12. Salt and Stone #3
I shook my head, barely breathing. “No. Don’t stop.”
We lay there, tangled together in the hush, bodies pressed tight 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, desperate for 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, lips barely 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. His hands wandered—down my arms, over my ribs, palms finally settling on my hips.
I arched beneath him, desperate for more, grinding up into the solid press of his thigh. The friction made us both gasp—there was no hiding how hard I was, or how much I was leaking, my cock leaving a wet spot in the front of my briefs.
He pulled back just far enough to look down between us, eyebrow raised. “Making a mess already? Shit, you really are desperate, aren’t you?”
I blushed, but didn’t look away. “Can’t help it.”
He hummed, pleased, and let his hands slip lower, hooking his thumbs into my waistband. He tugged at my jeans, slow and careful, dragging them down my legs. I shimmied out of them, left in nothing but my tight black briefs—already stretched and darkened with precome. I felt exposed, hungry, wanted.
“Gonna take these off too?” I challenged, voice low.
“Not yet,” he said, voice full of mischief. “Gotta savor it first. You look good like this. Soaked through, aching. Needy for your daddy.”
Something dark and thrilling curled in my stomach at that word, a low, filthy pulse of want. “Yeah? You like seeing me like this?”
He leaned down, pressing his mouth to my ear, biting the lobe, whispering, “I fucking love it. Look at you—my good boy, spread out and aching for me. Nobody’s ever touched you like this, have they?”
I whimpered, arching into his touch, desperate for more. He kissed a line down my neck, across my collarbone, sucking hard enough to leave marks, hands wandering everywhere at once—thumbing my nipples, gripping my thighs, squeezing my ass through the thin fabric.
“Take these off,” I begged, tugging at the waistband of his jeans. “Wanna see you.”
He obliged, grinning as he stood beside the bed, unbuttoning his fly with deliberate slowness. He shoved his jeans down, leaving only soft gray boxer-briefs hugging his thick thighs. The outline of his cock was obscene—big, leaking, already wetting the cotton.
I let my eyes linger, hungry and admiring, licking my lips as he crawled back over me. “Damn,” I whispered, unable to hide the awe. “You’re huge.”
He grinned, smug. “All for you. Not bad for an old man, huh?” He pressed his bulge against mine, grinding slow, both of us groaning as the friction made our cocks throb and leak, darkening our underwear even more.
“Making a mess now yourself,” I teased, reaching between us to palm him through the fabric, feeling the heat and weight of him, the way he twitched at my touch.
He hissed, hand shooting out to catch my wrist, holding me still. “Careful,” he warned, voice low and dangerous. “You keep that up, I’ll embarrass myself.”
I smiled, loving the way he looked at me—hungry, possessive, like he’d tear the world apart just to keep me. “I want to make you lose control,” I whispered. “I want you to fuck me dumb. I want to be your good boy, daddy.”
A dangerous spark lit in Kepler’s eyes, a flash of something primal, a hint of challenge. “You think you can handle that?” he growled, voice gone deep and rough, hands tightening on my hips. “You really want to see what a man can do to you?”
Before I could answer, he was moving—lifting me up as if I weighed nothing, one big hand splayed over my ass, the other wrapped around my shoulders.
I let out a breathless laugh, legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. My head spun as he carried me through the bedroom and down the hall, bare skin pressed to his, both of us nearly naked, cocks leaking through thin fabric .
He shouldered open the bathroom door, barely pausing to flick the shower on—hot water thundering against the tiles, steam curling into the air. He pressed me back against the wall, the cold tile shocking against my spine, his body all heat and muscle as he pinned me in place.
His mouth crashed down on mine, hungry and claiming, one hand cradling the back of my head, the other sliding up under my thigh, keeping me spread and helpless for him. The shower spray hit us both, soaking our hair, our skin, our underwear clinging wet and transparent.