Page 52 of Stolen Harmony
Then he moved down, settling between my thighs, hands pushing my legs up, mouth hovering over my cock. He looked up, voice low, “Stroke yourself for me. Show me how much you want it.”
I obeyed, hand shaky as I gripped my cock, stroking slow at first, then faster, every nerve raw. Kepler watched hungrily, then leaned in, his mouth hot over the head, tongue lapping up my precome, sucking me in. He went slow at first, then deeper, throat working, taking every inch, letting me fuck up into his mouth.
His hands found my hips, holding me steady, encouraging, letting me thrust. I grabbed his hair, needing the anchor, needing to use him, to let him have all of me. “Fuck, daddy, you look so good with my cock in your mouth—want you to swallow it, want you to take it all.”
He moaned around me, the vibration making my toes curl, and he bobbed his head faster, sucking hard, tongue swirling, hand pumping the base as he worked me to the edge. I was close, so close, the world narrowing to the heat of his mouth, the sight of him worshipping me, the taste, the sound, the way he never stopped.
“Gonna cum,” I choked, voice hoarse, “Gonna cum for you, daddy?—”
He sucked harder, taking me deep, throat closing around me, and I broke, cumming hard down his throat, filling his mouth with everything I had left. He swallowed, greedy, notletting a drop spill, holding me until I was empty, wrung out, nothing left but shivers.
Kepler finally pulled off, licking his lips, eyes dark and shining with pride and hunger. He crawled up, kissed me again, slow and filthy, sharing the taste of me, letting me know I was his.
“Good man,” he whispered, gathering me into his arms, holding me close, bodies tangled, sweat and mess cooling on our skin.
Eventually, the sweat cooled and the mess between us turned sticky, reality clawing its way back into the little cottage. I sat up, hair wild, skin flushed, and looked around for my jeans. Kepler watched me with a crooked smile, chest still heaving, silver hair standing up in sweaty tufts.
“Gonna run out on me already?” he teased, reaching for his own clothes. There was a rawness to his smile—a vulnerability that made him look years younger.
“Not running,” I said, forcing myself to grin as I found my jeans and shimmied into them, going commando, still feeling the burn between my thighs. “Just… figuring out how to walk again.”
He chuckled, tugging his boxers and jeans back up over powerful legs, not bothering with his shirt. For a moment, the sight of his bare chest—marked with the evidence of my mouth—almost made me want to drag him back down onto the couch. But I needed air. Needed time to process the reality of what we’d just done.
I pulled my shirt over my head, hands shaking a little. The silence stretched out, awkward for the first time since I’d walked in. Kepler moved around the kitchen, rinsing mugs, setting things right, pretending not to notice the way my gaze flicked everywhere but him.
Finally, he broke the quiet. “You alright,Rowan?”
“Yeah,” I said, too fast, too sharp. “Yeah. I just…” I trailed off, searching for the right words—something that wouldn’t sound like regret but couldn’t quite be relief either. “Kepler, this?—”
He waited, gaze steady, no judgment, just patience.
I swallowed, running a hand through my hair. “Elias can’t know about this.”
The words landed like a stone between us. Kepler’s face tightened, the easy humor bleeding out, replaced by something harder to read—regret, maybe, or just the slow understanding of all the lines we’d just crossed.
He nodded, jaw tight. “I know.”
“I mean it,” I pressed, my voice low, desperate, almost pleading. “Whatever this was—whatever just happened—he can’t find out. I don’t even know what to call it, but if he—” I broke off, the thought too big, too dangerous.
Kepler’s hand found my wrist, firm and sure, grounding me. “Rowan. You don’t have to explain. I get it. I do.”
His touch was gentle, his voice steady, but I could hear something cracking under the surface—a longing, a hunger for something more, or maybe just for what couldn’t be.
I squeezed his hand, grateful for his steadiness. “I’m not sorry,” I whispered, meeting his eyes. “But I can’t—I just can’t?—”
He nodded, squeezing back, then let go. “It’s alright. No one ever has to know. You got my word.”
For a moment, it felt like something might break—me, him, the fragile sense of safety that had wrapped around us in the haze of pleasure. I finished dressing, fingers clumsy, and tried to gather whatever dignity I had left.
Kepler leaned back against the counter, watching me, his face softening a little. “Take care of yourself, Rowan.”
I managed a weak smile, shouldered my bag, and headedfor the door. At the threshold, I paused, looking back at him, burned into memory—barefoot, shirtless, eyes full of secrets.
“Thank you,” I said, voice barely a whisper. “For… everything.”
He nodded, a flicker of sadness and something like hope passing over his face. “Anytime.”
I stepped out into the sun, the town quiet, my body humming with the memory of him, my heart heavy with everything I could never say. As the door shut behind me, I felt the weight of it all—the guilt, the want, the fear, and the certainty that nothing would ever be quite the same again.
