Page 63 of Stolen Harmony
But I’d never seen this.
His joy. His power. His beauty.
I wanted it. All of it.
And that was the worst sin of all.
The bed creaked again. They were moving—repositioning. Rowan climbed into the man’s lap, facing him, and the angle shifted just enough that I caught a flash of his ass as he guided the man’s cock to his entrance.
My heart stopped.
He was slick already. Prepped. I hadn’t even seen him do it.Had he done it before? Was he always this ready, this practiced?
The thought made my blood heat.
He lowered himself slowly, steadily, until he was fully seated in the other man’s lap. His mouth fell open, his head tipped back, and I heard himmoan. Loud. Unfiltered. Desperate.
I gripped the wall so hard my fingers hurt.
Rowan started to move, slow and deliberate, fucking himself on the stranger’s cock like he owned every inch of it. His body undulated with a fluid grace that didn’t look real. He was flushed, sweating, lips parted in silent gasps. His cock jutted out, hard and leaking, bouncing with every roll of his hips.
I wanted to touch it. I wanted to taste him.
I bit down on the inside of my cheek, hard enough to draw blood. The metallic tang grounded me—but only just. The image burned behind my eyes: Rowan, hips grinding down, chest slick with sweat, thighs straining with effort. The man beneath him looked like he was unraveling, fingers digging into Rowan’s hips as if anchoring himself to something holy.
Rowan moved faster now, head thrown back, a low moan spilling from his lips. His rhythm was hypnotic—each thrust more desperate than the last, the slap of skin a filthy metronome echoing through the quiet apartment.
And then the man said it.
“Fuck—call me Daddy.”
The words hung in the air like a gunshot. I stopped breathing.
Rowan froze for a fraction of a second, then looked down at him, lips curving in a slow, obscene smile. “Yeah?” he breathed, voice wrecked from pleasure. “You want that?”
“Say it,” the man groaned, gripping his ass and thrusting up into him. “Let me hear it.”
Rowan leaned forward, bracing himself on the man’s chest, his voice dropping into something low and honeyed. “Fuck me, Daddy.”
I jerked back like I’d been slapped.
The word echoed in my head, ugly and perfect and ruinous.
Daddy.
He’d said it with no hesitation. No fear. No shame. Just want—raw and shameless and drenched in arousal.
It wasn’t about me. Iknewthat. The man under him wasn’t anything more than a body. A placeholder. But still, the sound of it—Rowan’s voice sayingthatword—broke something inside me. Cracked me open from the inside.
I fumbled for my belt, all pretense of restraint gone. My cock sprang free, already wet at the tip, and I wrapped my hand around it with a groan that I barely managed to stifle behind clenched teeth.
This was sick. Disgusting.
I couldn’t stop.
Inside, Rowan was riding that man like he meant to leave claw marks on his soul. I could see the strain in his thighs, the arch of his back, the way his mouth hung open around breathless moans.
“Harder,” Rowan panted. “C’mon, Daddy, give it to me.”
