Lesson Learned
Summary: Joel saves you from a creep at the bar. You repay him with how you see fit.
Word Count: 10.9k
Warnings: 18+. MDNI. P in V sex. Assplay. Age gap. Reader is in her 20s, Joel’s in his late 40s/50s. Reader is a teacher. Size difference. Slight dom/sub undertones. Dirty talk. Squirting. Panty sniffing. Choking. No Outbreak.
Banner: by @cursed-carmine
Authors Note: it has been a million and one years since I’ve written and i have never written for Joel before so be kind ! I would also love to practice writing drabbles bc this initially was supposed to be a drabble but I lost control lol. so send me and gnarly imagines you have about frank castle and joel miller (and fuck it even Arthur Morgan) and we’ll have a ball <3
ao3 link [coming soon]
Tequila has never been your friend.
The ritual of licking the grainy salt, shooting the shitty well tequila, immediately following with a soggy lime wedge usually led to a terrible burn in your belly and immediate regret— because once that tequila worked its magic, it usually led you and your burnt out group of teacher friends to order another round.
And then another, because fuck it you guys, we work with kids for a living! At least three of us here had a chair thrown at us this week!
And by the time the third round of that dark, shitty well tequila gets ordered, your brain is already becoming mush and you really don’t mind that your group is being the loudest in the small dive bar. In fact, you really don’t mind— especially when it catches the attention of the regulars who love to buy a group of pretty young girls their next round. A free drink is a free drink, and typically the men that hit on you and your girls know there ain’t a chance in hell any of you would give in to them. Sure, there are some that give it their all— “c’mon, my wife don’t got it any more”— or “give this ol’ man a chance, baby” — but typically with a bat of your lashes and the excuse of having a nonexistent boyfriend, they let up.
But that isn’t the case tonight.
Mike, you think is his name, can’t be younger than 50. He has a belly rounder than you’d ever seen and a nose as red as Rudolph’s. Surely, a sign of his drinking habits throughout the years. He’s bought the latest rounds of drinks after approaching your table, words already slurred and breath so horrifying you’re afraid that if he lit up a cigarette, his breath would catch fire.
But a free drink is a free drink, and your girls weren’t ready to tell him to kick rocks just yet.
You, however, were ready to tell him to fuck off.
It had been a long week. Between the usual troublemakers in your class and a surprise observation from your admin, your free time was being consumed by conference prep. Hours after school were being spent making copies, scheduling with parents, making sure the kids desks were neat… it was stressful.
And to top it all off, the fucker took it upon himself to plop his ass right next to you.
You know the type. He was probably on his third divorce, and spent a little too much time at the bar during his free time. It disgusts you to even think that this guy is probably thinking about what it would take to get you home.
With an arm slung around the back of your seat in the booth, he’s asking alllll about what it’s like to be a teacher these days. And much to your annoyance, your friends have begun not so secretly taking pictures—no doubt making it into the shared album by the morning.
“Now sweetheart,” Mike (or maybe Matt? You couldn’t keep it straight.) slurs, and your nose crinkles at the smell of the cheap beer on his breath. “M’tellin’ you. If had a teacher like you growin’ up—‘
God, there it was. Guys always think that line works, as if hearing it for the millionth time would finally land them on your roster.
“—Would’ve paid real close attention in class.”
Gag.
Your smile grows tight as you squirm towards the edge of the vinyl booth. “Alright!” You exclaim loudly. “With that note, m’gonna go get a Diet Coke. Somethin’ to wash the tequila down.”
“Baby I can go with ya—” Mike groans as he moves towards you, but you smile as sweetly as you can and cut him off before he can inch any closer.
“Jess, I’m sure Mike would love to hear about how that kid told you to fuck off last week.”
Mike snorts. “Names not Mike. S’Matt.”
“Matt, sorry.” You aren’t sorry. You’re already halfway to the bar as you say that.
Jess, who is the main instigator of the night out, is a social butterfly who isn’t scared of a damn thing. She can handle a few questions from Matt.
The Rusty Spur was usually packed tighter than a can of sardines, but tonight is bad. To your right is one bachelorette group cornered towards the end of the bar, sticking out like a sore thumb in their pink cowboy hats, multiple groups of guys dressed in business casual; shirtsleeves rolled up and collars unbuttoned—and to your left, at least a dozen frat boys hogging the pool tables, the scent of their cheap cologne making your lip curl in distaste.
And to your front, the line looks to be a million people deep. With a groan, you stretch to your tiptoes and attempt to look over the shoulders of the people in front of you. God, you just needed some Diet Coke to get rid of the taste of tequila out of your mouth and to clear your head. And to close out your tab, you suppose—your iPad and shower were singing their siren song to you right about now.
Given that you were currently more than a few drinks deep and growing more and more irritated by the lengthy line of tall frat boys, you rise to your tippy toes once again and tilt yourself to the left, attempting to get a look to see if any progress is being made to get to the bar.
God dammit, everyone is so tall!
Leaning juuuuuust a bit further left, another tall body rams itself into your side; and suddenly your center of gravity is just…gone. Your wedges fail you—you knew wedges were the wrong choice—and your body is falling faster than you can process.
“SHIT!”
Not only is your head pounding, but now your tailbone is pounding—and soaked in god knows what kind of liquid. With reddened cheeks, and tears of embarrassment forming in your eyes, you look up to see what asshole shoved into you; only to meet the eyes of fucking Mike.
Before you can push yourself off of the bar floor and tell him exactly where he can shove it, you feel a pair of hands grab onto your shoulders, gently lifting you up and onto your feet
“Hey, easy,” a voice says in your ear. Low, unbothered, with a slight drawl to his tone. Not slurred at all—unlike Mike who had been breathing down your neck for the last hour.
Slightly disoriented, you blink slowly; craning your neck to get a good look at the stranger, and your eyes lock on someone who is entirely unlike the other guys here. Not even close.
This boy… no… man… is tall. Broad, biceps being hugged perfectly by his t-shirt. Deep set wrinkles frame his eyes, but their deep chocolate shade is enough to momentarily make your tongue forget how to even form legible words. You’re pretty sure if you even tried to talk, nothing would come out. As if his eyes weren’t enough of a distraction, the scent of the bar was quickly replaced with a distinct aroma of wood pine and spearmint. It’s clear by the calluses on his palms and the slightly paint-stained shirt that read MILLER CONSTRUCTION, whoever he is, is a man.
If you hadn’t known any better, you’d think that your damn jaw was slack, drool pooling all around the two of you.
He’s still holding onto your elbow, unsure whether you’ll fall over again if he lets go of you. You’re sure you must look like a mess, but the stranger has an unreadable expression as he finally steps back, releasing his grip on your arm.
“You alright miss?” He reaches beside him to the bar, grabbing a napkin and politely handing it to you.
Texan, you think. Of fucking course.
“Mostly,” You grumble, accepting the napkin to wipe your hands. “This jackass won’t leave me and my friends alone. And now he just…”
You gesture to him, and the stranger rolls his eyes and turns his attention to Mike, who seems blissfully unaware that he just body slammed you to the ground. The stranger, whose expression remains unreadable, glances over at the perpetrator, visibly eyeing him up and down. If you had to guess, the stranger was thinking of a way to get this man kicked out of the bar.
“Matt.”
Mike turns suddenly, beer spilling over the sides of his pint glass—adding to the mess you had just landed on. His face of stupor quickly turns to a toothless grin as he recognizes the stranger who just pulled you up from the mess.
“Joel!” He instantly steps towards Joel, both arms wrapping around Joel's shoulders. From the way Joel tenses up as Mike slaps his back with one hand, it’s clear that Joel does not like him. “S’been a few weeks since ya been out, buddy!”
Joel gently, but with a firm movement pries his arms off his shoulders and takes a step back. “Has been, friend. You knocked this lady over.”
He says it evenly. With authority. He says it in a way that shows you that his moral compass wouldn’t allow this to happen on his watch, whether you were a stranger or not.
“Pssssh,” Matt breathes, waving a hand. “This….” He gestures to you, a look of disgust blooming in his eye, “bitch had it comin. Been buying her and her slutty friends drinks. Won’t even gimme a damn feel.”
As if things hadn’t gotten enough out of hand when you landed in dive bar liquids on a dirty hardwood floor, you’re now frozen in disbelief as this complete degenerate decides to insult you. And to a complete stranger—Joel—now involved.
If you weren’t red as a tomato before, you’re sure that now you’re going as red as a bad sunburn. If the fall hadn’t embarrassed you enough, now this fucker is really going for the gold.
That moral compass of his leads Joel to the most obvious next step. You watch half in horror and half in awe, as he takes two decisive steps forwards and grabs Matt by the collar, yanking him towards the door. Matt nearly topples over his own boots as Joel grabs him, a grunt escaping his lips. The pair brush past you as Joel easily pushes Matt towards the door.
Maybe it’s the tequila—but watching Joel move around a huge dude like Mike like it’s nothing—it’s really fucking hot. You’re moving with them before you even realize you’re walking.
“Time to go home, Matt.” Joel says evenly, giving him no other option but to follow. “We ain’t dealin’ with your shit for the rest of the night.”
Matt clearly isn’t happy as Joel escorts him out. “The FUCK, Miller?!”
Getting closer and closer to the door, the bouncer at the door sighs and stands when he notices the disruption. Clearly it’s not Matt's first rodeo with getting kicked out of a bar.
“Fuckin’ disrespectful is what you are,” Joel says flatly, shoving him towards the bouncer. “Matt’s at it again. Pushed the poor lady.”
“Shit man, one more time and you’re gettin’ 86’d from the Spur,” the bouncer groans, grabbing Matt by the arm. “Swear to god.”
The cool night air hits your face as a second bouncer swings the door open, following the pair outside to ensure that it’s handled. As the door swings back shut, your lungs deflate with a breath you didn’t notice you had been holding.
“Such a damn idiot,” Joel murmurs to himself, finally turning to you. His eyes dart down and up at you quickly; no doubt thinking about what a wreck you probably look like at the moment. “You okay?”
“Better,’” You reply, hiking your bag over your shoulder. “I—I—thank you. You didn’t have to do that. Joel, right?”
He nods, holding his hand out for you to shake. Those calluses on his palms once again meet your skin, sending a momentary spark down your spine.
“Yeah, Joel. And m’happy to. Matt’s been pullin’ shit like this for years. Ain’t funny nor cute.” He pulls his hand away, looking you over once again. The way he does it doesn’t feel like he’s checking you out; more like he’s looking to see if you’re hurt. “M’sorry about your skirt. I wouldn’t wanna know what’s been spilled on these floors.”
Your hands swipe the back pockets of your skirt; face turning to a wince when you feel the damp spot on your ass.
“It’s a good thing I own a washer and dryer, I guess.”
He huffs out a chuckle, the lines in his face deepening as he does so. You weren’t one to typically be enamored with someone older, but Joel is so… effortless. Soft, yet tough.
You introduce yourself, heart stopping for a moment as he repeats your name. Why does it sound so much better coming from him?
“I, uh, can I get you a beer?” You ask, thumb pointing to the bar. “You really didn’t have to—“
“—I’m okay, promise,” Joel interrupts, lip pulling into a small smile. “Like I said, Matt has been doin’ shit like that for a long time. Needs to learn his lesson.”
Just like Joel wouldn’t bend his moral compass, even for strangers, you weren’t going to back down now. Especially when the stranger who jumped in to defend you was hot.
“I don’t think m’gonna take no for an answer tonight.” You’re already taking out your card; feet moving you back towards the bar—the scene of the crime. “You had a Coors banquet, yeah?”
You’re half-expecting him to double down on his refusal and return to his seat at the bar, but to your surprise—he doesn’t.
“I did.” Joel replies, clearly amused by your forwardness. He follows you to the line, hands in his pockets as he does. Respectful. God, that’s such a turn on.
With the line beginning to thin out, you shift on your feet and look up at him. How did Joel know that asshole anyways? Asking him some questions wouldn’t hurt, especially since there’s still a line.
“How do you know Mike anyways?” You ask, tilting your head out of curiosity.
“Re-did his kitchen a while back for him and his wife. Was a pain in the ass then, still a pain in the ass now.”
“Wife, huh?” An amused laugh passes through your lips at the revelation. “Didn’t see a ring, and he definitely didn’t mention a wife.”
Stepping forward in tandem with you as the line moves, you note how he stands just close enough to hear you, but far enough to let you take the lead.
Joel shrugs nonchalantly. “And that doesn’t shock me either. Yourself and your friends are pretty. Sucks that he had to go and be an asshole about it, though.”
Pretty.
Joel thinks you’re pretty.
“Most guys are.” Another step forward to the bar. Not too far, now. Your inner monologue tells you to keep the conversation going, dammit! “So you do… residential construction?”
“Mostly residential, but we’ll take a few commercial gigs if it fits. My brother and I own the company together,” he explains easily. You’re just thankful that this stranger has either not noticed your flushed face, or is too nice to say anything about it. “It’s a good gig. What do you do?
Another step. One more person in front of you.
Keep it going.
Fiddling with your card in your hand, you answer, “I’m a teacher. Elementary.”
“That makes sense.” His brows raise with a smile, and he steps forward with you. “Where at?”
“I don’t tell people at bars,” You reply quickly, but mentally hitting yourself at the delivery. “I mean—I didn’t—“
“—No, I get it,” Joel laughs, raising his hands in mock defense. “You don’t know me, I don’t know you. M’sure you’ve had this conversation enough times to learn what to say, and what not to say. I don’t take any offense.”
You raise a brow as if you don’t believe him, and Joel’s small smile turns to a grin as he leans down a little, doubling down on his statement. Like he knew you needed the reassurance that he wasn’t offended by your evasiveness.
“Promise.”
There’s that wood pine and spearmint smell again, taking over your senses. Is this what pheromones are? If so, they’re working overtime to make sure you feel his presence.
The group in front of you at the bar leaves happily with their drinks, and you’re thankful for the quick respite to regain your bearings as you order Joel his Coors and your own Diet Coke. And to ensure that you don’t drink further and make even more of a fool of yourself, you close out your tab.
Sliding the receipt and pen towards the bartender, you turn to Joel who surprisingly is still here with you in line, nursing the cold beer. Surely that means he’s not done with you just yet—because simply, you were too taken with him to be done yet, either.
With a quick glance over your shoulder, your group has already had their attention shift to the pool table; where Jess was currently getting a lesson from a kid with a backwards hat and no doubt a zyn in his lower lip.
They’d be fine without you for a few minutes,.
“M’gonna get some air—“ You say casually, twirling your straw against the ice in your glass. Keep it cool.
“Maybe I should come with, ‘f you don’t mind,” Joel responds coolly. “Need a cigarette after that.”
Biting back a small smile, you lead the way through the crowd towards the back enterance—taking your phone out as you do, you tap Jess’s contact.
Going outside for some air, brb
It takes her less than a minute to answer.
Atta girl, don’t worry about us. We’re nearby
be safe <3
Tucking your phone into your purse, you hold the door open behind you for Joel; sighing as you feel the night air cool off your body from the bar. Breathing in a breath of air, you turn to see Joel claim a standing table, setting his beer down and digging in his back pocket for what he needs.
”Ah, there we go,” He exclaims softly, lighter emerging from his pocket. “I know these are bad for me but—Matt’s a real ass.”
Leaning against the table he’s chosen, you don’t even notice the small smile you’re giving him as he strikes up the lighter, cigarette between his lips.
”What’re you smiling about?” He asks, but not in a teasing way—it’s playful, making you flustered all the while.
”I just…I haven’t…” You pause and think for a moment. Why were you smiling? You could blame the tequila. You could blame your friends for dragging you out. Or, you could admit to yourself that Joel…this stranger, who is probably older than your dad, is—doing it for you.
After all, he had called you pretty.
Surely that meant he’d want to feel… whatever this was out with you.
”I’m just floored, I guess. That you helped me. Lotta people these days wouldn’t have even said a word.”
Joel lets the smoke spill from his lips smoothly as he listens to you. He’s no stranger to helping others—his parents raised him right—and normally, he would have just let you buy him a drink as a thank you and he would have returned to his seat after the exchange. No harm, no foul.
But Mike really was an ass. Shoving a pretty young thing like you, then to top it all off, mouthing off about being a bitch—he felt bad for you. But he noticed right away the twinkle in your eye when he helped you up. It wasn’t just thankfulness. It was something else.
Joel was 50. Back in his 20s, he knew how to talk to women. It felt like second nature—do a late shift at the auto shop, hit the bars with his buddies after. But as Joel had grown into fatherhood and owning a business, his priorities shifted and he didn’t go out as much.
Didn’t date as much.
And definitely didn’t check out women that could be his daughter.
Your lips closed around the straw and his eyes dart to the movement, watching how the gloss stains the rim of it. Part of him feels…dirty, noticing the plumpness of your lips.
The other part of him wonders what it would feel like elsewhere.
“I guess I’m floored, too.” Joel remarks, watching your reaction to his response. Joel isn’t a creep. He knows what this could look like to you if you weren’t into it—he just wants to test the waters and gauge your interest. Your brow furrows.
”Why?”
Bringing the cigarette back to his lips, his eyes don’t leave yours as he thinks carefully about his answer.
”Guess m’floored that your boyfriend didn’t intervene before I could.”
In that moment, you feel something pass between the two of you. Curiosity mixed with lust, maybe. Joel's eyes are still locked with yours as the smoke clears—so you can really look at him and he can really look at you.
It feels as if he’s staring straight into your soul.
”I don’t have a boyfriend.” It’s the truth, and he knows it too. You aren’t dumb. You know why he’s asking. Your eyes flicker down to his left hand, and a feeling of relief and glee spreads throughout you when you notice he doesn’t have a ring on his finger.
God. What have you come to? Checking for a man’s ring. And getting excited when he doesn’t have one? He’s old.
You reach out wordlessly to him. He chuckles and passes the cigarette to you and watches you intently as you inhale softly, flicking ash to the ground as you exhale.
“I’m shocked,” He answers finally, breaking the silence. “Pretty, young, a great career…” A pause, as you hand back his cigarette. You don’t miss the way his eyes flick to your mouth. “you’re a catch.”
If this wasn’t flirting, you had to be the dumbest girl on the planet.
Before you can think of a response to Joel, both of your attention goes to the door; where Jess and your group come bursting through, the pool table boys en suite. Jess is practically hanging off backwards hat boy, and the rest are no doubt ordering the uber back to their respective apartments.
As if the two of you were in sync, you both turn at the same time to look at each other; as if trying to convey that neither of you were ready for the night to end. And truth be told…you weren’t.
Neither was Joel.
Jess pries herself off of the guy when she finally spots you, mischievous grin on her face as she looks at the scene before her.
“Hey—you good?” She says brightly. You’re thankful for Jess. She has a way of checking in that doesn’t come off as rude. “We’re all gettin’ ready to leave—but m’going home with…” Her voice trails as she looks back at the guy she just walked out with, and Joel stifles a giggle as she attempts to recall his name. You smack her arm playfully and she laughs.
”Well I guess it doesn’t matter. I uh—“ She smiles with a laugh, looking at Joel, and then back at you. “—I don’t mean to interrupt things. But Sammy needs a ride home. And I’m assuming you do too?”
“Yeah,” you answer, shaking your head; attempting to come back from reality. “I can uh-order an uber for Sammy and I—“
Joel watches as you fumble with your words, and he decides that if the night isn’t going to end here…he’ll just come to your rescue.
Again.
He has a feeling you won’t complain.
“If everyone’s okay with it, I can drive 'em home.” Joel offers with a shrug, flicking the cigarette to the ground. Jess eyes him with that fierce, older sister look she loves to give. To that, Joel pulls out his wallet and slips his ID out, handing it to her without hesitation. As if saying to Jess, test me. “Go ahead. Take a picture.”
Jess’s mouth hangs open momentarily, before shutting just as quickly as it came. She yanks her phone out and snaps a photo, handing it back to him.
”Alright Joel. If my girls don’t report right back to me in the morning—“ She starts, and you giggle as you cut in.
”—You’ll kill him yourself. We got it, Jess.” Gesturing to her toy for the evening, you add, “get back to your boy. We got Sammy. Promise.”
Jess hugs you tight, eyeing Joel over your shoulder. He’s desperately trying not to laugh, and even you can tell that, and you’re not even looking at him.
“Okay…” She says as she pulls back, taking one last look at the two of you. “Be safe.”
You all know she’s not talking about the drive home.
Joel is wondering what he’s gotten himself into when Sammy gets in the car.
Sammy, a kindergarten teacher, as she slurred several times—was upset that she saw her ex at the bar with another girl. You, being the kind friend that you are, opt to sit in the back with her for the ten minute drive to her house, holding her hair back and wiping the tears off her cheeks; occasionally looking at the rear view mirror.
What draws you in about him is that he seems almost impossible to read. You can’t tell if he’s amused, unimpressed, or just focusing on the road. Either way, your eyes always seem to find those brown eyes of his whenever you look for them.
Pulling into Sammy’s driveway, Joel steps out of the truck and immediately goes to Sammy’s side of the car; helping you get Sammy on her feet.
“I just—ugh!” She whines, completely unaware that it’s taking two people to get her to the front door. “He’s such a fucking—jerk! I gave him EVERYTHING!”
“I know,” You reply empathetically, grunting under the weight. “But he’s dumb and you’re so much hotter, Sam. Where’re your keys?”
She pulls away from the two of you, swaying unevenly as she digs around in her purse. Looking back at Joel, you smile sympathetically and say “I’ll get here inside—won’t be more than five minutes. I promise.”
He nods, holding back a small smile. Poor girl, he thinks to himself as he walks back to the truck. Reminds me of my friends back in the day.
Sammy is nearly inconsolable when you finally unlock her door and get her in—between gentle words of advice and picking out pajamas, you’re itching to get back to Joel.
“Can you pleeeease call me in the morning?” Sammy sobs, pulling the sheets around her.
“Of course!” You promise, finally catching your breath as your hands go to your hips. All your mind is saying at the moment is JoelJoelJoelJoel. “I put water by your bed and ibuprofen next to it. Get some sleep, ok?”
Blubbering out, Sammy weakly sits up to add, ”But he’s such—“
“—LOVE YOU!”
Locking her front door, you take a moment to breathe. Your back meets the door and your eyes flutter shut. Your skirt currently smells like shitty beer, your makeup is more than likely completely rubbed off, and you have an unbelievably attractive man waiting for you by his truck.
You can do this.
One foot in front of the other.
Wedges clacking against the pavement, you curve around to the truck where Joel’s waiting—back leaning against the passenger side door, hands in his pocket.
“Is she normally that—much of a handful?” He asks, not moving from his spot by the door.
”Sometimes,” you chuckle. “Can’t really blame a girl. He was an asshole, after all.”
“No you can’t.” He lets out a low laugh and shrugs in agreement. “You live around here?”
”Yeah, just down the block. Not too far now.”
”Good,” He answers, slowly pulling himself off the truck. Your eyes don’t leave his as he steps towards you, his hand ever so carefully reaching for yours; thumb swiping against the skin of your knuckles. “Let’s get you home.”
Game on.
You’ve never been more thankful that you live close by to Sammy than you are at this exact moment.
All it takes is exactly five minutes and Joel’s pulling into your driveway—one hand on the wheel, his other in yours; toying with your fingers the entire way, enjoying the low hum of The Strokes.
Normally, you would have attempted to fill the silence with meaningless conversation; talking about anything and everything to calm your nerves about the potential of what was to come—but there is something easy about the silence with Joel. You don’t feel the need to prove yourself, or pull out any…stops.
You’re just… you.
Not a caricature of a fetishized teacher, not a perverted version of a woman a frat guy always dreamed of. It’s refreshing and almost freeing.
Joel kills the engine of the truck as he pulls in, the warmth of his hand leaving yours to do so—and momentarily, you catch yourself wanting to be selfish and reach back for him, chasing that safe and warm feeling he’s been unknowingly feeding you, since he lifted you up from the floor.
He doesn’t say anything as he exits his side, making his way towards you. You feel as if you can’t breathe as he opens up your door for you—frozen with lust or fascination, you’re not really quite sure just yet—a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he offers you his hand. All while not saying anything, yet conveying that he knows what you’re wanting, no, needing from him.
Your hand finds his and he helps you down, fingers lacing together seamlessly as you take the lead to your front door; the heavy steps of his boots following.
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.
You finally manage to make yourself break the silence as you climb the stairs to your door. He still hasn’t let go of your hand.
”S’me.” You hold up your keys, the sound of them jangling softly through the silence that’s been building between the two of you.
Joel doesn’t miss the way you haven’t even attempted to unlock the door. Just like at the bar, he isn’t ready to walk away from this. The flickering porch light is practically illuminating your face; lips still partially glossed from earlier, eyes twinkling with something he can’t quite place—desire? Curiosity?
Either way, Joel remains planted on the porch, thumb rubbing gently against your skin. The gears in his head are turning, and he thinks carefully before he finally speaks; those deep, brown eyes not leaving yours for a second.
“I uh, don’t do this—“ He gestures between the two of you, and you feel the heat flush your cheeks. “—Often.”
”I don’t either,” Your words come out more breathless than you intended them too, but you don’t care; not now.
He grimaces slightly, shaking his head.
”I trust that. But you—“ His hand leaves yours, but they move to brush down your bare arms, stopping at your elbows; electricity flowing in your skin as he does so. “—you are…you’re…”
“I’m…what?” You will your voice not to shake, but your feeble attempts don’t translate. Adrenaline seems to be pumping through you, your senses on overdrive as he’s still holding on to your elbows. His eyes still seem to be searching yours for something.
”Young.”
A beat of silence passes as you process his internal warfare—you hadn’t put much consideration to your respective ages; you, by definition, are young in comparison to him.
But that doesn’t mean that what he’s doing is bad.
By now your pulse is thrumming, and you force yourself to step forward—braving to be the one that makes the space between you smaller. You hear the way Joel’s breath hitches as you do so; your hands sliding up and over his forearms to his biceps.
”Joel…”
Now how was he supposed to walk away from this? Saying his name in that gentle voice of yours. How could he, when he felt the constriction of his jeans growing by the second?
“I—I don’t want you to go.”
Fuck.
Your hands keep travelling, the palms of your hands sliding to cup his cheeks in your hand. Even in wedges you could feel yourself leaning up on your tiptoes to try to be on his level; to make him really look at you. The rough scratch of his beard on your palms makes your breath quiver as his eyes don’t move away from yours.
”In fact,” you begin to say, letting your chest ever so gently press against his. “I want you to come inside.”
The audible breath that he lets out at your words tells you that he’s battling with his own self about your age; one half being the responsible part of himself, where he knows you’re better off with someone your own age, someone who could keep up with that libido every young person has.
The other half of him? The other half of him could only focus on how close your mouth was to his and how you could most definitely feel the hardness of his cock against your tummy.
You could tell that that half of him was close to winning—it just needs an extra nudge.
The hands that currently were cupping his cheeks brought them forward, ever so gently pressing his lips to his. It’s as if time stops, and the world around you stills as you register that he actually is kissing you back.
It lasts all but two seconds as you pull back a hair of a centimeter away, nose brushing against his as you gauge his reaction. All that can be heard is the gentle sounds of your breaths, and the hum of the porch light.
Joel’s eyes are still shut. He doesn’t say anything. Maybe you wildly misread his body language.
Just as thoughts of doubt begin to settle in and your body attempts to pull itself away from him—those big hands that pulled you off of the bar floor made its way to your waist and gave your body a gentle shove—your back meeting with the front door of your house. You would be embarrassed by the erotic gasp you made, but it’s really hard to care when a man like Joel is looking at you like he already knows how he’s going to take you.
”M’an old man,” His voice grits out, breath fanning against your face. “I ain’t exactly gentle—not when it comes to a pretty thing like you.”
“I don’t need you to be gentle,” You reply breathlessly, fingers digging into his shoulders. “I just want you.”
A beat passes as Joel searches your face. For what? You’re not entirely too sure— could be a second guess on your end, or searching for hesitation—any excuse he can give himself to walk away.
Another beat passes, and his grip on you tightens. Like the decision is final.
Your hesitation doesn’t come. And that’s enough for Joel.
His mouth is on yours before you can even think, that muscle in his mouth sliding eagerly against yours as his knee slides between your thighs; finding the part of you that causes your body to lurch in pleasure as he presses himself against your panties. A moan attempts to release itself, but it’s quickly swallowed as his hands slide around your hips to grab at your ass below your skirt. His palms are large enough to hold the cheeks of your ass whole, and the thought of that alone is enough to thoroughly dampen the cotton of your panties.
”Fuck,” The words barely come out as a gasp as you feebly attempt to dig your keys out of your jacket, mind becoming numb as Joel kneads the flesh in his palms. “Can’t find my keys—“
Joel moves before you can even finish your sentence.
Wordlessly, he quickly pulls himself from your body, knee falling from its position between your legs as his hands grip your waist and spin your body towards the door. God, were you really out of breath? The man has only groped you and you feel as if you’ve been edged for hours. His movements are quick and rough as he shoves his hand in your purse and quickly finds the keys, unlocking the door and pressing your body through the doorway. The wedges on your feet nearly cause you to become unbalanced as you spin back to look at the old man, and Joel is slamming the door shut, already making his way to you.
As if he was a predator going in for the kill.
“You’re fast,” you say—to him or yourself? You’re not too sure. An almost disbelieving smirk is plastered on your face as you take a step back, heart beating as he strides to breath the distance between the two of you. “I like that—“
Your words are swallowed by his mouth again, the stubble rubbing pleasantly against your skin as he groans into the kiss. Your hands wind themselves in his salt and pepper hair as his knees bend, lifting you with ease and encouraging your legs to wrap around his waist. An mmph escapes your throat as his teeth graze your lower lip, his biceps twitching as your nails dig into them.
“Bedroom?” He asks, his teeth dragging down your bottom lip. The look in his eye tells you that the man needs an answer now or he’ll take you on whatever flat surface is near—and won’t stop until you’ve both gotten your fill.
“Down the hall and to the left.” Your words come out more desperate than you’d have liked, but it’s hard to remain neutral when a man like Joel’s cock is hard against your core.
The heavy clump of his boots echo down the hallway as he strides in the direction you gave him, and luckily for you, you know for a fact you’re stocked on condoms.
With a swift kick of your door, Joel drops you on the bed without missing a beat of hesitation, watching you as you prop yourself up on your elbows; looking up at him through those long lashes of yours, as if saying, come on, ol’ man.
Tongue darting out to lick his lower lip, Joel takes a moment to really look at you.
That little skirt that caught his eye at the bar is now currently hiked up and under your ass, and Joel can catch a faint glimpse at the pink patch of fabric hiding between your thighs. Your breasts are rising up and down at a quick pace, matching your breath—as if you were attempting to predict what his next move might be. God, the fact that he can render you breathless shouldn’t turn him on… but it does. Oh, it does.
“Jesus, girl,” He mutters, taking a quiet step towards the edge of the bed. “You have no fuckin’ clue what you’re doin’ to me.”
Your thighs clench at his words, watching the way he sinks to his knees in front of you. His fingertips graze the skin of your calves and travel up past your knees, causing your stomach to tie itself in knots out of anticipation.
“You should show me,” the words come out as barely an exhale, but you don’t care. His fingertips cause a shiver to travel through your body as they reach your hips; pointer fingers digging into the band of your panties—pulling them downwards, ever so slightly. “Touch me, Joel, please.”
Instead of replying to your plea, Joel opts to press his lips against the crook of your knee, basking in the whimper you give him as he tugs the fabric down slowly. Joel might be an impatient man, but when it comes to giving, he could take hours if he so pleased. Letting his lips travel up and over your knee, your teeth dig into your lower lip as he carefully licks a line up the expanse of your inner thigh—stopping where your panties were stretched around your thighs.
“Lift up for me, baby.”
Really, it’s sick how quick you obey his command. Hips lifting, you nearly burst when he easily catches the fabric between his teeth and pulls.
When he tugs them down your legs and off your body, your eyes widen in awe at how he pulls them to his face, eyes fluttering shut as he brings them to his nose and inhales. Pulling them away from his face, he wads them in a ball and pockets them—as if it were a trophy.
Your hand runs through the soft curls of his hair as he does so, tilting his face up to look at you attempt to find the words capable of describing your arousal—but nothing comes.
You don’t need to say anything.
He knows what you want.
Joel leans forward, his right hand following the trail of his lips as his left slides up and over the arch of your body to grope one of your breasts firmly; allowing his lips to close around the bundle of nerves at your center.
He lets out a hum against your core, soaking up the way you let out a strangled gasp from low in your throat. Joel feels fucking high as he catches your pebbled nipple between his fingers, pinching ever so slightly as the tip of his tongue traces against your clit.
Sweeter than sin, he thinks to himself, finally allowing himself to pull his gaze away from you.
Flattening his tongue on your clit, his name falls from your lips like a prayer as he laps at you—letting the scruff of his facial hair scratch at the most sensitive parts of you.
”Joel,” You gasp sharply, back arching against his touch. His hand on your breast flattens and moves quickly to your lower stomach, pressing down—like he’s telling you to stop your squirming. “Fingers, please, God-“
He gives you a gruff mhmmm before sucking gently on your clit, letting his index and pointer fingers rub over the wet slick of your lips—ever so lightly letting them dip into you.
”Yeah?” He responds lowly to your moan of desire. “You wanna feel me inside of you, don’t you?”
“Please! Joel—please,” your words are a desperate plea. “I want it. Please.”
He sinks his digits in juuust enough to breach you, and it’s just enough to numb your mind. Joel’s lips curl into a pleased smirk as he keeps them there, memorizing the way your head tilts back and your pulse ripples through your neck.
”I want you to ask me real nice n’ pretty, baby,” He asks, the Texan drawl making it all the more erotic. “C’mon, ask.”
You’ve already asked. Joel is well aware of your desperate pleas, but a deep part of his ego is fed when you beg for him.
Tightening your grip on his hair, you give a feeble attempt to even your breath as you reply, “I need to cum, Joel. Please.”
And that’s good enough for him.
His digits sink fully into your sex as he envelops your sensitive clit, causing your already numb mind to completely shatter. The knot in your stomach that has been tied since the moment he kissed you has been pulled entirely too tight, body shaking and arching as his fingers move deftly against your walls. The soft squelch of your cunt around his digits are more than enough to make his dick fucking hurt in his jeans, and he knows that once you cum like this—he’s going to bury himself in you.
He’ll make sure you won’t forget it.
He’ll make sure you don’t forget him.
The tension in your body is too much, with every sensitive part of you being dominated by Joel. Your cunt, your body, your mind feels euphoric as you feel his fingers grow slicker with each thrust—and that knot that’s been forming snaps.
Joel groans in pleasure as he feels your walls tighten and tighten, and a hoarse laugh escapes his throat as your arousal drips off his chin and his fingers— a sign that he’s done his job. A sign that he’s done his job well.
Licking a line up your stomach, his rough hands are quick to yank your top off your body, mattress dipping under his heavy weight as his mouth finds yours. Joel groans into your mouth as you taste yourself on him, your shaking hands working to take his belt off. When the metal buckle hits the ground, Joel pulls back to yank his worn shirt off his body.
You can’t remember the last time you actually felt yourself salivating over a man in your bed—but it’s hard not to when a man like him is over you. You knew at the bar that he wasn’t like your normal type—no. He’s solid muscle, yet soft in the middle with a healthy line of hair trailing down to his jeans.
Brown eyes not leaving yours, Joel yanks his jeans down along with his briefs—watching your eyes trail from his to his cock.
”Holy shit,” you breathe softly, watching him stroke himself. “S’not gonna fit.”
Joel watches as your face cringes, realizing you hadn’t meant to say it out loud. But you did, much to his amusement.
”We’ll make it fit,” He assures you, pulling you closer to him by your waist. You let out a breathless laugh as he guides the thick head of his cock between your folds. “You got a condom?”
“Yeah,” you reply, already reaching for your drawer. “Just gimme a sec—“
Your words are cut off by a sharp inhale, feeling his tip press in, ever so slightly. Bracing himself against the headboard, a smug look is plastered all over his face as he watches your movements slow—already overwhelmed by a small part of him.
”C’mon, sweetheart,” He taunts, his hips pulling away from you—god, the man was a tease. “Get that condom.”
“M’workin’ on it,” You reply with a breathless laugh. Grabbing the little tin packet, you rip it open with shaking hands as he mouths at your neck. “S’hard when I got you teasin’ me.”
”I ain’t doin’ such a thing.” He answers, teeth grazing your pulse as you grip him in your hand. Rolling the condom on him, you feel your stomach flutter as you realize that to fully grip him—you needed two fucking hands to fully accommodate his girth.
It’s a good thing he worked you open with his fingers, and it’s even better that you have an unopened bottle of lube for emergencies.
With the condom fully on, Joel cups your cheek, thumb running over your plush lower lip. Eyes trailing over your face, it’s a stark contrast to his earlier, rushed movements. It’s as if he’s memorizing you and this moment—and deep inside of you, you hope that maybe…just maybe, this didn’t have to be a one time thing.
As if he can see the gears in your head turning, Joel leans forward just enough to graze his lips against yours, watching as your eyes flutter shut.
“You tell me if anythin’ hurts, sweetheart. You got that?” His words melt through you, and all you can muster up in a nod. You trust him.
And with those words, he doesn’t let you adjust—he sinks his cock into your needing cunt.
All nine inches of him.
If you thought his mouth was erotic, it’s nothing compared to what he had hiding in his jeans. Echoing his sentiment before he came inside of your house, Joel Miller isn’t gentle, no. Especially not when he’s got you under him; one orgasm deep already.
He wastes no time driving himself into you, every moan and strangled gasp that you let out encouraging him to make you fucking take it. With every thrust there’s a spot deep inside of you being hit, a place that makes you well aware that you’re gonna feel him the next morning.
”Yeah?” He grits out, pulling your legs over his shoulders; effectively folding you in half. “You like that, baby?”
”Yes!” You gasp, the new position making you somehow even more sensitive. “Joel-yes!”
Joel moves his hand to close around your throat, and it’s not enough to fully choke you, but it’s more of a reminder that he’s in charge—and that you’re gonna do what he says.
“Look at you, takin’ it like a fuckin’ champ,” he praises, reveling in your half lidded eyes. “N’here you were, worried it wouldn’t fit.”
The blatant teasing makes your stomach jump with a strangled laugh, and he lets out a hot moan at the feeling of you tightening. Joel knows that he’s got the stamina—but with the way you feel? He might not make it as long as he’d like.
And he’d be damned if he didn’t get to enjoy every angle of you.
“Turn the fuck over.” He grunts, but he’s already doing it for you as his hands find your hips and he manhandles you to your knees. Hands finding the flesh of your ass, you let out a squeal as he gives a sharp smack, leaving a handprint on the curve of the skin there.
What you expect is Joel to push his length into you again. What you don’t expect?
You don’t expect him to spread your asscheeks, leaning down to lick over your slick folds again. With your cheek smushed against the satin of your pillowcase, you bite back a moan as his tongue swirls around your clit; his hands sliding down the expanse of your back.
“Could eat this pussy for hours,” He says, catching his breath. Joel kisses the flesh of you ass as he lets his fingers rub against your folds, listening as you mutter a mess of a response. Leaning back down, he flattens his tongue against your lips one last time, before sitting back on his knees—pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail.
Neck arching back, it feels brand new as he pushes his dick in you, fucking you like he’s a man starved. The pain of your hair being pulled is welcome, and all it does is make your spend drip down the apex of your thighs as he commands you. Gripping the headboard in front of you with one hand, your other hand has a mind of it’s own as your digits move to rub at your self— which only turns him on even more.
The hair in his hand travels to your throat, tilting your head back so you’re forced to look at him.
”What a nasty fuckin girl,” He pants, his mouth ghosting yours. “You gonna cum like that? Gonna cum on my cock?”
”Mmph, you’re—you’re huge, Joel!” You reply desperately, your movements quickening as you feel another orgasm building. “Can feel you everywhere.”
”Everywhere?” His words echo yours as an idea comes to him—one that he’s sure a pretty thing like you wouldn’t object to.
Your breathless mhm makes him release his grip on your throat, watching as your face drops to the sheets—and he makes his move.
Your whole body shivers as his hands spread your cheeks again, and a glob of his warm spit falls between the crack of your ass. Fisting the sheets in your hands, you know that if you said stop—he would. But something deep within you knows that you don’t want him to stop. Even further—you’re welcoming it.
Sliding his cock back into you, he barely gives you time to adjust to his size once more before the pad of his thumb dips between your cheeks, sliding against the tight muscle as he continues fucking into you.
His thumb coats itself in the warm spit he left moments before, massaging the rim of your ass as he looks for any sign of discomfort. Looking over your shoulder, all he can see is your jaw slack in pleasure, eyelids fluttering shut as your body involuntarily presses backward to him—as if saying I want it.
And oh, you do.
Joel slows his hips, seating his cock inside of you to the fucking hilt— the head of his cock kissing that spot deep in you. You know he’s trying to ease the inevitable stretch, and holy, does it relax your body. All you can think about is how fucking huge he is and how this will live in your spank bank forever—
Your mind goes up in flames when his thumb breaches the rim of your ass, thoughts coming to a complete and utter stall as he doesn’t stop until his thumb is properly hooked in your ass.
Looking at the sight of you below him, Joel knows that he’s only a few fuckin’ pumps away from finishing.
A thin layer of sweat coats the both of you, and he can’t quite peel his gaze from where the two of you are connected—your cunt hugs him just fuckin’ perfectly, and the damn needy thing is practically crying for him.
Your spend has already dampened the sheets below you, and drips down the apex of your thighs as his free hand squeezes the flesh of your ass—and you tighten at the feeling of him everywhere.
”You ok?” His voice is strained now, and you know that he has to be close. His thumb stays firmly inside of you, his cock pulsing in anticipation.
“Yes,” You nod furiously against the sheets, not even caring that your precious satin pillowcases are covered in makeup. It’s hard to care about much of anything when a man like Joel is splitting you open. “S’good-feels amazing.”
”M’almost there, baby,” Joel presses his chest to your back, lips finding your shoulder blade. “Makin’ me feel like a damn teenager.”
“Me too,” you reply, turning your cheek to try and chase his lips. “Keep goin’, please.”
Pulling himself away from your skin, Joel catches his lower lip between his teeth as he settles on his knees—giving your ass one last squeeze of encouragement before pounding back into you.
It’s as if his thumb inside of you lights your skin on fire. The sex was already fucking amazing just due to the size of him, but now? With his thick thumb seated inside of you?
You feel full.
The quick and sharp sounds of your flesh slapping against each other, and short breathy moans is enough cause your cunt to tighten one last time—effectively soaking your sheets as he talks you through it.
”Oh,” He growls, feeling his thighs dampen. That certainly has never happened before—and he feels as if it’s a badge of honor. “Look at you, girl. Fuckin’ comin’ all over me. Dirty little thing likes havin’ her holes filled.”
His words barely register in your brain as you attempt to ground yourself on your sheets. He’s still ruthlessly pounding into you still, but pulls his thumb out of you to fist your hair in fist once more.
“Where do you want it?” Joel's words come out as a hiss, but it’s all he can manage now. The sight of you squirting on him was his one way ticket to finishing. “Tell me you where you fuckin want it, baby.”
”My tits,” The words spill out of your mouth faster than you can process it. “Cum on my tits—please—“
With one last brutal thrust, you feel your body be man handled to your chest as Joel—eyes dark with lust—climbs your body, condom getting tossed to the side. It’s a blur as you bat his hands away from his cock, taking him in your own fist. Bracing himself against your headboard, he lets out a deep groan as he spurts those thick, white ropes across the expanse of your breasts.
His breathing his ragged as his eyes flutter shut; reveling in the orgasm that just rocked his fucking world. He knows that he’s definitely going to wake up with his back thrown out the next morning, but he can’t find it in him to care as he collapses beside you, finally turning his head to look over at you.
What a fucking sight you are.
Makeup messy, hair in knotted curls with his cum painted on you, Joel laughs softly to himself.
“What?” You say with a shy laugh, chest still rising and falling fast.
“M’a lucky guy.” Joel says it as if it’s obvious. The small but powerful compliment turns your cheeks even more red than they already are.
“Ditto.” You reply, hiding your face in your hands as you bite back a smile.
Sitting with a groan, Joel looks back at you over his shoulder as he pulls on his jeans.
“Lemme get you a washcloth. Where’s your bathroom?”
Maybe it’s his age. Maybe it’s the guys you’re used to dating. But in your years of hookups and relationships, it’s few and far between to have aftercare—and it makes those butterflies flop in your stomach as you direct him to where it is.
When Joel returns, you clean yourself up as he locates his discarded clothes from earlier. God—the two of you had made a mess of the room. You’d have to add wash sheets to your to-do list after he’d leave.
Tossing the damp cloth in your hamper, you grab your old robe off the back of your door and tie it loosely around your body as he slides on his worn-in work boots. For you—small talk as a guy leaves your house was always the dreaded part of a hookup. The silence was awkward, and there were always half assed lies about for sure callin’ ya tomorrow.
Spoiler—they never did.
But the silence with Joel doesn’t feel awkward. It feels comfortable, almost. You don’t miss the way he gives you a genuine smile as he stands, leaning down to kiss your temple
”Walk me to the door?” He asks gently, his hand sliding down the satin of your robe. His brown eyes that were filled with lust not even ten minutes ago were now softer, more gentle.
”Of course.” You answer, leaning up on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
You take the lead as you walk him down the hallway and to the front door, tucking your hair behind your ear as you reach your destination. Tugging on his flannel, Joel clears his throat as he looks down at you. He’s not quite sure what you’re thinking, but he feels like you’re a strong woman—and that no matter what he says, or where he leaves this—you won’t object.
He can’t tell if that intrigues him, or if it scares the hell out of him.
“I uh—never was really good at this type of thing,” Joel finally says, gesturing between the two of you.
”What, sex?” You quip, a teasing smile pulling at the corner of your mouth. “Cause I have a pretty solid statement against that.”
”No,” his words come out as a laugh. “I mean—talkin’ to women. Keeping relationships. All that stuff.”
Joel notices the visible confusion in your expression, and groans at himself—only proving his point to himself. He never was good at words.
”What I’m tryin’ to say is…m’a pretty busy guy. I got a kid. Own my own business.”
Kid. Figures. He’s definitely the age to have one.
”I can’t promise a lot but… I uh, wouldn’t be opposed to seeing you again.”
His hands find his jean pockets as he finishes his explanation, toying with his truck keys in his pockets as he braces himself for whatever you might say—could be a rejection. Could be a laugh. Whatever it will be—Joel braces himself for it.
To his shock, none of his made-up scenarios happens. In fact, your captivating smile never leaves your face.
”I’m not looking for a promise either, Joel,” You say, hugging yourself. “Here—give me your phone. If you ever need company, just give me a text. No hard feelings if not.”
He obliges your request, pulling his phone out of his back pocket and handing it over. It doesn’t take you long to type in the digits and hand it back to him that beautiful smile still on your face.
“Don’t be a stranger, Joel.”
Leaning down to kiss your temple one last time, Joel pulls away and replies,
”I’ll see you around, sweetheart.”
Three Weeks Later
You don’t hear from Joel after that night.
And honestly? You had been too preoccupied to sit and cry about the fact that the best fuck you’ve ever had never texted you.
You were deep into report card season, candy filled holidays, and planning upcoming parent-teacher conferences. You were lucky if you left work two hours after contract time—you knew if you brought home any work it wouldn’t be done.
The great thing about teaching? Getting to celebrate and talk to parents about the growth their children have made so far, and how they can be supported at home. It was a feeling you loved—you loved seeing parents light up at their students work, and you loved hearing about what your student gets up to outside of school.
Especially when they’re students like Sarah Miller.
Sarah is nothing below an outstanding student, and her bubbly personality makes her a great friend to others in the classroom. If you could have a class full of Sarah Millers, your life would be perfect.
And her Mom? She’s amazing.
Always bringing in treats for the class on holidays and volunteering when needed, her mom is a powerhouse. Which is exactly why you’re slightly disappointed when the office puts her call through to your classroom—ten minutes before her time slot with Sarah.
”Hello!” Her chipper voices sings from the other side of the line.
“I am so sorry—but I can’t make it in today with Sarah,” She explains, apologetic as all hell. “My boyfriend just got rear ended in the town over, needs a lift.”
”No worries at all!” You reply, fingers flipping through Sarah’s work portfolio. “Do we need to reschedule?”
”Not at all, actually! Sarah’s with her dad today, and he has no problem taking my place today. I just wanted to give you a heads up!”
Huh, you think to yourself. You always had assumed her boyfriend was Sarah’s biological dad, but maybe you missed the detail. Sarah, while an amazing student, is a chatterbox. She loves to chat your ear off when you have any spare second, so maybe the detail got lost in the myriad of stories she tells.
”That’s perfectly fine,” You answer, jotting on a sticky note to make extra copies for mom. “I will send a copy of her folder with her next week!”
Hanging up the phone, you walk to your meeting space to straighten the stacks of work as you wait patiently for Sarah and her dad to arrive. She’s the last conference of the day, and because of her high grades and outstanding work—there wouldn’t be much to report.
As thoughts of what your Friday evening might look like after Sarah’s conference, the little girl sprints through the door with an excited squeal of your name—enveloping you in a tight hug that she always gives you at the end of the day.
”Hey kiddo!” You squeeze her back with a bright smile, pulling her back to steady her.
“You’re with Dad today?”
”Yes!” She exclaims excitedly. “He’s lookin’ at the art we made last week in the hallway!”
”Oh really?” You answer, putting your hands on your hips. “Well, I’m sure your dad will be even more impressed when he sees some of your latest multiplication quizzes.”
Sarah giggles in excitement as you turn your back to her, grabbing her work portfolio off the table. Just as you’re about to look back at Sarah, a voice you’ve been dreaming about for three weeks shatters your thoughts when he says,
”This is quite a classroom you got, baby girl.”
Your body goes cold as you turn to look at him. Joel, who has his hands shoved in his pockets, and that same MILLER CONSTRUCTION shirt he had on that night you met at the bar—this time, a heavy carhartt jacket on his shoulders, boots replaced with Romeo’s.
The look on his face as your eyes meet is one met with first, shock—then being shaken back to reality as Sarah tugs on his wrist to pull him closer to where her work is.
”Dad—this is my teacher! The one who always does art on fridays!”
You’re a professional, you scold yourself, and Sarah’s smart! Don’t look fuckin’ scared!
”You must be Mr. Miller,” you say coolly, attempting to regain your dignity. Reaching out to offer your hand, you ignore the way his palm lights a fire in your veins as he shakes it firmly. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
Joel lets his hand linger for a moment in yours, letting the shock wear off as his lip curls into a smile.
”It’s nice to meet you as well, Miss,” He answers gently. “Sarah’s told me quite a bit about you throughout the last few months.”
”Well—I can’t wait to share how much growth Sarah has made,” you manage to reply, letting your hands drop from one another. “Shall we get started?”
”Let’s do it,” Joel gestures to the table. “And I uh—have a few questions to ask you at the end, if that’s alright.”
Returning the small smile on Joel’s lips, you have a feeling this won’t be the last time you see him.
In fact, you have a feeling this school year is about to get a whole lot more interesting.
