The Hidden Craving
Chapter 1: Storm’s Edge |
Chapter 2: Silent Pull |
Jump to Chapter 3 |
Chapter 4: Breaking Waves |
Chapter 5: Fertile Shadow |
Chapter 6: Eternal Bind
The salty tang of ocean air seeped through the cracked windows of the old SUV, mingling with the faint metallic scent of rain-soaked earth. Marcus Hale gripped the wheel tighter, his knuckles whitening against the worn leather. At 44, his broad shoulders still carried the bulk of a lifetime wrenching engines in dusty garages, but now they slumped under an invisible weight. Beside him, in the passenger seat, his son Liam dozed, head lolled against the glass, oblivious to the turmoil churning in Marcus’s gut.
They’d left the coastal clinic hours ago, little Ronan bundled in the back, his tiny breaths a soft rhythm against the growl of tires on wet asphalt. Birth had ripped through Marcus like a storm—his hidden womb contracting in agony, pushing their boy into the world without fanfare or epidurals. No one batted an eye at a man birthing in private; the clinic catered to outliers like him. But Liam… Liam had watched, eyes dark with something feral. And in the haze of afterpains, he’d claimed what his body still craved.
Marcus shifted, thighs rubbing raw against denim. His core throbbed, that secret slit between his legs slick despite the ache. Thirty-eight days, the doctor had murmured, until his cycle reset. Plenty of time to pretend this madness ended. But Liam’s seed lingered inside, a warm promise unmet. Failure stung, yet twisted heat coiled low in Marcus’s belly at the thought.
Chapter 1: Fractured Calm 🔥
Rain lashed the windshield as they pulled into the gravel drive of the rented beach house. Waves crashed nearby, a thunderous roar that drowned thought. The place hunkered low, weathered shingles blending into the gray dusk, windows glowing faintly from solar lamps they’d left plugged in.
Liam stirred, stretching those long limbs—23 years of college track had honed him into lean steel, blond streaks catching the dash light. “Home sweet hidden getaway,” he murmured, voice gravelly from sleep. His eyes flicked to Marcus, lingering too long on the broad chest straining his flannel shirt.
Marcus grunted, killing the engine. “Grab the bags. Ronan’s fussing.” He climbed out, boots crunching wet stone, scooping the carrier with care. The baby’s warmth seeped through fabric, grounding him. Inside smelled of salt and cedar polish, a faint mustiness from disuse. He settled Ronan in the bassinet by the stone fireplace, cooing softly as flames crackled to life under his match.
Liam dumped gear in the hall, mud tracking across pine floors. He loomed behind Marcus, breath hot on his neck. “You need rest, Dad. That birth wrecked you.” Hands settled on Marcus’s hips—firm, unyielding. Marcus tensed, the touch igniting sparks along his nerves.
“I’m fine,” he snapped, stepping away. But the lie hung heavy. His hidden folds clenched, remembering the clinic bed, Liam’s hardness splitting him open while nurses turned away. Pure filth, that moment—sweat-slick skin slapping, Marcus’s gasps muffled into a pillow as his son’s release flooded deep.
Dinner was canned stew heated over the stove, eaten in silence save for Ronan’s gurgles and the storm’s howl. Liam’s boot nudged Marcus’s under the table, insistent. “Talk to me. You’ve been brooding since the clinic.”
Marcus forked potatoes, avoiding those piercing greens. “We can’t keep this up, Liam. It’s… wrong. Blood like ours doesn’t mix that way.” His voice cracked, fork clattering. The rational part screamed stop, but his body betrayed him—nipples peaking under shirt, that cursed wetness seeping.
Liam leaned in, fork abandoned. “Wrong? Felt pretty fucking right when I was buried in your heat.” Crude words hung, electric. He stood abruptly, chair scraping. “Come on. Shower. You’re reeking of hospital.”
Marcus followed against his will, drawn like iron to lodestone. Steam filled the tiny bath, water pounding tile like fists. Liam stripped first, cock half-hard already, swinging thick between athlete’s thighs. Marcus hesitated, then peeled off layers—hairy chest, beer gut softened by pregnancy, and there, hidden in the nest of dark curls, his pussy lips puffy and glistening.
Liam’s gaze devoured. “Beautiful,” he growled, pulling Marcus under the spray. Soap-slick hands roamed, thumbs circling dusky nipples before dipping low. Fingers parted slick folds, probing the velvet grip. Marcus bucked, moaning low as Liam’s mouth claimed his—tongues warring, teeth nipping.
“God, Dad… so wet. Always for me.” Two fingers plunged deep, curling against that inner wall. Marcus’s knees buckled, hands fisting blond hair. The pressure built, coiling tight, until he shattered—juices squirting over Liam’s palm, mingling with suds.
Liam spun him, pressing chest to cold tile. His cock nudged Marcus’s entrance, hot iron against yielding flesh. “Need you,” he rasped, thrusting home in one brutal slide. Marcus cried out, walls fluttering around the invasion—stretching, filling the void birth had left hollow.
They fucked like animals, water sluicing over straining bodies. Liam’s hips snapped, balls slapping wet skin, grunts echoing. “Gonna fill you again. Make that womb take my seed.” Marcus clawed tile, pushing back, lost to the rhythm. Climax ripped through Liam—hot jets painting insides, spilling out in creamy rivulets.
They slumped together, panting, Liam’s arms a cage. Marcus’s mind blanked, guilt drowned in afterglow. For now.
Chapter 2: Whispered Storms 💋
Thirty-one days. Mornings blurred into routine, deceptive normalcy wrapping their sin like fog over dunes. Marcus rose first, joints protesting as he untangled from Liam’s sprawl—youth’s limbs everywhere, cock morning-stiff against his thigh. He showered alone, scalding water punishing the bruises blooming on hips.
Coffee brewed black and bitter, eggs sizzling in cast iron. Liam shuffled in, boxers tented obscenely. “Smells good. You too.” He smirked, palming himself through fabric.
“Eat,” Marcus ordered, plating food. They chewed in quiet, forks scraping, ocean murmuring outside. Ronan’s cries pulled Marcus away, but Liam followed to the living room rocker, watching as Marcus nursed—skin to skin, baby’s mouth tugging that sensitive nub.
“Never thought I’d see this,” Liam said softly, kneeling. His hand traced Marcus’s thigh, inching up. “Hot as hell.”
“Stop.” But Marcus’s voice wavered, legs parting unconsciously. Liam’s fingers found him soaked, dipping in to stir the mess from last night. “Liam… baby nearby.”
“Makes it hotter.” Mouth latched onto free nipple, sucking in tandem with Ronan. Marcus arched, stifling whimpers as fingers fucked lazily, thumb grinding clit. The dual pull overwhelmed—milk leaking, pussy clenching. He came whispering curses, thighs quaking.
Liam licked lips, rising. “Good boy.” He vanished to the deck, leaving Marcus flushed, shame burning cheeks.
Afternoons they ventured out—beach walks with Ronan strapped close. Wind whipped salt spray, sand gritty underfoot. Liam’s arm slung casual around shoulders, but fingers brushed nipples through shirt. “Imagine fucking you right here,” he whispered, breath tickling ear. “Waves crashing, your cries lost in wind.”
Marcus shivered, core clenching. “Reckless bastard.” Yet arousal throbbed, hidden desire surfacing like tide pools after storm.
Evening brought firelight and wine—cheap red staining tongues. Conversation skirted edges: Liam’s paused track season, Marcus’s garage back home. “Stay?” Liam pressed, hand on knee climbing. “Help with Ronan. With you.”
Guilt twisted. “You got life waiting.” But loneliness echoed in empty house memories.
Liam straddled him on rug, grinding hardness against belly. “This is my life.” Shirts shed, chests rubbing—coarse hair to smooth muscle. Marcus tasted salt on son’s neck, sucking bruises. Liam yanked pants down, exposing dripping slit. “Fuck, Dad. Dripping like a bitch in heat.”
He ate him out ravenously—tongue spearing folds, lapping cream, teeth nipping inner thighs. Marcus thrashed, fingers twisting curls, hips bucking into face. “Yes… there… Liam!” Orgasm crashed, flooding mouth.
Liam reared up, slamming in balls-deep. “Take it all.” Pace savage, rugburn on knees, sweat dripping. Marcus locked ankles behind, urging deeper. Seed erupted, scalding, as Liam roared. They collapsed, sticky, breaths syncing with fire’s pop.
Sleep claimed fast, but Marcus lay awake, hidden fears gnawing. This path led to ruin—or rebirth?
Chapter 3: Tidal Pull
Twenty-four days. A nor’easter trapped them indoors, power flickering, wind howling like banshees. Ronan fussed colicky, Marcus pacing with him, back aching. Liam chopped wood on porch, axe bites echoing, sweat sheening golden skin despite chill.
Inside, frustration boiled. “Can’t keep ignoring this,” Marcus barked as Liam dumped logs. “Friends call—your coach. Life’s passing you.”
Liam’s eyes flashed. “Fuck life. This—” He grabbed Marcus’s wrist, yanking close. “—us, is priority.” Mouth crashed, devouring, hands ripping flannel.
They stumbled to couch, clothes shed in frenzy. Liam pinned arms overhead, cock sliding between slick cheeks—not ass, but teasing that pussy mouth. “Beg for it.”
Marcus bucked, pride shattering. “Please… fuck me. Breed your dad.” Shame flooded as words spilled, but need overpowered.
Liam plunged, stretching tender walls. “Tight… perfect.” He rutted merciless—short jabs teasing g-spot, long strokes bottoming out. Marcus keened, nails raking back, the storm mirroring frenzy outside.
New twist: Liam flipped him doggy, free hand fisting cock—no, Marcus had none, but prostate throbbed deep. Fingers crooked inside alongside shaft, dual assault. “Feel that? Your man’s spot, milking me.”
Ecstasy built, vision blurring. Marcus screamed release, walls spasming, squirting arcs onto cushions. Liam followed, grinding seed deep, collapsing atop.
Storm broke at dawn, but they lingered tangled, Ronan mercifully asleep. “Won’t leave,” Liam vowed against sweat-damp skin. Marcus nodded, hidden surrender blooming.
That afternoon, new scene: They drove to tide pools, Ronan napping in shade. Amid rocks slick with algae, Liam cornered Marcus against granite. “Now,” he growled. Fingers delved, finding him drenched. Quick, risky fuck—pants round ankles, Liam hoisting leg, pounding fast. Salt air masked moans, waves lapping as cum leaked down thighs.
Guilt hit post-climax, but thrill lingered.
Chapter 4: Breaking Waves 💋
Seventeen days. Domesticity deepened, cracks widening. Marcus caught Liam eyeing his belly—once swollen, now soft. “Want another?” Liam teased one night, post-meal.
Heat flushed Marcus. “Cycle’s not ready.” But fingers traced flatness, imagining swell.
Bed became altar. Liam oiled him—slick hands massaging thighs, dipping into folds, loosening. “Taste yourself,” he commanded, fingers to mouth. Marcus sucked greedily, aroused by musk.
Liam entered slow, savoring stretch. “So hot inside… velvet vice.” They rocked gentle at first, building to frenzy—positions shifting: Marcus riding, grinding clit on pubes; reverse, ass cheeks spread for view.
Climax synced, Marcus’s juices creaming shaft, Liam’s load overflowing. Aftercare: Liam cleaned with tongue, tender laps soothing rawness. “Love you,” he whispered. Marcus teared up, bond tightening.
New conflict: Old flame called—ex-lover Matty, curious about birth. Marcus lied, hanging up shaken. Liam overheard, jealousy flaring. “Mine now.” Wall sex ensued—Marcus hoisted, legs wrapped, brutal thrusts punishing. “No one else fills you.” Orgasms shattered mirrors, literally—crack spiderwebbing glass.
Chapter 5: Fertile Shadow 🔥
Ten days. Ovulation loomed, Marcus’s body signaling—aches, heightened scent. Liam sensed, relentless. Mornings: wakeup fucks, cock sliding into dawn-wet heat. Afternoons: Kitchen counters, bent over as lunch burned.
One evening, beach bonfire. Sparks danced, Ronan asleep inside. Liam spread blanket, stripping Marcus bare. “Under stars.” Mouth worshipped—kisses trailing sternum to mound, tongue delving. Fingers scissored, prepping.
He mounted missionary, waves soundtrack. “Gonna knock you up tonight.” thrusts deep, deliberate, chasing cervix. Marcus clawed sand, “Yes… fill me!” Dual peaks—Marcus squirting into surf, Liam pulsing ropes.
Post, they lay whispering futures. “Hidden family,” Liam mused, hand on belly. Marcus smiled, fears fading.
Three days. Peak fertility hit like fever. Marcus ached empty, pussy weeping. Liam obliged marathon—throat-fucked first, gagging on girth, drool stringing. Then piledriver, legs over shoulders, pounding womb. “Take seed!” Multiple loads, belly bloating slightly.
New scene: Mirror play. Full-length from hall, Marcus watching invasion—lips parting around veined length, cream frothing. “See how you swallow me?” Degrading praise pushed edges.
Chapter 6: Eternal Bind
Zero. Ovulation day dawned misty. Marcus woke to Liam’s mouth on him—lapping slow, building fire. “Today’s it.” Cock replaced tongue, sliding home greased. Hours blurred: Slow grinds escalating to slams, positions exhaustive.
Kitchen table creaked under them, then shower stall, fogged glass rattling. Ronan’s nap allowed abandon—Liam’s balls churning fresh loads, flooding fertile ground. Marcus orgasmed endlessly, vision white, body milking greedily.
Finally, exhausted on bed, Liam thrust final time, groaning release. “Pregnant now.” Cum plugged deep by fingers, Marcus curled around hand.
Weeks later, test confirmed—two lines. Joy mingled with taboo thrill. Liam’s hand on swelling belly, their hidden craving eternal. Ocean whispered approval, family’s twisted love sealed.
Marcus traced son’s jaw, whispering, “Ours forever.” No regrets lingered, only anticipation of new life from sin’s embrace.
