Ooooh maybe a one shot with alfie and his lover cuddling inside on a rainy day??
đ€ rainy sunday - alfie solomons
you and your husband alfie enjoy a rare rainy day where he has no calls, no meetings, no wars; just you and him alone together.
wordcount: 8.9k
okay so i started writing this and the smut demons got the better of me so there is an optional smutty alternative ending that Iâll put a warning just above, so if you donât want smut you donât have to read itđ€
warnings/tags: optional smut! minors dni! fluff, angst? insecurity, sex references, swearing/cursing, traditional gender expectations mentioned, heavy religious imagery, fingering, oral (m!receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, rough sex, dominant!alfie.
a continuation of this one-shot but reading it is not necessary.
dividers by: @cafekitsune
masterlist
The unrelenting pounding of the storm upon the thin glass of the windows wakes you. No sun shines through; the darkness is only broken by the flickering glow of the gas lights on the wall. Beside you, your beloved Alfie sleeps peacefully, the slow rise and fall of his chest and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothe your tired mind, and your own heart falls in time, in perfect synchronicity with his.
You long for and deeply cherish moments such as these, when it's just you and him alone, in absolute, consuming tranquillity. It's always a welcome change to the usual chaos and violence that follows him, like a shadow stalking, inescapable and smothering. Days like this, miserable and dim, ironically feel the lightest, juxtaposing with the darkness and cruelty that Alfie's way of life affords, the life that you chose to spend with him, that you'd choose again and again, no matter the cost.
Rainy Sundays like this very morning feel like a gift sent from the universe, one lazy, dreamy day you get to spend together where he's yours, all yours, no calls, no meetings, no wars; just you and him doing nothing at all, together. Alfie works tirelessly to give you the world, 'because that's what you deserve,' he tells you over and over, but you'd give the world up if it meant it could just be you and him, together, living in peace, forever. Though you know deep in your heart that he'd never step down from his business, not even for you, his greatest love, he's the king of his dark underworld; he'd never take off his blood-stained crown.
"Mornin' love, fuckin âell it's miserable out there" Alfie wakes with a soft groan, rolling over, he nuzzles his face into your neck, his wild beard tickling the delicate and sensitive skin there. As if he thought that if he buried himself deep enough, the world would disappear, and you hoped, begged, and prayed that it would too.
"Mornin', my love," you punctuate with a gentle kiss to the top of his head, taking in the scent of him, the scent that you knew like a prayer, that you'd know for the rest of your life. "Will you be going to the bakery today, or should I get the fire going and draw a bath for us?" You ask, knowing the answer already. After being married for so long, you knew Alfie's routine as if it were your own, and in a way, it was yours; wherever he strayed, you followed, like you were his shadow, familiar and devoted to only him.
Every day you'd find yourself in his office, sitting reading in the plush armchair that he'd bought just for you, tucked away in the corner where he could always see you, not out of possession but out of pure adoration. Alfie loved having you around all the time; he carried you like his own personal security blanket. You were his cure; he'd look at you, and the relentless voices in his head would cease, his anxiety would fall away, and he'd be at peace at once, just from the mere sight of you.
The day Alfie told you that he loved you remains in your memory fondly; he hadn't said it so much as screamed it, romantic and brutal in the kind of way only Alfie could be.
"What the fuck is it that you want me to say!?, Do you want me to say that I 'love' you? That I've been in love with you since the moment I laid my eyes on you!? You want me to tell you how it feels like I can't breathe when you're not here with me!? How I feel a deep and crushing loneliness when you're gone? Do you want me to tell you that it's not just mindless fucking to me? not now and not for a long time. How about that being near you is the only way I can make the fucking endless screaming in my head fuck off?"
From that day forward, you swore that you'd always be by his side, on his side, no matter the cost, no matter the punishment. Alfie needed you in the way a man needs air, and you needed him too, the kind of desperate and hungry need that consumes you, becomes who you are and all you'll ever be again.
"mmhm", he murmurs into your neck, a wordless broken sound, regardless, you knew what he meant, you always knew, oftentimes you knew before even he did. "You, woman, are too good to me, ya know that, right?" Alfie pulls away from you just enough to look into your eyes, loving and sweet, searching for a reason, an explanation for your unwavering devotion, your endless kindness that he thought he'd never experience, that he believed he didn't deserve. If sin took human form, it was Alfie; he'd committed unspeakable acts, biblical atrocities, the heinous and depraved kind that can only be found mirrored in the Old Testament, violent and cruel.
But if he were sin, you were his saviour, forgiving and gracious, you loved him unconditionally, in spite of his callous and ruthless nature. That ferocious part of him was a side that once scared you, but not anymore; you knew that though he could be punishing and savage, he would never bring that upon your head. Alfie cared for you too deeply, relied on you so heavily, to ever dream of hurting you, whether consciously or not.
"Don't talk like that, my love" Your gentle hand finds his face, purposeful, a tender touch that tethers you, a reminder of your wholehearted love for him. The ring on that finger, stunning gold and precious diamond, catches the glow of the flames, heavenly beams splitting and filling the room, encasing you both in a cage built of your commitment, your worship of one another.
"It's true though, innit. I'm not complainin', at all, just-" Alfie sits up, propped up on his elbow, the sheets fall away from his bare chest. "Just, you're too good for me, and don't go arguin' with me about it, yeah, 'cause I've just woke up and can't be arsed with the earache." You laugh, not mocking, adoring. Alfie has such a way with words that never fails to make you giggle, sweet in his own kind of mental way, like the poetic ramblings of a madman, sweet but often filthy prophecies meant just for you.
"Alright, alright. I'll let you off just this once, yeah." You snake your arms around his neck, pulling yourself into his chest, burying your face in him with soft kisses to his collarbones. "Only because you asked sooo nicely." He hums, letting out a quiet and satisfied laugh into your hair, breathing in the intoxicating lavender scent from the shampoo bar he begged you never to stop using.
"That's a good girl. Now what were you saying before? something about a bath?" His hands run aimlessly up and down your back, in long, absentminded and tender strokes, into your hair, across your shoulders, down to your silk-covered ass, anywhere he could reach. Alfie never asked anything of you; he was a perfect gentleman when it came to your autonomy, but he'd slip in veiled requests in the way that he spoke, guiding you, but your choices were always your own.
"I'll get a fire started and draw the bath." You say, slipping out from under the covers, the cold air a stark contrast to the warmth of Alfie's body, shrugging on your linen robe, you feel his rough fingers wrap around your wrist.
"You don't have to, I can do it, if ya want" He looks up at you with big, innocent eyes. He knew what he was doing; he's an expert at getting what he wants, and he knows too well the effect those imploring, deep blue eyes have on you.
"No, no, I was getting up anyway, I'll do it." You shake your head, knowing that despite his protest, he was always going to let you do it.
"You're not gonna put in those fancy smellin' salts, are ya?" He turns on his back, his arms resting lazily behind his head. You bite your lip at the sight of him, the sheets now falling low on his waist, his well-built chest fully exposed, a delicious treat for your tired eyes.
"The ones that you say you hate, but don't half moan when I don't put them in?" You raise an eyebrow at him, pointed and knowing. Alfie would always pretend to hate what he called 'stupid girly shite', a defence mechanism, an attempt to keep up his macho facade. Still, you knew he loved it really, the domesticity of life with you; it was a sweet escape from the danger that lurked beyond the four walls of your home.
"Yeah, the very same." He tilts his head, a silent agreement that he did in fact want you to use them, though he'd never say it aloud, as if his enemies were somehow listening in.
"No, Alfie, I definitely won't use them", you lie for him, playing along with his game. No matter how silly you think it is, you'd do anything to make sure he felt safe with you; you'd never want him to feel like his fears were unreasonable, you were his sanctuary, and you never take that for granted.
"Lovely stuff." You hear him say nonchalantly as you leave the safe refuge of the bedroom, your bedroom, the bedroom that you shared, that you worshipped one another in, as if it were a holy place, and it was in its own way. The cold wooden floor groaned under your bare feet. You'd memorised the tired creaks long ago; they were music to your ears when you lay in bed, as you knew it wouldn't be long until your Alfie joined you. The sweet sound was almost a wordless warning, preparing you for him and whatever unholiness he had planned once he had you in his arms.
As the rain is still battering against the windows, your feet find the frigid tiles of the bathroom, you light the unscented candles that litter every surface, half melted and burned out, the warm glow introduces an orange hue to the poorly-lit room, the sun still hiding behind the dark grey clouds that swallowed the sky. The fire crackles as you make quick work of lighting it. Living with Alfie, you had become an expert at lighting fires, a constant attempt to keep him comfortable. You thought maybe, if you kept the house warm enough and he felt secure enough, he might never leave.
A huge copper-brass clawfoot tub sits proudly in the centre of the room, big enough for the two of you. Alfie had made sure of it when he bought it; it was an absolute requirement for him. The tap sat situated on the side so you could sit comfortably on either end, as if it were designed with lovers in mind, and it was. You remember when you first saw it, how touched you were that Alfie had been so thoughtful in his choice of tub. Although he's not the type of guy to go around screaming his love from the rooftops, you know he loves you; it's the little details, like the bath, that are unspoken proof.
Lazily, you dip your hand just below the waterline, testing the waters, making sure itâs just right, comfortable enough just to lounge in. The tepid water babbles and flows, and you imagine bathing in cliffside pools, a sacred act observed only by you, him and the silent wind that whispers of your love, as if it were a legend- but you know it canât be, not in reality, so for now, just sharing a bath with Alfie is enough.
âWhat you thinkinâ about, hey, woman?â Alfieâs gruff voice fills the room, mixing with the steam and luxurious scent of the salts you delicately poured into the water. He pulls softly at the shoulder of your robe, exposing velvet-smooth skin, which he kisses delicately. You turn to face him, placing your arms around his neck once again, and your hands play with the loose hair at his nape.
âNothing you need to worry about, loveâ You reassure him with a kiss to his plump lips, gentle and slow, no hunger nor desperation, just intimacy of the purest kind. He kisses you back, his teeth graze your lips tenderly, and it sends butterflies through you, the type of impassioned flutter that leaves you burning under his touch.
âAlfie!â you pull away to hide your flushed face in the crook of his neck, but he doesnât let you, taking your face in both his hands to look at you, and a small smile flickers across his face.
âYou know I love you? cause I do, I really bloody love you.â he places a kiss on your forehead, then your nose, your cheeks and chin, finally landing on your lips. You laugh against him, endeared by the gentle way he handles you, as if you were a fragile thing that he was terrified of breaking.
âI have heard something like that, yeahâ, you say, peppering small kisses to his lips between each wordâyour face still in his hands, he pulls back, a stern look appearing on his face. Winding Alfie up was one of your favourite pastimes; it brings you a sick kind of joy watching him get all worked up, listening to him stumble over his words when he couldn't get out what he wanted to say fast enough. Itâs all part of what makes him Alfie, and you love all of him, every quirk, every flaw, every single thing.
âNo, listen, I'm trying to be all romantic and shit here, woman, yeah, I love you. You drive me fuckinâ mad sometimes, but I love you anyway, cause look at you. You, my love, are a fuckinâ work of art, a masterpiece, you hear me? Absolutely perfect.â Tears prick at the corners of your eyes at his sweet words, and he wipes them away. No matter how many times you hear him say âI love youâ, you never tire of it, but never quite get used to it.
âHey, stop all that nonsenseâ, he motions his hands at your glossy, wet eyes. âDon't go crying on me now, treacle, you know I hate it when you do that, don't know what to do, do I?â You huff out a laugh that sounds more like a sigh. Itâs true, Alfie did hate it when you cried, not because you weren't allowed to be emotional, but because he didn't know what he could do to make you feel better; he hadn't quite yet figured out how to read your mind. He swore he would one of these days.
âI know, I'm not crying because I'm sad, I'm crying because you, sir, are so damn sweetâ, you say with a kiss to his cheek, reaffirming and sure. It makes him smile, a sweet, innocent smile that only you knew, the same smile that's painted on his face in your memory, a vision that's reserved only for you, a gift from him.
âOh well, that's alright then innit?â A faint blush creeps onto his face, a muted rouge against his fair complexion, mostly hidden by his beard. He hides his face in your hair, still a little insecure about showing affection, a small part of him still believes that if he lets you in, youâll leave, no matter how many times you remind him he's stuck with you for life.
You remember back to that night in his office, how afraid he had been when he finally professed his love for you.
âBecause I can't, I can't tell you all that, you know why? Iâm scared, YES! The great Alfie Solomons is scared. Fucking terrified, actually. Because if I let you into this, into my fucked up world, you'll run, you will. And then what am I left with? Fucking nothing! Poor fucking Alfie all on his fucking one. And I can't be having that, no.â
You remember the way his hands shook, how white his knuckles had turned in his fist, as though admitting his feelings for you physically hurt him. Most of all, you remember the way your heart melted at his words; Alfie wasnât precisely a poet when it came to being romantic. Words escaped him most of the time, but you wouldnât have him any other way; he was your Alfie, profanity-riddled prophecies and all.
âWe should get in. The water's going cold.â You tilt your head towards the bath, which has been idly waiting for you both, steam still rising from the water, enveloping you both in a warm, wet hug. His face lights up with a devilish smirk, and you catch that naughty glint in his eyes that you know too well.
âDonât have to tell me twice, pet.â Alfie makes quick work of untying your robe, his fingers tickle your sensitive arms as he pulls it off you, hungrily yet somehow still gentle, the thin straps of your nightgown come down with it. His eyes are dark and frantic as he takes in the sight of you. You stand before him naked, a sight that only he has seen, that only he will ever see. You shift awkwardly under his hungry gaze; no matter how many times he's seen you this way, you canât help but feel self-conscious. Itâs just the way your brain is wired, a product of your time, always told as a woman youâll never be good enough.
âDonât do that.â His hands are on your waist now, smoothing up and down your sides. He can sense your discomfort; he always can. He reads you like a book, a book he knows by heart; he knows what every little subconscious move your body makes means.
âDo what?â You feign ignorance, and the awkwardness of the situation grows inside you; you feel vulnerable as the rose-scented steam that fills the room wraps itself around your trembling body, touching you, holding you where you stand shaking.
âThat thing that you do when youâre all naked, when you go all weird like I aint already seen it a million times before.â Alfieâs crass words didnât help, and you go deeper into yourself, wishing you could just sink into the floor.
âLook at me.â Alfie closes the gap between you, one hand caressing your cheek and the other still hangs loosely around your bare waist. âYou, my love, are fucking beautiful, you are hands down, the most perfect woman iâve ever fuckinâ seen with me eyes, and Iâve seen a lot of them, so donât be doing this, going all weird like you ainât the most magnificent thing God ever cooked up, yeah, because you fucking are, and iâll tell you that every day until my last breath, alright?â He places a gentle kiss on your lips, though the tenderness doesnât last long as his lips find their way down your chin, then your neck, your shoulders and finally your chest.
âAlfie!â You giggle wildly as his teeth softly graze the skin of your breast. He looks up at you, his eyes full of feigned innocence, but you can still see that familiar covetous look beneath.
âWhat!?â His mouth was now wide open, millimetres from your nipple, and he was looking at you like a kid who got caught stealing out of the cookie jar.
âThe bath, Alfie, itâs getting cold.â You raise your eyebrows at him, and he stands up straight, grumbling something incoherent under his breath along the lines of âno goodâŠ.something somethingâŠbathâŠ.ruining myâŠsomething something funâ.
âRight, well, ladies firstâ Alfie scoops you up into his big arms as easily as if you were a doll, as though you weighed nothing to him. He places a kiss on your cheek before carefully lowering you into the comfortable, warm water below. The divine floral scent of the salts hits your nose instantly, it calms you immediately, and your anxiety from moments before washes away into the rose-scented sea that surrounds you.
You let yourself sink into the water, your head resting on the lip of the tub, and your eyes turn to Alfie, whoâs stood watching you, a satisfied smile on his face, pleased that his lover has finally found peace amongst the waves that lap against your soothed body. His hands find the waistband of his striped pyjama bottoms, and his fingers untie the cord that keeps them up. An intrusive warmth rises through you, not from the heat of the water but from your growing desire as your eyes run down the length of Alfieâs glorious, exposed body.
âLike what ya see, hey?â Alfie stands with his hands on his hips and a cheeky smirk on his lips, showing himself off to you. It makes you blush at once, the burning heat pricks at your wet cheeks, damp from the steam. You only nod in response, a coy smile creeps onto your face as you dip just below the waterline in an attempt to hide it.
He bends down to gather your clothes, which lie in a crumpled heap on the slick floor. Picking them up, he throws them into the wooden woven basket that sits by the door. Before climbing into the bath, facing opposite you, one leg at a time, and finally sinking in, his long legs tangled with yours, tethering you to him, keeping you connected.
You sit quietly, enjoying the peace. The rain now lighter taps against the glass of the window, the fire crackles and hums, but you focus on the way Alfieâs heavy breathing rises and falls, your body instinctively copies his, and you become one in this beautiful, tranquil moment. A faint sadness washes over you briefly as you wish every day could be like this one, just you and him, alone with each other, where nothing outside the four walls of your home means anything, and these quiet stolen moments you spend together mean everything.
âI wish every day could be like thisâ You didnât mean to say it; it just slipped out. You wished you could take it back immediately, not wanting to reopen that wound. The two of you had spoken briefly before about Alfie stepping away from his business, but he had shut it down, appalled that you had even suggested such a thing.
His business was his life; itâs all heâs ever had and all heâs ever known, itâs brought him everything, including you, and he could never give it up, no matter how much you wished he would. It wasnât that you didnât support him and his work; you did. You were just tired of lying awake in bed at night, sick with worry, wondering whether he would come home or be blown to pieces by someone he had double-crossed. You couldnât sleep until he was safe beside you; the image of him lying motionless and blue in a casket would plague your frantic mind otherwise. You couldnât stand the thought of losing him; heâs your whole world, and it pains you to think someone would try to take that away.
âI know, love.â He reaches across the water, cradling your face with his wet hand, and you lean into it, placing a kiss on his palm. He sighs, âLook at you, my beautiful woman, how the fuck did I get so lucky?â The questionâs rhetorical, he knew there was no honest answer, not one that he could think up anyway, he thought of you as a divine gift from God, he felt that perhaps in a past life he mustâve really been something to be given someone as incredible as you.
You stand up, water dripping flawlessly from your limbs, before turning around and situating yourself between Alfieâs legs, your back leaning against his chest. His arms wrap around you like a vine, tying you to him, pulling you closer as he places a kiss on your shoulder. He lets out a contented sigh against your neck, his breath cold against the heat from the steam that surrounds you, that warms your soft skin.
âYouâre perfect.â He says in almost a whisper, as if he'd said it too loudly, that God might realise heâd made a mistake and take you back to heaven where he thought you must be from. His hands stroke aimlessly across your stomach beneath the surface of the water; they run along the underside of your breasts, down your side to your legs, where they finally rest. The way Alfie touches you feels like worship, admiring every part, taking in and appreciating you, the Lord's most magnificent creation and his most precious love.
âYou lieâ, you say jokingly, winding him up for the thrill of it again. He freezes under the weight of your body. You canât see his face, but you know heâs frowning, his brows furrowed; youâve seen that very look a thousand times before when youâre being bratty.
âListen here, love, I never lie, well, not to you anyway, you take that back right now, yeah, cause Alfie Solomons does not fucking lie, not to you, not now, not ever, right?â You laugh as he stumbles haphazardly over his words, his hands grip your sides, tickling you, rough but not violent.
âAlfie! Stop that right now.â You thrash against his clawing hands, the water splashes over the edge of the tub, spilling onto the tiles it sits upon.
âNo. Not âtil I hear you say that Alfie Solomons is no liar, say it, right nowâ He growls into your neck, the words vibrating through you, overstimulated, you concede.
âOkay! okay! Alfred Solomons is NOT a liar! okay! There, I said it! Now let go of me!â and he does, immediately, and places a kiss on your red cheek.
âSee, wasnât so hard, was it?â His hands rest on top of your thighs again, coming home to where they belong. The peaceful silence finds you again. You rest your head against his chest, focusing on the rise and fall of his lungs against your back, the way his breath feels against your neck, and the way his hands smooth over your legs, causing small ripples through the water, consumed by pure relaxation, the likes of which you havenât felt for a while.
âRainâs let up, thank fuck.â Alfie says after a while, as rays of sunlight peer through the window, rainbow hues fracture upon the water. Your heart sinks, knowing all too well what that means: how soon enough your perfect day would have to end, and it would be back to business as usual. You close your eyes and sigh, not saying anything, you know if you try to speak, youâd end up in an argument about him having to work, like always, so you donât, you just sit there, silently hoping heâll stay.
âWhatâs wrong now?â He sighs, sensing the shift in your mood, not annoyed, just curious. Alfieâs words always seem to come out sounding harsher than he intends them to, but you can always tell what he means, knowing he always means well, just struggles with words most of the time.
âNothing.â The word comes out as barely a whisper. It wasnât ânothingâ though, and he knew it; itâs never just ânothingâ when said in that voice laced with disappointment and grief.
âAh, see, now, itâs never just nothing with you, is it? so go on, tell me whatâs troublinâ you, love.â He strokes your hair, tucking it behind your ear, an endearing touch that, just this once, fails to lift your mood. You contemplate whether you should actually tell him or lie. You swore youâd never lie to him, but found yourself doing it often to prevent arguments with Alfie, not wanting to start something you knew youâd never win. If arguing were a sport, Alfie would be an Olympian.
âItâs just-â You start, turning your body halfway to face him, âI just, look, I guess itâs just-â lost for words, you rest your head on his chest, unable to look into his eyes.
âCome on, am I supposed to fuckinâ guess here? Spit it out, womanâ He looks at you with eyebrows raised, though you canât see them. You watch as the ripples on the water dance against your bodies, trying to find the right words to say how you feel, how to convey your dismay properly.
âWell, itâs just that itâs stopped raining, and I know that means weâll have to go to the bakery, and I donât mind, really, you know I love spending time with you, wherever we areâŠâ You pick at the skin of your fingers with your nails, a subconscious nervous habit, one you swore youâd stop a thousand times.
âBut?â He motions for you to carry on, knowing there was much more to what you have to say than youâre letting on. It had always been difficult for you to express your feelings, especially when it came to what you wanted. Growing up as a woman in your time, you were constantly told that you must always be agreeable, that no man likes a difficult woman, and that having your own opinions was unattractive; and even though you know Alfie didnât share these sentiments, some teachings become so ingrained that theyâre almost impossible to unlearn.
âBut,â You feel his hands in your hair, stroking, as if he were trying to coax the words out of your head physically, drawing them out of you with his compassionate touch. âI donât want to go, I mean, if you have to go, Iâll come, but I want to stay here, at home, with you, just us, just once.â The words tumble out of your mouth in incomplete sentences, you feel that familiar anxious lump in your throat rise, the one that always comes before you cry, your emotions getting the better of you.
Alfie says nothing, not right away; a contemplative silence surrounds you. Birds chirp outside the window, though it doesnât sound sweet; it sounds like a warning, a cautionary call reminding you that nothing as perfect as this day could be forever, and you felt like a fool for thinking it could ever be, and for thinking he could ever be just yours.
âOkay.â One word that comes out of his mouth as if it were obvious, as if youâd made up all those times you had argued over him having to work all the time, like you were crazy for ever thinking heâd have to leave.
âOkay?â you repeat in disbelief. You look up at Alfie, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, you search his face for any tell that this was just some sick joke he was playing on you, getting your hopes up, but thereâs none.
âOkay. We wonât go, weâll stay here today.â He shrugs, his hands still in your hair, loosely curling strands around his fingers.
âYouâre not taking the piss, are you? Because I swear to God, Alfie, thatâs really cruel.â You warn, your eyes still searching his face, wondering when heâd pull the rug, when it would all come crashing down.
âNo, Iâm not taking the piss, you donât wanna go? We wonât go, simple.â You turn fully now, throwing your arms around him, squeezing him in an excited embrace, almost drowning both of you in the process.
âJesus Christ!â He braces himself, gripping the edge of the tub with his arms, holding on for dear life as you frantically kiss his face, appreciative of his rare gesture.
âWhy the change of heart? We never get to stay home, too much to do, too many people to see, so you say.â You lay your head on his shoulder, your knees tucked up to your chest, womb-like, his arms wrap around you, keeping you secure against him, joined together
in a moment of pure elation.
âI donât know, canât be arsed?â It sounds more like a question than an answer; you know itâs not the whole truth. Determined to get it out of him, you stroke his wild, wet beard with the back of your hand, fingers grazing his lips; a trusted move that never fails to work on him.
âWhat happened to âAlfie Solomons never liesâ, huh?â you giggle sweetly, pulling out all the stops in an attempt to get him to open up. After being with him so long, knowing him so intimately, you have an arsenal of tricks you use on him to get your way, and they work like a charm every time.
âWell, it means a lot to you, donât it? And I know itâs hard for you when it comes to talking about your feelings, and what have ya.â He pauses, looking down at the water that has now cooled significantly, the only warmth coming from the heat of your body pulled tight to his âAnd, Iâm sorry. Iâm sorry that I have to work all the time, Itâs just, look at you, and look at me, I donât deserve you, so i work so that you can have nice things, anything you ask, an I feel less guilty of the fact that you got stuck with me, because iâm fucking dirt, compared to you.â
Alfieâs words struck you like a knife to the heart, tearing you apart from the inside out. His usually confident voice shook as it left his lips, breaking as he confessed his deepest feelings. It kills you to see him like this, feeling insecure and hopeless, because heâs everything to you. You often feel you donât deserve him, donât deserve the love he showers you with, the gifts, everything that heâs done for both of you. Insecurity is a funny and mostly cruel little thing.
âPlease donât talk like that, Alfie.â You take his hands in yours, water running off them, glistening in the light of the sun. âI donât need all the nice things, I just need you.â You bring his dripping hands to your lips, kissing them softly yet purposefully.
âI love you, Alfie, not for what you can give me, but for who you are, yeah? It wasnât the fancy jewels or the nice big houses that I fell in love with, was it? It was you. Remember that? When it was just you and me alone in your office, fucking like we were the only people in the world for each other, and youâd whisper naughty little obscenities into my ears, making me fall more and more in love with you every time you made me come? Thatâs who I fell in love with, and that I still love, with every fibre of my being.â You take a long pause, giving him time to take in your words and make sure he understands every single one, because itâs important to you that he knows how loved he is, that he feels as loved as he makes you feel.
âSo letâs not play this game of who deserves who, and who doesnât, I love you, and I need you, I donât care about anything else, none of it matters as long as weâre together, always.â You finish, breathing out a heavy sigh as the weight of your feelings lifts off your chest, a weight that had been unknowingly holding you down for some time. Weightlessness washes over you, and the anxiety and insecurity cease, until itâs just you and Alfie, with nothing but hope and passion between you.
âWell, thatâs alright then, I suppose.â His words come out awkwardly, as they always tend to, but you know he feels the same. Weightless and surrounded by only love, you can feel it in the way his body relaxes beneath your own, physically lightened by your sincere confessions.
Another handful of beautiful and peaceful minutes pass, filled with easy conversation about anything and everything, flowing so naturally with nothing holding you back any longer, before deciding it was finally time to get out of the now chilled water. Alfie gets out first, purposefully splashing you as he does so, in the cheeky way that he is. You watch with only desire in your eyes and your heart as he carelessly dries himself off, his glorious body slick and glistening in the light; never have you seen a sight so flawless.
âCome on then, out ya get, loveâ He holds a towel out for you, after wrapping his own low around his waist, letting just a gorgeous glimpse of hair peek out over the top. You stand up, the cold air hits you like a curse, before stepping out as Alfie wraps the warmed towel around your shoulders. The wet from your hair drips down your back, and a cold shiver follows. Alfie notices and pulls you into his strong arms, wrapped lazily around your waist, the heat of his body enveloping you in a warm, comforting embrace, a very welcome change to the frigid air of the room.
âSo, whatâs the plan then? What do you wanna do, treacle? The dayâs yours.â He asks with a kiss on your forehead, then pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his wet lips curved in a charming, heartwarming smile.
The truth was, you didnât even know what you wanted to do; you had no plan, all that you wanted was to spend the rest of this beautiful day lounging in the arms of your lover, your husband, your everything. Doing nothing at all, together in perfect harmony with one another, itâs all you have ever wanted; just you and him, basking in the glory of your shared and eternal love for one another.
âWhatever you want to do, love.â You gracefully place your hands on his bare chest, a delicate and tender touch that tells him you're his, all his, always his. One of his hands strays from your waist, cupping the sweet underside of your ass, his fingers tracing the line he knew like the back of his own hand.
âMmm, well, you know what I want to do, what I always want to do with you, sweetheart.â His lips find your neck, though this time he was no longer being gentle, using his teeth to nip at your sensitive skin, sweet, pleasurable torture. Both hands now gripping, grabbing the underside of your ass, urging you to jump into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist, chaining yourself to him.
âHow about I remind you why it was you fell in love with me, yeah? Jog your memory a little?â It wasn't as much of a question as it was a declaration, a warning of what was to come, the familiar heat of desire already building deep in your stomach. You bury your face into his neck, hiding the blush that was burning your flushed cheeks, and he feels it, that and the wetness between your legs that's pressed right up against him, threatening to drip down.
âI think that's what you want, innit? Want me to make you fall in love over, and over, and over again, yeah?â He growls in a low, sexy, husky tone. One hand makes its way between your legs, using two fingers to explore your wet heat, one electrifying stroke between your slick folds, before he dips both fingers in, curling them expertly, hitting that spot that makes you gasp.
âFuck, already so wet for me, aren't ya?â Alfie pulls both fingers out, though your desperate walls clench around nothing as if they're still there, craving his stretch so helplessly. Without saying another word, he's kissing you frantically, like a man who'd been at sea for months, touch-starved and hungry. He carries you effortlessly from the bathroom to your bedroom, his lips never leaving yours, his hands still pawing at your ass, grabbing any skin he could, frenzied and maddening.
Alfie throws you down, your body crashing against the plush mattress that breaks your fall, and you watch as he sits at the top of the bed, his back resting against the solid-oak headboard, placing pillows behind him for comfort. He taps the space between his legs, motioning for you to sit, and you do, situating yourself between them, your back against his chest and your head falling back on his shoulder. You place a kiss on his chin, covered by his beard, and he leans down, taking your lips once more in his.
The kiss is feverish and manic, tongue and teeth clashing together, rough and completely arousing. Your own arousal now drips down between your thighs, your thighs that Alfie skillfully guides open. His fingers immediately find your aching clit, and he begins rubbing in soft, teasing, agonisingly slow circles, knowing how much it destroys you. Alfie could only be slow when he knew it was torturing you; heâs an expert at pulling you apart, making you wait and beg for him, you're completely at his mercy, and you wouldn't want it any other way.
You moan against his lips, gasping as he continues teasing you, and your hand lands harshly against his thigh, squeezing it, an attempt to ground yourself. His free hand loosens the towel around your chest, letting it fall open and exposing you to the cold air of the bedroom, still not breaking the hungry kiss. The gnawing heat builds in your stomach, and you feel yourself coming closer to your orgasm, desperate for more. You place one hand over his to guide him to where you need him most, but he doesn't let you with a shake of his head.
âNo, no. Come on, love, you know how this goes, I'm in charge, and you know that.â He breaks the kiss, scolding you for being such a needy little thing. âBut, that being said, if you ask me very nicely, I'm sure I could give you what you want.â He smirks as if he were the devil himself; you thought he may as well be.
âPlease. Please, Alfie.â You beg, your breathing laboured as he continues touching you slowly, his fingers not letting up, keeping up that same torturous pace.
âUse your words, yeah, treacle. You tell Alfie exactly what you want.â He whispers in your ear, his low voice sends a shiver down your spine, and his teeth nibble at your lobe. It was all becoming too much, so fast, that sweet overstimulation overcomes you.
âI want you to fuck me with your fingers, Alfie. Please, I need to come right fucking now.â You beg, completely unrestrained, unashamed of your desire. He complies straight away, dipping two fingers back inside your wet heat, hitting that spot that has you panting, gasping and moaning his sweet name, that tastes like honey on your tongue.
âSee, that wasn't so hard, was it. God, you are so fuckinâ unbelievable, dripping down my fingers like this.â His words vibrated through you, only deepening that warmth inside you that was threatening to come undone at any moment. Alfieâs movements get harder, hitting all the right places, his fingers dragging along the inside of your walls, his teeth biting your shoulder softly, your toes curl, and your eyes slam shut as he uses his thumb to brush over your clit.
âFuck! Alfie! Iâm gonna- fuck! Oh fuck!â The words fall out of your mouth before you even think them, obscene and desperate, unable to make a complete sentence or form a coherent thought. He knows what they mean, though, and he pushes his fingers deeper into you, scissoring them in and out, hitting that sweet spot every single time, as if he were physically drawing your orgasm out of you; and he was. Euphoria washes over you, crashing through your shaking body, and you scream his name over and over again, like a prayer, as you come all over his fingers, coating him; it drips down his hand, making a mess all over the sheets.
âThat feel better, does it, love? Needy little thing you.âHe takes his fingers out of you, not bothering to wipe them, and wraps his arms around you, holding you as you come down from your high. You sit for a moment, sinking into him, boneless and shaking, just panting, trying to recover. You can only nod in response to his question, lost for words, completely drunk on your own orgasm.
The feeling of his thick, throbbing cock twitching against your back pulls you out of your dizzied state, and you jump up on your knees to face him, your eyes glossy and wide. He nods, resting his arms behind his head, permitting you to do what you hadnât even asked for yet; he just knows, like he always does. You hurriedly unwrap the towel that clung to his waist, freeing his erection. His dripping cock slaps his stomach, and you take it in both hands, but not before coating it in the slick that you had gathered from between your legs, smearing it down the length of him, mixed with his own arousal.
âYouâre gonna kill me one of these days, I swear. Where did you learn to do a thing like that? fuckinâ âell!â He groans through gritted teeth, endeared by your filthy actions. The truth was, you learned from the best, him; he knew exactly how to turn you into the dirtiest, sexiest, wildest little creature, an indecent woman of his own creation, his finest work.
You donât respond, too lost in the moment to even hear him, drunk on the sight of his aching cock twitching beneath your touch. Lowering yourself to your stomach, you wrap your soft, wet lips around his head, using your tongue to lap up the pre-cum that still drips from his slit, not wanting to waste a single drop of him, savouring the salty taste, it was like tasting heaven to you. Alfie hisses sharply at the contact, his hands fly down to your head, gripping a handful of your hair, rough and brutal, exactly the way he knows you like it.
You begin sliding your mouth down him, hollowing your cheeks, sucking and slurping, and twisting your head slightly as you do so, and his hands in your hair guide you, working together perfectly to unravel him. The obscene wet sounds mixed with Alfieâs laboured breathing and harsh gasps echo throughout the bedroom, your sweet, sinful sanctuary, a holy place.
âFuck! You are actually fuckinâ insane, woman.â Alfie moans, his free hand sliding down your spine to grab a handful of your ass, clawing at it as your tongue works up and down the underside of his shaft, feeling every pulse and vein beneath his spit-slick skin.
You angle your head in such a way that allows him to go in deeper, and you swallow around him, drawing a deep, guttural moan out of him, which he follows with a sharp slap to your ass. The brutal contact makes you gasp around his cock, and the sound waves vibrate through him. His grip in your hair tightens as he pushes you down even further, your nose buried in the hair on his pubic bone. You canât breathe, but you donât want to. Youâd die happy with your mouth stuffed full of Alfieâs immense, beautiful cock.
Alfie pulls your head back up, dragging you forcefully by your hair, and you look up at him, spit dripping down your chin, eyes wide and wet from when you were choking on him. He grabs your face in one hand and pulls you up to your knees to face him. He takes one look, shakes his head and crashes his lips against your own, tasting himself on your tongue.
âI swear to God, if you donât sit that sweet cunt on my fuckinâ cock right now, I might just fuckinâ die.â He snarls against your mouth, biting and pulling at your bottom lip with his teeth; it hurts, but only in the best way, the way that has you dripping all down your thighs.
It doesnât even take you a second to get yourself situated in his lap, your legs tucked underneath you, either side of his. You lower yourself into his lap, grinding your hips up and down the length of him. The drag of his head against your clit makes you throw your head back in a moan. Alfieâs hands find your waist and grip your hips tightly, guiding you as you coat him in your wetness. You can feel his cock twitch against your throbbing heat, aching to feel the velvet-smooth drag of your cunt on him.
âFuck! Do not fuckinâ tease me, woman. I already feel like Iâm about to fuckinâ blow, and if I donât get to do it inside you, Iâm not going to be very fucking happy.â His hand lands roughly on your ass again, a stern warning that he was losing his patience and control of himself. You know how close he is, you know how rough and wild he gets when heâs about to come, turning into more than a beast than a man as he loses himself.
You lift yourself on your knees and reach behind to line him up at your entrance. Alfie canât wait for all that, though, and he pushes you down onto him without warning, allowing no time for you to adjust to the sweet, burning stretch of his size. You curse under your breath, throwing your head down against his shoulder, and you bite down on it; itâs all you could do to stop the scream that was threatening to escape your throat.
Alfie uses his grasp on your waist to bounce you up and down, knowing your shaking legs wouldnât allow you to move. The angle of your pelvis means heâs hitting right at the deepest part of you, stretching you, pushing you to your limit. The way his hot, pulsing cock drags along the inside of your walls sends electric flutters throughout your body, your second orgasm already building fast. Only Alfie could get you there this fast; heâs a specialist at getting you off, a practised expert who knows exactly the right buttons to press that drive you wild.
âI fucking love you so much.â You gasp against his shoulder, burying your face into him, unable to do anything but let him use you as his own personal fuck-toy. It didnât feel degrading in the slightest. You love the way Alfie worships your body, how he uses you for his pleasure as if youâre the only thing in the world that can get him to come undone like this, the only woman in the world for him, and you are.
âGod! Iâm so fuckinâ close, Iâm gonna fill this cunt so full youâll be drippinâ in me for fuckinâ weeks, I swear, no, I promise, make you a filthy little thing.â His grip on your hips loosens as he loses control of himself, so you take over, dragging, rolling and grinding yourself on him. He reaches between your bodies, his hand finding your sensitive clit again, frantically and unceremoniously rubbing it under his fingers.
âShit! Yes- God yes, Alfie! Thatâs fucking amazing!â You throw your head back, arching your back, allowing his cock to find a new angle, deeper, harder, making you pick up your pace, desperate to feel the sting of it over and over again.
âYour cunt feels so fucking tight squeezinâ me like that, you were fucking made for me, you know that? fuckinâ absolutely perfect, and all mine.â His words, though absolutely vulgar, warm your heart in some sick, perverted kind of way. The obscenity of them, along with his skilled fingers, brings you over the edge, again, coming undone all over his pounding cock.
Your walls clenching around him was the final nail in his coffin. He pushes you all the way down onto him, the sharp feeling painful yet somehow completely enchanting. He buries his head between your breasts as his own orgasm explodes through him, muffled curses fall out of his mouth and as he moans your name, thick, hot ropes of his cum coat your insides, filling you up, just like he promised.
Alfieâs arms wrap around your trembling body, and you both just sit there for a couple of moments, his cock still inside of you, getting soft. Unable to think or speak as you come down together, he pulls you closer, and you wrap your arms around his neck, not saying a word, just two panting, spent messes keeping each other together.
âI fucking love you,â Alfie whispers against your chest, kissing the tender, sweat-slick skin of your breast. âYou scare me shitless sometimes, but I still love you anyway âcause you, my love, are a dream, a vision of biblical fuckinâ proportions. I tell you, there is no man luckier on this earth than me. not one.â He pulls back and rolls onto his back, bringing you down so your head rests on his chest.
âI love you too, my sweet, sweet husband.â You place a kiss on his chest, the salty taste of his sweat meets your lips, but you donât mind, not in the aftermath, not as his seed drips out of you still, making a mess of the sheets beneath you.
âSo, treacle, since youâve got me all to yourself, all day. You tell me what you want to do, and weâll do it, all of it.â One of his hands idly plays with your now dry hair, his fingers loosely twirling strands, as he strokes your back with the other.
Satisfied, contented and absolutely spent, you hum a pleased sigh, happy just to be held in his arms, as the sun shines through the window, and the birds sing in the tree below it.
âabsolutely nothing.â
actually cannot believe how long this took me to write, i think it may actually be my best work yet though, so i hope you enjoyedđ€
something about a younger joel miller teasing you and being an overall menace to your senses... đ”âđ« smut incoming
Joel took a step towards you, closing the distance until you were only inches apart. He wasnât even touching you, but you could feel his skin as your own now. His chocolate eyes locked with yours, and the ghost of your smile dissipated when his right hand reached between your legs.
His middle finger traced the outline of your slit, the only physical contact between your bodies. Joel teased you, his pad sinking in just a few millimetres before discovering your slick.
He smirked. You panted, mouth agape and eyes heavy-lidded.
âYouâre soaking wet already and I havenât even touched you yet,â he tutted at you, his grin
turning lopsided. âBet youâre throbbing too.â
Then his middle finger plunged between your labia and the pad pressed on your pulsing clit. Didnât move, just stayed there, looking at you dead in the eyes and feeling your nub drum rhythmically on his fingertip.
âWasnât wrong,â he grunted, then circled around your bundle of nerves.
Your knees almost bucked at the pleasureâthe precision of his touch had your slick leaking and smearing your bush.
âSo desperate to be fingered, arenâtcha?â Joel drawled as his finger skidded down the velvet of your pussy and teased around your hole. You nodded vehemently. âIn a minute, sweetheart.â
Iâm long overdue for another Peaky binge and the anticipation and pure excitement I have for the immortal man is reigniting my major love for the series so of course, I must return to tumblr. Tumblr and PB go hand in hand.
Whiskey and Want |dbf!Joel x f!reader|
| 18+ MINORS DNI | {series masterlist} {last chapter}
Chapter 2: Purple Rain | wordcount | 3.2k
{TLOU AU, modern-ish, no outbreak, Sarah lives!}
When coming home to Austin for summer break, you didnât plan on tangling with your dadâs best friend, Joel Miller. Old sparks flare fast, whiskey-soaked and reckless. Pulling you both into a mess of want and guilt that could torch everything.
Your friendships, your familes, and the line neither of you should cross.
You twist the moth pendant between your fingers, thinking about the gruff âSeek the light I thinkâ from that birthday replaying. Heâd texted you after, âMoth girl, huh?â flirty. Now? Heâs a brick wall, and youâre clawing at it, desperate for that Joel again. Dad would kill him. Sarahâd hate you. Still, you want it.â
| note | This is for the yearners, I promise we will make this old man want us. there WILL be smut and it WILL be filthy. what you think so far???? tell me
Warnings/tags: 18+ only, minors DNI, slow burn, forbidden romance, angst, yearning, sexual tension, mild alcohol use, explicit language ,emotional manipulation (implied), family dynamics, unresolved feelings, no smut (yet)
series warnings after the fic.
reader uses she/her pronouns and has hair. no major physical descriptions of the reader. no use of y/n but has the nickname Bird, Birdie, etc. reader has a backstory.
Purple Rain.
Youâve spent the last hour under interrogation by your dad about your social lifeâor lack thereof back at school. His way of making small talk, you guess.
Youâve been home less than a day and heâs managed to ask about you dating life atleast four times.
âWhat about that guy from your brain class? Didnât he take you out?â he asks.
âNeuroscience, and yes he did. He was nice, but It didnât go anywhere,â You force a laugh, he catches it.
âWhyâs that Bird, he too brainy for you, he got shit-for-brains?â He pokes your side as he says it, like hes proud of his awful dad âjokeâ.
You want to say, âDunno Dad, maybe It didnt work out because he wasnât the 46 year old construction worker I was smiling and kicking my feet about for months⊠till he fucking left me on read permanently for no damn reason.â
Instead, you settle on, âWe just didnât really have much in common outside of school.â
You twist the moth pendant between your fingers, thinking about the gruff
âSeek the light I thinkâ from that birthday replaying. Heâd texted you after, âMoth girl, huh?â flirty. Now? Heâs a brick wall, and youâre clawing at it, desperate for that Joel again. Dad would kill him. Sarahâd hate you. Still, you want it.
The slam of a car door outside breaks through the conversation, pulling your attention away.
You glance toward the window just as Joel steps out of his truck, making his way toward the house, brooding, but sexy as hell.
Oh shit.
Even though you see him coming, the sudden knock at the door still makes you jump. You shoot your dad a questioning look, but he just shrugs.
âForgot to tell you Joelâs coming over to watch the game. That okay, Birdie?â
You cringe at the nickname.
Sure, maybe it was kind of cute, but it still feels juvenile. From what you remember, your mom was the one who started calling you Bird or Birdieânot because your name was Bernadette or Beatrice, but because you were always singing when you were little.
Guess some things never die.
You sigh dramatically, smirking as you push off the couch.
âDo I even have a say in it? Or am I supposed to just close the fuckinâ door in his face?â
Your dad chuckles, but you barely hear it, your heart too loud in your ears.
You take a quick, deep breath, and prepare to put on the unphased act. Then open the door.
Oh fuck.
How is it possible that Joel Miller only gets hotter every time you see him? Like some kind of benjamin button bullshit.
The evening sun is casting a golden glow around him, backlighting him like a damn angel. A tall, dark-haired, scruffy, middle-aged angel. Heâs still in the same black shirt and green flannel from earlier, but now itâs unbuttoned, framing his broad chest. His dark jeans fit way too well, and his hair, pushed back slightly to the sideâlooks just messy enough to make you wonder if he ran his fingers through it before walking up.
And the smell.
Cologne? Aftershave? Whatever it is, itâs woody, warm, and laced with something soft, vetiver, lavender maybe. Itâs familiar. Comforting. Intoxicating.
Joel smiles at you, rough edges turned all soft and easy, you hate it.
âHey, kid. How you been?â
You roll your eyes.
âNot a kid anymore, Joel. Iâm twenty-five, remember?â
He huffs a laugh, reaching out to pull you in for a hug, the case of beer in his hand swinging around your back. His armâs solid around you, but itâs stiff, like heâs scared Dadâs watching. He pulls back too fast, eyes dropping.
âHey, kid,â like youâre still Sarahâs shadow, not... Whatever you are.Â
You hear something crinkle, and heâs pulling something out from behind his back.
A bouquet.
Sunflowers.
Your favorite.
Wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine, a small piece of cardstock tucked inside reads âWelcome homeâ in delicate gold script.
This feels like a joke.
The warmth rising in your chest spreads up to your ears, but somehow, your voice comes out smooth instead of shaky.
âThanks, cowboy. You really shouldnât have.â
Joelâs gaze tracks over you, something hiding behind his eyes, but before he can say anything, your dad chimes in from the couch.
âI think thereâs still room in the fridge,â he says, nodding toward the beers. âDonât let âem get warm.â
Joel chuckles. âTen-four.â He salutes your dad before glancing back at you.
âYou gonna let me in, Tweety? Or just stand there gawking?â
You wince.
Both at the nickname and the realization that youâre still standing in the doorway, gripping the flowers like an idiot.
With a glare, you step aside, muttering, âDonât call me that.â
Joel steps past you, smirking. Then, just loud enough for you to hearâ
âDonât call me cowboy.â
And with a wink, heâs gone, disappearing into the house like he didnât just turn your insides to liquid.
//
The afternoon stretches on while the three of you lounge in the living room, half-watching the game, half-draining beers.
By golden hour, your dad and Joel are both half-cut, and youâre not too far behind them.
You havenât been drinking much lately. It makes you too brave. And maybe a little too emotional.
A few weeks ago, your roommate convinced you to go to some country bar in the city. After two beers and way too many tequila shots, you ended up on the mechanical bull in the center of the place. Because, apparently, defending the great state of Texasâs honor was your problem.
Your dad would have been so disappointed. Not that you got on the bull to begin with, but because you lasted a grand total of five seconds before being violently launched onto the sticky floor below.
The rest of the night? A blur.
All you remember is every single person calling you cowgirl in the worst Southern accents until you finally left.
You shake the memory off as the game drags on, Joel and your dad yelling at the TV like theyâre personally coaching the team.
You sigh, stretching out your legs.
âDo you want me to start on dinner while you guys have some alone time?â
Your dad barely glances over.
âSure. I cooked some noodles earlier, threw âem in the fridge. If you wanna chop up some veggies, make a pasta salad, thatâd be great.â
You nod and push yourself off the couch, heading into the kitchen.
//
The sun is just beginning to set, streaking the sky in bold sweeps of orange and pink.
Sunsets in Vancouver were breathtakingâlike mixed-media paintings of industrial buildings and mountain ranges; beaches and city lights. Austinâs sunsets arenât exactly unlike them, but the sky here feels bigger. Like it stretches forever.
You slip your headphones in and scroll through your iPod, settling on an oldies mix your dad helped you make when you first got it.
Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong, Pink Floyd, Queenâ classics.
As you start chopping, you realize just how good it feels to be in a real kitchen again. Even having a proper sink is a luxury after years of making do with a microwave and a single hot plate. The music and comfort of cooking settle into your bones, and soon youâre half-dancing between washing and peeling vegetables, swaying in time with the rhythm.
When Purple Rain comes on, you close your eyes and start twirling, lost in the sound, convinced you probably look just as good as the dancers on Dancing with the Stars.
Until you slam into something solid.
âHeyâ what the fuck?â
Your eyes snap open.
Joel.
His hands are on your waist, steadying you before you can completely wipe out over his feet. You silently gasp as you register how close he is, his face just inches from yours; warm brown eyes lock on you, and they flicker dark for a beat. His breath is hot on your neck.
You see him hesitate, he lets go like youâre a livewire, and youâre sent stumbling back until your spine presses into the counter. Heart hammering.
Joel raises his hands, palms out in mock surrender.
âSorry, kid. Just came in for another beer.â
You exhale, trying to steady yourself, and nod toward the fridge behind you.
âYou scared the shit out of me,â you mutter, clutching your chest. âI was having a moment.â
Joel smirks.
âDancinâ queen, huh? Who knew.â
His voice is low, teasing, but thereâs something in his expressionâsomething lingering just beneath the humor.
He leans against the counter beside you, eyes still flicking over your face.
âWhat are you listening to, anyway?â he asks. âJustin Bieber?â
You scoff.
âSo close. Actually, it was Prince. Youâve probably heard of him⊠because youâre old.â
Joel huffs a laugh.
âThe hell you listeninâ to Prince for? Sounds like a bullshit lie to me.â
You pull your iPod from your pocket and hold it up, showing him the screen.
Purple Rain.
His eyebrows lift in surprise.
Before you can react, he reaches out and snatches one of your earbuds, popping it into his ear as he shifts even closer, leaning one arm on the counter beside you.
You try to ignore the closeness and press the back button on the iPod, restarting the song.
The opening chords drift between you, both of you silently nodding along.
I never wanted to be your weekend lover
I only wanted to be some kind of friend, hey
Baby, I could never steal you from another
Itâs such a shame our friendship had to endâŠ
Joel hums under his breath, eyes fixed somewhere on the counter.
When the song ends, he pulls the earbud out and hands it back to you with an approving nod.
âMan knew how to write,â he says simply.
You tuck your iPod back into your pocket, a small smile tugging at your lips.
âDad always played that album,â you say, glancing toward the living room. âI think the CD got stuck in the car or something. We listened to it every morning on the way to school for years.â
Joel chuckles.
âThat checks out. Your dadâs got taste.â
You nod, smiling to yourself, and for a brief moment, the kitchen is quiet.
Just you.
And Joel.
And something unspoken between you.
A booming voice breaks the quiet moment.
âDonât burn the place down, BirdieâIâm countinâ on that pasta salad!â His chuckle drifts from the living room, warm but frayed, the kind that used to bounce off Momâs harmony before it all went quiet.
You glance back, catching him sprawled with a beer, grin fading as he stares at the TV, lost somewhere else.
âNo promises, old man,â you mutter, shaking off the pang of those silenced rides, thinking about easier times. The sunâs dipping lower now, streaking the kitchen with hues of pink and orange, casting even more shadows in the house.
Joelâs voice pulls you back in.
âBet you miss it, huh?â
You tilt your head. âMiss what?â
His gaze flicks toward the window, where the last streaks of sunset paint the sky.
âMornings like that. Home.â
You exhale, leaning back against the counter.
âYeah. I do.â
Austin always felt big to you, bigger than you knew what to do with. But back then, in those fifteen-minute car rides, your world was small. Just you, your dad, and the same Prince album playing on repeat.
You were grateful for that. For him.
For now, though, youâre just grateful for this. Standing in the kitchen, a little buzzed, stomach full of butterflies for reasons you really shouldnât be thinking about.
And for Joel.
Standing too close. Smelling too good.
Making home feel like something else entirely.
Joel grabs a bottle opener from the utensil drawer and pops the cap off his beer. Instead of heading back to the living room, he lingers more, settling into a stool at the kitchen island.
You keep your attention on the task at hand, but if you arch your back just a little extra when reaching into the crisper drawer for the dill, wellâwho could blame you?You can feel his gaze, heavy, tracking your movements as you move around the kitchen.
You focus on dicing vegetables, making small talk until Joel, much like your father earlier, decides itâs his turn to interrogate you.
âSo,â he drawls, âyou been seeinâ any hosers over in Canada?â
You snort at the slang.
âNope. No hosers for me, cowboy.â
âGood.â
Your knife pauses against the cutting board. You glance up.
Good?
âThe fuck is that supposed to mean?â you challenge, brows raised. âGood?â
Joel shrugs, like itâs nothing.
âMind your language, kid.â
You roll your eyes at him.
âAgainâgrown woman. And you donât get to chastise me for swearing in my own house, Mr. Miller.â
He exhales sharply, a half-laugh through his nose.
âStill. Means you ainât distracted, can keep focused on your psychology.â
You pause for a moment, pretending to consider.
âMmm, maybe. But on the other handââ You tap your temple with the tip of your knife, eyes sparkling with mischief. âWouldnât seeing people technically count as studying psych?â
Smooth, for real this time!!!.You convince yourself you can see the warmth creeping up his neck, flushing his skin.
âYou got me there, little bird,â he murmurs, shaking his head.
Your lips twitch as you glance up at him through your lashes.
âStudying,â he echos, voice light with amusement, but there's something else there too.
Joel pushes back from the island, the stool squeaking against the tile as he stands. Before he heads back to the living room, he pausesâjust long enough for you to catch the way his gaze lingers.
Then, casually, almost too casuallyâ
âGlad youâre back home for a while.â He lifts his beer, a subtle toast. âMissed seeinâ your pretty face.â
Your breath falters.
Am I hearing shit? Or did he really just say that?
You must have some kinda look on your face because he steps back, muttering,
âShouldnâtâve said that,â like heâs punishing himself.
You shake it off as best you can, grabbing a beer for yourself before heading back into the living room. You flop down beside your dad with a sigh.
âDinnerâs ready. Hurry up. Theyâre gonna lose whether youâre watching or not.â You jab him lightly with your elbow. âSteak ainât gonna cook itself, big guy.â
Your dad gives you a flat stare before groaning as he hauls himself off the couch, his old man knees creaking audibly.
âYou know, maybe I didnât miss you that much. Itâs barely been half a damn day and Iâm already sick of your attitude, darlinâ.â
âYou love me,â you shoot back with a cheeky grin.
//
Dinner is easy. Comfortable.
You sit outside as the sun hides below the horizon, warm hues fading into a deep navy. Your dad mans the grill, youâre chatting with Joel about school, asking him about work. You ask about Sarah even though you already knowâprobably better than he does. You call her every week, staying up to date on her life, but you still like hearing him talk about her.
And he does.
Joel trips over his words when he talks about how proud he is, and even in the silence between sentences, you can hear it. Feel it.
He misses her.
Itâs sweet, seeing him like this; so unguarded. He worked tirelessly to give her a good life, and it shows. Sarah is a light, and so much of that glow was his doing.
By the time youâre all painfully full, the night settles deep and dark around you. You clear the table, bringing the dishes inside before grabbing yourself another beer. You slip your headphones back in, letting the music hum through you as you turn on the tap.
You donât hear the back door swing open over the water, but you feel the presence behind you before you see him.
Joel moves into the kitchen, heading for the fridge to grab another drink himself, but instead of leaving, he steps up beside you. Without a word, he reaches past, plucks the dish towel off your shoulder, and starts drying the plates.
Itâs nothing.
Itâs everything.
Your chest tightens.
The easy silence between you is only cut by the quiet clink of dishes and the occasional rush of water. Until suddenlyâ
Bzz. Bzz.
Your whole body jumps at the sound. Your phone. Noâitâs Joelâs.
The ringtone is sharp, jarring. You recognize it immediately.
Same as your damn alarm clock.
Joel exhales, long and slow, before tugging the phone from his pocket. He answers hesitantly, his voice tight.
âYeah?â
You watch the change in real time.
The frustration. The slow shift into anger.
He nods, lets out a clipped, âMhm.â Then a gritted, âYup.â
Finally, he sighs. Pinching the bridge of his nose.
âIâll head out now. Thanks for callinâ.â He pulls the phone away, muttering, âNot even fuckinâ Friday yet.â
âTommy?â you ask, already knowing the answer.
Tommyâs been a fuckup since he totaled Joelâs truck chasing some girl. Joel bailed him out, then stole her anyway. The grudge never died.
Joel nods, tucking his phone back into his pocket.
âSheriffâs office this time.â He huffs a humorless laugh. âAsked me to pick him up from the bar before they do. How kind of âemâfuckin pigsâ
You shrug, forcing a fake smile for him.
âOn the bright side, at least you donât have to pay his bail.â
Joel just shakes his head, already heading for the back door. You rinse off the last dish and follow after him. By the time you make it outside, heâs tossing his empties into a grocery bag, apologizing to your dad for cutting the night short.
âNext time, I swear Iâm gonna let him figure it out the hard way,â Joel mutters. âI swear to god, Kev.â
Your dad laughs, unimpressed. âYou and I both know thatâs a fuckinâ lie. Youâll be cleaninâ up his messes âtil the day you die.â Then, softer, âYouâre a good brother, Joel.â
Joel huffs. âYeah. Probably too good.â He shakes his head, and looks down at the ground. âAnywayâIâm sorry to run out on ya so soon.â
âItâs no big deal, man. Go get your shithead little brother before he causes a bigger problem for you.â Your dad gestures vaguely toward the gate, beer in hand.
You follow Joel to the fence, pushing it open for him. He steps through, then turns back to you âhesitating just for a second.
He pulls you in for a hug, reaching around your waist with a touch that feels impossibly soft for such a rough guy, it feels different than the welcome he gave you earlier. He gives a tight squeeze and kisses you on the head, your knees nearly buckle.
âSee you soon, Bird,â
Joel pulls away, nods once, and disappears into the night.
You stand there, syrup-brained, and swear he wonât stay a stranger. Youâll drag that old Joel out, make him feel it too.
series warnings!!! fluff, smut, angst,unprotected p-in-v (please wrap it up), f/m masturbation, fingering, large but legal age-gap (joel is in 40's reader is in mid 20's), size kink?, choking, pervy!obsessive!joel, pervy!mean!Tommy, possessive/rough sex, praise, sex on the phone, drinking/smoking, strong language, sneakin around, lowkey obsessive and reckless Joel, blackmail, competency kink, risky sex, overstimulation, a tiny bit of coercion, dirty talk, oops its a creampie, brief mentions of grief and implied suicide, Tommy is a jerk in this one, guilt and betrayal, bar-fights. chapters will have specific warnings.
@yesjazzywazzylove-blog @brittmb115
Summary: Parentsâ Weekend looks a little different this year with Joel showing up in the place of your father.
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Dad[dy] kink. Age gap. Oral (m!receiving). Premature ejaculation (Joel cums in his pants while heâs kissing you AS REAL LOVERS DO). Drinking and drug use. Gratuitous dad rock references.
Note: We all saw that video. This was begging to be written.
Another note: For a more immersive read of the pregame, listen to my freshman year Kegs & Eggs playlist (yes, it sucks).
Word count: 19.0k
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
Freud wouldâve had a field day with this shit.
Really, there was no sane explanation for the obsession that seized you and your friends come Parentsâ Weekend every year. But there it went. Again. Like clockwork, all the forty- to fifty-something fathers arrived for their first meal on campus. Like the cock-starved coed she was, your roommate bumped your shoulder as you walked and nodded to the first set of families approaching the dining hall. Out of the pack, you spotted four grey heads.
âWould, would, would, and would,â Aly observed, almost clinically. Her strides were long and resolved in their path
âThat one could get it.â Her brother shrugged on your other side. He tipped his chin up, then added: âLook.â
And look you did. The batch of men, women, and all their college-aged children struck you as little more fun to ogle than your average wall of paint waiting to dry. Though the moms and dads were, admittedly, the kind of attractive you rarely saw outside an L.L. Bean magazineâas were all the rest of the kempt and polished crowd that populated your schoolâyou were hungry as fuck. Youâd agreed to join your roommateâs family for the kickoff banquet of the weekend, and you needed food. On top of that, youâd sworn off middle-aged men forever.
Aly and her brother didnât know that, though, so you played the game and trudged ahead. When a handsome blue-eyed man born in 1970-something stood back and held the door open for your trio going in, you had to fight back a smirk at the look Aly gave him after thanking him.
âOh, he wanted me bad,â she hissed once safely inside.
âLooks a bit like Rob Lowe,â you offered noncommittally.
âWhat about your dad? Is he gonna be here tonight?â
That last fragment of conversation had come from Alyâs brother, and the curiosity in it was sincere. Then heâd wiggled two dark brows your way and said he bet your dad was a silver fox like no other, and youâd had to roll your eyes before strolling into the wide open dining area. You were late; the food, evidently, was all already served.
âMy dadâs at home with a broken femur, soâŠno,â you answered slowly. Starting to weave your way through a sea of round tables and following Alyâs lead as you did, âProbably not your type. Just old. Very embarrassing.â
You stuck your index in your mouth and pantomimed gagging, and the sophomore beside you just laughed.
âYeah? Desperate, too?â he challenged.
âPathetic, really,â you replied.
For a second, you felt a pang of guilt at the way you were describing your father. Surely he couldnât deserve being characterized like that. Then you recalled how heâd boned your momâs best friend while he was married, had never really made amends after the fact, and was still fucking said mistressâs brains out on the reg to this day.
Youâd done plenty of wrong behind his back, to be sure, but that kind of took the cake for fucked up betrayals. He could stand for a little bit of ribbing every now and then.
Presently, Aly was paving the way straight toward a pair of bright and beaming faces at a table near the back.
âOur parents named us after a goddamn Grateful Dead song and the city they first saw the band in concert. Nobody does pathetic better than Scott and Michelle.â She waved her arm in a wide arc and grinned over there.
And you wouldâve gladly countered that no, that actually makes them very fucking funny and cool, but the chance to do that was gone in a momentâthe next had you approaching their table and meeting with big hugs.
Even for you, who had never seen these people before in your life, there was a warm welcome. You got long, suffocating embraces and cheery greetings of, âOh, you must be Alyâs roommate!â and âWeâre sorry you got stuck with our shithead kidâ before you had a grin plastered on again and were being ushered to sit down.
You took note of the little placards opposite each chair, counted four, five, six of them altogether, with an empty spot beside your own, per usual, and you took your seat.
âDallas, honey, I love you,â the woman across the table, Michelle, said with all the restraint she could conjure up, âI love you to pieces, but what the hell are you wearing?â
That steered the conversation in a decidedly light, playful direction from the start, with Alyâs brother defending his decision to be decked out in full school-sponsored athleisure tooth and nail. Heâd been recruited to play lacrosse, so naturally, wearing the far-too-tight crimson lycra was all part of the deal. Aly insisted that he just wanted to show off the biceps he didnât have, Scott hypothesized it was the crisp, wintry Boston air that had made his son dress like a total douche, and Dallas tried bringing the inquisition to a speedy end by lifting one middle finger up and flipping his napkin into his lap.
âFuck you guys, Iâm hungry,â he declared, emphatic. Fighting the urge to laugh along then grabbing a fork.
Just as fast as heâd picked it up to dig in, though, his mom was slapping the silver utensil out of his hand.
âNot yet,â she chided.
âWhy? Weâre all here,â Dallas groaned.
âBecause,â his father returned, scrubbing at the stubble on his chin before casting a quick look around him, âWeâre still waiting on one more to join us. See?â
With that, Scott nodded toward the card next to you, and immediately, your cheeks warmed. You shook your head, mouth working a little less fluidly than you wouldâve liked as you piped up and told themâassured them all, rather:
âMy dadâs not coming. He got a little, uhâŠhurt at work.â
And you were certain that would be the end of it. Youâd just moved to grab a fork yourself, eyeing the plate full of food in front of you then, when another hand stopped you on the spot. It was Aly beside you, grip insistent as she gave your wrist a little shake, and in your periphery, you could see her tilt her head the opposite direction.
She was staring, silentâtotally unlike herself.
Normally when something crossed her path nearby to make her twist her whole fucking neck to get a glimpse, it was followed by a dry remark. A comment, a compliment, or a lewd invitation to fuck me, please.
While the last of the three clearly wasnât an option to use around her parents, you at least wouldâve expected to hear something. When nothing came, you turned your head too, having just snagged a bite of roast beef on your fork and shoveled it in before looking that way.
You followed her gaze and nearly inhaled the food.
With a startled gasp and a âChrist!â, your eyes widened to find a man who wasnât your father at allâjust his best friend and your ex-fuckbuddy, Joel Miller, walking over.
It was a sight you werenât prepared to see in a million years. What the everliving fuck this man was doing two thousand miles from Austin, Texas, on your college campus, striding into the very first meal of Parentsâ Weekend, looking like that, was so far beyond your comprehension you couldnât speak. You just stared and sucked in the sharpest, strangled breath, fought back a cough, and tried not to die swallowing a cube of meat.
From the way that man was approaching you now, asphyxiation might not be the worst, you thought idly.
Joelâs here.
Joelâs here, and heâs wearing slacks and a button-up.
Joelâs wearing business casual, and heâs walking over.
Who the fuck does this man even think heâs trying toâ
âSorry Iâm late,â Joel cut in, smile bright and easy on his face. Then, stepping behind your chair, leaning down:
âHey, sweetie. How are ya?â
He kissed the top of your head.
The tone sealed his fate completely.
Joel was pretending to be your father.
This wasnât his brightest idea.
Call him sick, insane, selfish, besotted, or rotten straight down to his core, Joel Miller was no longer one to care. He had a goal in his head. Less than a week ago, youâd left him high and dry in Austin after having told him you loved himâin the middle of climax, but aloud, no lessâand the month before that, youâd left him again. Back to college, where you could happily pretend he didnât exist.
Tonight, he wasnât letting that happen. This weekend, Parentsâ Weekend, was of course reserved for families, but Joel knew your father wasnât coming. He knew you wouldnât be expecting your dad or anyone else to be there, and since youâd taken to the usual course of ignoring all his calls and texts, he felt heâd had no choice.
You couldnât stay closed off like this forever.
Eventually, youâd both have to reckon with what this was and how to move forward, or the mess of the last month would never change. You would never believe he saw you any differently from a one-off hookup or a taboo outlet of pleasure. And if that was all you saw him as, so be it. But he had to get the truth of it out now, one way or another.
Even if he had to roleplay the father figure and play the most fucked up game of paternal charades known to man, heâd get the answers he needed this weekend.
You were good at games. Unfortunately, Joel was better.
Heâd take this fake-out to the max and be the best faux father youâd never asked for. Maybe youâd hate him for it.
As heâd squeezed your shoulder and sat down beside you at the table, felt your gaze heavy and stunned on his, he also couldnât help but hope you might still love him after.
âScott Ingram. Pleasure to meet you.â The broad hand had been extended his way before he was even fully seated. The face across from him was kind. Intrigued. Tinged with a faint trace of curiosity, âSo youâre dad?â
âStepdad, yeah.â Joel had had to leave a bit more room for plausibility before heâd made his formal introduction.
Then heâd met Michelle. Aly. Dallas. The latter two more piqued with interest than the first, as though unsure of what theyâd just been told, but willing to go on anyway.
âOld and pathetic my ass,â Dallas had murmured your way, low enough for Joel to know those words were meant for only you to hear. You stiffened in response.
âSo glad you could make it up! Is your leg doing better?â
Aly had smiled warmly over at him, and Joel had only hesitated a second. Then he remembered his friend.
âOh, myâ yeah. JustâŠpeachy. Yeah. All healed up.â
He didnât flit a look to you; he could feel the searing imprint of your gaze and the way you hadnât bothered to hide your frown when heâd referenced the leg heâd never broken. The way you couldâve pulverized the napkin in your lap to dust from how hard you were squeezing it in your fistâyou didnât like to admit it, but that was your nervous tic, and Joel knew it well. He propped his elbows on the table and didnât miss the way a head turned his way from a neighboring group. Then another. He hated every starch white button-up he owned with a burning passion, but he couldnât deny this one was eye-catching.
Not that it mattered, really, because the only glossy gaze he cared to snag was presently nailing him with daggers in its path. Still, it was a comfort to know heâd make a good-looking corpse if that look of yours ever did kill him
âOh, my, my, oh hell YESââ
The sing-song trill of a baritone beside him roused him from his trance. He looked over and saw Scott grinning.
ââhoney put on that pa-a-a-a-a-arty dress!â
It was Michelle that finished the line for him, while they both bobbed their heads along to the Tom Petty song blasting overhead. Evidently, dad rock would be alive and well all weekend. Joel wasnât mad to see that happen.
âYou a Tom Petty fan?â Scott jerked his chin up to him.
Before he could answer, though, Michelle interjected:
âIâd say heâs more of a Simon & Garfunkel guy.â
Whatever the hell that meant. Joel smiled.
âMom, Dad. Please stop,â Aly moaned.
âSeriously.â Dallasâs mouth was full.
And, just as he fought to swallow the heaping glob of food heâd just crammed in, his dad snapped his fingers.
âNo, I know it! Youâre a Billy Joel man, Joel. No doubt.â
Joel blanched as white as the shirt on his back. You coughed. He hadnât even noticed youâd chanced a bite of food beside him, but now you were sputteringâchoking on a morsel of beef or mashed potatoes or somethingâand he didnât think twice. He pivoted right to you and dropped a hand on your back in the space between your shoulder blades. He patted you twice, eyes a little wider.
âHey, you OK?â
Fleeting memories of a night not too long ago flashed through his mind: driving town by town, state after state, blaring Billy Joel extra loud in his Bronco with you riding shotgun. It had been something special between you then. Now, your gaze was on him like you despised him.
âIâm fine,â you answered, tone clipped.
You shrugged his touch away. Joel blinked back to Scott.
He wasnât entirely sure what he said, thoughts occupied by you all the while, but he reckoned it was something his neighbor had wanted to hear, because he saw a satisfied little smile cross his lips, âI told you, Michelle.â
âEverybody likes Billy Joel, dad.â Aly rolled her eyes.
And Joel wouldâve liked to look your way again. Maybe dropped the fatherly moue for half a second and flashed an apologetic look shared just between you and him. But then the conversation shifted; the whole table began to eat, more pleasantries and questions about home life and backgrounds followed, and all the talk from there converged on where they were planning to go out after dinnerâhow theyâd make the very most of Parentsâ Weekend. You sat back and ate in silence, mostly. You wouldnât meet his gaze for even a moment, and when you rose from your seat to get another drink, Joel felt himself stand too, as if out of habit. He hadnât meant to.
It hadnât been his intention to follow you out of the dining area, strides swift to try and keep up, but he did.
It hadnât been his goal to corner you by the soda dispenser, either. Away from the eyes of everyone else, or at least in a private enough space not to be seen by too many people, Joel felt a little more at liberty to talk. He lowered his voice and drew even closer then to speak.
âSweetheartââ
Youâd filled a cup halfway with water. As soon as heâd said that word, âsweetheart,â you turned and chucked its contents directly in his face. Liquid splashed up at him, and for a second, Joel had only to stand there with his eyes closed and his body completely frozen in place.
Water dripped in silence before he wiped at his chin.
At the same time, you were tossing your cup aside.
âDonât you dare fuckinâ call me that,â you growled.
Then, shortly: âWhat the fuck is your problem?!â
Honestly, he didnât know. He opened his eyes.
And, just as he raised both hands in a semi-conciliatory kind of gesture, you scowled and backed away from him.
âYouâre sick, Joel. Pretending to be my goddamn daââ
âI know. I know,â Joel winced as he spoke, wrinkles no doubt creasing even deeper along his face as he saw yours fall. You werenât happy to see him in the slightest. âI know itâs fucked up. I justâŠneeded to talk to you, hon.â
âAbout what?!â
He could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. He wanted to cup them in his hands, or else kiss the frown off your lips in a way that would be totally inappropriate for a stepdad to do, but already, he sensed his resolve was eroding. It didnât matter, anyway, because you werenât letting him get within an inch of you, based off your look.
âDarlinâ,â Joel sighed, âThereâs just so muchââ
Of course, the next moment was punctured by a voice. His words were cut short; you were both forced to turn.
âItâs all settled now,â Aly declared with cheery conviction. She snagged a cup and started filling it up with Sprite, âPregame at Dallasâ. Seven Oaks after. Luckyâs after that. Maybe a brief intermission at The Alley, if youâre up for it. Afters at A.J.âs, probably. Depends what the vibe is like.â
Joel had barely processed half of what was said, and it still sounded like a lot from where he stood. He blinked.
Then Alyâs eyes fell to his collar, and she lifted a brow.
âYou got a littleâŠdrinking problem there, Joel?â
He glanced down at the mess on his shirt and tried to smile with her. It was hard to fight the color jumping to his cheeks simultaneously. He scrambled for the words.
âOh, uhââ
âDadâs real smooth with it,â you cut in, suddenly, like the paternal moniker was nothing at all. You didnât look back, âIâm fine drinking wherever. Your parents coming, too?â
Alyâs grin stretched even wider. It looked devious.
âThey wouldnât miss this bingefest for the world.â
At just the intonation of those words, Joelâs pulse sped up. He saw a knowing look pass between you and your roommate, and in a second, he sensed he was fucked.
He really shouldnât be drinking tonight.
A hundred shots probably wouldnât have been enough to kill itâthis ringing in your head hurt like a motherfucker.
Joel wanted to talk.
Of course he wanted to talk.
Just on his terms, on his time, with your closest friends and their family members all assuming he was your dad.
Because that made a lot of fucking sense.
Youâd meant to split from Joel the second you showed up. Dallasâ off-campus house was many things, but small and quiet were not among those descriptors, and you planned to use all of its space to your advantage tonight.
Simply put, the place was a glorified playground for college degenerates. Afforded the distinct honor of housing eight members of the Pi Kappa Alpha fraternity in 2,700 square feet for over fifty years, the Craftsman home was no small wonder to anyone who saw it standing today: the house was shit. Dallas loved it.
Youâd enjoyed it, too, for at least the first year or two of college. Then youâd wisened up to the antics of a few too many numb-skulled Pikes, got tired of listening to the same ten tracks being blasted in your ears every other weekend, and decided youâd just stick to the bar scene, where at least patrons were prohibited from standing on elevated surfaces and breaking bottles over their heads.
When Dallas rushed, and eventually joined the fold last year, youâd been hesitant to go back. Then, when heâd promptly decked the first guy who tried dragging you up onto a table with him, you figured you could safely visit again and not have to worry while your friend was there. The kid did a pretty good job of weeding out assholes.
âMy lady.â He stood and bowed before presenting you with a fifth of Pink Whitney like it was the finest wine.
The bottle was half empty. Youâd been passing it back and forth for the last hour in between rounds of pong.
âBeen sayinâ shit like that ever since he saw Gladiator II.â His housemate Cory called from closeby. He flicked his wrist once and sank his shot in the second to last cup.
âYou are not General Acacius, brother,â Coryâs teammate Pete chimed in. With a lucky throw of his own, he hit the final Red Solo cup and shook his head like it was nothing.
You were all on the third floor, away from the noise downstairs. While the so-called âpregameâ surged ahead on first, in the basement, and outdoors, youâd managed to find relative quiet among eight or nine friends and acquaintances, plus a guy railing lines off a frisbee in the corner. Nobody knew where the fuck heâd gotten it from.
âI like to pretend,â Dallas said with a shrug. Then, once youâd taken a swig of the pink drink and handed it back: âMy parents play next. Gavin, put the coke away, please.â
Gavin sniffed the air at least four times like he had a cold. Then he tucked his credit card back in his wallet, put the wallet in his pocket, and knocked the frisbee on the floor.
âYessirâ was all you heard before he was leaning back contentedly. The girls Cory and Pete had just played seemed equally indifferent as they sauntered offâlikely looking to get their hands on whatever the hell else the redhead had in his jeans and quick to forget about the game. Blow was way too easy to spread at these parties, and clearly, no one gave a shit about redemption round.
âGavin.â Dallasâ tone was a warning.
At the same time, his housemate had just snagged an ID where it was left on the table and held it up to the light.
âHang on, it looks like this guy, uhâŠâ Cory squinted to read the text on an apparently too-old driverâs license. âLooks like he called dibs on next roundâŠJoel Miller.â
Your grip tightened on the spot. You said nothing. Cory was just then starting to remark that this dudeâs the spittinâ fuckinâ image of that one guy from Game of Thrones, Dallas, come look, when the door to the room swung open, and in walked the man of the hour himself.
Joel was joined by Scott, Michelle, and a horde of others.
Well, maybe five in total. They were all freshmen girls.
Giggling, grinning freshmen girls who were quite literally hanging off his body on either side, or else trailing behind him, admiring him like he was the single greatest thing.
Where were all their fathers? That was your fake dad.
Christ, that sounded bad, and you hadnât even said it.
When Dallas offered you the bottle again, you declined. You were more than just buzzed. And Joel was drunk.
Apparently.
And was heâwell shit, were they trying to strip him?
One of the bubbliest girls from the group was tugging on Joelâs shirt. Three buttons were already undone, and a smooth, tanned patch of flesh glistened through the âVâ in the fabric. Heâd been working up a sweat downstairs.
A sea of black-and-grey hairs peeking out through the trough of cotton was the last thing you saw before you had to look away. It was too familiar. And there you saw some girl fresh out of high school, feeling him, teasing at the material while she bounced on the balls of her feet.
âYou are so lying!â she slurred, voice pitchy and shrill.
What was worse, you couldnât even fault the girl for it. That had been you just a few short years ago, hadnât it?
Beside her, her friend snagged his sleeve: âShow ussss!â
Scott and Michelle had approached the table where Dallas was setting up the cups for the next round and you were trying not to stare. You reckoned you were failing pretty miserably at the task when the next thing Mrs. Ingram did was lean in closer to you and whisper.
âReal hot commodity with the girls, isnât he?â It was soft.
She was right.
You forced your gaze to your feet, pretending to assess the wet and sticky mess underneath them. You hummed.
âYup. Real ladiesâ man,â you answered quietly. Strained.
âTheyâre convinced heâs got some ink hidden under his shirt. Thatâs a creative way to get a man topless if Iâve ever seen one.â Scott chuckled next to you, tone teasing.
Something twisted in your chest, though you couldnât quite place what it was. It hardly felt like jealousy at allâbut that was worse, somehow. Joel was your stepfather in every other mind but yours and his, and here he was, soaking in all this attention that you couldnât give to him.
Maybe that was for the best.
Joel deserved a woman he didnât have to love in secret.
âOK, whoâs upâJoel or mom and dad?â Dallas asked.
âIâm out. Joel can take my place. And donât weââ
Pete snapped his fingers, then pointed at Cory.
âWe forgot to grab the other keg, didnât we?â
âFuck me.â
âLetâs go.â
They were gone in a second. That left Joel, Scott, Michelle, plus one open spot. Dallas set the last cup.
âWhoâs gonna be Joelâs partnââ
âME!â
That had to have come from three girls, at least. One on the couch and two more on either side of Joel, along with a slew of hopeful looks from others in his orbit.
Theyâd dispersed some, thankfully. Though not physically clinging to your pseudo-stepfather and begging him to peel off his shirt, they stayed close.
One of them giggled and nudged her friend: âMaya can!â
The girl whoâd just been playing tug-of-war with the front of Joelâs button up waved her hand in mock indignation.
âI suck at pong. You go, Claire,â she crooned.
It was clear from the sideways glance the first girl had flashed that she wanted Joel to protest. Maybe insist that she play anyway, if you had to guess. It was all so confusingâwhat with how this group was flirting, and fighting, and insisting simultaneously that they couldnât possibly play, even though theyâd like to, but maybeâŠ
Your skull started ringing again.
You were just about to turn to leave, when Dallas cut in:
âSorry, ladies. Gonna be a Daddy-Daughter duo tonight.â
Then he gestured to you, beckoned to Joel, and grinned. Your stomach couldâve plunged to that floor youâd just been pretending to study. You quickly jerked your head.
Even Joel, for all his calm and unaffected dealings, the pretty damp mop of hair hanging in ringlets against the sides of his face, and the way he kept pretending not to be concerned by the flock of girls, had to pause a beat. You saw his throat work. Before you could try and decipher the look that was crawling up his face, you made the split-second decision to interject yourself.
âNo, Dallas. Iâm not playing again.â
You tried to avoid grinding your molars.
This time, the tone he heard wasnât one of a thinly veiled acceptanceâsomething begging to be disputed when it tried to decline the offerâbut instead an emphatic âno.â
No way were you playing another game with this man.
Joel already had your head fucked ten ways to Sunday by being here at all, and now you had to pretend to be platonic, his goddamn beer pong partner, while a gaggle of freshmen girls sat frothing at the mouth for his dick?
Yeah, but no.
Hard fucking pass.
You didnât care what it looked like. You shot Dallas a look, grabbed a stray Solo off the table, and made your way to the door, calling something over your shoulder about being too tired to play, and offering your spot to Maya.
That should make your old man happy enough.
It wasnât like he could do anything here with you.
And then you left. Before you did, though, you passed Gavin and the mysterious white bag he was starting to fish out of his pants, and without thinking, you grabbed his hand. You didnât like doing coke, had never seen the point in taking your level of intoxication that far out on an ordinary night, but, all things considered, this evening was anything but normal. You deserved some relief. If that couldnât come in the form of Joel packing all his shit and leaving, then so be it. But you werenât about to hang around and play the nice and polite stepdaughter when all you wanted to do was scratch your fucking eyes out.
A few lines wouldnât be the worst way to start the night.
Joel wasnât drunk.
He wasnât tipsy, either.
And even if he had been, he wouldnât have appreciated the way this hazel-eyed firecracker had nearly crushed his toes from how hard sheâd jumped up and down at hearing you abdicate your position. Maya had shrieked, and Scott and Michelle hadnât been able to fight back smiles, and trying not to wince too hard, Joel had politely excused himself. Heâd claimed that he needed some air.
The oxygen he found down the hallway a few minutes later was stale as shit, but he couldnât exactly complain.
Heâd asked for this, after all: the thumping bass, shaking floors, passageways that reeked of weed and cheap perfume, and girls that refused to let go of his neck.
Well. He hadnât asked for that last thing.
Thirty years ago, he mightâve found it cuteâwhat Maya and Claire and every other glossy-gazed Phi Mu seemed to be offering with every bat of their lashes. Now, if the arms latched around his throat werenât yours, the idea just made him sick. He cleared his throat and walked.
And before long, his feet had carried him to the end of the hallway. Where in the hell had you gotten off to?
Would you be back soon?
And why had you taken that kid with you?
Joelâs palms were sweaty by his sides. He didnât like being kept in the darkâdidnât think traveling some 2,000 miles to be closer to you would still leave him wondering like a fucking idiot if he would see you again.
Then he reached for the nearest door. A bathroom.
The door was just cracked, allowing a sliver of light to shine through and a peek at a sea of tile flooring to greet him. Joel pushed on the knob without thinking to knock.
When he stepped inside, he had to stop.
It was too much to process and walk at once.
For the first time in his life, he felt shell-shocked.
You were on your knees in front of that red-haired fucker. Stabilizing one hand on a denim-clad leg in front of you, patting his thigh, having him murmur something backâprobably words of encouragement for how nice your mouth felt around himâand then tilting your head up.
Joel could only see you from behind. His vision was red.
âWhat the fuck are you DOING?!â he bellowed out.
The two of you leapt apart, your head jerking back.
He wasnât thinking. Joel blew straight past you and went for him, the little pencil-dicked Pike whoâd just had his dick down his stepdaughterâs throat, presumably, and he grabbed him by the shirt. He shoved him hard against the bathtub on the wall, watched him flail a few steps, and then, before the kid could recover his balance, Joel shoved him again. He mightâve tripped further back and fallen into the tub, had the older man not reached for him againâand reared back to punch him square in the face.
That blow never landed.
In the next instant, a smaller body was forcing itself in between him and the kid, and the only other thing Joel could see through his own blinding rage were your two eyesâwide and panicked and horror-stricken, clearly.
âJOEL.â
Still not prepared to retreat, Joel reached out again.
Your hand knocked his down in a blink. Hard.
âJâ Dad. Dad. Stop. Please donât hit him.â
Suddenly, that tone was approaching a plea. You mustâve caught a glimpse of the rage pulsing through his veins and sensed it mightâve been too much for him to controlâbut of course, Joel knew better. He could always stop.
He stepped off and turned to you at once, teeth bared.
âHow the fuck could you evenââ he started again.
âIâm sorry, dad,â you broke in, words sounding like a sob, âItâs not his fault. Really. Iâ I didnât mean for you to see.â
Sucking some other guyâs cock. Yeah, of course not.
Joelâs face flared with an anger unlike anything heâd felt in years, and if it werenât for the skittish sack of shit stumbling away, and the warning that was starting to radiate off your skin, he wouldâve liked to knock him out.
He mightâve, if the kid hadnât run out of the room.
If you hadnât turned slightly, he mightâve yelled again.
And then he saw it, from where youâd pivotedâthe toilet.
Sitting on the smooth white porcelain lid in three thick stripes, the sight greeted him like a punch in the gut.
He wasnât sure what it meant for an excruciating second. He stared. Then he processed what that substance was.
Youâd been crouched over the toilet doing a line of coke.
He wanted to feel relief. For a moment, maybe, he did.
When your eyes narrowed on his and you shook your head in a scowl, it didnât feel like he should be happy. Or ready to celebrate this latest discovery. Instead, realizing that you hadnât been blowing a guy in this bathroom but were simply doing drugs in front of him, Joel felt bile jump up his throat. It was like a knot the size of his fist, and he wasnât sure how to react, but he couldnât stand that look on your face. You were just as angry as him.
âWhat the hell was that all about, Joel?!â you snapped.
He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut back in:
âSorry, sorryâI mean âdad.â You fucking asshole.â
âAnd this is why you up and left?â Joel hissed.
âI justââ
âDo you realize how dangerous that is?â
âI didnâtââ
âWhat that couldâve been laced with?â
He pointed to the cocaine on the lid of the toiletâapparently there hadnât been enough space on the skinny porcelain sink to set up your linesâand at the same time, to Joelâs amazement, you sank to your knees.
âWell, I donât know, dad, why donât we test some out?â
And then you swiped a casual touch through a line and lifted your index to your mouth. With your other hand, you pulled at your bottom lip a little, and were evidently about to test your drugs the old fashioned way: by rubbing the powder against your gums to see if it made them numb. Joel swatted at your wrist before you did.
âDonât,â he growled. Without even realizing it, he reached and grabbed your chin. His fingers engulfed half your face in an authoritative, upward-tilting grip. âPut that stuff anywhere near your mouth, and you will regret it.â
That didnât seem to stir you, but your hand stayed put.
Joel stepped away just as quickly. He went to the door.
He shut it.
And when he returned, you hadnât moved from where youâd been knelt. He was glad. Something quiet and dull throbbed between his ears, though he wasnât recovered enough from the shock of the last few minutes to really investigate that. He just stood back over you, frowning.
His voice was lower when he spoke again:
âWhat am I gonna do with you, honey?â
It was a question as much for himself as it was for you, and your lips twitched at the end of it. You shrugged, and you sank back onto your heels, peering up as you did.
âYou thoughtââ you started, soft.
âI thought you were in here blowinâ that little shit.â
Your smile split into a grin. Your eyes glistened.
âIs that so?â
Joel didnât have the strength or the presence of mind to answer, so instead, he just nodded. His scowl deepened.
âYou and me,â he resumed, having just exhaled a breath, âWeâre gonna have ourselves a little chat later. Got that?â
And he meant it. Not just about drugs and other men and the dangers of accepting cocaine from strangers. He had more to tell you tonight than his overwrought mind was likely capable of sharing right now, but heâd say it.
Soon.
Eventually.
Once he got this bulge in his slacks sorted out.
With you, it was never a conscious decision, and it rarely ever occurred at times it was appropriate to happen. Like when your friends and their family and half of the Pike fraternity werenât all milling about around this house. When he hadnât almost decked a kid for giving you coke.
When you werenât shuffling on your knees to greet the growing erection in his pants with a grin on your face.
âWill this âchatâ come before or after you fuck Maya?â
That was it.
Joel seized hold of your head againâthis time, from the back. One palm rounded the base of your skull and yanked your face forward, mushing your nose and your lips against the fabric of his pants in an obscene sort of kiss. He made you rub your face against the hardened tent there, and he groaned when you whimpered. The reverberations of it traveled from his groin to his brain in two milliseconds flat and made him think insane things.
Like having your mouth right now.
Taking from you here what he thought heâd almost lost.
The sight of your head hovering anywhere near another manâs crotch made it crystal-clear to him, though heâd known it well before: he wanted you. He needed to have you. How you could even crack the joke about a shred of his attention being elsewhere had him tightening his hand in a fist in your hair. He didnât care if it felt wrong.
âYou know what girls like Maya can do for me?â he said.
He tilted your head back so your gaze could find his. He didnât let you answer, but he let you stare for a second, and then he worked your pretty parted lips over the front of his slacks again. He let the taut grey fabric tease the cusp of that opening, tasting a bit, before drawing back.
âThatâs right,â Joel went on as if youâd just responded, âNothing. Absolutely fuckinâ nothing. Open your mouth.â
And you did. Wider. From the look of it, there was spit pooling inside, and your tongue hovered just within it when your lips met the front of his pants. You cupped your mouth around his clothed erection and kissed it.
Your eyes were locked on his as you did. The sight felt extra obsceneâJoel couldnât ignore the fact that he was dressed in near-formal attire, and you had on jeans and a tight cropped tank. He looked polished and professional; you were a beaming pretty thing making space between his legs to kneel. You felt like a dream with your lips over his swollen, aching cock; Joel felt old. Paternal, almost.
Was it wrong to think you needed to be taught a lesson?
Of course it was. He wasnât your dad. He didnât do that.
But when you smiled up at him with your lips still brushing his straining bulge, Joel couldnât resist the smallest impulse to wonderâwhat if he showed you?
What if he let you know exactly what he wanted, how he needed it done, and that he only ever craved it from you? If he couldnât say it outright in words, he could guide you.
Teach you.
Your tongue traced the seam of his zip, and he groaned.
âDamn near gave your old man a stroke, yâknow that?â
âI know,â you said softly. Kindly, âIâm sorry, daddy.â
His cock throbbed at that last affectionate word.
His hands couldnât help themselves: one stayed planted on the back of your head, and the other made its way to his belt. He undid his buckle, button, and zip in a blink.
âAnd what was that prickâs name?â Joel grumbled.
âGavin.â
Your mind seemed two million miles away from any shit-brained fratboy at the moment as your gaze fixed itself on the length he was working out of his pants just then.
When it bobbed out and got within an inch of your rapt expression, your lips parted on instinct; you leaned in.
Swiftly, Joelâs hand on your head halted the movement.
âGavin, huh,â he returned, tone treading on patronizing. He knew you were salivating for that little pearl on his tip. He gripped your hair hard. âThis what youâd do for him?â
You whimpered.
âNo, daddy. No, justâ just you.â
Joel hummed his approval but didnât let you move. He watched you eye the head of his cock like there was no single sight more appetizing in the world, and then he saw you lick your lips. Youâd get positive reinforcement.
He would take things slow, and by the end of it all, he hoped to have made it clear that this was what he wanted: you, and only you. That he didnât want you doing this with anyone else other than him. Here, now, or ever.
The last was a lot to say, so he fed you an inch instead.
He let his cock slide between your lips and stretch them.
You breathed something soft and sweet at the first intrusion of his tip; your mouth cushioned that inch, and his head was immediately enveloped in warmth. Your tongue darted out to greet him in a gentle lick. Joel groaned again, and his fingers constricted in your hair.
âThatâs it, honey,â he told you, âSuck on daddy.â
His hips hadnât meant to jump, but the pleasure from just the cusp of your mouth was too much for him not to flinch a little. He stabbed another couple inches in that pliant âoâ and felt you work your jaw open to take him whole. You looked so obedient. You were doing so good.
You bobbed your head gently, and his hand didnât need to coax you at all. You were hungry, mouth sliding up and down his thick, throbbing dick and leaving trails of spit in its wake. You wanted to please him now; he could feel it.
You had no idea what you did to him. All he wanted now. It was like trying to explain a color in words, and all the man could do was just hold your head in place and watch you take him. When your back straightened and one palm braced itself up against his thigh, the other about to curl around the base of his length, he shook his head.
He brushed that hand away and made it rest on his other leg, so you were left with just your mouth around him.
You peered up, confused. Joel was, too.
He wasnât sure exactly what he wanted to do, but he knew he had to lead the way. Make you see what he wanted you to by guiding your motions and filling your mouth the way he needed. He tried as much by shifting his left hand to meet the right at the back of your head. Gently, he pushed your face forward to suck more in.
âBreathe through your nose, baby. Wanna feel you.â
Feel you deeper, he shouldâve said. Either way, it made for a slow and painstaking slide down your tongueâsensing you flatten it and inhale a shallow breath as he worked his way inâand at the stretch, you gagged a bit.
Joel eased up, just enough to let you flit your gaze to his.
âYou wanna feel me, too, sweetheart?â he asked gently.
You nodded, mouth still full of cock. Your eyes glistened in a way that said you mightâve guessed there was more to it, but you werenât exactly in a position to ask just what. You let the fingers of both his big hands splay against the back of your head, and your jaw slackened more. Your gaze stayed on his as his cock slid deeper.
In that, there was wordless, tranquil reprieve. The sight of his spit-soaked length stuffing your mouth, skin all shiny and wet, and the way he kept going further and further and further, until your soft pert nose grazed the hairs of his belly, made Joelâs member swell harder still. There was scarcely an inch in between your lips and his heft of stomach. Your eyes were still fixed on him, and as the seconds ticked by, there was moisture welling at the corners. Joel moved his hands to thumb at those tears.
âGood girl. Youâre doinâ so good for daddy,â he praised.
And something stirred in the depths of his body when he felt you try to nod again, like you were thrilled to be giving him pleasure and wanted to show it in some way.
Joel couldâve stayed like that for hours if his dick would only have let him. As it was, though, he felt the stir in his stomach accompanied by something elseâa familiar pinch, and a warning jolt of pleasure. He cursed quietly.
Youâd just started. Heâd barely got an inch down yourâ
âFuck,â he cursed again, when he sensed you swallow around his dick. The head of himself was breaching somewhere deep within your throat, and he felt it.
This wasnât what heâd planned. Youâd taken him deep beforeâat your fatherâs birthday bash last month, actuallyâbut then youâd been blowing him under a table. He couldnât hold your gaze or watch your throat open around him, couldnât see the minuscule wince in your eyes or try to brush that discomfited look aside with his thumbs in the way he could now. He felt it in the pit of his gut, though: he would burst if he didnât slow down.
With that one grounding thought, Joel tried pulling out.
Your body below him responded in sharp protest.
âDaddy, noâ seemed almost to jump off your tongue, though it was presently weighted down by his cock. Your nails worked deeper into the fabric of his pants, like the tight, possessive grip was all you could manage to let your intentions be known to him. Then the look flared in your irises, too. They were begging him to stay in place.
Joel obeyed. Though it was you on your knees for him, lips, tongue, and throat pulsing and sucking to give him the utmost pleasure, he felt pangs of powerlessness, too.
He couldnât help it when your lips stretched more, when your mouth opened wider, and your throat took him in all the way. He was fucked. He let out a sharp, hoarse grunt to let you know as much, and he cursed out loud again.
And then, completely axing his every well-laid plan, Joel felt the first rope of cum unload from his throbbing tip. Then another. And another. And another hot flurry of pleasure cropped up from that place your mouth was presently attached to him, and this time, the wave was too much to be overcome. The whole thing flooded him.
Without a hope of beating out that primal instinct, Joel just cupped your face in his palms and let his climax fill your throat. He couldnât think, and while you seemed a tad surprised at how early it came, you didnât fight it, either. You simply sat back, peered up, and let him fuck your mouth in the gentlest, most desperate thrusts, mind likely eager to feel his spend paint your open throat.
You hardly had to swallow at allâhardly could swallow, with how deep heâd gone. His cum jetted in milky strings through your plush, wet channel, and Joel could feel it gliding down with just a momentâs hitch of resistance.
Impaled as you were, you gagged once, and he withdrew in the next instant. He didnât wait for you to catch your breath or for his cum to get down inside you. He felt too much to be troubled now; he yanked you to your feet and drew you into him. He pushed you back against the sink.
Your legs latched around the backs of his, and your body was thrust against the mirror. It was tender, somehow. Joel didnât fight to claim your lips or invade your mouth with stifling kisses; he just pressed you to the reflective glass and hedged you in under him. He kissed you gently.
In between movements against your body, he mumbled:
âIâm sick of missinâ you all the damn time, sweet pea.â
He wasnât sure where it came from. It just came.
Much like he had, except the stringy ropes of cum that had spurted from his dick seemed far less of a mess than whatever the fuck was coming out of his mouth right now. He felt exposed as soon as heâd spoken it you.
Then he saw your lips twitch. You kissed him back.
Someplace within where your mouth slotted over his, you were able to get out a couple murmured words yourself.
âI wish you didnât have to,â you returned in a whisper.
You snaked your arms around the back of his neck and kept kissing him, over and over again, like your body was just starting to melt, and the heat was making you dizzy.
Joel could relate. Every time you touched him, he felt it.
He gripped your legs where they were still curled around his sides, and he held you tighter to him. He pressed his torso to yours until he was half-sure he was hampering your breaths, and then he pulled back. Briefly. Panting.
When he opened his mouth to speak, you cut in for him:
âI wish you couldâŠbe here. I wish we didnât have toâŠâ
Hide.
Your mouth seemed to have your mind and your usual reservations beat by a mile. It was moving fast, like his. Before you could stop yourself, your thighs constricted around his hips, you pulled him in closer, and just as you were about to finish that last quick, splintered thoughtâ
âWeâre leeeeeeeeavâOH! Shit!â
Aly Ingramâs sing-song tone was shortly supplanted by a shriek. Sheâd thrown open the door, unannounced, and when she saw the two of you collapsed against the sink, Joelâs undone pants hanging precariously over his hips and your mouths scarcely two inches apart, she jolted.
Or jumped, really.
She almost leapt through her skin, it seemed, and before she could even begin to recover, she just slapped her hands over her eyes and stumbled back. She was drunk.
âI didnât see that! I did not seeeeââ
âAly!â you half-hissed, half-groaned.
âI literally didnât see shit. Youâre all gââ
Before either you or Joel could utter another sound, or attempt to split apart, Aly let out a second shrill yelp. This time, it was because sheâd just tripped over a trash can backing out. Sheâd only very narrowly regained her bearings, had grabbed hold of the doorknob and was dragging the door shut, when the girl all but sang again:
âHave fun, be safe! Donât make babies!!â
Joel scarcely knew how to react to that.
As it turned out, your roommate was open-minded.
Ply her with four or five shots of tequila and a couple High Noons, and sheâd probably believe the moon was made of cheese if you told her in a serious enough tone.
But your goal tonight hadnât been to convince her of a lieâit was to get a big, ugly truth off your chest that youâd been hoping to keep under wraps this entire weekend.
Now, after getting caught with your fake stepfatherâs jizz drying in your throat, you had had to come clean about this thing. It wasnât a story youâd wanted to tell, but it was one that needed sharing given the circumstances.
Aly had laughed her ass off when you told her everything.
Blame it on the strobe lights, the thumping music, or the thick, fetid air of the bar youâd just arrived at, but Aly had laughed a lot. Sheâd squeezed her eyes shut and slapped the tabletop beside her, like that was the single most insane thing sheâd ever heard, and why donât you write her a How-To? Sheâd love some tips on boning old men.
âHeâs not that old!â youâd protested over your beverage.
Sheâd bought the drink. She said news like this was cause for celebration, and you couldnât deny that. Smiling as you spoke, you figured this was good.
In fact, you thought getting caught by your closest friend was one of the best things that couldâve happened, all things considered, because now you knew at least one person was supportive and in your corner regarding Joel. On top of that, you had someone to help cover your assâif a touch or a look between you two was too suspect, sheâd tell you. From the second your group had Ubered to the bar, sheâd been keen to see you closeâŠthough not too close. Presently, she grinned and squeezed your leg.
âI think you two would make a damn cute couple.â
âHuh?â You had to shout over the music to be heard.
âA cute couple!â
âCome again?â
You were really trying your best, but the blare of Bon Jovi overhead was a bit too much. You leaned in closer to her.
âYOU AND JOEL WOULD MAKE A CUTE COUPLE!â
And, as if on cue, Joel and Alyâs father reappeared at the table, holding the drinks theyâd left to buy. Thankfully, the volume in the room was near-deafening, and neither seemed to have heard a word of hers. Scott was nursing some bottom shelf whiskey concoction while Joel double-fisted two shitty beers beside him. You had to admit, the latter looked good from where you sat: one more button was popped on his icy white shirt and a smile was plastered on his face, eyes straying to you more often than they should. The moment after that, you were doubly grateful for the blast of âYou Give Love a Bad Nameâ in this barâthe next thing you knew, Joel was dropping his head casually and murmuring in your ear,
âAly sure likes to stare, doesnât she?â
Followed shortly by:
âWanna give her somethinâ to watch?â
He was clearly joking. Your cheeks warmed anyway. Then, when he started to lift his head, he left a quick, parting kiss to your temple that couldâve been construed as a paternal gesture. To anyone else but you, him, and Aly, it likely was. Your gaze slid from Joelâs face to his forearms, where the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up. He smelled like pine, sweat, and Natty Light, and you were just about to tell him that somehow that combo worked for him, when Scott interposed, loud as hell.
âYou ask her yet?!â he bellowed.
He knocked shoulders with Joel in a playful way, and the pair nearly stumbled sideways. Scott elbowed his ribs.
âHeâs drunk as shit,â Dallas observed idly.
âWell, whatâs heââ you began to say.
Before youâd even finished the question, your answer came in the form of Joel nodding, visibly pretty buzzed himself, as he waved his friend off with a shove and a laugh. Scott just grinned bigger as Bon Jovi gave way to Steely Dan over the speakers. Joel leaned back to you.
âScott invited us to go skiing out in Jackson, Wyoming.â
âLike theyâre best friends,â Dallas chuckled.
You ignored Alyâs half-concealed smirk on hearing that; you were too stuck on the look Joel was giving you. Like he was drunk, but dead seriousâlike heâd agreed to this.
Something set for a future date, however nebulous and far-fetched and stupid the idea may have been, made your insides stir a little all the same. You tried tamping it down with another sip of your drink, but you still shared a glance with Joel. He was watching you more intently.
âIs that something youâd wanna do, hon?â he asked.
You mightâve liked to warn him that he was drawing too closeâthat his breaths were too warm on your cheek and Aly was straightening in her chair, blinking harderâbut anything even approaching a remonstrance was evidently never meant to leave your mouth, as the next second had you nudged off your barstool, taken by the hand, and dragged toward the bustling crowd at the center of the room. Scott had suggested dancing; his son had readily agreed and was now leading you out to the crowd himself. You snagged one fleeting look at Joel.
Mr. Ingram had been dying to get out there, apparently. Behind you, the man spun his wife the best he could through the jam-packed dance floor of students and parents bumping their way through the very best of the â70s and â80s. He took a few graceless turns himself; while Bob Seger, Bruce Springsteen, and AC/DC reigned supreme over the wide open space, he pulled some mildly impressive moves. More importantly, though, he didnât give a shit how he looked. This encouraged your group to let loose a little, too, and you somehow found yourself burrowing even further into the sea of people.
Your arms were compressed on either side of you. Your shoulders were bumped, and nudged, and given little more than a quarter of an inch for your chest to expand in the shallowest of breaths. Every pull of your lungs was an effort, and still, you couldnât help but smile as you ran a quick look over the heads of everyone around. This was fun. Private, even. With dozens of nameless, faceless bodies gyrating in time with the music, you could blend right in. You could pretend that everything was normal.
Even with the press of a familiar form at your back, you could pretend it was just the crowd forcing him thereâthat Joel had just sauntered in behind you by accident.
It was risky, to be sure. The lights above flashed in bright white bursts, undulating with every pulse of the song being played, and it wasnât too far from you that Aly and all the rest of them were strewn throughout the crowd.
But Joel hadnât seemed to have noticed. Beneath the myriad limbs of the bargoers around you and him, he moved a hand to your waist. It hovered precariously for half a second, then tightened. It drew you closer to him.
You tried to push it away on instinct, heart jumping in your throat: what if Scott or Michelle or anyone else turned their heads at that moment and found him touching you there? What if the grasp their eyes caught wasnât the wholesome, blameless kind that was meant to be shared between stepfather and stepdaughter? Who the hell was supposed to do the explaining to them then?
Clearly Joel wasnât all that concerned about it; he slid his palm back up your side and gripped your hip hard after youâd nudged him off. He took a daring step forward, and you could feel him shake his head behind you. Smiling.
âAnd if I made a joke about father-daughter dancesââ
âI would kill you with my two bare hands, Miller.â
Your backside glanced off his front. It wasnât so much a deliberate move on your part but a byproduct of the rhythm. Some soft rock song was coming to an end, and your body rolled gently with his. The friction was minimal. This kind of proximity was easy to be explained away, if Dallas ever happened to look in your directionâ
âJoel!â
Something hard pushed into your ass. You had to steel yourself quick, eyes darting furtively about to make sure no one had seen what youâd just felt between your legs. Then you tried wriggling away, off of him, and were rewarded with another hand on your side. It gripped the flesh just above your hipbone with a tender conviction.
Joelâs lips grazed your cheek briefly. His grip loosened.
âSee what you do to me?â he murmured, and the fingers that heâd eased around your waist were turning you back.
Facing him now, away from your group. More bodies filled in between you and them, and the force of that influx pushed you closer to Joel. It shoved you together. It almost couldnât be helpedâthat was what you kept telling yourself, anywayâwhen your frame melded to his, and his hands lowered to your hips, and one finger worked its way through your taut, denim belt loop in a manner completely unbecoming of a normal stepfather.
That callused finger held you firm to him with your jeans. It didnât give an inch, and his eyes on yours did the same.
You were drifting further out. This didnât matter as much. Anyone who saw you now would just have to guess that you were Joelâs, and Joelâs was yoursâif only for now.
Your lips and his were gravitating closer then, too. You were just about to part yours to speak, when one soft, opening sequence broke out in the air, and you groaned.
No fucking way.
An all-too-familiar mid-tempo tune flooded the room and coursed in and out of your skull with a low, rhythmic tick.
It was eerie. Dreamy. Nearly haunting in the way it rang out right here, right now, with Joelâs hold on your sides tightening more and more with every passing second.
You hoped like hell he didnât know this song, though you were half-certain this was a big hit from back in his day.
When Joel tipped his head back and fell right in step with the swaying cadence, you werenât left guessing for long. Of course this slick bastard liked George Michael.
Of course he did.
What more of an appropriate song to be dancing to now, other than fucking âFather Figureâ of all the throwbacks?
Joel lifted both arms in a half-shimmy, half-slide and flashed a shit-eating grin down at you. It was smug.
âFor one moment, to be warm and naked at my side.â
Joel raised his brows with it, as if hearing the lyrics for the first time and being shocked. He wasnât, clearly, as he rolled his shoulders in a stupid and seductive way, and dragged you closer to meet his bodyâs movements.
âSometimes I think that youâll never understand me.â
Right. You would likely never understand Joel Miller.
âBut something tells me together weâd be happy.â
WellâŠas long as your father didnât kill him first.
Emboldened by the pre-chorus beat and the ever-increasing swell of people around him, Joel snaked an arm around your waist. He let your body fall in line with his, rolling in gentle sorts of motions until he could find what kind suited you two the best, and he led the way.
When his head dipped to yours, you could feel it coming.
âI will be your father figure. Put your tiny hand in mine.â
This time Joel was singing along, grin wide on his face. As if to mirror the lyrics, he took your hand and squeezed it. You mightâve rolled your eyes or pulled away when the man leaned down and slid his touch to your wrist. He kissed your palm. Then he kissed it again, sponging his lips to the skin in time with the rhythm of the song. It was both innocent and lewd. Wholesome and sensual.
Something trapped between perverted and polite, like Joel was testing the waters while trying not to make it seem that way at all. You kept moving in time together.
Joelâs other hand held you to him. His fingers flexed.
âYou canâtâŠâ
When his grip slid to your ass, you shook your head.
As much as you wouldâve liked to indulge the urge that was currently flooding your system, the timing was off. The choice to give in now was wrong, and risky to make.
Your roommate and her family were no more than fifteen feet away. No matter how many strangers stood between you and them, Joel was toeing a dangerous line with his hand lowered to where it was. With his face only inches away and a sly grin spreading on his lips, it was clear he knew better than this. But he was eager to talk.
âYou feel that, sweetheart?â he asked softly.
Where that single term of endearment had once made you bristle, you now sensed it warming your insides.
You nodded but were quick to add: âJoel, we canât.â
âWhyâs that?â
âBecauseâŠâ
You found yourself trailing off again, just as you felt Joelâs erection grind into your front, somewhere close to the space between your legs. It rubbed right where you needed him. While another stream of airy, dreamlike notes floated out and a tenorâs voice crooned if you ever hunger, hunger for me, you peered up to find Joel deep in contemplation. He didnât blink when you met his gaze.
Instead, he nudged you sideways. You inhaled a breath, and not long after that, you felt your back pressed to one of the lone barstools sitting at the outskirts of the room. Youâd strayed far. And now, away from all the people that youâd come here with, you had two big hands sliding up the sides of your body. Cupping your face. Guiding your mouth to meet a warmer, more desperate set of lips than youâd ever been expecting to find. Joelâs kiss was rough.
It was open and achingâa wound not willing to be soothed by anything other than your tongue on his. Swiftly, he coaxed your jaw open and slid in. He licked in. He practically panted into your mouth, fingertips carving crescents in your cheeks from just how hard he was holding your face. He didnât let up, and that hunger bled from his lips to yours. You felt a heady wave wash over your brain, and at the same time, your thighs tensed.
You pulled away.
Your lips were bitten numb. Your cunt was throbbing.
While your pulse thundered through your ears like a fucking kickdrum, your grip loosened on the front of Joelâs shirt, and you started to turn yourself from him.
What you needed to do was leave. What you couldnât stand was getting caught again, and risk it being someone who wouldnât take to it as kindly as Aly had.
But even as you walked, you felt a pulsing in your skull.
Between your legs, the feeling was worse, like there was something thrumming a frantic beat in that precious and defenseless place that you knew was needing him most. You were weak. You swiped a hand over your mouth like that would do anything, and you kept walking, knowing how closely Joel would be following you all the way out.
On such a clear, frigid night, the air outside shouldâve been a relief. Instead, your pulse hammered and swelled. Your cheeks burned. You couldâve ground your teeth so hard that you cracked enamel, and it still wouldnât have been enough to bite back the words inside your throat.
You turned to Joel wanting to tell him no. The expression that met yours said he was expecting as muchâand was preparing to objectâwhen you swiftly cut him off again.
It should end there. Nothing good ever came of you shedding your inhibitions or clothes with Joel Miller.
He reached out; you winced. You shouldnât say it.
âLetâs go home, Joel.â
You were running again.
Youâd nearly knocked him to the floor the second heâd turned the key in the door of his dingy little motel room, lips frantic over his and hands making fists in his shirt. It was exactly what heâd been hoping to seeâpart of why heâd booked this place and made the drive that weekend, to have you cradled in his arms againâbut as he crossed the threshold with you all over him, Joel grew unsettled.
He couldnât quite place the feeling, but something told him that you were only here to escape an unsavory urge. Like he was a bad habit to be flooded from your system.
You seemed to say it with every motion of your hands: skating down his front, clawing at the buttons, busying themselves with quickly trying to rid him of the fabric while your eyes stayed trained anywhere but on his face. It stung. Normally Joel wasnât the type to ruminate on the reasons why a girl might be tearing his clothes off, but tonight, with you, this wasnât what he usually did.
The ache unfurling in his chest wasnât the kind to be imparted by just anyone, he kept reminding himself.
Which was why he took hold of both your wrists. Tightly. Just as you were about to try and peel his shirt from his shoulders and expose the whole naked expanse of his chest, he stopped you. He swallowed as you groaned.
âJoel.â
âYou didnât want me kissinâ you at all back there.â
In the bar, outside the building, in the car ride over here. Youâd scarcely let him hold you for half a minute before begging to be taken home, and now that you were inside this room, alone, now you wanted to be touched by him.
Joel tried not to feel stupid saying it aloud, but hell, he felt pretty fucking pathetic peering down at you then.
You shook your head. Took a small step back from him.
âYeah. Trying not to get us caught again, remember?â
And when you backed off, you stayed off, if only to start unfastening the little straps of your top and kick your shoes off your feet. You made your way over to the king-sized bed at the center of the room and sat down. Joel took off his own shoes but didnât follow, opting instead to rest his weight on the old TV stand across from you.
He planted his hands on the hardwood surface on either side of him, watched you shuffle to the edge of the bed, and had to steel himself when the next pieces of clothing came sliding off your body. You were lifting your shirt over your head, then dragging your jeans down your legs.
Before you were stripped bare, Joel cleared his throat.
âI said we were gonna have a little chat later, too.â
He sounded like a dad. This really had to stop.
Instead of following his lead, you only kicked your pants off at your feet and leaned back. Joel approached the bed, and you greeted him with a coquettish look, like you already knew where this was going. But you couldnât.
Joel made sure that you wouldnât when he cupped your chin in his hand and made you tilt your face up to him.
âHoney,â he started, stern, while you reached for his belt.
Youâd almost succeeded in threading your fingers through the leather and tugging it loose when Joelâs grip drew tighter. He jerked your chin up in a pinch, ignoring the roll of your eyes, and for yet another beat, he felt that obscure urge to discipline you again. Like you needed it.
If he could just control himself and play things rightâŠ
âListen, Iâm not trying to be your father.â
Wait. No. That came out wrong.
Your eyes widened some.
âOh, really, daddy?â
Well, shit.
Joel straightened where he stood and tried not to puff out his chest like an old father-type might do, but the effort was uselessâeverything the man said and did was like the fucking calling card of a patriarch. He scrubbed a hand over his face and pretended not to see you grin up at him, your gaze bright and fiery as the Fourth of July.
He could hold important conversations and still not try to jump your bones immediately. He could control himself. He could slap on a semi-austere look and just tell you.
âI love you, you know that, right?â he blurted out.
Your eyes widened again, this time in alarm.
âChrist, Joel.â
You were sliding back on the bed. Shaking your head and pursing your lips in a grimace like this wasnât happening.
âWeâre not doing this again,â you added in a grave voice.
Joel was already making his way up after youâagain, like a fucking moron, he feltâcrawling on hands and knees across the moth-eaten, coral-colored bedspread and trying not to panic and failing miserably, per usual.
ââSâalright if you donât wanna say it back, I justââ
âI didnât mean to say it in the first place, Joel!â
But there was a strain in your words. Denial.
You were working in earnest not to expose that sliver of self that wanted him, too. Joel could feel it. He planted his knees on the mattress and met you closer to the headboard, where your breaths were coming in faster. You shook your head, but you also didnât stop him when he drew in even closer and lowered his body to yours.
He was hovering, almost.
Just as heâd been poised above your soft, beaming face all those weeks back in some little podunk townâat Balmacedaâs Mountain Lodge, where youâd been stuck together, only to fuck each other for the first time that nightâhe pressed a touch to your side. He rubbed his thumb just over your hipbone, where the panties you had on still clung to your skin, and he watched you tense up.
It was like before, only worse: now you knew his touch, and he knew yours, but there was a dread in your eyes.
As if you couldnât stand to be under him, you slid back.
âJoel, pleaseâŠdonât,â you murmured hoarsely.
âDonât what?â His stomach dropped.
âDonât ever say that again.â
That he loved you?
Joel never thought one string of words could hurt him so much, but there it was. While his heart unwound and his ego met with a swift and unceremonious death, he felt something like agitation twist inside him, too. Cruelly.
This was what heâd come this whole way to tell you.
The man could handle rejection; that wasnât the problem. What bothered him now was how unflinchingly committed you seemed to misunderstand his intentions. Something surged in his chest again, and this time, it wasnât all hurtâit was anger, too. Why you refused to accept that someone might love you was beyond him.
He didnât reach for you again or crowd you further, but he raked a hand through his hair and heaved a hard sigh.
âWhy wonât you believe me?â This time pleading.
âItâs not that I wonâtâI just canât, Joel. I canât.â
âWhy canât you?â
You started to speak, but then that balloon of rage swelled bigger in his chest, and it wasnât meant to be directed at youâit was only meant for himself, why wasnât he enoughâand he spit the words like venom.
âHavenât I shown you that I mean it? That Iâ Iâ I care? Iâm here. I came to see you. Iâm telling you that I love you. How else am I supposed to show the woman I love that I care when you wonât let me in an inch, except whenââ
âExcept when youâre seven deep in me?â you scoffed.
It was bitter and derisive, and you slid farther back.
âFor Christâs sake,â Joel gritted through his teeth.
He didnât even wait for you to interject, as he came back: âIs that all you think of me? Is that what I am to you?â
His voice was loud, and he hadnât meant for it to be.
He was pushing off the bed, watching you sit back.
âI just think itâs real convenient,â you snapped again, âBetraying my trust by not telling me about dadâs affair, finding me in a weak moment, letting me believe you feel the same so you donât have to deal with thisâŠthisâŠguilt.â
Joel couldnât believe what he was hearing.
âYou think I did all of this out of pity?â
âI think youâre trying to be aââ
âThat I would lie about it?â
His heart rate was spiking. He felt his pulse thudding in his ears as he stalked around the footboard and scowled.
âJoel, Iââ
âNo.â He shook his head hard. He was sincerely trying not to fit the bill for âhot-headed, explosively angry father,â but the efforts he made seemed all in vain. Joel could hardly talk now without raising his voice to a shout.
âI haveââ he started, only to stop himself, swallowing.
His throat ached, and he almost choked on his words.
âI have been in love with you this whole fuckinâ time!â
His eyes burned. The sound came out angry, hoarse. Maybe he was; he just couldnât contain it anymore. Silence filled the open space, and time distended.
He couldnât stand the way you wouldnât believe him, even now, as you straightened and shook your head.
âNo, you havenât.â
âI have.â
âYou donât meanââ
âYou donât get to tell me what I mean!â
He stared back and watched your gaze erupt in ire. Indignation. Lips drawing tight and teeth baring and hands gripping the bedspread beside you, as if enraged.
âI do. I can. Youâreâ youâre full of shit.â
Your words made him want to hurl something at a wall.
âAm I?!â he bellowed.
âYes!â you spat.
âHow can you say that?!â
And, without meaning to, Joelâs knee hit the side of the nightstand while he turned abruptly from you. The whole thing shook; the lamp nearly toppled, and the man immediately reached for it, then out to you. The gesture was a reflexive apology, but you responded by shoving his hands off. An angry sound racked through your body as you moved from himââYouâyou donât mean it, Joel.â
âI do. I mean it. Believe me, I do.â
That sound from his chest couldâve been half a sob.
He reached for you again, knees sinking with the springs of the mattress beneath him, and you shuffled further back. Your movements slowed. Suddenly, Joelâs stopped.
He couldnât see it without a winceâyour hands shaking. Your fingers tried making fists but failed, and in an effort to conceal the fear they held, you seized the comforter.
His throat ached, and that pain only soared in a second.
âYou canâtâŠyou canât mean it if Iâm just a secret to you.â Your tone was a rasp. The lips that spoke it were curled, revealing teeth still gritted. Eyes filling with more tears, âYou canât say you love me ifâŠif youâre just gonna leave.â
By the end of it, your words were ground to a murmur. Your voice was hushed and slow and begging to be spared notice, as though every syllable hurt to say.
Your bottom lip was quivering too. He knew you were kicking yourself for itâcould see the embarrassment etched into your gaze as you blinked back nothing, then one, then two, then a barrage of slow, hot tearsâbut no matter what you did to fight it off, your body trembled.
The whole thing was practically vibrating with hurt. Humiliation and anger had evidently joined the mix, and before he could even think to speak, you mumbled again:
âYouâre gonna leave me, Joel.â
The hurt wouldnât stop.
âYou donât love me.â
Your voice cracked to continue, pain clinched with a sob.
âYou canât.â
In the look that met his, he saw a wall of warring fears. It wasnât all for him, either. There were wounds that were the work of years beneath the surface of your skin, ones entrenched in flesh since long before heâd ever known you or laid a finger on that part himself. It started young.
Your lashes battled to keep the tears at bay, but the floodgates had opened. Your secret was gone. There was no sense in feigning indifference when the truth was laid bareâthat you didnât deem yourself worthy of love, and likely never had. Regardless, you worked hard not to cry. You scrunched your nose, mashed your lips together, and stared anywhere but him, and the tears kept flowing. Gently, but without slowing, they streaked down in turn.
âNo, sweet pea, I love you. I love you. I ainât leavinâ.â
It was all Joel could do to keep his own vision clear.
He already knew you wouldnât believe him, but that didnât stop him from saying the words all the same.
âIâ I said it first,â he went on, words tumbling out.
You turned wet, sad eyes to him in utter silence, and that made him want to ramble on forever. As long as it took.
âAt the fair, a month before you ever said it, I was trying to tell you I loved you then. You ran off before I could.â
That was the truth.
If Joel had any hope of regaining your trust, it would need to start there. And out of one truth came another.
âI already knew I loved you before that. I wouldâve said it, except it just felt wrong, with all thatâŠthat stuff I knew.â
He meant knowing about his best friend, your father, and his little rekindled romance with his former mistress. It wasnât right, keeping you in the dark about something like that, but he also hadnât wanted to hurt you. There was more to the story that complicated things further, and frankly, Joel had been too swept up in the novelty of this thing you two had had to choose the smarter path.
That didnât excuse what he did. Hell, it only hurt him worse seeing your eyes gloss over and stay fixed on his.
Knowing youâd trusted him not to hurt youâand he had.
If you didnât accept what he told you now, he wouldnât fault you for it. All he could do was slide off the bed and pull you to a perch on the edge, while he planted himself on the carpeted floor and kneeled in between your legs.
Cupping your tear-stained face in his hands, pleading:
âBaby.â
You blinked back at him but ventured nothing.
âSweet pea, I am not keeping you a secret.â
A beat.
âIâm not leavinâ. I want moreâneed more.â
And for some reason, that felt like a weightier admission than heâd even thought possible. He wasnât good at this.
He wasnât quite cut of a cloth to know just how to soothe you and make things right, but he did know that holding you felt right to him. So he did. He rubbed his thumbs in little circles over your warm, wet, puffy cheeks, and he pulled your face closer to his. He held your gaze and watched an internal war wage somewhere far behind your eyes as you tried to contend with this new feelingâthat of being wanted and needed and loved as you were.
You sniffled between his two broad palms.
âI want you to stay,â you said softly.
Joelâs heart hammered at that.
He couldnât hope to leave out the rest. He let go of your face then and felt an irresistible urge to go on, even if it was much too soon and he had meant to show you later. As stupid as the idea had been, heâd already made it, and there was no going back anyhow. He would tell you here.
He reached in his pocket for his wallet. He broke your gaze momentarily to take it out, flip it open, and then card his fingers through the bills a few aching moments before pulling it outâthe thing heâd wanted to show you.
When he held it up, a set, he flitted a quick look to what heâd lifted between you and him, as if the sight might give him answers on what to say. Sadly, nothing came.
Joel was totally on his own in explaining what this was. Lucky for him, though, you didnât seem keen to judge.
âTheyâreâŠtheyâre tickets,â he started. Stupid.
You raised a brow, trying to read, and he forged ahead. Just as the words first appeared to register in your mind, and the faintest look of shock took shape, he hurried out:
âBilly Joelâs got a show cominâ up in Austin this June. IâŠI thoughtâ well, I hoped, I guess, that maybe we couldâŠâ
Spit it out, Miller.
Spit. It. Out.
He frowned.
âIâm no good at this. Sorry. I wanted us to goâŠtogether.â
And thenâŠ
âAnd I want your dad to know about us before then.â
There it is.
The last lynchpin in the manâs resolve was gone. Heâd said it. There was no turning back from what heâd offered, or what it required, and now you knew he wanted things to be real and committed. Serious.
Terrifying.
Your eyes remained fixed on his. For a second, that look, and your whole upper half, appeared so still Joel thought you mightâve stopped breathing altogether. You blinked. Glancing down at the tickets in his hand and batting your lashes again, as if you werenât quite sure how to answer.
Then, at last, he heard a sharp inhaleâOr was it an exhale? He couldnât tellâand before he could blink back or wonder so much as a thought, the breath was battered out of his own chest. You rushed him.
Youâd moved so fast, hugged him so quick, Joel scarcely knew what was what until he felt your arms snake around his neck. You joined him on the filthy, soiled floor and dropped your knees on either side of his body in a kind of straddling hug. It was as swift as it was unexpected, and it took him a second to adjust. But no longer than that.
Joel was relieved to feel your warmth. Squeezing him. Choking him, almost. He didnât think youâd ever held him that hard in his life, so he did all he could to soak it in.
It was only when he heard another sob that he paused.
âYouâŠyou want to?â Your voice was tiny against him.
ââCourse I do, darlinâ,â Joel answered in a breath he hadnât realized he was holding. He cupped the back of your head to him and held you tighter, âOf course I do.â
Then, because the impulse struck again: âI love you.â
He didnât need you to say it back; a look was enough. When you drew back and met his gaze, eyes still doused with tears but smiling faintly at him, Joel was content to see your acceptance. Allowing love in in some small way.
And when your lips succeeded that look, meeting his in a soft kiss, and your body shifted up toward the bed, he didnât protest. He kissed you back. Joel didnât have to have love spelled out in words for him to feel what you meant. You said it gently, but somehow with even more force than when youâd stumbled into this room together, touch beckoning him in as you laid back on the mattress.
Admittedly, every inch of this place was seedy. On such short notice Joel hadnât had much of a pick among his choice of accommodations, and the shortage showed. Still, when you slid up that old, worn bed and stretched yourself in wordless welcome, he couldnât have asked for more. He only wished that he could give you more, but for right now, at least, that was out of the question. He leaned in and found your lips like second nature, slotting between your thighs and kissing you harder. The concert tickets had shortly been cast aside on the night stand.
âI love you.â
It slipped out again, and Joel didnât care. His tongue chanced past the seam of your lips and, once inside, explored every contour, ridge, and crevice it could find.
While he did, a touch palmed your breasts over your bra. Your skin was warm; gaze soft, the last heâd seen of it. The scent of you rose to greet him like a mist of some wild intoxicant: citrus, mint, a tinge of sweat, and a liter of your favorite fruity drink, if heâd had to guess. You flooded his senses. It wasnât enough for him simply to hold flesh in his hands and explore your body with his lips and tongue; Joel wanted to consume something more, though he hardly had the words to articulate it.
You unclasped your bra just as his mouth slid down to your neck. There was a beatâyour sharp intake of breath when his teeth met skin and marked it with the tenderest biteâand then your arms reached out. You discarded your bra and bared yourself to him, and when Joel tilted his head to take in the view, he had to groan your name.
There was no other logical route for him to go.
Youâd just begun to wind your fingers through his hair when he slid down to greet that newly-exposed place.
âI love you,â he repeated against your skin before drawing one nipple between his lips. He kissed it.
Your grip grew tighter.
âJoel, please.â
His teeth had only reappeared a second to tug the pebbled flesh between them, tongue hungry and wet and laving gently across that hardened peak, when your legs wound around him too. You pulled his body into you.
Joel was helpless to the inducement. His torso fell more heavily to yours and his lips suckled with a vigor that betrayed sheer desperation. He felt it strain in his pants. When he moved from one breast to the other, he heard a wet pop, and the whimper when he re-attached himself was enough to make the bulge he felt swell even bigger. His tongue caressed in laving, measured motions along the curve, and he tried not to grow overly eager from it.
Donât get too excited. You need time. Lots and lots ofâ
âJoel,â you exhaled on a particularly harsh press of his mouth. Your ribs heaved with it. âComeâ come here.â
He was clambering back up in an instant. The ministrations of his lips that had practically engulfed your skin and smeared it with his saliva were swapped in a blink with them returning to your chin, jaw, and cheeks, planting kisses in between the words he murmured next.
âYeah? Everyââ To the side of your mouth. âEverything OK, sweet pea?â Feeling guilty but also simply needing to calm himself down. âToo fast?â Another to your cheek.
It wasnât like the two of you hadnât gone too far, too soon before. In fact, it was a pretty regular occurrence with the sex you had. Joel just needed a resetâhad to make sure this was alright, and that he could cool down if needed.
He felt a pinch in his groin but ignored it.
Suddenly, your gaze was on his again.
Fingers carded through the sweat-damp, striated tufts of black and silver hair at the sides of his head, and you leaned in closer until your nose and his were touching.
âHere,â you pressed him, low. Need crept into those words, and your grasp constricted. âStay here, please.â
It was clear you were inviting him back to your lips, to kiss them, so Joel did just that. He bracketed his arms on either side of your head and let his mouth explore as it had before. Where he resumed at equal force, you met him with still more warmth and wanting and open fervor, tongue curling around his in some soft and wordless plea
Below the belt, Joel was throbbing. He didnât need to reflect long at all to know what that meant. Then your lips parted wider, your ankles dug deeper in the backs of his calves, and your hips started grinding against him.
Dry humping.
Whining at the friction.
âFeelsâŠfeels so good, Joel,â you told him breathlessly.
âYou like that?â His lower half mimicked the motions.
Need blossomed across your face as the ridge of his cock rubbed in just the right way through his slacks. Something harder than he meantâa thrust, like he was fucking you into the bedâshook your frame, as well as the mattress underneath it. Springs creaked. Metal groaned. Warmth spread, from the pit of his stomach to where your body met his. The movements kept going.
You were slick beneath him. You must have been. Your whines had heightened to punctured gasps and your hips were so desperate, rubbing your barely-clothed core to the front of his pants and brows pinching as ifâ
You were already expecting this to end.
You didnât think that he would stay.
âBaby,â Joel panted again.
By now, desire consumed him, but the urge to smooth that tiny crease of worry was coursing just as powerfully. He swallowed, gripped the linens beside your head in one hand a little harder, and opened his mouth to speak.
Another flick of your hips. Another sigh. Another whine.
Another pinch somewhere deep within him, and a groan.
Suddenly, your hands were on his shoulders, sliding up and toward his neck. Your fingers clawed for his hair.
âJoel,â you panted back.
Joel had tried to slow the motions of his lower half to talk, but yours had only sped up to grind yourself against him. He could feel the heat bleeding from you now. Wetness formed and expanded in a patch through your pink cotton panties and likely stained his front, or would.
His cock was swollen stiff and throbbing. Precum pearled at the tip of him, no doubt, and with every jerk of your body, he could feel it smearing and aching to slip in.
He wanted to be inside you. His balls twitched, his stomach ached, and his senses were suffused with you, a white-hot desire to paint your mouth, your skin, or your insides with his cum nearly as strong. But he had to stop.
Then you kissed him.
Joelâs lips were still parted when your mouth found his, kissing him sweetly and without reserve. Your fingers that had threaded through his hair pulled taut. Hard.
Your center slid up the length of his fully clothed cock, and with one more press of your legs, Joel felt you.
Heâd never wanted anything more in his life, and still, he fought to speakâto reassure you that he wasnât leaving.
âJoelââ
âI know, I know. Baby, Iâfuck.â His breath hitched in his throat when his bulge pulsated again. His head swam.
With what meager resolve the man still possessed, he ventured another kiss, then drew back. His eyes dropped and searched your expression, half-crazed, and just when the words were taking shape again, you parted your lips and brought them to his. You rolled your hips, balled your fingers into fists through his hair, and with your mouth and his a quarter-inch apart in puckered, pretty âOâs, panting with every thrust that shook the bed:
âI love you, Joel.â
It was a breath, and the taste had never felt sweeter.
One more jerk of his hips and you were drawing in once again, panting in his mouth as if to make sure he heard.
âIâ I love you. I love you so much,â you murmured, low.
His cum unloaded in thick, hot ropes. He couldnât stop it.
Joel Miller, at the age, maturity, and level of experience he could boast, had never cum virtually untouched and in his own fucking pants sinceâŠhe couldnât remember when. But he was. His spend pulsed out from the head of his cock in dizzying bursts, and his stomach clenched. He gripped the bedspread and let out a guttural groan while he soaked the front of his boxers from inside them.
His dick throbbed and leaked, and his breathing slowed. He mumbled something back, quietlyââI love you, too.â
Then he pushed up and off of you, out of the bed.
Seconds stretched; he didnât feel it. Stars burst behind his eyes with every step, and he staggered that path to the bathroom like his life or his pride might depend on it.
As a matter of fact, the damage was already done. Heâd jizzed in his pants like an overeager teen getting his dick touched or sucked for the very first time. What was worse, you hadnât been doing either when he came; youâd told him you loved him, and that was enough.
Enough to make him look like a goddamn idiot, Joel thought without blinking. He kicked the door shut behind him and reached for the zip of his pants.
Sticky. Wet. A whole fucking shitshow below the belt.
He ran the tap. He had his undone slacks and boxers pulled down past his hips, and he was facing the sink in seconds, assessing the extent of the damage. Then his face flushed red at the sight of the sticky, milky mess swarming his groin and he couldâve kicked himself. He settled for yanking a towel out from one of the cubbies beneath the counter and running it under the water. He daubed quick and without much precision, gaze darting to find dozens more clumps of his spend strewn about than he thought possible. Heâd cum an absurd amount.
Before he chastised himself, though, he had to pause.
âJoel?â
Your voice was soft. Sometime since heâd unzipped and started scrubbing his crotch in vicious circles, youâd appeared at the door, head peeking around curiously.
You must not have been standing there for long, because you actually drew closer to join him. Feeling comfortable enough in roughly thirty square feet of space, you shut the door again and leaned your hip against the counter.
If Joel didnât know you better, and he wasnât already occupied with wiping cum off of his cock and balls, he mightâve searched your face for a smile. A smirk, maybe.
It wasnât like teasing each other was suddenly off-limits now that Joel was brimming with embarrassment. Half your communication was giving the other shit for little mishaps and quirks, and he expected that his last accident in the bedroom would be no different.
He flinched when you reached out instead.
Hooking your fingers under the waistband of his pants and his plaid boxers, you shuffled in closer to him and let out a breath. You tugged once, twiceâgently, so as not to further disrupt the mess or make him winceâand then coaxed the fabric down his legs, lower and lower.
When you peered up at him, Joel couldnât find so much as a trace of amusement in your eyes or on your lips. You just nudged his slacks to the tiled floor and hummed.
âItâll be easier if we wash it off in there.â
You nodded to the shower behind him.
Joel turned slightly, as if considering or trying to get a glimpse of the freestanding shower with its wide-open, mildewed curtain seeming to beckon him in, then stopped. He turned back and chucked his towel.
âAlright,â he said while kicking his pants off at the ankles. Talking softly and not meeting your gaze, âThatâs fine.â
He pivoted once more to peel his shirt off and make toward the shower by himself, and you surprised him, again, when you bypassed his much larger frame and hopped in first. You slid your panties off and tossed them into the pile of clothes by the sink, and you twisted the knob on the wall. You sidestepped the first stuttered sprays and drew the curtain back in wordless invitation.
Joel hovered, eyes scanning the cramped space.
âI donât think weâre both gonna fit in here.â
Then, as though to emphasize his point:
âI can wash off by myself. ItâsâŠfine.â
He hadnât meant it to sound so stilted, but that was just how he felt: stiff and awkward and raw with feelings of recent embarrassment. He tilted his head to the side.
Your head tipped right back, and you raised a brow.
âJust get in, Miller. Freezinâ my fuckinâ ass off.â
And there was a smile: the first one. Faint.
Not mocking, snide, or condescending. Just the kind to usher him in and drag the curtain behind his hulking body, wipe a slick, wet hand over your mouth and grinââYou do know Iâve seen you naked before, right?ââand that set his mind at ease. He almost smiled himself.
âSo you remember that Iâm a grower, not a shower.â
Joel cupped his hands over his softening length in faux protective fashion, as if you hadnât seen the thing dozens of times by now. When he sidled up and cornered you between the soap tray and the shower stream, he found the edges of his lips kicking up a little, unable to help it.
Youâd seen him hard, soft, and everything in betweenâmostly hard when near you. Maybe it wasnât the worst thing that you were getting to experience him like this.
That made him lean in closer. Chance another joke.
âLooks like your old manâs stamina has taken a hit, too.â
Joel had meant it to sound playful. Suggestive, even. Instead, it came out dismal and gruff, like he was trying to overcompensate for something he was sorely lacking.
He mightâve wanted to kick himself again, were it not for the next move you pulled on him, which was enough to pluck his thoughtsâand his breathâout of his body.
Without wasting a second to pretense or teasing, you simply brushed your hand down his front and touched him, gently. He was softer, smaller, and almost wholly spent from his last exertion; still, you reached and wrapped your fingers around his length with care.
Sparks ignited from the place where you trailed. Joel had to swallow a groan, oversensitive and fairly stunned, and his palm came to rest on the wall behind your head. His chin dipped toward his chest while his gaze dropped too.
He watched you stroke him once, rub your thumb along the tender skin, then bring your left hand to join the mix, carrying a bar of soap with it. You started from the base.
âBaby,â Joel rasped. The muscles of his stomach clenched while you drew circles to spread the soap.
âMy old man,â you repeated affectionately.
It was artless and kind. Friendly and gentle. Most every other time heâd been touched where you had him, the hands had meant to arouse, and seek something else. Here, you were trying to help. Clean him sweetly and without concern for yourself while also drawing him in, like you always did. It made his chest hurtâand not in a way totally unconcerning for a man his age. Nonetheless, he leaned into that feeling and shifted his body to yours.
His head and your head were now doused with water, his hovering above so close that little droplets streaked from his chin down your slightly upturned face. Joel could feel you watching him. He flicked his own gaze back to meet yours, and as he did, your palm stroked him from root to tip. His hips jerked involuntarily; he swelled in your grip.
His cock stiffened but still remained far from fully erect. Joel swallowed, anchored his hand harder on the wall, and wished himself a decade or three younger, at least.
âYou alright with this?â he muttered.
âWith what?â you mumbled back.
Joel sucked in a breath just as your hand, and the soap, slid back down his length, and rubbed casually around it. You assumed a leisurely pace and scrubbed his tummy.
âMy body ainât what it wasââ
âAnd itâs more than enough.â
Suddenly, your eyes werenât just resting on his but pressing. Piercing. The circles working to clean his skin increased in pace and force, and you set the soap aside. You nudged him closer to the water, but all Joel felt was the urge to draw you with him. The shower stream pelted his chest, his belly, his freshly soaped lower half, and past the suds, a gradually hardening cock. Gradually.
You had him in your hand; you were rinsing him clean. Joel shouldâve extended some murmured thanks, a calm and uncalculating touch coming to rest on one of your shoulders while you did him this innocent favor. Your lips twitched. His cock hardened. Then your back was flat on the shower wall, and Joel was hovering over your drenched and naked frame again, only his touch was descending to your hip instead. He held it firmly.
âYou could have your pick of any guyââ
âGood thing I only want you.â
Your grip tightened too. Now that youâd scrubbed him clean, you seemed ready to let go in the next second, but old habits died hard. Joel leaned in to nose your cheek.
âThat so?â His hand moved from your hip to what he knew would be a scorching heat between your thighs.
Two thick fingers glided through your folds and forced a whimper out of your throat. You were soaking wet, and not just from the showerâs spray. Joel rubbed that slick, delicate seam with all the self-control he could muster in the moment, and he kissed your cheek. Every inch he could feel of you was brimming with warmth and need.
You tilted your chin and caught his lips. You parted your legs and held his almost-fully erect length in your grasp.
âIâ I mean it, Joel,â you answered him, surprisingly soft then. You kissed the sides of his mouth while you continued to stroke up and down. âI want you.â
Joelâs hips shifted involuntarily. As if moving of its own volition, his lower half stirred beneath your touch, and shortly, he had your legs spread wider and his body slotting in the gap between. His fingers pushed deeper.
And, just as his hand was all but cupping your mound and the wet heat of your cunt was pulsing against him, Joel slowed. He sucked in a breath and met your gaze.
âHow do you want me, sweetheart?â he murmured.
In reply, you gripped his base and guided him closer. Flicked your thumb over the fat, leaking tip and sighed.
âRightâŠhere.â
âRight here?â
Joel hadnât meant to move you so quickly, but one blink and your hand was off him completely; your back was turned to him, and your ass was pressed flush with his groin. He had to hunch in the tight, wet, fog-infested enclosure with his chin jutting in over your shoulder and his palm splayed over your tummy. He spoke softly again:
âYou want daddy in here, pretty girl?â
Your whine was all he needed to hear.
And perhaps it wouldâve been wise to wait a beat or two. Work two fingers in and out of your aching cunt, drag his tongue through your folds, or else use his throbbing tip to ease you open for him. Before he could even think to make use of his hands, mouth, or head, though, you were reaching behind and taking him yourself. You pressed a palm to the wall and pushed up on the tips of your toes, and with impatience bleeding through your every movement, you slid back onto him. You did it quickly.
In the absence of adequate foreplay, entry wasnât swift. Joel almost choked at the feeling of how tight you were around himâhow rigid and warm and narrow you felt on that first slide. He planted a grounding hand next to your own out of sheer necessity. He held your hip in his other and swallowed a groan that seemed fit to nearly kill him.
âSweetheart,â he panted against your neck, âEasy. Easy.â
You tried to nod your understanding but slid up just as fast. From a glimpse of your profile, Joel could make out some consternation fanning out. Your brows pinched.
The pretty, slick âoâ encircling his cock clenched again, and it was evident you were trying to force the motion back down against your bodyâs wishes. You whimpered a little and dropped your free hand between your legs.
Joel kissed your jaw. Your cheek. Your ear. Partly to remind you that he was fine to take things slow and partly to quiet his own hammering heart inside him.
It wasnât working.
You were just so. fucking. tight.
âIâ you gotta slow down, sweet pea,â he hissed through gritted teeth. Your walls pulsed again, and it nearly sent him spiraling. The second your ass met his hips and he was buried to the hilt, he stifled a groan into your neck.
âBut I need you, daddy,â you whined, âNeed you inside.â
Another grunt. Another moan. Another suffocating pulse.
âIâm gonna blow if we donât slow down some, honey.â
It was mortifying, but it was the truth. Tonight, Joel just couldnât seem to keep his cum confined to his balls like he normally could. Presently, they rested firm and heavy against the globes of your ass and were just then preparing to hit a rhythm as you rocked back and forth.
Your gaze flashed to his over your shoulder.
âThatâs OK. YouâŠyou canâ oh.â
Before you could finish that thought, your words were torn from your tongue and lost to a shuddering moan. His cock plunged deep within your soft and airtight channel, and your head lolled back a little more.
Out of habit, Joel pulled out and then plunged back in, feeling the wet clutch of you stretch around his cock.
âI can what, honey? What can daddy do?â
Lax as his voice made him sound, the man was coming apart at the seams; he had only to search your face for a fleeting, desperate moment, find you hungry as he was, and he thrusted even harder, absorbed the shockwaves of your pleasure while he fucked you up against the wall.
Gradually, the spatter of water on white glossy tile gave way to the sounds of your skin and his hitting again and again. Your face softened, and the once-taut walls eased to accommodate his girth. You squeezed Joel from base to tip, making the most obscene noises when he slid in and out, and from the look you gave him then, he could sense the need before it ever left your lips. He saw desire fill your pretty, glossy stare and felt compelled to sate it.
Again, it seemed you were begging him to stay.
Expression so pleading and sweet and soft.
âDaddy, Iâ I want you to cum inside me.â
Joel almost blew his load on the spot. His hips had to stutter in placeâso taken aback by what youâd just saidâbut then you were bouncing back and forth again, neck craning to flash him the most winsome smile.
âOh, honeyâŠâ
âPlease.â
Heâd finished in you before. It had been an accident. The night had ended with you and him hauling ass to the nearest CVS and hitting the Plan B like it owed you money. And now you were asking him to do it?
âIâm about to start my period. Itâll be fine.â
The half-starved look in your eyes said youâd been thinking about this for awhile. Maybe not with your rational brain, but certainly in earnest. Your smile said it.
For some reason, it felt wrong to finish in the shower. So he cut the water, toweled you both, and took you to bed. He slid under thin, sodden, wildly outdated motel sheets without letting his lips disconnect from yours once. He propped your legs around his hips and kissed you harder. He found a home within the furthest recesses of your body he could find, and his heart still throbbed for more. It was the best and worst agony, to be so delirious in the need for someone else, but each time you met him and accepted him in, his pleasure soared to new heights.
His cock dragged in and out of your heat in sloppy, shallow thrusts. He felt your wetness ease his passage and welcome him deeper, until the mouth of your cunt was stretched as taut against his base as it would go and your walls were pulsing with need. You squirmed underneath him. Your whines turned into whimpers, and the whimpers became ragged, hiccuping gasps as you clawed at his back and begged for more, more, more.
ââMâso full. Feels so, so good, daddy,â you breathed.
âYeah?â Joel said, and he glanced between your bodies to see you stretched and stuffed to the brim with cock. He groaned involuntarily. âI fit so nice, donât I, baby?â
âYouâ you do, daddy. You do.â
âCan I fit a little more in?â
Your eyes widened.
As soon as realization dawned, you nodded your head and gripped him tighter. You hardly needed another stab of his hips, his thumb on your clit, or so much as a word spoken besidesâat just the thought of being filled with his seed, your body seized in anticipation. It was you trembling, shuddering, clenching hard and reaching bliss before you even meant to get there, really. You were wholly overstimulated and clamoring for more, the pulses of your cunt milking his cock with all you had.
Joel scarcely had the presence of mind to get a syllable out, but he knew what he needed to say before his pleasure took hold. He smoothed a hand over your cheek, cupped it, and lowered his lips to yours, so only the cusp of his mouth and his stubble were grazing your open pout and the words he spoke were all yours to hear.
Sliding deeper. Meeting and holding your gaze with bare, uncontrived sincerity: âIâm yours, baby. Iâm all yours.â
His balls tightened. He wanted to say more to set your mind at ease and assure you what you meant to him, but evidently, your bodies had other plans. In the next moment, he felt a familiar warmth spurt from his tip, and his hips jerked. His cock burrowed as deep within your wet, pliant walls as it could go, and he unloaded rope after rope of his cum. Joel let out a full-throated groan.
The wild hum of his pulse through his skull all but rendered him deaf to the sounds around him, but he knew he told you that he loved you; he knew you said it back. He felt you anchor your heels into the backs of his legs and accept him completely. You spent what felt like hours kissing, writhing, panting, and murmuring words of the warmest affection. In reality, this lasted seconds.
With you underneath him, in his arms, it didnât matter.
âI love you, Joel,â you whispered again, smiling.
He grinned and kissed you, âI love you more.â
And heâd meant what he said: every inch of him was yours. Every moment you would let him have from that point forward, heâd spend showing you that he was there to stay. He didnât care how long it would take to prove it.
For once, he didnât care what your dad would have to say
Notes: I didn't really edit this at all and just kinda spewed it out! Enjoy!!!
Wanna read something specific for Joel Miller? Send me a request!!
âSay it,â Joel was holding your jaw in his hand and his voice was gentle but uncompromising. You looked up at him, your heart was racing. You desperately wanted to say it, there was a flood in your panties at the mere suggestion of it that proved that you wanted to. You were nervous though. Nervous to let go of control in such an intimate way.
  Joelâs thick fingers dug into your cheeks, âCâmon, sweet girl, I know you wanna say itâŠI can see that youâre drippinâ onto my floor.â Joels eyes darted down to between your legs. You were kneeling on the ground in front of him, completely naked, knees splayed out. Joel had guided you through removing every piece of clothing in front of him.Â
Take your shirt off, babygirl, lemme see those tits. Now your pants, go on, donât be shy, darlinâ. Panties too. Youâre makinâ a mess of âem anyway.Â
You had shakily done as you were told and knelt in front of him while he stood before you, clothed, towering over you, imposing. That was when he suggested it and it knocked your breath out, not because it was really shocking but because you wanted it so bad. Joel had consistently told you what to do, called you âbabygirlâ, read you stories to fall asleep to, instructed you on how to pleasure him. The word seemed obvious but the subject had never been broached until now. You craved it. Joel had given a simple instruction but the word at the end had been something you had daydreamed about and he knew it. As you had sat, waiting for more instruction from him, naked and trying not to be ashamed of yourself Joel had smiled knowingly, his eyes roaming over you.
I want you to beg for it tonight, beg your Daddy. Your eyes had gone wide and all voice had gone out of you. You just stared up at him, leaking with need onto the floor. That was when he had grabbed your jaw and forced you to look up at him. Now he was looking down between your legs, bending slightly.Â
âIf youâre goinâ to drip like that, youâre goinâ to start doinâ what youâre told. Now say it.â He gave your jaw a little shake.Â
âP-please, Daddyâ You managed to squeak out. Joel crouched down in front of you so he was more level with you, his hand still holding your jaw.Â
âNow, see here, Princess,â He started, studying your face. âI know you can beg better than that.â he said, his breath whispering across your skin, giving you shivers. âAnâ I aint goinâ to tell you again.â He added. Joelâs free hand wandered up to your breast, his pointer finger traced around your nipple in a slow, lazy circle. Your whole body ticked upward, reaching towards the feeling of his touch.Â
âDaddy, please, I need it. I need you to touch me, please, please Iâll do anything.â You let the words spill out of your mouth, trying not to think about how slutty you sounded or him. There was something so vulgar about being completely nude, on your knees, on display for him while he stood in front of you, flannel sleeves rolled up, belt buckle still closed, even his hunting knife was still tucked into a loop on his belt.Â
Joel pursed his lips in mock sympathy, âAwww, babygirlâŠâ he said, âIs she achinâ for her Daddyâs touch?â He asked. Your eyes fell down in shame as you nodded. Joelâs thick fingers tightened again, âLook at me,â he growled. You couldnât force your eyes up to meet his stern, brown ones. His hand loosened on your jaw only to give your cheek a quick slap, âBabygirl, focus here, focus on your Daddy and do what youâre told.â He grabbed your jaw again, thumb pressing into one cheek and his fingers into the other.Â
You forced your eyes up to meet his, Joelâs face softened slightly. âThatâs my good girl,â He purred. His other hand reached down, âAlrighâ Iâm gunna touch that leaky pussy just to see how wet you are.â He informed you. You nodded and his hand went down between your spread knees and up to the lips of your pussy.Â
âHoly hell, girl!â He laughed, âYouâre soakinâ,â You shuddered as Joelâs fingers stroked along your pussy lips. âLike I said, drippinâ all over my floor.â he cooed as his fingers languidly teased along your slit.Â
âDaddy!â You whined, pressing your hips down. He pulled his hand away bringing it up in front of his face, looking at the mess all over his hand.Â
âUh-uh,â He shook his head. âYou stay still, keep your eyes on Daddy, and get begginâ,â he instructed. Joel kept your jaw in his hand, holding you to make you keep looking at him while he sucked your slick off of his fingers, relishing the taste, relishing that you were desperate for more.Â
âPlease, Daddy! I need your fingers in my pussy-â
âIn your leaky, needy pussy, babygirl.â He corrected. You whined at the vulgarity but you knew you had to say it.Â
âIn my leaky, needy pussy! Daddy! Please! Daddy I want it!â You cried. Joel nodded,
âI hear ya, babygirl. I know.â he said, his finger traced one of your nipples again and then trailed down your tummy towards your pussy. Your stomach twitched, your pussy clenched.Â
âPlease! I just⊠need it so bad, Daddy! Sheâs aching, Daddy!â You felt a sob forming in your throat. Joel let out a throaty chuckle, his finger tickled over your pubic bone.Â
âYou love callinâ me Daddy, dont ya?â he asked. You nodded vigorously. âWords. And eyes on me, babygirl.â he said.Â
âYes! Yes Daddy! I love calling you Daddy!â Your eyes met his and he nodded slowly as his finger dibbed into your slit. He started to circle your clit and you knew you would be a goner soon.Â
âYou like giving up all your control to your Daddy?â he asked, leaning in towards you and pressing his forehead against yours, still crouched down, fingers circling your clit in a dizzying way.Â
âYes,â you whined, you felt your orgasm mounting inside you and you wanted to make sure you did everything right so he wouldnât ruin your orgasm. The circles around your clit tightened, you clenched, longing for more but unable to ask for it with how focused you were on chasing your orgasm. Your breath burned through you, your cunt was twitching and you could feel your clit twitching under his finger. You needed to come, you could feel tears in your eyes as his finger stroked your closer and closer. Your knees shook under you and you let out a long whine of need,
âI can feel that pretty pussy is close, aint it?â Joel asked. You nodded. âAsk Daddy if you can come.â he instructed.Â
âPlease, Daddy, can I come? Please! Iâm so closeâŠitâsâŠplease!â You tried to hold off, you tried to wait until he told you you could but his thick fingers stroking around and around your clit, swiping over it occasionally were relentless and you couldnât hold off any longer. Your orgasm shook through you and it was clear he felt you coming as you clenched on nothing. You bit your lip to keep from crying out as the orgasm washed over you and you rolled your hips against his fingers. Joel rubbed your clit through it until you were shaking,
âFuck,â He groaned, âYou areâŠin a lot of trouble, little miss.â He chastised. Before you came down completely from your high, his thick fingers smacked your overly sensitive clit and you squealed, nearly collapsing. You pressed your knees together and sat back on your feet.
âUh-uh, youâre aint gettinâ away that easy. Lie back, spread your legs for Daddy. I gotta punish you.â Joelâs voice was gruff and strained and your heart sped,Â
âNo, Daddy! Iâll be good! Iâm sorry!â You whined.Â
âI hear that youâre sorry but that ainât good enough. Daddyâs going to make sure that pussy is sorry for coming without permission. Lay back. Legs spread. Now.â
a/n: this one is a little wild; part two is already shaping up to be even more wild. many smooches to my beloveds: @pedrospatch for all the reassurance and support and for betaâing this bad boy for me, and to @dinandwhiskey for screaming with me about this idea many many moons ago <33
pairing: ex-boyfriendâs dad!joel x f!reader summary: on a night out with friends, you run into someone from your past. warnings: [no-outbreak au], big girthy age gap [reader is in her 20âs, joel is 50âs], alcohol consumption, allusions to cheating [not by joel or reader], no sarah or ellie but joel has a son, joel has tattoos and is a biker, pet names [darlinâ, baby, kiddo], sexualization of the term kiddo [from the deepest darkest pits of my soulâŠidfc], a little bit of humiliation, panty sniffing, a teensy bit of fingering, a little manhandling, pervy!joel [heâs also a little fucked up and really unhinged but so am i so whateva], pussy pronouns, dirty talk [umm it gets weird lol], daddy kink, degradation, semi-public sex, rough unprotected p in v sex, mirror sex, hair pulling, dubcon [joel takes pictures of her that she doesnât verbally consent to], smidgen of angst [ofc bc itâs me], creampie, body marking/writing [use of a pen], soft!joel, reader wears a skirt, has hair, wears makeup, and has two tattoos that are described within the story word count: 8.6k
masterlist || ao3 || follow @joelsdaggerupdates for fic updates!
Bad Habits is the bar where you spend every Friday night after work with your friends. Itâs always too loud and too bright for your liking. But they serve good booze for a reasonable price and itâs on the way back from your office. Your Friday night usual; stopping at the bar with some friends from work before you bore yourself to sleep by looking over briefings and finalizing notes you need to send over to your boss in time for Mondayâs nine am meeting.
You excuse yourself from the booth and head for the bar, plopping yourself on the velvet cushion of a creaky bar stool as you set your purse on the sticky bartop, ordering yourself another drink. Your phone chimes, and you sigh as you pull it out of your purse along with a pen and notepad, knowing itâs an email with a list of requests from your boss. He did tell you heâd send it to you before the end of the night.Â
Itâs when one of your hands is pressed to your temple, the other scribbling down your bossâ requests on paper when you hear it â a low, gravelly Southern drawl, a voice laced with honey â that you thought youâd never hear again.Â
âThis seat taken?â
Your pen freezes for a moment; you could pick that voice out of a suspect line-up. It never left you. But you willingly ignore him and decide youâre going to have a little fun of your own with him, so you continue finalizing your thoughts on paper as he situates himself beside you and orders a glass of whiskey while heâs at it.Â
âWhatâs a pretty girl like you doinâ sittinâ in a place like this all by herself?âÂ
âIâm not alone. My friends are over there,â you throw your thumb, pen in hand, over your shoulder, jutting to your booth. âJust needed another drink,â you say, your eyes never leaving the notepad.Â
âWhy wonât you let me see your face, darlin?â he asks, head tilting to the side, assessing you.Â
You snort. âWhy. So you can decide whether or not my face is pretty enough to fuck â Mr. Miller?â Your voice drops an octave at the end of the sentence.Â
You finally turn your head so youâre face to face with the man beside you, the father of your ex-boyfriend.Â
Surprise flashes across his face; his mouth hangs agape briefly before he shuts it tightly. You watch as the Adamâs apple bops slowly in his throat. For once, the father of your shit-eating, cheating ex-boyfriend doesnât have a comeback. He clears his throat as he attempts to recover.Â
âDidnât realize it was you, darlinâ,â he says gruffly, a hand coming up to scratch his beard.Â
You chuckle to yourself a little. âOf course you didnât. The last time we saw each other was what? A year ago? Maybe more?â you quip.Â
âYou look different,â he says matter-of-factly, eyes glossing over your figure so quick you almost miss it.Â
You raise an eyebrow at him; the corner of your mouth kicks up as you tilt the rim of your glass to your lips, hiding your smirk behind a sip.
âGood. I mean â you look good,â he tips his glass on its heel, eyeing it as he toys with it.Â
You tilt your head in a shrug, âI needed a change.â
After Joel Millerâs son cheated on you and broke your heart, after you let the hurt linger for a few weeks and told your sob story to your friends who happily listened, you took their advice.Â
And now here you are, a little over a year later, sitting beside your exâs father, whom you once hated to admit to yourself â no, you never really admitted it to yourself, but you found him attractive. Fuck. Who were you kidding? You didnât just find Joel Miller, the father of your ex-boyfriend, attractive; you found yourself wanting to open your legs for him more than you did for his son, whom you had been dating for eight months.Â
His eyes fall to your chest, trailing down the low cut of your top, and fixating on the peaks of your nipples beneath the tight fabric, and your heart stutters. âQuite the change,â a hint of a glint swimming in his hazel eyes.Â
You canât say the same for him.
You take him in now; he looks almost exactly the same, apart from a few more wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes. Still, heâs somehow more handsome.Â
His tousled salt-and-pepper hair still sits messily on his head, though his beard is lined with more silver than you remember.Â
Fuck.Â
You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as your eyes trail down his body, thick shoulders and thick arms deliciously clad in his black leather jacket, and beneath that, his white t-shirt pulls taut across his broad chest. Â
 And oh.Â
Joelâs head turns, peering over his shoulder at the sound of glass breaking. Your eyes flick back up and catch a curl of black ink on the tanned skin beneath his collar. Thatâs new.Â
When he turns back, he raises the glass to his lips with a scoff, clouding the inside of it, and the dim light from above the bar catches on the square face of a gold band on his marked pinkie finger. Thatâs also new. Your eyes donât miss that his fourth finger still remains devoid of a wedding ring.Â
âI have your son to thank for that." You drop your phone, pen, and notepad into your purse, giving him your full attention.
A muscle in Joelâs jaw ticks. Flicks his tongue across his bottom lip before he bites it. Is it a show of anger? Disappointment? Youâre not quite sure.
But there is one thing that you are sure of: Joel Miller liked having you around. You knew it. You were aware that his eyes lingered whenever he saw you. You caught it from the very first time. When you showed up at his house, in jeans that clung to you like skin, how you bent at the waist to fish your keys out of his sofa cushion, and in your periphery, caught the subtle tilt of his head to get a better look at how the denim hugged your ass just right, feeling his eyes boring into you, your skin sizzling with heat.
If youâre being honest, you didnât care. You didnât feel guilty or shameful for how Joel looked at you. You basked in how he made you feel; you certainly werenât getting that kind of attention from his son. He had his eyes (and his dick) on someone else.Â
You liked how that very last night you spent at Joel Millerâs house â a fortnight before you broke up with his son â you padded down the hallway to the bathroom in an old skirt that you had outgrown (wearing it only because it was the last of clean bottoms before laundry day), and you overheard Joel Miller in his bedroom, fucking his fist and coming with a gruff groan of your name on his lips. Â
You just werenât sure if he knew that you knew. Â
His body twists, props a leg up on the footrest of your bar stool. âWhat happened between you two? He never talked about it,â he inquires.Â
You scoff. âHe gets that from you, you know, not talking about things. Think he knows it too.âÂ
Confusion floods his features.Â
Your eyes drop to the inside of your glass. âYour divorce. Jason complained all the time about how neither of you talked about it.â
âThere was nothinâ to talk about. She left,â he quips.Â
âShe cheated on you,â you retort.Â
âHow didââÂ
âHe knew, and he watched when you didnât fight it. Think thatâs why he did the same to me.âÂ
âThat kid. Always fucking trouble,â he huffs, then takes a short sip.Â
 âHey, you raised him,â you joke.Â
âI didnât raise him to be a piece of shit,â he bites, shakes his head instantly, eyes meeting yours, and thereâs something behind them that you canât quite place yet.
âIâm not saying itâs your fault, I justâ" You sigh exasperatedly, âI think seeing how you didnât fight for your marriage, for your wife, messed with him. And as much as I hate him for getting his dick wet in another girl, I think... well, now I know why he did it." Right shoulder tips in a slight shrug.Â
Joelâs eyebrows shoot up into his hairline.Â
âWhat?â you ask.Â
 âNothin'âI didnât expect Iâd ever hear you say that.â
 You look at him pointedly.Â
 âGettinâ his dick wet,â he repeats. âIâm not used to hearing you say things like that sâall,â he says with a breathless laugh, shaking his head a little.Â
You sigh. âTold you, heartbreak is a hell of a thing.âÂ
âYou didnât deserve that darlinâ, Mâsorry,â he soothes. He leans towards you, a heavy hand dropping to your bare thigh, fingers wrapping tightly around it. It takes everything in you not to squeeze your thighs shut at his touch.Â
You avert your eyes, scanning the crowd in the bar, your eyes eventually landing on your friends all crammed in the booth before looking back at Joel. âEverything happens for a reason, I guess.âÂ
His head dips, eyebrows go up in surprise, his expression a slight mixture of shock and guilt. âYou really believe that?âÂ
You flash him a soft smile. Youâre not sure that you do, but selfishly, itâs easier than the truth, and whatever it was, youâre not concerned about it anymore. âItâs fine, Mr. Miller, honestly," you clarify.Â
His calloused thumb rubs small circles on your thigh; heat radiates there. âHow many times, I gotta tell you, itâs Joel,â he insists.
Your eyes roll, âalright. Joel, itâs fine. Iâm much happier now.â
âOh yeah?" His hand releases your thigh; your body feels like itâll wilt without the heat of his touch. His arms cross over as he leans forward on the bartop. The cuff of his left sleeve raises, revealing ink curling around his wrist. Did he complete his sleeve? You swallow thickly, your eyes lingering.Â
"Got yourself a new boyfriend?ââ He asks.Â
You finally peel your eyes away, arching your brow. âWhat makes you say that?âÂ
His boot brushes against your bare ankle as he turns towards you; electricity sparks up your leg and up the base of your spine, awakening a long-dormant need. âNothinâ, just reckon that a pretty thing like yourself has a new stupid college fella.â
You chuckle. âI donât date, it's not worth my time anymore.â You take a swig of your drink, swallow the tang down, and it mixes with the lick of heat, slowly spreading its way into your veins. Youâre trying to tame the surge of energy zipping through your body, but itâs so damn hot beneath the lights lining the bar. And the chatter buzzing around the room, coupled with the weight of Joelâs gaze, isnât fucking helping. Itâs overwhelming, the nerves and arousal taking over, lacing with the alcohol in your system.
âThat so?â His voice is a low rumble, dangerous. The corners of his lips twitch; your eyes dart down to them.Â
You set your glass down on the dark wood with a clink, and your fingers begin tracing the rim of the glass. âAnd you?â Your body is warm and humming, something churning deep in your core.
His hazel eyes slowly rake down your body, a hint of hunger in them as they pause at the hem of your skirt, barely covering the place where you need him most; your skin is on fire under the heat of his gaze, and for a moment you have to resist the urge not to pounce on him right there in a bar full of people.
His voice cuts through your reverie as he answers. âNot in the cards for me, darlinâ,â his eyes crease before he tips the glass to his lips.
âGuess we got one thing in common,â you sigh and mirror him.Â
His eyes never leave yours as he takes a sip, and your chest blooms. Black takes up the hazel hues in his eyes, full of lust, and you think back to all the times youâve had his attention; only now itâs worse because you can act on it. And maybe itâs the liquid courage in your blood. Maybe itâs some stroke of desire for revenge. Maybe itâs just that â desire. Maybe itâs because you know him. Know by all those times you racked up in your brain of longing stares and fleeting tugs of every nerve of your body.
So you think, with the very obvious throbbing in your core, with desire turning molten and pooling between your thighs that you can no longer ignore, that now is your chance; youâve got nothing holding either of you back this time.
âYou want to get out of here?â Your eyes fall down his body and bite your lip as you take in his broad form again.Â
He chuckles darkly. âCanât leave my crew, sweetheart,â he juts his chin towards an area behind you. Your body twists, and laughter threatens to bubble in your chest when you spot them. Three men, all silver-haired and scruffy beards that cover surly faces, all clad in tethered leather jackets, sit in a corner towards the back of the bar.Â
You turn back to Joel with a hint of smirk on your lips. âArenât you getting a little old to still be biking around? Shouldn't fossils be encased or padded up or something? You know as they age they don't hold up very well,â you tease.Â
He bares his teeth with a crooked grin; the corners of his eyes crease. âCareful, kiddo,â voice a low warning, but thereâs a hint of playfulness behind it.
You knock back the rest of your drink swiftly, ignoring how it burns the back of your throat. âWell, thatâs too bad,â you start. Driven by the alcohol coursing through your burning veins and the painful ache at the apex of your thighs, your left hand grabs his, rested beneath the bar, and guides it under your skirt and towards your dripping sex. He stiffens, inhaling sharply through his nose as he feels the way the wet fabric clings to the lips of your pussy. You bring your lips to the shell of his ear and drop your voice to make it more deep and velvety â more enticing. âSheâs already wet.â
You drop his hand and hop off the barstool and onto wobbly legs, your right hand looping your crossbody over your shoulder, and before your leg even brushes past his, his hand snaps out and wraps around your wrist, dwarfing it in his grasp.Â
Without another word, he tugs you behind him, past your table of friends, all too loud and too drunk celebrating the end of another work week to notice the two of you sauntering by. He drags you down the dimly lit hall, and youâre biting your bottom lip, containing the smile that threatens to spread across your face as he shoves you into the bathroom.Â
Within seconds, heâs on you, pressing into you so your back slams into the tethered wooden door. Your hands find his hair, tangling your fingers in the strands streaked with gray.
And with his mouth flush with yours, the taste of whiskey and cheap cigars is warm on your tastebuds, and you cannot get enough of it. You've dreamt of what he'd taste like for so long, and it's everything you've ever wanted. His tongue is heavy and hot as he pushes it into your mouth, swirling it around and cutting across your gums, leaving no inch of your mouth uncharted. Itâs all rushed and sloppy and hungry, and very quickly does it become clear to you that heâs wanted this â wanted you, just as much as you had from the very beginning.Â
Somewhere in the heady haze, you manage to remove your left hand from his dark curls, drifting it south behind your back to slide the greasy lock shut behind you, sealing your fate.Â
The sound of the lock clicking in place has Joel maneuvering you towards the sink, your heels scraping against the tile as the both of you drift backwards, tongues still intertwined.Â
Your hands fumble with his belt, and at the same time, your mouth skates down his neck, tongue darting out and lapping at the inked skin there. You hum at the taste of warm, salty sweat. As you try to drag the leather out from his silver buckle, you move to drop to your knees. You donât even get halfway before heâs reaching for your wrists, pulling you back up to stand. ââS much as Iâd like that kiddo, I've been waitinâ too long to get inside this cunt,â he says bluntly, and then heâs taking a step forward, trapping you against the cold ceramic. âIf mâgonna come, s'gonna be inside o' her.âÂ
Your stomach flips at his words, and you canât deny that the use of that word again makes you want to drop to your knees for him twofold. Instead, Joel drops to one of his, grunting as his denim-clad knee hits the cold tile, and itâs what he does next that manages to shatter all essence of confidence you had tonight.
Joel flicks up your skirt with one large hand while the other grips the back of one of your thighs, and one of your hands finds one of his shoulders, fingers already clinging onto him for dear life as you try to anchor yourself. Youâre throbbing for him as his hand drifts north to cup your sex through your damp panties; he tears his gaze away to peer up at you. âHow many dicks has this pussy taken since my son?âÂ
His words strike you hard, and your blood runs as cold as ice. Your breath kicks out of your lungs. That was the last thing you expected him to say. Despite the fact Joelâs eyes often lingered and his breath often wavered in your presence, he always managed to compose himself. You never imagined he'd act on those impulses.
âIâI donâtââ you blink a few times, your brain malfunctioning, trying to find the words.Â
âHow many,â he taunts, his fingers prod at your lace-covered slit, his thumb applying pressure to your clit through your underwear.Â
âIâ I donât know. I canât remember,â you whisper.
Joel sniggers. âI figured. Sheâs just a little pocket pussy for us, ainât she?â A shiver runs up your spine, and he watches you, hazel eyes glimmering in the soft yellow glow of the bathroom, gauging your reaction for a tell, a tick, something, thatâll give him a reason to stop. When you donât, his head dips down between your thighs, and his strong nose presses up against the damp stain on the front of your skimpy black thong, which was doing a rather poor job of covering your cunt. His eyes close slowly, and he inhales. Long and hard, so hard you can feel his nostrils contracting against you as he breathes in your scent. And itâs not your fault a measly whimper spills from your lips when he does so.Â
âThis all for me now?â He coaxes, his fingers strumming up and down your slit through the lace. Words fail you as you look down and find his eyes already on yours. You nod once for him.Â
âWords, darlinâ,â his voice dark, thick fingers shifting your panties aside, exposing you to the cold air and spreading your soft folds apart, toying with your wetness.Â
Oh fuck, sneaks past your lips in a whisper, and one of your arms snaps out behind you, hand wrapping around the edge of the sink. Â
He tilts his head up, and your eyes fixate on his middle finger that reads, clutch, as the tip pokes into your aching hole. "Sâthis what you wanted? You oughta ask for it, pretty girl.â
âI want you. Fuckâ I want you to fuck me, Joel.â You choke out.Â
âAttagirl,â he starts, knees cracking as he stands. âBend over ân let me see her up close this time,â he says with a smirk.Â
You obey, and turn to drop your purse beside the sink before placing your hands on the wet countertop. But your eyes donât find your own reflection in the mirror. Instead, they fall on Joelâs movements behind you and gulp down the near-pathetic excitement and nerves sizzling over you. Joelâs too entranced by the sight before him to pick up how your breath hitches in your throat when his calloused hands push your skirt over the curve of your ass and up to your waist. His sly smirk kicks into a low chuckle as he catches sight of your tattoo on your left ass cheek that reads, daddyâs girl.
You go perfectly still, and a firm hand between your shoulders pushes you forward, your upper body now parallel to the dark countertop. Your heartbeat thrums loudly in your ears, but you can still hear the low whistle he sings from behind you. And thenâ
âJesus,â he breathes as he pauses and marvels at you, his gaze shifting up and down your form, goosebumps erupting across your skin as the knuckle of his index finger traces down the small of your back, cold metal from the ring on his pinkie grazes the meat of your ass by happenstance. âPretty little thing, ainât ya?âÂ
And itâs almost like he canât believe heâs here â with you, thirty years his junior, and his sonâs ex-girlfriend, in a bar bathroom, about to ruin not only you but every other woman for himself for the rest of his life.
The liquid courage mustâve kicked into overdrive because you donât know what compels you to do it, but before you can stop yourself, you call out his nameâ
âJoel.â
His dark eyes flit upwards to meet yours in the mirror.Â
âYou gonna stand there and stare all night, or you gonna fill her up?â But the tone of your voice doesnât make it sound at all like a question, and you donât mean it to be.Â
That seems to pull him back. He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. âFuckinâ Christ, I didnât think youâd be this filthy.â
His reaction manages to bring back your confidence, and your lips curl in turn.Â
Joel doesnât waste anymore time. You feel the rough drag of denim against the back of your thighs and hear the metallic clang of his belt and the buzz of his zipper as he frees himself from the confines of his jeans. When he hooks a thick finger underneath your panties, tugging them to the side and over one cheek, you canât help but clench, and Joel definitely doesnât miss it.Â
He tuts. âNeedy little thing too,â he grips his length, thick and heavy in his hand, and lines up the blunt cockhead with your throbbing hole; it winks at him. âTiny holeâs begging for me to fuck her, ainât she? Look at her flirtinâ with me,â Joel gloats.Â
And the sane part of you wants to cringe at that, but your cunt betrays you and clenches around terrible emptiness again. Joel doesnât wait for you to respond; his eyes flicker back down to your hole, pushing the wide head of his cock inside, and that spark from earlier ignites.Â
âOh, Christ,â he exhales, his jaw falling loose and eyes going hooded as he enters your warm, wet cunt. You gasp as your own eyes fall shut at the stretch, your face twisting upwards at the sharp sting. You didnât get to look at it before, but you can feel him. Heâs big. Bigger than anything youâve ever had, and for a second youâre not quite sure heâll be able to fit. But Joel being Joel means heâs a stubborn bastard. He makes it fit. He pushes himself in, in, in, and you whine, and he groans as your pussy wraps perfectly around every inch of his thick length, sinking in like a dream.
He bottoms out inside your cunt, his tip kissing your cervix, and youâre gripping the edge of the sink so tight that if it werenât for Joel fucking you, youâd be worried if your knuckles would break the skin. âFuck, thatâs good,â he breathes, ragged and hard.Â
And it is. He feels so good. Stretching your cunt out and carving a place for himself after all this time. All the wanting and pining. Shared glances and stolen moments that you believed to be over the moment you broke up with that bastard of a son have finally led you here with him.Â
âDaddy,â pours from your lips involuntarily. Your eyes snap wide open, and you freeze. Joel draws his hips back, cock pulling out from your gaping hole and catching onto itâs head, and before you can scramble your brain for a pathetic excuse of an apology, his lips curl into a snarl, and he slams his hips forward, cock ramming into you full throttle. The force of his thrust so hard, your body jolts forward, and your pelvis collides with the sink.
He doesnât give you time to recover; Joel sets a fast, unforgiving pace, and with every strong, expert roll of his hips, the edges of your vision begin to blur. And it doesnât matter how fast he bucks into you; the size of his cock never fails to fill you up to the hilt on every long, punishing stroke. Heâs fucking loving it. And so are you. Letting him use you and yanking you back onto his cock by the thin material of your thong, hips snapping back into his like a rubber band. The air quickly fills with delicious wet sounds of your skin slapping against his, your moans and his, and the sharp clink, clink, clink, of metal rattling against you as the movement of your bodies colliding increases.Â
âDirty fuckinâ girl,â he says, voice rough with arousal. âBeen dreaminâ of this pussy since the first time I laid eyes on ya,â he pants, eyes never leaving where the two of you are connected.
Desperate whimpers and breathy moans spill from your lips, his left hand bruising on your hip. âCaught a glimpse of that pretty young pussy under your skirt. Couldnât get it out of my damn head. I thought about you nâ fucked my fist every night to that image of you in your slutty little skirt. Too fuckinâ short to cover anything.â Your cunt drools with slick with every word that spills from him; you can feel it on the tops of your inner thighs. The wet suction of your cunt around his cock getting louder and louder and louder. Itâs borderline pornographic.Â
His voice cuts through the lewd sounds. âSome nights I heard those sweet sounds you madeâfucked my fist then too. Were you fakinâ it, baby? Huh. Were you fakinâ it with him? My son ever fuck you this good?â He rambles, grip smarting your flesh.Â
Your stomach jolts. Scratch that. Thatâs the last thing you expected him to say. If your ex-boyfriendâs father fucking you wasnât going to send you spiraling, then him bringing up his own son while he fucks you dumb certainly will.Â
Your mind is abuzz; your brain has gone completely blank. Thereâs no way you could form a proper word in response, even if you tried. There isnât a single thought inside your head. Itâs too much. Too many things are happening at once. For one, heâs never been this talkative; you were lucky if you got two sentences out of him a year ago. And now heâs asking you if his son fucks as good as he does.Â
You donât answer. You canât. And heâs not expecting you to. All you can do is whimper and moan while he fucks you with abandon, the way you should have been fucked all those times by his son.
âYou donât gotta answer. I know he didnât. That boy didnât know what was good for him if it hit him til he was blue in the face.â And you moan in agreement, still not able to think of a response while his tip jabs at your most sensitive spot.Â
âSâokay, you were made to take my cock,â he grits, his ringed finger digging into your skin by the unrelenting grip on your waist. âMade to take mine, not his. Tell me, my cock bigger than his?âÂ
âDaddyââ you gasp, your cunt flutters around him, and Joel laughs a little at you, a low mocking sound that fuels the fire roiling low in your belly.Â
âCourse it is,â he murmurs. âYou were made for me. So fuckinâ pretty nâ perfect nâ â fuck â so goddamn tight. Tighter than a fleshlight, baby.â He hisses in between sharp thrusts.
âN-â you choke on your words, fresh tears pricking your eyes by the force of him fucking you so hard.Â
He clicks his tongue. âYou donât like that, baby? You tellinâ me if I say it again, she wonât fuckinâ squeeze the hell outta me?â
Your cunt answers for you, giving him exactly what he wants and fluttering around him in response.
âSâokay, you can like it. You oughta. This sloppy cuntâs gonna be my new cocksleeve. Gonna blow my load in ya, pump you so full oâme.âÂ
You squeeze painfully tight around him again and bite your bottom lip to muffle the obscene, broken moan that escapes you. You canât help but picture what Joel looks like thrusting himself into the toy. Was he using it that night? When you heard him coming with a groan of your name, was he pretending to paint your cunt instead of the inside of faux flesh? Or did he pull out and imagine covering your face in his cum? Your back arches as you push yourself up by the heels of your palms on the ceramic, your head topples back onto your neck, eyes rolling back into your skull, the walls of your cunt tensing at the thought.Â
His fingers unhook themselves from your panties and his hand finds the back of your skull, and with a firm grip, he angles your head, so you are face to face with your own depraved reflection. âLook how fuckinâ sexy you look takinâ me,â he growls.
And you do; your vision refocuses on the wrecked girl in the mirror: hair wild yet pulled back by Joelâs tight fist, lipstick stained around your swollen lips, mascara smudged by wet tears at the corners of your eyes, temples glistening with beads of sweat as youâre split wide open, perfectly filled to the brim by your ex-boyfriendâs fatherâs cock.Â
Joelâs fist tightens on your makeshift ponytail, pulling you back into him, and with your back now pressed flush to his chest, he brings his lips to your ear, his breath hot against your skin, eyes watching each other in the mirror. âYouâve got a velvet cunt, kiddo, sâdamn shame my son didnât know what to do with it.âÂ
You squeak, your body jostling and rolling with pleasure on every shift forward, the edge of the countertop bruising your hip bones. Youâre blissfully unaware of the spit drooling from your lips and dripping all over the sink faucet until Joel points it out.
âLook at you, wanted it so bad youâre fuckinâ droolinâ fâme, naughty girl,â he pants, hips snapping forward with renewed vigor. âWanted me to use you like this, huh?â
âMmm,â you mewl in response, everything beneath your navel tenses while his cock grazes the opening of your cervix on each harsh thrust.
He tuts. âAww, poor baby, you were all talk before. But you canât talk back now, huh? You all cock dumb, sâthat it? Daddy, fuckinâ ya stupid?âÂ
"So â good â Daddy,â you force a choked moan. Your cunt clamps down around him, and it burns, flames running wild, scratching away at your nerves as the fat head of his cock brushes against your g-spot again. As if he can feel it too, the snap of his hips grows more desperate. Faster. Harder. Deeper.Â
âKeep doinâ that, doinâ so good for me, kiddo. Just a little more, give it to me, come on daddyâs cock, câmon,â he rasps. Your stomach twists and your chest tightens, his cock hitting you so deep each time his hips swing, and the weight of his balls slapping wetly against your clit has you hurtling full speed towards your release.Â
âDaddy â oh fâ fuck,â your voice all broken and hoarse. Your entire body goes painfully tight, thighs quivering, and something deep within you snaps. Your eyes screw shut as the energy thrums through your blood. Your mind is a dizzying blur, white light streaking behind your eyelids, and thereâs a low ringing in your ears as your orgasm fully engulfs you.Â
"Yeah, thatâs it. Thatâs it, kiddo, there you go, let her soak me,â Joel praises as he fucks you through your high, cunt throbbing while your hips move lazily back and forth on him.Â
As your orgasm settles, your body goes limp, and your head begins to dip, but Joel tightens his grip on you, shifting your body like a ragdoll until youâre on your tiptoes, the perfect angle for him as he fucks relentlessly into you.Â
And with the blissed-out daze of the afterglow and the roaring music from the otherside of the bathroom door getting louder, you can just barely make out Joelâs low rambles of obscenities â almost like heâs mumbling to himself â and the quick, wet, smack, smack, smack of his hips against the plush of your ass as he pummels your cunt, desperate for release â as if his life depends on coming inside you.Â
He grunts and through bleary eyes, you watch him through the mirror. He looks wrecked as he chases after his high. He must feel your eyes on him because then his eyes lock with yours in the mirror, and your cunt squeezes him unconsciously. That sends him overboard. His movements become sloppy, and you feel him twitch inside you. His jaw slackens, his eyes pinching shut while his head lulls back, and a breathless chant of, oh shit, fuck thatâs it, fuck, escapes him as he comes undone.
His hands clamp, hips finally stuttering, a deep groan slipping past his lips, and then you feel the heat spreading inside you as thick spurts of his seed spill deep inside your cunt. His body falls forward over yours, his sweaty forehead falls into your shoulders, and you let him stay there as his cock continues to pulse, hips lazily rutting into you and pumping you full of his load. Your spent cunt spasms around his throbbing cock, and your wet and his, gathers at the base of his girth and trickles down his balls.Â
His hips finally come to a stop, but he doesnât pull out. Instead, his hand drops from your hair and begins rummaging through your purse. It only takes him a few seconds to find what heâs looking for. Your pen. You watch through watery lashes as he pops the cap with his thumb and brings the tip to the small of your back; your body flinches at the feeling of the cold tip.Â
As the ball of the pen drags and tugs across at your skin, for a brief moment you try to surmise what heâs writing, but it takes him too long, and the intensity of your orgasm finally catches up with you. You drop your head on your hand and wait for him to finish whatever the hell heâs drawing on your skin.Â
You feel his body shift behind you again, but itâs not until you hear the familiar sound of a low click that has you snapping your head up to the mirror.Â
Joel Miller has his phone in his hands.Â
And heâs not just doing anything with it. Heâs not scrolling through it. Heâs not opening up the contacts app. Heâs not typing on it.
You catch a bright white flash in the mirror. Heâs taking pictures of you. But not just of you. Heâs taking pictures of your wasted cunt still plugged full of his cock.Â
And for some reason â you donât move. You donât stop him. You donât turn around and snatch the phone from his grasp and call him a dirty old dog. You stay perfectly still, and you let him do what he wants. Letting him take a series of pictures.
But itâs the last few that have his lips curling into a smirk, and he begins mumbling under his breath, gawking at the mess he made of you.Â
With his phone poised in his right hand, his left drops to your left ass cheek, his fingers splay across your flesh, pulling your cheek back, and the shutter sound goes off. "Fuck, sheâs so pretty like this.âÂ
Heat blooms in your chest. No oneâs ever made you feel like this. But thereâs no room for shame when he makes you feel this warm and beautiful... and so fucking sexy.Â
And then it hits you.Â
No oneâs ever made you feel like this. Thereâs a sudden pang in your heart, tears stinging in your eyes. Youâve always known it. But you never admitted it because it never mattered. How could it? When youâve never had someone who made you feel worth their time. How could you know what you were missing out on if youâve never had it to begin with?Â
Your head tips back between your shoulders, forcing the tears back into your skull, and to keep them at bay, you redirect your attention on Joel; watch him as he presses his hips flush to your ass so heâs filled you to the hilt. With your body still trembling, you wince and close your eyes in overstimulation. Your body sags forward on the cold surface, melting into submission.
You hear a series of shutters coupled with Joelâs mutters of, Jesus, look at her, the prettiest little pussy, look at this messy little hole swallowinâ up my cock, while you feel his hand moving along the small of your back, no doubt getting different angles of the place where the two of you become one.Â
It feels like hours have passed by when Joel seems to have gotten his fill. One of his hands finds your hip again; you shiver and gasp in unison as he slowly slips himself out with a wet squelch. He pumped you so full of his release that you already feel it beginning to trickle out. You didnât think thereâd be that much of it for a man his age.
When his cockhead fully slides out from your hole, you have to fight the urge to whine at the loss of it â of him. But itâs what he does next that stops you from reveling in that; his hand quickly reaches down between your bodies, and two thick fingers catch the cum dripping out of you and push it back inside. You whimper tiredly.Â
You stay bent over the sink, and suddenly, for a very brief moment, you feel the heavy weight of his cock slap wetly against your left ass cheek, and for the last time, the camera shutters.Â
He quickly pockets his phone, and then heâs pulling your panties over the ache between your thighs, and his hands tentatively pull the skirt back down over your ass, smoothing out the rumpled fabric. You can hear the low rustling behind you â the buzz of his zipper and the clang of his belt buckle, tucking himself back into his pants.
And then Joel Miller surprises you again. He leans forward over you and places a chaste kiss to your clothed shoulder before his hands are on you, gently tugging your body upright and turning you around to face him as he murmurs a low, Let me look at ya.Â
His eyes scan over your face, grinning immensely, like he canât help being proud of himself for ruining you. And you smile bashfully in tandem as you bring a weak hand up to your face. Joel shoos your hand away and rubs his thumb under your eyes, gently wiping away your tears and smeared mascara, then doing the same to the smudged lipstick at the corners of your mouth.Â
Heâs always been rather soft with you, but itâs a stark contrast in comparison to his earlier behavior; it almost gives you whiplash thinking about it. How he fucked you so full you could feel him in your chest, the stream of profanities he cursed under his breath, moaning the dirtiest things â comparing himself to his son while inside you, taking filthy pictures as evidence of what the two of you have done together, then cleaning you up like itâs second nature to him. All of it was filthy. Heâs filthy. But there was always a softness to him, and thereâs no doubt about it in this moment.
You take the opportunity to mirror him and caress away the lipstick that stained his lips from your kiss, you smile and he sighs at the contact. His thumb swiftly pads over your bottom lip, his gaze lands on your lips, a sort of hesitance, perhaps deciding if he wants to kiss you again. Then, his thumb catches on your plush bottom lip. Joelâs lips twitch, his eyes go dark as he drags the flesh of your bottom lip down, eyeing something he knows he almost missed. He scoffs slightly and shakes his head in near-disbelief. You smirk knowing exactly what heâs reacting to.Â
His entire face blossoms with cherry red as he does another once over on the black ink inside your mouth.Â
âAngel, my ass,â he mutters under his breath before wetting his lips. Already hungry for more.Â
He tilts your chin upwards and leans forward to kiss you. Itâs softer, slower this time, but of course, he still nips gently at your bottom lip, and at the same time, he slips his free hand down between the two of you once more. It moves beneath the hem of your skirt, fingers shoving your panties to the side, the pulp of his middle finger pushing through your puffy folds and into your dripping hole, until the black ink that reads, brake, is entirely sheathed inside your worn cunt, making sure his come stays where it belongs. You whimper against his lips, bucking into his hand.
âKeep that in there, fâme,â he mutters, his hot breath fanning over your lips. âWant you thinkinâ oâme when it drips outta ya tonight.âÂ
You whine faintly when Joel removes his hand. He brings it up to his face, and his tongue darts out to glide across the tip of his digit, licking his finger clean of your wet and his, all while keeping his eyes on yours the whole time.Â
Thereâs a long beat of silence between you, and then he drops his hand, pulling away. Your heart falls, already missing the warmth emanating from his touch.
âWe oughta get back before people start looking for us,â he murmurs as he steps back. You smile softly and nod. Youâre not sure youâll see him again. And you donât have the heart to ask him, nor do you have the strength to handle it if he rejects your offer. You have nothing else to give.Â
You love how he made you feel, but your chest twinges â one that twists deep. And no matter how much you try to quell that deep-seated fear, it never truly leaves you. A little voice in the back of your mind that repeats on a loop like a broken record, telling you: Heâll break your heart. They all do. But he canât hurt you if you donât let him. You resist the urge to turn and run. And instead, you turn to glance back in the mirror, sure to tame your disheveled appearance, giving Joel a chance to leave before you, slipping back into someone from your past.
He makes his way to the door, sliding the lock open; his hand curls around the handle but pauses before pulling it open. He turns to face you. âYou okay?â he asks.Â
It shocks you. Itâs more than his son ever did. Certainly means more to you after heâd ask, Was it good, after coming in you before you even got started. Everything Joel did tonight is more than his son ever did; asking you questions all night and listening attentively while you answered them â whether it was with the hope of fucking you or not â doesn't matter. You fought tooth and nail for a sliver of his sonâs attention, but with Joel, he just fucking gave it to you.Â
You do your best to ignore that gnawing feeling of fear, clawing its way up your chest by the only way you know how; you press your lips to Joelâs, pushing your tongue into his awaiting mouth, and licking along the rim of his teeth. A strong hand curls around your jaw, fighting for dominance over the kiss, but you donât let him for long, though. Reluctantly, you pry yourself off him, but not before Joelâs teeth softly graze your earlobe, nipping the flesh there.
You flash him a quick smile, looping the strap of your purse over your shoulder. âPerfect.âÂ
He smiles softly at that, eyes dancing across your face. âYeah,â he whispers and moves to the side, letting you step out first and following you out.Â
You head straight to the booth where your group of four awaits you, but not before peering over your shoulder and seeing Joel stalk towards his crew. You smile to yourself and tuck a lock of hair behind your ear as you approach your friends. As you shimmy in beside one of them, they ask where you were, and their brows pinch when you mumble, I was feeling a little dizzy. Which isnât a total lie, but no one presses you for more, and youâre glad they donât.Â
Itâs not until your friends start collecting their belongings and announce they want to check out the new bar a few blocks down the street when you feel the weight of tonightâs actions sinking into you. Youâre about ready to call it a night; your eyes are heavy, your brain is still fuzzy, and your body still has not recovered from Joel railing you.Â
You mull over sitting in the booth until the car you plan to order shows up to take you home. But the thought of waiting around in Joelâs presence makes your chest tighten. You donât want to find out if heâll be like the rest of them. Something to scratch an itch, and then wiping you from memory. That urge to flee loops back, and your legs force you to stand.
Collectively, you amble through the bar, still bubbling with energy, and as you make your way to the exit, you can feel the heat of a stare on you. You donât need to turn to know who it is; his broad form ghosts along the edges of your periphery.
You walk against that pull you feel towards him, ache festering, skin burning, and bones grating with every heavy step, your eyes locked on the door like a missile to a target, not letting your eyes wander over to his booth, trying to keep whatâs left of your dignity. Resisting. Resisting. Resisting.Â
Lucas steps out first, holding the door open for another group of younger twenty-somethings as they saunter into the bar. While you hang back, you quickly mumble over your shoulder to Nell that youâre thinking of heading home. Worry cuts across her face, and she extends an offer, At least let me drive you home, hun.Â
Your answer is cut off by the chime of your phone in your purse. You still and fumble for it and see a message from Mr. Miller. You had forgotten you never deleted his number.Â
Holding your phone close to your chest, cautiously away from your friendâs curious eyes, you click on the notification.
Heâd sent you two of the pictures he happily took at the top of the hour with a message that reads, Look damn sexy on my cock, kiddo.Â
Your mouth falls open in a gasp, and pride swells in your chest as you glance at the first picture: Joel plugging your used cunt full of his length, his graying pubic hairs drenched and the base of his shaft gleaming with a white ring of creamy release. Your eyes flit upwards, and you finally get a chance to read the dark permanent lines heâd written on your skin.
Joel had crossed out the latter half of your tattoo on your ass cheek. It now reads, daddyâs fleshlight, in sloppy penmanship. With his grip porcelain white, the cross on his thumb makes an appearance as his digit digs into your hip at the corner of your tattoo. Your eyes drift further north, and above the globe of your ass, the small of your back reads, mine.Â
Your thumb swipes across the screen to the second picture. With his cock poised in his hand, he had pressed the swollen mushroom head, only a hairsbreadth beneath the ink on the plush flesh of your ass â black ink shiny with a pearly film, he had smeared it in your mixed juices. Your cunt clenches at the images â at his absence, missing the warm, thick stretch of him. And suddenly, you feel his cum beginning to dribble out of you and pool into the gusset of your already ruined thong.Â
When you donât answer. The message bubble appears.
A beat, then two, and thenâ
Thereâs a place for you here.
You swallow down the twinge, the ache, press your thighs shut around emptiness, and feel another slight trickle escape your lower lips when your pussy releases more of his cum. You lock your phone and look back up at Nell in front of you. You feign nonchalance and wave her off, telling her you canât go home just yet. Tell her that you received a few more requests from your boss and you, Donât wanna take work home.Â
She asks how youâll get home, you lie, and swiftly mention that you just saw Mr. Miller across the bar and that heâll drive you home. Another tiny white lie. Your place is a solid halfway point from the bar to his house. And when she asks if youâre sure youâll be okay alone, her hand gently squeezing your arm, brows furrowed with worry, bless her heart, your gaze follows that pull like a magnet and lands on Joel.Â
Heâs already watching you.Â
Your eyes lock with his, one hand resting to the side while the other tips the glass heâd been nursing towards you, winking as he takes a short sip of amber liquid.Â
And thereâs no pang in your chest. No urge to flee. Just the warmth of his gaze that in any second now will radiate through his touch, turning your bones to ash.Â
Joelâs jealousy surfaces when he sees you getting invited to one of Robert's men's apartments in the QZ, and it pushes him to confront you and finally admit his feelings.
The heavy thrum of boots on cracked asphalt echoes as you weave through the busy streets of the Boston QZ, a bag slung over your shoulder. In your hand, a crumpled scrap of paper flutters slightly with your stride, the name and room number scrawled on it already smudged from your grip. You shouldnât have taken itâevery instinct screamed not toâbut the man from Area 5 had made refusal impossible.
Heâd raked his eyes over you like you were nothing more than a transaction, his smirk thick with implication. Still, you took the note, biting your tongue and clenching your fists to avoid giving Robertâs protection thugs another excuse to single you out.
The noise of the main street fades as you turn into quieter, more desolate alleys, the distant hum of generators and FEDRA radios filling the silence. The bag on your shoulder feels heavier now, the encounter lingering like grime under your skin.
Then, from the corner of your eye, you spot a figure in the shadows.
Joel Miller.
Heâs leaning against a crumbling wall near the alley entrance, arms crossed over his chest, his shoulders cutting an imposing silhouette in the fading afternoon sun. His face is a mask of indifference, but his sharp eyes catch the smallest details, their weight pinning you in place.
Even in the gloom, you can feel the tension radiating from him like heat. That scowlâthe one that promises nothing goodâis set firmly in place, never smoothing from the lines of his face.
You almost roll your eyes at the look. Almost.
"Thought youâd be halfway to the docks by now," you say casually, brushing past him.
âWas,â Joel mutters, pushing off the wall. âThen I saw you chattinâ up that asshole.â
You freeze mid-step, your back to him, before turning around slowly. His eyes are dark, sharp like glass. Thereâs an edge to his tone you havenât heard in a while.
âIt was just a trade. And so what if I was?â you challenge, keeping your voice light, but thereâs a flicker of tension you canât quite hide.
Joel steps closer, his boots crunching the broken concrete. âSo youâre workinâ deals with scum like him now?â
âYou mean scum like us?â you fire back, crossing your arms. âI didnât realize I needed your permission, Joel.â
His jaw tightens, the muscle twitching as he stares at you. âIt ainât about permission,â he says, his voice low and gravelly. âYou think heâs got your back? Heâd sell you out for a can of peaches.â
You scoff, shaking your head. âAnd what? Youâre here to protect me, is that it? Because last I checked, youâre not exactly the hero type.â
Joelâs hand twitches at his side, like heâs fighting the urge to reach for somethingâor maybe someone. âYou think I donât see it?â he snaps, his voice rising just enough to cut through the humid air. âRobert's usin' you, girl. Throwin' ya to the wolves and you just let them look at you like--â
Your eyes narrow, a hot flush creeping up your neck. âLook at me like what, Joel? Are you serious right now?â
âYouâre damn right I am,â Joel growls, stepping closer until the space between you is as tight as the tension coiling in your chest, "You shouldn't be workin' with them. Ain't safe."
âWhy do you care?â you ask, your voice quieter now as you search his face, the words slipping out before you can stop them. His broad shoulders envelop you, making you feel small and vulnerable in their shadow.
His mouth opens, but no words come out. Instead, he exhales sharply, like heâs trying to wrestle the truth back down before it escapes. His hand raises briefly, like he might touch you, but it drops just as quickly.
âForget it,â he mutters, stepping back. âDo what you want.â
Your stomach twists as he turns away, the tension in your chest snapping before you realize what youâre doing. You grab his arm, your fingers curling around the worn fabric of his jacket.
âJoel, wait,â you say, the words coming out sharper than you intended.
He stops, stiff and unyielding, his head tilting slightly like heâs debating whether to face you. Slowly, he turns, his eyes locking on yours, dark and stormy, a barely restrained conflict simmering just beneath the surface.
âWhat?â he growls softly, his voice low and rough.
The words hang in the humid air between you, heavy and unspoken for too long. You should say somethingâanythingâbut your throat tightens, betraying you.
Joel steps forward, the space between you dwindling. His chest rises and falls, his breathing uneven, his eyes flickering to your lips. They part slightly, and when he moves in an inch, you suck in a breath, surprised but also...longing.
Heâs so close now that the heat of him is impossible to ignore, his scentâsweat and leather and pineâfilling your lungs. His gaze flickers to yours again, and for a heartbeat, youâre certain heâs going to close the gap. You can see the individual sprigs of hair that make up his beard now, which ones are gray and which have kept their darkness despite his age. The curve of his lips beneath the beard is intoxicating, a quiet lure that you canât tear your eyes from. It takes everything in you not to give in, not to lean forward and close the aching space between you.
For a split second, you think he might be just as close to losing that battle. His breathing hitches, his fingers twitch at his side as though they ache to reach for you. But then his jaw tightens, his lips pressing into a hard line as he steps back, the tension snapping like a taut wire cut loose.
âForget it,â he mutters, his voice low and jagged, before turning and walking away, leaving you there standing alone.
The crumpled note taunts you from where itâs sat for days on your kitchen table, the edges smoothed from you picking it up, staring at it, then tossing it back down. Itâs ridiculous. You barely even want the man who gave it to youâcertainly not with the way heâd looked at you like a piece of meat. But the thought lingers, an itch you canât scratch. Itâs been days.
Days since Joel. Since that moment in the alleyway when heâd almostâalmostâcrossed that invisible line, only to walk away and leave you in pieces. Him avoiding you, pretending you didnât exist, and making himself scarce in any space you held. It was starting to leave an ache in you that you didn't realize you'd had for him.
You had never thought about Joel like thatâ
ânow there was a damn lie.
Youâd be kidding yourself if Joelâs broad, bulky figure didnât creep into your thoughts late at night when you were all alone. But never had those thoughts been so intense as the past few nights, replaying what mightâve happened if he hadnât stopped, if heâd kissed you against the brick wall of that alley.
But you couldnât have Joel Miller. You wouldnât allow it. Not the skulking asshole who was always sending jabs your way during jobs, overbearing and overprotective, acting like you couldnât handle yourself. He had this infuriating way of thinking you needed saving, that he always had to be there, hovering just close enough to drive you insane.
Still, the note sits there, and something about its presence feels heavier than it should. You grab it, shoving it into your pocket with a frustrated sigh. Itâs not like Joel has a claim on you. Hell, itâs not like you owe him anything after the way he walked away without looking back.
You wonât think about Joel. Not tonight.
But as you step into the dimly lit hallway and make your way toward the other manâs apartment, the little voice in the back of your mind pleads for you to knock on Joel's door instead.
The hallways of the old apartment block are dark, the overhead lights flickering in a familiar, uneven rhythm. Your steps echo faintly against the cracked tiles as you make your way toward the room number scribbled on the paper. Each step feels heavier than the last, and a gnawing doubt twists in your gut.
You pass by doors, most of them silent, others humming with muffled conversations or static from a radio. Youâre so focused on pushing the brooding asshole from your mind that you donât notice the door swinging open as you passânot until his voice stops you cold.
âYou really thinkinâ about goinâ to see that scumbag?â
You freeze, your pulse spiking as you turn to see Joelâs figure fill the doorway just a few steps behind you. His eyes bore into you, dark and smoldering with something between anger and disbelief. His large arms are braced against the doorframe, his shoulders cutting an imposing figure even in the dim light.
âExcuse me?â you say, your voice sharper than you intend, but itâs all you can manage to cover the flush creeping up your neck.
Joel steps forward, his expression hard, his gaze flicking down to the slight bulge in your pocket where the note sits. âDonât play dumb,â he growls. âI know he lives on this floor. You goin' to see 'em?â
You bristle, your defenses slamming into place. âWhat does it matter to you?â
Joel takes a step closer, and even in the dim light, the tension in his jaw is unmistakable. âIt matters,â he growls, his voice low and uneven, âbecause I know exactly what kinda bastard he is. And you donât.â
You scoff, crossing your arms defensively. âWhat, you think I canât handle myself?â
His lips twitch, just enough to make your blood boil. âNah,â he says, the drawl in his voice sharper than usual, his words cutting. âI know you canât, darlinâ. Not with someone like him.â
The sweetness of that wordâdarlinââwrapped in condescension is like a match to gasoline. Your blood ignites, the heat rushing up your neck as you step closer, closing the gap until youâre nearly chest to chest.
Your jaw tightens, your fists clenching at your sides as heat floods your cheeks. âYou arrogant son of a bitch,â you snap, taking a step closer, your eyes locking onto his with a fire that matches his own, âYou donât get to stand there acting like you know whatâs best for me.â
Joel doesnât move, doesnât even flinch, though the flicker of something darker passes through his eyes. âI know more than you think,â he says quietly, his voice low and measured.
âOh, really?â you shoot back, leaning in, your finger jabbing at his chest. âThen enlighten me, Joel. Tell me why itâs your problem if I decide to go to someone else. Because last I checked, youâve been avoiding me for days."
His jaw tightens, his lips pressing into a hard line. âThat's what you think this is? That I don't wanna be near you?â he asks, his voice dropping lower, rougher.
You scoff, leaning in closer, your voice dripping with challenge. âDamn straight. I think youâre scared.â
That does it. Joel lets out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head slightly. Then he leans in, his breath hot against your skin, his eyes locked on yours. âI ainât scared of you, sugar,â he growls, his voice low, smooth, and cutting.
The nickname sends a jolt through you, not sweet like it should be but sharp, taunting. His words, the way his gaze lingers on you like heâs daring you to say something else, make your blood boil.
Before you can answer, he moves. His hand curls around your throat, tugging you forward until youâre almost flush against him. The heat of his skin is like an iron vice, firm but not cruel, and yet the sensation of it sends a shiver through you. Your breath hitches, your heart pounding in your chest as your hands fly up to steady themselves on him.
âYou wanna know why I stayed away?â he murmurs against the shell of your ear, his voice rough.
Your heart nearly gallops in your chest as his hand releases your neck just to move up, cupping your face with a contrasting tenderness, his thumb brushing your face.
âI stayed away,â he continues, his lips nearly brushing the skin of your cheekbone, ââcause if I didnât, I wouldnât be able to stop myself."
The words wrap around you, pulling you under, and for a moment, the world narrows to just himâthe rasp of his voice, the heat of his breath, the intensity in his eyes. Your hands instinctively grip the front of his shirt, grounding yourself in the feel of him.
âThen donât stop," you whisper, the words trembling out of you like theyâve been waiting to escape.
Joelâs resolve snaps like a thread pulled too tight. His hand falls from your face to grab your wrist, pulling you into his apartment, the door slamming behind you with enough force to make the old hinges shake. The sound reverberates through the quiet space, but you barely register it before he pushes you up against the door.
His hands are at your waist first, gripping you tightly, his body crowding you like heâs trying to absorb every inch of space you hold. His lips crash against yours, rough and unrelenting, his kiss so consuming it leaves you breathless. Thereâs nothing gentle about itâthere's a hunger, as though heâs been holding this back for far too long.
One of his hands moves upward, sliding into your hair. His fingers tangle at the nape of your neck, tightening into a firm fist. The pull sends your head back, exposing the line of your throat, and your lips part instinctively, a sharp whimper escaping before you can stop it.
The sound seems to spur him on. His lips break away from yours, trailing down to your jaw and lower still, finding the sensitive skin of your neck. His beard scrapes roughly against you, and the sharp contrast of his teeth grazing your skin sends a shiver down your spine.
âJoelââ Your voice falters as his lips press against your throat, his teeth scraping lightly before he nips at the soft flesh.
âMmm," he hums, his voice muffled against your neck, "My name sounds so good on your pretty lips, baby." His hand on your waist grips you firmly, holding you in place as his lips and teeth move against you.
âYou think Iâd let some bastard like him have you?â he growls against your neck, his voice thick with frustration. âThat anyone but me could have you?"
All you know how to do is whimper as you're clawing at his shoulders as he holds you brutally in place, your neck exposed to him as he bites down hard on the flesh of your shoulder, causing you to gasp in surprise.
Your nails dig into his shoulders, the coarse fabric of his shirt doing little to protect him from your frantic grip. He groans low in his throat at the sensation, the sound vibrating against your skin and making your knees weak.
âShh, shh,â he coos, his voice softer now, pulling himself away just enough to look at you. His gaze drifts down to your flushed skin, the way your chest heaves with each labored breath, your pupils blown wide, and your lips parted.
His thumb brushes your jaw as he leans in, pecking your lips with a tenderness that feels like a stark contrast to the fire from moments ago. Itâs soft, slow, making you mewl against his touch.
âI know, baby girl,â he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. His voice is so gentle now, so caressing and tender, it almost gives you whiplash it's so contrasting to the possessiveness of him, âDonât ever make me watch you walk toward someone else again, you hear me?â
His hand loosens in your hair, the sharp tug easing into a comforting caress at the nape of your neck. You nod, swallowing hard as you try to catch your breath, your heart still pounding against your ribs.
Without hardly a warning, Joelâs lips crash back into yours, swallowing any words you might have spoken. His hand moves to your hip, gripping tightly as his body presses against yours, keeping you firmly against the door. The hand that was previously tangled in your hair cups gently at your jaw, tilting your head to allow him just the right angle for his tongue to slide into your wanting mouth.
Your hands slide beneath his shirt, exploring the warm, solid planes of his back, your nails scraping lightly against his skin. The sharp groan he lets out vibrates against your lips, his kiss growing rougher, more desperate.
His hands move with purpose now, one sliding under your shirt, the roughness of his calloused palm scorching a path up your side. The fabric bunches as he pushes it higher, his fingers grazing the edge of your ribs. His mouth leaves yours only to drag along your jaw and down your neck again, his teeth scraping just enough to make you gasp.
âJoel,â you whisper, the sound a mix of need and surrender, your head tilting back as his lips find your collarbone.
His hands tug at your shirt, pulling it over your head in one swift motion before his mouth is back on yours. His kisses are ravenous as though heâs been starving for this. You tug at his shirt in return, your fingers fumbling slightly in your haste before he pulls away just long enough to yank it off himself, the muscles in his chest and arms flexing with the motion.
His groan rumbles against your lips as his hands roam your body, his calloused palms grazing your bare skin. He cups your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, teasing until they pebble under his touch.
Eventually he lowers himself just enough to take a nipple into his mouth, his tongue swiping in slow, deliberate circles, coaxing a soft moan from your lips. The sensation has your fingers gripping his shoulders, keeping him close as he lavishes your skin with attention. He hums against you, the vibration sending a shiver down your spine as he switches to your other breast, giving it the same torturous care.
When he rolls your nipple between his teeth and sucks hard, your back arches off the door, a desperate moan escaping your throat. Your hands find their way into his hair, tugging at the soft strands, spurring him on.
When his fingers hook into the waistband of your jeans, he tugs them down in one smooth motion, the fabric pooling at your ankles. His gaze lifts to yours, and the way those dark, molten eyes bore into you makes your knees nearly give out.
He sinks to his knees with a quiet grunt, a faint crack from his joints drawing a flicker of a smile to your lips. But Joel doesnât even flinch. His focus remains entirely on you, his large hands gripping your hips as he looks up at you, the sight alone enough to leave you breathless.
Joel Miller, on his knees.
For you.
His lips press to your hips, then the tops of your thighs, his beard scraping deliciously against your skin. He moves slowly, purposefully, savoring every inch of you as if he has all the time in the world. When he finally plants a kiss on your clothed mound, starting at the pubic bone and moving lower, your breath catches.
âJoelââ you plead again, like itâs the only word you know. Your brain feels like mush as he pulls your leg over his shoulder, his nose pressing against your panty-clad center, inhaling deeply.
âKnew youâd be so good for me,â he whispers, the shape of his lips forming the words against the fabric. His tongue darts out, teasing through the thin barrier, and the sensation makes your thighs tremble. âKnew youâd taste so fuckinâ sweet, baby girl.â
He flattens his tongue against your panties, dragging it in a slow, deliberate motion that leaves your jaw slack as you watch him. His mouth teases and tastes you, giving you just enough to light every nerve on fire but never enough to satisfy. Goosebumps race across your skin, and your head tilts back against the door as your eyes flutter shut, a soft moan spilling from your lips.
âCan taste this soaked pussy already, honey,â he moans, his voice low and rough, vibrating against you. His hand tightens on your hip, holding you steady as he presses a kiss to your most sensitive spot, still teasingly covered by the damp fabric. âWhoâs all this for?â
Your brain struggles to keep up, the molten heat building in your core making it almost impossible to think. But then, that little devil on your shoulder gets the better of you, and before you can stop yourself, you murmur, âThe guy down the hall,"
Joel stops.
The room goes silent, the teasing ministrations of his mouth halting as he pulls back just enough to look up at you. His eyes meet yours, dark and unreadable, and in that moment, youâre reminded of exactly who Joel Miller is.
Not just the man whose hands have been roaming your body, whose lips left you breathlessâno, the killer. The smuggler. The man who has stared death in the face and walked away without flinching. The man who has done unspeakable things without hesitation, without mercy.
That edge, that dangerous part of him, flashes behind his eyes now, sharp and unforgiving. It makes your stomach twist, your heart pounding in the sudden stillness.
Joel doesnât move, doesnât speak at first, just stares at you like heâs deciding what to do with you. His jaw ticks, his expression hardening, and slowly, his grip on your thigh tightens just enough to make you hiss, to remind you of the strength he holds--the sheer power in his hands.
âYou wanna say that again?â he mutters, his voice low and laced with quiet menace, and for a fleeting second, youâre not sure if heâs going to kiss you or destroy you.
Within a second, Joel drops your thigh and stands abruptly, towering over you once again. Before your heart can catch up, heâs pulling you across the room with ease, guiding your body toward the bed. He pushes you forward, and you land on all fours, your hands catching your fall against the soft blankets.
You barely have time to process the shift before heâs already behind you. The clang of his belt buckle hitting the floor sends a shiver through you, your body hyperaware of every sound, every movement.
âYouâre gonna regret sayinâ that, honey,â he drawls, his voice low and dangerous as his fingers snag the waistband of your panties, dragging them down with a deliberate slowness. The cool air brushes against your bare skin, and you feel the rough calluses of his fingertips as they trail over you.
Joel hisses as his fingers slide along your bare wetness, spreading you open just enough to tease. Your breath catches when he strokes himself against you, his cock hot and heavy as it presses against your entrance. The head of him is enough to make you freeze, your body tensing at the sheer size of him.
âShhh,â he soothes, his hand trailing down your spine, the pads of his fingers brushing lightly as they go. âSâalright, baby. You can take it. Just after throwinâ that shit in my face, I canât let ya have it easy, can I?â
You shake your head quickly, your breath coming in short gasps. âNo, sir,â you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them.
âThatâs a good girl,â he murmurs, his voice soft but laced with control. His hands grip your hips, guiding you as he nudges your legs further apart with his knees. âGet down for me.â
You lower yourself onto the bedspread so your cheek is brushing the blanket, your arms splayed out beside you. Your body instinctively obeys his command, your back arching as you raise your hips higher for him. Joel moves one foot onto the bed, bracing himself as he leans over you, the sheer weight of him pressing down, making you feel completely at his mercy.
Joel shifts behind you, his hand splayed over your lower back as he holds you in place. The weight of his palm is grounding, steady, a stark contrast to the tension crackling in the air around you. You feel the heat of him pressing against you, his cock dragging along your slick folds, teasing, deliberate.
âLook at you,â he mutters, his voice rough and gravelly. âAll laid out for me like this.â His other hand grips your hip firmly, his fingers digging into your skin as he lines himself up. âThis is where you belong, baby. Right here. Under me.â
The words send a shiver down your spine, and before you can respond, he pushes forward. The stretch is immediate, sharp and nearly unbearable, his cock filling you inch by inch as he moves slowly, giving you time to adjust.
âShit,â Joel hisses, his grip on your hip tightening as he sinks deeper. âSo tight for me, baby girl. You feel that? Feel how good youâre takinâ me?â
You whimper, your fingers clutching the blankets as your body arches back instinctively, chasing the sensation. Joel growls low in his throat at the motion, his hand sliding up to grab a fistful of your hair, gently pulling your head back as he leans down over you.
âPatience,â he murmurs, his lips brushing the curve of your ear. âWeâre doinâ this my way.â
He pulls back again, just enough to make you whine at the loss before pressing forward again, deeper this time. Each thrust is slow, measured, driving you to the edge but never letting you tumble over. His control is maddening, the steady rhythm of his movements keeping you suspended in a haze of pleasure and frustration.
Your body arches instinctively, the pressure building in your core, but Joel doesnât let you move an inch beyond what he allows, his hands still holding you firmly in place.
âYour pussyâs squeezinâ me like a damn vice, baby,â he hisses, his voice gravelly and thick with heat. His hands roam over your hips, rough palms smoothing over the curve of your waist as he grinds into you. âYou gonna cum soon, arenât you, darlinâ?â
Your breath catches at his dirty words, the pressure low in your belly coiling tighter with every calculated roll of his hips. âYes,â you gasp, your voice trembling as you squeeze your eyes shut. âYes, yes, yesâŠâ
Joel chuckles darkly, his pace slowing even further, drawing out your desperation. His hands still on your hips, holding you firmly in place as you writhe beneath him. âAw,â he tuts, his tone dripping with mock sympathy. âThatâs too bad, ainât it?â
Your eyes fly open as he leans down, his chest pressing against your back. His lips brush your ear, his voice low and taunting. âGood girls get to cum,â he murmurs, each word slow and deliberate, his breath hot against your skin. âBut you and that smart mouth? You donât get nothinâ until I say so.â
Joel straightens back up, his grip on your hips like iron as he slams into you without warning, the force of it stealing the breath from your lungs. The slow, taunting rhythm from before is gone, replaced by something primal, raw. Each thrust is rough, unrelenting, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the room as he drives into you with relentless precision.
Your fingers clutch at the blankets beneath you, your body rocking forward with the intensity of his movements. The coil in your belly tightens with every harsh thrust, your legs trembling as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge.
Broken moans continue to escape your lips, your body arching instinctively as you try to meet his pace, but his hands on your hips keep you firmly in place, leaving you no control.
âNot so smart now, huh?â he mutters, his tone laced with dark satisfaction as he drives into you harder. âThought you could tease me, baby? Play your little games?â
The pressure inside you is unbearable now, your body trembling, desperate for release, but Joel isnât letting you have it. He keeps you teetering on the brink, holding you there with a mastery that has you whimpering, your head dropping forward as you gasp for air.
âPlease,â you finally cry, your voice breaking as the words spill from your lips. âJoel, please!â
He leans down again, one hand sliding up your spine to grip the back of your neck, his breath hot against your ear. âNot yet,â he growls, his voice thick with control. âYou donât get to cum until I hear you say it.â
You sob softly, your body trembling with the effort of holding back as he fucks you harder, his movements leaving you raw and desperate.
âSay it,â he demands, his hand tightening on your neck, his thrusts unrelenting. âSay you belong to me.â
Your breath hitches, your mind too hazy to resist anymore. âI belong to you,â you gasp, your voice trembling, barely more than a whisper.
âLouder,â he growls, his hips slamming into you, pushing you even closer to the edge.
âI belong to you!â you cry, your voice breaking with the force of your desperation, "I'm yours Joel, all yours. It's all for you,"
âGood girl,â he moans, his tone dripping with satisfaction. âNow show me, baby. Show me how good you are for me.â
With one hand still gripping your hip, Joelâs other slides down to where your bodies meet, his rough fingers finding your swollen clit. The sharp jolt of pleasure has you crying out, your body bucking against him as he circles it with maddening precision.
The combination of his thrusts and his fingers is overwhelming, the pressure inside you finally snapping as youâre thrown over the edge. Your body tenses, your thighs shaking as your release crashes through you in waves, pulling a loud, broken moan from your lips.
Joel groans low in his throat, his pace faltering slightly as he watches you come undone around him, your walls fluttering and squeezing him tight. âThatâs it,â he growls, his voice strained, âThat's my good girl, give me everything,"
He stays leaning down over you now, driving into you, chasing his own high. His arms hold you against his body tightly, his breath is ragged, his movements erratic as he holds you firmly against him.
With a deep, guttural groan, Joel presses deep, his cock twitching as his release spills into you, hot and overwhelming. His hips stutter as he rides it out, his hands keeping you pinned against him, his body shuddering with the force of it.
The room is filled with the sound of your heavy breathing, the both of you trembling and spent. Joel leans forward, his lips brushing against the back of your neck as his hands soften their grip, caressing your skin now instead of digging into it.
After one last exhale, Joel shifts, the tension leaving his body as he falls onto the bed bedside you, laying onto his back and pulling you into him. His arms wrap around you, warm and secure, holding you against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat is warm, grounding you as you relax into him.
His hand moves slowly, gently tracing soft circles along your back, his rough fingers soothing against your skin. You tuck your head into the crook of his neck, your breath warm as it fans over his collarbone.
âYou alright, baby?â he asks again, his voice softer now, laced with concern and tenderness.
You hum, your hand coming up to his face, tracing your fingers along the rough planes of his jaw. âBetter than alright,â you whisper, your voice hoarse but content.
His lips twitch into a faint smile, and he leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. âGood,â he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. âSorry if I was--â
âYou werenât,â you cut him off softly, your fingers brushing along the valleys of his arm, âIt was perfect.â
Joelâs arms tighten around you slightly, his thumb stroking idly along the curve of your shoulder. For a moment, you donât say anything, content to listen to the rhythmic sound of his breathing, to feel the warmth of his body enveloping yours. His chest rises and falls beneath you, steady and calming, and you let your eyes drift closed.
Joel shifts slightly, adjusting the blanket over the both of you before settling back down, his chin resting lightly against the top of your head. His hands never stop moving, slow and steady, as if to remind you heâs there, that heâs not going anywhere.
âGet some rest,â Joel murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple in a soft, lingering kiss. âIâve got you.â
And with that, you sink into him, his warmth and quiet affection wrapping around you like a balm, the world outside fading into nothing.
