Chapter 8 Fault Line #2
The room was dim. The curtains were drawn, and the late afternoon light filtered through the fabric in a way that turned everything soft and golden. Troy was sprawled across the bed face-down, one arm hanging off the side, the other tucked under his pillow.
He was wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs.
My brain stopped working.
The blankets were tangled around his legs that was kicked off at some point, leaving him exposed. I could see the definition in his back, the way his muscles shifted with each breath, the ink that disappeared beneath the waistband of those tight black briefs.
And he was hard.
I could see the outline of his cock straining against the fabric of his underwear, could see the wet spot where he had been leaking, could see everything I had absolutely no business looking at.
Then I saw the bruise. It was forming along his left side, just above his hip. I didn't know where or how he had gotten it.
It should have been enough to kill whatever the hell was happening in my body. But it wasn't enough.
Because even as I stared at that bruise, even as I felt the familiar twist of worry and anger in my chest, I was still noticing everything else.
The curve of his ass. The flex of his shoulders.
The way his hair was messy against the pillow.
The fact that he was lying there hard and vulnerable and so goddamn beautiful it hurt to look at him.
My own cock stirred. Thickened. Started getting hard despite the guilt twisting in my gut.
I forced myself to look away. I grabbed the clothes off his bedroom floor, adding them to the pile already in my arms, and got the hell out of there before I did anything stupider than I already had.
The door closed behind me with a soft click that sounded too loud in the quiet hallway.
I stood there for a second, breathing too hard, trying to get my pulse under control. Trying to convince myself that what I'd just felt was normal. Explainable. The response that happened when you saw anyone attractive and half-naked.
Except it wasn't anyone.
It was Troy.
And I'd been hard enough that my jeans were uncomfortable, my thoughts a mess of want and shame and the horrible certainty that I'd crossed a line I couldn't uncross.
I headed downstairs and dumped the clothes in the laundry room. Started sorting through them on autopilot, separating darks from lights, trying to focus on the mechanical task instead of the image burned into my brain.
That's when I found the lace.
I pulled them out and held them up to the light. Definitely not his. The fabric was still damp in places, the scent of sex unmistakable even from here.
He'd been with someone. Brought them home or gone to their place and ended up with their underwear in his pocket like a trophy.
The jealousy that hit me was immediate and irrational and so fucking strong I had to set the underwear down before I did anything stupid like rip it apart.
Troy had been with someone. Had fucked someone. Had come home smelling like sex and leather and probably still buzzing from it.
I picked up the underwear again and studied it. Felt the damp fabric, the evidence of what he'd been doing. Brought it closer and smelled it before I could stop myself.
Come and sweat and the unmistakable smell of sex. Recent enough that it was still there, still strong, still making my cock throb in my jeans like my body had completely given up on having any self-control.
I went back upstairs as quietly as I could. Opened Troy's door just enough to slip inside.
I set the underwear on his floor exactly where I'd found it. Making sure the placement was right, making sure he wouldn't notice it had been moved.
Then I got the fuck out of there.
My bedroom door closed behind me and made it three steps toward the bed before changing direction and heading into the attached bathroom instead.
I locked that door too and leaned against it. Stared at myself in the mirror.
I looked like shit. Eyes too dark, jaw tight, breathing ragged. My cock was straining against my jeans hard enough to hurt, and my hands were shaking with the need to touch, to take, to do things I had absolutely no right to even think about.
This was wrong. All of it was wrong.
I had never been attracted to men before. Had never looked at another guy and felt the pull of want, the twist of need in my gut. I had been with women my whole life. Had married Troy's mother, for fuck's sake. Had lived a straight life without ever questioning it.
So what the hell was this?
What the hell was happening to me that I was standing in my bathroom with the door locked, rock hard and aching over the sight of my stepson sprawled out on a bed?
I should have been disgusted with myself. Should have been able to shut this down, to remind myself that Troy was family, that this was every kind of fucked up, that I had no business thinking about him like this.
But I couldn't.
The image was burned into my brain. Troy's body. The curve of his ass in those black briefs. The hard line of his cock straining against the fabric. The bruise on his side that made me want to find whoever had put it there and break them apart with my bare hands.
And here I was getting hard over the sight of him sleeping, getting jealous over evidence that he had been with someone else, losing my fucking mind over a man I should have only ever seen as family.
I opened my jeans and shoved them down along with my boxers. My cock sprang free, already leaking, hard enough that it was almost painful.
I wrapped my hand around it and squeezed. The sensation was immediate and overwhelming, pleasure cutting through the shame and guilt and every reason this was a terrible idea.
I started stroking. Fast and rough, no finesse, just the desperate need to get this out of my system before it consumed me completely.
I thought about walking into that room. Waking him up. Putting my hands on him the way I had been dying to for years without even realizing it.
Thought about what he would sound like. What he would feel like. Whether he would fight me or give in or both.
Thought about bending him over that bed and showing him exactly what he did to me.
My other hand moved without conscious thought. Slid up under my shirt, found one of my nipples, and twisted. The sharp sting of pain mixed with the pleasure radiating from my cock, and I groaned low in my throat.
I had never done this before. Had never played with my own nipples during sex or while jerking off. But now I couldn't stop. I rolled the nub between my fingers, pinched it hard enough to make my breath catch, and felt my cock throb in response.
I was a grown man jerking off in the bathroom to thoughts of my stepson, playing with my nipples like some desperate teenager, and I couldn't make myself stop.
I let go of my cock long enough to yank my shirt over my head and toss it aside. My chest was flushed, nipples already hard and sensitive from the rough treatment. I went back to working them both, pinching and twisting while my cock leaked steadily against my stomach.
I thought about Troy's mouth on me. Thought about his teeth scraping over my nipples, his tongue soothing the sting. Thought about him on his knees in front of me, looking up with those sharp green eyes while he sucked my cock.
The thought should have felt alien. Wrong. I had never wanted that with a man before. Had never even considered it.
But I wanted it now. Wanted it so badly I could barely breathe.
I reached into the cabinet under the sink with one hand, fumbling until I found the small lockbox I kept hidden behind the cleaning supplies.
My fingers were shaking as I punched in the code and pulled out the toy I had bought months ago on a whim.
A stroker. Black silicone, ribbed on the inside, small enough to use one-handed.
I had never used it. Had shoved it in the box and tried to forget about it because admitting I had bought it meant admitting a need I wasn't ready to face.
But I was using it now.
I slicked it up with lube from the same box, then wrapped it around my cock.
The first slide was almost too much. The ribbed texture dragged over every nerve ending, tight and slick and nothing like my hand.
I groaned and braced myself against the counter with my free hand while I worked the toy over my length.
The pleasure was intense. Overwhelming. Better than anything I'd felt in years.
I twisted my nipple hard with my free hand and fucked into the toy with short, desperate thrusts. The combination was destroying me. Pleasure built hot and sharp at the base of my spine, coiling tighter with every stroke.
I had never been this hard. Had never felt this out of control. Had never wanted anyone the way I wanted Troy.
And that was the most fucked up part of all of it.
I worked the toy faster, twisting my nipple until the pain was almost unbearable, and let myself fall into the fantasy completely.
Troy under me. Troy begging. Troy's body opening up for me, taking my cock, coming apart while I fucked him into the mattress.
The orgasm hit hard and fast. Ripped through me with enough force that I had to bite down on my other hand to keep from making noise. Come spilled into the toy, hot and thick, more intense than anything I had felt in years.
I kept stroking through it, kept twisting my nipple, wringing out every last pulse of pleasure until I was shaking and spent and barely able to stand.
When I finally stopped, the reality of what I'd just done crashed over me.
This was bad. This was so fucking bad.
I couldn't want Troy. Couldn't let myself think about him this way. Couldn't keep doing this every time he walked into a room or fell asleep in his bed or existed in my space.
I cleaned up the toy and put it back in the lockbox. Got my breathing under control. Washed my hands and face and tried to look like I hadn't just jerked off to thoughts of my stepson while he slept down the hall.
When I walked out of the bathroom, I could still hear him snoring.
Still asleep. Still unaware.
Still the most dangerous thing in my life.