Page 46 of Stolen Harmony
I sat on the edge, the mattress dipping under my weight,and for a moment just let myself breathe, surrounded by his presence. Kepler sat down beside me—not too close, just close enough that I could feel the heat of him radiating through the space between us.
Without thinking, I lay back, eyes drifting shut. It was easier than I expected. The bed smelled like clean sheets, sea air, and something distinctly Kepler—salt and soap and warmth. I let myself relax into the comfort, the kind that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with being held together by someone solid.
A moment later, the bed dipped as Kepler stretched out behind me, pulling the covers up with slow, deliberate care. His arm slid around my waist, steady and protective, not demanding. The intimacy of it—his size, the certainty in his touch—was overwhelming and grounding at the same time.
His voice rumbled against the back of my neck, gentle and amused. “Don’t tense up, kid. It’s just sleep. Promise I’ll behave.”
But the way his hand settled on my stomach, fingers spreading wide, was anything but casual. It was possessive and safe all at once, and I found myself melting back against him, letting go just enough to breathe. I could feel his breath in my hair, the scratch of his beard against my skin, the slow, comforting rhythm of his chest rising and falling behind me.
Kepler’s thumb stroked an idle, absentminded circle across the bare skin just above my waistband. Not overtly sexual—just enough to make me wonder, to make my breath catch, to make my cock twitch in anticipation. He had to feel it, the way my body tensed and relaxed against his.
“You all right?” he murmured, his voice a rumble in my ear. “You want me to stop?”
I shook my head, barely breathing. “No. Don’t stop.”
We lay there, tangled together in the hush, bodies pressedtight beneath the worn quilt, the world outside the window reduced to nothing but salt air and the faint clatter of gulls on the roof. The only sound that mattered was the slow, measured rhythm of our breathing and the steady thud of his heart against my back.
After a long, trembling silence, I let out a breath. “Should we be doing this?”
He huffed a soft laugh, the warmth of it ghosting against my neck. “Probably not,” he admitted, the humor in his tone unmistakable but undercut by something rawer, sharper. “You know how it is—local boy, straight as a two-by-four, suddenly got his son’s step-kid in his bed. Not exactly a story I want getting out at the co-op.”
Despite the joke, I could feel it—hard and undeniable, the press of him through the denim of his jeans, insistent against the curve of my ass. His body was betraying him as much as mine, no matter how we pretended this was innocent. I rolled my hips just enough to test the friction, to make sure I wasn’t imagining it, and his breath stuttered, the arm around my waist tightening.
“Jesus, Rowan,” he said, the words half a groan, half a warning.
My heart hammered, equal parts shame and thrill. I wanted him to want me—wanted the proof of it against my skin, wanted to see if I could make him lose control. I shifted again, slow and deliberate, pressing back until he was flush against me, his cock unmistakable now, thick and hard.
“You really are trouble, aren’t you?” Kepler whispered, the humor gone from his voice. He slid his hand lower, splaying his palm across my lower stomach, fingers inching beneath the hem of my t-shirt, just barely brushing skin. “Didn’t plan on this. Never even thought about—” He broke off, his breath catching as I arched into his touch, desperatefor more.
His hand moved up, dragging the shirt with it, exposing a strip of skin from my hip to my ribs. He traced lazy circles just beneath my belly button, every nerve ending lighting up in anticipation. I wanted to say something clever, something to defuse the intensity, but all I could manage was a shaky exhale.
“This is insane,” I whispered, eyes squeezed shut. “You’re… you’re Elias’s dad.”
“Yeah.” His voice was rough, uncertain.
He let out a shaky breath, like he was convincing himself as much as me. His hand slid higher, fingers skimming my ribs, knuckles grazing my nipple until it peaked, sensitive and aching. I arched into him, unable to help myself, wanting his hand everywhere at once.
He pressed a slow, careful kiss to the back of my neck, lips lingering against the skin. The softness of it made me shudder, more intimate than anything that had come before. I reached back, fumbling for his hip, finding the hard muscle there and squeezing. He groaned, low and helpless, grinding against me in a way that left no room for doubt about how much he wanted this.
“Can’t believe this is happening,” he muttered, mouth moving against my skin, breath hot and erratic. “Spent sixty years straight as they come, and now—fuck, you make me feel like I’m young again.”
I twisted to face him, shifting until we were tangled together on our sides, faces only inches apart. His eyes were dark, wide, searching mine for any sign of regret. I reached up and traced the line of his jaw, letting my thumb brush the stubble there. He leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment.
“I want you,” I whispered, voice barely more than a breath. “Even if it’s wrong. Even if it’s just for now.”
He answered by kissing me—slow and hesitant at first, lipsbarely brushing mine, tasting, testing. I opened for him, desperate, and he deepened the kiss, tongue sweeping into my mouth with a hunger that made my knees weak. He tasted like coffee and salt, like something I’d been craving without knowing it.
The heat of him pressed into me, broad hands bracketing my jaw, framing me like I was something precious—something to be claimed. My fingers slid up, finding his neck, his hair, pulling him closer, chasing the scrape of his stubble, the heavy press of his chest against mine. He groaned into my mouth, low and unguarded, as I hooked a thigh over his hip and rolled, taking him with me, both of us laughing breathlessly as the mattress dipped beneath our combined weight.
“Christ, look at you,” he murmured, voice rough, and there was pride there, something almost reverent. “Can’t remember the last time I wanted someone like this.”
He tugged my shirt up, slow and deliberate, knuckles grazing hot across my stomach. I lifted my arms for him, letting him strip it away, leaving me bare to the cool air and his greedy gaze. He took a moment—just stared, mapping every line and scar with his eyes, then bent and kissed my sternum, letting his beard scrape my skin. Each touch was worship, was hunger. My heart stuttered in my chest.
I ran my hands down his chest, tracing the lines of muscle, the curve of his waist, the scars that mapped a life lived hard. He shivered under my touch, letting out a breathless laugh. “You keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna think you’re trying to eat me alive.”
I grinned, palms flattening against his abs, feeling them flex. “You complaining?” I asked, teasing.
“Hell, no. Just wondering if I’m gonna survive it.” He dipped his head and caught my mouth again, rougher now, biting my lower lip, dragging his tongue along my teeth. Hishands wandered—down my arms, over my ribs, palms finally settling on my hips.
