i'm not nonchalant, i will set you on fire @euphoricinsomestrangedelight - Tumblr Blog

•There's A Blue Light •

Joel Miller x fem!reader

Summary: Ever since you were young, you were always taught to be good, and good you were. Church girl, smiling neighbor, the star daughter. Perfect.

Until you find yourself seeking the town outcast, Joel Miller.

dividers made by @/saradika-graphics

rating: 18+ mdni!!!

wc: 14k

warnings: girthy age gap (20/56), obsession, religious upbringing + religious guilt, small town, loss of virginity, unprotected piv, oral sex (m & f recieving), mentions of contraception, secret meetups, sarah is dead, mention of fatal car crash, reader has anxiety, dominant behavior, toxic dynamic, joel feeds you beer so (illegal drinking), physical roughness, power imbalance, angst, joel is an ass

an: OMG the taglist requests have been INSANE! the support means so much to me!!! let me know what other kind of joel fics I should write... and enjoy this emotional roller coaster babes <3

The same Sunday sermon, delivered with the same fire every single week. You’ve memorized the cadence by now. You sit perfectly still in the wooden pew, hands folded in your lap, the perfect picture of piety.

Serve the lord. Be respectable. Pray. And keep away from those faithless.

The eyes on you never let up. Every polite smile from the congregation, every knowing glance from the older women, reminds you who you’re supposed to be. Resident good girl. The perfect daughter. The one who never causes trouble, never questions, never strays.

With your mother at your side, you exit the church like always, gaze fixed downward on your modest shoes. The hem of your church dress brushes your calves as you walk. But the second you step into the humid morning air, your eyes betray you. They lift, searching past the foggy western fence line.

And there he is.

Joel Miller.

Barely more than a silhouette among the thick trees, but unmistakable. Broad shoulders, dark denim, that familiar slouch. The moment you spot him, the rest of the world goes quiet. The sermon echoes uselessly in your ears. The guilt you should feel dissolves into something warmer, heavier, and far more dangerous.

A girl like you was never meant to look at a man like Joel Miller. Everyone in town knew that.

But you can’t stop.

He’s lived in your head for months now, playing on an endless loop. The way smoke curls past his plush lips. The permanent downturn of his mouth. Those thick arms carrying the weight of something dark and heavy no one else seems to understand. He’s rough in all the ways you’ve been taught to avoid. Weathered, older, faithless. The kind of man who makes your skin feel too tight and your stomach flutter with something that definitely isn’t holy.

He isn’t a religious man. Hasn’t been since long before you were born. After everything he lost, maybe he decided God had nothing left to offer him.

You’re starting to wonder the same thing.

They say Joel used to be different. The perfect man. Regular church attendee. Owner of the only decent contracting business in town. The kind of man who hosted holidays and made women blush behind their husbands backs. Even your own mother had once quietly admitted with a guilty sigh, that she used to feel jealousy toward his late wife.

He was everything you weren’t. Older. Experienced. Broken in ways that made him real. And maybe that’s why the first time you truly noticed him, something inside you cracked open. A dangerous man. A dangerous game.

And you wanted, needed, to play it.

After one post-service breakfast, you finally worked up the courage to ask.

“Mama? Who’s he?”

Your mother’s lips had tightened into a thin line, her eyes narrowing toward the man waiting at the counter. “Joel Miller. Stay away from him, young lady. He ain’t… right with the Lord. Done some bad things.”

You’d mouthed his name silently into your palm like a secret, the stack of hotcakes in front of you suddenly tasteless. From that day on, you couldn’t look away.

Growing up in a religious household left no room for boys. They were forbidden. Dangerous distractions. But Joel wasn’t a boy. He was a man. The first one who ever made your pulse race just by existing. Dark-washed denim, thick shoulders, grey-streaked hair… the image burned itself into your mind and refused to leave. At first you told yourself it was just the devil testing your innocence.

Now you’re not so sure.

In the beginning, the word was God.

But now?

The word lives somewhere out in those trees.

Approaching the fields west of the church is the most nerve-wracking moment of your life. Lying to the congregation about feeling ‘ill’ had been both harder and easier than you expected. It felt wrong. But the pull toward Joel Miller felt stronger. You decided it was worth it.

The fence sits far enough away, hidden behind thick trees with the rugged road running alongside it. You walk with a wobble in your step, glancing over your shoulder every few seconds. Prying eyes and ears were everywhere. You couldn’t imagine what they’d say if they knew their favorite good girl was sneaking off to see him.

He’s already there.

Thick arms crossed over the fence, dressed in old denim, a cigarette hanging from his plush lips. A deep, racing pang drops in your stomach the second his dark eyes settle on you. Seeing him from a distance was one thing. He never looked at you then.

Now he does.

“Well, this oughta be damn good,” he drawls, voice low and rough like gravel.

Your eyes widen, heart kicking hard against your ribs. Up close, he’s so much more than you imagined. Tan skin glistening in the humid air, deep chocolate-brown eyes, age lines carved across his face like winding paths. Intimidating in his beauty. He looks at you like you’re a nuisance, and you feel nowhere near as brave as you thought you were.

“You—you’re Joel?” you squeak out, arms hanging awkwardly at your sides as you take small, careful steps toward him. The tall weeds catch at your bare ankles. With every step closer, you catch the warm scent of cedar-wood and tobacco rolling off him.

He looks you up and down slowly, his gaze catching on the hem of your church dress for a beat before his jaw clenches. “Shouldn’t you be at church, sweetheart?” he asks, narrowing his eyes.

You glance back at the distant steeple, then at him with a nervous smile. “I told them I was ill.”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” His tone drips with amusement and disbelief. “Just to go on a little play-date with Joel?”

“I just…” You hesitate, swallowing hard. “I see you here every week, and I wanted to say hi.”

Joel chuckles sharply, rolling his shoulders as he walks toward you with heavy, weighted steps. He looks perturbed, brows knitted in confusion, like he can’t figure out what the hell a girl like you could possibly want from him. You understand how it looks.

“Stalkin’ me now?”

You wince, fingers twisting in the hem of your dress. “No, no! I’m not…” Your voice gets quieter. “Stalking.”

He scoffs, takes a long drag from his cigarette, then stamps it out under his heavy boot. “Hang out with one of them church boys or somethin’.”

The next time you come back to the fence, it’s after church again. You’d skipped after-service breakfast with a lie about a “bible study with friends.” It worked. Your mother didn’t suspect a thing.

“Listen, honey,” Joel says as soon as his figure approaches, stopping every thought in your head. “I told you to go back to your little church.”

You shrug, trying to look casual. “I’m always at church.”

“Christ,” he mutters, rubbing between his brows with his thumb. “What are you doin’?”

“I never see you around,” you say softly, glancing up at his face. “Guess I thought you looked lonely?”

He lets out a sharp, cynical laugh. “Who said that was a problem?”

You fumble, swallowing. “It gets lonely here. I don’t like it.”

He watches the smoke curl from his cigarette before flicking the ash. “Hm.”

After a long beat of silence, you continue, voice light. “If I don’t like it… I just thought you wouldn’t either.”

Nothing.

“You probably shouldn’t be smoking,” you offer quietly. “Bad for you.”

He stalks closer, leaning down until you feel the heat of him. A dark glint flashes in his eyes. “What, y’gonna get me in trouble or somethin’?”

Your lip quivers, pulse thrumming wildly in your throat. “No. I’ll give you a free pass… this time.”

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t even crack a smirk. Just waves his hand in annoyance and mutters a dry “Oh, great,” as he steps past you. His shoulder brushes yours, just barely, but the contact burns and lingers.

You wonder if he burns like you do, too.

You spent the whole week humiliated after last Sunday. Every desperate word you’d said replayed in your head on a cruel loop. But by the next Sunday, you were back at the fence anyway, heart pounding like it might give out.

This time you brought a peace offering.

You spotted him leaning against the fence, forearms resting on the wood, wide back turned to you as he rolled an unlit cigarette between his fingers. You’d sat through service breakfast but saved one buttermilk hotcake.

Tiptoeing closer, a stray branch snapped under your shoe. He flinched and turned. His dark brown eyes dropped straight to the container in your hands.

He stared at it like it was dangerous, jaw tight, a muscle jumping in his cheek. “Hell’s that?”

You set it carefully on the fence post between you. “It’s breakfast,” you murmured, sliding it closer. “You like hotcakes?”

He looked from the box to your face and back down. “No.”

“Eat it, please.”

The air felt thicker, heavier. You knew he liked hotcakes. You’d watched him order them almost every Sunday for three years.

Ten quiet minutes passed. Finally, he sighed loudly, opened the container, and poked at the pancake with the plastic fork like it might fight back. Your heart skipped as he started eating. When you turned to leave, your chest felt lighter than it had in days. You didn’t look back, but you could feel his eyes following you the entire way.

For the next few Sundays, you keep showing up. Sometimes you talk for a few minutes. Sometimes you stay for a whole afternoon. Some days he tolerated you. Other days he looked like he pitied the silly church girl who wouldn’t leave him alone.

Your mom had been working more overtime, which gave you more stolen afternoons hidden in the trees.

You were almost always waiting at the fence before he got there, slipping away minutes after service ended.

You still knew almost nothing about him, and it gnawed at you. The desire to understand this closed-off man felt overwhelming. Sharing pieces of your own life came easy, but he had lived whole lifetimes compared to yours. It made you feel small. Eager in a way that embarrassed you.

You thought about stopping more than once. The guilt sat heavy in your chest, planted there by years of sermons and warnings. But it was too easy to come back. Too easy to braid your hair soft, gloss your lips, and lie about where you were going. He was painfully handsome — the kind of handsome that made your knees weak and your confidence disappear. On good days he could even be funny, grumbling about nosy neighbors or that ugly little white dog he swore was “fuckin’ nuts.” Even on his bad days, when he told you to leave him alone, he always came back to where you waited.

In your dreams and quiet prayers, you told yourself he cared for your company… in his own quiet, guarded way.

The day Joel Miller kisses you, everything changes.

You were under the hidden canopy of your usual tree, late afternoon light filtering through the leaves. Him with his cigarettes, you with your sketchbook. The silence between you had become comfortable. Just pencil on paper, mourning doves, and the slow exhale of his smoke.

“Joel?” You lifted your sketchbook. “Is it okay if I draw?”

A grunt. “Y’draw?”

“Yeah.”

He looks especially good today. Aquiline nose catching the sunlight. Plush, pouty lips. Greyed curls softer in the warm glow.

Your pencil moves on its own accord. You steal glances at him until the page starts to look like his face. He notices. When he leans over to peek, you hug the sketchbook to your chest.

“C’mon, lemme see—”

“No! Not finished!”

Joel huffed a low laugh. “Can’t be that fuckin’ bad. I can’t draw a lick.”

“No.”

He shrugged. “Ouch.”

You closed the book and held it in your lap. The silence grew heavier, charged. Every time you looked at him, he was already watching you with an expression you couldn’t read.

“You did somethin’ different,” he said after a while.

“Huh?”

He pointed at your hair, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Braids. One instead of two.”

“You noticed?”

“How couldn’t I?”

He looked away like he was annoyed at himself for admitting it. The silence stretched, thick and electric, until his eyes returned to you. Dark, heavy, full of something that made your breath catch.

“Alright, I’m sayin’ it.” He reached over, yanked the journal from your hands and tossed it aside. Before you could protest, his broad frame loomed over you. “Y’wanna kiss me or what?”

Your mind went blank.

“What!”

“I saw that damn doodle of me.”

“Joel, that’s not funny—”

“Oh gimme a break, honey. Don’t think I ain’t noticed.”

Your face fell into your hands, voice muffled. “I’m… sorry, it’s stupid—”

He gently pulled your hands away, pressing a rough thumb to your glossed lips. “Lemme give you a damn kiss, sweetheart.”

Your throat tightened. He meant it.

“I—are you serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

You shuddered, barely able to meet those deep brown eyes. He tilted his head and brushed your cheek with his knuckles, slow and careful. Then he leaned in, lips hovering just above yours. Your eyes fluttered shut, breath catching.

His mouth met yours — dry, soft, and devastating. A soft moan slipped from you. His hand cradled the back of your neck, pulling you closer as his tongue traced your lips, asking. You opened for him, humming at the slow, warm slide of his tongue against yours. It was the best kiss you’d ever had. The only one that mattered.

When he finally pulled back, you were both breathing hard. You rubbed your thumbs over his ears and pressed one more shy kiss to his mustache.

Nothing would ever feel that good again.

“Was that… okay?” you whispered.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes wide and dark. He clears his throat. “Yeah.”

“Are you okay, Joel?”

“Yeah. M’okay.”

Ever since Joel kissed you, you’ve turned into a seventeen-year-old schoolgirl all over again. Doodling his name in the margins of your notebooks. Daydreaming about stolen moments. Yearning for a world where it was only you and him. No mom, no supposed friends, just the heavy weight of his world that you believed you could carry. That would be enough.

Joel wasn’t your first kiss, but he was the first one that meant something real. The softness of his lips, the brush of his greyed mustache, the careful way his hands held you. It was the kind of kiss you used to pray to God you’d experience just once.

His attitude toward you had started to shift, slowly. He wasn’t an open book, but little revelations spilled out more easily now. You learned he liked his coffee black after showing up one afternoon with two steaming paper cups. You listened quietly while he vented about his brother causing trouble down in Houston. You didn’t like black coffee, but you drank it anyway, memorizing the way his eyes glinted when he talked, the rare passion in his voice.

You especially memorized the way he kissed you when there was nothing left to say.

Still, your fears had only grown. How many more excuses could you make before your mother caught on?

You didn’t want to know.

The heavy scrape of Joel’s boots stopped the moment he saw you leaning against the fence, white church skirt fluttering in the humid air. He sighed. “Shouldn’t be here. Could be spotted.”

You pushed off the fence with a smile spreading across your face and walked toward him like something magnetic was pulling you. “I don’t think they’ve noticed.”

He flicked his lighter, popping a cigarette between his lips with a tight expression. Almost like the idea of the two of you being discovered bothered him. In some world you wished it didn’t, but the fear of what your community would do if they found out weighed on you too. Joel was nothing to be ashamed of. But the punishment you’d face… that was harder to ignore.

“Listen,” he said, lowering his voice and leaning in like he was sharing a secret. He was so close you could smell the cedarwood of his shampoo. It was the same one every man in town used, but on him it was perfect. The best thing you’d ever smelled. “If you wanna keep buggin’ me, you can find me at the field down by the river bank.”

“When?” you whispered, eyes bright with eagerness.

He took the end of your braid between his thick fingers, rubbing the soft hair. Your gaze drifted between his fingers and the plump curve of his mouth, and heat pooled low in your belly. Shame twisted in your stomach. He was otherworldly compared to your dull world.

He crushes his cigarette with a boot. “Saturday, in the evenin’. Less risk.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, brushing his thumb across your temple. “Reckon around nine?”

Compromising your morals for Joel Miller felt like second nature to you. His sweet words, the way he could make you feel so appreciated, outweighed anything else. Any red flag in your brain that told you to run from him was torn down and disregarded. It isn’t okay. You know he has no right looking at you the way he does. But for as long as he thinks you’re worth any time of day, it is his right.

It’s 9:30. You’re at the bank of the river, half wondering if Joel will show up. The new October air pushes at your hair and sends chills down your bare shoulders. It feels awkward, almost humiliating, to wait for Joel. His signals were certainly not mixed back when he first arranged this change of scenery, but now you weren't so sure.

Because he is late.

Until the grass rustles from behind you.

You jump, bewildered at the scratch of the tall grass from behind you. From there is Joel, creeping through the dusk and over to where you sit.

“You scared me!” Chest heaving, you playfully laugh relief coursing through your veins.

“Sorry, had to take care f’somethin’.” Joel cracks a smirk, settling down next to your form with a strained groan. Next to him sits a six pack of beer, making you raise an eyebrow.

“Beer?”

Joel scoffs, bumping your shoulder playfully with an elbow. “Yeah yeah, lemme have my damn treat.”

You frown jokingly, pouting your lip out and crossing your arms. “No treat for me?”

“Huh. So old Joel ain't enough, huh?”

A blush blooms across your cheeks, making you tuck your chin into your palm to hide your bashful smile. “Maybe you are…” You mumble into your hand.

“What was that?” His voice drops a pitch, hand moving to brush away the hair that falls into your eyes.

“Nothin’...”

“Nothin’?”

“Mm-mm.”

Joel relents with a smirk, popping open a beer and taking a long swig. His tanned throat, glowing with a sheen of sweat in the warm evening dusk, bobs as he swallows. You watch him in silence, save for the singing crickets overtaking the both of you. Heaviness, a smoldering heat, settles in your abdomen. Growing hotter and hotter.

“Maybe you are, too.” Joel speaks up after a moment, eyes heavy lidded and beer now forgotten.

When he pushes you down, making you disappear into the privacy of the tall grass, you let him. His hands, calloused and aged, push your little babydoll up your stomach. Watching him level his face to your panties fills you with arousal fueled panic.

“Wait- Joel.”

Joel immediately pauses, hands hovering over the skin of your thighs. He tilts his head curiously, mouth set in a line, pupils blown out black. A sigh leaves your lips as you try to find the words for what you were feeling. Nerves, along with a new excitement of possibly losing your virginity to Joel, fought hand in hand with biblical guilt. Disappointment creeps across your skin because you wanted, so desperately, to appear sure. But you weren’t.

“Sugar. You ain’t ever done this, have’ya?” The corner of his lips soften into something understanding, a rarity. Softness. Pride is the only emotion you could feel, because Joel is truly beautiful, complications and all.

Shaking your head, you sit up, wrapping your arms around his thick neck. The muscles there tense as you do so, making you smile. For a moment, he watches you, nosing against your cheek, mustache itching your skin. Soft and gritty.

“Gon’ let me show you, sweet thing?” He whispers against your cheek, leaning forward to bring you both back to the ground. Big hands cradle the back of your head, forcing you to look him straight in the eyes.

On impulse, you want to look away, but his eyes make it impossible. Big and brown, pupils blown to astronomical proportions.

“What do- what do you wanna show me?”

“Want me to kiss you, down ther’?” He emphasizes his question with his brows while moving a hand to rest on your pubic bone. Heat blooms across your stomach and thighs at the mere touch. New and inviting, you never knew a man could make you feel like this.

“Yes.” You squeak out, placing a feather-like kiss on his pulsing temple.

Joel shoulders tense, just a touch, before softening again. He clears his throat, eyes darting to the cross that sits between your breasts, glinting in the moonlight. You follow his eyes, cheeks flushing as you realize. The ultimate sin.

A sin to love.

He takes the clasp from around your neck, unhooking the dainty chain, before chucking the sterling silver towards the trees, disappearing amongst the tall grass. Tears well in your eyes as you consider his action. They weren't tears of sadness, but tears of relief at the burden that was placed at you at such a young age being lifted off your shoulders. You realize something that kills you.

You don’t have to be a good girl when Joel is around.

“It’s okay, sweet thing.”

Joel kisses at the single tear that falls down your cheek before sliding back down to settle between your legs. Hooking your socked feet over his shoulders, you watch him kiss your inner thighs, sucking small marks into them. Prickling heat blooms from each little blemish he leaves behind on your skin. You can tell he’s going gentle tonight, conflicting with the animalistic look in his eyes.

“Mm, go-, yes..” You moan with closed eyes, breathy and high as he observes your reactions to his touch. A large hand rubs your lower belly and the other settles on top of your thigh, holding you open for him.

“You like that? Like bein’ a little bad girl f’me?” He presses, a dark smile spreading across his face, fingers creeping closer and closer to the softness of your clothed pussy just beyond the edge of your thighs.

“Please-” You beg, increasingly impatient, hips twitching and rolling toward his mouth like you can’t help it.

He ignores your impatience, instead pressing his fingers harder into your inner thighs, keeping you spread wide. “Answer me, sweet thing.”

“Bad girl…” you whimper, the words making your pussy throb.

“Thats it. That's good.” He moves kisses from your thighs to the skin just above your panty line, caressing the softness with his thick tongue. “Mm. Fuck, honey.”

You lift up your head to watch him skillfully lick you. “That's so…” You're so breathless that you choke on your words, head falling back down against the grass as pleasure sparks through you.

“Shh, shh, lemme take these pretty lil’ panties off.” He hooks his fingers into the lacey band, sliding them down your knees and pocketing them like a filthy trophy.

You close your eyes, insecurity falling over you when he goes completely silent. You know Joel has seen his fair share of women at his age,

“Oh fuck.” He croaks out, voice cracking on the last word, raw with hunger. Wrapping his strong arms around your thighs, he has you completely pinned open. Your eyes open and relief floods you when he lands a heavy, open-mouthed kiss against your clit. “That's it… open your eyes f’me, baby. Let me see you.”

After a couple more wet kisses on the hood of your clit, he finally dives into your folds, sucking them into his hot mouth with obscene, filthy sounds. As he sucks on them with his lips, groaning at the taste like a man starved, his tongue joins in. He traces the tip of it to prod hotly at your tight little hole. Not penetrating, but just barely breaching you. Your hips buck softly and you grind against his face, chasing more of that wicked tongue.

“Oh, J-Joel-”

“Mhm?” He urges you on, doubling down on his debauched sucks, licking and slurping messily through your dripping folds. The mix of his saliva and your slick fluids slide like warm molasses down your pussy and between your cheeks. Messy. Perfect. Filthy.

His mouth pops as he releases your clit, forehead falling against the thatch of hair sitting pretty above it. His hot pants brush against your swollen pussy, making you buck up into him again, whimpering pathetically.

“Oh my god baby. Look at how pretty you are. Jesus,” he mutters, voice thick with lust, before diving right back in. This time he slides his tongue all the way inside you. Akin to the feeling of a hot brand, you clench hard around the thick muscle, crying out into the warm night air above you. Your fingers claw desperately at the earth, thighs tightening around his ears in complete desperation as you ride his tongue.

“P-pretty?” You borderline sob, tears filling your waterline at the insane sensations Joel fills you with.

He rests his head over your inner thigh, pressing a sloppy kiss over your pussy once more. “Fuckin’ really. Shit, that's a pretty little pussy.” He slides a single thick finger over your entrance, teasing, making you squirm and push against it. “Ohh, shh, shh. Such a needy girl.”

Biting your lip, you sit up on your elbows, watching the tip of his finger circle your dripping hole. “Are you gonna..” His finger suddenly dips in one smooth glide, although tight, completely inside of you. You shriek, falling back down on the ground again as your belly wildly spasms. “Oh, Joel!”

His finger curls upwards, seeking and striking your sensitive spot with devastating ease. Another gush of your slick coats his hand, making him groan deep in his chest. “Thats a good girl, fuck.”

When another thick finger slides alongside his other into your pussy, you feel completely stretched out, full in the most sinful way. Sliding your hand into his free one, you grip tight, nails digging into his skin.

He interlaces his fingers through yours, squeezing back. Humming to himself, he moves above your clit, spitting on it thickly. Twisting his fingers inside of you with increased pressure, he begins to rub his nose into your soaking clit, panting while he does. The pressure is addictingly overstimulating and you don’t know what sensation to focus on as you grind messily against his face and fingers.

“I feel like…”

He moans against your pussy, licking your folds with long, filthy passes of his tongue. “Let it happen, cum, right now. Wanna feel you.”

“I’m so close…!”

He bares his teeth, doubling down on the curls of his fingers with a speed that renders you dumb. “Cum for Joel, sweetheart. Be a good girl and cum on my tongue.”

With that, you completely shatter. Your back arches violently and your pussy spasms hard around his fingers as you go completely dumb. Ears ringing, feeling unlike any orgasm you’d ever given yourself. When you come back down you’re sobbing into the sky, eyes returning to focus, thighs still shaking around his head.

You hiss when he slides his fingers out and brings them to your lips. Without thinking, you suck them into your mouth, savoring the taste of yourself mixed with the saltiness of his skin. It’s a strange taste but you love the idea of tasting what he did to you.

“I-didn’t know it could feel like- that…” You say breathlessly, unhooking your legs from around his neck, instead hooking them around his waist, pulling him closer.

“Yeah, s’ supposed to, when a man does a good job.” You catch the smug smile on his face. Clearly proud of his work.

You hold his scruffy jaw, kissing the bare patch in his facial hair. “You did a good job.”

Raising his brows, he attacks your neck and jaw with kisses. You giggle, ticklish, pushing his face away from yours. “Yeah, want more, baby?”

The mood grows more somber as you realize what the next step is. A line you’ve never crossed before. You weren’t ignorant to the concept of sex, of course.

But virginity. Your pride.

But you know what you want, what you need.

“More meaning… all the way?” Your voice is barely a whisper, shy but aching with need.

He nods, holding your chin gently between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your face up so you can’t hide from him. “Wanna go all the way, honey?”

Without a second thought, you answer, eager, heart hammering in your chest. “Yeah, yes. Please.”

“God, you’re so sweet.” And he kisses you again, mustache damp with your previous release. The mix of beer on his breath and your juices is an odd yet addicting taste that makes you moan softly into his mouth, your tongue sliding against his like you’re starving for him.

You part from his lips first, hands tentatively moving downwards to grip his belt. Looking at you from beneath thick lashes, he nods with a dirty smile, urging you to continue. So you do, fumbling for his belt with trembling hands. A mumble of frustration leaves you as the belt gets caught on the loops. He chuckles, yanking the belt and discarding it.

“Thank you baby.” Kissing the middle of your forehead, he shoves his jeans down his meaty thighs, revealing black boxer shorts.

Jesus.

You freeze, mouth fluttering open in shock at the sight before you. Even with the fabric covering him, you can see it all. Solid, manly, everything you’d imagined Joel as. Bringing your hand back down, you brush your knuckles over the growing wet patch at the front of his briefs. Immediately, he hisses, as if in pain, rocking his hips forward toward the friction. Smiling wide, proud, you grow firmer with your touches, squeezing and stroking him through the fabric.

Biting your lip, you circle a thumb over his growing bulge. “It’s alright?”

“Fuck, yes sweet thing. Lemme- here. Lemme pull 'em down.”

You clasp his hands into yours, stopping his action. When he looks at you, he looks concerned.

“If you don’t wanna-”

You interrupt him with urgency in your voice. “No! Maybe- could I do it?”

He ponders this for a moment, eyes fluttering closed before he breathes out. “Fuck, yeah. Okay.”

He sits back on his knees, allowing you to crawl between his thick thighs, your hands shaking with nerves and excitement.

“You sure?” He asks, stroking your cheek with a thumb, his voice rough but gentle.

“I think I can…”

Closing your eyes, you hook your trembling fingers into the waist band, dragging the cotton material down slowly. The material catches for a second, so you pull, the heavy weight of him springing up against his stomach. Gulping, you crack open your eyes, heart racing.

Words are unable to describe the feeling of seeing him bared in front of your very eyes. Your hands now rocked with tremors grip his thighs for support as you are now speechless. Thick, surrounded by wiry greys at the base, and absolutely throbbing. It sits heavy, unimaginably hard for you. A hunger unlike any other makes you salivate.

You look up at him, eyes wide with excitement. “He’s so…” You chuckle softly, moving your hands to hover over the intense heat that radiates from him. “Oh my god, Joel.”

“Yeah?” He grabs himself at the base, moving his cock side to side as if to beckon you in. “Wanna touch ‘im?”

Eagerly, you nod, wrapping a hand gently around his firm length. He immediately hisses, holding the back of your head to steady himself, nodding. You hold his eyes, continuing to squeeze and get used to the throbbing beat from under the wrinkled skin. A sense of pride fills you at the pained pleasured sounds that leave Joel’s lips. Leaning in, you press a glossy kiss against the tip, making him loudly choke on his air.

He grits his teeth, head falling back as your slick knuckles glide up and down his length. Your rhythm is clumsy but you keep your fist tight. Watching his thighs tremble and hearing his breathy moans encourages you to keep going, stroking him a little faster, smearing the leaking pre-cum down his shaft.

But Joel takes hold of your wrist, halting your actions. “Stop, baby.”

“Sorry… I just...” You feel deflated and dejected. Wondering if he even liked what you were doing.

But Joel seems to pick up on your feeling, sliding a finger under your jaw, tilting your head up toward him. “I love it, sweet thing. But I need to be inside of you, okay?”

“Oh. Yeah, okay.”

“You can kiss up on him more next time. Hm?”

Shyly, you smile and nod. Joel grunts as he lays you back down into the grass, making sure to be as gentle as possible. It hinders your fears into something else entirely. Trusting him now, more than ever, you take a deep breath.

You feel the tip of his cock push against your entrance, making you clench in anticipation. Glancing down, you watch his thick fingers wrap around his throbbing length, a completely dizzying sight. He presses the underside of his heavy cock against your pussy, thrusting slowly through your slick folds, coating himself in your wetness. You watch his mouth drop open, eyes glued to every wet slide. His flesh is so soft and warm against your most sensitive skin. Blurts of precum smear over your pussy, marking you.

Sharp gasps fly from your throat when he slaps his thick cock against your pussy once, twice, three times. The lewd, wet smacking sounds are utterly debauched.

You’re completely overwhelmed. Bucking your hips up greedily, you reach for his face and pull him down into a desperate kiss, tongues sliding messily as you beg him without words.

When he parts from you, breathing ragged, he angles his hips. The fat tip of his cock catches on your tight little entrance. He takes gentle handfuls of your breasts, pinching and rolling your hard nipples between his thumb and forefingers. It sends electric shocks straight to your clit and you clench around nothing, dripping even more for him.

“Want him?” he rasps, voice wrecked.

“Give me it, please…!” You whimper, rolling your hips up again, trying to pull him inside.

“Yep, there ya go. God. Fuck.”

He starts pushing in. The stretch is immediate and intense. You gasp sharply, nails digging into his shoulders as your tight pussy struggles to take his thick cock.

“It’s so big Joel, I can’t. Can’t.”

“Baby, no. I know you can. Okay?” He rubs slow circles on your lower belly, voice low and soothing even as his jaw clenches with restraint. “Just breathe, sweet thing. Let me in.”

“I can, I can!” You nod frantically, legs trembling around his waist as you try to relax for him.

“Yeah, that's right. Good girl.”

“You’re- you’re inside me.” Your voice breaks into a whine as he sinks deeper.

He rubs your lower belly again, pressing down firmly so you can feel exactly where he is splitting you open. “Mhm, right here honey. Right here. Feel that?”

Mouth dropping open, you whine loudly. “Joel, it feels so good.”

Groaning through his teeth, he emphasizes with a slow grind. “Yeah? S’that feel good, baby?”

The sensation of his thick cock dragging through your sodden walls is foreign and slightly painful, but the overwhelming fullness makes your eyes roll back. You know it’ll get better. Shuddering, you hug his body tighter, Joel’s plush stomach pressing against yours, grounding you. When he finally bottoms out, buried to the hilt in your virgin cunt, you both sigh in relief, foreheads pressed together.

He groans deep in his chest, slowly grinding his hips against yours, wiry grey hairs catching on your swollen clit with every filthy roll. The contrast of his rough hair against your soft skin turns you on more than it should. All you can do is helplessly cry out, the burn of his entrance melting into overwhelming, toe-curling pressure as you start rolling your hips up to meet him.

Hissing through his teeth, he begins to slide his cock out to the tip, leaving you aching and empty for a moment. “Okay, m’ movin’ now. Just breathe baby.”

A sharp gasp rips from your throat and your back arches hard. “I— I’m breathin’!”

“Can’t believe you’re lettin’ me take this, take you,” he growls, voice breaking with lust.

“Bad girl…” you moan obediently, the words making your pussy flutter around him.

“You’re a bad girl, y’hear?”

Something in both of you snaps, raw and carnal. You pull your thighs higher toward your chest and wind your arms tight around his neck, bouncing your hips back to meet his thrusts. Drops of sweat roll down his forehead, dripping into the hollow of your collarbones as he plants his hands on your back. Hoisting you slightly above the grass and sitting back on his knees, he picks up his animalistic pace, pinning you to him. With nowhere to go, you have no choice but to sob in pleasure, taking every deep, stabbing thrust of his thick cock like the desperate little thing you are.

“Y’always wanted this.” He chokes out, tongue falling out to lave wet and messy over your sweaty neck. “Didn’t you?”

“Yes—” you sob, voice cracking as you cling to him tighter, nails digging into his broad back. “Yes, Joel, wanted it so bad…!”

He groans at your words, hips snapping forward harder, driving his thick cock deep into your soaked pussy with wet, filthy sounds that echo in the tall grass. You meet every thrust desperately, rolling your hips up to take him even deeper, your tight walls fluttering and squeezing around him like you never want to let go.

“Fuck, that’s my bad girl,” he growls against your throat, biting down gently before soothing it with his tongue. “Who's my sweet thing, hm?”

You whimper loudly, legs locked around his waist as you grind against him, chasing the drag of his cock against that perfect spot inside you. The stretch burns so good now, the pain long melted into pure, overwhelming pleasure. Every deep thrust makes your tits bounce and your breath hitch.

“Joel— Joel, please— harder,” you beg, voice breathy and broken. You pull his face down to yours, kissing him messily, tongues sliding together as you moan into his mouth.

He gives you exactly what you ask for. His pace turns punishing, animalistic. He fucks you deep and rough, the sound of skin slapping skin loud in the quiet night. Sweat drips from his chest onto yours as he pins you down, one big hand gripping your thigh hard enough to bruise.

“Look at you,” he pants, eyes dark and wild as he watches his thick cock disappear inside your dripping pussy again and again. “Taking my cock so well. Such a pretty little thing, letting an old man ruin you out here in the grass.”

You cry out, back arching sharply as another wave of pleasure crashes through you. Your hands roam desperately over his back, his shoulders, his neck. Pulling him in impossibly closer.

“I’m yours... I’m your bad girl,” you whimper, the words spilling out between moans. “Only yours, Joel.”

“Fuck— that’s right.” His voice breaks. He sits back on his knees again, hoisting your hips higher so he can watch every inch of his cock sliding in and out of you. The new angle makes you see stars. “Look how wet you are, honey. Making such a mess all over me.”

You can’t stop the broken sounds falling from your lips. Your hands fly up to grip his forearms, holding on as he pounds into you, the wet squelch of your pussy obscene with every thrust. The pressure builds fast and overwhelming.

“Joel— I’m gonna— I’m close again—”

“Yeah? Cum on my cock, sweet thing. Let me feel this tight little pussy milk me.” He reaches down and rubs firm circles over your swollen clit with his thumb, never slowing his brutal rhythm.

You shatter hard, crying out his name as your orgasm rips through you. Your walls clamp down around his thick cock, pulsing and fluttering as waves of pleasure crash over you. Joel curses loudly, hips stuttering as he fucks you through it, drawing it out until you’re shaking and sobbing beneath him.

He doesn’t stop. He leans back over you, pressing you into the grass with his weight as his thrusts turn shorter, deeper, more desperate.

“Gonna fill you up, baby,” he groans into your neck, voice rough and wrecked. “You want that? Want me to cum deep inside this pretty pussy?”

“Yes— please, Joel— please cum inside me,” you beg, wrapping your arms and legs around him completely, holding him as close as you can while your hips keep rolling up to meet him.

With a deep, guttural groan, Joel buries himself to the hilt and cums hard. You feel every thick pulse as he spills inside you, hot and endless, filling your virgin cunt until it leaks out around his cock. He grinds slow and deep through it, like he wants to push every drop as far inside you as possible.

For a long moment, the only sounds are your ragged breathing and the crickets around you.

Joel stays buried inside you, arms wrapped tight around your trembling body as he presses soft, almost reverent kisses to your temple, your cheek, your swollen lips.

“You did so good, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “So fucking good for me.”

You cling to him, heart racing, pussy still fluttering around his softening cock. The weight of what you just did settles over you, but all you feel is warm, sated, and completely his.

For a long moment, the only sounds are your ragged breathing and the crickets chirping around you.

Joel stays buried deep inside you, arms wrapped tight around your trembling body as he presses soft, almost reverent kisses to your temple, your cheek, your swollen lips.

“You did so good, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice hoarse and wrecked. “So fuckin’ good for me.”

You cling to him, heart still racing, your pussy fluttering around his softening cock. His cum is warm and sticky, slowly leaking out of you onto the flattened grass. The weight of what you just did settles heavy in your chest. Your church dress crumpled somewhere nearby, your body completely marked by the man you’re not supposed to want.

He eventually pulls out with a low groan, and you whimper at the loss. You can feel the mess immediately—his thick release dripping down your thighs, mixing with how wet you still are. Joel sighs, reaching for the garment and pulling it over your weakened body.

“Stay right here, darlin’,” he says quietly, tugging his jeans back up but leaving them unbuttoned. “Gotta show you why I was late.”

You watch, still dazed and boneless, as he reaches into the inner pocket of his thick jacket and pulls out a crumpled brown paper bag. He opens it for you, showing you the three packs of Plan B sitting inside, along with the receipt.

“Joel…” Your voice comes out small and breathless. You sit up slowly, reaching to take the bag. The sight of those boxes makes your stomach twist.

He rubs the back of his neck, jaw tight. “Had to drive out to the next town. That pharmacy that stays open late. Couldn’t risk gettin’ ‘em here in town.” His voice is gruff, almost guilty.

You swallow hard. “You planned it?”

“‘Dunno.” His big hand cups your face, thumb dragging slowly across your bottom lip. Those dark brown eyes are soft but still heavy.

The words sit heavy between you. You’re supposed to be a good church girl. Pure. Untouched. And instead you’re out here letting Joel Miller ruin you in the grass.

With him not knowing why.

You stuff the bag into your backpack before crawling onto his lap, completely beat.

“You regret it?” he asks, voice rough and eyes downcast.

“No,” you answer right away, burying your face in his neck. You breathe in the scent of sex and cedar. “Jus’ sore.”

His fingers press against the pudge of your stomach, making you wince. “Poor thing.”

He holds you tighter under the stars, rocking you gently, one big hand rubbing slow circles on your back.. For now, the world is just his heartbeat against yours.

The sun is dipping low when you spot him by the river again, that same broad frame leaning against the tree like he’s been waiting for you. Your heart does that stupid little flip. You smooth your dress down, clutch your bag tighter, and walk over, already feeling that warm ache starting low in your belly, pussy already getting slick just from seeing him.

You sit next to him, opening your bag and passing him a can of cold cola.

“Thanks, hun.”

Pretty quickly, your mind begins to reel with what activities you could get up to right now. The warm sensation of arousal begins to scratch at your belly. You are needy for him. Now that you’ve gotten a taste, you were constantly thinking about how he could please you. How you could please him. How badly you wanted his thick cock in your mouth, his cum on your tongue.

“So… what are we gonna do?” You sing-song, testing the waters. He seems to catch on pretty quickly about what you’re thinking with a smug grin.

“Why? Y’been thinkin’?”

You blush, pursing your lips together. “Well, I kinda wanted to try something.”

He wiggles his brows at you knowingly. “Go ahead, sweetie.”

“You know how you did that one thing?”

“What, my mouth on ya?”

“Y-yeah. That.” You avoid his eyes. “I wanted to… try on you?”

“Yeah? You wanna?” A dark smile spreads across his face, brows raised.

“Really bad,” you confess, beginning to carefully crawl between his legs. He huffs in disbelief, spreading out to accommodate you.

Sitting between his legs, you make work of the thick belt buckle, removing it with much more efficiency than before. You look up at him, a beaming smile on display.

“M’ proud of you, honey.” He says, patting the top of your head gently. You bite your lip, eyes going soft at the praise.

He’s proud of you.

Eagerly, high off the praise, you unbutton his pants. Pulling them down along with his boxers, his massive length is revealed to you once more, heavy and already leaking. Kissing at the drop of liquid at the tip, you make work of your hands, beginning to pump down his length. His head rolls back, gasping into the air with labored breaths. A giggle slips from your lips before you slip his tip into your mouth, sucking greedily.

“Fuck, good girl.” He pants, holding your roots with two hands. “That's a good girl.”

You pop off his cock, now lathing your tongue up and down over the swollen skin, tasting the salty musk of him. “Promise it’s good?”

“You're so good, baby.” He bucks his hips into your mouth, urging you to slide your mouth down, down, almost half way. You splutter, hands gripping his thighs, drool already spilling from the corners of your lips.

You suck eagerly, saliva flooding down his length, making obscene wet sounds as you bob on him. You're inexperienced, but you want to show Joel that you're just as capable of pleasing him. Eager to. Desperate to be his filthy little cocksucker.

And he thinks you're good.

Wrapping both hands around his cock, you stick out your tongue and attempt to push further, gagging wetly around his thickness. He moans, pulling you off of him.

“Jesus, don’t choke.” He grits, taking the tip and tapping it against your lips, smearing spit and precum across them. “Hear me?”

You nod, catching your breath all while mouthing at him, licking and kissing like you can’t get enough. “Yes. Promise.”

He brushes your hair back behind your ears before taking one of your hands and bringing it down lower. Your palm makes contact with his full, heavy balls.

“Oh. Oh, y'want my cum, don't ya?” He grits, tightening his grip in your hair. Wildly, you nod, sucking with increased vigor, hollowing your cheeks and slurping noisily. It makes him release another groan before he pulls you off him.

“No, c'mon. Keep using your hands.” He closes his eyes, thrusting up into your slick hand, chasing his orgasm. In amazement, you watch his face contort with his impending release, your own pussy throbbing and dripping into your panties.

“Oh fuck, fuck. Gonna cum honey. Gonna—”

On a last pump downward, his thighs lock up, trembling. Spurts of hot cum slide down your knuckles, the tacky fluid coating thickly. A gasp of amazement from you and another spurt hitting your cheek. Dipping forward, you stick out your tongue, running it curiously over the glands at the top, savoring the bitter-salty taste. One last spurt coats your tongue before he pulls you away from him.

“Fuckin’ christ, girl.”

“Is any of it true?” you ask softly, voice barely louder than the river’s murmur.

“What?” He asks lowly, his rough fingers still petting the back of your neck, toying with the baby hairs at your nape.

You bury your nose deeper into his collarbone, eyes closed, breathing him in. “What everybody says.”

He snorts, the sound rumbling through his chest beneath your cheek. “That I’m a serial killer? Reckon there might be some truth t’that.”

“Nooo, I’m serious, Joel.” You pull back just enough to look up at him, searching his face.

He relents with a soft smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Nah. None of it’s true.”

“None?” You tilt your head, still watching him closely.

“Suppose in this town, people ain’t got anything better to do.” His fingers keep tracing lazy patterns on your skin.

“Yeah, I understand.” You nuzzle back against him, content for the moment.

“Do you? Reckon everyone loses their minds over you.” His voice carries a hint of amusement, but you feel the weight of his gaze on you.

“I don’t know… they all think I’m good.” You shrug sheepishly, heat rising in your cheeks at the lie.

“I’d say they’re wrong.” His tone is low, knowing, like he can see straight through every wall you’ve ever built.

You respond with another sheepish shrug. There was so much people didn’t know, and the fact that Joel Miller could read you like an open book is just as scary as it is thrilling. He couldn’t be more right.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” you murmur against his skin, hoping to steer things back to safer ground.

He pauses for a while, fidgeting with a blade of grass between his fingers before speaking up quietly. “I play guitar. Sing.”

You can already picture it—Joel with a guitar in his hands, deep husky vocals and those confident fingers. Just the two of you here in the dusk, under the open sky. You’d be content forever. You hug his bicep tighter, resting your cheek against the solid muscle. “Gonna play me something sometime?”

“You wish,” he grumbles, though you catch the faintest twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

“What was your daughter like?”

“No. Don’t.” His voice hardens instantly.

Your heart drops straight into your stomach. The relaxed energy between you shifts, turning bitterly cold and matching the evening breeze. Joel scoffs at the lost-puppy look in your eyes and stares off blankly into the moonlight, jaw tight.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice shaky and pinched as you press your face into the side of his neck, desperate to fix it.

“It ain’t your business to be stickin’ your nose in.”

“Sorry. Sorry.” The words tumble out, small and frantic.

“Better be.”

“I am,” you say, firmer this time, even as tears of frustration pool at your waterline.

After a few minutes of grueling silence, he’s stopped petting you. His arms hang limp at his sides, but you don’t pull away. You stay pressed against him, heart aching, hoping the rocky moment will pass.

A grunt vibrates in his chest as he pushes at your shoulder, peeling you off him. “Thinkin’ it’s best you go home.”

You hesitate, tears slipping freely down your flushed cheeks. “Do I have to?” Your voice cracks, barely above a whisper.

Joel gathers your things while you sit there helplessly, arms wrapped around your knees. For a moment he stops, looking down at your shaking frame. He sighs heavily, then pulls you up by the wrists and straightens the skirt of your dress with surprisingly gentle hands. After handing you your bag, he turns toward the river, shoulders rigid.

You don’t leave right away. People say things they don’t mean, right? He couldn’t really want you gone.

You sob the entire walk home.

When you get home, you realize the grave mistake you made. Crossing the line about his daughter was a terrible thing to do. It wasn’t yours to cross, especially when your relationship didn’t even have a label. He took your virginity. Was hot and then cold in the span of a second. Hides you like some dirty secret.

Is he ashamed of you?

You believe he is, after what you did. And it stung to think of all the progress you may have just unraveled. The thought sits heavy on your mind for the next six days, twisting in your gut until you almost don’t show up to the field.

But you do. You always do.

Hesitantly, Joel sits next to you in the grass, breaking you from your anxiety-induced stupor. “I was outta line,” he blurts out, eyes locked on the ground, brows creased in clear distress.

“Joel? What do you mean?” You sniffle, holding back the tears that threaten to spill over.

You know you’re downplaying how badly this has wrecked you. But you want him to know it’s okay for him to feel however he feels. He doesn’t owe you any explanation.

“Last weekend. Sunday.”

“I promise I’m not mad, Joel. It’s really okay,” you say softly, voice barely steady.

He takes your hand, his rough thumb petting slow circles over your soft skin. “Ain’t your fault, honey.”

You relent, letting his strong arms cradle your body, somewhat apologetically. “Okay, Joel.”

“I’m sorry,” he reiterates into your hairline, pressing soft kisses to the top of your scalp, breathing in your shampoo.

For a few moments that feel like hours, you let him hold you, your hands sliding down the dip of his spine. He does the same, fingers playing with the thin fabric at the back of your little white dress, rocking you gently against him.

Eventually you end up back in the grass, tangled up and full of everything Joel has to give you. He fucks you slow and deep this time, proving he’s sorry with every roll of his hips.

You forgive him.

Everyone knew where Joel Miller’s house was. Like the place of an urban legend. The humble home south at the edge of town, the one your family had driven past on the way to church more times than you could count. A beat-up pickup always parked crooked in the driveway, yard unkempt for years with grass grown wild and tall enough to brush your knees.

With your mom out of town for the whole week, the emptiness of your house had started to press in on you. The quiet was too loud. No TV, no one to talk to, nothing but your own brain.

That’s when the risky idea took root. Sneaking over to Joel’s place. It could blow your entire cover if you got caught, but the thrill of it made your skin tingle.

She won’t return. Nobody will find out. Just do it. He won’t mind.

His house is on the farthest end of the street. You realize you probably stick out like a sore thumb in your quiet little neighborhood, heart hammering as you pull your hood up tighter. You tighten the drawstrings, then skip quickly up the sidewalk toward his front door.

You lift your fist to the dark mahogany, hesitating for a long second. Taking a deep breath, you pull your hood down and knock firmly on the door, twice. A few seconds later, the door swings open to the sight of a disheveled Joel. Clearly he just woke up with his sleep-swollen eyes, messy hair sticking up in every direction, and nothing but a pair of loose sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He rubs his eyes, narrowing them as he realizes it’s you.

“Fuckin’ damn it. Of course.” Joel grabs your forearm and pulls you inside, making you yelp in surprise. The door slams shut behind you, and suddenly his thick arms are bracketing your body, caging you against the wood. His chest heaves, warm and solid against yours.

“The hell you doin’ here, baby?” he breathes hot against your face, eyes searching yours. They’re dark, stormy with want and that underlying thread of concern—like he wants to kiss you stupid and spank your ass all at the same time.

Your lips part as you glance from his mouth to his eyes. “Needed to see you.”

“Fuck,” he growls, and then his mouth crashes into yours.

The kiss is hungry, desperate, all teeth and tongue. You melt into it instantly, sliding your fingers up into the hair at his nape and tugging. He moans low into your mouth at the pull, the sound vibrating through you. His strong arms wind around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he forces a thick thigh between your legs. The sudden pressure makes you gasp and break the kiss, looking down at where your bodies meet.

“Joel…”

He smooths your hair back from your face with one big hand, eyes heavy-lidded and almost reverent as he takes you in. His lips brush your forehead, then the tip of your nose, then back up again. You shiver hard against him. He drags the bridge of his nose along your cheek, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses there until a dizzy little laugh slips from your lips. That makes him smile before he captures your mouth again, deeper this time.

He walks you backward into the living room without breaking the kiss, hands roaming everywhere. Squeezing your waist, sliding down to palm your ass, gripping your thigh. The heat in your belly is almost unbearable, the soft wet glide of his tongue making your knees weak. Your back hits the couch and he’s on you in seconds, climbing over you like he belongs there.

Your legs wrap around his waist on instinct, heels digging into his lower back to pull him closer. He settles on one elbow, the other hand rubbing slowly up your bare thigh, fingertips rough and warm.

“You bring ‘em?” he murmurs against your lips.

You blink up at him, dazed for a second. He raises his brows expectantly and it clicks. A shy smile tugs at your mouth. “One left, remember?”

A pleased look flashes in his eyes. “Suppose you came at a good time then. Makin’ soup tonight.”

“Do you have garlic bread?”

“No. White bread and butter work?”

You sigh dramatically but smile. “I guess…”

You didn’t end up having sex on his couch, much to your disappointment. Joel’s knees had other plans. But you did learn he makes a damn good bowl of soup.

You’re sitting across from him at his small kitchen table, eagerly shoving another piece of toast into your mouth. Joel chuckles low, the sound warm and rumbling.

“Just uh… put a little garlic powder on top of the butter,” he says, gesturing at your toast with his spoon. “Ain’t the same, but…”

“It’s perfect,” you mumble through a mouthful, trying not to stare at the way his dimples deepen when he smiles like that. He looks so good in this light with his shoulders hunched comfortably, sleeves rolled up, hair a little messy from your fingers earlier.

The domesticity of it all settles over you like a warm blanket. Eating dinner together under the soft glow of the kitchen light, far away from the watchful eyes of town, from your mother, from the church. Every now and then your eyes meet across the table and something soft and dangerous flickers between you. You’ve never felt this comfortable with anyone.

Joel clears his throat, drawing your attention. “I, uh… didn’t mean to leave you hangin’ earlier.”

“On the couch?” you ask, smirking a little as you scoop up more soup.

He nods, sheepish, scraping the bottom of his bowl. “Yeah. Couch ain’t exactly good for my knees.”

“Oh.”

He keeps going, voice low and mumbled. “Still feel like shit about what I did.”

“I shouldn’t have asked,” you say softly, setting your spoon down.

“No, no.” He creases his brows, sighing heavily. “Thing is… it surprised me, I suppose.”

“Everybody wants to know.”

“Yeah, but you wanted to know what my baby was like. Not how I lost her.”

You stay quiet, sliding your bowl aside so you can watch him. He looks so vulnerable sitting there with heavy shoulders, eyes fixed on the table like he’s completely ashamed. But he’s doing this for you.

“She was beautiful,” he says after a long pause, voice barely above a murmur, eyes glinting with quiet pride. “Perfect. Top of her class in everything. Stubborn as hell. Just like her old man.”

You reach across the table and take one of his big hands in both of yours. He lets you.

“She died in a car accident,” he continues, throat tight. “With her mama.”

“I’m so sorry, Joel.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t need to be sorry, darlin’. If anything… I’m sorry I couldn’t save her.”

“How could you have?” you whisper, squeezing his hand tighter. You lean over the table and press a gentle kiss to his jaw. You feel the tremble run through him, the way his breath catches. Then his warm hands come up to cradle your face, holding you there for a moment.

When you pull back, the heavy grief in his eyes has softened into something warmer, fonder. His lips tilt up just a little.

“C’mon, Joel,” you say softly, thumb brushing his knuckles. “Let’s clean up.”

You notice something left behind on the bathroom floor. Joel’s green flannel, balled up and inviting. You pick the fabric up, bringing it to your nose and taking a deep inhale. Notes of pine, cheap chologue, and his marlboro reds. Your skin crawls with perversion, depraved for savoring his scent like this, but you don't stop.

Even if the Lord is watching.

“Um, Joel?” You call from the bathroom, “can I wear this flannel?”

His heavy steps approach you, stopping at the door frame. At first, he didn't speak. He eyes you up in your towel, the fabric stopping just below your ass. Walking behind you, he wraps his arms around your waist, bare chest pressed up against your back.

He presses a kiss to your cheek, voice low and teasing. “You like it?”

“Smells like you.” You whisper, leaning back into his firm body.

Now you understand what it's like to be in love and you think that maybe he loves you too. He looks at you as if you’ve hung the moon in the sky, holds you as if you’re the most precious thing in the world.

You aren’t worried about the world anymore, you realize.

“Perverted little thing.” He snorts, rubbing your sides before parting from you. “Get dressed. I'll be in bed.”

Pulling the soft flannel over your body, you savor the scent of his soap, combined with his sweet musk. Uniquely his, it turns you on in ways unimaginable. You don’t think you could go the rest of the night without having him all to yourself, just one more time. You finish up in the bathroom and return to the bedroom where he waits in bed.

You’re already curled against him under the sheets when he pulls you closer, spooning you tight, one thick arm banded across your middle like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. The flannel you stole rides up your hips, bunching around your waist, and Joel’s bare cock, heavy and already leaking, right against the cleft of your ass. He rocks slow, lazy, rubbing the fat head up and down your slick folds without pushing in, just teasing.

“Greedy little girl,” he murmurs into the back of your neck, voice gravel-rough and warm. “Hm?”

You whimper, pushing back into him, chasing that friction. “Joel… please.”

He chuckles low, the sound vibrating through your spine, and nips at your shoulder. One big hand slides down your belly, fingers parting your pussy so he can glide his cock through the mess you’ve already made. The wet sound is obscene in the quiet room. He coats himself in you, dragging the thick shaft over your swollen clit again and again until your thighs shake.

“Fuck—Joel—”

“Yeah, I know, baby.” He kisses the shell of your ear, then bites it gently. “You want it so bad... jus' drippin'.”

He lines up and sinks in with one smooth thrust, stretching you open in that perfect, burning way that makes your eyes roll. You moan loud into the pillow as he bottoms out, his hips flush to your ass, cock buried to the hilt.

“Shh, shh,” he soothes, even as he starts grinding deep, lazy circles that press right against that spot inside you. “That’s it. Take it like a good girl.”

The position keeps you locked together. His chest to your back, his arm caging you, one leg hooked over yours so you can’t do anything but feel him. Every slow roll of his hips makes your ass jiggle against his pelvis. He fucks you in deep, filthy little thrusts, never pulling out far, just stirring your insides while his hand snakes around to rub lazy circles over your clit.

You’re gasping, trembling, the flannel still clinging to your sweaty skin, carrying his scent everywhere. It makes you clench around him harder.

“Christ, you’re squeezin’ me so tight,” he groans, voice breaking. “Pussy’s fuckin’ greedy. God honey, please.”

“Yes...fuck—please, Joel—”

He speeds up just enough to make the bed creak, still cuddling you close, still whispering filthy praise against your hair. “That’s my girl. Let me feel you cum. Then I'll fill ya'.”

The words tip you over. You cry out, back arching, thighs clamping down as your orgasm crashes through you. Joel curses, hips stuttering, and then he’s coming too. Thick hot pulses deep inside you, painting your walls while he grinds through it, dragging it out until you’re both shaking and oversensitive.

He doesn’t pull out. Just stays buried, softening inside you, arms wrapped tight around you. His lips brush your temple, soft now, almost reverent.

“Jesus,” he whispers into your skin. “Fuck…”

“Can we… again?” you murmur, still breathless, pressing lazy kisses to his chest.

He cracks a tired smile, hugging your sleepy body tighter against his naked one. “M’sorry baby. Back is hurtin’ somethin’ awful.”

“If you lay down—”

“What, my failin’ back do somethin’ to you, honey?” His voice is low and teasing, a rough chuckle vibrating under your cheek.

“Maybe…” You trace a finger down his stomach, smiling against his skin.

“You’re losin’ it, girl,” he mutters, but there’s nothing but fondness in it. He yawns wide, shifting carefully so he can pull one heavy leg over yours, pinning you securely to him.

“Hey Joel?” The words sit right on the tip of your tongue.

I love you. I need you. Please don’t ever leave me.

He makes a soft, sleepy sound. “Yeah, sweet thing?”

You pause, heart hammering. Tonight isn’t the night. You swallow it down, saving what you so desperately want to say for another time.

“Thank you for letting me spend the night,” you whisper instead.

You feel the small, fond chuckle rumble under your ear. “S’okay. Go to sleep now, okay?”

“Okay.”

Exhausted from the many orgasms and the warm, solid feeling of his arms around you, you slip easily into deep sleep.

“Honey. Wake up.”

“Mmm.” You grumble, pulling the comforter tighter over yourself.

He shakes your shoulder, pressing a kiss against it. “Honey, y’gonna go home soon?”

Yawning, you open your eyes, looking at the drizzling rain pattering against the window. You groan, hugging the pillow to you. “God, it's pouring…”

“M’sorry. I’d give you a lift, but you know how that would be.”

Now is your chance. To say everything that you want to say before you have to go out into the cold rain. Taking a deep breath, you toss away the pillow, rolling over to face him. He rests against the headboard, watching you with sleepy eyes and messy hair.

“Can’t we just…do it?” You begin, voice more impatient than you mean it to be. You catch yourself, dialing back into something fonder. “I mean, I guess I can’t stand hiding you.”

He scoffs, sitting up. “What?”

“Hear me out, we could really be together-”

“Y’serious?”

“Yes—”

He laughs, as cynically as he’d laughed that first time you’d met. “If that ain’t damn stupid. Hell ya thinkin’?”

Your face falls flat as you begin to regret everything you’ve said. “I just thought-”

You pause, lowering your voice as you hold back tears. “I didn’t think about that because I love you, Joel.”

He interrupts you. “About how fuckin’ screwed we’d be?

He sits up from the headrest, tossing the blankets away from his body. That's it. He goes eerily quiet, wide back now turned to you as he runs both hands through his hair.

But you won’t take it. Won’t take his cold shoulder. “Please don’t pretend I didn’t say that, Joel.”

“Nah.” He shakes his head, slipping his watch on. “Heard you loud and clear.”

“You’re upset. Why?”

“Ain’t upset.”

“Then-”

He snaps, saying what you always feared would be said.

“Should’ve never fuckin’ started this with you.”

“What?”

“Y’heard me.”

Dumbfounded, you watch him stomp around, yanking his jeans off the floor and stepping into them. Angrily fastening the button, he pulls his shirt on while making a beeline towards the bedroom door.

“You weren’t supposed to love me. You know it ain’t like that. Not here.”

“But, you were so sweet to me!” You exclaim,

“Jesus…”

“Please, please don’t go-” Flying to your feet, sheet wrapped around your body, you reach to grab his bicep in an attempt to reason with him.

Joel steps into his boots, shaking his head in complete dismissal of your protests. Glancing over his shoulder at you, he says the words that shatter what's left of your resolve.

“Think I'm gonna listen to naive fuckin’ thing like you?”

“No, no no-”

Cries rock your chest as you try desperately to block him from breaching the doorway. When he clearly has no intention of staying, you thrust yourself into his arms, clinging onto him just like you did back at the river bank that very first time. “Don’t go.”

An angry growl is spat into your face as he grips your shoulders, spinning you around and sitting you down on the edge of his bed. You realize, you’ve never been this afraid in your life. Afraid of his roughness, yes, but absolutely afraid of losing the man who’d changed your entire perception of devotion.

“Fuckin’ tired of your damn cryin’, girl.”

“I’ll stop, I swear!”

“You won’t. All you do is cling onto me like a helpless fuckin’ thing. I ain't that man for you. It’s over.”

“You don't mean it-”

He shakes your shoulders in frustration. “No, I got what I wanted from you.”

You flinch as if his words physically burned you. His breaths are heavy—ragged, face deadlocked into an angry twitching expression. Bending down, Joel grabs for your little dress, tossing it onto your lap with a carelessness that is so unlike him. Tears break loose from your waterline and you half expect Joel to cave, admit he was wrong, and kiss your tears away.

“And you can leave.” He says with finality—no room for argument.

The silence that settles after Joel flees and slams the front door rings in your ears. Blood pools to your head as you openly break into sobs while pulling on your dress that was so carefully peeled from your body just hours before.

Walking from the bedroom to the front door, you carefully peek out the window, but not for your usual reasons. If Joel was out there, on his porch, you know you couldn't make it an inch out of his house. This time, you weren’t thinking about the nosy bystanders that usually take space in your brain. He is nowhere to be found.

You were terrified of him and it made you sick to be.

For the next few nights, you cry yourself to sleep. The tears come hot and silent, soaking into your pillow as you clutch it to your chest like it might somehow fill the hollow space Joel left behind. Your mother moves through the house completely unaware, humming hymns while she folds laundry or makes tea, and it only makes the anger burn hotter in your chest. She’s so blissfully ignorant of your suffering. Joel was the only one who ever really saw you. The real you. Not the perfect church girl everyone else wanted. And now he wants nothing to do with you.

You’re angry at him. Angry at yourself. Angry because everyone has been wrong about you this entire time.

Nobody has ever truly cared for you. Just the image of you. The sweet voice in the choir, the modest dresses, the obedient daughter. A pretty prop for their perfect little Christian town.

And you wonder, in the darkest hours of the night, if Joel ever really did either. Maybe all those soft kisses and whispered praises were just a lonely old man taking what a desperate girl offered. Maybe you were just another warm body to him.

The thought destroys you.

After an agonizing week of barely eating, avoiding church, and lying about being sick, you decide you can’t spiral any longer. You can’t keep wasting away in this bed waiting for a man who told you it was over.

You force yourself up. The hot shower feels like the first real thing you’ve felt in days, the scalding water beating against your skin, steam filling the bathroom as you scrub away the sleepless nights. When you step out, you slip into your favorite sundress, the soft yellow one he once said made you look like sunshine.

Standing in front of the mirror, you barely recognize yourself. Eyes red-rimmed and drained, skin pale and dull, lips cracked and bitten raw. You look exactly like what you are without Joel Miller. Your old man, the only person who ever made you feel alive.

You sling your bag over your shoulder, heart pounding with a mix of fear and determination. Your hand hovers over the doorknob when your mother’s sharp voice cuts through the quiet house.

“Where do you think you’re going, missy?”

You freeze, pulse skyrocketing. Slowly, you turn around. She stands at the end of the hallway, hands planted firmly on her hips, eyes narrowed with that familiar mix of suspicion and self-righteous anger. There’s something knowing in her gaze.

“I’m… going out,” you murmur.

She scoffs, cutting you off before you can finish. “No. Who exactly are you seeing?”

Your stomach drops. “What do you mean?”

A crumpled brown paper bag is tossed at your feet. It lands with a soft thud. Even before you look down, you know what it is. The Plan B boxes. Your pulse thunders in your ears, but you feel no shame. Not about the birth control. Not about sneaking around. Not about Joel.

“You went through my backpack,” you say, voice trembling with the weight of the betrayal.

“So this is what you are now?” she hisses, voice dripping with disgust. “The town tramp? In God’s name, tell me who the hell bought you this filth!”

You don’t flinch. For the first time in your life, you stare your mother dead in the eyes without shrinking. Something shifts in her expression. Surprise, maybe even a flicker of unease. Standing up to her was never something you could do before. You had lived your entire life in fear of disappointing her, of disappointing God, of disappointing everyone.

But not anymore.

“I’m seeing Joel Miller,” you say clearly, the words ringing out stronger than you expected. “And you can’t stop me.”

For a split second, shock freezes her face. You don’t wait to see anything more. You turn, yank the door open, and run.

Rain immediately soaks through your dress as you sprint down the driveway and into the stormy night. Your heart hammers wildly in your chest, tears mixing with the cold droplets on your face, but you don’t stop. Not this time.

You’re going to see Joel Miller.

By the time you reach Joel’s doorstep, you’re completely soaked. Rain pours down in sheets, plastering your yellow sundress to your body, turning the fabric nearly see-through and sending violent shivers through your limbs. Everything feels like it’s falling apart — your life, your reputation, your heart — and you’re powerless to stop any of it. You didn’t mean to end up here, begging at his door like this. But Joel is all you have left.

You knock weakly, then harder, teeth chattering as you wait. For the first time in a long while, you actually pray — a desperate, wordless plea that he’ll be home.

The door yanks open. “Jesus Christ—” Joel’s irritated growl dies instantly when he sees you. His face crumples.

For a long moment, you both just stare. Deep purple bags under his eyes, hair unkempt, jaw shadowed with days worth of stubble. The same wreckage you saw in the mirror earlier stares back at you from his face.

“Baby?” His voice is low, careful, the gentlest you’ve ever heard it.

You rub at your tear-streaked face with shaky fists, trying to swallow the massive knot in your throat. If you speak, you’ll shatter again. That softness in his tone, the one you thought you’d never hear again completely breaks you.

You didn’t want to be the town’s good girl anymore. You just wanted to be his good girl.

So you crack.

You fall forward into his chest, fingers desperately grasping the worn lapels of his flannel as you bury your face against him. A shuddering breath leaves him, warm against your wet hair. One big hand comes up to cradle your cheek, tilting your face up to his.

“Look at me, please?” he whispers.

The wobble of your lip and the fresh glaze of tears in your eyes make him wince, regret carving deep lines into his face.

“She knows,” you choke out. The moment the words leave you, loud, ugly sobs tear free from your chest. “She found the Plan B… She knows about us.”

Joel doesn’t hesitate. His strong arms wrap around you completely, pulling you flush against his solid warmth as he rubs slow, soothing circles over your back. The gentleness of his touch only makes you cry harder. Everything you’ve been aching for and everything you thought you’d lost.

“C’mon, c’mon… inside, babygirl.” He keeps you tucked against him, guiding you through the doorway and over to the couch. With one smooth motion he shrugs off his flannel and drapes it around your shivering shoulders, then sits and pulls you straight into his lap. You curl into him like you belong there, still sobbing uncontrollably into his chest.

“Shh… shh, sweet thing. Your mama knows?”

You nod against him, sniffling pathetically. “Yeah… probably everybody by now.”

His body tenses beneath you. “Did she hurt you? Did anybody—”

You shake your head quickly, hiding your face deeper into his shirt. “No.”

Joel doesn’t force you to look at him again. He just holds you tighter, one hand stroking your soaked hair, the other rubbing those steady circles on your back, grounding you.

“Shh. S’okay, babygirl. Let it all out. I’ve got you.”

After several long minutes, when your sobs have quieted into shaky breaths, you manage to speak again, voice small and broken.

“You hurt me so bad, Joel.”

His arms tighten around you instantly. “I know, baby. I didn’t mean it. I swear to God, I didn’t mean any of it.”

“I thought you hated me,” you whisper, fresh tears slipping down your cheeks.

“God, no.” His voice cracks. “Baby, I’ve done this all fuckin’ wrong.”

You lift your head just enough to meet his eyes. “Joel… I love you.”

He exhales sharply, like the words pain him. His thumb brushes tenderly under your eye, wiping away tears. “Shh. I know, sweet thing. I know.”

“Joel—”

“I know,” he murmurs again, pressing his lips to your forehead, then your temple, then the top of your head. He holds you there, rocking you gently in his lap.

You forgive him.

THANK YOU SM FOR READING!!!

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