14. Christian
Christian
I was awake today before the ass crack of dawn.
Sleep was never an option—not with the beauty in the room next door.
The same woman who got herself off while I was in the shower, fisting my cock under the scalding spray, biting my lip bloody just to keep from groaning her name.
The woman whose scent is now seared into my memory after I inhaled it from her cum-covered fingers.
The moment I stepped through that bedroom door, I knew.
Her body language screamed guilt, and that delicious flush creeping down her neck stood out stark against her pale skin and the onyx waves framing her face.
The scent of sex was everywhere, so intoxicating that every instinct in me screamed to drop to my knees, spread her thighs apart, and lick her clean.
I wanted to taste her, own her—fucking drown in her.
I’ve never bothered hiding how much I want Piper. I tried—God knows I tried—but my eyes always linger too long, and my body always gravitates too close, with the bitter knowledge that she’s always been entirely forbidden.
Forget that she had a relationship with my son—I’m old enough to be her father.
I remember when MTV actually played music and when cell phones were bricks the size of my forearms. I should be complaining about taxes, not fighting the violent, bone-deep urge to pin her against every available surface, rip her apart with my hands, and fuck her so hard the whole world falls away.
But every time we let this dangerous thing spark between us… it feels right. Like she was always meant to be mine, and it was written in the goddamn stars.
Wrong has never felt so perfect, and the part that should terrify me most isn’t the age gap or the complications. It’s not even the fact that I’ll be burning in hell with a first-class ticket and a drink in hand.
What terrifies me is how little I care anymore.
My moral compass isn’t just broken—it took one look at her, flipped me off, and walked the fuck away.
I’m in love with her.
There’s no point in sugarcoating it or pretending it’s anything less.
It hit me like a wrecking ball straight to the chest, and I’m pretty sure it started the first time I looked into those emerald eyes.
Every moment since has been building these feelings inside me, brick by dangerous brick, until they’ve formed something so damn solid I can’t ignore it anymore.
I always knew the attraction ran both ways, but now that I know she wants this just as badly as I do, I can’t bring myself to give a single damn that my asshole of a son had her first.
You don’t sleep with your son’s girlfriend.
It’s one of those unwritten rules of life.
It ranks right up there with not touching your brother’s ex or keeping your hands off your best friend’s sister.
Which, for the record, Callan definitely didn’t do when he hooked up with Dillon’s sister back in the day.
It took Dillon forever to get over that one. So yeah, maybe the moral high ground in this family’s been shaky for a while.
But these rules are carved into the Man Code like commandments.
Do not touch.
Do not take.
Do not want.
But fuck me, I’m desperate for a taste. More than a taste. I want the whole goddamn feast—every moan, every breath, every part of her she’s never let anyone else touch .
But it’s not just her body I’m starving for.
I want a life with her.
Travis hauled his ass back to Silverpine yesterday, and I’ve been keeping my distance from Callan’s place ever since, knowing damn well the shitstorm that’s about to hit when my brother finds out what he did to Piper.
The drive to Cal’s doesn’t take long, not when these ranch roads are as familiar as breathing.
Dust fans out behind my truck in the rearview, catching the morning sun as it spills across the land in soft gold.
That light always does something to these fields.
It turns the grasslands into something close to magic, making it look like the earth itself is glowing.
The world outside is still waking up, with a stillness that usually brings me peace. But there’s no peace for me today, not when I’m about to walk straight into a fight.
I don’t knock when I reach Callan’s. I never have.
Callan’s place has always been more of a second home than somewhere you ask permission to enter.
I push through the door and head straight inside, finding my brother exactly where I expected him to be—sitting at the kitchen table with his dark hair falling loose around his face instead of pulled back like usual.
Both hands are wrapped around his coffee mug, gripping it like it’s the only thing keeping him steady for the conversation we both know is coming.
“Morning,” I say, dragging out a chair and sinking into it across from him.
“Talk to me, brother.”
I exhale hard, rubbing a hand down my face. “What did Travis tell you when he showed up here?”
“Just that Piper rearranged his face. Then he went straight to the spare room before I could ask why.”
“Yeah, well, if you’d known why she left him bleeding, you’d have finished what she started.” My brother slowly sets his mug down, and I can see he’s fighting the urge to launch it across the room.
“If you’re about to tell me he hurt her, and I let him sleep under my roof, I’m gonna break your fucking legs to match his face.”
I keep my mouth shut and just take whatever he wants to throw at me because he’s right to be pissed, and I should’ve known better than to put him in that position.
“I don’t tolerate that shit, Christian. You know that.”
“I just needed him out of my sight, and in the state he was in, he needed somewhere close where he could crash and think about the kind of asshole he’s turned into.”
The rage rolling off Callan matches the fury still burning in my gut, the kind that makes you taste blood and see red.
“Cal, I’m sorry. I know how you feel, and I’m right there with you. But I wasn’t exactly thinking straight. All I could focus on was making sure Piper was safe and that I didn’t commit fucking murder. Because, I swear to god, I was one breath away from putting him in the ground.”
Raking a hand through his dark hair, he exhales with the intensity of a bull about to charge. “Walk me through exactly what happened.”
“She’s been pretty quiet about it. Just said she ended things.”
“So he hurt her?” I nod, and his fist meets the table with a crack that makes the coffee spill over the rim of his mug.
I let him feel every bit of that rage because we’ve both lived through watching good women get destroyed by worthless men.
Sure, Piper probably broke Travis’s nose, but that doesn’t make us any less protective of her.
It takes a few minutes, but eventually, I watch my brother pull himself back from the edge.
“I mean, she said she was gonna end things, but come on—you’d have to be fucking blind if you couldn’t see that he wasn’t the Crawford she wanted.
” Callan tilts his head, watching me with those eyes that feel way too much like looking in a mirror.
“And you’re about as subtle as she is when you’re in the same room. ”
“I shouldn’t go there, Cal.”
“Why not? Because of your loyalty to the kid who treats you like a fucking sperm donor and puts his hands on the woman you’re crazy about?” The words hit like bullets, precise and painful.
My fists clench on instinct, the memory of finding her at that kitchen table, Travis’s blood everywhere… Fuck, I can’t keep reliving that moment.
“It’s more complicated than that. You know it is. ”
“Doesn’t have to be,” he says, and I exhale hard, yanking my hat off and slapping it onto the table. “I just want to see you happy, even if it’s just for a little while.”
“I can’t do that with her, Cal. I can’t just have a little of her.”
His brows knit together, and he leans in, forearms braced on the table. “Wait… You’re not…” I keep my mouth shut and stare him down while I let my silence answer for me. “Fuck me. No way. How?”
“Pretty sure I fell on day one.”
Callan blinks, letting that sink in before shaking his head. “Why the hell didn’t you say anything?”
“Because Travis got to her first.”
“Look, I know he’s your son, but that kid’s a piece of work. Too much of his grandfather in him.”
And there it is—the impossible situation I’ve found myself in as a father.
How do you admit that regardless of what your child does, you’ll always love them because they’re your blood, your DNA, half of who you are…
but you hate the person they’ve become so much that you can’t stand to look at them without wanting to knock their goddamn teeth down their throat?
“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”
Callan leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, as he watches me. “Do you want my advice?”
“No.”
He smirks. “Bullshit. You wouldn’t be telling me all this if you didn’t.”
“Fine, give it to me.”
“If you go after what you really want, you get a shot at happiness. But if you let fear of pissing off Travis hold you back, then you’re an idiot because that little shit’s gonna make your life hell no matter what you do, so you might as well get something out of it.”
The drive back to the farm feels longer than it should.
My mind is circling and replaying Callan’s words, turning over every scenario and every possible consequence.
I’ve already stepped over the line, the one I swore I wouldn’t cross.
Yet here I am, not just toeing the edge anymore, but with one foot planted firmly on the other side, knowing full well there’s no turning back.
The second I pull up and spot Piper, the chaos in my head goes silent. Dead fucking silent. In its place is a need that tears through me like a beast, crushing my ribs with its grip and squeezing every last bit of restraint from my lungs.