Summary: You’ve been babysitting Sarah Miller forever. One day, you’re surfing the web on her dad’s computer, and you find some…unusual things in his search history.
Or, Joel likes to jerk off to your lookalike on PornHub. It’s time you showed him what the real thing is like.
Note: ‘Just call me if anyone else checks in…and by anyone, I mean any swingin dick’ is a line from No Country for Old Men
Word count: 12.7k
Purple slime had been Sarah’s idea.
It was an innocent thing, really. The four-year-old had practically been bouncing on the balls of her feet, eyes wide and shining with excitement when she’d begged—‘Can we pleeeeease?!’—and who were you to tell her no?
You’d only be breaking one small rule of Joel’s, after all. One silly little admonition he’d made before leaving for work the first day you’d started babysitting for him. That had been over a year ago, and he hadn’t even sounded that serious when he’d said it. He probably wouldn’t mind if you bent the rule this one time at Sarah’s behest.
‘Don’t go in the computer room, please.’
Don’t use Joel’s desktop. Don’t rifle through any of the drawers in Joel’s office—it was a mess, but everything was in its place, according to him. Just don’t go in there.
But in exchange for Sarah agreeing to take her nap that day without protest, you’d promised to order her slime.
Purple, gooey, glittery, sticky stuff for her new collection.
You weren’t sure when the fuck putty had become the plaything of choice for kids in Pre-K, but you hadn’t been in a place to judge; whatever Sarah wanted to do, so long as it was safe for her to play with, was totally fine by you.
It was just one rule.
Surely if Mr. Miller knew how badly his daughter wanted the slime, he’d be fine with you booting up his computer once. That was what you kept telling yourself, anyway.
What kept humming through your mind as the desktop came to life and you toggled straight for Google Chrome.
Be quick, be quiet, it’s fine. It’s fine.
Purple goo—it was safe. Innocent. Completely justifiable.
What could the sweet, old, forty-something and forever polite Joel Miller possibly have to hide on this machine that made it wrong for you to buy this one simple toy?
You reached for the keyboard and inhaled a quick breath.
Then you typed one letter, and your heart nearly seized.
P…
…ornhub.com
It was the very first thing that appeared in the search bar.
You couldn’t unsee it. Instinctively, your hand clamped over your mouth, and your eyes widened. You couldn’t help but read the four URLs that immediately dropped down below the first; they were just so garishly inviting.
Hot, Naughty Babysitter gets POUNDED by her Boss!
Slutty Babysitter Gets Railed from Behind and Loves It
Big Dick Boss Gives Babysitter a Passionate Raw Fuck
‘I’ve Never Done This!’ Babysitter Deepthroats Cock
“Oh…my gosh,” you said, words muffled by your palm.
You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. It was just too bizarre, too far out of character, too unlike your boss.
The man had scarcely said ten words to you altogether that didn’t relate to your job in some way or another. He rarely ever engaged in casual confab, and he certainly wasn’t the type to flirt, or make you uncomfortable in the slightest. Frankly, in all the time you’d been babysitting, you always thought you were just…invisible to Joel Miller.
Not this. Never this.
You were still staring at the screen when you realized that you’d missed one URL title from the list. It was long.
It was the most unnerving one of all, you came to see.
Babysitter Lounging Poolside in Hot Red Bikini Gets a BIG Surprise—Her Old Boss Teaches Her How to FUCK
Your hand lowered from your face. It trembled, contemplating, before coming to rest atop the mouse.
Something about this seemed familiar. Strangely…off.
You couldn’t explain it, but your head and your heart and your hand gravitated to that one odd link in particular. You hadn’t even meant to move the mouse. Or press it with your finger. But there you went, following your instincts like some dumb, brainless ditz, and then the screen was changing. Going dark with the shift to an adult site before brightening anew with the thumbnail.
It was paused on one frame. Your jaw slackened.
The girl staring back from the scene was you.
Or looked exactly, uncannily like you anyway.
It was then that you noticed what she was wearing, too—what you guessed wouldn’t be on her body for long—and you glanced down to your own shoulder. Just like your on-screen doppelgänger, you were wearing the same bikini in a bright, cherry-red hue beneath your tank top.
You wore it under your clothes damn near every day, indulging in the Millers’ backyard pool more often than not, and even being allowed to swim there on the days Sarah had summer camp—Joel had been so obliging.
So accommodating and sweet.
You never thought he’d be seeking your fucking twin online on a porn site after watching you traipse around his property wearing it. Your gut clenched; you clicked.
“Hey, sweetheart! Everything go OK?”
The voice that rumbled through the speakers was low. Male. Vaguely paternal and with a hint of a Southern lilt.
You swallowed, knowing exactly where this was going.
You weren’t sure why you were even watching when you could already predict what would become of it. The camera panned over a body identical to yours; it landed on a face that was smiling and sweet and so like your own you almost had to question whether it might not be you after all. Had you somehow forgotten this secret porn alter ego in a bout of amnesia? You kept watching.
The girl bit her bottom lip and let out the phoniest giggle.
“Yes, sir. Perfectly fine. Do you like my new bikini?”
Be so fucking serious, you thought, critically.
Then you remembered it was porn, not an Oscar-winning film. You saw the camera tilt down to her tits, and you had to admit, she had a great rack. A bit nicer than yours.
For a beat, you wondered if Joel had thought the same.
You had to batter those thoughts away, because the next second brought a big, burly hand onto the screen. It reached for the girl with her perfect, perky breasts and it kneaded them softly. No further pretense or prelude was needed—they just jumped right in and let it happen, like this was a normal thing for a babysitter and a boss to do.
Maybe in some other universe it was. In a world where a girl your age could just smile, and bat her eyes, and let them roll back gently as a whimper crossed her lips and she begged him, ‘More, daddy, more!’ this was all okay.
The man squeezed the flesh harder. She whined, and he proceeded to push the red nylon aside and expose the whole expanse of her breast—and holy shit, even the nipple looked like yours. Your mouth opened wider, and for a moment, it was like you couldn’t breathe as you watched that old, sun-kissed hand fondle the breast of a girl who looked just like you. Who was peering up at a man who sounded almost like Joel, murmuring, ‘Attagirl.’
You’d heard your boss say that once.
It had been such a silly, off-handed thing that you doubted he even remembered saying it. But one time, you’d struggled to open the passenger door to his truck before he drove you home. Once you’d narrowly managed to pry it open and slide into your seat, he’d laughed and rumbled: ‘Attagirl.’ Your face had warmed.
Just like your cheeks were doing now, all hot and bothered and desperate to hear more. Presently, the man slid the top off of the girl’s chest, and her breasts hung freely. You could hear him groan behind the camera at the sight, and not too long after that, before he could reach to touch her tits again, she was crawling on her knees toward him. Shuffling easily and expertly across the lawn chair and undoing the belt, button, and zip of his pants in a matter of seconds. A hand smoothed over her head, and you could see her preen beneath his touch.
Before she’d even wrapped her lips around his cock, your stomach was churning. Your fingers were stirring from the mouse and moving gently—again, of their own volition, it seemed—toward the waistband of your own bottoms. It was sick, admittedly. So wrong to be wanting to touch yourself to the very same video your boss had indulged in himself, in the very same chair he had done the deed. But you couldn’t help it. Your fingers slipped under the the fabric of your shorts, then your bikini, then your throat let out the tiniest noise upon seeing a cock appear on-screen. It was abnormally large, of course.
Silently, you wondered if Joel’s might not look the same. Your stomach flipped as soon as the girl took it in her mouth, and your index and middle fingers landed on your clit. You barely needed to touch to feel a jolt of pleasure.
Her head bobbed up and down. You felt powerless to do anything else but rub. And circle. And moan the slightest bit when you saw her coat his length with her shiny spit.
You heard that your noises mirrored hers. You didn’t care. Really, it felt as though you were in a trance, and you couldn’t stop watching, or touching, until you’d had your fill. Like Mr. Miller had done himself. It was all too much.
Before you even realized it, five minutes had passed, the man and woman on-screen were shifting from oral to raw, penetrative sex, and you were nearing your peak. Right before the cock that had been lodged down the girl’s throat could slide into her wet, glistening cunt, you felt your stomach lurch. You rubbed harder, watching the fat and leaking tip of the man’s cock tease through her folds, and just as he was about to slide in and you could finally find your release…a door banged open downstairs.
You almost screamed.
As quickly as you could, you yanked your hand out of your pants and clicked out of that browser even faster. The second you heard footfalls on the steps, you scampered out of there. Half-sprinting, half-tip-toeing down the hall and toward the bathroom, before halting at the door. You made your presence known with one light stomp of your foot, pretending to be turning and walking out, and as soon as you did, Joel was right there. Staring.
Sweating.
Scrubbing at his face with one weary hand, before taking a rag and wiping it through his beard. He sighed heavily.
“Long day?” you chirped while trying to mask the panic.
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Joel answered, voice wan, “How’s my little terror? Asleep? She give ya any trouble?”
Just asked me to buy her a toy online and inadvertently led me to find your internet Spank Bank archives full of women who look like me. Other than that, it was fine.
“I put her down about an hour ago. She was great.”
You forced a smile, and Joel seemed to believe it.
“Perfect. Need me to give you a ride home?”
“No, no, you should stay here with Sar—”
“‘S’alright. Tommy’s right downstairs.”
Of course he’d brought him home.
“No, really, I can walk. It’s fine—”
“Don’t be silly. C’mon, kiddo.”
Kiddo.
Kiddo.
The man had been jerking off to the thought of you for who knows how long, and now he called you ‘kiddo’?
You hated how arousing the nickname sounded from him
You despised yourself for rubbing your clit in his office.
Most of all, you loathed the way your panties had gotten wet the last time you’d climbed into his truck and heard that word crawl off of his old, drawling tongue: ‘Attagirl.’
Reluctantly, you nodded your head. You followed him downstairs and hoped the car door wouldn’t stick again.
He had to stop.
It was no longer a matter of ‘if’ but ‘when’ his dick would lead him straight off a cliff, and today, Joel was starting to think that precipice was looking extra nice. Tempting.
Almost as inviting as the divot he could see at the small of your back, glimmering with a couple hot beads of sweat under the midafternoon sun. He swallowed.
Sarah was at camp today. You’d had the time to yourself, and the weather was blistering hot, and of course, where else would you be but his backyard? He’d told you ad nauseum, ever since you started babysitting his kid, that his pool was open to you whenever you so chose to go.
Presently, Joel wished he could revoke that invitation.
Seeing how you were flipped on your stomach, body all soft and warm and splayed out on one of his deck chairs—wearing that fucking red swimsuit, of all things—Joel was left to ogle from his office window, and inside, he felt like a certified pervert. Arguably, he was. His old, worn hands had all but glided to find his mouse as soon as he’d sat down at his desk and saw you out there, and no sooner had his cursor found Chrome than his cock started to stir. He’d wanted to watch. If not you in all your bare, sun-baked glory, then surely the woman he could see getting her throat and cunt stuffed on his screen.
What the fuck was wrong with him?
Was he really that much of a gooner he couldn’t let his kid’s babysitter lounge outside without stroking his dick?
Shit. He had the bottle of lotion in one hand and the box of tissues in the other in no time at all. He ripped three free Kleenex aside and reached for his mouse once more.
He was pissed at himself. He toggled over to the Hub with a grunt, and in no time at all, had you pulled up.
Joel liked to pretend it was you, anyway.
If he couldn’t have the sweet young thing every swinging dick in this town would’ve killed to have himself, he could rub one out to a girl exactly like you. He could fantasize.
He could skip the video to 8:53 on the dot, as he always did, and he could rub himself raw. It wouldn’t take long.
He always fast-forwarded to that exact part, without fail, because she moaned like you then. He’d never forget it.
It had almost been six months since it happened, and he still remembered that sound as clear as day. You’d been hauling your backpack off the couch in the living room, having stuffed the thing full with more school supplies than you could feasibly carry, and Joel had been in the kitchen, unseen. You’d lifted the bag with effort, and once you had, you let out a soft but audible whine. You dropped the bag back down to your feet, and when you bent to try again, you’d moaned fully. It was like the stretch had made you feel good, or something. You’d huffed and managed to get the weight slung over your back with modest success, then left, but Joel had been changed. Too quickly had he retreated to his office and swore to find any clip where a moan sounded like that.
“Please! Feels like a fucking dre-e-e-e-e-eam—oh, OH!”
Granted, the dialogue was cheesy, but the sound after it was identical to the one you’d made. Joel repeated it.
He hadn’t even noticed, but he’d already lathered his hand and cock with lotion. He was scrubbing vigorously while your twin wiggled her hips and begged her co-star to put it in, to quit teasing her pussy like that, can’t you see I’m practically dripping for you, daddy? Look at it!
Unfortunately, Joel’s head was turned the other direction—away from the screen, and toward the window—watching you where you sat out on the lawn.
He stroked harder. He groaned.
You had just turned onto your back. Your tits looked incredible. Joel reckoned they’d look even better with his dick pushed up between them, and at the thought, his mouth watered. His lips were slightly parted, and he feared he might drool. What a sight he must have been then: jaw slack, lids heavy, cock in hand, and moan after moan bubbling out of his throat. He got closer to climax.
“Gonna teach ya, honey. Teach ya how to please a man.”
It wasn’t long after that that Joel heard the girl whine in pleasure—the man behind her had notched in the first inch and told her to behave—and meanwhile, he watched your chest rise and fall, rise and fall outside. It was calm. Unlike the girl being taught how to fuck poolside, you remained untouched. Spotless. Placid and serene while your hands picked up a magazine and began flipping through it. While Joel’s orgasm crested inside him, he wondered if you’d ever want to try something like that. Roleplay. Or would it be fake at all? Had you ever been touched by a man, shown the best ways to give and receive pleasure, or was it all brand new, like it was supposed to be for the woman on his screen? Joel panted, and he fucked his hand harder. He groaned.
“Oh, daddy, it’s so big! Feels so good going inside me!”
“You love gettin’ fucked by an older man, don’t you?”
“Yes, daddy, yes! Please don’t stop—oh, OHHH!”
Joel wanted to be the only older man you had.
If he wasn’t the first, he sure as fuck could be the last. Give you all the dizzying, euphoric feelings your body deserved and stretch you open gently for the taking.
He could teach you so much, ruin you for any oth—
Shit.
What the fuck was this asshole doing here?
At the back gate, he saw his neighbor Dieter.
The man strolled across the lawn, and Joel’s orgasm receded in a blink. He was walking right over to you.
No. No, no, no. Joel released his dick from its vice grip and felt the thing twitch in indignation. Meanwhile, the sound of skin on skin continued to flood his eardrums from out of the computer speakers, where the happy babysitter-boss duo was hitting a brutal pace. The girl let out one over-the-top shriek of pleasure, and Joel clicked pause. He toggled out of the browser. Then he redirected his gaze out the office window, where his own girl was being accosted by Dieter. His blood boiled with anger.
Who did this creep think he was? The man never so much as looked Joel’s way or approached his property unless it was to ask to be ‘lent’ some booze or else ask after some friend, relative, or coworker Dieter wanted to be introduced to—he was perennially unemployed and a fuckboy bachelor to his core. The last Joel had heard, he’d spent the last year in Los Angeles, or Paris, or some other too-big city to chase his singing and acting dreams
And here he was now, hitting on his poor, defenseless babysitter. Joel wouldn’t stand for that in any world.
Though his dick was still erect, it had softened some, too. His rage facilitated that, and him shoving his length back in his jeans, zipping it up, and all but punching the desktop off made it spongier still. He walked like he was mad at the floor beneath his boots. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling so defensive—he had just been rubbing one out to the sight of you less than five minutes ago—but now wasn’t the time for thinking. He had to act.
Protect, if he had to.
What if his neighbor wanted to go for a swim, too?
Joel would drown the man with his two bare hands if he so much as reached for your bikini-clad form. He stalked loudly down the hall and searched for a less sweaty shirt to wear, then some deodorant, then a comb. He peered in the bathroom mirror and saw his black-and-grey locks all out of sorts, and for a second, he contemplated taking a shower. You’d probably be able to smell his unsatisfied desire from outside. He looked, and felt, a bit unhinged.
Joel decided he didn’t care, before plodding downstairs.
Outside, you lay in the same position he’d seen you last. Your hand was shielding your face. You were smiling.
And beside you, Dieter was grinning even bigger.
Joel made a beeline down the porch steps, then across the lawn, like his life might’ve depended on it. Scowling.
“—but getting cast in Gladiator II would’ve been wild—”
Of course Dieter was yapping about his failed acting career. Of course. Joel could hear him drone on as he approached, though he didn’t register a word of what he said. Instead, he waved a hand. He feigned a calm tone:
“Dieter! How’s it going?”
And he slowed down, too.
Just as he drew in, his neighbor volleyed a look his way. Joel couldn’t miss how his smile twitched down a little.
“Joel.”
Accepting a cordial hand in greeting.
“Doing alright, how ‘bout yourself?”
Joel nodded fine, just fine and offered some offhand remark about not having seen him since last summer, and Dieter couldn’t resist the chance to puff up and mention a school he’d been attending. Joel didn’t hear it, or give a shit. His gaze was already trained on you. Your own flitted from Dieter, to Joel, then to Dieter again, and your lips were smiling kindly enough. You seem humored.
“Mr. Bravo just got back from Berlin,” you beamed.
Then Dieter met your look and shook his head.
“Dieter, sweetie, Dieter. Or Dee, if you want.”
Joel almost wanted to vomit in his mouth.
“Germany, huh? What brings you here?”
No sense in beating around the bush.
Joel meant to ask why Dieter was here, in his backyard, with his babysitter, of course. Why the fuck he was eyeing you like that, like your tits were two Emmys and the only way to earn it himself was to stare as long, and as hard, as possible. Joel cleared his throat instinctively.
Dieter blinked and cast a glance back to him.
“Oh, here. Yeah. I, um…I just wanted to see if you had that— that—” He snapped his fingers, “That leafblower.”
Leafblower?
He was so full of shit.
“My leafblower,” Joel repeated.
It was fucking July, for crying out loud.
Evidently, his neighbor didn’t seem to care. He met Joel’s gaze with an even look, and he nodded his head.
He doubled down: “Yeah, the leafblower. I’ve had some debris pile up in my yard since I’ve been gone, y’know.”
“Are you gonna be in Austin long? Or are you going back overseas once you’ve had that casting call?” you asked.
You cocked your head with genuine curiosity. Joel grit his teeth, but he tried not to let his discontent show anyplace else on his face. A muscle might’ve jumped when he saw how smugly Dieter smirked at your intrigue.
“Oh, I’ll be here long enough, don’t you worry,” he said.
That was it.
Joel gestured to the shed in the back corner of the yard, about to tell Dieter that the leafblower was in there, go knock yourself out, when his neighbor cut in once again.
“In the meantime, maybe I’ll have you babysit for me. I hate to steal Sarah’s pal, but maybe you can split your time between my place and Joel’s. What do you think?”
You blinked a little quicker, like you weren’t quite sure what to say at first. Joel took the chance to interject.
“You don’t have any kids, Bravo,” he practically growled.
“I know. I’ve got cats, though,” Dieter just grinned back, flitting a cheeky look to you. “And you have no idea how naughty those pussycats can get while a man’s away.”
That was really all Joel could take. He didn’t even let you answer; he just pointed to the shed and made a fist with his other hand at his side. His chest was heaving breaths.
“You and her can chat when she’s off the clock, how ‘bout that? Leafblower’s in the shed. Door’s unlocked.”
His words didn’t invite protest of any kind. Dense as he was, Dieter probably sensed that he’d ticked his neighbor off with the suggestive comment to his babysitter, and he backed away, both literally and figuratively. He bid a quick, cavalier goodbye with a shit-eating grin stretching his lips, and then he went to the storage shed and left.
You were still blinking, still creasing your brows tight, by the time the back gate had slammed shut behind him. You watched after him, teeth gnawing at your cheek.
“He seemed like a funny gu—”
“What do you think you’re doin’?”
Joel’s words appeared to sting like a slap in the face. You jerked your head back to him, seeming to say, ‘What?’
“You know what. Don’t play innocent now,” Joel griped.
You continued to stare, then started to shake your head.
“Mr. Miller—”
“Don’t Mr. Miller me, either,” he snapped, far shorter than he’d ever spoken to you before. His nostrils flared, “You’re old enough to know better. You did all of that.”
“All of what?” you shot back.
“Attracted men like Dieter into my yard.”
“He’s your neighbor! What do you expect?”
Offense marred your tone. He didn’t entirely blame you.
“No, no—he never sticks his nose over here unless he sees something he wants. You were flaunting yourself.”
At that, your mouth fell open.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Miller? Are you serious?”
“Language, young lady—”
“I don’t give a shit.” You stood up from your chair. Your eyes flashed with ire. Just like his hands had before, yours curled into fists. You stood your ground with him. “You invited me to come swim here whenever I wanted to. You did that, asshole. What did you expect me to sunbathe in, army fatigues and fucking combat boots?”
Joel blinked hard at that. He didn’t like being mocked.
“Still shouldn’t be that damn skimpy. And I said lang—”
“Yeah, yeah. Thanks, dad. Don’t act like you’re mine.”
Don’t act like you’re mine.
Joel’s chest tightened. His gaze seared into yours, almost as though he were as angry as you were now, but deep down, the man only felt remorse. Resentment. Whatever rage he harbored now was reserved for himself
He shouldn’t have gone there.
He shouldn’t have masked his own jealousy with pseudo paternal scolding. He looked like a dickhead doing that.
And you weren’t shy to let him know it in the slightest.
Presently, your finger was jabbed in his face. You were planted less than two feet from where he stood, and though you were noticeably dwarfed by his size, your next words had him beat by a foot, if he’d had to guess.
“I watch your kid, Joel. I am not your daughter. If you don’t want me hanging around here in my hot red bikini, then you can just say that. But don’t blame me for him.”
Joel bristled at your words, though he wasn’t sure why. When he opened his mouth to speak again, you added:
“And don’t blame me for that, either.”
Suddenly, he realized your finger was pointed at his legs.
Or, rather, what was poking up stiff between them.
Joel’s cheeks heated up to a thousand degrees.
You’d just caught him. You’d seen his arousal.
And you were turning on your heels again.
Before Joel could even try to summon the words to his tongue, you were grabbing your things. Shoving your shoes onto your feet. And Joel had only to stand there.
Feeling stupid and inert beside you.
As you went to the back gate, he somehow managed to call that you didn’t have a car, let him drive you back.
You didn’t even dignify his words with a verbal response.
You just raised your middle finger over your shoulder.
And then the gate crashed shut behind you.
You would be walking home that day.
Two big eyes and round cheeks were all you could see.
Then, they darted beneath the covers and were gone.
“Oh no, where’d sweet Sarah go?” you wondered aloud. Sitting at the edge of the bed and pretending not to see where she’d just dipped her head under the blankets, you furrowed your brows and proceeded to pat around you.
Everywhere you felt with your hands, you completely ignored the big lump under the duvet. It was a game.
A silly one at that—hide-and-go-seek was generally best left to places where you couldn’t figure out her location in the blink of an eye. But you played along. You heard a soft giggle. You continued feeling around the twin-sized mattress like this was the most bewildering puzzle of all.
“Whe-ere’s Sarah?” you sing-songed.
You heard a shuffling of limbs, a sniffle.
Your palm tapped right by those little feet.
And as soon as you did, she screamed. At four years old, Sarah hadn’t quite mastered the art of being stealthy.
You’d cut her some slack. You always had.
Blindly passing where her body lay, you glided to the opposite side of her bed and tapped inquiringly there.
“Is she…here?” You got a pillow.
“No!” Sarah shrieked back.
Such a helpful, obliging kid. She’d make a terrible spy.
“Is she…up here?” You rapped the headboard twice.
“No!!” she squealed.
You glanced over at the clock on her nightstand. It was approaching bedtime. Taking note of this, and knowing you couldn’t keep up with the charade for much longer, you let out a sigh. You stood from the bed, looked around the room with dramatic éclat, then started to walk away.
“Okay…I guess if Sarah’s not here I’ll have to leave…”
The second you said that, Sarah threw the covers back. She jumped up in bed, and she stomped her little feet.
“No! No! I’m here! I’m here!”
You spun on your heels, eyes wide with faux surprise.
“Sarah!”
And then you rushed back over, just in time to watch her drop to the bed and flash you a wide, exuberant smile.
“Your Sarah,” she corrected.
She adored it when you called her that. Your Sarah.
You nodded your head in agreement, “My Sarah. Sorry.”
She nodded too, like she’d just reminded you of the most important thing, and then she slipped back under her covers. She let you drag the purple duvet over her frame, all the way up to her chin, and when she was all snug inside, she gave another smile. She kicked her feet again.
“Stay,” she commanded, tone still sugar-sweet.
“I will, baby. ‘Til your daddy gets back, I’ll be here.”
“I mean forever!” Sarah dragged out the last syllable, and, not yet content with the answer you’d proffered, tried swaying you again, still more emphatic, “For-ever!”
If your daddy wasn’t such an ass, I might consider it.
Instead, you smiled back at her and shook your head. You smoothed the hair away from her face, then you leaned in and kissed her forehead with a gentle peck.
“Then my family would miss me. I gotta see them.”
“Says who?” Sarah’s pout was unmistakable.
Before you could reply, she cut in again.
“You can be my family. My mommy.”
Your throat constricted at those words. You weren’t sure what to say, or how to assuage your sweet Sarah then.
Again, you were about to open your mouth to speak, when your pint-sized companion piped up again. This time, her voice was softer. Surprisingly delicate and low.
“I want you to be my mommy,” she told you quietly, “Then you’ll live here. With me and daddy. And you’ll never have to go home again and we can play all day!”
Your heart ached. You kissed the tip of her nose and turned away, momentarily, to hide the hurt on your face.
Sarah Miller deserved much more in a mother than you.
When you looked up again, her grin was big. Hopeful.
“Don’t you wanna be my mommy too?” she asked.
“‘Course I do, baby,” you answered without hesitation, “But…don’t you think your daddy should have a say too?”
Somehow, her face got even brighter.
“He will! He— he…”
Sarah trailed off a second, as if considering her words. She didn’t understand what marriage meant. You’d help.
“Your daddy,” you finished for her, speaking slow and soft as you leaned in close, “is a good man who deserves a good woman to make your mommy. Don’t you agree?”
She bit the inside of her cheek.
“Yeah, but—”
“And a mommy’s gotta be someone he really loves.”
“But he…”
She was thinking again. You could tell. You pressed on.
“He is gonna find someone great someday. He’ll love you and her to bits, and y’all will get to play together all day.”
“But he loves you!” Sarah cried, at length.
A beat.
Your breath faltered.
The girl’s words had scarcely hung in the air for more than two seconds, and their meaning hardly registered in your brain before your own were coming out fast. Certain
“Your daddy doesn’t love me, baby. I’m just his friend.”
“Yes, he does! He told me so himself!”
Again, you shook your head.
“You misunderstood him, sweetie.”
You tried to smooth her hair back again, but Sarah’s head bucked away. She scrunched up her nose in clear protest and refused to let you cradle her face until she’d spoken her piece. When she did, her voice was pleading all over:
“Daddy loves you, he told me. You can be my mommy.”
And for what seemed like the hundredth time that night, you felt your heart balloon in your chest. Your gut clenched—but not for the reasons she or you wanted it to. The truth was that you didn’t have the words to tell a four-year-old girl that her father didn’t love you like that at all, that his head and his heart were anywhere but with you, and that, if you were being honest, you were furious with him. How he could so much as hint at such nonsense was beyond you. His little girl dreamed of having a mother. It was stupid and senseless and cruel to even suggest that that woman could be you. You sighed.
But, despite your every thought and feeling to the contrary, you knew you had to soothe the girl with some small semblance of hope. Something to hold her over for the night, so she didn’t cry herself to sleep thinking that you didn’t want to be her mommy. Gently, you leaned in.
You lifted the covers back up from where they’d fallen. You tucked them snug around her torso, and you paused.
Your tone was measured and soft when you spoke next:
“I don’t know about your daddy, baby. What I do know is that I would be the luckiest lady alive to get to be your mommy, alright? I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”
And you meant it. You saw one look light up her face, and every ounce of anger that had been provoked by her father was forgotten in an instant. Her grin ensured it.
“Anywhere,” she parroted back.
“Anywhere,” you said, again.
Then you kissed the crown of her head, wished her sweet dreams, cut the little light off. You left the room quietly.
It was only when you were out of there and far enough away down the hallway that your skin started to burn.
You couldn’t help it. Anger was fast to trickle back.
This feeling was only compounded when the next moment brought a sound to the landing on the stairs. You glanced over down the hall, muscles all tensing at once, and when you saw him there, it was as though your rage just bubbled over. Your jaw clenched; your stomach flipped in a way so decidedly unlike how it had done for him two days ago, in his office, and suddenly, your throat was working again. You kept your voice low this time, keen not to draw Sarah’s attention out there, but the words you used were clear. Quiet. Doubtlessly effective.
Even in the dark, you saw his brows jump when he heard:
“Joel, we need to talk.”
It had been two years since he’d had a woman in here.
Joel wished it were under any circumstances but these.
Presently, your eyes were ablaze. The two of you had just stepped into his room and shut the door behind you, and with the click of a latch, you hadn’t thought to hold it in:
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
He blinked.
Well, many things.
Joel wouldn’t have had the space to explain it all if you’d given him a week, and still, he had to say something. He blinked again, made a sound in his throat as if to clear it, then shook his head. His shoulders sagged in his jacket.
“I…I’m sorry.”
For the other day. For getting caught up in his own anger and taking it out on you. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was apologizing for now, or what he should say, but he thought it best to start there. He shrugged his jacket off and set it over the back of the nearest chair. He turned to you again, where you were standing with a warning look.
“Don’t say sorry to me,” you said. “Say sorry to Sarah.”
Sarah?
Before he could speak, you went on.
“You’re just setting her up for heartbreak, you know that? I mean how selfish— how stupid could you possibly be?”
You pursed your lips like tears might threaten if you didn’t. This caught him off guard—his daughter? What could he have said or done to hurt her in any of this?
“What are you talking about?”
“You said I’d be her mom, Joel!”
He winced. You furrowed your brows and set your mouth in a line—really trying to fight the emotion behind it—and, while all the rest of you bristled in anticipation for what was to come, Joel softened. He didn’t mean to. He didn’t want to be the guy who lost his head at the thought of seeing you cry and forget the whole reason you were upset with him in the first place, but he couldn’t help it. Though you looked like you wanted to kill him right then, Joel drew closer. He shifted toward you.
“Did— did she, uh…call you…mommy?” he said, pained.
“Yeah. And you let her believe she could,” you spat.
He hadn’t meant to do that, either. Sarah had been calling you that for a while when you weren’t around to hear, and after enough times telling her otherwise, he’d just stopped correcting her on it. Sarah wanted a mother. You were the closest thing she had, and who was he to sabotage that? At the time, he’d just wanted to…pretend.
That was a running theme he had going with you.
Right now, you didn’t seem to care about that.
You just rolled your eyes in that cool, juvenile way when you didn’t hear a response from him, and he had to bite his tongue from saying something worse. He hated when you did that. It made him remember your age—the reality of you being his kid’s babysitter and how guilty he should feel for wanting to do something more about that eyeroll.
He wasn’t your father.
You weren’t Sarah’s mother, either.
You most certainly weren’t the girl on his computer screen, as much as he would’ve liked to see you that way, and even though you were standing here in his bedroom.
That was all fantasy. Make-believe. This was his reality.
You were visibly pissed and wouldn’t budge an inch.
“Is it really so bad if she says it?” he grit out.
Your eyes widened. You scoffed.
“Of course it is, Joel!”
You backed away.
He hated seeing that, too. He hated having you move from him, not toward him, wearing that scowl on your lips as you did. His fingers twitched—itched—at his side.
“Sarah’s young. She doesn’t…mean anything by it. She’ll grow out of it soon enough. And I don’t want to hurt her.”
“You’ll hurt her even worse by not telling her the truth!” you snapped. You sounded exasperated saying it now. “We’re not a family. I’m the goddamn babysitter, and— and— you’re Sarah’s father. Act like it, for Christ’s sake.”
That set his teeth on edge.
Joel felt the urge to fight back, but narrowly refrained. He flexed his fingers, and he bit down hard to keep the vitriol at bay. Because that was exactly what fathers did. They controlled their anger; even when faced with a smart-mouthed babysitter who wore his patience out.
Even when your arms were folded over your chest in that impossibly tight, white tank, and your tits looked like they might spill from the fabric at any given moment. Joel swallowed and refocused his gaze before going on.
“Don’t tell me how to be a father.”
Something flared in your eyes.
“Why? I’m fucking right.”
“Language, young lady.”
That only seemed to irk you worse; your hands flew up.
“Yeah, well,” you started, accusing, “If we’re playing house, I might as well be allowed to say what I like.”
“We are not playing hous—”
“But you want to, right? That’s why I’m always here.”
“No, I need a—”
“Maid? Mommy?”
You paced closer. Joel’s jaw clenched.
“Obedient little housewife?” you sneered.
Your eyes were shining like two derisive pools. With every blink, you seemed to mock him more. Goad him on and beg for your reward, though you hardly knew what it was.
“C’mon, Mr. Miller,” you chided, voice low, “What is it?”
What he was, or what he’d stand to take. It wasn’t this.
“Keep runnin’ that fuckin’ mouth, I’ll show you what.”
The words flew off his tongue before he could stop them.
It was a reflex—something that had been stewing in his mind since the second you’d set foot in his room and went on provoking him. But it was wrong, of course.
He was wrong for even thinking it, much less saying it.
Now your eyes were round, and your mouth was slightly agape, and your brain was likely working a thousand miles a minute to process what had just been said.
Joel had to fix it.
“That— that ain’t—” he began, already hating himself.
To his surprise, and embarrassment, a laugh rang out.
Its sound was explosive and short. It split the air with such hot, bitter force that his words dropped off. His gaze had no choice but to remain plastered on yours.
“Oh, I bet.”
You grinned, humorless.
You didn’t appear shocked in the slightest. In fact, his remark seemed only to embolden you then, as you teased that smile wider, drew yourself closer, and tipped your chin up. You looked doubly enlivened by his last admission. Vindicated in some strange, inexplicable way. Your breaths were warm, and the swell of your breasts came to hover just inches from his chest when the last thing he needed to happen, happened between you next.
You pointed again. Joel didn’t need to look down.
“‘Don’t tell me how to be a father,’” you repeated his words from before, voice taking on a low, faux baritone.
Your amusement was clear. His cock was hard.
It seemed you’d never let the latter slip past you.
“Is that what we’re gettin’ at here, Mr. Miller?” you asked, tone now precocious. Probing, “You showing me what a great daddy you are, and me being the mommy you al—”
“No.”
Joel pushed off. He didn’t want to hear another thing.
He headed straight for the door, prepared to usher you out of it. This conversation had taken an irreparable turn.
When he reached for the handle, though, he had to stop. Your voice made him stop, echoing from the opposite end of the room. Joel turned, and he saw you on his bed.
“I’m just curious. Is that really what you meant?”
You were sitting at the foot of it, legs casually hanging off. Your look was innocent, and still more knowing than Joel could bear. The heat left to swirl in his groin nearly suffocated him below the waist, and he inhaled deeply.
“Mean what? I didn’t…mean anything.”
His touch fell from the doorknob all the same.
Your feet were swinging when he faced you completely.
“Just like you didn’t mean for Sarah to call me mommy?”
Maybe he had meant it more than he let on. He couldn’t answer. Joel felt every bit the creep he knew himself to be—decades your senior and letting you rest on his bed, soft, smooth legs kicking back and forth as he watched.
He was good at that, wasn’t he? Watching. Waiting. Aching from the comfort of his home office while he watched those filthy clips on repeat, images of you flitting through his mind at every stretch, moan, and whimper. His will was powerless to his perverted needs. He had only to defend himself against their influence by planting his feet firmly in place and refusing to move.
“You wanna teach me, though. Don’t you, daddy?”
It was as though your words reached him from another place. Somewhere deep within the recesses of his mind—his memory—and the tone of it stirred him. It was familiar, in ways you couldn’t have possibly understood. Unless you were living in his head, there was no way in hell you could’ve known what those lines meant to him.
‘Gonna teach ya, honey. Teach ya how to please a man.’
It made him ache.
Joel still wouldn’t move, but you could come to him.
He blinked once, and you were there. Off the bed. Walking to him. Down on your knees in front of him.
This had to be the work of his own sick imagination.
He groaned at just the sight of your smile, curving slow.
And then you peeled off your top, revealing the bright, nylon, cherry-red fabric he’d seen far too many times on his computer screen and off it—on you, by his pool. Joel sucked in a breath and shook his head, gaze darkening.
“Thought you didn’t wanna play mommy,” he growled.
If this was all just in his head, he could talk as he wanted.
“I don’t,” you answered him soberly. Suddenly, your chin was in his hand. Your eyes were still glistening up at him. “But you need to get this out of your system. Just once.”
Out of his system.
Joel was out of his fucking mind with desire.
“Just once?” His voice cracked as he said it.
Only one time. That was alright. Forgivable.
From what he half-believed to be a figment of his own perverted mind came the word from your lips: ‘Once.’
The next had the thumb that was cupping your chin slipping between those same lips. Still smiling while your mouth slid down to his knuckle. You sucked him gently.
And in just one glimpse, one fleeting second on that lone, thick thumb, the sight below him had every other obscene thing entrenched in his memory beat by a mile. You were better than everything else he’d seen or tried to dream up. You were real, he hoped, sliding your shiny wet lips up and down the surface of his skin, and when you pried them off, and you asked for his cock, he had no choice but to oblige. He had to rack his brain for words.
This was his babysitter, his daughter’s companion, his—
“Sweet fuckin’ girl,” he said when he first felt you there.
Before he even knew what became of his belt, buckle, and zip, the base of his cock was in your hand, and your lips were hovering precariously over the tip. Your breaths were soft and hot. Your graze drank him in with curiosity.
“Should I kiss you here, daddy?” Your mouth lowered.
“Right there, sweetie,” Joel breathed out.
He truly couldn’t believe it when the warmth of you enveloped his tip. When the first lick of your tongue came to collect the bead of precum sitting at the slit and he damn near bucked his hips up. You licked at it again.
And again. And again. And again.
You whimpered lightly, enjoying the taste.
The second you pulled your mouth away, Joel hissed.
“Baby, please—” he started, tone strained.
“What? Where does daddy want it?”
The question was so innocent.
It was clear you wanted to hear him guide you through it, as evidenced by the way your lips twitched at his hand smoothing down and over the crown of your head. Joel held it like he might never get this chance again, and, at once, his voice lowered along with it. He scarcely recognized himself with how gently he spoke then.
“Let daddy show you,” he said, “Open your mouth.”
And you did.
Your jaw fell slack, your lips split apart, and your eyes peered up with a wide and open stare. In a look, you seemed already to say that you trusted him to fill it.
No sight on a screen could’ve made him so hard.
He fed you an inch, eyes locked with yours as he did. His cock slid in another, and another, then stopped. He pulled back. The wetness and the warmth of your mouth nearly did him in, and the way you whined for more had him fisting your hair tight. Trying to keep his composure.
“That alright, honey? Feel…nice goin’ in?”
“Yes, daddy,” you hummed obediently.
Your mouth opened wider.
“More, please?”
Your tongue was flattened in a second. Joel slid back in, and his shaft was greeted by the slick, shiny cushion of the muscle underneath. He sank in. He invaded every inch of your mouth he could find, and he breathed out.
“Just like that, sweetie. Takin’ daddy so well.”
What little gurgles he heard stifled between your lips at that, spit drooling gently from either side, he only found more endearing. When he pulled back and saw strings of your spit trail after its path, he felt delirious. You were real, coating the whole throbbing length of his cock with your saliva and your precious soft whines, and you were sweet for him. Pliant for his cock. Jaw obliging and inviting and hanging wide open for him to fuck again.
He let you have it. He slid in once, grazed your throat, slid out again. He cupped your face in his hands and thumbed your cheeks. He coaxed your lips wider for him. You took it all well; you responded to every tender little directive from the man who was stuffing your mouth, ‘Faster now, atta girl’ and ‘Take daddy deeper’ and ‘Keep that pretty mouth open and those eyes on me.’ Joel was so caught up in the feel and the friction and the intimacy of every passing moment that he almost didn’t see when you started to shift your legs. Parting them.
And, right when the head of his cock had reached the back of your mouth and was teasing down your wet, open throat, he felt it fully: your whimpering plea.
You grinding your cunt against the toe of his boot, and peering up at him with eyes all wet, wide, and needy.
You rutted your hips. It looked like you couldn’t help it.
It seemed as though it were a mere spasm of the body that you couldn’t control—like his cock down your throat was too good for your sense or your oversexed mind to handle. He’d scarcely stirred in place when he felt you humping him, whines rippling down his length with every bob of your head as you keened for some kind of release.
Joel had never seen anything like it. He didn’t know what to say or do except stroke his hand over your scalp and pin you with a look. His cock twitched in your mouth.
“Is that how we ask to get fucked in this house?”
His tone surprised him with how steady it stayed.
Your mouth still full of him, you tried to shake your head.
What came next was more instinct than logical thought; Joel pulled you off his cock and onto your feet. His touch on your body was soft. He couldn’t pinpoint a reason for his being so gentle, but every second that elapsed now seemed to demand it. He was teaching you to please. There could be no better place for kindness than here.
He’d lead you to the bed and guide you down himself. He’d tell you to open your mouth and then he would kiss it, and lick inside it. Maybe spit inside it, too. He’d tug at your bikini straps, watch your breasts give way to the pressure of the pull before bouncing right back in place. He’d take off your top. Latch his mouth around a nipple, swirl his tongue across the skin, and he’d kiss you again.
Joel did all these things, and you let him. You met him with whimpers, with wide open legs, and eventually, with your feet digging into the covers beneath you, begging, ‘Daddy, please put it in.’ Your gaze was febrile as you did.
Whether you meant it, or were simply pretending for him, gave Joel pause. Just as you’d tried to yank your jean shorts down your legs, he dropped his hands to your own. He stopped them in their path. He leaned closer.
“Do you know what you and me are about to do, hm?”
His question was barbed but sweet. Testing the waters.
Were you game to keep playing house? Did you want it?
These things mattered to Joel; whether the wetness between your legs was meant for him and him alone. Whether you needed him there, like the breath in your lungs. He wouldn’t fuck you if he wasn’t. He might feel lonely at times—desperate to feel your cunt squeeze his too-old cock like your life depended on it—but he was a man who wanted to be wanted, too. An instant of clarity hit, and suddenly he was asking it, plain and in your face:
“Do you wanna do what mommies and daddies do?”
Your mouth fell slack. Again. You nodded.
Either you were the single best actress, or you wanted it. Hoping desperately for the latter, Joel kissed the side of your face. You turned your head, quickly, and captured his lips in yours instead. You pulled him down to you.
“Like this?” you murmured, words muffled against him.
You wrapped your legs around his waist and then ground your clothed lower half with his—Joel’s cock was tucked haphazardly back in his boxers, and his jeans, unzipped, hung just underneath them around his hips. He felt like a teen again, clothes thrown askew and hormones all wild.
Except he wasn’t. He was a grown man, in his own bed, with his child fast asleep down the hall. He thanked his lucky stars that their rooms were as far apart as possible, and that he no longer had to worry about the prying eyes of his mom or dad trying to catch him out after curfew. This wasn’t high school, or a night out in college, or the time a condom had split and Sarah had been conceived.
Now if he could just make sure she didn’t get a sibling…
Kidding.
“Pill,” Joel choked out, just as your legs drew him in to meet your movements, “Are— are you on the pill, or—”
Am I going to have to hit up a Texaco at 10 PM to get some rubbers and admit I haven’t gotten laid in a year?
You grinned.
“IUD.”
That works, too.
Joel probably shouldn’t have seemed so eager. He probably shouldn’t have taken your face in his hands and kissed you so hard, either. But his skin was ablaze; his eyes were wild; his limbs were molten; and his head—you didn’t want to know where it was. What he was thinking.
What he wanted to tell you while he tugged his cock back out and started working his hand up and down it. It felt too intimate, too depraved, to be spoken aloud.
Then, to his shock, you said the words yourself:
“Show me how you’d make me a mommy anyway.”
If not for protection. If not for common sense. If not for that thrumming, pulsing, warning repetition in his head: Do not get her pregnant. Do not give your kid a sibling.
But this was all pretend, wasn’t it?
Joel yanked down your shorts, practically tore them from your legs, and situated himself between them, breathing hard and fast, before he nodded his head and kissed you. With his one free hand, he held the base of his dick, and he guided it closer to your slick, puffy, aching entrance through the barrier of your red bikini. He rutted his hips.
You were bare beneath him, save for that one scrap of fabric between your lower half and his. You smiled, and you wriggled your body against his, and you drew him in. Joel groaned when he felt you slide your bottoms to the slide and let him feel, for the first time, how wet you were. How warm, inviting, and tight that cunt must be and how badly he needed it. How desperately he had to be buried inside that heat—he all but panted the words:
“Can daddy put it in?”
You spread your legs wider. You nodded.
Then he did. Without one breath of a thought to the contrary, he pushed the head of himself past the fabric, through your folds, into that wet and precious spot he’d only dreamed he’d ever feel, and he let out a full-throated moan. He felt your walls contract, heard the tender little squelch of your body making room for his length, and he damn near blew his whole load right there. You felt good.
Your chest rose with a breath, and your eyes widened.
Like you hadn’t just had him down your throat, drenched in your spit and gliding in and out: “He’s so big, daddy.”
Joel’s lips kissed your cheek. His tip kissed your cervix. You whined a little, and he pulled you in closer to him.
“I know, honey, I know,” he cooed, rocking you with the softest motions, “Ain’t that what mommy likes, though?”
Your lips parted again. A strangled whine of assent slid out, just as his hips withdrew himself back to that shiny, bulbous head, and then he fucked back in. Back and forth, back and forth, Joel sent your body bouncing with every thrust. He felt you clench, and the strokes sped up.
The bed creaked underneath. It seemed to shake the whole room. In truth, there wasn’t a thought in Joel’s head except for the ones relating to you and how good you took his cock, but somewhere, not far off, there was the instinct of a father idling too. With every stab of the headboard against the wall and every moan of yours under him he had to smother with his lips, he was reminded you two had to be quiet. He leaned in.
Grazing your ear with a stubbled chin, and fucking you gently into his bed, Joel sank his weight even lower.
“Can mommy stay real quiet for daddy? Can she try?”
From the way your eyes were glazed, he expected you to nod. And you did, just barely, heels digging in the mound of his ass and your fingers finding his sides. But then you slid a touch up his ribs; you squeezed the flesh. You let him pound your cunt for a few more precious seconds, and just when he thought that was the end of it, you tilted your head to him. Your nose bumped his, and you grinned, flashing the single most pretty, fucked-out look.
“Feels like a fucking dream, daddy,” you breathed.
Joel balked. He almost stopped right then and there.
Please! Feels like a fucking dre-e-e-e-e-eam—oh, OH!
Oh.
You couldn’t have known that.
There was no shot you knew where the fuck those words were from. Or what they meant. Joel furrowed his brow and kept rutting his hips, hands tightening in the sheets beside your head as the scene from his naughty all-time favorite film flickered briefly through his mind. No shot.
Then your legs wound around the backs of his even tighter, and your eyes were all but shining with a fresh, twisted glint. With a measured tone, you went on for him:
“He’s so big, daddy. Feels so good going inside me.”
You even mimicked her tone. Joel paled above you.
His hips stalled a moment, and your cunt hugged him tight. Your teeth nipped at his chin, playfully, and before he could even try to speak again, your lips were there.
At his ear, whispering what he’d dreaded hearing most.
“You should really clear those PornHub searches after you’re done. Or at least lock your office while I’m here.”
Joel’s thrusts stopped completely.
He was about to search for his voice again, when your walls clamped down around him, and his vision went swimming. His cock pulsed inside you, and he groaned.
Then his hips picked up; it wasn’t a conscious decision. He just needed to fuck, needed to finish, needed to see the light twinkle and burst behind your eyes while he stuffed your cunt full. It didn’t matter what you knew—your lips were curled in such a sweet, smug smile below him, there was likely no use in trying to explain himself now. Joel just gritted his teeth, and he tried smiling back. He fucked you faster, and harder, than he’d done before.
When you clawed at his back, the pace grew merciless. Every inch of the space around him, it seemed, was filled with the sounds of skin slapping skin, whimpers, and moans. As before, Joel almost didn’t recognize his voice.
‘That so?’ was all it could manage to get out at present.
With your cunt fluttering repeatedly, hips rolling with his own, and those lips letting moans spill out one after the next, it was all he could do to try to keep his composure.
Joel kissed you, and then he flipped your body around. He moved back to find the headboard and rest himself against it, got your legs straddling his, and slid you down
Down, down, down on his cock. Stretching you out. Then moving you back up again. Making you bounce in his lap and have your hands fumble to find his shoulders. You squeezed his biceps and moaned, and at the same time, his slick-smeared lower half rutted to greet yours. Your essence drenched him; he could feel it soak straight through the black-and-gray hairs at the base of his cock.
You looked perfect like this—better than any girl on camera could’ve been. Your hips rolled, and you moaned while sliding up and down on his dick, again and again. Joel felt the trembling pulse through your body and his, groaned at the grip of your cunt around him, and helped you ride him. With one hand at the small of your back and the other cupping your face, he held you close to him. Your pace quickened, and the hand at your chin made its way to your throat, to hold you firmly there.
Joel had a thumb on your pulse and his eyes raking over your writhing form when he felt compelled to talk again.
Share a truth, since all the rest was coming out anyway.
He didn’t think so much as feel it flow from there, like the blood rushing through his veins. Joel winced at a fresh influx of pleasure and let you grind on him twice more. Then he was gripping you tighter, fucking up into you harder, and he was skimming his teeth along your skin. As a knot coiled deep within his stomach, he let it out:
“Wanna cum inside this pussy, baby. Fill her up with me.”
The head of his cock struck a dizzying blow to someplace close to your cervix, and you held him tighter.
“Yeah, Mr. Miller?” You couldn’t help the teasing tone.
You fought a breathless laugh, then were forced to suck in a gasp of air just as quick; his length sheathed itself inside you completely, and Joel’s grip constricted on your throat. He kissed you. He lapped his tongue into your mouth while he fucked up into you, again and again.
You whined, and he mumbled against you, “That’s right.”
You hissed at him deep in your guts, and he went on:
“Gonna stuff her full. Make her wet and messy and drippin’ with me. Show mommy how much daddy lov—”
He cut himself short. His balls were heavy, full, and ready to paint you white, but that line was a touch too far, even now. He couldn’t say it outright and not sound like a fucking creep, no matter how deep in this roleplay you happened to be. Joel squeezed your hips and grunted.
And, for what felt like the fifteenth time that night, you surprised him. Your chin tilted to his, your lips brushed against his mouth, and you smiled, again. It was tender.
“How much does daddy love me, hm? Show me.”
Your walls clenched at the end of the last sentence, and Joel couldn’t help but groan in your mouth. His eyes lifted to yours, and in your gaze, he found anything but incredulity—you already knew what he felt, somehow.
“Sarah tell you that, too? That I love you?” he growled.
He’d said it once. At the time, he hadn’t thought he’d meant it at all, but the words just sounded so good when it came to you. Sarah had asked him if he’d wanted you to be her mommy someday, if he loved you like a daddy loves a mommy, and he’d said he did. Looking back, it hadn’t felt half as good as it did right now: peering into your eyes, feeling your warmth swallow him whole, and sensing you were nearing your climax, all because of him. It made him want to say it over again, now face-to-face.
Be it roleplay, fantasy, fixation—he needed to say it now.
“Daddy does love you,” he went on, before you could even respond. His pelvis rutted against yours, and his gaze stayed steeped in desire as he felt you grip harder, “Loves you so damn much he wants to stuff a big load in that pretty little cunt. Make you his. That alright by you?”
Your gaze went blank in an instant. Your lips twitched.
Something delectably wet, tight, and far too tempting shuddered someplace inside you, and with pride, Joel sensed the remnants of it leak out and smear his tummy. You liked that idea. Still, you seemed hesitant as your teeth snagged your bottom lip between them. You drew one steadying breath, and you slowed your movements.
“I’ve never…had that,” you admitted quietly.
Then that sticky-sweet embrace your cunt held him in got even wetter. Like your mind wasn’t fully on-board, but your body was all in. You were close, by the feel of it.
But Joel would only give what you were fully ready to take. At length, he lowered one hand to the small of your back, and his thumb rubbed at the skin. He let you feel him in only the shallowest of strokes, bouncing you softly
“Ain’t gotta be inside, then,” he murmured, assuring, “I’ll shoot this load wherever mommy tells me to go, alright?”
That made you whimper.
From there, your mind seemed to be decided all at once.
“Cum inside. I-I want it.”
Joel swallowed thickly.
“You sure, sugar? I can—”
Suddenly, your hips were stirring. They started up quicker than before, and your hand was swift to plant itself flat on his chest, as though to stabilize yourself.
“Cum. In. Me.”
It was the most decisive, and desperate, you’d sounded all night. Your gaze flitted to his, and in it, he saw a plea.
With a look like that, Joel knew he couldn’t make you wait. He wouldn’t make you wait. Trying not to smirk as he did, he leaned in and kissed you, and felt you drip more arousal as something knotted in your belly. He smoothed your hair away and delivered the gentlest thrusts from below—he knew it wouldn’t take much.
“Mama goes first,” he prodded. He felt you tense, and clench, and leak a little more down his front, and when the head of cock nicked a soft ridge, he groaned, too. “Cum for daddy now and he’ll give you his load, OK?”
Then his touch slipped between your legs. You keened.
“Daddy, I—” you hiccuped, grip tightening like a vice when his thumb found your clit and started rubbing.
Joel circled faster.
“Breathe, baby. Breathe.”
“I can’t,” you cried, “Feels too—”
Good. Your body seemed to finish for you.
It started with a pulse. Then a pinch. A trickling warmth. Joel hardly knew what else to do but keep rubbing that little pearl between your folds, even when you started to gush around his hand. It wet his tummy; it drenched all the hairs around the base of his cock, and still, he kept thumbing your clit and rocking you back and forth above him. He let you cry out and bite his shoulder while your climax tore through you, and though he knew you had to be quiet, he couldn’t help but relish the sound. He smiled
“That’s it. That’s my girl. Give it to daddy.”
And, while he also told you to keep breathing and let him have it all, he was right here—in a matter of seconds, he was slipping off, too. He couldn’t hope to try and stop it. With one more pulse of your walls, you groaned and got your wet, spent, needy hole stuffed full of him, just how you’d asked. Joel flooded your insides with his seed and kept you fucked straight down to the hilt so he wouldn’t see a drop of himself escape. He hugged you tight and heard you whine at that primal sensation, getting pumped with rope after rope of his cum, then he felt your limbs go limp. Joel kissed the side of your face. He cradled you, held you securely in place, and let the last of his spend paint your walls in a couple more gentle spurts
When it was over, he stroked your back. He sensed the aftershocks of your climax pass through your tired frame, and he made sure not to rock you too hard against him. He just wanted you to feel that he was there, if the heft of his cum and his cock still deep inside you wasn’t enough.
His head grew clearer, too. While still drawing short, ragged breaths in time, he managed to find the words that had evaded him before—what he should’ve said.
“‘M’sorry,” he mumbled into your hair.
You just nuzzled your face deeper.
“Don’t be.”
“But I—”
Then you tilted your head—enough for your gaze to meet with his, briefly, and tell him all that he needed to hear.
“You’re a good dad, Joel.”
He opened his mouth, but you were already pressing on.
“And I don’t…mind if Sarah calls me what she wants for now. I’m sure you’ll find someone great to be her mom someday, and then this whole thing won’t even matter.”
For some reason, the sound of it made Joel wince.
He couldn’t quite place the feeling, but he knew he didn’t want you thinking that. His grip constricted around you.
“No,” he muttered, indistinct. Defiant.
“No?”
You almost laughed.
It was insane, admittedly—just last night he’d been dreaming of the feel of you in the grip of his fist, wishing for nothing but his own release and a fleeting thought of your body underneath him, and here he was, doing this.
You’d said it was a one-and-done deal, and maybe it was.
But for him, maybe, it wasn’t. He’d be remiss not to try.
If you shot him down and left him to pine and meander through the manifold archives of PornHub for the rest of his horny life, that would be alright. At least he had tried.
With these thoughts thrumming through his brain, Joel was about to pull you closer and venture to speak again, when, for the second time, his words were cut short. His voice was presently supplanted by a sound that startled you both, and in a moment, he recognized what it was.
A knock.
“Da-a-a-a-a-a-addy?”
Shit.
He nearly caught a knee to the gut with how quickly you tried scrambling off his lap, limbs revived and frantic and desperate to get your clothes back on before that tiny voice could resume its speech—or get a hand to the door
“Yeah, sweetie? Give— give daddy a—” ‘Fuck!’ he cursed under his breath as he tripped over your shorts on the floor, “—a minute. I’ll be right there. Just gimme a sec.”
Joel fell. You floundered. His hand snagged the edge of the bed before he hit the ground fully, while you set off across the room to fight the strings of your bikini top and wrestle the thing on. The second you sensed that battle was lost, you grabbed your shirt instead. You were just yanking it on, and Joel was just regaining his bearings and about to chuck your shorts your way, when a voice through the door stopped the two of you cold—again.
To your horror, it was hopeful. Too sweet to be real.
“Can I sleep with you and mommy tonight?”
You could’ve soundly beat Joel’s ass with that pretty, skimpy swimsuit in your grasp and not regretted a thing, if he had to guess by the look you were flashing him now.
He didn’t blame you. His hands shot up in silent defense.
“Mommy— mommy’s not here, honey. She went home.” Joel shortly tried, and failed, to keep the pretense of innocence alive, all while dodging the first swing of your bikini’s bra at his head. He ducked; you struck a lamp.
He jumped back, a wordless grin stretching his lips as he righted that fixture fast. With one look, it seemed to say:
I’m so, so sorry, baby.
But inside his head, he couldn’t help but admit this was a little bit funny. Probably sensing this, you swung again.
“Yes, she is! I heard her,” Sarah huffed outside.
Joel was sliding up his jeans. Apologizing with his eyes and also trying not to crack an even bigger smile at you.
“Don’t be silly, Sar—”
“You’re having a sleepover!” she accused.
Well, in a manner of speaking.
Joel had just buckled his belt and redid his zip when a flash of red nylon smacked him in the face. Playfully.
You were evidently beginning to fight a grin like his, dropping the feigned indignation and pacing closer.
“Sleeping my ass—” you started in a whisper.
And you were about to chase him again, or else propose jumping from the window to get out now and save face, maybe, when Joel felt an old, familiar feeling crop up inside him. Like before, it wasn’t the kind of urge he could fight; his instincts took over, and he did it swiftly.
Admittedly, the timing was terrible—but he kissed you.
He pressed his lips to your own and relished the feeling. He grabbed both sides of your face and walked you back to the bed—the same one drenched in sweat and your release, which he’d definitely need to change in a minute—and for a fleeting moment, it was all he needed. Your mouth was on his, grinning a little and promising silently that if Sarah ever does walk in on us, I’m gonna kill you.
Against his better judgment, he pushed you back on the bed. He dropped his weight over your body and kept the kiss ongoing, feeling need surge inside for something far beyond the physical. It couldn’t be ‘one-and-done’ here.
But for now, at least, in spite of his feelings, it had to be.
Joel didn’t want to let go or stop kissing, but the next second left no room for much else, unfortunately. His daughter’s voice returned, and the words that followed proved impossible to ignore, for either one of you then.
All color drained from his face, and your eyes widened.
cw: explicit smut (minors dni), jealous!joel miller, pwp, pre-established relationship (fwb), alcohol consumption, swearing, dirty talk, angry sex, exhibitionism sorta (they're in public but no one sees), light choking, use of a gag (panties oops), fingering, teasing, begging, a HINT of assplay, joel is ferallll but so is reader hahaha
wc: 1.5k
a/n: hello all in order to distract us from the trauma of season 2 here is a jealous joel miller fic. things get nasty but that's how we like it.
masterlist
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Joel’s knuckles were white as he kept a grip on his whiskey, sipping it slowly, deliberately, imagining his white knuckles knocking out the guy’s teeth.
The guy with his hands around your waist, on your ass.
He knew you were doing it on purpose.
Dancing, flirting, glowing in the lights of the dance hall.
Joel savored the burn of the whiskey, trying to distract himself from your smile, your laughs, your touch, none for him. He supposed he deserved the punishment, but the way you were dancing… pure cruelty, if he were being honest.
It was past midnight, Jackson’s young kids sound asleep, and the music and dancing took on a new spirit. Instead of the family-friendly twirling and turning, intimacy cast a shadow over the dance floor, lights dimmed and everything slightly hazy with the lighting of cigars.
Cigars thanks to you, getting lucky on a patrol in an abandoned rich neighborhood. Joel wondered how much people were willing to trade with you, giving away whatever they could just for the burn of tobacco on their tongue.
Joel wanted the burn of something else, something other than whiskey, or a cigar.
–
You’d been watching him the whole night, glooming in the corner of the hall, a dark shadow coiling with rage.
You’d known what your dancing would do to him, pressed close to men younger than him, smaller than him.
His last words, spoken in the soft light of sunrise pouring through his bedroom curtains, echoed in your head as you fixed your eyes on him.
We both know I'm no good for you, too old, too mean. Better for both of us that this never happens again.
You hoped he burned at the sight of your hands on another man, another man you both knew you didn’t want.
A grin spread across your face as Joel sipped his whiskey, a slight shake in his hand. A loaded gun, cocked, and ready to fire.
He tilted his head, his dark eyes on you lighting your body with desire.
As the clock struck one in the morning, you unraveled yourself from the man you’d been dancing with, giving him a polite smile, and wished him goodnight. Although he was a good dancer, there was only one man you wanted coming home with you.
If you played your cards right, he would be.
Keeping your eyes forward, passing Joel entirely, you left the hall with a smile.
The night was cold, late fall casting a chill over Jackson. Frost covered the ground, and your breaths were white with warmth. Only a handful of people wandered the streets, sleepy quiet overtaking the town.
Boots that weren’t yours crunched the grass behind you, and you knew who followed without having to turn around.
You grinned to yourself, keeping your eyes fixed ahead. Keeping him chasing.
Climbing the steps of your house, the boots behind you went quiet, as if he were hesitating.
You put a hand on the front door, but didn’t turn the knob.
There was silence for a moment as you waited, until the boots moved again. Loud thumps against the wood of your porch, slow, deliberate. A shadow rose behind you, not touching, but his voice sending goosebumps down your arm as he spoke for the first time.
“You gonna open that door, or I’m gonna fuck you right here on the porch?”
Desire shuddered through your body, and you gripped the door handle to keep from jumping on him. “I thought you said this was never happening again.”
Joel growled. “That was before you grinded up on guys you don’t belong to. Now, open that door, or the neighbors will be gettin’ one hell of a show.”
Letting go of the handle, you turned to face him, anger panging through you. “‘You don’t belong to?’”
Joel clenched his jaw, stepping forward until your back pressed against the wood door. His dark eyes peered into yours, and as he spoke, his whiskey scented breath mingled with yours.
“Don’t lie and say you were doin’ all that dancing just for fun,” Joel growled. “Don’t pretend that you wanted any of those boys.”
You huffed a laugh. “Yeah? And what do I want, Joel? You tell me.”
Joel straightened, stiffened. “I don’t know.”
“Now who’s the fucking liar?” You hissed, pushing him back with both hands on his chest.
Joel grunted at the impact, his eyes darkening. In an instant, his hand wrapped around your throat, not hard, just enough to keep you pinned against the door. Arousal flooded your core, and you gave him a wicked grin.
“What do I want, Joel? Do I want a nice little man and a picket fence? Do I want to be left the fuck alone?" You smirked, breathing to let him smell the booze on your tongue. "Or do I want to be fucked so hard I don’t remember my own name?”
“Careful, girl,” he hummed, your pulse thundering under his fingertips.
“You’re the one that followed me like a dog on a leash,” You breathed, pushing his hand off of your throat with a shove. “Too old, too mean, remember?”
Joel was silent, though his nose brushed against yours like he was barely keeping from sinking his teeth in.
When you spoke, your voice was low, and raw. “Didn’t you ever think that maybe I like my men old and mean?”
Joel grabbed the neck of your shirt, pulling you away from the door in a single tug. Pushing you forward, he bent you over the rail of your porch, your hips biting into the wood as you caught yourself.
Behind you, Joel grinded his hips into your ass, denim on denim, his cock hard pressing through his jeans. He leaned over your bent torso, whispering in your ear.
“You stay bent over like this until I’m done with you, and maybe I’ll give you what you want so badly.”
You huffed a laugh. “Oh, what’s that, old man?”
“To come on my cock so many times that you lose count,” he growled, reaching around to unzip your jeans.
You tensed, eyes scanning the street where party stragglers stumbled to bed. “Joel, there’s people out here–”
“Better stay quiet then, huh?” He said, pulling down your waistband roughly, making you moan at the force. “Oh, baby, your sweet little cunt is droolin’.”
He pulled at the elastic of your soaked panties, making you yelp out into the dark street as the cloth snapped against your core.
“You know better than that, baby.”
In an instant, Joel tugged your panties up, up, up, pulling the cloth roughly into your cunt before the fabric ripped against your skin. You whimpered, unable to stifle your desire as he quite literally tore the panties from your pussy.
Cunt exposed, Joel drove a finger into your slick like he couldn’t help himself, and as you moaned in response, he stuffed your soaked panties into your open mouth.
“Much better, baby, much better,” Joel groaned quietly, like he didn’t even care if you heard him or not. You keened at the praise, his calloused finger tracing patterns up and down your soaked core. “I know all of this is for me, even though you’ll pretend it’s not. Your little stunt at the dance did the trick you wanted it to, right?”
The digit slipped inside of you, in and out before you even had a chance to react. You squirmed under his touch, and he pressed his free hand against your spine to hold you against the wood.
“I never was a jealous man,” he rambled, playing with you. “Not until I met you. Not until I saw the way every man in this damn town drooled over you. Not until you let me into your bed, and I was stupid enough to leave it.”
You arched against the wood, desperate, your moans stifled by the panties between your teeth.
“Poor thing, been missin’ me, huh?”
Your eyes fluttered as he pushed two fingers into your weeping cunt, curving them to press against your g-spot with the same precision he uses to pull the trigger of a rifle.
“I’ll let you come on my fingers if you admit that you’ve missed me, baby,” Joel growled, playing with your core like his favorite toy. Your whine of pleasure was muffled by the gag in your mouth, but he chuckled at the sound. “Having trouble?”
He thrusted his fingers in and out, in and out, winding you up tighter and tighter. A tidal wave rose in your belly, and he knew it.
“C’mon, speak up,” he teased, curling his fingers expertly.
You mouthed around the panties, desperate for him to give you what you want. Humming with delight, he dug his free hand into your mouth, pulling out the panties as you gasped for breath.
“I missed you so much, Joel,” you cried, forgetting where and who you were as he pushed a third finger into your core.
“Then why were you dancin’ with another man, grindin’ on him like a little slut?”
“I-I wanted to make you jealous, I wanted you to want me–”
“Oh, baby, you ain’t gotta do nothin’ for me to want you,” he drawled, and mercifully pressed a fingertip against your neglected clit, and you moaned into the night. “Now, come for me, baby. Prove just how much you missed me.”
You obeyed with a cry, your cunt pulsed in response, his fingers relentless on your skin. Your core clenched around him, nails biting into the wooden railing as you came on his hand. Your knees buckled slightly, and he drove a hand into your hair, pulling your head up.
“No, no, no, baby, we’re not done yet.”
Joel pulled his fingers from you slowly, chuckling at the whimpers that left your lips. Lightly, he traced his soaked fingertips up the curve of your ass, circling that tight ring of muscle above your wet cunt.
Joel Miller x f!reader | 4.1k | 18+ | masterlist | ao3
summary: so, getting trapped in an elevator with the hot contractor you've seen around the office was not on your to-do list for today... but maybe it's just what you needed.
a/n: this is my entry for @toomanystoriessolittletime's 47 minutes in heaven challenge! it was fun to write Joel again but now I feel like I'm fighting him off with a stick (it's Din's turn!!). thank you to @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta!!
tags/warnings: fluff, flirting, stuck in an elevator, reader works in an office building (no specifics), reader has a panic attack and is afraid of elevators, reader says she's not good with small spaces and heights, breathing exercises, no outbreak or pre-outbreak?, you decide, pet name (darlin', gorgeous, honey), reader wears pants and is mentioned to wear a black dress, reader sits in Joel's lap, smut: kissing, grinding, fingering, some dirty talk
...
When the elevator doors closed with only you and him inside, you tensed.
When the whole thing shuddered and came to a stop, somewhere between floors 8 and 9, you knew you were fucked.
…
You’d seen him for the first time a couple of weeks before — he was with the group that was renovating the offices on the other side of your floor. He’d been standing with his back to you, arms crossed, talking to another man and sometimes gesturing at a wall. It seemed like they disagreed about something.
You’d noticed him immediately — broad shoulders, strong arms, hair you wanted to bury your fingers in. Slim hips with a tool belt slung across them. Then he’d turned around and, well.
He was gorgeous. Tan skin, warm brown eyes, even under his furrowed brow (they really were arguing about something). A scruffy beard. He was so much your type, so attractive, that you almost walked into the open door to the break room.
He didn’t see you, thank god, but the other guy did. When you looked back up after catching yourself before you face planted, he was grinning at you. He winked at you over the gorgeous man’s shoulder. You felt your entire body turn hot and you ran.
And that had only been the beginning.
…
You were in a hurry, searching through your bag for your ID to swipe into the building, barely looking where you were going, when you bumped into him for the second time.
Literally bumped into him.
You weren’t sure exactly what happened, but you went from walking forwards to almost falling without even noticing anything in between. Suddenly you were sideways, on your way down, and the only thing holding you up was two big strong hands, firmly supporting your elbows.
You reached out to steady yourself and as you looked up, you realized it was him. The absurdly hot contractor who was working on your floor.
And your hands were flat against his chest while his held you in place.
He started to smile and you felt your face start to burn.
“Shit,” you said, wincing. “Sorry, did I just walk into you?”
He was really smiling, then. “No, that’s alright. I think we just happened to walk into each other.” His voice was warm and deep and his accent made you shiver.
You squinted at him, pretty sure he was full of shit. “If you say so. Um, thank you, for–” You looked down and saw that he was definitely holding you up. You stood straighter. “For catching me, I guess.”
“Oh, anytime, darlin’. My pleasure,” he said, lightly squeezing your arms and then releasing them. You realized your hands were still on his chest and dropped them like they’d been burned.
You might have actually talked to him, then, but your coworker had called your name from behind you and you’d taken the out, scurrying away like an embarrassed rat.
(You didn’t look back, or you would have seen him watching you go.)
…
The third time, you were in your office, focused on a spreadsheet. You had your legs folded underneath you in a way that you knew looked ridiculous in your desk chair, and you were hunched forward, squinting at the screen. You were going to find that error, damnit.
And that’s when he’d cleared his throat.
Startled, you’d tried to jump out of your seat, but instead only gotten more tangled in it. Your foot flew through the loop of the arm and you found yourself straddling the arm rest somehow.
You looked up to see the hot contractor trying not to smile. Of course.
“Um,” you said, trying to find a graceful way to disentangle yourself from an inanimate piece of office furniture. “What… did you need something?”
He smiled, then, and you blinked, taken aback again by how handsome he was. “I just wanted to apologize in advance, we’re going to make a bit of noise across the way for about the next 45 minutes.” He stepped forward and lifted his hands and you realized he was going to try to help you. “Do you need—“
“Oh,” you interrupted, finally surreptitiously standing and fishing your leg out of your chair. “That’s alright, I’ve got headphones. But thanks!” You hopped slightly to the side and finally found yourself standing with both feet on the ground. You did not make a face. “Thanks for letting me know.”
“No problem,” he said, still smiling. “Sorry again, for startling you.”
“It’s fine!” You tried to smile your way through it. “I’ll just–”
He nodded, and ducked out.
You sighed. Again?
…
By the time you found yourself trapped in the elevator with him, you were pretty sure you were destined to make a fool of yourself every time he so much as glanced at you.
On top of that, you were afraid of elevators.
When the car shuddered and came to a halt, you froze. You felt your heart begin to race like the worst kind of panic attack was just around the corner. You blinked, dazed, and then realized the lights were flickering.
“No, no, no,” you murmured, turning to look at the buttons. “No, please,” you said, stepping forwards and pressing the call button.
Nothing happened.
You could feel it, then, the oncoming panic attack, and this was not the time, you tried to tell yourself.
“Hey,” a soft voice interrupted. You whirled around, startled. You’d forgotten he was there. “You alright?”
He stepped towards you and you didn’t know what your face was doing, but clearly it wasn’t good, because he stopped.
“Hey,” he said again, voice deeper, more soothing. “We’re ok.” Not a question this time. “S’probably just to do with the construction we’re doin’. I’ll call my brother – he’s my business partner, you’ve probably seen him around. I’ll call him and make sure. Ok?”
You nodded, and you felt yourself start to shake. You backed up until you hit the wall and slid down until you could curl yourself into a ball, arms wrapped around your knees, head ducked. You could hear him having a short conversation but tried to focus on your breathing.
In-2-3-4
Out-2-3-4
In-2-3-4
Out-2–
“Hey,” there were shoes in your line of sight. You raised your head and found him squatting about a foot away from you. “S’just a power issue. They’ll have it back on line in about 45 minutes, alright?”
You blinked. “45–” you tried to repeat, but your voice came out like a gasp for air.
He frowned and reached forward hesitantly. You nodded, and he rested his hand on your elbow. “We’re not in any danger, alright? Brakes have got us. We’ll just sit tight until they fix it and then we’ll get out.”
He was right, you knew he was, but that didn’t stop your heart from racing or your short, uneven breaths.
“I–” you tried, but it didn’t come out.
“Hey,” and that time it was even deeper, soothing. He scooted forward and sat next to you. “Look at me, darlin’. Give me your hand.”
You did, and it was limp, and shaking. He frowned but placed your hand firmly on his chest. For a wild moment you wondered if you were going to reenact your second meeting.
“Breathe with me,” he said. “I’ll count.”
For the next few minutes, you did. He breathed in, and you breathed in. He breathed out, and you breathed out. You were looking into each other’s eyes the whole time, and without you really noticing, your breath evened out.
“There you go,” he said and smiled.
You nodded, noticing you’d stopped shaking. “Thank you. I’m not… small spaces. And heights. It’s the worst of both.”
He nodded. “I’m Joel, by the way. Realized I never introduced myself.”
You did the same and noticed he was still holding your hand against his chest. He seemed to realize it at the same time and squeezed your hand gently before releasing it.
“Do you know how much longer?” You weren’t sure how long you’d been following his breathing.
Joel checked his watch. “Probably about 30, 35 minutes. Tommy said they were already working on it when I called.”
“You said he’s your brother?” You wrapped your arms around the knee closest to him, hugging it to you.
He nodded and scooted a bit closer. He reached for one of your hands as he spoke. “And business partner. Miller Contracting.” He winked at you as he held your hand gently in both of his, palm up. He dug his thumbs into your palm, softly at first and then harder. A hand massage? It was instantly soothing, somehow, and you took an easier breath. “I do this for my daughter. She has panic attacks sometimes.” He started to work your wrist into gentle stretches as you glanced up at him.
“Daughter?” you asked, wondering if there was a wife, too.
Joel nodded and smiled. “Sarah. S’just me and her, so we’ve figured out a few tricks.”
You smiled back. “Sounds like you’re a good dad.”
He ducked his head. “Try to be.” He reached for your other hand and you gave it easily, turning towards him. He was sitting cross-legged and somehow you ended up with your left knee nudging his legs, almost in his lap. Your breath caught but neither of you moved to put more space between you.
He started to massage your other hand and for a moment you just watched as his large, strong hands so carefully caressed yours.
Then the elevator trembled.
It shook, just slightly, and made a noise that you hoped wasn’t the brakes straining. Before you even knew what was happening you’d thrown yourself forward in terror, diving into Joel’s shoulder. Your breaths were coming hard and fast again and you struggled to find any air. Without missing a beat his arms came up to catch you and he pulled you forward into his lap.
You found yourself with your knees on either side of his hips and his arms firm around you, holding you in place. He slid one large hand up your back and pushed you gently forward until your chest rested against his.
You could immediately feel the difference in your breathing – his was slow and steady while yours was too quick, too shallow, almost hyperventilating.
Joel tucked your face into his neck and murmured in your ear, “it’s alright, darlin’. Breathe with me.” He started to breathe in and you felt his chest move. You tried to match your breath to his, but for a few moments you could only struggle against your own body. He started to hum, something low and soothing, and it pulled your attention from your anxiety and the elevator to Joel. You focused on the sound of his voice and the feeling of his arms around you, of his body under yours.
Soon you sank deeper into him as your breaths started to even out. It wasn’t quite another full-fledged panic attack but it was close.
“There you go,” he murmured, tightening his arm around you and cupping the back of your neck.
It hit you, then, that you were straddling this man who you’d just met. You squeaked and started to pull away. His arm held you in place. “Oh, shit, Joel, I’m so sorry–”
“Hey,” he said, interrupting you. You lifted your head and met his eyes. You saw nothing but softness and warmth. “No need for any o’that.” He smirked. “Besides. Might be that I like havin’ you here.”
Your eyes widened. You realized your hands were tucked in front of you on his chest and you slowly slid them up and around the back of his neck. You smiled. “Yeah?”
“Might have caught you lookin’ at me a couple times.” His thumb started to caress the side of your neck, moving up and down gently, and you shivered. “Might have been looking back.”
You bit your lip and felt your heart start racing when his eyes dropped to look at your mouth. “You sure you weren’t just looking at me because I kept making a fool of myself?”
Joel laughed, and you grinned. “Darlin’, I just wish I could have ended up with my hands on you to help you out of that chair, like when I caught you downstairs.” He winked and you realized his hand, which had been wrapped around your back, had slid down to grip your hip. He squeezed.
You winced, but reached down to catch his hand when he started to move it away. You put it back on your hip. “Not that. Just, ugh, that was so embarrassing.” You squirmed slightly in his lap and he sucked in a sharp breath, squeezing your hip again. “I still don’t know how I did that.”
He smiled at you and slipped his thumb under the hem of your shirt. “I don’t know how you pretzeled yourself into that chair to begin with, darlin’.” You laughed. “It was charming.”
You raised an eyebrow at him skeptically. “I charmed you by sticking my leg through the arm of my desk chair?”
He laughed again and you watched the way it changed his face. “You did. I was charmed. Wanted to walk over and help you out of it. I’d already made up an excuse to come and talk to you, you know.”
“Oh yeah?” You scooted just a bit closer on his lap and he encouraged you, tugging your hip forward.
“Mmhmm,” he murmured, and tugged lightly with the hand that was still cupping the back of your neck. You leaned forward. “Tommy’s been teasin’ me, saying my mind is already over in office 1502, might as well walk over there and join it.”
You were suddenly so close your nose brushed his. “Joel,” you breathed, and he grinned.
“Can I help you darlin’?” His voice was low and slow and your breath hitched. “Let me distract you, hmm? Take your mind off it.” You met his eyes. You realized your mouth had fallen open slightly. His gaze was dark and intent. “Can I kiss you? Got no idea how much I’ve been wantin’ to.”
His eyes dropped to your mouth and all you could manage was, “please.”
Before the word was fully past your lips, he was there to swallow it down.
His lips pressed against yours gently, at first, and then with fervor. You shivered at the softness of his lips and sank happily into the feeling of his mouth against yours.
He used his grip on your neck to tilt your head to the side. He opened his mouth and you moaned, just slightly.
Joel groaned and tugged you forward, as close as you could get.
As his tongue caressed yours, you thrust your hips down, and you moaned again when you felt your effect on him against the seam of your pants. He was hard, so hard – so hard it made your head spin.
“Joel,” you whined when he broke away to press his mouth to your jaw.
He smiled against your cheek. “Darlin,” he said, voice deep and rough. “I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but.” He took a breath. “Can I make you come? Please?”
You sucked in a sharp breath, mind spinning. You didn’t want to think about the fact that you were in an elevator at work, but you couldn’t help it. Distantly, you wondered how much time you had left.
Joel interrupted your worry by nipping at your neck. You sighed and drove your hips down into his. He held you there with his grip on your hip.
“Please?” he repeated, pressing a line of kisses down your neck. “Been thinkin’ about it. Wonderin’ how gorgeous you are when you come, when you’re already so gorgeous all the time, anyway.”
You were moving, hips rocking back and forth, before you could stop yourself. You nodded, but he used his grip on your neck to tilt your face towards his. You blinked your eyes open, wondering when you’d closed them.
“Let me hear you say it, gorgeous.” The hand on your hip started creeping under your shirt.
Your eyes locked onto his and you threw caution to the wind. There was nothing but you and him. “Yes, Joel,” you said, voice breathy. “Make me come.”
He growled and pulled you back into a fierce kiss. His hand moved from under your shirt to the waistband of your pants, which he unbuttoned smoothly.
Your hips stuttered forward into his, and he smirked against your mouth. “Do you want it bad, darlin’?”
“Joel,” you murmured, a complaint, and he kissed you again.
“No shame in it, darlin’,” he said, brushing his fingers lightly over your underwear, where you knew he could feel how wet you were. “Got no idea how bad I want to touch you.” He pressed down with his fingertips and ran them up the length of your underwear slowly. “Couldn’t stop thinking about it.”
You kissed him again. “About me?”
He smiled and started to push your underwear to the side. You gasped. “You got any idea how nice your ass looks in these pants?” You laughed, surprised. “And don’t get me started on when you’re sitting at your desk, leaning forward, biting your lip and frowning at your computer.” He stroked your neck again with his thumb, his hand still gripping you there firmly. “Never been so turned on in an office, darlin’. Never been so turned on at work.”
Joel slipped his fingers inside your underwear, finally, and brushed his fingers over your pussy. “Bet you’re gorgeous down here, too.”
You sighed and bucked your hips towards his fingers. “Joel,” you said, and this time his name sounded like a plea. He smiled against your mouth.
“What is it, darlin’?” His smug tone made you want to bite him. So you did, pulling his bottom lip into your mouth. He groaned and slipped his fingers between your folds, sliding easily in the evidence of your arousal. “Fuck, you’re so wet, aren’t you?”
You twisted your hips and nodded. “You know, I was only concentrating so hard because some hot contractor kept taking up all of my attention.” You grinned at him when he looked at you. “It’s pretty hard to focus when you’re here, walking around looking like that.”
Joel chuckled as his fingers came to rest against your clit. You felt the shiver travel up your back like lightning up your spine. “Looking like that? What’s that mean?”
His fingers started to circle your clit and you squirmed in his lap. His grip tightened on the back of your neck. “Like… that. With those shoulders, and arms, and those hands, Joel. Not to mention your very handsome face.” You pressed a few quick kisses to his cheeks and jaw. “I saw you frowning at Tommy, and that was hot enough,” you said, voice catching as you ground down against his hand. “And then you smiled at me, when you caught me.”
“Darlin’, I have a confession.” Joel moved his thumb to your clit and crept lower with two of his fingers, collecting your arousal as he went. “Tommy told me about the door,” he said, “but only ‘cause I’d done the same thing, the day before.”
You blinked, and looked up from where you’d been staring down at his hand in your pants. “You what?”
Joel nudged your nose with his, smiling. “I almost walked into the wall over by the bathrooms, first time I saw you. You stepped off the elevator in that black dress and I swear my soul left my body.” His fingers circle your entrance as his thumb worked over your clit and you gasped. “Been trying to figure out how to ask you out ever since.”
One of his fingers slipped inside you and you threw your head back. Joel began to mouth at your neck and you realized you were breathing faster, in and out. “You should have,” you breathed.
His finger was thick, and the realization made you shiver when you wondered what his cock would be like. Judging by what you’d felt in his lap, it was big.
He started to work it in and out, slowly opening you up. Before you could whine for more he slipped a second finger inside to join it. The feeling of his fingers stretching you, thrusting in and out, and then this thumb on your clit, his grip on your neck – it was making your head spin.
“Darlin’,” he murmured, and pulled your face back close to his. He kissed you one, twice, in time with the thrusts of his thick fingers. “Can I take you out? On a date?”
You nodded. “Yes, please,” you breathed.
Joel grinned. “Good. Tonight?” He thrust his fingers inside you again and curled them forwards.
You whined. “Yes.”
Joel drew you back into a deep, fierce kiss and you buried your hands in his hair. He was working his fingers perfectly and you felt your orgasm building at the base of your spine.
“And maybe I can take you home after,” he murmured against your mouth, “and put my mouth on you, make you come again.” You thrust your hips forward and nodded, overwhelmed. “Would you like that, gorgeous? Let me lick you, get you all wet?”
“Yes, Joel.” Your mind was spinning, full of the images he was giving you.
“And then I’ll give you my cock. Is that what you want?”
You let out a sound you’d never heard yourself make before.
“Don’t worry, honey, it’s what I want, too. Been wantin’ it.” He smiled against your lips. “I can feel you gettin’ close, darlin’.” He twisted his fingers again and you moaned. “Come on, now. Come for me. Let me see it.”
He circled your clit just right with his thumb and you felt yourself teeter on the edge of it, like an ocean below you waiting for you to fall.
“C’mon, gorgeous,” he said, kissing you swiftly. He quirked his fingers and circled his thumb and you fell off the edge. “Come.”
You did, and it washed over you like a wave, drowning everything else out as you gave in to the feeling of his fingers and his mouth on your neck. You were pretty sure you said his name, but your entire world had narrowed to the places where he was touching you.
“...fuck,” he was saying, when you came back to yourself, breathing hard. “Fuckin’ hell, that was gorgeous. I knew it. So fucking pretty when you come.”
You couldn’t help yourself and thrust down against his cock, which was straining against his jeans.
“Joel,” you moaned, and finally met his eyes again. They were dark and his face was intent, watching you. The look you found there made you wonder if you were about to have the best sex of your life in a broken elevator.
And then his phone rang.
“Shit,” he muttered, releasing your neck to dig in his pocket for his phone. You realized as he did that his fingers were still inside you and that he hadn’t moved them. “What,” he said into the phone, voice flat.
His eyebrows lifted as he listened, and he glanced at you. “Fifteen minutes?” he asked, and twisted his fingers inside of you. He smirked when you squirmed. “Alright, we’ll be ready.” He ended the call and dropped his phone on the carpeted floor of the elevator next to your knee. “Think I can make you come again in that time, darlin’?
You smiled. “Only if you let me touch you, too, Joel.”
He tilted his head, studying you with a smirk that made you squeeze his fingers. “Well–” he started to say, but suddenly the elevator shook and started to move again.
Startled, Joel slipped his fingers out of you and you both scrambled to stand. You almost fell over again when you noticed he stuck them in his mouth, closing his eyes briefly as he cleaned them off. He blinked and looked at you. “Remember what I said, darlin’.”
You nodded, too stunned to speak. You both took a moment to fix your clothes and by the time the elevator reached the 15th floor, you assumed you were more or less presentable, even if your breathing was still a bit fast and you could feel the evidence of what you’d done in your underwear.
Joel’s cock was still hard in his jeans, too. You tried not to stare at it.
Just before the elevator opened, he leaned into you and placed his hand on your lower back. “Pick you up at 7?” he asked, voice low.
Summary: You’ve never felt fully at home in your own skin, but that has never stopped Joel from showing you just how much he wants you. One night, you gather the courage to show him what you’ve been too afraid to share, and he shows you exactly what it means to be wanted, worshipped, and seen.
|| smut MDNI 18+, Joel is down bad in love, self conscious reader, no physical description (except 'soft belly') but reader is insecure of their body, no specific timeline, age gap mentioned but not specified, pinv, f!receiving oral, little bit of (f!receiving) ass play, dirty talk, praise kink, daddy kink, soft!joel, he calls you like every pet name in the book. some aftercare ||
notes: joel miller in reading glasses hello? dont kill me for being a little bit of a cornball in here. joel is a cornball when he's in love. Yes I know I wrote the word pretty a lot! That’s the point!!!
Inspired by this request
Joel’s bed became home long before you were ready to admit it.
It’s where you feel safest. It’s where he tugs you into his chest first thing in the morning, rough hand splayed over your back like it belongs there, murmuring something low and sleep-thick against your temple. It’s where you read curled into his side at night, him propped up against the headboard in that worn old Henley, eyes flicking lazily over the pages of whatever book you handed him, while yours is gripped a little tighter, the latest thriller mystery that has your heartbeat ticking up by the final chapters.
He had told you to stop reading them before bed once, but he didn’t really mean it. Not when you curled tighter into him, not when your hand slid across his stomach and stayed there gripping him like you needed to be close to something steady, something warm. Something like him.
Joel loves you like this. Warm and soft and pliant in his bed.
It’s one of his favorite places. Not just for pressing you down into the mattress and filling you, not just for the pretty, breathy sounds you make when you’re too far gone to think about what you look like or where his hands are. No—he loves the quiet moments, too. The ones where your limbs are tangled up with his, hair a mess, lips kiss-swollen, your skin still carrying the ghost of his touch.
And every now and then, when you’re asleep on his chest or laughing at something dumb he said, he still finds himself wondering how the hell he ended up with a girl like you.
You’re so much younger. So much softer. He doesn’t know what you see in a man like him—older, rougher, carved from all the years you haven’t had to carry yet. You could’ve had anyone. But you chose him.
You’ve been together a few months now, and he still hasn’t wrapped his head around it. Still doesn’t know what he did to deserve your trust, your sweetness, your sharp quick wit when he least expects it.
He tried to keep his distance at first. Tried not to look too long when you smiled, not to follow the sound of your voice like a damn tether every time you were in the room. Told himself it wasn’t right. You weren’t for him. You were good. But you kept coming closer.
And once you started to pursue him—sweet and fearless and so goddamn certain—his resolve didn’t just crack. It collapsed.
The years between you didn’t matter to him anymore. The guilt didn’t matter. The voice in his head that told him to stop, that warned him he was too old, too jaded, too broken to ever deserve you—it all went quiet the second you looked at him like he was worth wanting.
He had to have you. To feel you, hear you, know you. So he gave in.
But there was still something there he didn’t quite understand, even now. Something that never quite leaves him.
Because every time he takes you to bed with the singular thought of getting you naked, of taking you until he gets his fill, until you’re trembling and wrecked and crying out his name—every single time, he sees it.
That flicker of hesitation.
He watches your shoulders shrink inward. Watches the way your hands move to cover your belly the second his fingers slip beneath your shirt. The way your breath stutters like you’re already bracing for something—even if it’s just his eyes.
You never say it out loud. You don’t have to.
And every time he settles over you, broad chest looming, palms sliding down your sides with reverent slowness as he lays you down on his bedspread, you ask him in that sweet, uncertain voice:
“Can we turn the light off?”
And Joel… hesitates.
Just for a second. Just long enough to take one more look at your face—flushed and perfect and lips swollen from letting him kiss them until they’re bruised. He always obliges. Always reaches over and clicks off the bedside lamp without a word, even if something in his chest aches as the room goes dark.
In the low moonlight, he can still see pieces of you. The softness of your belly. The curve of your thighs. The arch of your back when you start to melt beneath his touch. And he reveres it. All of it.
Worships you like you’re something holy.
But even in the dark, he notices everything.
The way your breath hitches when he kisses down your body—not with pleasure, but with discomfort. The subtle tension in your limbs when he trails his lips past your ribs. The way you squirm when his mouth lingers at the tender skin between your stomach and mound. Not because it’s too much. But because you don’t want to be seen.
And it kills him a little every time.
Because he wants to see you. All of you. Wants you to know that there is not a single inch of your body he doesn’t adore.
But still, like many nights before, he obliges you tonight and reaches over to turn out the light at your request.
The room falls into darkness.
Joel wakes to the warm and golden light of the morning, the kind where sunlight filters through the blinds in soft, slatted beams, pooling across the hardwood floor. The kind where the world outside feels far away, like it can wait a little longer while the house stays quiet.
His mind fully catches up to the scent of coffee and the soft creak of floorboards.
The bed is empty beside him, blankets still warm, your pillow carrying the shape of your head. He rubs the sleep from his face and swings his legs over the edge, the weight of last night still humming low in his chest.
He finds you in the kitchen.
You’re at the counter, barefoot, wearing nothing but his t-shirt—one of those older ones, soft and stretched out, the hem barely brushing the tops of your thighs. Your hair’s a little messy, skin still marked in places from where his mouth had worshipped you in the hours of the night.
You’re so focused on pouring coffee into your favorite mug—the pink one with the little chip at the rim, just big enough to catch your lip if you’re not careful—that you don’t hear him come in.
He steps in behind you, silent as ever, warmth radiating off his chest before you even feel his hands.
One arm slips around your waist, the other gliding up beneath the hem of the shirt you’re wearing—his shirt—until his hand splays flat across your stomach. His lips find your neck a second later, soft and unhurried, brushing along your skin as he breathes you in.
You stiffen, just a little. It’s not resistance, you could never resist him, but your body goes still beneath his touch, that automatic flicker of self-consciousness rising to the surface like it always does when he touches you in the daylight.
Still, you don’t move away.
Joel’s voice is low and rough in your ear, all gravel and morning warmth, “‘Mornin’, darlin’.”
You smile, small, a little sheepish, but it’s there. “Morning.”
His hand drops lower, fingers brushing the curve of your hip, then sliding up again, slow and lazy. His other arm tightens around your front, keeping you pulled against him as his lips trail from your neck to your cheek.
“Joel—” you murmur, half a protest, half a laugh, squirming under his touch.
“You look so pretty like this,” he says, voice thicker now, rougher with sleep and want. “So sexy in my shirt, honey.”
You go quiet. Not because you don’t like it. But because it still hits that spot—the part of you that flinches at being seen. You press your lips together, focus on the coffee in your hand, as if the words might disappear if you just don’t look at him.
But Joel sees it. Feels the shift. The way you tense ever so slightly when he calls you nice things. Like the words don’t fit, not yet. Like you still haven’t figured out how to wear them.
He kisses your cheek again, slower this time.
“I mean it,” he adds softly.
You nod once, a breath catching in your chest before you murmur, “I know.”
Joel leans in and kisses the back of your head, just behind your ear, then murmurs against your skin, “Put the coffee down for a second.”
You glance over your shoulder, suspicious but smiling. “Why?”
“Just do it, baby.”
With a soft sigh, you set the mug back on the counter. Before you can ask again, he’s turning you in his arms, hands firm but careful on your hips and over the shirt, as he spins you to face him.
He steps in close, real close, until the backs of your thighs press against the cabinets and his hands come up to cradle your face. Big, warm palms on your cheeks, thumbs brushing the softness there like he’s memorizing the way you feel under his touch.
Then his hands squish your cheeks between his hands, just enough to puff your lips out like a fish.
Your brows furrow as you try in vain to pull away. “Joel—!”
“Say it,” he says, dead serious despite the ridiculous hold he has on your face.
Your eyebrows knit further as you still. “Say what?”
He smirks, dipping his head until your noses bump. “Say: I’m pretty.”
You groan, giggling despite yourself as you try to wiggle free. “Joel, oh my god—”
He holds on, pressing exaggerated kisses to your squished face—your cheek, your forehead, your nose and your puffed out top lip. “Say it. Go on. I’ll wait all day.”
“Fine!” you huff, lips barely moving from the way he’s still holding your face. “I’m pretty.”
He grins, loosening his hold just enough so you can speak properly, though he keeps his hands right where they are. “Didn’t hear you.”
“I’m pretty,” you repeat, cheeks heating as you say it, soft and unsure but not sarcastic. Not deflecting.
Joel beams, eyes crinkling at the corners, kissing your lips as he loosens his hold on your face. “Damn right you are. Prettiest girl I ever saw.”
You can’t help but smile now, wide and a little bashful. You duck your head, but he catches you again, presses a kiss to your lips again, sweet and unhurried.
And when he backs away and you finally reach for your coffee again, cheeks still warm, he’s watching you like he’s already counting the seconds until he gets to do it all over again.
That night starts like any other night.
Late, quiet, the house dipped in soft shadows. The windows are cracked just enough to let in the evening breeze, the hum of cicadas drifting in with the warm air. Joel’s in bed already, reading glasses sliding down his nose, thumbing through the same page of his book he’s read three times without taking in a single word.
He’s waiting for you to join him, your book is still closed on the side table. You’d excused yourself to the bathroom before you could even cuddle up in bed beside him. You had said you needed two minutes.
That was fifteen minutes ago.
He figures you’re brushing your teeth. Or lost in one of your little bedtime routines—rearranging things on the counter or doing your 10 step nightly skincare. He doesn’t mind. He’s gotten used to your rhythms the more you stayed over. Grown to love them, even.
But then he hears the bedroom door open, and when he glances up, expecting to see you in one of your usual pajamas, his breath catches. You’re not wearing one of his big T-shirts or those soft cotton sets you like so much.
You’re standing in the doorway in white lace, delicate and sheer and almost ethereal in the low glow of the lamp light.
It damn near knocks the air out of him.
He forgets all about the book in his lap—doesn’t even feel it fall to the mattress as his gaze rakes over you, slow and disbelieving. His jaw goes slack as he removes his glasses and sets them on the side table.
The bra—he doesn’t know what it’s called, not that it matters—looks daintier and more delicate than anything he’s ever seen in his goddamn life. Feminine in a way that hits him right in the chest. It wraps around you like it was made for your body, hugging your curves in all the right places. The straps are thin, dipping into the softness of your shoulders, and the lace cups give just enough to let his imagination blur with what’s already in front of him.
The matching bottoms sit high on your hips, scalloped lace tracing the tops of your thighs, giving him a perfect view of the skin he’s only ever touched in the dark.
Your hair is pulled back behind your shoulders—intentionally, he thinks, like you wanted him to have the full view.
Your lip is tucked under your top teeth, and your eyes flick down for a second, uncertain—then back up again.
But then you smile.
Shy, but proud. Like you’re showing him something precious and a little terrifying. Like you finally believe, even just a little, that he might actually mean every word he’s ever said about you.
Joel shifts to the edge of the bed, jaw tight with restraint as he beckons you to him. Slowly, you make your way over, and he soaks in the look of your thighs as you move, the way your body is begging to be marked and taken. His hands curl against his own thighs like he’s afraid to touch you too fast, too hard, and shatter the moment.
But when you move to stand between his knees, and he lifts his eyes up to meet yours, you don’t flinch.
He lets out a long, shaky breath. Then his hands lift slowly, reverently, palms brushing along the outside of your thighs, up to your hips.
His voice is low, almost reverent. “Christ, baby… look at you.”
You let out a nervous laugh, eyes dropping for a second—but you don’t cover yourself. Don’t twist away like you usually do. You stay right there, between his knees, close enough for him to smell the soft scent of your lotion and whatever little perfume you’d put on just for him.
Joel lifts his hands, slow and sure, and holds your hips, warm, steady, splayed wide like he wants to cover all of you. His thumb strokes gently over your skin where the lace ends, just above your hipbone.
“You did this for me?” he murmurs, looking up at you.
You nod once, eyes still shy but glowing with something soft. “I wanted to. I…I know I usually…”
“I know,” he says quietly, thumbs stroking your skin under his touch. “Don’t gotta explain nothin’ to me.”
His voice is gentle, but there’s something else beneath it now. Thicker. Hotter. Like he’s barely keeping a lid on what he really wants to say.
You bite your lip again, tucking it under your top teeth as you gauge his reaction. Joel leans in, eyes never leaving yours, and presses a kiss between the valley of your breasts—slow, open-mouthed, just wet enough to make your breath stutter.
You exhale, body already leaning into him, melting under the heat of his mouth, the drag of his stubble, the way his hands are rubbing slow circles along your thighs. His fingers toy with the hem of the lace between your legs, pinching the delicate fabric between them, like he can’t decide whether to rip it off or worship it.
“You know what this does to me? What you do to me, angel?” he rasps, voice rough now, filthy and unfiltered. “You got me starin’ like a damn animal. Don’t even know where I wanna taste first.”
He kisses the underside of your breast, and even though it's covered by lace, he bites softly at the curve, tongue soothing the mark he leaves behind. His hands move to grip your ass tightly now, pulling you closer, positioning so your stomach and hips are flush against his chest.
“You’re so fuckin’ pretty, baby. Every time I think I’ve seen all of you, you go and give me this?”
His eyes flick up, hungry and reverent. You squirm, a tiny whimper slipping past your lips, but Joel doesn't back off. He presses another kiss to your stomach, then just above your belly button, murmuring into your skin.
“Timid little thing—but deep down you like it, don’t you? Like when Daddy talks like this?”
Your thighs twitch under his hands and you nod.
He grins, feral and soft all at once. His hands slide up your sides, palms hot and steady against your ribs, thumbs brushing the edge of lace as his mouth follows—slow, open-mouthed kisses trailing higher, tongue flicking against the fabric covering your breasts. His tongue pokes out over the lace of your bodice right where your nipple would be, teeth grazing over the hidden but pebbled skin. Your jaw falls open as you watch him.
“Goddamn,” he mutters, breath catching against your sternum. “You wore this just to drive me crazy, didn’t you?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer.
One hand lifts, fingers tugging gently at the strap of your bralette, sliding it down your shoulder. Then the other. His movements are careful, almost reverent, as he peels the lace down and away, baring you inch by inch.
And when your breasts spill free, his breath catches audibly.
“Jesus Christ.”
He sits back just far enough to look. Just for a moment. Just to see you.
“Prettiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he murmurs, thick with awe and heat. He brings his hands up to grip the flesh of your breasts, kneading them together, “Bet you don’t even know what you do to me, baby.”
You bite your lip again, that flicker of shyness still dancing across your face—like you have to physically restrain yourself from trying to cover the revealed skin. But no. Not this time.
Joel leans in and licks a slow stripe over one nipple, making you gasp. He drags his tongue in a lazy circle, then sucks it into his mouth, groaning low in his throat like he’s tasting heaven.
You whimper, your hands flying to his shoulders, fingers gripping him as your back arches on instinct.
“That’s it,” he growls, pulling back just to press a kiss between your breasts before taking the other into his mouth, this time sucking harder, leaving it damp and peaked from his tongue. “Let me hear you, baby. Wanna hear every sound you make when I touch you like this.”
Your hips roll against him, thighs trembling as you stand between his legs.
“Sensitive little thing,” Joel mumbles against your skin. “Just needed someone to show you how fuckin’ perfect you are.”
He kisses lower, down the underside of your breast, then back up again, licking softly, sucking just enough to leave the faintest mark.
“M’gonna take good care of you tonight, baby,” he breathes, dragging his mouth back to your nipple. “Gonna take my timeand take every fuckin’ inch of this sweet body. You gonna let me?”
You nod, breathless, voice caught somewhere in your throat,“Y-yeah.”
Joel looks up, eyes blazing, lips slick from kissing you.
“‘Yeah’, what? Tell me, honey.”
Your begin to squirm as you tell him, “I want you to, Daddy. Please.”
Joel groans like it physically knocks the air out of him. His hands trail back down your sides, slow and reverent, fingertips grazing the lace waistband still hugging your hips.
“You’re killin’ me, baby,” he murmurs, dragging his mouth lower.
He kisses down your stomach, tongue peeking out to trace the little dip of your navel, his hands smoothing down your hips and behind to cup your ass again, fingers squeezing tight. The lace panties are all that remain, soft and delicate, slightly damp already with your arousal. He noses along the waistband, breathing you in.
“Fuck, you smell so good,” he growls, teeth catching gently at the fabric. “Bet you taste even better.”
Your hands slide into his hair, tugging gently as he tongues over the lace, not pulling it down yet—just feeling you through it, his mouth wet and hungry over your hips and tummy.
You moan, your hips grinding against him again as he teases you, his one hand reaching down to drag his fingers over your clothed mound, the slick of your folds soaking through. He groans at the feeling before pulling back with a sharp exhale, looking up at you with wild eyes.
“On the bed. Hands and knees. Now.”
You blink, heart leaping, but you don’t hesitate. You scramble onto the mattress, crawling forward on shaky limbs until you’re positioned right where he wants you—on all fours, back arched, breath quick and needy.
Joel groans behind you at the sight, pulling his shirt over his head before dragging a hand up your spine, slow and heavy.
“Goddamn, baby. Look at you.”
Once he’s climbed onto the bed behind you, spreading your knees a little wider, he kneads at your ass with both hands, reverent and gentle. He settles his body lower, shifting on the bed until his face is level with your center. He drags his thumbs along the backs of your thighs, spreading them a little wider, groaning low when he sees how soaked the lace of your panties is—slick and clinging to your folds, a perfect puffy outline of everything he’s about to taste.
“Look at this,” he breathes, like it’s something sacred. “Fuckin’ drenched for me.”
You gasp when you feel his mouth again—not on your skin, but over the lace. A slow, deliberate kiss right to the center of you, hot and wet and perfectly placed. His lips part, tongue nudging against the fabric, teasing your clit through the sheer barrier.
It’s maddening.
He hums, the vibration making your hips twitch.
“Fuck, baby… I could spend all night like this. Kissin’ you through these pretty little panties. Smellin’ you. Feelin’ how worked up you are for me.” He nuzzles in deeper, breathing hot against you, licking a wide, slow stripe up the center of your heat—through the lace—then mouthing at it, sloppy and wet, soaking it even more.
You sob, spine arching, thighs quivering where they try to stay upright. Joel groans against you.
“Can’t believe you wore this just for me,” he mutters, dragging his tongue back down. “So fuckin’ soft. So sweet. Pussy’s beggin’ for it, ain’t she?”
You nod frantically, already breathless. “Yes—God, Joel, please—”
He chuckles darkly, biting gently at the fabric. “Please what, baby?”
“Take them off,” you gasp. “Please—need you.”
Joel pulls back, and you feel the shift in the air before you feel his hands—rough palms curling under the waistband of your panties, fingers brushing the skin of your hips as he peels the lace down slow. Agonizingly slow.
“Anything for my girl,” he says.
Joel’s broad, warm hands palm at your ass, kneading every inch as he situates himself behind you. He dips lower, mouth pressing open-mouthed kisses into the flesh of your left cheek, then the right, before his teeth sink down into the soft meat.
You yelp, hips jerking at the sharp nip.
“Prettiest noises too,” he murmurs into your skin, kissing the sensitive mark he left behind. His hands spread your cheeks, thumbs firm as they open you up for him—and when you peek over your shoulder, you find his eyes locked on your center, gaze dark and fixated, the pupils blown wide.
When he catches you looking, his eyes flick up to meet yours.
“She’s flirtin’ with me,” he says, grinning like the devil.
Your face burns, and you let your head drop into the pillows, hiding from the embarrassment that curls through your belly—hot and helpless, tangled with molten want.
Joel’s lips find your skin again, slower now, more reverent as he holds you open. His tongue drags between your cheeks, a deep, teasing stroke that makes your whole body tense. He kisses your slick folds with a wet, lewd sound that makes you gasp.
He hums, low and satisfied, then laps at your dripping arousal like it’s his first taste of water in weeks.
“And the prettiest pussy,” he rasps, lips brushing your folds. “You know that, darlin’?”
You moan, unable to answer, as his tongue pushes deeper. He flattens it and licks slow, wide strokes up your slit before circling your clit. His nose bumps your entrance, barely prodding, teasing you as his tongue works your clit in tight, filthy circles.
Your hips start moving without your permission, grinding into his face, seeking more.
Joel groans like you’re his favorite meal, tongue flattening again, letting you push into him.
“That’s it, baby,” he coos, eyes fluttering shut. “Ride my face.”
You mewl, your body bucking, wild and desperate, grinding into him like a goddamn bronco at the fair. Your walls flutter, your core pulsing with pressure as it builds, and builds, and builds.
Your thighs begin to shake.
Joel’s grip on you tightens as he takes over, tongue working your clit with expert flicks, fast and relentless.
The pressure in your belly snaps like a pulled cord, your spine arching as your orgasm crashes over you. You cry out, pushing yourself deeper into his mouth as you come, loud and wrecked, your fingers gripping the sheets.
Joel moans into you like he’s the one coming undone, tongue never faltering, coaxing every last wave of pleasure from your trembling body. Even as you start to come down, breath catching in your throat, he doesn’t stop. He just slows, letting you twitch and gasp and shake through it.
Then, you feel it. The warm, wet pressure of his tongue pushing up past your folds, over the skin between, then circling your tighter hole. You jump at the intrusion, a sharp gasp breaking from your lips—but the haze of your orgasm makes your body soft, receptive, already melting for him.
You whimper, hips twitching. Joel just groans again, closing his lips around your sensitive rim, suckling gently.
“F–fuck,” you whisper, unable to think, to move, to breathe.
He licks you there once more before planting slow, open-mouthed kisses up your spine, up to the small of your back, your shoulder blades, and finally your neck.
Then he’s curling over you, beard scratchy against your skin, his lips brushing your cheek.
“Turn around,” he whispers, voice low and rough, "Wanna see your face when I stuff you full a'me,"
You can’t help but giggle at the tickle of his scruff against your neck, still dazed, still boneless, but do as you’re told—twisting under him until you’re on your back, staring up at him.
Joel’s eyes, though dark with hunger, hold something else too. Something deep and aching. Something sweet.
And then, with that same steady tone he uses when talking patrol routes or fixing fences, he says, “Now. Here’s what’s gonna happen, sweetheart.”
His lips brush your jaw, then your ear.
“I’m gonna fill you up so deep, fuck you so full of my cock, my cum, me, that when you look in the mirror tomorrow, all you’re gonna see is how fuckin’ beautiful you are—‘cause you’ll still be wearin’ what I did to you tonight.”
Your chest heaves, the words settling deep in your stomach, curling there like heat and honey.
“Joel, I—” you start to say, only to gasp when you feel the hot, thick head of his cock nudge at your entrance.
“You feel this, honey?” he murmurs, pulling back to look down between you, voice rough and reverent. “Feel how bad he wants you? How bad I want you?”
You nod, gripping his forearms tight, your thighs falling open even wider for him.
He notches just the bulbous tip inside you and hisses at the wet heat.
“Jesus,” you breathe. “I feel it, Joel, I—I… pleasepleaseplease—”
“I know, angel, I know,” he pants, his thumb stroking your inner thigh, grounding you. “Now I wanna hear you say it.”
Your brain lags, thick with need, swimming in lust and love and the ache to just feel him.
“W-what?”
Joel watches you, eyes burning into yours.
“Say, ‘I’m pretty, Daddy.’”
Your whole body flushes, lips parted in disbelief, already whining at the way he just knows how to unravel you.
You groan wordlessly, bringing your hands to your face to hide. He is so on your shit list for this.
Joel chuckles darkly, pushing in another inch, and you whimper behind your hands.
“I’m waitin’, darlin'.”
You squirm under him, thighs trembling, skin turning hotter and hotter by the second. Every nerve in your body is screaming for him to move, to fill you, to do something.
But Joel waits. He always waits—until you give in, until he gets what he wants.
You lift your hands from your face slowly, eyes hazy, cheeks heated, lips parted. He’s watching you like a man possessed, one hand gripping your thigh, the other wrapped around his pulsing member with agonizing patience.
“M’pretty,” you whisper.
Joel’s brow arches, lips curling, “Not quite, sweetheart. You know how I want it.”
Your chest heaves. Your pussy clenches around just the tip of him, and even though you see the twitch in his jaw, he still waits.
So you gather your courage, heart pounding in your throat: “I’m pretty, Daddy.”
Joel’s smile breaks across his face, so bright and full of something so tender it nearly knocks the air from your lungs. It almost pulls you out of the heat of it, the haze of arousal, until your core clenches and he sinks into you just a little deeper.
You gasp, the stretch sharp and perfect.
He leans down slowly, hands braced in the pillows beside your head, lowering himself onto his forearms until his chest is flush with yours, until there’s no space left between your bodies.
He’s still not fully sheathed in you.
“Again.”
“I… I’m pretty, Daddy,” you breathe, voice shaky as your pussy tries to adjust around the thick stretch of him.
“The prettiest,” he nods, and his lips mold to yours as he finally pushes all the way in. Your mouth falls open with a gasp, the sound swallowed by his tongue slipping between your lips, hot and hungry, as he bottoms out. His balls press firmly against the slick, wet crevice of your ass, and the mess between your thighs is obscene—your arousal dripping, sticky and hot, soaking the sheets beneath you.
Joel groans into your mouth, loud and wrecked like its been trapped in his chest for hours. His hands come up to cradle your head, keeping you right there beneath him as he begins to move, slow at first, pulling out a few inches before rolling back in, the full weight of him rocking your body with every deep thrust.
“Shit,” he mutters, voice low and reverent. “Pussy’s so damn tight.”
He pulls out slowly again, then drives back in hard, enough to jolt you up the bed, the sound of it lewd and perfect. His brow furrows, eyes fluttered shut as he focuses on the way your walls cling to him.
“Fuckkkk,” you mewl as he continues sawing into you, filling you and stretching you around him, buried to the hilt.
Joel grins, feral and hungry, sweat starting to bead at his brow.
“Sound even prettier when you take my cock.”
He sets a rhythm—deep, grinding thrusts that hit all the way up, filling you to the brim. His body covers yours, chest brushing your nipples, beard scratching your throat as he nips and kisses every inch he can reach.
“Been thinkin’ about this for so long, baby” he grits out between thrusts, hips slapping against yours. “The way you’re always hidin’ yourself from me, coverin’ up like you’re not the most beautiful fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen.”
Your hands claw at his back, your legs wrapping around his waist, trying to pull him impossibly closer.
“I got you, honey,” Joel pants, head dropping to your neck as his arms wrap around you, pulling you into him even tighter. “And you’re gonna start seein’ it for yourself,”
His pace picks up, rougher now, slamming into you with the kind of need that’s barely human.
“Gonna fuck you so full you forget every goddamn lie you ever told yourself in a mirror. Gonna make sure the only thing you remember is me—how you sounded, how you looked, when I wrecked this perfect little body.”
You’re gasping, whimpering, shaking beneath him, stars flashing behind your eyes as he pounds into you like he’s never going to stop.
“That’s it, baby. You take it,” he growls. “Take my cock so good, like the good girl you are for me. Fuckin’ made for me.”
“Joel—” you cry, voice breaking.
He lifts his head, eyes wild and tender all at once.
“Say it again, sweetheart. Tell Daddy how pretty you are.”
“I—I’m pretty,” you choke out. “I’m—fuck, I’m so pretty, Daddy—”
He loses it.
His hand slides under your thigh, hooking it up, opening you wider, deeper. His hips slam into you harder now, the rhythm filthy, brutal, perfect.
“I know, baby. I know. Look at you. My good girl, look so beautiful takin’ it so fuckin’ well.”
His other hand comes up to cradle the back of your neck, guiding you forward as he sits back—craning your head up so you can look down, see exactly where you’re joined.
Your mind barely registers the softness of your belly, too focused on the thick stretch of him splitting you open, the obscene way you take every inch. You both watch as he drives into you, slick and deep and devastating, a ring of your last orgasm glistening around his cock. The pressure builds again, white-hot and unbearable.
And Joel knows—he feels it in the way you clench, the way your voice goes high and desperate, the way your hands grip him like you’ll fall apart if you let go.
“You gonna come for me again, sweet girl?” he pants, fucking you into the mattress. “Gonna let Daddy feel you pulse around his cock?”
“Yesyesyes—Joel, I—please—”
“That’s it,” he snarls, “give it to me.”
You shatter.
Your orgasm crashes through you with a scream as he releases your neck, letting you arch your back, trembling as you milk his cock with spasms so tight it makes Joel curse, a broken sound from deep in his chest.
And then he’s coming, hips stuttering, burying himself to the hilt as he spills inside you, filling you just like he promised. His voice breaks on your name as he grinds through it, hands gripping you enough to leave bruises, breathing ragged.
Neither of you move for a long moment. Just the sound of your breathing, tangled and uneven. His chest heaving against yours. Your legs shaking around his waist.
His hand slides up, cradles the side of your face. His thumb brushes gently beneath your eye, even though you’re not crying—but something about the touch makes you want to. Makes your throat ache.
“Hey,” he whispers, voice all gravel and reverence. “You okay?”
You nod, eyes still fluttered shut, heart pounding. “Y-yeah.”
Joel presses a soft kiss to your lips—barely a touch, like he’s afraid of ruining you more than he already has. Then another, and another, until you're giggling quietly beneath him, too dazed to hold it in.
He smiles, the kind of smile he doesn’t show anyone else. The kind that barely reaches his eyes, because he’s still looking at you like you’re a dream that might disappear if he blinks too hard.
“Look at me, baby.”
You do. You always do when he asks.
“You’re so beautiful,” Joel murmurs, voice low and rough with what sounds almost like awe. “You know that?”
The words hit you deeper than they should. You suck in a sharp breath, trying to even out your breathing, but your lungs don’t cooperate. Your eyes dart away, suddenly misting and too overwhelmed by the intensity in his gaze—by the sincerity written all over his face. It's too much. Too close. Too real.
But Joel’s hand is already there, catching your chin gently, tilting your face back toward his. His thumb grazes the edge of your jaw, soft and steady.
“No,” he says, barely more than a whisper. “Don’t do that. Not tonight. Not after everything you just gave me.”
Your chest stutters, emotion building so fast and so sharp you feel like you might spill over with it. Your fingers twitch against his back before finally settling, drifting across his damp skin in slow, absent circles. You take deep, calming breaths to settle yourself. Breathe in, breathe out.
He’s still inside you, still heavy over you, like neither of you are ready to let go just yet. Your limbs are tangled, the air still thick with sweat and heat and something quieter—something softer.
The room is quiet now, the kind of quiet that doesn’t feel empty. Just your shared breaths, slow and unsteady. The low thump of his heart where his chest presses to yours.
Joel shifts only slightly, just enough to press a kiss to your cheek. Then another to your jaw. Then your temple. The way he moves is unhurried, like he’s memorizing you. Like he’s kissing more than just skin—like he’s kissing the pieces of you he’s afraid to speak out loud.
It makes your chest ache.
“You’re being so sweet,” you whisper, throat tight almost like it’s a secret.
His lips hover at your lips, pressing gently but not fully, “I don’t know how not to be,” he says softly. “Not with you.”
You close your eyes, pressing your face into the curve of his neck. His scent wraps around you—salt and skin and something warm and comforting that’s just him. The warmth blooms under your skin again, curling around your ribs, spreading down your spine.
“I love you.” he says, like it’s always been there, waiting. Like it’s not a confession so much as a truth that finally found its way out.
Your breath catches. Not from fear, not from panic, but from the sheer weight of it. The gravity. The sound of those words, spoken into the low light of the room while he's still buried inside you, holding you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever touched.
Your eyes flutter open. You don’t move. Not yet.
Joel doesn’t either. But his voice dips low, softer now. A hint of uncertainty laces the edges. “Too much?”
You shake your head instantly, and your hands rise to cradle his face, looking up at him, fingertips brushing his temples like you need to anchor both of you in this moment.
“No,” you whisper, a tear finally escaping your eye. “No, not too much.”
Your fingers slide into his hair, tugging gently as you pull him down and press your lips to his. And when you pull back, your words are trembling but sure.
“I love you too.”
He exhales like he’s been holding that breath for years.Then he kisses you—slow and deep and home, his mouth moving against yours like he’s sealing the promise between your bodies.
Summary: Joel Miller has mastered the art of self-control in all areas except one: not fucking his friend’s daughter. A cross-country road trip home from college takes a hard turn when he’s forced to share a motel room with you.
Warnings: 18+. Protected p-in-v. Praise. Overstimulation. Sweet, possessive, slightly obsessive and pussywhipped Joel. Daddy kink. Drug use. Angst. Accidental creampie. Joel fucking you while on the phone with your father.
Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
“You okay, hon? You sound…distracted,” your dad presses. A hint of concern rises from his end of the line.
At length, Joel grips both of your legs and brings them up over his shoulders, and he grins before kissing your ankle and shoving his cock even deeper.
“Yes!” you yelp as you crush the phone to your ear, hoping your father can’t hear any of the filthy sounds down below, “Just a little stretched—I mean stressed out, is all.”
Aside from the fact that he smoked like a chimney and bumped far more Billy Joel than any man ever should, Mr. Miller was an A-OK friend—your father’s best friend.
All you needed was a ride home for the holidays.
From the second you’d set foot in his old Ford Bronco, you sensed this trek wouldn’t be an enjoyable one—thirty-hour road trips rarely ever were—but you leaned back in the passenger seat, propped your feet on the dashboard, and bopped along to ‘You May Be Right’ for the fifty-fifth fucking time that morning and smiled.
Joel frowned.
“Dogs off the dash,” he muttered, swatting at your bare, polished toes before you kicked his touch away.
“Shotgun puts her feet up, driver shuts his cakehole.”
That wasn’t even how the saying went. Oh well.
Joel slowed the car to sixty in the right-hand lane and smacked your ankles even harder. You yelped.
“Hey! You can’t hit a woman!”
“I’m not hitting a woman, I’m hitting a little gremlin,” Joel tried not to grin as he delivered another tart slap to your foot, and you almost jerked into the passenger door.
He momentarily righted the car before it went veering into the lane beside it, seized one of your feet, and tried to forcibly shove it off the dashboard, to no avail. As soon as he moved one limb, the other would glide right back up to take its place; Joel’s hands were big, but they weren’t massive enough to grab hold of both of your legs at once and make you stay the fuck there, Christ’s sake.
You liked to see him flustered. Brought a whole new hue to his tough, stubbled cheeks that folks rarely got to see. You squirmed in your seat when he reached for your side.
“Wh—NO! No tickling!” you cried, trying your hardest to roll away.
But the man was nothing if not a lover of cheap shots and filthy antics. He’d never played a clean game in his life and wasn’t about to start now.
His gaze darted from the road to your writhing form, pinned against the door and begging him to stop, while he pressed his foot harder on the gas and smirked.
“Too much?” he teased, “Say pretty, pretty please.”
In other words: give up. You would do no such thing. Your elbow jutted out to the side and clipped his fingertips sharply, and right before he could reach for you again, you were heaving yourself up and leaning almost halfway out the open window, trying to shy away from his touch.
“You fuckin’ nuts?! Get down!” he yelled.
“But it just may be a luuuunatic you’re lookin’ for!” you sang along to your old friend Billy Joel and pretended not to see, or hear, Joel Miller twisting desperately across the center console to take hold of your belt loops.
“Get—I swear to God, kid—DOWN!”
Joel had just managed to finagle a loose, feeble grip on your denim waistband as he tried to keep the car from soaring across three lanes of traffic, was just about to yank you back inside and give you a red-faced, fatherly lecture of a lifetime, when a sound startled you both.
A siren, and a set of flashing blue lights behind you.
You scrambled back in your seat and swallowed a lump in your throat the size of a peach. You turned off Mr. Long Island.
“Great! Good fucking going,” Joel griped beside you as he flicked on his blinker and started to pull off the road.
Dogs no longer on the dash—and a very pissed off cop pulling up behind your car on the shoulder of the road—you got the feeling this would be a long couple of days.
You hadn’t even made it outside the city limits of Boston.
Somewhere between Richmond and Roanoke, the two of you turned off the highway to find a place to sleep.
Joel had sat and stewed and ignored you for the customary duration of about two hours before choosing to re-engage in conversation, but deep down, you knew he was still kind of irked by that reckless driving citation he’d received. You couldn’t help but feel responsible.
Though it had been pretty funny when the state trooper had approached the car and pointedly asked, “What the hell was your daughter doin’ danglin’ outta this thing?!” Joel was nowhere near as amused as you, but he managed to roll with it and told the cop you were just trying to wave to the cows in the fields passing by.
The police officer hadn’t bought it.
He probably would have arrested you both if you hadn’t been such a coquettish flirt and somehow managed to persuade the man to let your ‘dad’ off with just a ticket.
You had hoped that would temper Joel’s anger some, but if anything, the sight only seemed to make him more mad at you. You weren’t sure why.
Presently, you pulled up to Balmaceda’s Mountain Lodge and cast a bleak look at the front office before you.
This looked nothing like the snug, homespun mountain retreat you’d been picturing in your mind. Ahead of your car, there stood a single-story concrete slab of a motel, tilted to one side and consumed almost entirely by the dark of night and wide open wilderness. A big block letter neon sign displaying the owner’s name in red now barely flickered above a muddied, pinkish glow. You groaned.
But before you could complain to your travel companion, Joel was already stepping out of the car and heading toward the main office. Hastily, you followed after.
“No way, Miller. No fucking way are we staying in Murder Motel,” you hissed.
“Bal-ma-ceda’s,” Joel intoned with a maddeningly accurate lilt, ignoring your protests, “I think that’s a Chilean name.”
He swung the door wide for you to enter and pretended not to see you shoot him a glare as you strolled in.
“Needin’ a room?”
The lady behind the counter barely graced your entrance with a look.
“Yes ma’am. Whatever you got,” Joel replied, smiling.
“Smoking or non?”
“Smoking, please.”
Of course he would. You could already feel the fetid stench of American Spirits wafting up to your nostrils.
“King or two Queens?”
“Queens,” you and Joel answered in unison.
At first, the woman nodded, flicked through a rolodex on her desk and nosed through a couple yellowed pages in front of her. Then, frowning, she looked back up.
“Sorry. All the Queens are took up. Rest of the rooms are being fumigated but the one—” she tapped a manicured nail on the motel map, “—and it’s got a King. That okay?”
No. No, it was not. You opened your mouth to speak but were shortly cut off by the woman before you could.
“Of course, if you don’t want dad hoggin’ up all the sheets, there’s a pull-out sofa for him to sleep on.”
The sixty-something desk clerk offered a smile, and you likely would’ve returned the favor if you hadn’t been so deeply nauseated at the thought of everyone around you assuming that Joel was your father. You chanced a look at the man, who seemed equally uncomfortable as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. You sighed.
“Alright.”
Defeated, but marginally pleased that you wouldn’t have to share a bed with your ‘old man’ that night.
Joel paid and signed the papers without another word, or look, to you or the woman. By the looks of it, he just wanted to book the room and get the hell out as fast as possible, his brow pinched inward and lips zipped tight.
He’d turned to leave so quick that he was almost approaching the door when the lady called out,
“Mr. Miller! You forgot your keys.”
You hardly needed to steal a glance in Joel’s direction to see that he was flushed. Even blushing a bit.
You strode over to the counter and intercepted the keys she was dangling for someone to take, then politely, finally, were able to manage a smile and a thank-you.
You turned back to Joel.
“Here you go, Daddy.”
In a blink, the small silver set was pelted in his hands, and the man nearly dropped them—and lost his balance. By some miracle, Joel managed to catch them between his big sweaty palms and step aside just in time for you to saunter past him, straight through the door.
“I’m starved,” you announced, then, averting your face to hide your smug expression and lower your voice a bit, “Feed me, Daddy.”
In that moment, Joel thanked every last one of his lucky stars that his pants were made of denim, and that the denim itself was thick. And that the woman at the front desk was swift to turn her attention back to her tabloid magazine, away from you two, and didn’t look up again.
If they weren’t, and if she hadn’t, it would’ve been plain as day to see that Joel Miller was sporting a hard-on.
A huge, swollen hard-on that made it almost impossible for him to walk and haul luggage and try to keep apace with your steps as you sailed along the gravel drive. So big the man had to will himself not to limp, not to make it known how stiff he was, until he eventually failed at both.
Once you’d grabbed your bags back at the car and made it up to your place, you entered Room 102 with a lightness you hadn’t felt all day. Joel slogged behind with all of the baggage and a boner beneath his jeans that probably could’ve cut sheet metal, if needed.
He was fucked. No doubt he’d have to enlist in the Witness Protection Program after your real father found out that his best friend had gotten visibly bricked up for you, his one and only daughter. How awkward holiday dinners were bound to be from that point on; how humiliating it seemed to him to pop a chub at a thing as dumb as saying ‘daddy’; how batshit insane it was that he hadn’t gotten laid in almost a year, and you were still, somehow, the only one he wanted to break the dry spell.
Joel was better than this. A fucking pro at self-control and all things dirty old guys didn’t do. He could chill out.
He just needed to rub one out in the bathroom, fast.
So, while you flopped down on the bed, Joel dropped every bag and made a beeline for the toilet. Slammed the door so hard he probably could’ve knocked the thing off its hinges, but he didn’t care. He was wrestling his belt, button, and zip off in a second. Then haphazardly turning on the sink to mask the sounds of all that was to come. No pun intended.
He yanked his thick, throbbing, rock-hard member out of its confines and had to hiss through his teeth to keep from moaning. The sensitivity he felt was unbearable, the front of his boxers already painted with pre-cum.
Gingerly, Joel wrapped one hand around his cock and raised the other to anchor himself against the sink. He slid his palm, which he’d just barely lubricated with some spit of his, up and down the shaft and groaned. A welt of pleasure formed in his chest, and he rubbed even faster. And, in spite of his legs feeling a bit like jelly, he stood there and fucked his fist and wished with every bit of himself that it was your warm, lush folds opening around him instead. Stifled a groan and would’ve paid any sum of money to hear your moans spilling out while he thrusted. The act here was more mindless and reflexive than anything else—jerking himself and soaking in the sharp, fiery sensations that shot up through his body.
To him, at least, it was all purely physical. Mechanical.
Nowhere near as euphoric and otherworldly as it would have been with your hand actually curled around him.
Or your lips. Or your tongue. Or your tight, wet cunt.
Fuck, he needed a shower.
Blindly, Joel moved inside the tub to his left and yanked the curtain shut over a space almost two times too small for his frame. He turned on the water and made it hot. Then he fisted his cock again, pressed his head to the shower wall, and pumped himself as fast as his forearm would allow him—trying all the while not to think of you.
You, with all your wily, shrewd ways were still the daughter of the man who guzzled down IPAs with him at the local dive bar every Thursday night over jalapeño poppers and buffalo dip. The man who clapped him over the shoulder and shook his frame with the kind of good-natured sneer that only a best friend could make, ‘A man as suave as you oughta get some tail every now and then. Go find you a gal and fuck her brains out, Joel!’
But the only ‘gal’ Joel wanted to rail was the one who called that man ‘dad’—and just called him ‘daddy’ for the first time that night—and he hated himself for it.
Sparks of pleasure continued to ignite across his lower half as he jerked himself in the shallowest, short pumps. He flicked his hand back and forth, circled the tip with his palm, and felt a groan start to claw at his throat. He tried to picture any face but yours but failed miserably.
All he could think, see, or breathe was you—imagining your lips enveloping the head of his cock, jerking him softly, taking him down to the back of your throat and bobbing that pretty little face up and down his length.
That sweaty, desperate fist of his just wasn’t cutting it.
For the first time, Joel couldn’t make himself cum.
Now even more pent-up and pussywhipped than he’d been when he first started, he slammed his palm against the wall and flung the shower handle in the opposite direction—turning the water as cold as it could get.
Five minutes passed, and the icy spray had scarcely left a dent in his raging erection. Joel stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his hips, and stood in front of the mirror to see that he was still very hard.
Fuck this.
He bunched his strewn aside clothing together and held it over his crotch, discreet as he could, and waddled out.
And, either the temperature inside had just jumped fifty degrees or the world outside had just caught fire, but Joel’s face was flooded with heat the second he exited.
You were sprawled across the bed wearing nothing but a thin white tank, shorts, and fuzzy socks—and a scowl.
“Sofa’s broke,” you said.
Joel blinked.
“Broke?”
You nodded toward the busted sleeper couch at the far end of the room, torn to pieces and kicked a half-dozen times since you’d tried unfolding it in Joel’s absence.
The jaws of the old steel frame had simply refused to give way, and now the sofa was so out of sorts and misshapen that you had no hope of putting it back the way that it was. You sank further in the bed and pointed to the floor.
“You can sleep there.”
Joel eyed a flat sheet and a pillow laid across the carpet, visibly coated in dust and grime. He turned back to you.
“You’re smokin’ crack if you think I’m doin’ that.”
“Be grateful I’m not making you sleep in the car, daddy.”
Again with that fucking name. Joel tightened his grip on the clothes he was holding over his dick and tried to fight a thousand dirty thoughts threatening to seep back into his head.
Unfortunately, the dirty thoughts had hands—and were beating his ass to a bloody pulp when he first caught sight of your nipples poking up through your shirt. Just when the man might have started to drool or else begun humping that pile of clothes, you snapped your fingers.
“Miller Lite. Eyes up here.”
Fuck.
“Got a…stain on your shirt,” he grumbled in his defense.
“Shut up. Now, we can flip for the bed if you want.”
By turns, Joel’s focus was slowly coming back, and the man was trying like hell to find a place on your face that didn’t arouse him to no end—to help ease the intrusive thoughts and all. So far his search had yielded nothing.
“Like, uh…coin?” he asked. Endearingly stupid.
“Heads, I win,” you said, nodding, “Tails…”
Joel swallowed.
“Tails, what?”
“Tails, you tell me what was going on in your head when you were jacking off to the thought of me just now.”
Your words came out in a hurry, almost too quick for Joel to comprehend. He still heard them, though, and nearly choked on his spit when he tried to swallow again.
“I wasn’t—”
“You were,” you bit back, “I heard you moan my name.”
Joel didn’t remember that. Joel didn’t remember much of anything that had taken place in that bathroom apart from being implacably horny and unable to bust a nut. You stepped off the bed to stand in front of him.
“What? Cat got your tongue all of a sudden?” you sneered, “Think I’m just gonna run off and tell my da—”
“Don’t,” Joel’s response was immediate, insistent. Then, setting his jaw in a way you knew too well, contemplating about fifty different thoughts in the span of two seconds, he pressed the clothes pile to his crotch even tighter and sighed, “Don’t…do that, please. I’ll take the floor.”
You raised both brows, mildly amused.
“I said we could flip for it. C’mon,” you said.
“Ain’t got any coins.” Joel was already retreating to his makeshift sleeping pad on the floor, eyeing the shag carpet for any traces of blood, piss, or rodent droppings. Before he made it too far, you reached for his arm.
Joel tensed under your touch.
“We can try something else.” Your voice was cloying, almost too sweet to be trusted.
It had just dawned on you then how bare the man standing before you was. Clad in only his towel, every taut, toned inch of Joel’s body was there on display—coated with sweat and a fine sheen from the shower, his skin practically shone in the glow of the bedside lamp. You watched him shift in place and saw the towel around his hips stir along with it. He never let those old clothes in his hands move an inch away from his groin, though.
“What game?” he asked.
“Something my roommates showed me,” you began, “‘Too Hot.’”
“Too Hot?”
“You heard me.”
“What, like— like Spin the Bottle, or some bullshit?”
Joel could just picture it: a gaggle of your college pals huddled around an old, empty bottle of Bud Light as you watched it turn circles again, and again, and again on the dorm’s linoleum floor. You tugging at the sleeve of some oversized man-child from a frat Joel couldn’t name, leaning in and beaming like the insatiable flirt he knew you to be, asking that boy if he wanted to sneak off somewhere and let his tongue take a tour of your mouth.
The thought made Joel’s stomach turn.
Presently, you wrinkled your nose up at him.
“Spin the Bottle? That’s rookie shit,” you made another face reminding Joel, once more, how little he knew of the life you lived 1,900 miles away from Austin, at college.
He still couldn’t shake the thought of those boys.
“No, Joel,” you shook your head, drawing your syllables out for effect, “‘Too Hot’ is just…edging your opponent.”
Joel’s throat tightened, and he tried not to let his eyes widen too much, but he was almost certain they had. Before he even knew the words he was saying, the thought of your father taking his fist—or a shotgun—to his face made him blurt out in response, stammering,
“We can’t— I can’t— can’t lay one finger on you, darlin’, you know that. Your dad would murder me.”
To his surprise, the smile on your face only widened.
“Bingo,” You stuck one pretty finger in his face like he’d made the world’s finest discovery, “You can’t touch me.”
“Huh?”
“That’s the whole fuckin’ game, Miller. We can kiss, but we can’t touch each other with our hands. First one to crack and grope the other player loses the game.”
Your expression now was something just shy of sadistic. Watching him with keen, narrowed eyes and a wicked little grin, it seemed you were half-expecting him to fold on the spot. No way was this a game your college friends taught you; you just wanted to play him. Make him lose.
And Joel was a man who couldn’t stand to lose, no matter the stakes.
You watched that failure-averse glint eclipse every shade of lust in his eyes, at least momentarily. Suddenly, Joel didn’t look so fearful of your father’s wrath or what lurid implications this night might bring—he just had to win.
“You suck, you know that?” he said, at last, dropping his makeshift shield from the front of his towel and knocking you flat on the bed with a single push.
“You wish I would,” you grumbled, heart still jumping up in your ribcage all the same. You scooted back.
“I bet you will.”
The man was a menace when he had the will to be.
At length, Joel crawled over your body and made room for himself snug between your legs. The bulge that he’d been trying to hide all this time was now heavy on your center, pressed tight to your stupid-thin shorts and the panties you’d conveniently forgotten to wear. He grinned.
“Are tongues allowed?” he hummed.
“Everything but hands,” you shrugged.
Try as you might to play it cool with him, though, every fibre of your being was alight with desire for the man on top of you. You flitted a look between his soft brown eyes and slightly parted lips and could’ve melted in that bed had Joel not lowered his head and dove right in for it.
His mouth was far gentler than expected. Reverent, even. He slotted his lips between your own and made a fine, delicate showing of just how tender and adept he could be while imparting his slow, sweet kisses. Skirted his tongue across your bottom lip before driving it inside, coaxed your mouth open to him in a matter of seconds. He was graceful. And patient. And lithe with that tongue.
Joel Miller was showing off for you—the bastard.
“Sweet little thing,” he groaned against your mouth, “Ain’t felt a tongue this shy on mine in a long time.”
Of course he’d try taunting you, too. Same old Joel.
“What’s it been? Two years since a woman let you touch her?”
“Twenty since I felt one this good.”
You would’ve liked to reach around the back of his head and seize a clump of that thick, dark, grey-speckled hair. But you couldn’t. Your hands remained plastered to the duvet beneath you, and then, just slightly, your fingers started to curl inward. Joel’s palms laid flat on either side of your head.
It felt weird; mashing lips, teeth, and tongue with a man who’d been alive about twenty years longer than you and went further back with your father than you could even remember. What felt even stranger was the fact that you couldn’t touch him, or take him between your two hands.
Joel’s tongue continued roaming every contour and crevice of your mouth like he had an ache for this taste that he just couldn’t quench. Your tongue tried keeping up, too, but frankly, you were too preoccupied by a pulse between your legs—your parts and Joel’s practically throbbing in time with one another—to work just as hard.
Even through the towel, he felt huge.
You whined when Joel started to grind up against you, and shortly, those fingers of yours that had just been grazing the sheets before were gripping them. Tight.
“Earlier…” Joel murmured between kisses, hips working a vicious pace against you, “You said you were hungry.”
“Yeah?”
“Sorry—starved,” he corrected himself, and you almost could’ve smacked him for being so smug about it.
“What’s your point, Miller?” You were fisting the sheets beneath your palms and gyrating your whole body to meet the motions of the man currently dry-humping you.
All of a sudden, Joel’s movements stopped.
He peered down at you with a curious look.
“I could go for something to eat, too,” he declared.
You blinked. Stared. And just when you’d opened your mouth to say, well, maybe you should’ve grabbed us a bite to eat when we passed that Burger King on the way in, dipshit, Joel’s torso started to move down your own. Slow and painstaking as ever as he made sure not to graze one inch of your skin with his hands while he did.
You leapt back against the headboard, almost cracking your skull on the wood.
“Joel— Joel,” you hissed as the heels of your feet dug into the mattress below, and Joel just sank even further.
Then he was slowly, scrupulously pinching the fabric of your shorts between each index finger and thumb, gaze trained close on your lower half to make sure he never touched you, and he started pulling it down.
“This isn’t—” you started again, only to be offered a soft shush and an even quieter rustle of the cotton material sliding down both your legs.
You dropped your head on a pillow and probably could’ve burned a hole in the ceiling with the wide-eyed look you fixed on one spot, in utter disbelief of what he was doing.
“No panties, huh?” Joel observed. Gentle puffs of his breath were now fanning across the whole bare expanse of your lower half, and your pyjama bottoms were shortly discarded. His face was just hovering there, and you could tell that he knew you knew by the way he lowered his voice and brought his head to have only the tips of his chin stubble grazing your abdomen, “You needed this.”
Some lone remnant of ire flashed in your eyes.
“I don’t need shit from you, Miller. You need me. And you’re gonna lose this.”
Even though your gaze was still trained to the ceiling, you could feel him grin against your delicate skin.
“Hey,” he mumbled, “You said tongues are fair game.”
Fuck me, you wanted to keen the second his lips made contact with your…lower ones, and Joel swiftly got to kissing you there just as he’d done to you above. Hot, soft, and tender as the first rays of morning sun heralding a new day, he sponged his lips across the seam of your heat and made as if to massage the place, gently.
You could hear as well as you could feel that effusion of desire leaking out of your cunt and pooling around the man’s mouth. How eager he was to lap it up with his tongue, to grace your ears with those delectable squelching sounds, he caressed every inch between your folds and only sank deeper when you whined above him.
“Joel.”
Right now you couldn’t look down. Not with the way your legs were already trembling around his head, your chest heaving with the fastest, most frenzied breaths. You’d sooner die before you watched him unravel you like this.
“Darlin’, you’ve got a man soaked.” Some sound almost resembling a chuckle reverberated between your thighs and sent a brand new shockwave of pleasure in its wake, “You like it when daddy uses his mouth on this needy, wet cunt, don’t you?”
Yes, yes, you did. But your answer was nonverbal: a sharp curl of your toes and a grip between your fingers so tight across the sheets that he saw you veritably could’ve torn the linens in two.
Neither of you had laid a hand on the other.
Joel was perfectly content to make do with his mouth for now.
“Got those sheets all balled up, you’re fixin’ to rip ‘em.”
“My tongue make ya feel that good, honey?”
“Poor thing can’t even breathe it feels so nice, right?”
So he’d seen you hiccup, try to steady your breaths, and fail before succumbing to a string of lewd moans. Joel saw you, and knew how you felt, as if he’d had his own secret gauge for how good his mouth was doing you in.
Surely, he could’ve sensed the words before they ever came out of your mouth.
“Touch me, Joel, please.”
His tongue was just then making a lazy circuit around your clit, mouth saturated in your juices, when he smiled.
“Nah.”
Curt and cruel as ever. Then:
“No matter how fuckin’ perfect this pussy is, I ain’t losin’.”
He completed the arc with his tongue and took your bud between his lips, sucking in. You almost screamed.
“Motherfucker.”
“Miller, baby, Miller. Close, though.”
And just when you thought he’d had his fill of cheeky games, Joel sucked your clit even harder and flicked the tip of his tongue against your bundle of nerves until you were writhing, crying on the bed above him,
“JoelbabypleasebabyfuckmefuckohfuckitfeelsoGOOD.”
It was a bit tough to decipher through your strangled, desperate moans, but Joel got the picture. Heeding your requests, he kept at that pace above your clit and slid his tongue back and forth, over and over, lapping up your honeyed glaze like it was the finest thing he’d tasted. Scruff harsh against your thighs, lips soft in a perfect suction, Joel Miller had your head swimming in desire and your better judgment dissipating before your eyes.
At the first sign of bliss, your muscles clenched, and the last linchpin of your resolve crumbled right along with it.
You carded your hands through Joel’s hair and grabbed hold of those locks with a full-throated moan, using his head for shameless leverage to buck and rut your hips into his face as you rode out the peaks of your high.
And, ever the gentleman, Joel fought like hell to keep his lips and tongue connected to your core while you writhed above him—this time at liberty to work his arms under your thighs and hold them since you’d given up the game. He would’ve smiled if he weren’t so narrowly preoccupied, seeing you thrash about and moan out loud and fuck his face like it was the last thing tethering you to earth. He liked seeing you come undone beneath him.
A bit too much, if he were being completely honest.
While you made the languid descent from ecstasy and your breaths were still slowing in your chest on the bed, Joel was back on his feet. Padding toward the bathroom door, slamming it shut behind him as he had before. When he returned in a minute or two, he was clothed. He fished for his keys in the pockets of his snug, stonewash Wranglers and made a face. He didn’t look at you.
“I’ll be back,” he said, starting toward the door.
“Back?” You sat up, perplexed, “The hell ya goin’?”
“Out.”
This motherfucker.
“Did I miss something? Were we not just seconds away from getting down to some how’s-your-father?”
Joel visibly grimaced at your choice of sex slang. Under the circumstances, you would concede it wasn’t ideal.
“O-kay, sorry,” you returned, crossing your legs out in front of you, “I mean…don’t you want me to get you off?”
Again, Joel’s expression twisted into something just shy of overwrought, weary, and repulsed—a look that you couldn’t begin to understand, for the life of you—and you watched him flit his eyes from the bed to the door, again and again, seeming to be pining for the sweet release of leaving your shared motel room as soon as possible.
You’d been with your fair share of emotionally avoidant fucksticks, but most of them didn’t ghost until after they’d gotten their nut and felt no reason to stick around. Joel’s exit seemed premature. Strange.
“So you don’t want to fuck?” you asked, deadpan. You’d never been one for beating around the bush.
“Can’t,” Joel shook his head, bringing one hand to rest on his hip while the other fiddled uncomfortably with his car keys, “Your dad…that’s just— that’s crossing a line.”
“And being nose-deep in my cunt isn’t?”
You stared him down, incredulous.
So now he decides to claim the moral high ground, after coaxing you to soak every inch of his beard and cum all over his tongue? How very fucking charitable of him.
“That’s different,” Joel retorted, rubbing his knuckles in a nervous tic, “That was a game. I won. We’re done.”
You set your jaw just tight enough to keep your tongue in check and refrained from firing off a brash, unsavory remark. It wouldn’t do either of you a lick of good.
You let him leave. Joel had told you that you could keep the bed, he didn’t mind, and then he slipped out the door without another word. Leaving you cold and alone on the soiled, tawdry floral bedspread of Room 102, wondering what the hell had gone so wrong in the span of the last five minutes. From the center of the bed, you could see Joel’s Bronco pull off into the silent, frigid night.
You were still hungry as shit.
Rolling onto your side and rummaging through the bags at the end of the bed, you found nothing even remotely edible—save for, literally, one of Joel’s brownie edibles—and you groaned out loud. You threw your shorts back on, stepped into your old Luccheses, and did a quick circuit around the room to find your jacket before you left. As it turned out, you’d forgotten it back in Joel’s car.
You dropped to your knees and went back to tearing through luggage, searching for some suitable outerwear.
By the end of that second suitcase foray, though, you found you had nothing of your own that was hefty enough to brave the below-freezing temperatures outside, so you had to settle on a dark brown, fleece-lined coat from Joel’s bag. It was durable enough but about four sizes too big—and reeked of cigarette smoke.
You trudged outside, not really knowing where you were going or what you were hoping to find. Your stomach growled, and a few cool gusts of wind came to lap at the bare skin of your thighs where Joel’s spit was still drying.
You stepped a few feet out and turned toward the road.
Bal-ma-ceda’s, you read the seedy neon sign and heard Joel’s enunciation of the name ring between your ears.
What you wouldn’t give for the greasiest, girthiest, barely-FDA-approved 7-Eleven corndog to kill your thoughts about that sleazy little fucker right now.
You started toward the convenience store across the street but quickly found that it was closed—along with every other establishment on that stretch of road. You glanced toward the front office and caught a glimpse of your old friend dozing behind the counter. The speakers outside were playing a tinny rendition of ‘Piano Man.’
Just as you tried not to barf in your mouth at the sound and silently primed yourself for a long, long trek through the boonies to the nearest gas station, you stopped.
In a compact little breezeway that cleaved the motel in two, you saw light pool around an old vending machine.
You almost fell over yourself trying to get to it.
Never mind the fact that there were about half a dozen ragtag teens decked out in camouflage and comically tattered denim cutoffs crowding the area. All absently smoking and blowing o’s, or else sipping on cans of beer in the cramped, concrete passage, they looked bored. A couple lazy smiles broke out upon seeing your approach.
You nodded back and sidled up to the snack dispenser.
Then you zeroed in on the first sugar-packed products you could find: a pack of sour gummy worms and a bottle of Sprite—no, Mountain Dew—and a chocolate bar. Maybe a bag of Cheetos or Fritos thrown in for good measure. All of the snacks were probably stale as shit and hadn’t seen a replacement since dinosaurs roamed the earth, but you didn’t care. You were prying singles out of your wallet and salivating before you could think.
“Gotta kick it a couple times ‘fore it’ll spit anything out,” one of the boys lounging around you piped up.
You’d just inserted a couple bills and were waiting for the machine to dispense your gummy worms, when the thing appeared to stall. Stuck in its tracks, like he’d said.
You raised a brow and tapped the toe of your boot to the appliance, turning toward the one who’d addressed you,
“Like this?”
“Nope. Nuh-uh.” The redhead got up and strode over, where his much bigger, square-toed boot delivered a kick to the vending machine that almost toppled it.
A bag of Trolli Sour Brite Crawlers dropped out.
The kid—who actually happened to be nineteen years old and a student at some college a few states away, along with his whole group of friends—was kind enough to repeat the same ritual for all of your treats. You’d just gathered your stuff together and were about to thank him for his services, when the guy presently stuck a hand in your direction and introduced himself as Connor.
Then Blake. Then Micah. Then Wyatt. Then Trent. All traveling with their team for a tournament that weekend.
Then a beer was held out to you. You declined. A little homemade deer jerky? No, thanks. How ‘bout some Oreos? I’m good on snacks, really. Well, shit, you seem a little high-strung, why don’t you take a hit right here? And Connor pulled his dab pen out from his pocket.
Well.
You hadn’t smoked in a minute. You might’ve decided to take a bite out of Joel’s brownie back in the room, but you hadn’t known how strong it was—or where the fuck he’d gotten it. The pen this stranger was offering you was one that looked similar enough to the kinds you’d seen passed among your friends a hundred times before that you felt comfortable taking one hit, maybe. Two max.
You felt stupid as soon as you’d sucked in every breath, but you ended up taking four hits in total.
You hacked and sputtered and blinked up at Connor, who was grinning big.
“Alright, hardass,” he chuckled, taking back the device.
“Daddy know you smoke?” Wyatt cut in with a sneer.
Daddy?
There was no fucking way Joel looked that old for everyone to think he was your father. You inwardly cringed.
“Y’all been spying on us?”
“Ain’t shit else to do around here.” That was Blake.
You tried to swallow but found your throat much drier than it had been before. And not just from the weed.
“He doesn’t care,” you said, managing a shrug.
It wasn’t entirely false. Joel did give no fucks about you.
“Dude looks like a— a fuckin’ DEA agent or something,” Micah said, amused.
“Like that guy from Narcos,” Trent snickered.
You’d never seen the show and didn’t particularly care to know what law enforcement archetype Joel appeared to embody—in fact, you didn’t want to discuss him at all.
Just as the first fuzzy beads of warmth began to roll into your head, you were already planning your exit strategy. Thank Connor for his selfless assistance and cannabis, bid the group a good night and the best of luck in their upcoming lax tournament, and be done with this shit, ASAP. You were still trying to steady your tongue in the bone-dry cavern that had become your mouth when one of them kicked at a near-empty case of beer at their feet.
“We’re about out.” Micah announced.
Seconds later, Connor was turning to you.
“Wanna…restock in our room?” he asked, the corners of his lips twisting into a smile as he looked down at you.
You crinkled your nose and shook your head. Connor leaned his whole weight against the vending machine between you, seeming unconvinced by your answer.
“I don’t believe you,” he said, “I think you wanna come.”
“Do I?”
You only entertained the backtalk because your brain was currently swimming in a far-off, pleasant void of contentment and indifference. Every sharp edge dulled in your mind, to an extent, and your body at ease. You didn’t have to be home to anyone, anytime, and Joel was probably halfway plastered at a dive bar down the road. You didn’t move back when Connor stepped forward.
He wasn’t even that close. You could leave whenever you pleased.
“For sure. I think you’d enjoy our shitty beer and even shittier company. We can smoke some more, too.”
The man certainly had a way with words. He muscled in a bit closer.
“You think so?” you hummed.
“I do. I really do.”
“And you’re willing to risk the wrath of my dad if he finds out where I am?” You made it sound like a challenge.
“Wyatt can fight.”
Connor motioned toward his friend, who was mindlessly chomping on deer jerky in his lawn chair off to the side, glossy-eyed and hammered. You couldn’t help but laugh.
“Okay, but make sure he’s ready. I can only stay for five.”
Connor seemed wounded as he put a hand over his heart in mock dismay.
“Only five minutes?” he griped, “Why not ten? Or twenty?”
“Six.”
“Fifteen at least.”
You folded your arms over your chest and felt an opaque haze beginning to settle over your brain. It wasn’t quite a high, just a lightness of being that drove tender little streaks up your spine. Like Joel, tickling at your sides while you writhed around in the front seat of his car.
This time you took the beer Connor offered and cracked it open. He seemed pleased—and taken by surprise—to see you down the drink in spite of the overflowing foam.
“Ten,” you returned once you’d swallowed it all.
“Twenty.”
“Honey?”
The last voice didn’t belong to anyone in the group. You turned on your heels and almost coughed up your beer.
It was Joel, of course.
Standing at the threshold of the breezeway like a surly, disconcerted parent, of all things, watching you like he’d just caught you red-handed in the most horrific of acts.
Clutched in one hand was a Burger King takeout bag.
“Daddy. Hi,” you breathed.
Apparently your attempt at casual came across more slurred than anything else, because Joel stepped closer.
‘Let’s go’ was all he said. No accusations, no threats, no outward displays of emotion found anywhere on his face. Just a gruff ‘Let’s go,’ and a free hand reaching for yours.
Instinctively, you recoiled.
“We’re just talking,” you said, gesturing behind you. If you could have seen the uniform looks of discomfort and agita, damn near treading on fear, among them all, you probably wouldn’t have bothered.
“Good. Now you’re leaving,” Joel supplied in a moment.
He was blissfully indifferent. Asserting his will in a space where, less than one hour ago, he couldn’t bear to share a room with you, much less impart a shred of dignity or care to your condition. He had nerve, that was for sure.
“I’m not leaving,” you said, a touch more venom in your voice than you intended.
Joel raised both eyebrows.
“No?”
His expression, directed to you, was infuriating.
“Fuck no,” you answered.
A few of the guys behind you sucked in a breath as if to say, ‘Okaaaaay, time to go!’ but then Joel pressed,
“For someone who wants to be treated like an adult—”
“Adult?” you scoffed, “You treat me plenty like an adult, Joel. Just whenever the designation suits your needs, huh?”
No one moved.
Well, Joel flinched a bit. Then he squeezed your wrist.
Truly, you never failed to underestimate the man’s brute strength when it came to carrying you off at will—but there you were, being yanked behind the big, bad Joel Miller as he hauled you off to who-knows-where. You scowled but didn’t bother to steal a glance behind you at the beer, boys, or vending machine treats you were being forced to abandon. All you could do was stare a hole through Joel’s skull and tug back—largely ineffectually.
“You’re an ass,” you spat, digging your heels into the gravel terrain as he pulled you along.
“You’re a brat,” he fired back.
In a minute, the exterior of Room 102 was coming into view; Joel was practically toting your ass like a knapsack.
“You just abandoned me back here, Miller. You— you don’t get to pretend like you give a fuck now.”
“I was getting you Burger King, for Christ’s sake.”
Joel was fiddling with the lock now. Simultaneously juggling your hand, the paper bag, and a set of keys that didn’t seem keen on cooperating, he huffed, disgruntled.
“Even got you those—” Joel grunted, thrusting his shoulder into the door, “—fuckin’ curly fries you wanted.”
Your jaw slackened. That was supposed to make it okay?
“Joel, FUCK your curly fries!” you cried, “Are you seriously still trying to play good guy right now?”
“If that’s what you—”
“No. You don’t get to tonguefuck your friend’s daughter and buy her a goddamn Double Whopper and act like it’s all good. Sure as hell don’t get to dictate who I talk to.”
Like he had before, Joel cringed to hear your crude language—particularly as it related to what he had done to you but didn’t seem capable of owning up to just yet. You couldn’t bear another second of that look.
“Fuck this. I’m sleeping in the car,” you grumbled.
You thrashed your arm out of Joel’s hold and started off in the other direction. Picked up your pace when you heard the bag of fast food drop to the ground and Joel trotting after you. Calling your name.
Even at your most brisk, you knew you couldn’t outstrip those big, beefy legs of his. He gained on you in seconds.
So you took off running.
Joel gripped his side, thinking, ‘Aw, hell’ before breaking out in a sprint just as fast.
You were pissed at how far he’d parked this time around. You caught sight of the old Bronco perched a ways away from your room and almost opted to change course on the spot, to the front office—maybe dive behind the counter and beg that poor old woman to give you another place to stay—but you kept at it, anyway. For once, you were glad to have had Joel beat by so many years, because the man’s endurance was, evidently, shit.
“Hey, s— stop!” Joel shouted after you.
Fat chance, Miller.
You closed in on the car. Joel rarely ever locked it.
Your hand secured a grip on the door and jerked it back. It swung right open.
Just as Joel was pulling up the rear, you had the driver’s side slammed shut and your palm laid flat on the door lock knob—shoving the little black lever down each time Joel tried to unlock the car.
It was a fruitless endeavor, you knew; you couldn’t keep the man out all night so long as he had the car keys in his hands. You could piss him off some more, though.
“You won the fucking game, just take the bed!” you said, straining against the door with your weight pressed hard on that knob. Joel was furiously working to get it open.
“I mean it, Joel, I-I don’t wanna sleep in there wi— shit.”
You leapt back in your seat as Joel flung the door wide open. You scrambled across the center console, made a desperate grasp at the passenger door to climb out the other side, but your ankle was taken between two hands. Just as you tried to slink out on the opposite end of the vehicle, Joel pulled you right back in. Flipped the center console up so you were sprawled flat across the bucket seat at the front of his car and pinned underneath him.
Then he pulled you over his lap.
Not into it—nestled on top of his crotch, with your ass pointing up in the air. Joel’s big ass Carhartt jacket was bunching up around your torso, collar crowding you up to the chin. Your twisted just far enough to meet his gaze.
“What do you want from me?” Joel demanded, “What?”
You stared up at him, poring over your options in the span of what seemed like two milliseconds. Wondering, silently, why he wasn’t touching you anywhere.
“I want you to fuck me, Joel,” you replied at length.
Seated between driver’s side and shotgun, Joel looked perfectly unperturbed, raking a hand through his silver-flecked hair and letting his gaze trail up to the ceiling, as if considering something of grave importance.
“And what after that?” he asked, still staring at the roof.
Before you could reply, though, he was forging ahead,
“What happens when I can’t even look your dad in the eye knowin’ I’ve been balls deep in his little girl, and every fuckin’ time I’m over at your house or you’re over at mine, I’ll be thinkin’— no, dreamin’ of what it was like to have you wrapped around my cock, screamin’ my name and takin’ it so deep inside you like I know ya want it?”
You paused a beat. Had to bat your eyes a couple times to rid your head of those filthy thoughts he’d planted.
“We could, uh— fuck…then…too,” you ventured quietly.
Joel grinned at the spot he was watching, humorless.
“That easy, huh?” he mumbled.
Again, before you could speak, Joel continued,
“I can’t even cum with you on my mind,” he said, and for a split second you thought that might mean he wasn’t attracted to you in that way, when he swallowed hard and closed his eyes, “I’ve tried beating off twice today—in the bathroom and as soon as I left earlier—and I can’t…even get close with you here. You fuck with my head.”
You fuck with my head.
Without meaning to, your hips stirred over his, and Joel audibly groaned. At last, he dropped a palm to your ass and gave it a taut smack, and your whole lower half reverberated with the sensation—and a welt of pleasure.
“You think I want it to be like this?” Joel said, voice strained, fingers kneading over the flesh he’d just struck, “Think I enjoy havin’ the biggest set’a fuckin’ blue balls known to man whenever I’m around ya, honey?”
You winced when you were spanked again, letting out a whimper into the seat’s charcoal-colored upholstery.
“I can help with that,” you hissed, feeling him massage the spot once more. You arched your back into his touch.
“No. You’d make it worse,” Joel shook his head, “Once I get a feel inside this sweet cunt I’ll never wanna stop.”
At the soft rumble of his words, you felt yourself growing aroused. Noticeably so. Your skin broke out in broad swaths of gooseflesh every place he touched, and in the wake of those hands grew a pool of dull warmth. Sticky, slick, soak-straight-through-your-shorts sort of warmth.
Joel’s hand hovered about an inch from the source.
“We’d get bored eventually. It’d be fine,” you said, words crawling off of your parched tongue with some difficulty now. That faint, heady feeling from before had become a high, finally, and it seemed every sense you possessed was ablaze with desire. You were barely able to breathe, much less speak, but there you went, rambling anyway,
“Soon enough, you’ll get over the thrill of screwing me, and I’ll find a nice, polite, age-appropriate boy to spend the rest of my life having nice, polite sex with, and we can both pretend like this never happened. Deal?”
It was quite possibly the dumbest offer you’d ever made.
Joel slotted his hand between your legs to rub against that dampened patch of fabric. You almost jumped.
“Yeah? Just fuck around and forget about it?” Joel spoke, and you truly couldn’t tell if it was a sneer or real sincerity, as your eyes were squeezing shut, “Is that all you want from me, sugar?”
His fingers slipped beneath your shorts and made swift, easy contact with your heat. You buried your face in the seat and tried to muffle the sounds that were clawing their way out of your chest, while your hips tilted up.
“Please, Joel,” you whimpered.
By now, your head was spinning, in a daze, that you almost didn’t notice him tug your shorts down your legs. Or take them off at your ankles. You did get a sense of when he was breaching your folds—taking two, meaty fingers and trailing them up the slick glaze of your cunt.
“Doesn’t seem like this pussy wants ‘nice and polite’ to me,” Joel murmured, eyes gradually fastening to that lovely, exposed spot pointed up to him. He wet his lips, “Needs somethin’ else, doesn’t she, darlin’?”
Speaking of your pussy in third-person wasn’t something you ever thought could be hot, but coming from Joel? While his fingers traced up and down the seal of your entrance, tips circling your tight, hot, throbbing hole? Arousing didn’t even begin to cover it.
You pushed your ass back, and Joel chuckled above you.
“Wanna fuck daddy’s fingers? Is that it?” he taunted.
No, no, no—you wanted his cock buried inside you. But now you just needed reprieve from that ache, and your senses were practically on the fritz trying to get it.
Your hips rocked back and forth over his fingers—sliding the two digits in and out of your cunt with each motion—and, as much as Joel would’ve liked to make you beg and wait a little, your desperate pleas as you fucked his hand were more than enough to satiate him. He worked his free arm under your body and pinched hard on one nipple, eliciting a soft moan of ‘Joel’ underneath him.
“Oh, baby,” he breathed, watching you rut your hips for more friction, “That’s it, baby, fuck daddy’s fingers. Use my hand to make yourself feel good— that’s my girl.”
At the last, you probably could’ve cum on the spot, and Joel could tell by the way you clenched around him. He nudged a third finger between your plush, sensitive walls and heard your moans take on an even higher pitch.
“Hurts,” you whimpered, with no real indication of pain. You just felt stretched out, stuffed, and aching again. The only ‘hurt’ was not having even more of him in you, “Need more of you daddy, please. It hurts.”
Joel wanted to see you cum on his fingers. He really did. But when you got down to begging and pleading for his cock like that, the man’s whole heartbeat throbbed in his jeans, and he simply didn’t possess the resolve to refuse.
He hoisted you upright in his lap so you were straddling his hips. The fabric of his jacket hung loose off your frame and both of your arms as you latched around him.
“Are you high?” Joel asked, voice evening out all of a sudden to pin you with a serious look.
“Yeah.”
“How high?”
“I can consent, Joel.” Your thighs tightened around his sides, and your hips had already begun to stir.
“Not just can consent—do consent. Do you want this?” Joel’s hands moved from the small of your back to cup your face. You gave him a squished-together pout.
“Yes, I want this,” you managed through pinched cheeks. When Joel released you, you lowered your own hands to the buckle of his belt.
It felt foreign and familiar at once—this age-old ritual of fumbling for each other’s clothes and wrestling to get them off, like your bodies might catch fire if you didn’t act fast enough. Joel was a tad more graceful as he shrugged his jacket off of you, peeled your tank top off, and helped you maneuver your bare limbs around him. You, on the other hand, felt half-feral and every bit the wide-eyed novice while you stripped his body garment by garment and wordlessly told him just leave the jeans, I can’t wait another fucking second. Joel bit back a grin and had to steady you above him, feeling his cock twitch against his tummy but still slowing down enough to remind you, shhh, shhh, honey, it ain’t goin’ nowhere.
You had a tough time remembering that as you rubbed your wet centre over his shaft. Feeling so good you feared the feeling might escape any second, you whined.
“I know, baby, I know,” Joel cooed as your head fell in the crook of his neck, “Still hurtin’ somethin’ awful, hm?”
The tip of his cock just barely grazed over your clit and you buried your face even deeper, nodding furiously; Joel leaned forward to grab some item out of the glove compartment behind you and braced your body to him.
He tore something with his teeth. You craned your neck just slightly.
“Don’t laugh,” Joel muttered, voice momentarily stifled by bright, metallic wrapping.
“Is that…” You straightened up enough to cock a brow at him. Joel’s tongue rolled across the inside of his cheek.
“Cobwebs and all.”
Beneath your gaze was the flimsiest, dust-ridden, damn-near vintage condom—a decade old, at least.
“You buy that before or after the Great Depression?” you teased.
“Shut up.” Joel was already working it onto his dick.
“So Prohibition-coded.”
“I can find something to shove in that mouth, y’know.”
You were having too much fun at the old man’s expense, blissfully unaware that Joel was about one Gen X joke away from making you suck three of his arousal-soaked fingers. When you opened your mouth to speak—to try another wisecrack or else question the integrity of this ancient relic of a rubber—Joel crashed his lips against yours and made you mute with his tongue instead.
At the same time, he slowly eased himself inside you.
Your mouth fell open when you sank down on his length, fully, but no sound came out. You just gripped Joel’s shoulders and peered into his face as if to say, ‘Shit.’
No way any man was ever meant to feel this good.
No shot your walls were fitting his cock like a glove.
Joel soaked in your gaping, wordless stare with a nod.
“Good?”
“Great.”
You’d give all eight inches of the man a goddamn standing ovation if your legs weren’t feeling like jelly. Joel let out a small grunt when you clenched around him.
“Nice and…easy,” he said, as much to himself as to you. He pinched your hip in one gigantic hand and held you there, “Let ya take a second and adjust, alright, darlin’?”
“But Joel—” you whined, already trying to slide back up.
His grip kept you impaled on his dick, anchored in place. With the other hand, he brought a thumb to your clit.
“Just feel me, sweet pea,” Joel said, slow and languid as molasses while he touched you, “Ain’t gonna hurt ya.”
You couldn’t be sure if the man was a sadist or the world’s biggest fan of cockwarming—or just polite.
The bare, slightly-less-sexy truth was that Joel hadn’t done this in a very, very long time. Even the sex he’d had, close to a year ago, was something more of a flashbang than a bona fide carnal experience; he’d just bent a perfect stranger over the bathroom sink and drilled her. This was a fever dream, a first to end all firsts, and at present, Joel felt himself toeing a razor-thin line between self-restraint and bliss by just your presence alone.
In short, he didn’t want to fuck it up by busting too soon.
When you rolled your hips and squeezed your eyes shut above him, well, Joel almost fell into a panic.
Think of golf. Differential equations. The weather in Kuwait. Anything to get his mind off of how tight your pussy was holding him in, how lithe your body worked to grind above him while he sat there, so helpless and—
“Big,” you whined, stretched to the fullest you’d ever been. Unable to bounce up and down like you wanted but still squirming for more friction, “So big, daddy.”
Hockey. Geometry. Wind patterns around the Maldives. He held you even tighter, but your motions were growing desperate. You had to start moving.
“Joel, please,” you begged him.
“Baby, I’m—”
About to cum. I am two seconds away from cumming.
“Need you now, need you so—” your voice broke off in a moan as you sank your nails into his muscly shoulders, “So bad, daddy, please, please, please—”
On the seat beside you both, your phone lit up, buzzing:
Dad 💙
Fuck.
FUCK.
Your eyes locked on Joel’s in a shared look of panic and horror, and for once, your bodies stopped, perfectly still.
You knew your dad too well. Just as much as Joel did.
Your father wasn’t the type to call late at night unless something was up. And he wouldn’t stop calling until someone picked up.
“Should we…?” That whisper came from you.
Joel was frozen in fear, eyes now glued to the screen.
“Just…give it a sec,” he breathed, “Might be nothing.”
But his tone couldn’t mask the dread behind his words. He gritted his teeth and watched the phone ring.
It stopped.
Then started again.
The pair of you clung to one other in the old Ford’s bucket seat like your dad might veritably hear the two of you having sex from 1,300 miles away if you moved.
It stopped once more.
The screen stayed black.
You let out a small sigh and felt your eyes start to close.
Then the trill of a ringtone under Joel’s ass started up the second they’d fluttered shut, and suddenly your gaze was wide, and frightened, and freaking the fuck out when you realized that your dad was trying to reach Joel.
“Answer,” you hissed.
“What?!” The whites of Joel’s eyes were bigger now than you’d ever seen them.
“He’ll know something’s up! Just—” you slipped your hand under Joel’s rear, completely devoid of any sexual insinuation this time, and yanked his old iPhone 6 out of his pants, “Answer it. Now. Be cool.”
Joel’s expression was still paralyzed with terror, but he brought the ringing phone to his ear anyway. Gingerly tapped ‘answer’ once you’d smacked him on the bicep.
“He-e-y man.”
You were so fucking dead.
Your face hovered mere inches away, and you could almost hear the warble of your father’s voice on the line.
“Great,” Joel answered, stilted as a puppet with someone’s hand up its ass, “So good. How are you?”
A beat.
“She’s good, she’s good.”
For a moment, Joel’s gaze flitted to the spot where your bodies were still connected and you saw a flash of desire, followed by guilt, then his head tip back to close his eyes as he tried to concentrate on the conversation at hand.
“In the bathroom…Uh-huh…Phone must be dead…”
“No, she’s been a trooper—just fine…”
“Somewhere just shy’a Bedford, I think…”
You listened to Joel drone on and clench his jaw, and every now and then you’d feel a squelch in that tiny space between you two when one of you moved, and it occurred to you then that it probably was not in your best interest to stay seated on his dick while he talked. You shifted your legs underneath yourself to get up.
When you started to slide up Joel’s shaft—the first time you’d ever really moved, mind you—you felt a knot in your tummy start to tighten. The friction was to die for.
You sank back down and heard a hoarse little cry spill out from your lips before you got the chance to swallow it.
At the same time, Joel groaned. Then stopped himself. Then coughed—profusely.
“Sorry, just got a little—” Suddenly, a fiery set of eyes were searing holes in your head, angry as they were desperate, “—tickle in my throat is all.”
You ignored the strained Southern drawl and the eyes that looked ready to put a bullet between your own, and you rocked your hips again. The sensation was just too good. Your body practically acted of its own accord, and suddenly you were bouncing up and down in Joel’s lap.
The man beneath you looked enraged. Aroused.
Ready to wring your neck and maybe spit in your mouth.
“World’s movin’ too. damn. fast,” Joel seethed, trying to communicate to you semi-covertly while you rode his cock, “She’s one hell of a— firecracker, man, I’ll tell ya.”
You heard your dad’s laughter on the other end. While the sound subsided to chuckles, Joel grabbed your neck. He covered the mouthpiece for a second, then, in a murmur,
“This is not a fucking game.”
He squeezed your throat so tight you probably could’ve lost all circulation going to your head, but you smiled.
In spite of the hot, glowing embers of pleasure taking shape at the pit of your stomach and the coil that kept twisting and swelling inside, you grinned down at him. Then you mouthed, softly, ‘Yes, it is,’ and you rocked your hips against him even harder.
Joel drew in a breath through his teeth and watched you ride him with bleary, half-hooded eyes—keeping one hand on your carotid as the other hand cradled the phone to his ear. The man was transfixed.
By the pinch of just one set of fingers, you knew you were done for. A dwindling supply of oxygen, combined with your high and the hundreds of nerve-endings being brushed by Joel’s cock every other moment, you were spiraling toward release and didn’t know how to stop it.
When Joel pursed his lips and lifted his hips to start fucking up into you, you had to let go. Couldn’t hold on. You grabbed hold of his forearm, still hovering across your throat, and you moaned as the bliss washed over you. You slid your needy lower half back and forth, squeezed that tanned, tough arm practically bulging with veins above you, and you came around Joel’s cock. You whimpered his name, again and again, feeling him stroke your walls and fuck you through a euphoric high.
The next thing you felt was the seat cushion behind you—and the shift of Joel’s body weight pinning you down.
His cock hadn’t slipped an inch when he flipped you over; his grip was still secure on the phone.
The only thing that had changed was that look: malicious and vindictive with the hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Joel felt you pulse around him, starting to come down from your high, and he just decided to fuck you even harder.
“Shouldn’t be much longer now…” Joel hummed aloud, lowering a hand to your throbbing clit and muttering a soft ‘Uh-huh’ to your father while you clawed at his wrist.
“Joel,” you choked.
Now the feeling was too much. You were still so wet, raw, and sensitive that the pad of his thumb almost drew a shriek from your chest when he moved his finger in circles. You heard them chat about football. Joel shared a short, strained laugh with the man on the other end and pretended not to hear your whines as he continued to rail you senseless in the front seat of his car.
With the diversion of the phone call keeping his own climax at bay, Joel was free to fuck you as rough as he pleased—and couldn’t be more in awe seeing you veer close to the edge, again.
“Please, daddy, please,” you beseeched him, tears springing to your eyes as Joel’s thrusts kept shaking you.
He just shook his head and smiled as if to say, ‘Hold still.’
“It’ll be fine,” he said, “Mahomes is next-level. Best they can do is keep their heads down and take it, y’know?”
Your own soft, aching hole was taking the beating of a lifetime, and somehow, you managed to meet Joel’s gaze with a look that almost struck him as loving. That blissed-out, cockdrunk look of pure debauchery crossing your eyes in a way he hadn’t come to find in ages, if ever, was intoxicating. He felt the first fluttering pulses of your orgasm squeeze around him again, and suddenly he was pumping you faster, drilling you harder, gripping your throat and starting to sense his own climax draw near.
He couldn’t finish off like this.
Not talking shop and Super Bowl to your father—no.
Joel had to do something you might rightly hate him for for the rest of your life, and never forget, or forgive.
He lowered the phone, and right before he did, said,
“She just stepped outta the bathroom, actually. No, yeah, she’s right here. Wanna say hello?”
Your heart skipped a beat and nearly jumped into your throat. You tried to shake your head—fast—and even went so far as to try and dodge the phone when Joel brought it down to your ear, but that motherfucker had a grip like you couldn’t believe and wouldn’t stop stroking inside you or holding you down. You hated that you found Joel’s total dominance and control…kind of hot.
You flashed him the most nasty, bratty, ‘I’ll get you for this, Joel’ look you could muster anyway, and when he pressed the phone to your cheek, you mouthed a few more silent expletives before changing your air entirely:
“Hey, dad!”
Joel knew he was cooked from the second you said hello. Something objectively malevolent inside him got a rush to hear you speak to your dad in such a contrived, high-pitched tone of voice, knowing the unspeakable things he was doing to your body the whole fucking time. He could focus, now, with no need for any strained civilities of his own, but deep down, he knew it wouldn’t last long. He would not last long.
Might as well make it fun while it lasts.
“He…did,” you hummed, flitting your eyes up to Joel when he brushed your lower lip with his thumb—still holding the phone up for you while he rutted into you, “No, nuh-uh…Mr…Mr. Miller didn’t mind, no sir.”
Shit, the sound of you saying ‘sir’ was something that made Joel’s whole body lurch with pleasure. He made a mental note to have you call him that later and stroked your lip once more.
You tried to turn your face away—telling Joel, wordlessly, that you couldn’t keep up this conversation with your father if you had a thumb in your fucking mouth, but Joel didn’t care. He watched you pause for a moment, let just the tip of his finger press into your tongue, then, battling your better judgment, wrap your lips around the digit almost cautiously and suck. He knew you liked it, too.
He knew it by the way you bobbed your head, hummed, and nodded every time he thrust inside your aching walls and dragged his cock back out. The way your teeth clamped hard on his thumb whenever he grazed a particularly sensitive spot and how your lips held him in like a gag, or some other thing to keep you quiet amidst the moans and the whimpers bubbling up in your chest.
Suddenly, Joel was at your other ear, lips grazing skin and tongue praising your every move.
“My sweet girl.”
“Doin’ such a good job stayin’ quiet.”
“Takin’ daddy’s cock so well, aren’t ya, darlin’?”
From that point on, every single one of your father’s words over the phone fell on deaf ears—all you could hear was Joel. All you could feel was Joel. Your lips parted as if starting to speak, but all that would come out were small puffs of air, perfectly in sync with each one of Joel’s thrusts.
“You okay, hon? You sound…distracted,” your dad pressed. A hint of concern rose from his end of the line.
At length, Joel gripped both of your legs and brought them up over his shoulders, and he grinned before kissing your ankle and shoving his cock even deeper.
“Yes!” you yelped as you crushed the phone to your ear, hoping your father couldn’t hear any of the filthy sounds down below, “Just a little stretched—I mean stressed out, is all.”
The sick, smug fuck currently wedged eight inches deep inside you almost burst out laughing. If you weren’t so perilously close to your fourth orgasm of the night, you would’ve told Joel to take a long walk off a short bridge.
“Just worried about grades a-a-and all,” you stammered.
Joel leaned forward and almost tore a scream out of your chest—his tip was kissing the edge of your cervix now.
“Yes, sir. I will.” You tried your hardest not to whine and almost let out a sigh, “I’ll…ask him about it, for sure.”
As bone-crushingly fun as this all was, Joel was close.
He could feel it in the furthest recesses of his stomach; he was about to blow his load.
So, leveraging his weight to strike just the right angle and pushing his thumb in to stifle your moans, Joel sped up and drew even closer, face-to-face, so he could see your every expression from a hair’s breadth away.
He was so near he could hear your dad’s droning voice. See you struggle to take cock the closer you got to your release. You hadn’t cum in such quick succession…ever, really. All but one of the guys you’d let between your legs before seemed like amateurs compared to Joel, and to be honest, you weren’t sure if you could make it to four.
You popped his thumb out of your mouth and mumbled some ‘Sure, okay’ or other to your dad before casting a pleading look up at Joel. His hips were working up to a ruthless pace.
You covered the mouthpiece.
“I can’t, Joel.”
“Sure you can, sugar.”
“Joel,” you hissed, and tried to grab his wrist, when you felt your stomach start to cave. Every exposed inch of skin gave way to waves of heat, and your toes curled in. Worst of all, Joel was letting out sounds you hadn’t ever heard—short, ragged breaths that broke off in low groans—and it felt as though he were cradling your head. Holding you to him. Your eyes were locked on one another, your mouths practically panting in time, and what parts of you had not yet become commingled with him were practically coated with sweat. And shaking.
Then, in tones that rang like music to your ears:
“Alright, I’ll let ya head to bed, then. G’night, pumpkin.”
Your dad hadn’t even fully hung up the phone before you flung it across the car. Heels dug deep in Joel’s back.
“Cum for daddy,” Joel coaxed, “Cum all over this cock.”
You didn’t need much more instigation than that.
You came. He followed.
And it probably split his eardrum in two having his name screamed so fucking loud, but frankly, Joel hadn’t seen a reason for going deaf that he could’ve enjoyed so much.
Then, he didn’t sink so much as simply collapse on top of you while you both kicked back and let the waves of ecstasy roll over you. You adored his warmth in spite of the heat practically suffocating you both in that car.
Until it was in you.
Sticky, sweet dripping inside you.
You pushed Joel hard in the shoulder.
“Did it…”
“What?”
“Joel!”
You flipped your legs down and tapped his abdomen furiously, telling him, pull out, pull out right fucking now, and Joel gently obliged. Dragged his cock three-fourths of the way out when a frail, tattered condom came loose around the head of his cock and almost fell off entirely. That damn prehistoric rubber had broken inside you.
“JOEL!”
“I’m sorry! Fuck, I— fuck.”
Joel scrambled to get his cum-drenched cock and what remained of the condom away from your body, but the damage was done. You started throwing on clothes.
“I’m ovulating this week, I am so fucking fucked!”
Joel swallowed, shimmying his boxers and jeans back into place and scoping the front seat for his shirt.
“What’s…ovulating?”
You wanted to tear your hair out at the root.
There was no way this man had survived half a century on earth and didn’t understand the menstrual cycle.
“It means I can get pregnant if we don’t get a Plan B up in this bitch immediately. Let’s GO!”
That part seemed to click. Joel almost fell over himself trying to find his keys, while you slid out of the Bronco.
“Where are you going?!”
“To— to try and get some of this shit out of me first!”
Joel bounded after you, and within the first steps, you were sprinting across the parking lot. Your sweaty, half-naked companion tried—and failed—to slow you down.
“Are you not on birth control?” Joel huffed.
“Are you not capable of buying condoms more than once every fucking decade—or three?” you snapped.
Your strides were growing wider and more frantic by the second. Joel clutched his side and struggled to keep up.
“I’m…sorry,” he grunted, more embarrassed and worn-out than anything at the moment, “I’m sorry, darlin’.”
“‘Sorry’ doesn’t get your cum out of me, daddy.”
Your words couldn’t have gotten any more caustic or merciless—or inopportune—if you tried.
As it was, you were passing by the breezeway where all the bored lacrosse players were still lounging around, cracking cold ones, and craning their necks to see what the fuss outside was all about. The sounds of your feet racing fast on gravel and you and Joel’s raucous, bickering back-and-forth had caught their attention, and shortly, Connor was sticking his head around the corner. His expression—along with all the faces behind him—had twisted with horror. Confusion. A visible look of disgust.
Joel had just slowed down to catch his breath. He doubled over and braced both hands on his knees.
“I’ll fuckin’…duct tape my dick next time I hit it, honey!” he wheezed, barely loud enough for you to hear but perfectly audible to all the terrified guys around him.
Joel turned his head and almost groaned.
Then he was straightening himself back up, starting to retreat from the group who had him pinned with genuinely frightened—and nauseated—looks.
Joel normally wouldn’t care. This time, though, he threw his hands up and thought, fuck it, I’ll clear the air.
Over his shoulder, he grinned, yelling back to the guys:
“I’m not actually her dad!”
All of them stared back. Half-jealous, half-awestruck, Connor stood up, raised his beer, and called after him:
Summary: You planned to spend the summer at Sarah's, but you show up a day early and she’s not there. Joel doesn't mind.
Word Count: 6k
Pairing: Best Friends Dad!Joel Miller x f!reader
Warnings/info: 18+ MINORS DNI, pics for mood only, no outbreak au, reader is early-mid 20's and Joel is 47, pet names (darling, baby, ect), SMUT, unprotected p in v (reader is on the pill), one or two uses of pussy pronouns, dirty talk, alcohol consumption, Joel is a lil bit of a perv
A/N: i'm honestly blown away by the amount of love my last story got! thank you so much! been on and off writing this one for a couple of weeks. i hope you enjoy, feedback is much appreciated! if you're interested in my other stories, here's my masterlist 💝
Being best friends with Sarah has it's perks, main one being that she's an amazing friend and you've been inseparable since you met a couple years back in college. Another being you got to spend the last two summers at her house. And the other perk being that her dad is hot. Like really hot.
When you first met him, you thought he was a grumpy bastard, and he can be, but he warmed up to you the more time you spent at the house. You'd share beers with him some evenings, Sarah there too - and tell him all about college, your family and anything else that came up during the conversation.
You once mentioned to Sarah that you thought her dad was 'handsome', putting it lightly, and she laughed her ass off - then told him. You could've died on the spot when she brought it up over pizza that night but you stood your ground, fighting the embarrassment.
"Just being honest." you shrugged, nudging Sarah before glancing at Joel and trying to gauge his reaction. He just laughed quietly, shaking his head. He liked it, whether he'd ever admit it or not.
You laugh at the memory as you drive to their house to stay for the summer for the third year running. Music playing, windows down and a duffle bag full of half of your closet in the trunk. When you arrive you decide you'll grab your bag later and lock your car before walking toward the front door and knocking.
Joel answers after a few seconds, a small smile on his lips. "Afternoon, trouble.”
You're very thankful for the sunglasses that sit on your face as you fully check out the gorgeous man in front of you. Plaid shirt, blue jeans, greying hair combed back. How does he look better every time you see him?
"Sarah's out, staying with Tommy and Maria to babysit while they renovate, not due back till tomorrow mornin'. She not tell you?..."
"Ah shit, no no - she did, I completely forgot." you reply, realising you mixed up the days. The original plan was to come today until Sarah texted you last week to make it a day later, which slipped your mind.
Joel leans against the doorframe, arms crossing over his broad chest; a sympathetic smile graces his lips. He eyes you for a moment, taking in your appearance.
You sigh, pushing your sunglasses up to rest on top of your head. Joel stifles a small chuckle, making you laugh and then pout. "Not funny."
He can’t help but laugh softly to himself at your pouty expression, "Poor darlin’.” he muses teasingly then nods his head into the house, “Come on in, anyway.” he steps aside, giving you room to enter.
"You sure? You don't have to invite me in out of pity." you laugh, though you're internally screaming at the thought of being alone with him.
Joel light-heartedly rolls his eyes and tuts. He gestures to the couch that peeks from around the side of the door. “Make yourself at home, m'gonna grab us a beer if y'want one?" he asks, turning to you as he walks towards the kitchen and you nod in response.
Once you get settled on the couch, Joel fully disappears into the kitchen, and reappears a moment later with two beers. He takes a seat in the chair adjacent from the couch, hands you a beer he opened for you already then opens his own.
It’s quiet for a few beats as he flips the cap off, then Joel says, “No boyfriend or anything yet then?."
You thank him for the beer and then scoff a laugh at his question. "Nah, had a few flings here and there but nothing serious, y'know?" you reply before sipping the cold beer. "
Joel takes a swig of his beer, watching you with a curious expression. “That right? Ain’t found the right guy yet? Cause I'm having trouble understanding what would make a guy not want to stick around.”
You shake your head as you swallow your mouthful, feeling a blush threatening to appear at his comment. "I’m not trying to settle down right now. Whatever happens, happens."
Joel chuckles in response then took another swig from his beer. “You're a bit of a free spirit, aintcha?” he teases, his eyes crinkled at the corners.
"I guess so." you smile, crossing one leg over the other.
Joel’s gaze slowly travels down to your ripped jeans clad legs. Damn, he thinks to himself, you look good. He averts his gaze, forcing himself to think about literally anything else.
"What about you then, hm? No girlfriend yet?" you throw his question right back at him.
Joel scoffs and shakes his head. “Nah, m’not looking either.”
You huff a laugh at the similarity in your answers, yet for some reason, as if it means well for you - your stomach flutters.
"I hear ya." you say, holding your beer out towards him with a playful grin.
Joel mirrors your action and brings his own bottle up to clink it against yours. “To bein’ single, then. Damn, what a depressing toast.”
You laugh, agreeing with him. “To being single." you repeat before you both sip from your bottles.
Silence falls over the room, but it's not awkward, it's comfortable. Joel couldn’t help but steal another glance at you, shamelessly eyeing your figure for a few moments while you checked your phone.
“Guess I’d better grab my bag out of my car.” you sigh, standing up and stretching. Then you pause. “Sarah did tell you I’m staying for the whole summer again, right?”
Joel nods his head in affirmation, “She did. You're welcome to stay tonight too, sweetheart. I'll keep outta your hair."
You smile and nod, placing your beer down before he continues. "Stayin’ here for the whole summer another year running, huh?” he's immediately hit with memories of how loud you and Sarah can get.
"Mhm. Lucky you." you retort with a cheeky grin before grabbing your car keys.
Joel chuckles and shakes his head, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Real lucky.” he says sarcastically as you disappear to fetch your bag. He has another gulp of his beer, his gaze lingering on the spot on the couch where you were sitting.
Joel looks over at you with raised eyebrows when you re-enter the house, taking in how big your duffle bag is. “Geez, how much stuff you got in there?”
“Enough for the whole summer, hopefully. Gonna take this upstairs to Sarah’s room.” you grab the handles, attempting to lift it yet you struggled earlier and your neighbour kindly offered to help lift it into your car because you couldn't lift it high enough to shove it into the trunk.
Joel watches in amusement for a minute as you struggle then he stands up and walks over to you, putting a hand on your arm to stop you. "Woah, woah, hold on. Lemme help you with that, darlin'."
He gently takes the bag off of your shoulder, his fingers grazing your shoulder. "What're you packin' in here? Rocks?"
"Clothes, shoes, accessories, y'know...girl stuff." you move back, opening and closing your hand a few times to get the feeling back.
Joel slings the bag over his shoulder as if it weighs nothing, and you feel a jolt of arousal shoot though you as wonder if he could lift you just as effortlessly.
What you don't realise is that Joel can practically feel your gaze on him the whole time, making him smirk to himself. When he gets to the top he turns around with a smug smile on his face.
"See? Wasn't so hard was it?" he says teasingly, holding that bag up with one hand to prove his point.
"Yeah, yeah." you reply, waving him off.
He playfully rolls his eyes before he walks into Sarah's room, setting your bag down with a thud. You thank him as he descends the stairs before walking back to your spot on the couch and taking your beer.
Joel settles back into his seat. Another comfortable silence washes over the two of you briefly until Joel brakes it.
“Soo,” he drawls, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his lips as his gaze meets yours. “How much trouble you plan on causing during your lil’ visit?”
You lean back into the sofa more and exhale an amused puff of air from your nose. "Oh, tons, obviously."
Joel chuckles at your response, shaking his head slightly. His gaze remained on you longer than necessary. The way you were lounging back against the couch was making it difficult for him to think clearly.
“You wanna watch a movie or somethin' before I bore ya to death?” he nods towards the TV, waiting for your reply.
"Oh stop it, you're not boring but sure, a movie sounds good to me."
Joel stands up, grabbing the remote and takes a seat on the other side of the couch you're on this time, only so he could see the tv better, of course, then scrolls through the movie options. "You got a specific movie in mind, trouble'? Or am I pickin'?"
"I'll watch anything, you pick." you say, making yourself more comfy, shifting on the couch and tucking your legs under you.
He glances over at you, his gaze lingering on the way you nestled into the couch, legs tucked under, comfortable. He swallows, focusing back on the TV. He scrolls through the available movies, and after a few moments, settles on a comedy movie. When the opening credits begin to play he settles back into his seat, taking another swig of his beer. His gaze drifts to you every few minutes, he's hyper aware of your presence only one seat away.
At a particularly funny moment, out of habit, you reach out and grasp Joel's forearm as you laugh. It's something you've always done, something Sarah was used to. He jolts slightly in surprise, the touch sending tingles up his arm. He glances down at your hand on his forearm then back up to you. He can vaguely recall you doing this with Sarah but had never been on the receiving end himself.
You catch yourself, reminding yourself who you're with. "Oh god, sorry. I do it to Sarah all the time." you explain, smiling sheepishly and patting his arm before retracting your hand.
He slowly relaxes his shoulders, the corners of his lips tugged into a smile you apologize. "S'alright, no need to apologize." he says, his voice raspy, his southern drawl more evident than usual. In that moment, Joel realises just how much trouble he really is in.
The movie continues playing, but Joel finds it harder to pay attention. The feeling of your hand on him still lingered on his skin, and he found himself wanting more. Instead, he takes his last gulp of beer, his gaze shifting back to the TV. He clears his throat softly before abruptly standing up.
"Another?" he asks, shaking his empty beer bottle and nodding towards yours. You agree, handing him your empty bottle when he holds his hand out for it.
He heads to the kitchen to grab two more beers, taking a minute to collect himself.
He returns, the necks of the beer bottles between his fingers and hands one to you, sitting back down but just a bit closer this time. You notice his sleeves are rolled up now and you can't help gazing at his arms. You're unsure if it's just because they're attached to him or if he really does have nice arms. God you need to get laid soon.
You untuck your legs that now ache slightly and stretch them out before placing them on Joel's lap, a playful grin on your face.
Joel feels his heart rate quicken as you place your legs on his lap and he has to bite his tongue to prevent himself from letting out a single sound.
"Comfy, huh darlin'?" he asks, his voice a little hoarse.
You laugh a little, looking over at him. "I am. You make a great foot rest, actually."
Joel chuckles at your playful words. "Glad I could be of service." he replies, trying to ignore the way your laugh sends jolts of arousal straight to his dick. He takes another gulp of beer, his gaze flickering down and his hand almost moves on its own accord, lightly resting on your ankle.
Late afternoon turns into evening, evening turns into night as you continue watching movies and drink a couple more beers. He's become accustomed to your legs on his lap, and each time you return from making a trip to the kitchen or to the bathroom, he waits the few seconds it takes you to sit back down and rest your legs on him once more. You've both had a few more beers than intended. Joel is feeling a pleasant buzz, and he can tell that you are too.
As the night wears on, Joel gets more bold and starts slowly tracing his fingers up your calf. He only moves a little each time, testing the waters. He keeps his gaze fixed on the movie, but his mind is going wild, his heart thumping in his chest and his dick twitching in his pants.
You swallow hard as his fingers reach the bare skin between the rips in your jeans, while you're trying your hardest to seem unbothered as your eyes are also fixed on the screen.
It feels like you've got an angel and devil on your shoulders like those old cartoons. The angel is telling you that this is a bad idea, stop this right now, this is your best friends dad. Yet the devil is telling you to go for it, you want it, ride it out and hell, ride Joel too.
Joel’s fingers continue their slow journey upwards, tracing circles on the denim. He’s hyper-aware of every movement you make, every hitch in your breath. He knows he's playing a dangerous game, but right now, he doesn’t care.
Over the next few minutes, the movie long forgotten now, his fingers move further, now tracing lazy patterns on the inside of your thigh, just above your knee. He can feel the tension between you growing. He looks over at you, his gaze hooded and heavy.
You can feel his gaze and look over. When your eyes meet, a moment of pure heat and undeniable desire passes between you. There's a fire there, and it's growing with each passing second. Joel's hand continues its slow, rhythmic movement, his thumb lightly grazing the skin of your thigh. His gaze is intense, unyielding.
You mentally flick the angel off your shoulder and mutter "fuck it." before shifting your position so you're now kneeling beside him and turn his face toward you to press your lips against his.
Joel is momentarily caught off guard by your bold move. His mind is screaming this is a bad idea, but his body is singing a different tune. A low moan escapes him, his eyes fluttering shut on reflex.
His free hand immediately grasps the nape of your neck, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss. The moment his tongue flicks out to glide against yours, his restraint snaps. He grips your hips with his large hands and tugs you onto his lap.
Suddenly his lips are hot against your neck, trailing a line of kisses as his hands slide from your hips under your shirt, resting on your bare waist.
He pulls back, breathing heavy and looking at you. "C'mon, my room. Not doing this in the family room." he mumbles, pulling you up by your hand. You understand and let him lead you to his room and as soon as you're in there, you resume the position, his back against the headboard and you straddling his lap.
You moan softly as his lips and greying scruff move against your neck again. You've only imagined this hundreds of times before and now it's happening, all reasoning and goodwill and out the window.
With how easy it is for him to slip into this, and you, you're rethinking everything that's ever happened. Everything you've ever convinced yourself was Joel just being friendly, fleeting looks, touches, everything. You know for sure now it was what you thought.
“You know exactly what you’ve been doing. A-always hovering around when I’m here with Sarah…touching my back when you walk past me…” you whisper, slowly rocking your hips against his.
“Fuck, I know.” he rasps, his hands moving up to your hips, holding you in place to match your rhythm. You take your chance to place kisses on his neck. He smells faintly of cologne and a natural manly musk that makes your cunt clench around nothing.
"Always teasing me." you murmur between kisses against his neck.
Joel lets out breathy curse and rolls his head back to give you more access. His hands slide down to your ass, gripping tightly to chase the delicious friction between you. “Teasing you? Darlin’ I was trying to be a fuckin’ saint.”
You place a couple more kisses on his neck before lifting your head from his neck, moving your arms to hang loosely over his shoulders and looking him in the eye. “Yeah? Walking around in only a towel after your shower? Leaning over me at the table to grab stuff?” you continue grinding your hips down onto his as you speak.
Joel’s eyes go nearly black as you recount his actions, and it finally occurs to him that he wasn’t nearly as subtle as he thought he was, and he loves it.
He pushes you down onto his bed on your back and lifts your tank top, his calloused fingers grazing the skin of your sides.
“What about you? When you’d bend all the way over just to grab somethin' from the refrigerator when you knew I was behind you? Paradin' yourself around my house in your tiny shorts?"
You mindlessly run your nails gently up and down his arms as he hovers over you. "I knew you were watching. Always watching when I'm here, aren't you Joel?" you ask, tilting your head.
Joel yanks the fabric over your head and tosses it to the floor, his eyes roaming over your chest covered by a lacy white bra. He leans down, chest pressed against yours, and responds in a gruff tone
“Like a damn hawk, darlin’.” His large hands trail up your sides, his head dips down to graze his lips across your collar bone. “Always watchin'…listenin' to you, smellin' your sweet perfume all over my fuckin' house.” he murmurs against you.
You think back to the fact you used to spray it everywhere, hoping to god it had this sort of affect and you almost smirk.
He hums against your neck, his hands roaming down to your jeans, finger and thumb making quick work of the button. “Thought I was going crazy.” he mumbles, tugging on the zip. “Could smell you everywhere...was like torture.” he says, moving back and pulling your jeans off, throwing them aside too.
“Fuck…I imagined us like this so many times. your big hands all over me- fuck.” you whimper as his thumbs run over your hard nipples through the flimsy cups of your bra, making your back arch off the bed.
Joel’s mind nearly explodes as you tell him your dirty thoughts. All those hours of him holding back, trying to keep his mind from wandering, and you were doing the same? He almost smirks.
He takes advantage of the fact you're arched so beautifully for him and slips a hand under you, his fingers splayed across your lower back and the other reaching to unclasp your bra. He pulls it down your arms, dropping it onto the pile of other clothes.
He pushes himself up on one hand, the other reaching down between you, fumbling with his belt as he speaks, “That right, darlin'? I’ve tugged my cock countless times thinkin' about having you like this.”
"You've stroked your cock over me?" you ask, eyes on the hand unbuckling his belt.
He looks up at you, eyes almost completely consumed with lust, as he unzips his jeans and pulls them down his thighs a little, just enough for his cock to not feel like it's suffocating in his boxers.
“Mm. Spent so many nights imagining burying my cock inside you…” he continues, and grinds his clothed length against you, as if demonstrating before continuing.
“God, the way you look at me…” he groans. “the way you laugh at my shitty jokes, those little outfits you wear…” he says, hitching one of your legs around his waist and leaning down towards you, his eyes scanning your face.
“You remember when I had that barbecue last summer? you and Sarah danced…and every time you spun…that damn skirt would ride up.”
You remember that very well…after all, you wore it on purpose. You felt kind of guilty after that, kind of parading yourself around for your besties father (even though Sarah had no idea), but knowing now how it affected him, that's the last thing on your mind.
“Yeah, I remember." you reply, wrapping your other leg around his waist and pulling him towards you more, needing more friction.
He practically loses it as you grind against him, thinking about when he sat in his backyard, trying to ignore the way your little skirt bounced, or how he would see your perfect ass cheeks peeping out of the bottom of your shorts. He was about to go mad.
“oh, I know you did. bet you fucking knew I was sitting there, trying to act normal while I’m dyin’, watching your perfect ass appear and disappear under that skirt."
You whimper as he cups one of your bare breasts, the other hand trailing downwards. “Look at these.” Joel whispers as he leans forward and takes a nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue over the bud.
“Tell me, baby. Tell me what you thought about when you were dancin', what you wanted me to do’.” he murmurs between teasing licks, his other hand teasing you through the fabric of your now soaked panties.
You let out a desperate moan, your mind begging him to do something. “I wanted…I wanted you to grab me, make me dance on your cock instead.” you say, voice strained as you try to grind yourself against his fingers.
A breathy curse escapes him at your words. He had to hear you say it. He needed to know you were thinking the same dirty thoughts as him. “You got no idea...wanted to grab you, pull your skirt up and fuck you right there.”
The mental imagine his filthy words conjure up, and his fingers teasing your pussy through your panties have you letting out a desperate noise you don't even recognise. God the noises you made. He needed to hear more of them, so his fingers slip under the side your panties.
“Y'like hearing what I wanna do to ya, huh?” he rasps as his fingers slide through your folds. “Soaked just thinking about it.”
You curse when his fingers finally make contact with your bare pussy and moan out a pathetic "Yeah."
“Fuuck, that’s it baby. Make those pretty noises for me.” Joel groans, easily slipping two fingers in your sopping centre, making you blush at how desperate you are right now. He begins to pump them and at a toe curling rhythm, making you gasp and moan his name.
He shuffles down your body, and pulls your panties aside to get a better look.
"So pretty." he murmurs, practically salivating at the sight before him, continuing his ministrations. He moves even closer, his hot breath ghosting over you, making you exhale and bite your lip.
"Tha’s right, baby. show me how bad you want it.” he says, his thumb now circling your clit. His eyes flit between your perfect pussy that's drenching his fingers and your pretty face as it contorts in pleasure. You reach behind you, grasping the edge of the mattress to ground yourself.
"Gotta taste this pussy. Can I, baby? Will ya let me?" he mumbles against the inside of your thigh before his tongue flicks out to tease the skin. He withdraws his fingers, toying with the slick, running it up and down your slit.
"ohgod...please." you almost whine. His cock is throbbing and almost hurts with every sound you make. He can smell your sweet scent and it's driving him insane. The moment you agree, his face is directly in front of your cunt, inhaling deeply.
Without warning, he licks a long stripe from your hole to your clit, tongue flat. You sigh, almost in relief at the sensation. Fuck it felt so good. He lets out a low moan, as if he were a starved man having eating for the first time in days.
His tongue dances over your sensitive little bud, his mind reeling. He never thought it'd happen. Yet here you are, legs open in front of his face and he was basking in it.
He hooks your legs over his shoulders, his lips latch onto your clit, sucking hard. You gasp and thread your fingers through his hair.
His hands trail over your thighs and then up to cup your tits, squeezing them gently. He alternates his tongues movements, licking and sucking, your moans and whimpers not helping the fact his cock feels slightly neglected now.
After a little more, he pulls away from your clit with a pop and looks up at you, his lips, chin and even the tip of his nose glistening with your juices. "She's a great kisser." he teases, wiping his face on his sleeve before slipping off the bed, rising to his feet and unbuttoning his shirt and throwing it aside. That line should've made you cringe and with anyone else it probably would've, but it didn't.
"Can I return the favour?" you ask as you prop yourself up on your elbows, wanting nothing more than to have his cock sliding down your throat.
"As good as that sounds darlin', my cocks achin' to get inside ya." he says, pulling his jeans and boxers down and kicking them aside. He gets back onto his bed, resting against the headboard. "c'mere." he beckons you over.
Your eyes trail down his body, shamelessly looking at his cock as you move towards him. He's bigger than you imagined, his balls big and heavy underneath. You don't have that much time to look as Joel pulls you over to him. "Havin' a good look there?" he teases, a smirk plastered on his face as you mount him.
"Well I mean, you just had your face between my legs, s'only fair I get a peek of what I'm about to sit on." you retort your hands on his shoulders as you hover above him, sitting up on your knees.
He lets out a low husky chuckle, the fact that you were comfortable enough to tease him back made his cock twitch and then a deep groan erupts from him as you run your pussy up and down the underside of his cock.
"You enjoy being a little tease, huh? like playi- fuck -playin' little games?" his voice is strained as you move a little further than intended, his cock nudging your entrance, making you both moan. He grips your hips, leaning back and his eyes zero in on where you're almost connected. "Again." he breathes. "fuck, do that again."
You happily comply, whimpering every time the head nudges your clit and moaning in sync with him as it prods your soaking wet hole. "Jesus-" he grunts, his head falling back. It feels so fucking good but it's taking everything in him not to drag you down onto his cock.
He can't take much more, and you're right there with him. Desperate to feel him properly. He wraps an arm around your waist, lifting you and grabs the base of his cock to line himself up. "you ready, baby?" he murmurs against the skin of your shoulder.
"mhm." you hum as his hands grip your hips. "but, slow...at first. been a while." you mumble, cheeks flushing.
His lust filled eyes soften for a moment at your confession. "you just take what you need, however you need to. we got all night, sweetheart."
Your heart flutters a little at that. This man just told you how much he's dreamed of fucking you, that he's been playing with his cock to the thought of you, yet being so understanding on top of that makes him even sexier.
You nod, before lowering yourself down on him. He closes his eyes, jaw ticking as he tries to stay still, the urge to buck up into your tight heat almost to much. "tha's it, baby...just like that."
You can't help the string of noises that escape your lips as you slowly sink onto him. When you reach the bottom, you rest your forehead on his shoulder.
"You okay?" he breathes out, one of his hands moving from your hip to trace his finger tips up your spine.
"m'fine. just needed a second." you say, fighting the embarrassment. It's not like you've never rode a dick, but it's just been while and jesus was this one bigger than the others. You suck it up and lift your head to meet his eyes, giving him a nod to let him know you're good to go. You slowly start to lift, with Joel guidance, before moving back down.
You moan together as you move, his eyes glued to your face. One hand still on your back and the other on your hip to keep you steady. "you feel so fuckin' good...don't stop. keep goin'..like that." His words only encourage you, your pace picking up as you ride him, the lewd sounds of your bodies coming together filling the air.
He starts to move his hips, matching your movements and hitting that spongey spot inside your cunt, making your eyes roll back. He takes advantage of that fact, watching your tits bounce in his face as he tries to catch a nipple with his tongue.
"Oh god...Joel..." you moan, leaning back and grasping his thighs behind you.
"Tha's right, beautiful. Fuck yourself on your friend's old mans cock." he says, watching your body move. His words are disgusting, they should turn you off, yet they make you tighten around him.
"Ah, you like that don't cha? Dirty fuckin' girl."
You nod, the embarrassment shooting straight down to your cunt. "Yeah?" he coos, pressing you, wanting to hear you say it.
"Mmyeah." you whimper pathetically as you continue moving up and down his thick cock.
"Look at me, baby girl. I wanna see that gorgeous face." He says in that deep, gravelly voice, his hand moving to your chin and tilting your head down to look at him. As soon as your eyes lock on his, the intensity makes you moan. "There she is..." he says, looking at how fucking wrecked you look. Pupils blown, cheeks flushed, hair dishevelled.
Your chest flutters and cheeks burn a little darker under his gaze. God, you always imagined you'd be more confident if you ever got to fuck him, thought you'd be calling the shots. But he's got you, and you're lost in it.
He starts to meet your movements, lifting his hips to bury himself to the hilt over and over. His hand moves from your chin to your neck, his fingers wrap around it. Your breath hitches and it makes he smirk again. "This what you want?" he murmurs, giving your throat a light squeeze.
"Mmmm, yes.." you mewl, barely able to talk. Your mind is swimming in lust and desire, our thoughts consumes by the man in front of you. He tightens his grip around your neck, his thumb pressing on your jaw to keep your gaze locked on him.
"What about last fourth July? remember that?" he asks with his signature gruff drawl.
You know exactly what he’s talking about and it makes you moan. "Mmh- yeah…" you manage. "I remember."
He gives a low, amused chuckle as he recalls the memory. "You in that lil’ blue bikini...walkin’ around my place, all tan and wet." Every other word he speaks is met with a harder thrust, making you whine.
Memories of that day flood your mind and heat pools in your belly. That was the first time you noticed Joel stare at you in a way that wasn't how your best friends dad should.
"Joel...I need- please I-" He takes the hint, shifting your position so you're now on your back on his bed, his cock still nestled deep inside you.
"I know, baby, I know." He purrs, his face going between your neck and collarbone, nipping and sucking all the sensitive skin he can get his mouth on. He lifts your left leg and drapes it over his hip, then he quickly buries himself in your tight heat again. "Fuuuck you're so tight.." he moans, head falling back.
His cock constantly hits the right spot over and over, you're sure your vision will go white any second. "So good...mmfuck, Joel..."
Your hands that look small in comparison to his, grasp his biceps and pull him down for a desperate, messy kiss. Joel's body covers yours, his muscular form surrounding you. He kisses you feverishly, every movement of his tongue and lips making that feeling in your gut coil tighter and tighter.
"Joel-” you gasp as the feeling in your stomach gets stronger. He can already feel how tight you're getting around him.
"Gonna come ain'tcha? C'mon baby, lemme feel you." his own breathing is ragged, he's not far behind you. He leans down, pressing kisses to the column of your throat as he fucks you faster.
You're unable to form a coherent sentence anymore, just needy sounds escaping you as he fucks you good, your walls tightening around him and making his hips stutter.
"There ya go...keep squeezin' me like that.." he encourages, hips moving impossibly faster.
"M'so close." you whimper, nails leaving little crescent indents in his back.
"Mmyeah, I know baby...can feel it. Gonna fill this lil' pussy up. That what you want? Wanna be full of me?" he grits, lifting his head up from your neck.
"Shit...yeah, I want it. Give it to me, please." you beg in your lust filled haze. You're right on the edge now, just needing a little something to help you over.
A gravelly moan rumbles in his chest at your words. "Look at you...wrecked and begging for my come." Those words have you clenching him again. He's so fucking close but wants to make sure you get there first.
You only whine in response, unable to come up with words as that tightness in your stomach gets so tight, you feel like you'll snap. It's like he's everywhere at once, the sensations are overwhelming and you can barely take it.
"I got ya, baby. C'mon now. Need t'see you fall apart on my cock." he murmurs.
That's it, that's all it takes. Your thighs are trembling, vision hazy, back arching, toes curling, all the orgasm cliches you'd never experienced with these frat boys who just want to get their dicks wet.
Joel watches you in awe. "Oh fuck...there we go, jus' like that." That was it for Joel too, watching you fall apart sends him over. His head drops down, hips stuttering as he rides through it with you, his movements slowing.
You're both trying to catch your breaths, sweat covers your bodies. Joel's still on top, supporting his weight with a hand on either side of your head. He lifts up slightly so he can look at you, a smirk plastered on his bearded face.
"Looking real happy with yourself there." you say, letting out a small breathy laugh.
He chuckles, the sound deep and satisfied. "Can ya blame me?" he murmurs, his head dipping down to press a kiss to your cheek, his beard scratching your skin.
But the sounds of the front door opening downstairs makes you both freeze and then Sarah's voice rings out, calling for you both. She'd have seen your car outside.
You just bought a new house that needed a lot of work. Luckily, your grumpy old neighbor was more than happy to fix everything—not because he was generous, but because it gave him an excuse to be close. To look. To stare. And you? Love the attention.
Warnings: MDNI, 18+, hotgirl!reader, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), nipple play (f receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, filthy dirty talk, desperate!Joel, pervy!Joel, pathetic!Joel, age gap, Joel being down bad, obsessive staring, possessiveness, mild power play, teasing, so much cum (like he literally can’t stop), Joel not having sex in decades and it shows, Hot girl reader knowing she's hot, Joel being completely ruined by your pussy, and you loving every second of it
11k. Enjoy!
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The house needed work. And probably a priest.
It wasn’t falling apart, but it also wasn’t move-in ready.
The kitchen faucet screamed whenever you turned it on, wailing like it had unfinished business in this world. The porch stairs were one strong gust away from sending someone straight to the ER- or the grave.
The back gate swung open on its own, which was either a poltergeist or just bad hinges, but either way, it sent an unsettling creak through the yard at odd hours of the night.
The lights flickered sometimes. The water pressure was unpredictable. The floors creaked loud enough to make you think twice before sneaking around in the dark.
But it was cheap. And it had potential.
And you?
You weren’t a DIY girlie, but you could figure shit out. Probably…. Maybe.
You did have a certain level of misplaced confidence that made you think you could tackle anything with enough trial and error.
The problem was—so far, it had been mostly error.
Your first attempt at fixing the faucet resulted in a flood that had you sprinting to turn the water off before your kitchen turned into a slip-and-slide.
Trying to replace a light fixture nearly ended with you electrocuting yourself into another dimension.
And the less said about the unfortunate caulking incident of last Thursday, the better.
Still, you were determined. A little clueless? Sure. But determined.
You wiped sweat from your brow, standing in front of your latest challenge: the front door. It didn’t latch properly. It wasn’t quite crooked, but something was off. The hinges, maybe? You had no idea.
You just knew that a strong wind could blow the damn thing off, which wasn’t ideal for your safety or your sanity.
So there you were, kneeling on the porch, staring at a pile of tools you weren’t entirely sure how to use, the manual open beside you like it was about to offer some divine intervention.
You twisted the screwdriver in your hand, frowning at the misaligned screws. “Alright, bitch,” you muttered to the door, rolling your shoulders. “Let’s do this.”
And that was when a shadow fell over you.
A heavy presence.
You turned, blinking up at the broad figure standing at the foot of your porch.
Joel Miller.
Your neighbor. Big, built, silent as the grave. Old as fuck.
You’d seen him around—on his porch, smoking, reading the newspaper, doing old people things and watching. Always watching.
Never introduced himself. Never waved. Never made an effort. Just sat there, arms crossed over his chest, eyes unreadable, watching the world pass him by.
Watching you.
At first, you thought it was your imagination. A trick of the heat, the way his dark eyes always seemed to linger just a little too long before darting away. But then, as the weeks passed, you realized it wasn’t just some coincidence.
Joel Miller was looking. A lot.
From behind the safety of his porch, through his truck window when he pulled into the driveway, stealing glances while pretending to tinker with something outside—he was always looking.
He wasn’t the type to catcall or whistle or let his jaw drop like some dumb, desperate idiot. No, but he did openly watch, with that brooding, set-jaw expression, like a man standing at the edge of a cliff, fighting the urge to jump.
A man seeing something he wanted—something he knew he couldn’t have.
And, honestly? It was kinda hot.
You love a pathetic man.
Pathetic in the way only a man like him could be- big and strong and old enough to know better, yet still sitting on his porch like some clueless teenager, hopelessly caught in your orbit.
Joel had spent his entire life working.
Calloused hands. Aching back. A routine as grey and dull as the pavement he walked on. He wasn’t a talk-to-women kind of guy. He was a build-shit-and-keep-his-mouth-shut kind of guy.
He had probably spent years without even thinking about sex. Not because he didn’t want it—fuck, of course, he did—but because who the hell would even let him?
The man was a relic.
Pushing sixty. Grumpy. Built like a man who had done nothing but work his whole life—because that’s exactly what he had done.
No wife. No girlfriend. Nothing.
He didn’t flirt. Didn’t go out. Didn’t fucking bother.
Just work, fix, sleep. Get off when he needed to—always alone, always quick, no one to fucking hear him.
That was life.
And then you moved in next door.
And Joel broke.
Because Jesus Christ.
You.
Soft and sweet and fucking perfect—so young, so pretty, so effortlessly sexy.
You weren’t just beautiful. You were something else entirely.
Something cruel.
With your tiny little skirts and tight little tops, walking around like it wasn’t a goddamn crime to be that fucking perfect.
Joel shouldn’t have been looking.
Knew he shouldn’t memorize the way your tits bounced when you jogged past his house.
Shouldn’t have let himself watch the way you stretched on the porch, or walked in those obscene little shorts, or sunbathed out back with your top straps pulled down—looking so fucking soft, like you were made to be touched.
Made to be ruined.
It was sick.
And he didn’t care.
Because at night, when his house was quiet and the only thing in his bed was his own hand, Joel let himself imagine what it would be like to pull you onto his lap or spread you open, bury his face between your thighs and never fucking leave.
To get his mouth on you.
God, he was so hungry for it.
And the worst part?
He was pretty sure you knew.
It was pathetic.
And he fucking knew it.
But he couldn’t stop.
And right now, his gaze was locked on you.
Or, more accurately—your thighs.
You were still kneeling, skin glistening in the summer heat, your tiny skirt barely covering anything. Joel looked like a man who had just seen God.
His throat bobbed.
His fingers flexed.
Then, abruptly—his eyes snapped up.
“Need a hand?” His voice was rough, all gravel and rust.
You tilted your head, dragging your gaze over him.
You smirked.
“I got it,” you said simply.
Joel didn’t move.
Didn’t even blink.
“…No, you don’t.”
And before you could argue, he was stepping forward.
Taking the screwdriver right out of your hand.
And just fucking fixing it.
Like it was nothing.
Like you weren’t even there.
· · ──𖥸
From that day on, Joel… kinda never left.
Not literally. Not in a way that you could call him out on.
But he was always there.
At first, it was little things. Fixing what you couldn’t. Offering a hand when you were clearly struggling. Showing up at the exact right time, tools in hand, that furrow between his brows like you’d personally offended him by even attempting to fix something yourself.
Then, it escalated.
Because you didn’t even have to ask anymore.
He was just there.
On your porch. In your yard. Pretending to check something in his truck but really just looking at you while you stretched in the morning, your tight little tank clinging to every inch of you.
The excuses started getting thinner, too.
At first, it was, “Saw the porch light flickerin’. Just figured I’d fix it before it got worse.”
Then, it became, “Just keepin’ busy.”
Then, no excuse at all.
Just Joel, lingering around your property, finding any reason to be near you, any reason to work himself into a sweat just for the chance to look at you up close.
Because that was his payment.
His reward.
Every little smile, every little laugh. The way your tits moved when you pointed at something needed fixing. The way you stretched just right, your little skirts and shorts riding up, flashing soft, smooth skin that made Joel’s head spin.
He didn’t even need you to talk to him.
Didn’t need you to flirt.
Just existing was enough.
So he worked.
For free.
Because what the fuck else was he supposed to do?
You made him feel like some pathetic old pervert.
Standing around like a useless extra in the movie that was your perfect fucking life.
A washed-up, near-sixty-year-old loser with a bad back, a lonely house, and a dick that hadn’t worked properly in years.
And now?
Now, he nearly was hard all the time.
No blue pills. No coaxing. No thinking about some old porn magazine he had tucked away for emergencies.
Just your voice, your body, the way you smelled, the way you looked at him when you handed him a lemonade like he was doing something special—when all he was doing was fixing your fucking sink.
And the worst part?
He was leaking.
Like a damn teenager.
Hadn’t been this sensitive in decades.
And yet, here he was—barely keeping it together, feeling the way his cock throbbed and ached, fucking dripped inside his jeans while you leaned in, smiling, teasing—
“Thank you, Joel!”
Fuck.
That voice.
All sweet and grateful and warm, and it was fucking nothing. Just three little words.
And yet, his whole body reacted like you had just whispered something filthy in his ear.
Like you had just gotten on your knees, licked your lips, and told him
Sit back, Joel. Let me take care of you.
God, he was fucked.
So he mowed your lawn.
Fixed your AC unit.
Made sure the fence was latched, the gate was locked, the pipes weren’t leakin’.
And when he wasn’t fixing shit inside?
He was finding things to do outside.
Hammering shit that didn’t need hammering.
Cleaning tools that weren’t even his.
Anything. Anything.
Just to be there.
· · ──𖥸
Joel looked wrecked.
Sweat darkened the collar of his shirt, his broad shoulders sagging as he finally took a seat at the kitchen table he had just fixed for you.
His hands were rough and calloused, veins prominent, fingers flexing against the cool surface as he exhaled, deep and slow. He looked exhausted, the kind of exhaustion that clung to a man who had spent the whole day pushing his body to the limit.
And yet, even now, after hours of working himself to the bone, he was still staring.
Not at the food you’d set down in front of him, not at the cold glass of iced tea dripping condensation onto the table, not even at his own aching hands that had spent all damn day making sure every little thing in your house was perfect.
He was staring at your tits.
You noticed it immediately, of course. How could you not? Joel wasn’t exactly subtle.
His dark, hungry gaze stayed fixed on your chest, drinking in the way your tank top clung to you, damp with heat, the fabric just a little too thin, a little too low. His hands twitched every so often, like he had to physically stop himself from reaching out.
He barely responded when you spoke, offering little more than a grunt here and there, a slow nod, an occasional hum of acknowledgment. Not because he wasn’t listening, but because he was completely fucking gone.
And you?
You smirked.
Because this wasn’t new.
Joel Miller had been looking at you like this for weeks now, like a starving man watching a meal just out of reach, a man standing in the desert watching water slip through his fingers.
And he thought he was hiding it.
He wasn’t.
You leaned forward slightly, trailing a finger through the condensation on your glass, watching his Adam’s apple bob when his eyes immediately flicked down again, drawn like a magnet.
You waited. Let it stew. Let the tension stretch thick and heavy between you until you could practically hear the way he was grinding his teeth together, working his jaw, trying to think of something—anything—other than the way your tits were right there.
Then, casually, you spoke.
“You’re not exactly subtle, you know.”
Joel didn’t move at first.
Didn’t even seem to register your words right away.
Just blinked, slow and dazed, before finally dragging his gaze back up to your face, blinking again, like he had just been pulled out of something deep.
“…Huh?”
His voice was thick, rough like gravel, his fingers flexing again before clenching into loose fists.
You tilted your head slightly, letting your gaze flick down to your own chest, then back up to him, pointedly.
“You like ’em?”
For a moment, Joel just sat there.
Silent.
Completely fucking still.
Then, finally, he exhaled. A slow, measured breath, dragging a hand down his face like he was collecting himself, trying to piece together a response that didn’t immediately give him away.
And then, voice lower, rougher, wrecked—
“…What’s there not to like?”
Oh?
That shouldn’t have affected you the way it did.
But it did.
The way he said it, low and warm and dripping with something dark, something dangerous. The way he looked at you when he said it, like he was memorizing every inch of you, like he needed to burn the sight into his brain.
A slow heat unfurled low in your belly, sinking between your thighs, pooling thick and molten as you shifted in your seat, pressing your legs together, suddenly very aware of how wet you were getting.
And Joel knew it.
Because his eyes flicked down for a split second, watching the way you shifted, the way your breath caught ever so slightly, and his fingers clenched tighter against the table.
And then, voice slow, teasing, stretching out the moment—
“Hmmm.”
You tapped a finger against your chin, watching the way his dark eyes tracked your movements, like he couldn’t help it, like he had no control over the way his body responded to you.
And then, soft and syrupy—
“You know, Joel… I feel kinda bad.”
Joel didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t breathe.
Just stared.
You watched the slow, deliberate way he swallowed, the way his whole body seemed to tense under the weight of those words, the muscles in his arms flexing as his fingers curled against the table.
“…Bad?”
His voice was barely above a whisper.
“For letting you do all this work without paying you back.”
There was a beat of silence.
Joel’s fingers flexed. His breath stuttered, sharp and uneven. You could see the battle happening in his head—his morals, his age, the voice in his head screaming this is wrong, you’re too old, don’t do this—
And yet.
When he spoke, it was wrecked.
“…Can I just—”
Joel swallowed hard.
His voice dropped lower, raspier, barely even a sound.
“Can I just see you? Look at you?”
The words sent a jolt of something electric through you, made your skin heat, your pulse quicken, made that molten heat in your belly throb.
You smiled. Slow. Sweet.
Cruel.
"You wanna see me, Joel?"
His breath hitched.
His fingers twitched.
He nodded, almost absently, his mouth falling open, chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths.
You dragged your nails lightly up your stomach, over your ribs, the movement subtle, slow, making him watch.
Your hands went to the hem of your tank top, your fingers curling around the fabric, slowly dragging it up.
Joel’s pupils blew wide.
His lips parted.
His breath hitched.
And when you pulled it over your head, letting it drop to the floor, you saw it.
The way his fingers clenched so hard around the edge of the table that his knuckles went white, like he needed to physically hold himself back.
You sat there in just your bra, running your hands up your stomach, over your ribs, tilting your head slightly as you murmured—
“Like this?”
Joel made a noise that was almost a groan, almost a curse, a low, strangled thing that caught in his throat as his eyes devoured you.
He swallowed again, hard, blinking like he was trying to process what was happening.
Then—rough, hoarse, desperate—
“…Please. Everything.”
So you did.
You reached behind you, undoing the clasp of your bra with a slow, deliberate flick of your fingers, letting the straps slip down your arms before shrugging it off completely.
And Joel lost the last shred of restraint he had.
His breath hitched—a sharp, audible inhale, like he had just been punched in the gut.
His eyes dropped from your eyes instantly, dragged down like they had no choice, like the second your tits were bare, he was physically incapable of looking anywhere else.
And fuck.
The sound that tore from his throat was something low, deep, filthy— not even a real word, just a groan, guttural and needy, his lips parting, his tongue darting out, his whole fucking body reacting like he was a man who had been starving his whole goddamn life, and now?
Now he was looking at the best fucking meal he’d ever seen.
Because Jesus Christ.
Your tits?
They were perfect.
So fucking full and soft, high and round, plump little handfuls of heaven that he’d been imagining for weeks, and now? Now they were right there.
And your nipples—fuck.
They were already hard, tight little peaks sitting pretty, puckered and aching, begging for something—a touch, a mouth, something wet and warm.
They looked so fucking sweet, like they’d feel so soft, like they’d taste so good on his tongue.
Joel groaned.
A rough, heavy sound, his jaw clenching so fucking hard it was a miracle his teeth didn’t crack, his entire body tensing like it physically hurt him to just sit there and look and not touch.
And then, voice wrecked, strained, barely even a whisper—
“Best goddamn tits I’ve ever seen.”
You smirked, slow and teasing, shifting slightly, making them bounce just a little, the movement so subtle, but his whole body jerked.
“Yeah?”
Joel grunted, a deep, broken noise, his breath stuttering, his fingers flexing.
“Yeah.”
His lips parted slightly, his chest rising and falling with heavy, uneven breaths.
His hips shifted.
And you noticed.
The way his jeans were tight.
The way a wet patch darkened the denim.
The way his entire body looked like it was straining under the weight of his own need.
And then, voice breaking, groaning—
“Thank you, Sweetheart.”
Your breath caught.
Because that?
That sounded filthy.
Low, wrecked, grateful.
Like just seeing you was some kind of mercy.
His thighs tensed. His hands twitched. His eyes stayed locked on you, burning, devouring, drowning.
You dragged your hands up your own stomach, slow and lazy, brushing your fingers over the soft curves of your breasts, rolling your thumbs over your hardened nipples, smirking when you heard his breath hitch.
“You wanna touch ‘em, Joel?” you murmured, soft and syrupy, voice dipped in honey.
Joel groaned, deep and guttural, like the question alone was enough to wreck him.
“Fuck yeah.”
He didn’t wait for permission.
Didn’t hesitate.
Didn’t fucking think.
His hands were on you before the words even fully left his mouth—grabbing, groping, squeezing like he was starving for it, like he’d been fantasizing about this for so long that the second he finally had them in his palms, he lost every ounce of restraint.
And Jesus fuck, his hands were big.
Rough.
Strong.
Decades of hard labor carved into every thick callus, every flex of his fingers, every hungry, greedy, desperate grab.
“Fuck, babygirl,” he muttered, voice wrecked, almost dazed as he kneaded your tits, rolling them in his palms, squeezing like he needed to memorize the way they felt—like he’d never get this chance again.
He groaned, deep and filthy, fingers digging in, rough fingertips brushing over your stiff nipples, making you suck in a sharp breath as heat licked through your veins.
“So fuckin’ soft,” he rasped, thumbing over the tight little peaks, watching the way your body reacted to him, your back arching, breath hitching.
Joel felt that.
“Feel good, baby?” he rasped, voice a low, guttural thing, dragging his calloused fingers over your nipples again, rubbing slow, deliberate circles, watching your reaction like a starving man watching a meal.
You swallowed hard, a shiver running through you, your thighs pressing together. Fuck.
Your nipples were so sensitive, tingling with every swipe, every flick, every dirty little touch of his rough fingers.
“Yeah,” you breathed, biting your lip, arching into his touch, letting him take what he wanted.
Joel groaned again, deep and needy, gripping your tits harder, pushing them together, squeezing, kneading, fucking obsessed.
His thumbs twisted your nipples, slow and deliberate, watching the way they hardened even further, standing up all soft and pink, looking so fucking suckable.
“Jesus,” he muttered again, voice dropping lower, rougher. “Look at these pretty tits.”
His fingers pinched, tugged, twisted just right—just enough to make you gasp, a soft little sound that sent a lightning bolt of pure fucking need straight to his cock.
He grinned.
A dark, hungry thing.
And then, voice gritted, thick with lust—
“Bet they taste even better.”
“Can I-”
Before he could even finish asking, you were already shushing him, already threading your fingers into his graying hair and pulling his face down, guiding him straight to where he belonged.
Joel went willingly.
Mouth first.
No hesitation. No second-guessing.
Joel yanked you into his lap, gripping you like you might disappear, like this was a dream he’d wake up from if he let go for even a second.
His knees ached against the floor, his back twinged in warning, but he didn’t give a fuck. Not when you were straddling him, warm and soft, tits in his face like some fucking gift from God.
His mouth sealed over your nipple, pulling at it with an obscene, wet suckle, tongue flattening before flicking, rolling, teasing the sensitive bud until it was aching, stiff, raw.
Just a wrecked, filthy groan, muffled against your soft, warm skin as he was sucking deep, sucking hard, sucking wet.
“Fuck yes,” he moaned into your skin, voice ragged, his breath hot and heavy against your breast.
He was loud.
Not in words—because words didn’t matter anymore.
But in the way he suckled, the way his lips sealed tight, how he groaned and slurped and moaned, every single sound of his mouth on you wet and obscene, filling the space around you.
His tongue swiped up, then down, then circled—slow at first, then faster, flicking against the stiff bud before pulling it into his mouth again, sealing his lips tight, sucking deep.
He couldn’t stop.
Didn’t even try.
His hands moved next, big, calloused fingers gripping your waist, dragging you closer, then sliding up to cup both tits in his palms, rough and desperate.
“Oh—fuck, Joel—” your breath hitched, the sharp pull of his mouth sending a jolt straight between your thighs.
He groaned—deep, guttural, filthy.
“Goddamn, baby—”
Then, harder.
His fingers squeezed tighter, thumbs brushing over your nipples, pinching the one he wasn’t sucking on, rolling it between his fingertips, tugging just enough to make you gasp.
You felt his breath stutter—like he was about to lose it completely—before he pulled off with a wet, sucking pop, spit connecting his lips to your nipple, slick and shining.
He stared.
Breathing ragged. Eyes dark, starving.
And then he dived right back in.
Latching onto the other like a man possessed, groaning into it like he was trying to drink from you, ruin you, consume you.
His hands never stopped.
He hugged you closer, pulling you right into him, pressing your tits together, mashing them up against his face, smothering himself in them.
“So fuckin’ soft, baby—” he rasped, licking, suckling, tongue dragging slow circles around your nipple before he sealed his lips and sucked deep again.
“So fuckin’ sweet—”
He switched between them like he couldn’t pick a favorite, couldn’t decide, couldn’t stop.
His tongue flicked, his lips sucked, his teeth grazed, sending shocks of pleasure straight between your legs.
Your breath hitched.
Your back arched.
Because he wasn’t just playing around.
This wasn’t just teasing.
This wasn’t some guy mouthing at your tits before moving on.
No.
Joel was staying here.
Lingering.
Drowning in it.
Like he could suckle your tits for hours.
And then, voice low, gravelly, wrecked—
“Baby…”
You hummed, already smirking.
He swallowed thickly, his fingers tracing absent circles against your ribs, his voice barely above a whisper—
“Lemme see you.”
Your smirk widened.
“See what, Joel?”
He groaned, head dropping against your shoulder for half a second like he physically needed to collect himself. His nose brushed along your jaw, leaving small kisses, hot breath fanning against your skin, and then—
“Sweetheart, please,” he rasped. “Lemme see that pretty little pussy.”
Your stomach tightened, heat flaring low, but you didn’t let it show. Not yet.
Instead, you stretched, slow and indulgent, arching just slightly, your tits pushing up against his chest. “Hmmm,” you mused, tapping a manicured nail against your lip like you were actually considering it. “You worked so hard for me, didn't you, Joel?”
His jaw flexed. His hands slid down, gripping your thighs, squeezing.
“C’mon, pretty girl,” he rasped. “Don’t tease me like this.”
You tilted your head, tapping your chin, dragging it out just a little longer—watching the way his fingers twitched, watching the way his pupils were blown black with hunger, watching the way his hips barely resisted the urge to rut up against you like he needed something, anything.
Then, finally, you sighed.
“Alright, old man,” you murmured, shifting in his lap, the movement making him groan. “Take me to the couch.”
Joel nearly fucking growled.
His arms came around you instantly, strong, needy, hands gripping your thighs as he lifted you. Not struggling, not even hesitating—because fuck if you thought he was too old for this, fuck if you thought he wouldn’t show you exactly what he could do.
He laid you down like you were something delicate, something precious, his hands sliding over your body, down your sides, gripping your thighs, spreading you open just enough.
And then—his fingers curled into the fabric of your skirt.
Not pulling it down.
Just flipping it up.
Joel wasn’t breathing.
At least, it felt that way.
He couldn’t. Not with the way you were spread out in front of him, thighs parted, panties soaked, looking like the filthiest, prettiest fucking thing he’d ever seen in his goddamn life.
And the worst part?
You knew exactly what you were doing to him.
The way you stretched lazily, arching just a little, making your tits push forward. The way your lips curled in that slow, knowing smirk when you caught him staring, like you were indulging him, letting him look, letting him take in every fucking inch of you.
And Joel—Joel was gone.
His hands slid up your thighs, slow, reverent, rough fingertips dragging against soft skin, feeling the heat radiating off you.
“Jesus fuck,” he muttered, his voice low, dark, almost reverent.
Joel dragged his tongue over his bottom lip, gaze locked on the damp spot between your legs, so fucking dark, so fucking pretty.
His thumbs traced along the edges of your panties, brushing just barely over the damp patch at the center, groaning when he felt the way it stuck to you.
“So goddamn wet,” he murmured, almost to himself, shaking his head, his fingers flexing against your skin. “Been like this all night, little girl?”
You moaned, shifting slightly, watching the way his jaw clenched at the movement.
“Maybe,” you teased. “Not my fault you’ve been looking at me like that all day.”
Joel exhaled sharply, a low, ragged sound, his grip tightening.
Poor old man.
He was completely fucking gone.
“See something you like?” you teased, voice sweet, syrupy, making his jaw clench.
Joel exhaled through his nose, hands tightening where they rested on your thighs, fingers pressing in deep, like he needed to hold onto something, ground himself before he completely lost control.
“Baby,” he muttered, shaking his head, voice low and rough, thick with something desperate. “You’re fuckin’ evil.”
You laughed, slow and taunting, your nails dragging up the couch, watching the way his entire body tensed, like he was on the verge of snapping, like he was barely holding himself together.
“Am I?” you mused, tilting your head, watching him watch you.
Joel groaned, deep and guttural, his grip bruising now, his breath shuddering, his hips twitching like just the words alone were enough to ruin him.
And then—
He leaned in.
Pressed his face against your covered cunt, breathing deep, dragging his nose over the soaked fabric, his entire body shuddering, shaking, gripping you like you might disappear if he let go.
And fuck.
He moaned.
You smirked. Moaned.
Because you knew.
Knew exactly what kind of power you had over him. Knew that Joel Miller—this gruff, brooding old man who barely spoke to anyone, who’d spent his life working, fixing, existing—was utterly wrecked over you.
And right now, he was on his knees, rubbing his face against your soaked panties, inhaling like the scent of your cunt was the only thing keeping him alive.
You loved it.
“Mm, you really like it down there, huh?” You moaned dragging your nails through his hair, watching the way his whole body twitched, the way he groaned against you, his nose pressing harder into the damp fabric covering your pussy.
Joel barely lifted his head, just enough to look at you, eyes so dark they were nearly black, lips slick with his own spit. His fingers flexed against your thighs like he was fighting himself—like he wanted to tear those panties off and bury himself in you, but he was holding back.
Barely.
“Like?” he rasped, voice wrecked. His tongue darted out, swiping over his bottom lip, like he was tasting the scent of you in the air.
He groaned.
“Pretty girl, I’m fuckin’ obsessed.”
You moaned. Tilting your hips just slightly, pressing up into his face, watching the way his eyes fluttered, the way his breath stuttered like just feeling your heat against his lips was too much.
“Oh yeah?” Your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging. “Then show me.”
Joel didn’t hesitate.
Didn’t think.
Didn’t breathe.
He just acted.
His hands shot up, gripping the waistband of your panties, and for a second, you thought he was going to rip them off you. But no—Joel was feeling something nastier.
Instead, he grabbed the soaked fabric, pulled it tight against your cunt, wedging it between your slick folds, pressing the thin material right into your aching clit.
You gasped.
“Ohhh, fuck—”
Joel groaned, a deep, filthy sound from the pit of his chest as he rubbed the fabric against you, slow at first, then harder, pressing it between your lips, letting the damp, sticky material drag over your throbbing clit.
His nose dragged over the outline of your swollen pussy, mouth parted, tongue slipping out to taste the wet spot directly over your entrance, groaning like it was the best thing he’d ever fucking put in his mouth.
“Jesus fuck,” he growled. “S’soaked, girl. Look at this fuckin’ mess. You see this?” He rubbed the fabric in deeper, groaning at the way it stuck to your folds, the way your slick smeared against it, making it wetter, stickier.
You moaned, hips rolling, pushing against his mouth, chasing the friction.
“Joel—”
He growled again, gripping your thighs tight, keeping you spread as he bit down gently on the covered part of your clit, tugging with his teeth, rolling it between them through the fabric.
You gasped.
Your back arched, hands flying to the couch, gripping the cushions for some kind of grounding because—holy fuck.
Joel chuckled. Chuckled. A deep, perverse sound.
“Ohh, you like that, hm?”
He pressed his tongue flat against your clit through your panties, sucking at the damp fabric, like he was trying to drink you through it, humming like he could taste you, even with the barrier in the way.
Then—
His teeth latched onto the thin cotton, gripping the wet spot over your entrance, and he pulled.
A sharp, precise tug.
Dragging the panties against your cunt, making them slide against your soaked folds, pressing them deeper, wedging them between your swollen lips, rubbing everything.
You fucking whimpered.
Joel moaned against you, rutting his hips against the couch, pressing his nose right against your slit, inhaling, sucking, rubbing his face all over your cunt like a man starved.
“Goddamn,” he muttered, nuzzling you, his voice dripping with filth. “Pussy’s so fuckin’ warm, baby. So fuckin’ messy. Leakin’ all over these little panties—bet they’re ruined, huh?”
Your thighs shook. Your breath stuttered.
Your fingers curled tight in his hair, tugging, and he moaned again, loud, tongue slipping out to drag slow, wet strokes over the damp fabric, gathering everything before pressing it back against your cunt, making you feel how fucking messy you were.
His hands—those big, rough, work-worn hands—slid up your thighs, spreading you wider, holding you open, thumbs pressing into your soft skin as he finally, finally hooked his fingers into your panties and peeled them off.
He groaned when they stuck.
When your slick clung to the fabric.
When he had to drag them down your legs because they were soaked.
And then—
You were bare.
Wet.
Dripping.
All for him.
Joel sat back on his heels, staring.
His fingers flexed, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, shaking his head, voice deep and wrecked.
Then, dark eyes flicking up to yours, a slow, filthy grin stretching across his face—
“Oh, baby…” He groaned.
“I’m gonna ruin you.”
His voice was a wreck, almost a whisper, full of awe, full of filth, full of something desperate and hungry.
Because you were fucking perfect.
Your pussy was obscene.
Pink and swollen and glistening, folds spread, sticky and slick, so wet you were practically dripping onto the couch.
Your clit—puffy, throbbing—begging for attention, twitching every time Joel’s hot breath ghosted over you.
The dim light caught on the shine of your arousal, making everything look impossibly wet, messy, fucking ruined.
And Joel?
Joel was losing his goddamn mind.
His breath hitched, a low, wrecked groan ripping from his chest, his fingers flexing hard against your thighs, like he was physically restraining himself from lunging forward and devouring you whole.
“Fuck me.” His voice came out rough, strangled, barely even a whisper. “Look at that messy little pussy. S’so fuckin’ wet for me, baby.”
You hummed, stretching out against the couch like you had all the time in the world, arching just slightly making your tits look so good, making yourself even softer, even easier, even more of a temptation.
“Yeah?” Your voice was all gasped, all teasing, your hips rolling up just a little, just enough to make the slick between your thighs glisten in the low light. “You like her, Joel?”
His tongue darted out to wet his lips, jaw clenching, nostrils flaring, eyes blown dark and wide, locked on your cunt like it was hypnotizing him, pulling him under.
He let out a rough, humorless laugh, shaking his head, squeezing your thighs just a little tighter. “Baby, I’ll never let go of her.”
That smirk stretched slow across your lips, your thighs parting just a little more, an open invitation, a silent dare.
Joel groaned—deep, guttural, painful.
And then he snapped.
His big, rough hands grabbed you, dragging you down the couch with no warning, tugging you toward him until your ass was hanging off the edge, his broad shoulders wedged between your thighs, his face—his mouth—right where he wanted it.
And then—
A long, wet, messy lick.
Tongue flat, broad, dragging over your slit, catching every drop of slick, lapping it up, his nose bumping against your mound, his groan muffled as he tasted you.
And Jesus fuck—he growled.
“Goddamn, baby… this sloppy little pussy.” His voice was hot against your skin, his tongue flicking out to catch another drop of arousal, swallowing it down, his thumbs spreading you open even wider. “Fuckin’ drippin’ all over my face.”
You whined, hips bucking, but Joel’s grip slammed you back down.
“Uh-uh,” he rasped, dragging his tongue up again, circling your clit, teasing, groaning loud like he was tasting something sinful, something addictive, something he was never gonna get enough of.
His lips wrapped around the swollen bud, pulling it into his mouth, sucking, his tongue flicking, his nose buried against your mound, his face pressed so deep in your pussy he was fucking drowning.
And he loved it.
You were soaked.
Dripping.
And Joel wanted it.
Wanted every drop.
His tongue licked into you, fucking inside, groaning loud when he felt your walls clench, sucking your juices from his own tongue like he was drinking you, like you were feeding him.
And fuck—
His hips rutted against the couch, grinding, his cock straining against his jeans, so fucking wet, his pre-cum soaking through, his whole body wound tight like he could come just like this, just from eating you, from tasting you, from hearing the little broken whimpers spilling from your lips.
His fingers dug in deeper, pressing into the softness of your thighs, spreading you wider, pulling you closer, burying his tongue so deep inside you it made your eyes roll back.
And then—
A rough, growled, wrecked—
“Goddamn, baby. Gonna fuckin’ stay down here.”
Joel was gone.
Buried between your thighs, tongue fucking into you like a starving man, like this was what he was made to do.
And fuck, maybe he was.
Because he was too good at it.
You moaned, dragging a hand through his hair, pulling, loving the way he groaned, the way his hips rutted harder against the couch, the way he needed this.
“Fuck, Joel,” you panted, voice thick with pleasure.
Joel growled.
He actually fucking growled, pulling you closer, spreading you wider, licking into you deeper, his tongue flicking, curling, sucking, his whole body shaking with the effort of holding himself back from humping the fucking couch like some desperate, pathetic thing.
And then—
Joel spat on it.
A wet, messy, lewd spit, right over your swollen clit.
And then?
He rubbed his face into it.
Like some depraved old pervert, moaning as he smothered himself with your slick, nuzzling into it, smearing his own spit and your arousal all over his lips, his chin, his nose .. damn nearly up to his forehead.
“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, breath hot, words slurred against your swollen folds. “Smell so fuckin’ good, baby. Taste even fuckin’ better.”
His tongue swiped over your clit, broad and firm, lapping at it like he was fucking thirsty, groaning when he felt you pulse, when he felt your thighs tremble.
He spat on it again.
And smeared it in.
Dragged his tongue through the mess, licking his own spit off your cunt like he was cleaning you up.
And fuck.
It sent a shock of pleasure straight through your body, a sharp, hot jolt that made your back arch, your mouth dropping open in a broken moan.
“Fuck, Joel,” you gasped, fingers tightening in his hair. “I—I’m gonna—”
Joel knew.
Knew you were close, knew he had you teetering, knew you were about to fucking snap.
So he latched onto your clit, sucking, moaning, filthy and loud, his fingers bruising into your thighs, holding you open, keeping you still, forcing you to take it.
And when you came—
Oh, fuck, when you came.
Your body jerked, legs trembling, the orgasm hitting you so hard it stole the breath from your lungs, your vision going white, your whole body clenching around the pleasure, drowning in it.
And Joel?
Joel groaned.
Like he felt it.
Like your orgasm belonged to him.
Like he had just come from tasting you, from making you come, from hearing you cry out his name.
And he didn’t stop.
Didn’t fucking stop.
Kept licking. Kept sucking. Kept fucking devouring, his tongue flicking over your oversensitive clit, dragging out every last aftershock, keeping you on the edge, keeping you throbbing.
And you—
You were shaking.
Body weak, legs useless, cunt aching for something more.
“Joel,” you gasped, breathless, still trembling. “I—I want your cock.”
And Joel?
He didn’t hear you.
Didn’t process it.
Because he was lost.
Lost in your pussy, lost in the taste, lost in the way you fucking shook for him.
His tongue dragged through the mess, lapping up every drop, swallowing you down like you were something precious, something he couldn’t afford to waste.
So you tried again.
“Joel,” you panted, tugging at his hair, trying to get his attention. “I want your—”
And he still didn’t listen.
Just kept licking. Kept sucking. Kept moaning against your cunt like he was starved.
So you had to rip his face away.
Fisting your hands in his hair, pulling him back, making him look up at you—
His mouth was fucking open, his tongue still flicking like he was trying to find you, like he was looking for your pussy, like he was about to dive right back in.
He was panting, breath heavy, wrecked, like he had just fucked you, like he was the one who had just come.
And then—
A low, desperate, ruined—
“Baby, please.”
Like he needed it.
Like he needed to go back.
Like he wasn’t done yet.
The smell of you. The taste of you. The way you squirmed and moaned, your fingers sinking into his hair, giving the softest little tugs that made his cock throb.
You hummed, dragging your nails lightly against his scalp. “You gonna stay down there all night, handsome?”
Joel groaned against your thigh, his fingers tightening where they gripped your hips.
“Would if you’d let me,” he muttered, voice rough and muffled.
You laughed, breathy and teasing. “Well…” You tugged gently at his hair, tilting his head back slightly, forcing him to look up at you. “Maybe I want something else tonight.”
Joel’s head spun.
His stomach clenched, heat coiling low, thick and heavy in his gut.
Because you couldn’t possibly mean—
“Maybe,” you mused, trailing your fingers down his face, smirking. “You should fuck me instead.”
Joel went completely fucking still.
A full-body freeze.
Because, holy shit.
He hadn’t even considered it.
He hadn’t dared to.
Had been so caught up in this—this ritual, this worship, this sick fucking devotion of getting to lose himself between your thighs, mouth greedy and desperate, tongue messy and unrelenting—he hadn’t let himself imagine it going further.
Hadn’t even let himself hope for it.
But now?
Now, you were looking at him with those big, bright eyes, your lips curled in something teasing and wicked, your fingers trailing down his chest, and fuck.
It hit him.
Like a fucking freight train.
He was gonna fuck you.
Joel groaned, his head falling forward against your stomach, breath heavy, body shaking as his hands gripped your thighs, squeezing so tight it bordered on bruising.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, more to himself than you. “Fuck. Baby.”
You grinned, delighted. “Yeah?”
Joel swallowed, lifting his head, his gaze burning as he looked up at you.
“Yeah.”
His voice was rough, wrecked.
“Then get up here, old man,” you purred, tugging at his shoulders. “Come fuck me.”
And, fuck, he was gonna.
Somehow, he managed to kneel between your legs, looming over you, broad and heavy and burning with something filthy and desperate.
Somehow, he managed to unbuckle his belt, yank his zipper down, pull himself free—
You hadn’t expected this.
Hadn’t expected him to be this thick.
Because, fuck me.
Joel Miller was fucking big.
The way his cock twitched the second the cool air hit it, sending a slow, heavy bead of precome dripping down—hot and sticky, landing right on your stomach.
God.
Your breath hitched, your thighs twitching where they were still spread open for him, aching.
And Joel?
He was just watching.
Watching that glistening drop smear against your skin, dragging his fist slow along his length, squeezing at the base, like he was trying to calm himself down.
Not that it was working.
Because he was dripping.
Leaking all over you, precum slick and thick, dribbling down the fat head of his cock, smearing over the tip as he worked himself, his jaw clenched tight, breathing heavy.
His cock was—fuck.
Thick. So fucking thick.
Broad, heavy in his palm, his shaft veined and throbbing, dark with need, his swollen head gleaming wet under the dim light.
A thick trail of silver and black hair led down from his stomach, curling around the base—graying just like the rest of him, salt-and-pepper in a way that made your stomach tighten.
And his balls.
Heavy and full, hanging low, tight and aching with neglect, pulled up just slightly, like his body was already fighting to hold off the inevitable.
And Joel—Joel was losing his fucking mind.
Because fuck.
Your soft, pretty body sprawled out beneath him, tits still sticky from his mouth, your stomach slick with the mess he was dripping all over you, your thighs spread open, that sweet, soaked pussy waiting for him—his cock.
He groaned, low and ruined, watching another thick bead of precum slip from the head, drooling down his shaft, slicking up his fingers.
He couldn’t stop leaking.
Couldn’t stop fucking twitching, pulsing in his own grip, so hard it was almost painful.
His body was betraying him.
Decades of needing, decades of nothing, and now?
Now he was about to lose it over just this.
Just you, looking up at him like that.
Smiling sweetly like you fucking knew.
Like you knew exactly what you were doing to him.
Joel groaned, watching your expression shift, watching your eyes flick down to where he was gripping himself, your lips parting just slightly, breath hitching.
And fuck, if that wasn’t the hottest fucking thing he’d ever seen.
He smirked. Just a little.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” he rasped. “Ain’t gettin’ shy on me now, are ya?”
You dragged your gaze back up to his, grinning lazily, voice smooth and teasing. “Nah, just thinking.”
Joel raised a brow, cocking his head. “Yeah? ’Bout what?”
Your lips curled.
“How the hell this thing’s gonna fit inside me.”
Joel growled.
A deep, guttural, feral fucking sound, his grip tightening around his cock, his other hand gripping your thigh, yanking you closer.
You giggled, delighted, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down, his body pressing heavy against yours, his cock resting hot and thick against your belly, pulsing.
He was panting.
You could feel it, the heat of his breath against your cheek, the slight tremble in his arms, the pure need radiating off him.
“You’ll take it,” he murmured, voice rough and low, dangerous in a way that made your stomach clench. “You’ll take all of it, baby. Ain’t no way I’m not givin’ you every goddamn inch.”
Fuck.
You whimpered.
And Joel—he fucking felt it.
Felt the way you clenched around nothing, the way your thighs trembled, the way your nails dug into his shoulders.
Felt the way your body was begging for it.
“Joel…” Your voice was thinner now, breathless.
He smirked.
“What, baby?” He pressed against your entrance, just barely, the thick head of his cock stretching you the tiniest bit before he pulled away again, teasing, watching the way your body tensed, the way your breath hitched. “You were talkin’ so much before. What happened?”
You whined.
Louder this time.
And Joel groaned, dropping his forehead against yours, shaking his head.
“Jesus,” he murmured. “You’re so fuckin’ spoiled, baby.”
Then—
Joel pressed forward.
Slow.
Heavy.
Thick.
The swollen head of his cock pushed against your slick entrance, parting your folds, stretching you open inch by agonizing inch. Your body clenched around him instinctively, the burn sweet and deep, making you gasp, your fingers digging harder into his shoulders.
“Fuck—” Joel groaned, long and drawn out, his forehead dropping against yours as he fought to hold himself back, his hands gripping your waist so tightly you knew there’d be bruises come morning. “Goddamn, baby… s’fuckin’ tight—”
You moaned at the stretch, the way your cunt swallowed him up, the way he felt inside you—thick and throbbing, pulsing against your walls, filling you more than you ever thought possible.
And fuck, he wasn’t even all the way in yet.
Joel was shaking.
Every muscle in his body drawn tight, his cock twitching as he struggled to keep himself together, to not just slam in all at once and lose himself in the hot, wet grip of you.
He was too old for this shit.
Too fucking old to be trembling like some desperate goddamn virgin, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt, his breath coming in ragged pants as he forced himself to go slow.
But Jesus Christ—
You were so small.
So fucking tiny compared to him, your cunt squeezing around his cock like it was trying to keep him out, like you weren’t built to take something this fucking big.
But you would.
You had to.
Joel wasn’t stopping.
“Take it,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, voice wrecked, low and strained. “You’ll fuckin’ take all of it, little girl. Gonna stretch you out real nice, make you mine.”
You whimpered, legs trembling as you tried to relax, tried to take him deeper.
“Good job, sweet girl,” Joel groaned, voice rough, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs, spreading them wider, pressing his weight against you. “That’s it. That’s a good fuckin’ girl.”
You clenched around him at that, and Joel felt it—felt the way your body squeezed him, the way your breath hitched, the way your back arched just slightly, like your body was instinctively trying to get more.
And fuck, that just about broke him.
His hips twitched, and suddenly, he was sinking deeper, forcing more of his cock inside your tight little cunt, and you gasped, nails raking down his arms as he stretched you even further, the feeling almost too much, too full—
But fuck, it felt so good.
“Joel—”
He groaned at the sound of his name falling from your lips, dark eyes snapping up to meet yours, pupils blown wide, his lips parted as he panted against your mouth.
“Yeah, baby?” he rasped, voice dripping with heat.
You couldn’t even form words. Couldn’t think past the way he felt inside you, past the way he was holding you open, filling you up, stretching you out in a way you’d never felt before.
“More,” you whispered, breath hitching, thighs trembling. “Please.”
Joel growled.
Deep and low, something primal and wrecked, and before you could process it—
He thrust forward.
Burying himself to the fucking hilt.
You choked on a gasp, your whole body jerking at the sheer force of it, the sudden fullness, the way he bottomed out inside you, his cock nestled so deep it felt like he was fucking splitting you in half.
Joel snapped.
The last thread of his restraint fucking gone.
“Fuck—” He groaned, hips jerking, grinding himself deeper, reveling in the way you squirmed, the way you moaned, the way your body clenched around him like you never wanted to let go.
“Goddamn, sweetheart—” His voice was all rough edges, his head dropping to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. “You feel that? How deep I am?”
You could barely think, barely breathe, barely function beyond the overwhelming stretch of him inside you, the way he filled every inch of you, every nerve ending fucking screaming in pleasure.
Joel didn’t wait for an answer.
Didn’t need one.
Because he knew.
Knew you felt it.
Knew you loved it.
“Look at you,” he groaned, his lips dragging over your throat, his fingers digging into your thighs. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good, sweetheart. Made for this. Made to take my cock, weren’t you? You were askin' for this, huh? Teasin' me all these weeks?”
You moaned.
Loud and wrecked, your head tilting back, exposing more of your throat, and Joel fucking ate it up.
“Fuck, baby, you’re squeezin’ me so goddamn tight,” he rasped, voice strained, his hips pulling back just slightly before pressing forward again, grinding against that soft, spongy spot inside you. “Like this little pussy don’t wanna let me go.”
You whimpered.
Because it didn’t.
Didn’t want him to go.
Didn’t want anything except more—more of him, more of this, more of the way he was stretching you open, fucking ruining you for anyone else.
And Joel knew it.
Could feel it.
Could see it in the way your body arched, in the way your nails dug into his skin, in the way you moaned his name like a prayer.
And fuck—
That did something to him.
Something dark.
Something needy.
Something possessive.
His hips snapped forward, harder this time, and you cried out, hands flying up to grip his shoulders, and fuck, he loved that sound.
“Oh, god—i - you feel so good,” you cry, eyes fluttering shut, pleasure rolling over you in hot, heavy waves.
“Yeah, baby?” he rasped, voice full of filthy heat. “That what you want? Want me to fuck this sweet little pussy with my cock? Want me to ruin you?”
You gasped, back arching, nails dragging down his back.
“Yes—”
And that was all he needed.
All he needed to let go, to give in, to let the raw, aching need consume him.
Joel’s grip on your hips tightened, and then—Joel growled.
A deep, wrecked, guttural thing that ripped through his chest, and suddenly—he was moving.
Thrusting.
Fucking you.
“Oh—oh god—” Your back arched, breath hitching, body jolting with each sharp thrust, each desperate snap of his hips.
Joel fucking grinned.
“That what it takes, huh?” he rasped, voice dripping with filthy satisfaction. “A big cock to shut you up, baby? Hm?”
You moaned, head lolling back against the cushions, unable to form words, pleasure slamming into you so hard your mind went blank.
And Joel? He ate it up.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he gritted out, gripping your hips tighter, dragging you down onto him, forcing you to take every inch. “Too busy takin’ my cock to be a smug little brat now, huh?”
You whimpered.
And Joel groaned, eyes rolling back slightly as his pace faltered, his cock twitching inside you.
Fuck—he wasn’t gonna last.
Not with this.
Not with the way you were tightening around him, squeezing him like you wanted him to cum, like you wanted him to break apart inside you, wanted to milk every drop from his aching cock.
His breath turned ragged, hips stuttering, muscles tensing, and—
“Oh, baby—shit, I—I won’t—”
His voice broke.
He gritted his teeth, fighting it, holding on as long as he could, but you were so fucking tight, so fucking wet, so fucking perfect—
And then—
You clenched around him again, dragging him deeper, pressing your lips to his ear, voice all soft and sweet—
“Cum for me, Joel.”
And that was it.
Joel snapped.
His body locked up, cock throbbing as a strangled groan tore from his throat, his hips pressing flush against you as he spilled deep inside you, pumping you full, burying himself as deep as he could while pleasure crashed over him in heavy, burning waves.
His breath stuttered, his whole body trembling, nails digging into your skin.
Your body was still trembling, sweat slicking your skin, the heat between your legs thick and wet with the mess Joel had already left inside you. Your mind was still spinning, your breath uneven, but Joel wasn’t done.
Not even close.
He held you close, his big body still caging you in, his thick arms wrapped around you like he needed to keep you there, to pin you down, to claim you.
His lips moved against your damp skin, pressing soft, wet kisses against your shoulder, up your throat, nuzzling against the sensitive skin behind your ear as he let out a deep, satisfied groan.
But then—
Another pulse.
Another deep, warm spurt of cum filling you up, coating your walls even though you swore he had already given you everything he had.
Your breath hitched, your body twitching slightly as you felt it—felt him still throbbing, still leaking, still making sure every single drop stayed buried inside you.
“Joel,” you gasped, tilting your head back against the couch, your fingers curling weakly into his sweaty back. “You’re still cumming?”
Joel grunted against your neck, his hips giving a slow, almost involuntary push forward, like he was trying to press himself even deeper, to make sure it stuck. His lips dragged up to your jaw, warm and slightly open, his breath ragged, his voice wrecked when he finally muttered,
“Still got more for you, baby.”
Fuck.
Your stomach tightened, another wave of heat rolling through you at the sheer desperation in his tone, the filth in his words. You felt his mouth on you again, felt the rough scratch of his beard against your sensitive skin, and then—
Joel groaned, his lips finally finding yours, capturing them in a slow, wet kiss. The second you moaned into it—
Another slow pulse inside you.
Another spurt.
Hot, deep, filling you up all over again.
Joel shuddered against you, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, swallowing your soft whimpers as he rocked into you, his cock still buried deep, still throbbing, still giving you everything.
You broke the kiss first, tilting your head back against the couch, a dazed, smug little smile curling on your lips. “You really are an old pervert,” you murmured, voice teasing, breathless.
Joel’s hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting your face back toward his. His dark eyes were hooded, heavy with lust, filled with something possessive and raw as his fingers flexed slightly, keeping you in place.
“And you,” he rasped, his voice low, dangerous, “are a fuckin’ menace.”
His hips rocked again, and you let out a choked little gasp as you felt just how deep he was still buried inside you, still stretching you, still keeping you full. He groaned at the sound, dipping his head to bite softly at your bottom lip before licking over it, tasting you, his tongue sliding against yours in a slow, lazy tease.
You melted into it, humming softly as you curled your fingers into the damp hair at the nape of his neck, pulling slightly.
Joel growled.
His breath was heavy against your lips, warm and ragged, his body shuddering slightly as the last waves of pleasure pulsed through him. He pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your jaw, then another just beneath your ear, his lips soft and warm and so different from the way he’d just fucked you—filthy and desperate and rough.
Now, he was gentle.
Now, he was melting against you.
His weight pressing you down, his hands smoothing over your hips, his fingers curling possessively around the softness of your thighs. Keeping you close. Keeping you his.
You sighed, shifting just slightly, feeling the thick heat of him settle inside you, the stretch easing, leaving behind a deep, satisfied ache. You were so full.
So stuffed with him.
And god, you could feel it—the way he was still throbbing deep inside, the way the sticky warmth of his spend was already beginning to leak out, thick and hot, slicking your thighs where you were still stretched wide around him.
You smirked.
“Hm,” you mused, tilting your head back against the couch, letting your fingers drag lazily down his back. “I really got forty-year-old cum inside me right now, huh?”
Joel groaned, shifting slightly, dragging his lips down the curve of your throat, nipping softly. “Baby, don’t—”
“What?” You grinned, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you rolled your hips slightly, making him hiss. “Just stating facts.”
Joel exhaled sharply, his fingers flexing where they gripped your waist, holding you still. “Not forty,” he muttered, his voice a low, grumbled thing against your skin.
You hummed, tilting your head slightly. “Oh? My bad. Forty-something-year-old cum.”
Joel groaned again, his forehead dropping against your shoulder. “You’re impossible.”
You laughed softly, your fingers threading through his damp hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. “And yet,” you purred, voice sweet and teasing, “you still came so deep inside me.”
His hips flexed, pushing deeper, and you gasped, arching slightly beneath him. Joel lifted his head then, dark eyes meeting yours, something warm and hungry and satisfied settling there.
“Damn right, I did.”
You shivered.
His lips curled slightly, his hand dragging down to rest against your lower belly, pressing there—right over the place where you were still stuffed full of him.
“Know how long I been thinkin’ about that?” he murmured, fingers flexing slightly. “Fillin’ you up like this?”
Your breath hitched, eyes fluttering as he rolled his hips again, slow, lazy, letting you feel every inch of him inside you. “Joel…”
His lips found yours again, slow and deep and lingering, his tongue sliding against yours in a soft, lazy tease. You melted into it, letting him kiss you slow, letting him take his time, letting him savor the taste of you, the feel of you, the warmth of you still wrapped around him.
When he finally pulled back, he looked at you for a long moment, his hand smoothing up your side, curling around your ribs, tracing absentminded circles into your skin.
“You okay, sweet girl?” he murmured, voice softer now, rough around the edges but warm.
You exhaled, stretching slightly, feeling the way his body fit against yours, warm and solid and safe. You felt good.
Better than good.
A slow, satisfied smile curled on your lips. “More than okay.”
Joel grunted, pressing one last kiss to your jaw before finally shifting, pulling out slowly, carefully, a deep groan rumbling from his chest as he felt just how soaked you were.
He sat back, dark eyes dragging over the sight of you—legs spread, pussy messy and glistening, his cum already beginning to leak out onto the couch. His jaw clenched, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out and push it back inside.
Your smirk deepened. “Like what you see?”
Joel exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “You’re gonna be the death of me, girl.”
You stretched your arms over your head, arching slightly, your grin widening. “Well,” you mused, voice lazy and satisfied, “if you die, at least you’ll die a very happy pervert.”
Joel rolled his eyes, reaching for you, tugging you onto his lap effortlessly, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you close.
You sighed, melting into him, pressing your forehead against his, your fingers dragging up the back of his neck.
Joel exhaled, his breath warm against your lips, his fingers flexing slightly where they gripped your hips.
Then, voice low, murmured against your mouth—
“Yeah, baby. Happiest I’ve ever been.”
· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··
...Hey y'all im back. Opinions and comments are greatly appreciated please PLEASE (please)
summary: joel scolds you because you messed up a patrol, until he makes you cry and realizes he crossed the line.
warnings: scolding, mean joel, thumb sucking, smut ig, they get caught by tommy.
“are you stupid? you wanna die?” he grunted, clearly upset with you.
ha had been upset for a while, lecturing you on how you have to be more careful, but as he did, you both kept walking till you got inside the safe place—an abandoned house in the middle of the woods.
“i always have to repeat myself every goddamn time. stay quiet, do what i say, and most importantly, don't do anything stupid," he said, dropping his gear onto a table. "and that's exactly what you do."
you stayed quiet, holding back tears. you liked coming on patrols with him, except this time tommy came with you, but you fucked up. you didn’t listen, you put yourself in danger, and joel had to come find you—again.
he scoffed, shaking his head. “should’ve just left you out there. maybe then you’d finally learn.”
his words hit hard, and you felt your throat tighten, your vision blurring.
“you don’t listen, you never fucking listen,” he went on, voice rough with frustration. “i tell you to stay close, i tell you to stay quiet, and what do you do? the exact opposite. every goddamn time.”
he ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. “you think this is a game? you think i like risking my ass for you every time you decide to be reckless?”
you bit your lip, trying to keep it together, but the lump in your throat only grew. he was mad—really mad. you were looking at your boots wipping your tears away, you didn't want him to see you like this.
he exhaled hard through his nose, his breath heavy with frustration. his hands were on his hips, fingers digging into his belt as he tried to calm down. but when he looked down, he saw you sitting there on a worn couch, head bowed, your pants dotted with tiny dark spots.
tears.
his jaw clenched. maybe he’d been too harsh. maybe he’d gone too far.
“you good?” his voice was still rough, but quieter now.
you nodded quickly, wiping at your face.
“use your words,” he muttered. “now you're quiet, huh?”
you swallowed thickly, voice barely above a whisper. “i’m fine.”
he huffed, unconvinced. “look at me.”
you shook your head.
joel sighed, deep and slow, forcing himself to be patient. then, with a gentleness that didn’t match his earlier anger, he reached out, fingers curling under your chin, tilting your face up.
his grip tightened just slightly, his own frustration shifting into something else.
you sniffled, wiping at your nose with your sleeve, but it didn’t do much to stop the way your shoulders shook. joel exhaled, rubbing a hand over his beard. without a word, he grabbed you and pulled you onto his lap, his arms firm around you as he sat.
you didn’t resist. you never did.
“i’m sorry,” you murmured, voice unsteady. “i didn’t mean to put you at risk. or tommy. i won’t do it again.” you swallowed, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket. “i get it if you don’t want me on patrols with you anymore. or if you just want to give me the easy routes.”
joel sighed, his chest rising and falling against your back.
“i tell you this shit for a reason,” he said, voice quieter now. “it’s dangerous out here. you keep acting like this, and it’s gonna catch up to you. and i don’t want that. i don’t want anything happening to you.”
you hesitated, then whispered, “really?”
“yeah, really.” his grip on you tightened just slightly. “i get so goddamn mad ‘cause you’re stubborn. you don’t listen. you scare the hell outta me.”
you were still new to patrols, still learning the way things worked out here. and you liked going with joel for two reasons—because you wanted to learn from him, to be as capable as he was, and because no matter how bad things got, no matter how much he yelled, it always ended the same way. with him pulling you close, keeping you safe... and his cock deep down inside you.
you loved being with joel on patrol, the way he moved with such ease, like he was made for this. every step was calculated, every decision precise. the way he handled the knife, the rifle—how it all seemed so natural to him, like he was in complete control. when danger came, he didn’t hesitate. he knew exactly what to do, and you couldn’t help but admire how effortlessly he commanded the situation.
and when things got tough, when he needed to push you out of harm’s way or pull you into cover, there was something about the way he manhandled you that drove you crazy. it was rough, but it was him taking control, keeping you safe. and in those moments, with his hands on you, you felt safe. you felt protected—like now.
you hiccupped, the sound shaky from how much you’d cried. joel’s thumb brushed your cheek, his hands gentle as he lifted your face to meet his eyes.
“i’m not gonna put you with anyone else,” he said softly. “we’re gonna keep going together, on patrols.”
you looked up at him, surprised. “really?”
“yeah, really,” he muttered, his voice a little rough. “i wouldn’t leave you with anyone else, not when you’re putting yourself at risk every damn minute. no one else is gonna risk their ass for you like i do.” he paused, a flash of frustration in his eyes before he noticed your lip trembling.
he softened, his thumb tracing your bottom lip, trying to calm you. “you’re damn stubborn, you know that?”
he pressed his thumb on your lips, parting them, so you sucked him. "that it," he said softly—too softly. "that's gonna calm you down."
you closed your eyes, holding his hand close to you, sucking his thumb as if your life depends on it, you pressed your tongue on it, lips tight around him. he loved the sensation, he loved when you sucked on his fingers just as you suck on his cock.
you opened your eyes when you felt a growing bulge beneath your thighs, meeting his gaze, all dark. nothing but desire behind them. he could yell at you all he wants—make you cry even, but you'll always end up like this.
his other hand made its way under your shirt, the feeling made you squirm. he played with the tip, squeezing it between his fingers, pulling it gently, getting muffled moans on his thumb in response.
and that was enough for him, he needed to fuck you now. he took his thumb out your mouth to tug your shirt over your head, your skin prickled when the breeze hit your bare breasts. he loved seeing thoes perky tips all hard for him. he got rid of your jeans too, throwing them somewhere in the dusty cabin.
"joel... we should go looking for tommy," you mumbled between gasps.
"he can take care of himself, i'm taking care of you."
he loved having you like this, all naked and vulnerable. he had fucked you behind a tree, over a rock, on the grass, in old cabins like this one, even in the back of an abandoned jeep, its wheels long deflated and covered in dust. he knows he's the only one who got to see you like this, back in jackson you're all shy with everyone, they don't know you're his personal little sex toy.
he made you stand up for him to unzip his jeans and then, he made you lean over the coach, while you positioned yourself on your hands and knees, you knew the drill, you knew what he liked. what he liked to see.
by god he loved the view.
all you felt then, was his dick trailing your slit, you were wet, and he can tell you got a while like that. you love being scolded, the tone of his voice, the way his eyes gets dark, the way you know it's because he wants to protect you. yeah, it got you wet.
he slammed his cock in you, you let out a gasp and gripped to the backrest of the couch. he dug his fingers on your hips when he thrusted. you were warm, too warm and soft inside, always making him feel like he's about to come as soon as he gets in, like a goddamn teenager.
"you take this cock so good," he muttered.
you were biting your lip to not moan, cause you had to be careful, right? he said it. you must be careful from now on.
"lemme hear you, baby," he grunted, fingers going white from his grip on you.
your grip on the couch loosened. "b-but you said we must be quiet and careful—"
he almost chuckled, you're adorable. "i don't want you quiet when i'm fucking you"
and his approval was all you need to let those breathy little moans bubble up from your mouth. he went harder, couldn’t stop once he saw how your skin jiggled with every thrust. he loved that.
he was leaving his fingerprints on your skin. one of his hands slipped between your thighs, making its way to your clit. you held your breath. he could feel it, swollen, probably aching and needy. he drew circles around it.
“poor baby,” he cooed, your legs trembled cause it was too much, he was too thick, and his fingers stroking your most sensitive spot, you went weak. “you like causing trouble?”
he pressed his fingers on your clit, feeling how it throbs. “no—“
he slapped it. “be fucking honest.”
you squirmed, it felt too good. “i do.” you admitted in a moan. “i like causing trouble.”
he rubbed the little button harder. “i know," of course he does, weird thing you always do the same to end up with his cock buried deep inside you. you love being trouble so he can fuck you right after. "stubborn as hell."
you curl your toes, his fingers worked so good, he sent you to a bliss, your walls choking him. he wasn't being gentle. he loved seeing you falling apart, seeing your legs get weak.
"joel, please—" you cried out.
"this mine, yeah?" you. you're his. "you ain't goin' on patrols with anyone but me, understood?"
you whimpered. "ah—yes."
he let out a chuckle, delighted to see you like this. he knows you're his, but he likes to remind you.
"i'm gonna get you all round so everyone in town knows you're mine too." his hand drifted to your belly. "right here."
he moved his hand a little lower just enough to feel himself, stretching you out. "attagirl," he cooed. "come f'me."
you fell apart beneath him, your body squirming, trembling legs, spasming walls that milked him out, but he didn't stop thrusting, not until he was sure you were filled up.
the cabin was a bunch of whimpering from both of you.
until…
the door swung open. you’ve been caught.
by tommy.
he had been looking for you since you didn’t show up to the meeting point they have in case something happened—so he came looking for you, thinking the worst, it’s been a while and he’s exhausted, sweating. he should be upset because you made him worry and waste his time when all you were doing was fucking.
but more than upset he was… aroused. the quiet girl he knew back in town wasn’t being that quiet and shy right now. the quiet girl loved having a cock buried inside her.
he had to adjust his jeans before coming further. “what the fuck is this?” he asked.
your face went pale and you tried to cover yourself but it was pointless—joel didn’t let you. he knew his brother well enough.
“‘s this what you’ve been doing? you have an idea how many time i’ve been looking for you? you—“
“cut the shit tommy,” joel growled.
“so this is the quiet girl from jackson, huh?” he leaned, fingers on your jaw, making you look at him. your lip was trembling.
joel pulled out with a loud pop sound, his cum dripping from your cunt, your thighs all sticky with the mess you made.
"you're gonna explain?" tommy asked to his brother, but not letting go his grip on your jaw, you were curling your toes, being in the middle of the miller brothers always got you nervous. "is she your
"she's mine," joel said firmly. "but i'm sure she wants you to fill her up, don't you sweetheart?"
you nodded, holding eye contact with tommy, then your eyes drifted to the bulge on his pants.
Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Personal Assistant!Reader
Synopsis: While preparing for an important congressional dinner, Bucky takes his personal assistant shopping for the perfect dress. But when the tension between them becomes unbearable, they find themselves tangled in a moment of reckless passion inside a dressing room. As professionalism crumbles, Bucky makes it clear—he’s done holding back.
Word Count: 2200
Tags/warnings: 18+ explicit content. employer x employee, p in v, f receiving oral, exhibitionism kind of\sex in public, body worship, bucky is sooooo obsessed with you.
Masterlist
prev chapter <3 | congress & carnality masterlist
The morning after Tokyo was a delicate thing—silent, tentative, and wrapped in the weight of everything that had been said and done. You had woken up with Bucky’s arm draped over your waist, his body warm and solid behind you. For a few perfect moments, it felt like something real. Something permanent.
But then reality came crashing back in.
You had pulled away first, slipping from the bed before the morning light could make things more complicated than they already were. Bucky had let you go, watching you dress in silence, his blue eyes dark with something unreadable, yet recognisable. And just like that, you had fallen back into your roles—assistant and congressman, professional and detached, as if the night before hadn’t happened.
Only, it had happened. And no amount of careful distance could change that.
The rest of the day had been routine, filled with meetings and preparations for the upcoming professional dinner with members of Congress. The event was a crucial one, meant to secure relationships and reinforce Bucky’s place in the political world. You had spent the afternoon coordinating details, ensuring everything ran smoothly, pretending not to feel the way his gaze lingered on you whenever you walked into a room.
It wasn’t until late afternoon that Bucky called for you.
"We need to get you something to wear for tonight," he reminded, standing near the window of his hotel suite, his tie loosened just enough to make him look devastatingly good. "I want you to look nice."
You blinked. “Is it really essential I attend the dinner? It’s you that they want to see.”
Bucky frowned. “Where I go, you go. I’m not spending an evening with those stuck-up politicians without you by my side. Besides, if things go haywire, I need you there.”
You hesitated, knowing he was right. Bucky knew how to behave, but sometimes, when challenged, he could act a little irrationally, especially when it came to the campaign. His fight was so important to him. Bucky represented every person who had ever been misunderstood.
“I could borrow a dress from Tara, I suppose.” You shrugged. Truthfully, you’d been sort of intimidated by Tara. She had golden tan skin and long legs and honey blonde hair. Asking her to borrow a dress would have been your own personal nightmare, but you’d rather do that than have Bucky spend his money on you.
‘Tara doesn’t have any dresses either,” He gave you a look that made your stomach twist. “At least, not the kind of dress that I want you to wear."
That should not have sent heat rushing to your core. But it did. He was really adamant about seeing you in this dress.
You swallowed hard, gathering your composure. "Fine. I’ll find something."
"I’ll take you."
That made you pause. "You don’t have to—"
"I want to," he cut in, voice low. "Come on."
You knew it was a bad idea. But you followed him anyway.
———-<3———-
The boutique was upscale, discreet, and filled with racks of elegant evening wear. You had tried to refuse when Bucky insisted on taking you shopping for the formal congressional dinner that evening, but he had been adamant. "I want to do this for you," he'd said, and that was that.
Now, you stood in front of a three-way mirror, examining yourself in a sleek, midnight blue dress that hugged every curve. Small Swarvoski crystals delicately outlined the hem of the dress, and as it caught the light, it sparkled. It was undoubtedly stunning—but you barely noticed. Your focus was on the man sitting in a plush chair a few feet away, his sharp gaze locked on you like a predator watching his prey.
Bucky had been quiet the entire time, watching you try on different dresses with an unreadable expression. But this time? This time, you saw it. The way his jaw tightened. The way his fingers flexed against the armrest. The way his blue eyes darkened with something unmistakable.
Heat pooled in your stomach.
You swallowed hard, adjusting the thin straps of the dress. "What do you think?” You were nervous to ask.
Bucky stood slowly, his movements controlled, deliberate. He stepped toward you, his warmth pressing against your back as his hands ghosted over your bare shoulders. His eyes met yours in the mirror.
"You know exactly what I think," he murmured, his voice a low rasp.
A shiver ran down your spine. "Bucky—"
"Shh," he whispered, his hands trailing down your arms, then lower, fingertips grazing the sides of your waist. "Turn around."
You obeyed, heart pounding. The moment you faced him, his hands slid to your hips, fingers pressing possessively into the fabric.
"You shouldn't look at me like that," you breathed.
"Like what?" His lips hovered just above yours, his breath warm against your skin. His question was innocently taunting.
You swallowed the hard lump in your throat. ”Like you’re about to ruin me."
A slow, wicked smirk tugged at his lips. "Doll, you have no idea."
Before you could protest, he was backing you into the nearest fitting room, the heavy curtain falling shut behind him. His mouth crashed into yours, all restraint crumbling as he kissed you with desperate, unrelenting hunger. His hands roamed, gripping, teasing, pulling you impossibly closer.
You gasped as he spun you around, pressing your back against the mirror. His hands were on your thighs, bunching up the silky fabric of your dress, pushing it higher and higher until his fingers met bare skin.
"Bucky, someone could hear—"
"Let 'em." His lips trailed down your neck, teeth scraping over sensitive skin. "You’re mine, sweetheart. I don’t care who knows it."
Your mind spun, torn between the scandal of it and the undeniable, dizzying need for him. Your hands clawed at his shirt, tugging it loose as his fingers slid under the fabric of your panties, teasing, tormenting.
You muffled a moan against his shoulder, and he chuckled darkly. "That’s right, baby. Be quiet for me. Think you can do that?"
Bucky dropped to his knees before you, his large hands sliding up your thighs, pushing the silky fabric of the dress higher until it bunched around your hips. He exhaled heavily, eyes dark and filled with reverence as he took you in.
This was madness. Reckless. Completely unprofessional.
And yet, you knew—there was no stopping him. No stopping this.
The dinner could wait. Right now, you had far more pressing matters to attend to.
And just like that, the last bit of restraint between you shattered.
"You're perfect," he murmured, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. His stubble scraped deliciously, sending a shiver up your spine.
Your hands flew to his shoulders, gripping the expensive fabric of his suit as his lips trailed higher, his breath warm against your bare skin. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down with agonizing slowness. The anticipation sent heat pooling between your legs, your breath coming in soft, desperate gasps.
Bucky glanced up, his pupils blown wide. "Gotta be quiet for me, sweetheart. Think you can do that?"
You barely had time to nod before his mouth was on you, his tongue sweeping through your folds in a slow, deliberate stroke. A strangled moan caught in your throat, your body arching as pleasure flooded through you.
He hummed against you, his grip tightening on your thighs to keep you steady. "That's it, baby. Just let me take care of you."
The way he worshipped you—every flick of his tongue, every gentle suck—had you unraveling too fast, your fingers tangling in his hair as he pulled you deeper into the blissful haze of him. And when his lips closed around your clit, sucking with just the right amount of pressure, you bit down on your own wrist to stifle the cry threatening to spill free.
Bucky groaned against you, his own restraint barely hanging by a thread. "So fuckin' sweet," he muttered, the vibrations sending you spiraling over the edge.
You came undone with a silent cry, your body trembling as waves of pleasure washed over you. Bucky didn't stop, drawing out every last aftershock until you were nothing but a boneless mess against the mirror.
When he finally pulled back, his lips glistening, his eyes were full of something dark and dangerous. He pressed a kiss to your thigh before rising to his feet, his hands framing your face as he kissed you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
"I could do that all day," he rasped against your lips. "But we’ve got a dinner to get to."
Your breath came in shaky gasps as he smirked, smoothing down your dress like nothing had happened. But the look in his eyes told you otherwise.
This was far from over.
Before you could catch your breath, Bucky’s hands slid back down your body, gripping your thighs as he hoisted you up against the wall. A gasp slipped from your lips, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as he pressed his body flush against yours.
"Still want me to stop?" he murmured against your ear, his breath hot and teasing.
Your fingers tangled in his hair. "No," you whispered. "Please, don’t stop."
That was all he needed. With a desperate groan, Bucky hiked your dress up further, his hands gripping your thighs as he positioned himself between them. The sharp sound of his belt unbuckling filled the small dressing room, followed by the quiet rustle of fabric as he freed himself.
The first push was slow, agonizing, stretching you around him in a way that had your nails digging into his shoulders. He cursed under his breath, his forehead dropping to yours as he sank in inch by inch, savouring the way your body clenched around him.
"Jesus, sweetheart," he ground out, his voice strained. "You feel so fuckin’ good."
Your legs tightened around his waist as he started to move, each thrust deliberate, controlled—like he was savouring every moment. But you could feel the tension in him, the barely restrained hunger threatening to snap.
"Look at you," he murmured, tilting your chin up so he could watch your expression in the mirror. "Wearing this pretty little dress just for me… and now I’m ruining it."
The words sent heat shooting through you, your head falling back as he picked up the pace, his thrusts growing rougher, more desperate. The silk of the dress bunched around your waist, the delicate fabric caught between your bodies as he fucked you hard enough to leave marks, hard enough to ensure you’d feel him for days.
"Bucky—" You barely choked out his name before he silenced you with a bruising kiss, swallowing every moan, every broken gasp.
The coil of pleasure tightened low in your stomach, winding dangerously tight as he drove you closer and closer to the edge. His grip on your thighs tightened, his metal hand cool against overheated skin as he pounded into you with reckless abandon.
"Come for me, baby," he rasped against your lips. "Let me feel it."
And just like that, you shattered, your body arching as pleasure crashed over you in waves, dragging him down with you. He groaned against your neck, his hips stuttering as he spilled into you, his breath ragged and uneven.
For a long moment, neither of you moved, tangled together in the aftermath, your bodies slick with sweat and desire.
Then, with a lazy smirk, Bucky reached down, smoothing the crumpled fabric of your dress. "Guess we’re buying this one."
You laughed breathlessly, resting your forehead against his. "Yeah, no way we’re leaving it behind now."
His hands lingered on your hips, his eyes dark with something that looked dangerously close to devotion. "You really are somethin’ else, sweetheart."
And as much as you knew this was reckless, you couldn't bring yourself to care.
You hummed, lacing your fingers in his hand and bringing it up to your face, pressing a chaste kiss across his knuckles.
“Does this feel wrong to you?” You asked, out of nowhere. “What we’re doing… I feel like it’s supposed to feel wrong but it doesn’t. It actually feels right. For once it feels like I’m doing the right thing.”
His hand was so much bigger than yours. Before Bucky could reply, you gasped, noticing the time on his wristwatch.
“Shit, we’re gonna be so late for dinner. We have to go now!”
Bucky stayed still. “It’s okay if we’re a little late, no?”
“No Buck,” you laughed softly. “You have to make a good impression. There’s going to be senators at this dinner.”
Bucky grumbled. “I’m not dressed.”
“Well, we’re at the tailors. I say it’s your turn. Let’s grab you a tuxedo.” You beamed, staying in the dress that you’d be wearing for dinner and pulling the Congressman out of the fitting room. “I’m thinking something dark blue… so we can match each other?” You suggested; lips pursed into a smirk.
“Whatever you want, darling.” He replied, following you out of the fitting room.
Warnings: 18+ ONLY MDNI, oral (f receiving), fingering, smut, I wrote this on my phone so minimal layout and editing
A/N: hi hello I know I haven’t posted in forever I’m sorry, please take this as a peace offering 🥺
Bucky couldn't even remember what you were fighting about earlier. He knew it was stupid, childish even. You two bickered all the time, you always had ever since he met you. He liked to rile you up, see how angry and frustrated he could make you - the kind, polite, quiet one. Something about how you scrunched your brows, bared your teeth, and let the sweet girl facade fade. It made him feel alive.
But the second those words left your mouth, his mind had gone blank, and the argument ready on his tongue fizzled away.
"Maybe if I sit on your face, that'll shut you up."
You'd threatened him with bodily harm and spewed hate-filled words at him. But this kind of retaliation was a first. And, oh did he like it.
He more than liked it.
You'd followed him to his room earlier in the heat of your argument so there was no need for pause, or hesitation, or secrecy, before his lips landed on yours, silencing you. Your body slumped against his, all the tension and anger fizzling out into nothing as your hands gripped the front of his jacket. His feet guided you to the edge of his bed where he turned and sat, finally releasing you.
"Then do it." He'd countered, daring you to follow through with your threat for the first time. And when your eyes locked with his, your pupils blown wide and a hesitant look on your face, he smirked, "C'mon, you know you want to." And when you still didn't move, "unless you're all talk."
That'd done it. You hiked up the skirt of your sundress as you crawled on top of him, his smirk growing as you hovered over him, the damp spot on your panties on display for him. He instantly wrapped his flesh hand around your waist to pull the fabric to the side, using his metal one to guide you to his mouth.
He let out a low groan as soon as the taste of you hit his tongue. He never realized how badly he'd wanted you. He was still navigating being normal again, not being The Winter Soldier, that oftentimes the way his body reacted or his heart thudded against his chest went unnoticed, or left him in a stupor. But with you now grinding down on his tongue, it all clicked for him.
But he'd tuck that little secret away for now.
He could tell you were hovering, not letting him have the full weight of you and he pulled his mouth off you, chuckling at the pathetic whine that slipped past your lips as you looked down at him.
"Don't hover," He ordered, "I want all of you."
Your brows pinched and you only replied with, "And I want you to shut up," Before fully taking your new seat. The authority in your tone and the true weight of you on his mouth had his pants growing tight but he didn't want to take his hands off of you. Not as he reached up with his vibranium hand and gripped one of your breasts, massaging it as he pulled it over the fabric of your dress, lightly tugging at the nipple once it was free.
The moan that left your mouth at the coldness of his hand on your skin was pornographic with your head tipped back and your hands laying over his own, guiding them to how you liked to be touched, tightening his grip over your skin.
He decided then and there as you looked down at him, your jaw slack and the most beautiful sounds falling from your mouth, that he could do this forever. You were so beautiful like this, on the edge of release with him being the one to get you there.
He was never letting you go after this.
He slipped his hands out of yours, reaching his flesh one up to grip what he could reach of your neck, the other sliding under your ass to slip a finger in your soaked core. Your hands dove to tangle and tug at his hair as your moans pitched higher and louder, his name a chant on your tongue as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, tongue circling and lips closing around your clit while you practically fucked yourself on his fingers.
He wanted you to cum - needed it. So when his fingers curled and your moans turned to begging, he copied that same motion over and over and over until a gasp tore your breath from you.
As quickly as he could, he pulled his fingers from you, replacing them with his tongue just as you fell over the edge, all but screaming his name, your legs clamping around his head as he swallowed your release, groaning into your skin.
Your hands left his hair and wrapped around his arms that were holding you up, holding on like he was your life line. He traced a few lazy circles around you with his tongue as your body relaxed before lifting you and sliding you down to sit on his chest.
When you looked at him, your confidence started to slip away, a sheepish, “sorry,” falling on his ears. He sighed with what he knew was the dopiest smile he’d ever let you see as his hands reached up to cradle your cheeks.
“Babygirl,” he’d laughed, “you can shut me up like that any time you please.”
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Summary: Din saves you after your home is destroyed, giving you both a chance to finally come clean about your feelings.
Warnings: language, descriptions of death/violence, longing/pining, hurt/comfort, angst, smut (18+ MDNI), fingering, unprotected piv sex, dirty talk, reader wants his baby real bad
WC: 5.9K
---
He knew something was wrong before he even landed.
Naxore was never what one considers a paradise, but the dusty planet never looked as ashen as it did from this distance.
It was small, but it managed to house about one thousand citizens. From his experience, they're good people. They mind their own business and require very little from the galaxy. Most of what they eat and use gets produced right on the planet itself. It's small, ugly, and hardly a blip on the radar. This never stopped the people who live there from loving it with their whole hearts.
When he first arrived all those years ago, ship in desperate need of repair and Din in desperate need of hiding, the citizens welcomed him. They fed him and cleansed his wounds without a second thought. They put their lives and their little planet in danger to keep him safe. And when he left, the doctor who tended to him and gave him a bed said, Keep Naxore a secret.
And he did. But whenever Din had the chance, he would stop by and pay them a visit. He brought goods and wares from other planets, trinkets and toys for the children, and anything else he could think of they might find useful.
He always stayed with the doctor, whose wife passed on before Din had ever arrived, but still had a daughter.
You.
He told himself he was being kind, that the reason for his visits were virtuous, but deep down he knew it was you that kept him coming back. After every visit, he became more and more infatuated. Less and less time would pass before his next trip, just so he could get a glimpse of you, and when he was away, his thoughts were consumed with your laugh, your smile, the way your eyes sparkled when he unveiled to you whatever little gift he brought. He thought of you constantly. He longed for the conversations you would have, all alone, late at night around the fire. He grew hooked on your every word, eager to learn as much about you as possible. You would tell him stories of your mother, of the children at the school where you taught, how worried you were for your father as he aged.
You never once spoke of a partner, and he never asked. It would be considered too forward. Besides, what sort of life could he offer you if he tried to make you his? A bounty hunter, living a life of danger with no real home?
No, you were safer with your father.
Still, he enjoyed his visits. It temporarily satiated his thirst to be near you, to listen to you speak, to watch the way your nimble fingers worked to mend clothes or knead bread.
Din didn't have many pleasures in life, but that was certainly one of them.
So as he began his descent and saw your little planet was barren, his heart sunk. He discovered once he stepped off the Razor Crest that what little trees and foliage you had are burnt to a crisp. Everything is grey, death looms everywhere. Corpses, nearly skeletons now, litter the streets. Buildings collapsed, rubble crunch under his boots, and the entire town is silent, yet he still follows the familiar path to your father's house. He knows what he's going to find, but he can't stop himself.
Sure enough, when your house comes into view, his suspicions are confirmed. The entire building is leveled to the ground. He stumbles a moment, fighting the pain swelling in his chest. Not much is recognizable, but there is a chair that used to be in the sitting room. The same chair you used to sit in while he regaled you with his stories.
He falls to his knees then, and dips his head, fighting the urge to cry. He isn't even sure why he bothers. No one is alive and he still has his helmet on, yet he still blinks back tears.
You were so young and beautiful. You had your whole life ahead of you. You were kind and thoughtful and patient with the children in your class and with your father.
His gloved hand digs angrily into the dirt, fingers curling like he could find some answer for his pain. If he just visited more — if he took you with him, like he always wanted — maybe you would still be alive.
He feels sick. Enraged. His heart splits in his chest and his body folds over, slowly, as if the weight of his agony was trying to bury him.
Just then, there's a noise. It sounds as though someone's walking over the rubble, albeit much softer than he just did. His breath stalls and he scans the area, freezing with his hand on his blaster when he spots the source.
He can hardly believe his eyes. Yet, there you stand. Dirty, ashen, hair a mess and clothes torn. But still, you're there.
He blinks and a tear slips past his defenses. He's convinced at first he must be hallucinating, but then you move again, looking at him like you must be thinking the same. Like he's a mirage.
When you get closer, his hand falls from his waist and he slowly brings himself to his feet. He refuses to tear his eyes away, afraid if he does, you'll disappear.
Finally, you slowly raise your hands to cup your mouth. Your eyes crinkle and streaks of wet trail down your filthy cheeks and you call out his name with a broken sob.
"Din."
He closes the distance in a heartbeat. His arms wrap around you and he feels your body heave, bawling and shaking in his arms. He murmurs your name, tells you you're okay, and promises to take care of you.
You nod and continue to cry. Your fingers grab at him, searching for comfort. They slide over his steel armor, feeble fingers clawing at unwavering metal, and he never before felt so angry. Angry at whoever did this to your planet. Angry at himself, for not doing more. Angry at the promise he kept to remain hidden behind a helmet.
He doesn't ask. He leads you to his ship, slowly. Your shoes aren't as good as his and your body seems weak and malnourished. But when it starts to grow dark and you stumble next to him, he scoops you up in his arms. A squeal of surprise slips past your lips but your arms wrap round his neck, anyway.
"You need rest," he says by way of explaination. "I can carry you the rest of the way. I have food and a warm bed. You'll be strong once again, and you will be safe."
You simply nod and lean your head against his shoulder. He feels your warm breath on his neck through his cowl and he has to resist the urge to strip himself of his armor and press his body to yours the second he gets you safely on the Crest.
He feeds you and gives you fresh clothes. He shows you to the fresher, where you can wash up, and promises to wait just outside the door in case you fall or need help. You don't, but he never once leaves his post. When you emerge, your eyes look sunken and puffy. You're exhausted and he knows there was no use in asking you for details that night. He ushers you to his bunk and you crawl inside, collapsing into his cot with a deep sigh of relief.
"I'm going to get us out of here," he says. You just nod with your eyes closed. "Call out if you need me," he adds before flicking off the light. He gives you one more glance before he ascends to the cockpit. You look comfortable. You look at peace. And you look fucking incredible in his clothes.
He stifles a growl and heads up the ladder.
His priority is to get you to safety. Everything else can wait.
---
"If you never take it off, how can you eat?"
Din's eyes flickered up to you through his visor. It's been two days. You nearly slept for one of them. You look healthier and more like yourself now. The sight made him happy, more relaxed.
"I eat alone," he explains. You're sitting across from him at the small metal table that folds out from the wall. You are halfway through your meal, which is nothing fancy, just some freeze dried rations, but based on the noises you made since the first bite touched your lips, you'd think you're eating fresh tiingilar.
Your eyes drop to the plate in front of him, untouched.
"Oh," you say, recalling from his prior visits when he would retire to his room to eat. You always thought it was due to exhaustion or perhaps he didn't want to hear you prattle on about nonsense like you had a tendency of doing whenever he lingered in your father's sitting room. It was always so hard to read him when his face and body was covered in armor.
"What if I turned my back?" you offer. His head tilts and his fingers thrum against the tabletop.
"I can wait," he assures you, then asks, "Will you tell me what happened?"
Your face falls and you look down sadly at your plate. You push around the food and drag in a shaky breath.
"We were attacked," you say. "It happened at night. They ransacked the town while everyone slept. I remember—"
You choke on your words and he stiffens.
"I remember going to the window when I first heard the shouting. I... they were dragging people from their homes. They took the women and killed the men."
Din stops breathing. His jaw tenses behind his helmet. You sniffle, then continue.
"My father built a small bunker underneath our home when I was a child," you say, wiping a tear from your eye. "He hid me down there and I begged him to join me, but he wouldn't — I begged him, Din."
Tears trickle down your face now. He reaches out a gloved hand to stop you, rests it on top of yours.
He knows it's a long shot, but still he asks, "Do you know who these people were?"
You shake your head somberly, eyes drifting now to his hand. You think it over for a moment before lifting your other hand to place on top of his. Your thumb idly rubs the tough fabric.
"I never found another living soul," you whisper. Din's gaze is still locked on your hands. "I searched for days. I suppose it's fortunate my father was a paranoid man."
"Your father was a careful man," he corrects. You smile but it doesn't reach your eyes. He feels horrible because it's clear your heart is torn in two and filled with guilt, yet he sits across from you, brimming with joy and relief that you managed to survive.
"What will happen now?" you ask, "what will I do?"
He swallows and you must hear it because you tilt your head slightly.
"I can take you anywhere you want to go," he eventually says.
You laugh, but it sounds flat. You keep his hand sandwiched between yours when you say, "I have nowhere to go. I've never even left my planet before. I have no one. Well... except for you."
Your cheeks burn. You give his hand a little squeeze before letting it go and even through his gloves, he instantly misses the heat from your touch.
"Navarro is nice," he says, "I have people there that I trust. People who can help you get back on your feet."
"Oh," you breathe. Then you blink and drop your gaze to your lap, food long forgotten. "Yes, okay. That... okay."
He studies you through his visor. He can tell the idea makes you nervous. You're shifting awkwardly in your seat and anxiously chewing your bottom lip.
Then, he says something foolish. Something reckless and selfish.
"Or, you could stay with me. On the Crest. It's not much of a life, but—"
"Really?" you ask, cutting him off. You peer at him hopefully through your lashes and warmth spreads in his chest at being the object you chose to grace with that look.
"Of course. You're welcome here for as long as you wish. I just ask you listen to me," he tells you sternly. He wants to make sure you understand the seriousness of what he's trying to say, but you're practically bouncing in your seat from excitement. "It can get dangerous, at times. If I tell you to stay on the ship, you need to stay on the ship, no matter how bored you might be, or—"
"I will, I promise," you say before jumping up and rounding the table. He barely has a chance to blink before you throw your arms around him for a hug. It's clunky and awkward with his armor, but you don't seem to mind. You're grinning from ear to ear, the happiest he's seen you look in days. He inhales deeply, breathing in your scent through the filter in his helmet. It makes him dizzy. With his soap and clothes, you smell so good that it leaves him breathless.
"Thank you," you say softly. You pull back slightly to gaze up at him and for one second, he thinks you can actually see him. Your eyes lock on his and you hold it, and it all feels so real that it has his breath catching in his throat. Without thinking, one of his hands lifts to cradle your face. You immediately lean into his touch but your gaze never falters. Nobody has ever looked at him the way you did. It cuts him to the core in a way he never imagined.
The air between you grows too heavy and he can't resist quickly scanning your body. Through his visor, he picks up your heat signature is slightly elevated in your face and chest. And he tries to fight the urge, he really does, but he can't help scanning lower. He clocks the temperature between your legs and his cock stirs when his suspicions are confirmed.
"You said you've never left your planet."
His voice breaks the tension. You blink and nod with a smile before stepping back, creating some breathing room between you.
"You shouldn't hide down here, then. You're missing the entire galaxy. Let me show you the cockpit."
Your eyes flicker nervously to the ladder before slowly nodding.
"O-okay," you reply shakily.
Din frowns and reaches for your hand. "There's nothing to be afraid of. I think you'll like it."
Your shoulders square up. Your chin lifts confidently and he smiles when you say, "I trust you."
He climbs the ladder first, then reaches down to help you up. When you clamber to your feet and look around, your eyes grow wide and your lips part with wonder.
"Oh, my..." you breathe, gaze raking over all the lights and controls before settling on the huge windows. He can see the reflection of the stars in your eyes and he can't tear himself away. As he suspected, all traces of your earlier apprehension vanished. You're hypnotized by the way the bright stars stretch and swirl through hyperspace, completely enraptured.
"This view. It's... beautiful," you whisper, unblinking.
With his attention still fixed on you, he replies, "Yes, it is."
Your eyes dart to him and you try to bite back a shy smile when you realize he wasn't looking at the stars.
"I've never flown before," you tell him, "it's so incredible. I can't believe you can do this all on your own."
"Really? Never?" he asks, and you shake your head. "Then we should celebrate," he adds. Your eyes light up when he spins around to a small cabinet bolted to the wall and pulls out a half filled bottle of liquor. As he pours the dark red liquid into two glasses, he realizes he hasn't stopped smiling since you stepped foot in the cockpit.
"What is this?" you ask when you take the cup he offers you. You sniff it and your nose scrunches up.
"It's Mandalorian wine," he says, "try it, it's good."
You take a tentative sip then look up at him with surprise. "It's sweet."
"I don't have it often, it's hard to come by," he admits. Then his free hand unlatches his helmet and your eyes snap to the place his fingers hook under the edge. He swears he notices excitement flicker across your face for a brief moment before you turn around.
"I won't look," you promise.
He opens his mouth to tell you it was fine, that he was only lifting it a few short inches to take a drink, but he doesn't. He sips from his glass and allows himself to take you in fully without your heated gaze pinning him to the wall. He can just make out your reflection in the windows and you faithfully have your eyes squeezed shut, just in case you catch an accidental glimpse. He sips again and his eyes darken. He can feel his body responding to how obedient you are and it's growing uncomfortable.
He slips his helmet back down and when you hear the telltale hiss of the latch, your eyes open.
"Can I turn around now?"
A muscle flickers in his jaw. Fuck, you're such a good girl.
"Yes," he says, voice rough.
You pick up on his tone. Your face warms as you slowly turn around to face him and its imperceptible, but your thighs squeeze together in his fucking pants. It's a good thing you can't see him because underneath the helmet, he is fighting every urge to pull you into his arms. He's sure it's written all over his face. Maker, he wonders what it would be like to be touched by you, to be held by you, to be kissed by you. It's been so long.
You're nervous again, he notes, but not due to fear this time. Your gaze shifts around the cabin and you swallow thickly before pointing towards the controls.
"W-what do all these do?"
He follows your finger. You're pointing to the control wheel and dials right in front of his chair.
He sets down his mostly empty glass and sits. He begins to half heartedly tell you what certain switches and knobs do, and you nod along, sipping from your glass and leaning into the side of his chair.
You lean forward, across his lap, and squint at one particularly important looking lever.
"What about this?"
His eyes slide closed and he breathes deep. You're so close to him he can feel the warmth from your skin through the slivers of exposed fabric that lies underneath his armor.
"It— it's one of the controls that sends us into hyperspace," he mumbles. You hum curiously and take another sip, draining your glass. Your body still stretches over his lap as you study the control panel and he hopes you don't notice the twitching in his pants.
"One of?" you echo. Then your beautiful eyes find his visor. He swallows harshly, leather creaking over his knuckles.
"Yes," he rasps, "there's — well, there's levels I need to check first and a course needs to —"
He stops speaking when you straighten up and sidestep so that you're wedged between him and the control panel. He watches in a haze when your small hands wrap around the control column, right where his hands normally go to steer the ship.
His gloved fingers dig into the arms of his chair.
His legs straddle yours where you stand. If you sat, you'd be right in his lap. His hands twitch and his heart stutters in his chest. You're so fucking close, he could simply wrap one arm around you—
The ship hits an unexpected rough pocket and it jolts. It's small, nothing he would even wake up for, but you're not used to flying. Your knees give out and you fall back, right into his chest.
His arms circle your waist and you let out a squeak of surprise. Then your hands cover his. Instead of pulling them off your body, you tug them tighter and squirm a little in his lap, as if you're trying to get your bearings and stand, but it's taking just a little too long.
Din murmurs your name and you still.
"Cyar'ika, I'm a patient man. But you're testing me, and I think you enjoy it."
He can't see your face, only your back and shoulders, which tense at his words. There's a long pause as if you're trying to decide your next move and he holds his breath, hoping he didn't read things wrong.
Then, your shoulders drop.
Your fingers loosen around his hands but still remain in place, holding them to your stomach. When you tilt your face to the side and look at him over your shoulder, you give him a sly grin.
"Am I that transparent?"
He doesn't respond right away, but his cock does. It swells underneath you and a soft noise that has him forgetting how to breathe slips past your lips.
"Din—"
He shakes your hands off his so he can pull frantically at his gloves, one at a time. They drop to the floor, then his hands are back on you again. Your eyes flutter shut and you tip your chin up when you feel him — really feel him — for the first time as he explores the skin under your borrowed tunic. It has been so long since he's felt the warmth of another that it makes him weak. Under his helmet, his jaw drops open in wonder. You're breathing heavy, he can feel it, and it's making his vision blur.
He cups your left breast and you whimper before leaning into his hold. Stars, you're so soft and warm and perfect that he never wants to stop touching you.
Your body sags against his chest when he rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Your back presses against his beskar and your head falls backward onto his shoulder with a loud thud. You wince and try to hide it, but he sees it.
"Sit up," he orders. He releases your breast and you whine but you do as you're told and lean forward so he can remove the metal that covers his upper body.
He eases you down so your back rests on his chest once again. Now, the only metal you have to contend with is his helmet and the plates on his thighs. When the back of your head comes to rest on his shoulder, you instantly twist so you can bury your face into the crook of his neck. You inhale deeply, like you're committing his scent to memory, before fumbling for his hand and guiding it down, past your waistline. His fingers dip underneath your pants and he bites back a groan. The fabric is oversized and loose, making it easy for him to find exactly what he's looking for.
"D-Din," you stammer when the pads of his fingers slide through your slit. Your head rolls and your lips part when you lift your hips off his lap, chasing his gentle touch.
You must hear how fast he's breathing. Even though the modulator muffles it, it's so loud it's impossible you don't notice.
"Maker, you're soft. So soft and wet," he murmurs. You preen a little in his lap, hips rolling so his two thick fingers slip through your cunt, spreading your folds and slick with each pass.
When he sinks both fingers past your entrance, your hand flies back, slapping loudly against the side of his helmet.
"Oh!" you cry out, fingers clutching uselessly at the metal. Your back arches off his chest with a wet gasp when he pushes in all the way to the knuckle, then he's shushing you. His distorted voice is trying to quiet you down but, as it turns out, you both want each other so badly that it's an impossible task, even for a Mandalorian.
"Do you know how long I've thought about this?" he asks, watching the way your eyes pinch shut and your jaw trembles each time his fingers drag in and out of you. Your backside writhes in his lap and he has to use his other hand to keep you still, wrapping it around your waist from behind and pressing his palm flat against your stomach.
"No," you shudder. You're coming apart so easily for him, heat blooming in your chest and cheeks the faster his hand moves down your pants — his pants. He's so hard, his stomach hurts.
"Years," he grits. "Each time I left, I dreamt of taking you with me. Dreamt of your perfect mouth, your beautiful eyes, your smile, your laugh—" He curses under his breath when you clench tightly around his fingers. He can't wait to feel you wrapped around his cock, squeezing him so tight and milking him for every last drop of his release.
"You came b-back for m-me," you stammer breathlessly. "Y-you — oh, f-fuck, Din—"
A thin sheen of sweat covers your forehead. You're grinding down on his hand, back bowed and nails digging ruthlessly into his covered arm. You look so sweet, coming apart on his hand, moaning his name, that he wants nothing more than to kiss you, to taste you.
But, he can't.
So, he settles for driving you wild, for curling his fingers deep inside you, grunting in your ear, rubbing his palm against your clit until your lungs are empty and your entire body is pulled tight.
"Pl-please," you beg, "oh, please. Pleaseplea— I'm g-gonna come," you whine. You gasp hotly against his helmet, holding him so close with a hand still clutching at the back of his head that his visor fogs up.
"Come for me," he tells you shakily, even through the modulator. "Come for me and then I'll fuck this sweet little pussy, just the way I've always wanted."
That tips you over the edge. You moan his name so loudly that it echoes in the small room. You thrash your head around on his shoulder, body convulsing in his lap as he pulls every ounce of pleasure he can, and then your teeth find a small patch of exposed skin just above the collar of his shirt, below his ear. He swears when your teeth pinch him and his grip on you tightens, holding you steady until your orgasm slows and you relax in his arms.
He doesn't give you much time to recover. He can't. He's so pent up, it's making him dizzy. Sliding you off his lap, Din reaches down and pulls on his pants, lifting his hips and tugging the fabric down just enough to free his cock. You're still in a daze, slumped against his shoulder, chest heaving. When he tugs you back in place, leaning against his chest and sitting in his lap, he loosens your slacks, letting them pool to the floor.
In his crazed, lust-filled stupor, he manages to realize something through the fog. The position you're in — with your back pressed against his front — maybe...
His hand fumbles around until he finds the button he's looking for and he smacks it, probably louder than is necessary. You jump in his arms when the cabin goes black, the only lights filling the space are from some switches on the console, too dim to create a reflection. But, if you turn your head—
"Keep your eyes closed."
You open your mouth to ask the question, then clamp it shut and quickly obey. He regards you for a moment, just a moment. He trusts you. You wouldn't look.
A hand comes up to unclasp his helmet and it falls to the floor with a loud thud. You jump again but keep your eyes closed.
He says your name, voice clear to your ears for the very first time. You shudder in his arms and your brows pull together, like a blanket of warmth just passed over you. He smiles to himself, then his hand drops to grip his leaking cock. He presses the thick tip between your thighs and you twitch before spreading your legs as far as you can manage.
He can't wait any longer — his hips flex and you moan in unison as he slides inside your warm, perfect cunt. The way you clench around him, the noises you murmur in his ear — it all adds to the heat building at the base of his spine since you stepped foot in the cockpit.
"M-Maker—" he groans, "you feel so good."
Then you start to roll your hips, tight pussy gripping and fluttering around his length as you try to fuck yourself in his lap. Your legs drape over his thighs, feet dangling near his ankles, unable to graze the hard metal floor for support, yet you still try to work faster, just so desperate for him.
His hands grip your hips, helping you move. Your eyes are still squeezed shut but your mouth is open, gasping for air every time he pushes back inside to grind against a spot that makes you whine through your teeth.
"I've wanted you so badly, it hurts," you confess shamelessly. Something about not being able to see him makes you feel bold. "I would follow you anywhere, Din Djarin."
He groans and nips at your earlobe. You feel his chest rumble against your back and you smile. Your hand falls to where you're connected and your fingers spread, gasping when you touch him. He's thick and hard and soaked with your arousal.
"I always knew you must have had a nice cock," you whisper, still feeling emboldened with your eyes closed. "No one carries themselves the way you do without having the goods to back it up."
You cry out when his hips snap roughly against your ass, and your entire body is practically bouncing in his lap. If it weren't for his ironclad grip around your middle, you're sure you'd have fallen out of the chair.
"Keep — talking," he grunts. His wet tongue slides slowly up your neck before his lips pucker and he begins to suck a mark that will take days to disappear.
"I— I —" you stammer. He's fucking you so fast now, it's hard to think, let alone form a sentence. "I used to — to think about you — oh, f-fuck, right there—"
"Think about me?" he repeats, ignoring everything else.
"Yes," you hiss, then your hand reaches back to slide through his hair — it's thick and a little curly and you commit the feeling to memory before it's taken from you.
"I would think about you — wh-when I... when I would touch myself."
Your stomach muscles begin to bear down and your thighs go rigid. You're so fucking close, you can taste it.
"Yeah? You thought about me when you made yourself come? Thought about my cock in this tight pussy, just like this?"
His deep voice in your ear makes you shudder.
You nod with your mouth hanging wide open.
"Oh fuck," you whimper when the tip of his cock finds a sensitive spot deep inside. You writhe and roll your hips, eager to find the angle again, but Din knows. He knows what you need and he wants to be the one to give it to you, so his hands still your movements and he rocks upward. You're both breathless and sweaty, but it doesn't matter because he's there — he's right fucking there, right at the spot where you need him the most.
Your mouth creates a combination of noises and melted words. There's no sense to be made when he's fucking you like this. You push back, deepening the angle. You both moan so loudly, it echos, but you barely register it.
His fingers fall to your clit and he starts to swirl messy circles over the throbbing bud. Three, maybe four passes. That's all it takes.
You throw your head back violently, his name ripping from your throat as you cunt clenches around him, pulsing and squeezing. Your stomach flutters, the released tension rippling across your muscles.
He doesn't stop. His fingers move frantically and he fucks you through it until your body sags and you whimper when swatting weakly at his hand.
"That's it, that's my g-girl," he groans, abandoning your clit. He wraps his arm around you instead, keeping you upright so he can thrust into you as hard as he can. You moan and bite at his neck, his ear, his cheek... any part of him that's normally hidden by his helmet. You feel the stubble under your lips and you lick his skin, reveling in the sharp prickle across your tongue.
"Come inside me," you whisper. He makes a choked sound and shakes his head.
"Can't."
"Please?"
His movements grow erratic. He's losing rhythm.
"No, it's — too risky."
"Would that be so bad? Don't y— don't you wonder what it would — be like?"
You're babbling. You sound insane. You don't care.
"Please stop," he begs, then his teeth sink into your shoulder and he pulls out of you roughly, just in time to shoot hot cum all over your inner thighs. He's groaning your name into your skin and he's panting so heavily, you fear he may pass out.
"I'm not —"
Din swallows and then he drags in a deep breath. With your eyes still closed, you start blindly peppering kisses across his cheek.
"I know," you mumble, "I'm sorry."
Suddenly, his fingers pinch your chin and he tilts your head so his lips press firmly against your own. Your heart stops when you first feel what it's like to kiss him — never in your wildest fantasies did you think you would know what his lips felt like. The trust he must have for you makes you weak and you melt, getting lost in the taste of him when his tongue slides into your mouth.
"I wasn't going to give you my child without kissing you first," he murmurs when he pulls back, but he doesn't go far. His forehead rests against yours and he sighs when your hand lifts to get lost in his messy hair.
"Really?" you whisper in disbelief, but you're smiling like a fool.
"Is that something you really want? With me?" he asks. You don't need to see his face, you can hear the doubt — the shock — that you would pick him out of anyone in the galaxy.
You nod and peck a kiss to his lips. "I'm tired of waiting," you tell him. "We almost lost our chance... I don't want to waste another second with you."
He laughs and you grin when his soft exhale fans across your face.
"I will gladly devote my life to you, if you'll have me," he says.
And yes, it feels fast. But what's the point in waiting when everything you want is right in front of you? You very easily could have died, but you were given a second chance.
summary | Five years of being his assistant and five years of failed attempts at finding love with your help, but maybe the obvious answer has been there the entire time. Alternatively, you fucked your boss? Uh-oh.
author's note | harry...randy...who knows. i'll change it if needed but given the name tag, this is what i'm sticking with for now. skip the lecture about not writing until the movie is out, this isn't hurting anyone so don't bother me about it, xo. the horny demons always win. i listened to this song i repeat while i wrote, felt fitting.
content warning | 18+ MDNI, power imbalance (boss/assistant), work wife/work husband type beat, mentions of failed dating, being superficial, mentions of sugar daddy things, expensive gifts, reader is a godly assistant with a will stronger than mine, he smokes, they drink, sex while inebriated, he's down so bad, also oral!, tense morning after, open-ended
word count — 4.5k
You knew him better than anyone.
From his breakfast order down to his specific choice of underwear, like you weren’t making the weekly purchases and filling up his rarely used fridge in the apartment that was way out your price range, arranging his schedule down to the minute, booking his flights, packing his bag.
Really, Harry should just marry you.
…it was more of a joke, but you’ve teased him about it once or twice.
He called you his work wife anyways, but in reality, you were just his assistant.
He did trust you with his life, though.
More importantly, his love life.
“Kim flaked,” he tells you over coffee, perched at his kitchen island as you typed away on your laptop, looking up briefly with eyes that begged for him to explain, he does and makes a show about, mimicking a more feminine voice as he relays the message she gave him, “same song and dance—you’re great and fun but I can’t do anything serious right now,”
“Were you nice?” you ask curiously.
Harry rolls his eyes at that, like it was a stupid question to ask. But, eventually he nods.
“Did you ask questions?” you continue, fingers folding over the screen of your laptop to close it.
“Plenty, she works in finance, loves the color blue, wants to travel,” he could go on and on, throwing his hands up in defeat before they slump to his side, “maybe I should try out a real matchmaker—not that you’re bad at it—”
“You think I’m bad at it,” you smile knowingly, “don’t you?”
“No,” you’re unconvinced, “besides—you’re my assistant, I never meant for that type of responsibility to fall on you, you know?”
“I’m doing both of us a favor,” you remind him, “I think…it just takes time.”
And fortunately, all you had was time.
It felt pointless for Harry to spend a chunk of cash to have someone pair him up with the supposed love of his life, though you knew that money wasn’t a problem, you felt a weird responsibility to protect him, unsure how quickly someone would take advantage of his kindness.
“There’s a gala,” you tell him offhandedly, “next week. I already cleared your schedule for it. I think…maybe you should just peruse this time.”
“Peruse?” he chuckles, eyes creasing in amusement, his crow’s feet deepening with the emotion, “You’re a control freak, you sure about that?”
“That’s just mean,” you retort, “you’re paying me anyways—if you didn’t like it you’d fire me.”
He knew you were right, sipping quietly at his coffee in response.
He was frustrating, predictable, and painfully superficial.
Every date was an exercise in appearances—perfectly tailored suits, dinner at the most exclusive places, charm turned up to eleven. And yet, none of it ever stuck. He was overcompensating and you weren’t sure why.
He was a good guy, down to his core, and in the five years you had worked with him there was never a moment you thought he didn’t deserve love, he was perfect. Too perfect.
That was the problem.
“You know, you’re like prime age to be a sugar daddy,” you tease him, knowing how he felt about the topic, “there’s plenty of apps that I can—”
“You’re relentless,” he grumbles, “if you ever did that, I’m firing you on the spot.”
“You wouldn’t,” it was a gentle challenge, smirk flashing across your face as he returned it with fondness, “without me you would crash and burn, Mr. Castillo.”
And he knows it.
–
The gala is a bust.
So, as a bandaid to his wounded ego, you order takeout and keep him company in his big, lavish apartment—it wasn’t the first time, it wouldn’t be the last.
You knew what the issue was, but there was a sinking feeling in your stomach that told you he wouldn’t receive the information well.
It was after every failed date, every expensive dinner.
They saw him at the surface, the charming man with an easy, warm smile.
You saw the man who kicked his shoes off and stripped himself of his suit jacket the second he walked through the door, who couldn’t resist a late-night binge of his newest streaming obsession, someone who insisted on stirring his coffee counterclockwise because it made it taste better, a man would text you pictures of squirrels in the park that he would feed on his way home.
It wasn’t that you were pining over him. You just knew him better than anyone.
“Why are you so dead set on marriage?” you ask him over dinner, turned toward him on the couch as he reaches for the remote to pause the show on screen.
He’s had this conversation before, but he’s never asked you any questions on the matter.
“What’s your opinion on it?” he’s avoiding, clearly, but you’ll bite.
“I don’t date, I’m not interested, signing a piece of paper isn’t going to signify my feelings toward someone if it came down to that,” you admit, “I’m not cynical, marriage is fine, but this stuff takes time,”
“Well, I’m not getting any younger,” Harry gripes, arms reaching over the back of the couch as he mirrors your position.
“Oh, please,” you scoff, “you’re forty-nine.”
“Almost fifty,” he corrects, “I’m ancient.”
“O-kay,” you sigh, “do you want honesty?”
“I’d hope you were being honest with me all the time.”
“No,” you laugh softly, “like…brutal fucking honesty?”
He’s silent, but attentive.
“You keep choosing women who treat you like they’re next getaway vacation and you fall for it every time,” his forehead creases at the words, looking hurt by your words, “I see your bank payments every month, the activity—”
“It’s not like money is an issue,” he defends, causing you to sigh dramatically and fall back against the arm of the couch in faux distress.
“This is impossible,” you groan, staring up at the ceiling before you feel his hand circle around your wrist, tugging gently,
“Okay, I’m listening,” Harry says softly, pulling you upright, “I’m sorry—I am.”
“You want it to work so bad,” you tell him, “I see it—every time you approach someone you put on that smile and it works, but you’re giving so much and yeah, maybe some of them like that, but I’m sure a few would just enjoy a nice dinner here, or something simple. I think you forget to realize that someone can just be interested in you, for you, not for what you are or have,”
It’s profound, the way his face softens at your words, his touch still lingering around your wrist.
You’ve never even considered or entertained the idea that you might find Harry attractive or even attainable—for one, you had signed a contract that agreed to a professional work relationship, as a benefit for both of you, not that he ever had any intention to begin with.
You’ve been with him for so long, it feels, a fresh and young mind to help keep him active and busy, constantly refreshing ideas and helping him not feel like he was stuck, and you were damn good at taking care of him when he’s often tended to neglect himself.
The only thing you know is that he’s never looked at you like that.
Like you could see straight through him, all his flaws on display.
But, that was because you knew all of them.
You knew everything about him, even the worse bits.
His bad habits, his self-inflicting ones, everything that he refused to bring to the surface.
Harry’s fingers still lingered around your wrist, the weight of your words sinking in.
But then, just like he always did, he broke the tension with a huff of laughter and frowns as he brushed you off.
“You just think I’m a sucker, don’t you?”
You shook your head with a faint smile, returning your arm to your lap.
“No—I think you like to see the good in people. So much good that you’re willing to ignore red flags.”
“Jeez,” he chuckled, clutching his stomach like you had physically wounded him, “that hurt.”
You shrugged and reached for the remote to resume the picture on screen, “You’ll survive.”
–
It was your day off—Sunday, the one day.
“Have you seen my cufflinks laying around?” he asked over the video call, “Shit—my tie, too. I can’t find it anywhere. I thought you said you laid it out for me.”
“No, I said I had it hung up and for you to lay it out before you showered,” you correct him, laying tiredly on your couch as you watched him search around frantically, hair damp and his bare shoulders on display, only catching the briefest glimpses of the towel around his waist as he turned the camera around, “Waitwait—go back!”
“There’s no fucking way you saw it,” Harry argues, “I’ve been looking for the last ten minutes—”
“In the pocket of your suit, the tie is there,” you tell him, “and given that you probably tossed the suit on the bed like you always do, the cufflinks are probably somewhere hiding under the blanket,”
He tosses you against the mattress, your screen succumbing to darkness as you wait, some shifting of the sheets before you hear him make a sound before he appears again, cufflinks pinched between his fingers and a look of defeat on his face.
“What would you do without me?” you ask with a cocky grin, finger hovering over the end call button as he shakes his head.
“What was this for again?” Harry asks curiously, laying you down upright as you caught a glimpse of his bare chest as he shrugged the crisp, white button down over his shoulders.
“It’s a charity auction, your favorite,” you chirp, “and you’re flying solo, so—don’t do anything stupid or…crass,”
“If I paid you double a day of work would you go?” Harry asks after a long pause, glancing down at the screen, “Triple?”
“Triple?!” you gawk, “see—you’re insane, this is what I’m talking about,”
He chuckles despite your response, “You’re good at keeping the sharks away,”
There were particular hawking businessmen who made it their mission to hunt Harry down at events and keep him occupied, eager to do business, whatever it may be—you were the unspoken master of redirection, as much as he refused to admit it.
“Can we grab dinner on the way?”
“Burgers?” Harry asks, perking up slightly.
It was a constant go-to for you and him.
You nod through the screen, “Don’t even bother with the tie either, I’ll do it.”
–
“I can’t believe you roped me into this on my day off,” you whisper at his side, earning a half-smirk from him.
The charity auction was as lavish as you’d expected.
Crystal chandeliers, gold accents, and far too much champagne and hors d'oeuvres.
Harry’s hand found the small of your back the moment you arrived, steering you through a sea of designer gowns and tuxedos, feeling uncomfortable in the tight dress and stilettos that you only wore on rare occasions, biting at your heels.
“You’ll survive,” he grins, grabbing you both a glass of champagne and pressing it into your waiting fingers, “I’m gonna…peruse, alright?”
“Don’t say it—that just makes you sound like a creep,” your face scrunches up in disgust as you sip at the alcohol, “just go—go, I’ll…handle everything else.”
The evening passed in a blur of small talk and polite smiles, but somewhere between the endless speeches and bidding wars, you found yourself on the balcony, the cool night air a welcome relief in the stuffy ballroom.
You smell him before you see him, the thick and rich scent of his cologne so familiar you swear you could find him on that alone, turning over your shoulder to see him closing the door quietly, cigarette pack tucked in his palm as he approached with a neutral expression.
“You okay?” you ask, leaning against the railing of the balcony.
Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck and then plucking a single cigarette from the box, “Honestly? I’m just tired of it.”
“The auctions? Charity?” you inquire, a small smile tugging at your face.
“All of it.” He looked at you, his gaze lingering as he lit the tobacco, “The events, the dates, searching for—I don’t even fucking know at this point,”
“The offer stands…” you say jokingly, though he knows exactly where this is heading.
“If I wanted a sugar baby I’d find one.”
Your eyes roam over his figure as he puffs at the cigarette, pulling a deep laugh from his chest before you’re pushing him away playfully.
“Let’s go,” he tells you with a deep sigh, stubbing out the end of the cigarette and tucking it away for later, tossing his arm over your shoulder as he readied to guide you through the crowd, always protective in spaces like this, another thing that was special to him.
–
The ride home is quiet, like it always is, both of you sitting in the backseat with the partition up, watching as he looked through his phone with a scowl, occasional typing and sending a message.
Eventually, he looks at you.
“Thank you,” He says with a soft tone, “I know this isn’t your favorite thing to do.”
You tilted your head into the headrest and smiled, crossing one thigh over the other as you worked at your heels to remove them, “Oh, it wasn’t that bad—the free alcohol is always a plus.”
He chuckled at that, silently helping you remove your shoes with a soft squeeze to your foot.
That was normal—but, it forces you to pause.
His natural instinct to help, to touch, to comfort you.
Your brow furrows at the gesture before you shake it away, blaming it on the buzz of alcohol in your system, watching as he continues the gesture with the other foot.
“Having you there makes it bearable, is all,” he explains, looking up at you briefly as he undid the tie around your ankle, “you…calm me, I guess.”
You swallowed. Hard.
The warmth of his words lingering in your chest, in his touch against your ankle, “You’d do the same for me.”
And he would—if you ever needed anything, anything, Harry was there.
“Yeah,” he agreed quietly, “without question.”
The sincerity caught you off guard.
You turned to study him, the familiar slope of his nose, the line of his jaw. There was something about the way he looked tonight—tired, maybe, but softer.
And he keeps looking at you, checking.
The car moved smoothly through the dimly lit streets, the city blurring past in streaks of gold and blues and reds. The hum of the engine was steady, the faint sound of music barely audible from the front, through the glass, the back lit up dimly by the trim of lights on the roof and door.
Harry leaned back, one hand moved against the seat, his other hand dragging slowly over his thigh—restless.
Instinctually, without thinking, you reached for his hand.
It wasn’t purposeful. Just a simple act of absentmindedness.
You’ve done it a hundred times before.
Tugged at his sleeves to fix his cufflinks, brushed lint from his lapel or pants, adjusted the collar of his shirts. Constantly fixed his hair, touching him wasn’t new.
His skin was warm. Not hot, not cold.
You felt the slight twitch of his hand, like he was debating whether to move. Instead, his fingers shifted, just a fraction, enough that the edge of his thumbnail brushed over the inside of your wrist.
The contact was thoughtless, nothing.
But, in the same moment, it felt like everything.
The way his eyes watched the movement, roamed your body like they had before but with a different implication, his eyes half-lidded and relaxed, wondering how much alcohol he had consumed himself—this wasn’t friendly.
And it definitely wasn’t professional.
Harry’s gaze was on you now, your face, as you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his hand.
Then his thumb moved.
Up.
Barely.
A soft drag along your pulse.
It was half a decade of avoidance, defeat in his heart and mind, and fear in your own.
Broken, by the car rolling to a stop outside of Harry’s apartment building.
“We’re here, Mr. Castillo,” the voice of the driver came from the front, a nod of acknowledgement as his hand slipped from yours.
“Oh, hold on,” you were scooting aside to let him out, readied for the next stop as he cocks his head toward the building, “I’ve got something for you—I’ll drive you home, don’t worry,”
“Harry,” you stress, looking down at his hand that waves you toward him, extending out for you to grab, insistently as his fingers wiggle in wait.
Turns out, he wasn’t totally lying.
That something was accompanied by a seven thousand dollar bottle of Leroz Aux Brulees—you knew that because you had purchased it during his trip to France, the supposed city of love.
“I’m going to murder you,” you tell him as he places the bottle on the counter and keeps the closed case of mystery at his side, “hide your body, flee country—I hate surprises, you know that.”
“I think you’ll like this one,” he grins, popping the cork on the bottle and pouring two hefty glasses, eyeing the deep red as it glugged into the glass.
“You know, if you wanted company you could have just asked,” you tell him, “I get it, you’re lonely,”
He knows you’re only teasing but it stings nonetheless, both of you taking a long and heavy sip as his fingers swirl over the velvet casing before he’s pushing it over quickly, tapping it with his fingers, “Open it,” he encourages, eyeing you over the rim.
You place your glass down and pry it open slowly, carefully, like you were deconstructing a bomb, but as the piece inside comes into view you find yourself at a loss for words or thoughts.
Your eyes are wide, staring up at him with parted lips that tingled from the lingering alcohol, knowing you should have cut yourself off at one glass of champagne and refused to come inside, that you should have just went home and enjoyed what little bit of the day you had left to yourself.
Now, you were looking back at a necklace so delicate you were afraid to stare at it too long, embedded with a cluster of diamonds and nearly two years of your rent if you were doing the math correctly in your mind.
Always about the numbers, Harry constantly teased.
“I saw how you looked at it the other day,” he admits, “and I owe you a hell of a lot more, but it…I’m trying to say thank you for…being you,”
“I’m not taking that,” you refuse with a laugh of disbelief, sliding back over to him gently, downing the rest of your wine in one go to forget how fast your heart was beating in your chest.
“You are,” Harry insists, “consider it a bonus—Christmas is in a couple months, too.”
“You know…this is exactly that kind of stuff a sugar da—”
Harry makes a noise, shaking his head.
You bite your lip in thought, ignoring his subtle annoyance at your comment.
It was fucking beautiful, really.
You sigh, using one finger to turn the case back toward you, examining it closely.
Quietly, Harry presses his glass into the counter and rounds the edge toward you, his chest at your shoulder as he reaches for the jewelry, working carefully at the clasp before he’s motioning for you to relax your shoulders.
It wasn’t the stillness of the moment, but his touch, again.
He’s methodical in the way he touches you, dragging his hand around your neck as he fits the necklace into place, his fingertips pressing against the column of your throat in a way that tickles slightly, shifting uncomfortably until you hear the faint click and he breathes behind you, hands resting at your shoulders.
You’re not sure why he hasn’t moved, but you find yourself turning to speak.
“I’m just going to call an uber,” you tell him, “probably shouldn’t drive since we’ve both been drinking,”
“Yeah,” he agrees, but it sounds hollow, his eyes not following you as you move.
You hop from the chair and bend down to grab your shoes, but his hand is curling around your bicep and pulling you up and he’s staring again, the charge of his touch sending a jolt through your body as freeze,
“Come here,” he beckons, too natural.
And you listen.
He’s soft, every part of him. Skin, clothes, hair, lips.
He’s kissing you gently, like you might break, but you can tell he wants more.
Needs more.
“Are you going to regret this tomorrow?” you find yourself asking as he parts from you, licking at his lips as you both take a breath, letting the moment settle.
He shakes his head, “Are you?”
“Maybe,” you answer honestly, “maybe…not—fuck, I don’t know,”
“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he promises, but you knew that was a lie.
Still, you nod in understanding.
–
He’s so tender with his touch, slipping you out of the dress in the dim light of his room.
Even softer as he guides you to your back and spreads himself on his belly between your legs, fingers interlocked with his at your hips as he buries his nose between your folds, his tongue splitting your cunt open in a sharp gasp that has you throwing your head back. His lips traced a slow, deliberate path down your body, igniting sparks along every inch of your skin.
He kissed along the curve of your thighs, teasing, tasting, until the tension was unbearable and with each flick of his tongue, each gentle suck, it pulled you deeper into a haze of heady desire.
This was reckless, dangerous, but neither of you found the moment to pause and think.
You wonder if things had been building to this for a while—if it was always supposed to happen this way or if he was acting off of greed; lust and companionship, even if just for a night.
You know you can ask him to stop at any point and he would, but even as his tongue brings you to your first orgasm of the night and he’s guiding you to your stomach, reaching blindly into his bedside table for a foil wrapping the crinkles loudly in the silence, you want this.
It was embarrassing how badly you wanted this.
He fucks you slow, too.
It was torturous, his chest flat against your back as he palms his cock and feeds it into you.
You don’t talk, neither does he.
But, his low moans and stuttering breaths speak for him.
If you could see him, you’d know how furrowed his brow would be, a hand sliding over the curve of your ass until he can reach your thigh, beckoning for you to raise it without speaking.
You oblige, the angle of his thrusts changing on a dime.
“I can’t believe you’re real sometimes,” he admits like he’s confessing a sin.
You feel him nod where his forehead is pressed between your shoulder blades as his fist curls into the sheet beside your head.
“Another, gimme another,” he pleads, the fingers on his other hand curling under your neck to life your chin, not expecting to meet his eyes as he leans over you.
The expression on his face so raw it makes you flutter around him, his lips parting in a deep, guttural groan, “I know you can,” he nods hurriedly.
And damn, does the praise work.
Your whimper breaks him, breathing out shakily as you locked eyes when he comes, slow and forceful thrusts until you’re nothing but an exhausted pile of tangled limbs.
“Greedy girl,” he comments through the haze, a weak giggle bubbling from your chest.
He pulls out slowly, a low grunt as he does so.
You’re not sure when you fall asleep, but you wake to a startling amount of weight over your stomach, an arm splayed possessively, the faint outline of a ring as you drag your hand over the limb.
It’s only as your eyes pry open that reality hits you, stumbling out of bed quickly.
No…nononono, where the fuck were your clothes? Jesus.
You stumble around half awake, searching for the silk dress on the floor, feeling accomplished when you find it and hastily redressing yourself as Harry stirs in bed, encouraging you to hurry, to slip out before he can say anything.
Your shoes are already on and you’re reaching for the doorknob when the voice comes, the weight of the necklace that still remained on your neck, two empty glasses of wine on the counter, a night of hasty choices and urgency laid out like a crime scene as his voice rings out from behind you, pleading.
“Don’t—don’t go,” Harry begs, “You don’t have to go,”
So much of this was wrong—it complicated everything.
Your life, your job, your relationship with him.
He can see you slipping, fingers inching toward the knob as he approaches you in a hurry, barefoot and shirtless, the kind of scene you shouldn’t be comforted with, like this was all normal to the both of you.
You’ve seen him like this a thousand times, but not when he’s looking at you so vulnerable, heart tore open and stapled to his chest, beating against your own as his hands splayed out over your cheeks.
“I don’t regret it,” he assures you again, “so please—stay, okay?”
“What changed?” you ask, voice trembling, “Five years, Harry. Five.”
“I’ve been running in circles this entire time,” he admits, “you know it—I know it.”
You had been there the entire time, learning every part of him without judgement, cataloging his flaws and skills, learning how he ticked and what motivated him. You had never quite settled on the ideal person to fit in his life as his partner, it surely wasn’t you.
It couldn’t be you.
“Please, don’t go,” Harry echoed once more.
The sick, cruel joke of it all was that this was your job.
You had nowhere to go. If it was any other morning, you would just be arriving, leaving his breakfast in the kitchen and starting your day.
You nod solemnly, “Of course, Mr. Castillo.”
It was painstaking, forcing the mask back on.
But, you couldn’t deal with this now.
Or ever, even.
Harry looks at you with a confused sadness, thumbs rubbing at your cheekbones before his hands fall to his side.
Synopsis: Bucky Barnes drives you insane—in every possible way. The bickering, the reckless plans, the way he smirks like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. But when a mission goes sideways, leaving you both bloodied and too close for comfort, the tension between you ignites into something impossible to ignore.
You can keep pretending. Keep fighting him. But Bucky isn’t one to back down—especially when he knows you don’t really want him to.
Trigger Warnings: Bullet wounds, unprotect sex (wrap it before you tap it!), p in v, dirty talk, BUCKY BARNES (he needs his own warning)
Author’s Note: I had been tinkering with a few scenes in this and the Thunderbolts trailer made me finish it. Hope you like it! B x
--
Bucky Barnes was going to be the death of you.
Whether it was because he got on your last nerve or because you were desperately, irrevocably, undeniably in love with him—either way, he’d be the reason your heart stopped beating.
And honestly? It might happen in the next five minutes. Because God help you, the man was insufferable.
The room smelled like burnt coffee and bad decisions.
Sam stood at the front, gesturing at a holographic map as he laid out the mission plan, his voice steady and patient—too patient, the way a parent speaks when they know their kids are about to cause problems.
You were paying attention. You really were. But out of the corner of your eye, you could see Bucky leaning against the wall, arms crossed– and looking bored out of his mind.
Every once in a while, he flicked his gaze to you, not saying anything. Just watching.
And you knew that look. That I’m about to do something reckless and you’re going to yell at me for it look.
You gritted your teeth.
“—we’ll go in through the east entrance,” Sam continued, pointing at the building layout. “Stealth is key. No unnecessary attention.”
Bucky made a quiet sound. It wasn’t quite a scoff, but it was close enough.
Sam’s jaw flexed. “Got something to add, Barnes?”
Bucky shrugged, like the whole thing was barely worth his effort. “I just think you’re overcomplicating it.”
Your brows shot up. Oh, here we go.
Sam closed his eyes, visibly counting to ten. “What part is complicated?”
Bucky shifted, pushing off the wall. “The part where we’re tiptoeing around like we’re on a damn field trip. We go in, take out the threats, get what we need. Done.”
You turned in your chair, slowly. “Take out the threats?”
Bucky smirked. “What?”
“What?” you repeated, voice rising. “You mean brute force? Like some kind of rabid raccoon?”
Sam sighed deeply, rubbing his temples.
Bucky grinned, which somehow made it worse. “I’d say more wolf, but sure.”
Your grip tightened on the edge of the table. “Barnes, if you go off-script, I swear to God—”
“Relax, doll,” he said, casual as anything. “I’ll mostly follow the plan.”
Your eye twitched. “Mostly?”
Sam exhaled sharply, muttering to himself. “I should start charging overtime for this.”
Bucky wasn’t done, though—he turned that damn smirk back on you. “You do love bossing me around, don’t you?”
And that? That was the last straw.
Your chair scraped against the floor as you stood, planting your hands on your hips. “We are sticking to the plan, Barnes. No improvising. No wandering off. No turning this into some solo hero death mission.”
You pinched the bridge of your nose, inhaling through gritted teeth as you fought for patience you absolutely did not have. “Why is your solution to everything brute force? Sam has a plan. A good plan. A plan that does not involve you punching your way through every obstacle.”
Bucky folded his arms across his broad chest, looking completely unfazed. If anything, he seemed amused. “First of all, rude. Second of all, my way works.”
“You mean it works when it doesn’t get us killed?” you shot back, voice rising. “Which, by the way, is not a guarantee.”
His mouth twitched like he was trying not to grin. “C’mon, doll, you’re overreacting.”
And there it was. That goddamn nickname.
You felt it like a spark in your bloodstream, a rush of heat you refused to acknowledge. Instead, you rolled your eyes so hard they nearly got stuck. “Don’t ‘doll’ me, Barnes. I’m serious. We are sticking to the plan.”
“I am sticking to the plan,” he said, far too casually. “I’m just… modifying it.”
Your jaw dropped. “Modifying it?”
“Enhancing.”
“You mean ignoring it?”
He shrugged and you had never wanted to strangle and kiss someone in equal measure more in your life.
God, this man was going to be the death of you.
You took a slow, deep breath, curling your fingers into fists at your sides. “Bucky. No modifications. No enhancements. No Barnes-ifying the plan.”
He tilted his head, looking irritatingly pleased with himself. “Barnes-ifying? Huh. I kinda like that.”
You threw your hands in the air. “Of course you do.”
Sam, who had been observing this entire exchange with the long-suffering patience of a saint, let out a loud sigh. “Are you two done? Or should we clear the room so you can work out all that tension?”
Your head snapped toward him. “There is no tension.”
Bucky, the absolute menace that he was, had the audacity to murmur, “Oh, there’s tension.”
Your entire body went rigid. Your face felt hot. You whirled back to him, pointing an accusing finger at his chest. “I will kill you.”
His lips twitched. “I’d love to see you try, doll.”
You weren’t sure what infuriated you more—the way he said it— doll —like it was his own private joke, or the fact that you liked it. Loved it, even. That it sent a pulse of something traitorous through you, something that made you want to either punch him or grab him by the collar and—
No. Focus.
You squared your shoulders, planting your hands on your hips. “Here’s what’s going to happen, Barnes. You’re going to follow the plan. No making things up as you go along. Got it?”
His blue eyes glinted with something unreadable. “And what if I don’t?”
You narrowed your eyes. “Then I’ll personally make sure you regret it.”
Bucky grinned, slow and wicked. “Kinda looking forward to that.”
Your breath hitched. Your brain short-circuited. You opened your mouth, then shut it again, because there was absolutely nothing appropriate to say to that.
Oh. Oh, that son of a—
Bucky chuckled, clearly enjoying the way he’d just rendered you speechless. Then he leaned in just slightly, voice dropping to something low and smug.
“Face it, doll,” he murmured. “You’d miss me if I was gone.”
You scoffed, even as your stomach flipped. “I’d miss arguing with you. That’s it.”
“Mm-hmm.”
The knowing look on his face made you want to smack it off. But more than that, it made you want to—
Nope. Not going there.
You exhaled sharply, turning on your heel. “I’m done. Sam, let’s go before I change my mind and let him get himself killed.”
Sam snorted, giving Bucky a pointed look. “See what you did? Now you’ve pissed her off.”
Bucky only smirked, watching you walk away. “Nah,” he said, mostly to himself. “She likes it.”
—
You didn’t like it.
Not one bit.
And do you know why? Because you knew—knew—he wasn’t lying.
Bucky Barnes didn’t say things he didn’t mean. He wasn’t the type to play games with words, wasn’t the type to tease just for the hell of it. If he said there was tension, if he said you’d miss him, then he meant it. He knew.
He knew before you did.
And that was the worst part.
You had no idea when your constant bickering turned into something else, something deeper, something dangerous. One day, you thought you hated him—the next, you realized you couldn’t imagine a world without him in it.
It had terrified you.
So you fought.
You fought harder, argued louder, refused to let him see just how deeply he had burrowed into you. You clashed over the stupidest things—his reckless plans, his stubbornness, the way he called you doll like it was a secret between you. Because if you didn’t fight, if you let the walls slip for even a second, you weren’t sure what would happen.
And it infuriated you.
How dare he?
How dare he make himself at home in a corner of your heart you didn’t even know existed? How dare he take up permanent residence there, until that tiny space expanded into the whole damn thing?
How dare he make you want him when you were supposed to be angry at him?
How. Dare. He.
The memory took over before you could stop it…
It had been a disaster from the start.
The mission was supposed to be a simple recon—go in, get intel, get out. No unnecessary engagement. No close calls. No getting shot.
But Bucky Barnes? He didn’t believe in simple.
You were fuming as you dragged him into the safe house, your grip tight on his arm, ignoring the way his blood seeped through your gloves. He was bleeding all over the place, but of course, he still had the audacity to smirk at you.
“You’re manhandling me, doll.” His voice was rough, teasing. “If you wanted to get handsy, you could’ve just asked.”
You pushed him down onto the rickety cot in the corner, none too gently. “I swear to God, Barnes, if you don’t shut up, I will make your injuries worse.”
Bucky groaned dramatically as he flopped back, far too casual for someone who had just taken a bullet to the shoulder. “You’re so mean to me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry—should I be nice to the guy who just got himself shot?” You tore open the med kit, grabbing a pair of scissors and snipping at the sleeve of his tactical suit.
Bucky’s smirk vanished. “Hey, whoa—this is a perfectly good jacket.”
“You’ve bled through half of it, Bucky!” You glared at him, slicing the fabric open with zero hesitation.
Bucky scowled. “Still wearable.”
“Still ruined.”
“You’re ruining it more.”
“Oh my God—do you wanna keep arguing, or do you want me to keep you from bleeding out you reckless, metal-armed asshole?”
Bucky huffed a laugh, because of course he did, the sound painfully casual. “Little dramatic, don’t you think?”
Your hands shook as you tore open the med kit, fingers fumbling over the supplies. “Shut up.”
“Oh, come on, doll, it’s just a—”
“Don’t you dare say ‘scratch.’”
Bucky sighed, dropping his head back onto the cot. “I’m not bleeding out.”
“You got shot, you dick,” you snapped, peeling the fabric away to get a better look at the wound. Through and through, just above his bicep. A clean hit, but it would scar if you didn’t take care of it properly.
Bucky peered at the wound like it was barely an inconvenience. “It is just a scratch.”
Your eye twitched. You gritted your teeth, pressing an antiseptic wipe to the wound with zero mercy.
Bucky hissed, body tensing as he glared at you. “Jesus—are you trying to kill me?”
“Oh, now you feel pain?” You didn’t let up, pressing a little harder just for good measure. “You didn’t seem too concerned when you ran into a hail of gunfire like a rabid golden retriever with a death wish.”
Bucky scoffed. “Golden retriever?”
“You just charged in, Bucky! What part of ‘stealth mission’ do you not understand?”
Bucky rolled his eyes. “I had to.”
“No, you didn’t!” You grabbed a fresh gauze pad, pressing it against the wound. “Sam and I were handling it just fine before you decided to be stupidly heroic.”
“Doll, you were cornered,” Bucky argued.
“No, I was waiting for backup.”
Bucky gave you a pointed look. “You were outnumbered and had a jammed weapon.”
You locked your jaw. Because okay, maybe that was true.
But he didn’t have to jump in front of a bullet for you.
You cleared your throat, trying to sound unimpressed. “I was fine.”
“You were two seconds away from getting shot.”
“I know, Bucky!” You slammed the antiseptic wipe against his skin, not caring when he hissed. “But you didn’t have to—you didn’t—you— I told you not to do it!” you cried out. “But no, you just had to go full Terminator and jump in front of a goddamn bullet for me—”
You stopped.
Because suddenly, your throat was too tight, and your breath was coming too fast, and you hated that the panic was winning, that it was spilling over.
You weren’t just mad.
You were terrified.
Bucky blinked at you, actually looking concerned now, which only pissed you off more.
“Doll—”
“You think you’re indestructible, don’t you?” You threw the used gauze aside, grabbing another one, your hands shaking as you pressed it to the wound. “Just because you have the serum, you think you can—can take all these stupid risks—”
Bucky sighed, clearly exasperated. “I heal faster than you do, sweetheart. It’s not that deep.”
Something inside you snapped.
“Oh, fuck you, Bucky!”
His eyebrows shot up at that.
“You think the serum makes you invincible?” you seethed, eyes burning. “Is that why you keep throwing yourself into danger? Why you never hesitate before taking a hit? Why you jump in front of bullets like it’s your damn job?”
Bucky opened his mouth, but you weren’t done.
“Guess what, Barnes? The serum doesn’t make you immortal! One day, your dumbass luck is going to run out! And what then?”
Bucky stilled, blue eyes searching yours.
But you were unraveling too fast to stop now.
“I swear to God, Bucky, I’m gonna lose my mind if you keep—” You sucked in a shaky breath, voice cracking. “I can’t—I can’t keep watching you do this to yourself.”
Something changed in Bucky’s face. The teasing, the smirking—it all vanished.
You didn’t want to see whatever was in his eyes.
You dropped your gaze, fingers moving on autopilot, taping the bandage down over his shoulder. Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking, but you pretended not to notice.
You felt him watching you.
For the first time since the mission, Bucky was quiet.
The weight of it pressed against your chest.
You swallowed hard, clearing your throat. “Just—just try not to die next time, okay?”
Bucky let out a slow breath, something almost amused slipping into his voice. “Not really my style, doll.”
You snapped your head up, narrowing your eyes at him. “Yeah, I noticed. You’ve got a real stubborn track record of coming back from the brink of death.”
Bucky grinned, slow and lazy, like he couldn’t help himself. “What can I say? I’m persistent.”
Your jaw tensed.
“Yeah? Well, I don’t want to be the one watching you zero out your nine lives.”
The smirk disappeared.
A flicker of something serious passed through his eyes—so fast you almost missed it.
For a second, you thought he was going to say something that would change everything.
But then, as quickly as it came, he shoved it away.
He exhaled a soft chuckle instead, shaking his head. “You worry too much.”
You clenched your jaw, standing abruptly. “And you don’t worry enough.”
Bucky watched you, his expression unreadable.
You grabbed the med kit and turned away, before he could see just how badly your hands were still shaking.
Because the truth was—
You weren’t sure what scared you more.
The fact that Bucky Barnes kept coming back from the brink of death—
Or the fact that, one day, he might not.
–
You exhaled sharply, shoving the memory aside.
No. Not thinking about that.
You couldn’t.
Because if you let yourself sit with it for too long—
If you let yourself acknowledge how much he meant to you—
You weren’t sure how you were supposed to breathe through it.
Bucky must have sensed the shift in you, because as you stalked ahead, fuming, he was suddenly there—keeping pace beside you, his presence entirely too much. Too close, too solid, too him.
“You’re quiet,” he murmured. “That’s never a good sign.”
“Maybe I just ran out of things to say,” you snapped, not looking at him.
He made a low sound, somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle. “That’ll be the day.”
You whirled on him before you could stop yourself, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Do you enjoy driving me insane, Barnes? Is it, like, a hobby for you?”
His lips twitched, that damn smirk already forming. “I mean… yeah. Kinda.”
You let out a frustrated noise, turning on your heel, ready to put as much distance between you and that insufferable smirk as possible. But before you could take two steps, his fingers curled around your wrist—gentle, but firm enough to stop you in your tracks.
The warmth of his skin against yours sent a jolt through you. His grip wasn’t rough, wasn’t forceful, but it was steady, intentional. And for a split second, you couldn’t breathe.
When you looked up, his blue eyes were locked onto yours, unreadable, intense.
“I’m not trying to drive you insane,” he said, his voice softer now, but laced with something heavier, something that made your chest feel tight. “I’m just trying to figure out why you won’t admit it.”
You swallowed, pulse hammering. “Admit what?”
Bucky tilted his head slightly, studying you like he was searching for something, peeling back layers you weren’t ready to let him see. His gaze dragged over your face, lingering—too long—on your lips before flicking back up.
Your breath hitched.
He was going to say something else. You knew it. Could feel it. But whatever he saw in your expression made him change his mind at the last second. His features shifted, the quiet determination giving way to something smug, teasing. A deflection.
“That it’s a good plan.”
Your pulse stuttered.
This wasn’t what he wanted to say. Not even close.
But he was giving you an out. Letting you pretend, letting himself pretend, like this was still just another argument. Another round of your never-ending bickering instead of… whatever the hell this was becoming.
And that? That scared you more than anything.
“It’s not,” you shot back, seizing the escape he’d handed you. You took a step back, yanking your wrist free of his grasp. “It’s stupid. It’s reckless, and it’s going to get one or all of us hurt if we do it.”
Bucky’s jaw tensed, his smirk faltering for the first time. His eyes darkened, something unreadable flickering in them before he asked, voice quieter, but rougher—”Why do you never take my side?”
The question hit like a sucker punch.
It knocked the breath from your lungs, left you reeling in a way you hadn’t expected.
“I—” The words caught in your throat.
He wasn’t teasing now. Wasn’t throwing out some cocky remark just to get under your skin. This was something real, something raw, and it left you woozy.
A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Second time I’ve got you speechless today, huh? Must be a new record.”
His voice was light, teasing again, but the look in his eyes said something else entirely.
Then, before you could recover, before you could shove something sharp and defensive between you, he turned and walked ahead—leaving you standing there, heart racing, breath unsteady.
Completely, utterly furious at him.
And even more furious at yourself.
Your hands curled into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms as you forced yourself to breathe. In. Out. Don’t let him get to you.
Except he had. He always did. And the worst part? He knew it.
You glared at the back of his head as he walked ahead like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just thrown you completely off balance and left you scrambling for solid ground.
Why do you never take my side?
You hated that the question still echoed in your head. That it stung in a way you weren’t ready to unpack.
You stormed after him, your boots crunching against the pavement. “Barnes, we’re not done talking about this.”
He didn’t stop, didn’t even turn around. “Seemed pretty done to me.”
Your jaw clenched. “God, you are infuriating.”
“Yeah, you’ve mentioned that once or twice.” He threw a glance over his shoulder, his smirk still in place, but his eyes? His eyes were still sharp, still waiting.
You caught up to him in two quick strides, grabbing his arm to yank him to a stop. “Don’t walk away from me.”
Bucky arched a brow, glancing down at where your fingers gripped the sleeve of his jacket. “Thought you couldn’t stand being near me, doll.”
You ignored the way your stomach flipped at the nickname. Ignored the way your traitorous hand lingered for a second before you let go.
“That plan of yours?” You crossed your arms, tilting your chin up. “It’s reckless. And you know it.”
His smirk faded, just slightly. “And what if reckless is the only option?”
“That’s bullshit, and you know that too.”
Bucky let out a slow exhale, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I get it. You think I’m some idiot who just punches his way through problems—”
“I know you are,” you shot back.
He glared at you, jaw ticking. “But maybe—just maybe—I actually know what I’m doing this time.”
You opened your mouth, ready to argue, but something in his expression stopped you.
There was no smugness, no teasing. Just raw frustration, something worn down underneath.
You stared at him, chest rising and falling too fast, the words dying on your tongue.
“Right,” Bucky muttered, shaking his head. “Should’ve known better than to expect you to trust me.”
The words weren’t loud. He wasn’t even looking at you when he said them. But they landed like a slap.
Your breath caught. “That’s not—”
“Forget it.”
—
Shockingly, Bucky had followed Sam’s plan.
And—even more shockingly—it had gone wrong.
In the end, brute force had been the only way to get all three of you out alive.
You weren’t sure when the dust had settled, when the ringing in your ears had finally faded enough for you to hear your own breathing again. But when your vision cleared, Bucky was still standing.
Standing over a pile of bodies, bloodied and exhausted, his chest heaving with exertion.
There was a split in his lip, a gash across his forehead, and a bullet graze along his ribs, the fabric of his tactical suit dark with blood.
And you hated it.
You hated how your stomach twisted at the sight of him hurt. Hated the way your fingers curled into fists at your sides to stop yourself from running to him, from touching him, from grabbing his face and checking.
Most of all, you hated that you had doubted him.
Bucky Barnes had a century of combat experience. He had spent his entire life surviving fights he shouldn’t have walked away from, and still, you had dismissed him. Still, you had refused to listen.
And now? Now all of you were bleeding. All of you were shaken.
But the worst part—the part that made your throat tighten and your breath shudder—was that Bucky wasn’t even gloating.
No smirk. No I told you so.
Just silence. Just his sharp, assessing gaze, scanning the aftermath like he was still bracing for another fight.
By the time Torres had you all back on the plane, you were shaking.
The adrenaline should have worn off by now, but the weight in your chest only grew heavier. You knew—you knew—Bucky would heal faster than you or Sam. Logically, you understood that.
But logic wasn’t stopping the tightness in your throat when your eyes landed on the bruising around his temple.
It wasn’t stopping the way your fingers trembled as you grabbed the first aid kit and sat down in front of him, against every warning screaming in your head.
Bucky exhaled slowly, tilting his head back against the seat. “I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding,” you shot back, voice sharper than intended.
“So are you.”
You ignored that. “Just—hold still.”
For once, he didn’t argue. But when you reached for him, when your fingers ghosted over his skin, his gaze flickered—just for a second—to your hands.
He noticed.
Noticed the tremor in your fingers, the way they weren’t steady.
His brows drew together, just slightly. He didn’t say anything, but you felt his stare, felt the question lingering on the tip of his tongue.
Your breath hitched. You curled your fingers tighter around the antiseptic wipe, focusing too hard on dabbing at the cut on his forehead.
When he flinched, you huffed. “Big bad super soldier can take on twenty guys at once but can’t handle a little stinging?”
His lips twitched, but the teasing was half-hearted. “Not my fault you’re rough.”
You shot him a look. “I wonder why.”
His jaw flexed. “You do like making things difficult.”
“Oh, I make things difficult?” You shook your head, pressing a little too firmly as you cleaned the wound. “I don’t remember me running in headfirst with zero regard for a plan.”
Bucky scoffed. “Right, because your plan went so well.”
You froze, fingers stilling against his skin.
His voice hadn’t been sharp, but the words still landed heavy in your chest.
“You didn’t have to follow it,” you murmured.
Bucky let out a slow breath. “Yeah. Well. I did.”
Silence stretched between you, thick and weighted.
You forced yourself to move again, forced yourself to focus on the cut rather than the way his eyes lingered.
Your throat was dry when you spoke. “You were right.”
His expression didn’t change, but you felt the shift in the air.
“We should have done it your way,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.
Bucky’s fingers curled over the edge of the seat. He didn’t speak, didn’t move, but you knew he was watching you.
Finally, he exhaled, his voice quiet. “Didn’t do us much good, did it?”
You pressed your lips together. “Would’ve gone a lot worse if you hadn’t stepped in.”
His eyes flickered. His jaw worked, like he wanted to argue but didn’t have the energy for it.
“You don’t have to say that,” he murmured.
“I do.” Your voice wavered, but you swallowed hard, pushing through it. “Because I was wrong.”
Bucky was still. Unreadable.
Then, after a beat, his voice dropped lower. “That an apology?”
You rolled your eyes, but there was no real fire behind it. “Don’t push your luck, Barnes.”
A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Wouldn’t dream of it, doll.”
But his eyes? His eyes told a different story.
—
The hum of the jet was steady beneath you, the vibrations deep in your bones, but it did nothing to ground you. The cabin lights were low, throwing long shadows across the metal walls. Sam was already passed out in the back, his breathing even, the tension from the mission finally easing from his shoulders.
You should be doing the same. You should be closing your eyes, letting exhaustion take over, shutting out the memory of the chaos you’d just escaped from.
But you couldn’t.
Because Bucky was still watching you.
He sat across from you, silent and unreadable, his blue eyes darker in the dim light. He hadn’t spoken since you finished patching him up, but he hadn’t stopped looking, either.
It wasn’t his usual sharp-edged irritation or teasing smirk. No playful bickering, no cocky remarks about how he’d been right. Just this.
Something softer. Something heavier.
Something you weren’t ready for.
“You should get some rest,” he murmured, voice low and rough around the edges.
You shook your head, fingers curling into your palms. “I’m fine.”
Bucky exhaled through his nose, like he didn’t believe you. “Yeah? You don’t look fine.”
You hated that he could see it. The tremor in your fingers, the tension in your shoulders, the way you were still breathing too fast, like your body hadn’t realized the fight was over.
You hated that he noticed. That he cared enough to notice.
And then—because you were tired, because you were furious, because he had almost died and you were still trying to claw your way back from the sheer panic of it—you snapped.
“You could have died, Bucky.” Your voice was sharper than you meant, thick with something you didn’t want to name.
His brow twitched, but his expression didn’t change. His voice stayed infuriatingly even. “Yeah. That’s kinda what happens when people shoot at you.”
“That’s not funny.”
“I wasn’t trying to be.” His lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tight. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing out there?”
“That’s not—” You exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down your face. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what do you mean?”
The question hung between you, thick with unspoken things.
Bucky didn’t move, didn’t blink, just watched you—his gaze steady, patient, like he was giving you the space to say it.
And God, you wanted to.
But the words sat like stones in your throat, impossible to force out. You clenched your jaw, tried to shove them back down, but they wouldn’t go away.
Because the truth was, you weren’t just shaken by the mission.
You were shaken by the way seeing him bleeding had made your stomach drop, by the way his pained groans had made your hands shake, by the way you had wanted—needed—to run to him, to wrap yourself around him and never let go.
You were terrified.
Because this wasn’t just anger or frustration or a heated argument in the middle of a mission.
This was Bucky.
And you couldn’t lose him.
So instead of answering, instead of trying to put words to the panic still rattling inside you, you did the only thing you could do.
You reached for him.
It wasn’t sharp or defiant, wasn’t out of frustration or anger.
You just—needed to touch him.
Your fingers brushed over his wrist, barely there, hesitant. A point of contact. Something to anchor you.
Bucky stilled.
For a second, he just stared at your hand, at the way your fingers curled against his skin like you weren’t even sure if you had permission to hold on.
Then, slowly, he turned his wrist under your palm, letting your fingers slide over his pulse point. His skin was warm, his pulse steady. Alive. Here.
Your throat went tight.
Bucky’s voice was quieter this time. Rougher. “You gonna tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?”
You swallowed hard, but you didn’t let go.
Your thumb ghosted over his pulse, barely a whisper of touch, but it still wasn’t enough.
You didn’t know what you needed, what you were searching for beneath your fingertips, but the slow, steady thrum of his heartbeat wasn’t easing the raw ache in your chest.
Your eyes flickered around the cabin.
Sam was still dead to the world, Torres nowhere in sight. The only two people awake on this jet were you and Bucky.
Something inside you snapped.
One second, you were gripping his wrist, tethering yourself to him like that alone would make this feeling go away. The next, you were moving before you could stop yourself—sliding out of your seat, crawling into his lap, wrapping yourself around him like holding on tighter would somehow keep him safe, keep him yours.
Bucky made a sound—something low, something confused—but his hands came up anyway, large and warm and steady as they settled on your hips, instinctive.
His breath hitched, and you felt it against your temple, the subtle shudder of his inhale.
You buried yourself closer, curling into his chest, fingers winding into the hair at the nape of his neck. His scent was everywhere—gunpowder and metal and something distinctly him—and you could have drowned in it.
“If you ever tell anyone I did this,” you muttered, voice muffled against his neck, “I will find ways to kill you.”
There was no bite to it. No real threat.
Just you—raw and exposed in a way you didn’t know how to take back.
Bucky let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, but he didn’t pull away.
Didn’t tease.
Didn’t shove you off like he should have.
Instead, his arms shifted, wrapping around you fully, pressing you into him like this was what he had been waiting for, like this was something he had been needing just as badly.
Like he wanted to.
His metal fingers flexed at your waist, pressing against the fabric of your suit, a steadying grip. His other hand flattened against your back, tracing over the curve of your spine as if he was committing the shape of you to memory.
His touch burned.
His warmth was everywhere.
You squeezed your eyes shut, your fingers sliding from his hair to his cheek, brushing over the stubble there, the still-healing cut on his temple. And then—before you could stop yourself—you were tilting his face toward yours.
For the first time since the mission, since the gunfire, since you watched the blood dripping down his temple and felt your entire world tilt on its axis—you met his eyes head-on.
Bucky swallowed.
His gaze dropped—just for a second—to your lips.
It was enough.
Your resolve snapped like a frayed wire.
And before you could second-guess yourself, before you could remind yourself that this was Bucky, before you could convince yourself that you didn’t love him like this—
You kissed him.
It was desperate, messy—nothing like the slow, sweet build-up you had imagined in the deepest corners of your mind.
Your lips crashed against his, your hands fisting in his suit, pulling yourself closer, closer, closer, needing more, needing everything.
Bucky froze.
Didn’t move when your lips parted against his, when your tongue flicked against his bottom lip, when your teeth caught the cut there, tasting blood.
Didn’t react when you kissed him again, soft and searching, when your nose brushed against his, when you sighed against his mouth, the sound fragile and aching.
Didn’t kiss you back.
The realization hit slow, creeping in at the edges of your desperation, sinking its claws into your chest.
He wasn’t—
Oh, God.
The sting of rejection burned hotter than the wounds littering your body.
You tried to breathe, tried to steady yourself, but your lungs felt too tight, your hands shaking as you forced yourself to pull back, to put distance between you before you shattered entirely.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, a shaky breath washing over his lips. Your throat was tight, your vision blurring at the edges. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
Your voice broke.
Bucky was still silent.
And that was somehow worse.
It took a second to register the weight of what you’d done, to catch up to you.
You had kissed him.
You had kissed him and he hadn’t—
Your stomach plummeted.
“I’m—” Your breath hitched, panic clawing at your ribs. “I’m so sorry, Bucky.”
You tried to untangle yourself, tried to scramble out of his lap, to preserve whatever dignity you had left, to put distance between you before you completely fell apart in front of him—
But then—
God.
Then his hands tightened on your hips.
Hard.
Before you could even get further, Bucky dragged you back against him, fingers digging into your skin, like he wasn’t about to let you go. He maneuvered you until your legs were astride his hips, your arms around his neck, your chest pressed to his.
Your breath stilled, eyes wide, heart hammering against your ribs.
His expression had changed.
The shock, the hesitation—it was gone.
In its place was something darker.
Something heated and unrelenting.
Something like want.
Bucky’s breathing was uneven, his lips parted, his pupils blown wide as his gaze flickered between your eyes, your mouth, back up.
Then—
Then his fingers traced up your spine, slow and deliberate, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His metal hand trailed over your ribs, up your arm, curling at the back of your neck, tipping your face toward his.
And then, finally, he spoke.
“Doll,” he rasped, voice wrecked and low. “Can you do that again?”
Your stomach flipped.
“I—” You swallowed, your pulse hammering against his fingertips. “You didn’t—”
“I froze,” he cut in, jaw tight. “I won’t now.”
Oh.
Oh.
Your lips parted, heart stumbling over itself.
Bucky let out a breath, something between a laugh and a groan, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you. His grip on your hips flexed, strong and sure, and for a split second, all he did was look at you.
Like you were something he didn’t know how to handle.
Like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to devour you or worship you.
Then—slower this time, more sure—he leaned in.
And kissed you.
You had been right.
Bucky Barnes would be your undoing.
He’d kill you with the way he kissed, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to ruin you, like he wanted to take you apart with nothing but the sweep of his tongue and the heat of his mouth.
You felt it—every glide of his tongue against yours, every careful press of his lips, every sharp inhale between kisses—like a spark lighting up your spine, sinking deep, settling between your legs with a heat so intense you could barely breathe through it.
You shook on top of him, the way he touched you sending shockwaves through every nerve ending in your body. His hands were everywhere—tight, possessive squeezes against your hips, reverent drags of his fingers down your back and thighs, gripping you like he never wanted to let go.
A whimper escaped you, completely unbidden, and Bucky groaned, a deep, wrecked sound that vibrated against your mouth.
Then, suddenly, his lips left yours.
You gasped at the loss—until you felt him move.
Felt the warm brush of his breath against your throat, felt his nose skim along the sensitive skin there before his mouth followed.
“Bucky—” His name left you in a sharp breath as he kissed down your neck, slow, teasing, his lips dragging over every inch of exposed skin he could reach.
The problem was—there wasn’t enough.
Your suit covered too much, kept him from truly touching you, and it was driving you out of your mind.
You arched into him, restless, desperate. “Take it off,” you whispered, the words spilling out before you could stop them.
Bucky stilled, his lips pausing against your collarbone.
His hands tightened on your hips, but he didn’t move. Didn’t continue.
“Take it off,” you begged, fingers digging into the fabric of his suit, tracing over the zippers, tugging uselessly at the buttons, trying to feel more. “Please, take it off.”
His breath was uneven, ragged. “Doll, there are people—”
“I don’t care.” You tugged at his collar, leaning in, pressing another desperate kiss to the corner of his mouth. “They won’t see.”
Bucky’s hands flexed against your waist, like he was warring with himself.
You kissed him again, lips parting over his, trying to convince him, trying to make him understand, to feel just how badly you needed this, needed him.
He let out a shaky breath, his forehead pressing to yours, his chest rising and falling unevenly beneath you.
“Please,” you whispered, voice breaking. “Please, before you change your mind—I need this. I need you.”
That did it.
Something snapped in him.
The hesitation vanished.
And then, suddenly, you were weightless.
Before you could even process what was happening, Bucky was standing, lifting you effortlessly, your legs tightening around his waist as he carried you toward the back of the jet, moving with a singular, determined focus that made your breath catch.
Your back hit the cool metal wall of the jet, the impact sending a shiver down your spine, but you barely had time to react before Bucky was kissing you again—hot, rough, devouring.
You gasped against his lips, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck, holding on for dear life.
His hands roamed down your back, over your thighs, squeezing, gripping—and then, finally, finally, he found the zipper of your suit.
“I’m not changing my mind,” he murmured, his voice thick, edged with something raw that made you shiver. His fingers curled around the fabric, tugging just enough for you to feel the weight of his words. “And you’re not changing yours.”
You nodded without thinking, without hesitation, without fear.
There was a faint awareness of the reality around you—the steady hum of the jet beneath you, the wall of gear shielding you from the others, the knowledge that Sam and Torres were mere feet away. The fact that you were both bloodied and bruised from the mission, that maybe this wasn’t the time, wasn’t the place.
But then Bucky moved, and all of that faded.
The zipper came down in a slow, deliberate slide, the rasp of it against your skin sending a shiver down your spine. His hands worked quickly, efficiently, but gentle, pushing the suit down your arms until you could shake it off completely. The moment it was gone, he pulled your arms around his shoulders, guiding them to hold onto him, like he needed you to keep him close.
“Hold on to me,” he murmured, voice quieter now, almost reverent, before dropping to his knees.
Your breath caught, your pulse hammering as his hands gripped your hips, firm and unshakable, guiding the rest of your suit down your legs. His head dipped, his lips grazing the fresh bruise blooming along your hip. He kissed it once, then again—soft, lingering. Worshipping.
You swallowed hard, your fingers threading into his hair as he nuzzled along your thigh, your knee, before rising back to his full height.
“Not getting these off,” he muttered, his fingers ghosting over your soaked panties. You’d be ashamed if it weren’t for the way his lips parted, like he was desperate to get back on his knees, get his mouth on you, There was also something else. The look on his face - regret, you thought - like he wanted to take his time with you, but was disappointed he couldn’t.
His hands moved up your body, skimming over your waist, tracing along your ribs. You shivered at the sensation of warm and cold, flesh and metal. His eyes darkened at the sight of you trembling under his touch.
“We have to be quick.”
You nodded, obedient, but there was something clawing at your chest, something making your breath catch, making your hands shake as you reached for his belt, undoing it with frantic fingers.
“This—” You took a breath, sliding the zipper down, pushing his pants and underwear down in one swift motion. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, the tip already slick with pre-cum. You ached at the sight of him. Ached to drop to your knees and taste him.
Instead, you swallowed hard and met his eyes. “This isn’t how I imagined doing this with you.”
Bucky let out a low, disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head. “Me either.” His voice was rough, wrecked, breaking apart at the seams. His lips brushed your ear as he groaned, deep and ragged, when you wrapped your fingers around him, stroking him slow, teasing. “Fuck, sweetheart—”
A shudder rolled through him, his forehead pressing to yours, eyes fluttering shut.
“But I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, voice thick with something dangerous, something devoted. “I promise.”
His arms wrapped around you again, lifting you effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, your hips rolling forward to grind against him.
“Bucky—”
“You want this?” he asked, pressing you back against the cool metal wall, the contrast making you gasp. His mouth was everywhere—dragging down your jaw, across the swell of your breast, open-mouthed and hungry.
“I do. I—”
The words faltered on your tongue.
Your heart was hammering, your chest was aching. This was reckless. This was insane.
This was everything.
You squeezed your eyes shut, pressed your forehead to his, your lips brushing his with every ragged breath. “I want you,” you whispered, voice breaking. “All of you.” Your fingers twisted into his hair, tugging just enough for him to feel it. “Please.”
Bucky exhaled sharply, his grip tightening. “You have me.”
His words were iron, unbreakable, true.
Something cracked inside you.
And then—there was no more hesitation.
His lips crashed into yours again, raw and consuming, leaving no space between you, no air, no room for anything but him. His free hand slid down, tugging at your panties, dragging them to the side. Your own hand moved between you, wrapping around his cock, guiding him to where you needed him.
“Jesus, doll—”
It wasn’t gentle.
It wasn’t careful.
It was one full thrust, his cock pressing inside you inch by inch, filling you completely, stretching you to the edge of pain. Your nails bit into his shoulders, your head falling back against the wall as a gasp tore from your throat.
You felt full. Too full.
Your legs shook around him, your walls clenching tight around his cock, the overwhelming stretch making your eyes slam shut, your mouth parting on a silent moan.
Bucky groaned, deep and wrecked, his forehead pressing to your temple. His body was shaking too, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps against your skin.
“Fuck,” he ground out, metal hand locking around your thigh, keeping you open for him. His other hand tangled in your hair, his grip tight, desperate. “Fuck, you feel—Jesus, sweetheart.”
Your breath hitched, your arms trembling as you clung to him. “I can’t believe you’re inside me,” you whispered, voice barely there, overwhelmed and ruined. “Oh my god, Bucky—”
He snapped his hips forward, and your world split apart.
The pleasure was sharp, blinding, a lightning strike surging through your veins. Your body clenched around him, gripping him so tight he groaned against your neck, his rhythm faltering for a beat. His hands tightened on your hips, metal and flesh both possessive, both desperate to hold on.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he choked out, voice strangled, roughened with something close to reverence. He thrust deep, his cock dragging against every nerve inside you, every sensitive place that made your stomach coil so tight you thought you might shatter.
“For you,” you confessed, arching into him, letting him feel it, letting him know. “All the time. Every time you look at me—”
Bucky snapped his hips forward, harder, deeper, tearing a cry from your lips.
“Shit,” he breathed, voice breaking, cracking at the edges. “Shit, shit—”
“You’re so deep,” you gasped, barely able to breathe. Your nails raked down his back, desperate, pleading, needing. “Bucky, I—I can’t—”
“I’ve got you, doll,” he groaned, pressing his mouth to yours, swallowing every sound you made as he ruined you completely.
Every thrust was a curse, every breath a kiss, and you were careening toward the edge so fast it was dizzying.
The pleasure ripped through you before you could warn him, before you could even process it. Your walls tightened, pulsing around his cock, body shaking so violently that he had to pin you to the wall with his hips, burying himself to the hilt, his hand cradling the back of your head, shielding you as you contorted in his grasp.
His mouth devoured your cries, catching every broken, pleading gasp as the orgasm tore you apart. It was an explosion that didn’t stop, that kept rolling through you, wave after wave.
You rocked against him, desperate for more, still chasing, still needing, barely hearing the way he rasped your name, telling you to slow down, telling you to look at him, warning you that he was—
“God, you’re heaven,” Bucky breathed against your ear, grinding deep inside of you, his voice wrecked, every syllable tinged with something broken, something beautiful. As you slowly came down, you could feel how close he was, how tightly he was holding on, trying to keep himself from falling over the edge. “I can feel you—fuck me, I should pull out.”
“No.”
It came out fast, urgent, a whisper laced with something dangerous. Your legs locked around his hips, keeping him trapped in your hold.
His entire body went rigid. His breathing stilled.
“Baby.”
Bucky’s voice was low, frayed at the edges, filled with disbelief. The word hung in the air between you, unspoken until now.
You froze.
Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you knew you shouldn’t have given that away. Shouldn’t have let it slip, shouldn’t have handed him something so fragile, something you couldn’t take back.
But what was a drop to someone who was already drowning?
Bucky’s hands tightened on your hips, but he didn’t move. If he wanted to, he could have pulled you off of him without lifting a finger. You had always been painfully aware of how much stronger he was, how easily he could overpower you.
And yet, he stayed still, locked in your hold. Completely at your mercy.
You swallowed, your fingers shaking as they curled into his hair, pulling him closer, refusing to let him run.
“C’mon, doll,” he whispered, his lips brushing yours, stealing a kiss that felt like it was more for him than for you. “Let go.”
His hips rolled, his pelvis grinding against your clit, making you whimper. Your body was still trembling, still oversensitive, but fuck, if he kept going just a little longer—
“I want you to cum inside me,” you pleaded, your voice trembling, your nails digging into his skin.
Bucky froze.
The words echoed between you like a shot fired into the silence.
His hips stilled. His breath hitched. His hands trembled where they held you.
You had to bite your bottom lip to keep from crying out, from begging him to move.
“Doll,” he rasped, warning in his tone, his forehead pressed to yours. He looked wrecked, as undone as you felt.
“Stop arguing with me,” you shot back, voice shaky, grinding against him, dragging your soaked, sensitive heat over him, pulling a moan from his throat so deep it made every hair on your body stand on end.
“Fuck,” he groaned, head dropping to your shoulder, his grip on you bruising.
“I want this.” You tightened your arms around his neck, pressing yourself closer, wrapping him in you, cocooning you both in the moment. “I’m begging you, Bucky. Please.”
“It’s—” He swallowed thickly, voice strangled.
“Irresponsible, yes, but what’s a little irresponsibility?” A breathless laugh escaped you, but your voice broke at the end, too raw to keep up the teasing. You squeezed your eyes shut, inhaling deeply before forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I’m on the pill.”
His jaw clenched.
“I need this,” you whispered, the truth clawing up your throat before you could stop it. “I need you.” Your voice cracked, your breath hitched, emotion swelling too fast, too much. “You don’t get it, I—”
You didn’t even realize you were crying until he softened.
Something in his eyes clicked, something changed, and suddenly, his arms were wrapping around you tighter, his hands cradling your face like you were precious, like you were fragile, like he had to hold you together before you broke apart completely.
“It’s okay,” he murmured, kissing your temple, your cheek, your jaw. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”
And then he moved.
His thrusts were slower, deeper, his lips brushing yours between each movement. His hands wandered, soothing, worshipping.
“Giving you exactly what you want, yeah?”
You nodded frantically, breath labored, losing yourself in the way he felt, the way he surrounded you, consumed you.
“Don’t pull out,” you begged, voice barely there, a whisper of devotion, of desperation.
Bucky let out a shaky breath, forehead pressed to yours. “I won’t, baby,” he promised, voice breaking. His pace picked up, hips rolling against yours, pushing deeper, harder, dragging against your oversensitive clit in a way that had you whimpering. “Gonna fill you up like you wanted.”
Your toes curled at the words, at the image, your walls fluttering around him.
“Oh, please don’t stop,” you gasped, rolling your hips, needing, aching.
Bucky groaned, his head dropping back as his rhythm faltered, as he snapped his hips harder, chasing the end, giving you what you wanted, giving you everything.
“Fill me up, baby,” you pleaded, your voice a broken, desperate thing. “Make me yours..”
And that—
That was what finally broke him.
Bucky snapped.
A curse tore from his throat, his grip on you bruising, unrelenting as his hips slammed into you, chasing the inevitable, giving you everything. His rhythm turned frantic, needy, his body demanding what you had just offered.
And you took it.
You craved it.
Your body tightened around him, coaxing him deeper, begging for more. Every thrust was an answer to a question neither of you had spoken aloud, a declaration in the language of skin and breath and longing.
“Fucking hell, sweetheart,” he gritted out, his forehead pressing to yours, his breath hot against your mouth. His hand slid down between you, his metal fingers finding your clit and pressing, rubbing tight circles, dragging you back to the edge with him.
Your body shook, every muscle tensed, the pleasure sharpening into something unbearable, something deadly.
“Bucky—”
“I know, baby,” he groaned, his voice cracking at the edges, his own body trembling as he held himself back, as he waited for you. “Give it to me.”
You did.
Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, knocking the air from your lungs, blinding in its intensity. Your body locked around him, your hands clutching desperately at his shoulders as the pleasure ripped through you in violent, unrelenting waves.
And that was it. That was everything.
Bucky followed, slamming into you one last time before breaking, burying himself as deep as he could go, a shuddering groan torn from his chest as he spilled into you, filling you like he promised. You felt it as his warm cum Costas your walls, so much of it you weren’t sure there wasn’t some spilling out.
His body trembled, his arms locked tight around you, holding you close as he gave in, as he let go, as he let himself have this.
For a moment, there was silence.
Just the sound of your breathing, labored and uneven. The quiet, lingering shock of what you had just done.
Bucky’s forehead pressed against yours, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his heart hammering so hard you could feel it through his suit.
Neither of you spoke.
Neither of you moved.
You stayed like that—wrapped around him, his cock still twitching inside of you, his arms cradling you like you might disappear if he let go.
You let your eyes drift shut, your fingers tracing slow, lazy circles against the back of his neck, the weight of him comforting, grounding, even as reality started creeping back in.
You should let go.
You should move.
You should say something.
But when Bucky finally pulled back, just enough to look at you, his hands coming up to frame your face gently, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones—
The words died on your lips.
Because he was looking at you like you had just ruined him. Like you had just changed something fundamental inside of him.
Like you had just made him yours.
And you had.
Slowly,, Bucky eased his grip, his arms still wrapped around you, his hands still mapping the shape of you, like he needed to memorize every curve, every ridge, every place he’d touched.
His lips brushed your temple, then your cheek, then your jaw—soft, tender kisses that made your heart clench, made something deep inside you ache.
It felt too big.
Too much.
But you couldn’t stop touching him.
Your fingers traced the lines of his jaw, the stubble rough beneath your touch. You pushed damp hair out of his face, ran your knuckles down the slope of his nose, his cheekbone, memorizing him the way he was memorizing you.
A hand slid up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb tracing your cheek, his expression unreadable.
When he finally spoke, his eyes were soft, but serious.
“You meant it,” he murmured.
It wasn’t a question.
You swallowed, lips parting, breath hitching.
“Bucky—”
His other hand was still pressed to your lower stomach, like he could feel himself inside you, like he could brand this moment into your skin.
“I felt it,” he whispered, almost to himself. “The way you—” He exhaled sharply, like the words were too heavy to get out.
You closed your eyes, trying to give yourself some kind of reprieve from the enormity of it all.
“Don’t run from this.” His voice was so calm, but it cut through you like a knife. “Please, doll.”
Your throat tightened.
You weren’t sure if it was the aftershocks of pleasure or the overwhelming emotion of it all, but your body was still trembling—and Bucky felt every bit of it.
His arms tightened around you, securing you to him, anchoring you.
“I’m not running,” you whispered.
He pulled back just enough to search your face, like he didn’t quite believe you.
thinking of spencer who gets so overwhelmed by his infatuation for you sometimes. comes into the living room and sees you curled up in the corner of the sofa wrapped up in one of his caltech shirts and feels all this love and desire bubble up in his heart.
can't help but shove himself into your side on the sofa, fiddling with the the shirt's collar as an excuse to put his arm over your shoulder (he doesn't need an excuse anymore but he gets nervous sometimes). you hum softly, imagining that he's watching your show with you, but he's never been more distracted, staring fixedly at the curve of your throat, the soft skin of your collarbones.
it takes a while for you to notice, but when you do, you can't help but giggle to yourself, the lovesick look in his eye only slightly distracting you from the desire lingering underneath it.
"spence."
"yeah?" he barely looks up, his finger having dropped to trace the plane of your shoulder.
"y'want to give me a kiss, please?"
he looks up fully at that, eyes sparkling. he knows you're throwing him a bone, giving him an in where it would've otherwise taken him a solid half hour to get there. he appreciates it anyway.
smiling softly, he leans over you, taller frame engulfing your eyeline until you can't see anything but him. lips touch, and he lets out a sigh, tasting the sweetness of your laugh as he attempts to pull you as close as possible.
it gets away from you quickly, minds playing droning static as you move against one another. at some point, you've moved to be on top of him, thighs bracketing his, as his hands rest heavily on your hips.
"angel," he gasps out against your mouth, hands tightening on you.
it's only then that you realise you've been moving steadily, hips dragging softly against his. you stop, and he lets out a pitiful sound.
"i- i'm sorry," he chuckles breathlessly at your words, laying another kiss on your lips.
"don't be. do you want to?" the rest goes unsaid, but you know what he meant. you know what you want.
"i just want to do this, if that's okay."
he nods softly, leaning up to capture your lips with his once more. slowly, with the encouragement of his hands on you, you begin to move again.
the drag of his corduroy pants agains the thin linen of yours melds to create a haze of pleasure bubbling in your gut. you can't help but gasp into his mouth, moving desperately against him.
he echoes your sounds, fingers digging into the softness of your hips as he follows suit, rutting softly against you.
it's achingly intimate, soft sounds swirling into a bubble around you, both of you hyperaware of every place you touch. his lips on yours, your tongue in his mouth. your arms draped lazily over his shoulders, his gripping you tightly. your hips pressed against eachother, unable to get closer.
it amps up, rapture zapping up your spine until it's all you can focus on. you teeter on the edge of living in your mind and something else.
it takes one, two, three more movements of his hips against yours until you fall apart, pressing your forehead into the crook of his neck with a whine. he follows right after, choked sounds ripping themselves from the back of his throat.
you stay there for an uncountable amount of time, tangled up in each other, not saying a word.
• Requested by anon: Any chance you write Spencer bending you over to fuck you?? Love the way you write him btw 🙏
• Warnings: oral sex f. receiving, dirty talk, unprotected sex (DON’T BE LIKE THEM FELLAS), very much public sex, just straight porn with a tiny bit of plot lmao
• Word count: 2528.
• A/N: PLEASE READ THIS ONLY IF YOU’RE 18+. I hate how this turned out with every fiber of my being please don’t come at me😭
Falling for your professor was never part of the plan.
And starting an affair with him? Definitely not. But there you were, sitting in his lecture, pretending to take notes while your mind drifted back to the night before, when he fucked you stupid.
Spencer wasn’t oblivious. He noticed the way your gaze lingered on him, how you barely paid attention to his words, too busy fucking him with your eyes. It was almost impossible to ignore the heat radiating off you, the weight of your desire hanging in the air between you.
He tried to focus, tried to stick to the lecture, but his mind kept wandering. And you weren’t making it easy. Not when you sat there looking like that—chin resting on your hand, absentmindedly biting the end of your pencil, shifting in your seat just enough to betray your restlessness.
And he knew exactly why you couldn’t sit still.
His thoughts flickered back to last night, to the way you’d dropped to your knees for him, your lips wrapped around his dick, tears pricking your eyes as he fucked your mouth. The memory alone sent a sharp pulse of arousal through him, and judging by the way you pressed your thighs together, he wasn’t the only one struggling.
Still, his mouth kept moving, words spilling out automatically as he pushed through the lecture. But his focus was entirely on you. And it was your fault. Because you had wrecked him—mind and body—and now, not even a full classroom could pull him out of it.
“…And that’s it for today. Do you have any questions?” Spencer asked in conclusion, but mentally hoping no one would ask him anything. He internally sighed in relief when no one spoke. “Okay, you can go then, I’ll see you next week.”
He returned to the desk, slowly, very slowly, putting away his notes and files that he hadn’t actually used, occasionally looking at you with the corner of his eyes to see what you were doing and waving at the students who were starting to leave.
You, on the other hand, did the same, with almost unnerving slowness, putting your laptop back in its case as you waited for everyone to leave the classroom.
You approached Spencer, a small smile on your lips as you clutched your backpack to your shoulders.
“That was a great class, Professor Reid,” you began, swallowing the lump in your throat when Spencer went to close the classroom door and then leaned on the edge of the desk, his gaze fixed on you,hands in his pockets.
“Oh yeah?” He tilted his head slightly to the side, letting his eyes wander all over your body without any shame. “And tell me, what are your thoughts, Miss Y/Ln?”
Your cheeks warmed, but you refused to break eye contact. In fact, a surge of boldness stirred within you, especially when you caught the way he looked at you. Like a predator watching his prey, just waiting for the right moment to sink his teeth into you.
You took a step towards him, placing your backpack on his desk. You weren’t particularly close, but you were close enough you could smell his scent. “I was lying. I didn’t actually listen to it all to be honest, I was a little distracted.”
His lips curled into a smirk that made you almost faint. “So, would you like me to explain it to you again?”
You bit your lip and noticed how his gaze snapped to your mouth, how his pupils were dilated.
A small gasp left your mouth when his hands suddenly grabbed your hips and pulled you towards him. His arms wrapped around your waist and yours around his neck as your fingers began to play with his hair, just the way he liked it.
“I wouldn’t mind Professor,” you whispered, your nose brushing his as neither of you seemed to want to give in first despite the sexual tension being so high. “Of course, if it’s not a problem for you.”
He shook his head slightly, his hands gliding down your bare thighs, fingertips brushing over your skin until a trail of goosebumps followed his touch. The simplest caress had you squirming, aching for more, and soon his hands were everywhere, exploring every inch of you.
You let out a sigh as his hands lifted your skirt enough to expose your ass and he almost came in his pants when he realized you were not wearing underwear.
“What—Y/n are you trying to kill me?” He almost moaned, groping your ass and making you sigh as he pressed your body against his, rubbing his hard erection against you. In response your fingers spontaneously tightened around his hair, causing him to let out a little groan.
He pressed his lips to the crook of your neck, giving you no chance to respond as he began to lick and suck on your skin, on that exact spot he knew made you lose your mind.
“My pretty little slut, you came here with no panties hoping I would fuck you? If I had known I would’ve stopped class after five minutes,” he whispered nibbling on your earlobe, sending shivers down your spine.
One of his hands slid forward, cupping your pussy. His fingers began to touch you right where you needed them, spreading your wetness along your lips and clit. You moaned and he sucked your moans in as he pressed his mouth to yours. “As much as I love your moans you don’t want anyone to hear us, don’t you baby?”
“Spence… Please…” you begged him as his fingers continued to draw imaginary circles on your clit.
“Bend forward, hands on the desk and legs spread. I want to taste this pussy, it’s been too long.”
And by too long he meant last night.
You obeyed, without even having to be told twice. Your hands rested on the cold mahogany of his desk, the desk on which you had always imagined your professor fucking you since the first day of class. Spencer placed his palms on your naked ass, groping and touching it until he left you breathless and wanting more.
You didn’t know how he did it, but that man was able to unleash a feeling in you that you didn’t even know you had inside, a desire so deep and visceral you didn’t even recognize. He knew how to make you lose your mind, he knew how to make you squirm even with just a touch or a word and this scared you to death.
You tilted your head back over your shoulder—trying to catch a glimpse of him—seeing the way his eyes roamed your body, studying and devouring every inch of you. The intensity of his gaze alone nearly unraveled you. It felt like he was seeing you for the first time, even though this wasn’t the first time you’d found yourself in this position, completely at his mercy.
“I can see you dripping from here baby, is this all for me?”
“Yes, God, yes. I’ve been wet ever since you walked in the classroom,” you breathed out, not caring how desperate you sounded.
“What a sight you are Y/n,” his hands kept touching you, “I could sit here all day and just at look at you… You’re so perfect you could make me come in my pants just like this,” he murmured and your insides twitched in anticipation as you saw him lean behind you out of the corner of your eye.
A throaty moan escaped your mouth as his lips traced a long, slow line on your pussy and the groan he made against your folds was the sexiest and hottest sound you had ever heard in your life.
Spencer fucking Reid knew how to eat a pussy and fuck how grateful you were to be the woman who had the chance to experience it. He devoured you, his lips and tongue making you feel what the real pleasure was.
“Fuck Spence, fuck you’re so good,” you cursed breathlessly, clamming a hand over your mouth to stop the moans that were now completely out of control. His arms wrapped around your trembling thighs, holding you firmly on his face as his lips licked and sucked on your clit, sending you further into oblivion.
The orgasm hit you suddenly, so hard you thought you were actually blacking out for a moment.
Death by orgasm, that would’ve been a good headline.
You were so dazed you didn’t even realize Spencer had stood up until you felt his body pressed against your back. “If you think I’m done with you, you’re mistaken baby.”
“Do whatever you want with me.” And you meant every single word.
He chuckled and you heard him fumbling with his belt, your insides literally twisting in anticipation. With one slow thrust he penetrated you from behind and—not giving you time to getting used to him or even recover from your orgasm—started to fuck you like his life depended on it.
You tried to keep your moans under control, biting your lip, but it was so hard—especially when his dick hit and stretched out every inch of your pussy.
“You’re so tight you’re driving me crazy,” he hissed, trying to keep up with his gasps and sighs but the soft groans that escaped his lips came out on their own.
“Oh fuck—Spence…” you babbled, his hand squeezing your hips as he thrust in and out of you mercilessly. Your palms instead rested on the hard, cold wood of the desk, even though your skin was hot as lava.
“Shhh baby you don’t want them to hear us do you?” he suppressed another moan. “Can you be quiet for me, yeah?”
“I’m trying—fuck… You feel so good inside me Spence,” you sighed, your head spinning in pleasure. Spencer slid his hands down your back, under your shirt before leaning over you and cupping your breasts. He touched them, took your nipples between thumb and forefinger and pinched them, while his dick continued to slide in and out of your pussy with a brutal, unrestrained rhythm that almost made you faint. “Yes baby fuck my pussy like that oh my god…”
“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath and he had to concentrate not to come right there and then.
You turned your head to the side and in that same instant he grabbed your face with one hand and kissed you, sliding his tongue into your mouth and sucking the life out of you. It was a voracious, passionate, messy kiss, only interrupted by your moans and sighs mixing together.
“I’ve been waiting for this since I saw you this morning,” you sighed in between the moan, your lips brushing his, “you have no idea—holy shit… yeah just like that oh my god…” you trailed off when Spencer gave a particularly deep thrust that almost knocked the wind out of you.
“Look at you, my pretty little slut,” he moaned in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “I can’t get enough of you.. So perfect you make me lose my mind.”
He kissed you again—or at least he tried to given your constant moans. He slid the hand that was on your face into your hair, twisting it into a fist and pulling until your head fell back. That alone made your walls clench around him until he let out a peculiarly loud moan.
“Shit— baby, if you do that again I’m going to come right now,” he sighed as his other hand ended up around your throat, squeezing not enough to knock out your air but enough to make your head spin.
It was too much, too intense. The pleasure was so overwhelming, you genuinely thought you might pass out. The way he fucked you, God, how could someone who seemed so gentle have this much control over your body? How did he know you so intimately—every sensitive inch, every spot to touch, every filthy word to whisper—he could push you to the edge and pull you under, making you come until you were trembling and spent?
You felt another orgasm building inside you and at this point you were a complete mess, moaning so much Spencer had to cover yogurt mouth with the hand that was previously your throat. “You know I’m jealous right? You know how crazy I get just at the thought of someone hearing what only I can do to you? So shut up.”
These words were your downfall and you exploded in an orgasm that blinded you for a few moments, so overwhelming you lost your strength and almost fell on the desk if it hadn’t been for Spencer who was holding you up.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he cursed and those words were so strange coming from his mouth but yet so fucking sexy. “I’m coming, ah—I’m coming yes…”
He pulled out and let his come mark your ass and a little bit your back too, before he took a moment to pull himself back together.
His eyes focused on that vision for a few seconds—his chest rising and falling as quickly as if he’d run a marathon—his mind snapping millions of pictures of your ass covered in his cum and thanking his eidetic memory.
He leaned over you again and left soft kisses on your shoulder before whispering in your ear, “Are you alive?”
You hummed a nonsensical sound in response to which he chuckled. “Come on princess, we need to get out of here before someone sees us.”
“I don’t think I can feel my legs anymore.”
Spencer helped you up and cleaned you off with some tissues. Your face was still flushed, your skin visibly hot, your hair ruffled despite your attempts to run your fingers through it to style it, but you were still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
“Are you listening to me?” You asked with mirth, noticing he wasn’t listening to any of your words. His arms were wrapped around your hips while your hands rested on his chest, before running them through his equally messy hair.
“What?” He muttered, seeming to finally come back to earth, “sorry I was distracted.”
“What were you thinking?”
“You. You’re breathtaking.”
You blushed and smiled, not used to compliments. “For a super genius you get so easily distracted Professor.”
“Oh absolutely,” he didn’t even try to deny, his hands caressing your back. “When it comes to you there isn’t a single brain cell working.”
“Maybe I should go then so I don’t distract you from your academic responsibilities anymore,” you murmured as you continued to stroke his hair, his eyes half closed for a moment, enjoying your touch.
“Mmh,” he hummed in agreement but showed no signs of letting you go. “Yes, you are so distracting.”
“You’re not even listening to me, maybe it’s best if we stop seeing each other.”
In response he slapped your ass, making you gasp in surprise. “We both know this will never happen so don’t ever say it again.”
You giggled, placing a chaste kiss on his lips. “Then we’ll see each other around, Professor.”
He kissed you again, this time with more depth and passion. “You can count on it Miss.”
while trying to hide away from a group of raiders, both you and Joel find yourself in an ‘uncomfortable’ hiding position.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 𝟏𝟖+..dirty talk, praise kink, finger sucking, female receiving, thigh/ knee riding, Joel’s kinda mean but also sweet in this one, pet names (honey, sweetie, good girl, sweet girl) possessive Joel, unspecified age gap.
a/n: this is my first time ever writing on here so pls for the love that you have for yourself..be nice, I started to work on this just last night..I would be lying if I said it’s rushed cause it isn’t…hope you enjoy - word count: 1965
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You didn’t even get a chance to catch your breath when all of a sudden he shoved you against the wall, his heavy, rough, tanned, scarred hand on your mouth to prevent you from letting out a sound
His knee quickly slipping in between your legs- between your thighs, keeping you in place as he pressed his other hand right beside your head
His chest heaving just slightly as he glanced around the corner of the hallway, his eyebrows furrowed just slightly as he licked his dry lips
‘what the fuck, Miller’ was on the tip of your tongue as you made movement to rip his hand off of your mouth but stopped when you heard multiple voices around the building
“saw them heading this way! out in the back”
“spread out and find them, steal their shit and run out”
clenching your jaw just slightly, you dropped your hands to your sides, closing your eyes as you heard multiple shoes against the ground, running
As he shifted to look around the corner, his knee shifted between you, the thin fabric of your jeans did nothing to help as you felt your underwear quickly get damp from just his sudden movement causing you to let out a small ‘quiet’ whimper
hearing your so called ‘quiet’ whimper, he turned his attention towards you, his nose just slightly grazing your cheek form how close you both were.
“shush, girl” he murmured, his brows slightly pinched together
It was either he didn’t care about the position you were both in or he hadn’t yet noticed, but you. You on the other hand began to slightly tremble as his knee moved unconsciously against your core yet again
feeling your trembles and hearing your small heaved breaths, he cocked his head to the side, his warm breath hitting your ear
He took his hand off your mouth
“what’s wrong?”
“you hurtin’ anywhere?” the hand that he had removed from your mouth started to roam your body, his eyes glazing over you, his deep, dark, brown eyes searching for a single wound
“your knee” you whisper, your voice slightly wavering
“what about my knee?” He looked between you both, and as if it finally clicked what you had meant about ‘his knee’, his lips pursed, the corner of his eyes crinkling
“Ah..right..” there was a small hint of guilt on his face, one part embarrassment, another impressed, and the other..turned on “sorry bout that”
You looked away and down to where he had his knee pressed against you, licking your lips as you tried so hard to not move
A quiet scoff passed his lips “..you’re that sensitive, huh?”
oh this fucker.
“shut up” you murmur, swallowing the nervousness down your throat
A cocky smirk formed on his lips, his eyes drifting down to also look at the position he had placed both of you in
"It was just my knee," he teased, shifting it in between your legs again, a playful look filling his gaze as he leaned in close
"I didn't think you'd actually moan," he mumbles into your ear, voice low and gravelly
whimpered not moaned.
“It’s been a long time you bastard” you mutter, closing your eyes to not meet his playful and teasing gaze
He chuckled, the sound vibrating against your skin as he continued to tease you, his knee applying just the slightest bit more pressure between your legs.
"Looks like I've found a soft spot," Joel mused, his voice like a sultry whisper. "Maybe I should take advantage of that."
“you fucker” you whispered lowly
"Mmmhm," Joel chuckled, relishing in your reactions. He tilted his head to nuzzle against your neck, the heat of his breath cascading over your skin, his knee still applying that subtle pressure
"Such a sweet little weakness you have," he murmured, his tone both mocking and amused. "If I know what buttons to press... I wonder what other noises I'd get from you”
“don’t” you quickly whispered “don’t you dare”
He gently bit at the sensitive skin of your neck, his knee still keeping a steady pressure
"Why not?" His voice was a low growl in your ear, filled with both hunger and restraint. "I have you right where I want you”
His lips found their way to your ear, his tongue tracing the outer shell. "I could do so many things to you right now..."
without even thinking you let out a whimper causing your eyes to snap open
shit
Joel's smirk broadened as your whimper reached his ears, the sound sending a jolt through his body
"You sound so sweet like this," he whispered, his knee rubbing against your clothed core once more, the pressure a little more insistent now. "Moan for me again, just like that."
and fuck did you do just that, tilting your head to the side as you closed your eyes
He hummed in approval, his lips finding your newly exposed skin again as he trailed down the line of your jaw and back up to your ear.
"That's right, just like that," Joel's voice was like velvet, his knee shifting between your legs, the pressure increasing. "So responsive, so perfect. Letting me do whatever I want to you."
“such a sweet girl”
having no more shame you let out another whimper “Joel”
The sound of your whimper was music to his ears, spurring him on as he continued to tease you with both his knee and words
"Say my name again," he mumbled, his lips nipping at the spot behind your ear as his knee applied a particularly firm press between your legs. "I want to hear you moan my name”
his hands begin to take off your jacket, tossing it aside as he moves to lift your shirt off, letting out a deep shaky breath as he hears you moaning his name
a low growl of contentment emanated from his chest as his eyes roamed your newly exposed skin, his hand working its way to the back of your bra
"That's it," he murmured against your skin as your bra slipped off of you, his knee shifting again, the movement more deliberate, more insistent. "Say it again. You're so good for me"
He continued to trail kisses down your neck, his free hand roaming to your breasts, his fingers digging into the flesh
“Joel” you murmur, arms leaving your sides and placing them to wrap around his thick neck
A contented hum left his lips as he felt your arms around his neck, and he leaned forward, pressing your back further against the wall, his knee still working to pleasure you
"You're being such a good girl for me," he said, his voice a low, approving rumble, his mouth returning to your ear. "Say my name again, please, I want to hear you moan it for me”
his hot mouth trailing down your ear, to your cheek, to the corner of your mouth, down your jaw, licking your neck slowly as he finally reached your chest
his fingers moving to the strap of your jeans, tugging it just slightly as he began to unbutton slowly
“Joel” you moan
“faster” you whisper along with a pathetic please
"Mmm, so impatient," he teased, the smirk returning to his face, but he didn't deny you. His knee moving away between your legs as he quickly pulled down your jeans, his fingers teasing at your underwear before sliding them down
his knee immediately going back to where they once were, increasing its pressure, moving faster between your legs, you’re now exposed and dripping core, grinding against it
"You like that, baby?" His voice was a sultry growl in your ear, one hand dropping to your thigh to help keep you steady. "You're being so good for me, just like I knew you would be."
letting out a soft moan of pleasure, you buck your hips to meet his knee
“so good, Joel” you whimper making him let out a soft hum
“s’ alright, I got you baby..gonna make you feel s’good” he rasps out, his eyes going down to watch as your hips bucked over his knee, watching his jeans quickly damp from your slick wetness
“that’s it, good girl. fuck, so beautiful, so fucking good” he moans as he goes on to suck your breasts, his fingers dancing down to your stomach and down to your pussy
“fuck, baby. she’s drippin’” he whimpers, his fingers teasing your swollen lips
his long thick fingers moving in and out of your swollen, dripping pussy
letting out another moan you let your head fall back against the wall, your hands coming down to press against his strong arms
“gonna cum..Joel” you cried softly, eyes still shut as you moaned and whimpered his name
his fingers moved faster as your cry filled his ears, leaning down to kiss and suck your neck
“cmon sweet girl” he rasps, licking your neck
“cum for daddy” he groans deeply into your neck, feeling your thighs shaking he tightens his grip on them, trailing his lips up your jaw, planting a kiss before moving to your mouth
“gonna fuck you so hard when we get back to Jackson, gonna fuck you so hard sweet girl, you won’t be able to walk for days” he whispers roughly before kissing you hard you were sure it were to bruise tomorrow
“gonna fuck this pussy so hard, she’ll be aching..gonna make her feel so good..gonna make me feel so good” he mumbles in between the heated kiss
you were far too gone to even acknowledge his words, focusing on your release rather than anything he was saying
“all mine. all fuckin mine” his lips leave yours for a moment before bitting down your bottom lip, licking it slowly as he felt you come around his fingers
“that’s it, good girl” he groans roughly, moving his fingers in you to collect your juices, slowly and gently taking his fingers out of you, making you let out a small whimper
you open your eyes just barely and watch as he opens his mouth, placing his fingers on his tongue as he licks away your release, you didn’t get the chance to open your mouth before his lips roughly met yours, opening your mouth just enough for his tongue to seep into your mouth
“see how good ya taste?” he breathes out, hands moving from your thighs to your hips pushing himself into you, feeling his thick and hard cock pressing against you
“I ain’t fuckin’ this pretty pussy here” he grumbles as he feels your hands come down to his belt “not here sweet pea”
just as you were about to protest, the sound of shoes running down the hallway stopped you from letting out a sound, feeling Joel’s grip on you tighten made the realization of how you even came to this position in the first place hit you
“they’re here”
“heard some noise coming from behind that wall there”
silently but quickly Joel turned to you, his dark brown eyes sweeping over your naked body, in between your thighs, his eyes dilated for just a split second before he let out a small yet heavy sigh
moving his hand to brush hair off of your sweaty forehead before kissing your lips, this time, soft and slow making you whine
bending down and hearing his knees crack before he slid your underwear and jeans up, buttoning your jeans and patting your thigh
“be a good girl that I know you are and get your gun out” he whispers as he places your shirt over your head, reaching the floor to grab your jacket as you reached over to your bag that had been forgotten and taking out your gun
“gonna kill those fuckers for ruinin’ my time with ya”
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