CHAPTER ONE
The apartment still smelled like oil and laundry detergent. Not in a bad way—just baked into everything. The floors, the walls, the air. Like the way shame settles into a place when nobody talks about it.
I kicked my boots off at the door. One thudded, the other landed flat. My hands were still torn up from sanding the Dodge all afternoon, and I could feel the sting between my thumb and finger where the buffer caught skin. I should’ve worn gloves.
I didn’t bother turning on the lights. The sun was on its way down, orange light sliding across the floor and hitting all the same shapes: the sagging chair Jeff never used, the dead fern Mom used to talk to, the couch we never use because neither of us really watched TV.
My room wasn’t much—just enough space for a twin bed, a dresser missing a handle, and the poster I never bothered to take down. The radiator fluid stain was still ground into the carpet from last summer. Jeff didn’t say a word when it happened, just handed me a rag and went back to fixing the sink. Mom, though, blew up about it like I’d totaled her car. That was before she packed up and left. A year later, all I’ve got is a letter she folded twice and a sun-faded photo of us at the park, me grinning through a gap-toothed smile.
I needed a shower—badly—but Jeff was already in there. The water was running and the door hadn’t fogged up yet. I started to walk past, then paused. Through the glass, I caught the shape of his back, the lines of his shoulders tapering down to a waist that looked carved, deliberate. He stood under the spray like he owned the space—like he belonged in it. His body was lean but solid, every muscle defined in a way that felt effortless, like he didn’t even try. Stronger than I remembered. More put-together. My stomach did this weird twist that felt like guilt and curiosity at the same time. I looked longer than I meant to. Then I blinked, turned, and walked back to my room, shutting the door behind me like that would help.
After a few minutes, the water cut off and I heard the soft thud of the shower door, the scrape of damp feet on tile. The familiar sounds of Jeff moving around—calm, unrushed. I figured he was getting dressed, maybe shaving like he sometimes did after a long day. I really hoped he hadn’t used all the hot water, though.
I cracked my door and stepped out into the hall. That’s when I saw him. Jeff, walking into his room with a bundle of clothes in one hand, completely bare. No towel. No rush. Just... him. His back was still damp, water tracing the groove of his spine, catching in the small of his back. His body was all planes and quiet power, like it had been shaped by years of work instead of workouts. The kind of strength that didn’t need to brag.
My breath caught and heat stirred low in my gut, sharp and immediate. My cock twitched before I could even think. Fuck. I turned away like I’d been burned, heart punching hard in my chest.
Get it together, Harrison.
It’s Jeff.
I stepped into the bathroom and reached for the door, but stopped halfway through closing it. Told myself it was to let the steam out, but I knew that was bullshit. The air was still warm from where Jeff had been. The mirror fogged only around the edges, leaving a clear oval of glass where his reflection must've been just minutes ago.
I peeled off my clothes slowly, each layer a little too deliberate. When I slid my boxers down, my cock sprang free—half-hard and aching in a way I couldn’t justify. I stared at the floor for a second, jaw tight, breath shallow. Still thinking about the way he looked walking away. Still feeling the heat that hadn’t come from the water.
The water was hotter than I needed it to be, burning the back of my neck, turning my skin pink. I let it hit me anyway, hoping it might scorch the thoughts out of my head. Thoughts I didn’t want, didn’t ask for. Thoughts that kept circling back to the way Jeff had looked—unbothered, unapologetic, like he didn’t owe the world an explanation for his body or anything else.
I closed my eyes and pressed my forehead to the tile. He was my stepdad, for Christ’s sake. That should’ve been enough to kill it. But it wasn’t.
Then I heard it—a soft knock, barely more than a tap against the bathroom door. I turned halfway, wiping water from my face with the back of my hand. The glass blurred around the edges, but not enough to miss who it was.
Jeff.
He stood just outside the doorway, shirtless, pajama pants slung low on his hips. The sharp V of his waistline was impossible to ignore, carved deeper by the overhead light. His chest was dusted with dark hair, not thick, just enough to draw the eye. The kind of body you didn’t usually see outside magazines or daydreams, and here he was—real, casual, like none of it meant anything.
My heart kicked up hard.
“Yeah?” My voice cracked. I tried not to look directly at him.
“Pizza or Chinese?”
I blinked, trying to drag my thoughts back to neutral. I hadn’t heard him the first time, too busy trying to shift my hips under the stream, hide the way I was half hard again just from seeing him.
“What?”
He gave a lopsided grin. “Dinner. There’s nothing in the fridge, and if I eat another pack of ramen I’m gonna start sweating sodium.”
He stood there like this was normal—like my brain wasn’t short-circuiting trying to process the sight of him, dripping, shirtless, close enough I could reach out and touch him if the door opened a little wider.
“Oh, umm, I’m good with either.” I scrambled.
“Pizza it is then,” he said before walking away.
I reached down, fingers curling around my cock, the ache too loud to ignore. I stroked slowly, almost cautiously, as if any sudden movement might make the guilt rush in too fast. My breath hitched. A soft moan slipped out, swallowed instantly by the roar of the shower. I tried not to picture Jeff. I failed. His voice. The V of his hips. The weight of his presence still lingering in the steam. My hand kept moving, steady now, caught somewhere between want and denial.
“Well, I was gonna ask what toppings you wanted, but I can—uh—come back,” Jeff said, his voice half amusement, half apology.
“Shit!” I jerked like I’d touched a live wire, twisting under the water, trying to hide even though there was nothing to hide behind. My heart slammed against my ribs. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to bury what I’d been doing, what I’d been feeling.
He didn’t step further in. Didn’t laugh either. Just stood there a beat too long, like he wasn’t sure whether to leave or say more. Then, finally, he turned and walked off down the hall.
I shut the water off, skin flushed and sensitive all over. The silence that followed felt louder than the spray had. I toweled off in a rush, barely able to meet my own eyes in the mirror.
When I did, my reflection looked back pink-faced and wide-eyed, like it had caught me doing something I hadn’t even admitted to myself. My lips were parted. My chest still rose and fell too fast. I looked... exposed.
And beneath the heat still clinging to my skin was something colder: the knowledge that no matter how fast I got dressed, no matter how quickly I left the bathroom, what just happened was still mine to carry.
I sat on the edge of my bed, hair still wet, skin still too warm. Embarrassment hadn’t faded—it had settled in my chest like a second heartbeat. I stared at the floor, waiting for it to swallow me. Then came the knock. Light. Careful. I already knew it was him.
No time like the present to face the music.
“Come in,” I said, voice low.
The door opened slowly, like he wasn’t sure I meant it. If this were a movie, there’d be some awkward string music building under the tension.
“Hey,” Jeff said. “You okay?”
I let out a short, sharp breath. “If by ‘okay’ you mean ‘trying not to spiral after getting caught jerking off by my stepdad,’ then yeah. Totally great.”
Jeff winced, but his smile was easy. “It’s not the end of the world, Harrison. Seriously. Everybody does it.”
I hadn’t really imagined Jeff doing that. Ever. But he was a guy, single, hadn’t been with anyone since Mom left. I guess it made sense. Still, the thought landed weird.
He gave a shrug. “Granted, I don’t usually do it with the door wide open,” he added, laughing under his breath.
I gave him a look. “You think this is funny?”
“A little,” he said, raising a brow. “But only because you’re acting like it’s a federal offense.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Is that why you stood there so long? Trying to decide if you should call 911?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I was mostly making sure you didn’t slip and crack your skull. That, and I’d already started the conversation. Figured bailing halfway through would just make it weirder.”
I sat there for a moment, heart still uneven, like my body hadn’t caught up to the fact that the crisis had passed. If it had.
“You ever been caught?” I asked, more curious than I meant to sound.
Jeff smirked. “More times than I care to admit.”
“Really? When?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Wait—you seriously want a rundown of all the times I’ve been caught with my dick in my hand?”
When he put it like that, I felt the flush creep back up my neck.
He laughed softly. “Okay, fine. Once in high school. My buddy Rick and I got caught by his dad watching porn in the basement.”
I watched his face shift, soften with the memory. He wasn’t embarrassed at all. If anything, he looked like he was reliving the golden age.
“Good times,” he said, almost wistful.
“What happened?”
“Well, after his dad yelled and slammed the door, we went back to it. Little more careful that time.”
I hesitated, then asked, “So you’ve... messed around with any guys since then?”
He gave me a look—half amused, half intrigued. “What are you, a prosecutor?”
“Just asking.”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me. And yeah, I have. You?”
Were we really having this conversation? In my bedroom, with Jeff?
“Umm... maybe—been a while though,” I said. Voice barely above a whisper.
“No shit?” His grin widened.
Something about his reaction—surprised, curious, not judgmental—made it worse. Or better. I couldn’t tell. My body sure as hell had an opinion, though. I was getting hard again, and I didn’t know if it was because of the conversation, or because it was Jeff, or both.
All I knew was this felt dangerous—and I wasn’t sure I wanted it to stop.
“Word of advice?” he said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Yeah?”
“Invest in briefs,” he said, eyes dropping for just a second. “Boxer shorts... don’t exactly keep things contained.”
I followed his gaze and felt my stomach drop. My cock was stiff, blatantly visible through the gap in my fly like it was trying to announce itself. Heat slammed into my face.
“Jesus,” I muttered, shifting fast, pressing my palm over it like that would make it disappear. Like this moment wasn’t already branded into both our memories.
“Hey,” he said, placed a hand on my thigh. “It’s okay.”
Something about the way he touched me lit a fire in my chest and between my legs.
“We’re both guys and guys have needs.”
And the way he said it, was equal parts comforting and erotic.
He moved his hand higher, my breath hitched.
“You want me to help you out with that?”
I stared at his chest, and then moved my gaze down to the bulge in his pants.
“Yeah,” I said. Not sure what was going on in my head, but I was here for it.
He shifted, then he reached down and grabbed my cock. I let out a soft moan.
There was no mistaking the intent in his touch—his hand wrapped around my cock, slow and deliberate, each stroke drawing a shiver out of me. I bit back a moan, but my hips shifted forward on their own, chasing more.
I parted my legs, surrendering without words. He took the invitation without hesitation. His other hand moved down, pressing against the bulge in his pants, fingers curling as he worked his own cock through the fabric, eyes flicking up to meet mine for half a second.
The room felt too quiet, too hot, like the air itself was holding its breath.
He leaned in slightly, his breath brushing my neck.
“Feels good?”
All I could do was nod, chest tight, body lit up like a live wire.
Jeff slid his pants down in one smooth motion, no hesitation in his movements. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath—just skin, heat, and a confidence that made it impossible to look away. My breath caught hard in my throat. It was the first time I’d seen him like that, and it hit me like a punch: I’d wanted this—wanted him—long before I ever let myself admit it.
But this—it was wrong. Or it was supposed to be. There had to be a rule about it somewhere, tucked between commandments and caution signs: Thou shalt not get hard over your stepdad.
And yet, here I was, skin flushed and pulse hammering. He was standing there like a sin I wanted to commit twice. And I was done pretending I didn’t want it.
Screw the rules. He was hot as hell, and I was past the point of pretending I wasn’t starving for it.
I leaned over and without so much as a second thought, my mouth was on his cock. I swallowed him deep, like I might not ever get another chance, and the low, guttural groan that escaped his throat told me everything I needed to know.
"Fuck, Harrison..." he muttered, voice ragged.
I licked along the length of him, my tongue tracing the ridge, dancing across the slit. His body jerked like I’d shocked him. One of his hands fumbled for my shoulder, like he needed something to hold onto.
“Jesus,” he breathed, barely above a whisper. “Where the hell did you learn to—”
He didn’t finish the sentence. Just let out another rough sound as his legs shifted beneath him.
He stumbled backward, landing on the bed with a rough exhale, and I followed without hesitation. My hands moved instinctively, my mouth hungrier now, guided by the raw, electric pull between us. Every stroke, every pass of my lips over him was met with a noise—a sharp intake of breath, a hiss, a whispered curse—that made my pulse race faster.
“Don’t stop,” he growled, fingers threading into my hair. “Just like that.”
Before I could even catch my breath, he shifted fast, gripping my thigh with a rough urgency that made me shudder. Then his mouth was on me—hot, sure, unrelenting—and the air left my lungs.
We found a rhythm, a shared hunger that didn’t need language. He lay beside me, angled down, and I opened for him, taking him in again even as his tongue worked me over. We were tangled in a mess of heat and hands, mouths and gasps, each of us chasing the edge with reverence, with want, with something dangerously close to worship.
Jeff let out a breathless, “God, you feel good,” against my skin, the vibration making me arch.
“Don’t stop,” I whispered, mouth full of him, voice muffled but urgent. “Please don’t stop.”
He chuckled, low and wrecked. “Not planning on it.”
I’d had blowjobs before. I’d been with guys, swapped head, fooled around in the back seats of cars or in dorm rooms that smelled like sweat and cologne. I’d sixty-nined before, too—awkward, rushed, more curiosity than connection.
But this? This was different.
Jeff moved with confidence, not just experience but intention. “Right there,” he murmured, lips grazing the base of my cock. “Fuck, Harrison, you’re gonna kill me.”
He knew exactly where to touch, how to lick, when to ease up and when to push. Every motion felt earned, like he’d taken his time learning what would unravel a guy. And right now, that guy was me.
“Oh my God,” I gasped between strokes, legs shaking. “Jeff, I—”
He just hummed like he already knew, like he’d heard it a hundred times and still wasn’t done listening.
The pressure built fast—tight and deep, low in my gut like something primed to detonate. Every nerve fired at once, my whole body tightening. I wasn’t going to last.
At the same time, I felt Jeff tense beneath me. A sharp breath hitched in his chest as his hips rocked forward, slow but urgent.
“Shit—Harrison—” he groaned, voice ragged, barely hanging on. “I’m close.”
“Me too,” I groaned, voice wrecked, hips twitching with every breath.
“Let me know when you’re gonna cum,” Jeff said, his voice strained, barely hanging on. “Wanna see your face.”
It didn’t take long. My whole body tensed, breath stalling in my throat.
“Now—” I gasped.
Jeff pulled off me fast, and I did the same, our hands replacing our mouths in a rush. His grip was tight, sure, familiar now. We stroked each other hard, matching pace, heat rising like a wave cresting too fast to stop.
“Fuck, Harrison,” he choked out.
And then we were both cumming—together, mouths open, bodies shaking, the world narrowing to that one shared breathless, blinding second.
We came hard, release hitting with force—hot and sudden. It painted his chest, mine, streaking across our stomachs in a mess we didn’t bother avoiding. For a moment, all I could hear was our breathing, sharp and uneven, the weight of it settling over us like a blanket pulled too tight.
Each wave hit like a surge, rolling through me with a force that left my limbs shaking. I glanced at Jeff—his chest rising hard, eyes half-lidded, mouth parted. He was still there too, caught in the same current, breathless and undone. We were both floating in the aftermath, riding the same high, neither one of us ready to come down.
“Fuck,” he started, eyes still unfocused. “That was—”
“Insane?” I offered, my voice hoarse.
He let out a low laugh. “Yeah. That too.”
“Jeff—”
“I know,” he said, voice quiet but steady.
I waited for the crash, for the regret to show up and start ripping things apart. But it didn’t. All I felt was the weight of what just happened, and the strange, settling calm that came after.
“So… now what?” I asked, not sure if I wanted a real answer.
The doorbell rang, sharp and sudden.
He stood, wiping himself off with the edge of a discarded shirt, and walked toward the door like nothing about the world had changed. I stayed where I was, sprawled on my back, still catching my breath. The ceiling blurred as my thoughts spun—slow, wide, dizzying spirals that refused to settle. I had just gone down on Jeff—my stepdad—and he’d done the same to me. The words alone felt radioactive, like they should be too dangerous to think, let alone admit. But the more I turned it over in my head, the more undeniable it became: it hadn’t just been intense, or taboo, or surreal. It had been incredible. Erotic in a way that rewired something in me. Real in a way that silenced everything else—no shame, no second thoughts, just the pulsing echo of what we’d done and how right it had felt. The heat lingered, but beneath it was something quieter. Not just lust. Not just release. It felt like the kind of moment everything else might spiral out from—like we’d just cracked something open we couldn’t close again. There was this gravity I felt, this momentum—not just from what had happened, but from the door it had opened. The air felt charged with something unspoken, something waiting. Like this was only the beginning, and part of me already knew: we weren’t done. Not even close. Jeff snorted, and the corner of his mouth lifted. “Now we eat pizza.”
TO BE CONTINUED…
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