summary the time you and eddie realised you needed to get your own place, for wayne’s sanity if nothing else.
warnings smut (18+), making out, fingering f!receiving, dirty talk, both people being absolutely down bad for each other, wayne walks in on… well that. And eddie being his ideal self <3 if i’ve missed anything please let me know!
Thinking about the day you and Eddie realised that you needed to get your own place. For Wayne’s sake, if nothing else.
It was the middle of winter, cold days with even colder nights and there was just something about the low noise of the tv — some show playing in the background neither of you cared too much for — the yellow glow of the space heater and the quiet hum of the fridge that echoed throughout the trailer on those slow nights. That made you… well… really desperate. The coziness sinking into your bones and making it so all you wanted to do was be tangled up with Eddie, whilst he whispered things to you that were so dirty you’d have the air taken straight from your lungs.
Eddie knew it. Sensed it the minute you couldn’t sit still any more, moving every two minutes and playing with the rings on his hands. Sliding them off and back onto his fingers, that gave away what you were trying to hide.
Eddie didn’t do subtle, didn’t appreciate it. He believed honesty was a dying art and God forbid if he would ever let his girlfriend get away with not telling him that she was ready to jump his bones if he didn’t do it first.
I mean what kind of a man would he be if he didn’t stand by ready to help out a girl who was distressed. Sexually distressed — or plain desperate as he called it — but still! A damsel in distress no less,
No, subtlety just didn’t fly in the Munson home.
Which is how, no more than fifteen minutes later, you were lying on your back on the couch. Blankets and cushions piled underneath you, the space heater suddenly feeling far too hot. With Eddie above you, one hand holding him up and the other resting gently on your neck as he kissed you with such desperation you thought you might need to hold an emergency intervention to remind him he needed… oh you don’t know.. air to breathe?
But that would mean stopping kissing him, and when his tongue ran across your bottom lip suddenly you truly could not remember why anyone thought air was so important anyway.
“Christ sweetheart, you’re needy tonight, huh?” Eddie pulled away from you no more than a centimetre, believing anymore would be entirely sinful right now. His hand that had been resting on your neck had moved down to your stomach, resting just above where you needed him most — your hips gently jutting up as you realised where his hand was, desperately trying to get him to just touch you already.
“Eddie, please — don’t make me beg” your voice blended with the other sounds of the room, sitting comfortably between the low rumblings of the tv and the ticking of the clock on the wall. Eddie always thought that you were made for him. All of him. You even suited his home.
“I would never” Eddie answered, his signature smirk spreading across his face. He always made you beg, it was practically custom now. You couldn’t blame him he argued. If you could hear how you sounded when you needed him to touch you? All breathy voice, whine and moans gracing his ears like the perfect song? Of course he made you beg.
But tonight something must have snapped in Eddie because he immediately moved to pull off your bottoms. Your pyjama pants going flying across the room to God knows where (you’d worry about that later) and your underwear slipping off in succession. Eddie placed those in his back jean pocket. Because of course he did.
“What my girl wants my girl gets, right?” Eddie was either talking to you or himself but either way when he leant back down and attached his lips to your neck, sucking at your pulse point and moving his hand down to touch you right there, you didn’t care who he was talking to anymore.
“Jesus Eddie” Your hand flew up to rest in his hair, pulling at it whist you also attempted to keep him against your neck, leaving a myriad of marks you would have to attempt to cover up tomorrow.
Eddie’s fingers found exactly where you needed him, slipping inside you as your back arched off the sofa and the filthiest whine he had ever managed to pull from you filled the room.
“That’s my girl, fuck keep making those pretty noises f’me” Eddie moved to kiss you again, leaving no time for you to respond as his tongue met yours. You moaned as he worked to bring you closer to the edge, his fingers playing you like his guitar as he rolled his own hips down against the sofa, feeling just as worked up as you were.
But Eddie had a rule. You should always come at least once before he did. You never complained.
Eddie and you moved against each other like a symphony that had been played for a thousand years. His fingers knew exactly how to move to get you right to the edge. He kissed you breathless and you responded with a tightening grip on him and breathless moans that one day he was sure he’d have to add to a corroded coffin song. They were just too pretty.
It was at this exact minute — both of you a mess of heavy breaths and gridding against each other — that the trailer door swung open.
“Hey kids, the roads are getting blocked, snows been coming down heavy for the past few hours so the plant sent us all—“
Oh.
Oh god no.
Wayne stopped abruptly as he set on his eyes on his nephew doing things to you he was sure he could ever recover from.
You froze and turned your head to hide in the sofa cushions. Luckily for you, Eddie moved fast, grabbing the first blanket he could get his hands on to cover you up before Wayne could be entirely traumatised.
“Wayne — shit, fuck, Jesus — okay, um wow sorry?” Eddie sounded as flustered as the first time he had asked you out on a date in senior year (his first time round) and despite the embarrassment flooding your body you couldn’t help but stifle a laugh at the sound of him.
“Jesus Christ.” Was all Wayne could bring himself to say. Hands rubbing across his face as he looked anywhere else but at the two of you.
“I — we — thought you weren’t home till… morning” Eddie sat up and attempted to pull you up with him.
No. You loved him but the man was on his own right now.
“Bad weather, sent us home. Here I am” Wayne was speaking as if the shock of what he had seen had reset his vocabulary.
“Yup, got it. Good, well okay then!” Eddie jumped up and this time he got a firm enough grip on you to pull you up with him, your entire being focused on keeping that goddamn blanket wrapped around you.
Eddie took your free hand and pulled you behind him towards his room, moving so fast he tripped over a cushion and the coffee table along the way, whisperings “oh Jesus” and “who the hell needs this much furniture” to himself as he went.
“Eddie…” Wayne’s voice cut through Eddie’s desperate ramblings and Eddie flung himself around to face his uncle.
“Yes! What can I — do you need something?”
After this you reminded yourself to try and teach Eddie the art of shutting up in situations like this.
“You have… underwear hanging out your pocket”
“… yep.” Was all Eddie could muster, and for that you were grateful. You had never wished for a situation to be over quicker than this one. You really hoped this hadn’t taken you off Wayne’s Christmas gift list. You looked forward to that new mug every year.
As you and Eddie made a final dash to his bedroom all you could hear as the door closed and you could finally breathe a sigh of relief was Wayne calling out “use protection for the love of all that is holy!”
.
.
.
this was written in about twenty minutes in the notes app of my phone with a blinding headache so if i’ve missed anything or made any silly mistakes i’m very sorry!
╰ or… steve remembers every little thing about you and your past conversations; including a conversation that mentioned sex tapes and the desire to be filmed during sex!
WARNING: 18+ CONTENT, fem! reader, rough sex, sex tapes, dirty talk, praise kink, pervert! patronizing! steve, manhandling, size kink, overstimulation, unprotected sex, a lil bit of possessiveness thrown in there!
you didn’t even notice it before he said a word about it.
dating steve harrington, you knew one thing for certain about the part time babysitter… he was a borderline sex addict.
he loves sex, he loves pussy and he loves everything about it— the roughness of it, the sensual nature of some experiences, the love two humans have for each other… but more importantly, he loved stroking a little bit of his own ego.
when he has girls screaming for his cock; yeah, it feeds him alright. and tonight, was no different.
you were so lost in steve’s touch, so lost in the feeling of his tongue and his hands all over your body, of the stickiness of your cum as it stuck to your thighs after he got you over the edge— every thing felt fuzzy around you, but you chased more and more and more.
“c’mon, look at me, sweetheart, look at me.” he whispers, his left hand holding the edge of the mattress as you two laid at the end of the bed. his right hand is brought down to your jaw, turning it to the right of the room.
your eyes glazed over with pleasure, you didn’t recognize the thing sitting in the center, right against the bed… it had three legs and a big item affixed on top of a screw… with a red flashing button and the screen pulled out.
“s-steve…” your voice pathetically whimpers out, catching your breath as his cock bullies through your walls, stretching you out more and more.
he clicks his tongue, making direct eye contact with you through the screen. “you remember that one night where we were going over kinks… and you mentioned a pretty little idea of being filmed?”
you nod your head absentmindedly, the thoughts only rushing to your head a moment later; that night.
after steve got done with the squawk for the night and you two were in bed together, steve blabbering on about finding max’s playgirl magazine collection and the fact that she was way too young (seventeen, give her a break) to be looking at nudity of men… it all led to a conversation over oral about kinks… nudes… and sex tapes.
steve realizes you realized what he meant when he saw your eyes widen a tiny bit. “oh yeah? you forgot for a moment, huh? ah well, thank god steve remembers, right?” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your lips as your hands found his back.
“y-you’re not going to sh-show anyone— ah!” that was the first question on your mind, letting out a shrill moan of his name as his tip kisses your cervix.
he shakes his head, his hair bouncing a tiny bit as sweat beads down his biceps. “of course not, silly girl.” he says with that patronizing tone that just gets you riled up for no good reason. “your sexy body is for my eyes and my eyes only…”
you didn’t get to let out a response before he pulled back and thrusted back in, forcing open your walls once again as the bed shook, your back bending off the bed as his hips are able to scratch onto a momentum.
he starts out so deep, so slow but so fulfilling. each thrust is meant to fill you as deep as possible, get as much surface of his cock as possible inside your warm cunt, each movement producing wetter and wetter sounds as your skin made contact with his.
“s-steve! oh fuck! s-so deep!” you moan out, nails scratching down his broad back as your legs wrapped around his hips, each pump of his hips exposing another layer of pleasure within you for him to abuse.
but as you bend off the bed, his right hand goes to the center of your chest and pushes you back down, forcing you onto the bed again and exposing you to the camera even more.
his fingers grip your jaw as he rotates your head to the camera. “look at that camera… look at her straight in the eyes and watch me fuck this sweet pussy.”
he maneuvered his hips upwards and began to grab a pace that rocked the bed louder and louder, quicker snaps of his hips and his grunts left his mouth more as he sped up his speed. his balls slap against your clit, your free hands grabbing the bedsheets as his left hand held your thigh.
you did what he told you though, watching in the camera’s screen as best as your pleasured brain could produce and the best your vision could make out as his thick cock appears and disappears, the bulge in your belly becoming more defined.
your throat was already gone at this point, spit drooling down your chin as the only thing you could say is his name.
steve smiles watching the sight of you, lifting his right hand and wiping the drool off. “oh sweetheart, you’re just the best girl, aren’t you? so dumb off my big fucking cock.”
he goes faster.
the bastard hits harder and harder as each kiss of your cervix with his cock brings you closer to your orgasm. you grip the bedsheets so hard that you heard a rip in the fabric— but you didn’t care. not when your brain was scrambled like this, not when the only thing you could feel is his cock… and soon enough, your orgasm.
eyes on the screen before letting them roll back, your orgasm hits you like a fucking freight train, smashing through your limbs and flooding your veins with pleasure as each crack of steve’s hips continue.
he doesn’t stop when you cum, he watches as you drool and you cry out his name, when you arch off the bed and accidentally hits his cock with only spirals you even more.
“s-steve… oh fuck… steve… handsome… oh god.” it was a mantra over and over and over again, all recorded on the camera still watching like a pervert’s favorite desire.
he keeps his grin as you cum all over his cock, his thickness slowly being covered with your fluids as his balls clench, finding himself to his orgasm as well.
thrusting as deep as he could one last time, steve cummed with a growl of your name and a dig of his nails into your skin as slowly, his semen shoots inside of you, his tired gaze looking up into the camera as he moves your left leg (right leg to the camera) up to watch as he cums.
he pulls out for a moment, seeing his thick globs of cum slowly seep out of you, drops landing on the mattress as he made a little effort to push it back in with his fingers.
“good girl… good girl f’me, for steve.” he whispers a quiet encouragement as he kisses your ankle.
your vision comes back to you in a little time after that, being able to see steve reach over the bed and with a click of a button… the camera stops recording and the footage is burned onto the sd card housed in the camera.
eventually you’ll look at that footage and come to the conclusion that filming sextapes with steve was a needed part of your sex life!
click here for main masterlist!
AUTHOR'S NOTE: nothing much to say about this one— pervert! steve is lowkey a fav of mine, I just don’t write him too much. working on a bunch of smutty requests rn (a few role model ones, a mike wheeler one, and a sadie sink one) so that’s been taking up a lot of my time.
thank you for all the support in every way possible! all support is very much appreciated! all content created on this blog is mine, do not copy or sent it through ai!
summary: Steve’s parents are gone as usual, so Steve treats the house like it’s yours as much as his and drags you into his bed to remind you exactly who you belong to. Big dick, cock-slapping, creampie-obsessed boyfriend energy as he fucks you deep into the mattress and gets way too excited about the mess he leaves between your thighs.
Steve’s bedroom always felt more like your room than his.
Your clothes in a pile on his chair, your perfume soaked into his pillows, your lip balm on his nightstand next to his watch. His parents hadn’t been home in what felt like months, and somewhere along the way, “Steve’s house” had quietly turned into “your house.”
Which is why you were comfortably sprawled across his bed in one of his shirts and nothing else, flipping through a magazine like you weren’t waiting for him to get out of the shower and ruin you.
You heard the bathroom door squeak open, the soft pad of his feet on the carpet. A second later his weight dipped the mattress and wet hair brushed your arm.
“Hey,” he murmured, voice warm and lazy.
You didn’t bother looking up. “Hey.”
He plucked the magazine right out of your hands and tossed it onto the floor.
“Rude” you protested, finally turning your head to glare at him.
Steve just grinned, that cocky, sunshine smile that made you forget your own name. His hair was damp and messy, gray sweatpants slung low on his hips, shirtless and still flushed from the hot water. Drops of water trailed down his chest and you got stuck watching one slide past his navel and disappear under the waistband.
“Thought you said you missed me” he teased, leaning on one arm, crowding into your space. “I’ve been in the shower for, like, three years and I get… a hey?”
Your lips twitched. “I do miss you. I also missed my article on how to get the perfect blowout.”
He huffed a laugh and ducked down, nosing at your cheek. “Yeah? ‘Cause I’m feeling pretty blown out that my girlfriend would rather read about hair than kiss me.”
“Terrible” you deadpanned. “That was terrible, Steven.”
His fingers slid under the hem of his own shirt that you were wearing, thumb brushing the bare skin of your hip. “What, you gonna punish me for it? ‘Cause I’ll take my chances.”
You tried to keep your voice steady. “Who says I was thinking about you at all?”
He paused, then slowly pulled the shirt up just enough to expose your bare thigh, eyes dragging down. His gaze darkened when he realized you weren’t wearing anything underneath.
“Yeah?” he murmured. “You gonna look me in the eye and tell me you’re not thinking about me right now, honey?”
Your face went hot, but you held out as long as you could. “Maybe I was thinking about dinner.”
Steve hummed, unconvinced, and pushed the shirt up higher, exposing the curve of your waist, the soft swell of your stomach. His palm flattened over your skin like he was staking a claim.
“Uh-huh. You lying to me in my house?” His thumb stroked small circles low on your belly. “That’s crazy, ‘cause I walked in here and all I can think is… my girl’s in my bed, in my shirt, no panties, and she wants me to believe she’s thinking about takeout.”
You swallowed. “I– I could be.”
His hand drifted lower, knuckles grazing the inside of your thigh. “Yeah? So if I check, you’re not gonna be all warm and wet for me, is that what you’re saying?”
You glared at him, even as your hips gave a tiny, traitorous tilt toward his touch. “You’re annoying.”
“You’re avoiding the question” he shot back, smug, sliding his hand between your legs.
The moment his fingers brushed your slit, both of you froze.
“Jesus” he breathed, eyes flicking back up to yours. “Baby.”
You were soaked, slick gathered there like you’d been working yourself up just thinking about him. Which… okay, you kind of had.
Steve’s pupils blew wide, and suddenly the teasing was gone. He looked hungry.
“Yeah” he said quietly. “Yeah, you definitely missed me.”
You sucked in a breath as he lazily dragged his fingers through your wetness, up and down, not quite giving you what you wanted.
“Steve” you whispered, hand grabbing at his wrist.
“What?” he murmured, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth, then your jaw. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“You’re—” You bit your lip as he circled your clit just barely, not enough pressure to make it count. “You’re doing that thing.”
“What thing?” He played dumb, lips ghosting over your throat as his fingers kept up those slow, infuriating strokes. “The thing where I touch my girl ‘cause she’s dripping all over my sheets? That thing?”
You whined, squirming. “You know what you’re doing.”
“Yeah, I do.” He chuckled against your skin. “You should see yourself right now.”
He pulled back just enough to look, spreading you open with two fingers, the cool air hitting your slick heat. Your cheeks burned as his gaze dropped to between your thighs, dark and reverent.
“God, baby” he groaned, almost to himself. “Look at this pussy.” His tongue peeked out to wet his lips. “You’re so wet and I haven’t even done anything yet. You really were just laying here thinking about me, huh?”
You wanted to deny it, to save a shred of dignity, but the way he was staring at you made your brain short-circuit.
“Maybe” you muttered.
He grinned, triumphant. “You are gonna be the death of me.”
Before you could respond, he shifted, kneeling between your legs and tugging the shirt higher until it was bunched around your ribs. His hands slid up your sides and cupped your breasts through the thin cotton, thumbs brushing your nipples until they pebbled.
“Take it off” he said, voice a little rough. “Wanna see all of you.”
You sat up just enough for him to peel the shirt over your head. Steve dropped it somewhere on the floor without looking, eyes glued to you spread out for him, bare and breathing hard.
He let out a reverent little laugh. “My perfect fucking girl.”
Heat flared low in your stomach at the way he said my—like there was no universe where you belonged to anyone else.
“Steve” you whispered, reaching for him.
He caught your wrist and brought your hand to his mouth, kissing your palm, your knuckles. “I’ve got you, okay? Just lay back for me.”
You did, sinking into the mattress. Steve shoved his sweatpants down, revealing just how hard he already was, cock flushed and heavy against his stomach. Even now, every time you saw him like that, your body gave that same little nervous flutter.
He caught your stare and smirked. “You staring, honey?”
You wet your lips. “Maybe.”
“Can’t blame you” he said lightly, then dropped his voice. “This is all yours, you know that?”
You nodded, dazed, as he wrapped a hand around himself and gave a slow stroke, base to tip. A bead of precum gathered there and he thumbed it away, hissing softly.
Then he leaned forward and used his free hand to hook under your knee, pushing your legs open wider.
“C’mere,” he murmured, sliding closer until the head of his cock nudged your folds. He didn’t push in, just dragged himself through your slick, coating himself. “Fuck, baby. You hear that?”
The obscene wet sound filled the room, and you moaned, fingers clenching in the sheets.
“Steve—”
“You’re so messy for me” he rasped, eyes fixed where his cock moved against you. “You got yourself all worked up just waiting, huh?”
He pulled back and then slapped his cock lightly against your clit.
You jolted. “Oh my god—”
Steve’s grin turned wicked, doing it again just to see you jump. The thick, weighty smack and the sting of sensation had you gasping, heat shooting straight through you.
“You like that?” he asked, testing, giving you another sharp little slap against your swollen folds, the head of his cock bouncing off your clit.
You whined, hips twitching. “S-steve—”
“That’s not a no” he teased, eyes bright. “Look at you. Getting all flustered over a little cock slapping.”
“It’s not—” you tried, but it dissolved into a moan when he did it again, a little harder this time.
“Not what?” he coaxed, voice smug. “Not making you clench around nothing? ‘Cause I can see you, baby.”
Your thighs trembled. The mix of sting and pressure had your body arching off the bed, nerves buzzing.
“Okay, okay,” you breathed, half-laugh, half-plea. “I like it. Happy?”
“So fucking happy” he said, and then, almost sweetly: “My pretty girl, taking it so good for me.”
He eased up then, pressing the head of his cock against your entrance. The teasing dropped out of his expression, leaving just raw heat and something softer underneath.
“Gonna put it in now, yeah?” he murmured. “Need you so bad, baby.”
You nodded quickly. “Please.”
His hand came up to cradle your cheek, thumb stroking your skin. “Deep breath for me.”
You exhaled and he pushed in slowly, the stretch burning in that familiar, addictive way. He was big—he always felt big—but he went so carefully, watching your face, stopping when you gasped so you could adjust.
“Fuck” he groaned, jaw clenching. “Always so tight for me. You’re gonna make me lose my mind.”
Your hands flew to his shoulders, fingers digging into warm skin as he sank deeper, inch by inch. The fullness built and built until he was bottomed out, pelvis pressed to yours.
You let out a shaky breath. “You’re… you’re so deep.”
“Yeah?” Steve’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, like he was hanging onto his control by a thread. When he opened them again, it was all for you. “You feel me in there, sweetheart?”
“Can’t– I can’t not feel you,” you whined, walls fluttering around him. “You’re huge.”
His mouth curved, pride and affection tangled together. “Say that again.”
You swallowed. “You’re so big”
He groaned, head dropping to your shoulder. “You’re gonna kill me, I swear to god.”
He stayed still for a beat, letting you get used to him. You used the pause to wrap your legs around his waist, angling your hips instinctively until he brushed that perfect spot inside.
You gasped, nails scratching lightly down his back. “There—right there—”
Steve sucked in a sharp breath. “Yeah? That it?” He pulled back just a little and pushed in again, hitting the same place, watching your face twist in pleasure. “Right here, baby?”
A choked sound tore out of you. “Yes, yes—”
“That’s my girl” he praised, grin going hazy. “Knew you’d take it all for me.”
He started to move, slow at first, deep thrusts that had you feeling every ridge of him. The drag of his cock against your slick walls, the pressure low in your belly—it built fast, too fast, all the tension from waiting on him now snapping into sharp, needy focus.
“Faster” you whined, hips chasing his. “Please, Baby, I need—”
He didn’t make you beg for long. “Okay, okay. I got you.”
He adjusted his weight, bracing on his forearms so his chest pressed to yours, bringing you impossibly close. Then he started fucking you in earnest, pace quickening, hips snapping against yours in deep, firm thrusts.
The headboard thumped lightly against the wall, your moans mixing with his grunts and the filthy wet sound of him sliding in and out of you.
“Listen to you” he panted, eyes locked on yours. “You hear yourself, baby? You’re so loud for me.”
“You’re the one—” You broke off with a gasp as he hit that spot again and again. “You’re the one doing this to me—”
“Damn right I am” he said, and then his hand was sliding between your bodies, fingers finding your clit.
You gasped, back arching, the added pressure sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you. It was too much and not enough all at once.
“Steve—oh my god—”
“That’s it” he coaxed, rubbing tight circles in time with his thrusts. “Take it, sweetheart. Take all of it. This pussy’s mine, yeah?”
You clenched around him, the possessive edge in his voice making you dizzy. “Y-yeah—yours—oh fuck—”
“Say it” he pleaded, voice breaking. “Tell me. Tell me it’s mine.”
“It’s yours” you cried, the words tumbling out. “All yours, Baby, I’m yours—”
He groaned like you’d punched the air out of his lungs. “Fuck, I love you.”
The way he said it, wrecked and earnest, tipped you even closer to the edge. The pleasure coiled tight in your stomach, building with every thrust, every drag of his fingers over your clit.
Your thighs started to shake. “I’m gonna—”
His hand cupped the back of your head, holding you to him, nose brushing yours. “Yeah? You gonna come for me? On my cock?”
You nodded frantically, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from how intense it felt. “Please—please, Steve—”
“Do it” he rasped, picking up the pace, driving into you just a little harder. “Come on, baby, make a mess on me. Want to feel you squeeze me.”
Your whole body went tight, then snapped. The orgasm tore through you, white-hot and blinding, your walls clamping down around him as you cried out his name. Your legs locked around his waist, back arching off the bed as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you.
Steve choked on a curse, his rhythm stuttering as he felt you come undone. “Oh fuck, there you go—that’s it, that’s it—good girl, holy shit—”
You could feel him fighting to hold on, hips still driving into you even as you spasmed around him. The sensitivity was almost too much, pleasure tipping into oversweet, but you clung to him, desperate to keep him as close as possible.
“Inside” you gasped, words tumbling out before you could second-guess them. “Come inside, Baby, please—wanna feel you—”
His eyes flew open, pupils blown so wide there was barely any brown left. “Jesus Christ” he groaned, jaw going slack. “You’re trying to kill me, I swear—”
You tightened your legs around him, pulling him deeper. “Please, Steve. Need it.”
That did it.
His hips snapped forward in a few rough, frantic thrusts, and then he was coming with a broken, strangled moan, burying himself as deep as he could go. You felt him pulse inside you, warmth flooding your core, the sensation making your entire body shiver.
“Fuck—oh my god, baby—” He collapsed against you, breath hot and ragged against your neck. “So good, you’re so fucking good—”
You held him through it, fingers rubbing soothing circles on his back even as you trembled beneath him. The two of you stayed tangled together, panting in the quiet of his room, the world narrowed to the thud of his heart against your chest.
After a long moment, he shifted just enough to look at you, still buried inside, his cheeks flushed and hair a wild, damp mess.
“Hey” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You okay?”
You nodded, dazed, a lazy smile pulling at your lips. “Yeah. More than okay.”
His mouth curved, relief and pride softening his features. “Good.”
You felt a slow leak of warmth between your legs and your face heated. “Oh my god, I can feel you—”
He groaned, eyes squeezing shut. “Do not say shit like that unless you want round two immediately.”
You laughed, giving his shoulder a playful smack. “You’re impossible.”
He leaned down to peck your lips. “You love me.”
“I do” you admitted, brushing your nose against his. “Even if you are a menace.”
“Rude” he said, but he was smiling. He shifted carefully, easing out of you with a soft wince—for both of you—and watched, openly fascinated, as his come started to slip out.
He made this low, reverent noise. “God, I love seeing that.”
“Steve” you whined, mortified, trying to clamp your thighs together. “Don’t stare.”
“Can’t help it” he said, utterly unbothered. “My girl, my mess. Kinda obsessed, actually.”
“Kinda?” you snorted.
He grinned, unabashed. “Okay, very obsessed.” He flopped down beside you and pulled you into his chest, tucking you under his arm like you belonged there. Which… you did.
For a while, you just lay there in the quiet. His fingers traced idle patterns on your shoulder, his breathing evening out as the high slowly faded.
“You know” he said eventually, voice thoughtful, “my parents have no idea their bedroom is getting shown up by mine.”
You giggled into his skin. “What, you jealous of their thread count?”
“Please,” he scoffed. “They’re never here. This is our house now, remember? This—” He gestured vaguely around the room. “This is the primary suite.”
You rolled your eyes fondly. “You’re ridiculous.”
He tipped your chin up so you had to meet his gaze, a soft, dopey smile on his face. “Yeah, but I’m yours.”
You smiled back, heart doing a little flip. “Yeah. You are.”
a/n: happy saturday angels! here’s a long one since it’s been about a week since i last posted. nothing better than some feral bf!steve for your saturday evening!
synopsis: sneaking around with your brother’s best friend isn’t ideal, but it’s hard to stop when steve keeps showing up.
- or alternatively; the (4) times you successfully hide your relationship from your brother and the (1) time dustin catches you with steve.
word count: 6.5k
warnings: secret relationship, almost getting caught, kissing, suggestive language, implied sex, angst, mention of blood injury, nightmares, slight ptsd, jealousy, hurt/comfort, protective steve harrington, long emotional talks, steve is whipped for reader, background byler, happy ending.
1.
Steve was not a good liar. He tried. He really, really tried. But for all the effort he put into hiding things, he still failed miserably at it.
His face gave him away every single time. Feelings lived on him like fingerprints, obvious and unavoidable, especially when romance was involved. Every girl he had ever dated became public knowledge within a week, sometimes even less.
Hawkins was small like that, and Steve was pretty much bad at keeping his love life private.
So yes, Steve sucked at keeping secrets. Making the fact that he was hiding something, something big, from Dustin Henderson of all people felt like a sick joke. Like the universe was daring him to fuck it up.
Because this wasn’t a fling. This wasn’t some temporary, easy thing he could shrug off when it got complicated. It was you.
Yet Steve couldn’t find it in himself to end whatever had started between you both, bcause dating you was somehow the easiest thing he had ever done and the hardest thing he had ever survived.
Easy, because being with you made everything lighter. You slipped into his life without force, without noise, and suddenly he wasn’t so tense all the time. He laughed without thinking. He breathed without bracing for impact. The constant knot in his chest loosened, replaced by something warm that stayed with him long after you walked away.
Yet, it was so hard because it had to stay hidden.
Steve did not entirely hate the secrecy, and that fact made him feel like a bit of an asshole. There was something selfishly intoxicating about it, about having you all to himself, about the way your smiles and touches belonged only to him in stolen moments and half-lit rooms. Still, the logistics were a nightmare.
Timing everything down to the minute, picking places that were quiet enough to be safe but not suspicious, constantly looking over his shoulder like he was doing something criminal instead of just falling in love.
All of that made it hard, yet the worst part of it all was Dustin.
Dustin was the one person Steve hadn’t lied to yet. Which was impressive, considering he was your brother and more than capable of beating the living shit out of him if he found out about your relationship.
So yes, in short, Steve hated lying about your relationship.
Though unlike Steve, you were an exceptional liar.
It was a talent you wielded effortlessly and oh so smoothly, never hesitating and never overexplaining. You could look someone dead in the eye and spin a perfectly believable story without your pulse so much as fluttering.
Steve did not value dishonesty as a character trait. He really didn’t. But you were devastatingly good at it, and watching you lie with that calm, confident ease was — if he was being honest with himself— a huge turn-on. Which probably said more about him than it did about you.
Which was how he ended up now knocking quietly on your bedroom window at 8:30 in the evening.
You opened the window almost immediately, already grinning like you had been waiting there the whole time. Steve barely had time to step inside before your hands were on him, fingers curling into his jacket as you kissed him.
He was about to say I missed you, baby, but it came out muffled and stupid as your mouth moved against his, sounding more like “I miffed you” than anything intelligible.
You pulled back just long enough to smile at him. “Missed you too, Stevie.”
He laughed under his breath, hands finding your waist automatically as he nudged you backward until the backs of your knees hit the bed. He pushed you down with gentle insistence. “You called me over like it was an emergency,” he said, brushing his nose against yours. “What’s going on?”
You pouted dramatically. “What, I can’t wanna spend time with my boyfriend?”
Steve rolled his eyes fondly. “You can, but you were very ominous about it.”
“It’s boring here,” you complained, propping yourself up on your elbows. “All Dustin does is run around with his friends doing weird shit. I swear, if I hear about another goddamn radio one more time—”
“Yeah,” Steve cut in, grinning, “exactly. Which is precisely why I should not be here right now.”
You waved him off, completely unbothered. “Relaaax. He’s across the hall and deeply invested in something grossly scientific. We’re fine.” you said, dragging out the words.
Steve glanced toward the door anyway, nerves prickling despite your confidence. “You say that, but I am one unexpected door opening away from ruining my entire relationship with your brother.”
“You’re dramatic,” you said, reaching out to tug him closer by the collar. “Sit.”
Steve leaned back against the headboard while you talked, filling him in on your day in a rambling, animated stream. He listened the way he always did, half-lidded and indulgent, kissing your neck like he had all the time in the world as you complained about something Stacey–or whatever her name was— from gym class did.
“She actually said it was my fault,” you scoffed, waving a hand. “Like I tripped her.”
“Mhm,” Steve hummed, lips brushing your skin again.
You snorted. “You’re not even listening.”
“I am,” He finally looked at you then, eyes hazed and heavy-lidded, that familiar warmth darkened into something lazier, hungrier. His hand slid from your waist to your hip, fingers curling just enough to pull you back against him.
Then, softer, almost amused against your skin, “You know… I don’t think you realize how unfair you’re being right now.”
You hummed, a quiet sound that made him smile into your neck. “Unfair how?”
“These shorts…” he said, kissing just beneath your ear, lingering there. “You look really good in them. Like distractingly good.”
You laughed softly, fingers curling into the collar of his jacket. “They’re literally just pajamas, Steve.”
“Yeah,” he said, pulling back just enough to look at you, eyes warm and amused, “and yet somehow they’re ruining my ability to think straight.”
You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling, cheeks warm as you leaned forward to kiss him properly this time. He kissed you back without hesitation, familiar and easy as his hands slowly started to trail lower until they slipped past the waistband of your shorts.
The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of sheets and the faint sounds of the house settling around you.
Then there was a loud thud from across the hall.
Steve stiffened instantly, hand pulling away from you as you pushed him away. You froze too, heart jumping straight into your throat.
Footsteps followed, quick and careless, moving closer.
“Oh shit, shit, shit!” Steve whispered, pulling back completely.
“Window,” you hissed.
He scrambled off the bed, movements suddenly frantic as he headed straight for it, fumbling with the latch. He had just shoved it open when the door flew inward.
“Hey, I was just gonna ask if you—”
Dustin cut himself off.
He stood there, a bunch of wires in his hand, staring like his brain had completely short-circuited.
“…Steve?” he said slowly. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Steve turned around, caught mid-motion, hair messy, nerves written all over his face. For half a second, he genuinely looked like he might faint. His mouth opened yet nothing came out.
You stepped in immediately.
“Oh,” you said easily, swinging your legs off the bed and standing up like this was the most normal thing in the world. “Steve’s fixing my window.”
Dustin blinked. “Your window?”
“Yup,” you said, nodding toward it. “It’s been rattling for days. You just don’t notice because you’re always blasting that weird static crap in your room.”
“It’s not static,” Dustin said automatically, then frowned. “Wait. Since when does Steve fix windows?”
You didn’t hesitate for a second, the lie slipping smoothly. “Since he fixed his car window last week. Remember? When it got stuck halfway down and he couldn’t roll it back up?”
Dustin glanced at Steve. “You fixed that yourself?”
Steve nodded quickly. “Yeah. I mean—car windows, house windows… glass goes up, glass goes down. It’s all the same at the end of the day..” he laughed nervously.
That seemed to satisfy him. Dustin stepped further into the room, peering at the window inspecting the damage. “Huh. That’s actually kinda cool. You should’ve told me you knew how to do this. We could use that at Cerebro. The latch keeps sticking.”
“Yeah,” Steve said, forcing a smile. “Totally. I can look at it sometime.”
“Does it really rattle?” Dustin asked you.
“All the time,” you dragged out the words. “Especially when it’s windy. It’s annoying as hell.”
Dustin nodded thoughtfully. “Weird. I’ve never noticed.”
“That’s because you’re never in here,” you shot back.
He shrugged. “Fair.”
You grabbed your hoodie from the chair and headed for the door. “I’m gonna get the screws from the garage. I think they’re in the toolbox by the washer.”
As you passed Steve, he glanced down briefly, then back up at you, eyes wide and desperate. His expression screamed that this situation had become deeply inconvenient in more ways than one—mostly thanks to the very obvious bulge in his pants from your previous activities.
“So how long is this gonna take? Mom said dinner’s in like twenty minutes and—”
Steve swallowed, shifting his weight carefully, eyes flicking once more toward the open window.
“Uh,” he said, voice strained as he tried to angle himself away, hiding his little (but apparently not-so-little) friend, “not long. Just gotta… make sure it’s secure.”
Thankfully, Dustin seemed convinced and retreated back to his room, not even slightly suspicious. Steve let out a huge sigh of relief, knowing he would have been absolutely fucked if Dustin had noticed he had a boner while fixing his sister’s window.
2.
“Honey, you want butter or salt on that popcorn?” Steve called from the counter, holding a bucket that looked way too big for what you asked for.
“Is there caramel?”
“Yeah, yeah, of course, I’ll get that,” he said, and you heard the familiar shuffle of his shoes on the tiles as he walked toward the popcorn dispenser.
You followed behind, pretending to look around but really just watching him—Steve, who somehow looked like the absolute model of a gentleman right now, carrying your purse and filling up two massive buckets of popcorn. You’d asked for a medium, but of course he insisted on spoiling you, like he hadn’t just ripped your dress off a few hours ago in his car. God, you really had it bad for that man.
“Two tickets for E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial ,” he said, grinning at the cashier. He added, just for good measure, “The best seats, please.”
After getting the tickets and ordering, yet again, two large slushies, Steve turned, and started walking toward you. He leaned in, presumably for a kiss until you both were interrupted by a round of laughter.
A very familiar, very annoying, very fucking loud laughter.
You both froze. Slowly, you turned.
Dustin, Lucas, Will, Mike, Eleven, and Max were all marching into the theater like they owned the place. Max’s eyes locked on you two first as she saw you both standing right at the ticket counter.
“Steve… and Y/N??” she asked, voice rising in shock.
Steve sighed, a long defeated sigh. “Oh, for fuck’s sake…” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else, as he tried to figure out how the hell you’d all just become the center of attention without even knowing.
Dustin’s mouth hung open for a second, then he leaned forward, pointing a finger at Steve. “Why are you two…here?”
“Oh, hello everyone!” you laughed nervously and very much annoyed at the aspect of your date being ruined.
Steve gestured vaguely around the lobby. “Uh. We are here to watch E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial.”
Dustin blinked. “Together?”
Steve laughed. “What, no. No, man. Jesus. We just came here because—”
Before Steve could finish his horrible half-assed excuse, Mike suddenly stepped forward, voice cracking just slightly as he blurted, “I invited them!”
Every head snapped toward him.
“You did?” Dustin asked.
Lucas frowned. “You did?”
Max raised an eyebrow. “Why didn't you tell us?”
Mike nodded nervously. “Ehm–yeah! Thought you guys would enjoy the movie. Y’know, fun group outing. No big deal.”
You shot Mike a look, half confused, half relieved.
Dustin let out a long, dramatic “Ooooh,” instantly forgetting his suspicions. “Well. I mean. If Mike invited you...”
“Then you’re welcome to join us! We are also watching E.T!” Will exclaimed after Dustin.
“Yeah,” El added. “You’re welcome!”
Steve exhaled through his nose as the tension eased and the kids started drifting toward the ticket counter, already arguing about seats. He leaned closer to you, lowering his voice. “Well, our date is ruined.”
You snorted, slurping your slushie. “Be thankful it’s only ruined. If Mike hadn’t jumped in, you’d be six feet under once Dustin put the pieces together.”
Steve grimaced. “Fair point.” He watched Mike for a second, still baffled. “But I don’t understand…why the hell did he do that?”
You took another slow sip as the sound of the slushie left a grrrrr sound, eyes following the group. “Let’s just say I caught him a few days ago in a… similar predicament to ours.”
Steve frowned. “With who?” He paused, then frowned harder. “El?”
You shook your head, nodding toward the counter instead.
Steve followed your gaze. Mike and Will were standing too close, shoulders brushing, heads bent together like the rest of the world didn’t exist. Something clicked behind Steve’s eyes.
“Oh my god,” he whispered. “He’s screwing Byers?”
You laughed, nearly choking on your slushie. “Lower your voice, Jesus.”
Steve stared, stunned, then let out a breathy laugh. “Holy shit. That explains everything.”
“Exactly,” you said, smirking. “He owes me one for keeping his secret.”
Steve shook his head slowly, a grin creeping onto his face despite himself. “This town is insane.”
“Tell me about it.”
3.
Dustin knew Steve was hiding something.
It was obvious, painfully so, even to someone like him. Dustin liked to think of himself as reasonably perceptive, and even if he wasn’t some kind of psychic genius, his best friend was not subtle.
Although Steve had many talents. Secrecy was surely not one of them. The signs were everywhere. The constant disappearances, the excuses that made no sense if you thought about them for longer than five seconds, the sudden inability to hang out because he was “busy”. Everything was pointing at one obvious conclusion.
And then there was the glow.
Dustin usually didn’t buy into that whole love makes you glow bullshit. It sounded fake, like something Shakespeare would’ve thrown into a sonnet just to sound deep. But Steve had been walking around lately with this stupid look on his face, like his brain had short-circuited and decided to replace all higher functions with glitter and rainbows.
Which was really pathetic, if one asked Dustin.
He was smiling at nothing, laughing under his breath like an idiot, and generally acting like someone had slipped something into his morning coffee that Dustin was starting to reconsider his stance about the whole glow thing.
Dustin was currently slouched in the passenger seat of Steve’s car, watching through the windshield as Steve stood at the counter of the gas station’s grocery shop loading up on sodas.
The cashier rang everything up at a painfully slow pace, and Steve just stood there tapping his fingers against the counter, completely zoned out, grinning at absolutely nothing in particular.
“Jesus,” Dustin muttered under his breath. “Get a room with your own thoughts, man.”
Steve didn’t hear him, obviously, too busy living in whatever fantasy world had apparently taken up permanent residence in his head.
Yeah. No question about it. Steve was in love, and therefore, almost definitely dating someone.
The realization did not make Dustin mad. If anything, it made him weirdly relieved. Steve deserved good things, deserved someone who made him smile like that instead of wearing that tight, exhausted look Dustin had gotten used to over the year.
Still, there was a dull, uncomfortable tug in his chest that he could not quite ignore. Because Steve had not told him.
And Steve told Dustin everything. That had always been their thing, right? So why the hell was he suddenly holding something back now, of all times?
Steve was still inside, taking his time, so Dustin shifted in his seat. eyes drifting around the car. The car was a mess, as usual. Empty wrappers, crumpled receipts, a couple of cassette tapes shoved haphazardly into the compartment between the seats.
Dustin leaned forward, absently opening the little storage drawer built into the dash. He wasn’t snooping, not really. He was just bored, and that was a perfectly reasonable explanation to look around.
His fingers brushed against something small and solid in the drawer. He frowned, then pulled it out.
It was a box; red, neatly packaged, tied with a thin ribbon that had clearly been adjusted more than once. Dustin stared at it for a second, his curiosity getting the better of him. Slowly, he undid the ribbon and lifted the lid.
Inside was a golden, delicate necklace with a small heart pendant resting against the velvet lining. Definitely did not look cheap in any means.
“Ohhh” he murmured quietly.
That settled Dustin’s suspicions; Steve was definitely dating someone, and the idiot was clearly head over heels.
He closed the box immediately and retied the red ribbon, and slid it back into the drawer exactly where he’d found it.
Steve climbed in seconds later, arms full of junk food, that stupid, soft smile still firmly glued to his face. He dumped everything in the space between the seats and tossed a soda toward Dustin without looking, who caught it out of instinct.
“Got your favorite,” Steve said easily.
Dustin cracked the soda open but kept his eyes on Steve as he leaned back in the driver’s seat, humming quietly while he sorted through the bags. “You’re in a good mood,” he said, keeping his tone casual.
Steve glanced over. “Am I?”
“Yeah, man,” Dustin said flatly. “You’re glowing. It’s gross.”
Steve scoffed. “Must be the new face wash I’ve been using then. Glad to know it works ‘cause that shit cost me 20 bucks.”
Not that kind of glow, Dustin thought.
“You spent a good three minutes smiling at a bag of chips back there,” Dustin shot back. “So either you’re in love or you’ve finally snapped.”
Steve froze for half a second, his panic showing through. It was subtle, but Dustin caught it anyway.
Interesting.
“In love? Nah man. Where the hell did that come from.” he laughed nervously.
Dustin said slowly, eyes widening. “You have a girlfriend or somethin’?”
“What?” Steve laughed, and far too quickly. “No, I don’t.”
Dustin tilted his head, unimpressed. “Steve.”
“I don’t,” Steve insisted, shaking his head as he started the car. “I’m just, y’know, in a good mood.” he shrugged.
“Gosh,” Dustin said, rolling his eyes. “You suck at this. You’re actually terrible at lying.”
Steve opened his mouth, then closed it again. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Okay. Fine. Yes!”
Dustin grinned. “Yes, you have a girlfriend?”
“Yes,” Steve admitted. “I have a girlfriend.”
Dustin let out a loud, undignified noise, twisting in his seat so fast he nearly smacked his knee against the glove compartment. “Holy shit,” he said, grinning like he’d just been handed front-row tickets to something incredible. “That’s amazing. Seriously. Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
Steve hesitated, his hands tightening on the steering wheel like it might give him guidance if he squeezed hard enough. “I just… I’m keepin’ it on the low right now, okay? It’s not a big deal.”
Dustin snorted. “You? Steve Harrington? The guy who once announced he had a crush to the entire video store after one date? You’re doin’ ‘low’ now?”
“Okay, shut up,” Steve shot back, but the words were undercut by the way his mouth curved into a smile anyway. “I mean it. I’m just… takin’ my time with this one.”
Dustin’s eyes lit up immediately. “Oh, this is serious then.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice like he was about to be let in on a state secret. “So who is she? Do I know her?”
Steve shook his head without missing a beat. “I’m not sayin’.”
“Oh, come on,” Dustin groaned, dropping back against the seat. “You can’t drop that on me and then clam up. I’m happy for you, Harrington. This is huge!”
“I know,” Steve said, quieter now, eyes fixed on the road. “I just need a little time, alright? That’s all I’m askin’ for.”
Dustin studied him for a moment, and whatever he saw there seemed to soften his hurt. He nodded once. “Alright. Fine.” Then his grin came back. “But for the record, I fully expect details eventually. Also, congrats on finally having consistent sex.”
Steve nearly swerved into the next lane. “Jesus Christ, Dustin!”
“What?” Dustin asked, it wasn’t like the topic of sex was taboo between them.
“You’re clearly happy. And besides, it’s kinda comforting to know you’re finally screwing someone on a regular basis. So honestly, you might as well spill some details.”
“Fuck no,” Steve said immediately, horrified. “Absolutely not. I would rather drive this car into a ditch than talk about that with you. And I’m pretty sure you don’t wanna hear it either.”
“Oh please,” Dustin shot back. “I have heard all the details about your hookups. Tammy Thompson, Carol Perkins, Emilia from—”
Steve winced. “Okay, first of all, you were not supposed to hear about half of those, and second of all,” he added quickly, “you really wouldn’t wanna know about this one.”
“Whatever, I’m just happy for you.” Dustin shrugged.
4.
There’s a saying that goes: even when life takes so much from you, it also gives a lot back. Time heals all wounds, but that was hard to believe when your nights were haunted by the things you’d seen in the Upside Down.
Even though it had been over a year since the painful experience, the monsters, the screams, there were nights—far too many nights—where the images came back, vivid and cruel.
Which is exactly how you found yourself lying on the cold kitchen floor at one in the morning, phone pressed to your ear, body curled slightly as though curling into yourself might make the world feel safer. That old wired phone—the one that belonged to your parents—was pressed just so, and your nose was red from quietly sniffing.
“No, Steve, it’s fine,” you whispered, voice tight. “You really don’t need to come over. I… I’ll be okay.”
There was a pause on the other end before Steve’s voice came, tight with worry. “Are you sure? You’re sure you’re okay? I don’t care about the time. It’s a ten minute drive, maybe less, and I can be there before you even blink.”
You sniffled again, blinking against the tears you didn’t want to admit were falling. “I… I just want to hear your voice,” you admitted softly. “That’s enough.”
“No, that’s not enough,” he said, frustration and concern threading through his words. “Y/N, you woke up from a horrible nightmare all shaken up and you’re telling me you’re fine? I don’t think so. I’m coming over. I can’t not.”
You let out a soft laugh, barely audible. “Steve…please. I don’t need you to drive over. Just—just talk to me for a minute. I’m too tired to deal with…everything else right now.”
There was a long pause, then the faint sound of him running a hand through his hair. “Okay, okay, fine. I’ll stay on the phone. But if you change your mind, I’m out the door in ten seconds.”
You shivered slightly, clutching the phone closer. “I’m… trying. I’m tired, Steve. I just… the nightmares won’t let me sleep.”
“I know, baby,” he murmured softly. “I know. And I’m sorry you have to deal with that. It’s not fair. You didn’t ask for any of this. You didn’t ask to see all that shit, to go through all of it. But I’m here. I’m right here. And you’re not alone, alright?”
You sniffled again. “Mhm. I just… sometimes it feels like it’s back, y’know? Like it’s all around me, and I can’t… breathe.”
Steve’s voice came soft, almost a whisper, like he was leaning over you even through the phone. “Hey… shhh, hey, it’s okay, baby. I know it feels heavy right now, I know it does. But you’re still here. You’re safe and I won’t let anything harm you. I’ve got you, alright? I’ll stay right here on the line as long as you need me.”
A quiet tear escaped, and you pressed the phone harder to your ear. “You really mean that?”
“Every word,” he said.
“I… I’m really tired,” you whispered, eyelids heavy. “But… thank you. For staying on the phone.”
“I’ll stay as long as you need,” he said. “You hear me? And tomorrow, if you want, we can hang out, eat some junk food, and watch some dumb movies, how’s that sound?”
A soft laugh broke past your exhaustion. “Okay,” you murmured. “Tomorrow sounds… good.”
“Good,” he said, smiling through the phone. “Now close your eyes. Try to rest and I’ll be right here. I promise.”
You yawned, the sound muffled against the phone, and whispered, “I’ll try.”
You were too drowsy to notice the quiet shift on the staircase. Dustin had stopped midway, listening to the faint conversation after he woke up from the sound of rustling downstairs only to find you on the phone.
His heart twisted hearing your soft, shaky voice. He couldn’t hear Steve's side of the conversation—only your side. But from the way you spoke, he could tell Steve was there comforting you and keeping you safe.
The alarm bells went off in his head, but he shoved them aside. If Steve was the one who could help you through the nightmares, then Dustin didn’t need to dig any deeper for answers or suspicions tonight.
With a quiet sigh, Dustin crept back upstairs, leaving you to your whispered reassurances and the fragile sense of peace settling over the kitchen floor.
He was, after all, too sleepy and exhausted to think too much of it.
+1
If there was one thing you hated more than anything, it was fighting with Steve.
And somehow, against all odds, he was currently sitting in the living room of your house with Dustin, like this was totally normal and not driving you completely insane.
Worse, there was nothing you could do about it. You couldn’t exactly kick your secret boyfriend out in front of your brother. You also couldn’t scream at him, or throw something at his head, or do any of the other deeply satisfying things you’d been imagining for the past two days.
Steve hadn’t even been subtle about it. He’d shown up under the excuse of “hanging out with Dustin,” which was bullshit, because Dustin was busy ranting about some new gadget and Steve hadn’t been listening to a word of it.
He kept glancing toward the kitchen like he was waiting for you to look back at him, like that would somehow fix everything.
It wouldn’t.
You were in the kitchen, cutting watermelon into uneven slices, jaw clenched so tight it ached. You told yourself you were being efficient, but really, you were being petty. Every slice you set aside for Steve had as many seeds as you could stuff in there—a small, vindictive way to get back at him for the kind of shit he’d pulled.
You didn’t even feel bad about it. He deserved to suffer a little after pulling the kind of shit he had.
You dragged the knife through the rind harder than necessary. And then it slipped.
“Shit,” you hissed as pain flared across your palm, sharp and immediate. The knife clattered onto the counter before you could even process what happened.
Before you could grab a towel, the knife was gone.
You looked up, heart jumping, and there was Steve, standing way too close behind you in the kitchen.
“What the hell are you doing,” you snapped, instinctively pulling your hand back. “Why are you following me in here? Isn’t it enough that I have to pretend we’re fine in front of Dustin?”
He didn’t argue or even joke. He just sighed, long and tired, like this had been weighing on him for days too.
“Let me see your hand,” he said quietly.
“No.”
“Don’t do that,” he replied, gentle but firm, already reaching for you. “You’re bleeding.”
You hesitated, then let him take your hand. His grip was careful, thumb brushing lightly against your skin. He grabbed gauze from the drawer without even thinking, muscle memory kicking in, and turned the faucet on low.
“This is exactly what I mean,” you muttered. “You act like this and then expect me not to be mad.”
Steve cleaned the cut slowly, eyes fixed on your palm. “I know. And I fucked up. I know I did.”
You stayed quiet, letting him talk. The kitchen felt smaller than usual, the sound of running water filling the space between you.
“I wasn’t trying to make you feel hidden,” he continued, voice low. “I just… every time I thought about telling him, I pictured his face. And the questions. And the way he never shuts up. And I panicked. That’s on me. Not you.”
He wrapped the gauze around your hand, careful not to pull too tight. “You don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve to feel like I’m ashamed of you, because I’m not at all. I’m just an idiot.”
You swallowed, throat tight, still not looking at him.
“I should’ve done better, but I—”
“What’s going on in here?”
Both of you froze up. You turned just in time to see Dustin standing in the doorway, eyes locked on your hand in Steve’s, on the gauze, on how close he was standing.
You both turned around quickly, trying to act casual. You held your hand up like nothing happened. “It’s fine,” you said, forcing a shrug. “I’m not, like… we’re not holding hands or anything. Steve was just helping me because I cut myself.”
Dustin raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “Uh-huh. Sure.”
You rolled your eyes. “I mean it, Dustin. It’s not what it looks like.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about that,” he said with a shrug. Then, without warning, he held up a necklace in his hand. A delicate gold chain with a heart-shaped locket dangling from it.
Your stomach dropped. “Oh. Where—where did you find that?”
Dustin turned toward you, raising the locket so you could see it better. “I went to your room to look for that Indiana Jones DVD you mentioned,” he said casually, “and well… this was just sitting on your dresser.”
Your jaw went slack. “You went in my room?”
He ignored the mini-panic in your voice and glanced at Steve with a sigh that could’ve crushed the both of you. “And you, Harrington…”
Steve straightened, trying to look casual, and opened his mouth. “Listen, it’s not—”
“—so, this is not the same necklace I saw in your car a few weeks ago that was meant for your secret girlfriend?”
Steve froze for a second, hands halfway raising in defense. “Woah, okay. Uh, I don’t think we should be talking about this like that.” he said, voice cautious.
You jumped in, waving your hands. “Dustin, wait—you need to calm down, okay?”
“Calm down?” Dustin repeated, narrowing his eyes at Steve. “You mean the part where he's been screwing my sister and I find out by a fucking necklace?”
Steve threw his hands up. “Okay, okay, I get it! Look, I wasn’t trying to hide it, not exactly. I just… didn’t know how to tell you. I thought you’d get mad. And I didn’t wanna risk our friendship, man. I swear, I was gonna tell you soon, like really soon. It just… happened. And, things kinda happened.”
Dustin tilted his head, holding the necklace up again like it was evidence in a murder trial. “ Steve, you’ve been sneaky and going around hiding stuff, and I get it—you’re happy—but come on!”
The room felt too small all of a sudden. Steve opened his mouth again, clearly ready to keep apologizing and explaining himself, but Dustin didn’t even look at him this time.
His eyes flicked to you instead, sharp and searching in a way that made your chest tighten.
“Can we talk alone?” Dustin said, already turning toward the hallway. It wasn’t really a question.
Steve hesitated, glancing at you with eyes full of worry. You squeezed his fingers once before letting go, a quiet reassurance, and nodded. He stepped back, lingering near the counter.
Dustin led you out into the porch where you sat on your mom’s fluffed up garden couches. For a moment, neither of you spoke. He stared at the floor, the necklace looped around his fingers now instead of held up like a weapon.
“I’m not mad,” he said finally, voice lower than usual. “Okay, maybe a little mad. But that’s not what this is about.”
You waited. You knew better than to rush him.
He glanced at you then. “I just wanna know if you’re… happy. Like, actually happy.”
You leaned back into the couch, shoulders brushing his. “I am,” you said honestly. “Steve makes me happy. He makes me feel safe. He listens to me, even when I’m being stubborn or when we argue. And yeah, we fight sometimes—but I am happy.”
Dustin was quiet, picking at the chain in his hands. “He better,” he muttered. “Because I swear to God, if he ever—”
“I know,” you said softly, bumping your knee against his. “And I wouldn’t be with him if I thought he’d hurt me. I promise.”
That seemed to ease something in him. He let out a slow breath and leaned back, eyes on the ceiling. “So why hide it? I mean… I’m annoying, yeah, but I’m not, like gonna sabotage your relationship if you’re both happy.”
You huffed a small laugh. “I know. It wasn’t about not trusting you. It was just… complicated. You’re my younger brother. He’s your friend. And I didn’t know how to tell you without making it weird or feeling like I was crossing some invisible line. Plus, we wanted to keep it private for a while. Just… us.”
“I know,” you replied softly, voice a little tight. “And I’m sorry I didn’t. I didn’t want the first time you found out to be like this.”
He glanced at you, lips twitching despite himself, a reluctant little smile tugging at the corner. “Yeah… well. Finding out via incriminating jewelry isn’t exactly ideal,” he muttered, shaking his head.
You let out a small, rueful laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder for a moment. He didn’t pull away, and you let yourself stay there for a beat longer than you should have. “I’m really sorry, Dustin,” you whispered, tone earnest. “You’re my baby brother. I shouldn’t have kept this from you, especially since I know how much Steve means to you. I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”
Dustin’s fingers flexed around the necklace in his hand, and he let out a long, slow sigh, finally pushing himself to his feet. “It’s okay, Y/N,” he said quietly, voice calmer now. “I get it. I just… I wanted to make sure you’re actually happy. Not just saying it because I asked. I needed to know that he… that you’re good with him.”
You smiled, warm and a little tender, and stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug.
He froze for half a second, then awkwardly hugged you back just as tightly.
“Awwww,” you teased softly, pulling back just enough to peek up at him. “My little baby brother, all protective and worried about me.”
Dustin groaned, rolling his eyes but smiling despite himself. “Shut up, Y/N,” he said. “I’m not your baby.”
“Sure you’re not,” you said, still smirking, giving him a playful squeeze before letting go. “Now go. Go tell Steve what’s what before he freaks out even more.”
Dustin muttered something under his breath, tugging the necklace off his fingers, then straightened and strode toward the door.
You couldn’t help laughing quietly to yourself, watching him go, knowing that underneath the eye-rolling and teasing, he really did care—and that you were lucky to have him in your corner.
Dustin slipped back inside. He found Steve standing near the couch, eyes unfocused, staring at nothing in particular. When Steve finally noticed him, his gaze sharpened, and it was full of regret and worry.
“Uh… hey,” Dustin said slowly, shifting from foot to foot. He swallowed, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. “Can I… can I ask you something?”
“Yeah,” Steve replied immediately. “Anything.”
Dustin swallowed. “Were you ever friends with me just because you wanted her?”
Steve’s stomach dropped at the question.
He straightened, brow furrowing. “What? No. Dustin—”
“Because if that’s the case,” Dustin rushed on, voice tightening despite himself, “I just wanna know. I can deal with it, I just— I don’t wanna be the idiot who thought this meant something if it didn’t.”
Steve took a step closer without thinking. “Hey. No. That’s not—” He scrubbed a hand over his face, searching for the right words. “Man, I didn’t even know she liked me when you and I started hanging out. You were just… you. And you mattered to me before anything else did, you were—are my best friend before anything else.”
“I just—” he hesitated. “I keep thinking maybe I was stupid. Like maybe you were always here for her and I just didn’t see it.”
Steve stepped closer, shaking his head. “You weren’t stupid. And I wasn’t using you. I swear.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “What happened with her wasn’t planned. It wasn’t a thing I decided to do.”
“Then what was it?” Dustin asked.
Steve exhaled. “You know how people say you fall in love?”
Dustin nodded slowly.
“Sometimes it’s not like that,” Steve said, voice low, almost careful, like he was trying to measure every word. “Sometimes it’s not this lightning strike or a moment that hits you and knocks you off your feet. Sometimes…it’s more like…you walk into it.”
Dustin seemed stunned at Steve’s words, not expecting this amount of vulnerability.
“You walk into it slowly, one step at a time. And at first, you don’t even notice. You think it’s just…life. Just…routine. You don’t realize it until you’re already in the middle of it, completely surrounded, and there’s no going back without losing something you didn’t even know you had.”
Dustin’s voice dropped, small and uncertain. “You couldn’t…help it?”
Steve shook his head, a short, humorless laugh escaping. “No. I couldn’t. Not at all. I thought I could, you know? I tried. I tried to keep it at a distance. I told myself it was a really bad idea.” He stopped, his jaw tightening.
“But it wasn’t. It was everything. Little things. The way she laughed at the stupidest jokes, even when I was barely funny. The way she listened when I rambled about shit that didn’t matter. The way she could look at me and make me feel like I was enough, even when I wasn’t sure I deserved to feel that way. It’s all those moments, one after another, stacking up quietly until suddenly…it was overwhelming.”
He paused, and his hands flexed against the counter, knuckles white. “And I kept telling myself I was imagining it. That it would pass. That I could step back before it got too…real. And then one morning I woke up and looked at her, really looked at her, and I realized I had it so bad, Dustin. So completely, hopelessly bad. And by that point, it wasn’t a choice anymore. I didn’t even know how to stop. I didn’t want to stop. And I was terrified—terrified that if I stepped away, I’d lose both of you. I’d lose my best friend…your sister…everything.”
He swallowed, eyes glimmering. “And that’s when I understood that I couldn’t help it, Dustin. I didn’t want to.”
Dustin’s shoulders sagged a little. “You were scared.”
“Yeah, terrified.” Steve admitted. “I didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t want you thinking I crossed some line on purpose. I was just… trying to figure out how to be honest without blowing everything up.”
For a long second, Dustin didn’t say anything. Then he stepped forward suddenly and wrapped his arms around Steve’s middle, hugging him hard.
Steve froze, then hugged him back just as tight.
“I don’t like it,” Dustin muttered into his shirt. “But I get it.”
Steve let out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry.”
“I know,” Dustin said, pulling back and wiping his face with his sleeve. “Just—don’t screw it up.”
“I won’t,” Steve promised. “I swear.”
Dustin dug into his pocket and pulled the necklace back out, the gold chain glinting under the kitchen light. He held it out to Steve, not like evidence this time, but like an offering.
“For the record,” he said, tone almost shy now, “it’s a really nice necklace.”
Steve blinked, then let out a breathy laugh as he took it. “Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks.”
There was a pause as Dustin leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, eyes flicking toward the front door.
“So,” he said casually. “Why were you guys arguing before I caught you?”
Steve’s stomach dropped.
“Oh. Shit.” He looked at the necklace in his hand as he realized he forgot about the argument you both had.
“Oh shit, I—fuck.” He ran a hand through his hair, panic setting in fast and unfiltered. “I gotta go. I really screwed it up. Fuck, man, fuck.”
And before Dustin could even respond, Steve was already moving, shoving the door open as he hurried outside.
Dustin watched him go, lips twitching. “I’d say get a pair of earrings this time!” he called after him, laughing when Steve shot him a frantic look over his shoulder and kept going.
He stayed where he was, drifting toward the window without really meaning to. Outside, Steve was already rambling, hands flying as he talked, apologizing in that messy, earnest way of his, clearly trying to fix whatever dumb thing he had managed to screw up.
You stood there with your arms crossed, weight shifted to one hip, expression unimpressed in a way Dustin knew very well. The bratty attitude of yours was all there.
Not even halfway through Steve’s frantic explanation, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. Steve froze for half a second before melting into it, relief written all over him as he broke the hug to clasp the necklace around your neck, murmuring something Dustin couldn’t hear.
Then he leaned down and kissed you.
Dustin immediately turned away. “Gross,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face.
Still, he smiled.
Because even if he wasn’t ready to watch it, even if it was weird as hell seeing his best friend kiss his older sister, he knew it was right. He knew you were happy.
And he knew, deep down, that Steve Harrington had somehow managed to stumble into exactly the person he was meant to love.
steve harrington masterlist
a/n: for some reason this fic took me a whole 40 days to write, but nonetheless it was a very fun and cute experience <3 i enjoyed exploring more of steve and dustin's dynamic, so hopefully i did it all justice!!
reblogs, comments, and likes are so veryyy highly appreciated <3 <3
summary: your boyfriend abruptly breaking up with you ruined your plans to see joel for christmas, choosing to bring a new girl home instead. joel quickly gets angry, kicking him out in hopes you'll show up—and joel is counting on a miracle
cw: 18+ MDNI, no named boyfriend (joel’s son), big ol’ age gap, angst, college!reader, fem presenting reader, cheating, being cheated on, random new gf, vaginal fingering, self doubt, finger sucking, softdom!joel, dacryphilia, genital pronouns, edging, dry humping, belly riding, jealousy, getting caught, happy ending?
wc: 5.2k
a/n: i once said…don’t let your bf stop you from fucking his dad!! or technically, your now (ex) boyfriend. @do3-eyed-dolly our baby is all grown up, lemme go cry in the bathroom
part.I // part.II
It was twisted, unfair; the broken system in which you’ve created was a difficult one to maneuver through.
You tried your best to balance the need for stability with your shitty boyfriend, with the budding romance you’ve been secretly creating with his father—one you can’t stop thinking about.
It quickly bloomed into a full blown affair, one you now could logically envision for your future. The first time was a random encounter, one you could have easily dismissed as a mistake, but the second time? It was so much deeper than you’ve grown to realize, the older Miller became deeply entangled in your soul, and you didn’t want it to stop.
It was a difficult web of lies to keep straight, rapidly blinking the thoughts of Joel away, imagining it was him instead as your boyfriend lingered in your life, yet all you could think about was running back into the large arms of his father.
The worst part of it all? It was perfectly imperfect.
Joel was yours, he even said it—he wanted your relationship with his son to fail, he needed to make you permanently his.
It’s like you were playing with toys, each car wrapped around your palms, trading in the newer, high tech model for a classic red body; although it had a few flaws, the ignition still worked good as new.
Well it felt new. Newer than the boots laced up on your shoes, the puffy winter coat you dragged along to class as the weather began to chill, it was newer than the long-term relationship you’ve built up with your boyfriend—if you could even call him that.
Your relationship with his son was cracking away piece by piece, every encounter with his father just made it worse—more strained. The two of you barely talked anymore, the growing distance showed you Joel was more secure, stable; more than his lousy son could ever be, and that’s when something finally shifted inside of you, realizing your worth.
You got over the guilt you once had rather quickly, accepting the two relationships for what they are, and what Joel’s son could possibly mean to him now after all of this, yet it still terrified you.
Something inside of you was holding back from pulling the plug, cheating on your boyfriend with his father would be a lot for outsiders to even attempt to understand, and the gossip that would ensue would surely twist you into a villain.
It wasn’t just breaking up your long term relationship, it was breaking a father-son bond, one that was nurtured for years, just the two of them—Joel raised him all alone, built him into the man he was today.
It was expected for everyone to hate you for destroying your long term relationship that was many years deep, but you never thought about how your boyfriend was feeling, or what he was doing.
You definitely didn’t expect your distant boyfriend to call you on a friday afternoon, sighing so loud it blew against your ear, telling you he can’t do this anymore—that he found someone else.
It was too vague, he can’t do this anymore? He found someone else? Well if it was up to you and all the times you’ve kept the score on the tumultuous downfall of your relationship, it was you who should have ended it—not him, many months ago.
Months ago when you stepped out on him, sparking the passionate relationship with his father, when you finally felt respected—felt loved by an actual man for the first time.
You took the breakup with grace, slowly ridding him from your life, folding up his clothes to donate, even taking his pictures off your wall in hopes this would finally be the time to make Joel yours, all without the guilt.
You were cheating but so was he, and if he had anything to say about it, it was him who ended it—not you.
The freedom excites you deep down inside, the fiery, undeniable feeling was one you couldn’t hide anymore. Joel understood you, although he barely knew you, your meetings were short lived but the feelings were ones of longing, ones of undeniable trust.
You were his.
His light at the end of the tunnel, the one thing keeping him going, the person he was looking forward to seeing each holiday.
You cling to him like the Texas heat, the rays burning through his t-shirt in the summertime, the warmth suffocating to people not acclimated to the swallowing heat.
Joel has been pacing himself for this moment. The meticulous Christmas lights strung around his house, the tree—although straggly with uneven limbs, was decorated just for you, Joel needed to make sure your time spent at his home was perfect.
Maybe he was overstepping, but he couldn’t help himself buying you a little something. The small box laying in his bedroom, just underneath his sock drawer. It’s wrapped tightly; neatly, Joel making sure that the lines were perfectly aligned, with a deep red bow daintily hanging on the edge of the paper, where the two creases met.
It wasn’t like he was going completely out of his way to make the purchase, yet when he saw the gold threads, the heart pendant so small, it reminded him of you, and how it would look wrapped around your neck.
It was personal. Intentional.
He prepared all day long for your eventual arrival, even pulled out the old Christmas ornaments he had tucked away in the attic, his fingers still aching from hooking the orbs on the stabbing plastic branches as he sat in the living room, waiting.
When he heard it, his son's car rolling up the driveway, he just couldn’t wait any longer. Running toward the door with adrenaline coursing through his veins, he opened it wide, ready to greet you—but what he saw caused his stomach to sink.
You aren’t there.
You’re not…Anywhere.
Instead of your bright eyes and soft demeanor, there stood a girl who was the complete opposite of you, her voice grating through the glass door loud enough to make Joel’s ears turn, her eyes laser focused on whatever argument was taking place outside.
Joel felt faint, the color draining from his face; all he could do was stand there in silence, his fingers twitching at the door knob.
No, no.
This can’t be happening.
His son couldn’t be serious about this, maybe he’s stuck in some terrible nightmare, but as he rapidly blinks, the new girl doesn’t fade, her face doesn’t shift into yours.
He knows he’s in trouble, but not in as much agony his son is about to be in, who’s walking up the driveway, none the wiser of the storm inside of his father he’s created, his big smile only further igniting the flame inside of Joel as he continues to stare through the reflection.
His eyes bounce back to the girl still yelling at his son, her face making his chest further twist in pain.
There’s a cocky glint in her eyes telepathically teasing him, like she’s won some competition with you, her outfit classless, tasteless—nothing like you.
They walked into the house without a greeting, barging straight through the entrance as if Joel was invisible, stepping straight into the kitchen to raid his groceries, food that he paid for.
Joel stood there in disbelief, watching his son drink milk straight from the cartoon, slamming it down against the counter, letting the full bottle leak from the opening.
The look on his face was one of pure apathy, paying no mind to the new stranger in his fathers house, not bothering to introduce her to Joel.
Joel began to rethink the timeline—there was no way a new girl could appear so soon, the two of you were just here last month.
He begins to think the worst, wondering what his son could have possibly done to you. He didn’t raise his son to cheat, or to bring the other woman to his house no—he believed he raised one with courage, one who would never hurt you.
His eyes stare holes into the back of his son's head, and as that girl rakes her manicured fingernails into his scalp, Joel finally speaks up, clearing his throat.
“Get out.”
“What?” He laughs, wondering if his dad is joking with him, yet the look plastered on Joel’s face says otherwise.
“I said. Get out. Both of you.”
His son stares back at Joel with wide eyes, his lips slightly gaping at the shocking sound of Joel’s angry voice.
“It’s Christmas? W-we’re supposed to be here all week!” He exclaims, trying to defuse the situation.
Joel ticks his head at the girl he still doesn't know, her wide eyes staring back at him making him grow frustrated. “That ain’t my problem, find somewhere else to stay.”
“Why? Why are you doing this?”
“I didn’t raise you to be like this.” Joel snaps back, speaking his words now directly to the frightened girl, her expression mirroring his sons.
Joel doesn’t wait for another word, stepping to the front door, he starts throwing the luggage out onto the porch, the heavy bags slamming against the concrete.
“Now, dammit!” He screams, pointing to the bags, his face red with anger.
That’s all it takes for the two of them to rush out the door, clumsily picking up the now trashed luggage, hustling it to the car.
Christmas came and went, your boyfriend did too.
You wonder what Joel is thinking about. Is he waiting on you like he promised? Is he spending time with your new replacement? You hope your ex boyfriend isn’t so dense as to bring her there, trying to replace you; the once shy, lost girl in the Miller residence.
You pray your ex-boyfriend hasn’t fed him lies, made up some terrible falsehoods about you and the ending of your relationship. You’re wishing Joel is just as lost as you are, laying in bed staring out the window, wondering what in the hell went wrong.
It can’t be like this, not after everything you’ve gone through, the years of lies and torment—you deserve to be happy.
Running out of your house, you don’t bother to glance at yourself in the mirror, slipping on your shoes and some old hand me down jacket you haven’t worn in years, you squeak past the door, the clock reading just past midnight.
Your hands shake as you turn the key to the ignition, the engine rumbling loudly in your ears, you squint your eyes shut, hopeful that the street name you remember is the right one, you rip out of the driveway, driving straight to Joel.
It’s late when you show up, instantly recognizing the red paneling on the house, the array of bricks staring back at you.
You don’t see any cars parked on the angled driveway, assuming your ex boyfriend is far gone and Joel’s truck must be parked in the garage. Thankfully the porch light is flicked on, the caged bulb beaming back at your rear view mirror—Joel must be home.
Parking across the street, you attempt to swallow the protrusion of fear that begins to swell in your throat. You wanted this—you needed this, to see him again, to fix all of this.
Knocking silent yet firm, you wait for an answer.
You must look out of place standing there, your oversized nightgown blowing in the dead of night, your broken frame standing here like a ghost.
It feels like you're haunting the Miller’s, breaking the family into shattered pieces, but you can’t help the feeling in your gut each time you think about Joel, and the ‘what if’s’.
You can hear someone scuffling in the house, large feet stomping loudly against the floorboards, the door echoing the noises through the wall.
Staring down at the silver doorknob, you watch it turn, the keyhole twisting sideways makes your throat go dry, hopeful the one person you beg to see is on the other side.
When Joel opens the door and sees you standing there, he almost passes out.
Your face is drained, the kind of look someone has when they’ve been thinking, you looked terrible—just like he did.
He didn’t know what to say, at least not anything that could be talked about with you standing outside in the night.
When his eyes met yours, he tilted his head in the direction of the living room, muttering quietly enough you could barely hear him.
“Come in.”
The tree was dimly lit, the white lights slowly shifting in the corner of your eye. There were presents under the tree still, although days after Christmas, they remained unopened and tucked away—you wonder why.
You sit down on the couch, the same couch you made the first move on, the living room—it was quickly getting under your skin, wondering where your ex boyfriend was now, knowing he was supposed to stay here for at least a week.
Joel watches you get lost in thought, your fuzzy recollection of the ending of the relationship still remains in your mind, this all just felt weird, made you feel like a different version of yourself then the last time you were here.
Your jacket suddenly feels too hot, too heavy on your shoulders. You slide it off your body in a fit of annoyance, ridding yourself of the one thing that was helping you hide yourself from Joel, as if it’s your armor protecting you.
“Do,” you pause, breaking the still silence, trying to find the right wording. “Did you see him? Did he talk to you?” You question shyly, staring at the green pines of the fake tree.
Joel sighs, sitting down next to you, putting his face into his hands. “He tried, kicked them out before he had the chance to explain himself.”
“Them?” You know what Joel means, you just need to hear him say it.
“I don’t know what the kid was thinkin’. Bringing some new girl into my house, I didn’t raise him to be like this.”
“I’m-I’m sorry.”
You’re not sure exactly what you're sorry for, you feel like you’ve messed up more than you can handle right now.
Joel looks at you, really looks at you.
You’re a shell of yourself, he can see the regret on your face, but he doesn’t want to overwhelm you, instead he props his head up with his elbow, angling himself slightly closer to where you’re sitting.
“You okay?” He asks bluntly, his words light and effortlessly effective, making your eyes swell up with tears.
You glance up at him for a moment, but you don’t trust your voice, not with Joel looking at you like this.
Joel can see the short rise and fall of your chest, your breathing picking up quickly, your glassy eyes looking down to the floor so sad, so broken.
He hates to see you like this, he doesn’t understand how his son could do this to you.
“Come here, ‘s all gonna be okay.” He coos, voice so soft in the dead of night, his arms opening up into a hug.
The tears begin to pour now, your body easily molding into his chest, smearing your face around his shirt.
“I didn't want you thinking I wasn’t gonna come and see you.” You sob, hoping he’s not going to yell at you.
Oh. You're not upset about the breakup, you're worried about him.
He didn’t expect this, he assumed you were bent up over his childish son, cheating on you so openly, breaking your heart.
He swallows. “I know darlin’, it’s not your fault. None of this is.”
It’s a shocking feeling inside of you to not hear him angrily scold you, the constant fighting towards the end of your relationship always prepared you for the worst of screaming matches. Yet when Joel speaks, it’s with words of understanding, he’s trying to make things better—not worse.
You lift up your head to face him, kissing the soft hairy side of his rounded check, your body trying to crawl onto his sprawled out lap, but Joel's hand comes up to your chest, stopping you.
“We-we don’t need to do this all the time darlin’.” He declared, honesty in his words.
Joel wanted you, that was a blatant fact, but he didn’t want you to think he was using you, especially when you're pouting like this, your mind in a vulnerable state.
He wanted you to have some sense of normalcy with him, one that didn’t always revolve around his cock inside of you, but your eyes had other ideas, staring at him like a piece of meat.
“I know, I’ve just missed you, ‘s been too long without you.” You plead your case, smoothing your tongue over your lips.
Your wet orbs have turned lustful, the color in your eyes now replaced with your blown out pupils, the blacks of them covering the expanse of your irises.
He’s checking you out now, your nightgown bundled up against your thighs, the long material filling up the couch cushions.
“Turn around for me,” he says lightly, but his words are urgent, a thick sound rumbling in his throat.
You listen quickly, like one wrong move he will stop giving you what you want. Turning on your knees, you face the wall falling flatly on your butt. But thankfully, Joel’s hands come up to your armpits, effortlessly scooping you into his lap.
His growing cock is so warm against your bottom you can feel every ridge of the shape, the thin material of his sweatpants pushing him up between your dress.
He widens his legs, his hands falling from your arms to your waist, guiding you to spread against him, your dress inching up your thighs from the stretch, the silk material cold to the touch.
“I like this,” he hums, fingers toying with the fabric of your dress. “Blue looks nice on you.”
Joel’s fingers brush past your bare knee, traveling upward to your raised nightgown.
You can feel your cunt begin to pulse, the heated pounding of your clit begins to uncomfortably beat through you, matching your heartbeat rising in your chest.
He can feel his resolve fading, you were right—it has been too long, his hands move faster than his mind as they trail around the smooth skin of your legs, tracing small shapes up your plush thighs, his thumbs inching closer to your heat.
Your eyes flutter closed at the feeling, throwing your head back against his shoulder, feeling his own heavy breathing against your collarbone.
“You know how pretty you look like this?” He questions, nudging your jawline with his nose.
If anyone else was asking, it would be more of a rhetorical question, but the way Joel is peppering kisses along your jawline, you know he wants to hear the answer—the truth.
“N-no.” You scramble, doubt seeping through your bones.
You’re not sure if you can believe him.
The nightgown is old and flimsy, one you should have thrown away ages ago, the stitching beginning to fail around the edges, the seems hanging loose on your chest.
But to Joel you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, sat on his lap in the moonlight shuttering through the blinds, he knows how lucky he is, how he should cherish you—better than his son could ever have done.
“Then let me show you.” He reassures, pushing his hips up on your own.
Before you can protest, Joel’s hands glide up to your panty line, hooking underneath the stitching, beginning to pry it off of your mound.
You meet him halfway, raising your hips to get the material off your butt, you shimmy recklessly around on his lap, the fabric finally beginning to roll down your legs.
You sigh as your bare cunt hits the cool air, the inside of your thighs so wet it causes your lips to stick together, the feeling growing increasingly uncontrollable.
“She always this wet for me?” He asks, your cunt squishing around nothing—he isn’t even touching you yet, but your pussy wants him so bad.
Your face is just as hot as your cunt, feeling his fingers begin to trickle up your thigh—you grow desperate, widening your hips on his lap forces his fingers to drift up to the spot you want him the most.
“Ye-yes, always.” You affirm, grinding your teeth at the impatience inside your core, your crying hole tightening is the only sensation you feel while waiting for Joel.
“That’s my girl,” he murmurs into your ear, his nose pressing into your cheek. “Need to feel ya relax, gonna make you feel all better.”
He swipes two fingers up your slit, collecting the slick against your lips before he brings them up to your clit, rubbing soft circles against the bundle of nerves.
It was a pattern, a well oiled machine. His body knowing exactly how to calm you down, to turn your brain off for a while, to let yourself feel.
“Never liked lyin’ to the kid, but” he speaks, absentmindedly rubbing your clit. “But what I know now, ‘m glad I did.
His words make you wither on top of him, his cock now so hard it hurts, poking itself against the swell of your ass, the thickness brushing your cheek.
“This clit,” he praises, pinching the bud, making you hiss.
He continues speaking though, his fingers drifting down to your sticky hole, “this pussy, ‘m real glad ‘s all mine now.”
He sticks his middle finger inside of you, your wetness instantly sucking him into your gaping cunt, his finger buried to the knuckle.
“Joel! F-ohmygod!” You cry out, unable to form words at the feeling of his large finger so deep inside of you, his bulky knuckle pressing into your g-spot.
“Shhh, you want another one? Want me to fill you up?” He asks, and he doesn’t wait for an answer, bringing his pointer finger around your slit, he sinks it inside, letting it slide around with his middle digit.
He lets the pleasure build up in your hole, feeling the contracting muscles inside of you contort around his fingers, your spongey g-spot rubbing his fingerprints.
“Knew his old man would take care of ya, ‘m glad he hurt ya, just so I can fix it.”
“Y-you’re good at that, f-fixing things.” You know he’s right, always so efficient at making you feel better—you’re obsessed with him, Joel still remains the only person to have touched you like this in months now, your body his for the taking.
Arching your hips, Joel angles his hand against your mound, letting the squishy pad of his hand push up around your spread lips, rubbing itself against your perked clit.
Your release quickly builds up, his skilled fingers working away at your cunt. At the same time, your tears decide to come back, the corners of your eyes gathering the sadness with each blink of your eyelids, the liquid pouring down your heated cheeks.
Your brain shuts off as he adds another finger inside of you, your cunt fully stuffed with Joel, the thick digits now burning instead of your walls.
Your clit takes whatever stimulation his palm can give it, wiggling your hips completely off his thighs to make his fingers go even deeper, pushing harder on your silky clit.
“Gonna cum, gonna cum!” You plead, begging for him to finally take you to your high, the coil in your belly starting to snap.
“I got ya honey, give it to me. Wanna feel ya around my fingers.” He whispers, his words so dirty to your Joel-drunken mind, you instantly come undone, your body tightening as your orgasm washed through you.
Joel knows you’re pretty, but the way you throw your head against him, mouth open, your eyes clamping shut as you cum, you’re the most perfect thing he’s ever seen.
He watches the tears tumble from your eyes, unsure if they are from sadness or pleasure, he runs his free hand up your face, nuzzling himself back into your neck.
Joel can’t help but kiss your tear stained cheek, the salty residue tickling his tastebuds as he licks his lips, tasting your teary ecstasy on his tongue.
Trying to come down from your high, your brain is incredibly fuzzy, the only feeling in your body is the sensitivity of your cunt, Joel’s cum coated fingers resting against your thigh, unsure of when he even pulled them out of you at this point.
You can feel his cock still excruciatingly hard against your ass, the urge to make him feel good suddenly makes you perk up, the need to take control of the situation and his body soaring through you.
You grip the cushion beside his thigh, not so perfectly maneuvering around his body.
“Woah! Slow down honey, I ain’t going no where.” Joel replies breathless, the sight of your crazed hunger for his cock makes his chest swell.
“Mh-hm,” you shake your head, plopping down on his lap, facing him.
Your naked cunt is now flush to his pants, the elastic digging into your thighs as you rub yourself into him, the feeling release a choked moan from his throat.
Joel’s a little too covered for your liking, his t-shirt too loose on his body—you need to see him, need to see the dark hairs against his chest.
“Take this off,” you plead, your hands flying down to his shirt. “Please.”
Joel nods, quickly helping you out, lazily tugging his shirt over his head, letting it fly to the floor.
You can see the dark trail of hair run down his chest to his happy trail, the coarse strands make you clench around nothing, but your cunt is so close to his cock you’re sure he can feel it.
Moaning at the sight, you run your hand down his chest, letting the fuzz tickle the pads of your fingertips, stabilizing yourself to rock against him, your clit smushed against his belly.
You roll your hips again, this time more feverishly as you fuck yourself on his covered cock, his hairy belly pressing between your legs, brushing against your clit just right.
Joel feels left out, your pretty frame hidden by the oversized nightgown, his hands fall back onto the power blue material, rubbing you through the silk.
“Let’s move this pretty little thing out of the way, wanna see my girl.” He whispers, knuckles white.
Gripping the bundled up fabric of your nightgown, he begins to pull it off of your frame, your hair messy from it messing against your head—but you couldn’t care less, riding him rapidly.
Your swollen cunt rocks into his happy trail, your pussy so sensitive you can feel another orgasm quickly approaching, but right now Joel’s release is on your mind.
Pushing yourself slightly back, you can feel his cock hitting your cunt, rubbing him through your movements, your slick leaves a wet trail on his covered shaft, the grey material darkening.
“God baby girl, look at you. Takin’ what you need.” He curses, lifting his hips to allow more of your weight to hit his cock.
The position is so intimate, your bare body on top of him so soft and supple, the string of Christmas lights hung over the tree creates warm shapes down your torso, your hardened nipples in his direct line of sight.
“You never give yourself enough credit Joel,” you gasp out, voice raspy from all the moaning and crying. “Always looking out for me, taking care of me.”
Joel’s cock twitches at your praise, his own body stuttering, his belly expanding full of air rubbing against your mound, the feeling of his hairy middle scratching your puffy clit, it makes your lips form into a shy grin.
“I’d do anything to make ya smile.” He replies breathlessly, his eyes continuing to soak in your beauty.
His hands come down to your hips, grabbing the flesh tightly in his fingertips. He guides your body to glide against him, “jus’ like that. Doin’ so good for me.”
You bite down on your red swollen lips, you’ve been chewing on them all night long, the color has deepened, moans slipping past the lower swollen one.
He watches you ride him, his eyes stuck into a hazy, sex-driven trance—you look so good on top of him, a sight he wants to see for the rest of his life.
“God look at you,” he murmurs to himself, his wet fingers sticking together.
The feeling gives him an idea; bringing a finger to your mouth, he slips it past your lips, sticking it deeply into your mouth.
You instantly accept it, swirling your tongue around the digit, cleaning your release off of him.
You can taste your cunt so clearly on your tastebuds, the sweet salty mixture causing you to moan around his finger, vibrating his hand.
Joel can’t believe the sight, your mouth feeling so soft and wet against his fingers, he can feel his balls tightening, his release so close he can almost taste it.
You’re finally available, finally his—and you know you are, your body somehow always perfectly responding to his own as if you're connected, an otherworldly force driving the two of you together.
“J-Joel, I—I feel it, need—mmm.” You try your best to speak, but you can’t process the words that spill from your covered lips, your hips shakily bouncing on him hard enough that you can hear your slick snap against his own covered slippery cock.
You're so close, your second orgasm of the evening begins to bubble through you. Squeezing your eyes shut, you await the feeling to take over your abused cunt, but suddenly—Joels hands squeeze down hard on your hips, stopping your movements.
Heavily breathing, you listen to the voice outside of the door, a loud knock echoing on the wood that separates the two of you from outside, the sound ringing through the living room, pulling you out of the moment.
Like a fawn, your legs wobble as you pull yourself off of him, his lower half now fully drenched deep with your slick cunt.
Standing up he groans, bringing his hand down in an attempt to soothe his aching dick, the member still protruding in the thin material.
“Cover up, ‘n stand back.” He demands, controlling the tense situation.
Joel bends down to the floor, grabbing his tangled t-shirt off the ground, throwing you the garment.
You easily throw it over your head, letting the fabric pool around your frame. Stalking closely behind him, you watch him peer through the peephole, but he doesn’t speak—doesn’t tell you who it is, cracking the door slightly open instead.
“Hey dad, can we talk?”
There stands your ex boyfriend—Joel’s son.
You can’t see him, but you can hear his grating voice, the same one that broke up with you, his hair poking through Joel’s raised bicep protecting the home.
“Now’s not a good time, ‘s late.” Is all Joel can reply, the growing frustration boiling underneath him.
He’s sure he looks a mess; shirt off his body, his sweatpants completely soaked in your slick—he wonders if his son can smell you, the scent of sex so thick in the air Joel can taste it.
Your ex boyfriend steps forward, going to say something to Joel, but you shift on your feet to get away from him, the movement shoving you directly into his line of vision, making direct eye contact with him.
Summary: Joel fucks you nice and rough in a run down motel.
Warnings: PIV, rough sex, meanish Joel, fingering, implied crime, reader wears bikini, facial. Unedited, unbetad, idk what to tell you, hoss. Read it or don’t.
A word from the author: what is it about motels??
Masterlist
Turgid members notif blog
Every time a wailing cop car speeds by, Joel tenses and stills. It’s quick, a flicker of panic that makes his muscles jump under his skin. It reminds you of a horse, bothered by a fly. He listens intently, and as they fade he relaxes - as much as someone like him can- back into the flat pillow he had folded in half under his head.
The motel was in Summerfield, faded pale blue facade baking in the full exposure of a treeless strip of crumbling concrete. It might have been nice once, with shops and a theater and a nice hotel where people wanted to stay when they came from out of town. People don’t come any more. The theater was closed and the ticket booth was shut behind graffitied plywood. The shops were closed or closing, and the people milling about mostly came from the run down apartments up the block. A derelict restaurant stayed open at all hours, serving as neutral ground. The hotel was still a destination, of sorts. Somehow, the pool stayed open and rooms could be rented without a lot of questions.
The sirens rush past a lot.
After three days you’re already used to them. “Don’t gotta worry unless they get loud and stay loud.” you reasoned, cheerfully, knees tucked under you on the springy bed while he lies in his state of ever-readiness. Fully dressed and on top of the bedspread, elbow bent over his eyes to block the light, fist clenching over his belly. “You’re going to give yourself an ulcer, Joel. What good will that do us?” He didn’t respond.
He hadn’t even unpacked. Not that you’d brought much. You had a little suitcase and he had a duffel bag, but it was hardly worth putting in the drawers under the tv. Still, you had hoped this would feel more like a vacation, or like a honeymoon, even, just like Joel had said to the disinterested lady renting him the room. You wanted Joel to be happy.
“Can’t we just go get a milkshake? There’s that diner right across-“
“No! Just- just take a nap or somethin’” Joel snapped.
“I just thought it would be nice if we…” you trailed off in defeat when you felt him stare at you, aggravated with your silly ideas.
“Read one of your books or something. Knit. Whatever’ll make ya sit still.”
You sighed and laid down. You listened a while to the kids shouting in the parking lot, the woman recounting an argument to a silent listener on the other end of her telephone, and you tried to find shapes in the water spots on the ceiling as if they were clouds and you were laying in a field. They all just looked like brown stains.
You wiggled your dangling feet, you closed your eyes and thought of the places on the postcards on the spinning rack in the lobby. You wanted to be on a real vacation. Joel has plenty of money now, and you didn’t see why he shouldn’t spend it, but he didn’t ask you.
Bouncing off the bed, you grabbed your little case and shut yourself into the bathroom. It was small, just a tub and a toilet, with floor to ceiling seafoam green tile. Seasick was more like it, but at least it smelled clean enough. You shaved your legs in the stopperless sink, using the little sliver of soap from the dish and Joel’s razor. You managed not to nick yourself, by some miracle. You changed into your swimsuit and slipped into the only shoes you’d brought, white sandals with a heavy wooden heel that clacked against the floor and echoed around on the tile. You liked the sound. It felt sophisticated.
You didn’t have makeup, so you washed your face with the same little sliver and splashed your face with cold water. The bare bulb over head cast shadows over your eyes and the mirror reflected the sickly green of the walls onto your skin. You frowned at yourself and smoothed your hair before flicking off the light.
Teetering back out into the bedroom, Joel raised his arm up just enough to look you over. Up and down he looked, your hair, your bare face, your tits in the triangles of your top, the bows at your hips tying the fabric of your bottoms together, but barely managing to cover you. You dropped one hip and teased your hands over your shoulders, letting your arms push your breasts together, shimmying for him, the way he usually likes. The way that makes him pull you into his lap. You spin around and swivel your hips slowly just for him.
“Where do you think you’re going dressed like that?” he demands, finally sitting up. The irritation in his voice caught you off guard.
“I’m going to go down to the pool, Joel. I’m tired of being in the room all the time.”
“Like hell you are. Are you trying to draw attention?” He was getting more upset, and you didn’t care. Hadn’t you done enough?
“What attention, Joel? We’re newlyweds, remember? Can’t we just act like we’re here to have a good time?”
That did it. “A good time?” Joel raised his voice. He stood from the bed and stalked toward you, eyes hard and dark, making you take a step back as your own heartbeat kicked up. “You want a good time? Is that right?” His hand shot out and grabbed your arm to pull you to him. You gasped, and hardened yourself against his brutality, but oh, it made you throb when he was like this. “You think we’re here for the sunshine and cocktails? Get on the goddamn bed. I’ll give you your honeymoon.”
Joel shoved you into the bed, the mattress caught you and the springs groaned and squeaked with your weight. You wondered in that moment how many other couples had fucked in this very same place. Your chest fluttered and heaved with anticipation.
While Joel checked the lock on the door for the hundredth time and checked the walkway one more time through the drawn curtains, you watched him and rubbed your hard, sensitive nipple through the fabric of your swimsuit. You love when he’s like this, crazy, mad, all sense and control lost to the hungry dog inside him. You love it when he takes it out on you.
Soon his belt is whipped from his belt loops and thrown toward the single chair by the window, shirt tossed aside and jeans hanging open. As fast as his fury had roiled up, he was on top of you, tearing the cups of your top aside to let your tits free for his hot mouth, he sucked hard at each nipple, squeezing your breasts in his hands, squishing them together, dimpling the skin with his fingertips.
You yelped when he dragged his teeth over your nipple, and he chuckled, giving you another firm squeeze before sucking and biting his way down your body. Your side, your belly, your hip, he was ravenous.
He made his way quickly to your bikini bottom. “Look at this” he said, rubbing his thumb over your pussy through the damp fabric. “You soaked right through already.
Were ya gonna go down there and let everybody see this? Show off this pussy to all those men down there?” You both knew there was no one down by the pool but an old woman who dangled her tired feet into the water after her shift cleaning the vacant rooms, but it got him so hot just thinking about other men looking at your body.
Joel sat up on his knees between your legs and pulled loose the bows holding the swimsuit together, and you couldn’t help but buck your hips up at him. You were wet. You were so needy for his attention and the way he liked to touch you.
“Don’t get greedy” he scolded, and pushed the heel of his palm against your covered pussy, dragging the fabric over every sensitive nerve ending. “You’re such a slut. Shoulda known bringing you to a place like this would be trouble. You want everyone in this place hearing you get fucked, ain’t that right? Let ‘em hear ya begging for dick like you’re in heat.” You heard him talking but your eyes were squeezed shut. Maybe if you concentrated on the feeling and the sound of your voice you could come. You thought maybe you could, but he didn’t give you time. He snatched off your bikini and shoved your knees up. “Hold these.”
You pulled your knees up toward your chest, but that wasn’t good enough. Joel smacked the back of your thigh and pushed your knees up and out. “Keep em open just like that.” You were exposed and your body felt like it was on fire, even three feet from the loud hum and cold gust of the air conditioner under the window.
Joel sucked at your clit and licked your lips. He dipped his tongue into your hole and when that didn’t satisfy him he reached deeper with his fingers, one, then two, then three. He drew them out and sucked your slick from them, then went back for more.
Staying quiet was impossible. You were panting and gasping and squealing at every new sensation. Your legs shook as your thighs tensed, chasing the rabbit of your climax. He was right. Let them hear.
Joel’s jeans were halfway down his thighs when he sat up, face glistening and hair wild. His cock hung between his thighs thick and heavy, bobbing as he stroked it with your wetness.
If he were done now you’d be satisfied, even though you hadn’t gotten off. You were already feeling that tiredness setting in, the exhaustion of a thorough fucking.
Once Joel starts though, he can’t stop. He has to get it out of his system. He has to use you up and fill you full before he’s finished.
He crawled back over you and held your face in his one big hand and forced your lips into a pucker. He licked into your mouth. It was wet and messy and deranged, the way he kissed you. It left you breathless and panting for air. You tasted yourself on his lips, smelled yourself on his face.
“Pussy taste good?” He asked, and you nodded, licking your lips. “I bet I could bring some whore up here and make you eat her out. You’d like that wouldn’t you?” His filthy mouth. You nodded again. Of course you’d like it. You’d especially like it if he was watching.
“Anything you want, Joel.” You promised him. You meant it too, pretty much. If he wanted you to take every cock in this town you’d do it just to make him happy, so long as his cock was first and last. Joel laughed and nipped along your jaw.
He slipped out of his jeans and took his place on the bed again. He pumped his cock and swept the fat leaking head through your messy folds, quiet so you could hear how wet you were. He inched in the tip, never giving you more than an inch at most. Teasing you to make you whine. His cock was thick and he knew it. He has to take his time if he wanted to get in.
“Please, baby. I need it” you begged. “Come on, Joel. Let me have it.” He went back to bumping the head against your clit.
“Roll over.” You huffed but did as he said, flipping to your stomach, ass up. You knew it would feel even bigger like this, with his knees outside your thighs, pressing them together. He found your cunt with his fingers again, filling and stretching you, easing his way.
The weight of him on top of you was grounding, a counter to the heat you felt when he pushed his cock all the way inside. You winced and panted, but slowly adjusted to him.
“That’s it. Just like that. Just take this cock for me” he crooned to you. The sweetness of his voice was in opposition to the snap of his hips and the way he held your hair in his fist. He turned your head and sank his teeth into your shoulder, making you cry out.
When someone in the room next door shouted and pounded the wall with their fist, Joel just covered your mouth with his hand and kept his pace. You could feel the wet spot slowly spreading beneath you.
Joel was quiet save for his breath against your neck, and the way he grunted with every thrust.
After several moments he stilled. Frightened, you hummed against his hand, wondering if he had come inside you. You’d told him he couldn’t, that you couldn’t get the pills. He never used the rubbers, they pinched, he said. Too small.
But he hadn’t come yet. His head was tilted toward the door, straining to hear with his one good ear if his luck had run out. For a few tense beats of your heart he waited and listened, keeping your cheek pushed into the bedspread before slowly picking up his pace again when he felt the coast was clear.
He fucked you like that, slapping your ass, pulling your hips, teeth bared in pure animalistic lust. You sneaked a hand down between your legs and a few swirls of slippery fingertips over your clit while his turgid member plunged deep into your sweet little cunt was all you needed to come. “Ohhh fuck,” he moaned. “Yeah, come on this cock. Fucking soak me. Gonna fill you up, baby.”
Your cunt squeezed him in a sloppy rhythm as your orgasm faded, and your body felt tired and loose. It was easy for him to roll you back onto your back and clump over you. He trapped your arms with his thighs and took his cock in his hand, stroking furiously with your wetness until thick white ribbons of come fell over your lips and chin. You opened your mouth and held out your tongue, catching a taste of him in your mouth, whatever didn’t cover your cheeks or fall onto your eyelids, squeezed shut.
Joel's ears rang and he panted through his release, feeling the most settled he had since Tommy had first picked him up in the stolen car.
I knowww you don’t write for Tommy but hear me outttt… reader and Tommy miller revenge sex. I was thinking Joel had been being… Joel not wanting to make things official very avoidant they get into an argument then reader fucks Tommy to make a point and I think you would write it beautifully 🙏🏻🙏🏻
Let him hear
Pairing: Joel miller x reader AND Tommy miller x reader
Summary: After Joel refuses to commit, you sleep with his brother, Tommy. But, little do you know that Joel hears it all—so he barges into the happening and shows you just how much better he knows how to take care of you.
A/N: phew…so I made my own little twistiy twist into this and I hope you still like it anon…thank you for this request!!
You slam the bedroom door harder than you actually mean to. The sound echoes down the hallway, sharp and final. Joel doesn’t flinch—he just keeps on walking, slow and steady, like he is used to it.
You follow him into the kitchen, bare feet cold against the hardwood. The overhead light casts a dull yellow glow, making everything feel more tired than it is. Joel opens the cabinet, pulls out a glass, and fills it with water from the tap like nothing’s wrong. Like you didn’t just unravel in front of him.
“You always do this,” you say, voice loud, your chest aching. “You pull me in, make me think this—this means something, and then you shut down the second I ask for more.”
Joel exhales through his nose, slow and deliberate. He doesn’t look at you. “I never promised you anything.”
That stings more than it should. Because no, he never said the words—but he didn’t have to. It was in the way he touched you like you were fragile and precious. The way he lingered in your space, always close enough to feel like home but never close enough to stay.
“You didn’t have to,” you whisper. “You made me feel loved.”
He finally turns to face you, glass in hand, eyes unreadable. His gaze flickers—just for a second. Regret? Guilt? Something. But it’s gone before you can name it.
“I do care about you,” he says, and it sounds like a confession dragged out of him. “But I ain’t built for all that… commitment stuff.”
You laugh, bitter and tired, “You care, but not enough. Not enough to choose me. Not enough to stay.”
Joel sets the glass down on the counter with a soft clink. His jaw tightens. “Keep your voice down. Tommy’s sleepin’.”
You blink at him. “Are you serious right now?”
He doesn’t answer. Just rubs a hand over his face like he’s already exhausted by this conversation.
You step closer, arms crossed, heart pounding. “You don’t get to play the quiet martyr. You don’t get to act like this is my fault.”
“I ain’t sayin’ it is.” he mutters.
“But you’re not saying it’s yours either,” you snap. “You act like you’re protecting me, like you’re doing me some favor by keeping me at arm’s length. But all you’re doing is making me feel like I’m not enough.”
Joel’s eyes darken. “That ain’t true.”
“Isn’t it?” you challenge. “You want me when it’s convenient. When it’s quiet. When no one’s around to see. But the second I ask for more, you shut down. You disappear.”
He looks away, jaw clenched, shoulders tense.
You shake your head, tears burning behind your eyes. “You don’t even try.”
“I ain’t got the nerve for this right now. I’m going back to sleep. You can go, or come back to bed. Just do whatever you want.”
He doesn’t wait for your response. Just turns and walks down the hallway, slow and steady, like he’s done this a hundred times before. Like he knows you’ll follow eventually.
You stand there in the kitchen, fists clenched at your sides, heart thudding against your ribs. The glass of water he left behind is still sweating on the counter. The hum of the fridge is the only sound left in the room.
Then you hear it—the soft click of his bedroom door shutting. Not slammed. Not dramatic. Just final.
Your jaw tightens. Your chest burns. You stare at the hallway, at the door that just shut you out, and something inside you snaps.
You’re not going to lay down like this.
Not tonight.
Not after everything.
You move before you can talk yourself out of it. Your feet carry you down the hall, past Joel’s door, past the silence he left behind. You stop outside the guest room, hand hovering over the door.
“Fine,” you whisper, voice low and sharp. “If you don’t want me, Miller… I bet your brother does.”
You knock once, knuckles soft against the wood.
A beat passes. Then a faint, sleepy “Yeah?” comes from the other side.
You open the door slowly.
Tommy’s sitting on the bed, back against the headboard, curls messy and falling into his eyes. He’s shirtless, wearing nothing but boxers, a laptop balanced on his thighs. The glow from the screen casts soft shadows across his chest, highlighting the freckles scattered over his collarbones and the faint lines of muscle beneath.
He looks up at you and a slow smile spreads across his lips.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep and curiosity. “Had a fight again, huh?”
You step inside, closing the door quietly behind you. The click feels louder than it should. You cross the room and sit besides him on the bed, the mattress creaking softly beneath your weight.
“Your brother can be really stubborn.” you say, voice calm but edged with something darker.
Tommy chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Tell me about it.”
You glance at him, eyes tracing the curve of his jaw, the stubbles, his dimples and the way his mouth quirks when he smiles. Joel’s brother is attractive—undeniably so. You’ve always known it. You’ve always seen it.
“What’re you doing?” you ask, shifting closer, one hand resting lightly on his bare chest and the other turning his laptop towards you. Your fingers graze warm skin, and you feel his breath hitch.
He glances down at your hand, then back at the laptop. “Uh—j-just checking some emails,” he stammers, suddenly flustered.
You know he’s looked at you before. You’ve caught him. And tonight, the thin and short fabric of your pajamas isn’t helping his restraint.
“Joel’s always mean,” you say softly. “Always avoidant. Are you like that too, Tommy?”
Your eyes flick down to his lips, then back up to meet his gaze. He swallows hard, cheeks flushing pink.
“Nah, sweetheart,” he says, voice low. “Y’know me. Ain’t like my brother.”
Your faces are impossibly close now. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, the tension hanging heavy between you.
“Then will you help me?” you whisper, eyes dropping to your crotch. “Joel left me hanging.”
Tommy shifts, his hand twitching slightly on the laptop. He coughs, nervous. “Jesus, sweetheart. Ain’t—I mean—Joel wouldn’t be happy.”
“But why?” you ask, scooting closer. “He doesn’t care anyway.”
You look up at him, eyes wide, voice soft. “Please, Tommy.”
That does it.
He sets the laptop aside, eyes locked on yours, and then he leans in. His lips crash into yours, warm and urgent, as his hands find your hips, pulling you gently onto his lap. The bed creaks beneath you, the room spinning with heat and adrenaline and something you can’t name.
And while Joel lies in his bed, one arm slung over his eyes, trying to will himself into sleep—he hears it.
Soft at first. A whine. A creak. Then a sound that’s unmistakable—low, feminine, and deliberate.
A moan. A loud one.
Joel’s eyes snap open.
He doesn’t move right away. Just stares at the ceiling, jaw clenched, breath held. Another sound follows—longer this time, louder. Not accidental. Not even subtle.
You wanted him to hear. You wanted him to hear all the loud moans slipping past your lips while Tommy is fucking you.
Joel sits up slowly, the mattress groaning beneath him. His feet hits the floor with a quiet thud. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t storm. Just moves with the kind of calm that only comes from knowing exactly what he’s going to walk into.
The hallway is dim, lit only by the moonlight spilling through the windows. He walks in front of the door.
Another moan. Louder. Sharper.
Joel rubs a hand over his face, exhaling through his nose. His fingers drag down to his jaw, then fall to his side.
And he doesn’t knock.
He just opens the door.
“Jesus Christ, girl,” he mutters under his breath.
And there you are—on the bed, tangled in sheets and Tommy’s arms. He is on top of you, hips between your legs, your pyjama just halfway pulled down, your tits hanging out. Then, Tommy freezes, realising his brother caught you two, eyes wide and mouth parted like he’s about to speak but doesn’t know what to say.
You turn your head slowly, meeting Joel’s gaze.
He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
“Y’were always a wild little thing, weren’t you.”
His voice is low. Not angry. Not surprised. Just… knowing.
“We—I swear—we weren’t!” Tommy bubbles out something quickly, but still staying inside of you. Like he is frozen. Not knowing what to do with his body.
Joel ignores him. “Y’think this will do it?” A question directed at you. At you and your fucked out face, while a satisfied smirk starts forming on your lips.
You turn your head back at Tommy, cupping his cheek on your hand and making him focus back at you.
“Keep going,” you urge him breathless. “Please, ignore him. Fuck me, please.” You clench around his cock.
Tommy’s expression is on of a kind. If it’s lust, terrified or just confused—you can’t pin point it.
“Yea, don’t stop on my account,” Joel says, with slow steps starting to walk over to the bed.
“Tommy!” You shake him out of his frozen state. “Focus on me, please. Keep fucking me.” And with crashed lips, he suddenly starts to find a rhythm again. His hips slowly going in and out of your pussy.
You interrupt the kiss, looking at Joel—a loud, exaggerated moan slipping out of you. He smirks, arms crossing tightly against his body, just…watching.
Tommy groans out into the crook of your neck, already feeling close but there’s where Joel sees it—the flicker of doubt in your eyes. You look up to the ceiling not realising that Joel came even closer to the bed, now watching you even more closely.
“She ain’t going to cum,” he says, matter of factly. “Y’ain’t doing shit right.”
Tommy pulls his face from your neck, turning his gaze at Joel and slows down with his thrusts.
“Y’need to rub her clit, pull her hair.” He adds. And you could roll your eyes. He is right. As much as you were enjoying having Tommy, you felt getting drier and drier—to the point where you forgot about cumming completely. But that wasn’t the point, was it?
The point was, setting a statement. Making Joel jealous. Which somehow wasn’t working right now.
You look into Tommy’s face, his cheeks flushed and a sheen of sweat glistening on top of his forehead.
“That’s why she came to me, huh?” Tommy murmurs.
Joel’s jaw tightens. He wasn’t expecting that. For a second, he’s thrown off—his eyes flick to you, then back to Tommy. The smirk fades. Something darker settles in his expression.
He steps even closer to the bed.
“You think that’s why?” He spits out, shaking his head “You think she came to you ‘cause she wanted you?”
Tommy shifts, clearly uncomfortable now. His hands falter on your body. You feel the tension ripple through him.
Joel’s voice drops lower. “She doesn’t like when you touch her like that,” He starts again. “She likes when you pull her hair. When you bite her shoulder. When you tell her she’s yours.”
You freeze.
Tommy looks at you, searching your face for confirmation. You don’t give him any.
“Go on, ask her.” He says. “Ask her what she moans for when she’s not tryin’ to make me jealous.”
Tommy’s face hardens. Your cheeks heat up. Suddenly, wanting Joel’s hand around you.
“You’re a real piece of work, Joel.”
Joel shrugs. “And yet she keeps comin’ back.”
Tommy hesitates. You feel his grip loosen. Joel’s presence is suffocating now—he’s not yelling, not threatening, just knowing. And that’s worse.
Joel looks at you.
“Tell him.”
You don’t speak.
Joel leans in, voice like gravel. “Or I will.”
You shift, pulling away from Tommy’s grip. His hands fall from your skin like they were never meant to be there.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, not to Joel. Not to Tommy. Just to the room. To the moment.
Tommy suddenly slips out of you, pushing the blanket away, and pulls his shorts up. You watch him quietly while he gathers his clothes, his laptop and puts on his shirt.
Meanwhile you hear Joel shifting, and when you look at him, his eyes are already on you while his hands are pulling his pants down.
“You guys are fuckin’ nuts.” Tommy interrupts the silence before opening the door and stepping away from the guest room. You and Joel both hear the house door closing knowing you’re now alone.
Joel sighs.
“Let’s do this right, yea?” You don’t answer, you just watch.
Watch how he gets on the bed, spreading your legs further, taking a quick look at your pussy and then pulling his hardened cock out of his boxers.
“You think I don’t know you by now?” He asks, inserting his tip slowly into your cunt.
“You do this when you’re angry. When you want to be seen.” His voice is calm. Too calm
You whimper, gripping his arms as he eases himself into your pussy. A groan leaves his lips, watching you with concentration.
“But I’ll have you always crawling back to me,” he whispers. “Always.”
And with that, Joel starts thrusting into you, slow and gentle, your body betraying you and your mind fills itself with only one name again.
Joel.
I desperately want to write a Joel x Tommy x reader threesome one shot😩
pairing: joel x babysitter!reader (no outbreak au)
warnings: 18+ only, minors dni, sexual content, p in v, dirty talk, AGE GAP (reader is mid to late 20’s and joel is 50)
word count: 5.3k
an: this fic was lk out of my comfort zone, hence why it sat in my drafts for a month soooo, pls be nice heheh - @pleurspetal this one is for u girl hehe
also, if anyone wants a part two or maybe some spin off ideas, drop me a request bc i luvvv this trope
It felt strange being back in Austin after graduation. Everything felt the same, the streets, the air, the heat — everything but you. You carried a degree now, a piece of paper that made you feel both proud and oddly restless. You tried not to let the creeping sense of stagnation sink in as you settled back into your hometown. For now, you chose to lean into the comfort of the familiar.
Babysitting for the Millers.
So, when you crookedly parked your Toyota Corolla outside their house, the sight of the worn shutters and sun-faded welcome mat made something tight loosen in your chest. Everything looked as you remembered.
You smoothed your palms down your sundress before walking the familiar path to the house. You felt vaguely self-conscious in a way you hadn’t anticipated.
The porch steps creaked under your weight, just the way they always had. You raised your hand to knock, but before your knuckles could touch the wood, the door swung open.
Joel filled the frame.
For a second, your breath caught. You’d always… noticed Joel. His presence filled every room, heavy and steady, impossible to ignore. You’d always been acutely aware of his gaze, the rasp of his voice, and the way his hands were rough but also soft.
He looked the same, yet so different. His beard was fuller, flecked with more grey. His hair damp, like he’d just showered. He wore a faded t-shirt, clinging to his broad shoulders and a pair of jeans hung low on his hips.
Fifty had no business looking that good, you thought.
“Well, look at you.” His voice a low drawl, rougher than you remember. He leaned against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest, eyes sweeping over you. Slowly. “Big graduate, now, huh?”
Your lips tugged into a soft smile. “Guess so. Still me, though. Same old me.”
Joel’s mouth twitched, the beginnings of a grin teasing at the corner. “Not so sure about that, honey. Almost didn’t recognise you walkin’ up the drive.”
Your brows lifted slightly, warmth flickering in your chest at the way he said it. The familiar ease between you both slipped back into place quicker than you’d expected, though you didn’t notice the subtle darkening in his gaze as he took in the shape of you in your sundress.
“Come on in, sweetheart,” he drawled, stepping aside to let you pass.
The familiar warmth of the Miller house hit you immediately, mixing with the faint scent of coffee and the comforting tang of old wood.
You stepped inside, letting your bag drop to the floor. The living room looked exactly the same, well-worn sofa, bookshelves haphazardly scattered with carpentry books.
Behind you, the door clicked shut. Joel rubbed a hand down his face, as if trying to push away some thought he didn’t want to keep. Still, his eyes found you again, trailing over you with a weight that was harder for him to disguise this time.
College had carved something new into you. The way your hair framed your shoulders, the curve of your back, the long, easy line of your legs—all of it sharper, more defined. But it wasn’t just the surface. You didn’t drop your eyes when his caught yours. You stood taller, your voice steady, your presence sure. You weren’t the girl he remembered.
Something stirred in Joel’s chest, uninvited and insistent.
He moved toward the kitchen, letting you drift ahead. Pretending he was focused on something as ordinary as drinks. Pulling a bottle of Coke from the fridge, he filled two glasses, sliding one toward you.
“Here,” he said, handing you a glass, his voice calm, with just the faintest roughness that always made you catch your breath.
You took the glass, smiling slightly. A comfortable silence melting over you. Joel leaned casually against the kitchen counter as he watched you take a sip. Your tongue flicked over your bottom lip as you placed the glass down.
Joel cleared his throat, dragging his gaze away from you as he shifted his weight against the counter. “So—uh, Sarah’s got soccer on Tuesday nights now. Usually runs ‘til about seven. You think you can handle pickin’ her up?”
You nodded without hesitation. “Of course. Still at the same field?”
“Mm-hm.” He scratched at his jaw, buying himself a moment. Up close, he could see how much you’d changed—the easy confidence in your posture, the way your smile reached your eyes. Even your voice had a steadiness to it that wasn’t there before. He felt like he was catching up, like he’d missed a chapter.
“I can stay as late as you need,” you added. “Doesn’t matter if it’s after dinner, I don’t mind hanging out until you’re home.”
Joel’s eyes flicked to you briefly, then back down to the glass in his hands. “You sure? Sarah ain’t a little kid anymore, keeps herself pretty busy. Might be kinda boring for you.”
You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Trust me, I’m used to keeping busy. And boring sounds nice after finals.”
That laugh—low, easy—made something pinch behind Joel’s ribs. He caught himself watching the curve of your mouth a beat too long before glancing away.
“Alright,” he said slowly, as if the word needed grounding. “I’ll leave some cash on the counter. Rate’s probably outdated by now.”
You tilted your head at him, teasing. “I won’t gouge you, promise. Though I am a college graduate now. Pretty sure my rates should go up.”
That pulled a genuine grin from him, quick and unexpected, and it threw him a little. “Smartass.”
The way he said it wasn’t sharp, it was warm, almost fond. He reached for the bottle of Coke again just to give his hands something to do. You, meanwhile, settled comfortably on the stool across from him, like you’d always belonged there.
Once the babysitting details were sorted—pickup times, dinner routines, which nights Sarah had soccer—Joel reached for the keys on the counter and gave them a short toss into his palm, more out of habit than need. “Alright then,” he said, nodding toward the door. “Lemme walk you out.”
The two of you moved down the hall together, his boots a heavy thud against the wood, your sandals clicking lightly beside him. Joel was struck by how easily you slipped back into this house, how natural it looked—your hand brushing the edge of the hallway table, your bag swinging at your side as though you’d never left.
At the door, you pulled the strap over your shoulder and glanced up at him. The evening light spilled across your face, painting your skin gold, catching in the strands of your hair. Joel had to blink against the sight, like the sun was too bright.
“I’ll see you Tuesday?” you asked, voice soft but sure.
“Yeah,” Joel said, though it came out low, rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat, shifting his stance. “Yeah, Tuesday.”
You gave him that easy smile, a little wave, then headed down the steps.
Joel stayed leaning against the frame, one shoulder braced against the wood. He watched you cross the yard, the hem of your sundress fluttering with each step, your car keys glinting in your hand.
He exhaled slowly, running his thumb along the worn groove in the doorframe. His chest felt too tight, like he’d been holding something in without realizing it.
She’s just the babysitter, he reminded himself. Sarah’s babysitter. That’s it.
Still, he found his eyes following the sway of your walk, lingering too long before he caught himself and muttered, “Christ.”
The door clicked shut harder than he meant, the echo rattling through the quiet house. Joel dragged a hand down his face, jaw tight, as if he could scrape the thought clean. But the image of you—grown, confident, sunlight catching across your skin—clung stubbornly in the back of his mind.
———————————————————
It had been a few weeks since you first returned to the Miller house. The routine settled in quickly—school pickups, dinner, homework spread across the kitchen table while Sarah chattered about friends and soccer practice. You didn’t see much of Joel. Most nights, he came home late, shoulders heavy with work, offering a quick “thank you, sweetheart” as he walked you to the door, before retreating down the hall.
It was easier that way. Safer. You told yourself your focus belonged on Sarah, and it did. She was bright, stubborn, endlessly talkative, and it didn’t take long for the two of you to fall back into your old rhythm. When she laughed, head thrown back with abandon, you remembered why this house had always felt like a second home.
And so you chose to push Joel out of your mind. Chose not to think about the way he’d looked standing in the doorway that first evening, hair still damp, voice gravel-rough. Chose not to notice the lingering glances.
Joel, on the other hand, noticed everything.
Most nights, he lingered on the porch before stepping inside, taking a moment to shake off the sawdust, the weight of work, the flicker of nerves he couldn’t explain. Guilt pressed in heavy whenever he thought about you—about the way you’d grown, about how his eyes sometimes betrayed him. You were Sarah’s babysitter, for Christ’s sake.
He shouldn’t be thinking about you now. Not like this.
Joel told himself he was too old. A worn-out man with calloused hands and a back that ached more than it used to. You were a college graduate, with your whole life waiting, with boys your own age who wouldn’t weigh you down.
He imagined you with boys your own age, hands that weren’t his, mouths that weren’t familiar. The idea made his stomach knot, a mix of guilt and something darker, something he refused to name. He pictured the way you might touch, kiss, explore without restraint, and it made his hands itch.
So he came home late most nights, convincing himself it was easier. Convincing himself it was better not to complicate things.
However, once you left, Joel often found himself slipping into his bedroom, telling himself it was okay, that imagining you didn’t make him a bad person. He let himself fully surrender to memories of you leaning over the kitchen counter, or softly groaning as you stand from the floor, his hands moving slowly at first, teasing, exploring.
His fingers traced his length, gradually building pressure, imagining how you would gasp if he took you right there and then on the countertop, the way you would moan, your hands sprawled over the granite. He whispered your name under his breath, low and rough.
This was a private fire that no one could judge. Every imagined touch of your body, every curve, every imagined shiver made him lose control a little more. The tension coiled tight, and when it finally released in a shuddering, hot rush, he let out a quiet breath of relief, spent.
It was obscene. He knew it. An old man practically leering at his babysitter. Yet, a growing part of him didn’t care. A growing part of him also began to question whether you knew he felt this way.
—————————————————-
You found yourself at the Millers again, the air sticky and thick from the day’s heat. You had your hair pulled up, loose strands sticking to the back of your neck, bare legs curled beneath you on the sofa. A tank top and a pair of soft cotton shorts had seemed like the only sensible option when you’d dressed earlier, though now, you weren’t so sure.
Sarah had gone to bed an hour ago, worn out from soccer practice and a shower. The TV murmured low in the background, half-forgotten as you scrolled idly on your phone, condensation dripping from the Coke can on the coffee table. It was one of those lazy, heavy nights where everything slowed down.
You heard the crunch of gravel outside, then the slam of a truck door. A minute later, the front door creaked open, the familiar sound making your chest tighten. Joel stepped inside, the frame of him filling the entryway.
He looked tired, the kind of tired that sank into his shoulders and pulled at the corners of his mouth. His t-shirt clung to him, damp with sweat, sawdust still dusting his forearms. He dragged a hand through his hair, leaving it mussed, and kicked off his boots with a heavy sigh.
His eyes landed on you almost immediately.
For a beat, neither of you said anything. The TV filled the silence with canned laughter. Joel’s gaze dragged slowly from your bare legs tucked under you, to the hem of your shorts, to the way the thin fabric of your tank top clung faintly to your skin in the heat. His throat worked as he swallowed, dragging his attention back up to your face.
“Hey,” you said softly, like the room was suddenly smaller.
Joel cleared his throat, voice rougher than usual. “Hey. She get down alright?”
“Out like a light.” You smiled, shifting to sit up straighter, and felt his eyes follow the movement. “Practice wore her out.”
He grunted, moving toward the kitchen. You heard the fridge open, then the hiss of a beer cap twisting loose. A few moments later, he leaned against the doorway, bottle in hand, watching you over the rim as he took a slow sip.
You set your phone aside and shifted to stretch, arms lifting above your head. The hem of your tank top tugged higher, exposing a sliver of skin at your waist. When you dropped your arms, Joel was still watching, his expression unreadable.
“What?” you questioned, tilting your head.
Joel’s mouth twitched, a ghost of a smile. “Nothin’. Just—” He shook his head, taking another pull from the bottle. “You make yourself real at home here, don’t ya?”
“Always have,” you said easily, curling your legs back under you. “Feels like a second home.”
That pulled something flicker-quick across his face—something he pushed down almost instantly. He took another sip of beer, the sound of the glass against his teeth louder in the quiet room.
You leaned forward, resting your chin in your hand. “You look like hell, Joel.”
His brows shot up, eyes narrowing, though not unkindly. “That right?”
You grinned, enjoying the way his voice had dropped half a register. “Mhm. Long day at work… don’t think I’ve ever seen you stand still this long without falling asleep.”
He huffed, shaking his head, but there was heat in his eyes when they slid over you again. “You get mouthier since college, or is that just tonight?”
You shrugged, biting back another smile. “Maybe you just never noticed before.”
That hung heavy in the air, the kind of silence that wasn’t comfortable anymore. The kind that made your skin prickle. Joel’s jaw tightened. He drained the rest of his beer in one swallow, then set the bottle down a little too firmly on the counter.
“You oughta head on home,” he said, voice low. “It’s late.”
You didn’t move right away. “You always this eager to get rid of me?”
His eyes cut to yours, sharp and dark. For a second, it felt like the whole room leaned toward him, the weight of his stare pressing against your skin. He took a slow step forward, then another, until he was standing a little too close to the sofa.
“Careful,” he said, quiet but rough. “I don’t think you know what the hell you’re doin’ sweetheart.”
Your throat went dry, heat crawling up your neck. Yet, you still held his gaze. “Show me what to do, then.”
For a heartbeat, Joel didn’t move. His eyes dropped to the floor, jaw flexed, the muscle ticking hard, and his nostrils flared like he was wrestling something down. Then his eyes dragged from the floor, over your bare legs, the soft cling of your tank top, the way you were looking at him with soft lips and glassy eyes.
Joel snapped. Moving in a sudden, decisive step. His hand found your waist, effortlessly dragging you up off the sofa and against him. The heat of his body pressed into yours, his grip firm, rough like he couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to.
His mouth crashed against yours, hot and unrelenting. You let out a gasp, which he swallowed, your hands clutching at his shirt, fingers curling tight as if you needed something to hold you upright.
Joel groaned low in his chest, one hand still gripping your waist, the other sliding up your back, rough palm mapping the curve of you through thin cotton. He pulled you closer, impossibly close, until there wasn’t a breath of space left between your bodies.
When your lips parted for him, his tongue pushed past, the kiss turning deeper, filthier. You moaned, and the sound tore another growl from his throat. He broke away just long enough to press his mouth to your jaw, then your throat, teeth scraping lightly against sensitive skin, his hand clutching the base of your head.
“Joel—” Your voice came out breathless, trembling.
He backed you toward the sofa. When the backs of your legs hit the worn material, he pressed you down onto it, looming over you, standing between your thighs, eyes dark with a hunger that made your face burn.
“You got any idea what you do to me, huh?” His voice was hot against your mouth, low and furious, like it cost him to admit it.
You shook your head, dazed, lips swollen, chest rising and falling too fast. Joel leaned into the sofa, caging you in, and his mouth crashed back onto yours. His hand tangled harshly in your hair, tugging just enough to make you gasp, while the other slid up your thigh, squeezing hard, kneading the flesh like he wanted to leave his mark.
Joel tore back for a breath, his hand shifting to grip your face, palm rough against your cheek, thumb digging into your jaw to force your mouth open for him. The air between you sparked, heavy and unbearable.
“Walkin’ ‘round my house,” he growled, voice ragged, “lookin’ like that. Like you don’t fuckin’ know what it does to me.”
You whined, a pathetic, desperate sound that only made his eyes darker.
“Yeah,” he muttered, thumb swiping over your spit-slick bottom lip, almost mocking. “That’s what I thought. Nothin’ but trouble.”
His hand slid from your jaw to your throat, not squeezing, just holding—his grip firm enough that you felt the warning in it. His hips pressed forward, pinning you deeper into the sofa, the hard line of his body unmistakable against you.
“Say you want it,” he rasped, his mouth hovering just above yours, every word a command. “Say it, and I’ll give it to you.”
You swallowed hard, chest heaving, heat pooling low. “I… I want it,” you admitted, voice trembling, barely louder than a whisper.
His eyes snapped to yours, sharp, dark, and blazing. “You sure ‘bout that?” His hand tightened just slightly on your throat, not enough to hurt, but enough to make the warning sting.
“Yes, Joel, please” you breathed, desperate, needing him, wanting him to take control.
A noise ripped from his chest, deep and low, and then he was moving again, lips crashing onto yours with feral hunger. His hands roamed, one gripping your hip to pull you flush against him, the other still tangled in your hair, tilting your head back to open you to him. Every kiss was rough, demanding, leaving marks in its wake.
Your hands clawed at his back, desperate to feel more, to keep him close. Joel’s hand slid down from your face, teasing the curve of your hip, then up under your tank top, fingers brushing your ribs before settling over your breast. You arched into him, a moan catching in your throat, and that sound—dirty, needy—made him groan against you.
His hands grappled your tank top, pulling it over your tits. He pulled away from you, looking down at you below him. Your eyes glossy, your lips slick, cheeks flushed. His eyes trailed down to your chest, your breasts moving with each deep, quick breath.
“Fuckin’ perfect”, he muttered to himself. His hands kneading your breasts, his thumb grazing over your nipples.
You keeled, back arching into his touch. He took a nipple into his mouth, his tongue tracing circles. Your hands grabbing onto his hair in attempt to ground yourself.
His free hand drifted down your stomach, lingering at the waistband of your shorts, teasing and deliberate. Every subtle brush made your skin tingle, your breath hitch. Your hips shifted, almost bucking into him, desperate for more, aching for his touch.
“You desperate, huh?” he murmured, voice low, rough, almost growling. “Getting exactly what you were craving all along.”
His other hand lifted from your chest, sliding to cup your face. The warmth and gentleness of his touch hit you like a jolt, spinning your head. His thumb brushed over your lips, soft, deliberate, pressing lightly against them as if inviting—no, daring—you to part them for him.
You parted your lips, letting his thumb slip inside, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. His eyes darkened as he watched you, reading every tiny reaction, every gasp and tremble. He loved it. He had you exactly where he wanted. Putty in his hands.
He pulled his thumb free from your mouth, letting it linger in his memory, then leaned down, capturing your lips again with a forceful, hungry kiss. Your knees pressed against him, body arching instinctively as he deepened the kiss, one hand still tangled in your hair, the other slipping under the waistband of your shorts.
“Can I, baby?” Joel asked, his voice low, almost tender—a sharp contrast to the heat in his gaze.
You nodded, fingers brushing along his jaw, tracing the line of his face as your hands tangled in his hair.
“Use your words, baby,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over yours, voice rough with need.
You whimpered, hips pressing insistently against his hand, desperate for him, needing him to take control.
“Please, Joel,” you gasped, voice trembling.
He smirked, dark and knowing, before leaning down to crush his lips against yours, hunger and heat radiating from every inch of him.
His hand dipped lower, fingers sliding against the waistband of your shorts. With deliberate slowness, he broke through the fabric, teasing at your skin beneath, the heat of his touch making your breath hitch.
You gasped when he reached your core, fingers spreading your slick through your folds. You could feel him smiling against your lips.
“All this for me?”Joel asked, his voice taut.
You couldn’t reply—your voice caught somewhere in your chest, your head spinning from the way he toyed with you. Then a sharp swat landed against the bundle of nerves, making you gasp, eyes snapping open.
“I told you to use your fuckin’ words,” he growled, dark and commanding.
Your mind went blank for a moment, fumbling, tongue tied, before you finally managed to stammer, “Y-yes… it’s all for you, Joel.”
Joel’s eyes darkened, a slow, satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. “That’s better,” he muttered, leaning down so your foreheads nearly touched, his breath hot against your skin. He wanted to look at you as he slid two fingers in.
You arched into him instinctively, a shudder wracking your body as he pressed with deliberate patience, his thumb reaching up to rub circles into your clit.
You should have been mortified by the wet, desperate sounds your body was making in the quiet room, but all you could feel was white-hot need.
“Say it again,” he demanded, low and rough, his other hand gripping your hip, holding you still under him. “Say it for me, so I know you mean it.”
Your lips parted, voice trembling, glassy eyes locking onto his. “It’s… all for you, Joel. Only you.”
His fingers moved with slow, deliberate precision, each stroke sparking white-hot jolts that radiated through your entire body. Your chest heaved, back arching instinctively, every nerve alight with need. You could feel it spilling from you, a trembling rhythm, and you were certain the only word leaving your lips was his name, whispered over and over in a breathless chant.
Joel’s fingers never slowed, never faltered. You could feel your climax apparching, heart beating in your ears.
“C’mon baby, you gonna cum on my fingers?” He whispered, teeth grazing your jaw, hot breath fanning over your cheek.
Your knees trembled, hands clutching his arms, chest heaving, a high, keening moan leaving your lips. Each word from him pushed you closer, tethered you to the sensation, made you forget everything except the heat of his touch.
Your climax ripped through you like fire, body quaking under him, chest heaving, lips parted in breathless cries of his name. His hand didn’t stop, moving with care even as your body spasmed beneath him, riding out every wave.
Your hands reached for him, tangling in his hair, gripping his shoulders, desperate for more.
“You want me to fuck you, huh?” Joel murmured, low and dangerous, his fingers hooking the waistband of your shorts. With a slow, deliberate tug, he pulled them down your legs, letting the fabric pool at your ankles.
“How badly do you want me to fuck you?” Joel’s voice was low, rough, each word pressing against your skin like heat.
You let your body answer for you this time. You nodded frantically, hips shifting, chest heaving, breath catching with each slow, deliberate sweep of his gaze over your bare skin.
Joel undid his belt with one hand, the sound of the buckle making your head rush. He pulled his cock out of his boxers, hard and straining as it slaps against his stomach.
You couldn’t help it—your mouth fell open, jaw slack, eyes wide, heart hammering at the sight of him. Every inch of you was suddenly alive with need, trembling with anticipation.
“You think you can take this, huh?” Joel’s voice was low, rough, commanding, each word sending shivers down your spine. “This is what you’ve been begging for, ain’t it?”
You nodded, unable to speak, the shame of your own desperation mingling with the raw need curling through you.
Joel’s eyes roamed over every curve, lingering on your trembling hands, your parted lips, the slick evidence of your want. “Look at you,” he muttered. “You’re trembling, honey. Never taken a cock this big before?” He cooed, teasingly.
His eyes darkened as he leaned closer, hand wrapping around the base of himself. He pressed the tip against your slick folds, dragging it slowly along your wetness, teasing the sensitive skin with deliberate, torturous slowness. You gasped, hips jerking instinctively toward him, body already betraying how much you needed him.
“God… no, Joel,” you whispered, voice trembling, breath hitching, each word drenched in helpless want as his movements coaxed shivers straight through you.
He pushed in slowly, one hand guiding him and the other curved firmly around your hip, drawing you closer. A sharp, involuntary gasp escaped your lips at the delicious, overwhelming stretch.
A deep, guttural groan tore from him as he pressed fully inside, his body shuddering with the intensity of the sensation. He threw his head back, eyes closing, every muscle taut with pleasure.
Slowly, deliberately, he set a steady rhythm, his body moving with a focused, demanding pace. Each stroke drew a fresh gasp from you, the friction pulling moans from both of you, tangled and urgent. His hands gripped your hips like anchors, guiding you through each measured movement.
The room filled with wet, lewd sounds—the slick, rhythmic meeting of skin and the ragged gasps and groans of rising desire. Every noise seemed amplified, echoing off the walls.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” Joel muttered, his voice rough and ragged, almost as if he were struggling to contain himself. His eyes devoured every inch of you, tracing the curve of your hips, the rise and fall of your chest, the way your lips part on a sharp intake of breath. He swallowed hard, hands flexing on your hips, as if trying to keep himself steady. “No idea… no idea how many times I’ve touched myself thinking about this, thinking about you like this” His gaze locked on yours, hunger and need shimmering in every flicker of his eyes.
A low, ragged moan slipped from your lips, your body humming with heat. Your nails raked down his stomach. “I’ve imagined this… over and over,” you breathed.
”Fuck”, Joel muttered underneath his breath, hands moving under your hips to steady you. “You’re so fuckin’ filthy.”
Joel picked up the pace, driving into you with force. “Making me feel like some kind of fuckin’ pervert,” he groaned, voice rough, “but it’s you.”
Despite the brutal, punishing rhythm Joel set, a small, involuntary smile tugged at your lips.
“You find that funny, huh?” he growled, eyes dark with desire and mischief. “I ought to bend you over my knee and teach you a damned lesson…”
You gasped sharply as his hand landed hard on your thigh, the sting sending heat coursing through you. Before you could recover, his thumb pressed firmly against your clit, and the sudden, overwhelming sensation had you shivering—punishment enough to leave you trembling. He leaned down, kissing you harshly, swallowing your gasps.
The build-up was unbearable, every thrust driving you closer until your body felt like it was on fire. Your nails dug into his shoulders as the tension coiled tight in your stomach, your breath breaking into ragged moans. When release finally tore through you, it was almost violent in its force—you cried out, trembling around him, every nerve alight with white-hot pleasure.
Joel wasn’t far behind. The way you clenched down on him, the sound of your moans, the sight of your body unraveling beneath him—it broke his control completely.
“You gonna let me cum inside you, baby?” Joel rasped, his voice rough but startlingly sincere, almost pleading. His hips kept their relentless rhythm, but his eyes stayed locked on yours, searching, needing your answer.
Your head lolled back against your shoulder, breathless and dazed, body trembling from the pace he’d set. A whimper escaped you, your lips parting with a small whine and a raw “yes, please.”
He let out a guttural groan, head falling against your shoulder as he drove himself deep, hips stuttering. His release hit hard, pulsing through him as he spilled inside you, heat flooding your core while his whole body shook with the intensity.
The room filled with the sounds of your mingled cries and labored breathing, sweat slicking your skin where it pressed against his. Even as the aftershocks rippled through you, Joel stayed buried inside, holding you close like he couldn’t bear to let go. Every shaky exhale against your neck carried the weight of his pleasure and something heavier—something almost reverent—as if he couldn’t believe this moment was real.
“You okay?” Joel’s voice was low, gravelly, but softer than you’d ever heard it.
You gave a tired little laugh, cheek pressed against his shoulder, still slightly dazed. “Yeah.”
His thumb brushed lazy circles along your hip, absent and tender. “Good… wasn’t sure I’d, uh—” He broke off, clearing his throat. “Didn’t wanna hurt you.”
“You didn’t,” you assured him, tilting your head just enough to catch his eyes.
For a long moment, he just looked at you, like he was memorizing the way you looked in his arms, sweat-slicked hair clinging to your temples, the soft curve of your smile. Something softened in his face, the usual guardedness slipping away.
“Been wantin’ you a long time,” he admitted quietly, almost like a confession. “Didn’t think I’d get to have this.”
Your lips tugged into a shy smile. “Maybe you do now.”
Joel’s arm tightened around you at that, pulling you closer until his forehead rested against yours. “Yeah,” he murmured, a ghost of a smile in his voice. “Reckon I do.”
Summary: You’d provoked him to this, annoyed him enough that he hardly bothered to shut the door before he was on you. He wasn’t concerned about you. How you felt, or if it pleased you. He just wanted to fuck you.
You didn’t mind.
Rating & Tags: E, PWP, QZ!Joel, painful sex, toxic relationship, unhealthy relationship, rough sex, oral sex (f receiving), mention of anal, mean!Joel, bratty!reader, daddy kink.
Word Count: 4,352 / Read on AO3.
Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment or drop a reblog if you enjoy <3
Joel Miller had you firmly against the wall of your shitty little apartment. It was undignified. Your pants and underwear yanked roughly down to dangle around one ankle, your legs kicked apart, his hand around your throat. You’d provoked him to this, annoyed him enough that he hardly bothered to shut the door before he was on you. He wasn’t concerned about you. How you felt, or if it pleased you. He just wanted to fuck you.
You didn’t mind.
“Yes– please–”
“Shut up,” he said.
He pressed his fingers to your pussy, but not really to get you ready. It was more of a perfunctory thing. A relic of the past, maybe some twenty years prior before the world had gone to shit and he hadn’t been so cold. Had he ever been less cold?
You yanked on his hair and grinned delightedly as he glared. You took a perverse pleasure in getting under his skin. Getting him riled. You enjoyed the marks he left on you. Bruises on your hips where he held you tight, bent over his sofa, or in a back alley close enough to a FEDRA checkpoint that your heart raced. Hot cheeks where he gripped your jaw in his hand when you mouthed off.
He shoved his cock inside you without ceremony. You gasped, scrabbling at his shoulders. You were dry enough that it hurt, but pleasure filled you anyway. You liked that it hurt. What you liked about sex with Joel was more mental than physical. He desired you enough that he was violent. No one had ever desired you like that before.
He wrapped your hair around his fist and used it to hold you against the wall like a fish on a hook. You cried out at a particularly brutal thrust.
“Like that?” he grunted. His other hand gripped your thigh, holding you open enough that he could have his way with you. The sounds of skin slapping against skin were obscene, the rhythmic, violent thumps, likewise. You winced. The neighbors beneath banged on their ceiling, but you just clenched your eyes shut and gripped onto Joel’s shoulders.
“All quiet now?” he mocked, scraping his teeth over the sensitive skin of your throat. “Didn’t mind yappin’ at me earlier.”
“Harder–” you said, even though he was already going plenty hard. “Harder, Joel.”
He yanked on your hair enough you yelped. “‘S not up to you, doll.”
“That hurts,” you whined, squirming. He pulled back enough you could get a view of his face. You drank him in; you loved looking at him like this. Flushed cheeks and hair rumpled. But a hard gaze and impenetrable thoughts. He had not allowed you to unbutton more than the first two buttons of his shirt. His throat bobbed. His jaw was clenched. His eyes were surrounded by crow’s feet. He was so much older. Stronger and wiser and meaner, to boot. He leaned his weight against you and fucked you like he didn’t much care that you were part of this equation too.
You writhed against him. His balls slapped against you, and so did his belt buckle. You were slick with sweat. It was the dead of summer and with no air-conditioning, these old, crumbling Boston apartment buildings drooped in the humidity. Sweat veiled him too, on his cheeks, on the hollow of his throat, that barest glimpse of chest. You ached for more. You gouged his shoulders with your fingernails and rotated your hips so that, with every thrust, his pubic bone ground into your clit. It was a pleasurable balm against the aggression of his motions.
“Yes, yes,” you cried out again, scrabbling for a better grip on his arms. He grunted right in your ear and lifted you higher, only to drop you back down. You moaned, eyes popping open. You tried to get a look at him, but his nose was nudging the side of your head and his heavy breathing filled your ears.
“Wait,” you moaned. “Right there, don’t change–”
“Be quiet,” he grunted again. His fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs so much you knew there would be fingerprints later. You imagined him sucking more marks on your throat, your breasts, on branding you with something more permanent, like a ring, or a baby. You clenched on him, over and over, almost there, the pain rocketing you toward an orgasm that would be thin and short-lived, but perfect, all because it was coming from this man.
You were ecstatic enough with the pleasure that you couldn’t help yourself – you tried to kiss him. You would be embarrassed about this later. But in the moment, it felt right. You sought his lips out with your own. A messy, over-excited smear.
But almost as soon as your lips made contact with his, he yanked his head back and growled, “Enough.”
“It’s just a kiss,” you said hotly. You squirmed against him, your legs spread wide around his hips. Moisture and sweat slicked you. You realized he’d stopped thrusting, and you prickled with annoyance. You tried to come at him with your mouth again.
He stopped you with a hand clamped down over the lower half of your face. “I said no.”
You glared over the top of his hand. You felt sour. You directed every bit of your attention to squeezing around his cock. His jaw clenched. He couldn’t deny that he wanted you. Even if he didn’t want to kiss. Even if he didn’t want affection, or anything more. Just wanted to fuck you and be done with it. He wanted you.
You clenched again and he let out a rough exhale. Slowly, he lowered his hand from your mouth and began to thrust again, making sure his lips were a far distance from yours. He had you pinned to the wall in a way that left you little leverage. You wanted to provoke him some more. You spouted off before you could think better of it. “Yes,” you cried. “Daddy–”
The change was immediate. His hand closed around your throat. His face transformed. He shoved you hard against the wall. “Shut–” he hissed. “Up.”
The place was dark, but that did not hide the agitation in his expression. His shoulders were raised and his mouth downturned. When you met his eyes, they were darker than you thought you had ever seen them. He glared at you, but he was hardly seeing you. You winced, hands coming up to grip at the one he had around your neck. He wasn’t choking you, but the change in him was significant enough that you felt a little nervous.
“What,” you said, though you probably shouldn’t have. “Don’t like being called daddy, daddy?”
His hand squeezed, enough that your heart thundered.
“If you say that again,” he said quietly. “We’re done for good.”
“Jeez,” you said, grimacing.
A beat passed, but when you didn’t say anything more, he pulled out. He drew away, and you panicked. “Wait, wait–” you rushed, reaching for him. You snagged his sleeve before he could get too far. “I’m sorry.”
He only paused long enough for you to rush out, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… it.”
The muscle in his jaw jumped.
“I won’t say it again,” you promised. “It was just some fun. Please…”
And you stepped closer. You got in his space again. Your heart hammered in the cage of your chest. You did not attempt to kiss him again. You were afraid to cross that final line. Instead, you pressed your lips against his clothed shoulder. When you pulled back, you were close enough that you went cross-eyed trying to meet his gaze. Then you went on tip-toes to place a kiss on his cheek. He tensed.
“Come on, Joel,” you whispered. You ignored the swirling darkness in his expression. You were pathetic, but you slid a hand down his chest anyway. Down his sternum, over his abdomen, then, slyly, you reached down to cup his cock.
His hand clamped down around your wrist, and you startled. Your mouth fell open, and he stared at you and you stared back. But he did not remove your hand, so you smirked a little, and squeezed.
“Don’t be mad,” you urged. “Come on. Don’t you want–”
He let out another of those exhales. For a second, your heart skipped a beat. Was he going to leave you like this? Yank your hand away and buckle his pants up and storm out of your apartment? Being around Joel sometimes felt like walking on a tight-rope that doubled as a hairpin trigger. You held your breath.
He pulled your hand from his crotch and your stomach plummeted. But he growled out, “I told you to be quiet,” and then there was a flurry of motion.
He had you by the wrist and then also the hip, and before you knew it he was marching you a couple feet to the left and bending you over the edge of the kitchen table. It was an old thing, like most things were, and wobbled under the force of you being shoved upon it.
“Oof,” you said. Your belly jumped as Joel yanked your pants from your one ankle and pressed a boot between your feet to kick your legs apart. There was the nudge of his cock against your entrance, and then he was driving all the way in, again, all at once. The angle was even more intense like this.
You gasped, eyes wide and your hands white-knuckling either side of the table. A hand on the back of your neck smushed your cheek down against the surface. He began to fuck you like this, and it was anything but gentle. Your hip bones banged against the table edge over and over and his weight overtop of you was enough to hold you captive.
A broad hand clamped down over your mouth. “Fuckin’ take it.”
In this position, the head of his cock only just teased the edge of your sweet spot. You tried to squirm into a slightly better angle, but once again he had all the leverage. You moaned and squealed into the table. Your pussy was gushing, now. If you had been dry before, your body had very quickly gotten the hint. You felt the wetness smearing between your thighs. Heard those obscene slapping noises as his hips pressed against your bum with each subsequent thrust.
He removed his hand from your mouth so that he could grip your hips on both sides. He squeezed and touched. Then, he smoothed those rough palms over your ass and, without ceremony, spread your cheeks apart. Your eyes widened.
“Ain’t you pretty,” he then said, and all the hair on your body stood on end.
When a small pressure, like a thumb, smoothed over your hole, you froze.
“Joel, wait–” you squeaked.
“Don’t worry,” he grunted. The pressure on your hole increased slightly and you gasped, but then he released you, and bent over you to grind his cock deeper inside you. “‘m not gonna. ‘m enjoyin’ this pussy too much.”
Tension bled out of you and you let your forehead drop to the table surface. Your eyes fluttered shut. You had never in your life had anything up your ass, and you weren’t exactly planning on changing that.
“Bet you’d like it though,” he said casually. His hand settled on the back of your neck and his thrusts increased in intensity. Not necessarily faster, but certainly deeper and harder. The table scraped and thudded over the floor, and the neighbors banged again, but you were so wrapped up in Joel Miller that you did not care.
His words caught up to you.
“In your dreams,” you bit out.
That large hand squeezed the back of your neck and for a moment you felt the reality of the scenario settle in. This much stronger man, who could be mean and cruel, and who had over and over rebuffed any of your gentler intentions. This man who may have wanted you, but probably did not like you very much. There were no laws in the QZ, either. Not about this sort of thing. If he really wanted, he could hold you there and fuck you right in the ass whether you consented or not. You broke out in a cold sweat at the thought.
“We’ll see,” he chuckled, grinding harder.
He was close. You could tell from the rising aggression of his thrusts. The hissed breaths and grunts that escaped him, like he couldn’t quite manage to hold them back. You scrabbled your fingernails over the surface of the table, attempting to reach between your legs and provide yourself the pleasure that he would not. But he just gathered your wrists in one large hand and held them captive against your lower back. You were flushed and sweaty and overcome. His balls slapped wetly against your clit, over and over, but he did not allow you any other relief.
He fucked you like this, contained and controlled, for some ten more thrusts. One. His hands squeezed down on you just a little too hard. Three. He let out a low groan that made your toes curl. Four. He released your wrists and bent over you. You could feel his breath warm and wet against your neck. Could feel the warmth of his chest against your back. Six. He scraped his teeth over the back of your neck until you shivered. Seven. This thrust was erratic, uncontrolled. The pressure behind it smashed your clit deliciously against the edge of the table and you let out a surprised shout.
Eight. Nine. Your eyes pricked with overwhelmed tears as he thrust in deep and hard.
“Fuck,” he groaned on the final one, driving in deep, and then pulling out just as quickly.
“Wait, wait–” you squealed. You attempted to hook your ankle around his knee to keep him inside, but the little leverage you could gain was no match for his strength. He ripped his cock from you, and there was the warm liquid feeling of him coming all over your backside.
He hovered over you for a couple of moments. All you could hear was his heavy breathing and the pounding of your heart in your ears. Then he patted the side of your thigh, said, “good girl,” and stepped away just like that.
The crush of disappointment was enough to make tears well in your eyes.
You pressed your forehead to the table and closed your eyes. You listened to the jingle of his belt and then the thud-thud-thud of his footsteps as he walked to the kitchen. You stayed like that, trying to breathe evenly. You felt empty and worn down, trembling with unsatisfied pleasure and yearning and embarrassment. Joel had been to your shitty apartment enough times that he knew where your liquor was. You heard the clink of the glass bottle and the glug-glug of liquid being poured. When footsteps started again, you shakily pushed yourself up from the table.
He rounded the corner and you bent down to pick up your discarded pants. You angled your head so your hair would cover your face. You could still feel the gooey drip of his come on your skin. You felt his presence come up beside you and tensed.
“Here,” he grunted. He handed you a rag.
“Oh,” you said, feeling flushed. Your voice was unfortunately watery, although you tried your hardest to hide that. “Thanks.”
There was a beat a silence. It was always like this. A moment of awkwardness, neither of you quite sure what to do. You busied yourself with dabbing away the mess on your skin. You would have to take a quick shower once he was gone. Hopefully the water would not be too cold. Hopefully the spray would last longer than one minute, too.
“Are you cryin’?” he then said, voice rough. Your eyes popped open.
“No,” you immediately said, voice wavering.
“Aw Jesus,” you heard him say. Then a hand was on your shoulder and he was turning you to face him.
When he saw your glossy eyes and trembling lower lip and wet eyelashes, his face did something strange. You weren’t sure that you could even describe it. A stillness, a tenseness. The corners of his lips drooped down.
“What’re you cryin’ for?” he said, and you sniffled. He hadn’t said it meanly, but the words themselves were enough to make that lump in your throat increase in weight.
“‘M not,” you croaked, hastily rubbing your face as if he hadn’t already seen. “S’ just… dusty in here.”
He squinted at you, frowning deeply.
“Did I…” he said, looking uncomfortable. “Did I hurt you?”
You just shook your head, not trusting your voice. You tried to turn away but he didn’t let you. He frowned even deeper. “Aw Jesus,” he said again.
“I’m fine, Joel,” you burst out, finally getting far enough out of his grip to yank your pants up. “Why are you still here? You never stay this long.”
He rocked back on his heels, looking a little surprised. Damn him.
“Well…”
“‘Cause I’m ‘cryin?” you mimicked his accent disparagingly. “Since when do you care how I feel?”
“Hey,” he said, a bit tersely.
You rolled your eyes, now feeling more rageful than teary. You were glad for it. You buttoned your pants with trembling fingers. “Just…just go already.”
You turned your back on him but did not hear his footsteps retreating. He said your name, and you flinched. Then, those footsteps approached. He hovered close behind you, and you held your breath.
“Baby, tell me what’s the matter,” he said, setting his emptied glass on the table beside you. You watched as his hand flexed in your periphery, and then pulled away. Your gaze transfixed on the mouth-smudge on the rim of the glass. His lips had touched that. He brushed a piece of hair from your neck. “‘S’it ‘cause you didn’t get to come, honey?”
Damn Joel Miller and his honeys and his babies in that deep, low, rumbling voice. Damn him and that sugary accent that melted all your resolve. Your toes curled against the old, stained carpet. You’d only barely had the chance to kick your shoes off earlier before he was on you, sucking and biting on your neck like he wanted to devour you.
He was close enough now that his lips brushed the back of your neck. His mustache prickled you, and you shivered.
“Well?” he murmured lowly, hands settling on your hips.
You closed your eyes, but petulantly said, “No.”
“You sure ‘bout that?” he said, in that gravelly tone of his. His fingers traced along the waistband of your pants. All your thoughts narrowed to two points. One being the warm, soft touch of his hand over your lower belly. The teasing pressure of his palm at level with your navel and his fingertips inching into your pants. And two being the soft, ticklish kiss of his mouth against the nape of your neck. He sighed against you, and your body erupted in goose bumps.
“Joel,” you melted.
“‘S’okay,” he chuckled. “I know what ya need.”
You were placid as he turned you around in his arms. Your tears had dried and so had all offense and dignity. When Joel Miller spoke to you like that… well, let’s just say you weren’t exactly known for any sort of logical thinking when it came to him. He didn’t waste a minute before slipping a hand down the front of your pants.
You flushed hot as he laughed. “Left her all soaked, didn’t I?”
“Joel,” you whined, but your hands just floated up to rest on his chest. His scent was even stronger after sex. You smelled it on him, around him, and now on yourself. You breathed in when he leaned in close enough to scrape his facial hair over your cheek.
Before you knew it, he had you sat back against the table with your pants once again yanked down to your ankles.
“Oh!”
He pressed your legs apart and blew a very warm, very directed stream of air right at your clit. You jerked, and he laughed. When he slid two fingers inside of you, you were still stretched and wet from before. His cock had done all that work but had relieved none of the pressure behind your navel. Now, the pleasure reignited. He hooked his fingers just so, and your belly jumped.
Then he leaned forward and sucked your clit into his mouth. Your eyes blew wide. Your knees attempted to close around his head, but he just gripped a thigh with one hand and your belly with the other, forcing you flat against the table.
“Oh my god,” you cried.
He sucked and sucked, and when he wasn’t sucking he was twirling his tongue in long, flat strokes. All the while, two of his fingers hooked and thrust and filled you up inside. Joel had never… emphasis on the never… gone down on you before. He had never brought it up and you were always a little too chickenshit to ask. Not that you were afraid of him, but it was more that you were afraid of what insulting things he might say. Men liked to put their cocks inside pussy but god forbid you asked them to use their mouth on one. It’s just unpleasant, it tastes bad, it’s like being nose deep in a pastrami sandwich (whatever the fuck that meant – what the hell was pastrami, anyway?) You always rolled your eyes at these excuses. Like getting a hard cock jammed in your throat was pleasant.
All of that to say… you’d always worried Joel was one of these sorts of men. So you never bothered to bring up the subject. You didn’t want that bone-deep insecurity to settle. He already didn’t want to kiss you…
But once again. Damn Joel Miller. This man just kept surprising you.
You stared down at him, your cheeks and your chest and your entire body flushed. He was this huge, lumbering, incomprehensible presence taking up all this space between your legs. He was messy with it. His nose shone with your arousal and his mustache glistened. When you squirmed and wiggled from the pleasure, he pressed his palm down on your belly with a strength that never failed to excite you. At one point, he removed his fingers from you – when you whined, he delivered a soft wet slap to your throbbing center – and then brought his tongue down to lick and swirl over your entrance. You whined, hands clenching in his hair.
When he chuckled against you, the vibrations rumbled through your flesh. His facial hair tickled and scraped you. You dripped with sweat. You were on fire. Joel Miller made it so.
“Please, please,” you cried out. He slipped his fingers back inside you, and his mouth returned to your clit. He sucked hard, and you tumbled right into your climax.
It took you by total surprise; you let out a long squeal, toes curling. Back arching. You clenched on his fingers, over and over. You gushed. And he was relentless. He sucked and sucked and drove the tips of his fingers into the squishy spot inside of you that felt so good. It was too good. It was too good.
“Fuck,” you moaned, out of breath.
Again, he laughed a little, and the little breathy bursts only added to the overwhelming aftermath of an orgasm that he had ripped from you just like he had done with your dignity.
When he finally rocked back on his heels, leaving one final, burning hot lick to your clit, you were boneless. It allowed him to stand up, take the back of your neck in his hand and wrench you up.
He planted his mouth on yours. You gasped into it. It was wet and it smelled overwhelmingly of your own arousal. He kissed you harshly, messily. It was almost mean. First kiss, you thought dumbly. You pressed your hands to his shoulders, seeking to bring him closer.
But he was finished with the kiss sooner than you wanted, and pulled back. His lips were swollen and pinkish. His mustache was a little disarrayed and a lot damp.
“Satisfied?” he drawled.
You were still in a sort of shock. Full body tremors coursed through you. You stared up at him blankly. Your lips were now wet and sticky. Your lower half was, somehow, both numb and electrified at once.
“Uh-huh,” you said, even more dumbly. He had sucked all of the thoughts right out of your head. You stared at him through heavy eyes. You were satisfied, but you were ravenous still. He was like your drug. The more you were exposed to him the more all rational thought escaped you. You wanted more.
You reached down between your bodies and cupped your hand over his cock, but it wasn’t even half-hard. You frowned and squeezed at it. His jaw tensed, and he grabbed your wrist. “Easy.”
You pouted up at him. “Is it ‘cause you're an old man?”
He narrowed his eyes at you. “Watch it.”
“Sorry,” you said. You were still loose and warm and shivery, sat half naked on the table in front of him. You smiled sweetly, and tacked on a daring, “Daddy.”
The glare he gave you was enough to make your heart pound. He gripped your face in his hand, the one that was still sticky with your arousal. “I said, watch it.”
You stared up at him with wide eyes. Your gaze lingered on the glistening of his mustache, the flush on his cheeks. His chest heaved, that small glimpse of skin where his shirt was unbuttoned so tantalizing to you. You smirked a little at him, probably ill-advised. His fingers dug into your cheeks until your lips had no choice but to spread. “You’re on thin ice, kid,” he warned.
Summary: Joel helps you to cool down on a hot summer day. In his own way.
Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, pwp, horny!Joel, sweaty filthy sex, m!masturbation, unprotected piv, creampie, cum eating, fingering, praise kink, swearing, pet names (baby, sweetheart). Pics are for the mood only, reader has no specific physical descriptions.
A/n: I’ve been dying of heat all week but imagining Joel railing me slightly alleviated my hardship. Hot Joel kiss to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing😘 Dividers by @saradika-graphics 💕Hope you will enjoy this story. Love ya!❤️
same couple - HEATWAVE collection || MASTERLIST
“Don’t, Joel.”
“What?”
“Don’t touch me, please. It’s too fucking hot.”
Joel sighs and falls back on the couch as you shift away from his feet, getting comfortable as far as possible from his heat radiating body.
“Fine. Jus’ wanted to make you feel good. You’ve been snappy all day.”
“Sorry. It’s all this damn heat! I’m dying without the AC!” You groan and shake the hem of your crop top, trying to cool off just a little. You’re wearing the tiniest shorts you could find but nothing really helps when you’re dealing with a Texas summer without any conditioning.
“It’ll be fixed tomorrow, baby, don’t worry.”
“I know but… ugh!”
You throw a glance at Joel who has the most sympathetic expression on his handsome face. You also can’t deny that he looks hot like this, completely naked except for his home shorts. His broad chest, rising and falling in steady rhythm, is glistening with sweat, his thick thighs are spread and his cock is slightly tenting his only garment. You’d eat him whole if not for the fucking heat!
Torturing you even more he gives you his bedroom eyes and you bite your lip, thinking how to fuck him without touching him. Suddenly your gaze lights up.
“Oh! I know what we need!”
He raises one brow in a silent question and you start hastily explaining, at the same time grabbing your phone off the coffee table and opening a browser,
“I’m gonna look for hot weather sex positions.”
Joel chuckles and you furrow your brows at the man.
“No, don’t laugh. They minimize skin contact and should be easy on the movements. I saw an article once.”
Your pussy aches more and more the longer you watch Joel splay on the couch and you need him to be on board with your idea but he doesn’t seem very enthusiastic.
“Not sure it’ll help much but…let’s try it,” he shrugs and you beam at him before typing away.
As always when you need it the most, the internet is slow and you shake your leg, already losing patience.
In your peripheral vision you notice Joel move and your eyes shift from your phone screen to him for just a second. You do a double take when you see him pull the waistband of his shorts down, freeing his semi hard cock, as his mischievous gaze is set on you.
"What are you doing?" you groan at the sight of his big hand, wrapping around his long juicy member.
"Jus' a lil' pre-game, baby. Go on with your research."
You watch him give his manhood a few languid pumps and your mouth waters when some wetness beads on the tip. A new surge of desire burns your core and your breathing fastens. A few seconds later you remember what you were doing and turn away from the hot sight so you could return to the task at hand.
You try to open the first link but it’s loading for eternity so you close it with a curse and press the second one.
Then soft grunts reach your ear and you see Joel pleasure himself in earnest, as his cock is drooling on his veiny hand.
“Hey, wait for me, would you?” You grumble, tapping the same link three times, as if it can make it open faster.
“I’m imagining your hand doing it, sweetheart,” Joel smirks with his eyes already hazy as his palm is sliding up and down his length, thumb brushing over the tip from time to time, “or your pretty mouth, licking my cock. Oh, I bet your pussy wants some of this. She doesn’t care about the heat.”
You know he’s teasing you so you’d hurry up but the solution of your problem is so close that you can’t just stop now. So you fix your shorts that are sticking to your already wet folds and avert your eyes from your tormentor.
“Fucking cookies,” you curse, getting hotter because of the sweltering weather and also after noticing Joel buck his hips to fuck his fist better.
Finally you find an illustration of an almost contactless sex position and tilt your head, trying to understand it.
“Where’s his..? Oh! But… Nah. I’d break your dick like that.”
“We don’t want that,” Joel chuckles, his voice strained with pleasure he’s giving himself.
You’ve never seen him jerk his cock for such a long time so your gaze involuntarily shifts away from your phone again and you shamelessly stare at his hand gliding up and down his stiffness.
“We miss you,” Joel taunts you, seeing desire paint your face, and shakes his cock from side to side, spilling precum everywhere.
“Joel..” You whine and using every ounce of your will you tear your eyes away from his body and return them to the screen.
“Ok, this one is more doable. But it’ll take me forever to come like that… Oh and this… this just defies gravity.”
Giggling at the picture, you show Joel the screen and he gives you a polite smile but his half-lidded eyes tell you that he’s already deep in the ocean of lust, close to reaching his high.
Your gaze slides down to his throbbing cock, his big hand jerking it and you give up. You throw your phone back on the table and with a quiet “Fuck it,” you decide to literally fuck it. Fuck Joel.
Your man’s eyes light up as he coos at you,
“Yeah, c’mere, baby. Come sit on your popsicle.”
You laugh, climbing up the couch over his huge body and straddling his thighs. His skin is unbearably hot but your need overshadows everything.
You take his cock in your sweaty hands and purr, wetting your lips, “popsicle? shall I lick it first then?”
“Usually I wouldn’t say ‘no’ to that, but…,” he says, taking in your body, wrapped in a tight crop top and little shorts. You hear him groan as you lean down to his leaking cock but then his hand on your cheek stops you, “but! I’ve been playing without you and … My cock’s ready for your sweet pussy, baby. Gimme.”
With that he shifts to the side and pulls you to lie down next to him on the couch. The warmed up surface and Joel’s huge body pressed close to you make you whine as another wave of heat hits you.
“Shh,” Joel shushes you and clumsily sits up, almost making you fall off the narrow seat.
He takes his shorts off and helps you discard your clothes as well.
“Fuck, look at you,” he mumbles, his hungry eyes travelling over your exposed body, “wanna lick you all over.”
You take a sharp breath, suffocating with lust, but then Joel does the unforgivable. He lays down on top of you, pushing your legs apart with his knee, and you’re about to cry at how hot the vast expanse of his sweaty skin makes you.
“Joel!” You cry out, trying to push him off, palms braced on his chest, but the next second his lips crash against yours and he’s giving you a heady kiss which quickly makes you forget all about the heat. You’re immediately enchanted by him, his taste, his desire for you. The kiss is sloppy and messy and you cool off a little whenever your wet lips part from each other, even only for a second.
Soon sweat coats your body and Joel’s cock pulsating against your belly turns you into a desperate puddle. To get some respite from the heat, you tilt your head down and blow on your chest.
“It won’t help,” Joel murmurs, “Maybe this will.”
He hunches over you, leans down and licks a long stripe from your breast over your neck and jaw and reaches your lips and kisses you again. You hum with pleasure, noting your salty taste on his tongue and enjoying the sensation of the cooling wet path on your skin.
You’re making out for a few more seconds but the ache between your thighs makes your wriggle under him and Joel hastily lifts his torso and hovers over you, his chest inches from yours as you breathe out after this tiny relief. You glance down and see his heavy cock rest on your mound, his balls pressed to your folds, some wetness smeared on your belly where he is leaking on you. The sight makes you whine his name and reach for his big member.
It’s hot, stiff and damp when you caress it gently with your fingers and Joel’s dark eyes lower to the place where you’re making him even harder if it’s even possible.
“Put it in, sweetheart. Want you on my cock already. You’re drippin’ all over me. My balls are fuckin’ drenched.”
His Texan drawl is even more apparent when he’s so turned on and you know it’s time for him to fuck you. But he teased you so much. Why can’t you?
You throw your legs apart wider, but pressing your hips deeper into the couch, pull away from Joel’s hot crotch. You feel the air slightly cooling your sopping pussy and it feels so amazingly good, that a gasp climbs up your throat.
“Where’re you goin’, naughty girl?” Joel groans and rolls his hips against your pussy, scorching you with his heated thighs, balls and cock, making you mewl. He overplays you, making your hungry hole clench around nothing, clit twitch and you immediately bring your hand down and push his pulsating hot length into your soaked entrance. Both of you moan loudly at the anticipated sensation.
Joel drops his body on you again, holding some of his weight as he braces his forearm on the couch.
You should be uncomfortable, annoyed, hot and miserable but all you feel is his cock spreading your insides, his balls rubbing against your ass. His scent, a mixture of sweat and musk with a slight trace of his favorite piney deodorant, envelops you completely. He invades all your senses at once and you let him, welcome it with your body and soul.
“Joel,” you whisper, choking on your feelings and hugging him even closer.
“I know, baby, I love you too,” he replies, covering your whimpering mouth with his and drinking your oh’s and ah’s.
Soon he’s rolling his hips, his thrusts languid and gentle, as you’re making out, glued together by desire and love. You become one as the heat, radiating from the two of you and the sweat on your skin are mixing together and your bodies slide against each other in this lustful dance.
His cock is massaging your walls, kissing your cervix with its fat head and you glide your hands over the expense of Joel’s dewy back, shoulders and arms before they sneak down and you grab handfuls of his ass. You start grinding your pussy against his pelvic bone and coarse hair.
Suddenly Joel lifts his torso and looks at you, blown out eyes darting between yours, his hips still moving.
“You’re drownin’ my cock, sweetheart. So fuckin’ wet. My perfect pussy. Wanna see?”
After hearing your sultry ‘yeah’, Joel brings his hand to your face, brushes your lower lip with his thumb and then his palm glides down your heated body. Your skin erupts in goosebumps from the gentle contact and you whimper when he runs his fingers over your slicked up folds, spread around his fat cock.
You lift your hips chasing his touch on your clit, and he grants your wish. His index and middle finger find your hardening bud and he swirls it for a few seconds, closely watching your reaction. Your lips part and eyes flutter shut, as his cock and fingers make your pussy purr. Joel’s manhood twitches deep inside you before he pauses his thrusts into your wet heat.
Suddenly he pulls his cock out entirely.
“Joel! No!”
He tsks at you for the impatience but then his girthy length gets replaced by three of his fingers and you gasp and then moan when he begins pushing them in and out of your messy cunt, curling them to press the pleasure spot inside your core.
Joel sees how close you’re by the way your eyes roll to the back of your head and your walls start squeezing his digits harder and harder. He places his thumb on your clit and pushes, sending a new wave of ecstasy to your brain and you cry out as your climax hits your sweaty body. The drops of your sweat slide down on the couch because of how hard you tremble under him and Joel watches the euphoria course through you with an adoring gaze.
“Yeah, jus’ like that. Good girl.”
When you still and open your spent eyes at him, his fingers curve inside you as he scoops your slick and cum and then pulls them out. He raises his hand and watches your creamy juices slide down his hand.
“Joel,” is all you manage to mewl, witnessing your liquid euphoria.
With his tongue peeking out, he brings his hand to your chest and paints your pebbled nipple with your wetness. Then he leans closer and blows on it and you moan at the temperature change.
“Yeah, you like it, huh? Dirty girl.”
As if confirming his words, your nipple hardens more and with a grunt Joel latches onto your breast and licks off the taste of your pussy. You whimper as another course of pleasure reignites your core.
Joel hums, enjoying the flavor of your skin, and the next moment his cock spears you in one go and he begins pounding into you, pulling his hips back fast and thrusting his throbbing manhood into your sopping pussy with hard and sharp strokes. His tongue continues dancing over your tits and you clench his curls with the last drops of strength you have in your spent body. After a few more thrusts, Joel parts from your puffy nipple and growls, still railing you.
“Fuck, baby— choke my cock again— C’mon, be a good girl—come again.”
He kisses you passionately while his hand slithers down between your bodies and he starts rubbing your clit, chanting, “One more, one more.”
In no time you’re squealing as your pussy is clamping around his cock and it sends him over the precipice. Joel breathes out a moan and his hips jerk again and again, sending rope after rope of his hot cum inside you. Your cunt keeps milking him of the last drop as he presses his sweaty forehead to yours, your eyes locked with his and full of gratitude, love and euphoria.
You’re descending from your highs together, limbs tangled and bodies flush against each other. To your surprise the sweat cooling your skin and his cum seeping out of your pussy send a shiver down your spine.
“I’m cold,” you mumble into the crook of his neck.
“Really? Maybe we don’t need AC at all? I can just fuck the heat out of you?”
“Yes, we do,” you disagree, giggling.
“But I loved helping you, baby. We should reschedule the repair for next week.”
You push him off you, burning the man with a fiery gaze, “Don’t you dare, Joel Miller.”
“I’m kiddin’, sweetheart,” Joel chuckles, hugging you tight and shutting your grunts up with a kiss. A second later you feel hot all over again.
Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic!💖
idk if somebody should call an ambulance because I got a heatstroke from how HOT this fic was ORRRR the police to take me into horny jail because I’m sweatin’ and foaming at the mouth rn!!! 🥵🔥🫨🚨
“We miss you,” 👈🏼 THIS RIGHT HERE WAS ABSOLUTELY DIABOLICAL (loved it)
Summary: Celebrating your dad’s birthday at the yacht club becomes damn near unbearable when Joel Miller brings a date along too. Jealousy and hate sex ensue.
Warnings: 18+. Food fight turned hatefuck (don’t ask). Cockwarming and semi-public sex on the bridge deck. Oral (m! and f!receiving). Daddy kink. Dirty talk. Age gap. C*mplay. Katoptronophilia. Orgasm denial. One risqué Viagra joke. Drinking games. Descriptions of vomiting. Joel cockwarming you while smoking a cigarette <3
Word count: 12.8k
Read on AO3
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10
"Can ya try that one more time, sweet pea? For daddy?"
You can. Try, anyway. Controlling your tongue while he’s buried so deep inside you is a far harder task than expected, though. Especially when he’s so still.
Joel sees it. Feeling a twinge of pity, he leans over your body and digs his hips even deeper—not thrusting, but still granting a modicum of friction as he takes another drag of his cigarette. The hot, heavy throb of his girth pulses like your own fucking heartbeat, and your eyes roll back.
An orangutan on roller skates would’ve had more grace.
A grizzly bear in hibernation might’ve been more lively.
A fucking cross-eyed octopus reciting Shakespeare would’ve been less strange, alarming, and painfully awkward to see than your father’s best friend the week after he’d railed you senseless in the front seat of his car.
Joel Miller had shown up with a date, for Christ’s sake.
Of course, you’d been three cocktails deep and playing stack cup with a random group of gentlemen on the bridge deck at the time, but that was almost immaterial. This was your dad’s fifty-first birthday party—one of the rowdiest nights the Austin Yacht Club had yet to see—and yeah, you planned on getting belligerently shitfaced on Dirty Shirleys and obscene amounts of catered food.
You’d never thought to bring a date of your own, though.
That was just distasteful and crass, all things considered.
Presently, you slammed your ping pong ball to the tabletop and watched it make a wide arc over your cup.
“Fuckfuckfuuuuuck,” you whispered low as the man four spots down made it in, and the man after him bounced the ball straight into his own on the first go. He moved the tall, swaying stack of red Solos immediately to your right, and you knew from the jump you were fucked.
Tommy Miller was a master at stack. You could already see the sly smile on his face from the corner of your eye.
Just as Mötley Crüe gave way to Hall & Oates on the speakers overhead, Joel’s brother crammed his stack of cups over your own and made a smug, triumphant bow.
“All you, kid,” he grinned and slid the second to last cup in your direction.
You could’ve cursed his whole bloodline, Joel included.
There was no way in hell you were getting stuck with death cup again—the last, cruel punishment for the loser of the game a mix of three different types of liquor, soda, and a spritz of Natty Light. Filled to the brim and waiting to be downed by whoever didn’t sink the final shot.
You squared your shoulders and locked the fuck in.
Bounced the ball once. Twice. Christ, this was hard. The man to your left was struggling too, but he seemed just as determined and twice as skilled, and you were pretty buzzed. A second later, he made it in and, of course, slid it right back to Tommy, who was practically overcome with laughter.
“MILLER! MILLER! MILLER!” Men were not creative when it came to chants. Or beating fists on furniture.
“Quit shakin’ the shit!” Tommy roared, tapping his ping pong ball deftly onto the table’s surface.
You blinked a few hazy, anxious thoughts out of your head and tried with everything in you not to miss this shot. The instrumental bridge of ‘Maneater’ was sinking its teeth in your soul and taunting your nerves to no end.
You took the ball, swallowed hard, watched the cup, and flicked your wrist, at last, from a singularly perfect angle.
The ball was a millisecond away from making it in.
Tommy Fuckstick Miller managed to stack you first.
A chorus of obnoxious, wholly drunk howls rang loud in your ears, and suddenly, the attention was back on you, the unhappy victim of the game’s most gruesome drink.
You didn’t hesitate. You pinched your nose and guzzled from the cup before the torment could go on any longer.
You did well at first.
Opened your throat like a pro and cleared it down to the last fourth of the drink, to the point where you could see the slick white bottom side of the cup clear as day.
Your mouth had just flooded with the final draught of death cup when a familiar guitar riff caught you off guard.
You weren’t sure why it had to happen that way, but after being forced to listen to the song some five thousand times on your road trip with Joel, the tenor of Billy Joel’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard to you now. Grating. Nauseating.
Vomit-inducing.
Swiftly, you ran to the nearest railing and lost your last drink—and your whole dinner—over the side of the boat.
You yakked into Lake Travis like you never had before.
And, just as that stupid, forever-tainted song surged on, you heard footsteps approaching. A moment’s pause. Then a hand on your back. Patting gently and, seconds later, lowering a cup of water to the side of your head.
Your face was still dangling upside down off the yacht. You didn’t want to be touched.
“Go to hell, Tommy,” you muttered.
“You first,” he said, chuckling.
You didn’t sit so much as slump back onto the deck with your head in your hands. The whole boat had gone sideways in your mind, and Tommy’s outstretched arm looked more like a bubbling lump than a friendly gesture.
You groaned at the sight of the cup and shook your head.
“I’m alright, okay. I’m good.”
Then, when the cup didn’t waver:
“Can they change the fucking song already?!”
Tommy cocked a brow and squatted down next to you. He set the water aside.
“Got a problem with dad rock or somethin’?” he smirked.
You shook your head no—it wasn’t the music that was making you sick but the man Tommy called his brother that made you wanna vomit again. The thought of that man tangled up with a svelte brunette who looked fresh off the cover of Sports Illustrated when he couldn’t even be bothered to shoot you a text after the condom broke last week. Like he just didn’t give a shit if you were alive, dead, or pregnant with his child. Unfortunately, you had nothing more to throw up, and your eyes were on fire.
Tommy slung an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side. Took a handkerchief out of his pocket.
“No more Dirty Shirleys for you, young lady,” he chided, dabbing lightly at the tears that had trickled out.
“No more men for me,” you grumbled quietly.
You couldn’t see it then, but you could feel him trying not to smile. He tugged you closer.
“Boy trouble, huh?” he said, “Whose ass needs kickin’?”
Your brother, actually. Curb stomp that fucker, please.
You shrugged instead.
“Some guy from school.”
Tommy nodded, waiting for you to elaborate. When you didn’t, he just assumed you wanted to keep it to yourself—which you did—and squeezed your shoulder softly.
“Well…you know you’ve got your dad, me, and Joel to beat the shit outta any guy, any time, any place, right?”
You wished it were that simple. You wiped your nose and nodded all the same.
“And…” Tommy started again, working slow to get you back on your feet, “Most guys your age don’t know their ass from their fuckin’ elbow, honeybun. Don’t take it too personal if he’s dumb enough to lose a gem like you.”
The corners of your lips twitched slightly at his words. Almost smiling by the time he had you up on your feet.
“Thanks, Tommy.”
“Anytime, kiddo.”
You might’ve rolled your eyes when he pinched your cheek, but the water he held back up for you to drink looked far too appetizing, and you knew he meant well. You took the cup from him and started to chug.
Again, you’d almost made it through the whole refreshment when a sound threw you off. Abruptly.
“Where have you two lovebirds been?!” Tommy chirped.
You lowered your water and almost regurgitated again. Bile jumped up in your throat, and you just narrowly managed to keep it all down with a cough and a sputter.
Joel and Ms. Centerfold were at the far end of the deck.
Joel was tucking his dress shirt back into his pants.
Are you fucking kidding me?
“Gettin’ nasty on her daddy’s yacht? That’s bold,” Tommy cackled, nudging you playfully.
Your face was bloodless. Every last ounce of pretense and decorum had spilled out with your dinner, before, and now you were just staring at Joel blankly. Numb.
You watched him shove the last clump of his shirt under the waistband and straighten up slightly. The woman at his side flashed you and Tommy a blinding white smile.
“Might say the same for you,” she called back. She seemed to be eyeing you both with a half-curious look.
Tommy made a face as if to say ‘yuck—what the fuck?’ and threw his arm around you again, shaking you lightly.
“She’s like my little sister, Ashton. You’re fuckin’ gross.”
Little sister. Nice. Like a knife twisting inside your gut.
If Joel took any notice of the comment, he didn’t show it. He just stood there, dull and impassive as a loaf of bread. Every coarse lineament of his face was unreadable—just as bleak, bland, and uncaring as the eyes staring out of it. Then he fished around in his back pocket and pulled out his lighter and a pack of American Spirits. He passed the latter to Ashton and leaned over to give her a light.
Throwing yourself off the boat seemed like the most logical next move out of anything available to you.
That’s when you knew you were off your shit and needed to leave the bridge deck—immediately.
“Need a drink,” you mumbled, starting off the other way.
Tommy was hot on your heels, following fast after you.
“That’s— that’s actually the last thing you need, I think, sweetie. How ‘bout some lemonade?”
“Can you spike it with bleach?”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Tommy followed you down the staircase straight through to the galley, past the throngs and pockets of partygoers crowding the main dining area. Hitting the bar was a bad idea—wait staff knew you well enough to sense when you were utterly trashed, sad, or both—so you slipped toward the wine cooler and quickly sidestepped Tommy.
“No! No way. Nuh-uh.” He was still trying to block your access to the fridge when you grabbed hold of the door.
“Hair of the dog, Thomas.”
“That’s not a thing. That’s— you just projectile vomited off the deck, dude. You need a breather.”
You stopped just long enough to let Tommy pry you off the refrigerator handle and back to the kitchen island. You were pissed off, sure, but also not nearly prepared for another drop of alcohol if you were being honest with yourself. Your head was still spinning when you sat down on the counter.
Once you were settled, Tommy got to rifling through the cabinets, and you pressed a hand to your forehead.
“So how long’s that been going on?” You couldn’t help it.
“Wha- oh, Joel and Ash?” Tommy hummed from deep inside a cupboard. He came out with a small blue box.
You winced at the nickname. Watched him go from the pantry to the sink, fill a glass halfway, find a spoon, and tear the box in two, along with a couple chalky tablets.
“They’ve been…weird.” The sentence was punctuated with a pinch of his brow and a frown. He started stirring.
“Weird how?”
Your feet were dangling over the edge of the island; you pretended to gain a sudden interest in a smudge on the toe of your shoe.
“Weird like…I don’t know,” Tommy tossed the spoon in the sink and turned back to you. Holding out the cup, “They’ve been ‘friendly’ for years—Ash is a coworker of ours—and Joel swears it’s nothing more…but I dunno.”
He ended his speech again with that weird intonation and grimace, like he wasn’t so sure if he believed what he was saying himself, then shook his head and shrugged. He watched you take a sip of the Alka-Seltzer and urged you to get the whole thing down. It tasted like shit.
“Christ, that’s salty,” you coughed.
You didn’t want to keep going, but Tommy tipped the glass back in your hand and made you finish.
“It’ll help with your stomach,” he said before strolling over to the caterers’ fridge to look for bland food options.
“So if they’re not a thing, why’d he bring her here?”
You didn’t care what Tommy thought of your questions. He knew you were eager to hear the tea in any situation.
You watched as your friend procured a hand of bananas and some bread. He gave the fruit to you and took the bread over to the toaster, where he dropped in two slices. You couldn’t quite tell if he was contemplating an answer, didn’t want to spill, or hadn’t heard the question at all. He snagged a plate and a butter knife while you peeled apart your snack, silently dying to know the truth.
At length, Tommy shrugged. Again.
“‘Cause Joel’s a goddamn drama queen and doesn’t know what he wants, I s’pose,” he said.
Ain’t that the truth.
Then, after a minute:
“Had his panties in a wad ever since he went to Boston.”
You stiffened hearing that. You couldn’t pretend to be invested in your shoe scuff, the floor, or the food in your hand any longer. Your eyes flitted up to Tommy to see if his expression had shifted any.
It hadn’t—he was just looking for strawberry jam.
“You hitched a ride home with him then, didn’t you?” he asked casually.
You swallowed and nodded. You watched Tommy retrieve the two freshly-warmed pieces of toast that jumped up to greet him and, having found the jam he wanted, slapped them both on a plate and lathered them up. You muttered a quiet ‘thank you’ as he slid them over.
You were almost too scared to ask more questions, but you knew you had to find out. About Joel, Ashton, anything Tommy might’ve gleaned about your trip home from Boston. You found you could hardly sit in one place and had to step off the counter to eat your food.
“Joel’s been, uhh…how do Gen Z’s say it? Trippin’ balls?” Tommy reached for a banana himself and started in.
“Tweaking,” you corrected him.
“Tweakin’, yeah. Joel’s been a real fuckin’ tweaker lately.”
“In what way?”
“Just…shuttin’ himself in is all. Wouldn’t talk to me or your dad or anybody for days after he got back. Didn’t show up for our monthly Bingo matchup at Mando’s—and he hasn’t missed one of those in almost six years.”
You pursed your lips, equally mystified. You knew just how seriously your dad and his friends took those games—how rare it was for Joel to turn down any opportunity to drink, play Star Wars-themed Bingo, and shoot the shit with his buddies over Coors Light and cheese curds. You took another bite and waited for Tommy to continue.
“And there’s— there was this…thing he— I dunno.”
Suddenly, it seemed your friend had lost the power of coherent speech, and he was rubbing the back of his neck, flashing a half-sheepish smile, and shaking his head. Contemplating whether he should share something with you and ultimately deciding against it.
You raised both eyebrows.
“What?”
“Nah, it’s dumb, really.”
“Tell me.” You took a far-too-large bite of your banana and had some trouble getting it down.
“Well, he…” Tommy trailed off, shifting his gaze from yours to take a look at his own shoe, for a second, “When me and your dad were riding with Joel to a work site…we, uh…found a box of Plan B in his glove compartment.”
Half-chewed banana and toast almost flew across the room while you spluttered and choked and just barely managed to cover your mouth to keep it all in.
“Right? Threw me for a loop, too,” Tommy grinned as you beat your chest with a fist and fought to keep yourself breathing, “Your dad damn near had a baby when he picked that little box and those booty shorts up himself.”
When he what?! You wanted to scream, just picturing your straight-laced, conservative father flipping a Plan B box between his hands, in shock, and then…your shorts—when the fuck had you taken your shorts off again?
Right, when you were busy trying to scoop some more of Joel’s jizz from your cunt as he raced you both to CVS.
Good times.
You held your hair back and leaned over the sink, spitting two more chunks of banana and bread down the drain. Tommy reached around behind you for the spigot and filled another glass with water as he tried not to laugh.
“Easy, now,” he said, patting your back like he’d done for you before, “Joel didn’t happen to mention this lady friend to you now, did he?”
“No,” you choked. You wiped your mouth clear of any spit and food residue and slowly blinked down into the sink, feeling an old wave of nausea begin to settle over you. Accepted the new glass of water from Tommy and hoped he wouldn’t notice the tremor in your hand as you did.
The man seemed completely oblivious. Still standing close behind you, Tommy rubbed circles in your back and leaned a little closer.
“Death cup really got ya, huh?” He smirked, and you realized then that he very much was like an older brother. This whole situation with Joel was fucked on so many levels and would be fucked tenfold if Tommy ever found out.
You turned around and felt yourself steadied between two warm, broad palms—‘Wanna sit? Lie down?’—and then you were shaking your head, reaching for another banana and trying like hell to seem semi-composed, though every neuron in your brain was firing away at a million miles per second and your legs were feeling like scrambled eggs.
“I’m okay.”
“Yeah?”
Suddenly, one of Tommy’s hands had moved up to brush a few strands of hair from your face, and you felt your skin radiating raw heat. A deep-seated anxiety, too.
He’s going to find out—what if he already knows?
What if Joel tells Tommy?
What if Tommy tells dad?
Your mind was reeling, on fire, still working in earnest to find something to tell your friend to say you were fine, just dizzy, and definitely not fucking his big brother.
Your brain was drawing blank after blank after blank.
Just then, a clatter sounded nearby. Both of you jumped.
When you shot a look to the source of the intrusion, you nearly folded into Tommy from secondhand humiliation.
“Nice hands, feet,” the younger Miller called over to Joel, who was currently trying to recover the dozen-odd pots and pans he’d knocked over at the threshold of the room. You stared at the two in a mixture of confusion, disbelief, and disgust—the latter reserved exclusively for Joel.
You set your drink down, held your hand over your stomach, and pretended to head for the bathroom.
“Be right back,” you muttered, brushing past both men.
You knew you wouldn’t be back at all if you could help it.
Still clutching your banana in one hand and your raucously churning tummy in the other, you climbed the galley stairs fast to get back up to the bridge deck. You almost tripped over both your heels trying to make it up the steps so quick, desperate for solitude and quiet.
Another hair metal hit from the ‘80s was playing overhead, but fortunately, the deck was free of people. You stumbled over to one of the catering tables, looking helplessly for something that might settle your belly, but no, this sickness was coming straight from your head—from that insufferable munch of a man, Joel Miller.
You gingerly approached the railing behind the table and prepared yourself for another round of dry heaving.
You rested both elbows on the metal, looked out toward the dark, glassy water beneath you, then hung your head in abject defeat. You slid your tongue across the roof of your mouth and waited for the vomit to come.
The only thing that followed were footsteps.
Heavy, thunderous sounds making their way up the stairs.
“Stay back, Tommy. Please.” You raised a hand to the man approaching softly behind you, not turning your head, “That Alka-Seltzer stuff didn’t work for shit.”
“Shoulda stuck to water, sweet pea.”
That made you pivot.
Not a quick tilt of the head or a twist to the side, but a full-fledged 180-degree spin on your heels, hand to your gut, what-the-FUCK-are-you-doing-here turnaround.
You stared ahead and felt sicker than you had all night.
Then, pointing one crooked, accusatory finger his way without thinking, you hardly knew or heard what you were saying before the words came out. It sounded a little something like, “Joel, you goddamn fucking idiot.”
Joel didn’t flinch.
In fact, he seemed supremely unfazed.
He just held your fuming gaze and frowned.
“You tryin’ to fuck my little brother or somethin’?”
Your hand had closed around your banana on the table before his words had hung in the air for even a second. You flung the fruit full-force at his head, enraged.
Unfortunately, you were drunk and your aim was shit. Your yellow boomerang-like weapon of choice barely made it within three feet of its target before it glanced off a light fixture and struck the ground with a thud.
Accuracy be damned, you weren’t quite done.
“You left the fucking Plan B out for my dad to find?!”
Just when Joel tried to answer, or perhaps hurl another accusation in your direction, you stuck your hand in the closest catering tray you could find—a serving of green peas, as it was. You lobbed a handful at the man as he started to draw closer, and this time, you managed to land a pretty hefty spray. Joel only rolled his eyes.
“I didn’t leave it there—you did,” he retorted.
“My shorts, too?!”
You grabbed another fistful of peas and threw it. Joel was able to dodge it right before making it to the other end of the table. He gripped the edges of the wood in both hands and stood stern—imposingly—opposite you.
“Your shorts, your fuckin’ problem, sweets.”
Just when you reached for another green pea projectile, he surprised you and made for the tray right beside it.
Shortly, a glob of garlic mashed potatoes struck the front of your dress and slid slow, almost sluggishly down the pristine pink silk fabric before falling at your feet. Joel’s aim was evidently much better than yours.
You brushed what chunks of food you could get off your chest and pinned him with a wide, incredulous look.
“You’re a Grade A fucking asshole, you know that?”
“You’re a bit of a shithead too, potato tits.”
“FUCK you!”
“Already DID!”
You would’ve flipped the whole table if it were in your power to do so. Would’ve toppled all the tables, kicked the chairs, took a lighter to the curtains and sent the goddamned yacht down in flames if you had to—that was how much you despised the man in front of you.
Instead, you threw your hands up and stormed off.
“Maybe I will fuck Tommy!” you barked as you started toward the stairs, “I’ll fuck your brother’s brains out, and you can screw Ashton all you want, how ‘bout that?”
You’d made it about two feet before Joel grabbed hold of one of your wrists and yanked you back. You didn’t hesitate to throw a gruff—and ultimately fruitless—punch that hit him square in the chest. He didn’t budge.
“You don’t mean that,” Joel sneered. He shook your whole frame with one simple flick of his forearm.
“I’ll tap your whole bloodline like a keg, Miller. Try me.”
Again, you tried to shake him off, but the hand only constricted around you tighter. Then it was walking you backwards, slowly, almost carefully, until your back was to a wall and your eyes were searching his, angry as ever.
“You’d break your daddy’s heart with that one,” Joel said just above you, voice lowered considerably.
“Yeah?” you challenged, “Maybe if I was less of a shithead I would care what my dad thought. But I’m not. So I won’t.”
“Wasn’t talkin’ about your father, darlin’.”
Joel was good.
He was an insufferable ass and he was good.
Then you remembered the radio silence over the past seven days and the fact that he may or may not have fucked someone else earlier that night—possibly right where you were standing—and he lost all appeal real quick. You shoved him hard in the chest once more.
“Don’t play that shit with me. You, of all people—” You made as if to read him the riot act but cut yourself short, deciding it wasn’t worth your time explaining human empathy to a man who believed bootcut jeans and all things Ely Cattleman were peak fashion, and just learned what ovulation was last week. Then, sliding along the wall and trying to head to the stairs again, you felt Joel’s leg slot between your own.
“What did I do?” he said, curious.
Before you could answer, his thigh had stirred in place, grazing lightly over the spot the hem of your minidress had exposed to him. You ignored it.
“Doesn’t matter,” was your non-answer.
Joel seemed intrigued by the ambiguity and only lowered his head to get closer to yours—‘Then why’re ya so mad you’re throwin’ dinner food at me, darlin’?’—puffing warm breaths on your neck and only smiling when you flinched back. He took your response as a cue to keep pressing, both figuratively and physically.
“Just wanted attention or somethin’? That what it is?” Joel’s voice was as saccharine as it was taunting, words paired with a hand circling light across your thigh. He wasn’t moving in, and it was tearing you to shreds inside.
“Fuck your attention, and fuck you, Joel.”
Words hardly reflecting how you felt internally.
Swiftly, then, the hand at your leg was raised to your face—cupping it with a bit more force than you expected. Joel’s grin stretched even wider.
“Attention and discipline,” he mused aloud, “Two things dad never gave his little girl growin’ up, I see.”
Before you could reply, he was squeezing your face even tighter and nodding his head, as if already anticipating your answer. Then, somehow lower, “Such a filthy mouth on her, too. Never knows when to keep it shut and how to be polite to someone who fucked her so nice already.”
You might’ve whimpered if you didn’t also want to throat punch the motherfucker and knee him in the balls. When Joel started stroking your cheek, you groaned instead, and you hoped he would hear it as chagrin, not arousal.
“I can help with both of those, y’know—” His thumb rubbed a little harder, and his leg moved up. You pressed your hands flat to his thigh to keep him from teasing, but the man would do no such thing to oblige you. In fact, he just shifted his leg back and forth…and back, again. A ripple of bliss from the friction sparked low inside you.
“I can give you attention, and I can scrub that mouth clean if that’s what you really need,” Joel continued, “Just say the word, darlin’.”
“Fucker.” That was your word.
And it worked well enough for Joel.
In the next instant, he had you half-carried, half-dragged across the deck and thrown onto the table where you’d lost that dreaded game of stack. Solo cups still littering the surface, and puddles of beer soaking in through your dress, you made a sound of disgust and tried to thrust yourself up, just to fail. You squirmed and swatted at the man standing in front of you, who easily kept you pinned to the surface with one palm laid calmly on your belly.
He reached into the back pocket of his trousers and retrieved his lighter and cigarette pack.
“Someone could catch us,” you hissed, helpless, unsure of what else to say to show you weren’t giving in just yet.
Joel lit up in four seconds flat. He sucked in a breath.
“I roped off the stairs coming up,” he replied.
He what?
You moved back, slowly, on the surface when Joel worked a hand to his belt buckle, and you heard half a dozen plastic cups fall to the floor behind you.
You would not be his date’s sloppy seconds—ever.
Joel yanked at your thighs and pulled you back to be straddling his hips, shrugging his pants down; you couldn’t bear to keep looking when he lowered his briefs.
He took another drag and eyed you hungrily, happy to see you all sprawled out and pretty before him. The tight fabric of your dress had cinched over your hips and left you bare to just panties, making him grow even harder.
“Joel.”
He worked his dick out of his pants and moved the head to trail slow along the seam of your barely-clothed cunt. Even through the lace, he could feel how wet you were. He notched the tip at the space where your panties had parted just slightly to the side and felt your arousal pool even wetter around the end of his member. He grunted.
“Joel, I—”
“Daddy’s gonna give ya attention, sugar. Hold still.”
You couldn’t. Wouldn’t. You splayed your fingers over the hand that was trying to guide his cock into you and clenched your jaw—every carnal fibre in your being telling you not to do what you were about to try anyway.
“You fucked her didn’t you?”
Joel flicked the ash off his cigarette, “No.”
“You brought her here.”
“Had to.”
Your face was flushed and likewise flooded with smoke, curling slow from Joel’s lips before it painted the air an opaque, muddied grey above you. You wriggled your hips away from his, and for once, he didn’t try to stop you.
“I saw you tucking your shirt in. Tommy said you fucked!”
“Tommy’s about one fry short of a Happy Meal, honey,” Joel puffed once more, “He’s always sayin’ shit like that.”
Incredibly, he’d managed to use about a dozen funny words in that old Texas lilt and still say so little to actually answer your question. When the pinch in your brow told him you weren’t quite satisfied, Joel let out a sigh.
“Ash spilled pebre on my shirt. I had to change.”
Oh.
“And you—” you started.
“—have no fuckin’ right to know, one way or the other, because you’re the one who said we’d just ‘fuck and forget it,’ remember?” Joel interrupted, reminding you of your own curt words from your Bronco boning session.
Again, you tried to speak and found yourself spoken for, Joel carrying on as casual as ever as he sucked the last life-breath from his cig and stared you down, cynically.
“Your dad’s the one who made me bring her tonight. Said I seemed ‘down’ since the last gal I fucked wasn’t around—I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was his daughter—and here we are,” Joel smiled, wryly, and flicked his cigarette into the lake. You would’ve liked to tell him littering was a crime that trashed us all but refrained.
You were too busy staring at his lips, wondering why he hadn’t kissed you yet. You reckoned all the pea flinging, swearing, and swinging might’ve played a small part.
At length, Joel slid a new American Spirit out of its pack and wrangled you back to his hips as he lit up again.
“Happy?” he said, after a beat.
You weren’t sure whether to nod or cross your arms. Beckon him in with both hands or kick his bunched-up pants, belt, and boxer briefs away altogether and keep the bratty act going. You didn’t like being wrong.
At any rate, it didn’t matter. He’d called you on your bluff.
Still smoking, still smiling, still happy as a clam at high tide, Joel pressed his length straight up to your folds and watched you squirm on the wood underneath him.
“Gonna listen now?” he hummed.
“Uh-huh.”
Good, his wretchedly deep brown eyes seemed to say. Good that you were here, good that you were spread wide and supine beneath him, good that you’d gone all soft and pliable under his touch and were watching him now with a look that said you’d let him do just anything.
Good that he could fuck you.
Great that he wasn’t planning to—not fully, anyway.
Joel wasted no time taking your answer in the affirmative to slip past your panties and push deep inside your sweet cunt. When your walls stretched and cried all around him, he sighed and gripped your legs even tighter. He gritted the cigarette between his teeth and brought your ankles to rest over his shoulders, sinking in even deeper. Then he had to hold steady inside you and keep you flat on the table in front of him, and just when you whined to fuck me now, Joel, fuck me right now, daddy, please, he stilled. He took a big, long drag and didn’t move an inch.
He’d teach you some discipline one way or another.
“Joel, please,” you groaned again, hands bracing the table to start fucking up and down on his shaft, before he put a stop to that fast and held you firmly in place, “Please, Joel, I need you so fucking bad, daddy, please.”
Joel tapped his ash to the side and ignored your pleas.
He felt your walls contract around him and tried not to grunt. He focused instead on the smoke overhead.
“Wanna say that nicer?” he asked, deadpan. Then, staring expectantly down at you, while you flushed and struggled to stay still, “Keep that mouth a little cleaner?”
Fuck, did he have that father-figure tone down to a T.
You laid there before him and almost forgot his cock was wedged inside you for a second. He seemed so sincere.
“I wan— want you to move, daddy, I-I-I don’t know how else to say i— FUCK!” Your pussy spasmed around him when the tip of his pubic bone grazed your clit. That squeaky clean mouth of yours was nowhere to be seen.
“Mhmm,” Joel nodded anyway, pretending to be observing your behavior as he might for a clinical trial. Like he was testing a new drug, not his dick inside your cunt, practically clenching in Morse code around him.
“Can ya try that one more time, sweet pea? For daddy?”
You could. Try, anyway. Controlling your tongue while he was buried so deep inside you seemed to be a far harder task than you could’ve ever expected, though.
Joel sensed it. Feeling a twinge of pity, he leaned over your body and dug his hips even deeper—not thrusting, but still granting some modicum of friction. The hot, heavy throb of his girth pulsed inside you like your own fucking heartbeat, and your eyes rolled back.
“Fucking shitsucking DICK BITCH CUNT! FUCK!”
Sounding every bit the uncouth novice in a COD lobby chat circa 2009, you knew you didn’t have the faintest hope of earning Joel’s strokes now. You hated yourself for it—and Joel, too, for subjecting you to such cruel and unusual punishment for just needing to fuck him hard.
You were desperate and heated. Five seconds away from yanking your sex off of his and going to town with your own fingers, you felt a palm press down on your tummy.
Damn Joel and his super-sized hands.
You could barely breathe, much less pry yourself off.
Joel was quiet and calm. Stuffing you full and puffing away at his cigarette the whole time. He smirked.
“Ain’t that difficult, honey,” he said, hardly losing his will or his sympathy when you shot a raw glance his way, “Stay still on this cock and ask daddy nicely, ‘s’all ya gotta do.”
He could tell by the look in your eyes you couldn’t stand to play nice—but needed to cum. He watched you swallow your pride, soften your eyes just a bit, and when you felt you might implode from all the feeling, whined,
“Please make me feel good, daddy, please, I need it.”
Joel breathed and eased back just an inch, lowering his hand to thumb softly at your clit. You keened.
“That’s my sweet girl.”
Still just rubbing that bundle and looking down while you came unraveled, Joel thought you perfectly sublime. He’d kill to keep you there like that, eyes rolling and skin soaking the table beneath you both in sweat and arousal. He stared down at the place your bodies were connected—a sliver of his cock visible and soaked with your juices—and he felt a wave of desire crest over his mind. Panting, quietly, he brought one hand to your hip and kept the other working furiously over your clit, trying to ignore the urge to rut inside you. It was self-discipline for him, too.
He wouldn’t let you know that yet, though.
He crushed the cigarette between his teeth and kept still.
“Ya like that, sugar? Like daddy stuffed inside this pussy, makin’ ya beg real pretty for me?” His husky Southern drawl ran like molasses off his tongue, thicker now when he was balls-deep and half-drunk off your cunt.
You watched his mouth, intrigued, and saw a long line of spit drip deliciously from those pretty, stubbled lips of his to your lower ones, making the spot more filthy and warm as your fluids mixed together. Still, Joel didn’t move a thing more than his thumb—but the sounds from you both were growing louder and more desperate.
The gentle squelch of spit, sweat, and arousal running all down your pussy, paired with those noises you made when you were feeling this good and squeezing him tight, was enough to send Joel straight over the edge. Now he didn’t have the strokes or any motion to focus on before him, just you—he flicked his cigarette away the second he sensed you were getting close yourself.
“Sweet little thing,” he cooed, still rubbing in circles, “How’s my baby feelin’?”
You clawed at the table beneath you and knocked your head back once or twice on the wood, humming a quick, ‘Good, daddy, good’ in the most hoarse and pathetic voice you’d ever used, and Joel smiled. You hadn’t cursed out loud in a minute and seemed to be taking his touches well. He’d have to give you some form of reward.
Gently, Joel pulled back and made a shallow thrust inside you. Both your body and his jolted with pleasure.
“FU—n stuff, fun stuff,” you hissed, trying hard to mask the expletive.
In truth, Joel was struggling too. Just one stroke inside you and that coil inside him was about ready to burst.
“Fun, huh?” he teased, keeping his motions down to quick pistons as he laid his palms flat on either side of your head, “Daddy make ya feel fun-ny, does he?”
“Yeah, he does, he— ah, SHIT right there, right there!”
Evidently, he’d found your G spot.
Joel stilled inside you as soon as the foul word escaped.
You whined. Loud. Almost tempted to burst into tears.
“Nononono, that doesn’t count, Joel! That doesn’t—” Your voice was shortly supplanted by a whimper when the man went back to thumbing your clit, hips rendered still once more and cock wedged deep inside your core.
“What’s it gonna take to make you behave for me, huh? Do I have to talk to your daddy again?” Joel seethed.
You shook your head quick and felt him circle your clit even harder, more punishing now. Your body craved the friction from his cock but could barely contain the words that were coming out now. You pinched your eyes shut, feeling your orgasm creeping closer and closer, and whimpered gently, desperately, ‘Fuckfuckfuuuuuck.’
Whether it came down to making terrible plays at stack cup or getting your clit torn apart by Joel’s thumb, you simply could not keep the filthy language at bay.
You weren’t going to listen, that much was clear.
Joel had no choice but to make you learn a different way.
So, prying his fingers and his cock from your cunt, he reached across for your hips instead—pulling you off of the table and pushing you down to the floor, at his feet.
He smoothed a palm over the top of your head and fisted your hair in one hand, his cock in the other, and brought his hot, swollen, slick-coated length within an inch of your face, stroking fast.
Your gaze flitted from the sight in front of you to Joel’s eyes, back and forth, stunned and in utter disbelief. As you felt your own climax crumble and recede from you at once, the sound jumped up your throat before you could stop,
“What the FUCK is your problem, Joel?!”
“There it is,” Joel just flared his nostrils as he jerked himself above you, “There’s that nasty fuckin’ mouth.”
He pulled your head even rougher and tipped your chin back to meet the scowl on his face. Pleasure had almost swallowed the man whole, yet his expression scarcely betrayed a trace of it, eyes cold and jaw clenched tight.
“If that mouth can’t be good for me, can it open real wide and show me how a dirty slut does it?”
You were beside yourself. Holding his gaze like a bomb might go off in his brain any second—something you’d be happy to see—you scowled as well. Begrudgingly, and knowing Joel wouldn’t ease off of this punishment until he’d made you pay for your language, you nodded.
“What’s’at?” Joel snapped, stroking himself even faster, “What do ya want me to do, sugar?”
You gritted your teeth and silently wished they were crushing his balls to powder between them.
“Want…you…to cum…on my face.”
“Little louder, sweet pea, can’t hear ya from up here.”
The sound of his palm working over his cock again and again, shimmery and slick with your arousal soaking it, was almost too much to bear. You watched, forlorn and silently boiling with rage as Joel stared down at you, as merciless as he’d ever been. Mocking, almost, it seemed.
“Want you to…cum on me, please.”
“One more time, darlin’,” Joel pressed, pupils blown wide with desire, “Be real sweet and say it one more time f—”
“I WANT YOU TO CUM ON MY FACE, YOU FUCKER.”
That sparked the first real smile on Joel’s lips you’d seen in a while, and then he was watching you cockily, nodding.
Before you could even think to blink, stand up, or storm off again, you felt a fat, sticky-wet glob of warmth hit your cheek. Then another. Then another. Then another. You winced and flinched back, but Joel held your head in place, in front of his cock, and gripped you firmly as he unloaded rope after rope of his cum all over your face.
By the time he was finished, your skin was glistening. Coated in the stuff and still blinking through strings of the hot, sticky mess as Joel stood over you, chest heaving fast as he pumped himself through his release.
Must be fucking nice.
When the downpour had slowed to a trickle, two thick fingers swiped at a dollop of cum on your cheek. Then, wordlessly, they moved down to your mouth.
“Open,” Joel commanded.
You’d barely parted your lips a quarter of an inch when he pushed both digits inside. Swirled them around in your mouth and made sure to cover every soft, wet contour and crevice before pulling out with a pop.
He wiped at your other spend-streaked cheek and repeated the action, plunging his fingers in and out of your mouth to make sure you cleaned him thoroughly. This was more of an act meant to tease than anything else, you knew, almost demeaning in the way he stood there and nodded his head while murmuring, ‘’Atta girl.’
You hated how much you liked that stupid show of dominance—and, even worse, how good he tasted.
Joel brushed your tongue with another fingerful and watched you bob your head in time. He hummed his approval and scanned your face for any spend left over.
There was a lot. He paused, as if considering something.
“Drop ‘em.” Joel motioned to the straps of your dress.
You did as he said and pulled both bands down at once. When your breasts spilled out of the fabric, you watched Joel lower his gaze and, fixating on the spot you’d just exposed to him, take two—no, three—careful fingers to collect the remainder of himself and spread it downward.
Joel took his cum and smeared it all over your tits.
He was equal parts meticulous, gentle, and gratuitous in doing so, and he took pleasure in every second.
With a heavy-lidded, glossy gaze trained unwaveringly on your chest, Joel rolled each nipple between forefinger and thumb and fell into a trance. Rubbed you up and down every inch he could find and groaned at the sight. Glazing your skin all over with him and savoring it.
You couldn’t deny the feeling of being marked in a way so degrading, dirty, and adoring at once had a dizzying effect on you, too. The look in his eyes, and the soft brush of his fingers, almost quelled your rage entirely.
Almost.
When Joel pulled your spaghetti straps back into place—and you, in turn, back onto your feet—you yanked away. Forcefully. While Joel straightened up, silently cursed his bad back, tucked his dick in his pants, and started to reach for your waist, you jabbed the fastest, fattest, fuck-your-whole-family middle finger in his face and took off.
“Honey—”
“Don’t.”
“But I—”
“Have some goddamn fucking nerve.”
You’d nearly made it to the staircase again, heels turning to start down the first steps, when Joel sidestepped at lightning speed and blocked off your passage. All you saw then was the front of a starch white dress shirt and a light patch of chest hair peeking out from the highest button, crowding your vision, moving in time with every manoeuvre you tried to make around him. He smelled like sweat and fresh citrus. Perhaps a hint of vengeance.
You wouldn’t meet his gaze when he grabbed your face. Tried to shrug him off when he made as if to pull you into a hug—‘Are you off your shit?! Are you?! People are right downstairs’—and Joel just smiled. Grinned like a jackass eating briars, about five times too smug for his own good, and drew you into his chest by gentle turns.
You weren’t sure why you recoiled when he kissed you.
Hell, you’d done it a dozen times before—albeit a bit more frantically, in a way to say ‘I need to fuck you’ when words just wouldn’t suffice—but this one was different. Deeper. Joel was gripping both sides of your face and still grinning as he kissed you, feeling your muscles slacken some and your frame meld gently into his.
You hated it.
“I missed you,” Joel murmured between kisses.
Hated him.
“How’s my baby been, huh?”
Oh, you know, just waiting. Hating you a little. Hoping we didn’t inadvertently create a baby ourselves, courtesy of your prehistoric condoms.
“I missed you.” Gently. Again.
You tensed in his hold when his lips trailed down to your neck. You felt a low flutter. It was like your feet had been glued to the floor and your tongue left wholly immobile; you let Joel caress, kiss, and whisper down your skin like every cell beneath his touch wasn’t seething en masse.
Your stolen climax. Broken condom. Close call with your father and Tommy. Radio silence ongoing for days.
You couldn’t wrap your head around any of it, or him, or how grossly inconsistent the man’s every move upon you now seemed to be with the way he’d acted all week.
Joel slowly descended your body.
“Like I said, honey…you fuck with my head,” he said soft against your dress, then your legs, then the space in between them.
“Makes two of us,” you grumbled back.
You braced your weight against the railing over the stairs just behind you when he slipped your panties to the floor. Then he tucked them snug into one of his back pockets and brought his face to your wet, aching core.
“Discipline doesn’t come easy, does it?” It sounded like something trapped between a question and a declarative coming out from the side of Joel’s mouth.
Fortunately for you, he didn’t try to clarify which of the two he meant, or do much else at all except eat your pussy from that point on. He kissed your thighs, gripped them tighter, then wedged his face between them while you held fast to the metal behind you. You stifled a moan when his tongue traced over the seam of your cunt.
You didn’t have to like the man to love what his mouth could do for you, you silently reminded yourself.
Love it you could—and would. Without shame.
Granted, you were still sensitive as all hell from your last almost-orgasm of the night, but Joel knew how to work his lips and tongue around it. He swiftly lapped between your folds, teased a finger at your hole, and wrapped his warm lips around your clit to suck once or twice, and you were damn near ready to spiral in seconds. You fisted the soft salt-and-pepper hair at the top of his head and rutted your hips in short, shallow motions against him.
“Good girl,” Joel crooned, welcoming each thrust with another swirl of his tongue, “That’s my sweet baby.”
“Joel.”
You traded expletives for the simple repetition of his name, not wanting the pleasure to stop. Joel hummed and sucked and held your legs around him even tighter.
You sighed, almost whined, and dug your fingertips into his scalp, feeling your climax building quick inside you.
Joel’s mouth was working faster, sucking harder, drawing smaller and crueler circles, lapping eagerly against your arousal and giving it everything he had, it seemed, to work you up to your release. He grunted when you yanked hard on his hair but didn’t stop.
In fact, the bastard just kept trying to talk you through it, fluid movements of his own tongue and lips be damned.
“Doin’ so damn good for me, sweet pea, keep goin’.” There was an apology in there somewhere, working hard to atone for the orgasm he’d denied you right before.
Four more flicks of his tongue and a gentle endeavor to pump his fingers in and out, again and again, right above that soft, spongy pad of pleasure deep inside had you teetering over the edge of a cliff.
You tore your gaze from Joel for a second, preparing for that sweet and lusty consummation, when your head turned to the side just slightly. You almost groaned.
Your own hot, flushed, and fucked-out reflection was the first thing to greet you in a sliver of a mirror on the wall. Just beneath you, as you could’ve expected, there was Joel—kneeling between your legs with his chin tipped up, beard coated in moisture and pleasure and warmth. You weren’t sure why the sight from this angle had such a strong effect, but something about the full view of your bodies in motion gave your stomach a pinch. A burn. You ogled the glass and made a sound audibly higher in pitch than a whimper as Joel suckled and tongued at your clit.
You came just like that—gripping the rails, fisting his hair, rutting your hips, and staring implacably at that mirror.
When Joel resurfaced, you were still fully transfixed.
Gawking at how fucking nice he looked between your thighs. How filthy it all was to be seated on his face and cumming for his tongue while the rest of your father’s dinner party mingled blissfully unaware downstairs.
When you saw Joel rise, you jerked your head back.
You weren’t sure why it felt like being caught, but it did.
Just as you began to murmur some half-assed apology his way, you felt hands on your hips and a rock-hard bulge at your rear as Joel spun you round in front of him.
He shoved you flush against the mirror so your tits were pressed up to the glass. He gave you a quick once-over.
Slid the straps of your dress off your shoulders and shimmied the fabric down your chest, once again.
With your breasts splayed out in front of you and your hands pressing hard on the mirror—as if letting up the slightest bit might send you straight through it—you tried to crane your neck. You felt the sticky squelch of cum and fresh spit painted over your chest, muddying up the glass with every movement you made. Your chin dug deep in your shoulder as you cocked your head to the left, eyes searching for Joel’s behind you.
You heard the clink of a belt, followed by a rustle of fabric. Then a hand slamming close beside your head on the mirror, while another worked industriously to free his cock from the confines of his trousers once more.
“Joel,” you breathed, still tender from your climax.
“Hm?”
He was gruff as he rubbed and smacked your bare ass with his cock. Let it rest on the soft, fleshy shelf between you two and teased his length over that space.
“Did someone take his little blue pill today?” you teased.
“Fuck off.” You saw a flicker of a smirk in the mirror.
No way Joel Miller was getting a full-fledged erection twice in the same ten minute span. That shit didn’t happen outside the realm of porn flicks and a woman’s wildest fantasies when it came to men Joel’s age. He knew it just as well as you but tried to feign indifference when he pressed the head of himself to your folds. He did, however, suck in a breath at the new sensation.
He could do this.
He could cockwarm you raw, tonguefuck your cunt, ravage and render you all but brainless on the surface of that mirror, and still have the wits about himself to take another breath. He could show those shit-for-brains college boys he’d been battling for days in the depths of his mind how much better he could fuck you than them.
Really, Joel was just manifesting at this point.
He hadn’t busted a nut and fucked this quick since Bill Clinton had been in office. All hat and no cattle whatsoever for this pussywhipped cowboy.
“Better hope I go easy on ya, sugar.”
“Best believe I won’t.” You would’ve winked if you weren’t so bone-crushingly aroused and fresh off your peak.
Joel had just chuckled, more than a touch nervous, and began rubbing your warmth to coat himself in it—angling his slightly apprehensive penis up to your cunt when you straightened some. Rather than keep your tits to the mirror, you chose to press your back against him, ass snug to his front and eyes roaming wildly over the reflection of your two forms. Both of you flinched when the head of his cock hitched around your entrance.
Joel’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat just over your shoulder. He pressed a kiss to your skin.
“Gotta be the sweetest thing I ever seen,” he whispered into your ear. Meeting your gaze in the mirror and lifting his hips just so before breaching your folds.
He hoped you’d take it for sweetness and not just a vicious strain of anxiety or weakness as he prepared for the first thrust. He’d need a second, a minute—maybe a goddamned hour, if he was being real honest. You were too damn pretty to be fucked by a two-pump chump.
Joel nudged his nose against your ear and tried to stall. Pausing a beat.
“Never been humped and dumped before, yaknow.”
Wait—the fuck?
That came out wrong.
You cocked a brow and tilted your hips. You didn’t seem keen on talking but had no choice but to humor him.
“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” you hummed.
Joel balked at his own stupidity, trying, and failing, to remove his foot from his mouth and remedy his words.
“I mean, I— I get it,” he returned, too fast for his liking, “I’m no texter myself, I just…thought, uh, maybe—”
“Miller. Spit it out.”
Your body was all but leaking arousal before him and the man was trying to divert the conversation to…phones?
Joel winced.
Felt his member deflate with embarrassment just a bit.
He’d done it to himself. Tried to hamper sex for a second too long just to give his dick a fighting chance at survival and ended up mucking things up supremely. Per usual.
“You never texted me back.” He sounded blunt now. Rushed.
Joel watched you raise both eyebrows.
“Texted you back?” you scoffed.
“Yeah…texted, called, snipchatted, whatever.”
Your face didn’t change despite the glaring Gen X error.
“You never texted me, Joel!”
What?
Suddenly, the dick wedged between your legs and hovering over your cunt seemed to be the last thing either of you could be bothered to worry about.
“I’ve…been texting you all week. Called a few times too.”
“Like hell you have. You ghosted me and went off the grid this whole fuckin’ week—Tommy said so, too.”
Joel cringed again to hear his brother’s name brought up in this context and shook his head. You were wrong.
“512-867-5309. Been trying to talk to you all goddamn week, see how you were, and you never responded,” he said, indignation creeping into his tone against his will.
At last, your expression dropped.
From furious to frowning to just fucking annoyed. Your lips were drawn tight in a line across your face.
“My number is 512-867-5305, dipshit.”
“Huh?”
“5 at the end, not a 9.”
“…No.”
“Yeah…”
Shit.
Joel Miller had made his fair share of flubs in his life, but fucking up the phone number of his best friend’s daughter whose pussy he’d accidentally cum inside the week before seemed almost criminal. Too fucking asinine and rookie-level dense to ever recover from. He blinked.
“Thought you…hated my fuckin’ guts,” he confessed.
You threw your hands up in disbelief, frustration. Fury.
“I do— believe me, I do,” you snapped, “But not for that.”
‘That’ meaning the last time you two bumped uglies. Joel wasn’t sure whether to take heart or step back.
“What’s’at mean?” he asked.
You pushed your feet a little further apart on the floor and pressed back into Joel. He took that as a decidedly good sign and reached for your hip. Then took his cock, again, which had invariably twitched and swelled up at the smallest motion from you.
“Means we’ve got plenty of reasons to hate each other, but fuckin’ ain’t one of ‘em,” you shrugged, angling your ass in the perfect place for penetration. Joel was just about back to full-mast and buzzing as you spoke, “I can get over the whole…old dude taboo—you being dad’s friend and all—I just couldn't stand the thought of you leaving me in the lurch when shit got weird at the end.”
‘Weird’ meaning risky. Virulent. Damn near catastrophic if it ever came to be that one of Joel's swimmers had latched onto one of your eggs and knocked you up. The fear of pregnancy, and every bloodcurdling, awkward conversation to ensue, had been amplified tenfold by the thought that Joel didn't even care one way or the other and couldn't be bothered to text, call, or otherwise show that he didn't totally regret what you'd done in his car. You could handle a clean break, but leaving it on such uncertain terms had been torture. At length, you sighed.
Joel was nosing behind your ear now, a bit less tense.
A little more laid-back and warm this time around, as he, like you, had gotten to exhale a breath of relief realizing that neither of you had deliberately tried to fuck the other over, or ghost, just yet. You'd been pissed at him all night, and he'd been busy barraging a perfect stranger somewhere in Austin with strings of texts and calls all week, but the two of you were ultimately OK. For now.
“But you still hate me, huh?” Joel spoke low against your skin and felt you soften just a little.
You nodded, careful not to slacken too much.
“Mhmm.”
Now Joel was almost glad to have taken that brief, heated detour, because his dick had made a complete comeback and was aching to tease you some more. He grabbed the base of his length and slotted it slow as ever between your folds. Rolled his hips forward and pushed you both a little closer to the mirror. One of your hands flew up to steady yourself, and Joel’s hand followed. He laid his palm over the back of yours and pressed in.
“It’d be a real shame if you do,” he said, smirking as he notched the tip of his cock just within the tight ring of muscles at the groove of your cunt, “For a second there I was starting to think you might’ve liked fucking me, too.”
In the next second, Joel was easing inside you. Feeling you arch into the motion and grabbing hold wherever he could across your front, he pulled you into his chest and felt a streak of coarse pleasure lick up the full length of his spine. Your walls were squeezing him in a brand new way, a novel position, and he was starting to fear there wasn't any place he could fuck you that wouldn't send him veering for release within his first two strokes inside.
He bucked his hips a little something like an amateur, he thought, getting used to taking you like this. You were moaning, holding his fingers between your own atop the mirror as you squeezed your pussy tight around his cock, and he hoped that meant you hadn't minded the few stuttered, desperate strokes he'd delivered at first.
“I love…fucking you, Joel,” you seethed at last.
Then, wordless as it was pointed, finding his gaze in your reflection, ‘I still hate you, Miller. There’s a difference.’
He slammed into your ass and quickly got the sense that you liked it this fast—loving, lusting, or despising him otherwise. Almost needed it a bit frantic and rapid-fire when he was fucking you from the back, he reckoned.
Joel looked you in the eye from his view behind you in the mirror and saw it clear as day. He almost grinned.
You were wildly fucked out and in need of quick release.
For once in his life, he could oblige you on that, easy.
He slid his cock in and out, rutting much quicker than he ever thought you’d want it, and he grunted. Slipped a hand between your thighs and felt you pulse around him, involuntarily, when his fingers found your clit. He could tell by that grip, and those febrile little whimpers, that you were loving this just as much as him and probably were as close, if not closer, to a new, shuddering climax.
Joel plunged deep inside your cunt and drew you closer.
Taking your throat in one hand, he nudged your body into the glass and smirked, drunk with the feel of you.
“Ya like it when I fill this pussy, huh? Love feeling me deep inside this needy little hole?” he murmured, slow and taking care to draw out the syllables in each word.
You nodded that you did. Rocked your hips back to meet his thrusts and moaned.
“I love it, daddy,” you managed weakly, “Love it so much.”
The fingers at your clit increased in speed, and Joel rutted into you even harder, relishing the soft squelch between your bodies as he moved. Then he reached for a fistful of your hair and, instead of pulling back like he might normally have done, he pushed in. He pressed your face in the mirror, turned to the side, and pistoned his hips even faster. Felt your moans spill out across the glass and mix with his own, and he couldn’t help but let a raw, primal impulse take over his thrusts—and tongue.
“You make the prettiest fuckin’ noises, y’know that?” Joel breathed, hunched over and close to your ear.
Before you could so much as acknowledge his praises, bob your head, or moan in response, he shifted the hand in your hair again. This time turning your face toward the mirror, he brought your lips within inches of the glass and made you watch him fuck you, again and again.
You trailed your gaze over your full reflection and almost whined out loud, ripe with desire and ready to cum just seeing how good he looked as he took you from behind.
With his brow furrowed, pupils blown, hair a fucking mess, lips parting slightly with the strain of every grunt and moan, and hips rolling repeatedly, furiously into your own, Joel looked about as handsome as you thought you’d ever seen him. You felt the soft nudge of his tummy behind you, the tightened grip on your hip and in your hair, and within seconds, you were nearly there.
“My pretty. fuckin’. girl—” Joel managed through gritted teeth, each word punctuated with a thrust, “—and her pretty. fuckin’. moans.” Then, bringing his beaming, sweaty expression right next to yours in the mirror, “Ready to cum for me, pretty girl?”
You curled your toes into the floor and nodded, slotting your fingers through his own when he planted a hand above you again,
“So— so close, daddy.”
Joel squeezed your fingers back. Kept your faces damn near side-by-side in the mirror and relished the marked change in your features when he grazed that spot inside. You let out the filthiest, fuckdrunk moan and didn’t need another stroke—you came around his cock with a tight, pulsing spasm, seizing his hand, rocking your hips back into his hard as the pleasure washed over your body.
Joel’s cock absorbed every last delicate throb, hot and heavy enough to send the man spiraling himself. He braced his front tight against your body and kept fucking you through your release, groaning a vicious, desperate bout when he felt that deep-seated urge to spill his seed.
Fuck. He’d have to pull out. Now.
Just as his own climax was close at hand—close as he could ever, or should ever feel it while still inside you—Joel reached down for your hip to pull out and cum all over your ass, but he was brought to a stop. Swiftly.
To his surprise, it was you pulling off of him—sliding off his cock and dropping to your knees as if to take him in your mouth.
Thank fuck.
Joel grabbed his dick as quick as he possibly could and moved to start stroking himself over your face, when your hand closed around his own. Stopping him. Again.
You grinned.
Feeling the slightest twinge of retributive pleasure at seeing him like this, just like he’d had you, your smile stretched even bigger. Joel could’ve wept at the sight.
You brought your lips to his cock and grazed it, barely.
“Wanna try something fun?”
He knew better than to let a moan slip at a time like this.
Not when he was sitting at the dinner table; not when he was surrounded by the people he knew and loved the most. Not when he was celebrating his best friend’s fifty-first birthday, and certainly not when that man’s daughter was currently perched between his thighs, out of sight from every eye at the party but his.
Joel lifted the tablecloth. He almost came on the spot.
This was your idea of ‘fun.’
Payback by any other name would’ve smelled as sweet.
Seeing your mouth open wide and your lips curled tight around his hot, throbbing member, Joel couldn’t help but ache for reprieve, or else a split-second lapse of judgment—one where he forgot all sense of decorum and simply went to town on that pretty little face of yours. But, as it was, the rest of the party was totally oblivious to your absence, and he didn’t want to draw attention to it, or him, by roughfucking your mouth.
That would come later.
No, now he would let you glide your mouth gently over his shaft, leaving trails of thick spit and hints of a shiny pink lip gloss in its wake. He’d let you bob your head softly—self-assured in a pace you got to set—and he wouldn’t lay a finger on your face or let a thrust of his get in the way, because this was all about you giving him the pleasure. Maybe making him squirm just a little, too.
That didn’t mean he couldn’t steal a glimpse every now and then and pin you with an expectant look when he wanted something done his way. The room was dimly lit and everyone in it drunk; Joel would gladly take the risk.
‘You can go deeper than that, sweet pea.’
‘Nope, three-fourths ain’t enough, I need your mouth around me whole.’
‘You did wanna make daddy feel good, didn’t ya, sugar?’
He didn’t have to speak a word of it out loud for you to know what he meant. What he needed. You loosened your jaw and stretched your lips even wider, whining just a little when the head of his cock grazed your tonsils.
“Fuck that feels nice,” Joel said aloud.
You froze.
Then, without missing a beat, you heard him continue just as comfortably, speaking to the people around him,
“Y’all feel that breeze comin’ in?”
Sick fuck. You continued to suck him anyway.
One hand braced tight against Joel’s leg and the other moved shamelessly between your own, and you tried not to moan, but the sound escaped anyway. No one heard it, but Joel felt it reverberate down his shaft, and he gripped his glass of Merlot like a vice. Your dad shot him a curious look from across the table but said nothing.
“Can’t get enough’a her, huh?” Tommy grinned beside him.
“What?” Joel faltered. Set his drink aside carefully.
Down below, you dragged your mouth just far enough to take his tip between your lips and suckle. Joel grunted.
“The wine,” Tommy said, still smiling, “You must love it.”
Joel let out another strangled breath that he tried to pass off as a chuckle and nodded.
“Got me on my fuckin’ knees,” he admitted.
And that was the truth. Starved for air and blinking through tears as you knelt down to blow him, it was still you with the chokehold on Joel, and both of you knew it.
Try as you might to convince yourselves otherwise, the man was enrapt. Too spellbound to turn down your offer of sucking him dry under the dinner table just minutes after he’d almost cum all over your face, Joel was in it, and he was in it deep. It was just that small matter of you being his best friend’s daughter that made him loath to admit it. At any rate, he had your tongue licking strips up his cock and felt a sudden, sharp clench in his stomach.
He knew he wouldn’t last much longer. Neither would you.
Joel couldn’t see it then, but you’d practically soaked your own hand from how hard you’d been rubbing your clit—ignoring his orders not to touch yourself there—so turned on from just sucking his dick and needing to feel relief while you selflessly, secretly pleased him beneath the table. While Joel reached for another draught of wine, you brought one hand to his balls and kept the other at your cunt, triple-tasking like the efficient little slut he needed you to be: sucking, cupping, and rubbing all at once to get the two of you off in one minute or less.
You guided him down to the furthest place in your throat, then pushed him even deeper. You gagged just slightly and felt a hand reach down for your cheek. A thumb began to rub at the tears welled up at the corners of your eyes.
‘Sweet thing hasn’t felt a man this deep before, huh? Wanna swallow some more?’
You nodded that you did. Couldn’t actually hear him now, or see much else besides the soft tufts of hair on his belly, but you could feel a light, heady warmth seep into your brain.
You rutted your hips and just hoped no one dropped a fork nearby. Bucked desperately into your hand and felt the heat start to swell to a whole new feeling, and suddenly you were whimpering, whining on Joel’s cock from under the shade of the table and cumming all over your fingers.
Joel returned a quick smile from your father and cracked a joke about the Super Bowl. Raised his hips just the slightest bit and wiped one of your tear-soaked cheeks.
‘Almost there, hon, keep that throat open for daddy.’
All you could do was cry and try your best. Wild feelings from both the slow, deep facefuck he was giving you and the flurry of euphoric aftershocks coursing all throughout your body made it almost impossible to bear, but you obeyed your sweet and strong and steady-handed Joel and sensed a blossoming desire crop up for something else.
You wanted to taste him as he blew his load in your mouth, flooded your tongue with his spend, and painted every inch of your insides with that hot, sticky stuff.
You needed him whole.
Your Joel.
In tune with your thoughts—or perhaps just overcome with a need to see you before he reached his peak—Joel raised the tablecloth the slightest bit when Tommy wasn’t looking. His gaze locked on yours, and his tongue darted quick between his lips. He cocked a brow. Brushed his thumb again and looked down as if to say,
‘Ya want this, darlin’? Want all of me?’
You gave a soft nod, and that was all he needed.
No sooner had you given him the green light than his cum went pulsing out in ropes, coating your throat and eventually your whole mouth as you held still and took it all.
There was so much more than you thought. So much of Joel that had been waiting to give your mouth a proper fucking glaze that once he’d started he just couldn’t stop. Above the table, your dad shot a pointed look in his direction—‘You good, man?’—and it took every ounce of strength in Joel’s body to grit his teeth tight and nod.
He’d filled so much of your mouth it was spilling out.
You tried to hold steady, keep your movements extra slow. You’d heard your dad’s voice and just knew there’d be a lot more on the line than Joel’s dribbling seed if either one of you fucked up now. Your breath caught in your chest, and you felt too afraid to even swallow.
“I just…came,” Joel started, and your head almost cracked on the wood surface from how abruptly you flinched back,
“—to the realization—”
“—that you…are so…motherfuckin’ old, my friend.”
Your father’s laugh was the first you heard, followed by Tommy, his friends, and a dozen other party guests.
The next thing you felt, to your complete and utter shock, was Joel’s cock brushing your cheek. Then your lips. Then your tongue. He slid his still-hard member through the ‘o’ your mouth had made in awe and started to move in gentle motions back and forth, like a man all but aching to get a feel for your wet, sodden walls.
A man who couldn’t risk a glimpse now, but wanted more than anything to see the mouth he’d just filled.
Your father’s words hadn’t even cooled in the air.
Joel Miller, you sneaky, freaky fuck.
As the laughter subsided, and Tommy scooted back in his chair to take leave of your table, you felt a spark ignite. Whether it was yours or Joel’s or both your perverted minds suddenly alight and insane with the same thought, you couldn’t be sure, but you could make out the sound of a tablecloth flipping back up above you.
Joel slipped his dick out of your mouth and grinned. Took a firm hold of your face under the table so his fingers were coaxing your jaw to unhinge before him.
It was the lowest, slowest, menacing sort of sound you’d ever heard from him before, but it was his all the same.
Speaking to you now, softly, “Show daddy, darlin’.”
You thought you might like to see him that way forever.
Eyes honey-soft and glazed, thumb toying at your lip. Chest heaving up and down in time to your own breaths and growing ragged as you opened your mouth to him. He was sated and somehow unfulfilled—a bottomless pit of raw prurience as he stared down and held your gaze. Hair tousled, pants unbuckled, cock resting comfortably against your cheek, the man looked wonderfully undone and half in love with your sweet face peering up at him.
You couldn’t deny you loved doing this, too.
You’d just wished he saw Tommy before Tommy saw you.
Summary: Celebrating your dad’s birthday at the yacht club becomes damn near unbearable when Joel Miller brings a date along too. Jealousy and hate sex ensue.
Warnings: 18+. Food fight turned hatefuck (don’t ask). Cockwarming and semi-public sex on the bridge deck. Oral (m! and f!receiving). Daddy kink. Dirty talk. Age gap. C*mplay. Katoptronophilia. Orgasm denial. One risqué Viagra joke. Drinking games. Descriptions of vomiting. Joel cockwarming you while smoking a cigarette <3
Word count: 12.8k
Read on AO3
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10
"Can ya try that one more time, sweet pea? For daddy?"
You can. Try, anyway. Controlling your tongue while he’s buried so deep inside you is a far harder task than expected, though. Especially when he’s so still.
Joel sees it. Feeling a twinge of pity, he leans over your body and digs his hips even deeper—not thrusting, but still granting a modicum of friction as he takes another drag of his cigarette. The hot, heavy throb of his girth pulses like your own fucking heartbeat, and your eyes roll back.
An orangutan on roller skates would’ve had more grace.
A grizzly bear in hibernation might’ve been more lively.
A fucking cross-eyed octopus reciting Shakespeare would’ve been less strange, alarming, and painfully awkward to see than your father’s best friend the week after he’d railed you senseless in the front seat of his car.
Joel Miller had shown up with a date, for Christ’s sake.
Of course, you’d been three cocktails deep and playing stack cup with a random group of gentlemen on the bridge deck at the time, but that was almost immaterial. This was your dad’s fifty-first birthday party—one of the rowdiest nights the Austin Yacht Club had yet to see—and yeah, you planned on getting belligerently shitfaced on Dirty Shirleys and obscene amounts of catered food.
You’d never thought to bring a date of your own, though.
That was just distasteful and crass, all things considered.
Presently, you slammed your ping pong ball to the tabletop and watched it make a wide arc over your cup.
“Fuckfuckfuuuuuck,” you whispered low as the man four spots down made it in, and the man after him bounced the ball straight into his own on the first go. He moved the tall, swaying stack of red Solos immediately to your right, and you knew from the jump you were fucked.
Tommy Miller was a master at stack. You could already see the sly smile on his face from the corner of your eye.
Just as Mötley Crüe gave way to Hall & Oates on the speakers overhead, Joel’s brother crammed his stack of cups over your own and made a smug, triumphant bow.
“All you, kid,” he grinned and slid the second to last cup in your direction.
You could’ve cursed his whole bloodline, Joel included.
There was no way in hell you were getting stuck with death cup again—the last, cruel punishment for the loser of the game a mix of three different types of liquor, soda, and a spritz of Natty Light. Filled to the brim and waiting to be downed by whoever didn’t sink the final shot.
You squared your shoulders and locked the fuck in.
Bounced the ball once. Twice. Christ, this was hard. The man to your left was struggling too, but he seemed just as determined and twice as skilled, and you were pretty buzzed. A second later, he made it in and, of course, slid it right back to Tommy, who was practically overcome with laughter.
“MILLER! MILLER! MILLER!” Men were not creative when it came to chants. Or beating fists on furniture.
“Quit shakin’ the shit!” Tommy roared, tapping his ping pong ball deftly onto the table’s surface.
You blinked a few hazy, anxious thoughts out of your head and tried with everything in you not to miss this shot. The instrumental bridge of ‘Maneater’ was sinking its teeth in your soul and taunting your nerves to no end.
You took the ball, swallowed hard, watched the cup, and flicked your wrist, at last, from a singularly perfect angle.
The ball was a millisecond away from making it in.
Tommy Fuckstick Miller managed to stack you first.
A chorus of obnoxious, wholly drunk howls rang loud in your ears, and suddenly, the attention was back on you, the unhappy victim of the game’s most gruesome drink.
You didn’t hesitate. You pinched your nose and guzzled from the cup before the torment could go on any longer.
You did well at first.
Opened your throat like a pro and cleared it down to the last fourth of the drink, to the point where you could see the slick white bottom side of the cup clear as day.
Your mouth had just flooded with the final draught of death cup when a familiar guitar riff caught you off guard.
You weren’t sure why it had to happen that way, but after being forced to listen to the song some five thousand times on your road trip with Joel, the tenor of Billy Joel’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard to you now. Grating. Nauseating.
Vomit-inducing.
Swiftly, you ran to the nearest railing and lost your last drink—and your whole dinner—over the side of the boat.
You yakked into Lake Travis like you never had before.
And, just as that stupid, forever-tainted song surged on, you heard footsteps approaching. A moment’s pause. Then a hand on your back. Patting gently and, seconds later, lowering a cup of water to the side of your head.
Your face was still dangling upside down off the yacht. You didn’t want to be touched.
“Go to hell, Tommy,” you muttered.
“You first,” he said, chuckling.
You didn’t sit so much as slump back onto the deck with your head in your hands. The whole boat had gone sideways in your mind, and Tommy’s outstretched arm looked more like a bubbling lump than a friendly gesture.
You groaned at the sight of the cup and shook your head.
“I’m alright, okay. I’m good.”
Then, when the cup didn’t waver:
“Can they change the fucking song already?!”
Tommy cocked a brow and squatted down next to you. He set the water aside.
“Got a problem with dad rock or somethin’?” he smirked.
You shook your head no—it wasn’t the music that was making you sick but the man Tommy called his brother that made you wanna vomit again. The thought of that man tangled up with a svelte brunette who looked fresh off the cover of Sports Illustrated when he couldn’t even be bothered to shoot you a text after the condom broke last week. Like he just didn’t give a shit if you were alive, dead, or pregnant with his child. Unfortunately, you had nothing more to throw up, and your eyes were on fire.
Tommy slung an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side. Took a handkerchief out of his pocket.
“No more Dirty Shirleys for you, young lady,” he chided, dabbing lightly at the tears that had trickled out.
“No more men for me,” you grumbled quietly.
You couldn’t see it then, but you could feel him trying not to smile. He tugged you closer.
“Boy trouble, huh?” he said, “Whose ass needs kickin’?”
Your brother, actually. Curb stomp that fucker, please.
You shrugged instead.
“Some guy from school.”
Tommy nodded, waiting for you to elaborate. When you didn’t, he just assumed you wanted to keep it to yourself—which you did—and squeezed your shoulder softly.
“Well…you know you’ve got your dad, me, and Joel to beat the shit outta any guy, any time, any place, right?”
You wished it were that simple. You wiped your nose and nodded all the same.
“And…” Tommy started again, working slow to get you back on your feet, “Most guys your age don’t know their ass from their fuckin’ elbow, honeybun. Don’t take it too personal if he’s dumb enough to lose a gem like you.”
The corners of your lips twitched slightly at his words. Almost smiling by the time he had you up on your feet.
“Thanks, Tommy.”
“Anytime, kiddo.”
You might’ve rolled your eyes when he pinched your cheek, but the water he held back up for you to drink looked far too appetizing, and you knew he meant well. You took the cup from him and started to chug.
Again, you’d almost made it through the whole refreshment when a sound threw you off. Abruptly.
“Where have you two lovebirds been?!” Tommy chirped.
You lowered your water and almost regurgitated again. Bile jumped up in your throat, and you just narrowly managed to keep it all down with a cough and a sputter.
Joel and Ms. Centerfold were at the far end of the deck.
Joel was tucking his dress shirt back into his pants.
Are you fucking kidding me?
“Gettin’ nasty on her daddy’s yacht? That’s bold,” Tommy cackled, nudging you playfully.
Your face was bloodless. Every last ounce of pretense and decorum had spilled out with your dinner, before, and now you were just staring at Joel blankly. Numb.
You watched him shove the last clump of his shirt under the waistband and straighten up slightly. The woman at his side flashed you and Tommy a blinding white smile.
“Might say the same for you,” she called back. She seemed to be eyeing you both with a half-curious look.
Tommy made a face as if to say ‘yuck—what the fuck?’ and threw his arm around you again, shaking you lightly.
“She’s like my little sister, Ashton. You’re fuckin’ gross.”
Little sister. Nice. Like a knife twisting inside your gut.
If Joel took any notice of the comment, he didn’t show it. He just stood there, dull and impassive as a loaf of bread. Every coarse lineament of his face was unreadable—just as bleak, bland, and uncaring as the eyes staring out of it. Then he fished around in his back pocket and pulled out his lighter and a pack of American Spirits. He passed the latter to Ashton and leaned over to give her a light.
Throwing yourself off the boat seemed like the most logical next move out of anything available to you.
That’s when you knew you were off your shit and needed to leave the bridge deck—immediately.
“Need a drink,” you mumbled, starting off the other way.
Tommy was hot on your heels, following fast after you.
“That’s— that’s actually the last thing you need, I think, sweetie. How ‘bout some lemonade?”
“Can you spike it with bleach?”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Tommy followed you down the staircase straight through to the galley, past the throngs and pockets of partygoers crowding the main dining area. Hitting the bar was a bad idea—wait staff knew you well enough to sense when you were utterly trashed, sad, or both—so you slipped toward the wine cooler and quickly sidestepped Tommy.
“No! No way. Nuh-uh.” He was still trying to block your access to the fridge when you grabbed hold of the door.
“Hair of the dog, Thomas.”
“That’s not a thing. That’s— you just projectile vomited off the deck, dude. You need a breather.”
You stopped just long enough to let Tommy pry you off the refrigerator handle and back to the kitchen island. You were pissed off, sure, but also not nearly prepared for another drop of alcohol if you were being honest with yourself. Your head was still spinning when you sat down on the counter.
Once you were settled, Tommy got to rifling through the cabinets, and you pressed a hand to your forehead.
“So how long’s that been going on?” You couldn’t help it.
“Wha- oh, Joel and Ash?” Tommy hummed from deep inside a cupboard. He came out with a small blue box.
You winced at the nickname. Watched him go from the pantry to the sink, fill a glass halfway, find a spoon, and tear the box in two, along with a couple chalky tablets.
“They’ve been…weird.” The sentence was punctuated with a pinch of his brow and a frown. He started stirring.
“Weird how?”
Your feet were dangling over the edge of the island; you pretended to gain a sudden interest in a smudge on the toe of your shoe.
“Weird like…I don’t know,” Tommy tossed the spoon in the sink and turned back to you. Holding out the cup, “They’ve been ‘friendly’ for years—Ash is a coworker of ours—and Joel swears it’s nothing more…but I dunno.”
He ended his speech again with that weird intonation and grimace, like he wasn’t so sure if he believed what he was saying himself, then shook his head and shrugged. He watched you take a sip of the Alka-Seltzer and urged you to get the whole thing down. It tasted like shit.
“Christ, that’s salty,” you coughed.
You didn’t want to keep going, but Tommy tipped the glass back in your hand and made you finish.
“It’ll help with your stomach,” he said before strolling over to the caterers’ fridge to look for bland food options.
“So if they’re not a thing, why’d he bring her here?”
You didn’t care what Tommy thought of your questions. He knew you were eager to hear the tea in any situation.
You watched as your friend procured a hand of bananas and some bread. He gave the fruit to you and took the bread over to the toaster, where he dropped in two slices. You couldn’t quite tell if he was contemplating an answer, didn’t want to spill, or hadn’t heard the question at all. He snagged a plate and a butter knife while you peeled apart your snack, silently dying to know the truth.
At length, Tommy shrugged. Again.
“‘Cause Joel’s a goddamn drama queen and doesn’t know what he wants, I s’pose,” he said.
Ain’t that the truth.
Then, after a minute:
“Had his panties in a wad ever since he went to Boston.”
You stiffened hearing that. You couldn’t pretend to be invested in your shoe scuff, the floor, or the food in your hand any longer. Your eyes flitted up to Tommy to see if his expression had shifted any.
It hadn’t—he was just looking for strawberry jam.
“You hitched a ride home with him then, didn’t you?” he asked casually.
You swallowed and nodded. You watched Tommy retrieve the two freshly-warmed pieces of toast that jumped up to greet him and, having found the jam he wanted, slapped them both on a plate and lathered them up. You muttered a quiet ‘thank you’ as he slid them over.
You were almost too scared to ask more questions, but you knew you had to find out. About Joel, Ashton, anything Tommy might’ve gleaned about your trip home from Boston. You found you could hardly sit in one place and had to step off the counter to eat your food.
“Joel’s been, uhh…how do Gen Z’s say it? Trippin’ balls?” Tommy reached for a banana himself and started in.
“Tweaking,” you corrected him.
“Tweakin’, yeah. Joel’s been a real fuckin’ tweaker lately.”
“In what way?”
“Just…shuttin’ himself in is all. Wouldn’t talk to me or your dad or anybody for days after he got back. Didn’t show up for our monthly Bingo matchup at Mando’s—and he hasn’t missed one of those in almost six years.”
You pursed your lips, equally mystified. You knew just how seriously your dad and his friends took those games—how rare it was for Joel to turn down any opportunity to drink, play Star Wars-themed Bingo, and shoot the shit with his buddies over Coors Light and cheese curds. You took another bite and waited for Tommy to continue.
“And there’s— there was this…thing he— I dunno.”
Suddenly, it seemed your friend had lost the power of coherent speech, and he was rubbing the back of his neck, flashing a half-sheepish smile, and shaking his head. Contemplating whether he should share something with you and ultimately deciding against it.
You raised both eyebrows.
“What?”
“Nah, it’s dumb, really.”
“Tell me.” You took a far-too-large bite of your banana and had some trouble getting it down.
“Well, he…” Tommy trailed off, shifting his gaze from yours to take a look at his own shoe, for a second, “When me and your dad were riding with Joel to a work site…we, uh…found a box of Plan B in his glove compartment.”
Half-chewed banana and toast almost flew across the room while you spluttered and choked and just barely managed to cover your mouth to keep it all in.
“Right? Threw me for a loop, too,” Tommy grinned as you beat your chest with a fist and fought to keep yourself breathing, “Your dad damn near had a baby when he picked that little box and those booty shorts up himself.”
When he what?! You wanted to scream, just picturing your straight-laced, conservative father flipping a Plan B box between his hands, in shock, and then…your shorts—when the fuck had you taken your shorts off again?
Right, when you were busy trying to scoop some more of Joel’s jizz from your cunt as he raced you both to CVS.
Good times.
You held your hair back and leaned over the sink, spitting two more chunks of banana and bread down the drain. Tommy reached around behind you for the spigot and filled another glass with water as he tried not to laugh.
“Easy, now,” he said, patting your back like he’d done for you before, “Joel didn’t happen to mention this lady friend to you now, did he?”
“No,” you choked. You wiped your mouth clear of any spit and food residue and slowly blinked down into the sink, feeling an old wave of nausea begin to settle over you. Accepted the new glass of water from Tommy and hoped he wouldn’t notice the tremor in your hand as you did.
The man seemed completely oblivious. Still standing close behind you, Tommy rubbed circles in your back and leaned a little closer.
“Death cup really got ya, huh?” He smirked, and you realized then that he very much was like an older brother. This whole situation with Joel was fucked on so many levels and would be fucked tenfold if Tommy ever found out.
You turned around and felt yourself steadied between two warm, broad palms—‘Wanna sit? Lie down?’—and then you were shaking your head, reaching for another banana and trying like hell to seem semi-composed, though every neuron in your brain was firing away at a million miles per second and your legs were feeling like scrambled eggs.
“I’m okay.”
“Yeah?”
Suddenly, one of Tommy’s hands had moved up to brush a few strands of hair from your face, and you felt your skin radiating raw heat. A deep-seated anxiety, too.
He’s going to find out—what if he already knows?
What if Joel tells Tommy?
What if Tommy tells dad?
Your mind was reeling, on fire, still working in earnest to find something to tell your friend to say you were fine, just dizzy, and definitely not fucking his big brother.
Your brain was drawing blank after blank after blank.
Just then, a clatter sounded nearby. Both of you jumped.
When you shot a look to the source of the intrusion, you nearly folded into Tommy from secondhand humiliation.
“Nice hands, feet,” the younger Miller called over to Joel, who was currently trying to recover the dozen-odd pots and pans he’d knocked over at the threshold of the room. You stared at the two in a mixture of confusion, disbelief, and disgust—the latter reserved exclusively for Joel.
You set your drink down, held your hand over your stomach, and pretended to head for the bathroom.
“Be right back,” you muttered, brushing past both men.
You knew you wouldn’t be back at all if you could help it.
Still clutching your banana in one hand and your raucously churning tummy in the other, you climbed the galley stairs fast to get back up to the bridge deck. You almost tripped over both your heels trying to make it up the steps so quick, desperate for solitude and quiet.
Another hair metal hit from the ‘80s was playing overhead, but fortunately, the deck was free of people. You stumbled over to one of the catering tables, looking helplessly for something that might settle your belly, but no, this sickness was coming straight from your head—from that insufferable munch of a man, Joel Miller.
You gingerly approached the railing behind the table and prepared yourself for another round of dry heaving.
You rested both elbows on the metal, looked out toward the dark, glassy water beneath you, then hung your head in abject defeat. You slid your tongue across the roof of your mouth and waited for the vomit to come.
The only thing that followed were footsteps.
Heavy, thunderous sounds making their way up the stairs.
“Stay back, Tommy. Please.” You raised a hand to the man approaching softly behind you, not turning your head, “That Alka-Seltzer stuff didn’t work for shit.”
“Shoulda stuck to water, sweet pea.”
That made you pivot.
Not a quick tilt of the head or a twist to the side, but a full-fledged 180-degree spin on your heels, hand to your gut, what-the-FUCK-are-you-doing-here turnaround.
You stared ahead and felt sicker than you had all night.
Then, pointing one crooked, accusatory finger his way without thinking, you hardly knew or heard what you were saying before the words came out. It sounded a little something like, “Joel, you goddamn fucking idiot.”
Joel didn’t flinch.
In fact, he seemed supremely unfazed.
He just held your fuming gaze and frowned.
“You tryin’ to fuck my little brother or somethin’?”
Your hand had closed around your banana on the table before his words had hung in the air for even a second. You flung the fruit full-force at his head, enraged.
Unfortunately, you were drunk and your aim was shit. Your yellow boomerang-like weapon of choice barely made it within three feet of its target before it glanced off a light fixture and struck the ground with a thud.
Accuracy be damned, you weren’t quite done.
“You left the fucking Plan B out for my dad to find?!”
Just when Joel tried to answer, or perhaps hurl another accusation in your direction, you stuck your hand in the closest catering tray you could find—a serving of green peas, as it was. You lobbed a handful at the man as he started to draw closer, and this time, you managed to land a pretty hefty spray. Joel only rolled his eyes.
“I didn’t leave it there—you did,” he retorted.
“My shorts, too?!”
You grabbed another fistful of peas and threw it. Joel was able to dodge it right before making it to the other end of the table. He gripped the edges of the wood in both hands and stood stern—imposingly—opposite you.
“Your shorts, your fuckin’ problem, sweets.”
Just when you reached for another green pea projectile, he surprised you and made for the tray right beside it.
Shortly, a glob of garlic mashed potatoes struck the front of your dress and slid slow, almost sluggishly down the pristine pink silk fabric before falling at your feet. Joel’s aim was evidently much better than yours.
You brushed what chunks of food you could get off your chest and pinned him with a wide, incredulous look.
“You’re a Grade A fucking asshole, you know that?”
“You’re a bit of a shithead too, potato tits.”
“FUCK you!”
“Already DID!”
You would’ve flipped the whole table if it were in your power to do so. Would’ve toppled all the tables, kicked the chairs, took a lighter to the curtains and sent the goddamned yacht down in flames if you had to—that was how much you despised the man in front of you.
Instead, you threw your hands up and stormed off.
“Maybe I will fuck Tommy!” you barked as you started toward the stairs, “I’ll fuck your brother’s brains out, and you can screw Ashton all you want, how ‘bout that?”
You’d made it about two feet before Joel grabbed hold of one of your wrists and yanked you back. You didn’t hesitate to throw a gruff—and ultimately fruitless—punch that hit him square in the chest. He didn’t budge.
“You don’t mean that,” Joel sneered. He shook your whole frame with one simple flick of his forearm.
“I’ll tap your whole bloodline like a keg, Miller. Try me.”
Again, you tried to shake him off, but the hand only constricted around you tighter. Then it was walking you backwards, slowly, almost carefully, until your back was to a wall and your eyes were searching his, angry as ever.
“You’d break your daddy’s heart with that one,” Joel said just above you, voice lowered considerably.
“Yeah?” you challenged, “Maybe if I was less of a shithead I would care what my dad thought. But I’m not. So I won’t.”
“Wasn’t talkin’ about your father, darlin’.”
Joel was good.
He was an insufferable ass and he was good.
Then you remembered the radio silence over the past seven days and the fact that he may or may not have fucked someone else earlier that night—possibly right where you were standing—and he lost all appeal real quick. You shoved him hard in the chest once more.
“Don’t play that shit with me. You, of all people—” You made as if to read him the riot act but cut yourself short, deciding it wasn’t worth your time explaining human empathy to a man who believed bootcut jeans and all things Ely Cattleman were peak fashion, and just learned what ovulation was last week. Then, sliding along the wall and trying to head to the stairs again, you felt Joel’s leg slot between your own.
“What did I do?” he said, curious.
Before you could answer, his thigh had stirred in place, grazing lightly over the spot the hem of your minidress had exposed to him. You ignored it.
“Doesn’t matter,” was your non-answer.
Joel seemed intrigued by the ambiguity and only lowered his head to get closer to yours—‘Then why’re ya so mad you’re throwin’ dinner food at me, darlin’?’—puffing warm breaths on your neck and only smiling when you flinched back. He took your response as a cue to keep pressing, both figuratively and physically.
“Just wanted attention or somethin’? That what it is?” Joel’s voice was as saccharine as it was taunting, words paired with a hand circling light across your thigh. He wasn’t moving in, and it was tearing you to shreds inside.
“Fuck your attention, and fuck you, Joel.”
Words hardly reflecting how you felt internally.
Swiftly, then, the hand at your leg was raised to your face—cupping it with a bit more force than you expected. Joel’s grin stretched even wider.
“Attention and discipline,” he mused aloud, “Two things dad never gave his little girl growin’ up, I see.”
Before you could reply, he was squeezing your face even tighter and nodding his head, as if already anticipating your answer. Then, somehow lower, “Such a filthy mouth on her, too. Never knows when to keep it shut and how to be polite to someone who fucked her so nice already.”
You might’ve whimpered if you didn’t also want to throat punch the motherfucker and knee him in the balls. When Joel started stroking your cheek, you groaned instead, and you hoped he would hear it as chagrin, not arousal.
“I can help with both of those, y’know—” His thumb rubbed a little harder, and his leg moved up. You pressed your hands flat to his thigh to keep him from teasing, but the man would do no such thing to oblige you. In fact, he just shifted his leg back and forth…and back, again. A ripple of bliss from the friction sparked low inside you.
“I can give you attention, and I can scrub that mouth clean if that’s what you really need,” Joel continued, “Just say the word, darlin’.”
“Fucker.” That was your word.
And it worked well enough for Joel.
In the next instant, he had you half-carried, half-dragged across the deck and thrown onto the table where you’d lost that dreaded game of stack. Solo cups still littering the surface, and puddles of beer soaking in through your dress, you made a sound of disgust and tried to thrust yourself up, just to fail. You squirmed and swatted at the man standing in front of you, who easily kept you pinned to the surface with one palm laid calmly on your belly.
He reached into the back pocket of his trousers and retrieved his lighter and cigarette pack.
“Someone could catch us,” you hissed, helpless, unsure of what else to say to show you weren’t giving in just yet.
Joel lit up in four seconds flat. He sucked in a breath.
“I roped off the stairs coming up,” he replied.
He what?
You moved back, slowly, on the surface when Joel worked a hand to his belt buckle, and you heard half a dozen plastic cups fall to the floor behind you.
You would not be his date’s sloppy seconds—ever.
Joel yanked at your thighs and pulled you back to be straddling his hips, shrugging his pants down; you couldn’t bear to keep looking when he lowered his briefs.
He took another drag and eyed you hungrily, happy to see you all sprawled out and pretty before him. The tight fabric of your dress had cinched over your hips and left you bare to just panties, making him grow even harder.
“Joel.”
He worked his dick out of his pants and moved the head to trail slow along the seam of your barely-clothed cunt. Even through the lace, he could feel how wet you were. He notched the tip at the space where your panties had parted just slightly to the side and felt your arousal pool even wetter around the end of his member. He grunted.
“Joel, I—”
“Daddy’s gonna give ya attention, sugar. Hold still.”
You couldn’t. Wouldn’t. You splayed your fingers over the hand that was trying to guide his cock into you and clenched your jaw—every carnal fibre in your being telling you not to do what you were about to try anyway.
“You fucked her didn’t you?”
Joel flicked the ash off his cigarette, “No.”
“You brought her here.”
“Had to.”
Your face was flushed and likewise flooded with smoke, curling slow from Joel’s lips before it painted the air an opaque, muddied grey above you. You wriggled your hips away from his, and for once, he didn’t try to stop you.
“I saw you tucking your shirt in. Tommy said you fucked!”
“Tommy’s about one fry short of a Happy Meal, honey,” Joel puffed once more, “He’s always sayin’ shit like that.”
Incredibly, he’d managed to use about a dozen funny words in that old Texas lilt and still say so little to actually answer your question. When the pinch in your brow told him you weren’t quite satisfied, Joel let out a sigh.
“Ash spilled pebre on my shirt. I had to change.”
Oh.
“And you—” you started.
“—have no fuckin’ right to know, one way or the other, because you’re the one who said we’d just ‘fuck and forget it,’ remember?” Joel interrupted, reminding you of your own curt words from your Bronco boning session.
Again, you tried to speak and found yourself spoken for, Joel carrying on as casual as ever as he sucked the last life-breath from his cig and stared you down, cynically.
“Your dad’s the one who made me bring her tonight. Said I seemed ‘down’ since the last gal I fucked wasn’t around—I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was his daughter—and here we are,” Joel smiled, wryly, and flicked his cigarette into the lake. You would’ve liked to tell him littering was a crime that trashed us all but refrained.
You were too busy staring at his lips, wondering why he hadn’t kissed you yet. You reckoned all the pea flinging, swearing, and swinging might’ve played a small part.
At length, Joel slid a new American Spirit out of its pack and wrangled you back to his hips as he lit up again.
“Happy?” he said, after a beat.
You weren’t sure whether to nod or cross your arms. Beckon him in with both hands or kick his bunched-up pants, belt, and boxer briefs away altogether and keep the bratty act going. You didn’t like being wrong.
At any rate, it didn’t matter. He’d called you on your bluff.
Still smoking, still smiling, still happy as a clam at high tide, Joel pressed his length straight up to your folds and watched you squirm on the wood underneath him.
“Gonna listen now?” he hummed.
“Uh-huh.”
Good, his wretchedly deep brown eyes seemed to say. Good that you were here, good that you were spread wide and supine beneath him, good that you’d gone all soft and pliable under his touch and were watching him now with a look that said you’d let him do just anything.
Good that he could fuck you.
Great that he wasn’t planning to—not fully, anyway.
Joel wasted no time taking your answer in the affirmative to slip past your panties and push deep inside your sweet cunt. When your walls stretched and cried all around him, he sighed and gripped your legs even tighter. He gritted the cigarette between his teeth and brought your ankles to rest over his shoulders, sinking in even deeper. Then he had to hold steady inside you and keep you flat on the table in front of him, and just when you whined to fuck me now, Joel, fuck me right now, daddy, please, he stilled. He took a big, long drag and didn’t move an inch.
He’d teach you some discipline one way or another.
“Joel, please,” you groaned again, hands bracing the table to start fucking up and down on his shaft, before he put a stop to that fast and held you firmly in place, “Please, Joel, I need you so fucking bad, daddy, please.”
Joel tapped his ash to the side and ignored your pleas.
He felt your walls contract around him and tried not to grunt. He focused instead on the smoke overhead.
“Wanna say that nicer?” he asked, deadpan. Then, staring expectantly down at you, while you flushed and struggled to stay still, “Keep that mouth a little cleaner?”
Fuck, did he have that father-figure tone down to a T.
You laid there before him and almost forgot his cock was wedged inside you for a second. He seemed so sincere.
“I wan— want you to move, daddy, I-I-I don’t know how else to say i— FUCK!” Your pussy spasmed around him when the tip of his pubic bone grazed your clit. That squeaky clean mouth of yours was nowhere to be seen.
“Mhmm,” Joel nodded anyway, pretending to be observing your behavior as he might for a clinical trial. Like he was testing a new drug, not his dick inside your cunt, practically clenching in Morse code around him.
“Can ya try that one more time, sweet pea? For daddy?”
You could. Try, anyway. Controlling your tongue while he was buried so deep inside you seemed to be a far harder task than you could’ve ever expected, though.
Joel sensed it. Feeling a twinge of pity, he leaned over your body and dug his hips even deeper—not thrusting, but still granting some modicum of friction. The hot, heavy throb of his girth pulsed inside you like your own fucking heartbeat, and your eyes rolled back.
“Fucking shitsucking DICK BITCH CUNT! FUCK!”
Sounding every bit the uncouth novice in a COD lobby chat circa 2009, you knew you didn’t have the faintest hope of earning Joel’s strokes now. You hated yourself for it—and Joel, too, for subjecting you to such cruel and unusual punishment for just needing to fuck him hard.
You were desperate and heated. Five seconds away from yanking your sex off of his and going to town with your own fingers, you felt a palm press down on your tummy.
Damn Joel and his super-sized hands.
You could barely breathe, much less pry yourself off.
Joel was quiet and calm. Stuffing you full and puffing away at his cigarette the whole time. He smirked.
“Ain’t that difficult, honey,” he said, hardly losing his will or his sympathy when you shot a raw glance his way, “Stay still on this cock and ask daddy nicely, ‘s’all ya gotta do.”
He could tell by the look in your eyes you couldn’t stand to play nice—but needed to cum. He watched you swallow your pride, soften your eyes just a bit, and when you felt you might implode from all the feeling, whined,
“Please make me feel good, daddy, please, I need it.”
Joel breathed and eased back just an inch, lowering his hand to thumb softly at your clit. You keened.
“That’s my sweet girl.”
Still just rubbing that bundle and looking down while you came unraveled, Joel thought you perfectly sublime. He’d kill to keep you there like that, eyes rolling and skin soaking the table beneath you both in sweat and arousal. He stared down at the place your bodies were connected—a sliver of his cock visible and soaked with your juices—and he felt a wave of desire crest over his mind. Panting, quietly, he brought one hand to your hip and kept the other working furiously over your clit, trying to ignore the urge to rut inside you. It was self-discipline for him, too.
He wouldn’t let you know that yet, though.
He crushed the cigarette between his teeth and kept still.
“Ya like that, sugar? Like daddy stuffed inside this pussy, makin’ ya beg real pretty for me?” His husky Southern drawl ran like molasses off his tongue, thicker now when he was balls-deep and half-drunk off your cunt.
You watched his mouth, intrigued, and saw a long line of spit drip deliciously from those pretty, stubbled lips of his to your lower ones, making the spot more filthy and warm as your fluids mixed together. Still, Joel didn’t move a thing more than his thumb—but the sounds from you both were growing louder and more desperate.
The gentle squelch of spit, sweat, and arousal running all down your pussy, paired with those noises you made when you were feeling this good and squeezing him tight, was enough to send Joel straight over the edge. Now he didn’t have the strokes or any motion to focus on before him, just you—he flicked his cigarette away the second he sensed you were getting close yourself.
“Sweet little thing,” he cooed, still rubbing in circles, “How’s my baby feelin’?”
You clawed at the table beneath you and knocked your head back once or twice on the wood, humming a quick, ‘Good, daddy, good’ in the most hoarse and pathetic voice you’d ever used, and Joel smiled. You hadn’t cursed out loud in a minute and seemed to be taking his touches well. He’d have to give you some form of reward.
Gently, Joel pulled back and made a shallow thrust inside you. Both your body and his jolted with pleasure.
“FU—n stuff, fun stuff,” you hissed, trying hard to mask the expletive.
In truth, Joel was struggling too. Just one stroke inside you and that coil inside him was about ready to burst.
“Fun, huh?” he teased, keeping his motions down to quick pistons as he laid his palms flat on either side of your head, “Daddy make ya feel fun-ny, does he?”
“Yeah, he does, he— ah, SHIT right there, right there!”
Evidently, he’d found your G spot.
Joel stilled inside you as soon as the foul word escaped.
You whined. Loud. Almost tempted to burst into tears.
“Nononono, that doesn’t count, Joel! That doesn’t—” Your voice was shortly supplanted by a whimper when the man went back to thumbing your clit, hips rendered still once more and cock wedged deep inside your core.
“What’s it gonna take to make you behave for me, huh? Do I have to talk to your daddy again?” Joel seethed.
You shook your head quick and felt him circle your clit even harder, more punishing now. Your body craved the friction from his cock but could barely contain the words that were coming out now. You pinched your eyes shut, feeling your orgasm creeping closer and closer, and whimpered gently, desperately, ‘Fuckfuckfuuuuuck.’
Whether it came down to making terrible plays at stack cup or getting your clit torn apart by Joel’s thumb, you simply could not keep the filthy language at bay.
You weren’t going to listen, that much was clear.
Joel had no choice but to make you learn a different way.
So, prying his fingers and his cock from your cunt, he reached across for your hips instead—pulling you off of the table and pushing you down to the floor, at his feet.
He smoothed a palm over the top of your head and fisted your hair in one hand, his cock in the other, and brought his hot, swollen, slick-coated length within an inch of your face, stroking fast.
Your gaze flitted from the sight in front of you to Joel’s eyes, back and forth, stunned and in utter disbelief. As you felt your own climax crumble and recede from you at once, the sound jumped up your throat before you could stop,
“What the FUCK is your problem, Joel?!”
“There it is,” Joel just flared his nostrils as he jerked himself above you, “There’s that nasty fuckin’ mouth.”
He pulled your head even rougher and tipped your chin back to meet the scowl on his face. Pleasure had almost swallowed the man whole, yet his expression scarcely betrayed a trace of it, eyes cold and jaw clenched tight.
“If that mouth can’t be good for me, can it open real wide and show me how a dirty slut does it?”
You were beside yourself. Holding his gaze like a bomb might go off in his brain any second—something you’d be happy to see—you scowled as well. Begrudgingly, and knowing Joel wouldn’t ease off of this punishment until he’d made you pay for your language, you nodded.
“What’s’at?” Joel snapped, stroking himself even faster, “What do ya want me to do, sugar?”
You gritted your teeth and silently wished they were crushing his balls to powder between them.
“Want…you…to cum…on my face.”
“Little louder, sweet pea, can’t hear ya from up here.”
The sound of his palm working over his cock again and again, shimmery and slick with your arousal soaking it, was almost too much to bear. You watched, forlorn and silently boiling with rage as Joel stared down at you, as merciless as he’d ever been. Mocking, almost, it seemed.
“Want you to…cum on me, please.”
“One more time, darlin’,” Joel pressed, pupils blown wide with desire, “Be real sweet and say it one more time f—”
“I WANT YOU TO CUM ON MY FACE, YOU FUCKER.”
That sparked the first real smile on Joel’s lips you’d seen in a while, and then he was watching you cockily, nodding.
Before you could even think to blink, stand up, or storm off again, you felt a fat, sticky-wet glob of warmth hit your cheek. Then another. Then another. Then another. You winced and flinched back, but Joel held your head in place, in front of his cock, and gripped you firmly as he unloaded rope after rope of his cum all over your face.
By the time he was finished, your skin was glistening. Coated in the stuff and still blinking through strings of the hot, sticky mess as Joel stood over you, chest heaving fast as he pumped himself through his release.
Must be fucking nice.
When the downpour had slowed to a trickle, two thick fingers swiped at a dollop of cum on your cheek. Then, wordlessly, they moved down to your mouth.
“Open,” Joel commanded.
You’d barely parted your lips a quarter of an inch when he pushed both digits inside. Swirled them around in your mouth and made sure to cover every soft, wet contour and crevice before pulling out with a pop.
He wiped at your other spend-streaked cheek and repeated the action, plunging his fingers in and out of your mouth to make sure you cleaned him thoroughly. This was more of an act meant to tease than anything else, you knew, almost demeaning in the way he stood there and nodded his head while murmuring, ‘’Atta girl.’
You hated how much you liked that stupid show of dominance—and, even worse, how good he tasted.
Joel brushed your tongue with another fingerful and watched you bob your head in time. He hummed his approval and scanned your face for any spend left over.
There was a lot. He paused, as if considering something.
“Drop ‘em.” Joel motioned to the straps of your dress.
You did as he said and pulled both bands down at once. When your breasts spilled out of the fabric, you watched Joel lower his gaze and, fixating on the spot you’d just exposed to him, take two—no, three—careful fingers to collect the remainder of himself and spread it downward.
Joel took his cum and smeared it all over your tits.
He was equal parts meticulous, gentle, and gratuitous in doing so, and he took pleasure in every second.
With a heavy-lidded, glossy gaze trained unwaveringly on your chest, Joel rolled each nipple between forefinger and thumb and fell into a trance. Rubbed you up and down every inch he could find and groaned at the sight. Glazing your skin all over with him and savoring it.
You couldn’t deny the feeling of being marked in a way so degrading, dirty, and adoring at once had a dizzying effect on you, too. The look in his eyes, and the soft brush of his fingers, almost quelled your rage entirely.
Almost.
When Joel pulled your spaghetti straps back into place—and you, in turn, back onto your feet—you yanked away. Forcefully. While Joel straightened up, silently cursed his bad back, tucked his dick in his pants, and started to reach for your waist, you jabbed the fastest, fattest, fuck-your-whole-family middle finger in his face and took off.
“Honey—”
“Don’t.”
“But I—”
“Have some goddamn fucking nerve.”
You’d nearly made it to the staircase again, heels turning to start down the first steps, when Joel sidestepped at lightning speed and blocked off your passage. All you saw then was the front of a starch white dress shirt and a light patch of chest hair peeking out from the highest button, crowding your vision, moving in time with every manoeuvre you tried to make around him. He smelled like sweat and fresh citrus. Perhaps a hint of vengeance.
You wouldn’t meet his gaze when he grabbed your face. Tried to shrug him off when he made as if to pull you into a hug—‘Are you off your shit?! Are you?! People are right downstairs’—and Joel just smiled. Grinned like a jackass eating briars, about five times too smug for his own good, and drew you into his chest by gentle turns.
You weren’t sure why you recoiled when he kissed you.
Hell, you’d done it a dozen times before—albeit a bit more frantically, in a way to say ‘I need to fuck you’ when words just wouldn’t suffice—but this one was different. Deeper. Joel was gripping both sides of your face and still grinning as he kissed you, feeling your muscles slacken some and your frame meld gently into his.
You hated it.
“I missed you,” Joel murmured between kisses.
Hated him.
“How’s my baby been, huh?”
Oh, you know, just waiting. Hating you a little. Hoping we didn’t inadvertently create a baby ourselves, courtesy of your prehistoric condoms.
“I missed you.” Gently. Again.
You tensed in his hold when his lips trailed down to your neck. You felt a low flutter. It was like your feet had been glued to the floor and your tongue left wholly immobile; you let Joel caress, kiss, and whisper down your skin like every cell beneath his touch wasn’t seething en masse.
Your stolen climax. Broken condom. Close call with your father and Tommy. Radio silence ongoing for days.
You couldn’t wrap your head around any of it, or him, or how grossly inconsistent the man’s every move upon you now seemed to be with the way he’d acted all week.
Joel slowly descended your body.
“Like I said, honey…you fuck with my head,” he said soft against your dress, then your legs, then the space in between them.
“Makes two of us,” you grumbled back.
You braced your weight against the railing over the stairs just behind you when he slipped your panties to the floor. Then he tucked them snug into one of his back pockets and brought his face to your wet, aching core.
“Discipline doesn’t come easy, does it?” It sounded like something trapped between a question and a declarative coming out from the side of Joel’s mouth.
Fortunately for you, he didn’t try to clarify which of the two he meant, or do much else at all except eat your pussy from that point on. He kissed your thighs, gripped them tighter, then wedged his face between them while you held fast to the metal behind you. You stifled a moan when his tongue traced over the seam of your cunt.
You didn’t have to like the man to love what his mouth could do for you, you silently reminded yourself.
Love it you could—and would. Without shame.
Granted, you were still sensitive as all hell from your last almost-orgasm of the night, but Joel knew how to work his lips and tongue around it. He swiftly lapped between your folds, teased a finger at your hole, and wrapped his warm lips around your clit to suck once or twice, and you were damn near ready to spiral in seconds. You fisted the soft salt-and-pepper hair at the top of his head and rutted your hips in short, shallow motions against him.
“Good girl,” Joel crooned, welcoming each thrust with another swirl of his tongue, “That’s my sweet baby.”
“Joel.”
You traded expletives for the simple repetition of his name, not wanting the pleasure to stop. Joel hummed and sucked and held your legs around him even tighter.
You sighed, almost whined, and dug your fingertips into his scalp, feeling your climax building quick inside you.
Joel’s mouth was working faster, sucking harder, drawing smaller and crueler circles, lapping eagerly against your arousal and giving it everything he had, it seemed, to work you up to your release. He grunted when you yanked hard on his hair but didn’t stop.
In fact, the bastard just kept trying to talk you through it, fluid movements of his own tongue and lips be damned.
“Doin’ so damn good for me, sweet pea, keep goin’.” There was an apology in there somewhere, working hard to atone for the orgasm he’d denied you right before.
Four more flicks of his tongue and a gentle endeavor to pump his fingers in and out, again and again, right above that soft, spongy pad of pleasure deep inside had you teetering over the edge of a cliff.
You tore your gaze from Joel for a second, preparing for that sweet and lusty consummation, when your head turned to the side just slightly. You almost groaned.
Your own hot, flushed, and fucked-out reflection was the first thing to greet you in a sliver of a mirror on the wall. Just beneath you, as you could’ve expected, there was Joel—kneeling between your legs with his chin tipped up, beard coated in moisture and pleasure and warmth. You weren’t sure why the sight from this angle had such a strong effect, but something about the full view of your bodies in motion gave your stomach a pinch. A burn. You ogled the glass and made a sound audibly higher in pitch than a whimper as Joel suckled and tongued at your clit.
You came just like that—gripping the rails, fisting his hair, rutting your hips, and staring implacably at that mirror.
When Joel resurfaced, you were still fully transfixed.
Gawking at how fucking nice he looked between your thighs. How filthy it all was to be seated on his face and cumming for his tongue while the rest of your father’s dinner party mingled blissfully unaware downstairs.
When you saw Joel rise, you jerked your head back.
You weren’t sure why it felt like being caught, but it did.
Just as you began to murmur some half-assed apology his way, you felt hands on your hips and a rock-hard bulge at your rear as Joel spun you round in front of him.
He shoved you flush against the mirror so your tits were pressed up to the glass. He gave you a quick once-over.
Slid the straps of your dress off your shoulders and shimmied the fabric down your chest, once again.
With your breasts splayed out in front of you and your hands pressing hard on the mirror—as if letting up the slightest bit might send you straight through it—you tried to crane your neck. You felt the sticky squelch of cum and fresh spit painted over your chest, muddying up the glass with every movement you made. Your chin dug deep in your shoulder as you cocked your head to the left, eyes searching for Joel’s behind you.
You heard the clink of a belt, followed by a rustle of fabric. Then a hand slamming close beside your head on the mirror, while another worked industriously to free his cock from the confines of his trousers once more.
“Joel,” you breathed, still tender from your climax.
“Hm?”
He was gruff as he rubbed and smacked your bare ass with his cock. Let it rest on the soft, fleshy shelf between you two and teased his length over that space.
“Did someone take his little blue pill today?” you teased.
“Fuck off.” You saw a flicker of a smirk in the mirror.
No way Joel Miller was getting a full-fledged erection twice in the same ten minute span. That shit didn’t happen outside the realm of porn flicks and a woman’s wildest fantasies when it came to men Joel’s age. He knew it just as well as you but tried to feign indifference when he pressed the head of himself to your folds. He did, however, suck in a breath at the new sensation.
He could do this.
He could cockwarm you raw, tonguefuck your cunt, ravage and render you all but brainless on the surface of that mirror, and still have the wits about himself to take another breath. He could show those shit-for-brains college boys he’d been battling for days in the depths of his mind how much better he could fuck you than them.
Really, Joel was just manifesting at this point.
He hadn’t busted a nut and fucked this quick since Bill Clinton had been in office. All hat and no cattle whatsoever for this pussywhipped cowboy.
“Better hope I go easy on ya, sugar.”
“Best believe I won’t.” You would’ve winked if you weren’t so bone-crushingly aroused and fresh off your peak.
Joel had just chuckled, more than a touch nervous, and began rubbing your warmth to coat himself in it—angling his slightly apprehensive penis up to your cunt when you straightened some. Rather than keep your tits to the mirror, you chose to press your back against him, ass snug to his front and eyes roaming wildly over the reflection of your two forms. Both of you flinched when the head of his cock hitched around your entrance.
Joel’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat just over your shoulder. He pressed a kiss to your skin.
“Gotta be the sweetest thing I ever seen,” he whispered into your ear. Meeting your gaze in the mirror and lifting his hips just so before breaching your folds.
He hoped you’d take it for sweetness and not just a vicious strain of anxiety or weakness as he prepared for the first thrust. He’d need a second, a minute—maybe a goddamned hour, if he was being real honest. You were too damn pretty to be fucked by a two-pump chump.
Joel nudged his nose against your ear and tried to stall. Pausing a beat.
“Never been humped and dumped before, yaknow.”
Wait—the fuck?
That came out wrong.
You cocked a brow and tilted your hips. You didn’t seem keen on talking but had no choice but to humor him.
“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” you hummed.
Joel balked at his own stupidity, trying, and failing, to remove his foot from his mouth and remedy his words.
“I mean, I— I get it,” he returned, too fast for his liking, “I’m no texter myself, I just…thought, uh, maybe—”
“Miller. Spit it out.”
Your body was all but leaking arousal before him and the man was trying to divert the conversation to…phones?
Joel winced.
Felt his member deflate with embarrassment just a bit.
He’d done it to himself. Tried to hamper sex for a second too long just to give his dick a fighting chance at survival and ended up mucking things up supremely. Per usual.
“You never texted me back.” He sounded blunt now. Rushed.
Joel watched you raise both eyebrows.
“Texted you back?” you scoffed.
“Yeah…texted, called, snipchatted, whatever.”
Your face didn’t change despite the glaring Gen X error.
“You never texted me, Joel!”
What?
Suddenly, the dick wedged between your legs and hovering over your cunt seemed to be the last thing either of you could be bothered to worry about.
“I’ve…been texting you all week. Called a few times too.”
“Like hell you have. You ghosted me and went off the grid this whole fuckin’ week—Tommy said so, too.”
Joel cringed again to hear his brother’s name brought up in this context and shook his head. You were wrong.
“512-867-5309. Been trying to talk to you all goddamn week, see how you were, and you never responded,” he said, indignation creeping into his tone against his will.
At last, your expression dropped.
From furious to frowning to just fucking annoyed. Your lips were drawn tight in a line across your face.
“My number is 512-867-5305, dipshit.”
“Huh?”
“5 at the end, not a 9.”
“…No.”
“Yeah…”
Shit.
Joel Miller had made his fair share of flubs in his life, but fucking up the phone number of his best friend’s daughter whose pussy he’d accidentally cum inside the week before seemed almost criminal. Too fucking asinine and rookie-level dense to ever recover from. He blinked.
“Thought you…hated my fuckin’ guts,” he confessed.
You threw your hands up in disbelief, frustration. Fury.
“I do— believe me, I do,” you snapped, “But not for that.”
‘That’ meaning the last time you two bumped uglies. Joel wasn’t sure whether to take heart or step back.
“What’s’at mean?” he asked.
You pushed your feet a little further apart on the floor and pressed back into Joel. He took that as a decidedly good sign and reached for your hip. Then took his cock, again, which had invariably twitched and swelled up at the smallest motion from you.
“Means we’ve got plenty of reasons to hate each other, but fuckin’ ain’t one of ‘em,” you shrugged, angling your ass in the perfect place for penetration. Joel was just about back to full-mast and buzzing as you spoke, “I can get over the whole…old dude taboo—you being dad’s friend and all—I just couldn't stand the thought of you leaving me in the lurch when shit got weird at the end.”
‘Weird’ meaning risky. Virulent. Damn near catastrophic if it ever came to be that one of Joel's swimmers had latched onto one of your eggs and knocked you up. The fear of pregnancy, and every bloodcurdling, awkward conversation to ensue, had been amplified tenfold by the thought that Joel didn't even care one way or the other and couldn't be bothered to text, call, or otherwise show that he didn't totally regret what you'd done in his car. You could handle a clean break, but leaving it on such uncertain terms had been torture. At length, you sighed.
Joel was nosing behind your ear now, a bit less tense.
A little more laid-back and warm this time around, as he, like you, had gotten to exhale a breath of relief realizing that neither of you had deliberately tried to fuck the other over, or ghost, just yet. You'd been pissed at him all night, and he'd been busy barraging a perfect stranger somewhere in Austin with strings of texts and calls all week, but the two of you were ultimately OK. For now.
“But you still hate me, huh?” Joel spoke low against your skin and felt you soften just a little.
You nodded, careful not to slacken too much.
“Mhmm.”
Now Joel was almost glad to have taken that brief, heated detour, because his dick had made a complete comeback and was aching to tease you some more. He grabbed the base of his length and slotted it slow as ever between your folds. Rolled his hips forward and pushed you both a little closer to the mirror. One of your hands flew up to steady yourself, and Joel’s hand followed. He laid his palm over the back of yours and pressed in.
“It’d be a real shame if you do,” he said, smirking as he notched the tip of his cock just within the tight ring of muscles at the groove of your cunt, “For a second there I was starting to think you might’ve liked fucking me, too.”
In the next second, Joel was easing inside you. Feeling you arch into the motion and grabbing hold wherever he could across your front, he pulled you into his chest and felt a streak of coarse pleasure lick up the full length of his spine. Your walls were squeezing him in a brand new way, a novel position, and he was starting to fear there wasn't any place he could fuck you that wouldn't send him veering for release within his first two strokes inside.
He bucked his hips a little something like an amateur, he thought, getting used to taking you like this. You were moaning, holding his fingers between your own atop the mirror as you squeezed your pussy tight around his cock, and he hoped that meant you hadn't minded the few stuttered, desperate strokes he'd delivered at first.
“I love…fucking you, Joel,” you seethed at last.
Then, wordless as it was pointed, finding his gaze in your reflection, ‘I still hate you, Miller. There’s a difference.’
He slammed into your ass and quickly got the sense that you liked it this fast—loving, lusting, or despising him otherwise. Almost needed it a bit frantic and rapid-fire when he was fucking you from the back, he reckoned.
Joel looked you in the eye from his view behind you in the mirror and saw it clear as day. He almost grinned.
You were wildly fucked out and in need of quick release.
For once in his life, he could oblige you on that, easy.
He slid his cock in and out, rutting much quicker than he ever thought you’d want it, and he grunted. Slipped a hand between your thighs and felt you pulse around him, involuntarily, when his fingers found your clit. He could tell by that grip, and those febrile little whimpers, that you were loving this just as much as him and probably were as close, if not closer, to a new, shuddering climax.
Joel plunged deep inside your cunt and drew you closer.
Taking your throat in one hand, he nudged your body into the glass and smirked, drunk with the feel of you.
“Ya like it when I fill this pussy, huh? Love feeling me deep inside this needy little hole?” he murmured, slow and taking care to draw out the syllables in each word.
You nodded that you did. Rocked your hips back to meet his thrusts and moaned.
“I love it, daddy,” you managed weakly, “Love it so much.”
The fingers at your clit increased in speed, and Joel rutted into you even harder, relishing the soft squelch between your bodies as he moved. Then he reached for a fistful of your hair and, instead of pulling back like he might normally have done, he pushed in. He pressed your face in the mirror, turned to the side, and pistoned his hips even faster. Felt your moans spill out across the glass and mix with his own, and he couldn’t help but let a raw, primal impulse take over his thrusts—and tongue.
“You make the prettiest fuckin’ noises, y’know that?” Joel breathed, hunched over and close to your ear.
Before you could so much as acknowledge his praises, bob your head, or moan in response, he shifted the hand in your hair again. This time turning your face toward the mirror, he brought your lips within inches of the glass and made you watch him fuck you, again and again.
You trailed your gaze over your full reflection and almost whined out loud, ripe with desire and ready to cum just seeing how good he looked as he took you from behind.
With his brow furrowed, pupils blown, hair a fucking mess, lips parting slightly with the strain of every grunt and moan, and hips rolling repeatedly, furiously into your own, Joel looked about as handsome as you thought you’d ever seen him. You felt the soft nudge of his tummy behind you, the tightened grip on your hip and in your hair, and within seconds, you were nearly there.
“My pretty. fuckin’. girl—” Joel managed through gritted teeth, each word punctuated with a thrust, “—and her pretty. fuckin’. moans.” Then, bringing his beaming, sweaty expression right next to yours in the mirror, “Ready to cum for me, pretty girl?”
You curled your toes into the floor and nodded, slotting your fingers through his own when he planted a hand above you again,
“So— so close, daddy.”
Joel squeezed your fingers back. Kept your faces damn near side-by-side in the mirror and relished the marked change in your features when he grazed that spot inside. You let out the filthiest, fuckdrunk moan and didn’t need another stroke—you came around his cock with a tight, pulsing spasm, seizing his hand, rocking your hips back into his hard as the pleasure washed over your body.
Joel’s cock absorbed every last delicate throb, hot and heavy enough to send the man spiraling himself. He braced his front tight against your body and kept fucking you through your release, groaning a vicious, desperate bout when he felt that deep-seated urge to spill his seed.
Fuck. He’d have to pull out. Now.
Just as his own climax was close at hand—close as he could ever, or should ever feel it while still inside you—Joel reached down for your hip to pull out and cum all over your ass, but he was brought to a stop. Swiftly.
To his surprise, it was you pulling off of him—sliding off his cock and dropping to your knees as if to take him in your mouth.
Thank fuck.
Joel grabbed his dick as quick as he possibly could and moved to start stroking himself over your face, when your hand closed around his own. Stopping him. Again.
You grinned.
Feeling the slightest twinge of retributive pleasure at seeing him like this, just like he’d had you, your smile stretched even bigger. Joel could’ve wept at the sight.
You brought your lips to his cock and grazed it, barely.
“Wanna try something fun?”
He knew better than to let a moan slip at a time like this.
Not when he was sitting at the dinner table; not when he was surrounded by the people he knew and loved the most. Not when he was celebrating his best friend’s fifty-first birthday, and certainly not when that man’s daughter was currently perched between his thighs, out of sight from every eye at the party but his.
Joel lifted the tablecloth. He almost came on the spot.
This was your idea of ‘fun.’
Payback by any other name would’ve smelled as sweet.
Seeing your mouth open wide and your lips curled tight around his hot, throbbing member, Joel couldn’t help but ache for reprieve, or else a split-second lapse of judgment—one where he forgot all sense of decorum and simply went to town on that pretty little face of yours. But, as it was, the rest of the party was totally oblivious to your absence, and he didn’t want to draw attention to it, or him, by roughfucking your mouth.
That would come later.
No, now he would let you glide your mouth gently over his shaft, leaving trails of thick spit and hints of a shiny pink lip gloss in its wake. He’d let you bob your head softly—self-assured in a pace you got to set—and he wouldn’t lay a finger on your face or let a thrust of his get in the way, because this was all about you giving him the pleasure. Maybe making him squirm just a little, too.
That didn’t mean he couldn’t steal a glimpse every now and then and pin you with an expectant look when he wanted something done his way. The room was dimly lit and everyone in it drunk; Joel would gladly take the risk.
‘You can go deeper than that, sweet pea.’
‘Nope, three-fourths ain’t enough, I need your mouth around me whole.’
‘You did wanna make daddy feel good, didn’t ya, sugar?’
He didn’t have to speak a word of it out loud for you to know what he meant. What he needed. You loosened your jaw and stretched your lips even wider, whining just a little when the head of his cock grazed your tonsils.
“Fuck that feels nice,” Joel said aloud.
You froze.
Then, without missing a beat, you heard him continue just as comfortably, speaking to the people around him,
“Y’all feel that breeze comin’ in?”
Sick fuck. You continued to suck him anyway.
One hand braced tight against Joel’s leg and the other moved shamelessly between your own, and you tried not to moan, but the sound escaped anyway. No one heard it, but Joel felt it reverberate down his shaft, and he gripped his glass of Merlot like a vice. Your dad shot him a curious look from across the table but said nothing.
“Can’t get enough’a her, huh?” Tommy grinned beside him.
“What?” Joel faltered. Set his drink aside carefully.
Down below, you dragged your mouth just far enough to take his tip between your lips and suckle. Joel grunted.
“The wine,” Tommy said, still smiling, “You must love it.”
Joel let out another strangled breath that he tried to pass off as a chuckle and nodded.
“Got me on my fuckin’ knees,” he admitted.
And that was the truth. Starved for air and blinking through tears as you knelt down to blow him, it was still you with the chokehold on Joel, and both of you knew it.
Try as you might to convince yourselves otherwise, the man was enrapt. Too spellbound to turn down your offer of sucking him dry under the dinner table just minutes after he’d almost cum all over your face, Joel was in it, and he was in it deep. It was just that small matter of you being his best friend’s daughter that made him loath to admit it. At any rate, he had your tongue licking strips up his cock and felt a sudden, sharp clench in his stomach.
He knew he wouldn’t last much longer. Neither would you.
Joel couldn’t see it then, but you’d practically soaked your own hand from how hard you’d been rubbing your clit—ignoring his orders not to touch yourself there—so turned on from just sucking his dick and needing to feel relief while you selflessly, secretly pleased him beneath the table. While Joel reached for another draught of wine, you brought one hand to his balls and kept the other at your cunt, triple-tasking like the efficient little slut he needed you to be: sucking, cupping, and rubbing all at once to get the two of you off in one minute or less.
You guided him down to the furthest place in your throat, then pushed him even deeper. You gagged just slightly and felt a hand reach down for your cheek. A thumb began to rub at the tears welled up at the corners of your eyes.
‘Sweet thing hasn’t felt a man this deep before, huh? Wanna swallow some more?’
You nodded that you did. Couldn’t actually hear him now, or see much else besides the soft tufts of hair on his belly, but you could feel a light, heady warmth seep into your brain.
You rutted your hips and just hoped no one dropped a fork nearby. Bucked desperately into your hand and felt the heat start to swell to a whole new feeling, and suddenly you were whimpering, whining on Joel’s cock from under the shade of the table and cumming all over your fingers.
Joel returned a quick smile from your father and cracked a joke about the Super Bowl. Raised his hips just the slightest bit and wiped one of your tear-soaked cheeks.
‘Almost there, hon, keep that throat open for daddy.’
All you could do was cry and try your best. Wild feelings from both the slow, deep facefuck he was giving you and the flurry of euphoric aftershocks coursing all throughout your body made it almost impossible to bear, but you obeyed your sweet and strong and steady-handed Joel and sensed a blossoming desire crop up for something else.
You wanted to taste him as he blew his load in your mouth, flooded your tongue with his spend, and painted every inch of your insides with that hot, sticky stuff.
You needed him whole.
Your Joel.
In tune with your thoughts—or perhaps just overcome with a need to see you before he reached his peak—Joel raised the tablecloth the slightest bit when Tommy wasn’t looking. His gaze locked on yours, and his tongue darted quick between his lips. He cocked a brow. Brushed his thumb again and looked down as if to say,
‘Ya want this, darlin’? Want all of me?’
You gave a soft nod, and that was all he needed.
No sooner had you given him the green light than his cum went pulsing out in ropes, coating your throat and eventually your whole mouth as you held still and took it all.
There was so much more than you thought. So much of Joel that had been waiting to give your mouth a proper fucking glaze that once he’d started he just couldn’t stop. Above the table, your dad shot a pointed look in his direction—‘You good, man?’—and it took every ounce of strength in Joel’s body to grit his teeth tight and nod.
He’d filled so much of your mouth it was spilling out.
You tried to hold steady, keep your movements extra slow. You’d heard your dad’s voice and just knew there’d be a lot more on the line than Joel’s dribbling seed if either one of you fucked up now. Your breath caught in your chest, and you felt too afraid to even swallow.
“I just…came,” Joel started, and your head almost cracked on the wood surface from how abruptly you flinched back,
“—to the realization—”
“—that you…are so…motherfuckin’ old, my friend.”
Your father’s laugh was the first you heard, followed by Tommy, his friends, and a dozen other party guests.
The next thing you felt, to your complete and utter shock, was Joel’s cock brushing your cheek. Then your lips. Then your tongue. He slid his still-hard member through the ‘o’ your mouth had made in awe and started to move in gentle motions back and forth, like a man all but aching to get a feel for your wet, sodden walls.
A man who couldn’t risk a glimpse now, but wanted more than anything to see the mouth he’d just filled.
Your father’s words hadn’t even cooled in the air.
Joel Miller, you sneaky, freaky fuck.
As the laughter subsided, and Tommy scooted back in his chair to take leave of your table, you felt a spark ignite. Whether it was yours or Joel’s or both your perverted minds suddenly alight and insane with the same thought, you couldn’t be sure, but you could make out the sound of a tablecloth flipping back up above you.
Joel slipped his dick out of your mouth and grinned. Took a firm hold of your face under the table so his fingers were coaxing your jaw to unhinge before him.
It was the lowest, slowest, menacing sort of sound you’d ever heard from him before, but it was his all the same.
Speaking to you now, softly, “Show daddy, darlin’.”
You thought you might like to see him that way forever.
Eyes honey-soft and glazed, thumb toying at your lip. Chest heaving up and down in time to your own breaths and growing ragged as you opened your mouth to him. He was sated and somehow unfulfilled—a bottomless pit of raw prurience as he stared down and held your gaze. Hair tousled, pants unbuckled, cock resting comfortably against your cheek, the man looked wonderfully undone and half in love with your sweet face peering up at him.
You couldn’t deny you loved doing this, too.
You’d just wished he saw Tommy before Tommy saw you.
warnings : smut, established relationship, praise, use of pet names (darlin’, baby, good girl), inexperienced reader, fingering, unprotected p in v, jackson!joel, shy/nervous reader, fluffy, it’s implied that joel & reader are fairly new in jackson (having travelled together), joel has a filthy mouth and talks SO MUCH, appearance from tommy at the end, this is literally 3.7k words of pure pornography im sorry
summary : joel was your first. your relationship has blossomed since then but you’re still inexperienced and he is certain to let you experience everything when it comes to intimacy although you still may be nervous to try new things.
an : ik this account has been exclusively cod characters but i’ve wanted to write for joel for soo long. kinda wanna rebrand and start writing again!!!!
“c’mere,” he murmured, holding his arms out to you, effectively compelling you into his lap. you straddled his thighs and looked down at his lustful gaze, feeling your chest tighten at the sight.
he didn’t seem to care about the fight he’d just had with tommy; you hadn’t even remembered what it was about this time, but what you did remember was tommy storming out of his own house, calling joel a “fuckin’ asshole” and leaving you and him in tommy’s living room like this.
you lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder, and play with the hem of his t-shirt. you hear him sigh above you and lean back against the sofa, instinctively resting his hands on the small of your back as he nosed at the side of your neck.
“you smell real good from that soap they let us use,” he murmured, his gruff voice in your ear.
you smile a little, “i do?”
“mmh,” he hummed, his hands reaching to fidget with the ends of your hair, “don’t know about you, darlin’, but i could get used to this life o’ luxury.” he leans down to press a kiss to the exposed skin of your neck, inhaling as he does.
the flesh on the back of your neck erupts in a shiver, feeling his breath fan over you as he exhales. you stay there, on his shoulder, wanting him to continue; he does. he paves a line of light kisses down to your shoulder as he pulls the neckline of your shirt to the side. a gentle hand runs under your shirt and over the skin of your back. he grins into your skin as he hears you exhale a sigh - a happy sigh - beside his ear.
joel shifts you in his lap, bringing you closer to where his hips bend and gently pulling you from the crook of his neck.
“joel..” you murmur shyly, to which he replies with the raise of his eyebrows in questioning. “you’re um… i can feel you..”
he gives a light chuckle in response and traces his fingertips over where your hair falls over your face, “that right darlin’? you feel what y’re doin’ to me?”
you give a shy nod, feeling your cheeks grow hot. he notices how you avoid looking at his face.
“don’t be goin’ all shy on me now, baby. ‘s alright to feel things.”
you nod again, glancing down to his lap where his jeans seemed much too tight and constricting. he notices but doesn’t say anything, his hands moving to your hips and gently up your sides beneath your shirt. they rise just beneath your breasts; he softly thumbs over your nipples, watching your face intensely for a response. you almost squirm at the delicate touch as you watch the shape of his hands moving beneath your shirt, and exhale a quiet sigh of his name.
“we haven’t done it like this before, have we?” he speaks softly, his hands moving back down to your hips as he sees your nipples are hardened under the soft fabric.
“what?”
“we’ve never fucked with you… on top o’ me,” he repeats. a thumb comes up to trace along your jawline and your eyes flicker back up to his face as you shake your head. he smiles when you look at him, “mmm… you wanna change that, baby?”
you nod.
his smile widens and his thumb on your jaw slides down your neck, to your shoulder, where he pushes your hair back. his other hand transgresses the waistband of your sleep shorts, watching your face as he does so. his hand nestles over your centre, the pads of his fingers tracing over you through your underwear, feeling the dampness. your eyes flutter but you watch intensely as he then delves beneath the thin fabric.
“let’s open you up a bit for me baby, huh?” he says, rubbing slow circles over your clit.
you nod eagerly, his words clouding your mind with arousal.
“there y’ go darlin’.. ‘s a good girl,” he praises as you whimper at his touch. he runs a calloused fingertip through the seam of your pussy, coating himself in your wetness.
using his other hand, he finds the hem of your shirt, and slides it up your waist, exposing your abdomen. “can i take this off?” he asks, glancing up at you.
“i…” you hesitate — what about tommy? if he comes back..? joel continues to swirl his fingers over your sensitive clit, making it near impossible to articulate thoughts. “i— don’t know.. what— what if tommy comes ba-ck?” you struggle between short pants and breaths.
he shakes his head and chuckles, “tommy ain’t comin’ back anytime soon darlin’. don’t you worry.”
“but… if he does? i don’t wanna.. take it off.”
his eyes soften; his fingers slow. “you’re worried about him seein’ you like this, hm?”
you nod.
“th’s okay, baby. you don’t gotta. ‘s okay,” he reassures gently.
you nod again.
he takes his hand from your centre and moves both to your waist, pulling your shirt back down. he places soft, wet kisses along your neck again, speaking softly as he does, “‘s no worries.. we’ll just take it slow. lemme take care o’ you.”
his hand finds its way to your hair, tucking it behind your ear. he pulls away from your neck as he feels you fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt, and glances up at you expectantly.
“are you.. gonna take yours off?” you murmur, afraid he’d say no and accuse you of hypocrisy.
he raises an eyebrow and smiles, amused that you’re asking. “you feelin’ shy again darlin’? y’ want me to take it off?”
you nod cautiously.
smiling wider, he laughs lightly, “all right, darlin’.” he takes the hem of his t-shirt from your fingers and lifts it over his head, exposing his abdomen and chest, and his hands find your hips again. your eyes rake over his skin, speckled with greying hairs over his chest and a trail of them that let down to his jeans. he watches you watch with a grin wide on his lips, almost with pride.
he gently runs a hand up your thigh; his touch reminds you that he is not in fact just an object that you get to stare at. you glance back up to his face, almost guiltily for the way your hungry eyes take him in.
“don’t feel bad for lookin’, darlin. y’ know i don’t mind.”
he feels you start to get restless in his lap, growing needier with each passing second. his hand slips back beneath your shorts, eliciting an almost frustrated whine from your throat, needing some real alleviation.
“shhh.. ‘s okay baby. ‘m gonna give you what you need in a bit.” his fingers softly graze your centre, wanting to see how much more he could rile you up.
you grind down into his fingers, the whisper of contact simply not enough. he pushes back against you in response.
“you need it real bad, huh?”
you nod, eyes staring to well with tears of need and frustration.
“ohh, i know darlin’, i know,“ he whispers, fingers still circling over your swollen bundle of nerves, as he glances up to you in awe. “you still wanna try bein’ on top?”
you nod.
“good girl.. tha’s my girl…. just need’a get y’ opened up a bit for me, ain’t that right?”
a whimper escapes your throat, feeling your core pulse at his words.
“oh, baby,” he muses pitifully, “…now, ‘m just gonna start with one finger, ‘kay? work up to maybe 3. that all right?”
your mouth falls agape as he pushes one digit into you, up to the knuckle and he curls it towards himself. “not 3, joel.. i don’t want—“
“shhh.. ‘s alright baby. i’ll do whatever you want, ‘kay?” he reassures as he repeatedly pumps his finger inside of you, soothing over that sweet little spot that made your head roll back. your hands move to his biceps, squeezing onto them tightly; he smiles widely as you do.
“there ‘y go.. ‘s a good girl.. lemme hear you baby,” he murmurs, adding a second finger.
you whine softly as he pushes that little bit further inside, and your pussy involuntary squeezes around him, almost keeping his fingers in place.
“j—joel..” you whimper, feeling how the bicep that is pumping his fingers inside of you strains and flexes beneath your grasp with each movement.
“c’mon baby, y’ gotta relax f’ me.. squeezin’ me so god damn tight.. ‘s like y’r try’na break my fingers or somethin’,” he chuckles, gently soothing his free hand down your side.
“sorry,” you whimper, slightly embarrassed although you know he doesn’t mind.
“‘s alright darlin’.. there y’ go, ‘s alright,” he mutters, feeling you open up as warm waves of pleasure wash from your abdomen and over your body.
“such pretty sounds y’r makin’ baby,” he compliments as you whine, mewl and babble his name, obscene wet sounds making your mind go fuzzy, “you think you’re opened up enough f’ me yet darlin’? y’ ready for me?”
he slows his fingers as you nod; with one last deep push into your aching spot, he removes them from you.
you whimper at the emptiness, shifting upon his lap and eyes darting around his face pleadingly.
“i know, i know darlin,.. y’ wantin’ more ain’t ya?”
you nod shamelessly.
“well now baby.. i need you to be patient for me then.. don’t want you hurtin’ yourself because you were impatient, now, do we?”
you shake your head, becoming aware of your neediness.
“hmmm.. didn’t think so,” he muses as he leans back into the sofa, “now.. you wanna unbuckle me or do you want me to do it?”
his fingers splay over his belt; you look between his hands and his face, afraid of disappointing him.
“um… you can do it,” you mumble
“tha’s all right. ‘s no problem darlin’,” he smiles at your bashfulness as his fingers begin to make work of his belt. he doesn’t wait to pull the soft leather from his jeans; he just unbuttons and unzips them, his self control running low.
he sees your curious gaze glancing down to his hands, eyeing his arousal through the thin fabric of his underwear. “you got me so fuckin’ hard baby,” he chuckles, palming himself through his boxers with a soft grunt.
you blush in response, unable to hide the proud smile that spreads over your lips. he grins, and his thumb moves to your lower lip, gently brushing over the delicate skin. “sweet girl,” he muses, “y’ still alright with bein’ on top?”
you nod in response, excitement building and tightening your chest.
“all right then darlin’. y’ just need’a relax for me, okay? we’ goin’ real slow, just like we’ve been doin’ so far, right?”
you nod; he holds your gaze for a little while, his fingertips moving to the hem of your shorts where he traces along their underside, “can i take these off darlin’?”
you nod eagerly - maybe too eagerly. smiling, he hooks his fingers into their waistband and tugs them down your thighs. you lift a leg out of them to help, leaving them dangling from your other. his thumbs rub over the front of your underwear, “‘m just gonna pull these to the side, that all right baby?”
you nod again, and he squeezes your thighs, shifting you closer, musing a quiet “c’mere” as you settle further into his lap, the most intimate part of you flush against his still clothed hardness. “there you go darlin’.. you ready to give it a go?”
“mhm,” you almost whimper, lifting yourself slightly as he palms himself again, before he pulls himself out - achingly hard and leaking at the tip. he strokes his hand over himself once, a small groan leaving his lips. his freehand settles at your hip, guiding you to hover over him, as you steady yourself on his shoulders and look between your two bodies.
“just do whatever feels natural, baby.. whatever feels right, okay? you ain’t gonna hurt me and i ain’t gonna judge you,” he reassures, as if he can feel your racing mind.
you nod and you let yourself fall a little closer to him, whimpering when you make contact. his tip notches at your weeping entrance; he slides the head of his cock through your slick, eliciting a small whine from deep in your throat.
“easy baby.. now, y’re nice ‘n’ wet, so it shouldn’t hurt, okay? ‘s just gonna feel real full,” he mutters with an adoring glint behind his eyes as he takes the image of you in: eyes fluttering closed, hair slipping over your shoulder, mouth agape and falling apart on his lap.
you lower yourself down a little more, his tip pushing into you and your pussy swallowing him wholly. you earn a grunt from joel; he moves both his hands to your waist, gently guiding you over him, selfishly unable to hold himself back.
“just like that baby.. yeah, feels real good.. there y’ go,” he mumbles breathlessly, feeling you lower further. you instinctively squeeze around him at the praise, your abdomen fluttering and erupting in spasms of warmth, sinking yourself down until you’ve taken him to the hilt.
he releases a guttural groan at the warmth of you clenching around his cock. on the brink of losing himself already, he tightens his grip on your hips and stills you, a series of grunts and breaths stringing from his throat. “christ, baby.. y’ gonna have to wait just a minute.. just a sec.. y’ got me seein’ fuckin’ stars sweet girl,” he speaks, his eyebrows pinched together and eyes tightly closed.
you moan out at the feeling of fullness, your head falling to rest in the crook of his neck as his dick presses into a delicious spot deep inside of you. he regains composure after a little while and begins to lift your hips slightly before pulling you back down. soft mewls and whines fill his ear, the pretty sounds travelling straight to his cock.
“mm.. there y’ go baby girl.. y’ feel that? feels nice ‘n’ full, huh?”
you nod weakly, feeling tears begin to well in your eyes at the sensation of being so full. lifting you with both hands, he slides one up your side beneath your shirt; you help him by steadying your legs around his thighs and raising yourself up, before he pulls you back down, earning a loud whine as a tear spills down your face.
he moans, head leaning back and reeling in the way you’re wrapped around him so tightly. noticing the small stream down your face, he speaks breathlessly, “you okay darlin’? you ain’t hurting on me, now, baby, are ya?”
you shake your head, barely able to concentrate on his words, “‘m fine.. just feels— good.”
his thumb wipes over your warm cheek as he grins, “mm.. well.. you’re doing so good f’ me baby.”
as you squeeze around him again, he grunts loudly, his hold on you tightening and an almost pained expression coming over his face. “i swear to christ, y’re doin’ that on purpose,” he strains.
“sorry,” you mumble, trying to relax.
he smiles and shakes his head, “don’t apologise baby.. felt real good. y’r pussy’s just so goddamn tight.”
you start to move on your own, your forearms resting on his shoulders for leverage as you push yourself up and then back down, building a painstakingly slow rhythm. your faces just mere inches apart, he grabs onto your chin and pulls you to his mouth, your lips pressing together hungrily. he swallows your whines and moans with his tongue pushing into your mouth and his lips enveloping yours as you keep up your slow pace, up and down over his cock. he kisses the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, leaving wet marks along your neck that have you whimpering his name.
“tha’s a good girl baby,” he murmurs into your skin, “just make y’self feel good.. take y’r time… that’s it, take it nice ‘n’ slow darlin’.”
you take him slow and deep, undoubtedly unable to increase your pace, but he’s patient enough to let you take him however you want to. his cock notches against that sensitive spot inside of you that only joel knows, dragging along your walls with every rut against him. you look down and watch as you take him, filled to the brim every few seconds, your clit pressed against his greying hair. his chest gleams with droplets of sweat and his abdomen rises and falls with his short breaths. your mouth stays agape and you bury your head into his neck, moaning into the skin there each time you feel him deeply.
“ohh.. ‘s that feel good sweet girl?” he asks as he looks down to you pressed against his shoulders.
“uh-huh,” you mewl, barely able to form coherent words.
“tha’s good.. doin’ so fuckin’ good f’ me baby.”
its not long before your thighs begin to ache. you slow down even further, your legs burning with fatigue. being on top isn’t as easy as it seems; you grasp onto joel with the last ounce of energy you have left.
he feels your thighs tremble and your pace begin to slow more. “you doin’ okay there darlin’?” he drawls, guiding your head out from his neck.
“i— i can’t joel,” you almost whine as you stop, his cock still hard inside of you.
“‘s okay baby. you tired y’self out, huh?” he murmurs empathetically, giving a light kiss to your cheek, “you wanna get on your back?”
you hesitate for a moment, wondering if he’s secretly disappointed, but nevertheless, you nod. “c’mon,” he muses, lifting you onto your back, his dick still inside of you. as he lays you down onto the couch, he gently soothes kisses over your neck and your legs wrap instinctively around his waist. you shuffle yourself downwards slightly, getting comfortable and you exhale a needy sigh, moving your arms to enclose over his back as he holds himself above you.
“‘s that better baby?”
you nod and give him a smile, to which he returns with a grin and a tender kiss to your lips before he pulls back his hips and pushes them back into you. he starts to set a slow pace with long, gentle strokes, grunting with each movement, feeling you tighten around him as the speed of his hips gradually increases. a particularly deep thrust had your back arching with a sharp moan and your nails press down into his back. his head drops at the feeling, a series of loud groans leaving his mouth, as he caught a glimpse of your lower abdomen rising slightly with each thrust of his hips. his groans turn into a soft laugh as he continues to rut into you.
“oh.. sweet jesus baby..” he says, glancing up to your face, “gimme y’r hand.”
you take a hand from his back and hold it to him. his own hand encloses over the top of yours and he moves it between your two bodies, placing it over your abdomen as his hips move against you. you whimper at the feeling of his cock pushing against your walls from the outside, the flesh of your stomach pushing against the palm of your hand as his thrusts quicken in their pace.
“y’ feel me right here, hm? y’ feel that baby?” he almost taunts, pressing your hand down a little harder. the extra pressure has your eyes rolling closed; you tighten around him subconsciously.
“ohhh.. she likes that, huh?” he chuckles, removing his hand from yours and picking up his pace, determined to drive you closer to the brink of your high. his thrusts grow more erratic as he nears the edge himself, haphazardly pushing in and out of you as he begins to lose focus. he feels you swallowing his cock tighter with each movement of his hips.
“you gettin’ close f’ me baby girl?”
you nod, the pleasure building at your abdomen overwhelming all of your senses.
“c’mon then baby. let go f’ me darlin’. lemme feel ya.”
his ruts grow deliberately deeper and faster; he grunts grow louder and strained behind his teeth. you mewl into his ear, your back arching your abdomen into his and the heels of your feet digging into his lower back.
“joel— i’m..”
“tha’s it baby. don’t fight it.. let it happen.. good fuckin’ girl.”
his praise pushes you over the edge, the coil inside of you pulling taut and your core spasming with waves of heat, carnal pleasure shooting all the way to the tips of your fingers. your clit pulses as he continues to sloppily move inside of you, teetering on the edge of his own orgasm, until he feels he’s about to collapse over the brink with one last thrust. he pulls himself out and strokes his wet cock a few more times before he bunches up your shirt and spills himself over your stomach with a guttural groan, his hips jerking with each rope of come that paints your abdomen.
he collapses atop of your spent body with one final grunt as his head falls to rest on your shoulder. your body still trembles with the aftershocks of your high whilst you both try to catch your breath.
“fuckin’ hell,” he chuckles breathlessly, glancing up to see a lazy smile spread across your face, “you doin’ alright there baby?”
“mhm,” you hum, too tired to talk as your eyes flutter closed.
“good.. you did real good darlin’… y’ know.. i was—“
the sound of the front door opening. joel’s head drops to your shoulder again, muttering a quiet “shit”. your body is hidden beneath him; tommy must’ve been able to see joel’s back from behind the sofa. you hear what could only be tommy’s laugh.
“don’t tell me you two have just fucked on my couch.”
Summary: You’ve been divorced from Joel for a little while, now. But when your sink breaks and threatens to flood your house right before a date, you have no one else to call but him. Why does he come? You don’t know. Why does he look so fucking good? You don’t know, either.
W.C: ~6.2k
TL;DR: Rule number one of getting divorced: don’t fuck your ex-husband. (Optional).
Warnings: ex-husband!joel x ex-wife!reader, sappy love confessions, improper use of a sink, praise, oral f!receiving, mirror sex, unprotected p-in-v sex, (no outbreak!)
Note: as a child of divorce, i am allowed to touch upon this matter. anyway, happy fucking i mean reading
Part One | Part Two
One-third. A married couple’s least favourite fraction.
It was (and is) a well-known fact that one in three marriages ends in separation. And of course, you—being the lucky duck you were—found yours rapidly accelerating toward that destination.
You and Joel had agreed that you’d be better off apart. Joel got his own place while you kept the house. And Sarah lived with you every other week.
All you needed to do was send your attorney the signed divorce papers.
Outside of the sympathetic comments you received from acquaintances and relatives almost daily, you were doing just fine.
In fact, tonight you had a date.
A date. The kind that made you choose a tight-fitting dress that hugged your curves just right. The kind that inspired you to wear your hair in something other than a claw clip. The kind that provoked you to shave places you haven’t shaved in a long time.
The lucky bachelor was a fellow divorcee named Mark, whom you had met on a single-parent dating app. He had a full head of hair, a decent sense of humour, and two rescued Labradors. He offered to bring you to his favourite Italian restaurant, bringing up the fact that he’d pick up the bill no matter what, much to your protests. Needless to say, you had a good feeling about him.
After one last check in the mirror, you grabbed your coat and slung your purse over your shoulder, ready to head out the door.
Then, you heard it.
A faint gurgling.
You blinked twice, trying to zero in on the sound. Proceeding a few moments of intense concentration, you followed the sound into the ensuite bathroom.
The faucet was running. Had you forgotten to turn it off?
You reached for the handle. Twisted it. It spun freely, and nothing happened.
You tried and tried again, but all your efforts were in vain. You could only watch the tap stubbornly defy you as the handle jutted uselessly, loose in its socket.
“Shit.” You breathed.
The faucet sputtered out a particularly heavy spurt of water as if to say: shit, indeed.
You sighed, staring helplessly at the sink as it stared contumaciously back, water that couldn’t be swallowed by the drain toppling over the edge of the sink.
A quick Google search informed you that you needed to turn off the principal water pipe—the mains. Which you didn’t know how to do.
So, you resolved to delegate the problem to more capable hands. Like, a twenty-four-hour plumbing service. No, they could easily overcharge you. You could call your dad? No, he was too far.
Or…
Sighing, you dug out your phone from your purse and called your only remaining option. Someone who was a seasoned contractor, someone who dealt with this sink before, and someone who you just so happened to be divorcing.
He answered on the third ring.
“Hey—everything okay?” Joel’s concerned voice filtered through your phone.
“No.” You inhaled.
“No?” Joel echoed hesitantly, then waited for elaboration.
When nothing came, he cleared his throat.
Slightly confused, slightly wry, he continued, “This is the part where you tell me what’s wrong.”
“Um, my sink’s busted.”
“Your sink… is busted?”
“Yeah. Faucet won’t turn off. It-It’s a lot of water.” You bit the inside of your cheek, leaning on the wall. “I didn’t know who else to call.”
A moment of silence, then:
“You need me to fix it?”
Was that annoyance? Exhaustion? It definitely wasn’t exhilaration at the prospect of doing manual labour at eight o’clock on a Friday evening.
“You know what? Forget I called. This was stupid. Sorry to bother you—”
“I’m on my way.”
Despite the gravity of the situation, after he hung up, the smallest of smiles began forming on your face.
Fifteen minutes later, a knock came from your front door.
You swung the door open, and there he stood. Tool bag in hand, flannel shirt stretching tightly over his broad shoulders, salt-and-pepper hair just a little bit unkempt.
It had been a good few months since the two of you went your separate ways, but there he was—still at your beck and call. What that meant, exactly, remained to be seen.
But you were glad to see him, nonetheless.
“Hi,” You said breathlessly.
Upon seeing you, Joel’s brows shot up, and he blinked a few times.
“Hi.” He said back slowly, then cleared his throat. “Am I… interruptin’ something?”
You glanced down. Right. Tight dress and makeup.
“I have a date in…” You raised your left wrist and winced as you looked down at your watch. “Five minutes ago.”
“A date.” He clicked his tongue, nodding to himself. “Well, I’ll try to make this quick, then.”
You hummed a noise of agreement, pivoted, and, with a wave of your hand, invited Joel inside.
He stepped through the doorway with a quiet grunt. And, as he bent down to undo his boots, his coffee-brown gaze landed on a pile of unopened mail by the entryway table. A few envelopes had slipped to the floor, and he crouched to gather them without thinking.
But, as he straightened up to his full height, his eyes lingered on the recipient line.
“Mrs Miller?” Joel read aloud.
“What?” Your breath caught in your throat, and you spun around to meet his stare.
Joel wordlessly held the envelope up with two fingers, the corners of his lips slightly upturned.
“Oh.” You cringed inwardly. “Yeah.”
“Didn’t, uh, realise that you were keepin’ the name.” He shrugged offhandedly, tossing the stack of mail onto the entryway table.
“I’m not. I just…” You ran a hand through your hair. “Paperwork isn’t final.”
For the divorce.
Joel’s eyebrows pinched together. “I sent you my signed copies, if—”
“I know you did. I just haven’t sent the papers to my lawyer yet.” You pressed your lips into a thin line and avoided his gaze. “Just got a lot on my plate, recently.”
That was very unconvincing.
Joel hummed a noncommittal noise.
“Well…” He huffed sheepishly. “You know I always liked my name on you.”
You swallowed, feeling your stomach do a funny flip and your ears burn up. Why were your ears burning up?
“C’mon. The problem is upstairs.”
The faucet, to your dismay, hadn’t stopped. It was worse now, if that was even possible, spitting little rogue sprays of water alongside the main stream. Great.
You checked your watch again. Fifteen minutes late. You would no doubt have a few missed calls from your poor suitor if you had the guts to check your phone.
Joel sank to one knee as he inspected the sink, squinting at the appliance and shaking his head. Miraculously, he reached in and, a few rusty squeaks later, the water stopped.
“You fixed it.” You blinked.
“Far from it,” He muttered, frowning. “The cartridge’s shot. And the valve stem’s stripped. Who installed this?”
Without missing a beat, “You did.”
“…Right.”
You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest. “So?”
“So, this isn’t a quick fix. I need to pull out the whole assembly. Maybe replace the handle, too. And judging by the corrosion around this nut—” He held up a discoloured metal hexagon like it had personally offended him. “You’ve probably had a leak back here for a while.”
You blinked. “And you didn’t notice that when you lived here?”
Joel turned to shoot you a look. “I was your husband, not your handyman.”
“Really? I could’ve sworn I married you for that toolbox of yours.”
“And here I thought it was ‘cause of my radiant personality.”
“Definitely not that.” You huffed out a laugh.
Despite his back being turned to you, you could just about make out a reluctant smile forming through his slightly greying stubble.
You watched as he rolled up his plaid sleeves, exposing tanned forearms that were entirely too bulky for someone in his mid-forties. He then dug into his bag, fishing out an Allen Wrench.
“You can go on your date,” Joel added, not looking at you. “I’ll be out of here in an hour. Two, tops. But… if you feel like gettin’ frisky, maybe do it at his place. Just in case.”
Right, your date.
Biting the inside of your cheek, you took out your phone. Six missed calls and a flurry of concerned texts.
Decidedly, you typed out an apologetic message mentioning a water-related emergency and stuffed your phone back in your purse.
“I’m staying with you.”
Joel froze and turned to look at you from over his shoulder. “No, you ain’t. I’ll take too long.”
“Well, I can’t leave you to fix my problems while I’m out eating overpriced ravioli.” You shrugged and, with a soft grunt, took a seat against the wall near him. “You’re not a plumber, you’re a… you’re my…”
Ex-husband.
You cleared your throat, then emphasised, “You’re not a plumber.”
Joel let out a slow exhale. “Do whatever you want, but I doubt watching me fix your sink is gon’ be as fun as your date.”
“I’ve got a full bottle of Pinot Noir in the fridge.” You tilted your head. “We can make it fun.”
Joel’s eyebrows shot up.
“Not—not in that way.” You rubbed a clammy hand down your face.
To your surprise, that earned you a small, gruff laugh from Joel, his eyes crinkling momentarily the way they only did when he was truly amused.
His voice was soft when he responded.
“Go on and get the wine, then, sweetheart.”
Two crystal glasses and a little while later, Joel had put down his wrench and opted instead to sit beside you on your tiled bathroom floor, his shoulders brushing up against yours in the cramped space.
Efforts to tame the defiant sink had long since been forgotten. He did the best he could, but retired upon discovering that you had no spare sink handle lying around—how very unprepared of you.
The bad news was that you weren’t going to be able to wash your hands in the master bedroom ensuite tonight. The good news was that you were having a surprisingly good time with Joel. The conversation evolved from discussing your stood-up date (you showed Mark’s profile, Joel was convinced he was lying about his dogs being rescues), then to how his company was going, and then, reminiscing about the good ol’ days.
“All I’m sayin’,” Joel continued through a laugh. “Is that she did it on purpose.”
“My mom has always been bad with names!”
“Bad enough to still call me ‘George’ after a year of us datin’?” He scoffed.
You stifled a giggle. “In her defence, it’s a very similar—”
“Like hell it is. And your dad? He was worse.” Joel chuckled, finishing the last of his wine. “How is he?”
“Fine. Just called him yesterday, actually.”
“He still callin’ me–?”
“He still calls you ‘porn stache’, yes.”
Joel snorted into his hand, his shoulders bobbing up and down with laughter. Real, genuine laughter.
You smiled and turned to steal a glance at his profile.
His eyes crinkled at the corners, his hooked nose scrunched mid-chuckle, and his laugh was exactly as it was before—low and rough, but somehow boyish and unguarded.
You had almost forgotten how his whole face lit up when he laughed.
And, you didn’t mean to stare. But you did.
God, you missed this.
“I think I prefer George.” Joel ran a hand down his face, still smiling.
You cleared your throat and leaned over to retrieve the almost-empty wine bottle, refilling your glasses.
“Sarah told me to say hi to you, if I got the chance, by the way.” You said, pouring the Pinot Noir into his glass. “She’s with my parents at the lake house.”
“The lake house?” Joel hummed, taking another sip of his drink. “Still disappointed I didn’t get that in the settlement.”
You snorted, amused. “You don’t even like lakes.”
“No, I don’t like the mosquitoes that come with the lakes.” Joel corrected you, pointedly. “But, I don’t know, I guess I just miss it. A lot of good memories there.”
You felt yourself smile. “Yeah. Yeah, there were.”
A beat.
“Hey, at least you kept the cars. And the boat. And the frequent flier miles. And, well, you see Sarah every other week.” You turned to look at Joel, but he was already looking at you.
A certain vulnerability swam in the brown of his eyes. Something you hadn’t seen in a very long time.
“Yeah, well… there were more important things I couldn’t keep.”
The air thinned. The wine, the laughter, the conversation—everything dissolved in the quiet admission, hanging thickly in the space between you.
And suddenly, there was only you and Joel and the mistakes that had wedged you apart yet somehow brought you back together again; on a random Friday evening on the floor of a bathroom you used to share.
“Joel…” You swallowed, your hand falling from your lap onto the tiles.
But you couldn’t form any semblance of a sentence. How could you?
There was nothing to say. Yes, you missed him. ‘Missed’ was an understatement.
Sometimes you’d roll over in the night, wishing to feel the weight of his arm resting on your waist, reassuring you that these past few months had only been a bad dream. Sometimes you came to pick Sarah up early, just to get a few more minutes with him. Sometimes—no, a lot of the time, memories of him came rushing back, cleaving your heart into two, further and further each time.
No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t let go of the man you spent so many years loving.
Joel’s eyes still bore into yours. And nothing in the world could have torn you away.
He exhaled slowly, then set down his glass with care. His hand barely brushed yours, but it was enough to make your breath hitch.
“I think about it,” He said softly. “More than I should.”
“Think about what?”
A quiet, almost sad laugh escaped from his throat. He leaned back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling.
“How things used to be.”
“Oh,”
A moment passed, marked only by the metre of your incessant heartbeat pounding in your ears.
And then, “Do you ever miss us?” Joel asked.
You faced him once more. The answer was on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Because that was too complicated. Because that would break you.
Joel didn’t need you to say it. He found the answer in your eyes.
All the time.
Instead, you asked, “Do you? Miss us, that is.”
“Of course, I do.” He said softly. “More than you can imagine.”
You held your breath.
Joel heaved a sigh.
“I think about calling,” He added, voice low. “Just to hear your voice.”
“I’d answer,” You said, barely above a whisper.
He smiled in a bittersweet, melancholic sort of way and leaned in just slightly. Unconsciously, you mirrored him.
And then his eyes flickered down to your lips. It was only for a second, but it was enough to make your stomach flutter.
This was dangerous. You should’ve told him to leave ages ago. Or, maybe you should’ve left yourself and gone on your date.
But you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.
“Can I ask you something stupid?” You whispered.
Joel whispered back, “Always.”
“Do you…” You trailed off, biting your lip.
“Do I what?”
“Do you—does even a part of you… want what we had back?”
You knew what he was going to say. You just wanted to hear it for yourself.
And you did.
“Yes,” He admitted earnestly.
You searched his face for any sign of deception, but found none. The only thing in his coffee-brown eyes was regret. And, maybe, something else, too. Something softer.
Your eyes widened. “We fought a lot.”
“We did.”
“And we probably said some shit.” You sighed, looking up at the ceiling, as if all the answers were written there. Joel did, too.
His voice came softly, sadly, “We did.”
Silence again. Thick and fragile and charged with so many unspoken words.
Joel’s knee brushed yours, neither of you pulling away. It was nice to have him close, to feel his familiar warmth, to see him—really see him. Bare and raw and vulnerable. No facades of indifference. No hiding behind closed car doors. Just Joel, your Joel, there beside you; soft-eyed and quiet, like maybe he was seeing you, too.
Your fingers twitched on the floor beside his. You wanted to reach for him, but you wanted him to reach first. Absently, you fiddled with your left ring finger, suddenly aware of its bareness.
He looked at you then. Not a glance, but a full turn, slow and deliberate. His dark eyes searched your face, pausing on your mouth, your cheek, your lashes, then settled on your eyes again. He looked at you like you were something he’d spent months trying to forget, and only just now remembered why he couldn’t.
You held your breath.
Joel’s voice, when it finally came, was low, cracked around the edges.
“I know it was bad in the end, but I meant what I said.” He breathed. “I miss us. I miss you.”
Your heart twisted. And there went that cleaver again, slicing further.
“I miss seeing your keys on the kitchen counter and knowing you were home. I miss kissing you before work and smudgin’ your lipstick. I miss watching stupid movies with you that we’d fall asleep to halfway.”
His throat bobbed. He leaned back against the wall, like it hurt to say it out loud.
“Yeah, we fought and said some real mean shit. But God help me, I’d give anything to go back in time and fight for you like I should have. Because you were it for me. You were everything. Still are.”
His eyes glistened as he held your gaze, fierce and unflinching.
“Because, no matter how hard I try to ignore it,” He smiled to himself, shaking his head like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I love you.”
He loves you.
Those three simple words rang in an echo in your mind. He loves you, he loves you, Joel loves you.
“You love me?” You could barely hear your voice above the deafening thrum of your pulse.
Your faces were barely an inch apart, now. You could smell the familiar scent of his laundry detergent, and traces of his cologne, and wood, and tobacco, and something that was so uniquely him.
Joel nodded.
“I never stopped.” He whispered.
Without thinking, you closed the remaining distance, smashing your lips against his. Joel grunted in surprise, but quickly gave in, exhaling through his nose like he’d been holding a breath in for years.
He returned the kiss with equal fervour, reaching out to cup your face and pouring all his pent-up emotions against the haven of your lips—longing, relief, desire.
You pushed yourself closer against him. Closer, impossibly closer, until you were straddling his lap, moving against the tent in his jeans, feeling his big hands instinctively settle on your hips, and tasting the Pinot Noir on his lips.
Shit. Was this even a good idea?
You pulled away suddenly. A tiny whine came from Joel, who tried to chase your mouth, but you were insistent.
“Wait,” You panted.
His eyes opened fully. His brows were knitted, his lips were kiss-swollen, and his chest was heaving slowly.
“What?” Joel asked quietly, his thumbs idly tracing circles on either side of your hips.
“This…” You breathed. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. I don’t want it to mean nothing.”
Joel smiled softly at your words.
“Means a whole lot to me, sweetheart.” His hand went to gently tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, caressing your cheek in his wake. “We can talk about what this means, if you w—”
“Okay, good. Means a lot. Talk after.”
“After?” His eyebrows rose.
“After you fuck me.”
A breathy ‘Jesus Christ’ slipped from his throat, but Joel didn’t spend a second refusing your bold assumption.
With a hand on your nape, he leaned forward to capture your lips in another searing kiss, which you happily accepted, sighing against him.
His big hands then travelled to the back of your thighs, and the next thing you knew, he carelessly swept away whatever was decorating the base of your faucet, and carried you with ease to perch you atop the sink.
“Joel.” You mumbled urgently into his lips.
“Mmm?” He hummed back, not wanting to break your mouths apart for even a second.
“Might break the sink again.”
“Don’t care. I’ll fuckin’ fix it again, then. Just… need you,” Joel groaned. “Look too fuckin’ good,”
And he pulled away. His half-lidded, cloudy gaze drank you in, sweeping down the snugness of your dress, and lingering on the generous amount of cleavage it revealed. His hands drifted higher and higher up your thighs, until they reached the hemline—dipping under just slightly.
“Too fuckin’ good,” He snarled.
You smirked. Knowing him, he was definitely going to ask if—
“How much was this dress?”
Sighing amusedly, “It wasn’t cheap.”
“How attached are you to it?” He mumbled, a hand reverently skirting up to your hip.
“A moderate amou—”
“Can I rip it off you?”
There it was.
In the many years you were married, Joel shredded more than enough articles of your precious wardrobe in similar heated moments. If you were to count the offences, you’d likely run out of fingers. Your wedding dress had been among the few survivors of his destructive tendencies, though not for lack of trying on his part.
You stifled a snort and shook your head, reaching up to caress his face.
“No.” You smiled. “Because I’d like to wear it again.”
Joel held your hand against his face and huffed out an exaggerated sigh. “Next time.”
And then his hands found the zipper on your side, pulled it sharply down, and tugged the dress off you.
His eyes darkened.
You had chosen to don an intricate, black, lacey number underneath your dress that teased just enough and only hid the bare minimum. Of course, you had. You hadn’t had an opportunity to wear anything vaguely provocative in ages and were expecting some luck after your date.
You certainly didn’t expect that your ex-husband would be the one seeing it.
“This for him?” Joel’s lip twitched.
Heat rose in your cheeks. “Well, I—”
“Yeah, these don’t get a pass.”
With a sharp tearing noise slicing through the air, Joel ripped the flimsy lacey bra clean in half, watching intently, hungrily, as your tits spilled out.
“Joel!”
“I know, I know,” Joel grunted. “I’ll buy you a new set… buy you all the fuckin’ sets.”
You were about to object, intent on citing the price attached to that particular pair, but Joel had sunk back on his knees and spread your legs apart.
He pressed his lips on your inner thigh, scruff tickling your skin as he slowly, softly trailed his mouth upward, leaving goosebumps in his wake.
His face came to a stop in front of your core, noticing how heavily you were breathing, and his eyes flicked up to yours, smirking. Smug fucking bastard.
“Joel.” You gritted your teeth.
“Yeah, baby?”
“Don’t fucking tease me.”
And he leaned his forehead against the lower part of your navel, taking a second to breathe in the unmistakable scent of your arousal seeping through your lingerie.
He was practically salivating, now.
“I’ll try not to, ma’am.”
Without another word, he took the lace into his teeth, yanked his head sharply, and tore your panties open.
Confirming his suspicions, you were absolutely soaked. Slick drooled freely out of your puffy folds, taunting him and draining every ounce of self-restraint he had.
Fuck, you were gorgeous.
“Tell me,” Joel said lowly, meeting your gaze once more as a thick finger swiped lightly through your lips, collecting your arousal. “This for him or me?”
“You.” You breathed without a second thought.
“Louder, sweetheart. My ears ain’t what they used to be.”
“You.”
Smirking wider, “Damn fucking right.”
Then, he happily hitched your legs over his shoulders, leaned forward, and dove in.
His tongue prodded into your heat, dragging down your walls and sending jolts of electricity down your spine. He worked fast and sloppily, sliding through your folds and flicking into your walls, urgently tasting you like he wouldn’t get another chance.
Your arousal coated the lower half of his face, his eyes were almost black with desire, obscenely wet noises echoed in the silence of the tiled room as his tongue eagerly devoured you whole—
“Fuck, almost forgot how good you taste. So fuckin’ sweet.” Joel mumbled against your sex, entirely, wholly bewitched. “She missed me, too, huh? Just drippin’ for me…”
He continued to furiously lap at your entrance, scruff rubbing against your inner thighs. And then he moved up, planting messy kisses higher and higher until he reached your swollen clit.
You gasped brokenly, flinging a hand to grasp his curls as his lips alternated from pressing messy kisses along your seam to greedily sucking at your bundle of nerves, latching onto it almost desperately.
After a particularly delicious drag down the roof of your core, you rolled your hips up into his mouth and brought him closer to you with your grip in his hair.
“Shit—sorry.” You panted, breathing heavily.
He barely pulled away to look at you.
“Don’t fuckin’ be. I can handle it, you know I can.” Joel all but growled, before returning to attend to your needy fucking pussy.
He was like a man possessed; lapping frenziedly, groaning lowly into your sensitive skin, curved nose swiping through your folds as he worked.
Very soon, a familiar tingle in your lower stomach introduced itself.
“Joel,” You called urgently, attempting to warn him.
He knew you were close. Oh, he knew. So, he went faster and harder, pressing himself further against you, suffocation be fucking damned.
His low, wrecked voice came slurred and slightly muffled by your sex, “Y’gonna come? Go on, baby, all over my face—thaaat’s it.”
A shattered moan escaped from your throat, and you felt your release take over your body almost violently. You couldn’t help the way your legs clamped down around his head, but Joel loved it, letting you smother him and humming happily into your heat as he worked you through your climax, swallowing your release and eating like a man starved.
Finally, he pulled away with a wet squelch, softly pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, and gently let your legs down.
And you were immediately greeted with the sight of his lower face shining with your slick.
A good look on him, if you’d say so yourself.
He smiled lazily, eyes blown-out and absolutely fucking pussydrunk.
“That good for you, sweetheart?” He mused.
“You, Joel Miller, are what we call a munch.” You smiled back.
Pride bloomed across his face. “Gladly, sweets.”
And you pulled him up by the collar of his flannel shirt into a filthy kiss, tasting your arousal on his lips.
He let his eyes fall shut and reached up to curl a hand around your jaw as he returned the kiss, his brows furrowed in concentration.
Not wasting any time, your hands flew to his belt, blindly fumbling at the leather material to slide it out of the loops of his jeans.
Joel chuckled, leaning forward to trail his lips down your neck, leaving a path of open-mouthed kisses.
“Need somethin’, baby?”
“Wanna return the favour,” You glanced down at the bulge in his lap.
“Mm-mm. That was more for me than you. Missed your sweet fuckin’ pussy.” Joel mumbled against your pulse point.
“Munch.” You couldn’t help but giggle.
“Yeah, yeah.” Joel sighed, lifting his head and undoing his jeans just barely enough to pull himself free from his boxers.
You heard yourself swallow.
Joel Miller was a big man, and you were very aware of that fact. It was written all across his body; from his impossibly broad shoulders, to his beefy arms, to his thick fucking cock.
He stroked himself, once, twice, as his eyes fell to your pulsating, slick core. Beads of precum leaked from his flushed tip and down his length as he did so.
“Spread those legs wider for me, baby. Let me see you,” He breathed lowly.
And you very willingly obliged.
“There’s my girl,” Joel hummed.
With a hand around his base, he guided himself closer to your drooling cunt, nudging his swollen head against you.
Sighing, “Deep breath, baby.”
And he slowly forced himself in, one hand on the small of your back, the other on the underside of your thigh, prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist as he steadily fed you his cock.
You gasped some variant of a plea.
Needless to say, he was a tight fucking fit.
“Takin’ me so well. That’s it, baby, let me in.” He blabbed mindlessly as he continued to sink deeper inside.
Deeper, deeper, deeper…
He winced. “Shit—there you go.”
When all of him was nested inside your welcoming channel, he let out a gasped expletive at the sensation.
Full. You felt so full with him inside. You always did.
“Fuck, missed this.” Joel panted, resting his forehead against yours.
You tried to echo the sentiment, but the only thing you were capable of doing was letting out an incoherent groan of his name.
Joel got the message, though.
Maintaining an unhurried tempo, he rolled his hips back and forth, slowly dragging his thickness against your walls, making you painfully aware of every last inch of him.
“How’s that feel, baby?” He mumbled, voice airy.
“Good. Feels so good.”
And, fuck, he did.
He felt amazing.
His tempo soon picked up, leaving your mouth to fall open as you took every inch of him again and again, stretching you open with enough pleasure to dull the slight pain.
“Tell me,” Joel hummed as he continued to drive ceaselessly in and out of your tight channel, adopting a false lilt of indifference. “Who’s fuckin’ you so good, huh?”
An incoherent syllable slipped from your lips.
“Who, baby?” Joel urged you, unrelenting in his pace. “Sure as hell ain’t fuckin’ Mark.”
Dumbly, you shook your head.
“You, Joel.”
Your words were almost drowned out by the symphony of your own moans, which were accompanied by the obscenely wet slaps that sounded every time his hips fully met yours.
“Louder.” He snarled, punctuating his response with an intentionally rough ram. “Neighbours can’t hear you yet, c’mon.”
“You, Joel!”
Satisfied, his hands went to hold you by your waist, keeping you as still as possible as he drove insistently into you, his tip now kissing your cervix with every thrust.
You cried out at the feeling, nails raking down his back.
Heat pooled in your gut, your vision blurred, a high-pitched ringing almost deafened your ears.
“Joel, Joel, I’m…” You babbled.
“Close? Go on, gorgeous. Let me feel you choke my dick.”
With his blessing, his name left your mouth in a high-pitched scream, and you felt yourself clench around his throbbing length as your orgasm rippled across your body like an earthquake.
Joel, being the overachiever he was, didn’t stop for even a second until your breathing slowed and your eyes fluttered open again.
And, once he saw that you had recovered, he leaned forward to slant his mouth against yours, swallowing your sighs.
“You okay?” He mumbled into the kiss, barely breaking away.
“Yeah.” You exhaled.
He smiled against your lips.
“Good. Almost there, baby. Gonna take you against the sink, now, and you’re gonna give me one more, how’s that sound?”
You nodded dreamily, feeling him slowly pull out.
He leaned back and, with his hands on your waist, delicately set you down.
“Turn ‘round for me, sweetheart.”
You acquiesced without hesitation, bracing yourself on the porcelain countertop.
Joel hummed, kicked your legs open even wider, and, not long after, sank the entirety of his cock into you in one deep thrust.
A sharp breath hit the air behind you, and an airy ‘fuck’ followed it. This angle made him feel bigger, if that was even possible.
He didn’t wait long after that. He couldn’t. Overcome with the need to feel you, he started moving. The first thrust was slow. Experimental. The second was hard. The third was harder.
Before you knew it, his big hands found a home on your hips, and he began to drive roughly into you, as if making up for lost time.
He certainly proved he was willing to atone for his absence, thrust after thrust.
“Oh, look at you.” Joel tutted and pulled your hair to tilt your head upwards.
You came face to face with the woman in the bathroom mirror.
Somewhere in between thrusts, your mouth had fallen agape, letting loose a long whine of pleasure, which was stuttered by every slam of his hips against yours.
Your hair was frizzy, your face was flushed, your hooded gaze was flooded with desire, and a light sheen of sweat doused every inch of your skin.
You were a wreck, thanks to the man fucking you so well behind you.
“Eyes up here.” Joel sighed. “Keep ‘em open. Gotta watch how well you take me.”
Joel was even more of a sight.
The top few buttons of his flannel were undone, his sleeves were haphazardly rolled up, his hair was wild, and the look on his weathered face was nothing short of territorial as he held you to him and fucked you with reckless abandon.
Your eyes fell to where your bodies were connected, hypnotised by how easily his tanned cock disappeared in and out of your puffy cunt.
Again.
And again.
And again.
The corners of his lips were coyly upturned when he cooed, “Don’t we look good, baby?”
You could only respond in broken syllables.
“Yeah,” He grunted. Then, after a particularly forceful thrust, “we do.”
He continued to ram into you, finding your cervix with each thrust, keeping his eyes trained on the mirror, fixated on how your tits bounced so prettily for him.
“Beautiful.” He whispered, jaw tight.
If your brain hadn’t been turned to mush after the two orgasms he forced out of you, you would’ve heard him. But all you were focused on was the rush of another climax approaching.
You gripped the countertop harder and gritted your teeth, feeling warmth collecting in your stomach and bracing yourself for impact.
As if reading your mind, Joel’s hand moved from your hip to your front, trailing down until he brushed your clit, rubbing sloppy semi-cricles and whispering sweet things as you whimpered.
“You gonna give me one more?” He murmured encouragingly, his nose nudging the side of your face.
You could only manage an open-mouthed nod.
His fingers sped in their motions, swiping at your clit feverishly as he continued to rut into you, grazing your cervix each time.
Again. And again.
“Come for me, sweetheart. I’ll catch you.” He whispered gently.
Your jaw slackened, your heartbeat quickened, and, in a blinding flash of pleasure, you came with his name on your tongue, helpless to the throes of your climax.
“There you go. Shit… so good for me.” Joel groaned. And then, urgently, “Where—where do you want me to–?”
Not even a full second later, “Inside.”
“You sure?” He panted, starstruck.
“I have an IUD, just—please.”
He didn’t reply. Instead, he pressed closer, his chest flush against your back, letting you feel every shaky pull of his breath as he caged you in. His hands found yours at the edge of the sink, lacing over them gently. His head dropped beside yours, his forehead nearly touching your temple, and a warm breath fanned across your skin as he sighed.
And then he resumed his earlier pace.
He rammed into you hard and fast, chasing his own release as if it were a life-or-death situation. And all you could do was take it.
After a dozen more jerky thrusts, his breath caught in his throat and, with a low curse, he came. Hot ropes of his spend spilled inside you, and he rode it out until he couldn’t give you any more, which took a few more lazy rolls of his hips.
His breath evened not long after, warm and steady against your browbone. Soothing, almost.
Gently, he pulled out of you, and you felt his come slowly drip down your thighs.
“Fuck,” He breathed, pressing a soft kiss to your hair, scruff rubbing against your crown as he did so.
And he bowed his head to rest it on the crook of your neck.
“That was great, George.” You panted.
Joel snorted tiredly. “Just couldn’t help yourself, huh?”
“Nope.”
He huffed out a chuckle.
Then, he languidly pressed a trail of open-mouthed kisses wherever his lips could reach—the underside of your jaw, your throat, your neck, and down, still.
A warm, fuzzy sort of feeling radiated from his touch, lulling you into a state of bliss. It felt like love; it felt like coming home.
You couldn’t help the smile that stretched across your face.
Joel mumbled something unintelligible against your shoulder.
“What?” You replied, breaking free from your trance.
“I said,” He pulled away and, with two fingers on your chin, tenderly turned your face to look at him. His voice was wrecked and so very earnest when he finally repeated himself. “Don’t send the papers. Please.”
He held the rest of his plea in his eyes in the way they shone with a certain sincerity.
You smiled softly and shook your head. Because you knew you never really had any intention to. Because you wanted to hold on to him. And you were glad he wanted to hold on to you, too.
Your lips found his. Gentle, delicate, a reassurance. He gave in to the kiss almost immediately, sighing into your mouth.
“I won’t.”
And you meant it.
thanks for reading!!! reqs are open, if you wanna send an idea or anything over :)
Summary: You planned to spend the summer at Sarah's, but you show up a day early and she’s not there. Joel doesn't mind.
Word Count: 6k
Pairing: Best Friends Dad!Joel Miller x f!reader
Warnings/info: 18+ MINORS DNI, pics for mood only, no outbreak au, reader is early-mid 20's and Joel is 47, pet names (darling, baby, ect), SMUT, unprotected p in v (reader is on the pill), one or two uses of pussy pronouns, dirty talk, alcohol consumption, Joel is a lil bit of a perv
A/N: i'm honestly blown away by the amount of love my last story got! thank you so much! been on and off writing this one for a couple of weeks. i hope you enjoy, feedback is much appreciated! if you're interested in my other stories, here's my masterlist 💝
Being best friends with Sarah has it's perks, main one being that she's an amazing friend and you've been inseparable since you met a couple years back in college. Another being you got to spend the last two summers at her house. And the other perk being that her dad is hot. Like really hot.
When you first met him, you thought he was a grumpy bastard, and he can be, but he warmed up to you the more time you spent at the house. You'd share beers with him some evenings, Sarah there too - and tell him all about college, your family and anything else that came up during the conversation.
You once mentioned to Sarah that you thought her dad was 'handsome', putting it lightly, and she laughed her ass off - then told him. You could've died on the spot when she brought it up over pizza that night but you stood your ground, fighting the embarrassment.
"Just being honest." you shrugged, nudging Sarah before glancing at Joel and trying to gauge his reaction. He just laughed quietly, shaking his head. He liked it, whether he'd ever admit it or not.
You laugh at the memory as you drive to their house to stay for the summer for the third year running. Music playing, windows down and a duffle bag full of half of your closet in the trunk. When you arrive you decide you'll grab your bag later and lock your car before walking toward the front door and knocking.
Joel answers after a few seconds, a small smile on his lips. "Afternoon, trouble.”
You're very thankful for the sunglasses that sit on your face as you fully check out the gorgeous man in front of you. Plaid shirt, blue jeans, greying hair combed back. How does he look better every time you see him?
"Sarah's out, staying with Tommy and Maria to babysit while they renovate, not due back till tomorrow mornin'. She not tell you?..."
"Ah shit, no no - she did, I completely forgot." you reply, realising you mixed up the days. The original plan was to come today until Sarah texted you last week to make it a day later, which slipped your mind.
Joel leans against the doorframe, arms crossing over his broad chest; a sympathetic smile graces his lips. He eyes you for a moment, taking in your appearance.
You sigh, pushing your sunglasses up to rest on top of your head. Joel stifles a small chuckle, making you laugh and then pout. "Not funny."
He can’t help but laugh softly to himself at your pouty expression, "Poor darlin’.” he muses teasingly then nods his head into the house, “Come on in, anyway.” he steps aside, giving you room to enter.
"You sure? You don't have to invite me in out of pity." you laugh, though you're internally screaming at the thought of being alone with him.
Joel light-heartedly rolls his eyes and tuts. He gestures to the couch that peeks from around the side of the door. “Make yourself at home, m'gonna grab us a beer if y'want one?" he asks, turning to you as he walks towards the kitchen and you nod in response.
Once you get settled on the couch, Joel fully disappears into the kitchen, and reappears a moment later with two beers. He takes a seat in the chair adjacent from the couch, hands you a beer he opened for you already then opens his own.
It’s quiet for a few beats as he flips the cap off, then Joel says, “No boyfriend or anything yet then?."
You thank him for the beer and then scoff a laugh at his question. "Nah, had a few flings here and there but nothing serious, y'know?" you reply before sipping the cold beer. "
Joel takes a swig of his beer, watching you with a curious expression. “That right? Ain’t found the right guy yet? Cause I'm having trouble understanding what would make a guy not want to stick around.”
You shake your head as you swallow your mouthful, feeling a blush threatening to appear at his comment. "I’m not trying to settle down right now. Whatever happens, happens."
Joel chuckles in response then took another swig from his beer. “You're a bit of a free spirit, aintcha?” he teases, his eyes crinkled at the corners.
"I guess so." you smile, crossing one leg over the other.
Joel’s gaze slowly travels down to your ripped jeans clad legs. Damn, he thinks to himself, you look good. He averts his gaze, forcing himself to think about literally anything else.
"What about you then, hm? No girlfriend yet?" you throw his question right back at him.
Joel scoffs and shakes his head. “Nah, m’not looking either.”
You huff a laugh at the similarity in your answers, yet for some reason, as if it means well for you - your stomach flutters.
"I hear ya." you say, holding your beer out towards him with a playful grin.
Joel mirrors your action and brings his own bottle up to clink it against yours. “To bein’ single, then. Damn, what a depressing toast.”
You laugh, agreeing with him. “To being single." you repeat before you both sip from your bottles.
Silence falls over the room, but it's not awkward, it's comfortable. Joel couldn’t help but steal another glance at you, shamelessly eyeing your figure for a few moments while you checked your phone.
“Guess I’d better grab my bag out of my car.” you sigh, standing up and stretching. Then you pause. “Sarah did tell you I’m staying for the whole summer again, right?”
Joel nods his head in affirmation, “She did. You're welcome to stay tonight too, sweetheart. I'll keep outta your hair."
You smile and nod, placing your beer down before he continues. "Stayin’ here for the whole summer another year running, huh?” he's immediately hit with memories of how loud you and Sarah can get.
"Mhm. Lucky you." you retort with a cheeky grin before grabbing your car keys.
Joel chuckles and shakes his head, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Real lucky.” he says sarcastically as you disappear to fetch your bag. He has another gulp of his beer, his gaze lingering on the spot on the couch where you were sitting.
Joel looks over at you with raised eyebrows when you re-enter the house, taking in how big your duffle bag is. “Geez, how much stuff you got in there?”
“Enough for the whole summer, hopefully. Gonna take this upstairs to Sarah’s room.” you grab the handles, attempting to lift it yet you struggled earlier and your neighbour kindly offered to help lift it into your car because you couldn't lift it high enough to shove it into the trunk.
Joel watches in amusement for a minute as you struggle then he stands up and walks over to you, putting a hand on your arm to stop you. "Woah, woah, hold on. Lemme help you with that, darlin'."
He gently takes the bag off of your shoulder, his fingers grazing your shoulder. "What're you packin' in here? Rocks?"
"Clothes, shoes, accessories, y'know...girl stuff." you move back, opening and closing your hand a few times to get the feeling back.
Joel slings the bag over his shoulder as if it weighs nothing, and you feel a jolt of arousal shoot though you as wonder if he could lift you just as effortlessly.
What you don't realise is that Joel can practically feel your gaze on him the whole time, making him smirk to himself. When he gets to the top he turns around with a smug smile on his face.
"See? Wasn't so hard was it?" he says teasingly, holding that bag up with one hand to prove his point.
"Yeah, yeah." you reply, waving him off.
He playfully rolls his eyes before he walks into Sarah's room, setting your bag down with a thud. You thank him as he descends the stairs before walking back to your spot on the couch and taking your beer.
Joel settles back into his seat. Another comfortable silence washes over the two of you briefly until Joel brakes it.
“Soo,” he drawls, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his lips as his gaze meets yours. “How much trouble you plan on causing during your lil’ visit?”
You lean back into the sofa more and exhale an amused puff of air from your nose. "Oh, tons, obviously."
Joel chuckles at your response, shaking his head slightly. His gaze remained on you longer than necessary. The way you were lounging back against the couch was making it difficult for him to think clearly.
“You wanna watch a movie or somethin' before I bore ya to death?” he nods towards the TV, waiting for your reply.
"Oh stop it, you're not boring but sure, a movie sounds good to me."
Joel stands up, grabbing the remote and takes a seat on the other side of the couch you're on this time, only so he could see the tv better, of course, then scrolls through the movie options. "You got a specific movie in mind, trouble'? Or am I pickin'?"
"I'll watch anything, you pick." you say, making yourself more comfy, shifting on the couch and tucking your legs under you.
He glances over at you, his gaze lingering on the way you nestled into the couch, legs tucked under, comfortable. He swallows, focusing back on the TV. He scrolls through the available movies, and after a few moments, settles on a comedy movie. When the opening credits begin to play he settles back into his seat, taking another swig of his beer. His gaze drifts to you every few minutes, he's hyper aware of your presence only one seat away.
At a particularly funny moment, out of habit, you reach out and grasp Joel's forearm as you laugh. It's something you've always done, something Sarah was used to. He jolts slightly in surprise, the touch sending tingles up his arm. He glances down at your hand on his forearm then back up to you. He can vaguely recall you doing this with Sarah but had never been on the receiving end himself.
You catch yourself, reminding yourself who you're with. "Oh god, sorry. I do it to Sarah all the time." you explain, smiling sheepishly and patting his arm before retracting your hand.
He slowly relaxes his shoulders, the corners of his lips tugged into a smile you apologize. "S'alright, no need to apologize." he says, his voice raspy, his southern drawl more evident than usual. In that moment, Joel realises just how much trouble he really is in.
The movie continues playing, but Joel finds it harder to pay attention. The feeling of your hand on him still lingered on his skin, and he found himself wanting more. Instead, he takes his last gulp of beer, his gaze shifting back to the TV. He clears his throat softly before abruptly standing up.
"Another?" he asks, shaking his empty beer bottle and nodding towards yours. You agree, handing him your empty bottle when he holds his hand out for it.
He heads to the kitchen to grab two more beers, taking a minute to collect himself.
He returns, the necks of the beer bottles between his fingers and hands one to you, sitting back down but just a bit closer this time. You notice his sleeves are rolled up now and you can't help gazing at his arms. You're unsure if it's just because they're attached to him or if he really does have nice arms. God you need to get laid soon.
You untuck your legs that now ache slightly and stretch them out before placing them on Joel's lap, a playful grin on your face.
Joel feels his heart rate quicken as you place your legs on his lap and he has to bite his tongue to prevent himself from letting out a single sound.
"Comfy, huh darlin'?" he asks, his voice a little hoarse.
You laugh a little, looking over at him. "I am. You make a great foot rest, actually."
Joel chuckles at your playful words. "Glad I could be of service." he replies, trying to ignore the way your laugh sends jolts of arousal straight to his dick. He takes another gulp of beer, his gaze flickering down and his hand almost moves on its own accord, lightly resting on your ankle.
Late afternoon turns into evening, evening turns into night as you continue watching movies and drink a couple more beers. He's become accustomed to your legs on his lap, and each time you return from making a trip to the kitchen or to the bathroom, he waits the few seconds it takes you to sit back down and rest your legs on him once more. You've both had a few more beers than intended. Joel is feeling a pleasant buzz, and he can tell that you are too.
As the night wears on, Joel gets more bold and starts slowly tracing his fingers up your calf. He only moves a little each time, testing the waters. He keeps his gaze fixed on the movie, but his mind is going wild, his heart thumping in his chest and his dick twitching in his pants.
You swallow hard as his fingers reach the bare skin between the rips in your jeans, while you're trying your hardest to seem unbothered as your eyes are also fixed on the screen.
It feels like you've got an angel and devil on your shoulders like those old cartoons. The angel is telling you that this is a bad idea, stop this right now, this is your best friends dad. Yet the devil is telling you to go for it, you want it, ride it out and hell, ride Joel too.
Joel’s fingers continue their slow journey upwards, tracing circles on the denim. He’s hyper-aware of every movement you make, every hitch in your breath. He knows he's playing a dangerous game, but right now, he doesn’t care.
Over the next few minutes, the movie long forgotten now, his fingers move further, now tracing lazy patterns on the inside of your thigh, just above your knee. He can feel the tension between you growing. He looks over at you, his gaze hooded and heavy.
You can feel his gaze and look over. When your eyes meet, a moment of pure heat and undeniable desire passes between you. There's a fire there, and it's growing with each passing second. Joel's hand continues its slow, rhythmic movement, his thumb lightly grazing the skin of your thigh. His gaze is intense, unyielding.
You mentally flick the angel off your shoulder and mutter "fuck it." before shifting your position so you're now kneeling beside him and turn his face toward you to press your lips against his.
Joel is momentarily caught off guard by your bold move. His mind is screaming this is a bad idea, but his body is singing a different tune. A low moan escapes him, his eyes fluttering shut on reflex.
His free hand immediately grasps the nape of your neck, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss. The moment his tongue flicks out to glide against yours, his restraint snaps. He grips your hips with his large hands and tugs you onto his lap.
Suddenly his lips are hot against your neck, trailing a line of kisses as his hands slide from your hips under your shirt, resting on your bare waist.
He pulls back, breathing heavy and looking at you. "C'mon, my room. Not doing this in the family room." he mumbles, pulling you up by your hand. You understand and let him lead you to his room and as soon as you're in there, you resume the position, his back against the headboard and you straddling his lap.
You moan softly as his lips and greying scruff move against your neck again. You've only imagined this hundreds of times before and now it's happening, all reasoning and goodwill and out the window.
With how easy it is for him to slip into this, and you, you're rethinking everything that's ever happened. Everything you've ever convinced yourself was Joel just being friendly, fleeting looks, touches, everything. You know for sure now it was what you thought.
“You know exactly what you’ve been doing. A-always hovering around when I’m here with Sarah…touching my back when you walk past me…” you whisper, slowly rocking your hips against his.
“Fuck, I know.” he rasps, his hands moving up to your hips, holding you in place to match your rhythm. You take your chance to place kisses on his neck. He smells faintly of cologne and a natural manly musk that makes your cunt clench around nothing.
"Always teasing me." you murmur between kisses against his neck.
Joel lets out breathy curse and rolls his head back to give you more access. His hands slide down to your ass, gripping tightly to chase the delicious friction between you. “Teasing you? Darlin’ I was trying to be a fuckin’ saint.”
You place a couple more kisses on his neck before lifting your head from his neck, moving your arms to hang loosely over his shoulders and looking him in the eye. “Yeah? Walking around in only a towel after your shower? Leaning over me at the table to grab stuff?” you continue grinding your hips down onto his as you speak.
Joel’s eyes go nearly black as you recount his actions, and it finally occurs to him that he wasn’t nearly as subtle as he thought he was, and he loves it.
He pushes you down onto his bed on your back and lifts your tank top, his calloused fingers grazing the skin of your sides.
“What about you? When you’d bend all the way over just to grab somethin' from the refrigerator when you knew I was behind you? Paradin' yourself around my house in your tiny shorts?"
You mindlessly run your nails gently up and down his arms as he hovers over you. "I knew you were watching. Always watching when I'm here, aren't you Joel?" you ask, tilting your head.
Joel yanks the fabric over your head and tosses it to the floor, his eyes roaming over your chest covered by a lacy white bra. He leans down, chest pressed against yours, and responds in a gruff tone
“Like a damn hawk, darlin’.” His large hands trail up your sides, his head dips down to graze his lips across your collar bone. “Always watchin'…listenin' to you, smellin' your sweet perfume all over my fuckin' house.” he murmurs against you.
You think back to the fact you used to spray it everywhere, hoping to god it had this sort of affect and you almost smirk.
He hums against your neck, his hands roaming down to your jeans, finger and thumb making quick work of the button. “Thought I was going crazy.” he mumbles, tugging on the zip. “Could smell you everywhere...was like torture.” he says, moving back and pulling your jeans off, throwing them aside too.
“Fuck…I imagined us like this so many times. your big hands all over me- fuck.” you whimper as his thumbs run over your hard nipples through the flimsy cups of your bra, making your back arch off the bed.
Joel’s mind nearly explodes as you tell him your dirty thoughts. All those hours of him holding back, trying to keep his mind from wandering, and you were doing the same? He almost smirks.
He takes advantage of the fact you're arched so beautifully for him and slips a hand under you, his fingers splayed across your lower back and the other reaching to unclasp your bra. He pulls it down your arms, dropping it onto the pile of other clothes.
He pushes himself up on one hand, the other reaching down between you, fumbling with his belt as he speaks, “That right, darlin'? I’ve tugged my cock countless times thinkin' about having you like this.”
"You've stroked your cock over me?" you ask, eyes on the hand unbuckling his belt.
He looks up at you, eyes almost completely consumed with lust, as he unzips his jeans and pulls them down his thighs a little, just enough for his cock to not feel like it's suffocating in his boxers.
“Mm. Spent so many nights imagining burying my cock inside you…” he continues, and grinds his clothed length against you, as if demonstrating before continuing.
“God, the way you look at me…” he groans. “the way you laugh at my shitty jokes, those little outfits you wear…” he says, hitching one of your legs around his waist and leaning down towards you, his eyes scanning your face.
“You remember when I had that barbecue last summer? you and Sarah danced…and every time you spun…that damn skirt would ride up.”
You remember that very well…after all, you wore it on purpose. You felt kind of guilty after that, kind of parading yourself around for your besties father (even though Sarah had no idea), but knowing now how it affected him, that's the last thing on your mind.
“Yeah, I remember." you reply, wrapping your other leg around his waist and pulling him towards you more, needing more friction.
He practically loses it as you grind against him, thinking about when he sat in his backyard, trying to ignore the way your little skirt bounced, or how he would see your perfect ass cheeks peeping out of the bottom of your shorts. He was about to go mad.
“oh, I know you did. bet you fucking knew I was sitting there, trying to act normal while I’m dyin’, watching your perfect ass appear and disappear under that skirt."
You whimper as he cups one of your bare breasts, the other hand trailing downwards. “Look at these.” Joel whispers as he leans forward and takes a nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue over the bud.
“Tell me, baby. Tell me what you thought about when you were dancin', what you wanted me to do’.” he murmurs between teasing licks, his other hand teasing you through the fabric of your now soaked panties.
You let out a desperate moan, your mind begging him to do something. “I wanted…I wanted you to grab me, make me dance on your cock instead.” you say, voice strained as you try to grind yourself against his fingers.
A breathy curse escapes him at your words. He had to hear you say it. He needed to know you were thinking the same dirty thoughts as him. “You got no idea...wanted to grab you, pull your skirt up and fuck you right there.”
The mental imagine his filthy words conjure up, and his fingers teasing your pussy through your panties have you letting out a desperate noise you don't even recognise. God the noises you made. He needed to hear more of them, so his fingers slip under the side your panties.
“Y'like hearing what I wanna do to ya, huh?” he rasps as his fingers slide through your folds. “Soaked just thinking about it.”
You curse when his fingers finally make contact with your bare pussy and moan out a pathetic "Yeah."
“Fuuck, that’s it baby. Make those pretty noises for me.” Joel groans, easily slipping two fingers in your sopping centre, making you blush at how desperate you are right now. He begins to pump them and at a toe curling rhythm, making you gasp and moan his name.
He shuffles down your body, and pulls your panties aside to get a better look.
"So pretty." he murmurs, practically salivating at the sight before him, continuing his ministrations. He moves even closer, his hot breath ghosting over you, making you exhale and bite your lip.
"Tha’s right, baby. show me how bad you want it.” he says, his thumb now circling your clit. His eyes flit between your perfect pussy that's drenching his fingers and your pretty face as it contorts in pleasure. You reach behind you, grasping the edge of the mattress to ground yourself.
"Gotta taste this pussy. Can I, baby? Will ya let me?" he mumbles against the inside of your thigh before his tongue flicks out to tease the skin. He withdraws his fingers, toying with the slick, running it up and down your slit.
"ohgod...please." you almost whine. His cock is throbbing and almost hurts with every sound you make. He can smell your sweet scent and it's driving him insane. The moment you agree, his face is directly in front of your cunt, inhaling deeply.
Without warning, he licks a long stripe from your hole to your clit, tongue flat. You sigh, almost in relief at the sensation. Fuck it felt so good. He lets out a low moan, as if he were a starved man having eating for the first time in days.
His tongue dances over your sensitive little bud, his mind reeling. He never thought it'd happen. Yet here you are, legs open in front of his face and he was basking in it.
He hooks your legs over his shoulders, his lips latch onto your clit, sucking hard. You gasp and thread your fingers through his hair.
His hands trail over your thighs and then up to cup your tits, squeezing them gently. He alternates his tongues movements, licking and sucking, your moans and whimpers not helping the fact his cock feels slightly neglected now.
After a little more, he pulls away from your clit with a pop and looks up at you, his lips, chin and even the tip of his nose glistening with your juices. "She's a great kisser." he teases, wiping his face on his sleeve before slipping off the bed, rising to his feet and unbuttoning his shirt and throwing it aside. That line should've made you cringe and with anyone else it probably would've, but it didn't.
"Can I return the favour?" you ask as you prop yourself up on your elbows, wanting nothing more than to have his cock sliding down your throat.
"As good as that sounds darlin', my cocks achin' to get inside ya." he says, pulling his jeans and boxers down and kicking them aside. He gets back onto his bed, resting against the headboard. "c'mere." he beckons you over.
Your eyes trail down his body, shamelessly looking at his cock as you move towards him. He's bigger than you imagined, his balls big and heavy underneath. You don't have that much time to look as Joel pulls you over to him. "Havin' a good look there?" he teases, a smirk plastered on his face as you mount him.
"Well I mean, you just had your face between my legs, s'only fair I get a peek of what I'm about to sit on." you retort your hands on his shoulders as you hover above him, sitting up on your knees.
He lets out a low husky chuckle, the fact that you were comfortable enough to tease him back made his cock twitch and then a deep groan erupts from him as you run your pussy up and down the underside of his cock.
"You enjoy being a little tease, huh? like playi- fuck -playin' little games?" his voice is strained as you move a little further than intended, his cock nudging your entrance, making you both moan. He grips your hips, leaning back and his eyes zero in on where you're almost connected. "Again." he breathes. "fuck, do that again."
You happily comply, whimpering every time the head nudges your clit and moaning in sync with him as it prods your soaking wet hole. "Jesus-" he grunts, his head falling back. It feels so fucking good but it's taking everything in him not to drag you down onto his cock.
He can't take much more, and you're right there with him. Desperate to feel him properly. He wraps an arm around your waist, lifting you and grabs the base of his cock to line himself up. "you ready, baby?" he murmurs against the skin of your shoulder.
"mhm." you hum as his hands grip your hips. "but, slow...at first. been a while." you mumble, cheeks flushing.
His lust filled eyes soften for a moment at your confession. "you just take what you need, however you need to. we got all night, sweetheart."
Your heart flutters a little at that. This man just told you how much he's dreamed of fucking you, that he's been playing with his cock to the thought of you, yet being so understanding on top of that makes him even sexier.
You nod, before lowering yourself down on him. He closes his eyes, jaw ticking as he tries to stay still, the urge to buck up into your tight heat almost to much. "tha's it, baby...just like that."
You can't help the string of noises that escape your lips as you slowly sink onto him. When you reach the bottom, you rest your forehead on his shoulder.
"You okay?" he breathes out, one of his hands moving from your hip to trace his finger tips up your spine.
"m'fine. just needed a second." you say, fighting the embarrassment. It's not like you've never rode a dick, but it's just been while and jesus was this one bigger than the others. You suck it up and lift your head to meet his eyes, giving him a nod to let him know you're good to go. You slowly start to lift, with Joel guidance, before moving back down.
You moan together as you move, his eyes glued to your face. One hand still on your back and the other on your hip to keep you steady. "you feel so fuckin' good...don't stop. keep goin'..like that." His words only encourage you, your pace picking up as you ride him, the lewd sounds of your bodies coming together filling the air.
He starts to move his hips, matching your movements and hitting that spongey spot inside your cunt, making your eyes roll back. He takes advantage of that fact, watching your tits bounce in his face as he tries to catch a nipple with his tongue.
"Oh god...Joel..." you moan, leaning back and grasping his thighs behind you.
"Tha's right, beautiful. Fuck yourself on your friend's old mans cock." he says, watching your body move. His words are disgusting, they should turn you off, yet they make you tighten around him.
"Ah, you like that don't cha? Dirty fuckin' girl."
You nod, the embarrassment shooting straight down to your cunt. "Yeah?" he coos, pressing you, wanting to hear you say it.
"Mmyeah." you whimper pathetically as you continue moving up and down his thick cock.
"Look at me, baby girl. I wanna see that gorgeous face." He says in that deep, gravelly voice, his hand moving to your chin and tilting your head down to look at him. As soon as your eyes lock on his, the intensity makes you moan. "There she is..." he says, looking at how fucking wrecked you look. Pupils blown, cheeks flushed, hair dishevelled.
Your chest flutters and cheeks burn a little darker under his gaze. God, you always imagined you'd be more confident if you ever got to fuck him, thought you'd be calling the shots. But he's got you, and you're lost in it.
He starts to meet your movements, lifting his hips to bury himself to the hilt over and over. His hand moves from your chin to your neck, his fingers wrap around it. Your breath hitches and it makes he smirk again. "This what you want?" he murmurs, giving your throat a light squeeze.
"Mmmm, yes.." you mewl, barely able to talk. Your mind is swimming in lust and desire, our thoughts consumes by the man in front of you. He tightens his grip around your neck, his thumb pressing on your jaw to keep your gaze locked on him.
"What about last fourth July? remember that?" he asks with his signature gruff drawl.
You know exactly what he’s talking about and it makes you moan. "Mmh- yeah…" you manage. "I remember."
He gives a low, amused chuckle as he recalls the memory. "You in that lil’ blue bikini...walkin’ around my place, all tan and wet." Every other word he speaks is met with a harder thrust, making you whine.
Memories of that day flood your mind and heat pools in your belly. That was the first time you noticed Joel stare at you in a way that wasn't how your best friends dad should.
"Joel...I need- please I-" He takes the hint, shifting your position so you're now on your back on his bed, his cock still nestled deep inside you.
"I know, baby, I know." He purrs, his face going between your neck and collarbone, nipping and sucking all the sensitive skin he can get his mouth on. He lifts your left leg and drapes it over his hip, then he quickly buries himself in your tight heat again. "Fuuuck you're so tight.." he moans, head falling back.
His cock constantly hits the right spot over and over, you're sure your vision will go white any second. "So good...mmfuck, Joel..."
Your hands that look small in comparison to his, grasp his biceps and pull him down for a desperate, messy kiss. Joel's body covers yours, his muscular form surrounding you. He kisses you feverishly, every movement of his tongue and lips making that feeling in your gut coil tighter and tighter.
"Joel-” you gasp as the feeling in your stomach gets stronger. He can already feel how tight you're getting around him.
"Gonna come ain'tcha? C'mon baby, lemme feel you." his own breathing is ragged, he's not far behind you. He leans down, pressing kisses to the column of your throat as he fucks you faster.
You're unable to form a coherent sentence anymore, just needy sounds escaping you as he fucks you good, your walls tightening around him and making his hips stutter.
"There ya go...keep squeezin' me like that.." he encourages, hips moving impossibly faster.
"M'so close." you whimper, nails leaving little crescent indents in his back.
"Mmyeah, I know baby...can feel it. Gonna fill this lil' pussy up. That what you want? Wanna be full of me?" he grits, lifting his head up from your neck.
"Shit...yeah, I want it. Give it to me, please." you beg in your lust filled haze. You're right on the edge now, just needing a little something to help you over.
A gravelly moan rumbles in his chest at your words. "Look at you...wrecked and begging for my come." Those words have you clenching him again. He's so fucking close but wants to make sure you get there first.
You only whine in response, unable to come up with words as that tightness in your stomach gets so tight, you feel like you'll snap. It's like he's everywhere at once, the sensations are overwhelming and you can barely take it.
"I got ya, baby. C'mon now. Need t'see you fall apart on my cock." he murmurs.
That's it, that's all it takes. Your thighs are trembling, vision hazy, back arching, toes curling, all the orgasm cliches you'd never experienced with these frat boys who just want to get their dicks wet.
Joel watches you in awe. "Oh fuck...there we go, jus' like that." That was it for Joel too, watching you fall apart sends him over. His head drops down, hips stuttering as he rides through it with you, his movements slowing.
You're both trying to catch your breaths, sweat covers your bodies. Joel's still on top, supporting his weight with a hand on either side of your head. He lifts up slightly so he can look at you, a smirk plastered on his bearded face.
"Looking real happy with yourself there." you say, letting out a small breathy laugh.
He chuckles, the sound deep and satisfied. "Can ya blame me?" he murmurs, his head dipping down to press a kiss to your cheek, his beard scratching your skin.
But the sounds of the front door opening downstairs makes you both freeze and then Sarah's voice rings out, calling for you both. She'd have seen your car outside.
summary: your neighbor joel watches you dance in your backyard to your favourite song, enjoying the show a little too much than he should.
warnings: female reader! virgin reader!no outbreak au! unprotected p in v, fingering, dacryphilia, choking, daddy kink, age gap; reader in 20s, joel in his 40s, no use of y/n, pervy joel, breeding, corruption, some degradation
word count: 8k (what is wrong with me)
a/n: HEAVILY INSPIRED by @caskethrill ’s the cowboy next door !!!PLEASE check it out it‘s literally the best thing i‘ve ever read!!! oof i hope you guys like this one i've been rewriting it for days. ALSO NOTE!! this doesn't really have any correlation to the song (yes i know what gibson girl by ethel is about don't come at me) it was just something that popped into my mind when i had this song on replay 24/7 and had to write it down before i forgot. it's the vibe, i guess. anyways, enjoy! :p
Planting little flowers in your garden was a cute little hobby you’d grown accustomed to. You always watched your mother take care of the plants of the garden when you were a little girl, growing an interest. Watching her dig a hole, place the seeds in, covering it back with dirt and watering them every other day. You helped her one time and found it rather peaceful—so you asked her to teach you, and ever since then, you spent your free time caring for your own flowers. You always had the same routine.
Go to class, come back, do your work for the next day and then check on your flowers.
You put music on everytime, whether in your headphones or brought a radio with you outside.
Today was one of those days again. Except, it was a Saturday and your parents were gone for the weekend for a little getaway. The house was quiet—peaceful at most. You enjoyed it, enjoyed being alone without the constant nagging everywhere. After spending the bright Saturday morning cleaning your room, vacuuming your fluffy carpet, wiping the dust off your shelves and wiping the windows clean, you found yourself a new task, your little garden coming to mind. You sat up from the bed, grabbing your headphones with you and strolled downstairs. There was a pack of columbine seeds on the kitchen island, left by your mother who had been too tired to plant them a few days ago. You figured you could do that now, as if you had nothing else to do anyway.
Sliding the glass door open, you pressed shuffle on your playlist and put it down somewhere on the table outside. Headphones on, pack of seeds in hand and you were ready to get to work. You approached an empty spot next to the sage your mother planted those few days ago and knelt down on the warm grass. Completely oblivious to any of your surroundings with your music blasting in your ears and your focus on the pack in front of you.
Your hands started to dig a hole, carving out the soil manually. You put the container soil in the hole and reached for the pack of seeds. You ripped them open in a swift motion, slowly sprinkling them on the dark soil, pressing them in with our fingertips.
Without realizing, you started to swing your body a little, jamming to the music in your headphones. Soon after, you started to mouth the lyrics, bobbing your head slightly as you put the remaining dirt on top of the seeds.
Ethel Cain was playing. Gibson Girl. One of your favorite songs.
You wiped the dirt off your hands, making your way back to the backyard porch to get the watering wand. You bent over, grabbed it and went back inside to get water. Once you were all finished, you pranced back to your beloved garden, mouthing the lyrics.
You came alone to me
From however far away
You slowly let the wand hang down, water flowing through the small gaps down to the fresh soil.
Black leather and dark glasses
Pourin' another while I shake my ass
Naturally, your body started moving with the lyrics, your hands abandoning the wand to roam around your own waist– down to your hips. You bucked your ass out a little, hands making their way onto your hair, streaks dropping down your shoulders as you let it fall–in your own little world, without a care in the world of someone seeing you. You were just dancing, where was the problem in that? Besides, your house was on the end of the street– and the fence from the street was too tall for anyone to take a peek.
Other than the one you shared with Joel. White picket fence, only about three feet tall. On the other side of the fence– much to your oblivious state, Joel was sitting on the white hanging chair he had built for his daughter Sarah when she saw one of them at her friends’ house, begging her father for months to build it for her. His hand was gripping the base of the glass filled halfway with whiskey in his hand, enjoying the warm Texas breeze until seeing a frame walking in his peripheral vision. Instinctively, he turns his head, eyes catching on you. He wants to say hi, but you have those white headphones on that in his opinion you always have placed on your head, tuning everyone around you out. Which he thinks makes sense for a girl like you. So he just– watches you. Not in a creepy way, just watches you.
Okay, he’s staring. But he can’t help it– a smile tugs at his lips as he watches you kneel down on the grass working on the seeds you were about to place, a content smile on your face. He watches your fingers, the way the dirt gets under your nails, and definitely notices your dress riling up when you bend a little to get the pack of seeds. Columbines. Joel sees the image of the flowers on the package. He watches you bob your head to the music and he enjoys it. Enjoys seeing you like this.
You were extremely shy and had a kind of innocence to you he hadn't seen in a long time for women your age– Joel noticed that when he met you for the first time a few years back, the way you looked down smiling when he simply just greeted you. So seeing you like this, all relaxed doing what he almost always sees you doing– he’s relishing it.
Until you walk to the back porch to get something, his eyes following you up until you bend over to grab at something–though Joel is only focused on the way your dress riles up for your white panties to peek through. He doesn’t even notice you going back inside, just thinks about the panties and how much he’d like to rip them off of you. He could already feel his pants tighten. Wait, where are you?
No, that’s not right, Joel thinks.
She’s half your age, he shakes his head, sick fuck.
But how long has it been since he’d been with a woman? Too fuckin’ long– maybe that’s why he was acting this way.
But when you appear once again, he can’t rip his eyes away from your body. How you kneel down once again, watering the columbine seeds you just planted. A smirk plasters on his face when you start to move sway your body, letting the dark green wand plop down on the grass. He watches your hands wandering around your body, hips moving side to side slowly. Joel can’t stop staring at your ass, though– he sees your hands moving there for a second and it’s like you know he’s there and you’re teasing him on purpose. Yet you’re completely oblivious, until you turn around.
Says he's in love with my body, that's why he's fucking it up
And then he says to me,
“Joel!” you gasp, letting the hem of your dress fall, eyes widening as you take in the older man on his back porch. Your hands grabbed at your headphones, pulling them down your head. He’s smirking smugly, eyes raking up and down your body without shame. Your sundress was too tight on you–he thought. Probably an old one that you wouldn’t wear outside anymore– but used it around the house. Nonetheless, he fucking loved it. Your tits were fighting against the fabric, and the skirt of the dress was way too short. Your cheeks grew warm, spreading out to the entirety of your face. How fucking embarassing.
“Don’t let me stop you, darlin’ – m’just enjoyin’ the show.” his voice was husky and thick with lust– so were his eyes, going a shade darker. You didn’t know what to say, nails gripping into the leather of your headphones. Had it been Sarah, it would’ve been totally different– but this was Joel. Joel, whom you had wanted to fuck ever since he moved in next to you and your parents. You remember that day so clearly– you had just started college, going home after your classes when your mother told you about your new neighbor, Joel Miller. She was already baking her signature muffins with the intention of bringing them to him as a welcome from your family. When Joel was outside of his truck, getting some box out, your mother took that as a chance, pulling you along with her. Muffins in hand, she cheered to Joel, greeting the older man. Older, but a little younger than your mother, you assumed.
He snapped his head up, eyes squinting to block the burning sun out and look at the woman greeting him.
“Welcome to the neighborhood, Mister–” your mother tilted an eyebrow.
“Miller , he replied, Joel Miller.” he spoke with a hoarse throat. Goddamn the heat was thirsting him out. Your mother, being the cheerful and extroverted woman she was, started a conversation with Joel right away, where you had no place in. Eyes observing the older man, but letting your mother do the talking. His hair was a dark shade of brown, tousled– beard scruffy. He looked scruffy– but it fit his appearance. He was handsome– and also really fucking hot, you realized. A dark brown t-shirt on, clinging to his biceps.
“Thank you for the treat, ma’am, my daughter’s gonna love these.” he shook your mother’s hands with an appreciative smile, “—and this is?” his eyes darted to you, taking your smaller frame in. He assumed, the daughter of the woman speaking loudly into his ear. You were quiet, nothing like your mother— that he instantly noticed.
You were too much into ogling your new neighbor that you almost didn’t realize when your mom nudged at your side, snapping you out of your daydream.
“Oh! Uhm” you stuttered, feeling the heat pool in your cheeks— you introduced yourself quietly, almost incoherent. Joel heard you. You were barely even looking at him with the attention on you now.
“Honey, why don’t you help Mister Miller out with these boxes, I need to go back inside and watch the stew.” she turned to you, and you finally looked up. Please don’t, Don’t leave me alone with this man because I’d probably start moaning if I have to look at him any further.
“Oh, s’alright, miss. Don’t think a pretty girl like her wants to get her hands dirty.” Joel smiled, eyes glued to you, not even leaving your face as he responded to your mother.
Oh. Pretty girl. The way his honeyed southern accent slipped when he complimented you made your panties dampen.
Your mother insisted you help, Joel giving in soon after. She left you both alone moments after, an awkward silence filling the air– well, for you at least.
“You go to school?” he asked, taking out the heaviest box for him and the lightest one for you.
“Uh, yeah, here in austin.” you spoke quietly, hands grabbing at the box he handed to you.
“Too smart f’me.” he chuckled jokingly, shaking his head slightly. You smiled when his teeth came into vision, head dropping down as soon as he caught your eyes. He instructed you to put the box on the front porch and he’d be fine; to which you obeyed. He came up behind you as you placed the box down, flinching when you saw his broader frame towering over you.
“You’re a shy one, ain’t ya?” he didn’t need a response, he was already aware of your timid self.
“Well, that’s it– thanks for the help, honey.” fuck, listening to his southern drawl made you melt. And then he placed a hand on your shoulder while thanking you, stroking his thumb up and down slightly. You muttered out a ‘you’re welcome’, turning in your heels to walk back home.
“Bye Mister Miller.” you said a little louder now, Joel bidding you farewell soon after. Without looking back, you slammed the front door shut, pacing upstairs to collect yourself and decide what to do about the dampness in your underwear.
Since that day, you always found yourself hoping to see the older man. Sometimes you stood by your window with a cup of coffee in hand when he mowed his lawn, the cotton fabric of his wife beater clinging to his body as sweat dripped from his forehead, droplets making their way down to his neck. You tried to be as careful as possible to not be caught directly staring at him, but when he sometimes turned his head and caught your prying eyes, he gave you a nod of his head with a small smile on his face, then turned back to the machine to continue the activity. There were also times when you found an excuse to sit on your front porch with a book and sweet tea in hand, trying to read your book– just to sneakily take peeks at his broad form that was working on his truck– whatever he was doing, you didn’t have a clue, but you loved watching the way his muscles flexed and the focused look he had on his face, full of frustration with the way his brows were pinched together. There was always an old country tune flowing from his radio, no matter where he was or what he kept himself busy with, there was always that sizzling radio placed on top of any surface near him. You recognized some of the songs at times, tracks by bob dylan, johnny cash, artists that your father always listened to as well. There was always a warmth that flooded in your insides, a burning desire in your chest for him– though you knew he only saw you as the next door neighbor’s daughter, even if he was so hard to read at times.
Joel would glance up to see you sitting down on one of the wooden rocking chairs, long legs dangling and eyes stuck on the book in your lap. He would address you with a low toned ‘howdy’ , sometimes adding in a pet name, followed by a smile and a look up and down your form and you swore you’d be falling to your knees if you weren’t sitting. You noticed that he smiled a lot when he’d see you, just a little curve of his lips whenever you were near him, which he didn’t always do with the other neighbors around. There was one time when he was in his backyard with Sarah while they played a game of cards and you’d never seen the man grin so widely at his daughter– you’d found it so adorable, to see that hunk of a man who was always grumpy with a scowl on his face, who’d rudely shoo away and slam the door right in the faces of the jehovah’s witnesses whenever they knocked at his door or when any other neighbor other than your family tried to talk to him, always uninterested in what they had to say.
You’d also never seen him bring a woman to his place, though you were sure he had one night stands– for a man like him who was so handsome that your married female neighbors were pining over him, he’d surely have his bed kept warm occasionally. You don’t think he ever really had a girlfriend in the years you’d known him, which fit his character. Reserved, quiet and content with being alone.
He was a quiet man that did his own thing in silence, and never really had any people over, other than his brother Tommy, to which you were also introduced to one time as you were walking down the steps to go to the store and Joel saw you, deciding to introduce you to his younger brother. He’d hang out on his porch as the sun was setting down, either with a guitar in his lap or downing a budweiser as he listened to whatever song was playing from his rugged radio, oftentimes humming along, tapping his worn out cowboy boots on the wood.
“Well? Keep goin’.” he tilts an eyebrow, watching your reddened cheeks and your hands now fisting at the hem of your dress. Joel sighs, unimpressed by your lack of response, standing up from the chair, gulping down the remaining drops of whiskey. You watch him walk around the fence, getting closer and closer to you.
“Didn’t see you– sorry.” you swallowed, taking a step back from his persistent steps inching closer to you. You don’t even know what you were apologizing for yourself. His index finger nevertheless finds its way to your chin, moving it up to look at him. This is the first time today that you really looked at him. Beard scruffy as always, and hair slicked back. Oh my god, you found yourself liking the new way he styled his hair today too much. His eyes are dark and he has an unreadable look on his face– as always, you figure. Your body was heating up as you fully took him in, and you could only imagine how red you were in the face.
“Keep doing what you were just doing a minute ago, babydoll.” you gulp, shaking your head no.
“No?” he waits, quirking an eyebrow.
“C’mon, sweet girl– looked so pretty dancing.” he coaxes, hands finding your waist slowly, as if he’s waiting for you to tell him to back off. But you don‘t, you loved feeling his big, roughed up hands engulfing the entirety of your waist. You let out an unwanted whine as his right hand wanders lower, almost at your backside but not fully, just testing the waters to see if you were comfortable. Your eyes drop down to his button up, the first three buttons opened from the warmth of the weather, chest hair peeking out.
“S’not nice to stare, girl. Didn’t your daddy teach you that?” he tilts his head to the side, watching your slightly parted mouth. He smiles, thumb stroking the soft flesh of your cheek.
“Wasn’t starin’.” you protest, brows furrowing, shaking your head no, but you knew damn well you were practically foaming at the mouth.
“You’re sweet.” he chuckles, head tilting down to your level to look into your shame-filled eyes. “You remember that dinner a few weeks ago?”
You look up, eyes darting around as you tried to recall your memory,
“You invited me in, I kissed your cheek and gave you those pretty flowers– and then what did you do, huh?”
Your memory of that evening was clear as day, knowing what he meant by his question. You excused yourself to the ‘bathroom’ right after putting the yellow tulips in a vase and paced into your bedroom to relieve the heat pooling between your thighs. Rutting against the edge of your bed, fingers searching for release as you quietly let Joel’s name fall from your lips. Meanwhile, Joel excused himself as well as he saw you pacing up the stairs with blotchy patches of red on your chest and throat, and walked upstairs, down the hall to the bathroom, passing by your room– the door slightly creaked open.
And there you were, moving up and down the edge of your bed in desperation. Joel thought you were an angel, until he realized what he was doing, and where he was, forcing himself to tear his eyes from you. He had heard your little whines, especially the ones that included his name, a smirk plastering its way to his face. He was aware of your crush on him– he just needed confirmation. You thought you were doing a good job at keeping your crush on the older man hidden; but Joel wasn’t stupid, he could see right through you. Squirming when he got close to you, cheeks a bright shade of pink whenever he coaxed you up with his southern charm.
“Go a’n, say it.” he pushes, hands playing with the skirt of your dress. You shake your head, head dropping to rest itself on the warmth of his chest, the button of his shirt’s pocket pressing into your cheek. You hum against him, quickly finding comfort while Joel holds you close to him.
“S’not that hard, doll.” you gulp, finally finding the assurance to look up at him.
“I–” you hoarse, “touched myself.” your eyes droop back down but Joel was having none of it, grabbing at your chin to hold your head in place.
“N’ who was on that pretty mind f’yours?”
“You were.” a tear slides down your cheek– and he wipes it away with his thumb, slowly and carefully bringing the digit to your lips to test the waters.
“That’s right– attagirl.” Joel praises, brown eyes showing a twinkle in them. He nudges his thumb at your lips– and you open your mouth instinctively. He watches you with anticipation, before sliding the digit in between your lips, the warmth of your tongue making him let out a small groan– he could only imagine how warm your mouth would feel with his cock stuffed in your mouth. His buldge is fighting against his jeans, zipper almost popping open. He longs to bend you over the fence and fuck you till you cry but he knows he can’t do that with all the peering neighbors around. He wants to take his sweet time with you first, tease you so much until you’re begging on your knees for him to fuck you. His thumb leaves your mouth with a pop, coated with saliva that he brings down and cups your mound harshly. You yelp, hand grabbing at his wrist to stop the tight grip on you.
Though Joel is much stronger than you and you know that. You also know that you don’t want him to stop– at all. He rubs your clothed pussy under your skirt slowly, fingertips pressing into the flesh. Your body is slowly betraying you, knees buckling so you grip on Joel’s shoulders for aid.
“Joel.” you whimper when you feel his index finger hold the fabric to the side, your folds coming in touch with his warm fingers.
“Shh, s’okay baby. Lemme take care of you.” Joel croaks, the wetness between your folds smearing all over his fingers. He held a smug look on his face when he realized how wet you were for him. This would make it all so much easier for him.
“You gonna let me do that? Hmm?” he hums, stroking the locks from your face away, fake pouting as if to mock you. You nod, head nudged in his chest.
“Use your words, honey.”
“Please– please do anything– you want.” you were almost begging for him to plunge his dick into you, even if you’ve never done it before, you were more than ready and you hoped he would.
“When are your parents comin’ back?” Joel knew your parents were gone as your driveway had been empty since yesterday and the observation made him think thoughts he had to push into the back of his head.
“Not until tomorrow night.” you manage, looking up at him, a small smile spreading on your face.
“Todays’ just about my lucky day, ain’t it?” he asks in rhetoric, before hoisting you up, his hands holding your legs around his waist in place. He walks over to your back porch, gently laying you down on the lounge. You wished he would bring you to your bed; but the couch wasn’t too uncomfortable anyway, so you let it go. Another time, you think. Or, you wish.
Joel stops for a moment, taking you in, sprawled out on the couch, cheeks rosy and shying away from him. You let go of your headphones, putting them down somewhere behind you.
Everything felt surreal at the moment. Joel Miller caught you dancing in your yard and decided that now was the time to give in to his desires? You weren’t complaining.
You wanna fuck me right now
“Are you gonna fuck me, Joel?” you quietly mumble, not exactly sure by what he meant about taking care of you. He chuckles in response, which makes you want to crawl into a hole. You felt so little– so young next to him. Afraid of what words you articulated yourself with to not come across as young as you wanted him to think you were.
“Now where was that boldness a few minutes ago?” he asks, one eyebrow tilted.
“Gonna fuck you properly like you deserve, not how them college boys f’yours try to.” he continued.
“I didn’t– I mean I’ve never–” you try, but the way his eyes are boring into you , it was difficult to get a proper sentence out.
“You a virgin?” Joel asks, a little surprised. He felt how his cock was straining against his jeans, your confession edging him one further.
“‘Course you are. Good girl.” The thought of you being a virgin never crossed his mind of course– but thinking about it right now, made everything click in his brain.
The kind of girl you were, he knew you were a little more on the inexperienced side; always keeping to yourself and never seeing you leave the house a lot.
His large hand hikes your sundress up, revealing your underwear to him. Joel smiles, his lips placing small pecks on your thighs before his hands guide your legs outwards to spread them. You feel his index finger a mere second later pulling your panties down, to which he grabs them from your ankles and stuffs the cotton into the backpocket of his jeans. The gesture makes you bite back a smile– even though it’s a little perverted, but you like knowing Joel has your panties in his jeans pocket– mind wandering to what he might do with them.
“Pervert.” you huff, bursting into a breathy giggle. Joel’s eyes darted to you before smiling down at you, shaking his head.
“Need a lil souvenir.” he defends smugly.
“Am I that special?” you tease back, not knowing where your moment of boldness was coming from. You, who couldn’t mutter out a single word when Joel was around, was now talking to him with a little more ease. Maybe it was the way he was looking at you right now, eyes burning with compulsion.
“You have no fuckin’ idea, sugar.” the sentence brings a hand to cover the red tint of your cheeks, then bringing back your focus to the two fingers that were brought to his mouth and back to your heat. He didn’t really need the saliva from his mouth in the slightest, the wetness between your folds making up for it. Joel’s ego was fed immensely when he realized the full effect he had on you– even when you tried to hide your attraction to him. Your eyes shy away from him, trying to look at anything else when he looks at you like he’s about to devour you. Well– he will if you let him. Your face falls back into a worried expression.
“Are you gonna hurt me?” your pupils are dilated, looking at his broader frame with puppy eyes. Joel thinks you’re the sweetest doll he’s ever seen. And now he has you where he’s always wanted you, spreading your legs as you wait for him to deflower you. He notices the scared look on your face– like a deer in headlights; feeling you trembling underneath him. Poor baby, he mockingly pouts.
“It always hurts the first time, doll.” he reassures, though his reassurance makes you even more nervous. “Don’t worry sweet girl– m’gonna make it go away.” he places a gentle kiss on your forehead, his chocolate eyes melting your worries away.
With that, Joel moves back to his position where he stands between your legs, fingers making their way between your folds. You whimper out– though it doesn’t hurt because of the many times you had done the same thing to yourself in the privacy of your own bedroom. This time was much different— Joel’s fingers were much thicker and rougher by the hard work he endured for years as a contractor. “Joel– fuck.”
“Feel good, huh?”
“Mhmm.” you nod, eyes screwed shut as you let the pleasure form throughout your body. A small smile pulls at the corner of his lips when he sees you already bucking up forwards, deeper into his hand. He continues to pump his fingers in and out of you slowly, your moans lewd and becoming louder. He knows you’re almost there, so he takes his fingers out and watches your irritated look at the loss of them.
He hovers himself above you again, bringing his fingers up to his mouth to lick the slick off his fingers– and then brings them to yours just for the fun of it. Your lips grip around his fingers, sucking any remains dry before he takes them out again, a string of saliva connecting to his fingers. He groans at the friction when he rubs his clothed bulge against your heat– feeling almost like teenagers dry humping each other.
Your head snaps up to look at his lower half when you hear him unbuckling his belt, dragging it along him until everything’s out. With one hand, he grips both of your arms to hold them over your head in place, eyes widening as you realize what he’s up to. You want to protest, shimmying away from his hold but when the knot is tied tightly in place you get a sense of arousal and terror that you’ve never felt before. You realize that you like him being the one controlling and putting you in your place.
His zipper is next to be pulled down, cock springing free from the paining fabric of denim. You don’t even dare to look at him– or rather at it, but Joel makes sure you do when he grips the back of your head to look up at him, his thumb gently stroking your cheek. Then you see it, and it’s fucking huge. Angry red at the tip with a bit of pre cum glistening around it, and veins coating all around his cock. He’s not just long, but he’s girthy too– and you almost feel your teeth chattering.
“Joel– that’s not gonna fit.”
“I’ll make it fit.” he sternly replies in that husky voice he always has. You’re scared that he’s going to potentially split you in half– but you nonetheless still want it. Need it.
Fantasizing about him for years and now you’re beginning to doubt him because of his size?
“Gonna mold this pussy like I want it– heard it works best with virgin pussy.” you moan out loud at his words that normally would’ve disgusted you if it came from someone else– but hearing them from Joel makes the need for him rise whether you want to admit it or not. He strokes himself before his cock is on you, sliding up and down your slit easily with the help of your wet folds. You need to grip at something, but the way your hands are tied up the only thing you can do is bunch your hands up in a fist. Joel sees your failed attempts to release yourself from the tight knot and quirks a brow. “You achin’ that bad for it, hmm?”
You can only nod, biting your lip to the point it cracks and almost bleeds.
“Poor baby.” he mocks, silently enjoying you struggling against his belt, sensing the need for his touch. A hand swats your hair away from your face as he continues to tease his cock between your folds. He holds your cheeks in his hands, placing a kiss on your temple before he slides his tip inside of you with ease. The motion makes you cry out, and Joel has to kiss you to keep you quiet.
“I know it hurts, baby– but you need’a be real quiet. I’ll go slow.” he comforts you, his tongue licking into your mouth to play with yours. You feel his length sliding further into you and you feel like the air’s been stripped from your lungs.
“Joel– need to…ngh– touch you, please.” you plead with him and Joel almost feels bad when he sees a tear run down your flushed cheeks. Almost. He doesn’t want to give in yet, wants to tease you a little more until you fully break. So he wipes it away, smiles and looks at your widened eyes as you realize that he won’t untie you. Instead, Joel cradles your head again, gently palming your scalp as he holds you close to him. It’s so comforting, your heart warms.
“You’re so mean.” you sob, and Joel nods, “I know, baby.”
The pain quickly crashes onto you as he stretches you out– and it doesn’t help much either even if he’s thrusting into you slowly. He’s not even halfway in and tears are already gliding over your cheeks, tasting the saltiness in your agape mouth.
“You can take it, baby c’mon.” he quietly husks into your ear, nibbling at your ear as your moans mixed with sobs and whimpers fill his ears. It burns like hell as he tries to slide his entire length into you but you stop him with your legs wrapping around his waist and squeezing his cock. Joel groans, head dropping into your neck. The pain is still there, but you’re slowly adapting to his size and at the same time his hand holding your head feels so comforting that you think this isn’t as daunting as you thought your first time would be.
Joel, being the mean grump that he was, feels a tear from you drop down on his face as he laps at your neck and pulls back.
He’s met with your beautiful face all flushed and teary– and he finally gives in, pulling at the belt at the top of your head. He unties the knot and throws the belt somewhere far that it lands in the grass, the metal making a clicking sound. You give out a big sigh, your arms wrapping around his neck without thinking almost immediately. You need him close to you; to hear his sweet honeyed encouragement in your ear. He stills his movements for a minute, just holding you close to him. He knows well that he’s a sick man for being the one that’s taking your virginity, it should’ve been a nice boy your age, and if word got out that you were messing around with Joel, a man two decades older than you, your father would probably hunt him down and shoot Joel with his shotgun for ever touching his precious daughter.
“Joel–” you whisper, “More– need more.” yeah, Joel realized he was toast as your sugary voice filled his ears and he knew you were worth the risk.
A cry erupts from your mouth as he slides into you with his full length– and your vision goes black for a moment; thinking you were seeing stars. Joel kisses you with so much need that your teeth clash together, the tip of his nose nudging into your cheek. The taste of whiskey on his tongue now lingers on your own and you breathe him in, smelling the shampoo from his shower along with the spicy and woody cologne he always wears that attracts women left and right. He feels you burning up– and the heat of Austin doesn’t help much either.
“There, baby, see? Wasn’t that hard, right?”
You’re too much into bliss to answer him, moaning out instead. A loud gasp falls from your lips as he moves, sliding out fully until thrusting back into you, teeth gritting together as Joel enjoys the warmth of your cunt too much. He knows he shouldn’t, but you feel so good that he thinks he might never want to let go of you again. You practically melt into the couch, adjusting more and more to him with each leisurely thrust of his and the pleasure that forms makes you arch your back.
You want to scream so bad, moan into his ear so loud that even the crows get scared and scatter away but you need to remember where you are right now. Not in your bedroom or Joel’s, but outside in your backyard. You silently thank the tall fence that hid your yard away from any prying eyes off the street. His thumb goes down to press down on your sensitive nub, circling it around. He sees the way your thighs flex and the muscles start to shake, grunts leaving his lips at the lewd scene in front of him.
“Please, please please da-” you manage, eyes screwed shut when you feel your walls throb.
“What was that? Say that again, princess.” he urges, the usual curve of his smirk plastering on his face again. You can’t bring yourself to say it, shaking your head into the negative. You’ve said it so many times when you had your fingers knuckle deep inside of you– and now humiliation was flowing through your blood. Joel takes your lack of response as a way to pound into you with more force now, his thumb still pressed down on your clit.
“Say it– say it, baby, tell me who’s makin’ ya feel good.” you almost explode when he uses that low and husky tone mixed with his southern drawl that nearly drags you to the edge. He knows what you want to call him, heard it come out of your mouth many nights when he stood by the window that was facing yours, your faint moans filling his ear from where he was standing.
“Da–Daddy, pleasepleaseplease, faster.” your eyes roll back, one hand gripping on to the headrest of the gray sofa and the other gripping at his graying hair. A low rumble leaves his mouth, satisfied. With that, he thrusts into you faster, the sounds of skin slapping against skin and the squelches from your pussy making the man’s grunts grow louder and louder. Joel notices your attempts to be quiet, but he knows you can’t help it with the way he’s fucking up into you.
“Thatta girl, just like that– fuck, such a tight little pussy.” you mutter out constant yeses as you feel every inch of him searching for that spongy spot in you. It feels so fucking good, and you’re so glad it’s Joel who’s the first to claim you. You know he gets off on the fact that he’s the only one who’s ever touched you– and you do as well as you want him to claim your body.
“My tight little pussy, ya hear me? Mine. Ya better not be whoring ‘round with someone else after this.”
“M’yours.” you shriek, mouth agape. Joel growls in satisfaction at your obedient words.
There’s a faint voice that’s too familiar coming somewhere from Joel’s house– but you’re too much in a daze to try and hear what’s being said and who’s saying it. The voice gets closer and closer and your eyes shoot up in terror as you realize who the person is calling for Joel– the man that literally had you pinned down on your back patio with his dick inside you.
It’s Vivian, your newly divorced and obnoxious neighbor, taking a note of her voice quickly as like the annoying loudmouth she was. Even the knocks at (you’re assuming) Joel’s door annoyed you, filled you with anger that she was interrupting this moment. When you look at Joel again, he seems unbothered, too pussy drunk to even care for his surroundings, he probably doesn’t even hear her.
And he genuinely doesn’t, his focus is only on you. He’s so ignorant of her search for him that you have to be the one to snap him out of it before something really embarrassing happens.
“Joel! Stop– stop.” you say, gripping his bicep to hold him in place. He looks at you, worried that he’d done something wrong. You motion your head to his house and he turns his head and you think you feel the irritation radiating off of his body when he hears her. He shakes his head and turns back to look at you.
“She’s always wantin’ somethin’ from me. She’s like a pest that won’t leave me the hell alone.” he curses and you giggle. You giggle at how he grimaces when he thinks of her. Everyone in the neighborhood knew; even Sarah was aware of it, always poking fun at her whenever you two were together at some neighbor’s barbeque and she was there openly flirting with Joel. If you even stole Joel away for a moment to talk to him she’d always find herself barging into the conversation and giving you the dirtiest of dirty looks one could give.
“Because Vivian's weirdly obsessed with you, Joel. It’s plain as day.” you say like its so obvious, but you’re right, everyone and their mother knew. You almost forget he’s even inside you. You both hear her tries, already calling out for Sarah. What the hell does she want? Joel’s clearly not answering the door, so why won’t she leave already?
Your words make him smile, and you return it, feeling the warmth in your tummy.
“She won’t leave.” you’re beginning to get aggravated, breath fastening.
“Well, she’s f’sure ain’t gonna interrupt me when I’m fuckin’ this sweet pussy.”
He moves again, and you sigh in relief when you hear her footsteps stomping down Joel’s porch. The thought of her catching you in the act makes you chuckle, imagining the horrified look on her face. To be honest with yourself, you’d want her to see just out of spite for every scowl she threw your way if you were even an inch close to Joel. Having said that, she’d probably tell your parents immediately– you didn’t think you cared.
Joel groans when you squeeze around him and it’s the sexiest groan you’ve ever heard. His breath hitches when your hands tangle themselves in his hair, the softness of it being like laying in a pool of feathers. His hand slowly finds its way to your throat, cupping it in his hand harshly, earning a ridiculously loud moan from you. The reaction makes him grin and place a chaste kiss on your collarbone and he finds himself pounding into you faster than before, his heavy balls hitting your skin. The sounds you make are like angels singing in his ear and he knows you’re close.
His thumb reaches over to where your windpipe is located, pressing his thumb into the flesh slightly. A gasp is immediately flown out of your mouth, eyes wide in terror– but a deep arousal flows through you at the same time at the thought of him having complete control over your life. You’re trying everything to be quiet, but Joel’s ruthless thrusts are making it difficult. He’s by no means any quiet as well, but he’s managing it better than you. Gosh, it’d be so embarrassing if one of your neighbors heard you.
He’s still trying to find the spot that makes your cunt spasm, and he quickly finds comfort in your breasts, placing his mouth over your hardened nipples and giving the same love back to the other one. There’s a string of drool on the corner of your mouth, eyes filled with frustrated tears and hands gripping his own that are around your throat. It’s so wrong what the both of you are doing but it feels too good to stop. He’s more than two decades older than you but the thought always makes a pool form between your legs. He’s fucking into you relentlessly, teeth grazing your collarbone. You feel the harshness of his teeth biting down into your shoulder and you moan out in pain– yet it excites you to an extent. He bites down to suppress the moans that are begging to be let out but it’s simply too risky. Your nails graze his scalp, pulling harshly at his damp locks.
“Joel–daddy, I’m gonna, m’gonna cum.” you choke out in a sob, panting for air by the constant rimming between your walls. His cock twitches inside you as you clenched down on him and he clasps a hand over your mouth to muffle your choked sobs.
With one last thrust of his hips, you came undone on his cock, walls blooming with white- hot liquid. Joel wasn’t done though, he kept fucking you through your orgasm till he was nearly seeing stars.
“You gonna let me cum in you, baby? Stuff your pussy full of my cum?” he growls against your ear,
“Yes– yes please, inside, cum inside of me, daddy.” That’s all it took for Joel to let out the most animalistic roar, coating your walls with his hot spend, trying to push all of it into your womb. His head drops down on your forehead, his body almost letting him go. He was so heavy on you, nearly punching the air out of your lungs but it nonetheless still felt nice feeling his cock nestled in you and the warmth of his body. He pulls out of you, and the sight of his cum dripping out of your pussy makes him want to take a polaroid of it so he can keep it in his wallet forever. He would if he could. He tucks himself back in, zipping his pants up and searching for his discarded belt. The panties that were in his back pocket are shimmied up to your legs by his hands, an idea popping into Joel’s mind. He’ll steal your panties next time, he reckons– and he’s sure there will be a next time.
“Keep ‘em on, don’t let any drop go to waste, ya hear me girl?” The harshness of his tone makes your inside clench and you nod quickly, trying to sit up, legs going limp at your attempts to hold yourself in place. After you finally composed yourself, you look down to see a wet spot on the gray sofa and your eyes widen in horror, to which Joel takes immediate notice to.
“Don’t worry, gonna be dried by tomorrow.” he means before your parents come back. You look up at him with doe eyes, Joel’s hand quickly coming up to cup the sides of your face and bring his lips to yours. So soft, so syrupy it makes your teeth rot. You want more, you want to take his cock inside your mouth but that’s for another time. As if he could read your mind, he scoffs jokingly, shaking his head by the glimmer of hope in your eyes.
“Next time, darlin’ girl.” he turns around, back muscles moving beneath his shirt which makes you long for more, but you know that atleast he'll fuck you sometime again. You watch him open his back door, slamming it shut and leaving you there all alone on your knees with his cum leaking down your thighs reminiscing on what the fuck you'd just done.
