Page 49 of Stolen Harmony
He spat in his hand, rubbing slickness over my hole, then went back to work, tongue pushing inside, fingers teasing, coaxing me open. The pressure built, pleasure spiraling higher, every nerve ending on fire. I could feel his cock, hard and heavy, pressing against my thigh, leaking and twitching with need.
“Gonna get you ready for me,” he promised, voice thick with hunger. “Gonna make you beg to be fucked. But right now, I just want to taste you—want to make you come on my tongue, show you who you belong to.”
I whimpered, lost, desperate, undone. His tongue fucked me, fast and deep, fingers spreading me, thumb pressing against the base of my cock, teasing until I was shaking, leaking, body tight as a wire.
Kepler seemed to sense exactly how close I was to falling apart for him, but he didn’t relent. If anything, he got filthier—his hands firm on my hips, spreading me wide so he could bury his face in my ass, devouring me like a starving man. His tongue lapped at my rim, hot and relentless, swirling, then pressing deep again, the movement greedy, wet, loud in the echoing shower. His stubble scraped my skin, adding a raw edge to the overwhelming pleasure, and he groaned against me, the vibration sending jolts through my core.
“God, you taste incredible,” he muttered, pausing only to catch his breath before plunging back in, tongue slick and demanding, licking and sucking, alternating between slow, worshipful circles and sharp, hungry thrusts that made me claw at the tile.
“Please,” I gasped, voice gone high and needy, “please, don’t stop—want you, need you—” I could barely string the words together, my mind gone hazy with want, every nerve ending tuned to the relentless wet heat of his mouth.
He reached up and slapped my ass, not hard enough to hurt, just to claim me, then dug his thumbs into my cheeks and spread me even wider, pushing his tongue in deeper, sucking at my hole, moaning like I was the best thing he’d ever tasted.
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmured, words vibrating against my skin. “You ever been eaten out like this before? Anyone ever make you feel this good?”
I shook my head, too far gone to lie. “No, never—nobody’s ever—fuck, Kepler?—”
He hummed, pleased, and doubled down, his tongue moving in tighter, more frantic circles, teasing and opening me, getting me wetter, softer, ready for anything he wanted to do. The air was thick with the scent of sex, steam, and his masculine sweat. My legs threatened to give out, knees shaking, muscles trembling.
Finally, when he seemed satisfied, he pulled back, and I heard him take a deep, ragged breath. The air was cool where his mouth had been, but his big hands soothed over my skin, anchoring me.
“Come here,” he said, gentling his tone as he pulled me up and into his chest, water pouring down on both of us. He spun me around, wrapping his arms tight around my waist, pressing a kiss to my temple, his cock hard against my stomach.
He grabbed the soap, lathering his hands and then workingthem over my chest, my arms, my neck, slow and attentive. There was nothing rushed now—he moved with a confidence that said he liked taking care of me as much as he liked ruining me.
“Let me get you clean, sweetheart,” he murmured, running his hands over my shoulders, down my back, then kneeling to soap my legs, his grip firm, almost possessive. “You did so good for me.”
His touch turned reverent, scrubbing away the sweat and spit, but never losing that edge of hunger. He spent extra time on my thighs, my ass, sliding between my cheeks, teasing, cleaning, touching just enough to make my cock twitch back to life. Every so often, he’d squeeze or pinch, making me gasp, a smile flickering across his lips.
He stood and handed me the soap, nodding toward himself, voice gone playful. “Your turn, boy. Make it good.”
I started at his shoulders, lathering the soap in my hands, then working it into the thick cords of his muscles. He shuddered under my touch, letting me map every inch of him, chest to belly to those powerful arms. I lingered on his pits, fingers working through the hair, the scent of clean sweat and salt and his own animal heat making my mouth water.
He caught me staring and raised an eyebrow, a crooked smile spreading across his face. “You got a thing for that, huh? For my pits?”
I flushed, but didn’t look away. “Yeah,” I admitted, voice quiet. “You smell fucking incredible.”
He laughed, pleased, and raised his arm, giving me access, letting me lean in. I buried my face in the hollow, breathing deep, then licked a slow, filthy stripe through the hair, tasting salt and soap and pure, masculine Kepler. He let out a rumbling moan, pride and lust and something almost gentle in the sound.
“That’s it, worship your daddy,” he murmured, free hand threading into my hair, holding me there as I licked and sucked, letting my tongue linger, making a mess of him again. “Knew you’d be a natural at this. Didn’t know I’d like it so much.”
I moved to his other side, repeating the worship, letting my lips and tongue memorize every inch, the feel of his hair, the taste of his skin. He flexed his arms for me, showing off, letting me see and touch all the strength that had made me ache for him.
The water turned colder, making us both gasp and laugh, and he reached for a towel, wrapping it around my shoulders, then another for himself. He dried me with slow, careful hands, taking time to kiss every spot he could reach—my jaw, my shoulder, my hips.
Then, without warning, he turned the water off, scooped me up, one arm under my knees, the other behind my back, and carried me through the steam-filled hallway and back to the bedroom. I clung to him, head tucked against his neck, breathing in his scent, letting myself feel small and cherished and safe.
He set me down on the bed, the sheets cool against my overheated skin, then stood over me, toweling off his chest, his arms, his cock—thick, heavy, flushed with need, the tip already leaking again.
I reached for him, hands greedy, fingers digging into his thighs, guiding him closer. “Let me,” I whispered, pulling him down to straddle my chest. I pushed his arms up, baring his pits, and dove in, licking, sucking, worshipping, letting my tongue wander from one side to the other, lost in the taste and smell and strength of him.
He let me have my way, hands in my hair, moaning softly, rocking against my chest, letting his cock slap my skin.
He leaned down, kissing me hard, tongues tangling, thetaste of him thick in my mouth. He let me worship him—his chest, his belly, his pits, every scar and freckle and patch of silver hair—letting me claim him with my hands and mouth.
Kepler’s cock swung above my face as he knelt up, eyes burning with hunger and pride. He gripped the base, slapping the head across my cheek, smearing precome along my skin. “Open up for me,” he ordered, voice low and filthy, the edge of command impossible to ignore. “Let daddy use that mouth. Show me how much you want it.”
I parted my lips, letting my tongue loll out, hungry for the taste of him. Kepler lined himself up, the head of his cock pressing against my lips, then pushing past, forcing my mouth wide. He was thick, hot, so much to take in. I moaned around him, the vibration making him curse under his breath, fingers knotting in my hair.
