im 23 & am a STONE sub bottom <3 i am in a relationship, so pls be respectful!
i try to keep my blog vaguely organized, so most posts r tagged by kink / etc! :)
included in that list are darker kinks (toxic/extreme domsub dynamics, intoxication/somnophilia/cnc fantasies, objectification)!! i do my best to tag everything correctly but im not always sober posting, so sometimes things are missed/not tagged!!! pls be warned!!
also kindly fuck off if you're a minor! this blog is strictly an 18+ space
Chapter Summary: Joel is pissed off because you kept ignoring him, he is determined to teach you how better he is than your boyfriend.
Chapter warnings: smut, fingering, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, dom/sub dirty talk, forced eye contact, little bit of choking, overstimulation, use of female pet names (only once ig)
if you're new see the tags in the masterlist! 18+
author's note: This is just a whole chapter of smut honestly, literally porn with one percent of plot...i think i was having prof miller ovulation
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Chapter Fifteen ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ The lab.
You were ignoring Joel and you knew it, but you didn’t expect to end up locked in a chemistry lab with him at the end of a college day. He looked annoyed, and his grip on your wrist was stronger than anything you had ever felt from him before. You took a look at him, something you decided to avoid these last weeks.
For the first time after weeks, you let yourself really look at his figure — at his face. Your heart couldn't help but beat extremely fast and your stomach filling with butterflies.
Joel didn’t respond with words. Instead, he simply brought his hand to your throat, not hard, just enough and pushed you slowly back against the door. You looked up at him, unsure of what was about to happen. The energy felt different from the other times you had found yourself in situations like this with him. Something was off.
“Who do you think you are?” he finally said, his eyes fixed on yours and you were certain they were full of rage.
"What kind of a question is this?" You said back, you felt your chest moving so fast as your breathing became more and more uncontrolled, feeling his hand on your throat and him being so close to you that his scent was already making your judgment poor. You were mad at him, remember.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about, stop acting dense." He was probably talking about Jake, you managed to think. "In my class."
He never stopped looking at your eyes while he was talking — it felt like maybe remembering the details of that class with Jake made something move in him because the grip on your neck tightened a bit, making you instinctively move your hands to his hand and wrist.
"It's none of your business," you whispered dryly.
You were angry. Remember that. Remember.
But your body had already stopped listening, the hand at your throat, light as it was, had split your attention in two the moment it got there. A small part of your mind was quietly alarmed by it, registering it as something unfamiliar, something your nervous system didn't quite know how to file away. And the air in the lab wasn't helping, thick with the sting of chemicals and something faintly metallic. But underneath all of that, something else entirely was happening.
The warmth that had started low in your stomach had spread, slow and impossible to ignore, and you knew that seeing him like this was a significant part of why. Not calm or detached like usual. Jealous.
His jaw tightened hearing that, his free hand now found your thigh like it had been waiting for weeks, — which was the case, Joel was dying to touch you — searching for the bare skin beneath your skirt with what you perceived as hunger.
“I don’t understand what is so interesting about him.” His grip on your thigh tightened too, and your body, of course, betrayed you once again, you could feel it, you wanted him to touch you.
“Maybe you’re too young to understand what is best for you?” You could feel how annoyed he was through that calm controlled voice of his, his hand tracing your whole thigh before reaching the hem of your panties.
“I bet he makes you so bored.” He continued, his hand stayed at your neck, thumb pressed lightly against your pulse point, you were certain he could feel exactly how worked up you already were before he'd done anything at all.
"You're too young." He repeated quietly now, his other hand moving another fraction lower, fingers at the very edge of the fabric. "You think what he gives you is enough because you don't have the reference point to know it isn't."
His fingers slipped past the fabric, barely, just enough to make your breath catch audibly in the silence of the empty lab.
"Maybe, I should do something about that. Just to teach you." His fingers moved, just slightly, and your hand gripped a little bit stronger on his wrist. "Clear your head a little." Another movement, deliberate and slow, watching your face the entire time. "So you understand exactly what you need."
His hand moved past the fabric entirely, and the sound you made was embarrassingly immediate. His fingers found you and just stayed there for a moment, now being sure of how wet you actually were.
"Look at that." He almost smiled while his fingers shifted, the smallest possible movement, and your grip on his wrist tightened. "I haven't done anything yet and you're already like this." It was embarrassing how quiet you would go when he talked to you like this.
"This is what I mean." His fingers started to move circles on your clit, he always started slow, you’d know that by now, but the focused precision he brought to it today was making you slowly lose control of your legs. Your head fell back slightly against the door. "He has no idea, does he." He whispered, applying a light pressure on your nub. "You go back to him after being with me."
His fingers began to move circles with more intention, the pressure stronger. Your breath had gone shallow almost immediately, coming in uneven intervals that you couldn't quite regulate no matter how hard you tried to.
Joel's eyes on yours, he never looked away while telling you all that, never gave you the mercy of being able to disappear into the sensation without him watching every second of it. "After being with me. After this…and he probably thinks everything is fine." he repeated.
You felt heat spreading from your core outward, your knees now slightly unreliable. The wires of your brain completely snapped.
"He doesn't know how to take care of you." The circles slowed, just enough to make you aware of every individual movement. "He doesn't know what you need or how you need it…how quickly you get here." A choked moan leaving your mouth. "Does he?"
You felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with where his hand was. It was the eye contact, the way he looked at you like he was reading something you never chose to share — the distance between what you showed and what you felt was completely transparent to him.
You wondered — not for the first time — when exactly this happened. When you let it get to this point, you’d never stop him, and now he really thought he could do anything he wanted to you. There had been a version of you, not that long ago, who would have found a way to stop it. Who would have said something, done something, redirected it. But you liked it too much. Every single thing he did to your body, every single word he would throw at you, you craved.
His hand at your neck tightened, not enough to hurt but just enough to make the air feel suddenly less available, your eyes went wide for a second before his voice pulled your attention back.
"You know what bothers me." He said, his fingers below still moving in those slow controlled circles but with more pressure now, more intention. "The way you act like it's nothing. Like what happens between us is something you can just set aside.”
You closed your eyes. You couldn't help it, it was too much, all of it at once, his hand at your neck, his fingers and his voice — the way he was looking at you.
"Open them."
You tried.
"I said look at me. You never learn."
You opened your eyes and found his and that was what did it. That steady, dark, completely unrattled gaze while his fingers moved with just the perfect pressure, his hand at your neck holding you made the feeling built so fast it almost surprised you, cresting before you'd fully registered it was coming, a wave that started at your core and moved outward all at once.
You came quietly, which took everything you had, your head pressing back against the door and your eyes still on his because he hadn't given you permission to look away — your grip on his wrist was the only thing that felt real. His fingers slowed but didn't stop, drawing it out, his hand at your neck easing its pressure gradually. You just stood there against the door trying to remember how breathing worked.
Joel watched you recover, you had his complete attention, his fingers below finally stopping. "Weeks. You spent weeks pretending I didn't exist." His thumb moved against your pulse point, feeling it race. "And look at you." His eyes moved over your face slowly as if he wanted to remember the details on your face. "That's how much it took you to come on my fingers."
You held his gaze for a moment, still slightly breathless, still lightheaded, your heart going faster than you would have liked. And then, despite everything — despite the complete wreckage of the last few minutes you talked.
"Who cares?," you said, holding his gaze even though part of you was screaming to look away, "You were probably busy. With Meg."
The corner of his mouth moved at your words. Did he find this funny? But he didn't deny it. Fuck.
"Meg." He repeated the name quietly, like he was turning it over, his brown eyes looked entertained. "That was the problem."
"I'm just saying…" you whispered
"Meg is very good at her job." He said it simply, with that almost-smile you almost learned to hate, while his fingers hooked into the sides of your underwear and slid them down with a calm that was deeply unfair given the state you were in.
"What is that supposed to mean?" You looked at him while you felt like dying — the fact that he was taking off your panties was something your brain didn't register, so drown in jealousy.
He didn't answer. He put his hands on your waist instead and lifted you like it was the most natural thing in the world, carrying you the few steps on one of the ceramic counter in the lab, setting you down on it with a carefulness that contrasted with everything else about the moment. The cold of the tiles hit your skin immediately, a shock that made you inhale sharply.
"What does it mean, are you actually — are you with Meg, is that why you -" You felt so embarrassed and anxious about this that you couldn’t form a straight sentence.
He stepped between your knees, his hands still at your waist, still not answering the question — that was infuriating you.
"Let me go." You said it quietly, your hands coming to his chest and your your fingers curled slightly into the fabric of his shirt without you deciding they would.
"I'm not done." He said it quietly, already stepping back, he removed his jacket placing it next to you. As he was lowering himself, you understood what was going on just one second before it happened.
"I'm serious, you can't just… you can't ignore what I said about Meg and then —" His lips touched the inside of your thigh and your voice did something that completely betrayed you. "That's not — that doesn't answer anything, you realize that, you're just —" His mouth was moving higher, completely ignoring your words.
"I'm talking to you." You tried again, he paused — just for a moment — his mouth barely away from your heat, his breath warm against your skin.
"Are you still talking about Meg?" Joel said it against your thigh like this was funny to him.
"Yes." Your voice came out embarrassingly shaky. "I am."
It felt like something that couldn't quite be real, the cold ceramic under you, the fluorescent lights of the lab, the faint smell of chemicals and alcohol, too specific to be a dream, and yet here he was, between your legs in a university laboratory. Joel pressed a kiss to your skin, closer now, you felt it in your whole body, like a shockwave.
"Meg" you tried again, because apparently you couldn't let it go, it has been sitting in your chest for weeks and his mouth on your thigh wasn't quite enough to dislodge it, at least for now. "What do you mean she’s good at her job..?"
Another kiss, until his breath was warm against the very center of you now, his lips barely grazing the inside of your thigh one last time before hovering — just hovering, not quite there yet.
His hands moved from your thighs to your hips, holding them still, his thumbs pressing on either side like he was anchoring you in place, everything still felt suspended, until you felt his tongue and your eyes went wide.
Not because you hadn't known it was coming, you knew, you were watching it happen, you'd felt every step of the way there, but because knowing something is coming and having it arrive are two entirely different things — your body responded like it was the first time ever feeling such a thing, oversensitive and tired from everything that already happened.
This is actually happening. The thought moved through you with a strange clarity. In the lab. On the ceramic counter. This is actually, genuinely happening.
His tongue started moving slowly on your clit on you in long, deliberate strokes first, learning the shape of it, finding the places that made your breath catch and returning to them with intention. It made you press the back of your thigh against his shoulder, trying to be as close as you could to him, and the contrast of it — the cold tiles underneath you spreading up your spine, the warmth of his mouth, spreading everywhere else, kept you both anchored in that room and somewhere else entirely. You felt like you were losing your mind, once again.
Joel was precise, he knew exactly what to do and when to do it, you dreamt about this moment before, but nothing could ever come close to what he was making you feel in that moment. Every movement was deliberate, every shift of his tongue calculated to produce a specific result.
You were pulsing against his mouth, and the way he was moving his tongue with just the perfect pressure, the perfect movements, was making your knees shake already, a cry strangled in your throat.
Jake could never — you stopped that thought before it finished forming because it wasn't fair and also because this was exactly where Joel wanted you to go. You didn't want to think about how true it was right now with Joel's mouth on your heat in a chemistry laboratory.
A sound came out of you that you made no attempt to suppress. Then another. The reasonable part of your brain that was still nominally functioning noted distantly that you were in a shared building, that walls existed, that people moved through corridors at all hours, even if it was late. You didn't care.
You genuinely, completely didn't care, which was new, you were used to him telling you to be quiet, to shut up, don’t talk. Not now. It was like he wanted other people to hear what was happening.
His hands tightened on your hips, holding you absolutely still, and he didn't slow down, didn't look up, didn't acknowledge that you'd said anything at all. Just continued, with that devastating patience you hated and loved at the same time.
When he found the exact point that made your hips try to move and focused there, small, precise circles, the pressure just enough, applied with a consistency that made your vision blur slightly at the edges. Your hand found his hair without you deciding it would, fingers pressing down, trying to pull him closer, harder, faster.
But he took your wrist, not missing a single beat of what he was doing, just lifted your hand from his hair and pressed it flat against the ceramic counter beside your hip. You tried to move your hips, his other hand on your hip prevented that too. A sound came out of you that was embarrassingly close to a whimper, you thought you couldn’t like it more than this, until you felt his tongue circle your entrance, slipping inside of you.
“Fuck—” a strangled moan came out of you, he didn’t care, in fact he was quick to pick up the pace, pulling your hips against him as he thrusted and licked, his hand leaving your wrist just to move on your lower stomach, the thumb slipping down enough to circle around your clit.
Stars. That was the only word for it, a white brightness at the edges of your vision, your now free hand shooting to his hair without any instruction from your brain, gripping hard enough to hurt him probably. He didn’t mind this time, maybe too invested in what he was trying to make your body feel.
You felt your hips twitching, it was too much — his tongue back on your clit again, he increased the pressure then in a way that suggested he was holding something back until now and had decided you'd earned it. He completely lost his composure, became hungry for it, eating you out like he waited months for it. The circles tightened, faster now, adding the flat of his tongue in alternation, a rhythm that built on itself, and you felt the heat gathering stronger than before.
"Please—" It came out before you could stop it.
He simply increased the pace again making your back arch off the cold ceramic and the contrast of it was overwhelming, and you were already worn through from before and it made everything sharper, closer to the surface, nowhere left to hide from any of it. His fingers were pressing into the soft flesh of your thighs with a grip that would leave marks, the kind of pressure that walked the line closer pain, and the combination of it with his mouth sent a wave through you that made your whole body tighten involuntarily.
Your free hand found his on your thigh, fingers covering his, just needing to feel his warmth, needing that anchor — something solid to hold onto. He felt you reach for him and his fingers tightened further, like a response. Every movement of his tongue registered somewhere different, the slow strokes that spread warmth outward in waves you could feel to the tips of your fingers, the precise circles that concentrated everything into a single unbearable point, the moments where he varied the pressure just enough to make you chase it, to make your hips try to move against his grip and fail.
You felt the second orgasm building up, your whole body drawn taut like something about to snap — your fingers kept pressing down hard over his on your thigh, hand never leaving his hair. A particularly precise movement of his tongue on your clit and your back came fully off the ceramic, a sound tearing out of you that echoed in the empty lab, and then another — you were right there, right at the very edge of it, your thighs trembling on either side of his shoulders.
And when your orgasm came, it hit you deeper than the first time, longer, your whole body pulling tight and then releasing in waves that didn't seem to want to stop, your hand crushing his on your thigh, a moan coming out of you that you had no control over whatsoever.
He didn't stop, though.
"Stop—" It came out wrecked, barely a word. "I can't — I —" His tongue moved again and your head fell back.
"Wait—" The word fractured in the middle. He was holding you absolutely in place, your legs over his shoulders with nowhere to go. "It's too — l, it's too much"
He made no indication of having heard you. His mouth continued with that same calculated precision, working against the oversensitivity with a patience that bordered on cruel, every movement sending something between pleasure and overwhelm shooting through you so fast you couldn't separate them anymore.
"Please—" Your free hand found his hair again, not pushing him closer this time, just gripping — desperate. "I can't — I'm serious, I —"
You were completely outside of yourself, outside of any thought or strategy or self-preservation, reduced to pure sensation in a way that should have frightened you honestly.
His tongue moved in those relentless circles that you felt something building again, impossibly, when you had nothing left to give your body responding despite itself — despite the overstimulation, despite the rawness of it, chasing something that already wrecked your body twice. When you felt it close, so close, Joel slowed down, you didn’t know if you were relieved or mad, you couldn’t really understand, you were absolutely devastated, could only look at the ceiling with the fluorescent lights of the laboratory humming overhead.
He didn't say anything, he simply looked at you for one long moment, you could feel it. When he was satisfied enough he then stepped back toward the counter, his hands finding your hips before you'd fully undedrstood that he wasn't leaving.
"What are you —" your voice came totally exhausted.
He turned you, with his hands firm at your waist, rotating you off the counter and onto your feet in one smooth motion, pressing you forward so your chest met the ceramic surface, your hands catching the edge of it instinctively. The cold hit your front this time. Your legs were shaking, genuinely, visibly shaking — the fact that your body had already been taken completely apart twice in the last however long this had been made you totally unable to function. "I can't — my legs…"
His hand ran up your spine slowly, feeling the tremor in it.
"I know." He said it quietly, his mouth close to your ear, his body behind yours, his hands moved to your hips, steadying you, taking your weight with a grip that said he was aware of exactly what state you were in and intended to proceed anyway.
"I'm serious." Your voice came out smaller than you wanted. "I genuinely can't."
"You can."
Joel stepped back slightly, just enough, and his hand pressed flat between your shoulder blades, communicating without words that you had to stay exactly where you were. You gripped the edge of the counter and tried to remember how to breathe normally — he didn’t even give you the time to understand what was happening. His other hand moved down, and you felt his fingers find you again under your skirt and without any preamble, without any warning, one finger pressed inside, stretching you while you were still slightly throbbing from the second orgasm.
"Fuck." It came out completely wrecked, half a curse and half something that wasn't a word at all. Your knuckles went white on the counter edge. "That's — I can't, I told you I can't, I'm —" but your words came out broken by whimpers.
The hand on your back pressed down slightly, a quiet instruction.
Joel added pressure, curling slightly, he was quiet for a moment, not hearing anything you had to say, just the slow movement of his hand, feeling you adjust around it. Your legs had stopped being reliable in any meaningful sense, you were holding yourself up primarily through the grip on the counter edge and the hand flat on your back.
"Does he do this?" Low, conversational, his fingers moving inside you with that same insufferable patience. Not a rhythm yet — you could feel just depth and felt so completely overstimulated that you oddly found that comforting.
You didn't answer. "I'll take that as a no." His fingers curled slightly on your sweet spot before he added another one, you couldn't help but rest your forehead on the counter. "You'd be less responsive, if he did."
"Don't sa—" You managed.
"Don't what?" His fingers began to move, slowly, drawing almost all the way back before pressing forward again making your legs buckled slightly — Joel's hand on your back caught you without missing a beat, redistributing your weight like he'd been expecting it.
"You're —" the sentence cut as his fingers pressed deeper on the perfect spot, "you're doing it on purpose." hinting at the fact that he really wanted you to compare him to Jake.
"Yes." Another slow movement, you whimpered. Wrecked and overstimulated, you found yourself needing more of his touch. The jolts of pleasure slowly travelling in your body were blinding.
"Does he even know what you can sound like?" His fingers found a precise point inside you that made your grip on the counter become desperate, another moan coming out. "Like this. Does he know?"
"Answer me." he added.
"No." It came out barely a whisper.
"No..." He repeated it quietly, his fingers pressing forward one more time. "Thought so."
"Maybe you should take notes." He lowered himself down just enough to say that against the back of your neck, almost pleasantly. His fingers pressed forward, and your whole body responded, another jolt of electric pleasure making you let out a choked moan.
"Bring something back to him." Another movement, deeper this time making your walls clamp around his fingers — your legs nearly gave out entirely. He then straightened up again, making you miss the warmth of his body against yours for a moment. You were genuinely about to cry from the pleasure mixed with overstimulation your body was feeling, it felt like you needed to use all the last strength you had to register what he was saying to you.
"You could teach him." His fingers curled, finding that place again with an accuracy that felt almost unfair, and heat shot up your spine. "Everything your professor showed you." His other hand stroking your shoulder. "Wouldn't that be generous?"
You were feeling something you genuinely had no reference for, a pressure building in a way that was different from before, something visceral, that started from the inside and radiated outward in waves that made your vision blur at the edges.
"Say it." His fingers started moving faster and your little whimpers started filling the lab again. The wet sound of his fingers moving were mixing with your own moans.
"I can't —"
"You can." His hand on your back pressed down, steadying you, you gasped. "Say it."
"Please." you whispered, not knowing why you let out this plea.
"That's not what I asked for." Another movement, slower, pulling the sensation out to its furthest possible edge. "Try again."
"Yes." It came out fractured, barely there.
"All of it." Joel said as his hand left your back without warning, coming around to the front of your throat instead, pulling you upright against his chest in one smooth motion — your back was against him now, his lips at your ear.
You could feel his stubble against your cheek, any other time you would have burned that sensation into your memory so you’d never forget it: the feeling of his beard, his warmth, his scent, that faint trace of tobacco. But you couldn’t manage it.
You were completely out of your mind. Your hands scrambled for purchase on the counter edge, finding nothing, ending up gripping his forearm instead.
His fingers didn't slow down. If anything they moved faster, deeper, and the change in angle from being pulled upright sent something entirely new shooting through you that made your head fall back against his shoulder.
"Finish it." He said it quietly, directly into your ear, his hand at your throat not squeezing now, just holding. "All of it. Properly."
You could barely breathe. His hand at your throat, his fingers inside you moving with that relentless precision, his chest solid against your back — the only thing keeping you upright was him, entirely him, your legs having resigned from the situation some time ago.
"Yes" It came out wrecked, your hands gripping his forearm. His fingers curled and your whole body arched on his chest. "Professor."
You were completely outside of yourself. That was the only way to describe it, somehow dreamlike. You didn't expect this sentence to affect you like this. The words. Yes professor, two words, and something about saying them in that room, in that context, with his hand at your throat and his fingers inside you, was doing something to you that went beyond the physical, beyond anything you could have anticipated or prepared for.
Joel's hand tightened slightly at your throat. "Who taught you what you needed?" His fingers moved deeper and your grip on his forearm tightened desperately.
"You" a moan fractured through it, "you did, professor."
"And does he know," You felt the wave building again from that deep impossible place, "what you're capable of?"
"No" barely a whisper. "No, professor."
"No." He repeated it, almost satisfied, his lips brushing your ear. As his fingers pumped their movement in you, white heat shot through your body. "Will he ever?"
"No — " your voice broke completely, "professor, no —"
It was — honestly — more of a cry now, you were just repeating that phrase like it was all you could bear to do in that moment. Yes professor, No professor.
"Don't." A movement on your sweet spot that made your eyes roll back. "Ever." Deeper. "Bring him to my class again."
"I don't want to see his face in that room." He continued.
"Yes, professor, yes"
"You won't do it again."
A sob breaking through it, your hands crushing his forearm, "no, professor, I won't, I —"
"Good, sweet girl, I like it when you listen." He whispered right at your ear. The third orgasm reached your body even more violently than the first two, your whole body seizing up at once, a sob tearing out of you that echoed off every surface in the room.
Joel’s hand at your throat caught you holding your full weight without hesitation, his fingers still moving slowly through every last wave of it, drawing it out.
That’s it, you were completely ruined, shaking against his body, on the verge of tears for the amount of pleasure felt. Joel's stroked your skin on your neck with his thumb for a moment, letting you rest on his chest while you found your breath again.
He slowly released his grip on your neck when you calmed down a little. Your heart was still pounding wildly and you weren’t sure you could make it home in that state, honestly, it felt like the real world was crashing back into your head all at once.
You were completely exhausted, leaning against the counter in front of you for support. You had never experienced anything like it in your life, so consumed by the fatigue that you barely noticed him wrapping his arms around you and lifting you up, setting you down gently on the counter.
“Wait here.” You watched him with your eyes as he walked toward the door, opened it slightly to check if anyone was around, then came back a few minutes later with a small bottle of water in his hand.
“Drink.” You took the bottle without saying a word, slightly dazed, stunned by a gesture of tenderness that never came so easily from him, perhaps not since the time he had picked you up and laid you down on the hotel bed.
He stepped away again, pulling his jacket back on while you drank and tried to collect yourself. Typical…he said nothing when he walked out, stupid bastard. But you were happy. You were exhausted, yes, but happy. Satisfied. Because this time, for once, he looked for you on his own. He chased you.
author's note: omg...biggest aftercare of joel miller was a bottle of water. too much i can't take it. Next chapter will have more plot...and a Joel that needs to deal with how fucking horny you left him after this! lmao
good god i just need hands on me, need em all over me. wanna get felt up and groped by a whole group, just touching and poking and prodding like i’m nothing but a toy, the entertainment for the night
Chapter Summary: You go out with Jake once again and see Joel and his wife which leads you to overthink again. Little did you know, you would meet him again in a place you didn't expect.
Chapter warnings: smut, rough oral sex (male receiving), dom/sub, verbal humiliation, slight degradation, ice play, handcuffs used, no aftercare.
if you're new see the tags in the masterlist! 18+
author's note: sorry for posting daily lately but I need to get these out once a day since they are ready because I don't want to clog the tag with my stuff, lmao.
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Chapter Twelve ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ Signature.
The days that followed were strange. You sunk into such a deep state of insecurity that you didn't even want to show up to his lectures anymore, but you did anyway — you couldn't afford to miss more than you already had.
You stopped writing for a while, just like that, as if something had seized up inside you. Fortunately Jake was there, close in the way you learned he always was when it mattered. He understood how important it was to you to prove yourself as a writer, and you had let him read some of your short stories, something you didn't do easily.
He wasn't much of a reader by his own admission, but he read every single one of them, carefully, to the end. Maybe to impress you, you weren't entirely sure, but he told you they were genuinely gripping. You didn't know whether to believe him or not.
Part of you also felt guilty for having talked to him about your professor as if it was purely a matter of grades. Because deep down you knew it wasn't, not entirely at least. Joel in a way drugged you with his actions, because you couldn't stop wanting to earn something from him that he had no intention of giving.
When you started feeling a little better and the urge to go outside slowly came back, you went to the park with Jake to eat ice cream and walk his dog. It was lovely watching her run, Cookie, a chaotic dog who took her walks very seriously. It was a beautiful day, spring was quietly arriving and you could feel it in the air and in the rays of the sun through the trees.
Jake's company settled something in you, you learned to genuinely enjoy being with him, to let yourself be present without always waiting for something to go wrong. Addie was already treating you like a couple, she'd been enthusiastic about it from the start, so certain that he was the right one for you. Maybe she was right.
"Cookie's tired out, come on let's sit down," Jake laughed, already steering the two of you toward a bench nearby.
"Poor little thing," you smiled, crouching down to give her a gentle pat before she curled up contentedly at your feet and closed her eyes like she didn’t have a care in the world.
Jake had already launched into one of his usual stories about him and his friends, the kind that made you realize how much you'd missed out on by renting a flat instead of living in the dorms, those people seemed to have an absurd amount of fun together. Every now and then you burst out laughing at something he said. Jake had a funny gift for storytelling, a timing that was entirely his own, and when he got going he could pull you in completely without even trying. It was genuinely entertaining in a way that felt effortless.
"You're laughing at the fact that I fell like that?" He looked at you, still grinning. "I'm telling you it was mortifying, I wanted to disappear on the spot."
"I'm sorry, but that kind of thing only ever happens to you." You were still laughing, and he shook his head with that expression of exaggerated offense he did so well. Then his arm came around your waist, drawing you into his side, and with his other hand he tucked a strand of hair gently behind your ear, his fingers lingering there for a moment.
"You seem better," he said, smiling, his hand still moving softly through your hair.
"I am, yeah." He looked at you for a moment, then kissed you and you let him. A soft kiss, just like Jake. Just before it ended you opened your eyes slightly, and caught him at the edge of your vision.
You really, really thought that the universe was pulling you a kind of unreasonable joke and that you weren't really grasping what you had to learn from it.
Joel. Again. How was that possible? New York — the whole world had gotten impossibly small, you hadn't spoken since that day in his office and yet you kept running into him.
In the space of a second you took in the whole picture; him and a woman who could only have been his wife, walking along the path at an easy pace, her hand in his. It was her for sure, as much as you could remember — dark and perfect hair and that kind of understated elegance that doesn't look like it's trying too hard, put together without being showy. Even without a normal outfit, she really was perfect.
And Joel, he looked different from how you knew him. More like the version you'd glimpsed that time in the book shop, months ago now. Jeans, a flannel shirt, his hair slightly more messy than usual. Softer, somehow. He was handsome, you thought.
"Everything okay?" Jake murmured, his hand moving gently through your hair.
"Yes, sorry." He nodded softly, pressed a kiss to your cheek, and kept his arm around your waist.
Fuck. They were getting closer, she was talking and he was listening to her.
Did he see you? Did it matter? Stop. You couldn't work out what was causing that sudden wave of nausea, whether it was seeing him hold his wife's hand with such easy familiarity, or the fact that what was paralyzing you was the thought of him seeing you with Jake.
As usual, your mind had become a whirlpool. You tried to focus on what Jake was telling you but you were on another planet entirely. His wife said something and he kissed her on the cheek. You probably let something slip across your face when she kissed him back lightly, laughing at whatever he'd just said. He seemed so unlike himself, like a different person entirely.
Softer. Every now and then he smiled. They were domestic, comfortable in the way that only comes with years. A couple in the fullest sense of the word. You loathed her for it.
They were getting closer, and he looked at you. Fuck. Jake's hand on your waist was starting to feel like something you were suddenly aware of in the wrong way, you tried not to let yourself get caught staring, but you could feel it, that moment when Joel's gaze moved from his wife and landed on the two of you.
Just like on campus, the insecurity flooded back immediately. You didn't know how much he'd seen, or how much it registered for him. Maybe it didn't matter at all, after what had happened in his office he hadn't spoken a word to you, maybe it was simply over. You managed to start breathing again when they finally passed your bench and continued down the path, their voices started fading with the distance and her laugh carried back to you once more before disappearing entirely.
A few minutes passed. Cookie shifted at your feet, resettling herself with a small sigh, and somehow that tiny mundane thing helped. Jake was still talking, his thumb drawing absent circles against your waist, and gradually you let his voice pull you back in.
The warmth of his side against yours. The sound of the park around you, children somewhere in the distance, the wind moving through the trees. You exhaled slowly, and it was a real exhale this time, the kind that actually releases something. Joel had walked past. That was all. He had walked past with his wife on a Sunday afternoon in the park, the same way hundreds of other people walked past without you noticing them at all.
It’s okay.
You tilted your head slightly and rested it against Jake's shoulder, and he adjusted naturally to make room for you.
A few days later you took the subway after class like you usually did, but you'd left college later than normal so you weren't particularly surprised to find the carriage half empty, a lot of seats still free. You sat down, put your headphones on, and picked up your phone. You were exhausted, finals were getting closer and you'd been spending more time than was healthy buried in your notes, running on caffeine and the vague promise of it eventually being over.
A nudge. Someone's leg against yours. Dark, neat trousers. Black shoes, polished. You looked up slowly, a trench coat, a hand holding a book, and on that hand, a wedding ring. You didn't need to look any further to confirm what you already knew. You swallowed. Your heart rate did something you would rather it hadn't.
You fixed your eyes downward and tried to lose yourself in the music, keeping your expression as neutral as you could manage. But the warmth of his leg against yours was enough to make your mind go somewhere unhelpful, and you hated yourself a little for it.
Four stops and you'd be free of this. He wasn't even aware of you, probably. Three stops. People began getting off, a few more getting on, the carriage reshuffling itself around you. He was still there. You found yourself wondering, almost against your will, where he was getting off, which stop was his, what part of the city he went home to — what his life looked like on the other side of all of this.
Two stops left. He kept turning pages, absorbed in his book, and you were aware of it only at the very edge of your vision, that slow movement of his hand. He felt like a complete stranger. What happened after that day in his office? You were used to his coldness, it has always been there, something you'd learned to navigate, but you thought, maybe stupidly, that something changed between you. That the distance between you now was different from before. Maybe you were wrong.
There was Jake now. That was enough. Stop thinking about Joel.
When your stop was approaching you stood up, but suddenly felt a hand close around your wrist. You looked at him. He gave you a quick, unreadable glance, just a fraction of a second, and with a slight pressure guided you back down into the seat beside him. The air left your lungs completely.
What is he doing?
You sat. His hand didn't release your wrist, instead he moved it, bringing your hand down to rest on your own thigh, and then moved his grip, his fingers closing over yours, covering them. You looked at him again. His eyes were back on his book. His hand on you hand, on your thigh — you were dangerously close to go insane.
Your breath caught in your throat and your heart was hammering in your chest, a race against your own body.
And then there was nothing else, just his hand on yours, and the whole carriage might as well have disappeared. You hated yourself for a moment, for the warmth that spread through you because of something this small, this incidental.
A hand. His hand, barely even touching you, and yet your body reacted like it had been waiting for exactly this without telling you. It was maddening. You had Jake. You were fine. You had been getting better, genuinely, and then he did something as simple as closing his fingers over yours on a half empty subway carriage and undid all of it in about four seconds flat.
For some reason you didn't ask him anything. You just stayed there, thinking you would ride with his hand over yours for as long as he wanted to keep it there, maybe he wanted to hold you until his stop. But the subway kept going, further and further out, almost beyond the city by now, and at a certain point he closed his book.
"Let's go, this is our stop." He said it in a completely calm tone, releasing your hand to tuck the book into his bag. You felt the absence of it immediately, and your heart skipped when you heard the word our. But you followed him anyway, you stood up and walked out of the subway behind him.
"Where are we going?" You managed to say once you were out of the station. You had never been anywhere with him outside of college, the thought making your heart skip a beat, though you weren't clear headed enough to think through what it meant or what you were feeling.
"We're nearly there." That was all he said, and kept walking beside you.
It didn't take long, five minutes. You stopped in front of a lit-up building. A hotel.
A fucking hotel.
He held the door open for you and you walked in and looked around.
What kind of hotel was this? It looked expensive just from the lobby, the kind of place you probably would never even imagine stepping in. You stood there while you watched him go to the front desk to book a room, and you could just make out what he said. One night. Obviously. For two people. You heard them talking about some extras.
One night. What about his wife? What the fuck was happening.
As soon as he finished at the desk he took the key card and gestured for you to follow him to the elevator.
"Don't you think it's a little irresponsible, bringing me somewhere people might remember you?" You looked at him, your voice slightly nervous.
"That's what money is for." He glanced at his phone for a moment as the elevator rose to your floor, the fifth.
You got out and walked toward the room, and every step felt like it was slowly hollowing you out from the inside. You couldn't work out what you were hoping for from this evening or this night with him.
When you walked into the room you stopped. It was a suite, much larger than anything you expected, a table with a bottle of champagne already waiting, a bed with silk covers, mirrors that lined the walls and made the whole space feel endless.
You stood there for a moment, slightly dazed, not entirely sure what to do with yourself or with any of what surrounded you, while he simply set down his bag and took off his jacket like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.
"Sit down." He turned to look at you.
You put your bag down and sat on the edge of the bed. He came closer, standing in front of you, and brought his fingers to your chin, tilting it upward so you’d meet his eyes. “You know why you’re here, right?”
You held his gaze for a moment. "No, I don't." You said, still looking him in the eyes.
"No?" He tilted his head slightly, and his grip tightened on your jaw.
You couldn't look away. He looked almost irritated, that familiar tension in his expression, his fingers firm against your face.
You missed it, a lot.
"Stand up." You did.
Joel went to the bedside drawer with the ease of someone who already knew exactly what he was looking for. You felt the air leave your lungs when you saw him pull out a pair of handcuffs, and a not too long narrow box, still sealed.
You had no idea what the box was for. So that was what he'd meant by extras at the front desk.
Then, with that same calm, he sat down on the bed where you'd just been and drew you toward him. He put his hands on your hips and let them slide slowly upward to the collar of your blouse, and began to unbutton it, one button at a time, without rushing.
Your heart was going so fast you thought it would explode in your chest. Were you about to actually have sex? What was he going to do?
When he'd undone the last button he slipped it off your shoulders and let it fall. You felt slightly exposed, a quiet unease settling over you — despite everything you did together, he had never seen you quite like this before, this uncovered, under your eyes. It was a strange feeling, being looked at that way, in that light, in that room — only your bra and your underwear covering you.
Then with the same composure he moved to your skirt, sliding it down your legs slowly, like he was savoring this moment. Joel brought his hands to your thighs, a touch that started as a caress and tightened into something closer to a grip, hard enough to almost hurt, his thumbs pressing into the soft inner skin like he was marking the territory.
"Does he know you're here?" He looked up at you, his hands still on your thighs.
You shook your head.
"Of course he doesn't." He drew you slightly closer to his parted legs, his eyes not leaving yours. "He seems irritating."
"He's not." You managed to whisper.
He held your gaze for a moment, something cold and almost amused moving across his expression. Then he stood up and pushed you back onto the bed, not in a rough way, which was weird enough knowing him.
You followed him with your eyes as he picked up the handcuffs and fastened your wrists to the headboard with ease. For a moment you thought about what the fuck were you actually doing — or let him do to you. Somewhere between the subway and you laying half naked on the bed handcuffed on the bed, your mind lost its moral ground apparently.
You felt like he exactly knew what he was about to do, just managed to pick the right moment to do it.
You never felt more exposed in your life, lying there, unable to move, watching him move around the room completely unrattled.
Joel walked over to the champagne bucket, lifted the bottle out and set it aside on the table without a glance, and you understood immediately that it was only the ice he wanted. Then he crouched down so his face was closer to yours.
"You let him touch you." He said it quietly, almost conversationally. "At the park."
You didn't answer.
"I saw you." He picked up a cube of ice, turning it slowly between his fingers. "You seemed very comfortable."
"So wh—"
"Don't talk." He cut you off, pressing the ice cube against your stomach without warning. The shock of the cold was so sudden and sharp that a small sound escaped you before you could stop it, your back arching off the bed against the restraints.
He watched your reaction and then continued, "To me," he said, moving the ice slowly, "he is very irritating, and he can't keep his hands to himself." he murmured.
What the fuck?
You didn't say anything. The ice was still moving and it was difficult to think clearly with the cold pulling all your attention to your skin, melting on you while you kept shivering under it. His eyes stayed on your face the whole time, watching for every reaction, cataloguing them with that same detached precision he brought to everything.
"Neither can you, apparently." He added, letting the ice melt a little against your skin.
The longer he held the ice still, the more it shifted from cold into something that burned, a strange, insistent sting that built under your skin. You pressed your lips together, bit down slightly to keep any sound in. Then he reached for another cube, picked up the black box, and shifted his weight on the bed until he was above you, braced on his forearms, his legs on either side of you, his face close enough that you could see every detail of his expression — which was not a kind one.
"You get on my nerves." He murmured, moving his mouth closer to your neck, not a kiss, just his mouth there, just his breath, hot on your skin.
Having Joel so close to you on your body was betraying your confusion entirely, and once again, you were not aware of what his next move would be.
Then the ice, on your pulse point. You inhaled sharply. "He touched you here." His jaw tightened.
Then his lips brushed your collarbone, barely, and the ice followed, pressed directly against the same spot. You gasped before you could stop yourself. It was weird, a sensation you never felt before, the contrast between his hot lips and the burning cold sting of the ice right after.
"And here." His voice dropped lower. "I don't like things that belong to me being handled by people who don't know what to do with it."
Belong to me?
In another instance, with another man, you were sure this wouldn't have created this exact reaction on your body. Your heart was hammering, your body was shivering and you were just hit by the realization that Joel was struck by the sight of you with another man. It was making you dizzy.
"I watched him put his hands on you and you let him." He held your gaze for another moment, then looked down and moved the ice slowly across your skin until it reached the edge of your bra, the exposed curve just above it. He stopped there, letting the ice sit.
"Did he touch you here?" he whispered.
You didn't answer. The cold was biting, spreading, and honestly you felt so incredibly embarrassed to tell him that yes, Jake touched your body.
"Talk to me." He looked at you, you could see contempt in his eyes.
"Yes he did." You said it barely above a whisper.
He didn't say anything for a moment. Then he pressed the ice down, harder than before, holding it firmly against your skin. You pulled against the handcuffs instinctively, a sharp sound escaping you before you could stop it, your back lifting off the bed.
"It's too cold." you almost whimpered.
"He doesn't get to do that." He said it very quietly, his eyes on yours, watching every flicker of your reaction. "That's not his." The pressure of the ice unwavering.
"But I know you're incapable of listening." He continued, holding the ice steady until it melted completely against your skin. Then he reached for the small box and opened it, pulling out a fountain pen.
A pen? You were confused, what was he going to do with a pen?
Honestly you didn't think about it too hard given the circumstances. You were too far gone to think about anything properly.
"So now I'll give you a reminder." He uncapped it slowly, looking at you. He later leaned in toward your neck and started writing. You had no idea what.
"What are you doing?" you whispered trembling, the cold still on your skin from the ice, a shiver moving through you.
"You can't even manage your own body." He said it simply, already moving down to your collarbone, the sting of the ice still there beneath his touch, and now this, another mark.
You still didn't fully understand what he was doing, but for some reason it was sending you somewhere you hadn't expected. Your body aching for him to touch you, throbbing under the weight of him.
It was like discovering a side of him you hadn't seen before. The jealousy. He kept moving down, another line of writing. You managed to catch a glimpse of it.
His signature.
Another cube of ice, this time at your wrist. "He touched you here too." He murmured, pressing it down, making you flinch, and then the pen followed, his signature again, the same careful hand. It was a giddy feeling, the burn punishment of the ice on your skin, and the pressure of the pen right after, then his hot hand, his lips on you.
Then lower, Joel's mouth now moved at your hip, just at the edge of your underwear, and a sound escaped you that embarrassed you slightly, given that his lips were barely resting against the fabric. Then the ice, again, it sent shivers down your whole body. "And here?" He looked up at you, waiting.
"Yes." You whispered, your breathing uneven.
He pulled back slightly and signed there too, pressing the pen harder than before, the irritation of it more pronounced against skin still raw from the ice. Like he was even angrier that the touched you there out of all places — but he is the one not giving you his body, his anger was totally out of this world by how stupid it was. And still, still it was making you crave more of it.
Then Joel moved down toward your thighs, lifting your leg slightly to get access to the inner side, and ran his mouth along it slowly, caressing you with his lips, before the pen followed. Another signature. You gasped, and felt something close to overwhelming heat building under your skin. You knew he probably wouldn't touch you beyond this, and that was exactly what was driving you mad.
Another signature on your other thigh. His mouth first, then the pen pressed in.
"All he had to do was sit next to you." He continued, "And you let him put his hands all over you." He glanced up at you briefly. "Disappointing."
"You — you didn't talk to me." you whispered.
Joel didn't reply, he did the same thing on your stomach. Then your other wrist. Slowly, methodically, infuriatingly precise. Every mark the same, Joel’s signature pressed into your skin.
"By the time I'm done," he said quietly, his mouth brushing your hip before the pen followed, "there won't be a single place he touched that isn't mine."
You really wanted to beg him to do anything to relieve the pressure that was building in your lower belly at everything he was doing to you — the ice, the fact that he was literally signing your body with his name, his mouth on your inner thighs. It was something you never experienced before.
When Joel decided that was enough, he looked at you one more time and then you felt the weight on the bed shifting, him moving to get up from the bed.
"But there's something that really made me angry." He reached up and unlocked the handcuffs without rushing, and you brought your arms down slowly, your wrists aching faintly. "On your knees."
You moved, your body stiff from the cold and from the pressure of the pen, and moved to you after he was done unlocking your handcuffs, standing over you. "That kiss." He said pulling opening his belt slowly. "At the park." His eyes dropped to you briefly, then back up. "That was embarrassing."
"You never learn, do you? I've told you before, you don't know how to keep that mouth of yours where it belongs." His jaw tightened slightly, while he unbuttoned his trousers without hurry, his eyes still on yours.
"He's a boy." He said it flatly, with no particular heat behind it, "He kisses you like he's asking permission." a little dry laugh followed this comment.
You felt heat rise to your face and said nothing, because seeing him just unbuttoning his tailored trousers was making stars dance around your head.
"Although." Joel's expression shifted to something softer, "Tonight you're behaving." His eyes moved over you slowly, taking their time. "Which I’ll remember."
He reached down and tilted your chin up with two fingers, the same way he had at the beginning of the evening. "Hands behind your back."
He took his hardness without a word, watching you the whole time. And the sight of him, it was the first time you saw him. His cock was hard, pulsing a little, and his tip was already leaking. The sight of it made your brain go mush, if you were getting dumb before this, now it was even worse.
"Open your mouth." You did, you would’ve done it even without him asking probably, by the way your body was reacting because of that view.
"Maybe this will help you understand." He murmured, his hand tightening in your hair, tilting your head back slightly so you had to look up at him. "The difference between an embarrassing kiss." His eyes stayed on yours. "And a signature."
He didn't give you time to respond. Joel's grip guided you forward and he pushed his cock inside your mouth, without even giving you time to adjust. A low groan left Joel's mouth at the feeling of your mouth around his length. You made a sound that made him tighten his hand further, his other hand brushing your hair back from your face, "Now you'll remember what that feels like."
His hips pressed forward, "You can think about it next time he tries." He rolled his hips forward slowly at first, his fist still twisted in your hair keeping you exactly where he wanted you. You couldn't help the moan that came out, once again. His erection was making it hard to breathe, and the fact that he was keeping you by the hair was making you unable to adjust better.
"Quiet." He said it without looking down, his voice completely firm. Then he did look down, just briefly, his expression cold. "You're not in a position to make noise." His hips pressed forward again, deeper this time, almost making you gag around his cock. "Not after what you made me watch that day."
You tried. You pressed your lips together as best you could and he watched you struggle with it, which seemed to be precisely the point. Your eyes started to water, your breath coming in broken intervals, and every time you felt yourself falter his grip adjusted, not to ease up, but to keep you exactly in the position of struggling with it. The only sounds in the room were his voice scolding you and the wet sloppy sounds coming from your mouth sucking him at the pace he was setting up.
"Look at me." You did, your eyes finding his, "Keep them up." He said it when your eyes dropped for a second, his fingers tightening in your hair as a reminder. "I want you looking at me." Another low groan as your tongue swirled around him.
You looked at him. Your jaw ached, your eyes were watering, your make up already ruined while you forced yourself to keep your eyes on him.
"Good." His hips rolled forward and you made a sound despite yourself that made him tilt his head slightly. You tried to suppress it.
"You know what I kept thinking." He continued, his rhythm steady, his eyes still locked on yours. "At the park. Watching him with his hands on you." His thumb moved against your jaw. You couldn't answer, obviously. He seemed to find that satisfactory.
"He had that look." Joel continued, his voice dropping lower. "Like he'd won something." You felt your eyes water further. He was going deeper in your throat, and the struggle not to gag was getting stronger. The more he fucked your mouth, the more you looked at him, your center was begging for release. You were pulsing, your whole figure was struggling for the lack of oxygen, for the forced intrusion in your mouth and yet, you were so worked up it hurt.
"That proud little expression." His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "It was pathetic. He has no idea what you are." A little pause, "Look at me, I said."
Your eyes had dropped again without you realizing, so you brought them back up as he commanded.
"Better." His thumb traced your cheekbone almost absently, a strange gentleness that didn't match anything else about the moment. His hips pressed forward, his cock deeper, you really felt like you needed to breathe, so you gripped your own wrists behind your back hard enough to hurt trying not to think about it.
"Don't look away. I want you here with me." He held your gaze and you held his, your eyes streaming now, your breath a wreck, and he watched all of it with that focused, possessive attention that you had missed without ever quite letting yourself admit it. And you kept going, sucking him as he moved his cock in your mouth, moving your tongue as much as you could giving the violence of the pace.
"Does he know." He said it slowly, like he was turning the thought over. "Does he know what you can do with that mouth?" His hand tightened in your hair, pulling your head back slightly so he could see your face better. "Does he have any idea?"
You couldn't answer and he knew it — didn't care.
"Does he know what happened in the elevator?" a chuckle, "A few slaps and you were almost gone." He tilted his head slightly, watching your eyes. "Just that. Just my hand and you could barely stand up, does he know that about you?" another groan, his cock was pulsing more inside your mouth, and you felt once again the salty taste of pre cum leaking.
"And the other day." He continued, his thumb moving slowly along your jaw. "On my shoe, you came on my shoe like that and — he thinks he knows you." another chuckle, "He's holding your hand in the park. Like a fucking child." Something that wasn't quite a smile moved across his expression. "He has absolutely no idea who you are."
His grip in your hair tightened further, pulling your head back at an angle that made his rhythm change, deeper now, less controlled than before. He pushed forward and you felt his cock in the back of your throat, your hands gripping your own wrists hard behind your back, you were sure you would find bruises on them tomorrow.
A sound came from him, louder than before, and something about hearing it after all that controlled talk made you feel heat pool through your entire body, your eyes watering so much you could barely see him clearly, your jaw aching, and somehow all of it was so fucking ecstatic for you.
He did it again, another groan, his breath finally not stable at all, his fingers twisting tighter in your hair like he needed the anchor. His other hand moved, thumb pressing at the corner of your mouth where his grip was, feeling it.
"God." He said it under his breath, his jaw was tight, a muscle flickering there, and his eyes were still on yours, "You're— " he stopped himself, pushed forward again, deeper, and swore quietly. "Fuck."
You made a moan you couldn't suppress and for once he didn't tell you to be quiet.
"You have no idea." He said it roughly, his free hand coming to your face again, thumb pressing at your jaw now. "How good—" another thrust forward, another low curse under his breath, "how good you are."
"Fuck." a groan, his hips driving forward without mercy, his fingers twisted so hard in your hair your scalp burned. He was close, you could feel it in the way his breath broke, in the way his grip had stopped being calculated and become something rawer and more desperate — in the way his length was throbbing waiting for release. His eyes stayed on yours. "Don't look away." He managed, his voice wrecked. "Stay.” another sound, “—right there."
And then he pushed forward one last time, hard and deep — you felt it, his hot climax filling your mouth, cock throbbing on your tongue as he groaned.
A moment passed, he pulled back slowly, his breathing still uneven, and his hand released its grip in your hair, gently almost, which felt disorienting after everything that happened. You looked up at him, completely wrecked, your jaw aching, your eyes still wet, your hair a disaster. You probably looked exactly as destroyed as you felt.
He looked down at you for a moment, catching his breath, and then his thumb came to the corner of your mouth, wiping slowly. "Now you're signed." He said it quietly, his breathing still slightly heavy, his eyes moving over your face. "Inside and out."
You weren't sure you could have formed a sentence if you'd tried.
He looked at you for another moment, at the marks still on your skin, his signature repeated across your collarbone, your wrists, your thighs, almost looking proud of himself. "Remember that." He said it simply. "Next time he tries to kiss you."
After his satisfied look spread on hi face, Joel did something you didn't expect, he put one arm under your knees and the other around your back and lifted you, carrying you the few steps to the bed. He set you down on top of the covers with a carefulness that felt almost foreign coming from him. You lay there and stared at the ceiling for a second, trying to process it.
He never did things like that after being so mad. In all the time you had known him, across everything that had happened between you, only the day on the sofa was he gentle, and that’s because you got a good grade.
The jealousy must have done something to him, you thought. Made him strange. It almost made you laugh.
You heard him cross the room, the soft slide of the balcony door opening, and then the quiet click of a lighter.
Of course, you didn't get to be touched, and that was quietly bothering you. At the same time, though, the fact that he felt so annoyed at you having another guy and doing that to you…it almost felt more rewarding than any orgasm, honestly.
You pulled the silk cover up around yourself and sat up slowly, catching your reflection in one of the mirrors across the room, mascara everywhere, hair a complete disaster, his signature in ink across your whole body. You looked like a hurricane passed on you.
You started trying to work your fingers through your hair, slowly, untangling it as best you could, the cover pooled around your waist because of the ice. Through the glass you could see the outline of him on the balcony, one arm resting on the railing, the cigarette between his fingers, looking out at the city in silence. You watched him for a moment before looking away.
You didn't mean to. You told yourself you were just closing your eyes for a moment, just resting while he finished his cigarette, just letting the ache in your jaw and your wrists and the rest of you settle. The silk cover was warm and the room was quiet.
You were asleep before he came back inside. It wasn't a deep sleep, somewhere close to the surface, the kind where you're vaguely aware of the world continuing around you without you. You heard, distantly, the balcony door slide open and then shut. The quiet sounds of him moving around the room. Some part of you hoped, without quite letting yourself think it clearly, that the sounds would eventually stop. That he would stay.
But of course, they didn't stop. You heard the soft zip of his bag, the rustle of his jacket. The room door opened quietly and then it clicked shut, you lay there for a while after he left, listening to the silence of the room settle around you. The faint smell of cigarette smoke and his perfume already starting to fade.
You thought about Jake. You thought about his hand on your waist at the park, his easy laugh, the way he had kissed you. You thought about the way he had texted you three times this evening without knowing where you were or what you were doing. You never felt this kind of guilt in your life, it was a weird knot forming in your stomach — the kind of energy that only the lie that you will have to tell can give your chest, almost nauseating.
You thought about all of it for a little while, and then, slowly, you let it go. There was nothing to solve tonight. Nothing to decide, nothing to fix, nothing that couldn't wait until morning when you were less wrecked and the room was full of daylight — when things will make a different kind of sense.
Right now there was only the warmth of the cover and the quiet and the pleasant, bone deep exhaustion of a body that had been taken completely apart. You pulled the silk cover up to your chin, closed your eyes properly this time, and didn't fight it. You were asleep within minutes.
author's note: Hiiii, loved writing this chapter fr. We are getting closer to the first Joel's pov. Really can't wait. I love reading your comments guys!!
laying on someone's lap while they JUST finger your mouth. like nothing else. you sometimes gag on them, sometimes just swirl your tongue around them but this simple thing as sucking on their fingers has gotten you so embarrassingly soaking wet and leaky
