stopped myself if I tried. I closed the distance in two steps, hands framing Rowan’s face, and kissed him—hard, hungry, possessive. His mouth opened to me without hesitation, tongue slick and eager, tasting of beer and longing and the faintest trace of someone else. I swallowed his moan, let my fingers dig into his jaw, let him know exactly who he belonged to, at least for tonight.
The world shrank to the heat of his mouth, the press of his body, the knowledge that we’d crossed every line and there was no going back. When we finally broke apart, Rowan was flushed and grinning, hair mussed, lips swollen.
For a moment, none of us spoke—just breathing in the aftermath, bodies wound tight, the air humming with reckless anticipation. Then Tom reached out, hand tentative atfirst, resting on Rowan’s thigh. David followed, fingers brushing Rowan’s forearm, like they couldn’t help themselves.
Rowan turned, eyes bright and wild, opening himself to their touch—leaning into Tom’s grip, curling his hand over David’s. The lines between us blurred, curiosity overtaking caution. I watched as Tom’s hand slid higher, finding Rowan’s hip, thumb tracing slow circles through the fabric. David shifted closer, his other hand coming up to cup Rowan’s jaw, tilting his face for a softer, searching kiss.
Rowan kissed him back, slow and deep, their mouths moving together until David broke away with a ragged breath, eyes dark and hungry. Tom grinned, emboldened by the heat in the room, and tugged Rowan onto his lap, palms skating up under Rowan’s shirt, fingertips skating over bare skin.
“Bedroom,” Rowan managed, breathless, glancing between all of us—like he couldn’t believe we were letting this happen, like he was afraid it might stop if we waited a second longer.
I found my voice, low and rough. “Upstairs. Now.”
We moved as a group—bodies bumping together, laughter low and disbelieving, hands already exploring as we stumbled down the hall and up the stairs. In the bedroom, the heat exploded—Tom pulling Rowan close and kissing him again, hands sliding under the waistband of his jeans; David crowding in from behind, lips on Rowan’s neck, one arm wrapped around his chest, the other fumbling at his fly.
Rowan moaned, low and needy, arching between them, pressing back into David while Tom pressed in from the front. I watched them for a second—Rowan’s hands tangled in Tom’s shirt, Tom’s mouth on his throat, David’s grip possessive on Rowan’s waist—before I stepped forward and claimed a piece of him for myself, biting a line up the side of his neck, licking sweat from his skin.
“Stop,” I rasped, voice rougher than I meant. The othersfroze, attention swinging to me. Rowan’s eyes were wild, pupils blown wide with want.
I cupped his face, my thumb tracing the flush on his cheek. “Strip us,” I said quietly, voice meant for him alone. “But take your time. And you leave the underwear on. That’s my rule.”
Rowan grinned—a sharp, delighted thing. “Yes, sir,” he breathed, and the way his voice trembled went straight to my cock.
He started with Tom, pushing him gently onto the edge of the bed, undoing buttons one by one. Tom’s chest was broad, furred with hair, skin flushed from arousal and beer. Rowan’s hands mapped every inch, kneading muscle, mouth pressing hot, open kisses to skin as each new bit was revealed. He lingered over Tom’s nipples, flicking his tongue just to see Tom flinch and gasp, then let his mouth drift lower, teeth dragging along Tom’s belly before peeling off Tom’s jeans with theatrical slowness. When only the briefs remained, Rowan looked back at me for approval. I nodded, and he left them on, palming Tom’s cock through the fabric for a second before moving on.
David was next—taller, solid in that grown-man way, a line of hair trailing down from his navel. Rowan knelt to untie David’s shoes, then kissed his way up David’s shins, hands splayed over muscled thighs, mouth open and hungry. He peeled David’s jeans down, exposing the tented fabric of his boxer-briefs, and pressed his face there—nuzzling, breathing deep, letting the anticipation coil tighter. David’s breath shuddered, his hand tangling in Rowan’s hair, but he didn’t push or pull.
When it was my turn, Rowan slowed. His hands shook as he unbuttoned my shirt, sliding it off my shoulders and dragging his mouth across my collarbone, licking up salt and sweat. He looked up, lips parted, and I let my hand thread into his hair, controlling the angle.
“You like being put on display, don’t you?” I murmured, thumb caressing his cheek.
