Summary: In a Texas that still smells of gasoline, sweat, and unconfessed sins, Joel Miller meets you when you're too young to carry all that painâand he's too old to afford to want you. But some people get under your skin like a misplaced prayer. And they never leave.
Content Warnings: Age gap, Emotional repression, Religious imagery, Violence (implied), Possessiveness, Angst, Southern Gothic vibes, End of the world trauma, masturbation, fingering (female receiving from herself), mention of blood
Rating: Mature (18+)
Based on Ethel Cain's song Selby Wall, I'm actually so obsessed with all of her songs âĄ
ăŒ âȘïž ăŒ
Texas never really changes.
Even after the end of the world, the air is still too hot and the silence too loud.
Joel meets you outside an old church, one of those half-collapsed ones, with a crooked cross that seems to be asking forgiveness from the sky.
You are sitting on the steps, knees to your chest, a gun too big for your hands.
He looks at you for a second too long.
"Where's the one who takes you around?"
His voice is rough, distrustful.
"I don't have anyone to take me anywhere."
You look up. Your eyes are tired, the eyes of someone who has seen certain things too soon.
Joel sighs, runs a hand over his beard.
It's already a mistake. He knows it.
âž»
You stop to live in a low, wooden house with a porch that creaks under the weight of the evenings.
Pure Texas.
Red earth everywhere.
The sky so big it makes you feel small.
Joel doesn't talk much.
You talk when the silence becomes unbearable.
"Do you think God is still watching us?" you ask him one evening, sitting on the steps, the cicadas screaming like souls in torment.
Joel remains still.
Then he shakes his head.
"If he is, it's not to save us."
"Then why are we staying?"
He looks at you.
And for a moment, he seems about to tell you the truth.
"Because we don't know how to do anything else."
âž»
He hardly ever touches you.
That's what hurts the most.
When you come back injured from a patrol, he just bandages your hands.
His fingers are slow, precise.
Too gentle for such a cruel world.
"Joel..."
Your voice trembles.
"Don't start."
"I didn't say anything."
"You're thinking it."
You lift your chin stubbornly.
"And you're not doing anything to stop it."
His jaw tightens.
He walks away as if you were fire.
âž»
At night, however, you hear him get up.
He walks past your door.
He stands there.
As if he were praying for something he no longer believes in.
When you discovered him watching you 'sleep' from the doorframe, you whispered, "Do you need company tonight?"
He moved away, leaving the room, but you reached out your hand to him, begging him not to leave, not that night.
With his back to you, he turned slowly and looked at you.
You could only see his huge black silhouette, and that's when he turned on the lamp on your bedside table.
He was close to your face, taking your hand and intertwining it with his.
"Stay here tonight," you whispered again, looking him in the eyes.
"You're my biggest sin, you know that, right?" Joel said, moving a strand of your hair that had fallen on your cheek.
"But also the most beautiful," you whispered, taking the back of his neck and kissing his lips.
A slow, light, delicate kiss that grew deeper and deeper until you pushed him away, making him fall back at the foot of your bed.
You sat up, sitting in front of him.
His chest rose and fell fiercely, already trembling with the desire to fuck you and commit sins that night. His graying curls fell over his forehead, driving you crazy, just like his lips.
You knelt down, still on the bed, keeping your gaze fixed on his.
You wore a simple pearl-colored white slip with straps as pajamas, short enough to reveal your white panties, as innocent as they come.
You began to slip your hand inside your panties, keeping your eyes on Joel, who followed every movement of your hand with his eyes.
You slipped two fingers inside you, all the way in, and began to moan softly.
"I'm masturbating in front of you, does that bother you, Joel?" you said in a whisper, Joel following the movements of your fingers, his breathing becoming heavy.
"Baby, you have no idea how much I wish I were those fingers of yours," replied the man, trying to curb his unhealthy desire to fuck you and possess you that night.
Your fingers slid in and out of your vagina with inhuman ease, helping you with your hips, you moved up and down as if you were riding Joel's cock.
Your eyes met, Joel's cock visibly swollen and hard, you smiled at them, your sins totally revealed to the world, Joel returned your smile with a mischievous grin, moving closer to you.
"Now it's my turn, baby, and trust me, I'll make you bleed this time," Joel whispered, making you moan even more, your lips meeting once again.
âž»
Once he kills a man in front of you.
Not for pleasure.
To protect you.
Afterwards, you're the one trembling.
Joel takes your shoulders, finally.
"Look at me."
"I don't want to become like you."
His gaze breaks.
"You never will."
"What if I do?"
He holds you tighter.
Too tight.
"Then it will be my fault."
âž»
Selby Wall lives in the way Joel looks at you when you think you're asleep.
In the sin that doesn't consume.
In the love that remains still, like a loaded gun never fired.
You are young.
Too alive.
Too real.
And he is a man who has already buried everything he wanted.
Content Warning: angst, relationship age gap, break-up discussion, emotional distress, crying, raised voices, emotional vulnerability, fear of judgment, self-sacrificial behavior, unresolved trauma, Joel Miller being emotionally constipatedâą, longing, delayed hurt/comfort, vaginal sex, unprotected sex
Summary: The lights go out early in Jackson, but some wounds stay lit all night. After Joel tries to leave you "for your own good," you return to him when the town is asleep, determined not to accept an answer that breaks you. Amid the scent of woodworking, harsh words, and screaming silences, you find yourselves grappling with what is most frightening: loving each other when the world seems ready to judge.
ăŒ đ§Ą ăŒ
In the evening, Jackson always had that gentle way of withdrawing into herself.
The farmers returned home with tired shoulders and hands still dirty with soil, and the shop doors closed one after the other with a familiar, sharp sound. Smoke began to rise slowly and thickly from the chimneys, and the air grew colder and quieter. It was a silence that was not usually frightening.
That night, however, it crushed your chest.
You waited until it was really late. You pretended to go for a walk, any excuse, Jackson Park, the usual story that no one would question. You left quietly, as if even the wooden planks under your feet could betray you.
You had spent the whole day with a lump in your throat.
That morning.
At the barn.
How you had gone there smiling, lighthearted, just to give him a kiss on the cheekâa simple gesture, yoursâand how he had pulled away.
As if you were burning hot.
"We have to end this."
Those words had followed you everywhere.
Joel's house was still lit when you arrived. The lights on at that hour were not like him. Your heart pounded harder as you knocked.
Once.
Nothing.
Twice.
Three times.
When the door opened, Joel stood still. Motionless. As if he wasn't sure you were real.
You stared at each other for several long seconds. You were breathless, he looked tense and tired.
"What are you doing here?" he finally said, his voice low and rough.
You opened your mouth to reply, but he started to close the door. Instinctively, you slipped your hand between the door and the frame.
"Joelâ"
"Christ!" he stopped immediately. "Be careful."
He let you in with an irritated jerk, more to keep you from hurting yourself than anything else. He closed the door behind you and, almost immediately, drew the curtains.
That gesture did not escape you.
You smiled nervously. "Are you afraid someone will see me?"
"This isn't a joke," he muttered.
You looked around. His small office smelled of wood and sawdust. On the work table was a wooden horse, still incomplete, but already beautiful. The curves were smooth, polished with almost painful care.
You picked it up gently. "It's..." You swallowed. "It's gorgeous."
Joel was leaning against the doorframe, wearing a gray short-sleeved shirt, his arms crossed. He didn't smile.
"Put it back."
A pause.
"And tell me what you want. Then leave."
Your heart sank.
You slowly placed the horse on the table, as if it too could break. When you turned around, your eyes were already filled with tears.
"That's no way to treat me," you said, your voice trembling, but you didn't back down. "That's no way to send me away like that. To a stable. Without even looking at me."
"I explained it to you," he snapped. "There's nothing else to clarify."
"No!" you raised your voice. "You didn't explain anything to me. You just told me you're too old, that I deserve betterâwho are you to decide what I deserve?!"
Joel turned away, pacing nervously around the house. "Don't yell."
"I'll yell as much as I want!" you followed him. "Is that why? Because of the people? Because of Jackson? They talk anyway, Joel. With or without me!"
"You don't understand." He ran a hand over his face. "I do."
"No, you're afraid!"
He stopped suddenly, turning toward you. He was too close. You could hear him breathing.
"I'm scared for you," he growled softly. "Of what they say. Of what they see. Of me."
Your chest hurt. You just wanted to grab him by his shirt and kiss him until all that pain went away. But you resisted.
"What about me?" you whispered. "What am I, Joel?"
He took a step back. Then another. As if he were running away.
When he took you by the arm to lead you to the door, something inside you broke. You struggled, crying.
"Let me go!" you sobbed.
He stopped. He let you go.
You stood there, your shoulders shaking with tears. "Are you angry?" you looked up, devastated. "Did I do something to you? Do you hate me?"
Those words hit him like a punch.
Joel looked at you as if he were really seeing you for the first time that evening. Small. Fragile. Precious as glass.
"No." His voice broke. He took your face in both hands and pulled you toward him. Your face sank into his chest. "No... I could never."
He stroked your hair slowly, as if afraid of hurting you.
"I would never hate you," he murmured. "Never."
You stayed like that, while Jackson slept outside, unaware. Smoke from the chimneys rose into the black, silent sky.
"Then don't leave me," you cried against him.
Joel closed his eyes, holding you a little tighter. "That's exactly why I tried to do it."
And that night, between the half-finished woodwork and the words that hurt, you understood that sometimes love doesn't go away because it ends.
But because it's too scary to stay.
You raised your head to look at him, your lips now just a few inches apart. You looked into his eyes, tears streaming down your cheeks, and he immediately wiped them away with his thumb.
"I don't want you to leave me, I'm happy with you. I feel like I'm in my favorite place. With you." You said it softly, almost like a confession.
Joel couldn't resist, he looked at your lips and sank into giving you a desperate, deep, hungry kiss.
You reciprocated, hugging him, sinking your hands into his back, clinging to his gray shirt, his shoulders so broad and warm that you wanted to perch there forever.
He kissed you again on the corners of your mouth, then on your nose, then on your left eye, where the tears continued to fall.
You smiled slightly, feeling him so close to you, which only increased your desire to have him that night, forever.
"Let's go to the bedroom, you're sleeping with me tonight, baby," Joel whispered in your ear.
You bit your lower lip, you were waiting for nothing else.
You waited for him to turn off all the lights in the house and then, taking you by the hand, you closed yourselves in his bedroom.
The bed was unmade as usual, the full moon lit up the room, Joel was more beautiful than ever.
He took you by the hips and continued to kiss you, small kisses, but deliberate, heartfelt. Until he sat you down on the bed, him on top of you, you instantly wrapped your legs around his hips, and your hands sank into his tousled, graying hair, his beard tickling your cheeks and neck, but anything to spend those beautiful moments with him.
You heard the sound of his belt coming off, and you understood immediately.
With a sudden movement, you took off your baggy sweatpants, throwing them without even seeing where, and felt his large, calloused hands remove your panties, while you were still kissing and your tongues were dancing together.
He entered you with infinite delicacy, because that night he saw you just like that, small, innocent, defenseless.
You moaned softly, Joel stopped kissing you, just to see your face as he came inside you, he let you catch your breath, while you watched him increase his thrusts, your penetrating gazes scrutinizing each other, and he increased his thrusts more and more.
"I need you," you said in a whisper.
Joel smiled slightly, kissing your chin as soon as you threw your head back from the thrusts and the pleasure.
"I need you too, baby," the man replied.
He increased his thrusts, each with a different rhythm, you sank your hands deeper into his hair and your legs clung even tighter around his hips as if he were a lifeline from everything.
He came inside you and remained that way for a few minutes, sinking his head, exhausted, onto your shoulder.
Your breathing fell into sync, both of you tired, breathless, but damn happy.
You caressed the back of his neck, closing your eyes and letting out a little giggle.
Joel, hearing you smile, raised his head and looked down at you, saying, "What are you laughing at, baby?" And you, caressing his cheek, his face completely sweaty, his hair curled with sweat, replied, "You're not used to it anymore, old man."
"But you like making love to me," Joel replied, tickling your hips. You laughed again and couldn't hold back any more laughter. You looked at him again and smiled sincerely, saying, "More than anything else I like to do."
Authors note (please read): Just a heads up - this is my first fic so itâs quite short!! But I would really love it if you guys could request some fics cause I honestly have no idea what to write!! (I wanna write smut but I have no requests đ)
Warnings: contains fluff, no smut, Joel calls reader âkiddoâ, age gap (not specified but reader is 18+) I think thatâs all?
Backstory/summary: Out on the open road, you and Joel were never meant to fall in love inside the walls of a QZ, sharing a unit, trading quiet glances, pretending you didnât care when his voice lingered too long. He tried to push you away. You refused to be forgotten, so after accepting the relationship between you two, he of course had to bring you along to Jackson, which includes a road trip and staying at a motel that feels like itâs straight out of a Lana Del Rey song. (Think of Joel x reader but inspired by an LDR song đ€)
âYou alright, baby?â Joel said, pulling you from your thoughts as you turned your head away from the cracked car window.
You blinked, the blur of broken highways and sun bleached signs fading back into focus.
âYeah,â you smiled softly. âJust thinking.â
His hand stayed steady on the wheel, knuckles scarred and strong, while his other rested on your thigh like it belonged there. The world outside was falling apart, but inside the truck it felt warm and safe like nothing could touch you as long as he was beside you.
ââBout what?â he asked, glancing over, his Texan accent slipping through.
You smiled. âJust canât wait to start a life with you in Jacksonâ
Joelâs mouth tugged into a grin. âMe too, babyâ
After a while of driving once the sky turned darker, the road curved past a faded neon sign that read âMermaid Motelâ, hanging crooked over an empty parking lot.
It looked worn but untouched. No broken windows. No signs of raiders. Just quiet.
âWell Iâll be damned,â Joel muttered, slowing the truck. âLooks like we got ourselves a bed for the night.â
âThink itâs safe?â you asked.
âDunno, stay in the car, kiddo. Gonna check for infected before we go in.â
He always did this. Always putting your safety first, babying you.
You watched as Joel searched a few rooms, gun in hand, pushing doors open slow and careful. Your heart thumped every time one creaked until he finally waved you over.
âAll clear.â
Relief washed over you as you climbed out and followed him inside. The room smelled dusty but surprisingly clean. One small bed in the centre of the room. A flickering lamp. Curtains that fluttered in the evening breeze.
âItâs kinda cute,â you said softly.
Joel chuckled. âGuess that means youâre claiminâ it.â
You dropped your bag onto the bed and flopped down dramatically. âIâm exhausted.â Joel shook his head, amused, setting his pack down. âYou sleep. Iâll keep watch.â
You reached for his hand before he could move away. âStay with me.â You pouted, he could never say no to that pout.
He hesitated only a second before sitting beside you, pulling you into his chest. His musk invading your nostrils, gosh even in the apocalypse Joel smelled amazingly comforting.
He held you there, your head tucked against his chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing grounding you.
Joelâs thumb traced slow circles against your lower back, unhurried, familiar.
When he pressed a kiss into your hair, it was gentle, almost reverent, and for the first time all day, you finally let yourself rest.
âPromise me you wonât ever leave me behind,â you murmured, placing a small kiss to his jawline.
Joel gently squeezed your surrounding skin. âAinât goinâ anywhere, baby.â
Summary: a Sunday afternoon in Texas. No destination, just the road, the heat, music on the radio, and Joel Miller. A habit that has become a refuge, a silence that says it all, and that fine line between control and need that, sooner or later, is bound to break.
Content Warnings: age gap (both adults) Sexual tension, Physical intimacy, Slow burn, Joel Miller being Joel Miller, Texas heat, Pick-up truck, Reader insert, Fingering
Rating: 18+ explicit
ăŒ đŽđŽđŽ ăŒ
Sunday afternoons in Texas have a way of breathing all their own.
The air is thick, hot, almost lazy, and seems to seep under your skin with every breath. The sun is high and blinding, reflecting off the asphalt like a broken mirror, and the world outside Joel Miller's pickup truck seems to slow down, melt away.
Joel drives with one hand on the wheel.
The other is resting near yours, far enough away to feign indifference, close enough to make you feel his presence even without looking at him.
It's always been like this on Sundays.
No schedules. No work. No excuses.
Just you and him, miles of road, and a radio blaring old country songs, scratchy voices singing about love and loss as if they were one and the same.
The windows are down.
The wind caresses your hair, tickles the bare skin of your legs, crossed without thinking on the dashboard. You always do that. You do it knowing that Joel pretends not to notice.
You're wearing that white dress.
Lightweight. Innocent only in appearance. The lace trembles just above your thighs, revealing more skin than he would like to admit he's looking at.
"Are you comfortable?" he mumbles, his voice low, rough like the road beneath the wheels.
You smile.
"Very."
You don't look at him right away.
You rest your head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body through the fabric of his green plaid shirt, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his forearm tense as he holds the steering wheel.
Joel sighs softly.
It's not a sigh of resignation. It's surrender.
"You know you distract me," he murmurs, without taking his eyes off the road.
"That's not true," you reply, your voice sweet, innocent enough to be a lie. "It's you who can't ignore me."
The corner of his mouth lifts slightly.
He knows you too well.
His hand moves almost without thinking. First it brushes. A light touch, as if he were testing the waters. His warm fingers against your thigh, your skin made even more sensitive by the sun.
Your breath catches.
Your eyes lower for a moment, then you close them completely.
Joel notices in the rearview mirror.
And he doesn't stop. He continues to move his hand up, exposing your panties.
"Joel..." you whisper, not as a rebuke. It's an invitation.
"Tell me to stop," he replies softly.
His voice is steady. His hands are not.
You don't.
Instead, your right hand rests on top of his, guiding it with confidence into your panties, which makes him stiffen on the bench of the pickup truck.
"Christ..." he murmurs. "You're trouble."
"Yet you keep driving me around," you point out, a smile in your voice.
The road flows past you.
The world continues as if nothing is happening, while inside the cabin the air thickens, charged with electricity.
Joel knows exactly what to do.
He always has.
Every change in your breathing, every held sigh, every little reaction tells him when to push a little further. When he reaches your clitoris, going deeper and deeper. When you feel yourself fainting. When you seek him without saying it.
"Joel, please..."
Your voice is a thin thread, stretched to breaking point. Until you suddenly moan, your voice overlapping with the radio, making it impossible to understand what is being broadcast at that moment. Your cheeks have turned red and hot.
He doesn't answer right away.
Then he tilts his head slightly and kisses you on the forehead. A tender gesture, almost out of place, except that it's precisely this that makes you tremble the most.
"Hang in there," he murmurs. "We're almost there."
Where, you don't know.
But you trust him. You've always trusted him.
Your left hand slides towards his member, feeling the tension you've been trying to ignore throughout the journey. You can already feel him hard and swollen.
Joel inhales slowly, jaw clenched, control wavering but not completely yielding.
The pickup turns onto a dirt road.
The sound of the wheels changes. The radio becomes just a distant background noise.
When he finally brakes, the silence is deafening.
The heat. The wind. Your intertwined breaths. He gently slips his fingers out of your intimacy, and you smile furtively, biting your lip.
Only then does Joel turn to you.
His dark eyes, filled with everything he didn't say during the trip.
"Are you sure?" he asks.
Always. Even now.
Respond by moving closer to him, letting your words get lost in the tiny space between your mouths.
The rest...
The rest remains between the hot metal of the pickup truck, the dust of Texas, and a Sunday afternoon you will never forget.
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ïœĄđŠč°â§â” PAIR: Joel Miller x babysitter!fem!reader
ïœĄđŠč°â§â” WC: 11k
ïœĄđŠč°â§â” CONTAINS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no outbreak au, pov switching, trailer park joel awooga wooga, tommy miller appearance because daddy i love him, joel is kinda sleazy and pervy, large girthy age gap (53/early 20s), and itâs very much brought up, finding joelâs porn drawer because heâs vintage, reader is called jailbait like once, reader is also a little creep lmao, just two freaks coming together praise, masturbation, fingering, brief allusions of fisting, the BAREST hint of ass play, p in v, rough sex, riding, pussy pronouns, spanking, finger sucking (told you i canât stop), erectile dysfunction? yeah we donât know what that means in this house because that old man can fuck like heâs twenty, porn with too much fucking plot, no use of y/n.
ïœĄđŠč°â§â” NATâS NOTE: i blame tommy gunn for thisâŠand my period for rearing its ugly head and making me act like an animal. i donât know i guess my brain is just fully rotted, but yâallâs are too so hereâs a nice little gift from me to you, iâm lovingly placing this on your dash xoxo. this isnât really based on manchild sorry for the false advertising babies, i just thought the lyric was super cute and itâs been stuck in my head so yeah here we are lmao. hope yâall love it, mwah!
dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics! plus the delicious icon from @iamasaddie!
joel miller needs a babysitter, youâre back in townâŠ
Gruene hasn't changed much. Not really.
You're not sure how much different it'd be after only a couple years away, but still. Something in you had expected it to feel even smallerâlike the way old t-shirts shrink in the wash when youâre not paying attention.
The air felt the same when you first stepped out of your beat up Chevy, heavy and humid like a wet mouth. The pavement in front of your house still burned the bottom of your shoes, and the cicadas were buzzing in the dry grass like they never stopped.
You left for college thinking youâd never come back. And yet, here you are. Spending summer back in your hometown, a little more than half a degree under your belt, flat broke, and bored to death.
Your roomâs the same, maybe just a little smaller now that youâve lived other places, slept in other beds. All the posters are still up, faded from the sun and curling at the corners. Your mom left your old tennis trophies on your dresser, like maybe she thought youâd want to see them. You donât, not really. You appreciate the effort anyway, at least she didnât turn it into a yoga room or a place to keep extra boxes and Christmas decorations.
You try not to spend too much time at home, even though you technically donât have anywhere else to go. You kill time with long drives down the streets you memorized years ago, past beat up gas stations with sun bleached lotto signs and eighteen wheelers parked in the back.
You try your hand at some half-hearted job hunting at a few different places that promise to call but never do. And you sit in the back booth of an old diner where you and your friends used to sneak fries from abandoned tables and smoke paper wrapped joints in the alley out back.
Every place you go feels like a ghost town version of what you remember. Familiar, but all hollowed out.
âYou know who might be looking for help?â Your mom says one morning, standing at the stove fussing over a pan of bacon. âJoel Miller, you remember him donât you?â
You pause, your fork stuck hovering just above the plate. âSarahâs dad?â
âMhm. I ran into him at the market a couple weeks ago and we got to catching up. Heâs needing to pick up some extra work, and itâs just him, you know. Sarahâs starting high school in the fall but heâs still not wanting to leave her on her own. He looked stressed, poor thing.â
You hum warily, pushing your eggs around your plate to distract from the way your stomach flutters.
Joel Miller.
You havenât heard that name in years. Not since you stopped babysitting Sarah, not since you left. It has something low and guilty stirring somewhere deep inside you.
You shouldnât be surprised that itâs floating back into your life like cigarette smokeâall pungent and sour and impossible to ignore. In a town of less than two thousand people, you were bound to circle around some old memories sooner or later. And Joel Miller was a big one.
Mr. Miller was a few years older than your mom, a single dad that lived with his daughter in the trailer park a few miles past the city limit. You met him when you were seventeen and trying to save as much as you could for college, when your puny part time job flipping burgers and serving ice cream cones wasnât cutting it.Â
He needed someone to pick up Sarah from school and watch her until he got home from work, you needed the extra money. It seemed like a perfect fit.
But Joel was alwaysâŠdifferent. He scooped you up off the gravel and carried you into his living room to bandage up your knee when you took a bad fall outside his trailer. He never ratted you out when he caught you smoking one of his Marlboros in his backyard after you put Sarah to bed one night. He drove you home when you got too drunk at a field party and couldnât stomach the thought of calling your mom.Â
You can still remember the way his truck smelledâgasoline, sunbaked leather, sawdust.Â
He didnât say much, just kept his gaze trained on the road as you watched him through glassy eyes while Johnny Cash floated through the cab. He looked back once, slow and quiet, like he was really thinking something over.Â
Itâs been a long time since you thought about that night, but the reminder of it resurfaces sharp and sudden, like a thumb pressed into a bruise.
Now, your momâs pouring more coffee into your cup and saying his name like itâs no big deal, like she didnât just drop a live wire into your lap. Like he didnât take up way too much room in your seventeen year old imagination.
âYou should go down there and talk to him sometime,â she says, casual. âIt might be a good way to make some money while you look around for something else.â
You bite back a grimace, conflicted. âIsnât Sarah old enough to stay home alone by now?â
Your mom shrugs like it doesnât matter. âMaybe, but like I said Joelâs always been a littleâŠanxious about leaving her on her own too many nights. Sheâs at that age, you knowâboys, phones, lord knows what else.â
You frown, stabbing at your eggs. You only remember Sarah as the sweet little girl whoâd beg to stay up and watch Disney with you, who was more interested in her Barbie dolls than any screen. You used to braid her hair while she did her times tables, let her wear some of your lip gloss when she begged.
You take a sip of coffee, the burn of it trickles down from your throat to settle somewhere deep in your chest. âYou really think heâd hire me again?âÂ
Your mom shrugs again, plating the bacon. âI donât see why not. Sarah always loved you, Joel too. Heâs asked about you once or twice, said you were a real good girl. Very responsible and all that.â
You try not to laugh at that.Â
Good girl. Responsible. Right.
You nod vaguely, standing to clear your plate into the trash even though itâs still half full. âMaybe,â you mutter. âIâll think about it.â
Later that night, alone in your room, you find yourself scrolling through Facebook like an angsty teenager.Â
You kicked your sheets off a while ago, cracked your window open to let in the cool breeze swirling outside. Crickets sing quietly in the background, only drowned out every once in a while by the sound of cars passing your street.
Joelâs profile is still public, but itâs sparsely updated. A new truck photo here, a blurry picture of Sarahâs eighth grade promotion there. She looks the same, maybe a little older. Her hairâs longer, but still curly as ever.
Thereâs no recent pictures of Joel anywhere. Not posted by him or any of his friends. You canât tell if the feeling that blooms inside of you is disappointment or something else entirely.
Youâre about to exit the app when finally, a tagged post catches your eye.
A post by an account with the name Henry B. attached to it. Itâs just a grainy photo of someoneâs backyard littered with wood pallets and stray tools, Joel standing in the middle of it all with a few other people you donât recognize.
His account is tagged in the caption underneath. Big thanks to my buddy Joel Miller for the extra set of hands tonight. Saved our ass! Itâs dated June 13, 2023.
You pause, your thumb hovering over the screen. So heâs still handy, you think distantly, chewing on your bottom lip.
You remember that much. There were always new projects cluttering the yard in front of his trailer. A crib for the expecting couple a few doors down, a rocking chair with ornate vines and flowers carved into the armrests, a soccer goal for Sarah to practice with when she started getting serious about it in the fifth grade.
You zoom in on the picture, just a little.
The angleâs weird and itâs overexposed as shit. Joelâs face is half shadowed by an old Longhorns baseball cap, but even stillâthereâs that jaw. That mouth. That same broad width of his shoulders you used to trace with your eyes when heâd lean on the doorframe after he got home from work.Â
Itâs still an older picture, and you canât help but wonder how much heâs changed since.
You breathe through your nose, one long uninterrupted breath before you close the app and toss your phone face down on the mattress.
Joel Miller was handsome when you were in high school and stupid and still biting your nails.Â
He was a late forty-something, tired around the eyes. Always in pair of ratty, stained jeans and those soft, worn down flannels with the sleeves rolled up. Sarahâs dad. The hot one, according to the girls at school. The divorced one, according to the snooty moms at the PTA. He was tall and strong, thick arms with dark hair dusted along veiny muscle. Big hands that were calloused and rough to the touch when he slipped you a couple folded twenties at the end of every night.Â
You havenât seen him since the summer after you graduated, but sometimes you still think about the way he used to look at you.
Like he shouldnât.
Like he knew he shouldnât, and did it anyway.Â
You can still feel it. That heat, that weight. The way his eyes always lingered a little too long when you bent down to grab your homework off the coffee table. The way his voice got low and syrupy when he asked what you were doing that weekend.
You were young then, but now?
Now youâre not sure who you are, not entirelyâbut you know youâre not that same girl. Youâve lived. Youâve done things he couldnât even guess at.
Youâve grown up. And you wonder if Joel would notice too.
You donât plan on going. Not really.
The next day, your mom leaves a note taped to the fridge that says sheâs out running errands and wonât be back until later. You stare at it for a while, then glance at the clock.
Itâs barely noon.
You have nothing to do. No plans. No job. So you get into your boiling hot car, roll the windows down, and drive.
Youâre not sure what makes you do it.Â
Maybe itâs the antsy feeling thatâs been worming around under your skin since you got here. Maybe itâs the way Joelâs name has been bouncing off all the corners of your mind like a moth against glass ever since your mom said it.
Either way, you find yourself veering onto a familiar exit off the highway, tires crunching under gravel until it turns to dirt when you pull into the same trailer park on the edge of town. The same one you spent most nights back in high school.
You sit in your car for a little longer than necessary, keys still in the ignition, engine ticking quietly as it cools.
The place hasnât changed much either. Same sloped roof, same white paneling, same wind chimes clinking together on the porch. Thereâs a pair of muddy work boots by the steps, and your stomach knots.
You didnât bother calling ahead. You donât even know if he has the same number. Youâre regretting that now.
You should leave. You really should. But youâre already pulling the car door open and stepping into the dry afternoon heat. The airâs thick again, the sun sitting high and mean in the sky. Your shirt sticks to the sweaty skin along your spine as you walk through the gate and up the short gravel path.
You hesitate at the foot of the stairs, clenching and unclenching your fists a couple times like thatâll magically relive all your nerves. You wonder, and almost hope, if Sarah will be the one to open the door. If sheâll even remember you.
Then, the screen door cracks open before you can knock.
Joelâs standing there. He looks the same as the last time you saw him.
âWell Iâll be damned,â he mutters, opening the door wider. Heâs in jeans, barefoot, nothing but a tank top clinging to his chest, a dark patch blooming at the collar where itâs damp with sweat. âLook at you.âÂ
No, not the same.
Older. Broader, somehow. More worn in, like a favorite jacket thatâs been well loved. His hairâs longer than you remember, messier. His beard is thicker too, dusted with more gray, and thereâs a little more weight around his middle. But his eyes are just the sameâdark, steady, and sharp in a way that makes you feel instantly, achingly seventeen again.
He looks you over once. Not quick. Real slow. Real deliberate. A single drag of his eyes from your flip flops to the shorts you maybe shouldnât have worn. His gaze sticks when it reaches your chest, lingers there a beat too long before flicking back up to your mouth. And then, finally, your eyes.
You shift your weight, offering a small smile. âHey, Mr. Miller.â
His eyes narrow, and thereâs the ghost of a smirk pulling at his mouth. âDonât start with that âMr. Millerâ bullshit. Youâre grown now.â
Your stomach tightens.
âI, uh...my mom said you might be looking for help,â you say, fighting the urge to squirm where you stand. âWith Sarah, I mean.â
He leans against the doorframe, one hand gripping the wood above his head. The movement lifts his shirt just enough to show a strip of his stomach, a trail of dark hair disappearing under the waistband of his sweats. âShe did, huh?â
You nod, still frozen in place at the bottom of the steps.
Joel lets the silence hang in the air, heavy and charged. Then he huffs a quiet breath through his noseâhalf amusement, half something elseâand steps aside. âYou cominâ in or what?â he asks, jerking his head impatiently, giving you another long, lazy once over. âAinât polite to keep an old man waitinâ, kid.â
Your heart beats wildly against your ribcage, and with one last quick, steadying breath you hope Joel doesnât notice, you climb the stairs.
Joel hadnât expected to see you again. At the very least like this, showing up at his place in the middle of the dayâstanding at the bottom of his porch like a mirage in the heat, older and more grown in all the places a man like him shouldnât be noticing.Â
And sure as hell not in those shorts.
He watches you walk past him into the living room, slow and uncertain, that little sway in your hips you maybe donât even mean to have. Or maybe you do.
Either way, itâs a goddamn sight.
Joel closes the door with a soft click, dragging a hand over his mouth like thatâll help wipe the look off his face. It doesnât. The look of youâbare legged and smiling, sun kissed and back in his house after all this timeâsticks to the inside of his skull like syrup.Â
You look around the room with a small smile, eyes scanning the familiar furniture. Some of itâs new, some of itâs the same. Joelâs never been much for decorating. You pause in front of the bookshelf he built a few years back, Sarahâs old school pictures still sit in a few mismatched frames next to a couple of paperbacks.
He clears his throat, scratching at his beard so he has something to do with his hands as he walks to the kitchen. âYou want somethinâ to drink? Water, iced tea? I think I got Coke in the fridge somewhere.â
âIâm good, thanks.â You follow slowly, looking younger somehow in the kitchen light. You rest your hip against the doorway, eyes watching him as he walks to the fridge. âI wonât stay long. I just figured Iâd stop by real quick and see if you still needed some help.â
Joel pulls the fridge open anyway, grabbing a beer from the half empty six pack. He cracks the tab with a soft hiss and leans back against the counter. âSarahâs mostly independent now. She donât need a sitter like she used to, but I still get caught up workinâ late. Donât like the idea of her beinâ here by herself too often. 'Specially not with some of the boys sniffinâ around lately.â
You laugh, soft and bright. âWell, Iâve got time,â you say, toying with a loose thread on your cutoffs. âI donât know how much help you actually need, but my scheduleâs pretty much open. I can do evenings, weekends, whatever you want.â
Joel has to bite back a grin. Whatever he wants.Â
If you only knew the half of what he really wants.
Joel shifts his weight against the counter. âIt wouldnât be every night,â he says, shaking his head. âJust the evenings I pick up extra hours, or if I get called out for a job.â
You nod. âI can help. You donât have to worry about paying me a whole lot. Iâll just be happy to keep busy.â
His mouth pulls into something that might be a smile. âIâll pay you,â he says, almost gruff. âYouâre doinâ me a favor.â
The silence that follows feels familiar. Not awkwardâjust full. A little tight around the edges.Â
Heâs always known how to talk to you, but now thereâs something different to it. Youâre not seventeen anymore. Not biting your lip and looking away when he catches your eye. Youâre standing there calm as you please, looking straight at him, like you already know heâs thinking things he shouldnât.
Joel watches you from across the kitchen, beer can sweating against his palm. The ceiling fan spins lazily overhead, stirring warm air that doesnât help much with the heat climbing under his skin. Youâre standing there across the way from him like nothingâs changed, like you never left. Like no time has passed at all.
Except that it has. And it shows.
âYou still in school?â he asks, voice rougher than he means it to be.
You blink, head tilting to the left. âYeah. Iâm up in Chicago now, Northwestern.â
âBig shot,â Joel whistles low, nodding appreciatively. âThatâs a ways away from here.â
You shake your head, smile small and bashful. âIt is. Itâs expensive as hell too, my scholarshipâs the only reason Iâm there.â
He makes a soft sound in his throat, impressed. âSmart girl.â
âI try.â You shrug, but thereâs pride under it. âIâve got one year left, usually I stay for the summer to try and make as much as I can in the city. IâI just needed a breather, I guess. Some time to figure shit out, you know?â
Thereâs something soft in your tone when you say it, an openness he didnât expect, and maybe shouldnât pry into. But part of him wants to. Always has.
âYou donât seem like the type that needs figurinâ out,â Joel says, voice a little quieter now. âAlways thought you had your head on straight.â
Your smile flickers into something crooked, something secret. âThatâs because you didnât really know me.â
He chuckles, deep and rough. âNo, sweetheart. I think I knew you just fine.â
Your eyes lock for a second too long after that, thick enough with heat and history to make the air feel heavier than it already is.
You look away first, your eyes flicking to the living room. âI, uhâsorry, do you mind if I use the bathroom?â
Joel gestures vaguely with his free hand. âGo ahead, you remember where it is.â
You push off the doorway with one last grateful smile and duck down the hallway, footsteps silent against the linoleum. Joel watches until you disappear around the corner, his gaze dipping low without shame.
He waits until he hears the click of the bathroom door shutting behind you to exhale a slow breath, setting his beer down on the counter harder than he has to.
Jesus Christ.
Sheâs not a girl anymore, he thinks to himself. And youâre not, youâre far fucking from it.
But that feeling, that ugly one churning deep down in Joelâs gut, itâs still there. It feels just as dangerous as it used to, maybe even worse now. All because of you.Â
The look of your glossy lips forming around the words whatever he wants. The shape of your thighs, those damn shorts clinging to you like a second skin. The way you were looking at him, eyes all wide and shiny under his shitty kitchen light.Â
Joel canât help himself, he thinks back to a few years ago. You, curled up on his couch every night when he got home from a long build, looking so soft in the hazy glow of the TV. Barefoot and sleepy, blinking up at him in those skimpy little after school clothes youâd always throw on.
It was a vision, something to settle his aching bones.
He thinks about how he started looking forward to it, coming home to you. It was sick, he knew that much, the fucked up little game of house he played, projected onto you. An old man like him leering at you, thinking of you long after youâd left, waving sweetly from the window of your moms car.
Joel shouldâve known better. Shouldâve done better. But that never stopped him before, not when it came to you.
A knock at the door pulls him from his thoughts. Two quick raps, followed by a heavy creak.
âJoel?â Tommyâs voice fills the trailer before he can even move, loud in the quiet. âYou home?â
Joel sighs, brows pinching together as he pushes off the counter. He didnât even hear the damn truck pull up.
Tommy rounds the corner, sweaty and covered in dirt. Heâs got a ratty bandanna hanging from his jean pocket, sleeves pulled up around his shoulders and a pair of aviators covering his eyes.
âYou ever heard of callinâ before you just barge in on someone?â Joel doesnât try to hide the annoyance in his tone, brow arched as he stares at his brother.
âHello to you too, jackass.â Tommy just walks past him like he owns the place, opening up one of the cabinets above the sink. âYou gettinâ memory loss already, old man? You said Saturday.â
âYeah, well now ainât a good time, Tommy.â Joel cuts his eyes to the hall, to the light bleeding out from under the bathroom door.
Tommy just snorts, still rifling through the cabinet. âYeah right, you got a woman over or somethinâ?â
Joel doesnât answer, eyes still fixed on that thin sliver of light glowing under the bathroom door like it might give him away.
Tommy catches on, turns slow with a shit-eating grin already stretching across his face. âYou do have someone here.â
Joel gives him a hard look, one that should tell him to shut the hell upâbut Tommy only laughs, knowing.
âCâmon,â he drawls. âDidnât know you were even seeinâ anybody. You been holdinâ out on me?â
âIt ainât like that,â Joel mutters, too fast, too defensive.
Tommy tilts his head, chewing on that like a dog with a bone. âHuh. So sheâs not yours then?â
Joel doesnât get the chance to answer. Before he can shoot back with something mean enough to shut him up. From down the hall, the bathroom door opens with a quiet click, and thenâ
Then you're back, smoothing your hands down your thighs as you reappear around the corner, voice drifting back into the space.
âJesus, that sink is still running freezing cold water? I nearly put my-ohâŠâ Youâre clearly caught off guard, your eyes catching on where Tommy stands in front of the sink. âTommy?â
Joel watches it click in real timeâyour eyes lighting up with recognition, mouth parting into a surprised smile like youâve just stumbled on an old friend. Which, in a way, you have. Tommy was around a lot back then. Backyard beers, watching football on the TV, leaning against Joelâs truck while you wrangled Sarah inside for dinner.
âWell shit,â Tommy says, slow and low, pulling his sunglasses down. âThat isnât the little babysitter, is it?â
You smile, sheepish and sweet, and Joel feels something sour twist in his gut. âItâs been a while.â
âYeah.â Joel watches Tommy take a good long look at you just like the one he did, eyes wide as his gaze rakes from your head down to the bare skin of your legs and back up all over again. âNo kiddinâ.â
It makes the space behind Joelâs ribs burn with something hot and ugly, Tommyâs eyes on you. Shameless and obvious as all hell. He might just be the biggest hypocrite in the country for it, but he canât find it in himself to care.
âI didnât know you were back in town,â Tommy goes on, leaning in like he canât help himself. âYou home for the summer?â
âYeah, just for the summer,â you say brightly. âI thought Iâd see if Joel needed help with Sarah again.â
âOh, I bet he does,â Tommy says, and Joelâs had about enough of this.
âWe were just finishing up,â Joel cuts in, his voice sharp enough to slice through the air. âShe was about to head out.â
You donât seem to notice the tension, if you do, you ignore it with grace that makes it worse somehow.
Your eyes flick to him, and for a second, Joel thinks maybe you notice somethingâs off. But your smile is still easy. âYeah, I should probably get going.â
Joel gives a short nod and steps toward you before Tommy can open his mouth again. âIâll walk you out, honey.â
You look between the two brothers for a second longer, then nod and head back into the living room, Joel right behind you. The sound of Tommyâs boots are hot on his heels, following.
You bend down to swipe your keys off the coffee table, not by much, just enough for your shirt to ride up and your shorts to dip low. Joel nearly swallows his tongue at the sight of lace. Bright pink, thin. A pathetic little scrap of fabric clinging to either side of your hips.
Joelâs throat goes dry, heat rolling under his skin like a slow burn, thick and unrelenting. You straighten back up, smooth the hem of your shirt down, but the damage is done. He feels that familiar ache stirring low in his belly, his cock twitching with interest in his sweats.
He doesnât look at Tommy, he doesnât need to. The quiet crunch of a beer can bending under a tight grip is all he needs to know that he isnât the only one taking that lace peeking out from under those damn shorts as a neon sign flashing all the wrong kinds of welcome.
Joel barely has enough wherewithal to drag his eyes up to your face when you turn back aroundâthat sweet, oblivious smile still pulling at your lips.
âOkay.â Your fingers toy with your keys, the metal soft and jangling in your palm. âReady.â
Joel gives you a short nod, jaw tight. He doesnât trust himself to speak.
Tommy, of course, steps in the silence, voice syrupy. âHey, donât be a stranger, alright? Good seeinâ you again, sweetheart.â
You glance over your shoulder, lips parting into a lazy little grin. âYou too, Tommy.â
Joel holds the door open for you, watching the way the light hits your shoulders, the back of your thighs, the little shadow that dips right at the curve of your spine.
The cicadas are buzzing, your car parked half crooked along the curb. You walk slow, gravel crunching under your sandals. Joel stays beside you, hands shoved deep in his pockets. The sunâs lower now, soft gold spilling across the lawn.
You open the car door, pausing with your hand on it. âThat wasâŠfun.â
Joel nods, biting back a frown. âYeah, sorry about him. Tommy hasnât got much of a filter.â
You laugh, shaking your head. âItâs okay, I missed you guys.â
Joelâs heart kicks hard in his chest. Heâs not sure what to do with that.Â
âYou know where to find us,â he says finally.
You nod, climbing into the car. The engine kicks up and the window rolls down.
âThanks for the talk,â you say. âAnd the job, Iâll call you?â
Joel leans down a little, arms resting on the open window frame. Youâre so close like this. Too close. He can smell the sweet perfume mixing with the bright tang of sweat on your skin.
âOf course,â he says, eyes flicking down to your lips. âIâll be waiting.â
You smile. âIt was nice seeing you, Joel.â
Joel watches you drive off, his reflection shrinking in your side mirror until heâs nothing but a speck in the dust your tires kick up.
He lets out another long breath, turning to walk up to steps. When he comes back inside, Tommyâs on the couch now, feet kicked up on Joelâs coffee table.
Joel shuts the door a little too hard behind him.
He lets out a low whistle. âDamn.â
âI told you,â Joel says, low and firm. âNow ainât the time.â
Tommyâs grinning. âNo shit it ainât the time. Jesus, Joel. Sheâs whatâtwenty? Twenty one?â
âSomethinâ like that.â Joel says, arms crossed tightly over his chest.
âOh, well never mind then, that makes it fine,â Tommy says, laughing. He cracks open the beer in his hand, taking a slow sip. âYouâre outta your fuckinâ mind, you know that?â
Joel clenches his jaw, not bothering with an answer. His heavy silence speaks louder than any words could.
Tommy watches Joel closely, taking his silence for what it is and grinning wide enough to show off the sharp point of his canines. âShe filled out real nice though, didnât she?â
Joel shoots him a warning look, brows pinched together. âDonât.â
Tommy holds his free hand up in surrender, but heâs still smirking. âAll Iâm sayinâ isâI remember when she was this pretty little thing runninâ around here. Nowââ He makes a vague gesture at his own chest. ââjailbaitâs a whole lotta grown.â
Joel takes a step forward, hands clenched into fists at his side. âWatch your goddamn mouth.â
Tommy raises a brow, and the air goes real still between them for a beat. Joel knows his little brotherâknows heâs testing the waters, seeing just how deep the river runs.
Joel shakes his eyes off him, walks to the kitchen and snatches his forgotten beer off the counter.
He hears Tommy chuckle again, more to himself than anything, his voice is louder so Joel can hear him. âYou better watch yourself, man. That one? Sheâs trouble.â
Joel downs the rest of his beer in one long, bitter swallow, eyes peering out the windowâlocked on the road your car disappeared down. His voice, when it comes, is low and final.
âYou got no idea.â
Itâs almost too easy, falling back into the routine of it.
A few nights a week, just like before. Joel calls. You come over. The knock on the door doesnât even feel necessary anymore, since Sarah already knows itâs you when she yanks it open and launches into talking before youâve even stepped inside.Â
You know where the snacks are. The remote. You know how to work the tricky thermostat and still have all the emergency contacts scrawled on a paper tacked to the fridge memorized.
It all comes back like muscle memoryâlike no time has passed at all.Â
Sarahâs older now, a little more sarcastic. Witty and bolder in a way that surprises you sometimes, just enough edge in the way she talks to you that reminds you how much time has passed since you used to sit on the same couch and color. Sheâs brimming with the kind of secrets sheâs aching to spill to someone she knows wonât tell her dad.
Youâre still not quite a âgrown-upâ in her eyes, but youâre not a kid anymore either. Youâre in that sweet spotâa cool older girl with her own car who lets her say things like shit and dickweed when Joelâs not around.
Youâre not supposed to let her stay up this late, but you both pretend not to notice the clock. Sheâs curled up next to you on the couch, draped over the armrest only half watching the reruns you turned on with her chin propped on her palm. Â
"Can I ask you something?â Sarah says suddenly, grinning.Â
You narrow your eyes at her, mock suspicious. âYou can, but Iâm not promising Iâll answer.â
She laughs, kicking you gently with a socked foot. âDid you ever, like, sneak around when you were my age? Steal beer? Hook up with anyone?â
âJesus, Sarah.â You raise your eyebrows, but sheâs too amused to be embarrassed. You toss a throw pillow her way lazily. âYou know your dad would kill me for answering that, right? Heâd think Iâm giving you ideas or something.â
âThatâs not a no,â she sings, smirking.
âNo comment.â You shake your head, smiling in spite of yourself. âI donât need to give you any blackmail material to use on me later if I piss you off.â
âPlease,â she huffs with a dramatic roll of her eyes. âIâd never narc on you like that. Besides, Dad still thinks Iâm eight, I donât even think he knows that I know what âhooking upâ means.â
You laugh, shaking your head as you turn your attention back to the TV. âYouâre his baby.â You shrug as a new episode of Daria starts. âIt makes sense that heâs treating you like one.â
âGross,â Sarah huffs again, letting her head fall back against the cushion to stare up at the ceiling. âHeâs just so overprotective sometimes. I mean, I guess I get it but, come on? Iâm basically in high school now, Iâm not really a baby anymore.â
You glance over at her, and she isnât. Not really. Not the gap toothed little girl who used to fall asleep on your shoulder watching Finding Nemo. Sheâs growing up in the kind of terrifying, beautiful way that makes your chest ache a littleâalready too smart for her own good.
She cracks her eyes open a bit, peering across the way at you. âBet you noticed that when you were my age, right? When guys started looking at you differently.â
You blink. Itâs not the words that shake youâitâs the timing. The way they hit, low and close to the bone.Â
Because yeah, you did notice. You still do. Especially now. Especially here.
Before you can say anything, the alarm you set on your phone blares loudly, cutting through the quiet.
âAlright!â You push her feet off your lap and stand, happy for the distraction as you clap your hands together. âThatâs curfew.â
Sarah groans, but she rolls off the couch with no argument and starts down the hall.Â
You busy yourself with tidying up the living room as she brushes her teeth, pointedly ignoring the growing pit in your stomach. Her words ring in your ears like church bells, her voice tolling a little too close to something youâve pointedly ignored since you got back. Something half buried and dangerous.
Bet you noticed that when you were my age, right? When guys started looking at you differentlyâŠ
You breathe out slowly, shutting off the TV and dropping the remote onto the couch a little harder than necessary. You shouldnât read into it. She didnât mean anything by it. Just a kid mouthing off, reaching for connection, for understanding.Â
But it rattles you more than you want to admit, especially hereâespecially in his house.
You swallow hard, clearing the dirty dishes off the coffee table and walking into the kitchen. You just wonât think about it anymore, itâs that easy.
You're just being ridiculous. Paranoid. That's all.
A little while later, youâre still tidying up.
The dishes are all done, washed and drying in the rack next to the sink. The living room looks better than when you got here. Itâs damn near pristine.Â
Sarah went to bed almost half an hour ago. You crane your head down the hallway as you fold an old blanket, her door is cracked open enough that you can see the light from her alarm clock shining in the dark. The soft sounds of waves drone quietly from her noise machine.
You smile, a warm fondness blooming in your chest.
That fuzzy feeling doesnât last long, not when your eyes drift almost on their own, landing on Joelâs door.Â
Joelâs room.
Itâs cracked open too, just like Sarahâs, but thereâs no light shining from inside. You keep folding the blanket, distracted. Itâs not like you havenât been in Joelâs room before, you have. Passing through it with clean loads of laundry or sneaking his phone charger from the plug near his nightstand when your phone died.
But youâd never gone in alone, and youâd never stayed long. Sarah was always hot on your heels, catching your wrist in her tiny hand to drag you back outâfollowing you around like an overexcited puppy. Not to mention it was always in the light of day, never at a time like this. When the moon is shining high in the sky and the stars are scattered across vast velvety darkness like spilled sugar.
You drape the folded blanket along the arm of the couch, eyes still glued to the door. The cogs in your mind turn and turn, spitting out an idea that has your stomach clenching with something you canât quite put your finger on.
You gnaw on your bottom lip anxiously, eyes cutting to the clock above the door.
11:53
Joel told heâd be a while tonight, before he left. He said theyâd be short a man, that the job would drag on because of it.
Thatâs not an excuse, you know that.
You shouldnât. You really shouldnât.
Your feet are moving before your brain can catch up to how bad of an idea this really is.
Your steps are silent on the linoleum, barefeet not making a sound. The wood of his door is dark and shiny, cool against your hand when you lay your palm over it. You give Sarahâs room another sideways glance, you can see the shape of her beneath the covers. Sound asleep.
The door creaks when you push it open, just barely. The sound isnât enough to scare you off, and you step inside. The carpet is plush under you, it silences your steps even more as you walk to the nightstand and flick the light on.
Your heart pounds against your ribs as you take it in. The messy, unmade state of Joelâs bed. The covers are thrown back, thereâs a dip in the pillow where his head rests. The nightstand has a paperback open and laying face down, a pair of wiry reading glasses resting next to it.
The room smells like him.Â
That scent that used to cling to you by accident when you were youngerâclean cotton and cedar, a little motor oil and sweat, and whatever body wash heâs been using for years. It hits you all at once.
It has something stirring in your core, the familiarity of it. You look around some more, greedy eyes taking in every tiny detail you can. Thereâs a few paintings and framed pictures littering the walls. Pictures of Sarah, of Tommy, all kinds of different Texas landscapes.Â
An old guitar rests on the wall across from you, you can see that itâs a little beat up even from where youâre standing. The glossy wood chipped and well loved.
Then your eyes land on the dresser.
Itâs old, stained a light brown. You wonder distantly if he built it himself.
Your gaze catches on the top drawer, the pull handle worn with use.
Again, you know itâs wrong. That youâve already crossed every line imaginable by just being in here, but you seem full to bursting with bad ideas tonight.Â
Youâre across the room with your fingers resting gently on the handle before you can even blink. Slowly, like somethingâs pulling you on a leash, you slide it open.
Socks. Boxers. Old, ratty belts. Itâs nothing special, but heat climbs up the back of your neck all the same.
The next drawer has shirts, old band tees and fancier button downs that really should be hung up. You press your hand against one of them, feeling the starchy fabric beneath your skin.
The third drawer sticks a little, enough that you need to yank on it harder than the last two. It slides open with a dull thud. You wince, your eyes flicking to the door like Joel could be standing there, catching you rifling through his underwear like a sick little perv.Â
The darkness of the hallway is all that greets you. Quiet, empty.
You take a steadying breath, but your hands donât stop trembling as you tug it the rest of the way open.
Youâre not sure exactly what youâre looking for, but then, you see it.
There, tucked toward the back under a couple old flannels, a small stack of magazines.Â
Playboys. A couple Hustlers. From the look of them, they're mostly 90s, maybe early 2000s. Itâs so vintage, so Joel. The covers are glossy, edges curled and worn.Â
Your breath hitches. The heat between your legs is instant, sharp and impossible to ignore.
You pull one out, heart hammering, and flip it open carefully. Your eyes skim over picture after picture, some of the pages sticking together as you thumb through them. The scent of paper and dust and something faintly musky drifts up, and the centerfold you finally land on is obsceneâposed, yes, but raw in a way that makes your thighs press together.Â
Legs spread wide on a bearskin rug, pink mouth parted, full bush and glossy nipples.
Sheâs brunette, hair poofy and curled up to Jesus like they used those big old school rollers. Her eyes are the same color as yours, half lidded and covered in a sparkly blue shadow.
You glance down at the caption under her photo.Â
âTurn-ons: Older men. The kind that know how to use their hands.â
A shiver rolls down your spine.
You should be laughing. Maybe grossed out. But insteadâ
Instead you imagine Joel, sitting in this room, flipping through these pages alone. Hand between his legs. That rough, big, calloused hand. Not fast, not frantic. No, you imagine him slow.
Measured.
Probably gritting his teeth, because he seems like the type who doesnât let himself sound desperate even when he is. Grunting softly. Breathing hard. Coming into a tissue or his palm or maybe just letting it land on his stomach. Because thereâs no one here to see. No one to touch him. Just him and the sound of paper turning.
You shut the magazine too fast. Slide it back in place, heart pounding.
Before you can push the drawer closed, your eyes catch on one of the flannels that covered Joelâs little secret.
Itâs an old oneâsoft looking, broken in, a faded green and black. You should put it back, lay it down exactly where you found it so thereâs nothing even hinting at you digging around in places you shouldnât.
Instead, your hand closes around it, and without letting yourself think too long, you hold it up to your nose.
God. It smells like him. Like his detergent, like summer sweat and wood and something faintly smokey. Warm and safe and so damn inappropriate in every possible way.
Itâs too much, itâs not enough. Itâs obscene.
You canât help yourself, you push the rest of the flannels back over the magazines, but the one in your hand gets tucked under your arm.
You donât even try to justify it. You donât even look back.
You donât touch yourself right away.
You wait. You ride the buzz all the way home. Eat a popsicle standing barefoot in your kitchen, flannel in a heap on the counter like a loaded gun. You pretend to forget about it. You go about your night like normal. Shower. Brush your teeth.
Then youâre in bed and itâs just there. Laying on your mattress.
You unfold it. Run your fingers over the soft, worn fabric. You should feel guilty. You do, but that doesnât stop you from pressing it to your nose and inhaling a deep lungful. You crawl into bed, tearing your shirt off and kicking your shorts down your legs all at once.
You lay back against your sheets, flannel still clutched in your hands. You rub it along your chest, over your peaked nipples, down your stomach. Rubbing Joelâs scent into your skin like itâs your own personal brand.
Your free hand slides down your body, down the lacy fabric of your panties. Youâre already wet. Youâve been wet since the minute you opened that drawer.
You close your eyes, fingertips teasing along the wet expanse of your pussy as you let your mind go thereâ
To the thought of Joel finding you like this.
His flannel draped over your face. Your hand between your thighs.
Would he be mad? Would he punish you for it?
Would he take it back? Rip it out of your hands?
Or would he make you put it onâjust so he could see you wear it while he ruined you?
You want to come like this. Wrapped up in something of his. Want to ruin yourself in it. You dip your fingers into your underwear and finallyâfinallyâbrush them over your clit.
The gasp you let out is sharp.
Itâs not just his cologne. Itâs his scent. That hot-skin smell that clings to the inside of his hats and his truck and his work boots. Itâs Joel, soaked into the fabric like heâs holding you down.
You rub slow circles over your clit, hips twitching. You canât stop picturing him. Not just his face, but the sounds heâd make. The weight of his body over yours. The way his voice would rasp against your ear if he caught you doing this.
âDirty fuckinâ girl, so desperate youâre gettinâ off with my dirty laundry?â
You slide two fingers inside yourself and gasp, mouth falling open. You imagine his hands instead. Rough, thick, calloused. Bigger than yours. Slower. Crueler.
âOh fuck, Joelââ you whisper without thinking, the name catching on your teeth like a sin.
You come hard, pressing the flannel to your face, thighs trembling, biting down on soft cotton as you ride it out. It rolls through you in hot waves. Shame, lust, guilt, needâall tangled up.
When itâs over, you lie there panting, the room silent except for your heartbeat in your ears. You relax your jaw, the flannel falling from between your lips, fabric soaked with your spit.
You drift off with it clutched to your chest. Still wet between your legs. Still aching. Still imagining what heâd do if he ever found out.
And you sleep better than you have in weeks.
You donât think anything of it when you see Joelâs truck parked in front of the trailer. Itâs not out of the ordinary, heâs almost always there to make sure you get in safe before he leaves.
You climb the creaky steps and knock like usual. Three little raps, your knuckles against the thin aluminum of Joelâs door, already shifting your weight to the side as you wait for Sarah to yank it open and start catching you up on all the latest gossip from her last summer soccer practice.
Onlyâit doesn't swing open. Not right away.
You frown, Sarahâs usually opened the door before you can even raise your fist to knock again. Itâs only then that you notice how quiet it is.Â
No music thumping out from her window, no light flicked on in her room. No hum of the TV playing. No voice yelling âJust a second!â from down the hall. Just the light hanging above your head buzzing faintly and the dull thud of your knuckles against the door.
You knock for a fourth time, less sure.
A few more seconds go by. One, two, three, four.Â
You count all the way to ten before the door creaks open, the screen with it. Joel fills the frame, one shoulder leaning against it. The light floods out from behind him, a warm yellow glow spilling into the dark and haloing around his broad shoulders.Â
Heâs not dressed in work clothes, just an old grey short sleeve and a pair of jeans that ride dangerously low on his hipsâa beer bottle held loosely in his left hand. He doesnât even have shoes on.
âHey,â you say as casually as you can, shifting on your feet. You peer around him into the living room. Empty. âWhereâs Sarah?â
Joel doesnât move, head tilting as he watches you. âSheâs stayinâ over at a friends.â
You blink. âOh.â
âYeah. Oh.â The corner of Joelâs mouth raises slightly, itâs not quite a smirk, but itâs close. âI texted. You didnât check your phone?â
You shake your head slowly, but you canât help the way your brows furrow. You had checked it, right before you left your house, like you awake do. No calls. No texts.
âI mustâve missed it.â
Joel gives you a lazy once over, eyes dragging down your front like a slow lick. âHuh,â he says, but itâs far away. âGuess you might as well come in anyway, wouldnât want you to waste your time cominâ out here for nothinâ.âÂ
He steps aside, holding the door open expectantly.Â
âItâs fine, really.â You laugh, but itâs awkward. âI can just goââ
âCome inside.â
He says it low. Not a suggestion.
You hesitate for half a second, nerves suddenly scraping just beneath your skin. But you step in anyway, brushing past him into the cool dimness of the trailer, the familiar scent of cedar, beer, and Joel hitting your nose all at once.Â
The door shuts behind you with a heavy click.
Joel walks past you, sets his beer down on the coffee table before his eyes find yours again. You can see his face better in the light of the living room, his eyes are hard. Dark in a way you havenât seen in a long time. It has your stomach clenching tightly, the sour edge of alarm churning with arousal inside you.
âItâs good youâre here. We oughta talk.â
You open your mouth, then shut it. His tone is strangeâoffâbut not angry. Amused, almost. You wring your hands behind your back anxiously. âEverything okay?â
âYeah,â he says, voice low, rough, âI been meaninâ to ask you somethinâ. Just been waitinâ for the right time.â
You frown. âAsk me what?â
Joel drags the silence out. He watches you try not to squirm, mouth tilted in another half smirk.Â
"You go through my shit, baby?"
Your heart trips three times over in your chest, stomach dropping down to your feet. âIâwhat?â
Joel huffs hard out his nose, that smug smirk spreads. Itâs all teeth now, feral and amused. âDid I stutter?â
Youâre shaking now, hands trembling in time with the frantic beat of your pulse. âI just thoughtâI didnât think youââ
Joel clicks his tongue, cutting you off. âYeah thatâs the problem, ainât it? You didnât think.â He takes one slow step toward you, eyes locked on yours, heavy and dark and hot enough to burn.
âItâs real funny,â he says offhandedly, too casualâlike youâre talking about this weekâs forecast. âThereâs only a few people whoâve been in and outta here lately. And I know Tommy ainât the one riflinâ through my drawers, takinâ shit that doesn't belong to him. I ainât dumb, baby.â
Your mouth opens and closes desperately, mind racing to say anything. To lie, to defend yourself, to beg for forgiveness. Nothing comes out. Your throat works around nothing, and your hands are clenched so tightly behind your back theyâre going numb.
Joel just hums. A low, throaty sound that vibrates down your spine. His fingers curl under the hem of your shirt, lifting it slightly, just enough to show the little strip of skin above your shorts. âYou touch yourself in it?â
The question punches the air from your lungs. You donât need to ask him what it is.
âIâJoelââ
âDonât try lyinâ to me.â
Your face burns. You canât bring yourself to nod, let alone speak. You donât have to.Â
Joel laughsâdark and low, like he already knows the answer. He trails his hand along the skin of your stomach, his touch featherlight. You canât hide the shiver that wracks through you, goosebumps pebbling along your skin.
His hand falls away, only so he can drop down onto the couch behind him. Legs wide, thighs spread, jeans tugging tight across them as he leans back like heâs settling in for a show. His voice is pure gravel. âGo on, then. Show me what you did.â
You just stand there. Eyes wide. âWhat?âÂ
Your voice shakes, quiet and small in the tension.Â
Joel shakes his head, sighing like heâs dealing with a stubborn child. He hooks one finger in the waistband of your shorts, tugging. You move without thinking, stepping into the space between his spread thighs.
âSee, I donât wanna have to ask you again, baby. So, are you gonna show me?â he says slowly, his touch dipping low enough to brush over the lacy edge of your panties. âOr am I gonna have to make you?â
Your breath catches in your throat, heat flooding your body in less than a second. âJoelââ
He cocks a brow. âWhatâs wrong, sweet thing? You were bold enough to sneak into my room, go through my drawers, take what donât belong to you. Donât get shy now.â
You feel it thenâthat impossible to ignore, deep, slick throb between your legs. Shame and heat twisting up your insides. Your whole being pulses with heat, phantom flames lapping over your skin.
You donât know if youâre more humiliated or turned onâyour body doesnât seem to care either way. Joel hasnât taken his eyes off you.
Thereâs no way out of this. And youâre not even sure if you want one.
You bite your lip, cheeks burning as your fingers trail down your belly, under your shorts and down between your thighs. Already wet. Slick with the shame of it, slick with how bad you want him watching you.
Joel swats your hip, not hard enough to sting. Just enough to make you feel it. âNo maâam, none of that shit. Shorts off.â
You freeze, your hand still buried under the waistband, your pulse thudding in your ears like a war drum. Apparently, you donât move fast enough, not for him, and Joelâs already leaning forward, hands on your hips as he yanks them down himselfâyour shorts and panties in one brutal tug.
âFuckinâ brat,â he mutters, almost to himself, dragging the fabric down your thighs and letting it pool at your ankles.
Your breath hitches as he sits back again, arms draped lazily over the back of the couch, dark eyes fixed on the wet heat between your thighs like heâs starving.
You step out of your clothes, naked from the waist down, cheeks burning, heart beating so hard itâs making you lightheaded.
Joel tips his chin toward the floor. âGo on.â
Your stomach flips. Youâre sure he can see it, the way your chest heaves, nipples pressing hard into the thin fabric of your top. Your hand drifts between your legs again, slow and shaky. Joelâs eyes follow every motion. Every tremble.
Your middle finger dips down and slides through your folds, slow. You let out a shaky breath. You brush over your clit, and twitch, hips jerking without meaning to.
âThatâs it.â Joel nods, his hands clenched into fists. âSee how easy it was, sugar? Feelâs good, doesn't it?â
âYes,â you whisper, your voice threadbare. Youâre rubbing yourself faster now, pressure building fast. âIt feels so good, Joel.â
Joel groans at his name falling from your lips. âI bet it does. Bet you fucked your fingers into that tight little cunt while smellinâ me on the collar of that damn shirt. You nasty little thing.â
You nod, barely, lips parted as you circle your clit again, breath hitching on contact.
âI should spank your ass red for that,â he growls. âShould bend you over my lap like a fuckinâ child. You need discipline, donât you?â
Your knees nearly give. âJoel. Pleaseââ
He cuts you off again, gesturing lazily to where your hand disappears between your thighs. âOpen her up. Let me see.â
You press two fingers between your folds, spreading them apart so he can see your glistening pussy, sticky and swollen from just a few strokes.
âGoddamn,â Joel groans, reaching down to adjust the thick shape of his cock hard under his jeans. âSheâs fuckinâ drippinâ. That for me, baby?â
You nod, lips slack as your thighs tremble.
âYeah,â he drawls, stretching the word like out taffy between his teeth. âThatâs real pretty.â
You moan at that. Loud and desperate. Your touch dip that much lower to push one finger inside. Then another, like you just canât help yourself. Youâre so wet thereâs no resistance, your pussy welcoming them in like itâs done this a hundred times thinking of him. Slick drips down your thighs, shining under the light of the lamp.
Joel licks his lips slowly, deliberately. âLook at that.â He leans forward, pupils wide and dark as an oil spill. âJust a little rub like that, a little stretch and youâre already makinâ a mess.â
You whimper, hips rocking against your hand. âJoel, Iââ
âGive yourself another finger. Show me how you take itâ
You grind down onto your own fingers, mouth slack with soft moans that breathe to life before you can muffle them. You press in a third finger. The stretch burns, but you donât stop. Youâre panting now, skin dewy, hips jerking forward to meet your hand. Joel watches like a man starved.
He grins, smug and handsome and infuriating. âYeah, three feels nice donât it, honey?â He reaches out, his hand sliding up your thigh in one slow motion, lazy and unhurried through the slick. âBet you could take my whole fuckinâ fist if you wanted it real bad.â
A pathetic little whine fills the air, more of a mewl than anything. It takes you a second to realize youâre the one making the noise, so desperate and gone from the tiniest amount of touch. It makes your walls clamp down harder around your fingers.
Joel sees. Joel knows.
And itâs all he needs to finally break.
âCome here,â he growls suddenly, jerking his head impatiently.
You scramble over, straddling him, bare thighs spread over his denim clad ones. Joel undoes his belt with one hand, the clink of the metal making your pulse trip. He pulls himself out of his soaked boxers, hard and straining, the rosy head drooling precome onto his shirt when it slaps up to rest against his stomach.
Your mouth falls open at the sight of it, flushed and big. Bigger than youâve ever seen, outside of guilty late night porn searches.Â
Joel chuckles darkly, taking himself in his hand. He strokes himself slowly, twisting his wrist over the head. âYou think you can take all this?â he taunts meanly, dragging the tip through your folds, wetting himself with your slick. âYouâre just a baby, sweetheart. You think you can handle this dick?â
You moan as he rubs himself over your sensitive clit, warm and wet. Your hips twitch down, desperate for more. Your pussy clenches around nothing, overwhelmingly empty.
He slaps your ass, hard. He kneads the tender skin in his rough hand after, dragging out the sting. âHow old am I? Tell me, honey. Say it.â
You gasp, eyes screwing shut in embarrassment. âFiftyâah! Fifty three,â you breathe, not looking Joel in the eye as you say it.
You canât, not with the humiliation coursing through your veins like pure kerosine. Itâs white hot, burning so bright, but itâs still not enough to stop your pussy from dripping sticky all over his cock like a broken faucet.
âDamn right,â he growls. âOld enough to be your fuckinâ daddy.â
Joel thrusts into you in one brutal push.
You scream. Your nails dig into his shoulders hard enough that you feel the thin material of his shirt straining under it. The stretch feels like itâs tearing you in two, like your fingers didnât do anything to prepare you for his cock carving a place for itself inside you.
Joel kisses you, sucks the noise right off your tongue. He tastes like beer, like sweat and salt and something thatâs only him. You moan into his mouth, your fingers threading into the soft hair curling at the nape of his neck.
He pulls back, a string of spit connecting your lips until it bends and breaks under the weight of gravity. âCome on, darlinâ.â He slaps your ass againâonce, twiceâand you squeal, the burn sharp and perfect. âYou wanted to fuck me so bad you couldnât keep those thievinâ hands to yourself, huh? Well nowâs your chance. Fuck me, give it to me good.â
You donât ease into it, too worked to even think about starting slow.
You bounce on his lap like youâre possessed, thighs slapping, slick drenching his jeans. Joel groans with every roll of your hips, low and drawn out. He lets his head fall back against the couch, the tan column of his throat on display.
âBeen waitinâ for this,â he pants. âSince the day you showed back up. Actinâ all grown. Look at you now. Cryinâ on my cock.â
Youâre drooling. Dizzy. Brain turned to static as you ride him, his hands gripping your hips so tight you know youâll bruise.
âYouâre so fuckinâ tight,â he growls, raising his head to watch you. âThis pussy wasnât made for boys your age. Needs a man to stretch it out. To ruin it.â
You whine, your pussy tightening around the throbbing length of his cock. Joel notices, of course he does.
His hands grip your ass, urging your hips up and down faster. âYou like that, sweet thing? You like lettinâ an old man fuck you raw like this?â
âYes,â you whine, tears burning at your water line. âI love it, want you to come inside me so bad Joel, fuck-â
âI know, baby.â Joel kisses your cheek, softly. Too soft, too tender. âYou ainât ever gonna want some college boy after this. Youâre gonna be thinkinâ about how Mr. Miller fucked you open better than they could.â
Your moan is muffled by his fingers pushing between your slack lips, filling your mouth. You whine at the taste of yourself coating his skin, sucking obediently as he presses them down on your tongue.
âGonna make you mine,â he pants. âMine. No more sneakinâ around, no more stealinâ my shitâyou want something, you ask for it like a big girl, and Iâll fuckinâ give it to you.â
You shake your head, babbling around his fingers. âYesâyes, only you. Iâm yoursââ
You can feel your orgasm building deep in your belly, the coil of pleasure tightening and tightening until it threatens to snap.
Joel rips his fingers from your mouth with a dark growl, reaching back down to grip your ass again. He spreads you open, the cool air making you gasp. One finger, wet with your own spit, rubs over your rim.Â
He doesnât push inâjust teases, circling, pressing, tuggingâenough to make you clench and cry out as he starts pounding up into you. His hips lifting off the couch and filling the room with the loud noise of skin on skin as his balls slap against your ass with every thrust. Your pussy squelching around him with dirty, wet noises would make your ears burn if you werenât so far gone already.
âYou gonna let me play with this too?â he murmurs, lips brushing against your. âYou lettinâ me train this hole next?â
Thatâs it. Itâs all you can take.
You shatter with a scream, pussy squeezing so tight it makes Joel snarl and buck wildly up into you. He grabs your ass, choking out a strained string of âfuck, fuck, fuckââ
He curses, pulls you down hard onto his cock one last time as he spills inside you, so deep you swear you feel it behind your ribs. His head drops to your shoulder, breath ragged as he comes and comes.Â
It feels endless, spurt after spurt of hot spend flooding your walls until itâs forced to leak back out along the fever hot skin of his cock, slipping down his balls to drip onto the couch.
Itâs filthy.
Itâs obscene.
Itâs exactly what you wanted.
You both lean into each other, breathless and spent as you come down. Sweat drips down your back, rolling down your spine as your hands stay buried in his hair.
Joel strokes your thigh lazily, still inside you, watching the mess drip down where youâre spread open around him.
âYouâre stayinâ the night,â he says simply.
You canât fight the tiny, secret smile you press against the sweaty skin of his throat as you nod wordlessly, thighs still shaking violently around his hips.
Youâd never make it to the door anyway.
MINI NAT'S NOTE: what's so funny to me about this is that i didn't realize how much i actually missed writing for joel until i took a little mini break to work on my other frankie and harry fics like itâs so dramatic truly, but baby weâre so back! back and hopefully pissing off the joel age gap haters!
shoutouts to baby rylea for giving me the flannel idea cause this fic might have been lost without it. it was rescued from being just another abandoned wip and instead turned into a literal monster which was never supposed to happen but uh that's chill i guessâŠtwo fics over 10k words in one month? thatâs literally unheard of over here. ALSO my first venture into ass play to spite @ebodebo and @yuenity sooo thatâs fun. i love them both really LMAO
once again it's four a.m because i just can't function like a normal person. thank you to femme bot by charli xcx, pink red bull, and ofc my geeky bar for letting me power through and finish this mess. okay i'm done now sorry for talking so much, i just love yapping to you guys :(( thank you so much for reading, love you!
pairing: bar owner!joel miller x musician!reader
ââ âą ă»âžâž
summary: You're a struggling musician who frequents a bar that hosts open mic every week. The gruff bar owner seems to catch your attention.
ââ âą ă»âžâž
tags: explicit sexual content, use of alcohol, mutual pining, age gap, rough sex, dom!joel, oral sex (m + f recieving), p in v sex, breeding kink, biting, marking, spanking, hair pulling, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, squirting, over stimulation, public-ish sex
ââ
w/c: 5k
You were already running late when the rain started. It came down in thin, slanted lines that blurred the streetlights and soaked through your jacket before you reached the barâs crooked awning. The Rusted String always looked like it was one hard wind away from collapsing, but inside it was warm and hummingâclinking glasses, low talk, and the familiar smell of cedar and beer.
Joel was behind the bar, wiping down the counter with that same rag heâd probably been using since the 90s. He glanced up when you walked in, one eyebrow raised.
âYouâre late.â
You set your guitar case on the stage and shot him a look.
âYou gonna dock my nonexistent pay?â
A ghost of a grin tugged at his mouth.
âAinât payinâ you enough for it to matter.â
You rolled your eyes and bent to tune your guitar, pretending not to notice how his voice carried easily over the noise. The low, worn-in drawl of it always seemed to settle under your skin, steady and sure, like a rhythm you didnât mean to follow.
By the time you hit the first chord, Joel had disappeared into the back room. The soundboard crackled, then your guitar came through clean, with just the right balance of low warmth and brightness. Heâd adjusted it, like he always did, without asking.
It wasnât a big crowd tonight. A handful of regulars at the pool table, a couple tucked into the booth by the jukebox. But Joel was there, behind the counter, polishing a glass he didnât need to.Â
The last note faded into the hum of the amp, soft and steady. You let it linger for a moment before setting your guitar aside and wrapping your fingers around the glass of water Joel had set on the stool beside you sometime during your set. You hadnât seen him do it, but youâd expected itâlike always.
âCrowdâs quiet tonight,â you said, hopping off the stage.
Joel looked up from where he was stacking glasses behind the counter. âAinât payday yet,â he replied. âWait âtil Friday.â
You smiled, leaning against the bar. âYou sure theyâre not stayinâ quiet âcause of my singing?â
That earned you a short, low chuckle, one of those sounds that barely made it past his chest. âYou sound fine.â
âFine?â you teased. âThat the best you got for me, Miller?â
He raised a brow. âYou want me to lie?â
You scoffed, but the heat that crept up your neck gave you away. He noticed, of course he didâbut he didnât call you on it. Joel never said more than he needed to, but somehow it always felt like heâd said too much.
He handed you a clean towel when you reached for your guitar, and your fingers brushed. Just a second, enough to spark something in your chest that you tried to ignore.
âYouâre gettinâ better,â he said, quieter this time, like it wasnât meant for anyone else to hear.
 You looked at him, a little caught off guard. âYou actually listen?â
His mouth twitched, not quite a smile, but close. âI hear things.â
âLike what?â
He wiped his hands on a rag and leaned one elbow on the counter, eyes on you. âYou play differently when youâre mad. Quicker. Donât look at the crowd as much. When youâre happy, you draw it out. Let folks breathe with you.â
You blinked, surprised at how closely heâd paid attention. âThat⊠sounds like a man whoâs been spying on me.â
âMaybe,â Joel said, voice low. âBut Iâm the one that runs the soundboard, so I guess thatâs my job.â
You laughed, soft and nervous. âGuess so.â
The bar had emptied out while you talked, the clatter and chatter replaced by the quiet creak of the old ceiling fan. Joel went back to wiping down the counter, but you caught the edge of something like a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
âIâm not lying.â He said.
You looked up, âAboutâŠ?â
Joel huffed and looked up at you, his gaze soft. âWhen I said youâre getting better. âThink youâll make it big one day.â
âYeah, right.â You scoffed, looking down at the scuffed wooden floor.Â
âIâm serious.â He grunted.
You let out a laugh. âYouâre serious about everything, Joel.â
He tilted his head, squinting at you like he was weighing whether to argue. âNot everything.â
âOh really?â you prodded, leaning a little closer, feeling the quiet tension that always seemed to hum between you. âThen what arenât you serious about?â
Joel didnât answer immediately. He just looked at you, that hard, steady gaze that somehow made your stomach twist. The music from earlier still lingered faintly in the air, warm and echoing, and it felt like the two of you were the only people left in the bar.
Finally, he grunted again. âYou.â
You blinked. âMe?â
He nodded, almost imperceptibly. âYou donât stop bothering me⊠and somehow, I donât mind.â
You felt your chest tighten and a laugh bubbled out, half-nervous, half-embarrassed. âYouâre impossible, Joel Miller.â
âYeah, well⊠you like it.â
â
You practically threw yourself onto the barstool, startling Joel and the remaining patron at the bar.Â
âThe hellâs wrong with you?â Joel asked as he handed a glass of whiskey to a customer.
âNeed a drinkâŠâ You murmured, crossing your arms and resting your head down against the bar.
Joel leaned against the counter across from you, watching quietly for a beat, the corner of his mouth tugging in that subtle, almost-hidden smirk he reserved for when he knew you were trying not to show how frazzled you were.Â
âLong night?â he asked.
âYou could say that,â you muttered, letting out a frustrated sigh. âEverythingâs⊠just a mess right now.â
He grunted softly, tilting his head, and for a moment the bar felt quieter, like it had folded around just the two of you. Joel didnât rush to fix it, didnât offer empty words. He just stayed, giving you the space to vent, letting the hum of the neon and the low music fill the rest of the world.
âYou donât gotta handle it all yourself,â he said finally, voice rough but calm.
You blinked, letting yourself relax against the bar. There was something in the way he said it steady, grounded, like he really meant it that made the weight in your chest feel a little lighter.
âWhereâs your guitar?â Joel asked, finally realizing how empty-handed you were. âNot playing tonight? Thatâs unusual.â
You shook your head, rubbing your temples. âDonât feel like it.â
âNot feeling it, huh?â He pulled out a chair and sat down across from you. âWant to talk about it?â
You sighed, your fingers tracing the rim of your beer glass. âItâs just... I donât know. I feel like my music isnât good enough anymore. Like Iâm just going through the motions. And the customers... theyâre getting rowdier lately. Itâs hard to focus.â
Joel listened intently, his expression softening with understanding. âI get it. Sometimes it feels like everythingâs falling apart. But you know what? Thatâs when you need to hold on tighter. Your music is a part of you, and itâs worth fighting for.â
As you talked, the bar began to empty. The patrons, sensing the impending storm, hurried out into the night. The sky outside darkened, and the first drops of rain pattered against the windows. Joel glanced out, his brow furrowing.
âLooks like weâre in for a storm,â he said, turning back to you. âYou should probably head home before it gets worse.â
You nodded, standing up and grabbing your jacket. âYeah, youâre right. I should get going.â
But as you reached the door, a sudden crack of thunder shook the building, followed by a torrent of rain. The street outside was a blur of water, and the wind howled through the trees.
âWoah,â Joel said, joining you at the door. âThatâs not good. You canât go out in this.â
You turned to him, a mix of frustration and relief in your eyes. âWhat do we do now?â
Joel thought for a moment, then a slow smile spread across his face. âI guess since weâre stuck here⊠Iâve got some whiskey in the back. We can have a drink, and you can tell me more about whatâs been on your mind.â
You hesitated for a second, then nodded. âAlright. Letâs do it.â
Joel led you to a small table in the corner, away from the windows. He returned with two glasses and a bottle of amber liquid. He poured you a generous serving and raised his glass to cheer you.
You clinked your glass against his, taking a sip of the smooth, warm whiskey. It burned pleasantly in your throat, and you felt a wave of relaxation wash over you.
âYou know,â Joel said, leaning back in his chair, âsometimes the best inspiration comes from the most unexpected places. Like being stuck in a bar during a thunderstorm.â
You nodded, swirling the whiskey in your glass as the thunder rumbled outside, shaking the windows of the dimly lit bar. The rain pounded relentlessly against the roof, turning the world beyond into a blurry haze. It was just the two of you now, the last patrons long gone before the storm hit full force, leaving Joel's place feeling intimate, almost secluded.
"Yeah, unexpected places," you replied, your voice soft amid the storm's roar. You set the glass down, your fingers lingering on the cool surface.Â
Joel watched you with those dark, steady eyes, his broad shoulders relaxed against the chair. He was older than most guys you knew, with a rugged edge from years behind the bar: salt-and-pepper stubble and calloused hands that spoke of hard work. Something was commanding about him, the way he moved with quiet authority, like he owned more than just this place.
"What's got you stuck?" he asked, pouring himself another measure. His voice was low and gravelly, cutting through the patter of rain.Â
You hesitated, surprised he remembered. It had been a few weeks since your last open mic night. "Just... writer's block, I guess. Everything sounds the same. Like I'm forcing it." You took another sip, the warmth spreading through your chest, loosening the knot of frustration.
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, his gaze locking onto yours. "Forcing it never works. You gotta let it come to you. Like this stormâit's wild, but it clears the air after." His lips curved into a half-smile, and for a moment, you caught yourself staring at the way his shirt stretched across his chest, the faint outline of muscle beneath.
The conversation flowed more easily than you'd expected. Joel shared stories from his early days running the bar, nights when he'd sling drinks until dawn, dodging bar fights and heartbreak. You opened up about your gigs, the thrill of a crowd hanging on your every chord, and the loneliness that crept in when the music dried up.
As the bottle emptied, the air between you thickened. Joel's knee brushed yours under the table, accidental at first, but neither of you pulled away. You felt a flush creep up your neck, not just from the alcohol. His presence was magnetic, pulling you in with every shared glance. When thunder cracked loud enough to make you jump, his hand steadied your armâfirm, warm, lingering a beat too long.
"You alright?" he murmured, his thumb grazing your skin before he let go. But his eyes didn't leave yours, dark and intent, like he was seeing you for the first time.
Your heart pounded, matching the rain's rhythm. "Yeah... just the storm." But it wasn't the storm. It was himâthe way his voice wrapped around you, the subtle scent of whiskey and woodsmoke on his skin. You shifted in your seat, aware of the heat building low in your belly.
Joel stood, clearing the glasses, but instead of heading to the bar, he moved closer, towering over you. "Storm's not letting up anytime soon." He grabbed the chair and inched closer to you.
Sitting side by side, the space between you shrank. His arm draped casually over your seat, his, fingers inches from your shoulder. You turned to say somethingâŠanythingâbut words died as you met his gaze. Hunger flickered there, raw and unspoken.
"You've been on my mind since the other night," he admitted, his voice rougher now. "The way you pour yourself into it... makes a man wonder what else you're holding back."
Heat flooded your cheeks, but you didn't look away. "And you? Running this place, always in control... ever let go?"
A low chuckle rumbled from his chest. "Not often. But tonight?" His hand slid to your shoulder, turning you toward him. The touch was electric, his fingers tracing the line of your collarbone. You leaned in, breath catching as his lips hovered near yours.
The kiss started slow, testing, his mouth firm against yours, tasting of whiskey and restraint. But Joel didn't stay gentle. His hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you deeper, tongue sweeping in to claim you. You melted into it, hands fisting his shirt, the storm forgotten as desire ignited.
He broke away first, eyes blazing. "Tell me you want this," he growled, dominant edge sharpening his tone.
"I do," you whispered, pulse racing.
With a nod, he guided you down, lifting you up and placing you on the table, his control absolute. Joel's hands worked your shirt open, buttons popping free as he exposed your skin to the cool air. His mouth followed, lips and teeth grazing your neck and collarbone down to your breasts. He sucked a nipple into his mouth, hard and insistent, tongue flicking until you arched against him, a moan escaping.
"That's it," he murmured against your skin, voice commanding. "Let me hear you."
His fingers deftly unfastened your jeans, sliding them down with your panties in one smooth motion. You were bare before him, vulnerable, but his gaze devoured you like you were his. He pushed you back onto the table, kneeling between your legs, broad shoulders parting your thighs.
Joel's mouth descended without warning, hot and demanding. His tongue licked a slow, deliberate stripe up your pussy, tasting you fully. You gasped, hips bucking as he pinned you down with one strong hand on your hip. He lapped at your folds, circling your clit with firm pressure, then sucking it between his lips. The sensation was overwhelmingâwet, insistent, building that ache into a fire.
He didn't rush, but his dominance showed in every movement: the way he held you open, fingers digging into your thigh as his tongue plunged inside you, fucking you with it before returning to your clit. You threaded your fingers through his hair, pulling, but he growled, nipping your inner thigh in warning.
 "Stay still," he ordered, voice muffled against your slick heat. "Let me take what's mine."
Pleasure coiled tight, your body trembling as he worked you relentlessly. His beard scraped your sensitive skin, adding friction that pushed you closer. When he slid two thick fingers into your pussy, curling them against that spot inside, you cried out, the orgasm crashing over you in waves. He didn't stop, licking you through it, drawing out every shudder until you were limp, panting.
Joel rose, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, satisfaction in his eyes. He unbuckled his belt, the sound sharp in the quiet bar. His cock sprang free, thick, hard, with veins prominent along the length. Pre-cum beaded at the tip, and he stroked himself once, watching you.
"Your turn," he said, voice like gravel. He sat back, legs spread, pulling you toward him by the hairâgentle but firm, guiding you to kneel between his thighs.
You wrapped your hand around his base, feeling the heat, the girth. Leaning in, you licked the underside from balls to tip, tasting the salt of him. Joel groaned, hand tightening in your hair.Â
"Open up. Take it deep."
Obeying, you sucked the head into your mouth, tongue swirling around the ridge. He was big, stretching your lips as you slid down, inch by inch. His hips twitched, but he held back, letting you set the pace at first. You bobbed your head, hollowing your cheeks, one hand stroking what you couldn't fit. Saliva dripped down his shaft, making it slick as you worked him.
"Fuck, yeah," he rasped, guiding your movements now, fucking your mouth with shallow thrusts. His free hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your stretched lips. "Look at me while you suck my cock."
You met his gaze, eyes watering as he pushed deeper, hitting the back of your throat. The dominance thrilled you, the way he used your mouth, grunting with each slide. His balls tightened, breath coming ragged, but he pulled you off before he finished, cock glistening with your spit.
Your eyes flicked up to meet his, the intensity in Joel's gaze pinning you in place as surely as his grip on your hair. The dim light of the bar cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw clenched in pleasure, the veins standing out on his neck as he held back from slamming deeper. You hollowed your cheeks, tongue swirling around the underside of his shaft with each bob of your head, tasting the salty pre-cum that leaked steadily from the slit. His cock throbbed against your palate, thick and unyielding, filling your mouth to the brink.
"That's it, take it deeper," he commanded, his voice gravelly, hips rocking forward to push past your gag reflex.Â
You relaxed your throat, letting him slide in further, the head bumping the back of your mouth. Saliva dribbled down your chin, mixing with the mess already smeared across your lips from earlier. Joel's thumb traced the outline of his dick through your cheek, a possessive gesture that made your core clench with fresh need. "Filthy girl, drooling all over my cock like you can't get enough."
You hummed around him, the vibration drawing a hiss from his lips. Your hands gripped his thighs, nails digging into the hard muscle as you sucked harder, hollowing your cheeks to create that tight suction he craved. He fucked your face with controlled thrusts, not rough enough to hurt but insistent, claiming your mouth as his. The wet, slurping sounds echoed in the quiet bar, drowned only by the relentless patter of rain against the windows. Lightning flashed outside, illuminating the sweat glistening on his chest and the way his abs flexed with each push.
"Gonna make you choke on it," he growled, tightening his hold on your hair and angling your head back slightly. He thrust deeper, holding there for a beat, your nose brushing the coarse hair at his base.
 You fought the urge to pull back, eyes watering as you swallowed around him, throat constricting in rhythmic pulses that milked his length. Joel's eyes darkened, pupils blown wide with lust. "Fuck, your throat's squeezing me so good. Bet your pussy's dripping just from this."
He wasn't wrongâheat pooled between your legs, your thighs slick with arousal as you knelt before him. You reached down instinctively, fingers slipping through your folds to rub your clit, but Joel noticed immediately.
"Hands off that cunt," he snapped, pulling out of your mouth with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting your lips to his glistening cock.
 He hauled you up by your arms, spinning you around to face the table. "Bend over. Spread those legs."
Your heart pounded as you complied, palms flat on the scarred wood, ass pushed out toward him. The cool air hit your exposed skin, making you shiver, but Joel's hands were there in an instant, rough palms sliding up your thighs to part them wider. He kicked your feet apart with his boot, the dominance in the gesture sending a thrill straight to your core.
"Look at this pretty pussy," he murmured, voice thick with hunger. One thick finger traced your slit, gathering your wetness before plunging inside without warning. You gasped, arching back as he curled it, stroking that sensitive spot deep within.
"So fucking wet for me." He added a second finger, scissoring them to stretch you, the squelch of your arousal obscene in the charged silence. His thumb circled your clit, firm and unrelenting, building the pressure until your knees buckled.Â
You braced harder on the table, pushing back onto his hand, desperate for more. "Please, Joel⊠fuck me. I need your cock inside me."
He chuckled darkly, withdrawing his fingers to slap your ass hard, the sting blooming into heat that made you moan. "Begging already? Greedy little slut." He lined himself up, the blunt head of his cock nudging your entrance, teasing by rubbing it up and down your folds. The heat of him scorched you, promising the stretch you'd been craving. With one brutal thrust, he sank into you, burying himself to the hilt in a single stroke. You cried out, the fullness overwhelming, his girth splitting you open, walls fluttering around the invasion.
"So tightâŠ" he groaned, hands gripping your hips to hold you still as he adjusted. He didn't give you time to catch your breath, pulling back almost all the way before slamming in again, setting a punishing rhythm. Each thrust jolted you forward against the table, your breasts scraping the edge, nipples hardening from the friction.
 The bar shook slightly with the force, bottles rattling on the shelves behind you. Joel's hips snapped against your ass, skin slapping skin in a filthy cadence that matched the thunder rumbling outside.
"Feel that? My cock owning this pussy," he rasped, one hand sliding up your spine to tangle in your hair again, yanking your head back to expose your neck. He leaned over you, teeth grazing your shoulder before biting down, marking you as his. The pain mixed with pleasure, your inner muscles clenching around him in response, drawing a curse from his lips. "Yeah, squeeze me like that. Milk my dick with that hot cunt."
You pushed back to meet his thrusts, grinding your ass against him, the angle letting him hit deeper, brushing your cervix with every plunge. Sweat slicked your bodies, his chest pressing against your back as he rutted into you like an animal. His free hand snaked around to your front, fingers finding your clit and pinching it sharply, making you yelp. "Come on, rub that swollen nub for me. Show me how much you love getting fucked like this."
Your hand joined his, fingers working in tandem to circle the aching bundle of nerves. The dual assault, his cock pounding relentlessly, the rough stimulation on your clit, pushed you toward the edge fast.
 "JoelâŠoh god, it's too much," you whimpered, vision blurring as pleasure coiled tight in your belly.
"Not enough," he countered, slowing his pace to long, grinding rolls that stirred you from the inside out. He pulled out halfway, watching as your pussy clung to him, lips gripping his shaft unwillingly.Â
"Look how desperate this hole is for my cock. Dripping all over me, making such a mess." He thrust back in hard, bottoming out, his balls slapping against your clit. The impact sent sparks up your spine, your body trembling.
He straightened up, both hands now on your ass, spreading your cheeks wide to watch himself disappear inside you. "Fucking beautifulâŠtaking every inch like you were made for it." His thumbs brushed your rear entrance teasingly, adding a new layer of sensation that made you gasp. He didn't push further, just the hint of pressure as he resumed his brutal pace, hips pistoning faster now. The wood dug into your hips, a delicious ache that grounded you amid the haze of lust.
Your orgasm crashed over you without warning, walls convulsing around his cock in powerful spasms. You cried out, your body seizing as waves of ecstasy ripped through you, juices squirting out around his thrusting length.Â
Joel growled, feeling you tighten, but he didn't stopâfucking you through the climax, prolonging it until tears pricked your eyes from the overstimulation. "That's it, come all over my dick. Soak me, you dirty girl."
He pulled out abruptly, spinning you around to face him. Your legs wobbled, but he caught you, lifting you onto the table with ease. Bottles clattered to the side as he stepped between your thighs, hooking your legs over his elbows to fold you open.
"Not done yet. Gonna fuck you face to face, watch your tits bounce while I fuck this pussy." His cock, slick with your release, nudged your entrance again, sliding in effortlessly now, the glide smooth and deep.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him close as he started thrusting up into you. The new position let him grind against your clit with every roll of his hips, the friction building another fire low in your gut. His mouth descended on your breast, latching onto the nipple and sucking hard, teeth grazing the sensitive peak. "These titsâŠperfect for fucking," he muttered, releasing it with a pop before switching to the other, lavishing it with the same rough attention.
Your fingers dug into his shoulders, leaving crescent marks as you rode the waves of his thrusts. The table was cold against your ass, a stark contrast to the heat where you joined. Joel's pace was unyielding, cock dragging along your walls, hitting that spot that made you see stars.Â
"Harderâfuck me harder," you demanded, nipping at his earlobe.
He obliged, slamming into you with renewed force, the bar echoing with the wet sounds of your coupling. His hand slipped between you, fingers pinching your clit again, rolling it between thumb and forefinger.
"Gonna make you squirt again. Flood my cock with that sweet cum." The dirty promise pushed you higher, your body coiling tight once more.
But Joel had other ideas. He slowed, pulling out to flip you onto your side on the table, one leg draped over his shoulder as he re-entered from the side. The angle was exquisite, his cock curving just right to stroke your g-spot with every thrust. "Feel that? Right thereâŠyour pussy's weeping for it." He reached down, fingers spreading your lips wider to expose your clit, flicking it rapidly as he fucked you steadily.
You writhed, the position leaving you vulnerable, every nerve alight. "Joelâplease, I need to come," you begged, voice hoarse from moaning.
"Not yet. Hold it for me." He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss, tongue mimicking the thrust of his hips. Saliva and sweat mingled, the taste of him, whiskey and salt, intoxicating. His free hand roamed your body, pinching nipples, slapping your thigh lightly, heightening every sensation.
The build was torturous, pleasure edging toward pain as he denied you release. Finally, when your pleas turned to sobs, he relented. "Now, come on my cock, squeeze every drop out of me." His thrusts turned erratic, deeper, harder, chasing his own end.
You shattered again, pussy clamping down like a fist, milking him as your orgasm tore through you. Joel followed seconds later, burying himself deep with a roar, hot jets of cum flooding your depths. He ground against you, ensuring it stayed inside, his cock pulsing with aftershocks.
But even as you both panted, spent for the moment, Joel wasn't finished. He pulled out, a trickle of his seed leaking from you, and scooped it up with his fingers, pushing it back in.
"Can't waste that. Gonna fuck it deeper." He lifted you off the table, carrying you to the couch in the back
This time, he entered you slowly, missionary style, your legs wrapped around his waist. His thrusts were languid at first, savoring the slick heat, the way your combined fluids made everything so messy and perfect.
"Look at you, full of my cum already. Pussy's so sloppy now." He kissed you tenderly, contrasting the filth of his words, before picking up speed.
You met him thrust for thrust, nails raking his back, urging him on. The couch creaked under you, the storm outside now a soft drizzle, but the one inside raged on. Joel's hand wrapped around your throat lightly, thumb stroking your pulse as he fucked you with purpose. "Gonna breed this cunt properly. Fill you until you're leaking for days."
The possessiveness in his voice ignited you, another climax building from the dirty talk alone. He sensed it, angling his hips to hit your clit with each drive. "Come with meâmilk my load right out." You did, clenching around him as he spilled again, the warmth pushing you over the edge into bliss.
He collapsed beside you, pulling you into his chest, both of you sticky and sated. The bar was silent now, save for your slowing breaths. Joel's fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin, a quiet promise of more to come when the storm and your night truly ended.
Yet, as the adrenaline faded, desire flickered back to life. Joel's cock twitched against your thigh, hardening once more. "One more," he murmured, rolling you onto your stomach and lifting your hips. He slid in from behind, the position allowing him to go slow and deep, drawing out every sensation.
You pushed back, savoring the fullness, the way his balls dragged against your clit. His hands roamed, one cupping your breast, the other rubbing your ass. "This pussy's mine now, gonna fuck it whenever I want." He spanked you lightly, the slap punctuating his thrusts.
The rhythm built gradually, turning fervent as he chased another release.
You reached under, fingers finding your clit, circling frantically. "Yes, use that hand, make yourself come on my dick." His voice was strained, hips snapping harder.
Orgasm hit you both simultaneously, a shared explosion of pleasure that left you trembling. Joel pulled out at the last second, stroking himself to paint your ass with the last ropes of cum, marking you thoroughly.
Finally, utterly spent, you curled together on the couch, the storm passed, but the heat between you lingered like an unspoken vow.
How the heck did Joel end up screwing Sarahâs best friend over a yoga mat? Well, that was one good story.
You tugged your gym bag higher on your shoulder as you knocked on the Millerâs residence, expecting the usual routine: Sarah, waiting by the door, ready to get off for pilates with you.
Instead, the door cracked open to Joel.
âHey, darlinâ,â he greeted, leaning his shoulder against the frame. âSarah ainât here.â
You blinked, frowning. âWhat do you mean sheâs not here? She told me to come pick her up at nine. Class starts in twenty minutes.â
Joel scratched the back of his neck, looking almost sheepish. âWell⊠she took off âbout an hour ago. Said somethinâ âbout seeinâ her boyfriend. Took the pickup, too.â
Your chest tightened with irritation. âAre you kidding me? She does this all the time after she started dating that guy Matt. I donât even know why I bother making plans with her anymore.â
Joel shifted, clearly uncomfortable at the way your voice sharpened. Heâd always hated seeing you upset. âIf it helps any, I wouldâve offered to drive ya. But⊠like I said, she took the damn pickup.â
You exhaled hard, shaking your head. âGreat. Now Iâm going to be late. No way I can get across town in time without a ride.â
He opened the door wider, letting you step inside. You dropped your bag on the entryway bench, muttering under your breath about Sarahâs flakiness. Joel watched you, and his heart ached in a way he didnât have the right to let it. Because the truth was, he loved seeing you here, even if it was under circumstances that made you frown.
Joel Miller had been a lot of things in his life, a hard worker, a single dad, the reliable neighbor who mowed the lawn before anyone else on the street, but never had he expected to find himself so tangled up in feelings he shouldnât have, youâd been Sarahâs friend since grade school, he remembered driving you both to soccer practice, hearing your laughter from the backseat. He remembered late-night sleepovers, when youâd raid his fridge and call him Mr. Miller, teasing him for his strict bedtime rules.
But you werenât a kid anymore, and that was the problem. Now, every time you walked through his front door, with your pretty smile and those leggings hugging your figure, Joel had to force his eyes elsewhere. He had to bury every thought. You were Sarahâs best friend, which meant you were off-limits in every way. Didnât stop the fantasies, though. Sometimes, when he was alone, he thought about you stretched across his couch, sliding his rough hands up your thighs, reaching your heart-shaped ass. He thought about you in his bed, about your voice moaning his name in the dark. And then heâd curse himself, because Joel Miller wasnât the kind of man who let himself want things he couldnât have.
âSorry,â you muttered now, dragging him out of his head. âI shouldnât be unloading all this on you. Justâitâs not the first time sheâs ditched me over Matt, you know? And I actually look forward to those classes.â
Joel shook his head. âAinât nothinâ you gotta apologize for. I get it. Sarahâs young, she donât always think about how her choices affect other people.â His mouth quirked, faintly guilty. âShe gets that from me, I reckon.â
You softened a little at that, watching him scratch at his jaw. âDonât say that. Youâve always been a responsible dad. If anything, sheâs lucky to have you.â
Joel swallowed, feeling the warmth crawling up his neck at your words. He busied himself by clearing a couple of mugs off the counter, needing something to do with his hands. âWell. Since your plans got ruined, you can stay here a bit, if you want. I just brewed a pot of coffee.â
You considered it, then nodded, slinging your bag onto the chair. You liked hanging out with Joel. âYeah. Why not?â
Joel poured you a cup, he always remembered how you liked things: coffee, tea, your favorite snacks. You werenât his, never would be, and yet he couldnât help memorizing these details like they mattered.
Joel couldnât stop watching you, the way you perched on the kitchen stool, the mug in your hand, your leggings stretched tight against your thighs⊠it was killing him. He tried to fix his eyes on the counter, the sink, the damn coffeepot, but his gaze kept dragging back to you. It wasnât the first time heâd been caught like this. Ever since your teenage years started to fade into adulthood, Joel had been fighting this war inside himself.
Sheâs Sarahâs friend. Sheâs too young. She deserves better than a man like you. He told himself those things over and over, a mantra he clung to. But God, it was hard when you were sitting just across from him.
He cleared his throat. âSo⊠howâs school been treatinâ ya?â
You rolled your eyes with a little smile. âSchoolâs school. Professors piling on way too much work, pretending theyâre the only class we have. The usual.â
Joel smirked faintly, sipping his own coffee. âSounds about right. You always were a hard worker, though. Bet youâre at the top of your classes.â
You shrugged modestly. âDoing okay. Better than some people.â
âAs long as there ainât no boys to distract you, right?â he teased gently, then instantly regretted it. The thought of you with anyone else, boys your own age, some college kid with his hands on you, made him burn with jealousy.
You tilted your head, catching the edge in his tone. âBoys? Please. Half of them act like theyâve never talked to a girl in their life. Itâs exhausting.â
Joel chuckled, masking the way relief rolled through him. âAinât that the truth. Youâd think by your age theyâd know a thing or two.â
You leaned forward on your elbows, being playful now. âOh? And what do men your age know that boys donât?â
Joelâs throat went dry. The question was innocent enough, but it landed like a gut punch. Men my age know how to make a woman come apart slowly. They know how to put their mouth between her thighs until she canât think straight. They know how to hold her down, whisper in her ear, make her feel safe and ruined at the same time.
He forced a shrug. âGuess men my age got a bit more patience, is all.â
You hummed thoughtfully, like you were considering that. Joel took a long drink of his coffee just to keep from saying more. You quickly started chatting about your pilates classes then, how Sarah bailed on them half the time, how you actually enjoyed the workout. Joel tried to keep his face neutral, but the word pilates set off another firestorm in his head.
âHelps with flexibility,â you were saying, gesturing idly with your mug. âCore strength, too. Honestly, I feel weird if I miss a class.â
Joel made the mistake of picturing it. You, in those leggings, stretching out on a mat, bending forward, touching your toes, arching your back, and lifting your hips.
Flexible.
In his mind, it wasnât a pilates mat anymore. It was his bed. You on your back, pulling your knees up to your chest, looking at him with those eyes. Or you straddling his lap, body arching as you rode him, every movement fluid and graceful, impossible to look away from.
Joel shifted against the counter, praying you wouldnât notice the way his jeans suddenly felt too tight. âThat so?â he managed to say. âFlexible, huh?â
You nodded casually, not catching the edge in his tone. âYeah. You kinda have to be, or youâll pull something. Sarah always complains her hamstrings hurt, but she never stretches properly.â
Joel grunted in response, but his thoughts were spiraling. Flexible enough to throw your legs over my shoulders. Flexible enough to bend over the counter while Iâ He cut himself off, and dragged a hand over his jaw. He needed to get a grip. Needed to stop picturing you like that before he lost every ounce of control he had.
âSo what about you?â you asked suddenly, tilting your head at him. âYou ever try stuff like that? Pilates, yoga, anything like that?â
Joel barked a laugh. âHell no. I stick to workinâ. Construction, yard work⊠keeps me fit enough.â
You smirked. âBet youâd surprise yourself. Flexibilityâs important at your age, Joel.â
He nearly choked on his coffee. The way you said his name in that teasing way went straight to his chest. Important at your age. His brain twisted it into something else. Flexibility in bed. Flexibility with you bent however he wanted. Flexibility that would let him sink deep into you without a struggle.
Joel set his mug down a little too hard and forced a smile. âMaybe one day youâll convince me.â
You just grinned, not knowing how close to the edge he was. Joel stood there, watching you sip your coffee, watching the wetness in your lips from the rim of the mug. His fantasies got stronger, he couldnât help but imagine your mouth open under his, you squeezing him with your thighs around his hips, your voice breaking when he finally let himself touch you the way he wanted.
Joel moved his mouth before his brain could stop him. âWell⊠if it makes ya feel that weird missinâ a class, maybe you oughta practice here. Wonât be the same, sure, but⊠could even show me a few things. Might convince me after all.â
Joel instantly regretted saying those words. That had been stupid and reckless. He tried to tack on a laugh, and maybe play it off, but you were already perking up.
âReally?â you asked. âYouâd actually try it?â
Joel shrugged, trying to remain casual even if he was dying on the inside. âMaybe. Donât mean Iâll be any good at it.â
You grinned and slid off the stool. âOkay, then. Consider this your free trial.â
Joelâs stomach dropped, he hadnât expected you to take him seriously. And sure as hell hadnât expected you to clear a spot on his living room rug, kick off your shoes, lay your mat, and stand there in those skin-tight leggings, stretching your arms overhead.
His mouth went dry. Jesus Christ almightyâŠ
âAlright,â you said brightly, not noticing the way his gaze locked onto you. âFirst things first. Basic stretch.â You bent forward at the waist, letting your palms graze the floor, curving your spine beautifully.
Joel nearly groaned out loud as his eyes trailed down the slope of your back to where the leggings hugged your ass, they were so tight and perfect, right there in front of him. He forced his gaze away. Donât look. Donât you fuckinâ look.
âSee?â you said, peeking up at him from between your legs. âEasy. Even you could do this.â
That angle, the way you looked at him upside down, your hair brushing the rug, your body folded in half⊠it sent his thoughts spinning to places they shouldnât go. Easy, huh? Easy to get on my knees right behind you, press up against you, slide my hands over your hips. Easy to bury my face between your thighs, hold you open andâ He snapped his jaw shut, swallowing hard. His jeans were doing a terrible job of hiding his throbbing erection.
You straightened and brushed your hair back with a smile. âWhatâs next⊠oh! Downward dog.â You stepped back and planted your hands on the mat, lifting your hips high, forming a perfect triangle.
Joelâs composure was shattered. Your ass was tipped up, back arched, legs straight and strong. Every muscle in your body pulled tight, showing off that flexibility youâd been talking about. He could see the curve of you so clearly, he thought he might combust.
You peeked over your shoulder, grinning. âStill think you canât be convinced?â
Joelâs lips parted, but no words came out. He was too busy imagining what it would feel like to step behind you, grab your hips, and slide into you from that exact position. Youâd be so tight, so warm, your voice muffled against the mat while he drove himself deepâ He dragged a hand down his face, trying to wipe the filth from his mind.
You dropped into a plank, then lowered to the mat, your chest hovering above the floor before pushing back up. âThis one kills the arms. You should try it!â
Joel let out a strangled laugh. âDarlinâ, Iâmâuhââm good right here. Jusâ watchinâ.â
âSuit yourself,â you said, unfazed, rolling onto your back. You pulled one knee into your chest, stretching, your head tipping back against the mat. âFeels really good on the hips.â
Joel stared. Couldnât not. Your leg was pressed tight against your body, your foot near your shoulder, showing off a range of motion that made his blood boil. His fantasies went wild, imagining you in his bed, your legs spread like that, begging him to fill you.
âJoel?â your voice broke into his haze.
âHm?â
âYouâre awfully quiet. Donât tell me youâre bored already.â
Bored. If only you knew. Joel forced a shaky breath and set his mug down before he dropped it. âAinât bored. Jusâ⊠surprised, is all.â His voice came out low. âDidnât know you were this⊠serious bout it.â
You smirked, rolling to your side. âTold you. I donât like missing class.â
He shouldnât have suggested this. He shouldnât be watching you like this, letting his fantasies slip closer to the surface, but with you laid out on his floor, flushed from stretching, lips parted just slightly⊠Joel Miller was a man hanging on by a thread.
You extended your legs in front of you, reaching for your toes, your chest rising and falling with steady breaths.
Joel told himself to stay put, to just sit there. Donât move. Donât get any closer. But then you groaned softly, wincing as you leaned forward. âUgh. I swear, my hamstrings hate me today.â
The sound went straight through him, he knew better. He knew. Still, his voice rumbled low. âYouâre pullinâ from the wrong spot.â
You looked up, arching your brows. âOh, really? And how would you know, Mister âIâve never touched a yoga mat in my lifeâ?â
Joel chuckled, standing before he could talk himself out of it. âI know enough about stretchinâ muscles, darlinâ. Worked construction half my life. You donât get far if you donât know how to keep your body in one piece.â
You smirked, clearly amused at his sudden authority. âAlright then, coach. Show me.â
Joel crouched down beside you, every nerve in his body screaming that this was a bad idea. But his hand was already reaching out, settling lightly on your thigh.
âHere,â he murmured. âDonât just reach from your back. Engage here.â His thumb pressed gently into the muscle, and you let him push a little deeper, his palm warm against your skin even through the leggings. You bent forward again, slower this time, and Joel swallowed hard at the sight of you folding, stretching, trusting him to guide you.
âBetter?â he asked.
You exhaled. âYeah⊠actually. Better.â
Joelâs hand lingered too long, he knew it. He felt the heat of your skin under his palm, felt the way his chest tightened just being this close. And when you shifted, reaching again, you brushed his thigh with your shoulder. You glanced up at him then, locking your eyes onto his. And then lower. Your gaze snagged on the bulge in his jeans, impossible to miss now that he was crouched in front of you. Your breath caught, and Joel froze.
Shit. For a second, silence stretched between you. Joelâs face burned with both shame and hunger. He shouldâve pulled away, shouldâve muttered an excuse, and stood up. But you didnât look away, your eyes lingered, wide, your lips parting just slightly with curiosity, not disgust.
Joelâs pulse pounded in his ears. He tried to speak, but his voice came out hoarse. âIâshouldnâtââ
You shifted, sitting up straighter. âJoelâŠâ you whispered, his name sounded soft on your tongue.
And just like that, the restraint snapped. Joel slid his hands higher on your leg, brushing the inside of your thigh with his thumb. His chest heaved as he leaned in, close enough to breathe you in, to see the pulse fluttering in your neck.
âYou donât know what youâre doinâ to me,â he rasped.
âI think I do,â you murmured back, flickering your gaze down to his hard-on again, bold this time, then back to his eyes.
Joel groaned, and his other hand came up to cradle your jaw. For one moment, he hovered, torn with guilt. And then he kissed you. It was desperate, messy, like heâd been holding it back for years. His mouth slanted over yours, his beard scraping your skin, tightening his hand on your thigh. You gasped into him, and that little sound nearly drove him mad.
Joel broke away just long enough to whisper against your lips, âTell me to stop. Please. Tell me and Iâllââ
But you didnât, you grabbed his shirt instead, pulling him back down, making him groan again, this time into your mouth, pressing his body closer, the hardness youâd noticed now pressed firm against your hip.
Joelâs lips were still hot against yours when he pulled back. His chest rose and fell like heâd just run ten miles. âYou donât⊠You donât know what youâre askinâ for,â he whispered like a warning.
You touched his cheek, brushing the rough edge of his beard. âI think I do.â
That undid him. He surged back into your mouth, kissing you like he wanted to devour every inch of you. His hands roamed now, no longer tentative, one gripping your thigh, the other sliding up your back, pulling you flush against him. Your body melted into his, and beneath it all, pressed hard against your hip, was the evidence of how badly he wanted you.
âYou said earlier,â he growled, âdownward dog.â
Your heart skipped. âYeah?â
Joel brushed his lips against your ear, his beard scratching your skin as he whispered, âI want you like that.â
The air rushed from your lungs, you nodded, and Joel sat back on his heels, giving you room. With trembling hands, you turned, planting your palms on the rug, pushing your hips high, your body falling into that familiar triangle shape. But this time, it wasnât for pilates, it was for him.
Joelâs breath hissed out. âJesus fuckinâ ChristâŠâ His voice was wrecked as he slid his hand over the curve of your ass. He squeezed it, dragging across the seam of your leggings with his thumb. âYouâre killinâ me, darlinâ. Dâyou even know how long Iâveââ He cut himself off, curling his fingers into the fabric.
And then he tugged it. The leggings peeled down your thighs until they bunched at your knees. Your panties followed, the soft cotton sliding down to expose you completely. He sat back for a moment, just looking. Taking you in.
âGoddamnâŠâ he muttered, shaking with awe. âPrettiest thing Iâve ever fuckinâ seen.â
He spread you open with his big hands, parting you gently with his thumbs, and you gasped at the exposure. And then, oh God, his mouth was there. Joel groaned as he dragged his tongue through your folds, slowly, tasting you like a starving man. He anchored you, one hand gripping your hip tight, the other spreading you wider.
You cried out, feeling the way your arms trembled under you. âJ-Joelââ
âShh,â he growled into you, his mouth eating you relentlessly. âYou stay just like that, darlinâ. Hold that pose fâme.â
He licked into you again, circling your clit with his rough tongue, sucking hard enough to make your knees buckle. Joel slapped a palm against your thigh, steadying you. âUh-uh. Donât fall. You hold it. Lemme eat this sweet pussy the way I've been dreaminâ of.â
Your whole body quaked as he devoured you. Every stroke of his tongue, every graze of his beard against your skin, sent sparks through your nerves.
Joel groaned like he was being fed, like the taste of you was everything heâd ever wanted. âFuck,â he moaned against you, his voice muffled against your slit. âYou taste so goddamn good. Better than I everâChrist, I knew you would.â
You whimpered, rocking your hips back against his face. He held you still, controlling your every movement with his strong hands, forcing you to take the pleasure exactly how he wanted to give it.
Your arms shook with the effort of staying up. âJoelâIâI canâtââ
âYes, you can,â he growled, pressing his tongue deep inside you before sliding up to circle your clit again. âYou hold it for me. Just a little longer. Lemme ruin you like this.â
The sounds filled the room: your gasps, his low groans, the wet heat of his mouth working you open. You felt like you were unraveling. Joel pulled back with a wet sound, his lips were glistening, and his beard was damp with you. He sat back on his heels, fixing his eyes on the mess heâd made of your pussy.
âChrist almightyâŠâ he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, dragging it over his face like he couldnât believe what he was seeing. Then he locked his eyes on your slick folds again. âLook atcha. Just drippinâ fâme.â
You whimpered, rocking your hips back as though searching for his mouth again, but instead, Joel smoothed your ass with his big hand, dragging his thumb teasingly through your wetness.
âMm-mm,â he hummed. âThink I got somethinâ else fâyou.â
He pressed his thick index finger against you, slowly he pushed inside inch by inch, groaning deep as your walls squeezed tight around him. It was only one finger, but they were so long and thick it was almost overwhelming.
âFuck meâŠâ Joel swore under his breath. âGrippinâ me like a vice already. One finger and youâre squeezinâ so damn good.â
You gasped, your arms were shaking as you tried to hold yourself steady. Joel crooked his finger, dragging it against that soft, swollen spot inside, making your whole body jolt.
Just one of Joelâs fingers felt better than any boyâs cock youâd ever had. It was as if he knew your body by heart, crooking, scissoring, angling them just right. That single digit was reaching places no one else ever had.
âThass it,â he murmured, stroking over your lower back with his free hand, grounding you. âBreathe through it, darlinâ. Lemme feel how good you take it.â
After a moment, he slid in a second finger, and you swore youâd never felt your pussy so opened before, it was stretched around him, his thick knuckles pressing at your entrance, forcing you to yield. It mightâve hurt if you werenât already so soaked for him, coating his hand with your slickness.
âJesus ChristâŠâ he rasped, fixing his eyes on the way you clenched around him. âTwo of âem disappear in you like nothinâ. You just swallowinâ me down, sweet girl. So greedy. Betâcha could take more, couldnât ya?â
You whined, rocking faster against his hand, chasing the pressure, the friction, anything that could push you higher. Joelâs breath hitched as he slid a third finger in, slower this time, watching the way your body struggled, then yielded around the new stretch. Your walls fluttered helplessly, gripping him tight, then pulling him deeper. Your cunt seemed to welcome every thick digit, pulsing around him like it knew him, like it wanted to drag him in to stay.
âGoddamn,â he rasped. âLookaâthat. Three fingers, and youâre takinâ it like a fuckinâ champ. This pretty little pussy was made to be stretched.â
Your thighs shook uncontrollably, your wetness was coating every inch of his fingers. The mat beneath you was damp with the mess he was pulling from your body, leaving sticky, shining trails wherever he touched.
Joel pumped his fingers steadily, making sure the heel of his hand rubbed hard against your clit with every stroke. The combination of him hitting your g-spot deep inside and teasing your clit outside was perfect.
âBetâcha can take all five,â he growled, pouring out every filthy thought he had about you. âBet this greedy little cuntâll open up real nice fâme. Mhmm⊠gotta getâcha ready fâmy cock, sweet girl.â
He traced your hip with his thumb, pressing firmly, letting the friction warm and tease your skin. Slowly, Joel curled his pinky in with the rest of his fingers, letting the tip press against your stretched entrance, testing your readiness without forcing it in yet. You shivered and whined at the tease, clenching and pulsing instinctively, desperate for him to push just a little further.
âSince you like stretchinâ so much, darlinâ, reckon I oughta stretch this pussy proper.â Your breath caught, and he smirked against your skin, voice. âYeah. Thought so. You want it. You want me to open you up nice anâ wide. Tell me you do.â
âIââ you cut yourself off with a shuddering moan as his palm rubbed your sensitive nub harder. âI want it. I can take it. PleaseâJoelâŠâ
âMhmm. You just needed a real man to treat this pussy like she deserves, didnâtâcha?â he murmured, chuckling. âNeeded someone who knows how to make her purr.â
After a little teasing, he finally eased his pinky in, pushing his knuckles at your entrance until all four fingers were seated inside you. The stretch made you cry out and arch your back, but Joelâs eyes went dark with awe.
âFuck⊠oh, sweetheart⊠youâre takinâ all four,â he groaned, almost in disbelief as he watched your walls stretch around his fingers. âLook at that greedy little hole, just swallowinâ me down⊠Gonna ruin you for anyone else, wonât I? You wonât be fuckinâ any stupid boys after âm through with this pussy.â
Youâd never had a guy give you this much attention before, every movement, every touch entirely for your pleasure, entirely focused on how your body reacted. No one had ever taken their time like this, nothing about Joel was selfish or rushed, he didnât try to shove his dick inside you to get off and be done. This⊠this was all about you, and he looked like he was getting off on it just as much as you.
Your slick walls pulsed around him, and Joel worked you slowly, giving you time, coaxing you to open for him. He rubbed your lower back soothingly with his other hand. âThatâs it. Relax for me. You can do it. You can take me, sweet thing.â
And then, at last, he pressed his thumb in, joining the rest of his fingers as he slid his broad hand deeper, stretching you wide, pushing past that tight ring with his knuckles until suddenly, he was inside. He curled his fist gently within you, the fullness was overwhelming, and it made Joel drop his jaw at the sight.
âHoly fuck,â he growled. ââm in. Took my whole fuckinâ hand like you were made for it.â He didnât move his whole hand right away. He held still, letting you adjust to the wide intrusion. âTalk to me, darlinâ. You feelinâ it? You feelinâ how wide Iâve got you open?â
You whimpered and nodded, trembling under the stretch.
Joel groaned. âLook atcha⊠stretched round me, takinâ it so goddamn good. I could watch this all fuckinâ day.â
Carefully, he began to move, drawing his hand back just until his knuckles caught at your entrance, then pushing in again, deeper, filling you to the brim. The wet, obscene sounds as Joel fucked you with his whole fist filled the room, mixing with your cries and his guttural growls.
âSweet girl,â he rasped. âYou donât know what youâre doinâ to me. Feels like this pussy was made to be filled. Youâre swallowinâ me whole, darlinâ, takinâ me so goddamn deep.â
Your body shook with every slow pump, the  pleasure was building until it was unbearable. Joell gripped your waist tight with his free hand, steadying you, guiding you to remain in position. He had his eyes locked on the sight of his fist disappearing inside you, his face twisted with hunger.
âNever seen nothinâ so beautiful,â he muttered, almost to himself. âYou, on your knees, stretched around my fist, begginâ for more⊠fuck.â
He pushed deeper until he was grinding his knuckles against that sweet spot inside your velvet walls. You couldnât help it, a loud cry escaped your lips as your cunt clenched and milked his hand with greed.
Joel groaned brokenly, pressing his forehead to your lower back. âThass it, darlinâ. Stretchinâ you âtil you canât take no more. My perfect girl.â
And still, he didnât stop. He worked you slowly, deliberately, worshipfully, fisting you like it was the only thing heâd ever wanted. Your arms shook under you, your palms were slipping against the mat as Joelâs fist filled you again and again. The stretch was still as devastating as when he first started, almost unbearable, but it sent fire up your spine every time he sank in.
âDonâtcha fall, darlinâ. Stay right here for me. Hold that pretty ass up high.â He drew his fist back little by little, until you nearly screamed, then pushed in again, all the way to his wrist, filling you so deep you swore you could feel him in your gut.
You whimpered loudly. âJoelâoh my god, Joel, I canâtâI canâtââ
âYes, you can,â he cut in, clamping one hand on your hip to keep you steady. âYou can, darlinâ. Hold it fâme. Stay open.â
Your body clenched hard around his hand. âItâs too muchâJoel, itâs too much, I canât hold myself upââ
Joel grunted. âThen donât. Let go, baby. Put that pretty head down fâme, arch that sweet ass up. Iâll keep you where I want you.â
You collapsed forward, pressing your forehead into the mat, feeling how useless your arms were, the only reason why your aas was still high was because Joelâs grip on your hip didnât allow otherwise.
The loss of control made you whine, just a desperate high-pitched sound. âFuck, Joel, youâre... stretchinâ me so muchâoh godââ
He pumped his fist in and out of you with hard thrusts. âThass the point, sweetheart. You like to stretch, donât you? Like your pilates, huh? Well, Iâm stretchinâ you here. Stretchinâ this little pussy âtil it canât take no more.â
Your cry cracked into a sob. âYes! Joel, yes, oh my godâit feels so good, I canâtââ
He sped up just slightly, twisting his wrist and dragging his knuckles over every swollen place inside you. The spongy walls of your pussy were sensitive, but Joel showed no sign of stopping. âFuckinâ music to my ears,â he rasped. âMoaninâ fâme like that, lettinâ me ruin you. Christ almighty, I ainât ever seen anythinâ so goddamn beautiful.â
You pushed back against him. âJoel, please! Donât stop, donât stopâI need it, I need you so deep, fuck, Iâm gonnaââ
âYeah?â His voice turned dark as he leaned closer to growl in your ear. âYou gonna cum fâme, sweetheart? Cum all over my fuckinâ hand? Show me how this greedy pussy likes beinâ stretched wide open?â
âYes, yes, Joel, pleaseâfuckââ Your cries turned frantic, and the pleasure had your thighs shaking violently as the orgasm threatened to tear through you.
Joel knew how close you were, and so he moved his fist faster, pounding into you with ruthless force. Pressing down on your lower back with his other hand, pinning you as well as keeping your ass up and open while he wrecked you.
Your scream split the air. âJoelâfuck, Joel! Iâm cummingâoh my godâIâm cumming!â
Your body seized, forcing you to convulse your walls around his fist so hard that Joel swore out loud. âFuck meâsheâs squeezinâ the life outta meâChristââ
You gushed around him, the slick poured down his arm as the grip of your pussy around him turned into something violent. You sobbed with the force of it, jerking your thighs as you tried and failed to crawl away from the overwhelming pleasure.
Joel dragged you back onto his hand by the hip. âDonât run, baby. Take it. Cum fâme. Stretch that sweet cunt around me âtil youâve got nothinâ left.â
You could hear yourself desperate, and yet you couldnât stop. Joelâs breath was ragged. âThatâs it. Thass my good girl. Soakinâ me... Jesus Christ, youâre perfect.â
The orgasm dragged on endlessly until you were left shaking, your body wrung out and clenching weakly around him. Joel finally slowed, easing his fist back with slick and wet sounds until you were empty again, your pussy fluttering around nothing.
You collapsed fully, pressing your cheek against the mat. Joel sat back on his heels, his arm and fist were glistening with your wetness. He was staring at the mess heâd made of you with hunger.
âSweetest thing I ever fuckinâ saw,â he said brushing his wet fingers across your trembling ass. âYou just about broke me in half with that... But I ainât holdinâ out another second.â His chest rose hard as he stared at your pussy, swollen and puffy. When his gaze finally lifted to your face, there was no restraint left. âGet on your back for me.â
Your body moved before you could think, easing down onto the mat. Joel followed you on his knees, looming above. He slid his hands beneath your legs, guiding you gently but firmly.
âShow me,â he muttered, âhow far you can bend.â
You grabbed the backs of your thighs, pulling them back toward your chest higher and higher, until your thighs pressed into your ribs, your knees brushing your cheeks. He didnât help you, only watched how you moved. When your feet touched the mat above your head, Joel froze, looking down at how open you were for him.
âJesus Christ⊠look at you. Spread open like thatâdarlinâ, youâre givinâ me a heart attack.â Your cunt glistened, every part of you offered up for him.
It was fucking better than every fantasy, every filthy thought heâd ever had about you. You were opened wide, your pussy looking raw and still begging for his cock, your pretty face glistening with sweat, eyes already half-lidded and cockdrunk, even though he hadnât even given you any cock yet. Your tight body molded perfectly for him to fuck, crying out to be filled.
He leaned back slightly, undoing his jeans with quick and rough movements. The sound of the zipper dropping filled the room, followed by the heavy slap of his cock against his stomach when he freed it.
You swallowed, your eyes going wide when you looked at his thick cock, flushed at the tip and already leaking for you after eating and fisting you before. âJoelâŠâ
He wrapped his hand around the base, stroking once, letting the thickness brush against his palm. âDonât worry, babyâŠâ he whispered. âIâll get it in nice anâ slow. Promise itâll feel real fucking good⊠gonna make it feel so good, sweet girl.â
It didnât even look like a cock, more like a destruction machine, ready to hammer into your pussy, tearing and claiming every inch of you. And even as your mind screamed in disbelief, your body arched, already craving it.
He shifted closer, pressing against your entrance with the blunt head of his cock. âEasy,â Joel murmured, splaying his hand over the back of your thigh to steady you. âBreathe fâme. Jusâ let me in.â
When the fat head pressed against you, every nerve screamed, and your whole body arched instinctively. âJoel!â you gasped.
âShhh, shhhâŠâ he tried to soothe you as he pushed into you, steady, without any rush. His cockhead parted your folds, stretching you slowly, inch by inch. Your lips fell open, and a shaky moan slipped out as the fullness began to spread through your core.
Joel locked his jaw, trying to keep it together even when the feeling of your cunt so tight and hot around his cock, like he'd dreamed many times, was undoing him. âGoddamn⊠tight as a vise. Grippinâ me already.â He withdrew a fraction, then pressed forward again, a little deeper this time. His cock dragged against your walls, pulling a louder whimper from you. âGood girl. Doinâ so good. Just let it happen. Open up fâme.â
It was by far the best pussy heâd ever had. The warm, tight, slick feel of you, clenching and welcoming him, shook him to his core. It felt like heaven, like the best feeling in the world. He couldnât believe he was the lucky son of a bitch who got to have it. He didnât deserve it, an old man, he shouldnât be doing with his daughterâs best friend⊠but fuck it, he wasnât letting this chance go. Not tonight. Not ever. He was going to take every ounce he could get, guilt and morality be damned.
With another slow thrust, he slid more of him inside, making the stretch grow sharper. Your fingers dug into the backs of your thighs, holding the pose as best you could.
âJoel,â you gasped, but your voice cracked. âOh my god, Joelâitâs too much, I can feel you so deepâI canâtââ
He leaned forward slightly, pressing his chest against your calves as his eyes locked on where you were stretched wide around him. âShh, darlinâ. I gotâcha⊠Just a little more⊠just one more inch to go, and itâs all gonna be inside that greedy little pussy.â
Then, with one firm roll of his hips, he finally bottomed out, his cock buried to the hilt inside your pussy. A strangled sound left you, half moan, half cry, as your back arched against the mat.
Joel looked down, watching himself disappear inside you. âFuckinâ hellâŠâ He snapped his gaze down again. âTook it all. Every last inch. Lookaâthat sweet cunt takinâ this big, fat cock.â
He stilled for a moment, letting you adjust, because even if you had just taken Joelâs entire fist, the sheer size of his length was a big stretch. He rubbed soothing circles over your thigh while you trembled beneath him, gasping at the fullness. When you finally nodded, he pulled back until just the thick head remained inside. The drag made your walls clamp down, and then he drove back in, harder this time.
The mat squeaked beneath your back as the force pushed you deeper into it, your knees were brushing your face, your pussy taking him to the root again.
You moaned with every thrust. âJoelâitâsâahâuhhâso deepââ
âDamn right it is,â he kept the pace steady, every movement heavy and precise. âBent in half like this, darlinâ⊠lettinâ me fuck you open. You were made fâr it.â
He gripped the backs of your thighs with his hands, pinning them tighter against your body, adjusting the angle until his cock pressed even deeper, grinding against your cervix.
Your moans pitched higher, more desperate, and Joelâs breath came harsher as his hips worked harder, pounding his cock into you with relentless rhythm. Â âYou feel that?â he growled. ââm right up in your guts, stretchinâ you wide every time. This pussyââ his thrusts punctuated his words, ââwas made to take me.â
You whimpered, sliding your fingers to clutch at your ankles now, holding yourself open as his thrusts grew faster.
âThatâs it, sweet girl,â Joelâs cock kept driving into you, the wet sounds filling the room. âOffer it to me. Keep yourself spread jusâ like that, show me how bad you want it.â
Your moans grew louder and needier, and you arched your body as his pace pushed you higher and higher. Joel bent lower, pressing his chest against your legs now as his he snapped his hips faster.
âCum fâme, baby. Let go. Want this sweet pussy squeezinâ the life outta my cock.â
The words tore you apart, they made your body clamp down hard, your orgasm crashing through you, making every muscle tighten as your cunt fluttered violently around him. Joel groaned, but he didnât stop. He fucked you through it with steady thrusts, pushing your climax deeper, pulling louder cries from you with every drive of his hips.
You came so easily for him, walls clenching, hips jerking, and it was so obvious for Joel that youâd never been fucked like this before, that you needed someone to show you just how good it could feel. It took every ounce of self-control not to cum himself as he watched your sweet eyes squeeze shut, plump lips forming that little âoâ, moaning loud. But age, and experience, gave him the restraint he needed.
You dug your nails into your calves, as wave after wave shook you. Joel kept his eyes fixed on you, on your ruined, open body, on the way you pulsed around his cock, and it made his face twist with hunger. âSweet girl,â he pounded hard with his hips into you, âyouâre gonna be the fuckinâ death of me.â
He drew back, his cock dragging slick and thick against every tender spot inside you, before thrusting back to the hilt with a sharp snap of his hips. You cried out, but the sound was muffled against your own thighs.
Joel groaned through his teeth. âListen to that. Soakinâ me⊠every thrust.â
His cock filled you again and again, dragging along your walls in a way that made your eyes roll back until your arms trembled from holding your legs up, from keeping yourself open, and Joel noticed immediately.
You felt like youâd slipped out of reality entirely, lost in the slick haze of sensation. So cockdrunk, so utterly gone. You just let him use you and give you pleasure m. You were his, completely, a vessel for him to fuck, tease, and ruin deliciously.
âDonât you drop âem,â he warned as he slid one big hand over, curling his fingers around your ankle, pinning it tighter against the floor above your head. He gripped the back of your thigh with his other hand, keeping you bent. âIâll hold you if I have to. You just stay open fâme.â
The angle made his cock grind deep, nudging at what you believed was your cervix. A broken whimper tore out of your throat, and Joelâs mouth curved. âThere it is. Thatâs the one. Can feel you clenchinâ around me every damn time I hit it.â
He pulled out nearly to the tip, then slammed back in until his balls slapped wetly against you. Again. Again. Each thrust angled perfectly, pushing that spot until your nails bit into your calves.
âJoelâplease,â you moaned.
âPlease what, darlinâ?â His breath was harsh. âWant me to slow down? Stop?â He punctuated the word with a brutal thrust that made you cry out. âOr you want me to keep poundinâ this sweet cunt âtil you canât breathe?â
You shook your head wildly, and the words tumbled out, desperate. âKeepâkeep going, donât stopââ
âKnew it. Knew you could take it.â His pace grew harsher, slamming his hips into yours, splitting you deeper and deeper with his cock. âLook atcha⊠folded up tight, all bent back and begginâ. Never seen a prettier fuckinâ sight.â
He slid his hand down from your ankle to your belly, pressing down just above your pubic bone. Your eyes flew wide at the added pressure, at the way it forced his cock even deeper, at how it made every thrust brutal and consuming.
You sobbed with the force of his thrusts. âJoel! Fuck⊠deeper, oh my god, I feel you in my stomach!â
âFeel me there?â he rubbed small circles on your lower tummy, right above the bulge in it, as his hips pounded harder. âRight up inside you. Stretchinâ this sweet pussy open from the inside out.â You gasped, a sob of pleasure spilling as your walls clenched tight around him. âFuckinâ knew it,â Joel said, the sweat dripping from his jaw onto your skin. âCum fâme again, baby girl. Milk it right outta me.â
You obeyed instantly, your body seized, and another orgasm crashed through you suddenly. Your pussy clamped around him, pulsing tight as your slick gushed around his cock. Your pose barely holding as Joelâs hand steadied you in place. He growled at the feeling, forcing you to ride it out on his cock.
âThatâs it,â he growled, voice cracking with the strain of holding back. âGood girl⊠give it to me. Every last drop.â Joel dropped his forehead to yours as he thrusted again and again, making every movement harder. âJesus Christ, darlinââyouâre squeezinâ me dry. I ainât gonna lastâŠâ
You dug your nails into his arms. âThen donâtâdonât hold back. Cum inside me, Joel. I want itâI need it.â
You ached for that final, deep thrust, the one that would bury him fully inside your womb, filling you completely. You wanted to feel every thick pulse, every hot sprout of him flooding you. You wanted his cum dripping out of your cunt leaving a trail that would mark you for hours, for him. And Joel wanted it just as much.
A groan tore from his throat, still slamming his hips into you with ragged force, getting his cock to drive deep inside your pussy. âFuckâdonât youâdonât you say that, baby girlââ
âI mean it,â you gasped, arching your body, trying to pull him deeper, to keep him locked inside. âPlease, fill me up, Joel. Cum in me. I want it so bad.â
His thrusts stuttered, and his cock twitched violently inside you. For a split second, he almost gave in, he almost let go, almost let himself spill inside you, but his last shred of control slapped him in the face, knocking some sense into him. Joel yanked himself back at the last second, his now wet cock slipped free, and he wrapped his hand around it fast, stroking it with rough motions as his release hit.
âFuckââ Thick hot ropes shoot out of his length, spilling across your belly and thighs. His cock jerked violently in his grip, spurting over your soft skin, dripping down to your folds. He emptied himself over you, not inside you like he wouldâve wanted it. âFffuck yeaah, thassit. Take it all like a good girl.â
You lay there, with your legs still folded back, watching his release paint your body, making your own breath catch at the sight. When his hand slowed and the last thick drops dripped onto your skin, Joel braced himself over you on shaky arms.
For a long moment, he just looked... looked at the mess heâd made of you, your thighs wet, your belly streaked, your pussy swollen and dripping open for him. Â âGoddamn it,â he dragged a hand over his face. âYou donât know what you do to me.â
He traced his fingers absently over the slick on your stomach, spreading it a little, almost like he couldnât help himself. You met his eyes. âI wanted you inside,â you whispered.
âDonât tempt me, baby. You got no idea how close I was to losinâ myself right there.â He settled his weight heavily against you, sliding his arm under your back, holding you as though he was terrified you might slip away.
Finally, he let out a long sigh and pushed himself up just enough to look at you. He swallowed hard and forced himself to move. âStay put,â he murmured softly. âDonât try to move, darlinâ. Iâll get cha cleaned up.â
You blinked up at him, your muscles were trembling from holding all those poses for him, from taking him so deep. Joel moved more slowly than usual, you could see that his body was stiff from what youâd just done together. You watched him disappeared into the hallway, and then heard the sound of a faucet and cupboards opening. A moment later, he returned with a damp towel and a glass of water. He knelt beside you, and started gently at you before pressing the cool cloth against your belly where his cum streaked across your skin. The warmth of his big hand steadied you while he wiped you carefully, his touch was far more tender than the way heâd just taken you.
âSorry âbout the mess,â he said with a crooked half-smile. âCouldnât exactly help it.â
You parted your lips. âI liked itâŠâ
He lifted his eyes to yours before clearing his throat and shaking his head, finishing the slow wipe of your skin. âLiked it too damn much myself,â he admitted, almost like he didnât want you to hear. âWanted to finish inside you so bad it nearly drove me mad.â
You noticed the tightening of your stomach due to his words. âYou shouldâve,â you whispered.
Joel sat back on his heels with the towel still in his hand. ââm not a stupid man,â he said. âFelt you squeezinâ me, begginâ me⊠I wanted it. Lord knows I wanted it. But itâs too risky, sweet girl. Too much at stake. I canât do that to you.â
He tossed the towel aside, then leaned down, sliding an arm beneath your back to lift you up into a sitting position. He cupped your cheek with his other hand, stroking there again with his thumb. âYou deserve better than me losinâ my head and knockinâ you up âcause I couldnât control myself,â he furrowed his brow with a mix of guilt and tenderness.
The fatherly warmth in his tone made your chest ache. Joel wasnât just being careful, he was protecting you, even from himself. He pressed the water glass into your hand. âDrink. Youâre shakinâ.â
You obeyed, sipping the water. He stayed crouched close, watching you like a hawk, never moving his hand from your thigh. When you lowered the glass, he took it gently from you and set it aside.
âBetter?â he asked softly.
You nodded, still trembling a little. âBetter⊠with you.â
Joelâs face softened, brushing the corner of your mouth with his thumb. âSweet talker.â
For a long moment, he just held you like that, framing your face with his big hands, his forehead resting against yours. Finally, he sighed and pressed a kiss to your hairline in a fatherly and protective way. âCâmon. Letâs getâcha off this floor before Sarah walks in and my heart gives out.â
He helped you to your feet, steadying you with his firm hands at your waist, flicking his eyes over your body with a mix of both hunger and care. Even when you wobbled, his grip kept you safe, tucked close against him.
âYouâre somethinâ else, you know that?â he said almost to himself, shaking his head as if he couldnât believe what had just happened.
He gently guided you toward his room, toward clean sheets and warm blankets. For now, Joel was still holding himself back. But something inside you told you this wasnât over.
bfd!Joel is the king of aftercare. Heâs such a gentleman, so he always feels a little guilty after losing control and giving in to his impulses. Heâll push you to your limits, and then spend the rest of the night making it up to you, cleaning you up, whispering apologies, treating you soft. Like itâll fix the way he lost control and gucked his daughterâs best friend
vaporwave
jimmyeatworldofficial
2087
stormborns
