! warning ! — these are all porn, do not open in public; you must be logged into twitter/x for you to view all of these <3
۶ৎ; jack abbot who feels so bad about wanting to fuck his best friend’s daughter — he finds a work around <3
۶ৎ; jack abbot who, despite complaining, will let his nympho girlfriend take him anywhere
۶ৎ; jack abbot who finds his younger girl’s oral fixation kinda cute — even when he’s just come off a 12 hour shift
۶ৎ; jack abbot who haaates having to punish his little girl :( but it’s gotta be done!! so he ties you up with soft restraints he stole from the hospital — and makes you count
۶ৎ; jack can’t be sure what you’re up to while he’s at the hospital all day!! which is why a hole inspection is a part of your daily routine <3
۶ৎ; jack abbot who doesn’t mind if robby joins, sometimes he’ll even let his best friend’s take your pussy
۶ৎ; jack who’s so sweet really :( he knows just how big he is — so what better way to prep you than stretch your little cunt out on his big fingers <33
۶ৎ; jack abbot who likes to show you just how big he is before he fucks you
۶ৎ; jacks getting old :( sometimes he just doesn’t have it in him to fuck you properly!! but that’s what the toys are for after all <3
۶ৎ; it’s not his fault that he has to punish you — he literally told you he’d do your pelvic exam!! you shouldn’t have gone to that gyno anyway!
۶ৎ; just what jackie needs after a long shift <3
۶ৎ; jack abbot king of the munches
۶ৎ; jack who just knowsss how much bigger he is than you :((
۶ৎ; jack abbot loves coming home to his sleepy little gf after a looong night shift
۶ৎ; late nights in the on call room …
۶ৎ; jack abbot who doesn’t even waste time taking his dirty scrubs off before fucking his perfect girls mouth <3
۶ৎ; jack abbot blowing off some steam from work while you play the games he bought for you <33
an: thankyou all so much for reading!! i can’t believe the amount of love i’ve recieved since literally starting yesterday >.< hope u guys enjoy!!
you tear down my reason
Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch x Nurse!Reader
SUMMARY:
After yet another shift from hell, you and Robby retreat to the supply closet for what’s supposed to be the same thing it always is: stress relief, nothing more.
There’s only one rule between you. Tonight, it breaks.
SMUT | PORN WITH FEELINGS | SEMI-PUBLIC SEX | WORKPLACE SEX | FINGERING | THIGH FUCKING | P-IN-V SEX | POWER IMBALANCE - BOSS/EMPLOYEE | FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS TO LOVERS
A/N:
No, I still can't write smut for shit. Yes, I am absolutely still down bad for that man and need somewhere to put all these ideas buzzing round my head.
K thx bye, gonna run and hide myself in a bin now for my dirty thoughts.
AO3 | GIF by @emziess | Divider by @diviniyae, recoloured by me
It had been one of those shifts that made you regret ever finishing nursing school all those years ago. The kind where the fluorescent lights felt brighter by the hour, and every beep from the monitors scraped through your nerves like scalpels. Three codes in the last six hours alone, a software update that crashed the servers, a missing geriatric, an abandoned paediatric case, and one pissed-up newt of a man that thought himself the next Jackie fucking Chan.
That last one had earned you a sweet little bruise to your cheek. It had been happening more often lately, and of all the horrible things you'd worked through in your time, the violent ones hit you the worst – literally and figuratively. To be used as a punching bag over and over again, while being legally and ethically compelled to not retaliate... It was a wonder you hadn't cracked a tooth yet from how hard you'd clench your jaw.
Meanwhile, it was always the codes that seemed to shake Robby the hardest – the ones he couldn't save, the ones that would haunt his dreams for weeks. You’d watch the look settle over him like deadweight, his eyes growing distant, his shoulders heavy. And he'd had more than enough of them in this one shift alone.
As the clock drew closer to handoff, and things calmed down some, you couldn’t remember which of you moved first towards the supply closet in the back corridor. Maybe it was him, with that usual silent urgency of his. Maybe it was you, because your aching feet were moving before your brain could catch up, driven by that same need to do something with all those pent-up feelings. The door clicked shut behind you, his palm slapping the lock into place with practised efficiency.
Your eyes had barely adjusted to the lone bulb flickering overhead when Robby’s hands were already on you, rough and insistent, his body caging you against the shelves before you could even catch your breath. Gauze packets and sterile glove boxes rattled around you as your back hit the metal rack, the cold edge biting through your scrubs. His mouth crashed into yours, all teeth and desperation, tasting like stale coffee and the nicotine gum he’d chewed compulsively all afternoon. You didn’t have the time or energy to think – only to arch into him, melt the way you always did, your fingers twisting into the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him closer like you could fuse the space between your bodies into something seamless, driving out everything else.
The familiarity of his hands sliding under your scrubs – one gripping your waist while the other tugged at the waistband of your underwear – should’ve been mundane by now. Routine, or as close to routine as anything between you ever got. This was the third time this week alone, though you’d lost count of how many supply closet encounters there had been since the first one three months ago, when Robby had cornered you after that disastrous paediatrics case that still gave you nightmares.
His breath had been hot against your skin then, as it was now, his voice torn when he had begged, “Tell me to stop.”
You hadn’t.
And so it became this – stolen moments at the top of the stairwell between shifts, his teeth marking your collarbone while you hissed his name; hurried blowjobs against a tree in the park out front when the night was dark enough to hide you; his fingers working you open in this very closet while the department rushed by outside, oblivious.
Neither of you ever spoke about it, really, before or after. There was no planning to it, no debriefs, no whispered confessions in the dark, no lingering touches that suggested it was anything deeper than the frantic need to feel something other than the weight of the day pressing down on your souls. It wasn’t meant to mean anything. It was a release, a way of reminding yourselves you were still alive after spending hours holding death and chaos at bay with nothing but bandages and prayers.
There was just one rule between you. It hadn’t even been spoken aloud, just understood, like the memorised protocols of a code blue: no penetration.
Everything else was fair game: his mouth between your thighs, your fingers around his length, the bite marks he'd leave on your shoulder to keep himself from getting too loud. But no cock inside your cunt. That was the line. The one thing that felt as though it vaguely kept this from becoming something more than what it was – a distraction, a coping mechanism, a temporary reprieve.
With a sheen to his eyes, his kiss turned surprisingly gentle as it brushed over the fresh bruise on your cheekbone, a featherlight press that felt more like an apology, before his lips trailed downwards to the spot beneath your ear that always made your knees weak. A gasp choked out of you, your hands gliding through his hair in just the way he liked, nails scraping his scalp in that rhythm that had him humming into your neck.
His touch knew its way by now, slipping into the damp fabric of your panties with the shameless ease of someone who had mapped every dip and swell of your body a dozen times before. The first brush of his fingertips against your clit sent a jolt so sharp through you, your head cracked back against a box behind you – not that you cared, not when your hips were already canting forward, chasing the rough circles he was tracing over your needy nub.
A moan bubbled up from your throat before you could swallow it down, ragged and unexpectedly loud in the cramped space. Robby’s mouth crashed back onto yours before the sound could fully escape, his lips sealing over yours in a messy, desperate kiss that tasted like shared exhaustion and something darker, something hungrier.
You could feel the curve of his smile against your mouth, the scrape of his beard as he pulled back just enough, his voice cracking with amusement and want, “Quiet, sweetheart.”
“Please... Robby, m-more,” The plea shuddered out of you in a broken whisper.
Your fingers dragged harder through his hair as his palm continued to grind against your clit with agonising precision – too slow, too light, just enough to make your whole body shake helplessly against him.
His breath hitched, an approving noise vibrating through his chest. One more teasing stroke, just to hear you whimper, and then—
The first finger slid in smoothly, the glide obscenely easy, his hand pressing snug as he curled in deep. Your breath left you in a soundless gasp, thighs clamping around his wrist greedily, but he didn’t give you a second to adjust before a second finger joined the first, stretching you with that deliciously familiar burn.
He worked you with the clinical precision of someone who knew bodies better than his own reflection – those deep, drawn out thrusts that made your vision blur at the edges. The heel of his palm ground against your clit in those same unrelenting circles as before, and you found yourself biting down into his hoodie just to stifle the sob threatening to tear out of you.
“Always so fucking wet for me, so ready,” Robby murmured close to your ear, his breaths growing hot and uneven.
His fingers curled just right inside you, against that spot he knew so well, and suddenly you were moving without fully deciding to, chasing the teetering pressure.
“Look at me,” He demanded, the command sending shivers down your spine.
“I... I can't,” You gasped, burying your forehead harder into the sweat-damp crook of his neck, the words dissolving into a moan as he pressed harder, “Fuck!”
Your head snapped up at last, eyes locking onto his, those dark pools of exhaustion and want pulling you in. His pupils were blown wide, swallowing the brown almost entirely, and for a second, you saw it all reflected back at you: the bruise on your cheek, the way your mouth hung open around broken whimpers, the unashamed mess he was making of you. The room narrowed to those eyes and the hand between your legs. Then his fingers crooked just right, just there, and your vision all but whited out.
The moment your orgasm crashed into you, it wasn’t just your body that unravelled – it was the last shred of restraint between you. Your back arched noisily off the shelves, gauze packets scattering to the floor as your cunt clenched around him with a desperation that bordered on violent. He was kissing you again, deep enough to stifle the hopeless sounds pouring out of you, muffling them before they could reach the corridor. His free hand gripped your hip almost hard enough to bruise as he kept working you through it, his thrusts relentless enough to drag the pleasure out just that little bit longer.
You were still trembling when Robby’s fingers slipped free, slick and glistening in the dim light. He brought them to his mouth without breaking eye contact, sucking them clean with a despicable grin that sent a jolt down your spine.
Wrapping himself around you, he pressed his forehead to yours as your breathing steadied, the scent of antiseptic and sex and sweat mingling between you, sharp and strangely comforting in its familiarity. His little gasps came warm against your lips, uneven but slowing, his nose brushing yours in a gesture that felt oddly tender for a man who'd just had his fingers knuckle-deep inside you.
You could feel his erection hard against you, pressing through the thin fabric of his pants, insistent and unmistakable. You knew the rhythm by now – your turn, then his – and the unspoken promise that neither of you would be left unsatisfied. Your hands began to slide down to his belt when he stopped you, curling a long finger around your wrist.
“Got a better idea,” Robby murmured, his voice stiff with restraint, “Turn around.”
You hesitated, shooting him a decisively sharp, questioning look. No penetration – that was the rule, the one rule, the only line neither of you had ever crossed. So why did he want you to turn around?
His thumb brushed over your wrist in soft reassurance, as if sensing the sudden tension coiling through your muscles. After a shaky breath, he explained, “Just your thighs. Just for tonight, I just... I need more tonight. Please?”
Just your thighs. Just for tonight.
The words looped in your head. You swallowed them down like a pill dipped in honey, your pulse jumping as you nodded. Your hands trembled as you turned around, palms pressing flat to the cold grate of the shelves.
Robby’s hands slid to your hips, fingers hooking into the waistband of your scrub pants. He tugged them down slowly, deliberately, the fabric dragging against your skin like he was savouring every inch of you. Cold air hit your exposed thighs like a shock, pulling a gasp from you. Your panties soon followed, traitorously pooling at your ankles with barely a whisper.
Behind you, there was the clink of a buckle, the rustle of fabric, the shuffle of feet, all barely audible over the rush of blood in your ears from your pounding heart. Then came the warmth, sudden and overwhelming, as he stepped closer, his chest pressing firm against your back. His breath danced down your spine, dizzyingly hot, the rough drag of his beard tickling your skin before he nipped lightly at the back of your neck.
Then, unmistakably, there was the heavy heat of his cock nudging at your ass cheeks. You shuddered, your fingers curling tighter around the shelf’s edge, the metal biting into your skin, though you weren’t entirely sure if the shiver was from nerves or anticipation anymore. Robby exhaled sharply through his nose, his hands gentle on your hips, not pulling you back but holding you steady, giving you space to breathe, space to bolt if you wanted to.
His grip slid lower, to your thighs, fingers pressing lightly into the soft flesh, urging them closer together, and they obeyed of their own accord.
“Keep ‘em tight like this,” He murmured, the words barely more than vibrations against your skin with all his sudden trembling, sounding as undone as you felt.
He pressed a kiss behind your ear that zipped straight to your core, before repositioning himself with a soft inhale. Then, his hips edged forwards, the thick length of him sliding between your thighs with a tantalising ease that punched the air from your lungs. The pressure was dizzying, the friction of his cock dragging just shy of your slick folds as he fucked the tight clasp of your legs.
His groan into your shoulder came frayed, satisfied, as he found his rhythm and picked up the pace, the shelves rattling in time with him.
Somewhere along the way, his thrusts began to slip higher. Either because your thighs were so slick with your mixed fluids, or because some hidden part of you loosened for him, you weren't sure. Whatever it was, his length began to drag against your cunt, the swollen head of him catching on your clit with each shallow push forward. The first brush sent lightning shooting through you, your fingers clawing at the shelves as your knees nearly buckled, a soft mewl bubbling out of you that was still far too loud for your hushed surroundings. Then it happened again... And again, and you couldn’t tell if it was deliberate on his part or just some cruel trick of physics, but the way his breath hitched against your neck suggested he’d noticed too.
“Fuck—” Robby's voice cracked into a whimper against your ear, his hips stuttering mid-thrust as he skimmed over your entrance. His fingers dug into your thighs hard enough to make you ache, with all the effort it was taking to restrain himself, “Gotta... Shit, sweetheart, just let me put the tip in – just the tip.”
With your every nerve alight at the forbidden touch, he could have been asking for the moon and it wouldn’t have made a difference, your thoughts scrambling. The rules that had always seemed so clean now blurred at the edges. What was left of the rational part of your brain screamed no, but your body arched back into him anyway, legs parting just enough to open you up for him.
“T-Tip... Yeah,” The words were barely out of your mouth before Robby was pushing into you, the blunt head of him stretching you open with a single, slick thrust. Just the tip, just like he'd promised. Barely an inch, hot and thick and so fucking good, your cunt fluttering around him with a traitorous hunger you weren’t expecting.
His gravelly, gasped fuck vibrated through your shoulder blades, and you could feel the tremor in his arms, the way his whole body tensed behind you like he was fighting God himself to stay in control.
The feel of him burned deliciously, just enough to make your breath catch, bring tears to your eyes, make you whimper, but not enough to truly satisfy. He moved achingly slow, every careful thrust dragging his swollen tip against your inner walls before popping out and barely breaching you again. You clenched around him reflexively, trying to pull him deeper, and he felt it too, if his choked hiss was anything to go by. But the teasing continued. It wasn’t deliberate, you knew, but it was maddening how it left your body buzzing, aching for more, a need pooling low with nowhere to go.
“Please...” The plea tore from your throat, shameless and raw, as you arched back against him, the curve of your spine pressing flush to his chest. Tears sprang hot at the corners of your eyes, your head tipping back onto his shoulder with a desperation that bordered on delirium, “Robby, please, just fuck me properly.”
His breath scraped out hard against your neck. For a heartbeat, nothing moved – not his hips, not his hands, not even the air – that one unspoken rule between you no doubt blaring like a siren in his head. Then his fingers flexed, grip skittering up to your waist beneath your scrub top, “Fuck it.”
The rule shattered into a thousand pieces as he hauled you down onto him in one precise, perfect motion. The cry that ripped out of you wasn’t even close to quiet, but neither of you cared anymore who heard. His cock filled you in a single thrust, so deep your vision flashed at the edges, the world narrowing to that white-hot stretch.
He didn't wait around, didn’t give you a second to adjust – Christ knew he didn't need to. The damp sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air, urgent and impossible to mistake, almost masking the unhinged gasps breaking free from both of you. His low growl vibrated against your skin, his lips returning to the exposed column of your neck in hot, messy nibbles that burned where they touched. You would’ve crumpled if not for his arm banded around your waist, holding you upright as he set a punishing pace, hips snapping forwards with a force that made your whole body weak.
His free hand traced a familiar path upwards beneath your scrub top, the rough pad of his thumb brushing over your nipple through the thin fabric of your bra, teasing it into a stiff peak that ached against the lace.
You whimpered, twitching at the touch. Your fingers finally uncurled from their white-knuckle grip on the shelves to slide between your thighs, trembling as they found your clit, newly-swollen with need. You circled the sensitive bud in tight, frantic little motions, the pleasure sending sparks dancing through you all over again. The rhythm was off – jostled by every snap of Robby’s hips into yours – but the friction, the pressure, the overload of sensations you were drowning in... Perfect.
Robby shifted his stance. It was subtle, barely a shuffle wider, but the change hit you like a livewire, your toes curling inside your shoes. His thrusts angled deeper, the thick ridge of his cock dragging just right against that sweet spot inside you.
You weren’t going to last much longer. The realisation hit you like a second pulse, throbbing low in time with the relentless grind of him into you. Your whole body was coiled tight like a spring, teetering on the edge of something almost fucking biblical. How Robby had lasted so long was a mystery – maybe it was the way he kept gripping you tight, the way his breaths came in broken bursts against your neck like he was counting seconds in his head. Or maybe it was the same desperate, clawing need that had driven you both into this closet in the first place: the need to feel alive after a shift that had tried its damnedest to convince you otherwise.
“Gonna—” Robby’s voice was more strained than you’d ever heard it, his fingers digging into your skin as his hips stuttered with some vague attempt at control, “I’m gonna cum. Are we... Are we doing this? All the way?”
“Yes, fuck, yes!” The answer tumbled out of you without thought, your hips desperately jerking backwards to chase him, need and want burning clear through caution.
Whatever shred of restraint Robby had been clinging to evaporated in an instant. He slammed back into you with a force you knew you’d be feeling for days, resuming his ruthless pace. Within a few thrusts, your orgasm hit like a freight train, your cunt clenching around the thickness of him with an utterly shameless desperation as his name babbled brokenly from your lips.
Robby’s body tensed against yours, his rhythm fracturing into chaos. A splintered, punched-out sound escaped his throat – half groan, half your name – before he buried his face in the crook of your neck, teeth scraping damp skin as his hips jerked forwards one last time. You could feel the exact moment he came undone inside you, the hot pulse of his release so overwhelmingly deep and wet that it danced on the tremors already wracking your overstimulated body.
He sagged behind you, his forehead pressing into the back of your shoulder as his movements staggered to a stop. For a moment, the only sound was the harsh panting between you and the distant hum of the department beyond, with its chirping monitors and incessantly ringing phones.
Reality crept back in slow around the two of you, like blood returning to a sleeping limb, the weight of what you'd just done settling between you like an unwanted third presence, impossible to ignore. The rule was gone. The line had been crossed. And neither of you had even tried to stop it.
The moment Robby pulled out, the wet heat of him spilled down your thighs in a slow and telling trickle. You barely had time to register the mess before he was reaching past your shoulder, his fingers fumbling to tear open a pack of gauze, the sound of it loud enough in the sudden quiet to make you shiver. Gentle as he was, the press of a folded square between your legs made you hiss, your head snapping back into his shoulder as the rough fabric dragged across oversensitive flesh.
“Sorry,” Robby breathed, his nose tracing the shell of your ear. He was trembling, you realised. Surprising, for a man who could suture a carotid artery without flinching.
You steadied yourself against the shelves again as Robby stepped back, putting space between you for the first time since the door had locked. He grabbed some more gauze before wiping himself clean with indelicate strokes.
Your legs wobbled as you bent down to retrieve your pants, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to the dampness that lingered, every hobbling shuffle reminding you of exactly what had just happened.
When you turned back around, Robby had already righted himself, his length tucked away where it belonged, the gauze full of fluids that shouldn’t have been there discarded into a clinical waste bin that was supposed to be out of order. He was watching you – not with the detached amusement that usually followed these encounters, or even the fleeting glance of the real him before the mask slipped back into place. No, this time his gaze felt heavy, the dark pools of his pupils still blown wide enough to swallow the soft brown.
The tense silence made your skin itch, and you tried to break it: “That was...”
You were unable to finish, too many words coming forth at once, all of them entirely too insignificant for the circumstances.
New. Dangerous. Wrong.
Amazing.
Your cheeks began to burn hot. You were scrambling for something, anything, that could stitch the gaping silence back together when Robby cleared his throat.
“Come back to mine tonight,” He said, the words rough-edged but deliberate. Not a question, but not quite a demand either. Just a statement that hung nervously between you like the scent of sex that clung to the air.
Speechless, your mouth bobbed like a helpless fish out of her depth. Robby stepped closer, crowding you back against the shelves, gentler this time, though no less certain. His hands framed your face, palms cradling your jaw with a tenderness that made your skin hum, his thumb brushing the forgotten bruise on your cheekbone. Then his lips were on yours again, slow and tentative with a kiss that lingered, full of something that felt dangerously close to affection.
Your breath caught in your throat, your pulse skipping. When Robby pulled back, his thumb traced your lower lip, “Come back to mine tonight, please?”
You stared up at him, the warmth of him stuck to you like a second layer of skin. His words rattled around your skull, loud and soft all at once. It wasn’t the offer that stunned you, it was the way his voice cracked, like it was something he needed, rules be damned.
You supposed they were damned, now. And yet, the world hadn’t come crashing down around you both. In fact, you felt pretty fucking good for your transgressions.
Your fingers curled around his wrists, thumbs pressing into the soft, painted skin where his pulse fluttered. Leaning up, you bridged the scant space between you and kissed him back just long enough for the growing tension to leave him, like a held breath finally released.
“Okay,” You smiled against his mouth. Just like that, two syllables dissolved the last pretence that this was still just about stress relief.
Robby's exhale shuddered against your lips, his grip tightening almost imperceptibly before he stepped back, putting just enough space between you to let the cold air rush in. Nodding with finality, he shot you a boyish, lopsided grin that made your heart skip, “Okay.”
The two of you returned to the floor one at a time, ignoring Jack and Lena’s pointed comments about how flushed and dishevelled you both looked, hiding behind the very real excuse of another rough shift.
And when you both finally stepped out into the fresh air of the cold, dark night, you didn’t head in opposite directions for once. You weren’t alone as you walked either, his hand carefully slipping into yours once the sight of the hospital was far behind you. As usual, nothing was said, but something settled between you anyway.
I raise you college aged robby that discovers how to make people squirt and promptly spends an evening getting you to make a mess all over him whilst being strangely clinical about it
jesus f christ!!!!! med student robby makes brain go brrrrrrrrrrr
you couldn't help but giggle at his dramatics when he snapped on the pair of blue latex gloves, making a show of the process as if you were to sue him for medical malpractice if he didn't put them on
robby squinted at you, flexing his gloved fingers playfully, a slight twitch upwards of his mouth revealing how much of a kick he was getting out of the little act
"you thought i wasn't serious about this?" he cocked his head, eyeing you from head to toe as you laid beneath him on his bed, exposed and waiting patiently for him to touch you "when have you known me to be anything but serious baby?"
it's ironic of him too ask, considering the fact that he's a fucking menace, that the star med student constantly drags you around campus and out of lessons to have a smoke or a beer with him, that he asks to practice and study with you only to end up fucking you against every available surface of his dorm room, that he promises to call the next day but he never follows through with it...
"well-" you begin, only moments away from listing all of the things that directly contradicted his boasting
"actually-" he interrupts, with a stubborn twist of his head "forget i asked, it's not important" he says, because he could already see the knowing and vengeful glint in your eyes
you're too busy laughing at him when you feel the impersonal and cold rubber of his covered digits threatening to go inside you, something that startles you just as much as it makes your insides seize up in anticipation
"gonna feel a little cold here" he comments when its already too late, when he's already made you jolt at his touch, he's insufferable like that
you groan and roll of your eyes, feeling impatient for him to show you exactly what he can do, what he was so eager to 'practice' on you
"easy easy, juuuust feeling around" he teases, his voice a rasp, secretly enjoying that he shut you up so effectively with just a single nudge of his fingertips at your entrance
he doesn't keep you quiet for long though
soon robby is curving and digging his fingers deep inside, creating a murderous hook with his hand that repeatedly nudges at your hidden trigger and makes blinding warm pleasure course through your entire body, making you whine, your back arch, your toes curl, your breathing to stutter
he's not even looking at your face when he does it, he's too busy staring at the way his gloved hand disappears inside you, his blackened eyes studying and focused on what patterns and just how much pressure causes you to tighten and uncontrollably gush around his digits
its not too long before he's abusing his knowledge, he goes from wanting to know how to make you do it, to wanting to know just how many times he can before you're begging him to stop
so he does it, once, twice, you can barely keep count after a while because they start to blend into one another, the oversensitivity only making things easier for him to open the floodgates continuously, relentlessly
every time you do he smiles, he murmurs calm, level headed, almost comforting words of praise "yeah, thats it baby" , "doing so fucking good", "think you can give me another one?"
robby uses his doctors voice when he talks sweet to you and within the context of this- hearing it nearly makes you cry in embarrassment with how much it boils your insides with want
"r-robby, please, i dont think i can-" you pathetically weep, feeling like your whole body is trembling, twitching with aftershocks that just refuse to die out
"ohoo, you clearly can though, can already feel it leaking out-" he answers, for the first time in what feels like forever lifting up his head to properly look at you, an insufferable grin on his face "its fucking everywhere baby"
"god, i cant-" you cry out, but your body is saying otherwise, making a mess of robby's hand for what seems like the hundred time if the way you hoarsely wail out his name is any indication
It's been a long ten months for Frank Langdon. Rehab, endless meetings to prove he's fit for his job, and losing you.
It's his own fault. He knows that. He couldn't handle the pressure of his entire life going to shit, and combusted, destroying your life in the process. If things had gone to plan, the two of you would've been married by now. Instead, you're near strangers, and Frank doesn't know how long he can watch you date a guy that absolutely doesn't deserve you.
Until you turn up on his doorstep, with nowhere else to go after being kicked out by your ex.
And so, Frank Langdon's second chance begins.
warnings: 18+, mdni! this fic will feature medical gore, a little bit of violence, and explicit sex. more detailed warnings on each chapter individually
Pairing: Dr. Brendon Park (Park the Shark) x Fem, Grad Student! Reader
A/N: ... I'm back, hehe, yes this is based off five seconds of screen time of this man, but your honor i need him, also this one is kind of based off my current academic situation, :)) and I need to manifest success and DILF doctors in my life, this thesis is also killing me and I'm procrastinating by writing this, @inkdippedquills inspired this idea to do an academic reader based on their own life and phd and i loved it, so thank you !! enjoy some shark, my man :) maybe I'll do a part 2 if it turns out okay lol
Summary: You're Dana's niece and absolutely off-limits to the Pitt staff, especially to the intimidating ortho surgeon upstairs, but when did that ever stop deep-seated attraction and young love?
Warnings: SMUTTT, age gap (reader 24 and shark is 40) allusions to bad family, reader gets drunk, degradation AND praise kink, masturbating, use of sex toys, mention of body type aka chubby reader (because of course), oral (f! receiving), p-in-v, fingering, unprotected sex (reader has IUD)
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
It's a slow night at the end of the day shift in the Pitt and you're sitting in the employee break room waiting for your Aunt to get off work.
Dana wanted to take you out to dinner at your favorite spot since you both have been busy, so you promised to pick her up from work, but as always, she was running behind, considering how integral she was to making sure everything ran smoothly here (or as smooth as it could be).
Twenty minutes have passed since you've arrived and you were smart enough to bring your laptop and notepad in your tote, all spread out like a work station as you are the only one occupying the room. Something about the chaos existing just outside the door, giving you bustling voices and footsteps as a background noise for your studies.
Faces passed by as you sat there, each person sending you a smile or a friendly wave that you happily return.
Robby walked up and leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, "How's it going in there?"
You smiled softly. "It's going," you bit down on the cap of your pen.
"You don't mean that," he chuckled. "I'm sure you're doing fine."
You shook your head, looking up at him from the table, "Yeah, we'll see what my advisors think. I'm really needing to focus these next couple of weeks."
"I always liked Jo's cafe up the street," he nodded. "It's quiet and you might find it to be a good study space like I did."
"Oh, wow, it's still there?" you grinned. "After all those years?"
He rolled his eyes, "I'm never helping you again. Also, I'm only... Nevermind." You laughed.
Someone moved past him, but he's quick to catch their attention so that they stop. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of them.
"Look who's made an appearance," Robby gestured to you with a tilt of his head. You frowned briefly at him for his meddling.
Brendon Park, the brooding, stormy ortho surgeon, stood there and took in the sight of you at the table: your messy hair, your restless, pink rimmed eyes, your flushed lips from being chewed between your teeth when deep in thought, and that hopeful curve in your brow whenever you look at him.
The kind that hoped he'll stay around to talk but knew he never will. Yet, you two always seem to run into one another in these hallowed halls when you visit. The softness you invoke deep in his chest makes his stomach feel uneasy, shaking that steely resolve of his. It's terrifying. You terrify him. Coming from a man that holds severed limbs in his gloved hands.
Thump, thump, thump.
You ignored the pounding between your ribcage and mustered a small smile, "Hey, Park."
He nodded in your direction, still on the go, still waiting to leave even as he stood there.
His voice is quieter than normal, almost lost in the hustle and bustle of the room. "Hi," he grunted.
Robby glanced between you two and smiled to himself, pleased. He caught on to your crush in the early days of meeting you, and while he knew you were far too kind and too young for Park, that didn't stop the teasing. Like an Uncle who ribbed you in front of your friends to embarrass you.
"Alright then," he cut through the tense silence and turned to you. "Still getting drinks with us after work?"
"I owe Dana a dinner date, but if you guys are still out, we'll meet you there," you smiled. Park just stood and watched you, chest fluttering in a way that made him feel like an exposed nerve.
You dared to pose the obvious question to him standing there, stock still behind Robby, "Are you coming, Park?"
Robby barked a laugh, "Are we talking to the same man here?"
Park cut him a look then back to you, softer, lower, "I have to go prep for surgery." You looked down, trying to hide your disappointment with a small, feigned smile.
He paused for a moment, "But it was good to see you." And he's gone. Your chest swirled with warmth.
This pretty much summed up the interactions between you and Brendan Park. Short and tense and only briefly satisfying.
"See," Robby smiled and followed after him. "What I tell you?" You flipped him off on his way out.
It's been going on since you've moved to Pennsylvania three months ago for grad school, getting your second master's degree in public health after an undergrad and master's in journalism. You wanted to change the world, to help people with a passion for healthcare without the proclivity for the maths and sciences. Research and writing was more your speed.
Dana was your favorite relative and she spoke highly of the public health university by the UPMC before offering you a place to stay until you found your own, since her own daughters are moved out. It felt perfect.
You fell in love with the city and the employees of the Pitt were quickly becoming your close friends. You came down here on slower mornings before class to bring the staff coffees and muffins and during shift changes to pick up people to go to the bar nearby. Or days like today when you would use the break room to study.
That's when you encountered Brendon Park, aka the shark, for the first time. All intense eye contact, head nods, and that low voice always tinged with a razor sharp edge.
But he never seemed to stay near you longer than a minute or two at a time, unless it was a group get-together he was roped into, only when other surgeons are present or Robby deigned to show his face.
It unsettled you. He did. You're always nice to him, albeit a bit awkward at times, but you didn't see any reason he would have to dislike you. You knew his reputation, hell, you knew his nickname. You saw the looks he gets in the ED when he comes down the elevator. But surely he could at least talk to you.
Once, when bringing Dana something she forgot at home, you watched through the window of a trauma room, his slow, methodical glances to the patient and everyone standing waiting for him to speak. He controlled a room without much thought or effort.
You heard the whispers and rumors of interns he'd send home crying and even residents would back away at the sight of him. The silver fin cutting through the water.
When he would run into you, it was... different, fainter. This towering, broad-shouldered brick house with slick hair and dark eyes would see you, your smile and wave, and he would flee. You'd offer a coffee if you had an extra when he was downstairs during a consult. He'd mutter a small 'thank you' before leaving with no conversation.
And you being you, took that personally. He seemed to at least converse with other people around here, what was so repulsive about your presence?
Now, it was a challenge to be won. If you could get Santos to enjoy your company, surely you could rope Park into a conversation or two.
It's October now, the air was cooler and life had calmed down for everyone. And yet, you can't seem to shake this push and pull. This man over fifteen years your senior, this mythic, foreboding figure, who you find yourself constantly wanting more of. There were people your age interested, sure, your classmates and friends of friends. But you couldn't care less. You wanted the complicated option.
Dana walked up to the door with her bag in hand and a warm smile when she saw you, "Hey, kid. You ready for dinner? I'm starved."
You grinned, "Are we going to the bar with everyone after?"
"We can," she chuckled and wrapped an arm around you. "I could use a pint."
You sighed, "I need a tequila shot. Or two."
"God, I forget you're 24."
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
"I think you wanna fuck him," Trinity Santos pointed her beer bottle at you.
You shushed her loudly, putting a hand over her mouth. She grinned against your palm and playfully bit your skin, you groaned.
It was just you, Santos, Whittaker, Robby, Dana, and the new nurse, Emma, everyone else sleeping off their long shifts in their own homes this Friday night. You six, however, needed to blow off some steam.
Santos and you stood at the bar, tasked with getting everyone else their drinks while they sat by the pool table, rowdy and loud.
You two were school girls, you giggling over a boy you like and your friend teasing you about it. All while your very protective Aunt, who despised almost every man she worked with, or men in general for that matter, stood only six feet away none the wiser.
"Keep your voice down," you whispered through gritted teeth, still waiting on the tray of drinks. "I don't want Dana to hear."
"Yeah," Trinity laughed. "She'll go shark hunting."
You scoffed, "Funny. Seriously, though, I just think he's hot... it's a silly crush."
"I don't think it's unfounded," she raised her eyebrows at you. "I see how he looks at you, too. We all do."
"Don't tease me. It's mean."
"I'm not, I'm being serious!" she threw her hands up in surrender. "You'll be visiting and he'll come down for a consult and just stare at you in the hall like you're his strawberry flavored protein shake or something. He's definitely into you."
You looked at her, unconvinced.
"And it's probably why Dana gives him "I'll kill you" looks every time we see him downstairs."
Emma walked up to you both with a bright smile. You returned it and wrapped an arm around her neck, pulling her to your side.
Emma hugged your waist, "You guys talking about how she wants to have the shark's babies?"
You blinked hard at her, hurt, "Et tu, Brute?"
"You and Dana are too much alike sometimes," Santos shook her head and sipped her drink.
"What?" Emma laughed, all bubbly. Her curls bounced, "I think you two would look good together."
"He's like 40. It's a pipe dream. Like being into a teacher."
"So?" Santos said.
"So?" you echoed with eyebrows raised. "It's-"
"Trust me," Emma looked at you. "Guys our age are... well, stupid."
You laughed and grabbed the tray of drinks for everyone, shaking your head at the thought of Park the Shark having even a lick of attraction to you.
He hardly even spoke to you, how could he think anything of you when he barely knew you? The last few months have been only glances and fragments of conversations in passing, maybe one or two social events he's been dragged to, but seldom anything more than that.
Still, a red hot stripe of heat makes its way through your stomach thinking of him staring at you when you weren't looking. You never thought feeling like prey would excite you so much.
The same eyes that examined flesh and bone, hands you wanted on you that practically molded Adam from clay every time he's in an OR. He stirred fear in interns like the monsters in closets conjured up by small children.
And you didn't think lowly of yourself, but really, the idea of you both together was laughable. You couldn't imagine a world where it was possible.
But two hours and a few more cocktails later and you're dialing his number in the bathroom.
You didn't remember why you had it, it seemed like a cruel joke played on you by Robby or something. He was close with Dana, yes, but even he knew not to mention to her your little crush. That didn't stop him from making jokes with you in private, though.
He'd be the type to put it in your phone to mess with you while you weren't looking. He knew your password and you regretted it now. But you weren't going to look the gift horse in the mouth on this one.
Dana took your car home, and you promised you'd find a way back with the others because she was exhausted and you wanted to stay with your friends. It's midnight now and clearly time to make bad decisions.
It rang for only a few seconds before you heard him on the other line, "Hello?"
"Hey..." you smiled to yourself, checking your makeup in the bathroom mirror, singing the word.
There's a low exhale. "How'd you get my number, sweetheart?"
Sweetheart. "No idea, but I saw it and I don't know... I wanted to talk to you," you giggled. "Are you mad?"
"I'm not mad," his voice is tired, a pang of guilt hit you, and he sighed. "Why'd you call? Are you alright?"
"I'm a bit drunk," you put a hand over your mouth, unable to get yourself to stop smiling. "I'm at the bar... and Dana went home. Sorry, I got bored and I'm gonna drive home with someone-"
A beat of silence passed. "I'll bring you home. Give me ten minutes."
You groaned, "I didn't call so you could give me a ride, Brendon-"
"I know," you heard keys jingling and a door shutting in the background. "Just text me your address and wait there." The call ended.
You feel an ache low in your belly that you attribute to the liquor, but you knew it was his tone; that matter-of-factness. He doesn't want to be questioned. Nor did you want to. Perhaps when you were sober, but now, you did what you were told and sent him what he asked for.
You walked back out to the bar, dragging your hands down your face. Santos, Whittaker, and Emma were the only ones left now, the three of them talking at the table.
"Oh no," Santos looked at your crestfallen expression, sitting up straighter. "What did you do?"
"I called him."
"Called who?"
Your eyes widened, "Him."
Trinity gasped and leaned toward you, grinning, "Oh my god, no you didn't... this is the best day of my life."
"Is this about Park?" Whittaker furrowed his brow. You sent Trinity a look for being a snitch.
"We live together, okay?" she defended. "It's hard to keep secrets when you take phone calls in a shared living room."
"Well, now he's coming to get me," you sat down abruptly, stumbling. Emma steadied your chair. "He heard how drunk I sounded and... now he's on his way. I'm so fucking embarrassed."
"I think it's sweet," Emma shrugged. She sipped her vodka cranberry, "He's taking care of you."
"Cause he's old enough to be her dad," Whittaker muttered. Trinity shoved him for that.
She sighed, "If you're going to be present for girl talk, fuckleberry, you need to be cool." He scoffed and shoved her back.
Headlights appear outside shortly after your conversation ended, a sleek, black sports car parked by the front door of the bar. All four of your eyes shoot to the car that's worth all of your tuitions combined, the roar of the engine doing little to calm the rapid beat of your heart and the warmth spreading all over your body.
"I'm going to die," you whispered.
"Just... don't talk too much," Santos advised. "Let him take you home and don't wake up Dana. Or you're both dead."
"It was nice knowing you," Emma teased. You whined just as the door opened.
And just like in the OR, that same commanding presence hypnotized the four of you and every patron in the bar, everything but the music in the jukebox halting. He stalked over to your table and you swore you heard Dennis gulp beside you.
You couldn't help the way your eyes fell over his navy henley shirt and dark jeans, a far cry from the purple scrubs he dons at work.
Brendon's eyes widened slightly and he stopped at the sight of his coworkers, knowing this would bite him in the ass on Monday. But when he peered down at you and your soft, open smile, liquor flushed, he didn't seem to mind too much.
"Hey," he said to your friends. They all nodded wordlessly, muttering small greetings, starstruck.
"You really didn't have to do this," you told him, still slightly slurred.
"I uh," he looked at everyone, suddenly sheepish. "I thought you were alone."
"Well, Emma's staying with us tonight and we live on the other side of town," Santos piped up, smiling. "So, she would have had to Uber or wait forever if not for you."
He bit back a smile at the look on your face when you glanced at your friend, openly irritated.
He only nodded to the door and moved a hand to your waist to help you up, "Then, let's go. You ready?" You reluctantly nodded.
Your friends watched you both in shock and awe as he led you to his car, a palm to the small of your back to keep you upright. You threw them a look over your shoulder, one that said to 'shut the fuck up or face the consequences.' Santos threw you a thumbs up and mimed a lewd gesture that made you roll your eyes.
"Are you always... having this effect on rooms you walk into?" you looked up at him through your lashes as he held the door open for you. “It happens at the Pitt, too.”
He pinched his brow, looking both ways before crossing the lot to his car, "What do you mean?"
"Taking all the attention," you laughed and slid into his passenger seat with his help.
He started up the ignition, chuckling, "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that." You warmed at the sound of his laugh, even if it was only a slight one.
"You do, though," you leaned back into the leather seat and stared at the way his fingers flexed over the gear shift, silver rings on thick fingers and veins up his muscular arms. Your mouth went dry and you swallowed hard.
He met your eyes for a brief moment before focusing on the road, "It's you they're looking at."
You looked down, "I doubt that."
"Don't be dense. You have to know."
You scoffed, taken aback, "Know what? That you're intimidating?"
"That you're stunning," he said it like it was the most true thing he's ever felt.
Like a fact, so simple and yet so deeply profound to you. How could he do that? Say something so small that you'd be thinking about for weeks after in the calm of your bedroom by yourself. He didn't even have to try. It would be infuriating if it wasn't also so enjoyable.
You folded your hands in your lap and flushed with heat, "Oh... thank you."
The two of you were quiet for a few minutes as he drove down the freeway to your apartment, his hand still on the shift, rock music low on the radio.
"I love Alice in Chains," you smiled at the song playing. "That's awesome... I never hear people play them."
You glimpsed a soft smile on his face, hardened features loosening when he peered back at you, and he nodded in agreement, "Me too."
A hush fell over the car. "Can I ask you something?"
He paused, hesitating. "Sure."
You yawned, sleep tugging at your eyes, "Do you... not like me?"
Brendon furrowed his brow, fully turning to look at you as he took your exit. "You think I don't like you?" You nodded, frowning.
"Of course I like you, sweetheart," he sighed out, guilt gnawing at him. "I just don't have many friends."
"Why?"
"People find me scary."
"I don't," you said quietly, staring openly at him. His face reddened slightly as he pulled into the parking lot.
"You don't know me very well."
You exhaled with a small smile, more clearheaded as sleep takes ahold of you instead of the liquor, "I know enough. I just think you're brooding and... grumpy. And you could maybe be nicer to the interns sometimes, but I see how you treat your staff. You run a tight ship and you have high expectations, but you're good at your job and your department speaks highly of you because of it. I've had professors like you, they're strict but they're always the ones who help me the most."
Brendon had parked as you were speaking and sat there gaping at you, all stormy, blue eyes and breath caught in his throat. No one had ever said something like that to him in his time at the Pitt, no colleague, or family, or relationship. You saw him over the last few months and saw everything. It made his chest squeeze.
"Thank you… that actually means a lot," he looked away, fingers inching in your direction. He pulled back. "Do I need to walk you up?"
You shook your head, unaware in this moment at the way you spilled your guts to him just now, only thinking of the allure of your bed and a cold glass of water. You'd probably only remember pieces in the morning.
You smiled, "Nah, I'm okay."
You opened the door and almost tripped out of the car, but he's by you in mere moments. He gripped the sides of your waist and pulled you up with ease, helping you walk to the lobby doors.
"Maybe I need a little help," you pinched your fingers to show just how little you needed. You were absolutely fine. "I'm sorry... I guess I drank more than I thought."
"It's okay," he whispered. "You don't need to apologize."
"You're really nice," you touched the side of his face gently and his mouth curved slightly. "Not shark-like. More like a big cat."
Park shook his head and brought you inside, trying not to laugh at the state of you. He brought you to the elevator and you pressed the number to your floor. You leaned against his shoulder as the elevator went up and he stilled at the feeling of your head nestled against him, his hand hovering near you in case you fell again.
The doors slid open and your apartment was the first you saw. You put a finger up to your lips, shushing, "We have to be quiet."
"Okay," he nodded, knowing deep down that would not be a problem for him but letting you say it to him, anyway. He opened the door and let you in.
You immediately stumbled into the counter and held back a wince, muttering curses under your breath. He steered you toward your bedroom at the end of the hall, but you weren't going to be quiet anytime soon, so he made the executive decision to lift you up bridal style, carrying you through the cracked door. You wrapped your arms around his neck and laid your head on his chest, inhaling his Old Spice deodorant and woodsy detergent, something adjacent to clean linen, too.
"You smell good," you commented, cooing. "Like a fireplace. And laundry." He flushed again. He needed to stop doing that.
He gently placed you down in your bed, but your hands stayed encircled around his neck. He met your eyes, amused.
"You have to let go."
"Don't want to," you yawned. "You're warm."
Maybe it was a trick of the light or your tired, drunken haze, but he smiled softly when he looked at you in a way that felt sacred in the glow of your golden lamp.
"You're drunk."
"You should be drunk," you finally let your hands fall from his broad shoulders and he moved to take off your heels, handing you a makeup wipe from your bedside table. "It's very nice."
His eyes fell over your face and you smiled back at him, wiping off your makeup haphhazardly. A piece of his chestnut hair fell between his eyes, "You seem to be having fun."
"Well, if you were drunk, you could kiss me."
His gaze averts to your mouth before he could help it, even in your daze you noticed that with a smugness. The thought of it was enough to light his skin on fire, littered with goosebumps. He took the wipe from your hands, threw it away, and helped your head hit the pillow comfortably.
"Go to sleep, sweetheart."
You crumpled at that but it didn't completely dissuade you. He still had a hand against your forearm, thumb brushing up and down. His voice is uncharacteristically soft and you wanted to kiss him so bad, that you felt it so deep in your bones that it ached.
"But... can you stay?" you yawned again, stretching out your arms and your shirt riding up from it. He watched you move with quiet adoration. "Until I fall asleep?"
Something wars on his face, conflict and wanton need fighting it out for a place there. His brow furrowed. "I should go."
You frowned and leaned further into your pillow, eyes fluttering shut and voice quiet, "Please?"
He paused for a moment, stock still beside your bed. It didn't have to mean anything for him to wait here beside you, your aunt who he works with in the next room. Likely a gun owner, to boot.
He shouldn't stay at all, he shouldn't have wanted to come to rescue you, or carry you to your bed. Such a young, naive thing he wants to be near at all times. But he's almost twice your age, once divorced, and perpetually angry, also an insufferable perfectionist.
When he looked at you, half asleep now in your pink duvet covers, though, he couldn't think of anything less than perfection.
So, he relented with a nod and sat down in the love seat next to your bed, by your open window with moonlight streaming in to cradle your face in milky shadows. An angel. Not that he believed in that sort of thing, but there were no mortal words to describe you, he thought. Only otherworldly ones.
Thankfully for him, it didn't take long for you to slip into slumber, curled up under your blanket with a light snore. He let himself look at you for only a few moments before sneaking out as silently as he could.
Brendon shut the door quietly behind him and caught a glimpse of Dana in the kitchen, now sitting at the counter in a bathrobe and pajamas, while he stood by the door. A deer in headlights. The two of them locked eyes.
He straightened up, "I was only-"
"I know," she put a hand up to interrupt him. "And I'm appreciative of that. But that's all that will be. She's young. She's new here. And I love that kid. So, I don't need guys like you to chew her up and spit her out, understand?"
Dana was always the only person at the Pitt who didn't fall for his intimidation, she had that part locked down herself. To have her corner was a sight to behold, but heaven forbid you were on the other end of it.
Park doesn't defend himself or say anything, just nodded quickly and turned to walk out. She was right. He knew she was. He knew better than to act on these inexplicable feelings for you. If he could will them away, he would have months ago.
He wouldn't be thinking about you in the stillness of his condo in the middle of the night, his hand on his cock, your name on his lips and dreaming of those damn sundresses you wear around the break room. That smile you always send his way.
You were beloved by everyone at the Pitt and impossibly sweet, too sweet for him. He poisoned everything he touched with a bitter aftertaste and you would be no exception to that.
No one at work looked him in the eye without wide-eyed fear. You were the only person who looked at him like he was a person and not some nickname. Not that he deserved it. But you deserved better.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
It was the next morning and your head was pounding, but thank god, it was the weekend.
Dana would be gone today for a day trip with your Uncle Benji, not back until tomorrow afternoon. She deserved the break, and you needed to let your pounding headache from your hangover subside without her maternal, but loving, judgement.
You pulled your phone out and scrolled through the onslaught of texts from her, Robby, and your friends checking in and making sure you got home okay. As well as dirty gifs sent by Trinity in your group chat with the rest of your friends, all asking for details. You shook your head with a small smile.
That's when it all flooded back to you. Brendon taking you home, your flirting, your compliments, how you probably reeked of desperation. You put a pillow against your face and let out a frustrated scream, flushed with embarrassment and wishing there was some kind of hole that could form below you and swallow you up.
You knew you had to do damage control now, even if it meant making it worse, avoiding him forever would be risking far more. And from what you could remember, it wasn't all bad. If your drunk, tired mind wasn't playing tricks on you, he seemed to even be into it. Even admitting to liking you and finding you stunning.
You pull up his contact and start typing.
I'm so sorry again for last night. Thank you for helping me.
You start typing again.
Dana's gone for the weekend. I can make you dinner as a thank you for dealing with me being insane last night. I'm a great cook, I promise it's at least edible lol
Your finger hovered over the send button, heart thundering in your chest.
You sent it. A few minutes passed.
Seen.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Your stomach dropped at the three bubbles appearing and disappearing over the span of ten minutes, leaving your skin hot from the nerves. You even leave to get water and a snack to get you mind off of it, but it's no use. This was a mistake, wasn't it? He would never entertain this and now you've ruined everything-
Your phone pinged. You scrambled for your phone, nearly spilling your cup over.
Stop apologizing. I appreciate the offer, but I don't think that would be a good idea.
No, you thought, it wasn't. But the statement lingered in the air and maybe it was crazy, but it gave you hope. Why wouldn't it be a good idea? Was it that weird of an ask? Were you two that likely to implode if in the same room together again? Like two stars colliding, you thought. One was bound to fizzle out at least.
It's only dinner. Something that friends do.
You stared down at your phone, breath caught.
Maybe another time. Thanks.
Your heart sank and you cursed the way your eyes began to sting with tears. This was dumb.
You didn't need to be crying over a man, one that wouldn't give you a straight answer, no less. If he wasn't interested, it was his loss, not yours.
So, after a day of homework, your favorite comfort movies, and Chinese takeout, you're now on the phone with Trinity, talking about her "relationship" with Garcia and how Park blew you off.
Santos laughed, "He wants that cookie so bad."
You let out a laugh despite yourself, still butt-hurt, "You're disgusting. And no, actually, he doesn't. He quite literally rejected me only a few hours ago."
"I'm being real. And he's just scared that your aunt will maim him. But you're a grown ass woman with almost three degrees. And if you want to fuck the scary ortho surgeon, you should fuck the scary ortho surgeon. He'll come around."
"It wouldn't be just fucking, though," you hopped up on one of the bar stools by the kitchen counter, reminding you of the slowly blossoming bruise on your hip from the night before. "I... I like him. I like him cause I'm an idiot and I don't know how to like normal guys. I have to like 40-year-old surgeons who everyone hates."
"He's not that bad," she relented. "As someone who also can be rough around the edges sometimes, I can tell... It's a coping thing. He'll soften with time. And therapy, honestly."
You softened at the glimpse of vulnerability from your friend, looking down at your feet, "I guess you're right. I love Dana, but she's not going to let this happen. I'm permanently cockblocked here. And he doesn't seem to want anything to do with me after last night."
She hummed in thought, "Want me to come over? I can bring wine."
You hold back a gag. "Don't mention alcohol for five to six business days, please," you groaned. "But that sounds-"
There's a loud knock at your door and you jumped at the sudden sound.
"I'm guessing you need a raincheck," Trinity chuckled as if knowing who it was. She did. She watched him leave work and drive toward your apartment instead of his in the other direction and chose to keep it to herself.
"I'll call you back," you sighed and hung up before walking to the door and opening it to reveal Brendon himself. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.
"Hi," he looked down and back up at you.
"I thought you didn't want to come," you frowned, annoyed, arms folded over your chest. "Why are you here?"
"Because I'm a fucking idiot," he whispered.
You frowned and finally let him inside before shutting the door, "Why's that?"
"Because I don't want to hurt you... but I shouldn't be here. Then I got off work, got in my car, and suddenly I was on my way here."
"Because of my aunt?" you raised your eyebrows before rolling your eyes. "I'm not some dumb teenager anymore. Dana means well, but she's overprotective... she feels like she has to be my mom."
He only listened as you spoke, head low. You paused at the tightness in your chest at the mention of family and shook your head. "She's all I got. That's why."
"She loves you."
"I know."
"And she's right," he gazed at you and bit the inside of his cheek. "You're young... and I'm not good for you."
"Why does everyone think they get to tell me what's good for me?" you tilted your chin up, that time to defy him finally coming. "Why can't I fucking decide? Why isn't anyone giving me a choice?"
He stared at you for a moment before leaning back into the wall, letting you have your fun with tempting fate, and him, "Maybe you don't want the right things."
You glanced at his mouth, "Do you have control over that sort of thing?"
"I guess not," he said and his fingers tapped against his scrub clad thigh before sliding into his pockets, eyes washing over you, every plush feature, all rounded edges and soft heat.
He tried to make himself smaller in this moment, but it was near impossible, he was all muscle and broad angular shapes, taking up as much space in your head as he did in a room.
"What a shit deal."
"It is."
"Heh. You're not very comforting. You're lucky I like you." Fuck.
He nodded to himself and gave you a long look, "Why do you think I'm here?"
You stilled, lips parted at the implication. He was so close to you that your chests brushed. You leaned back to meet his eyes up through your lashes.
You spoke lowly, sarcastic, "It's not for my amazing cooking?"
He chuckled, "I already ate."
"So... because you like me too?"
Brendan looked down at you and once again studied every piece his eyes could get ahold of; every expanse of flesh, the soft fabric of your tank and sweats hugging your body, the warmth you emit.
Wordlessly, he hooked a thick finger into the waistband of your sweatpants, pulling you toward him as he leaned against the wall so that every part of you touched.
"Brendon..." you breathed out, hot from his hands on you.
Your eyes locked, his voice dropping an octave, "Yes?"
"Do you... actually want to?" your voice is near silent and thick with the only time you've ever felt fear around him. Fear that he didn't want you like you wanted him.
"That's never been the issue, angel."
Your chest heaved as you struggle to catch your breath at the look on his face.
He dragged a finger down your chest and tugged down the neckline of your tank top to free your breast before dipping down and pressing his mouth against them.
His mouth sucked marks into your skin as his fingers dimpled the sides of your waist to hold you as close as humanly possible, slotting his thigh between your legs as you pushed him further into the wall.
You gasped at the sensation of his tongue and surprisingly soft lips against you. He's gentler than you imagined; reverent in his actions like a man succumbed to prayer. His hand splayed open over your stomach and the small of your back. But then his teeth graze you before sinking down and you moaned at the sting, pink mouth agape as he spread out the bites across the valley of flesh.
"Perfect," he muttered into you and you whined, head tilted back. "So perfect, you know that?"
You slid your hands to the sides of his jaw and inched into his hair, nails at his scalp. He decided not to gel it down today, you can tell, it's fluffy to the touch and disheveled so you tug it. He let out a groan into your skin, vibrating against the flesh, and it stirred something primal in you like a dog in heat.
He tilted his chin up to look you in the eye, sleepy but beckoning, a siren song. "You taste sweet."
You smiled down at him and brushed a strand of hair from his eyes, "Is this where the shark thing comes from? A proclivity for biting?"
"No, from my residency. I just wanted to taste you," he admitted and you devoured the morsel of information about him with rapt attention. Even if it was only a small one.
He chewed his lip, nodding to the hall, eyes lust blown, "Now, go to your bedroom."
You smirked, teasing, "Am I in trouble?"
"Do you want to be?" You cracked a smile. "Maybe."
He shook his head and turned you around to smack a hand swiftly against your ass, watching it move from the touch. You yelped and threw him a look before finally listening and walking to your room, his hand in yours behind you to tug him along.
You opened your bedroom door and let yourselves in before he shut it behind him with his foot, leaving the two of you in the dim lighting of your bedroom, all golds and pinks and deep, dark blue.
"Can I tell you something?" you whispered as he walked up to you in front of your bed. He nodded and brushed hair out of your face.
"I've thought about this a lot," you laughed quietly and looked at him and your bed, hardly believing this wasn't a lucid dream or vivid hallucination. "You... in here."
"Show me."
"Now?" your eyes widened.
"Yes, now," he said with a tinge of humor in your voice that made you flush with shame. "I want to watch you how you touch yourself thinking of me."
His question settled deep in your bones and lit a fire at the apex of your thighs, clenching around nothing. The thought of doing that in front of him felt more intimate than the sex itself, to let him in on this part of you.
You sat yourself back down on the foot of your bed and watched him kneel in front of you to your surprise. But he still dwarfed you from the sheer size of him. "I'm... kind of embarrassed. I've never done that in front of anyone before."
He regarded you slowly, hands on your thighs to spread them open, he smiled, "I'll help you. How's that sound?"
So, you nodded and reached in your nightstand drawer for your vibrator, bringing it over while he tugged off your sweats, no panties on under. You leaned back on one hand while the other turned on your toy, cool air hitting your glistening cunt.
"Did you think I was still coming?" he moved to swipe a finger down your already slick folds and you bucked at the contact, gasping. You do as your told and press your vibrator into your clit and you whine, trying to speak.
"N-no, I just-"
"'You just' what?" he mocked and peered up at you, head cocked as he gestured with his other hand for you to continue your ministrations against your clit.
"You just happened to be ready waiting for me?" he spoke low and roughly, making you pulse against the plastic toy. He watched you still with an intensity that made you warm and you threw your head back.
He gently grabbed your chin between his fingers, large hand engulfing your jaw as he pulls you back down to look at him. His fingers pressed into your cheeks just slightly, thumb against your bottom lip. You swiped your tongue against the pad of it and sucked him into your mouth, swirling, so he switches them out. His index and middle finger hitting the back of your throat.
"That's my girl," he cooed as you choked around his fingers. "You take anything I give you because you want it so bad... You think about me sliding my cock into you when you're here alone in your bedroom, little thing. I should make you beg."
You nodded without any thought, whining, and watched as he moved his fingers that were just wrapped around your mouth down to your cunt to slide inside you, immediately clenching around his digits when he pushed them in.
He pumped them in and out of you at a steady pace, just slow enough to make you rut into his palm because you needed more friction, more of him. That's when he stood up and yanked off his shirt, revealing his broad, chiseled chest and torso, because of course, he had a six pack.
Your movements slowed as he untied his pants. He shook his head, "Don't stop. Lay back on the bed until I tell you otherwise."
God, you wanted to fight him on it, but it wasn't as if you didn't want to, only that arguing sounded so fun. Perhaps another time.
You moved back to lay on the bed and took off your tank top, now bare against the covers with your toy still pressed into your cunt, closer to your release now and it made you shiver. He was bigger than you imagined, throbbing out of his boxers that were covered in ocean waves. That made you smile.
"What?"
"The ocean?" you laughed. "Really?"
Brendon climbed over you and abruptly tugged you by your thighs over his shoulders, causing you to shriek at the movement. He blew cold air against your clit, still under the buzzing of your toy.
"Do you want to laugh at me or do you want me to eat your pussy?"
"Why not both?"
"Can't have both, angel."
You mimed a zipper going across your lips and shutting it with a key. He grinned at you and his pearly whites made your chest hurt. You knew in that moment you really did like him. And he wouldn't just be some fling.
Park pressed a kiss to your clit, "Move the toy." You obeyed and he immediately sucked the sore bud between his lips.
"Oh, fuck," you cried and pressed your hands against the back of his head to push him further against you. He licked slowly, taking his time as he devoured your puffy cunt, wishing you weren't as close as you were already so this could last even longer. He squeezed your thighs, nails digging into the soft flesh there, but he didn't want to come up for air, why would he?
Your fingers carded through his dark hair and pulled, earning you a mumbled groan into your cunt. His tongue slid into your wanton hole, clenching, cloying.
"You're close," he said simply and slid a calloused finger back in to accompany his mouth on you. "Come, so I can fuck you properly." You came undone into his mouth at that, almost gushing out.
Brendon looks up at you with your wetness glistening around his mouth and chin. He cracked a smile and you realized this was probably the most happy you've ever seen him. And it made you smile to yourself.
"Come here," you mumbled and gestured for him to crawl up to you.
He, for once, did as he was told and you kissed him for it. It was gentle, more than you expected him to be, in a lot of ways that was what he was. A constant surprise to you. A mystery you're slowly solving.
The kiss roughened quickly on your part, a low moan pouring from you as he bit your lip and tugged, one hand cupping your jaw to angle his mouth to yours. You tasted your sweetness on his mouth and loved it maybe more than you should, this testament to your pleasure physically embedded on his skin.
You kiss for so long you forget where you are, that his cock is leaking pre-cum close to your aching cunt waiting to be filled by him, still raw and sensitive to the touch. You pulled away first for air and his mouth followed like two magnets splitting, slick with spit.
His hair was mussed and messy, skin flushed pink, and lips swollen from your own doing. You smiled at the sight of him, for once his composure gone and all done by you. You pressed a finger to his lips to keep his distance.
"I can't wait any longer," you told him as he kissed the corner of your mouth, both impatient. "Need you inside me, baby..."
He gripped his cock in his hand and slid it up and down between your folds, a tease. He kissed your neck, "Leg up, angel."
You hitch your right leg up and around his waist, "I have an IUD... by the way."
"Is that you telling me you want me to come inside?" You nodded, maybe a little to eagerly.
He smiled, "You're so needy, you know that?" He slowly pushed inside you, making you gasp only halfway in.
"Almost there, baby," he sung your praises and held the side of your waist to steady you, mouths finding each other again. "You're taking me so well. Better than I imagined when I'd pump my cock thinking of you... Your fucking body in those dresses you wear. Almost like you wanted me to look." Fuck.
You nodded and dug your fingers into his back, “I did.”
You whined into him as he pushed to the hilt at your confession and you inhaled sharply, relishing in being filled so completely by him. More than anyone ever has.
He whispered by your ear, "Tell me, you think boys your age can fuck you this good?" he slammed into you suddenly, making you clench, and you shook your head, crying out as he hit against your g-spot like he knew you by heart.
Your arms wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him closer to you as his mouth found a soft spot into your neck where it meets the delicate expanse of your collarbone. You suddenly found yourself thanking that he had such an expansive knowledge of human anatomy.
Park pressed his mouth there and kissed along your skin, undoubtedly marking you all over for the world to see, but you didn't care. He was whispering praises into you, how good you felt, how made for him you were. If those marks could talk, they'd cry his name.
"Fuck," you breathed out. "N-no, no, Brendon, they can't fuck me... They don't. Shit, no one's this good."
"Don't worry, baby," he pushed in and out of you as he snaked a hand down to press firm circles against your clit. "You're mine now. Only I get this fucking pussy. I'm going to take good care of you."
You pulled him up from your neck to press your mouth against his, catching his groan, a slow, languid kiss that made you moan into his mouth. He sighed into you and pulled up your ass against him with his hand on you as your tongue licked a stripe across his lip.
"You're so beautiful," he whispered with a hand on your cheek, unrelenting as he continued to fuck you into the mattress, probably waking every neighbor you had.
"So fucking pretty for me. I bet you come even prettier the second time..."
You clenched your eyes shut as his mouth dragged from your lips to under your jaw, sucking hard with a clash of those sharp canines that brushed your skin.
"You're mine too," you whispered as he pressed harder against your clit and the coil low in your belly threatened to snap soon, more and more intensely.
"Yours," he kissed across your cheeks and back onto your mouth, adoring in his work. "Only yours." You hummed.
That's when it hits you full force, his cock and mouth and fingers unraveling you into a mere puddle beneath his weight as he doesn't stop through both your orgasms. You ride it out as he swallowed your moans, moving against you as he stayed inside you, both of you panting.
He studied you and your blissed out expression. You smiled at him and he found himself returning it, as natural as breathing.
"This is a thing now..." you mused, warm and glowing with joy. You kepy smiling.
He nodded and kissed your temple, "If you want it to be."
"Only if you keep wearing aquatic themed undergarments," you teased. "Or else I walk." He laughed.
Two-Player -> Mature || Mel might have to get a new couch. || friends to lovers || 3/3 chapters. 60,000+ words
The Auction -> Explicit || Mel auctions off her virginity. Frank’s the high bidder. || Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics. || tw: infidelity, love triangles || 19/19 chapters. 195,611, completed. ✨
You’re a Good Man, Frank Langdon -> Explicit || Dr. Frank Langdon: steals drugs, gets divorced, cheats on his wife, goes to rehab, falls in love. Not necessarily in that order, though if you ask him it's not really any of your fuckin' business. || 1/1 chapters, 71,026 ✨
It's a Beautiful World -> Mature || A grown-up Little House on the Prairie and The Pitt mashup for the Happily Ever After Series. || 1/1 chapters, 9,273
Years -> Explicit || "Come on, you can be quiet," Frank says. "I can sometimes," she agrees. "When you're nice". || 1/1 chapter, 1,666 words ✨
Birdie King-Langdon -> G || Frank and Mel introduce a new baby to the family. || 1,500+ words
Side step -> Explicit || Frank has spent less than seven business days in person with Mel, his 22 year old step sister. That doesn’t stop him from sleeping with her. || 1/1 chapters, 14,762 words ✨
His best addiction -> Explicit || Franks wedding ring starts to feel like a chain when he’s faced with the intoxication of Mel king, he knows he has to stay away but his reasoning starts to slip the longer he’s around her. Good job there’s an empty on call room, he’s sure Mel’s been needing a break anyway || 1/1 chapters, 1,552 words
Ring -> Explicit || "You shouldn't be here," Mel says. "Where else should I be?" Frank asks absentmindedly, eyes closed as his thumbs caress her cheeks. "At home," she starts. "with your wife, for once". || 1/1 chapter, 1,842 words
Tale As Old As Time -> G || A Kingdon retelling of the Beauty and the Beast transformation scene. || 1/1 Chapters, 2,028 words
velvet intervals -> Explicit || Mel and Frank have an affair; Mel overthinks and Frank doesn't share. || 5/5 chapters, 89,385
Microfics
Crisp -> PG || Mel is pregnant with their next child || 491 words
who is the lamb and who is the knife -> Teen || Mel and Frank have a long anticipated discussion. || Historical fic || 1/1 chapter, 318 words
Candle -> Explicit || Frank and Mel have sex by candle light || 500 words
gold in the sunlight -> G || Melissa Langdon is always right, and everyone, especially her family, should always listen to her. || Historical Fic || 542 words
each of us our own path decide -> G || Halloweentown Au || 500 words
Mushrooms -> G || Frank helps cook Thanksgiving with Mel and Becca || 486 words
Leaves -> G || The new Langdon family spends a happy fall day together || 499 words
Soup -> G || Frank brings his family to Olive Garden to routinely flirt with the waitress Mel || 361 words ✨
Family -> Mature || Mel is marrying into the Langdon family but neither her soon-to-be father in law or her can stay away from each other. || CW: Implied Sexual Content, Daddy Kink, Age Gap, Infidelity || 500 words
Blanket -> G || Mel watches Frank and Abby’s kids. They fall asleep under a blanket fort. || 296 words ✨
Michael Robinavitch x F!Reader
wc:5,6k
summary:After a brutal shift in the ICU, all you want is to escape the chaos of the hospital and breathe for a minute. your roommate Robby is there waiting, like always. What starts as a quiet night and a simple foot rub turns into something neither of you can take back.
mndi-18+
warnings/content: roommates to lovers, smut, oral-both receiving, no use of y/n, fingering, doggy style, praise, unprotected piv, language.
a/n: I'm sick af right now and off work for the next week so expect a few stories during that time. :) also this might be the smuttiest thing I've written so far.
cross-posted to ao3
The front door slams shut behind you with a force that rattles the coat hooks, your scrub top damp with sweat and the lingering stench of antiseptic clinging to your skin like a second layer. The shift from hell is finally over, but the adrenaline crash hits you like a freight train the second you step foot into the apartment. Your shoulders sag, your spine curls forward, and for a second, you just stand there in the entryway, breathing in the comforting scent of home.
Fucking Whitmore. Fucking EMR. Fucking…
The ICU.
Twelve hours under fluorescent lights that never dim, monitors screaming in arrhythmic chorus, vents hissing like mechanical lungs doing the breathing for people who can’t. Pressors titrated to the microgram. Blood gasses every two hours. Family members hovering at the glass doors with wide, terrified eyes while you try to explain what “guarded prognosis” actually means. PTMC’s ICU doesn’t slow down, it just rotates disasters.
Today there had been three rapid responses back-to-back, one code that dragged on too long and Whitmore second-guessing every call you made while the EMR froze mid-chart and pharmacy kept “reviewing” your stat orders.
“Rough one, huh?” Robby’s voice drifts in from the living room, low and knowing. You lift your gaze to see him sprawled on the couch, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee, a half-empty glass of whiskey cradled in his hand. The ice cubes clink softly as he tilts the glass toward you in a silent offering. His beard is slightly tousled, like he’s been running his fingers through it, something he does when he’s deep in thought or, more likely tonight, deep in the aftermath of his own brutal shift in the ED.
You kick off your sneakers with a grunt, the sound of them thudding against the wall oddly satisfying. “Rough doesn’t even begin to cover it,” you mutter, peeling off your jacket and letting it drop to the floor with your bag. “Attending ghosted us, EMR shit the bed mid-code, and Whitmore…” your teeth grind together. “That smug, condescending fuck, stood there picking apart every decision I made, like I was a goddamned intern.” You drag a hand through your hair, the ponytail long since collapsed into a messy knot at the nape of your neck. “I swear to God, if he calls me ‘sweetheart’ one more time, I’m going to…”
“Punch him in the throat?” Robby supplied, his lips quirking. He sets the whiskey down on the coffee table and unfolds himself from the couch with the same effortless grace of a man who’s spent decades moving through hospital halls. “Can’t say I’d blame you.” His socks muffle his steps as he crosses the room, but you don't miss the way his shoulders fill out the shirt he’s wearing. He stops in front of you, close enough that you catch the warm, spiced scent of his cologne, something woody and familiar, like cedar and old books.
You exhale sharply, the last of your professional armor cracking. “I just…” your voice wavers and you hate it. “I hate feeling like I’m drowning. Like, no matter how fast I move, it’s just not enough.” The words spill out before you can stop them, raw and ugly, and you press the heels of your hands against your eyes. Goddamnit. You don’t do this. You don’t unravel.
Robby doesn’t say anything. He just reaches out and takes your wrists, gently pulling your hands away from your face. His thumbs brush over your pulse points at your inner wrists, slow and deliberate, like he’s checking for a rhythm. “You’re allowed to be human, you know,” he murmurs. “Even doctors have bad days.” His voice is rougher that usual, like he’s been shouting over the din of the ED for hours, and the realization that he probably has, that he’s just as exhausted as you are, makes your throat tighten.
Before you can protest, he’s guiding you toward the couch. “Sit. Talk. Or don’t talk. Your call.” You sink into the couch with a groan, letting your head fall back against the arm rest. “I don’t even know where to start.” The words come out muffled, but Robby doesn’t push. He just reaches for your feet, (your feet which are probably disgusting after a double shift) and pulls them into his lap. You jerk in surprise, but his hands are already there, his fingers pressing into the arch of your left foot with a precision that makes you gasp.
“Jesus!” The word turns into a moan as his thumb digs into a knot of tension you didn’t even know you had. Your toes curl reflexively, and you grab at the cushion to keep from squirming. “Warn a girl before you, oh fuck, do that.”
Robby chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest. “You’re wound tighter than a tourniquet,” he observes, working his way toward your heel. His touch is firm, almost clinical in its thoroughness, but there’s something intimate about it too… The way his calloused fingers trace the bones of your foot, the way his breath hitches just slightly when you moan again. “You’ve been on your feet too long. No wonder you’re ready to murder Whitmore.”
You laugh despite yourself, the sound breathless. “God that feels…” Another moan slips out as he switches to your other foot, his thumb pressing into the ball of your foot hard enough to border on pain. “Unfair. That’s what it feels like. Jesus, Robby, your hands are magic.” You let your eyes flutter shut, the tension in your shoulders finally starting to ease. “You’re gonna make me forget how much I hate my job.”
“Good.” His voice is rough, and when you crack your eyes open, you catch the way his gaze flicks up from your feet to your face, dark and heated. His pupils are blown, the whiskey and the low lighting turning his irises nearly black. “You deserve a break.”
You should probably look away. You should probably move. But you don’t. Instead, you let your legs relax further into his lap, your toes brushing against the inside of his thigh. His muscles tense beneath the contact, and you feel the shift in him instantly, the way his breath catches, the way his fingers stutter against your instep. His cock is already half-hard, the thick outline of it pressed against his sweatpants, and the realization sends a jolt of heat straight between your legs.
Oh.
You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t. But the day has been a dumpster fire, and Robby’s hands on you feel too good, and the way his cock twitches under the accidental brush of your foot is intoxicating. So you do it again. A slow, deliberate drag of your toes up the inside of his thigh, watching his face the whole time.
Robby’s jaw clenches. “Careful,” he warns, but his voice is thick, his free hand gripping the couch cushion like it’s the only thing keeping him from pouncing. “That’s not my foot you’re playing with.”
A shiver runs down your spine. “No?” You arch your foot, pressing the sole against the growing bulge in his pants. Even through the fabric, he’s hot, the heat of him searing your skin. “Feels like you’re enjoying it.”
His breath hisses out between his teeth. “You have no idea how much.” His fingers dig into your calf, not quite painful, but possessive. Commanding. “But if you keep that up, I’m gonna assume you want something more than a foot rub.”
The challenge hands between you, thick and electric. You should stop. You should pull away, laugh it off, pretend this isn’t happening. But the way his cock pulses under your foot, the way his chest rises and falls like he’s fighting for control, it’s addictive. So you press harder, rolling your arch against him in slow, teasing circles. “And if I do?” you murmur, your voice dropping to a huskier register. “Want more, I mean.”
Robby’s eyes darken. “Then you better be ready for what happens next.” His hand slides up your calf, his grip tightening just enough to make your pulse spike. “Because I’m not the kind of man who gets teased and doesn’t retaliate.”
A thrill shoots through you, sharp and bright. You drag your foot up again, this time letting your toes graze the thick ridge of his cockhead through the fabric. He groans, low and rough, his hips jerking upward involuntarily. “Fuck, Doc…” His voice is a growl, his free hand fisting the couch cushion. “You’re playing with fire.”
“Maybe I like the burn,” you breathe, doing it again. And again. Each stroke earns you another groan, another twitch of his hips, another flash of raw hunger in his eyes. His cock is fully hard now, straining against his sweatpants, the tip already damp with precum. You can smell him, the musky, male scent of his arousal mixing with the cedar and whiskey, and it makes your mouth water.
Robby’s hand snakes higher, his fingers digging into the back of your knee. “Last warning,” he grits out, his voice as rough as gravel. “Keep that up, and I’m gonna pin you to this couch and fuck your mouth with this cock until you’re choking on it.”
The filthy promise sends a fresh wave of heat pooling between your thighs. Your pussy clenches, empty and aching, and you want—God, you want—but you’re not ready to give him the satisfaction yet. Not when he’s so deliciously unraveled, his control hanging by a thread. So, you smirk, slow and deliberate, and press your foot flat against his cock, rubbing in a firm, teasing stroke. “Or what?” you taunt, your voice dripping with false innocence. “You’ll make me?”
His answer is a growl, deep and primal, and then his hand is around your ankle, yanking your leg straight. You gasp as he twists, pressing your foot harder against his cock, grinding against your sole with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips. “You little tease,” he snarls, but there’s no real anger behind it, just a raw, needy hunger. “You’ve been begging for this, haven’t you? Begging for me to show you what happens when you push me too far.”
Your breath hitches. “Maybe I have.”
His grip tightens, his thumb pressing into the sensitive skin just above your ankle bone. “Then take your fucking scrubs off,” he orders, his voice a dark velvet command. “And show me that pretty cunt. Let me see how wet you got from playing with my cock.”
The demand sends a fresh wave or arousal through you, your clit throbbing in time with your pulse. You should tell him no. You should stop. But the way he’s looking at you, like he’s two seconds away from ripping your clothes off with his teeth, it makes your resistance crumble. So you reach for the hem of your scrub top, your fingers trembling just slightly as you peel it over your head, leaving you in nothing but your sports bra and the thin, damp fabric of your scrub pants.
Robby’s gaze rakes over you, hot and possessive. “Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice rough with approval. “Now the rest.” His free hand slides up your other leg, fingers hooking into the waistband of your pants. “Let me see you.”
And god help you, you obey.
You rise from the couch slowly, the tension pulling tight between you. His fingers stay right where they are, dragging slightly as you stand. The air feels colder now against your bare skin, heightening every sensation, every breath. His fingers are still hooked into the waistband of your scrub pants, his knuckles brushing against the bare skin of your hip, sending a jolt straight to your core. You didn’t need to be told twice. With a slow, deliberate drag of your thumbs, you pushed the loose fabric down your thighs, stepping out of them until you stood in nothing but your black sports bra and the damp scrap of lace clinging to you. The cool air of the apartment hit your exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of Robby’s gaze raking over you, dark and hungry.
His hand didn’t hesitate. Palm flat against your stomach, he slid it downward, fingers pressing against the soaked fabric of your panties. A rough groan tore from his throat as he cupped you, his middle finger dragging along your slit through the lace. “Fuck, you’re dripping,” he murmured, voice rough like gravel, his breath hot against your hip. The words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, your thighs trembling as he pulled you closer by the waistband, his other hand splaying wide across your lower back. His mouth found your stomach next, lips pressing open-mouthed kisses to the skin just above your navel, tongue darting out to taste the salt of your sweat. You gasped, fingers tangling in his hair, gripping tight as his teeth grazed you just enough to sting.
You should’ve known he wouldn’t stop there. Robby had never been one for half-measures. His hands slid down, thumbs hooking under the elastic of your panties, and with a sharp tug, he dragged them down your legs, leaving you bare to him. The vulnerability should’ve made you hesitate, but the way his breath hitched as he took you in, spread and wet and aching for him, only made you bolder. He didn’t give you time to over think it. With a strength that belied his easygoing demeanor, he laid back against the couch, pulling you with him until you straddled his face, your knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his head.
“Michael, I’ll crush you,” you protested, even as your hips instinctively rocked forward, the first brush of his beard against your inner thigh sending a spark through your nerves.
His hands clamped around your thighs, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. “Shut up and sit on my face,” he growled, and then he was pulling you down, his tongue already swiping broad and wet through your folds before you could even brace yourself. The first lick was a shock, hot, insistent, his mouth sealing over you like he was starving. You cried out, you gripped his thighs turning desperate as his tongue circled your entrance, teasing but never quite pushing inside. He groaned against you, the vibration making your toes curl, your hips jerking helplessly as he lapped at you like a man possessed.
Then his palmed cracked against your ass, the sharp smack echoing through the room. The sting bloomed into heat, radiating outward, and you gasped, your back arching. “Fuck!”
“Suck my cock,” he ordered, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips glistening with you. His voice was a dark command, brooking no argument. Not that you had any intention of refusing. You were already reaching for the waistband of his sweatpants, your fingers fumbling in your haste. He lifted his hips just enough for you to drag the fabric down, freeing his cock, thick, flushed, the head already slick with precum. You wrapped your hand around the base, stroking him once, twice, before leaning down to take him into your mouth.
The first taste of him… Fuck. Salty, musky and entirely all him, made your head spin. You swirled your tongue around the crown, lapping up the bead of fluid there before sinking lower, taking as much of him as you could. His groan vibrated against your pussy, his tongue flicking your clit in punishment or praise, you couldn’t tell which. Didn’t care. The dual sensations were overwhelming: the stretch of your jaw around his girth, the relentless pressure of his mouth on your most sensitive flesh. You hollowed your cheeks, bobbing your head as you worked him, your free hand stroking the part of him you couldn’t fit between your lips.
Robby wasn’t content to let you set the pace. His hands gripped your ass, lifting you just enough to drive his tongue inside you, fucking you with it in deep rhythmic strokes. You whimpered around his cock, the sound muffled, your thighs trembling as he worked you open. The wet, obscene sounds of his mouth on you filled the room, mixing with the slick noises of your lips around his shaft. You tried to take him deeper, relaxing your throat, but he was too big, too thick, and you gagged, pulling back with a gasp before diving down again.
His fingers dug into your flesh, his other hand coming down on your ass again—smack—the impact sending a fresh wave of arousal through you. “That’s it,” he growled against your pussy, his breath hot. “Take what you can, baby. Use your hand.” His hips bucked upward, feeding you more of his cock, and you obeyed, wrapping your fingers around the base and stroking him in time with your mouth. The dual sensations had you spiraling, his tongue fucking you, his cock throbbing against your lips, the taste of him on your tongue. You could feel your orgasm building, coiling tight in your belly, but Robby wasn’t letting you chase it. Not yet.
He pulled back just enough to speak, his voice a dark rumble. “You’re going to come on my tongue while I fuck your face, aren’t you?” His hips thrust upward, fucking your mouth harder. “Do it. Now.”
And just like that, you shattered. Hips rocking against his face as you moaned around his cock, which was pulsing against your tongue. He groaned against you, working you through it as his own orgasm finally hit him. He growled against your pussy as you started to swallow around his cock, letting out soft mewling noises around him. Finally, you collapsed on top of him.
Your body was still trembling, the last wave of your orgasm humming through your veins. Robby’s chest rose and fell beneath you, damp with sweat, his breathing heavy but steady. He let you rest there for a moment, his palm skimming lightly down your spine, grounding you. Then he shifted beneath you, sitting up with a low grunt, muscles flexing as he carefully maneuvered you to the side. His hands were gentle as he eased you off him, laying you down on the couch cushions before rising to his feet.
He stood for a breath, towering above you, chest heaving, eyes raking over your wrecked form. Then, without a word, he leaned down, slid his arms beneath you, and lifted you effortlessly—your bare skin pressing against the warmth of his chest, the rough texture of his beard brushing your temple as he murmured, "Good girl." The words send a fresh shiver down your spine, your muscles still twitching from the force of your release. You can’t even muster the energy to wrap your arms around his neck, you just let your head loll against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him: whiskey, soap, and the musky undercurrent of sex.
He carries you like you weigh nothing, his stride steady as he moves through the dimly lit apartment toward his bedroom. The cool air kisses your exposed skin, raising goosebumps along your thighs and arms, but the contrast only makes the heat of his body against yours more intoxicating. His bed comes into view, neatly made. The comforter was smooth and undisturbed, corners still tucked tight from that morning before his shift. Robby lowers you onto the mattress with deliberate slowness, his hands cradling your hips, your ass, as if memorizing the weight of you. The moment your back hits the soft fabric, you sink into it, limbs sprawled, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.
He doesn’t let you recover. His palms glide up your thighs, pushing them apart just enough to settle between them, his knees pressing into the bed. The mattress dips under his weight, the shift in balance making your stomach flutter. His fingers trace idle patterns on the inside of your knees, then higher, skimming the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. "Time to show you what else I can do with these hands," he rumbles, his voice a dark promise. The words send a jolt through you, your pulse kicking up again despite the languid heaviness of your limbs. You watch, mesmerized, as his calloused fingertips drift higher, mapping the curve of your hipbone, the dip of your waist, the flare of your ribs beneath the black sports bra.
His touch is maddeningly light, like he’s testing your reactions, learning the exact spots that make your breath hitch. When his thumb grazes the underside of your breast, you arch into the contact without thinking, a whimper escaping your throat. Robby’s lips quirk, his beard shifting with the movement, but his eyes stay locked on his hands, your skin, as if he’s fascinated by the way you respond. "You’re so fucking responsive," he murmurs, more to himself than to you. His fingers finally slip beneath the hem of your sports bra, pushing the fabric up and over your head, freeing your breasts. The cool air tightens your nipples instantly, but it’s the look on his face that makes them ache: pure, hungry appreciation.
He doesn’t rush. His palms cup you, weighing the softness, his thumbs brushing over your peaked nipples in slow, teasing circles. You gasp, your back arching off the bed, but he pins you down with a firm press of his hand to your sternum. "Stay still," he orders, his voice rough. "Let me look at you." The command sends a thrill through you, your hips shifting restlessly against the sheets. His touch is everywhere and nowhere at once, skimming your collarbone, tracing the line of your jaw, then dipping lower to tease the valley between your breasts. When his fingers finally close around your nipple, rolling it between his fingers, you moan brokenly, your hands fisting the comforter.
"That’s it," he growls, his free hand sliding down to grip your thigh, his fingers digging in just shy of pain. "Let me hear you." He twists your nipple, a sharp sting that blooms into pleasure, and you cry out, your legs falling open wider in invitation. Robby’s breath hitches, his cock thickening against his sweatpants again, the outline impossible to miss. But he doesn’t touch himself. Doesn’t even acknowledge it. His focus is you, the way your skin flushes under his hands, the way your lips part on a silent plea, the way your pussy clenches around nothing, aching to be filled.
His hands move lower, mapping the plane of your stomach, the dip of your navel, before his fingers comb through the damp curls between your legs. You’re still sensitive from your orgasm, the flesh there swollen and throbbing, but that doesn’t stop him. He parts your folds with two fingers, his touch feather-light, exploring you like he’s memorizing every ridge, every slick inch. "Fuck, you’re soaked," he groans, his breath hot against your thigh as he leans in. "All for me." His fingers glide through your wetness, spreading it, teasing your entrance but never pushing inside. You whine, your hips lifting, but he pins you down again, his palm flat against your lower belly.
"Patience," he murmurs, his lips brushing the inside of your knee. His fingers finally dip inside you, just the tips, testing your tightness. You gasp, your nails raking down his forearm, but he doesn’t give you more. Just shallow, maddening strokes that have you panting, your thighs trembling. "You take me so well," he praises, his voice a dark caress. "I bet you could take more." His fingers curl, pressing against that spot inside you that makes your vision white out for a second. You cry out, your body bowing off the bed, but he pulls back before you can chase the sensation, leaving you empty and desperate.
"Mikey!" His name is a plea, a demand, but he just chuckles, low and knowing. His fingers slide higher, circling your clit in slow, deliberate strokes. "I love how needy you get," he murmurs, his beard scraping your thigh as he watches his fingers work you. "Like you’d do anything for another orgasm." His touch turns firmer, his fingers moving in tight, relentless circles that have your hips jerking, your breath coming in sharp, broken gasps. You can feel it building again, the pressure coiling tight in your belly, but just as you’re about to tip over the edge, he stops.
You whimper in protest, your body throbbing with denied release, but Robby just smirks. His fingers glisten with your arousal as he brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a filthy, wet sound. "Mmm. Sweet," he hums, his eyes dark with promise. "But we’re not done yet." His hands grip your hips, flipping you onto your stomach with ease. The sudden shift makes you yelp, but before you can process it, his weight is over you, his chest pressing you into the mattress, his cock hard and insistent against your ass.
The weight of Robby’s body presses you deeper into the mattress, his chest a solid warmth against your back, his beard scraping against the nape of your neck as he exhales roughly. He shifts behind you, sitting back just enough to strip the rest of the way, his sweatpants pushed down and kicked off, his shirt peeled over his head and tossed aside, leaving his body bare and radiating heat against your skin. The mattress dips beneath his knees as he settles over you again, skin to skin now, every inch of him flushed and ready.
His cock is a thick, insistent ridge against your ass, trapped between your cheeks, and he rolls his hips just enough to drag it up and down, teasing you with the promise of what’s coming. You whimper, fingers curling into the comforter again, but he doesn’t let up, just a slow deliberate grind, his length sliding through the slickness between your thighs, coating himself in your arousal.
“Patience,” he murmurs, but his voice is rough, the word more for himself than you. His hands abandon your hips, sliding up your sides to cup your breasts, palms rough as he squeezes, thumbs and forefingers finding your nipples. He rolls them between his fingers at first, gentle, then twists—hard. A sharp gasp tears from your throat, back arching off the bed, but he doesn’t stop. He pinches, pulls, then twists again, and the pain blooms bright before melting into a throbbing, electric heat that arrows straight to your clit. You’re sobbing now, hips jerking uselessly against the mattress, desperate for friction, for more.
“Please,” The word breaks, your voice raw. “Mikey, fuck, I need…”
“I know what you need,” he growls, and his fingers tighten just enough to make you cry out. He does it again, then again, until your nipples are swollen and aching, your breath coming in ragged bursts. “You need my cock, don’t you?” His hips rock forward, the head of his dick dragging through your folds, bumping your clit. You jolt, a broken sound spilling from your lips. “Beg for it.”
“Please,” you choke out, “please, fuck me, Michael.”
He makes a noise low in his throat, half laugh, half groan, and then his hands are gone from your breasts, gripping your hips instead. He hauls you up onto your knees, your ass in the air, spine arched, and you can feel him positioning himself, his cock hot and heavy against your entrance, the tip notching just there. You try to push back, but his grip is iron, holding you still.
“Not yet,” he murmurs, and then he’s sliding his length through your folds again, slow and deliberate, the head catching on your clit with every pass. You’re dripping, so wet it’s obscene, the sound slick and filthy in the quiet room. His breath hitches, his thighs trembling against yours, and you realize he’s just as gone as you are, his control fraying at the edges.
“Michael,” Your voice cracks. “Please, I can’t.”
“You can,” he interrupts, and then—finally—he lines up, the broad head of his cock pressing against your entrance. He doesn’t slam in. He pushes, a slow, relentless stretch that has you gasping, nails digging into the blanket. Your body resists at first, the burn of him breaching you almost too much, but he doesn’t stop. His hands on your hips are bruising, his thumbs digging into the flesh as he sinks deeper, inch by agonizing inch, until his pelvis is flush against your ass, his balls heavy against you.
“Fuck,” he groans, the word torn from him, and his fingers flex against your skin. You can feel him throbbing inside you, thick and impossibly deep, filling you in a way that makes your vision whiten at the edges. “You feel so good,” he growls, and his hands abandon your hips, sliding up to grip your ass instead. He squeezes, kneading the flesh, his thumbs spreading you open so he can watch his cock disappear inside you. “Look at you taking me. Such a good girl.”
You whine, high and needy, and try to rock back, but he holds you still.
“Please,” you beg, “please, move.”
He chuckles, dark and rough, and then he’s pulling out, all the way, until just the tip remains, and you’re empty, aching, desperate, before he slams back in. The force of it drives a scream from your throat, your body jolting forward, but he doesn’t give you time to recover. He does it again. And again. Each thrust is a brutal, perfect punch of pleasure, his cock dragging against every sensitive inch of you, his pelvis slapping against your ass with a wet, obscene sound.
“Michael, fuck!” Your voice is a broken cry, your body trembling, sweat slicking your skin. He’s relentless, his rhythm punishing, his cock swelling inside you with every thrust. One of his hands leaves your ass, snaking around your hip to find your clit, and the first brush of his fingers has you sobbing.
“That’s it,” he grunts, his breath hot against your ear. “Come around my cock, baby. Now.”
His fingers circle your clit, rough and demanding, and the orgasm hits you like a tsunami. Your back bows, a keening wail tearing from your throat as your pussy clamps down around him, your walls fluttering, milking his cock. He groans, his thrusts turning erratic, his fingers working you through it as you shudder and shake, your release dripping down your thighs.
“Oh fuck, good girl,” he praises, voice ragged, and then his hand is back on your ass, gripping hard as he fucks you through the aftershocks, his own release building. You can feel it in the way his cock swells, the way his breath stutters, his thrusts losing their rhythm.
“Gonna fill you up,” he growls, and the words send another spike of pleasure through you, your body clenching around him. “Gonna breed this tight little cunt.”
His words tip you over again, a second orgasm crashing into the first, your vision blacking out at the edges as you scream. His cock pulses inside you, hot and thick, and then he’s coming with a guttural groan, his cum flooding you, filling you so deep you can feel it. His hips stutter, his thrusts shallow now, milking every last drop into you, and when he finally stills, his weight collapses over you, his chest heaving against your back.
For a long moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing, the slick slide of his cock still buried inside you, his cum dripping out around him. His lips press to the back of your neck, his beard scratchy against your skin.
“Fuck,” he breathes, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “You’re perfect.”
You let out a soft, unsteady breath, not ready to speak yet. Not ready to move. He doesn’t push. Just wraps an arm around your waist, keeping you close, grounding you in the silence.
After a minute, he carefully pulls out, murmuring a soft apology when you wince. You feel the warm press of his lips against your shoulder before he slips off the bed. There’s the sound of the bathroom faucet running, the shuffle of his bare feet across the floor, and then he’s back, gently nudging your legs apart to clean you up with a warm cloth, his touch so careful it makes your throat tighten.
“Hey,” he says quietly, lying back down beside you, pressing his chest to your back again, “You okay?”
You nod, and when that doesn’t feel like enough, you whisper, “Yeah. I’m good.”
His arms curl around you, and this time when he holds you, it’s not about lust or heat. It’s something else. Something softer. Something terrifyingly permanent.
Neither of you says anything for a long time.
Eventually, your voice breaks the silence. “So… what happens now?”
He exhales through his nose, almost a laugh but not quite. “Not going back to how it was. Can’t.”
You turn just enough to look at him. “You don’t want to?”
His eyes are steady on yours, voice low and sure. “No. Not even a little. Do you?”
You shake your head. “I don’t want to pretend this didn’t happen. I don’t want to be your roommate again like nothing’s changed.”
Robby brushes your hair back, tucks it behind your ear, and kisses your temple. “Good. Then we don’t.”
You bury your face in his chest, breathing him in, familiar, safe, and completely different now. “We’ll figure it out?”
“We will,” he says firmly. “Together.” His fingers trace slow circles on your back, his breathing beginning to match yours, steady and quiet. You fall asleep in his arms, not just content, but certain... Of this, of him, of the life you’re building from this moment on.
Summary: Fix Me is a recursive fan fiction based on Ruin Me, by the now-deactivated @coppersaladstories, However, having read Ruin Me is not necessary for Fix Me to make sense.
This fic, featuring a carefully crafted (aka trust me) redemption arc, will explore the aftermath of Reader discovering Joel's affair with his office manager Luna, just 5 months into their marriage - and her pregnancy. Over the course of about a decade (including an epilogue) we'll get to see if Reader can build a life apart from Joel while still having conflicting feelings about the role she wants him to play. We'll also see if there is enough therapy in this world to make Joel stop destroying his own life.
Series TW: Pregnancy and non-graphic childbirth, mental health issues, therapy, discussion of alcohol abuse, kink exploration. Probably more to be added but no one is going to die and no rape/non-con. Promise.
Chapter 1: The Morning After
Chapter 2: A Village
Chapter 3: A Gun
Chapter 4: A Meeting
Chapter 5: A Christmas Gift
Chapter 6: An Understanding
Chapter 7: A Conversation (coming February 9th, 2026)
Pairing: Eddie Munson x reader x Steve Harrington Wc: 10.3k
Description: Eddie accidentally walks in on Steve fucking you in a WSQK storage closet. He thinks he’s doomed to a life of fantasizing over you with the only company of his right hand, until…Steve himself offers him a golden ticket straight to your bed: a threesome.
Inspired on the song ‘I think he knows’ by Taylor Swift <3
Warnings/tags: threesome smut, all are adults, fem!reader, established relationship with S5!Steve, no spoilers, Eddie survives S4 bc I say so, mentions of his scars, voyeurism, eddie fantasizes a lot, he jerks off a lot more, porn with plot, oral male rec, fingering, piv sex, both men are whipped for you.
Note: Surprise, new boy in the harem✨ No I don’t know how this happened, or how it ended up being so long but all I can say is merry early christmas my dears, enjoy the filth!! 🫦
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he’s so obsessed with me and boy I understand
Eddie Munson had never hated the sun before.
Not until he saw it in your smile.
You were standing in front of him at the crawl meeting, giggling at something Robin had said, soft and golden in the way that only you could be, wearing Steve’s stupid jacket that by this point was pretty much your own.
Because he was.
Steve Harrington, Mr. Perfect Hair himself, asshole turned part time hero, was the guy who got to hold your hand in public. Eddie didn’t hate him. Not really. He wanted to, wanted it bad sometimes, when the jealousy itched too deep to scratch.
He’d hated him at some point, when Dustin wouldn't shut up about how incredible his friend was. But alas, after everything they’d been through last year and Steve being the one who got him out of that hellhole, he really couldn’t hate him anymore.
So, he hated the sun. Because he couldn't have it.
Eddie also hated himself for not speaking up sooner. For watching you fall in love with someone else while he sat in the background. And maybe that was his punishment. Maybe that was the price for every time he chickened out, every time he saw you in the hallway in that little cherry red jacket and panicked, ducking behind his locker like a coward.
Maybe if he hadn’t been, you would be wearing his jacket now.
“Dude, wipe your face. You’re one drool away from filling the bucket,” came a voice from beside him, and undoubtedly by the tone–it had to be Henderson’s.
Eddie snapped out of his trance by the sharp nudge of Dustin’s elbow. Shit. He hadn’t even realized he was watching.
“I’m not,” he lied, even as he tilted his head just enough to catch another glimpse of you, this time laughing as Steve tried to sneak a kiss and Robin dramatically fake gagged next to you.
Jesus, Eddie was about to gag for real.
“You’re staring again,” Dustin chuckled, walking away after patting him condescendingly on the back.
Eddie shot him a glare but didn’t argue back. Because what was the point?
All he could do was fantasize when it came to you. You would never look at him the same way you look at Steve.
You just looked at him like he was funny. Your metalhead friend. And Eddie? Eddie looked at you like you hung the goddamn stars.
Things were finally looking up for Eddie. For once.
Aside from his not so little crush situation, everything else seemed to be getting better.
After almost dying being devoured by supernatural creatures–which, in his opinion would’ve been a very metal death–his uncle’s trailer had gotten split in half, and he’d gotten piles and piles of medical bills from his long recovery. Which led to him having to find a part time job as a mechanic besides his little dealing business.
Oh! And how could he forget? The police department was still investigating him about the murders from last year.
Between that, his job, the incessant crawls every week, and his therapy–both physical and psychological–he had absolutely no time to host hellfire anymore. Dustin had tried to keep it alive, but bless his soul, no one compares to Eddie Munson when it comes to being DM.
But last week, by some miracle, he’d finally, finally been cleared as “innocent” due to lack of evidence and was able to start living a normal life again. His therapy sessions had been reduced to once every two weeks, and he’d also repaired a few fancy cars that earned him a pretty juicy commission.
So yeah. Things were finally looking up for him after whatever the hell ‘86 was.
So, with a pep in his step, he walked through the doors of the WSQK headquarters holding a cardboard box with all his stuff for that day’s campaign. Robin had told him they had a spare room on the back, and Steve said he could go earlier to set everything up. He even whistled as he strolled through the empty hallways of the radio station.
He saw two doors at the end, figuring he’d open both and find out which one he was supposed to settle in.
But as all Munsons tend to run out of luck at some point, it seems like the curse finally hit him again when he opened the wrong one and changed the course of his entire fucking life.
Because what he didn’t expect, what absolutely no one warned him about, was that you and Steve liked to use the storage closet to fuck like bunnies before anyone arrived at the station.
He froze at the door, the box in his hand hanging on for dear life as he took in the scene in front of him.
There you were.
Propped up on a stack of cardboard boxes with Steve between your legs, your skirt was bunched around your hips, and your knees high on his waist. Your face was flushed, hair a mess and you were letting out choked little gasps because you couldn’t form words anymore.
Eddie’s heart stopped. He might’ve as well died for real this time.
You let out a startled sound, grabbing Steve’s shoulders to hide yourself the second you saw Eddie standing there. Steve just glanced back over his shoulder, not even bothering to stop.
“Dude. Do you mind?”
Eddie slammed the door shut.
He walked out of WSQK like he’d seen a ghost. Didn’t even say a word to Dustin, who was just pulling up on his bike.
He just got in his van, and drove straight into the woods far enough to be alone. And for the next ten minutes, the only sound in that van was the furious pumping of his hard cock into his hand and his broken, desperate moans repeating something.
Your name. Again. And again.
And again.
Then, after going back and giving a poor excuse to his boys as to why he couldn’t host that day and had to leave immediately (one that actually meant sorry guys! Gotta jerk off like 10 more times!) He went to repeat the same routine back at the small place Wayne managed to rent after the “earthquakes” had destroyed his trailer.
He turned off the lights of the room he called his now. Lit a blunt just for something to do with his free hand. Threw on a loud tape to drown out the grunts and the pathetic moaning, and his fist went to town–again–to the memory of you.
The way you looked in that closet.
The arch of your back against the boxes. The sound of your voice breaking as you moaned his name–not Eddie’s, no, the one you belonged to. Steve. The way your fingers dug into his shoulders, pulling him closer, as if he wasn’t deep enough. And your face…
God. Your fucking face.
Blissed out and flushed, swollen lips parted, eyes half-lidded and completely lost in it. No cheap porn film he’d ever watched compared to that. No–you were the most obscene thing Eddie had ever seen in his life and it was burned into him now. Engraved into the insides of his lids. No amount of blinking could unsee it.
No amount of jerking off could erase it.
(He tried. Many times.)
People had sex all the time. This shouldn’t be on his head 24/7. But…Eddie couldn’t believe that was you.
He’d always seen you as soft. As the sweet girl giggling at Steve’s dumb jokes while playing with his stupid perfect hair. As the one who would mediate when a crawl meeting got too heated when someone didn’t agree with the plan. As the one who always listened to everyone…even him.
You even called him Eds once, so softly, that he’d walked around with chest pain for a full day like a goddamn lovesick teenager.
But now?
Now he couldn’t stop imagining how your voice sounded when it wasn't innocent. Couldn’t stop remembering how your legs looked parted open, how your thighs shook as Steve thrusted harshly into you.
He should’ve known better though, that was on him. He should’ve known that someone who once held the title of “King Steve” would be the one to corrupt a girl like you.
Who wouldn’t want to?
He couldn’t stop wondering what it’d feel like to be the one between your legs. To have you whimpering like that. To see you fall apart and know he did that. That he got you that high, that far gone…that wrecked.
He was fucking haunted by the fantasy. And it wasn’t lust, it was worse than that. It was curiosity, obsession, need.
The need to be the one who fucks the sweetness out of you.
But now you were probably curled up in Steve’s bed, fast asleep on his hairy chest, wearing one of his shirts and dreaming about getting fucked by him, while Eddie dreamt of you after he didn’t have anything left to milk out.
He dreamt of your hand in his curls. Your thighs around his waist. Your voice in his ear breaking with his name over and over and…over.
Eddie tried to be normal after that. God, he tried.
At least you seemed to be normal. You walked into Thursday movie night at Nancy’s like nothing had happened, dropping onto the couch next to Steve with a bag of popcorn, listening to whatever Robin said, still sweet and smiley and wearing one of Steve’s jackets.
He told himself not to stare. Repeated it like a goddamn mantra.
Don’t look, Munson. Don’t fucking look. You’ll just embarrass yourself. You’ll make it weird.
But then your eyes met, and you smiled at him, and…Eddie forgot his own name.
His mouth opened, but words came out. Just a squeak that could’ve been the start of a sentence, or a heart attack. He pretended to cough into his fist and buried himself deeper into the armchair.
And Steve? Oh he noticed.
Not just Eddie’s reaction, but all of it. The way Eddie’s eyes had locked onto you from the moment you walked in. The way they dropped lower every time you shifted. The way his fingers gripped the armrest.
And the weird part? Steve didn’t get mad. He just smirked, knowingly, even amused by the whole thing.
The next time something altered Eddie’s brain chemistry, was at the diner.
He’d arrived late, mainly because he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to go in the first place, but the thought of seeing your smile was enough to convince him to walk through that door, and soon it was just him, Robin, and the perfect couple.
Eddie looked at you from across the booth, wearing a cute outfit that he was sure would ruin his life later when he was alone back in his room. You were sipping from your milkshake, the pink straw pressed between your lips, as you let out a hum of contempt at the sweet taste. All Eddie could think was that could be something else.
Thank God for Robin’s need to ramble about everything that happened on her date with Vicky that weekend, that you and Steve were focused on her and not on Eddie’s anxious leg bouncing under the table.
Or at least that’s what he thought.
“Eds, take some fries,” you offered sweetly when Robin ran out of air, pushing the plate you’d been eating from with Steve toward him.
Eddie hadn’t ordered anything, he wasn’t hungry–at least not for actual food–and of course you’d noticed and offered him some of your own.
“Yeah man, go ahead,” Steve chimed in with a smile that was enough to freak him out. “I don’t mind sharing,” he added with a shrug, placing an arm around your shoulders, hazel eyes piercing into Eddie’s with a devilish glint.
The implication left Eddie frozen in place, hand hovering over the fries as you began talking with Robin again, unaware of the way your boyfriend’s comment had left Eddie stunned.
Steve didn’t say anything else. Just kept looking at him, head tilted, like he knew something. Like he felt it now.
The shift.
Eddie almost got up and left, but then he caught Steve’s eyes, and the bastard just winked.
Jesus Christ.
You’re still breathless when Steve flips you onto your back again, mind stuck somewhere between heaven and passing out as your sore body still feels every inch of him buried deep inside you.
He drapes you across his hairy chest knowing you can’t hold yourself up anymore, bare skin sticky with sweat, your cheek pressed over his heartbeat. Steve's hand goes to your thigh, fingers brushing softly where he’d held you down minutes ago.
You don’t want to move. You never want to after he’s done with you. So you just cling tightly to him, letting out a dreamy sigh and nuzzling closer, planting a soft kiss over his racing heart.
Steve smiles, shifting just enough to see your blissed out face. “You okay over there?”
“Mmhm,” you hum. “Can’t feel my soul. Congratulations, Harrington.”
That makes him chuckle. He kisses the top of your head. “Anytime, baby.”
As his room settles into silence and you begin drifting off in his arms before he can drag you into taking a shower, Steve’s chest vibrates against your skin when he speaks again.
“Hey,” he whispers, absentmindedly playing with your hair which doesn’t help your heavy eyelids closing.
“Hmm?”
“Do you ever notice the way Eddie looks at you?”
Your eyes blink open immediately.
You don’t say anything at first. Just start tracing lazy little circles on a particular scar on his ribs, pretending to think about it, but you already know the answer.
“Yeah,” you smile, “I’ve noticed.”
Steve hums, hand still resting on your thigh.
“It’s probably just a silly little crush,” you add, as if you didn’t know how Eddie’s voice breaks every time you spare a glance at him. Or the way his hands shake when you ask him to hand you a drink on movie night. “He’s just… traumatized from the time he caught us back at the station,” you chuckle.
“Oh, baby. You should’ve seen his face in that closet.” Steve snorts. “You were extra loud that day, you really put on a show for him–the lucky bastard.”
“What?” You ask, straightening up on his chest. “You knew he was going to get there earlier?”
“I was hoping he got there earlier."
You smack his arm with your mouth wide open, but a smile tugs at your lips. He grins like the devil is, shifting to ease you again into his embrace.
“Don’t worry baby, I might have a way to fix him right back up,” he says smugly, those impossible hazel eyes glinting with mischief. “…Remember that talk we had a while back? Couple months ago. About maybe…bringing in a third?”
Your heart thumps so fast against your chest that you’re sure Steve can feel it on his.
“…Yeah,” you say. “I remember.”
“What if…it was him?” He shrugs, like he’s discussing what movie to watch. “I’m just saying, we’ve both noticed. And maybe…” His hand drifts lower down your thigh, finding that place where you’re still sensitive. “Maybe it’s fun to imagine what he’d do if we invited him.”
His fingers press against your wet folds, easily sliding in and drawing a gasp out of you. His eyebrows shoot up, like he’d managed exactly what he wanted.
“See? Don't you want to show him again how pretty you sound?”
Maybe it’s the overstimulation of Steve fingers pumping in and out of your pussy like he hadn’t absolutely wrecked it minutes prior, that the word comes out of your mouth before you can stop it.
“Yes,” you exhale in a shaky moan.
The thought alone thrills you. Because the truth is, you’ve been feeling it as much as Steve has. You've been wanting it as much as Steve has.
The forbidden.
Because it is fun to imagine. You guiding Eddie’s hand. Steve watching and telling you what to do. You crying out between the two of them.
God.
“So…Eddie?” You pant, unsure if you’re asking or you're moaning out his name just to try it out on your lips.
Steve just smirks.
“Yeah,” he says, pumping faster. “Eddie.”
The moment that sealed Eddie’s fate was a random Thursday.
He should’ve known better.
The second you said movie night was at your place, he should’ve backed out. Should’ve faked a headache or a gig or even a freak accident involving his uncle. Anything.
But–like the fucking idiot he was–he’d walked right through your front door that night.
You’d picked a shitty movie on purpose. Something slow without any action scenes, full of long silences and artistic shots that made Robin snore into the couch cushion, with Nancy and Jonathan falling right behind.
Steve sat beside you the whole time, like always, hand on your thigh, like always. Looking casual, almost innocent.
Eddie was on the floor, sitting too close to the TV just so he wouldn’t look at you.
He’d been too busy picking at the skin of his thumb and lost into the mazes of his head, that he didn’t notice you’d disappeared with Steve until he glanced over to the couches and only found the girls and Jonathan dead to the world.
He sat there for a few more minutes pretending to care about the stupid movie, but then–like a fucking idiot–he decided to get up, quietly leaving the room like he was going to the kitchen.
He took a hard left to the stairs instead.
Eddie knew where your bedroom was. He’d been there before when you’d asked him to bring more blankets on movie night a few months ago. He still remembers the cute little nightlight plugged into the wall.
As he tiptoed to the top of the stairs like a freak, the hall was dark, but a sliver of light came out of your room through the slightly open door.
Eddie dragged his feet on the carpet, guided by shushing voices and a noise of what he was sure was the creak of a bed. Once he reached, he braced himself for the scene he was about to encounter as he peeked through the door, but no amount of breathing techniques could have ever prepared him for the image before his eyes.
Oh, fuck.
You were on your stomach, face pressed into the mattress, Steve standing behind you with both hands gripping your hips. Your ass–god, your ass–lifted high to meet every thrust.
Your dress was bunched around your waist, panties pushed to the side, but nothing really hid you from the pervert on the door. Not even Steve’s body blocked the view of him disappearing into your dripping pussy, filling you so deep Eddie could see it, see the way your walls opened for him.
The nightlight glowed behind you, casting just enough light to make it worse.
Pink and soft and obscene.
Eddie’s eyes went over the curve of your spine. The shake of your thighs. Your fingers twisting in the floral sheets, holding on for dear life as your body kept being pushed forward.
And the sounds. Jesus Christ, the sounds.
“Steve,” you gasped, “please–more–don’t stop.”
“Shhh baby, I know,” Steve cooed behind you, doing the exact opposite of what you asked and stopped. “But you gotta keep it down, don’t want to wake up your guests do you?”
The fucking hypocrite then slammed back into you so hard the headboard bumped the wall. You moaned–no, cried out, trying to muffle it against the sheets as Eddie bit down his fist just to keep himself from making a sound.
“Oh baby, you wanna be loud?” Steve chuckled, as he kept thrusting hard. “Go on then, I want to hear you.”
“I–fuck–I love your cock, Steve” you choked the words out. “‘S–s’ so deep.”
Eddie froze at the crack of the door, heart pounding out of his chest as he watched you getting fucked within an inch of your life.
The sweet girl. The sun. The angel he thought he knew. Gripping her sheets like a sinner. Moaning filth like she wanted the guests to hear.
Maybe you wanted him to hear.
Eddie’s hand slipped inside his jeans, he couldn't stop himself. Not after that. He stroked himself fast and hard and desperate, watching your body take it, and your mouth beg for it.
It didn’t take long for Eddie to come harder than he’d ever had in his life. He made a mess in his hand, his pants, and he was sure some of his cum dripped onto the carpet below, but he was too high and too far gone to care.
He nearly collapsed against the stairs wall as he rushed back down, panting, already half hard again within seconds.
The movie was still rolling, the guys were still fast asleep, but he had been changed forever–once again.
Seriously, who the hell leaves the door open? Or unlocked? For two people who seemed to fuck like bunnies none of it made sense.
Unless…you’d wanted him to watch.
Eddie was in the middle of jerking off when someone started pounding on his front door.
Of course.
He’d found his rhythm, music blasting, hips grinding into his palm, eyes squeezed shut and in his head, his filthy, freaky little head, you kept running your dirty mouth over and over.
He’d been at it for twenty minutes. Maybe more. His dick was red and raw but he didn’t care because the only thing worse than jerking off to the memory of you was not jerking off to it.
Bang, bang, bang.
“Jesus–fuck,” he curses, pulling up his briefs with a groan, finding a pair of jeans from the floor as the knocking continues.
“EDDIE!!” A familiar voice calls over the music.
Oh no.
Eddie walks out of his room shirtless, crosses the hall in three large strides, and opens the door wide enough to peek out, and yeah, there he is.
Steve fucking Harrington.
The absolute last person on earth he wanted to catch him red handed with his dick in his hand fantasizing about his girlfriend.
“Hey, man,” Eddie manages, clearing his throat when his voice cracks a little. “Uh…what’s up?”
“Hey!” Steve beams, that preppy boy smile spreading wide on his face. “Mind if I come in?”
Eddie hesitates only for a second, then opens the door wider and steps back. Steve walks in, glances around, his gaze landing on Eddie’s bedroom. More specifically, on the bottle of lotion on his nightstand and the constellation of crumpled paper tissues on the floor next to his bed.
Steve chuckles. “Sorry man, didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Wh–what?”
“You know. That thing you were doing.” Steve smirks, nodding his head toward the room. “Thinking about my girl?”
Eddie’s whole face goes red. “Dude, what the fuck–”
“You like her,” Steve says plainly, not as a question, not mad, not teasing. Just a matter of fact. “I know you’ve always liked her. But now you’ve seen her like I have. And now you can’t stop thinking about her.”
Eddie stands frozen in the middle of the living room, unsure of what he’s supposed to say to save his case. Although, given the evidence, there isn’t much to hope for.
“Is this the part where you punch me?” Eddie asks, almost bracing for the impact.
But Steve just laughs in his face.
“No, man. No punches.” He shakes his head, amused. “You know…she likes it when you stare.”
You like it when he stares? You know he stares?
“Alright Harrington, if you wanna hit me, just do it. Don’t fuck with me.” Eddie chuckles bitterly, already wishing he could just go back to his little twisted fantasies instead of hearing this bullshit.
“Don’t you get what I’m saying Eddie?”
Eddie narrows his eyes. “No…?”
Steve sighs, then steps closer to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m saying…she wants you to fuck her.”
There’s a moment of deafening silence where Eddie questions if he actually speaks the English language, because there’s no fucking way in the world he heard that right.
“...What??”
“She does,” Steve repeats, then chuckles again, “Hell, even I want you to fuck her.”
“You’re not being serious,” Eddie accuses, backing off from Steve’s grasp to pace in circles with his hands on his hips.
“Fucking hell man,” Steve groans. “Look–I’ve seen the way you look at her. And I get it, okay? She’s a dream, I know.” He laughs, but Eddie keeps pacing like a madman, shaking his head. “Dude–you ever wonder what she tastes like when she’s already come twice?”
That makes him stop right in his tracks. He turns to Steve in disbelief, but once again he doesn’t see anger, or teasing. He’s genuinely asking him if he fantasizes about his girlfriend.
“Man, I wonder about everything,” Eddie finally blurts out, exhaling like he just lifted a weight off his chest that’s been dragging him down for weeks.
Steve grins.
“I wouldn’t offer you this if I didn’t trust you with her.”
He walks closer to Eddie–again–but this time he doesn’t place his hand on his shoulder, just looks at him dead in the eye as his grin turns darker.
“You’d be gentle with her, wouldn’t you, Eddie?” He asks, pupils taking over the hazel of his eyes. “You wouldn’t fuck her too hard the first time, right? She’s too sensitive after–and trust me, you’re gonna want her to keep going.”
Eddie is speechless for the 124378th time in that month. Which should be an achievement, considering he likes to talk as much as Robin does.
“I’m not gonna say it twice, Munson.” Steve lifts a hand to clap him on the shoulder. “But she really wants it. So are you in?”
Eddie doesn’t even think anymore. He just nods frantically.
Oh, he’s so in.
Oh, he’s so having a full blown existential crisis.
He hadn’t slept the night before. Who could sleep after that conversation? Steve, poster boy for everything Eddie is not, just casually walked into his place, dropping that line like it was no big deal:
She wants you to fuck her.
Which is how he ended up now, standing outside your goddamn house, sweating through his jacket and wondering if he’d actually never woken up from the demobats attack and this was all a coma dream.
Because now you apparently wanted him.
In your house. In your bed.
On those stupidly adorable floral sheets he couldn’t stop thinking about. That’s what he came thinking about. That’s what he dreamed about every night.
Steve’d said to just “roll by tonight.” Well, tonight is here, and Eddie stands outside the door contemplating his options.
Does he knock? Does he just open it and walk into a fucking orgy?
Jesus.
He adjusts his jacket, runs a hand through his curly hair, and tells himself it’s going to be fine. He’s already been through things someone his age should never have to in their entire lifetime. Strange things. He can handle a little threesome.
Right?
He rings the doorbell before he chickens out like he’s done his whole life.
Eddie hears footsteps approaching the front door. He expects you, for some reason, but instead it’s Steve who opens it, shirtless, barefoot, only wearing some sweatpants, and smiling bright as if he’d just invited Eddie over to watch some sports game.
“Hey, dude! Glad you made it,” he beams, stepping aside.
Eddie walks through the threshold, and stops in the middle of the entrance hall pressing his lips tight.
“You want water or something?” Steve offers casually, noticing Eddie’s looking around nervously. “She’s upstairs. All ready.”
“She’s what?”
“All ready,” Steve repeats with a grin. “You know, for you.”
Steve laughs at Eddie’s loss for words, claps him reassuringly on the back, and gestures toward the stairs.
“Come on, man. Don’t leave her waiting.”
He walks up the stairs with Steve trailing behind. Eddie’s already hard under his ripped jeans, stopping right outside your door thinking what on earth does ready for me mean?
Are you naked? Are you touching yourself? Do you know how hard he is? Can you feel him on the other side of the door?
He can even see the damn nightlight is on behind it. His hand hovers over the doorknob, but for one second, the doubt comes crawling back in.
What if this is a joke? What if he opens the door and all your friends are inside pointing at him and laughing like “Look who actually believed it! You’re a pervert, Eddie!”
Wouldn’t be the first time someone pulls a cruel prank on him–or calls him that. Wouldn’t even be the worst. But–
“You gonna open it, Eddie? Or are you too scared of my girl?” Steve’s teasing voice cuts off his spiraling thoughts.
Eddie takes a deep breath, finally twists the knob, and he swears time slows down when he sees you there.
You’re sitting–no, half kneeling on the bed in the center of the room. Those floral sheets are bunched under your knees. And you’re wearing a little dainty lace set. The fabric is barely there, but the little bows on the straps make it sweet enough for Eddie’s mouth to go dry. Your exposed skin looks soft under the warm pink glow the nightlight casts against the walls.
You’re all ready for him.
Eddie nearly fucking dies. Again.
You smile when you see him. It’s soft and warm and welcoming, like always. Except–nearly naked. Not like he hadn’t seen your guts getting rearranged about two times too much these past weeks anyways.
“Hi, Eds,” you say, waving your hand as if you aren’t currently rewiring his entire nervous system.
He stands frozen in the doorway as Steve brushes past him, casual as hell. He walks straight up to you, bends down just enough to pet your chin with two fingers, making you laugh softly.
“Hi again, baby,” Steve whispers sweetly. “Let’s give him a warm welcome, hm?”
You hum in agreement, watching Steve walk away and drop onto the puff in the corner of the room, manspreading like a king waiting for his entertainment to start.
But Eddie…Eddie’s still standing by the door like 🧍🏻
“So uh…what–what are the rules?” He stammers. “Or, like boundaries? Or–fuck, I don’t know, a safe word?”
He means it for him, of course.
You cover your mouth to stifle a laugh. “Oh my god. Eddie, you're adorable.”
Steve is not as delicate as you, “Dude,” he snorts. “You can’t be serious. Relax. No one's handing out instructions.”
Eddie shifts anxiously on his feet. “I–there should be instructions.”
When the hell has ever cared about those?
“You’re here to make her feel good, that’s it.” Steve says quite harshly, crossing his arms over his chest, then looks at you and everything in him softens. “You decide how far he goes, baby.”
You melt. Right there on the bed. Blow him a kiss and then turn your full attention to the very shy boy at your doorstep.
“It’s okay, Eddie. Can you come closer?” You ask, extending your arm and gesturing toward the bed.
Eddie gives one step, that’s all he manages.
You smile wider, just enough to coax him. “Closer, Eddie. Please.”
Fuck.
He takes another step, then another, until he’s right by the edge of the bed, so close he can see the pattern of the fine lace of your lingerie, the way your chest rises when you breathe, the way you’re giving him the most deadly case of bedroom eyes he’s ever seen in his entire life.
You don’t look shy, or unsure, you look…eager.
Before he can overthink it, you slide off the bed to round him, and gently push his chest to sit down. Eddie falls easily, his body already knowing it’s not in charge anymore. The mattress dips under his weight, bouncing softly along with the curls in his head.
“Kick those shoes off,” you say.
He obeys. Oh–he obeys. A little clumsily, but they’re off in less than three seconds.
Only then you climb onto his lap. Eddie’s breath comes out in a shaky exhale when your ass lands on his thighs. His hands hover uselessly at his sides. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t really dare yet. He doesn’t even know where to look. His eyes dart from your shoulder to the wall to Steve, who has now thrown his arms behind his head like he’s watching his favorite movie.
“Well, don’t mind me,” he says. “Just enjoying the show.”
You cradle Eddie’s face to get his attention back to you. All he can think is your hands are warm, and too soft for his own good. Your thumbs brush his cheeks in such a normal, easy way, that still feels deeply intimate.
“Pretty boy,” you whisper, smiling at him. “Such pretty eyes.”
Eddie’s heart does an entire somersault routine. He can feel the little feet of the people inside his head running around to process the compliment.
We’re starting already???
He doesn’t even finish that line of thought when you lean in and kiss him. The kiss is slow and unrushed, but so so passionate. Your soft lips move against his, showing him you know exactly what you’re doing. Eddie melts into it instantly. He kisses you back desperately, starving, because he’d been feeling withdrawal for something he never had, and now–holy shit now he’s finally getting his fix.
Still, he doesn’t touch. Not until you take his wrists and guide them yourself, first on your waist, but then trailing down, lower, to where the lace sits and barely covers anything. His hands pinch your skin when he realizes what he’s touching.
You.
“Oh,” he breathes in to the kiss, and had you known Eddie let out those pretty little sounds, you'd have brought him in sooner.
You smile against his mouth and roll your hips, just a little, just to get more out. Grabbing him by the collar of his jacket, you grind down on him. Slow at first, just gentle little moves that made Eddie’s head tip back, and a symphony of broken sounds left his throat. Every grind of your body made his cock throb harder against his jeans. His eyes went between your chest, your mouth and the way your lashes fluttered when you finally found the spot.
“Jesus–fuck yes, use me angel.”
He didn’t even realize he’d said it out loud until you let out a little whimper at the pet name, and picked up the pace.
You are used to terms of endearment from Steve, he’s the sweetest with you, but never in the years of your relationship has he ever called you something so divine as angel.
Alas, your boyfriend still knows you better than anyone. You keep moving on top of Eddie, and even though his hard cock under the jeans is already making you see stars, there’s something…missing. By this point Steve’s fingers would already be deep inside you without even having to ask.
Across the room, he watches your frantic moves and hears your moans getting needier. Eddie doesn't notice at first, but he does.
“Hey man,” he calls casually. “Play with her.”
Eddie, too lost in the way you keep rolling your hips, blinks like he misheard. “–What?”
Steve chuckles, “She’s used to it. Go on, don’t make her wait.”
Eddie turns back to you, but you don’t say anything, just look at him, chest rising faster, lips parted, a thin sheen of sweat starting to gather at your temples. And when his eyes search yours for permission, you nod.
That’s all it takes. Eddie’s hand slides down your stomach, dipping lower and lower, until he finds the paradise between your legs.
Oh fuck.
“Baby–you’re soaking through my jeans,” he groans, trailing the wet patch seeping through your panties.
You giggle, but the second his fingers go past the lace and brush over your clit, you let out the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. A little gasp of surprise, hips bucking slightly since you've been waiting for him to touch you right there all night.
Eddie almost comes in his pants. “Jesus–you’re perfect.”
He doesn't slide his fingers in yet, he doesn't need to, your slick is already dripping onto his jeans, smearing over his rings. You just grind into his hand, chasing your high. Every sound you make goes straight to his dick, every breath, every flutter of your lashes, every soft whimper of his name. He’s about to put a finger in when–
“Stop.”
Eddie freezes at your firm voice, his hand stills as panic takes over his chest. “Did I–did I do something wrong?”
Steve’s already standing from the couch, ready to lift you off Eddie’s lap if you need him to. But you just let out a sweet little laugh and shake your head.
“No, you’re perfect. I want you to take your shirt off first,” you shrug, as if you hadn't caused both men a near heart attack.
Steve exhales, muttering something about “always testing him” as he plops back onto the puff. You smile at him apologetically, he just shakes his head pretending to be annoyed but you see the smile tugging at his lips.
“Oh,” Eddie says, blinking a few times before actually breathing again. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that, sweetheart.”
He fumbles a little, taking off his vest first, then his jacket, then–he hesitates for a second. It’s not that he’s insecure about his chest, but his tattoos now have fresh new roommates in the shape of multiple scars scattered across his skin from where he’d been attacked. And he doesn’t know how you’ll react to them.
You notice the doubt flashing across his eyes as his hands stop reaching for the shirt. “Are you okay, Eddie?” You ask, and now you’re the one wondering if you did something wrong.
“Yeah,” he chuckles, trying to not sound too pathetic. “It’s just–my…my scars,” he says, avoiding your gaze.
You hum softly, “Steve has them too.”
Eddie’s head perks up at that, and his eyes go to the shirtless man on the couch.
“Yeah man,” Steve breathes, straightening up, pointing at the lovely little bite marks the bats had left on his skin.
Eddie squints and sees them washed in the glow of the nightlamp. He’d been so busy freaking the hell out when he arrived that he hadn’t even noticed that Steve’s chest indeed had marks. But not as many as him, and at least the hair around it makes up for it, he’s not sure his pale chest–
“Eddie…” You cup his face to gently guide it towards you. “You can keep your shirt on if you feel more comfortable that way, but know that I don’t care about what’s under there. I just want to feel your skin closer,” you reassure.
Eddie almost proposes right there and then.
Okay–maybe he’s getting ahead of himself. But shit. He decides it’s wiser to just nod, and peels off his shirt in one rough pull. You look him in the eyes before looking down, and he nods again. Your eyes go down his bare chest, pale as you expected, not as filled out as Steve’s, and not nearly as hairy–but the tattoos and the scars make him the most badass rockstar you’d ever seen.
Eddie’s breath stills as you look at him like you like what you see. Like he’s the prettiest thing in the room. And then you make sure he hears it.
“You’re so pretty, Eddie,” you smile, pulling him in for another kiss. Your hands smooth over his skin, fingers tracing the tattoos on his chest, the scars down his sides, the happy trail leading to a happier place. “So hot.”
You whine into the kiss, hips rolling again making him forget about the fact that he’s shirtless in front of you and instead he remembers–right. His fingers.
Eddie reaches for you, pulling your panties to the side again. He slides two fingers between your folds, slow enough to drink every second of the way your jaw drops when you feel his rings deep inside you, the way your eyes flutter shut, how you let out a desperate little sound that goes straight to his cock.
“Eds…” you moan, walls clenching around fingers and metal.
“You feel–fuck, baby, you feel so good…so tight…”
He finds his rhythm easily, all insecurities set aside by how fast you’re falling apart on his fingers.
Eddie knows what he’s doing. Those hands–those guitarist fingers don’t play. They move with instinct, with intention. His fingers curl, dragging quickly through your walls before pressing back in. The rings are a plus, cold metal against heat, and you gasp when one of them hits the spot.
“Oh–Eddie–”
“That’s it angel, keep dripping all over me,” he coos, pumping harder. “Can feel you clenching when I talk like this. You like being a good girl for me?”
You nod, it’s all you can do. Steve just watches. Watches the way your body moves. The way your face twists with pleasure. The way your mouth drops open with every stroke.
But he catches something else. He always does.
Your head tips forward, forehead pressing into Eddie’s shoulder, breaths coming out in little broken sounds against Eddie’s skin as he works every inch of you. You keep grinding your hips, chasing more even as it starts to overwhelm you. A sudden wave makes your moan turn into a whimper, and your nails dig on his shoulder instinctively pushing him away.
You cry out, that’s when Steve speaks.
“Hey–easy, Munson,” he calls out, not angry, but still firm enough that it makes Eddie slow down. “Remember what I said about going easy the first time? You go too rough too soon and she’s gonna be shaking for the rest of the night.”
“Sorry–” Eddie says immediately, but you cut him off.
“It’s okay, Eds. We’re still learning each other,” you reassure, still giving him that dazed, happy look. He exhales in relief. “Just…a little slower, that’s all. I’m not really used to the rings.” You say it so sweetly, that he just nods like a little puppy eager to please.
“You’ll get used to them soon, sweetheart. Promise.”
He pulls his fingers back in slower, watching your face the whole time, memorizing every reaction. It doesn't take long before you’re grinding his hand again and letting out soft moans of pleasure as you find a more comfortable rhythm.
“There you go,,” Steve chuckles, approving. “She’s squeezing you, isn’t she?”
Eddie chuckles back, because he can feel how close you are. Your forehead presses into his shoulder again, mouth brushing his skin as you let out a sound that’s half gasp, half moan.
“Hmm, that sound,” Steve hums, leaning further into the puff, stroking over his crotch. “She sounds like that when she’s about to come.”
“Yeah?” Eddie asks, curling his fingers just right. “Are you close, angel?”
You whimper, hiding your face knowing exactly what they are talking about, but it only makes it hotter for both men to see you like that.
“Don’t you wanna tell him, baby?” Steve asks from his spot, but all that comes out of your mouth is another moan against Eddie’s shoulder. “Hey–eyes on me.”
You obey, turning to meet those wide, hazel eyes. You’re barely holding it together, already breathless. A literal mess on Eddie’s fingers.
But Steve just smiles, wide and bright when you look at him. “Now tell him what you need, sweetheart.”
Your eyes keep locked on your boyfriend as you whisper, “I–I wanna come, Eds…please.”
“Then come, baby. Drench my fucking rings,” he groans in your ear. His raw voice and another curl of his fingers is what gets you there.
Your whole body tenses when the orgasm hits. You let out a broken moan that vibrates in Eddie’s chest and your walls clench around his fingers so tight he thinks you might break them. Your wetness coats his rings, soaks into your panties, his jeans, everywhere.
You collapse, arms flailing to hold on to him, but before Eddie can catch you, you’re already falling back.
“Whoa, hey–” Eddie’s arms scramble to hold you, but Steve is faster.
He’s behind you instantly, steadying you with one hand on your back, the other cupping the back of your head easing you back into Eddie’s lap.
“She goes all soft after,” Steve says, with that fondness he always uses when referring to you. “You gotta hold her up for a second.”
Eddie’s arms wrap around you immediately, as you curl into him still trying to catch your breath. Steve leans to see you, brushing your hair back. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead that makes you smile.
“Hey,” he whispers, eyes scanning your flushed face. “You okay?”
You nod against Eddie’s chest.
“You wanna keep going?”
You nod again.
“Words, baby,” Steve coaxes, and you let out a little breathless giggle when he pinches your side.
“I do,” you whisper, loud enough for both to hear. Then you turn to him. “Thank you.”
For catching me. For checking on me. For letting another man fuck me while you watch.
You don’t even have to say it out loud for Steve to know what you’re thinking. He just brushes your cheek, with an amused smile on his face. “Anytime, baby.”
You shift on Eddie’s lap, turning back to him, lips brushing his cheek before placing your hands on his chest to look at those pretty brown eyes. “Thank you too, Eds. You made me feel so good.”
“Y-Yeah?”
You hum, patting the spider tattoo on his left peck. Once you feel like you regained your strength back again, you slide off his lap and drop to your knees in front of him.
“That’s my girl.” Steve praises. So pretty on her knees.”
He rounds the bed to grab a small pillow, then drops it to the floor next to your knees, nudging it with his foot until you shift just enough to be on top of it. You lean to kiss the back of his hand as a silent thank you.
Eddie is too busy remembering how to breathe for the 100th time to say anything.
You settle between Eddie’s legs, hands resting on his thighs, your lashes fluttering as you look up with all your attention back on him. “I wanna thank you properly.”
Eddie laughs nervously, then whistles low. “Shit–then go ahead, sweetheart.”
Your fingers go to his belt–because of course he wore a fucking belt–and Steve chuckles from your side, one judging eyebrow raised. “Why did you even wear a belt, dude?”
“I thought I was coming over to watch, not to get fucking blessed,” Eddie shakes his head in disbelief, pushing himself up to help you lower his pants.
His ass barely touches the mattress when your hands are already tugging his briefs. He laughs, out of sheer nerves and excitement, lifting again to take off the last piece covering him.
He springs out.
And just as you thought. Just as you dreamed, he’s big. Eddie fucking Munson is packing a thick, flushed pink, already leaking cock just inches away from your face.
Pretty boy with pretty eyes and an even prettier dick.
You let out a sweet, pleased little dreamy sigh, when you feel his heaviness in your hand. “So pretty,” you praise, then lean in and press a soft kiss to the tip of his cock.
You reach out, eager, hand wrapping around him to guide him toward your mouth like a lollipop. Eddie makes a noise no one in that room knew he was capable of.
Eddie sees heaven. Sees the clouds, hears all the symphonies and shit.
“Jesus fuck–”
Steve steps behind you again, crouching down. He runs his fingers over your spine, drawing delicate circles that don’t match the words that come out of his mouth.
“You think you can take another, baby?” He asks, kissing the back of your neck. “Getting bored of just watching…”
You glance back at him, hand still wrapped around Eddie’s cock, and look down to see the fabric of his pants barely containing his.
“Let me take care of you too, babe,” you chuckle, lifting your free hand to reach sideways, tugging Steve’s sweats and briefs down in one pull. He steps forward, letting you take him in your hand like you’ve done a hundred times.
Now you have two, very hard, very beautiful, very yours, dicks in your hands.
You give Steve one long, wet stroke with your tongue that makes him drop his head back and groan. Then, with a little giggle, you turn and give Eddie the same treatment.
“Fucking hell, Harrington,” he gasps.
Steve smiles, watching you go from one the other, teasing both. “Oh, I know.” He cups the back of your head, stroking your hair. “Show him, baby. Show him how good you are.”
You hum with Eddie in your mouth, the sound vibrating just enough to make him curse under his breath.
You begin taking turns. Your lips are glossy and warm and full, as you switch between them.
Steve. Then back to Eddie. Then back to Steve again.
Your hand stroking one while your lips wrap around the other. Back and forth. Eddie’s thighs start shaking with the effort of not coming in the first thirty seconds of this glorious torture.
He’d never seen anything like it.
He has both hands fisted in the floral sheets, barely keeping himself together as you take him halfway down and then pull away with a soft, wet pop that makes his vision go white, only to switch to the one who’s supposed to be your man.
And if it wasn’t enough, Steve hands reach behind your back when you put him in your mouth, bending over you with his cock so going deep it makes you gag, to unclasp your bra, freeing your titties for both of them.
He’s fighting for his soul at this point.
You split apart from Steve, taking a deep breath to recover from his dick touching the back of your throat, and wipe your mouth before looking up at Eddie with a smile.
“Hey Steve?” You call, eyes fixed on Eddie’s to catch his reaction. “Why don’t you get the camera?”
The…camera???
“Wait–what?”
“Don’t you want a little souvenir?” You tease, titling your head.
“What the fuck–what–do I want a–?”
“Steve likes it,” you shrug.
“Oh yeah,” Steve chuckles, already crossing to the bookshelf in the corner of your room. “I like it–but she loves it, man,” he adds smugly,
“You have photos…doing it?”
“Whooole collection.” Steve drawls, finding what he was looking for. “You’d go crazy.”
He is going crazy.
Steve walks back over holding a black Polaroid camera, and hands it directly to Eddie, who’s still gripping onto the sheets for dear life.
“I–” He stammers, looking at you.
You shrug. “My hands are busy,” you smile apologetically, too damn sweet for the situation.
Eddie finally takes the camera after a deep exhale, and leans back to lift it. He frames your pretty face between his thighs, lips parted open, spit shining on his cock. Then your mouth wraps around his tip again, and Eddie moans, loud and shaky, nearly dropping the camera.
He captures the grip of your lips, the way your tongue flicks over his slit, the stretch of your mouth when you sink deeper. Then you pull away and take Steve into your mouth instead, and Eddie moves the camera closer, watching your throat move, your hand still stroking him at the base.
It’s a miracle you are alternating, because if it had been just him, he would’ve busted in your mouth in under a minute.
You feel flash after flash after flash. Picture falling one after another, scattering on Eddie’s thighs.
“Holy shit,” Eddie chuckles. “This is filthy. God, you look so fucking good like that.”
Another flash. Another picture falling next to his balls.
You pop off of him with a messy sound and a smile at the compliment, licking your lips as you turn to Steve.
“Your turn, baby,” you whisper.
Steve steps closer, and you feel the way he starts twitching in your mouth. It doesn’t take long before he grabs your hair, and starts thrusting to get himself off.
Eddie’s eyes widen, pulling the camera aside to enjoy the view. The way Steve holds you there. The way he fucks into your mouth, chasing his release, his fist tangled in your hair, his chest rising hard and fast as you take all of him.
Steve finally comes in a few strangled moans, making sure he stays inside until you swallow every drop of his cum. He strokes your cheek with one hand, pulling out, reaching down to wipe the corner of your mouth. “There you go, baby,” he praises, still breathless. “So good for us.”
You don’t take more than a few seconds when you turn to Eddie, chest heaving, but before you can lean down again his hand comes up, stopping you.
“Wait!” He says, coming off a little louder than he means to.
Your brows furrow. “Are you–are you not enjoying it?”
“No no, Jesus–no,” he rushes, “You’re–you’re perfect. You’re actually heaven. I swear. It’s just…if you keep going like that…I won’t last.”
Steve huffs out a laugh, immediately understanding where he’s coming from.
Eddie wants to save his cum for when he gets lucky to actually fuck you.
Steve steps forward, helping you get to your feet. “Well,” he says, amused, “you’re a lucky bastard, Munson. I’m a man of my word, so I’m gonna let you fuck her properly now.”
Eddie gulps. Your eyes light up.
“That’ll get you going just fine.” Steve adds.
He takes the camera from Eddie’s side, then walks back to settle onto the puff in the corner again, naked, angling the Polaroid camera like a professional.
You take a moment to get rid of your panties, before pushing Eddie back onto the bed, making him crawl back until he’s in the center on the mattress, his curly hair draping over your multiple pillows. You climb over the pictures and his body until you’re hovering over him.
Eddie doesn’t expect you to turn around, but there you are, moving away to straddle him in reverse, giving him a perfect view of your ass. His heart is racing so hard he can hear it in his ears, yet a devilish chuckle still comes out before he can stop it.
“You want Steve to see your face while you bounce on my cock, sweetheart?”
You nod, biting your lip even if he can’t see you–because Steve sure can–lifting yourself up with your hands on his thighs. “God, yes.”
You reach to line him up beneath you, teasing the tip only for a second because you can’t wait any longer than that to feel him inside.
You sink down without giving him any warning.
“Holy–fuck,” Eddie groans, throwing his head back onto the pillows. “Jesus fucking Christ, you’re so tight–”
He only shuts up when he hears the moans you let out as he stretches your walls so painfully good. He feels as huge as he looks, he fills you as well as you thought he would. He’s balls deep inside you. Your knees are on either side of his hips, ass to his stomach, fingers digging into his thighs as you begin to fuck yourself on him.
From the corner, Steve lets out a low hum of approval as you bounce harder on Eddie’s cock, chasing your second orgasm. He strokes himself with one hand, the other snapping shots of the way your tits bounce, the way your face twists every time you sink down, the way you never stop looking at him.
Flash. Flash. Flash. Tug. Tug. Tug.
“Fuck yes, baby–look at you. You look like a fucking porn star.”
You smile at him, then turn over your shoulder, just a little to see how your other boy is doing.
Eddie’s falling apart.
His eyes are glued to where your bodies meet. To his cock disappearing inside your folds. And if the sounds were obscene before–they’re so much worse now. Between Eddie’s grunts, your moans as you ride him, and the clicking sound of Steve’s camera, this was a full blown production.
A priceless one.
And then you make that sound again.
The same sound you made the second time Eddie saw you fall apart on Steve’s cock. The sound you made with his fingers deep inside you. The sound that haunted his fucking dreams.
“You’re getting her there, man,” Steve says, stroking himself faster to the next series of whimpers you let out. “Make her feel good, then cum inside her. She loves that shit.”
Eddie nods. “That okay, angel? Want me to fill you up?”
You can't even speak. You just nod frantically, gasping as your rhythm begins to falter, and your thighs start shaking.
“You gotta come again first, sweetheart,” Eddie says through gritted teeth, grabbing your hips to push himself up into you. He can feel you pulsing around him.
“Steve–fuck–I’m gonna–”
“Then do it, baby,” he growls. “Come on his cock.”
You come harder than the first time. Your mouth drops open in a choked moan as your orgasm tears through you. Eddie nearly comes from how tight you clench around him.
But no. He still wants more from you. Needs it like he needs oxygen.
This time he does catch you when you slump forward, sitting up still buried inside you, placing a kiss on your shoulder as you both catch your breath. But the quiet doesn’t last long. He’s still hard inside you, and the devil on his shoulder tells him to finish what he started.
He earns a sudden yelp from you when he flips you, pushing you onto your stomach, pulling your hips back, and lining himself up again from behind…just like he’d seen you that day. Face in the sheets. Ass up. Wet pussy glowing under the nightlight. Floral sheets wrinkled under your body.
Deja vu.
But this time, it’s not Steve–no, he’s just watching. Eddie is the one pushing his cock deep inside you with a harsh thrust that makes your whole body rock forward.
He’s not that gentle anymore. Not in a mean way. Never in a mean way, but in a I-need-to-come-inside-you-now way. His hands are gripping your skin, knuckles going pale, holding you down as you become a mess under him.
He looks up to the couch, and he expects to see at least an ounce of the jealousy he’d felt the day he saw you with him, but all he sees is Steve’s fist going up and down furiously on his cock. The camera had been dropped as soon as your cheek had hit the mattress.
He wanted to see it. See you fall apart.
“…Holy shit, dude, go for it,” Steve whistles low in approval, chuckling when he hears your strangled gasps every time Eddie slammed into you. “Let him, baby,” he coos. “Be a good girl and take all of it.”
He really gives you all of it.
Eddie’s sure he only survived ‘86 just to see the way your tight little asshole contracts with every thrust he drills into your swollen pussy.
“Eds–Eddie–”
“I know I know. Almost there, angel. Gonna fill you up real good,” he coaxes over your small whines, “wanna see you dripping with my cum.”
Eddie slams into you once more, then groans so loud it echoes across the wallpaper walls, and finally spills inside you with a cry.
Steve comes in his own hand as Eddie pulls out of you, slapping your ass a few times with his cock before you collapse onto the bedsheets. Eddie falls right behind you, blinking up at the ceiling, coming down from his high.
In the middle of all the panting, your chests rising up and down, he doesn’t really know what he’s supposed to do next. Part of him expects to be handed his clothes and a polite “thanks for coming.” But instead, you instinctively roll over to him, wrapping your arms around his body and burying your face against his chest.
Steve just chuckles, finding his briefs on the floor and throwing them on, then finally walking over to where you’re cuddling Eddie, running his hand through your hair with a little smile.
“She gets kinda clingy after.”
You don’t even lift your head. “Don’t be rude.”
Steve grins wider. “Sorry, baby. Cute is the word. She gets cute after.”
You hum again, approving this time. Then, you let out a sigh of exhaustion, voice muffled in Eddie’s chest, “you guys are fucking crazy.”
Steve snorts. “We are crazy?”
“I didn’t exactly suggest a threesome, sweetheart,” Eddie chuckles, hugging you tighter.
“Whatever,” you giggle. “Just…don’t let me fall asleep like this.”
Steve kneels beside the bed and rubs your back gently. “Want a shower, baby?”
You shake your head. “Bath.”
“Bath it is.”
He places a kiss on your shoulder, then stands and walks to your bathroom. A few moments later, Eddie hears the water running.
He could’ve stayed like that forever, really. With you curled into his arms, naked with his seed still inside you, surrounded by the filthy pictures he’d taken of you. His hand comes up hesitantly, brushing your hair back with the same tenderness he always sees Steve do it.
Where does this leave him though? Is this a one time thing? A hit and run? How can he go back to his normal life after this?
He’d already been losing his mind over you for weeks. He’s never getting over this.
“Are you okay?” You ask, snapping him out of his thoughts.
“Me?”
“Yeah, your heart is beating really fast,” you say, hand resting lightly on his chest, right over it.
Eddie laughs under his breath. “Uh. Yeah. I’m just…kinda expecting for someone to tell me to get up and leave?”
You hum softly, nuzzling closer to him. “I don’t want you to leave, Eds…”
He doesn’t get to say anything before Steve returns, a pink towel slung over his bare shoulder as he stands on the bathroom door.
“Well, dude,” he says. “You bringing her or what?”
Eddie looks down at you, all cozied up in his arms. You don’t say anything, but you smile, soft and sweet and welcoming as always.
The sun in his arms.
He's not sure what the hell is next for him now. But at least for tonight, he’s staying.
And I ain't gotta tell him, I think he knows
Thank you so much for reading! hope you enjoyed 👀🤭
Pairing: Eddie Munson x reader x Steve Harrington Wc: 10.3k
Description: Eddie accidentally walks in on Steve fucking you in a WSQK storage closet. He thinks he’s doomed to a life of fantasizing over you with the only company of his right hand, until…Steve himself offers him a golden ticket straight to your bed: a threesome.
Inspired on the song ‘I think he knows’ by Taylor Swift <3
Warnings/tags: threesome smut, all are adults, fem!reader, established relationship with S5!Steve, no spoilers, Eddie survives S4 bc I say so, mentions of his scars, voyeurism, eddie fantasizes a lot, he jerks off a lot more, porn with plot, oral male rec, fingering, piv sex, both men are whipped for you.
Note: Surprise, new boy in the harem✨ No I don’t know how this happened, or how it ended up being so long but all I can say is merry early christmas my dears, enjoy the filth!! 🫦
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he’s so obsessed with me and boy I understand
Eddie Munson had never hated the sun before.
Not until he saw it in your smile.
You were standing in front of him at the crawl meeting, giggling at something Robin had said, soft and golden in the way that only you could be, wearing Steve’s stupid jacket that by this point was pretty much your own.
Because he was.
Steve Harrington, Mr. Perfect Hair himself, asshole turned part time hero, was the guy who got to hold your hand in public. Eddie didn’t hate him. Not really. He wanted to, wanted it bad sometimes, when the jealousy itched too deep to scratch.
He’d hated him at some point, when Dustin wouldn't shut up about how incredible his friend was. But alas, after everything they’d been through last year and Steve being the one who got him out of that hellhole, he really couldn’t hate him anymore.
So, he hated the sun. Because he couldn't have it.
Eddie also hated himself for not speaking up sooner. For watching you fall in love with someone else while he sat in the background. And maybe that was his punishment. Maybe that was the price for every time he chickened out, every time he saw you in the hallway in that little cherry red jacket and panicked, ducking behind his locker like a coward.
Maybe if he hadn’t been, you would be wearing his jacket now.
“Dude, wipe your face. You’re one drool away from filling the bucket,” came a voice from beside him, and undoubtedly by the tone–it had to be Henderson’s.
Eddie snapped out of his trance by the sharp nudge of Dustin’s elbow. Shit. He hadn’t even realized he was watching.
“I’m not,” he lied, even as he tilted his head just enough to catch another glimpse of you, this time laughing as Steve tried to sneak a kiss and Robin dramatically fake gagged next to you.
Jesus, Eddie was about to gag for real.
“You’re staring again,” Dustin chuckled, walking away after patting him condescendingly on the back.
Eddie shot him a glare but didn’t argue back. Because what was the point?
All he could do was fantasize when it came to you. You would never look at him the same way you look at Steve.
You just looked at him like he was funny. Your metalhead friend. And Eddie? Eddie looked at you like you hung the goddamn stars.
Things were finally looking up for Eddie. For once.
Aside from his not so little crush situation, everything else seemed to be getting better.
After almost dying being devoured by supernatural creatures–which, in his opinion would’ve been a very metal death–his uncle’s trailer had gotten split in half, and he’d gotten piles and piles of medical bills from his long recovery. Which led to him having to find a part time job as a mechanic besides his little dealing business.
Oh! And how could he forget? The police department was still investigating him about the murders from last year.
Between that, his job, the incessant crawls every week, and his therapy–both physical and psychological–he had absolutely no time to host hellfire anymore. Dustin had tried to keep it alive, but bless his soul, no one compares to Eddie Munson when it comes to being DM.
But last week, by some miracle, he’d finally, finally been cleared as “innocent” due to lack of evidence and was able to start living a normal life again. His therapy sessions had been reduced to once every two weeks, and he’d also repaired a few fancy cars that earned him a pretty juicy commission.
So yeah. Things were finally looking up for him after whatever the hell ‘86 was.
So, with a pep in his step, he walked through the doors of the WSQK headquarters holding a cardboard box with all his stuff for that day’s campaign. Robin had told him they had a spare room on the back, and Steve said he could go earlier to set everything up. He even whistled as he strolled through the empty hallways of the radio station.
He saw two doors at the end, figuring he’d open both and find out which one he was supposed to settle in.
But as all Munsons tend to run out of luck at some point, it seems like the curse finally hit him again when he opened the wrong one and changed the course of his entire fucking life.
Because what he didn’t expect, what absolutely no one warned him about, was that you and Steve liked to use the storage closet to fuck like bunnies before anyone arrived at the station.
He froze at the door, the box in his hand hanging on for dear life as he took in the scene in front of him.
There you were.
Propped up on a stack of cardboard boxes with Steve between your legs, your skirt was bunched around your hips, and your knees high on his waist. Your face was flushed, hair a mess and you were letting out choked little gasps because you couldn’t form words anymore.
Eddie’s heart stopped. He might’ve as well died for real this time.
You let out a startled sound, grabbing Steve’s shoulders to hide yourself the second you saw Eddie standing there. Steve just glanced back over his shoulder, not even bothering to stop.
“Dude. Do you mind?”
Eddie slammed the door shut.
He walked out of WSQK like he’d seen a ghost. Didn’t even say a word to Dustin, who was just pulling up on his bike.
He just got in his van, and drove straight into the woods far enough to be alone. And for the next ten minutes, the only sound in that van was the furious pumping of his hard cock into his hand and his broken, desperate moans repeating something.
Your name. Again. And again.
And again.
Then, after going back and giving a poor excuse to his boys as to why he couldn’t host that day and had to leave immediately (one that actually meant sorry guys! Gotta jerk off like 10 more times!) He went to repeat the same routine back at the small place Wayne managed to rent after the “earthquakes” had destroyed his trailer.
He turned off the lights of the room he called his now. Lit a blunt just for something to do with his free hand. Threw on a loud tape to drown out the grunts and the pathetic moaning, and his fist went to town–again–to the memory of you.
The way you looked in that closet.
The arch of your back against the boxes. The sound of your voice breaking as you moaned his name–not Eddie’s, no, the one you belonged to. Steve. The way your fingers dug into his shoulders, pulling him closer, as if he wasn’t deep enough. And your face…
God. Your fucking face.
Blissed out and flushed, swollen lips parted, eyes half-lidded and completely lost in it. No cheap porn film he’d ever watched compared to that. No–you were the most obscene thing Eddie had ever seen in his life and it was burned into him now. Engraved into the insides of his lids. No amount of blinking could unsee it.
No amount of jerking off could erase it.
(He tried. Many times.)
People had sex all the time. This shouldn’t be on his head 24/7. But…Eddie couldn’t believe that was you.
He’d always seen you as soft. As the sweet girl giggling at Steve’s dumb jokes while playing with his stupid perfect hair. As the one who would mediate when a crawl meeting got too heated when someone didn’t agree with the plan. As the one who always listened to everyone…even him.
You even called him Eds once, so softly, that he’d walked around with chest pain for a full day like a goddamn lovesick teenager.
But now?
Now he couldn’t stop imagining how your voice sounded when it wasn't innocent. Couldn’t stop remembering how your legs looked parted open, how your thighs shook as Steve thrusted harshly into you.
He should’ve known better though, that was on him. He should’ve known that someone who once held the title of “King Steve” would be the one to corrupt a girl like you.
Who wouldn’t want to?
He couldn’t stop wondering what it’d feel like to be the one between your legs. To have you whimpering like that. To see you fall apart and know he did that. That he got you that high, that far gone…that wrecked.
He was fucking haunted by the fantasy. And it wasn’t lust, it was worse than that. It was curiosity, obsession, need.
The need to be the one who fucks the sweetness out of you.
But now you were probably curled up in Steve’s bed, fast asleep on his hairy chest, wearing one of his shirts and dreaming about getting fucked by him, while Eddie dreamt of you after he didn’t have anything left to milk out.
He dreamt of your hand in his curls. Your thighs around his waist. Your voice in his ear breaking with his name over and over and…over.
Eddie tried to be normal after that. God, he tried.
At least you seemed to be normal. You walked into Thursday movie night at Nancy’s like nothing had happened, dropping onto the couch next to Steve with a bag of popcorn, listening to whatever Robin said, still sweet and smiley and wearing one of Steve’s jackets.
He told himself not to stare. Repeated it like a goddamn mantra.
Don’t look, Munson. Don’t fucking look. You’ll just embarrass yourself. You’ll make it weird.
But then your eyes met, and you smiled at him, and…Eddie forgot his own name.
His mouth opened, but words came out. Just a squeak that could’ve been the start of a sentence, or a heart attack. He pretended to cough into his fist and buried himself deeper into the armchair.
And Steve? Oh he noticed.
Not just Eddie’s reaction, but all of it. The way Eddie’s eyes had locked onto you from the moment you walked in. The way they dropped lower every time you shifted. The way his fingers gripped the armrest.
And the weird part? Steve didn’t get mad. He just smirked, knowingly, even amused by the whole thing.
The next time something altered Eddie’s brain chemistry, was at the diner.
He’d arrived late, mainly because he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to go in the first place, but the thought of seeing your smile was enough to convince him to walk through that door, and soon it was just him, Robin, and the perfect couple.
Eddie looked at you from across the booth, wearing a cute outfit that he was sure would ruin his life later when he was alone back in his room. You were sipping from your milkshake, the pink straw pressed between your lips, as you let out a hum of contempt at the sweet taste. All Eddie could think was that could be something else.
Thank God for Robin’s need to ramble about everything that happened on her date with Vicky that weekend, that you and Steve were focused on her and not on Eddie’s anxious leg bouncing under the table.
Or at least that’s what he thought.
“Eds, take some fries,” you offered sweetly when Robin ran out of air, pushing the plate you’d been eating from with Steve toward him.
Eddie hadn’t ordered anything, he wasn’t hungry–at least not for actual food–and of course you’d noticed and offered him some of your own.
“Yeah man, go ahead,” Steve chimed in with a smile that was enough to freak him out. “I don’t mind sharing,” he added with a shrug, placing an arm around your shoulders, hazel eyes piercing into Eddie’s with a devilish glint.
The implication left Eddie frozen in place, hand hovering over the fries as you began talking with Robin again, unaware of the way your boyfriend’s comment had left Eddie stunned.
Steve didn’t say anything else. Just kept looking at him, head tilted, like he knew something. Like he felt it now.
The shift.
Eddie almost got up and left, but then he caught Steve’s eyes, and the bastard just winked.
Jesus Christ.
You’re still breathless when Steve flips you onto your back again, mind stuck somewhere between heaven and passing out as your sore body still feels every inch of him buried deep inside you.
He drapes you across his hairy chest knowing you can’t hold yourself up anymore, bare skin sticky with sweat, your cheek pressed over his heartbeat. Steve's hand goes to your thigh, fingers brushing softly where he’d held you down minutes ago.
You don’t want to move. You never want to after he’s done with you. So you just cling tightly to him, letting out a dreamy sigh and nuzzling closer, planting a soft kiss over his racing heart.
Steve smiles, shifting just enough to see your blissed out face. “You okay over there?”
“Mmhm,” you hum. “Can’t feel my soul. Congratulations, Harrington.”
That makes him chuckle. He kisses the top of your head. “Anytime, baby.”
As his room settles into silence and you begin drifting off in his arms before he can drag you into taking a shower, Steve’s chest vibrates against your skin when he speaks again.
“Hey,” he whispers, absentmindedly playing with your hair which doesn’t help your heavy eyelids closing.
“Hmm?”
“Do you ever notice the way Eddie looks at you?”
Your eyes blink open immediately.
You don’t say anything at first. Just start tracing lazy little circles on a particular scar on his ribs, pretending to think about it, but you already know the answer.
“Yeah,” you smile, “I’ve noticed.”
Steve hums, hand still resting on your thigh.
“It’s probably just a silly little crush,” you add, as if you didn’t know how Eddie’s voice breaks every time you spare a glance at him. Or the way his hands shake when you ask him to hand you a drink on movie night. “He’s just… traumatized from the time he caught us back at the station,” you chuckle.
“Oh, baby. You should’ve seen his face in that closet.” Steve snorts. “You were extra loud that day, you really put on a show for him–the lucky bastard.”
“What?” You ask, straightening up on his chest. “You knew he was going to get there earlier?”
“I was hoping he got there earlier."
You smack his arm with your mouth wide open, but a smile tugs at your lips. He grins like the devil is, shifting to ease you again into his embrace.
“Don’t worry baby, I might have a way to fix him right back up,” he says smugly, those impossible hazel eyes glinting with mischief. “…Remember that talk we had a while back? Couple months ago. About maybe…bringing in a third?”
Your heart thumps so fast against your chest that you’re sure Steve can feel it on his.
“…Yeah,” you say. “I remember.”
“What if…it was him?” He shrugs, like he’s discussing what movie to watch. “I’m just saying, we’ve both noticed. And maybe…” His hand drifts lower down your thigh, finding that place where you’re still sensitive. “Maybe it’s fun to imagine what he’d do if we invited him.”
His fingers press against your wet folds, easily sliding in and drawing a gasp out of you. His eyebrows shoot up, like he’d managed exactly what he wanted.
“See? Don't you want to show him again how pretty you sound?”
Maybe it’s the overstimulation of Steve fingers pumping in and out of your pussy like he hadn’t absolutely wrecked it minutes prior, that the word comes out of your mouth before you can stop it.
“Yes,” you exhale in a shaky moan.
The thought alone thrills you. Because the truth is, you’ve been feeling it as much as Steve has. You've been wanting it as much as Steve has.
The forbidden.
Because it is fun to imagine. You guiding Eddie’s hand. Steve watching and telling you what to do. You crying out between the two of them.
God.
“So…Eddie?” You pant, unsure if you’re asking or you're moaning out his name just to try it out on your lips.
Steve just smirks.
“Yeah,” he says, pumping faster. “Eddie.”
The moment that sealed Eddie’s fate was a random Thursday.
He should’ve known better.
The second you said movie night was at your place, he should’ve backed out. Should’ve faked a headache or a gig or even a freak accident involving his uncle. Anything.
But–like the fucking idiot he was–he’d walked right through your front door that night.
You’d picked a shitty movie on purpose. Something slow without any action scenes, full of long silences and artistic shots that made Robin snore into the couch cushion, with Nancy and Jonathan falling right behind.
Steve sat beside you the whole time, like always, hand on your thigh, like always. Looking casual, almost innocent.
Eddie was on the floor, sitting too close to the TV just so he wouldn’t look at you.
He’d been too busy picking at the skin of his thumb and lost into the mazes of his head, that he didn’t notice you’d disappeared with Steve until he glanced over to the couches and only found the girls and Jonathan dead to the world.
He sat there for a few more minutes pretending to care about the stupid movie, but then–like a fucking idiot–he decided to get up, quietly leaving the room like he was going to the kitchen.
He took a hard left to the stairs instead.
Eddie knew where your bedroom was. He’d been there before when you’d asked him to bring more blankets on movie night a few months ago. He still remembers the cute little nightlight plugged into the wall.
As he tiptoed to the top of the stairs like a freak, the hall was dark, but a sliver of light came out of your room through the slightly open door.
Eddie dragged his feet on the carpet, guided by shushing voices and a noise of what he was sure was the creak of a bed. Once he reached, he braced himself for the scene he was about to encounter as he peeked through the door, but no amount of breathing techniques could have ever prepared him for the image before his eyes.
Oh, fuck.
You were on your stomach, face pressed into the mattress, Steve standing behind you with both hands gripping your hips. Your ass–god, your ass–lifted high to meet every thrust.
Your dress was bunched around your waist, panties pushed to the side, but nothing really hid you from the pervert on the door. Not even Steve’s body blocked the view of him disappearing into your dripping pussy, filling you so deep Eddie could see it, see the way your walls opened for him.
The nightlight glowed behind you, casting just enough light to make it worse.
Pink and soft and obscene.
Eddie’s eyes went over the curve of your spine. The shake of your thighs. Your fingers twisting in the floral sheets, holding on for dear life as your body kept being pushed forward.
And the sounds. Jesus Christ, the sounds.
“Steve,” you gasped, “please–more–don’t stop.”
“Shhh baby, I know,” Steve cooed behind you, doing the exact opposite of what you asked and stopped. “But you gotta keep it down, don’t want to wake up your guests do you?”
The fucking hypocrite then slammed back into you so hard the headboard bumped the wall. You moaned–no, cried out, trying to muffle it against the sheets as Eddie bit down his fist just to keep himself from making a sound.
“Oh baby, you wanna be loud?” Steve chuckled, as he kept thrusting hard. “Go on then, I want to hear you.”
“I–fuck–I love your cock, Steve” you choked the words out. “‘S–s’ so deep.”
Eddie froze at the crack of the door, heart pounding out of his chest as he watched you getting fucked within an inch of your life.
The sweet girl. The sun. The angel he thought he knew. Gripping her sheets like a sinner. Moaning filth like she wanted the guests to hear.
Maybe you wanted him to hear.
Eddie’s hand slipped inside his jeans, he couldn't stop himself. Not after that. He stroked himself fast and hard and desperate, watching your body take it, and your mouth beg for it.
It didn’t take long for Eddie to come harder than he’d ever had in his life. He made a mess in his hand, his pants, and he was sure some of his cum dripped onto the carpet below, but he was too high and too far gone to care.
He nearly collapsed against the stairs wall as he rushed back down, panting, already half hard again within seconds.
The movie was still rolling, the guys were still fast asleep, but he had been changed forever–once again.
Seriously, who the hell leaves the door open? Or unlocked? For two people who seemed to fuck like bunnies none of it made sense.
Unless…you’d wanted him to watch.
Eddie was in the middle of jerking off when someone started pounding on his front door.
Of course.
He’d found his rhythm, music blasting, hips grinding into his palm, eyes squeezed shut and in his head, his filthy, freaky little head, you kept running your dirty mouth over and over.
He’d been at it for twenty minutes. Maybe more. His dick was red and raw but he didn’t care because the only thing worse than jerking off to the memory of you was not jerking off to it.
Bang, bang, bang.
“Jesus–fuck,” he curses, pulling up his briefs with a groan, finding a pair of jeans from the floor as the knocking continues.
“EDDIE!!” A familiar voice calls over the music.
Oh no.
Eddie walks out of his room shirtless, crosses the hall in three large strides, and opens the door wide enough to peek out, and yeah, there he is.
Steve fucking Harrington.
The absolute last person on earth he wanted to catch him red handed with his dick in his hand fantasizing about his girlfriend.
“Hey, man,” Eddie manages, clearing his throat when his voice cracks a little. “Uh…what’s up?”
“Hey!” Steve beams, that preppy boy smile spreading wide on his face. “Mind if I come in?”
Eddie hesitates only for a second, then opens the door wider and steps back. Steve walks in, glances around, his gaze landing on Eddie’s bedroom. More specifically, on the bottle of lotion on his nightstand and the constellation of crumpled paper tissues on the floor next to his bed.
Steve chuckles. “Sorry man, didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Wh–what?”
“You know. That thing you were doing.” Steve smirks, nodding his head toward the room. “Thinking about my girl?”
Eddie’s whole face goes red. “Dude, what the fuck–”
“You like her,” Steve says plainly, not as a question, not mad, not teasing. Just a matter of fact. “I know you’ve always liked her. But now you’ve seen her like I have. And now you can’t stop thinking about her.”
Eddie stands frozen in the middle of the living room, unsure of what he’s supposed to say to save his case. Although, given the evidence, there isn’t much to hope for.
“Is this the part where you punch me?” Eddie asks, almost bracing for the impact.
But Steve just laughs in his face.
“No, man. No punches.” He shakes his head, amused. “You know…she likes it when you stare.”
You like it when he stares? You know he stares?
“Alright Harrington, if you wanna hit me, just do it. Don’t fuck with me.” Eddie chuckles bitterly, already wishing he could just go back to his little twisted fantasies instead of hearing this bullshit.
“Don’t you get what I’m saying Eddie?”
Eddie narrows his eyes. “No…?”
Steve sighs, then steps closer to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m saying…she wants you to fuck her.”
There’s a moment of deafening silence where Eddie questions if he actually speaks the English language, because there’s no fucking way in the world he heard that right.
“...What??”
“She does,” Steve repeats, then chuckles again, “Hell, even I want you to fuck her.”
“You’re not being serious,” Eddie accuses, backing off from Steve’s grasp to pace in circles with his hands on his hips.
“Fucking hell man,” Steve groans. “Look–I’ve seen the way you look at her. And I get it, okay? She’s a dream, I know.” He laughs, but Eddie keeps pacing like a madman, shaking his head. “Dude–you ever wonder what she tastes like when she’s already come twice?”
That makes him stop right in his tracks. He turns to Steve in disbelief, but once again he doesn’t see anger, or teasing. He’s genuinely asking him if he fantasizes about his girlfriend.
“Man, I wonder about everything,” Eddie finally blurts out, exhaling like he just lifted a weight off his chest that’s been dragging him down for weeks.
Steve grins.
“I wouldn’t offer you this if I didn’t trust you with her.”
He walks closer to Eddie–again–but this time he doesn’t place his hand on his shoulder, just looks at him dead in the eye as his grin turns darker.
“You’d be gentle with her, wouldn’t you, Eddie?” He asks, pupils taking over the hazel of his eyes. “You wouldn’t fuck her too hard the first time, right? She’s too sensitive after–and trust me, you’re gonna want her to keep going.”
Eddie is speechless for the 124378th time in that month. Which should be an achievement, considering he likes to talk as much as Robin does.
“I’m not gonna say it twice, Munson.” Steve lifts a hand to clap him on the shoulder. “But she really wants it. So are you in?”
Eddie doesn’t even think anymore. He just nods frantically.
Oh, he’s so in.
Oh, he’s so having a full blown existential crisis.
He hadn’t slept the night before. Who could sleep after that conversation? Steve, poster boy for everything Eddie is not, just casually walked into his place, dropping that line like it was no big deal:
She wants you to fuck her.
Which is how he ended up now, standing outside your goddamn house, sweating through his jacket and wondering if he’d actually never woken up from the demobats attack and this was all a coma dream.
Because now you apparently wanted him.
In your house. In your bed.
On those stupidly adorable floral sheets he couldn’t stop thinking about. That’s what he came thinking about. That’s what he dreamed about every night.
Steve’d said to just “roll by tonight.” Well, tonight is here, and Eddie stands outside the door contemplating his options.
Does he knock? Does he just open it and walk into a fucking orgy?
Jesus.
He adjusts his jacket, runs a hand through his curly hair, and tells himself it’s going to be fine. He’s already been through things someone his age should never have to in their entire lifetime. Strange things. He can handle a little threesome.
Right?
He rings the doorbell before he chickens out like he’s done his whole life.
Eddie hears footsteps approaching the front door. He expects you, for some reason, but instead it’s Steve who opens it, shirtless, barefoot, only wearing some sweatpants, and smiling bright as if he’d just invited Eddie over to watch some sports game.
“Hey, dude! Glad you made it,” he beams, stepping aside.
Eddie walks through the threshold, and stops in the middle of the entrance hall pressing his lips tight.
“You want water or something?” Steve offers casually, noticing Eddie’s looking around nervously. “She’s upstairs. All ready.”
“She’s what?”
“All ready,” Steve repeats with a grin. “You know, for you.”
Steve laughs at Eddie’s loss for words, claps him reassuringly on the back, and gestures toward the stairs.
“Come on, man. Don’t leave her waiting.”
He walks up the stairs with Steve trailing behind. Eddie’s already hard under his ripped jeans, stopping right outside your door thinking what on earth does ready for me mean?
Are you naked? Are you touching yourself? Do you know how hard he is? Can you feel him on the other side of the door?
He can even see the damn nightlight is on behind it. His hand hovers over the doorknob, but for one second, the doubt comes crawling back in.
What if this is a joke? What if he opens the door and all your friends are inside pointing at him and laughing like “Look who actually believed it! You’re a pervert, Eddie!”
Wouldn’t be the first time someone pulls a cruel prank on him–or calls him that. Wouldn’t even be the worst. But–
“You gonna open it, Eddie? Or are you too scared of my girl?” Steve’s teasing voice cuts off his spiraling thoughts.
Eddie takes a deep breath, finally twists the knob, and he swears time slows down when he sees you there.
You’re sitting–no, half kneeling on the bed in the center of the room. Those floral sheets are bunched under your knees. And you’re wearing a little dainty lace set. The fabric is barely there, but the little bows on the straps make it sweet enough for Eddie’s mouth to go dry. Your exposed skin looks soft under the warm pink glow the nightlight casts against the walls.
You’re all ready for him.
Eddie nearly fucking dies. Again.
You smile when you see him. It’s soft and warm and welcoming, like always. Except–nearly naked. Not like he hadn’t seen your guts getting rearranged about two times too much these past weeks anyways.
“Hi, Eds,” you say, waving your hand as if you aren’t currently rewiring his entire nervous system.
He stands frozen in the doorway as Steve brushes past him, casual as hell. He walks straight up to you, bends down just enough to pet your chin with two fingers, making you laugh softly.
“Hi again, baby,” Steve whispers sweetly. “Let’s give him a warm welcome, hm?”
You hum in agreement, watching Steve walk away and drop onto the puff in the corner of the room, manspreading like a king waiting for his entertainment to start.
But Eddie…Eddie’s still standing by the door like 🧍🏻
“So uh…what–what are the rules?” He stammers. “Or, like boundaries? Or–fuck, I don’t know, a safe word?”
He means it for him, of course.
You cover your mouth to stifle a laugh. “Oh my god. Eddie, you're adorable.”
Steve is not as delicate as you, “Dude,” he snorts. “You can’t be serious. Relax. No one's handing out instructions.”
Eddie shifts anxiously on his feet. “I–there should be instructions.”
When the hell has ever cared about those?
“You’re here to make her feel good, that’s it.” Steve says quite harshly, crossing his arms over his chest, then looks at you and everything in him softens. “You decide how far he goes, baby.”
You melt. Right there on the bed. Blow him a kiss and then turn your full attention to the very shy boy at your doorstep.
“It’s okay, Eddie. Can you come closer?” You ask, extending your arm and gesturing toward the bed.
Eddie gives one step, that’s all he manages.
You smile wider, just enough to coax him. “Closer, Eddie. Please.”
Fuck.
He takes another step, then another, until he’s right by the edge of the bed, so close he can see the pattern of the fine lace of your lingerie, the way your chest rises when you breathe, the way you’re giving him the most deadly case of bedroom eyes he’s ever seen in his entire life.
You don’t look shy, or unsure, you look…eager.
Before he can overthink it, you slide off the bed to round him, and gently push his chest to sit down. Eddie falls easily, his body already knowing it’s not in charge anymore. The mattress dips under his weight, bouncing softly along with the curls in his head.
“Kick those shoes off,” you say.
He obeys. Oh–he obeys. A little clumsily, but they’re off in less than three seconds.
Only then you climb onto his lap. Eddie’s breath comes out in a shaky exhale when your ass lands on his thighs. His hands hover uselessly at his sides. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t really dare yet. He doesn’t even know where to look. His eyes dart from your shoulder to the wall to Steve, who has now thrown his arms behind his head like he’s watching his favorite movie.
“Well, don’t mind me,” he says. “Just enjoying the show.”
You cradle Eddie’s face to get his attention back to you. All he can think is your hands are warm, and too soft for his own good. Your thumbs brush his cheeks in such a normal, easy way, that still feels deeply intimate.
“Pretty boy,” you whisper, smiling at him. “Such pretty eyes.”
Eddie’s heart does an entire somersault routine. He can feel the little feet of the people inside his head running around to process the compliment.
We’re starting already???
He doesn’t even finish that line of thought when you lean in and kiss him. The kiss is slow and unrushed, but so so passionate. Your soft lips move against his, showing him you know exactly what you’re doing. Eddie melts into it instantly. He kisses you back desperately, starving, because he’d been feeling withdrawal for something he never had, and now–holy shit now he’s finally getting his fix.
Still, he doesn’t touch. Not until you take his wrists and guide them yourself, first on your waist, but then trailing down, lower, to where the lace sits and barely covers anything. His hands pinch your skin when he realizes what he’s touching.
You.
“Oh,” he breathes in to the kiss, and had you known Eddie let out those pretty little sounds, you'd have brought him in sooner.
You smile against his mouth and roll your hips, just a little, just to get more out. Grabbing him by the collar of his jacket, you grind down on him. Slow at first, just gentle little moves that made Eddie’s head tip back, and a symphony of broken sounds left his throat. Every grind of your body made his cock throb harder against his jeans. His eyes went between your chest, your mouth and the way your lashes fluttered when you finally found the spot.
“Jesus–fuck yes, use me angel.”
He didn’t even realize he’d said it out loud until you let out a little whimper at the pet name, and picked up the pace.
You are used to terms of endearment from Steve, he’s the sweetest with you, but never in the years of your relationship has he ever called you something so divine as angel.
Alas, your boyfriend still knows you better than anyone. You keep moving on top of Eddie, and even though his hard cock under the jeans is already making you see stars, there’s something…missing. By this point Steve’s fingers would already be deep inside you without even having to ask.
Across the room, he watches your frantic moves and hears your moans getting needier. Eddie doesn't notice at first, but he does.
“Hey man,” he calls casually. “Play with her.”
Eddie, too lost in the way you keep rolling your hips, blinks like he misheard. “–What?”
Steve chuckles, “She’s used to it. Go on, don’t make her wait.”
Eddie turns back to you, but you don’t say anything, just look at him, chest rising faster, lips parted, a thin sheen of sweat starting to gather at your temples. And when his eyes search yours for permission, you nod.
That’s all it takes. Eddie’s hand slides down your stomach, dipping lower and lower, until he finds the paradise between your legs.
Oh fuck.
“Baby–you’re soaking through my jeans,” he groans, trailing the wet patch seeping through your panties.
You giggle, but the second his fingers go past the lace and brush over your clit, you let out the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. A little gasp of surprise, hips bucking slightly since you've been waiting for him to touch you right there all night.
Eddie almost comes in his pants. “Jesus–you’re perfect.”
He doesn't slide his fingers in yet, he doesn't need to, your slick is already dripping onto his jeans, smearing over his rings. You just grind into his hand, chasing your high. Every sound you make goes straight to his dick, every breath, every flutter of your lashes, every soft whimper of his name. He’s about to put a finger in when–
“Stop.”
Eddie freezes at your firm voice, his hand stills as panic takes over his chest. “Did I–did I do something wrong?”
Steve’s already standing from the couch, ready to lift you off Eddie’s lap if you need him to. But you just let out a sweet little laugh and shake your head.
“No, you’re perfect. I want you to take your shirt off first,” you shrug, as if you hadn't caused both men a near heart attack.
Steve exhales, muttering something about “always testing him” as he plops back onto the puff. You smile at him apologetically, he just shakes his head pretending to be annoyed but you see the smile tugging at his lips.
“Oh,” Eddie says, blinking a few times before actually breathing again. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that, sweetheart.”
He fumbles a little, taking off his vest first, then his jacket, then–he hesitates for a second. It’s not that he’s insecure about his chest, but his tattoos now have fresh new roommates in the shape of multiple scars scattered across his skin from where he’d been attacked. And he doesn’t know how you’ll react to them.
You notice the doubt flashing across his eyes as his hands stop reaching for the shirt. “Are you okay, Eddie?” You ask, and now you’re the one wondering if you did something wrong.
“Yeah,” he chuckles, trying to not sound too pathetic. “It’s just–my…my scars,” he says, avoiding your gaze.
You hum softly, “Steve has them too.”
Eddie’s head perks up at that, and his eyes go to the shirtless man on the couch.
“Yeah man,” Steve breathes, straightening up, pointing at the lovely little bite marks the bats had left on his skin.
Eddie squints and sees them washed in the glow of the nightlamp. He’d been so busy freaking the hell out when he arrived that he hadn’t even noticed that Steve’s chest indeed had marks. But not as many as him, and at least the hair around it makes up for it, he’s not sure his pale chest–
“Eddie…” You cup his face to gently guide it towards you. “You can keep your shirt on if you feel more comfortable that way, but know that I don’t care about what’s under there. I just want to feel your skin closer,” you reassure.
Eddie almost proposes right there and then.
Okay–maybe he’s getting ahead of himself. But shit. He decides it’s wiser to just nod, and peels off his shirt in one rough pull. You look him in the eyes before looking down, and he nods again. Your eyes go down his bare chest, pale as you expected, not as filled out as Steve’s, and not nearly as hairy–but the tattoos and the scars make him the most badass rockstar you’d ever seen.
Eddie’s breath stills as you look at him like you like what you see. Like he’s the prettiest thing in the room. And then you make sure he hears it.
“You’re so pretty, Eddie,” you smile, pulling him in for another kiss. Your hands smooth over his skin, fingers tracing the tattoos on his chest, the scars down his sides, the happy trail leading to a happier place. “So hot.”
You whine into the kiss, hips rolling again making him forget about the fact that he’s shirtless in front of you and instead he remembers–right. His fingers.
Eddie reaches for you, pulling your panties to the side again. He slides two fingers between your folds, slow enough to drink every second of the way your jaw drops when you feel his rings deep inside you, the way your eyes flutter shut, how you let out a desperate little sound that goes straight to his cock.
“Eds…” you moan, walls clenching around fingers and metal.
“You feel–fuck, baby, you feel so good…so tight…”
He finds his rhythm easily, all insecurities set aside by how fast you’re falling apart on his fingers.
Eddie knows what he’s doing. Those hands–those guitarist fingers don’t play. They move with instinct, with intention. His fingers curl, dragging quickly through your walls before pressing back in. The rings are a plus, cold metal against heat, and you gasp when one of them hits the spot.
“Oh–Eddie–”
“That’s it angel, keep dripping all over me,” he coos, pumping harder. “Can feel you clenching when I talk like this. You like being a good girl for me?”
You nod, it’s all you can do. Steve just watches. Watches the way your body moves. The way your face twists with pleasure. The way your mouth drops open with every stroke.
But he catches something else. He always does.
Your head tips forward, forehead pressing into Eddie’s shoulder, breaths coming out in little broken sounds against Eddie’s skin as he works every inch of you. You keep grinding your hips, chasing more even as it starts to overwhelm you. A sudden wave makes your moan turn into a whimper, and your nails dig on his shoulder instinctively pushing him away.
You cry out, that’s when Steve speaks.
“Hey–easy, Munson,” he calls out, not angry, but still firm enough that it makes Eddie slow down. “Remember what I said about going easy the first time? You go too rough too soon and she’s gonna be shaking for the rest of the night.”
“Sorry–” Eddie says immediately, but you cut him off.
“It’s okay, Eds. We’re still learning each other,” you reassure, still giving him that dazed, happy look. He exhales in relief. “Just…a little slower, that’s all. I’m not really used to the rings.” You say it so sweetly, that he just nods like a little puppy eager to please.
“You’ll get used to them soon, sweetheart. Promise.”
He pulls his fingers back in slower, watching your face the whole time, memorizing every reaction. It doesn't take long before you’re grinding his hand again and letting out soft moans of pleasure as you find a more comfortable rhythm.
“There you go,,” Steve chuckles, approving. “She’s squeezing you, isn’t she?”
Eddie chuckles back, because he can feel how close you are. Your forehead presses into his shoulder again, mouth brushing his skin as you let out a sound that’s half gasp, half moan.
“Hmm, that sound,” Steve hums, leaning further into the puff, stroking over his crotch. “She sounds like that when she’s about to come.”
“Yeah?” Eddie asks, curling his fingers just right. “Are you close, angel?”
You whimper, hiding your face knowing exactly what they are talking about, but it only makes it hotter for both men to see you like that.
“Don’t you wanna tell him, baby?” Steve asks from his spot, but all that comes out of your mouth is another moan against Eddie’s shoulder. “Hey–eyes on me.”
You obey, turning to meet those wide, hazel eyes. You’re barely holding it together, already breathless. A literal mess on Eddie’s fingers.
But Steve just smiles, wide and bright when you look at him. “Now tell him what you need, sweetheart.”
Your eyes keep locked on your boyfriend as you whisper, “I–I wanna come, Eds…please.”
“Then come, baby. Drench my fucking rings,” he groans in your ear. His raw voice and another curl of his fingers is what gets you there.
Your whole body tenses when the orgasm hits. You let out a broken moan that vibrates in Eddie’s chest and your walls clench around his fingers so tight he thinks you might break them. Your wetness coats his rings, soaks into your panties, his jeans, everywhere.
You collapse, arms flailing to hold on to him, but before Eddie can catch you, you’re already falling back.
“Whoa, hey–” Eddie’s arms scramble to hold you, but Steve is faster.
He’s behind you instantly, steadying you with one hand on your back, the other cupping the back of your head easing you back into Eddie’s lap.
“She goes all soft after,” Steve says, with that fondness he always uses when referring to you. “You gotta hold her up for a second.”
Eddie’s arms wrap around you immediately, as you curl into him still trying to catch your breath. Steve leans to see you, brushing your hair back. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead that makes you smile.
“Hey,” he whispers, eyes scanning your flushed face. “You okay?”
You nod against Eddie’s chest.
“You wanna keep going?”
You nod again.
“Words, baby,” Steve coaxes, and you let out a little breathless giggle when he pinches your side.
“I do,” you whisper, loud enough for both to hear. Then you turn to him. “Thank you.”
For catching me. For checking on me. For letting another man fuck me while you watch.
You don’t even have to say it out loud for Steve to know what you’re thinking. He just brushes your cheek, with an amused smile on his face. “Anytime, baby.”
You shift on Eddie’s lap, turning back to him, lips brushing his cheek before placing your hands on his chest to look at those pretty brown eyes. “Thank you too, Eds. You made me feel so good.”
“Y-Yeah?”
You hum, patting the spider tattoo on his left peck. Once you feel like you regained your strength back again, you slide off his lap and drop to your knees in front of him.
“That’s my girl.” Steve praises. So pretty on her knees.”
He rounds the bed to grab a small pillow, then drops it to the floor next to your knees, nudging it with his foot until you shift just enough to be on top of it. You lean to kiss the back of his hand as a silent thank you.
Eddie is too busy remembering how to breathe for the 100th time to say anything.
You settle between Eddie’s legs, hands resting on his thighs, your lashes fluttering as you look up with all your attention back on him. “I wanna thank you properly.”
Eddie laughs nervously, then whistles low. “Shit–then go ahead, sweetheart.”
Your fingers go to his belt–because of course he wore a fucking belt–and Steve chuckles from your side, one judging eyebrow raised. “Why did you even wear a belt, dude?”
“I thought I was coming over to watch, not to get fucking blessed,” Eddie shakes his head in disbelief, pushing himself up to help you lower his pants.
His ass barely touches the mattress when your hands are already tugging his briefs. He laughs, out of sheer nerves and excitement, lifting again to take off the last piece covering him.
He springs out.
And just as you thought. Just as you dreamed, he’s big. Eddie fucking Munson is packing a thick, flushed pink, already leaking cock just inches away from your face.
Pretty boy with pretty eyes and an even prettier dick.
You let out a sweet, pleased little dreamy sigh, when you feel his heaviness in your hand. “So pretty,” you praise, then lean in and press a soft kiss to the tip of his cock.
You reach out, eager, hand wrapping around him to guide him toward your mouth like a lollipop. Eddie makes a noise no one in that room knew he was capable of.
Eddie sees heaven. Sees the clouds, hears all the symphonies and shit.
“Jesus fuck–”
Steve steps behind you again, crouching down. He runs his fingers over your spine, drawing delicate circles that don’t match the words that come out of his mouth.
“You think you can take another, baby?” He asks, kissing the back of your neck. “Getting bored of just watching…”
You glance back at him, hand still wrapped around Eddie’s cock, and look down to see the fabric of his pants barely containing his.
“Let me take care of you too, babe,” you chuckle, lifting your free hand to reach sideways, tugging Steve’s sweats and briefs down in one pull. He steps forward, letting you take him in your hand like you’ve done a hundred times.
Now you have two, very hard, very beautiful, very yours, dicks in your hands.
You give Steve one long, wet stroke with your tongue that makes him drop his head back and groan. Then, with a little giggle, you turn and give Eddie the same treatment.
“Fucking hell, Harrington,” he gasps.
Steve smiles, watching you go from one the other, teasing both. “Oh, I know.” He cups the back of your head, stroking your hair. “Show him, baby. Show him how good you are.”
You hum with Eddie in your mouth, the sound vibrating just enough to make him curse under his breath.
You begin taking turns. Your lips are glossy and warm and full, as you switch between them.
Steve. Then back to Eddie. Then back to Steve again.
Your hand stroking one while your lips wrap around the other. Back and forth. Eddie’s thighs start shaking with the effort of not coming in the first thirty seconds of this glorious torture.
He’d never seen anything like it.
He has both hands fisted in the floral sheets, barely keeping himself together as you take him halfway down and then pull away with a soft, wet pop that makes his vision go white, only to switch to the one who’s supposed to be your man.
And if it wasn’t enough, Steve hands reach behind your back when you put him in your mouth, bending over you with his cock so going deep it makes you gag, to unclasp your bra, freeing your titties for both of them.
He’s fighting for his soul at this point.
You split apart from Steve, taking a deep breath to recover from his dick touching the back of your throat, and wipe your mouth before looking up at Eddie with a smile.
“Hey Steve?” You call, eyes fixed on Eddie’s to catch his reaction. “Why don’t you get the camera?”
The…camera???
“Wait–what?”
“Don’t you want a little souvenir?” You tease, titling your head.
“What the fuck–what–do I want a–?”
“Steve likes it,” you shrug.
“Oh yeah,” Steve chuckles, already crossing to the bookshelf in the corner of your room. “I like it–but she loves it, man,” he adds smugly,
“You have photos…doing it?”
“Whooole collection.” Steve drawls, finding what he was looking for. “You’d go crazy.”
He is going crazy.
Steve walks back over holding a black Polaroid camera, and hands it directly to Eddie, who’s still gripping onto the sheets for dear life.
“I–” He stammers, looking at you.
You shrug. “My hands are busy,” you smile apologetically, too damn sweet for the situation.
Eddie finally takes the camera after a deep exhale, and leans back to lift it. He frames your pretty face between his thighs, lips parted open, spit shining on his cock. Then your mouth wraps around his tip again, and Eddie moans, loud and shaky, nearly dropping the camera.
He captures the grip of your lips, the way your tongue flicks over his slit, the stretch of your mouth when you sink deeper. Then you pull away and take Steve into your mouth instead, and Eddie moves the camera closer, watching your throat move, your hand still stroking him at the base.
It’s a miracle you are alternating, because if it had been just him, he would’ve busted in your mouth in under a minute.
You feel flash after flash after flash. Picture falling one after another, scattering on Eddie’s thighs.
“Holy shit,” Eddie chuckles. “This is filthy. God, you look so fucking good like that.”
Another flash. Another picture falling next to his balls.
You pop off of him with a messy sound and a smile at the compliment, licking your lips as you turn to Steve.
“Your turn, baby,” you whisper.
Steve steps closer, and you feel the way he starts twitching in your mouth. It doesn’t take long before he grabs your hair, and starts thrusting to get himself off.
Eddie’s eyes widen, pulling the camera aside to enjoy the view. The way Steve holds you there. The way he fucks into your mouth, chasing his release, his fist tangled in your hair, his chest rising hard and fast as you take all of him.
Steve finally comes in a few strangled moans, making sure he stays inside until you swallow every drop of his cum. He strokes your cheek with one hand, pulling out, reaching down to wipe the corner of your mouth. “There you go, baby,” he praises, still breathless. “So good for us.”
You don’t take more than a few seconds when you turn to Eddie, chest heaving, but before you can lean down again his hand comes up, stopping you.
“Wait!” He says, coming off a little louder than he means to.
Your brows furrow. “Are you–are you not enjoying it?”
“No no, Jesus–no,” he rushes, “You’re–you’re perfect. You’re actually heaven. I swear. It’s just…if you keep going like that…I won’t last.”
Steve huffs out a laugh, immediately understanding where he’s coming from.
Eddie wants to save his cum for when he gets lucky to actually fuck you.
Steve steps forward, helping you get to your feet. “Well,” he says, amused, “you’re a lucky bastard, Munson. I’m a man of my word, so I’m gonna let you fuck her properly now.”
Eddie gulps. Your eyes light up.
“That’ll get you going just fine.” Steve adds.
He takes the camera from Eddie’s side, then walks back to settle onto the puff in the corner again, naked, angling the Polaroid camera like a professional.
You take a moment to get rid of your panties, before pushing Eddie back onto the bed, making him crawl back until he’s in the center on the mattress, his curly hair draping over your multiple pillows. You climb over the pictures and his body until you’re hovering over him.
Eddie doesn’t expect you to turn around, but there you are, moving away to straddle him in reverse, giving him a perfect view of your ass. His heart is racing so hard he can hear it in his ears, yet a devilish chuckle still comes out before he can stop it.
“You want Steve to see your face while you bounce on my cock, sweetheart?”
You nod, biting your lip even if he can’t see you–because Steve sure can–lifting yourself up with your hands on his thighs. “God, yes.”
You reach to line him up beneath you, teasing the tip only for a second because you can’t wait any longer than that to feel him inside.
You sink down without giving him any warning.
“Holy–fuck,” Eddie groans, throwing his head back onto the pillows. “Jesus fucking Christ, you’re so tight–”
He only shuts up when he hears the moans you let out as he stretches your walls so painfully good. He feels as huge as he looks, he fills you as well as you thought he would. He’s balls deep inside you. Your knees are on either side of his hips, ass to his stomach, fingers digging into his thighs as you begin to fuck yourself on him.
From the corner, Steve lets out a low hum of approval as you bounce harder on Eddie’s cock, chasing your second orgasm. He strokes himself with one hand, the other snapping shots of the way your tits bounce, the way your face twists every time you sink down, the way you never stop looking at him.
Flash. Flash. Flash. Tug. Tug. Tug.
“Fuck yes, baby–look at you. You look like a fucking porn star.”
You smile at him, then turn over your shoulder, just a little to see how your other boy is doing.
Eddie’s falling apart.
His eyes are glued to where your bodies meet. To his cock disappearing inside your folds. And if the sounds were obscene before–they’re so much worse now. Between Eddie’s grunts, your moans as you ride him, and the clicking sound of Steve’s camera, this was a full blown production.
A priceless one.
And then you make that sound again.
The same sound you made the second time Eddie saw you fall apart on Steve’s cock. The sound you made with his fingers deep inside you. The sound that haunted his fucking dreams.
“You’re getting her there, man,” Steve says, stroking himself faster to the next series of whimpers you let out. “Make her feel good, then cum inside her. She loves that shit.”
Eddie nods. “That okay, angel? Want me to fill you up?”
You can't even speak. You just nod frantically, gasping as your rhythm begins to falter, and your thighs start shaking.
“You gotta come again first, sweetheart,” Eddie says through gritted teeth, grabbing your hips to push himself up into you. He can feel you pulsing around him.
“Steve–fuck–I’m gonna–”
“Then do it, baby,” he growls. “Come on his cock.”
You come harder than the first time. Your mouth drops open in a choked moan as your orgasm tears through you. Eddie nearly comes from how tight you clench around him.
But no. He still wants more from you. Needs it like he needs oxygen.
This time he does catch you when you slump forward, sitting up still buried inside you, placing a kiss on your shoulder as you both catch your breath. But the quiet doesn’t last long. He’s still hard inside you, and the devil on his shoulder tells him to finish what he started.
He earns a sudden yelp from you when he flips you, pushing you onto your stomach, pulling your hips back, and lining himself up again from behind…just like he’d seen you that day. Face in the sheets. Ass up. Wet pussy glowing under the nightlight. Floral sheets wrinkled under your body.
Deja vu.
But this time, it’s not Steve–no, he’s just watching. Eddie is the one pushing his cock deep inside you with a harsh thrust that makes your whole body rock forward.
He’s not that gentle anymore. Not in a mean way. Never in a mean way, but in a I-need-to-come-inside-you-now way. His hands are gripping your skin, knuckles going pale, holding you down as you become a mess under him.
He looks up to the couch, and he expects to see at least an ounce of the jealousy he’d felt the day he saw you with him, but all he sees is Steve’s fist going up and down furiously on his cock. The camera had been dropped as soon as your cheek had hit the mattress.
He wanted to see it. See you fall apart.
“…Holy shit, dude, go for it,” Steve whistles low in approval, chuckling when he hears your strangled gasps every time Eddie slammed into you. “Let him, baby,” he coos. “Be a good girl and take all of it.”
He really gives you all of it.
Eddie’s sure he only survived ‘86 just to see the way your tight little asshole contracts with every thrust he drills into your swollen pussy.
“Eds–Eddie–”
“I know I know. Almost there, angel. Gonna fill you up real good,” he coaxes over your small whines, “wanna see you dripping with my cum.”
Eddie slams into you once more, then groans so loud it echoes across the wallpaper walls, and finally spills inside you with a cry.
Steve comes in his own hand as Eddie pulls out of you, slapping your ass a few times with his cock before you collapse onto the bedsheets. Eddie falls right behind you, blinking up at the ceiling, coming down from his high.
In the middle of all the panting, your chests rising up and down, he doesn’t really know what he’s supposed to do next. Part of him expects to be handed his clothes and a polite “thanks for coming.” But instead, you instinctively roll over to him, wrapping your arms around his body and burying your face against his chest.
Steve just chuckles, finding his briefs on the floor and throwing them on, then finally walking over to where you’re cuddling Eddie, running his hand through your hair with a little smile.
“She gets kinda clingy after.”
You don’t even lift your head. “Don’t be rude.”
Steve grins wider. “Sorry, baby. Cute is the word. She gets cute after.”
You hum again, approving this time. Then, you let out a sigh of exhaustion, voice muffled in Eddie’s chest, “you guys are fucking crazy.”
Steve snorts. “We are crazy?”
“I didn’t exactly suggest a threesome, sweetheart,” Eddie chuckles, hugging you tighter.
“Whatever,” you giggle. “Just…don’t let me fall asleep like this.”
Steve kneels beside the bed and rubs your back gently. “Want a shower, baby?”
You shake your head. “Bath.”
“Bath it is.”
He places a kiss on your shoulder, then stands and walks to your bathroom. A few moments later, Eddie hears the water running.
He could’ve stayed like that forever, really. With you curled into his arms, naked with his seed still inside you, surrounded by the filthy pictures he’d taken of you. His hand comes up hesitantly, brushing your hair back with the same tenderness he always sees Steve do it.
Where does this leave him though? Is this a one time thing? A hit and run? How can he go back to his normal life after this?
He’d already been losing his mind over you for weeks. He’s never getting over this.
“Are you okay?” You ask, snapping him out of his thoughts.
“Me?”
“Yeah, your heart is beating really fast,” you say, hand resting lightly on his chest, right over it.
Eddie laughs under his breath. “Uh. Yeah. I’m just…kinda expecting for someone to tell me to get up and leave?”
You hum softly, nuzzling closer to him. “I don’t want you to leave, Eds…”
He doesn’t get to say anything before Steve returns, a pink towel slung over his bare shoulder as he stands on the bathroom door.
“Well, dude,” he says. “You bringing her or what?”
Eddie looks down at you, all cozied up in his arms. You don’t say anything, but you smile, soft and sweet and welcoming as always.
The sun in his arms.
He's not sure what the hell is next for him now. But at least for tonight, he’s staying.
And I ain't gotta tell him, I think he knows
Thank you so much for reading! hope you enjoyed 👀🤭
Summary: Joel has been your customer for six years, and after what happened on his tailgate you can't wait for more, but you don't expect just how much more he can give.
AN: Where the first part was LOOSELY based on a real interaction I had, this is not haha. You do not have to read Part One to enjoy this. Content Warnings under the cut in small red letters for those who want to avoid spoilers.
Word Count: 9.5k (but I promise it's worth it)
My Masterlist
CW: dominant Joel (obviously, it's me), spitting, dirty talk, orgasm denial, unprotected p in v (be better than them), use of vibrators, oral (female receiving), fingering (female receiving), consumption of alcohol, pet names (baby, darling, sweetheart), adorable flirting.
The excitement of going to Joel’s a few weeks ago was squashed before it could even fully form. Your phone rang just as you were about to drive to his place. His voice was panicked and vibrating, almost like he was speaking through his heart.
“I am so fucking sorry. Sarah fell. Thinks she broke her arm. Fuck. They were riding their bikes. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
You calmed him down, talked through his entire drive to the hospital. He texted you a few hours later; Sarah had indeed broken her arm and was in surgery to have it set. He apologized again which was completely unnecessary, and yes, you told him that.
It’s been a few weeks since your dirty tailgate rendezvous. You haven’t seen Joel at work, presumably because he’s been taking care of his daughter. A man taking care of his daughter, who is probably in a lot of pain, shouldn’t make you hornier, but it does. It really really fucking does.
Thank god for your favourite audio erotica creator, Texas Hold ‘Em. He releases new audios every Friday and his voice is the only thing that’s been able to take care of what Joel couldn’t.
Unfortunately, this Friday you got stuck at work longer than you intended. Every single thing went wrong; from point of sale programs crashing, to a truck breaking down, to two of your employees being struck down by food poisoning. When you’re finally able to wrap up for the day you’re frustrated and annoyed, and all you can think about is the filthy words that Tex has in store for the listeners. Even though his audios get hundreds of thousands of listens, and nearly the same amount of comments and likes, it always feels like he’s talking just to you. Every word he says and every kink he has lines up with your sexual interests and desires. Plus he has this deep, almost growly moan, that settles in the base of your spine each and every time.
The fact that he’s completely anonymous is equal parts erotic and aggravating. His profile picture on the app is just a close-up of his hand holding a whiskey, a black on black Rolex around his wrist. It’s embarrassing how often you search social media outlets for him.
You have plans tonight with a bottle of wine, your vibrator, and his smooth Texas twang, but you’re like an addict. The moment your car door clicks shut you open the app and scroll to your favourite audio of his. You just need to hear his signature line, the line he uses in every single audio that he pairs with a clit shattering moan.
“Let me see what I do to you, darlin’.”
You start your car, easily finding your favourite one. Tex’s heavy breathing fills the car and your body immediately starts to melt into the leather of your front seat. You let your eyes flutter closed for a minute and your mind wanders to what this dirty-talking king might look like. Joel Miller pops into your mind, he talked you through it a few weeks ago, he probably is just like Tex during the real thing.
Two gentle knocks on your window startle you. Your eyes fly open, head jolting to the left. Staring back at you are the deep brown and golden flecked eyes of the man you were just fantasizing about. Your fingers scramble to the touchscreen of your vehicle, desperately trying to remember how to pause the audio. Your heart leaps into your throat as the volume increases instead of stopping.
Fuck. How do I work this thing??
Your mind is blank, fingers jabbing desperately at the screen. When you can’t figure it out you turn the car off, then try your power window. When that inevitably doesn’t work since the car is off you crack your door open.
“Hey. Hi. Joel. Hi.”
Was that all one word? Was it even a sentence? Or a greeting. Fuck.
Joel steps back and opens your door the rest of the way. He’s dressed in his signature work attire; steel-toed boots, dark wash jeans, a grey “Miller Construction” t-shirt that matches the one he gave you, and a forest green flannel that’s left unbuttoned. Much to your vaginas chagrin, he doesn’t have the sleeves rolled up his forearms today. He looks down at you with one eyebrow raised, a little smirk pulling at the right side of his velvety soft lips. The dimple that forms in his cheek is enough to ruin your entire life.
“Whatcha doin’?” He inquires. Based on the smug tilt of his lips you know that he heard the erotica you were listening to.
“Umm, just heading home. What, uh, what are you doing?” You can feel your cheeks turning crimson.
“I was coming for gravel,” he says flatly.
“Right. Well, you’re in the right place for that,” you respond and cringe internally. “Oh, how’s Sarah?”
“Good, thank you,” he smiles softly, clearly touched that you asked. “She’s feeling much better so I figured I’d get back to work.”
“Good. Better is good,” your heart is pounding and you hate that you can’t form a coherent thought right now. When he doesn’t respond you start to ramble, your eyes now fixed on your steering wheel, your hands gripped at ten and two. “Healing. Which is what you want. She’s young though. Not like us. Glad she’s -“
“Can you do me a favour?” Joel asks, cutting you off - which you’re grateful for - bending at the hip so he’s at eye level.
“Y-yeah. Of course,” your breath hitches when your gazes meet. He’s so close and the smell of freshly cut grass and sunscreen fills the minuscule amount of space between the two of you.
A devious, almost devil-like, grin spread across his perfect mouth. “Start the car.”
It’s hot all of a sudden. Way too fucking hot, and it’s hard to breathe. You lick your lips, tracking the way Joel’s eyes move to watch your tongue as it runs along your mouth.
“Why?” Your question is a shaky whisper.
His voice is rough and sandpaper-like, but feels like warm oil as he rasps, “Good girls don’t ask questions. They just obey.”
Your eyes peel away from his, looking towards your dashboard. You’ve parked far enough away from work that your staff wouldn’t be able to see or hear what’s happening. Your fingers tremble as they move from your lap to the push-button start. You can’t hear the audio over the erratic pounding of your heart until Joel speaks again.
“I can do better than that,” All you can do is nod. “So you agree?”
“Yes,” you hum, airy and desperate.
“Get in my truck, baby girl.” Once again, nodding is all you can do. He laughs silently, reaching across your lap to undo your seatbelt. As your body turns he says, “Turn off the car, sweetheart.”
He extends a hand to help you out. The moment his fingers wrap around yours he pulls gently and you stand on wobbly legs. Once he feels that you’re steady enough, Joel’s hands move to cup the sides of your face, his dull well-kept nails scraping against the base of your skull, guiding you gently to look up at him.
“I’m sorry I haven’t texted you in the last few weeks,” he hums, his forehead coming to rest on yours.
“It’s okay,” you murmur, your hands slipping under the hem of his shirt. The skin of his hips is warm and smooth, and the feeling of him sends sparks of electricity up your arms.
“It’s not. I should have reached out,” his eyes lock onto yours. At this proximity, the honey coloured flecks are almost gold.
“Joel, you were taking care of your daughter. Honestly, it’s okay.” You try to reassure him.
“I missed you.”
His words echo through your skull, his forehead rolling against yours, his mouth getting closer.
“You getting soft on me, Miller?” You quip.
He chuckles, dark and devious, before he growls, “I’m never fucking soft around you, darlin’.”
Just when you think you might die if he doesn’t kiss you, his mouth crashes down on yours. You moan into his lips as he pulls you closer, his fingers tangling tighter around the hair at the nape of your neck. Your hands slide further into his shirt, up along the muscles of his back and you kiss him with an intensity you’ve only ever read about. He breaks the kiss to gasp as your nails trail down the muscles that line his back. His head tilts back in pleasure and you take the opportunity to sink your teeth into his neck.
“Get in my fucking truck before I ruin your pretty pussy right here on the side of the road.”
If he keeps being this vocal then he will be better than Tex. Maybe you can convince him to swirl a whiskey glass around to hear the ice cubes clink melodically on the glass as he talks to you; another signature move of your favourite creator.
You laugh as he steps away so you can move, locking your car on your way. He follows behind you, grabbing your wrist when you try to open your door.
“Joel, I can open my own door,” you say with a fake pout, all while loving how much of a southern gentleman he is. His other hand swats your ass and you squeal. Ok, how much of a southern gentleman he sometimes is.
“I know you can, but you shouldn’t have to. Now be a good girl, stop pouting, and get in.” You step onto the running board and sit on the soft black leather of the passenger seat. “What do you say?”
“T-thank you,” you breathe.
“Sir.” He adds sternly.
You smile over at him then as sweetly as possible you coo, “Thank you, sir.”
“Buckle up, darlin’.”
The door shuts, leaving you in silence and everything seems to move in slow motion. Joel walks around the hood of the car, the way he says ‘darlin’’ feels far too, well.. you can’t really place how it feels. Familiar doesn’t seem right. Comfortable, maybe? All you know is that it tumbled from his lips as if he’s called you that for years. You follow his movement as his hand raises and cards through his hair, the soft brown curls twirling along his thick fingers. A quick flash of something glints at his wrist.
Is he wearing a watch?
You and Joel have been flirting at work for almost six years, and every time you have forced yourself not to look at his tanned, vein-lined forearms. Mainly because the first time you did it your brain turned to mush and he had to repeat his question. Six years, and you can’t remember if he’s always worn a watch or not. You shake your head as he rounds the hood, reaching for his door. People wear watches, it’s a normal thing to do, you’re just pent up and have spent far too much time listening to Texas Hold ‘Em audios. This is Joel, a friendly single father and your customer, not a professional voice actor who records himself talking about sex - dirty, kinky, freaky sex.
That very unhelpful little voice in the back of your mind adds, ‘but how well do you really know him?’ just as Joel opens his door and climbs in. You buckle up your seatbelt as he starts the engine. Before doing up his, he turns to you.
“I know I said this last time, but I need to say it for my peace of mind. We do not have to do this. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to. It changes nothing for me. We can stay in this customer and supplier bubble, we can be just friends, or we can be more than that. But it’s whatever you’re comfortable with. Okay?”
You’re touched that he’s said it again, but it’s unnecessary. You want him, you’ve wanted him since the first day he walked into your workplace and he smiled at you from across the showroom when you said hello. The same day his forearms made your brain fuzzy.
“Joel,” your voice is low and serious; you swear he stops breathing as he focuses all his attention on you. “I have thought about how your body would feel against mine since the first day I laid eyes on you. I want this. I’ve wanted this for six years. So take me wherever, get naked with me, and fuck me until I forget my name. Because I swear to god I’m about twenty minutes away from becoming a scientific anomaly and spontaneously combusting from how badly I want you.”
He moves quickly, leaning over the console, the tip of his hooked nose brushing yours. Just when you think he’s being soft and sweet, he forces a hand between your thighs and cups your pussy, just like he did a few weeks ago, using his other hand to pull the lap band of the seatbelt tight. You try to grind into his palm but you can’t move.
“That what you want? My cock buried deep in this tight little pussy while I talk you through it, darlin’? Is that what he does? The man on that app?”
“Yes,” it’s more of a whimper than a word when it leaves your lips and your eyes flutter shut.
“Good, because I’ve been dreaming about being between these thighs for a very long time,” he presses the heel of his palm along the seam of your jeans and you gasp. Is he really going to make you come this easily again? He keeps the pressure on your clit but doesn’t move as he continues. “Open your eyes, I need you to listen carefully.”
You obey, mainly because you thrive in situations where you’re told what to do, but also because you know that being good will get you rewards with Joel.
“There she is,” he says with a crooked smile, revealing the dimple on his cheek, and then continues. “Do I have your consent to take you to my house, get you naked, give you as many orgasms as you can handle, and whisper filth into your ears?”
“Yes, please, you have no idea how badly I want you.”
A growly, content hum rumbles in his chest. “God it makes me so hard when you’re polite like that.”
He kisses you, firm and quick, before situating himself back into the driver's seat and clicking on his seatbelt. The two of you slip into easy conversation as he drives. He tells you his daughter is away for the next few nights with his brother and his wife. Sarah’s sixteenth birthday is next weekend so they took her on their yearly celebration trip. He jokes about how spoiled she is when it comes to Tommy and Maria. The way his face lights up when he talks about his daughter causes you to melt into your seat. You’ve never wanted children, but it seems like Joel is raising a good one!
You pull off Main Street into a quiet neighbourhood. It’s lined with big trees and perfectly manicured lawns. He pulls up onto the long driveway of a well-maintained white craftsman-style home with a large front porch, cedar shingles and a deep forest green front door. The garage is behind the house, and he pushes a button on the remote clipped to his visor and the small metal gate slides open. As it rolls along its track, a black lab that’s more salt than pepper ambles over to the truck, its tail wagging lazily.
“Oh my goodness. Joel Miller has a dog?”
He grunts a noncommittal sound as he slows the truck to a stop.
“What’s its name?” You coo as he parks his work truck just outside the garage and turns off the engine. You’re trying to play it cool about this discovery, but you want to pet the dog almost as much as you want Joel to pet you.
“His name is Buttons,” his hand clamps over your mouth. “And before you laugh or say something smart. I don’t have a dog. Sarah does. And she named him when she was three.”
His hand falls from your mouth and if that’s not the cutest fucking thing you’ve ever heard then god can strike you down right here, right now.
He hops out, you do the same. As he comes around the truck Buttons comes to greet you first. You bend at the knees, putting your hand out. “Hi, Buttons. You’re so cute.”
He lets you pet him and then wanders to Joel. “Hey, old boy,” he says softly, patting his haunches. “You have a good day? Keep the squirrels out?”
You look up from where you’re still squatting down, smiling at this domestic side of him. Six years, and everything about being at Joel’s house just fits. The green door, the dog, the pool, and the impeccable eye for detail in his landscaping.
“Huh,” he hums when he looks back at you, “Kinda like you like that.”
“You’re in luck then,” you flirt back, wide-eyed and fake innocence painting your face.
“That so?”
You lower your voice to a seductive tone. “Yeah, I happen to like being on my knees.”
He tries to hide his excitement and anticipation of what it will be like to finally have you. But you catch the slight flare of his nostrils, the jump of his Adam’s Apple, the way his hand flexes as he pulls it away from the dog. It’s quick, less than a second, before he schools his features and rasps, “You have exactly twenty seconds to get into my house.”
You stand, pursing your lips in challenge.
“Twenty,” he states, your clit tingles before you speed walk towards his house. As you brush past him he loops an arm around your waist, and pulls you in, holding your back against his broad chest. “Nineteen.”
“Cheater,” you poke, trying to wriggle free.
“Eighteen,” he whispers. “If you don’t make it to the door soon I might not let you cum tonight. Seventeen.”
You twist your body, using every muscle you have to try to free yourself from the anaconda-like grip he has around you. It enrages you when he lets out a cocky chuckle at your efforts, taking a few easy steps towards his house with you in tow.
“Sixteen. Or maybe…maybe I will let you cum. Let you cum so much and so hard that you beg me to stop. Fifteen.”
You spin towards him. Pressing your breasts into him. If he’s going to play dirty, so will you. “You talk a big game for someone who’s restraining their opponent.”
“Fourteen,” he says with a smirk and a wink, following it up with, “Thirteen.”
You wiggle your arms between his grip, grabbing your shirt and yanking it up over your head. You silently thank the version of you from two days prior for procrastinating laundry. All you had for today was a black mesh bra with embroidered flowers that covers absolutely nothing. You feel his cock harden against your hip.
“Twelve. You always wear something that sexy under shirts with my name on them?” His voice is different now, deeper, huskier.
“Maybe,” you hum, watching the way his eyes greedily take in the sight of your nipples pebbling through the fabric. “My panties match. I’ll show you if you let me go.”
He cocks an eyebrow at you, wrapping his big hand around your wrist before letting go with his other arm. “Eleven, show me.”
You pop the button of your jeans as he takes another few steps towards his house, you walking backwards in time.
“Ten. Chop, chop. Let’s see how fucking good you look under those clothes, baby.”
“Which one do I get?” You ask and he squints in confusion. “No coming, or coming so much and so hard that I beg you to stop?”
He laughs, deep and gentle and full of lust. “Nine. Begging, I’ve been waiting to hear you beg. Eight.”
You move your hands to the waistband of your jeans. Joel’s grip loosens and you take that opportunity to spin your wrist and break the hold, sprinting the few steps to his back door. You make it to the house just seconds before he grabs you, squealing as he spins you, pressing your bare back against the cold metal of the door. You try to arch off the cool surface but you’re pinned, and when Joel’s hands move to cup your breasts you don’t move, you let him take what he wants.
His lips collide with yours, hungry and desperate. Kissing him is more than you could have imagined - and you’ve imagined it a lot. You sink into him, going pliant. His thumbs run along the nearly non-existent fabric of your bra and you moan into his mouth. His tongue flicks against yours the same time his thumbs run over your nipples.
“More,” you gasp, bringing your hands to push at your unbuttoned pants. Joel steps back just a touch, grabbing your wrists and shaking his head at you. You can’t help the whine as you say, “Please.”
“Not yet. Remember that little audio you were listening to?” You nod, blushing even though you’re not feeling an ounce of shyness or embarrassment. He continues, gathering both your wrists into one of his hands, the faint beep of him entering his door code as he speaks. “I want to watch you touch yourself to my words.”
You swallow, squirming slightly at how fucking turned on you are.
“Yes, sir,” you breathe, his eyes moving from your face to your breasts, watching the rise and fall. “Whatever you say.”
He drops your wrists, one hand wrapping around the back of your neck as he pulls you in for another rough, hurried, hungry kiss. Your hands scramble for purchase along his biceps, gripping the flannel of his deep green and blue shirt. You feel like you’re floating as he guides you into his house, pulling you to who the fuck cares where, his mouth never leaving yours. Your shoes eventually meet something plush, his other hand grips your hip tightly, squeezing reassuringly before he pulls back.
Your eyes flutter open, Joel’s hand slides from the nape of your neck to your cheek and you lean into his touch.
“I love the way you melt into me,” he whispers, the pad of his thumb running along your bottom lip and you can’t help but bite it gently. He chuckles quietly, “Careful, baby. There’s a whole side of me you’ve never seen before.”
“That was probably supposed to be a threat, but it just sounded like fun,” you state as he steps away, walking towards the built-in bar in his living room. You glance around, taking in the plush chestnut brown leather sectional, a forest green blanket folded neatly over the back of it. He has a wooden coffee table that’s stained a deep brown, a design magazine and a library book from school stacked on top of it neatly beside the TV remote. Everything is tidy, and decorated. From the warm eggshell white of the walls that are covered in photos of Joel and his daughter, to the light pine hardwood floors, and the fuzzy white rug you stand on, this house is a home. Your heart aches slightly at the lack of domesticity in your life. You’re typically not comfortable in new places, especially in just a bra, yet this feels…natural? Like you fit, without trying.
You’re sucked back into reality by the gentle clink of ice cubes. When you look towards Joel he’s leaning against the bar, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a highball glass. He crosses one leg over the other as you both stare at each other. He’s rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and your gaze zeros in on the whiskey glass. He swirls the golden amber liquid. Your mouth goes dry when you see the black watch. It’s all too familiar.
Big Tex.
“Time to lose those pants, sweetheart,” he instructs, bringing the glass to his lips. A shiver runs up your spine when his tongue peeks out to wet his lips before he takes a sip.
You don’t hesitate, toeing off your shoes before hooking your thumbs through the waistband of your open jeans and sliding them down your legs. You push your shoes off the carpet and then toss your pants towards the couch. He gives you a tender, almost warm, smile that’s completely at odds with how intense his eyes are as they trail up and down your nearly naked body.
“Fuck,” he mutters, then pulls his hand from his pocket and twirls his index finger, prompting you to spin. You move slowly, keeping your eyes on him over your shoulder as you move in a circle. “Christ, baby. It’s illegal that they make you wear so much goddam PPE at that place.”
You laugh quietly as you face him again. “Have a feeling you’d never get any work done if I was like this behind the counter, Miller.”
He lets out a knowing laugh as he sips his whiskey again, then says, “You got that right, and now I’m gonna be rock fucking hard every time I go in there knowing you’re like this under all those clothes.”
You laugh, then jut your chin towards his drink as you say, “Not going to offer me one?”
“You like whiskey?” His voice is light, like he’s genuinely curious about what sort of nightcap you enjoy so he can file it away for later.
“I’m willing to try anything once.” You wanted to sound cool and flirty, but your voice wavers.
“That’s so?” He watches as you nod. His eyes darken before he growls a single word that nearly ruins you. “Kneel.”
You sink down, the rug fluffy and soft on your knees.
“So fuckin’ pretty,” he coos as he walks towards you. Once the toes of his boots meet your knees, his thumb comes to your chin, pulling gently to part your lips. “Is this okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
Joel brings the crystal glass to your lips, pouring a small drink of the deep golden amber liquor into your mouth. It hits your tongue, sharp and smoky. It heats your throat, the warmth following the liquid down to your stomach. This should be humiliating, being nearly naked and on your knees while the man you’ve had a schoolgirl-like crush on for years is fully dressed and feeding you whiskey. But the way he watches as you swallow is so fucking erotic; pupils blown out, lips pressed together, the muscle in his jaw flexing when your lips first wrapped around the glass, his hooded eyes moving from your mouth to your throat as you swallow. Some of your staff say that Joel is hard to read, saying he seems grumpy or in a hurry. But with you, he’s always worn his thoughts and emotions on his sleeve.
“More,” you finally manage.
Instead of repeating his previous actions, he brings the glass to his lips and you fight a whimper of desperation. Because that’s what you are. Desperate. For more. For him. For all of this to never stop. He takes a pull from the glass, then taps your bottom lip with his thumb. Your heart and stomach - fuck, even your brain - feel like you’re skydiving, but you open your mouth, trusting that whatever plan he has for tonight is with your pleasure in mind. Joel bends forward, his broad body blocking out the living room before he lets the liquid fall from his mouth into yours.
“Don’t swallow yet,” he rasps, pulling away and keeping his thumb pressed to your lip. You look up at him towering above you, eyes wide and innocent, and he looks at you with a mix of heady lust and soft admiration. “You are so fucking beautiful.”
It’s not the first time a man has said that to you. However, it might be the first time you truly believe it. His fingers move to your chin, guiding you to close your mouth. He gives you a nod and you swallow. The heat from Joel’s eyes follows along with the warmth of the whiskey. His eyes tracing its path until they land on your barely there bra.
“Bring your hands to your breasts, play with them gently.” You obey, cupping yourself and lightly squeezing, a small moan escapes your throat and you press your thighs tighter. Joel turns, wandering back to the bar and resuming his earlier stance - leaning back, one leg crossed over the other, swirling the whiskey glass, the other hand in his pocket.
“Does that feel good?”
You hum in agreement, letting your eyes flutter shut. Could he really be your favourite creator?
“Play with your nipples, sweetheart. Make them nice and hard for me underneath that slutty little bra.”
You swirl your fingers over them, back arching in response. “Eyes on me,” he growls before adding, “Harder. Pinch them.”
“F-fuck,” you whimper, the twinge of pain only heightening the growing ache at your center.
Joel smirks, “You like it a little rough, don’t you?”
“Mmmmm, yes,” you hum, smiling soft and sweet.
“Take it off.”
You pop the front closure clasp of your bra, catching the way his cock grows harder behind his jeans. A distinct outline now pressing against the dark denim. The cool air of the room pebbles your nipples further as the embroidered scrap of mesh falls to the floor, landing beside your knees.
“Good girl. Show me just how rough you like it.”
You slip your bottom lip between your teeth then pinch both your nipples between your thumb and forefinger.
“Oh god,” you gasp, sinking on shaky legs to sit on your heels.
“That’s not my name, and I don’t share. Joel or sir only.” His ice clinks again and you whimper. “Unless you think you can guess my other preferred name.”
“N-no,” you breathe, rolling your fingers over the sore peaks of your breasts.
“Pinch, baby.” He instructs. You follow, crying out softly. “Let me hear it. Then I’ll let you show me how messy that pussy is right now.”
“Please, sir,” you practically sob, not recognizing your own voice as you pull on your nipples. “Please.”
“Hands on the floor behind you,” you suck in air, trying to catch your breath as you move. “Atta girl. Spread your knees.”
The rug is soft on your sun-kissed skin as you adjust to how he wants you. You blink down at your panties and then back up at him. His words from earlier finally register, his other preferred name. A shy confidence creeps in.
“I want to guess,” you whisper.
With almost menacing need painted across his features he stands, gives you a gravel-filled command to ‘stay’ and then walks down the hall. He turns into one of the rooms. It feels like he’s gone for hours and seconds at the same time when he reappears. He’s removed his boots, but otherwise appears to be the same. He stops in front of you, his socked feet in line with your bare knees. He pulls his hand from his pocket, a small vibrator in his grasp.
“Go ahead then, sweetheart. What else do you think I like to be called? If you get it right, I’ll let you pull your soaked panties to the side and press this to your clit.”
You swallow hard then clear your throat. “Tex,” you guess, your voice wavering.
One side of his mouth pulls upwards, a dimple carving into his tanned, stubble-covered cheek. “Smart girl.”
Approximately four-point-five-million questions race through your brain. Joel, Joel Miller, is Texas Hold ‘Em?! Joel Miller is Tex? Tex, who has nearly a quarter of a million likes, comments and listens on his audios. Joel. Your customer Joel, has talked you through multiple orgasms. He has audios that are partnered with your purple vibrator, so essentially, he has given you multiple orgasms.
A soft whisper interrupts your thoughts, “sweetheart?”
You blink Joel back into focus. His expression is shy and nervous. Almost like he’s worried you’re going to pack up and leave, or that things will change now. Based on the sheepish look on his face, the way his cheeks are slightly flushed, his big brown eyes dancing around your face, you can’t help but wonder if this is the first time he’s told someone about his little hobby.
“Are you okay?” He asks at the same time you say, “Are you really?”
You both laugh quietly and share the same answer of “yes”. He tucks the vibrator into his pocket and then holds his hand out to you to help you stand. As you steady yourself on your feet he breaks the silence again.
“You still want to do this?”
“Yes, sir,” you smile as he steps in close, his free hand wrapping around you. You moan quietly as your nipples meet the soft cotton of his shirt. So close. He’s so close to being skin to skin with you and you suddenly realize you’re craving something that you’ve never experienced with this man before.
Joel isn’t that much taller than you, but as you tilt your head up to look at him you feel like all those tiny women in the romance books you read. That feeling is only heightened when he bends at the knees, throwing you over his shoulder as if you’re a bag of feathers and not a fully grown woman who often avoids the scale. You squeak out a giggle as the world turns upside down and you’re blessed with the beautiful view of Joel’s muscular ass. He carries you towards the bar where you hear the sound of glass being placed on granite and then he’s on the move again, wandering down the hallway. You crane your neck to try to see where he’s taking you, hoping it’s his bedroom, biting back a smile when you’re right.
His hands come to your outer thighs as he lowers you to the ground. His touch leaves fire-blazed lines behind as he runs them up to your hips, his fingers hooking into the waistband.
“May I?” His words are kind but the way he’s looking at you like a starving animal is not.
You nod, “Yes, please, sir.”
You expect a slow lowering peel, him kneeling as he pulls your panties down your leg, you resting a hand on his shoulder as you step out of them. Instead, you’re met with a rough tug, the mesh fabric tearing from your body. You gasp, jolting forward until your naked body is crushed against his fully clothed one. He doesn’t catch you, just lets you crash into him as he looks down at you with a devious grin.
“Tell me to stop and we stop,” he rasps.
“No, I want a safeword, Tex.” You pinch your bottom lip between your teeth, watching the flex of the muscle in his jaw as he thinks. When he doesn’t respond you add, “Whiskey. My safeword will be whiskey.”
He cocks his head to the side, eyes dancing along your face. He seems to be contemplating, testing to see if you mean it. “On your back on the bed, legs spread as wide as possible.”
You step away and climb into his bed, Joel Miller’s bed, tamping down the girlish giggle building in your throat that comes with the realization that you’re finally in his bed. You lie in the middle, head resting on a pillow that smells like him: sunscreen, freshly cut grass, and laundry detergent.
“As wide as possible,” he reminds, his voice basically a groan.
You move your legs apart, the room quiet aside from both of your heavy breathing and the sound of your smooth skin gliding across his cotton duvet cover. The cool air of the room hits your pussy, and you realize how wet you are.
“Fuck me,” he whimpers, frozen in place at the sight of your exposed center. He stares for a few heartbeats, watching you get wetter. He sucks in a breath, bringing his hand to his pocket and pulling out the vibrator. “Think I owe you something, don’t I?”
“Anything you want.” And you mean it, anything he wants. Any time. Anywhere. Any position. Any universe. He steps up to the side of the bed, holding the toy out to you. Before he hands it to you he clicks it on.
“On your clit, no coming until I say.”
You’ve heard this before from him, you didn’t know it was him, but one of your favourite audios is him denying the listener a few orgasms before he finally allows them one. With shaky fingers you bring the vibrator to your pussy, dragging it from your entrance to your clit, making it nice and slippery. As the toy hits your most sensitive bit of flesh you let out a euphoric exhale, groaning softly as you melt into the mattress. You don’t take your eyes off Joel.
“That’s my girl,” he hums and you preen at the praise. He drops your torn panties to the floor and peels off his flannel overshirt, letting it join your ruined underwear. “Swirl it around for me.”
You’re embarrassingly close to falling apart already, but you listen, circling your swollen clit with the tip of the vibrator. Your legs start to close, your eyes flutter shut, and your breathing picks up its pace. It’s so good, better than you could have imagined.
“Oh my god - fuck, fuck,” each word gets breathier, less annunciated.
“Legs open!” It’s a command, a bark, his voice like sandpaper and gravel. You jump, eyes flying open to look at him, legs pushing wider. “Don’t make me ask again.”
“Sorry…sorry,” you make bigger circles with the vibrator, trying to avoid the orgasm that’s threatening to pull you under. Joel reaches one arm up and over to the back of his shirt, his bicep flexing deliciously before he tugs, revealing his strong, broad chest. Dark hair dusts his pecs and stomach, a trail leading down to the waist of jeans. Your voice is desperate, “All of it. Please. I need to see you. Feel you. Please.”
He unhooks his belt, yanking it from the loops of his jeans. Hundreds of impure thoughts surrounding that belt flood your mind. “More,” you gasp.
His thumb and forefinger pop the button of his jeans next, the metal on metal of the zipper sounding loudly over your practically heaving breaths. In one swift motion, he tugs down his jeans and boxers. When he stands to full height you’re truly fucked.
Joel Miller is…devastating. An Adonis. All warmth and muscle and…home. His cock juts out, rock hard, straight and slightly veined. The tip is wide and soft-looking, pre cum leaking from the slit.
“I’m gonna come,” you scream.
“Do it, show me what I do to you,” he growls. That’s it, that’s the saying in his audios that has gotten you off more times than you want to admit.
“I can?” You gasp, squeezing every muscle in your body as tight as possible, desperate to obey his earlier orders not to come until he says.
He rips the vibrator from your hand and you cry out a ‘no’.
“When I say to do it, you fucking do it. Now, you have to wait.” He taunts, climbing on the bed to settle between your spread thighs. He stares at your sex, licks his lips and then tuts, “Too bad, really. A pussy this pretty deserves to get to feel good.”
“I can do it right now. I promise. Please, Tex,” you beg, unashamed at how needy you are, especially when you see how hard he has to restrain himself at your pleas.
“No, no. I said you have to wait,” he whispers, bringing his fingers to your soaked flesh, running them along the outer lips, spreading your arousal. His eyes start to hood at the feeling of you and you melt even further into his bed. “You’re so fucking soft.”
You want to reply, want to flirt and compliment him, but the sight of him sitting between your legs, his eyes shining with admiration, his lips parted and swollen from earlier kisses, the glint of his infamous watch as his fingers run along your cunt is too much.
“So wet, too. Is this all for me, darlin’?” You pray the question is rhetorical, but the gentle slap he lands on your clit demands an answer.
You jolt up to rest on your elbows, forcing your legs to stay in place. “Yes,” you sob, your head feels like it weighs a hundred pounds as it rolls back. “Yes, it’s all for you, sir.”
He moves to loom over top of you, bringing his slick-covered fingers to your mouth. You don’t need instructions. You part your lips, letting him push his fingers along your tongue. You gag as he hits the back of your throat and then close your lips around his digits and suck.
“No coming until I say,” he reminds you, pulling his fingers from your mouth, saliva falling onto your chin. Everything happens so quickly, his lips crushing into yours, his soaked fingers easily slipping inside of your pussy, the collective groans you both let out, your arms going boneless so you fall to the mattress, the rapid spread of fire through your veins.
“I’m…” you whine, unable to finish the sentence when he pumps his fingers forward against your G-spot. Your hands clench the sheets painfully.
“No,” his voice is low and rough as ducks his head down your body. The flat of his tongue finds the stiff peak of your left nipple.
“No, no, I’m - oh fuck - I can’t,” you plant your feet on the mattress, trying to get away, desperate to follow his orders. But he’s too strong. Too wide. Too determined to make you break.
“No and can't aren't your safeword,” he taunts, the deep baritone of his voice rumbling through you. He pulls your nipple into the heat of his mouth, swirling his tongue around it teasingly.
“Joel,” you sob, all the vowels of his name lasting too long as the walls of your pussy contract around his fingers that are working at you with an expertise even you have learned. “I’m, please, let me, please.”
He pulls his fingers free with a lewd squelching noise and as you cry out in protest he bites down on your nipple.
“Ah, fuck,” you hiss, hands coming to his shoulders, feet thrashing. “That hurts.”
He releases your abused nipple and you suck in a breath, looking down at him. “No, don’t stop.”
He chuckles darkly, giving your nipple a gentle kiss. “I’m not stopping until I hear that safeword.”
Joel dives back in, simultaneously taking your other nipple into his mouth and slipping his fingers back inside of you. He’s the perfect amount of rough, always pulling out of you just as you’re about to hit that peak, that moment of no return where your body will succumb to the orgasm.
‘He’s going to kill me, I’m sure he’s going to kill me’, you think as he pulls away for the fifth time.
A sheen of cold, frustrated sweat coats your skin. Every muscle in your body is sore, aching for release. He trails kisses down your sternum, his short beard and moustache scratching against your overly sensitive skin. He follows your ribcage, around to your right side, alternating between kisses and flicks of his tongue as he heads towards your hip.
“Please, Tex. I can’t do it anymore.” Your words are basically a mumble, the room spinning as you look down at him settling between your thighs. There are teeth marks on your breasts and in random places on your sides. All spots he bit after not allowing you to come, the pain distracting you from the impending orgasm all while intensifying the ache between your legs.
Joel hooks his arms under your legs, pulling you open for him with the breadth of his shoulders. “I’m not stopping until I hear your safeword,” he repeats.
“But, the safeword means to stop,” you whine, tilting your hips towards his face.
“No,” he whispers, the heat of his breath hitting your cunt, the walls of your pussy fluttering in hope of finally getting what you need. “It means I’ll stop this little game we are playing. And then, if I still have your consent to touch you, I will make you come.”
You groan in frustration, looking up at the ceiling. You assumed he’d eventually give in, let you come and then start teasing you all over again. But that wasn’t his plan, and you hate that you hadn’t asked earlier what saying the safeword meant. The feeling of his warm tongue drawing a slow, flat line from your entrance to your clit pulls you from your thoughts. Your hands fly to his hair and you moan loudly. His tongue presses against your sensitive bundle of nerves and you’re right on the edge again. Teetering, grasping to the ledge like you’re hanging off the side of the Grand Canyon without a harness.
“Miller, please. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop,” it’s all air and desperation, your hands guiding his head, and in turn his tongue, to your clit. “Fingers, please. I need your fingers too.”
Two of his thick fingers slide in easily, your arousal and his saliva enough wetness for him not to have to take his time. The pinch of the stretch heightens your pleasure. Close, so very fucking close. You start to worry about what will happen when you do come. You’ve never been edged like this, never been turned on like this, never felt a burn of this intensity between your legs.
You don’t realize how tense you are until Joel’s raspy voice sounds between licks, “Relax, darlin’. Say the word, say it and I’ll keep going. Say it and I’ll let you come. Let me see what I do to you.”
He curls his fingers forward, his other arm coming out from underneath your leg, using his forearm to pin you to the mattress. His watch catches the light, and he dives back in. Holy fuck, my favourite erotica actor is licking my pussy.
“Whiskey,” you sob.
Joel keeps his pace, fingers pumping, the flat of his tongue swirling your clit. He only pulls away to say two gravel-filled words, “good girl”, before focusing on you and your high.
Your hips grind on their own, legs shaking as you’re pulled closer to the breaking point. The muscles behind your navel tighten.
“I can’t. Tex, I can’t,” you gasp, panic evident in your tone.
“Right here, baby girl,” he half whispers, half murmurs, his tongue barely leaving your sex. “I got you.”
The sounds that pass your lips would be embarrassing if it weren’t him in the bed with you. Supportive. Kind. Absolutely filthy.
“Fuckfuckfuck,” you whine, grasping at his shoulders, nails carving little half moons into his tanned skin.
“Show me what I do to you, darlin,” he commands, his voice exactly how it is in his audio and you crumble. You more than crumble, you split in half, sucking in breaths as your body convulses.
There’s probably sounds leaving your lips but you can’t hear them. All you are is a writhing, vibrating ball of intense pleasure. Every nerve ending sings as your pussy clenches tightly around his fingers again and again. Just when you think you might start to come down he slurps your clit into his mouth and you come harder, hips pinned to the bed by his strong forearm. You squeeze your eyes tight, a burst of red lighting up the dark. It’s never-ending, and you realize how very wrong you were to think the edging was when he was trying to kill you.
You lose track of how long your orgasm lasts, but as you veer into overstimulation you yank at his soft curls, pulling him away from your clit by his hair.
“Wh-whis…” you don’t finish the word before he’s pulled his face away from your pussy, stilling his fingers but not removing them. You peel your eyes open and look down at him, beard soaked, lips shiny, that dimple carved into his cheek as he smirks at you. “Holy fuck.”
He laughs quietly, a second dimple denting his other cheek. “You okay?”
You nod, arms falling heavily from his body to the mattress. “Yes, no, but yes. Fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard.”
“Texas Hold ‘Em at your service,” he jokes, and now it’s your turn to laugh. “Are you okay if I pull my fingers out?”
“Yeah,” you say. Adding a slightly fearful, “Slowly.”
“Okay,” he nods, unpinning your hips to knead at your inner thigh as he takes his time pulling his fingers free. His eyes flick up to your face often, watching for any signs that he needs to stop or move even slower.
Once free, you force yourself up, grabbing his wrist and bringing his fingers to your lips.
“Careful, darlin’. You do that and I’m going to fuck you.” His voice is low and serious.
“Is that a threat, Tex?” You flirt, skimming the pads of his fingers along your plush bottom lip.
“It’s a fucking promise,” he challenges.
You giggle mischievously, “Tell me again what will happen if I do it.”
“If you suck your arousal off my fingers I am going to fuck you. Hard. Until you come again around my cock,” you tongue peeks out, licking the little bit of yourself off your bottom lip. “Then I’m going to push you into overstimulation until I come all over your perfect little cunt.”
“Will you clean yourself off of me after?” You feign innocence while asking. Joel contemplates your offer, his dark eyes dancing around your face. When he doesn’t answer right away you panic, clarifying to not sound as depraved, “With your fingers, Miller, so I can suck them clean again.”
He cocks an eyebrow at you. “Fingers? Is that what you really want?”
You shake your head, “No. I want you to lick it up and then spit it in my mouth.”
Before he can respond or register what you ask you part your lips and take his fingers as deep as possible. Your mouth waters at the sweet tang of your flavour. You keep your eyes on Joel’s, watching the way his pupils dilate before he fucking whimpers at the feeling of your tongue swirling his fingers.
You pull your head back, his fingers now clean. “You okay there, big boy?”
His answer is a grunt and a shove, your back hitting the mattress with a thud before he hauls your legs over his shoulders. He easily bends you into a tantric human pretzel, his hands braced on either side of his head. His cock glides against your clit.
“What did I say would happen?” His voice is almost dangerous.
“That you’d fuck me until I came again.” You hum.
“Nope, repeat it. Word for word.”
You follow his commands. Repeating exactly what he said, his hips flex forward, the friction on your sensitive flesh taking your breath away each time.
“That’s my girl,” he praises, inching back to line the head of his cock up, prodding gently and driving you insane. “Fuck I love hearing that pretty little mouth say such filthy words.”
“Sir, please,” you whisper.
“I…” he’s stalling, eyes moving from your face to his bedstand. “I can wear a condom. But I do have a vasectomy, and I was tested a while ago.”
“How long ago?” You want to feel him bare so badly.
“A year or so. Haven’t fucked anyone in a while.”
His confession makes your heart swell. He’s so goddamn handsome, he could get a million women if he wanted to, but this confirms to you that he’s not like that.
“I have an IUD and I’m clean, too.” His body jerks in excitement, sparks shooting through your pussy at the friction. “Oh fuck.”
“How old are the results?” Typically, these conversations are awkward and unsexy, but with his cock warm and heavy, and resting on your pussy it’s just adding to the heightened anticipation.
“Same as yours,” you admit, your cheeks flushing at the little white lie. Yours are closer to two years old. Between work and everything else you don’t have a lot of time to date. Thank god for the internet. “Fuck me bare, Tex.”
That gets him, and with one push his hips meet yours and you cry out. A heady, intoxicated, blissful moan fills the room, mixing with his sounds of pleasure.
“Fuck, baby girl. I’m not going to last very long,” he murmurs. “So tight.”
“Me either,” you say with a whoosh of an exhale. He’s hitting spots you didn’t know existed and this position has him deeper than you’ve experienced in a very long time. “Please move. I need you to move.”
He obliges, pulling his hips back until just the tip is left inside of you. Both of you look down, but even when you crane your head you can’t see. You look back up at him, watching his throat work down a swallow. “This pussy was made for me.”
Without warning he slams back inside of you. He repeats that torturously slow drag of his cock out, pausing for a moment or two, and then crashing his hips back into yours. Once. Twice. On the third time, you cry out.
“F-fuck, Joel. Right - oh my god - there. Right there.”
“Just breathe,” he reminds you, repeating the pull of his hips. “Takin’ me so well.” He thrusts forward and even though it seems impossible you’re ready to come again.
“I need to come,” you beg, not recognizing your own voice for what feels like the hundredth time tonight.
“Rub your clit,” his voice is strained and you know he’s holding back from his own orgasm. You tuck your hands between your bodies right before he bends forward, catching your lips in a rough kiss. His tongue passes your lips, tasting your mouth as he rocks in and out of you at a steady pace. He swallows your moans and you swallow his.
Heat builds deep in your belly, spreading to your back and up your spinal cord before your entire soul sees whatever is beyond heaven. Joel pulls away from the kiss as you sob out in pleasure. You hear little bits of the praise he offers.
“So pretty when you come”
“Squeezin’ me so tight”
“Fuck you’re gonna make me cum, baby”
“Atta girl, take what you need”
Your orgasm crests with a full body shudder, as the walls of your pussy start to slow, Joel pushes himself up, pushing your legs wide, his hands digging into your inner thighs. You pull your hand away from your clit, playing with your nipples as he continues to fuck you.
“Christ,” he hisses as you tug at your nipples. “So fuckin’ sexy. Gonna cover this wet and swollen, little pussy in my cum. Claim you as mine.”
“Show me,” you whimper, using his own dirty words against him. “Show me what I do to you, Joel.”
Your name and a heady ‘fuck’ fall from his lips before he pulls out, wrapping a hand around his cock to pump up and down roughly. His eyes flutter shut, but he didn’t make it easy on you earlier, so you don’t let him get away with it.
“No, baby,” you command, reaching forward to cup his balls as he jerks himself off. “Eyes on my pussy. Make it all messy.”
A sound you never could have imagined comes from Joel’s throat. It’s a moan, a whine, a sound of pure ecstatic bliss. You glance down, watching his dick twitch in his hand before thick ropes of cum land on your pussy, coating it in him.
“Fuck that’s so hot, Joel.” You massage his balls and another shot of white cum leaks onto you. He takes a few quick breaths, then sits back on his heels, his head falling back as he sucks in deep inhales through his nose. You do the same, and just as your eyes fall shut Joel moves quickly, his hot tongue drawing a slow line up your pussy. He slurps your clit into his mouth before he brings his face to yours. You smile, then reach up to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him. The mixture of your cum passes from his mouth to yours and then back again. Both of you swallow it down greedily. The flavour is intoxicating, addictive, a dream that you didn’t know you even had and cannot wait to repeat.
Joel Miller. Your best customer and now the best fuck you’ve ever had.
How the heck did Joel end up screwing Sarah’s best friend over a yoga mat? Well, that was one good story.
You tugged your gym bag higher on your shoulder as you knocked on the Miller’s residence, expecting the usual routine: Sarah, waiting by the door, ready to get off for pilates with you.
Instead, the door cracked open to Joel.
“Hey, darlin’,” he greeted, leaning his shoulder against the frame. “Sarah ain’t here.”
You blinked, frowning. “What do you mean she’s not here? She told me to come pick her up at nine. Class starts in twenty minutes.”
Joel scratched the back of his neck, looking almost sheepish. “Well… she took off ‘bout an hour ago. Said somethin’ ‘bout seein’ her boyfriend. Took the pickup, too.”
Your chest tightened with irritation. “Are you kidding me? She does this all the time after she started dating that guy Matt. I don’t even know why I bother making plans with her anymore.”
Joel shifted, clearly uncomfortable at the way your voice sharpened. He’d always hated seeing you upset. “If it helps any, I would’ve offered to drive ya. But… like I said, she took the damn pickup.”
You exhaled hard, shaking your head. “Great. Now I’m going to be late. No way I can get across town in time without a ride.”
He opened the door wider, letting you step inside. You dropped your bag on the entryway bench, muttering under your breath about Sarah’s flakiness. Joel watched you, and his heart ached in a way he didn’t have the right to let it. Because the truth was, he loved seeing you here, even if it was under circumstances that made you frown.
Joel Miller had been a lot of things in his life, a hard worker, a single dad, the reliable neighbor who mowed the lawn before anyone else on the street, but never had he expected to find himself so tangled up in feelings he shouldn’t have, you’d been Sarah’s friend since grade school, he remembered driving you both to soccer practice, hearing your laughter from the backseat. He remembered late-night sleepovers, when you’d raid his fridge and call him Mr. Miller, teasing him for his strict bedtime rules.
But you weren’t a kid anymore, and that was the problem. Now, every time you walked through his front door, with your pretty smile and those leggings hugging your figure, Joel had to force his eyes elsewhere. He had to bury every thought. You were Sarah’s best friend, which meant you were off-limits in every way. Didn’t stop the fantasies, though. Sometimes, when he was alone, he thought about you stretched across his couch, sliding his rough hands up your thighs, reaching your heart-shaped ass. He thought about you in his bed, about your voice moaning his name in the dark. And then he’d curse himself, because Joel Miller wasn’t the kind of man who let himself want things he couldn’t have.
“Sorry,” you muttered now, dragging him out of his head. “I shouldn’t be unloading all this on you. Just—it’s not the first time she’s ditched me over Matt, you know? And I actually look forward to those classes.”
Joel shook his head. “Ain’t nothin’ you gotta apologize for. I get it. Sarah’s young, she don’t always think about how her choices affect other people.” His mouth quirked, faintly guilty. “She gets that from me, I reckon.”
You softened a little at that, watching him scratch at his jaw. “Don’t say that. You’ve always been a responsible dad. If anything, she’s lucky to have you.”
Joel swallowed, feeling the warmth crawling up his neck at your words. He busied himself by clearing a couple of mugs off the counter, needing something to do with his hands. “Well. Since your plans got ruined, you can stay here a bit, if you want. I just brewed a pot of coffee.”
You considered it, then nodded, slinging your bag onto the chair. You liked hanging out with Joel. “Yeah. Why not?”
Joel poured you a cup, he always remembered how you liked things: coffee, tea, your favorite snacks. You weren’t his, never would be, and yet he couldn’t help memorizing these details like they mattered.
Joel couldn’t stop watching you, the way you perched on the kitchen stool, the mug in your hand, your leggings stretched tight against your thighs… it was killing him. He tried to fix his eyes on the counter, the sink, the damn coffeepot, but his gaze kept dragging back to you. It wasn’t the first time he’d been caught like this. Ever since your teenage years started to fade into adulthood, Joel had been fighting this war inside himself.
She’s Sarah’s friend. She’s too young. She deserves better than a man like you. He told himself those things over and over, a mantra he clung to. But God, it was hard when you were sitting just across from him.
He cleared his throat. “So… how’s school been treatin’ ya?”
You rolled your eyes with a little smile. “School’s school. Professors piling on way too much work, pretending they’re the only class we have. The usual.”
Joel smirked faintly, sipping his own coffee. “Sounds about right. You always were a hard worker, though. Bet you’re at the top of your classes.”
You shrugged modestly. “Doing okay. Better than some people.”
“As long as there ain’t no boys to distract you, right?” he teased gently, then instantly regretted it. The thought of you with anyone else, boys your own age, some college kid with his hands on you, made him burn with jealousy.
You tilted your head, catching the edge in his tone. “Boys? Please. Half of them act like they’ve never talked to a girl in their life. It’s exhausting.”
Joel chuckled, masking the way relief rolled through him. “Ain’t that the truth. You’d think by your age they’d know a thing or two.”
You leaned forward on your elbows, being playful now. “Oh? And what do men your age know that boys don’t?”
Joel’s throat went dry. The question was innocent enough, but it landed like a gut punch. Men my age know how to make a woman come apart slowly. They know how to put their mouth between her thighs until she can’t think straight. They know how to hold her down, whisper in her ear, make her feel safe and ruined at the same time.
He forced a shrug. “Guess men my age got a bit more patience, is all.”
You hummed thoughtfully, like you were considering that. Joel took a long drink of his coffee just to keep from saying more. You quickly started chatting about your pilates classes then, how Sarah bailed on them half the time, how you actually enjoyed the workout. Joel tried to keep his face neutral, but the word pilates set off another firestorm in his head.
“Helps with flexibility,” you were saying, gesturing idly with your mug. “Core strength, too. Honestly, I feel weird if I miss a class.”
Joel made the mistake of picturing it. You, in those leggings, stretching out on a mat, bending forward, touching your toes, arching your back, and lifting your hips.
Flexible.
In his mind, it wasn’t a pilates mat anymore. It was his bed. You on your back, pulling your knees up to your chest, looking at him with those eyes. Or you straddling his lap, body arching as you rode him, every movement fluid and graceful, impossible to look away from.
Joel shifted against the counter, praying you wouldn’t notice the way his jeans suddenly felt too tight. “That so?” he managed to say. “Flexible, huh?”
You nodded casually, not catching the edge in his tone. “Yeah. You kinda have to be, or you’ll pull something. Sarah always complains her hamstrings hurt, but she never stretches properly.”
Joel grunted in response, but his thoughts were spiraling. Flexible enough to throw your legs over my shoulders. Flexible enough to bend over the counter while I— He cut himself off, and dragged a hand over his jaw. He needed to get a grip. Needed to stop picturing you like that before he lost every ounce of control he had.
“So what about you?” you asked suddenly, tilting your head at him. “You ever try stuff like that? Pilates, yoga, anything like that?”
Joel barked a laugh. “Hell no. I stick to workin’. Construction, yard work… keeps me fit enough.”
You smirked. “Bet you’d surprise yourself. Flexibility’s important at your age, Joel.”
He nearly choked on his coffee. The way you said his name in that teasing way went straight to his chest. Important at your age. His brain twisted it into something else. Flexibility in bed. Flexibility with you bent however he wanted. Flexibility that would let him sink deep into you without a struggle.
Joel set his mug down a little too hard and forced a smile. “Maybe one day you’ll convince me.”
You just grinned, not knowing how close to the edge he was. Joel stood there, watching you sip your coffee, watching the wetness in your lips from the rim of the mug. His fantasies got stronger, he couldn’t help but imagine your mouth open under his, you squeezing him with your thighs around his hips, your voice breaking when he finally let himself touch you the way he wanted.
Joel moved his mouth before his brain could stop him. “Well… if it makes ya feel that weird missin’ a class, maybe you oughta practice here. Won’t be the same, sure, but… could even show me a few things. Might convince me after all.”
Joel instantly regretted saying those words. That had been stupid and reckless. He tried to tack on a laugh, and maybe play it off, but you were already perking up.
“Really?” you asked. “You’d actually try it?”
Joel shrugged, trying to remain casual even if he was dying on the inside. “Maybe. Don’t mean I’ll be any good at it.”
You grinned and slid off the stool. “Okay, then. Consider this your free trial.”
Joel’s stomach dropped, he hadn’t expected you to take him seriously. And sure as hell hadn’t expected you to clear a spot on his living room rug, kick off your shoes, lay your mat, and stand there in those skin-tight leggings, stretching your arms overhead.
His mouth went dry. Jesus Christ almighty…
“Alright,” you said brightly, not noticing the way his gaze locked onto you. “First things first. Basic stretch.” You bent forward at the waist, letting your palms graze the floor, curving your spine beautifully.
Joel nearly groaned out loud as his eyes trailed down the slope of your back to where the leggings hugged your ass, they were so tight and perfect, right there in front of him. He forced his gaze away. Don’t look. Don’t you fuckin’ look.
“See?” you said, peeking up at him from between your legs. “Easy. Even you could do this.”
That angle, the way you looked at him upside down, your hair brushing the rug, your body folded in half… it sent his thoughts spinning to places they shouldn’t go. Easy, huh? Easy to get on my knees right behind you, press up against you, slide my hands over your hips. Easy to bury my face between your thighs, hold you open and— He snapped his jaw shut, swallowing hard. His jeans were doing a terrible job of hiding his throbbing erection.
You straightened and brushed your hair back with a smile. “What’s next… oh! Downward dog.” You stepped back and planted your hands on the mat, lifting your hips high, forming a perfect triangle.
Joel’s composure was shattered. Your ass was tipped up, back arched, legs straight and strong. Every muscle in your body pulled tight, showing off that flexibility you’d been talking about. He could see the curve of you so clearly, he thought he might combust.
You peeked over your shoulder, grinning. “Still think you can’t be convinced?”
Joel’s lips parted, but no words came out. He was too busy imagining what it would feel like to step behind you, grab your hips, and slide into you from that exact position. You’d be so tight, so warm, your voice muffled against the mat while he drove himself deep— He dragged a hand down his face, trying to wipe the filth from his mind.
You dropped into a plank, then lowered to the mat, your chest hovering above the floor before pushing back up. “This one kills the arms. You should try it!”
Joel let out a strangled laugh. “Darlin’, I’m—uh—’m good right here. Jus’ watchin’.”
“Suit yourself,” you said, unfazed, rolling onto your back. You pulled one knee into your chest, stretching, your head tipping back against the mat. “Feels really good on the hips.”
Joel stared. Couldn’t not. Your leg was pressed tight against your body, your foot near your shoulder, showing off a range of motion that made his blood boil. His fantasies went wild, imagining you in his bed, your legs spread like that, begging him to fill you.
“Joel?” your voice broke into his haze.
“Hm?”
“You’re awfully quiet. Don’t tell me you’re bored already.”
Bored. If only you knew. Joel forced a shaky breath and set his mug down before he dropped it. “Ain’t bored. Jus’… surprised, is all.” His voice came out low. “Didn’t know you were this… serious bout it.”
You smirked, rolling to your side. “Told you. I don’t like missing class.”
He shouldn’t have suggested this. He shouldn’t be watching you like this, letting his fantasies slip closer to the surface, but with you laid out on his floor, flushed from stretching, lips parted just slightly… Joel Miller was a man hanging on by a thread.
You extended your legs in front of you, reaching for your toes, your chest rising and falling with steady breaths.
Joel told himself to stay put, to just sit there. Don’t move. Don’t get any closer. But then you groaned softly, wincing as you leaned forward. “Ugh. I swear, my hamstrings hate me today.”
The sound went straight through him, he knew better. He knew. Still, his voice rumbled low. “You’re pullin’ from the wrong spot.”
You looked up, arching your brows. “Oh, really? And how would you know, Mister ‘I’ve never touched a yoga mat in my life’?”
Joel chuckled, standing before he could talk himself out of it. “I know enough about stretchin’ muscles, darlin’. Worked construction half my life. You don’t get far if you don’t know how to keep your body in one piece.”
You smirked, clearly amused at his sudden authority. “Alright then, coach. Show me.”
Joel crouched down beside you, every nerve in his body screaming that this was a bad idea. But his hand was already reaching out, settling lightly on your thigh.
“Here,” he murmured. “Don’t just reach from your back. Engage here.” His thumb pressed gently into the muscle, and you let him push a little deeper, his palm warm against your skin even through the leggings. You bent forward again, slower this time, and Joel swallowed hard at the sight of you folding, stretching, trusting him to guide you.
“Better?” he asked.
You exhaled. “Yeah… actually. Better.”
Joel’s hand lingered too long, he knew it. He felt the heat of your skin under his palm, felt the way his chest tightened just being this close. And when you shifted, reaching again, you brushed his thigh with your shoulder. You glanced up at him then, locking your eyes onto his. And then lower. Your gaze snagged on the bulge in his jeans, impossible to miss now that he was crouched in front of you. Your breath caught, and Joel froze.
Shit. For a second, silence stretched between you. Joel’s face burned with both shame and hunger. He should’ve pulled away, should’ve muttered an excuse, and stood up. But you didn’t look away, your eyes lingered, wide, your lips parting just slightly with curiosity, not disgust.
Joel’s pulse pounded in his ears. He tried to speak, but his voice came out hoarse. “I—shouldn’t—”
You shifted, sitting up straighter. “Joel…” you whispered, his name sounded soft on your tongue.
And just like that, the restraint snapped. Joel slid his hands higher on your leg, brushing the inside of your thigh with his thumb. His chest heaved as he leaned in, close enough to breathe you in, to see the pulse fluttering in your neck.
“You don’t know what you’re doin’ to me,” he rasped.
“I think I do,” you murmured back, flickering your gaze down to his hard-on again, bold this time, then back to his eyes.
Joel groaned, and his other hand came up to cradle your jaw. For one moment, he hovered, torn with guilt. And then he kissed you. It was desperate, messy, like he’d been holding it back for years. His mouth slanted over yours, his beard scraping your skin, tightening his hand on your thigh. You gasped into him, and that little sound nearly drove him mad.
Joel broke away just long enough to whisper against your lips, “Tell me to stop. Please. Tell me and I’ll—”
But you didn’t, you grabbed his shirt instead, pulling him back down, making him groan again, this time into your mouth, pressing his body closer, the hardness you’d noticed now pressed firm against your hip.
Joel’s lips were still hot against yours when he pulled back. His chest rose and fell like he’d just run ten miles. “You don’t… You don’t know what you’re askin’ for,” he whispered like a warning.
You touched his cheek, brushing the rough edge of his beard. “I think I do.”
That undid him. He surged back into your mouth, kissing you like he wanted to devour every inch of you. His hands roamed now, no longer tentative, one gripping your thigh, the other sliding up your back, pulling you flush against him. Your body melted into his, and beneath it all, pressed hard against your hip, was the evidence of how badly he wanted you.
“You said earlier,” he growled, “downward dog.”
Your heart skipped. “Yeah?”
Joel brushed his lips against your ear, his beard scratching your skin as he whispered, “I want you like that.”
The air rushed from your lungs, you nodded, and Joel sat back on his heels, giving you room. With trembling hands, you turned, planting your palms on the rug, pushing your hips high, your body falling into that familiar triangle shape. But this time, it wasn’t for pilates, it was for him.
Joel’s breath hissed out. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ…” His voice was wrecked as he slid his hand over the curve of your ass. He squeezed it, dragging across the seam of your leggings with his thumb. “You’re killin’ me, darlin’. D’you even know how long I’ve—” He cut himself off, curling his fingers into the fabric.
And then he tugged it. The leggings peeled down your thighs until they bunched at your knees. Your panties followed, the soft cotton sliding down to expose you completely. He sat back for a moment, just looking. Taking you in.
“Goddamn…” he muttered, shaking with awe. “Prettiest thing I’ve ever fuckin’ seen.”
He spread you open with his big hands, parting you gently with his thumbs, and you gasped at the exposure. And then, oh God, his mouth was there. Joel groaned as he dragged his tongue through your folds, slowly, tasting you like a starving man. He anchored you, one hand gripping your hip tight, the other spreading you wider.
You cried out, feeling the way your arms trembled under you. “J-Joel—”
“Shh,” he growled into you, his mouth eating you relentlessly. “You stay just like that, darlin’. Hold that pose f’me.”
He licked into you again, circling your clit with his rough tongue, sucking hard enough to make your knees buckle. Joel slapped a palm against your thigh, steadying you. “Uh-uh. Don’t fall. You hold it. Lemme eat this sweet pussy the way I've been dreamin’ of.”
Your whole body quaked as he devoured you. Every stroke of his tongue, every graze of his beard against your skin, sent sparks through your nerves.
Joel groaned like he was being fed, like the taste of you was everything he’d ever wanted. “Fuck,” he moaned against you, his voice muffled against your slit. “You taste so goddamn good. Better than I ever—Christ, I knew you would.”
You whimpered, rocking your hips back against his face. He held you still, controlling your every movement with his strong hands, forcing you to take the pleasure exactly how he wanted to give it.
Your arms shook with the effort of staying up. “Joel—I—I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” he growled, pressing his tongue deep inside you before sliding up to circle your clit again. “You hold it for me. Just a little longer. Lemme ruin you like this.”
The sounds filled the room: your gasps, his low groans, the wet heat of his mouth working you open. You felt like you were unraveling. Joel pulled back with a wet sound, his lips were glistening, and his beard was damp with you. He sat back on his heels, fixing his eyes on the mess he’d made of your pussy.
“Christ almighty…” he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, dragging it over his face like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Then he locked his eyes on your slick folds again. “Look atcha. Just drippin’ f’me.”
You whimpered, rocking your hips back as though searching for his mouth again, but instead, Joel smoothed your ass with his big hand, dragging his thumb teasingly through your wetness.
“Mm-mm,” he hummed. “Think I got somethin’ else f’you.”
He pressed his thick index finger against you, slowly he pushed inside inch by inch, groaning deep as your walls squeezed tight around him. It was only one finger, but they were so long and thick it was almost overwhelming.
“Fuck me…” Joel swore under his breath. “Grippin’ me like a vice already. One finger and you’re squeezin’ so damn good.”
You gasped, your arms were shaking as you tried to hold yourself steady. Joel crooked his finger, dragging it against that soft, swollen spot inside, making your whole body jolt.
Just one of Joel’s fingers felt better than any boy’s cock you’d ever had. It was as if he knew your body by heart, crooking, scissoring, angling them just right. That single digit was reaching places no one else ever had.
“Thass it,” he murmured, stroking over your lower back with his free hand, grounding you. “Breathe through it, darlin’. Lemme feel how good you take it.”
After a moment, he slid in a second finger, and you swore you’d never felt your pussy so opened before, it was stretched around him, his thick knuckles pressing at your entrance, forcing you to yield. It might’ve hurt if you weren’t already so soaked for him, coating his hand with your slickness.
“Jesus Christ…” he rasped, fixing his eyes on the way you clenched around him. “Two of ’em disappear in you like nothin’. You just swallowin’ me down, sweet girl. So greedy. Bet’cha could take more, couldn’t ya?”
You whined, rocking faster against his hand, chasing the pressure, the friction, anything that could push you higher. Joel’s breath hitched as he slid a third finger in, slower this time, watching the way your body struggled, then yielded around the new stretch. Your walls fluttered helplessly, gripping him tight, then pulling him deeper. Your cunt seemed to welcome every thick digit, pulsing around him like it knew him, like it wanted to drag him in to stay.
“Goddamn,” he rasped. “Looka’that. Three fingers, and you’re takin’ it like a fuckin’ champ. This pretty little pussy was made to be stretched.”
Your thighs shook uncontrollably, your wetness was coating every inch of his fingers. The mat beneath you was damp with the mess he was pulling from your body, leaving sticky, shining trails wherever he touched.
Joel pumped his fingers steadily, making sure the heel of his hand rubbed hard against your clit with every stroke. The combination of him hitting your g-spot deep inside and teasing your clit outside was perfect.
“Bet’cha can take all five,” he growled, pouring out every filthy thought he had about you. “Bet this greedy little cunt’ll open up real nice f’me. Mhmm… gotta get’cha ready f’my cock, sweet girl.”
He traced your hip with his thumb, pressing firmly, letting the friction warm and tease your skin. Slowly, Joel curled his pinky in with the rest of his fingers, letting the tip press against your stretched entrance, testing your readiness without forcing it in yet. You shivered and whined at the tease, clenching and pulsing instinctively, desperate for him to push just a little further.
“Since you like stretchin’ so much, darlin’, reckon I oughta stretch this pussy proper.” Your breath caught, and he smirked against your skin, voice. “Yeah. Thought so. You want it. You want me to open you up nice an’ wide. Tell me you do.”
“I—” you cut yourself off with a shuddering moan as his palm rubbed your sensitive nub harder. “I want it. I can take it. Please—Joel…”
“Mhmm. You just needed a real man to treat this pussy like she deserves, didn’t’cha?” he murmured, chuckling. “Needed someone who knows how to make her purr.”
After a little teasing, he finally eased his pinky in, pushing his knuckles at your entrance until all four fingers were seated inside you. The stretch made you cry out and arch your back, but Joel’s eyes went dark with awe.
“Fuck… oh, sweetheart… you’re takin’ all four,” he groaned, almost in disbelief as he watched your walls stretch around his fingers. “Look at that greedy little hole, just swallowin’ me down… Gonna ruin you for anyone else, won’t I? You won’t be fuckin’ any stupid boys after ’m through with this pussy.”
You’d never had a guy give you this much attention before, every movement, every touch entirely for your pleasure, entirely focused on how your body reacted. No one had ever taken their time like this, nothing about Joel was selfish or rushed, he didn’t try to shove his dick inside you to get off and be done. This… this was all about you, and he looked like he was getting off on it just as much as you.
Your slick walls pulsed around him, and Joel worked you slowly, giving you time, coaxing you to open for him. He rubbed your lower back soothingly with his other hand. “That’s it. Relax for me. You can do it. You can take me, sweet thing.”
And then, at last, he pressed his thumb in, joining the rest of his fingers as he slid his broad hand deeper, stretching you wide, pushing past that tight ring with his knuckles until suddenly, he was inside. He curled his fist gently within you, the fullness was overwhelming, and it made Joel drop his jaw at the sight.
“Holy fuck,” he growled. “’m in. Took my whole fuckin’ hand like you were made for it.” He didn’t move his whole hand right away. He held still, letting you adjust to the wide intrusion. “Talk to me, darlin’. You feelin’ it? You feelin’ how wide I’ve got you open?”
You whimpered and nodded, trembling under the stretch.
Joel groaned. “Look atcha… stretched round me, takin’ it so goddamn good. I could watch this all fuckin’ day.”
Carefully, he began to move, drawing his hand back just until his knuckles caught at your entrance, then pushing in again, deeper, filling you to the brim. The wet, obscene sounds as Joel fucked you with his whole fist filled the room, mixing with your cries and his guttural growls.
“Sweet girl,” he rasped. “You don’t know what you’re doin’ to me. Feels like this pussy was made to be filled. You’re swallowin’ me whole, darlin’, takin’ me so goddamn deep.”
Your body shook with every slow pump, the pleasure was building until it was unbearable. Joell gripped your waist tight with his free hand, steadying you, guiding you to remain in position. He had his eyes locked on the sight of his fist disappearing inside you, his face twisted with hunger.
“Never seen nothin’ so beautiful,” he muttered, almost to himself. “You, on your knees, stretched around my fist, beggin’ for more… fuck.”
He pushed deeper until he was grinding his knuckles against that sweet spot inside your velvet walls. You couldn’t help it, a loud cry escaped your lips as your cunt clenched and milked his hand with greed.
Joel groaned brokenly, pressing his forehead to your lower back. “Thass it, darlin’. Stretchin’ you ‘til you can’t take no more. My perfect girl.”
And still, he didn’t stop. He worked you slowly, deliberately, worshipfully, fisting you like it was the only thing he’d ever wanted. Your arms shook under you, your palms were slipping against the mat as Joel’s fist filled you again and again. The stretch was still as devastating as when he first started, almost unbearable, but it sent fire up your spine every time he sank in.
“Don’tcha fall, darlin’. Stay right here for me. Hold that pretty ass up high.” He drew his fist back little by little, until you nearly screamed, then pushed in again, all the way to his wrist, filling you so deep you swore you could feel him in your gut.
You whimpered loudly. “Joel—oh my god, Joel, I can’t—I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” he cut in, clamping one hand on your hip to keep you steady. “You can, darlin’. Hold it f’me. Stay open.”
Your body clenched hard around his hand. “It’s too much—Joel, it’s too much, I can’t hold myself up—”
Joel grunted. “Then don’t. Let go, baby. Put that pretty head down f’me, arch that sweet ass up. I’ll keep you where I want you.”
You collapsed forward, pressing your forehead into the mat, feeling how useless your arms were, the only reason why your aas was still high was because Joel’s grip on your hip didn’t allow otherwise.
The loss of control made you whine, just a desperate high-pitched sound. “Fuck, Joel, you’re... stretchin’ me so much—oh god—”
He pumped his fist in and out of you with hard thrusts. “Thass the point, sweetheart. You like to stretch, don’t you? Like your pilates, huh? Well, I’m stretchin’ you here. Stretchin’ this little pussy ‘til it can’t take no more.”
Your cry cracked into a sob. “Yes! Joel, yes, oh my god—it feels so good, I can’t—”
He sped up just slightly, twisting his wrist and dragging his knuckles over every swollen place inside you. The spongy walls of your pussy were sensitive, but Joel showed no sign of stopping. “Fuckin’ music to my ears,” he rasped. “Moanin’ f’me like that, lettin’ me ruin you. Christ almighty, I ain’t ever seen anythin’ so goddamn beautiful.”
You pushed back against him. “Joel, please! Don’t stop, don’t stop—I need it, I need you so deep, fuck, I’m gonna—”
“Yeah?” His voice turned dark as he leaned closer to growl in your ear. “You gonna cum f’me, sweetheart? Cum all over my fuckin’ hand? Show me how this greedy pussy likes bein’ stretched wide open?”
“Yes, yes, Joel, please—fuck—” Your cries turned frantic, and the pleasure had your thighs shaking violently as the orgasm threatened to tear through you.
Joel knew how close you were, and so he moved his fist faster, pounding into you with ruthless force. Pressing down on your lower back with his other hand, pinning you as well as keeping your ass up and open while he wrecked you.
Your scream split the air. “Joel—fuck, Joel! I’m cumming—oh my god—I’m cumming!”
Your body seized, forcing you to convulse your walls around his fist so hard that Joel swore out loud. “Fuck me—she’s squeezin’ the life outta me—Christ—”
You gushed around him, the slick poured down his arm as the grip of your pussy around him turned into something violent. You sobbed with the force of it, jerking your thighs as you tried and failed to crawl away from the overwhelming pleasure.
Joel dragged you back onto his hand by the hip. “Don’t run, baby. Take it. Cum f’me. Stretch that sweet cunt around me ‘til you’ve got nothin’ left.”
You could hear yourself desperate, and yet you couldn’t stop. Joel’s breath was ragged. “That’s it. Thass my good girl. Soakin’ me... Jesus Christ, you’re perfect.”
The orgasm dragged on endlessly until you were left shaking, your body wrung out and clenching weakly around him. Joel finally slowed, easing his fist back with slick and wet sounds until you were empty again, your pussy fluttering around nothing.
You collapsed fully, pressing your cheek against the mat. Joel sat back on his heels, his arm and fist were glistening with your wetness. He was staring at the mess he’d made of you with hunger.
“Sweetest thing I ever fuckin’ saw,” he said brushing his wet fingers across your trembling ass. “You just about broke me in half with that... But I ain’t holdin’ out another second.” His chest rose hard as he stared at your pussy, swollen and puffy. When his gaze finally lifted to your face, there was no restraint left. “Get on your back for me.”
Your body moved before you could think, easing down onto the mat. Joel followed you on his knees, looming above. He slid his hands beneath your legs, guiding you gently but firmly.
“Show me,” he muttered, “how far you can bend.”
You grabbed the backs of your thighs, pulling them back toward your chest higher and higher, until your thighs pressed into your ribs, your knees brushing your cheeks. He didn’t help you, only watched how you moved. When your feet touched the mat above your head, Joel froze, looking down at how open you were for him.
“Jesus Christ… look at you. Spread open like that—darlin’, you’re givin’ me a heart attack.” Your cunt glistened, every part of you offered up for him.
It was fucking better than every fantasy, every filthy thought he’d ever had about you. You were opened wide, your pussy looking raw and still begging for his cock, your pretty face glistening with sweat, eyes already half-lidded and cockdrunk, even though he hadn’t even given you any cock yet. Your tight body molded perfectly for him to fuck, crying out to be filled.
He leaned back slightly, undoing his jeans with quick and rough movements. The sound of the zipper dropping filled the room, followed by the heavy slap of his cock against his stomach when he freed it.
You swallowed, your eyes going wide when you looked at his thick cock, flushed at the tip and already leaking for you after eating and fisting you before. “Joel…”
He wrapped his hand around the base, stroking once, letting the thickness brush against his palm. “Don’t worry, baby…” he whispered. “I’ll get it in nice an’ slow. Promise it’ll feel real fucking good… gonna make it feel so good, sweet girl.”
It didn’t even look like a cock, more like a destruction machine, ready to hammer into your pussy, tearing and claiming every inch of you. And even as your mind screamed in disbelief, your body arched, already craving it.
He shifted closer, pressing against your entrance with the blunt head of his cock. “Easy,” Joel murmured, splaying his hand over the back of your thigh to steady you. “Breathe f’me. Jus’ let me in.”
When the fat head pressed against you, every nerve screamed, and your whole body arched instinctively. “Joel!” you gasped.
“Shhh, shhh…” he tried to soothe you as he pushed into you, steady, without any rush. His cockhead parted your folds, stretching you slowly, inch by inch. Your lips fell open, and a shaky moan slipped out as the fullness began to spread through your core.
Joel locked his jaw, trying to keep it together even when the feeling of your cunt so tight and hot around his cock, like he'd dreamed many times, was undoing him. “Goddamn… tight as a vise. Grippin’ me already.” He withdrew a fraction, then pressed forward again, a little deeper this time. His cock dragged against your walls, pulling a louder whimper from you. “Good girl. Doin’ so good. Just let it happen. Open up f’me.”
It was by far the best pussy he’d ever had. The warm, tight, slick feel of you, clenching and welcoming him, shook him to his core. It felt like heaven, like the best feeling in the world. He couldn’t believe he was the lucky son of a bitch who got to have it. He didn’t deserve it, an old man, he shouldn’t be doing with his daughter’s best friend… but fuck it, he wasn’t letting this chance go. Not tonight. Not ever. He was going to take every ounce he could get, guilt and morality be damned.
With another slow thrust, he slid more of him inside, making the stretch grow sharper. Your fingers dug into the backs of your thighs, holding the pose as best you could.
“Joel,” you gasped, but your voice cracked. “Oh my god, Joel—it’s too much, I can feel you so deep—I can’t—”
He leaned forward slightly, pressing his chest against your calves as his eyes locked on where you were stretched wide around him. “Shh, darlin’. I got’cha… Just a little more… just one more inch to go, and it’s all gonna be inside that greedy little pussy.”
Then, with one firm roll of his hips, he finally bottomed out, his cock buried to the hilt inside your pussy. A strangled sound left you, half moan, half cry, as your back arched against the mat.
Joel looked down, watching himself disappear inside you. “Fuckin’ hell…” He snapped his gaze down again. “Took it all. Every last inch. Looka’that sweet cunt takin’ this big, fat cock.”
He stilled for a moment, letting you adjust, because even if you had just taken Joel’s entire fist, the sheer size of his length was a big stretch. He rubbed soothing circles over your thigh while you trembled beneath him, gasping at the fullness. When you finally nodded, he pulled back until just the thick head remained inside. The drag made your walls clamp down, and then he drove back in, harder this time.
The mat squeaked beneath your back as the force pushed you deeper into it, your knees were brushing your face, your pussy taking him to the root again.
You moaned with every thrust. “Joel—it’s—ah—uhh—so deep—”
“Damn right it is,” he kept the pace steady, every movement heavy and precise. “Bent in half like this, darlin’… lettin’ me fuck you open. You were made f’r it.”
He gripped the backs of your thighs with his hands, pinning them tighter against your body, adjusting the angle until his cock pressed even deeper, grinding against your cervix.
Your moans pitched higher, more desperate, and Joel’s breath came harsher as his hips worked harder, pounding his cock into you with relentless rhythm. “You feel that?” he growled. “’m right up in your guts, stretchin’ you wide every time. This pussy—” his thrusts punctuated his words, “—was made to take me.”
You whimpered, sliding your fingers to clutch at your ankles now, holding yourself open as his thrusts grew faster.
“That’s it, sweet girl,” Joel’s cock kept driving into you, the wet sounds filling the room. “Offer it to me. Keep yourself spread jus’ like that, show me how bad you want it.”
Your moans grew louder and needier, and you arched your body as his pace pushed you higher and higher. Joel bent lower, pressing his chest against your legs now as his he snapped his hips faster.
“Cum f’me, baby. Let go. Want this sweet pussy squeezin’ the life outta my cock.”
The words tore you apart, they made your body clamp down hard, your orgasm crashing through you, making every muscle tighten as your cunt fluttered violently around him. Joel groaned, but he didn’t stop. He fucked you through it with steady thrusts, pushing your climax deeper, pulling louder cries from you with every drive of his hips.
You came so easily for him, walls clenching, hips jerking, and it was so obvious for Joel that you’d never been fucked like this before, that you needed someone to show you just how good it could feel. It took every ounce of self-control not to cum himself as he watched your sweet eyes squeeze shut, plump lips forming that little “o”, moaning loud. But age, and experience, gave him the restraint he needed.
You dug your nails into your calves, as wave after wave shook you. Joel kept his eyes fixed on you, on your ruined, open body, on the way you pulsed around his cock, and it made his face twist with hunger. “Sweet girl,” he pounded hard with his hips into you, “you’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.”
He drew back, his cock dragging slick and thick against every tender spot inside you, before thrusting back to the hilt with a sharp snap of his hips. You cried out, but the sound was muffled against your own thighs.
Joel groaned through his teeth. “Listen to that. Soakin’ me… every thrust.”
His cock filled you again and again, dragging along your walls in a way that made your eyes roll back until your arms trembled from holding your legs up, from keeping yourself open, and Joel noticed immediately.
You felt like you’d slipped out of reality entirely, lost in the slick haze of sensation. So cockdrunk, so utterly gone. You just let him use you and give you pleasure m. You were his, completely, a vessel for him to fuck, tease, and ruin deliciously.
“Don’t you drop ‘em,” he warned as he slid one big hand over, curling his fingers around your ankle, pinning it tighter against the floor above your head. He gripped the back of your thigh with his other hand, keeping you bent. “I’ll hold you if I have to. You just stay open f’me.”
The angle made his cock grind deep, nudging at what you believed was your cervix. A broken whimper tore out of your throat, and Joel’s mouth curved. “There it is. That’s the one. Can feel you clenchin’ around me every damn time I hit it.”
He pulled out nearly to the tip, then slammed back in until his balls slapped wetly against you. Again. Again. Each thrust angled perfectly, pushing that spot until your nails bit into your calves.
“Joel—please,” you moaned.
“Please what, darlin’?” His breath was harsh. “Want me to slow down? Stop?” He punctuated the word with a brutal thrust that made you cry out. “Or you want me to keep poundin’ this sweet cunt ‘til you can’t breathe?”
You shook your head wildly, and the words tumbled out, desperate. “Keep—keep going, don’t stop—”
“Knew it. Knew you could take it.” His pace grew harsher, slamming his hips into yours, splitting you deeper and deeper with his cock. “Look atcha… folded up tight, all bent back and beggin’. Never seen a prettier fuckin’ sight.”
He slid his hand down from your ankle to your belly, pressing down just above your pubic bone. Your eyes flew wide at the added pressure, at the way it forced his cock even deeper, at how it made every thrust brutal and consuming.
You sobbed with the force of his thrusts. “Joel! Fuck… deeper, oh my god, I feel you in my stomach!”
“Feel me there?” he rubbed small circles on your lower tummy, right above the bulge in it, as his hips pounded harder. “Right up inside you. Stretchin’ this sweet pussy open from the inside out.” You gasped, a sob of pleasure spilling as your walls clenched tight around him. “Fuckin’ knew it,” Joel said, the sweat dripping from his jaw onto your skin. “Cum f’me again, baby girl. Milk it right outta me.”
You obeyed instantly, your body seized, and another orgasm crashed through you suddenly. Your pussy clamped around him, pulsing tight as your slick gushed around his cock. Your pose barely holding as Joel’s hand steadied you in place. He growled at the feeling, forcing you to ride it out on his cock.
“That’s it,” he growled, voice cracking with the strain of holding back. “Good girl… give it to me. Every last drop.” Joel dropped his forehead to yours as he thrusted again and again, making every movement harder. “Jesus Christ, darlin’—you’re squeezin’ me dry. I ain’t gonna last…”
You dug your nails into his arms. “Then don’t—don’t hold back. Cum inside me, Joel. I want it—I need it.”
You ached for that final, deep thrust, the one that would bury him fully inside your womb, filling you completely. You wanted to feel every thick pulse, every hot sprout of him flooding you. You wanted his cum dripping out of your cunt leaving a trail that would mark you for hours, for him. And Joel wanted it just as much.
A groan tore from his throat, still slamming his hips into you with ragged force, getting his cock to drive deep inside your pussy. “Fuck—don’t you—don’t you say that, baby girl—”
“I mean it,” you gasped, arching your body, trying to pull him deeper, to keep him locked inside. “Please, fill me up, Joel. Cum in me. I want it so bad.”
His thrusts stuttered, and his cock twitched violently inside you. For a split second, he almost gave in, he almost let go, almost let himself spill inside you, but his last shred of control slapped him in the face, knocking some sense into him. Joel yanked himself back at the last second, his now wet cock slipped free, and he wrapped his hand around it fast, stroking it with rough motions as his release hit.
“Fuck—” Thick hot ropes shoot out of his length, spilling across your belly and thighs. His cock jerked violently in his grip, spurting over your soft skin, dripping down to your folds. He emptied himself over you, not inside you like he would’ve wanted it. “Fffuck yeaah, thassit. Take it all like a good girl.”
You lay there, with your legs still folded back, watching his release paint your body, making your own breath catch at the sight. When his hand slowed and the last thick drops dripped onto your skin, Joel braced himself over you on shaky arms.
For a long moment, he just looked... looked at the mess he’d made of you, your thighs wet, your belly streaked, your pussy swollen and dripping open for him. “Goddamn it,” he dragged a hand over his face. “You don’t know what you do to me.”
He traced his fingers absently over the slick on your stomach, spreading it a little, almost like he couldn’t help himself. You met his eyes. “I wanted you inside,” you whispered.
“Don’t tempt me, baby. You got no idea how close I was to losin’ myself right there.” He settled his weight heavily against you, sliding his arm under your back, holding you as though he was terrified you might slip away.
Finally, he let out a long sigh and pushed himself up just enough to look at you. He swallowed hard and forced himself to move. “Stay put,” he murmured softly. “Don’t try to move, darlin’. I’ll get cha cleaned up.”
You blinked up at him, your muscles were trembling from holding all those poses for him, from taking him so deep. Joel moved more slowly than usual, you could see that his body was stiff from what you’d just done together. You watched him disappeared into the hallway, and then heard the sound of a faucet and cupboards opening. A moment later, he returned with a damp towel and a glass of water. He knelt beside you, and started gently at you before pressing the cool cloth against your belly where his cum streaked across your skin. The warmth of his big hand steadied you while he wiped you carefully, his touch was far more tender than the way he’d just taken you.
“Sorry ‘bout the mess,” he said with a crooked half-smile. “Couldn’t exactly help it.”
You parted your lips. “I liked it…”
He lifted his eyes to yours before clearing his throat and shaking his head, finishing the slow wipe of your skin. “Liked it too damn much myself,” he admitted, almost like he didn’t want you to hear. “Wanted to finish inside you so bad it nearly drove me mad.”
You noticed the tightening of your stomach due to his words. “You should’ve,” you whispered.
Joel sat back on his heels with the towel still in his hand. “’m not a stupid man,” he said. “Felt you squeezin’ me, beggin’ me… I wanted it. Lord knows I wanted it. But it’s too risky, sweet girl. Too much at stake. I can’t do that to you.”
He tossed the towel aside, then leaned down, sliding an arm beneath your back to lift you up into a sitting position. He cupped your cheek with his other hand, stroking there again with his thumb. “You deserve better than me losin’ my head and knockin’ you up ‘cause I couldn’t control myself,” he furrowed his brow with a mix of guilt and tenderness.
The fatherly warmth in his tone made your chest ache. Joel wasn’t just being careful, he was protecting you, even from himself. He pressed the water glass into your hand. “Drink. You’re shakin’.”
You obeyed, sipping the water. He stayed crouched close, watching you like a hawk, never moving his hand from your thigh. When you lowered the glass, he took it gently from you and set it aside.
“Better?” he asked softly.
You nodded, still trembling a little. “Better… with you.”
Joel’s face softened, brushing the corner of your mouth with his thumb. “Sweet talker.”
For a long moment, he just held you like that, framing your face with his big hands, his forehead resting against yours. Finally, he sighed and pressed a kiss to your hairline in a fatherly and protective way. “C’mon. Let’s get’cha off this floor before Sarah walks in and my heart gives out.”
He helped you to your feet, steadying you with his firm hands at your waist, flicking his eyes over your body with a mix of both hunger and care. Even when you wobbled, his grip kept you safe, tucked close against him.
“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he said almost to himself, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened.
He gently guided you toward his room, toward clean sheets and warm blankets. For now, Joel was still holding himself back. But something inside you told you this wasn’t over.
Updates account Check my Masterlist
A/N: And it wouldn’t be Kinktober without a dbf!Joel😩 While thinking about what to write, I considered making reader Sarah’s yoga instructor, with Joel always noticing her and having a crush whenever he came to pick her up. But in the end, I decided to go with a dbf fic cause it’s been months since I last wrote one!
bfd!Joel is the king of aftercare. He’s such a gentleman, so he always feels a little guilty after losing control and giving in to his impulses. He’ll push you to your limits, and then spend the rest of the night making it up to you, cleaning you up, whispering apologies, treating you soft. Like it’ll fix the way he lost control and gucked his daughter’s best friend
I hope you liked it!!! Thank you so much for all the love and support🫶🏻🩷
rating: X (not for minors) \ 22.5k words/bf dad joel miller x female reader
tags: if you don't like smut and morally ambiguous characters this is not the fic for you. there is adultery, thigh fucking, creampies, downright filthy talk, blow jobs, cunnilingus, fingering, keeping quiet, public sex, possessive joel miller and that isn't even all of it.
tldr: you accidentally fuck your bf's dad and then you keep fucking him.
masterlist
i tried very hard to keep this chapter short but it was impossible. I'm also under hella deadlines in the real world so this is not edited. i hope you like it and i figure for 22k words I deserve some long ass comments right? I have loved reading all your comments and I will say that this chapter clears up ONE BIG MYSTERY.
that being said there is actually too much to put into one chapter so there is another one being added fyi
I am not able to tag anymore people because tumblr is weird. Just know this story has a posting schedule you can find on the masterlist.
Each believed the other a murderer of time, a destroyer of life itself. - Joan Didion
One month later
"Do we have that wine that Tommy brought us?"
"Yeah, check above the fridge."
It’s been almost a month since Jack and I moved into the apartment, long enough for the sharpness of change to dull into a steady rhythm.
My internship ended around the same time, the official reason for leaving Miller Brothers
Construction, and despite Tommy’s begging, I decided to try my hand at something new.
The new job is closer to the apartment, tucked inside a small but ambitious architecture firm where I juggle social media campaigns and light design work. My coworkers are all professional and sharp, their smiles brief and their workload heavy. It's nothing like Miller Brothers Construction. No laughs over shitty coffee, no Luna giggling with Tommy. I don’t have the same level of responsibility but there’s something exciting about learning again, about building a skill set I didn’t know I’d enjoy.
Still, there are mornings when I catch myself missing the hum of the old office. I miss the constant movement. I miss the way Tommy’s voice would carry across the bullpen when he wanted my opinion, the way Joel would glance up from whatever he was working on if I happened to walk past. I felt valued there, more than I probably realized at the time. But after that night after coming home and hearing Joel and Tess through the wall, the quiet that followed, the weight of pretending it hadn’t happened, I couldn’t go back.
Moving day had been stressful, not in the traditional sense, since we didn’t have much to bring, but Joel told Jack he’d help with the move and by the time the mattress was wedged into the bed frame, my stomach had felt like it was full of cement.
The apartment had smelled like fresh paint and faint mildew, not enough to worry about, just enough to remind me that someone else’s life had been here before ours. Sunlight spilled through the wide front windows, catching on dust motes drifting in the air. It was a fresh start for all of us.
Jack wiped his forehead with the bottom of his shirt, grinning like we’d just conquered something monumental.
“Almost done,” he’d said voice buoyant.
Joel was on the other side of the mattress, adjusting the frame with quiet precision, eyes low. He didn’t say anything, but his forearms flexed with the motion, veins standing out against skin flushed from the work.
We hadn’t interacted since Houston, and the air between us had a weight. It had been there since the moment Jack announced we were leaving.
I’d avoided being in a room alone with him all day, finding boxes that needed unpacking in the kitchen, disappearing into the bathroom with a roll of shelf liner. And yet, somehow, there we were always on the precipice of interaction.
“Careful on that corner, Dad,” Jack said to Joel, crouching to check the bed legs. “I don’t wanna scratch the floor. The landlord’s a stickler.”
Joel nodded, wordless, his eyes flicking up to me for only a second. It wasn’t much of a look, just a flash, barely enough to register, but it landed like a blow. My stomach had knotted, dragging me back to the night that ended the whole arrangement.
Joel straightened then, brushing his palms together, and stepped back from the bed. “That’s it,” he said, voice low.
Jack clapped him on the shoulder. “Couldn’t have done it without you, Dad. Thanks for letting us use the truck.”
“Anytime.” Joel’s gaze slid past Jack to me, his expression guarded. I couldn’t tell if it was for my sake or his.
Jack headed toward the kitchen, muttering something about ordering pizza. “Veggie?”
I’d nodded, but my voice didn’t seem to work.
Joel stayed where he was, just inside the doorway, his hat shadowing his eyes. He looked like he was going to say something, lips parting but Jack called from the kitchen, asking about toppings, and the moment slipped.
“I should get goin’,” Joel said instead, his voice carrying the faintest rasp. He adjusted the brim of his cap like it was something to keep his hands busy.
Jack reappeared, phone in hand. “Sure? You can’t stay? We’re ordering enough for-”
“Naw.” Joel had already been moving toward the door, his boots heavy on the new laminate. “Got stuff to do for your mom.”
I’d flinched, stepping aside as he passed, and for a fraction of a second, our arms nearly brushed. I caught the scent of sawdust and clean sweat, the smell of him, and my chest felt too tight.
Joel paused with his hand on the doorknob. He didn’t look at me again, just stepped out into the fading afternoon. When the door closed behind him, the apartment felt silent. And in that quiet, it hit me how much stronger my feelings for him had grown.
It wasn’t just the sex I remembered, though that alone would have been enough to haunt me. It was the way he’d kissed me like he meant it, held me like I was something worth keeping. The hours we’d spent talking, sometimes about nothing at all, the kind of conversations that made the rest of the world fade.
Those were the moments that had crept in without warning, the ones I couldn’t box up and leave behind no matter how far we moved. And when I showered that evening I'd had to muffle my sobs in my hands, his name on my tongue, his voice in my ears.
Anne and Logan arrive just after seven, arms full; a bottle of wine, a paper bag from the bakery down the street, Anne’s cardigan already slipping off one shoulder from the rush of coming in from the evening air.
“Wow,” Anne says, stepping inside and glancing around our small apartment. “You guys settled in fast.”
Jack beams, taking the wine from her. “We had no choice, someone refused to live with boxes everywhere,” he teases, tilting his head toward me.
I roll my eyes but smile anyway, ushering them toward the table I set earlier. It’s nothing fancy, just mismatched placemats, a candle in the middle, but I’d taken my time with it, wanting the place to look inviting.
Logan trails behind Anne, his usual sharp-edged sarcasm absent. “Place is nice,” he says, pulling out a chair. “Good light.” It’s such a small comment, but from him, it almost feels like a compliment. "Mind if I grab a glass of water?" He asks, moving to the cupboard to bring down one of our old mugs. He drinks fast, his eyes flicking to me once or twice.
We eat in easy bursts of conversation. Jack tells a story about the building’s temperamental elevator. Anne asks questions about my new job, polite ones, the kind that leave her a safe distance from anything personal. Her smile doesn’t always reach her eyes, but it’s not icy.
After dinner, we break out a stack of board games. Jack suggests Codenames and Logan smirks like he’s already won. Since I'm sitting opposite him we're a team.
“You two are going down,” Logan says to Jack and Anne as he places the cards down for the group.
I raise an eyebrow. “You’re that confident?”
“Always.” He smirks again, but it’s softer this time, not the jab it might have been months ago.
The game turns competitive quickly, Jack and Anne on one team, Logan and me on the other. There’s laughter, the occasional groan when someone misses an obvious clue, and even Logan’s muttered swears are more amused than annoyed.
At one point, when I get a particularly risky word right, Logan grins across the table at me. “Nice. Told you we’d crush them.”
Anne leans back in her chair, shaking her head. “You two make a scary team.”
By the time the last round ends, there’s an ease in the air I didn’t expect. The wine is nearly gone, the candle burned low. Even Anne’s smile looks less guarded as she gathers her things to leave.
“Thanks for having us,” she says at the door, her tone almost warm.
Logan nods after her and to my surprise, pulls me in for a gentle hug. His fingertips linger on my shoulder and for the first time since we met, I feel like we might just be friends after all.
The dresser looked harmless enough in the shop, pale wood, clean lines, the kind of thing Jack nudged me about and says, This would look perfect in the bedroom, right? I nodded, imagining it against the blank wall by the window, a little piece of permanence in our still-new apartment.
Now it sits in its flat-pack box in the corner of the living room, a silent challenge we’ve been stepping around for days. Jack finally slices the tape open, pulls out the thin booklet of instructions printed in six languages, and mutters under his breath.
“Yeah, no,” he says, flipping a page. “We don’t have half the stuff for this.”
I’m curled up on the couch with my laptop, half-listening, still tangled in work emails I didn’t finish before leaving the office.
“I’ll text my dad,” Jack says, dropping the booklet onto the coffee table. “He’s got everything in his garage.”
I hum in response, barely looking up; I'm too involved in the email chain from one of my bosses. The cushions dip beside me. Jack’s hands slide up my shoulders, warm and firm, his thumbs kneading into the knots there.
“You’ve been tense lately,” he murmurs near my ear.
I tip my head back without thinking, eyes fluttering closed. He’s been like this a lot lately, attentive in a way he never used to be. Folding laundry before I can get to it. Picking up my favorite snacks without asking. Asking about my day and actually listening.
Jack's hands leave me when his phone buzzes. He reads the text. "My mom wants to know if we're free for dinner this Sunday."
My chest tightens. I’ve been making up excuses for weeks, excuses to avoid going back to that house, to avoid seeing her, to avoid the awkward questions about my life, about Jack, all the while ignoring the mess I’ve made of everything.
"I'm not sure," I say quietly. "I'll see if I'm working late that day."
He smiles, kissing my cheek and then announcing that he and Logan are meeting up with some guys to try the new VR arcade.
"Have fun!"
He leaves and I stretch back on the couch feeling restless. We haven’t been having much sex, but I don’t mind. He’s being so sweet and thoughtful. The only sex I want is with Joel, and I obviously can’t have that anymore. I think about it, fantasize about it, and touch myself to it. I deleted all our texts and photos in my rage and some nights I regret it.
But then I look over at my sleeping boyfriend and feel this love crash over me. I tell myself I made the right decision, even if it does feel like a mistake.
Knock knock. Knock.
The knock comes later that night while I’m half asleep on the couch. My mind is on Joel, thoughts of what he's doing right this moment. Is he with Tess? Are they happy? I shouldn't be upset at the thought.
I don’t think much of it at first; Jack probably forgot his keys, or maybe one of his friends is swinging by early. I’m halfway through setting the knife down when I open the door.
It’s Luna. Her eyes are red-rimmed, makeup smudged just enough to make me realize she hasn’t been home to fix it. Her shoulders look too small for the oversized blazer she’s wearing, like she’s shrunk into herself on the walk over.
“Hey,” she says, voice thin. “I’m sorry, I didn- didn’t know who else to talk to.”
My brain immediately switches gears. “Hey," I push the door open wider. “Come in. Are you okay?”
She nods, but it’s that automatic, empty kind of nod that tells me she's the polar opposite of okay. The moment she steps inside, I catch the faint smell of office coffee on her clothes. She clutches her tote bag to her chest like its armor.
“Sit,” I tell her, steering her toward the couch. I don’t even wait for her to take her shoes off before I’m heading to the kitchen. “Tea?”
She sinks into the cushions, her knees drawn together, both hands wrapped around that bag like she’s afraid if she lets go of it, she’ll fall apart.
“Yes, please,” she murmurs.
While the kettle boils, I keep glancing over at her. She’s not looking at me, just staring at some point in the middle distance like she’s trying to keep herself from crying again. When I bring over two mugs and set one in front of her, she thanks me in a whisper.
“What’s going on?” I ask gently, curling my own hands around my cup.
She takes a sip like she’s buying herself time, then swallows hard. "It's Tommy." She takes a deep breath. "Okay, so, I’ve liked Tommy for a while. Pretty much since my first day.”
I nod slowly. “Yeah. I know.”
"I think everyone did." She lets out a short, shaky laugh, but it dies quickly. “Well, right before the Houston conference I asked him out. Like, directly for drinks after work. No group thing, no pretending it was casual.”
I lean back, eyebrows lifting. “Bold.”
“Yeah,” she says, a little bitterly. “Bold. He said yes. And we had such a good time. Laughing and kissing and then that night we-” She stops, eyes darting away. “We hooked up. It was so good, so good. I figured this was it. He said he wanted to focus on the conference and that when he got back we'd talk.
“You thought you’d ease into a relationship,” I supply gently.
“Exactly.” She stares down into her tea. “So I played it cool when he got back last month. Didn’t text too much. Tried not to come across as clingy. I wanted him to feel like it was easy, you know?”
I nod, because I do know. Too well. I keep my expression neutral, just listening.
"But I noticed he was a little more aloof, a little colder," her fingers tighten on her mug. “And then today he came by the office.” There’s a shift in her voice, a small crack that tells me the worst is coming. “He had this woman named Maria with him,” she says, like the name is something sour she has to spit out. “The big wig at Whonstar."
"Yeah, I know her."
"He was so touchy with her and I was already like, huh, okay, that’s new. But then as I'm leaving I saw them by his truck. Kissing.”
My stomach twists, because I can picture the scene too clearly.
Luna swallows hard. “Apparently they’ve been dating in secret since that conference..." She trails off, pressing her lips together.
"Yeah, I had a feeling," I say carefully.
Her eyes snap to mine. "What?"
I shrug a little, wishing I could rewind the last five seconds. “I mean when they met at the conference, it was pretty obvious sparks.”
Her brows knit, a flush creeping up her cheeks, not embarrassment this time, but anger. “So you knew.”
“I didn’t know they were dating,” I say quickly. “I thought it was just-”
“You thought it was what? That they were flirting? That Tommy might be into someone else?” Her voice is rising, each question sharper than the last. “And you didn’t think to mention that to me?”
“Luna,” I start, leaning forward, “I didn’t know you and Tommy had slept together. I thought it was a casual crush-”
Her laugh is short and humorless. “Right. A casual crush that you could watch crash and burn without saying a word.”
“That’s not fair,” I say, heat prickling at my neck. “If I’d known-”
“You've seen me throw myself at Tommy again and again,” she cuts in. “You just let me make a complete idiot of myself.”
I bite back the instinct to defend myself again. She’s too wound up, too raw. Anything I say now will only pour fuel on it. She sets her mug down with a sharp clink, grabbing her tote bag. “Thanks for the tea,” she says, voice clipped.
“Luna-”
"I sure hope you're not humiliated like this one day," she says spitefully my way. And just like that, she’s at the door, yanking it open as Jack’s key turns in the lock. He steps inside, surprised to see her passing by.
“Uh, hey,” he says, eyebrows lifting.
She barely glances at him. “Hi. Bye.”
Jack turns to me, confused, as I shut the door behind her. I lean against the door for a moment, my chest heavy.
Jack’s voice is soft. “Everything okay?”
I just shake my head, my stomach heavy. “She just needed to talk.”
I watch through the front window as Luna disappears down the street, her shoulders still hunched, and I feel the ache settle in for her. Because I know better than most what it’s like to think you’re starting something and realize you were only ever a momentary stop for someone else.
The next afternoon, I’m driving home from work when Jack’s name flashes across my dashboard.
“Hey,” I say, gripping the wheel a little tighter.
He sounds distracted, anxious. “Babe, I totally spaced, one of the guys at the clinic called in sick, so I’ve got to cover his last two patients and do the paperwork. I won’t be home for, like, another two hours.”
“That’s fine,” I say, merging onto the main road. “I’ll start dinner later.”
“Thanks for understanding,” he says quickly. “Seriously, thank you, babe. Gotta go.”
The line clicks dead before I can respond.
By the time I get home, the apartment feels quiet in a way that’s almost too loud. I curl up on the couch with a blanket and my book, but the words blur after a few pages. My mind keeps drifting back to the dresser, the rhythm of chopping vegetables I haven’t started yet, the soft hum of traffic outside.
Eventually, I head to the kitchen to start dinner, deciding to put some aside for Jack to reheat when he gets home. The knife slices through vegetables in steady motions, the sound small and satisfying. I’m halfway through chopping when there’s a knock at the door.I wipe my hands on a towel, a teasing smile already forming.
“Did you forget your keys again?” I call, expecting Jack’s familiar sheepish grin. I pull the door open, ready with something playful. But it’s not Jack.It’s Joel.
He stands in the hallway in a faded gray T-shirt under an open flannel, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His hair is mussed, as if he’s been running his hands through it, and the late light catches in the stubble along his jaw.
He holds a large metal toolbox in one hand, walking in with the easy confidence that always makes my chest tighten.
“Hey,” he says casually, but there’s an edge to it, like he knows exactly what he’s doing by standing there.
I swallow. “Hi.” My voice is too soft. "Why are you-"
He shifts the toolbox slightly, brushing past me without waiting for an invitation. “Jack asked me to drop these off. Dresser assembly, right?”
“Yeah.” I try to sound casual, too casual, leaning against the doorframe. “Thanks.”
There’s a pause, and then he tilts his head. My eyes track him as he notices the little things I’ve done: the small potted plant on the windowsill, the framed photo on the coffee table, the shelf I’ve managed to fill with books and mementos without making it look cluttered.
“This looks real nice,” he says finally, voice low but genuine. His gaze flicks to mine for a moment, and there’s a hesitation there, like he’s not sure he should be saying it.
"Thanks, Jack let me have free reign in here."
"You did a good job."
We lapse into silence and when he doesn't make a move to leave immediately I feel my chest tighten and impulsively, I gesture toward the kitchen. "Want something to drink? Water, beer?”
“Water’s fine,” he says, still careful, still just a little stiff around me. I'm shocked he agreed to it.
I grab a bottle and pour it into a glass, setting it in his hand. His fingers brush mine briefly, light, casual, but enough to make a small pulse of electricity spike through me.
I hand him the glass of water, and he takes it, fingers brushing mine again. “Thanks,” he says, eyes flicking to mine, then quickly away.
“So,” I say, leaning against the counter. “How’s the Leeds project going? Still a mess?”
He laughs softly, shaking his head. “You have no idea. Luna's convinced that she’s in line for a promotion already.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Luna? Really? She’s got ambition, I’ll give her that.”
“Ambition is one thing,” Joel says, leaning against the counter opposite me. “Delusion is another.” He shrugs. “But I guess she’s learning.”
I smile, amused. “Sounds like the office hasn’t changed a bit.”
He grins faintly. “Tommy is barely any help some days. Every time Maria stops by the office he's like a puppy following her around.”
“He must really like her," I murmur, wincing as I think of Luna. “People act ridiculous when they like someone."
There’s a beat of quiet, the kind that settles between old lovers. Then he nods toward the bedroom where the dresser components sit. “You know I could just build it myself,” he says, casual, but I can see the slight edge in his tone.
I open my mouth to protest, but before I can, he’s shrugging off his flannel, sleeves rolling up. The tool belt shifts with the motion, and I catch the pinch of his waist. My chest tightens, but I force my attention back to our conversation.
"Uh, sure, if you have time."
"I got time."
I lead him into the bedroom, feeling suddenly shy. The rumpled bedsheets, the water glasses beside the bed, Jack's socks by the hamper. It's all so intimate and I watch Joel note this before his attention goes to the dresser.
Joel’s eyes flick to mine briefly, then back to the dresser parts spread on the floor. “You don't have to stay if you don't want."
"You want me to go?"
"No,” he says too quickly and my stomach flips. “i mean, you can stick around if you want to, but if you're busy-"
"I'm not busy."
It's a lie and we both know it. My dinner is half cooked outside the door. He shrugs, eyes lingering on mine just a moment longer than necessary, then bends down to examine the dresser pieces again.
There’s a quiet confidence in the way he moves, a familiarity in the way he handles tools, and I realize how much I want to touch him. Joel crouches, sorting screws and panels with methodical precision. I hover nearby, trying not to watch too closely, but I can’t help it, the way his muscles flex when he lifts the heavier pieces, the way his forearms glint in the late afternoon light.
The apartment is quiet except for the small sounds of the toolbox and the faint rustle of papers and plastic. I can’t look at him without feeling that same electric tension I always do when he's near.
“You happy at your new job?" he asks suddenly, not looking at me, just fitting a dowel into a slot.
"Yeah."
He pauses, just a fraction, then shrugs and mutters, “Good. That’s good to hear.”
His fingers move quickly, almost nervously, tightening a screw. Then, quieter, almost to himself, he adds, “I miss having you around in the office, though. S'not the same without you there.”
My stomach twists. The words are casual, but they land hard. I can feel my heart stutter, the old, bitter-sweet ache flaring up, the same ache I remember from the night I heard him and Tess through the wall.
The memory hits me sharply, the warmth of his hands, the weight of his body, the sound of his voice carrying over everything. You're mine. Tell me your mine
I shift my weight from one foot to the other, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “Sometimes I miss the chaos of the place,” I say softly, and immediately wish I’d said nothing.
He glances up, one eyebrow quirking. “Chaos?”
I shrug, fiddling with a kitchen towel. “Luna's antics around the office, Tommy's bad jokes.”
You and me fighting the attraction I still feel for you now. You and me fucking over your desk.
Joel nods slowly, returning to the dresser. There’s a tension between us now, the kind that hums under the surface. We don't speak for a bit and Joel builds quickly, his focus fascinating me.
My chest tightens whenever he bends over the dresser, the curve of his back just slightly exposed, the strength in his hands as he manipulates the tools. I tell myself to focus on Jack, to focus on the life I have here, but it’s useless.
He's almost finished when he talks again, so quietly I almost don't hear him. "And you're happy. With your life?"
I can feel the old flutter of feelings creeping in, the ones I’ve tried to ignore for months. "Yeah."
Joel crouches over the dresser, tightening a screw to affix the mirror in place and without looking at me, he asks, his voice casual but insistent. "Jack makes you happy?”
"He does."
Joel's mouth tightens as he fixates on the dresser. "Good," he says coolly. "That's real good. Me and Tess are doin' good too."
Something in me snaps when he says that. The calm I’ve been holding shatters, replaced by a hot, sharp anger I can’t contain. My hands clench at my sides. "Well that's good," I say with false cheer. "Glad to know she's back to fucking you."
Joel freezes mid-motion, his eyes snapping to mine. “What did you just say?”
I take another step, letting the words cut. “I mean, before, she barely touched you, right? I guess its good we moved out. Now you guys can have a second honeymoon. Is she all over you like before?”
Joel’s face goes quiet, but the tension radiates off him like heat. There’s a sharp edge to his eyes, the kind that makes me take a small, instinctive step back even as I try to hold my ground. “And I’m supposed to believe Jack is fuckin' you properly?” His voice is low, dangerous. “Couldn’t even make you cum before."
He stops, gripping the dresser like it’s the only thing keeping him steady.
I press, watching him. “Well, he does now,” I say, a vicious tilt to my smile. “Fucks better than his old man, now.”
He straightens slowly, jaw tight, every movement deliberate, and for a heartbeat, the room feels smaller, the tension impossible to ignore He’s close now, but not touching, and every instinct screams at me, both to retreat and to push him further.
Joel sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, his heavy stare fixed on me. “Is that so?”
“It is.”
His hand shoots out, surprising me when he curls it around my upper arm. I gasp when he drags me to the bed, pushing me to bend over the side, my chest flushed with the sheets. I hear the sound of his belt being unbuckled, the hum of his zipper.
"He's... He's going to be back soon," I hiss, terrified of being caught, terrified at the thought of stopping.
"Then he can see me fuckin' what's mine,” he mutters angrily as he pushes my jeans down my legs, thrusting my panties to the side. And without preamble he thrusts into me, his cock thick, but easily taken because I am so fucking wet.
“I-I’m not yours,” I whimper.
"Think you are mine," Joel grunts, hips smacking rudely against my ass. "Think this cunt's been mine since the first time I fucked it."
My hands are gripping the sheets, body being thrust up the bed by the force of him. His teeth grit together as he thrusts, his balls slapping against my ass brutally.n "I don't like seein' you with him." He mutters to himself but I hear it.
I look over my shoulder at him, feeling my heartbeat everywhere. He groans, deep and ragged, the sound vibrating through me, and I see the flicker of anger in his eyes, anger at himself, at the situation, at how badly he’s unraveling
"What?"
"I don't like him touchin' you. I had to sit there and watch him take you away. Had to listen to you cumming. I'm fuckin furious that he's just allowed to touch you like that in front of me."
I glare at him over my shoulder, chest rising and falling against the mattress, my own anger and frustration matching his. "He's my boyfriend, Joel."
"I don't give a shit," he snaps quietly. "When you're with me, my cock in your cunt, your mine."
He's so deep, filling me, and I have to remind myself that we agreed this was just physical. No strings, just desire. And yet when Joel's hands pull me back and he buries himself to the hilt I can't help but moan his name.
"Look at me."
I look over my shoulder weakly, whimpering when I see the feral look in his eyes.
“Say I'm the best you've ever had,” he growls, breath hot against my shoulder, the words low and rough, but urgent. “Better than him. Better than Jack.”
I swallow hard, my eyes rolling back as he fucks into me. I shouldn't say it. I shouldn't. The wet sound of his cock pumping into my cunt is overwhelming.
He gives a furious growl, dragging me up onto the bed and positioning me on all fours opposite the dresser he's just built, the mirror propped on top of it. His hips slam into mine with a sharp snap. When my eyes graze the view of us in the mirror I can see us half dressed, cheeks pink, eyes glazed. Joel is staring down at me and then his wide hand goes between my shoulders to push me down.
My cheek is buried in the sheets, my eyes over my shoulder at him. His eyes are dark, intense, searching, and I catch that spark of competitiveness, that edge I’ve never seen so raw.
He lets out a low, frustrated growl, "You're mine. You're fucking mine," biting down on his lower lip, as if my words are both a balm and a torment. And then he thrusts harder, faster, wanting proof, wanting to feel it in every shiver that wracks my body.
I'm drooling, actually drooling, my eyes tilted back, my arms useless at my sides. I'm just a vessel, a thing for him to fuck his frustrations into and I welcome it. I need it more than I need to breathe in this moment.
I'm his. I'm his. I'm his.
"Oh darlin’," he says with a mix of dark amusement and desire, "just letting me use this perfect cunt. Because she's mine, isn't it she?"
When I don’t answer he shifts, suddenly more insistent, pressing deeper, as if he’s testing something, not just his control, but me. His hands clutch my hips, holding me in place as he leans closer, his forehead brushing my neck.
"Good girl. Good girl takin' my cock."
My body shivers at the words, heat pooling between us, and I whine his name half in need, half in awe of how commanding he is.
"Look at yourself," he orders angrily. "Look at that fucking little slut in the mirror droolin’ like a bitch in heat. You're telling me that this cock isn't the best you've ever had?"
When I don't look I feel his hand weave through my hair, pulling my face up to watch as my body is at his mercy. His eyes glitter menacingly. I can barely focus on the mirror, he's thrusting so hard and it feels so good. I can make out his hulking frame over mine, the way he's on one knee, the other foot planted for extra power. I can see it in his eyes he’s unraveling, but he wants to know, needs to know, that he’s the one I choose, the one I want.
His large hand moves down my belly, between my legs where my clit strains, twitching at the contact of his fingers. He scrubs at it, knowing just how much pressure, just how much circling to apply before I’m trembling.
Joel’s rhythm grows harsher, deeper, his grip on me iron-tight like he’s holding on for dear life. Each thrust slams me further up the bed, pillows pushed to the floor.
"This pretty pussy mine?"
I can't think, I'm so close to cumming. He holds my waist, watching my reflection to see my tits bounce under my shirt, then down to where he's sawing in and out of my soaked cunt. His teeth are bared, he looks crazed.
“Say it.”
I'm trying not to say it out loud. Trying to remember Jack and that this is his dad and that he's married and... He's mine.
"Yes," I finally cry out, pushing myself to my elbows as he drives into me.
"Who fucks you the way you need?"
"You, Joel." My orgasm comes on strong, my arms and legs trembling. "F-fuck, you're the best I've ever had."
He's pumping in and out of me at a frantic pace, the wet of our slapping sexes so loud and I cum all over him, almost screaming his name as he keeps pumping. I hear the breathless chuckle, and when I can finally drag my eyes to the mirror I see his boyish smile, victorious.
"I knew it."
I squeak when he pulls out, twisting me onto my back and burying himself in me at this angle, his arms coming to hold me, palms spread wide against my shoulder blades.
"Say it again."
"You're the best I've ever had."
His mouth slams into mine and I feel the brush of his tongue, tentative but probing. It’s an electric shock, a fire that spreads from my mouth down my chest. My own lips part, meeting his, responding instinctively, and a soft sound escapes me.
He hums against me, a low, vibrating sound that sinks straight into my ribs, making my heartbeat stutter as he pushes himself deeper and deeper. He groans into my neck, hips still pounding, but I can feel him listening.
"Who do you belong to?"
My breathing is coming out in low puffs, voice trembling. "M-my pussy belo-"
"No, all of you," he interrupts, forehead to mine. "All of you."
His hips move slowly now, intense and drawn out. His eyes hold like as he sinks into me, our hearts beating in tandem. And suddenly the fire of my anger is gone. I wrap my legs around his middle, mouth meeting his gently.
"I'm yours," I whisper against his lips.
"Yeah?" He grunts and I feel the pace pick up. But it's not brutal like before, it's tender, like he can't stop touching me, bringing out my whimpers. "You're mine?"
"Y-yes," I moan, feeling his mouth at my throat.
Something shifts in him, the strain in his jaw, the way his thrusts deepen, like he’s chasing something more than just release. His hand comes up to grip my chin, forcing my eyes to his.
"Repeat it," he murmurs. "Say it again, baby. Say it with my cock in you."
"I'm yours," I moan, body jerking under him, fingers wrapping around his biceps. "Yours, Joel."
He lets out a deep, broken groan, his forehead pressing to mine, hips hammering in a pace that makes my whole body tense toward the edge.
"I fuckin' love this'," he groans, kissing me deeply as he holds me to him. "Fuckin' love this cunt, fucking love you-"
It comes out as a ramble but once we both hear it his movements slow to a stop. My eyes are wide, staring up at him. My legs lower, parted on either side of his hips as he pulls out of me.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, tucking himself back into his jeans, hurriedly redoing his belt. "I'm sorry darlin', I didn't..."
"It's okay," I say with a forced laugh. But something is happening in my stomach. Something that feels dangerously like hope and desire.
He looks at me for a long time, before he flops onto the bed next to me. I lift my hips, tugging up my jeans as I look at him. My clothes feel awkward on my skin, clinging in places that remind me of what we were just doing, how fast we stopped
"Joel, really, it's fine."
He’s quiet for a while, staring up at the ceiling like there’s something written there just for him. I think about how Tess is at home waiting for him. About how this is how it always is, his little fuck-toy when he’s horny. His eyes flick to mine, dark and unreadable, and I can’t tell if he’s going to argue, apologize, or pull me back under him.
"I hated hearing you with her,” I burst out, voice low but trembling.
Joel freezes and blinks over at me, confusion and surprise flickering across his face. “What are you talkin’ about?”
I can feel my chest tightening, the old ache twisting into something fiercer. "That night we came home from the conference I heard you and Tess in bed. I hated it. I hated it so much.”
His expression shifts slowly, comprehension dawning, but there’s also that tension I know too well, the quiet, uncomfortable pause when he realizes what I heard. “I didn’t know you heard,” he says carefully, voice low. "I didn't know you were there."
“Obviously. Why would you?” My voice cracks with frustration and longing both. “You we're so busy hating me that day. And what I still can't understand is why."
The words hang in the air sour and heavy, when I push myself upright. The mattress dips under my shifting weight, the blanket crumpling beneath my palms as I shove it aside. My knees fold under me as I swing around to sit cross-legged, facing him fully now.
I can feel the heat in my face, the way my heartbeat is lodged high in my throat. Anger makes my movements sharper, more deliberate, shoulders squared, chin lifted. I’m not hiding it. Not from him.
"Why you would be so upset with Jack and me when you were so eager to run home to Tess and remind me that she was yours?" hate how my voice tremors. "Why demand that I tell you I'm yours tonight? Is that just your preferred dirty talk?"
Joel’s eyes follow me warily, his brow knitting, and after a beat, he moves too. He sits up slow, like he’s bracing himself, one forearm resting on his thigh while the other hand scrubs at the back of his neck.
We’re both upright now, face-to-face in the dim light, and the space between us feels smaller than it did lying down. I stop myself from saying more. From saying what I really want. That i want him like that. That i think I might be falling for him. But instead I lean into the anger, the heartbreak, the unspoken desire.
Joel swallows, his jaw tight. The flannel he shrugged off earlier now seems like armor, the edges of his mouth pulled in. Finally, his voice is low, deliberate. “That night I was pretending she was you.”
I freeze. "What?" The sheet bunches between us, an uneven line, like some kind of physical border. His posture is tense, chest rising and falling heavier now, jaw working.
“Tess was all over me when I got home that night and," His voice falters for just a second, and then he forces it out. "I'd had to listen to you and Jack that night before."
My face burns. "It didn't mean anything."
"Yeah, well…" Joel shrugs. "I was hurt and she was touchin' me and wanted me in bed. But I couldn't stop thinking about you the whole time."
I blink at him, shocked, trying to wrap my mind around what he’s saying. The rawness of it catches me off guard, my chest tightening in a mix of disbelief and that old ache I thought I’d buried.
His anger comes next, a rush of emotion I can’t ignore. "I couldn’t stop thinking how wrong it was, fucking my wife and feelin' guilty about it. That I wanted to be buried in my son's girlfriend instead."
My breathing stutters.
"I couldn't get you out of my head," he says in a rasp. "And when I was fuckin' her I said all the things I'd been wantin’ to say to you because I felt like you were mine that weekend."
He's blinking rapidly now and I can see the sheen to his eyes.
"You were mine," he continues broken, "and I couldn’t- God, I couldn’t do anything when he took you away. I still can't do anything even though goddamn it, you still feel like mine.”
The words hit me like a punch, every muscle in my body tightens, every nerve alight and without thinking I've crawled over the mattress us and crushed my mouth to his.
He wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me into his lap as the kiss deepens. Tears are falling from my eyes as his tongue caresses mine, a groan escaping him. The sound sends a shiver up my spine.
"I've missed you so much, darlin'," he says huskily. "I just don't work without you."
"I've missed you more," I sniffle, snuggling into his arms.
And just when I think that this beautiful moment might finally allow me to lay bare everything I feel I hear the key hit the lock to the front door.
Joel’s arms loosen around me instantly, the warmth between us splintering into panic. We move without speaking, just a flash of eye contact and then we’re both on our feet. The bed creaks as we push off of it, and I nearly trip on the edge of the blanket, catching myself on the dresser.
Joel ducks low, crouching beside me in the narrow space between the bed and the wall, his broad shoulders hunched, breathing shallow. I can hear the faint hitch of it, can feel the pulse of adrenaline in the air.
Jack’s keys jingle as he sets them down on the counter. “Hey, babe. I brought dinner.”
My heart is slamming against my ribs. I force my voice into something light, casual, like my pulse isn’t a drumbeat in my ears. “In here,” I call; tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear like that could erase what we were just doing.
Joel’s gaze flicks to me and for a second I think he’s going to say something. Instead, he stays crouched, still as stone, listening. Jack’s footsteps approach down the hall, slow and unhurried, each one making my stomach knot tighter.
Joel shifts subtly, angling himself so the dresser blocks most of him from view, his shoulders drawing in, knees bent. He’s close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him, close enough that if I moved an inch, I’d brush against him again.
Jack appears in the doorway, holding a takeout bag, smiling like nothing in the world is out of place. “Hey,” he says, leaning his shoulder against the frame. “I just needed the tools, not the whole thing built.”
"Wanted to surprise you," Joel says with a weak smile. "Your girl here was a big help."
His fingers brush my lower back and I have to force a small smile. “Your dad was very patient," My voice sounds almost normal, but my fingers are curled tight against the side of the dresser.
His eyes sweep over me but don’t linger, thank God. Joel stays perfectly still, head bowed just enough that the shadow hides his face. I can feel his restraint thrumming like a live wire.
"Well I got Chinese and lots of it," jack says with a grin. "You wanna stay dad?"
"Naw, you two enjoy your date night."
"You sure?"
"Positive."
He turns away, footsteps retreating. Only when we hear the faint rustle of the takeout bag being opened do I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Joel’s eyes lift to mine, and in that silent moment, it’s clear we’re both thinking the same thing, how close that was, and how badly we still want what we just had to stop.
"When can I see you again?" he murmurs quietly as he begins to pack up his tools.
"I don't know," I whisper glancing over my shoulder and back. "Maybe after work Monday?"
Joel shakes his head slowly, eyes on me. "Can't wait that long."
My heart hiccups, a bloom in my chest until I hear Jack calling my name.
"Dinners served!"
The two of us walk back down the hall, Joel's knuckle stroking my spine until we enter into the kitchen. We drift into the kitchen like nothing’s wrong, like Joel wasn’t in my bedroom three minutes ago. Jack is already at the counter, unpacking cartons of Chinese food, the smell of sesame oil and ginger curling through the air.
Joel leans against the opposite counter, casual on the surface, one ankle hooked over the other. “Smells good,” he says, nodding toward the spread.
“Place on Main,” Jack replies, opening a carton of lo mein. “Figured you could use a break from cooking, babe.” He glances at me with that easy smile before reaching for plates.
Joel’s mouth twitches, just barely, as he folds his arms. “Yeah, she worked hard today,” he says evenly.
Jack chuckles, spooning rice onto one plate, then another. “And you? Keepin’ busy?”
“Always,” Joel answers. “Couple projects on the go. Weather’s been fightin’ me, but, part of the job.”
Jack nods, turning to hand me my plate. As he does, he leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek, his hand brushing my hip. I catch the flicker in Joel’s expression, the tight pull at the corner of his mouth, the way his eyes drop for a second before he schools his face back into polite neutrality.
Jack doesn’t notice. He’s already moving back to the counter, scooping generous helpings of beef and broccoli. “You sure?"
“Nah, I’m good,” Joel says, but his voice is clipped, polite in a way that feels practiced. His gaze meets mine for the briefest second, sharp, unreadable, before flicking back to the cartons.
"Tess wanted me to check if you two're comin' for dinner this Sunday?" Joel remarks casually, like it's not a huge deal, like it's not just an excuse to see each other.
"What do you think?" Jack asks, deferring to me. I bite back my grin, nodding.
That Sunday Jack and I pull up in front of Tess and Joel’s place just as the daylight fades into an amber glow. I balance the cookie tin in one hand while Jack grabs the flowers we picked up on the way, his mood relaxed, his grin easy. He's excited we're going tonight. He keeps talking about how he's missed his mom's cooking.
Tess opens the door before we even knock dressed beautiful, her smile wide. “There they are!” she says, bright and warm, pulling me into a hug first, then Jack. “I swear, it’s been too quiet without you here. I keep turning on the TV just to feel better.”
I smile into her shoulder, a little breathless from her enthusiasm. “We’ve missed you too.”
Jack hugs her tightly, handing her the flowers. Over Tess’s shoulder, I spot Joel in the kitchen doorway. He doesn’t move right away, just watches us with his hands tucked into the back pockets of his jeans.
“Hey,” he says finally, his voice low, and he nods at Jack before letting his gaze drag over to me. It lingers just long enough that my stomach flips.
Before I can think too much about it, Tess adds, “Oh! Tommy and Maria will be here soon, but Bill and Frank are already settling in."
"Bill and Frank are here?" Jack says delighted. "When did they get back?"
"Last week."
I glance toward the living room, and sure enough, Bill and Frank, the couple who live two doors down, are laughing over something at the couch. I think k remember Tess mentioning something about them being travelers. Apparently they were in Vietnam for a few months.
Relief warms me. More people means more buffer for whatever Joel and I are tiptoeing around. I hand off the cookies, which Tess coos over like I’ve just given her a precious gift. “C’mon in, it’s all just about ready,” she says, leading us toward the dining room.
As we pass Joel, I catch the faintest shift of his head toward me, not enough to be obvious to anyone else, but enough that my skin heats. I let Jack go ahead, using the moment to angle my body closer to Joel’s. My arm brushes his as I pass.
“Hey,” I murmur, too soft for anyone else to hear.
His eyes flick to my mouth, and then back up. “Nice dress.”
The dining table is already buzzing. Tess has pulled out the good plates, the cloth napkins, the pitcher of sweet tea sweating on a trivet. Bill and Frank are chatting quietly at the far end, and I spot Tommy and Maria’s car pulling up outside. It’s crowded, yes, but it feels lively, like the house is finally the place it’s meant to be.
“Southern cooking night,” Tess says proudly, motioning to the platters. “Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, biscuits, I even made collard greens, Jack, your favorite.”
“Thanks Mom” Jack says, grinning, already reaching for the tea.
We sit; Tess at one end, Jack beside her, me across from him, and Joel opposite Tess. That puts Joel and me diagonally across from each other; far enough apart to be safe but close enough that if I angle my knee just right…
Tommy and Maria and Frank and Bill round out the rest of the large table and I introduce myself to the latter, answering the same boring questions everyone asks someone new. Tess starts talking about the neighbors’ recent gardening projects, Bill chiming in with some joke about Frank’s herb garden, and Jack laughing at everything with that easy charm I love.
The conversation hums around me, but my attention is snagged on Joel’s hands as he passes the biscuits down the table. Strong, deliberate, the way his thumb presses briefly into the rim of the plate before h
We eat and talk about nothing; Tommy and Maria arrive midway through, laughing about their parking misadventures, and suddenly the table is alive, full of voices and shifting plates.
The air feels warm, almost heavy, the scent of fried food mixing with the faint cologne Joel must have put on. At one point, Jack leans forward to say something to Tess, and I take the chance to run the side of my foot slowly up Joel’s shin. His jaw tightens mid-sentence, but he doesn’t look at me.
When dessert comes, pecan pie Tess insists we have room for; Joel finally meets my eyes again. The look he gives me is dark, promising. After dinner, Tess shoos us away from helping with the dishes. “Go sit out back, enjoy the evening air. I’ll just rinse these and join you.”
Jack heads toward the sliding door, but I hang back under the pretense of refilling my tea. Joel is standing at the counter, drying his hands, the muscle in his forearm flexing. I step past him, my hip grazing his.
“Bathroom,” I murmur.
His mouth tilts, but he doesn’t look at me. “Meet you there.”
Jack calls my name from outside, and I force myself to move away, my pulse still thudding from the way his gaze had followed me even without turning his head. I carry the tea out, sit beside Jack, smile when Tess joins us, and Tommy and Maria take the chairs next to Bill and Frank.
Joel remains inside, the radio on, the space lively, the ghost of his touch lingering like an unspoken call, even in the midst of this lively, crowded table.
"Just going to use the washroom," I say to Jack, excusing myself.
Everyone is so deep in conversation, they don't even notice when I slip away. I make sure I keep my steps measured, my walk casual.
But when the bathroom door comes into view I hurry towards it. Joel opens the door and grabs me around the waist, tugging me inside as he hears my approach.
The door closes behind him and he's already on me,
The door closes behind him and he's already on me. I can still hear the faint clink of cutlery on dessert plates. Joel doesn’t waste a second, his hand slides into my hair, tilting my head back as his mouth claims mine. It’s not gentle, it's needy, it's hungry.
I grip the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, my back hitting the counter. His hips press into mine like he’s trying to fuse us together.
“Fuck, I've missed you,” he murmurs against my lips, his breath hot and uneven.
"You too," I whisper between kisses. My skin is scorching everywhere he touches it.
"You in that dress made me so fuckin hard',” he says, his voice a low growl against my ear. “Knew I was gonna ruin it before the night was over.”
My pulse hammers in my throat. “We don’t have long,” I whisper, breathless.
“Then stop talkin’,” he mutters, spinning me so my stomach meets the edge of the counter. My hands splay against the cool surface as he steps in behind me, his chest flush to my back.
Our eyes meet in the mirror, his dark, focused; mine already glassy. He drags his hands slowly up my sides, under my breasts, pausing to squeeze before sliding down to grip my hips.
“Look at you,” he says, low and deliberate, his mouth brushing my ear. “All worked up just from me bein’ close. You want me that bad?”
I nod, biting my lip, the sight of us in the mirror making my knees weaken. I came in here for a kiss, maybe a light grope. But when he bends me over the sink, my face inches from the glass; I don't fight him on it.
“Say it,” he orders.
“I want you.”
His grin is sinful. “Let’s make sure you remember how much.”
His palm flattens between my shoulder blades, bending me forward until my stomach meets the countertop. My hands splay on the cool surface, catching faint tremors in my own grip. He pushes my skirt up, bunching it over my hips, and drags my panties down in one slow, deliberate pull. The air brushes the heat between my thighs, sending a shiver through me.
"We both need this, baby."
He tosses my panties onto the counter and they land next to the sink, clearly soaked with my arousal. Joel steps in close, crowding me into the counter, his cock thick and hard against my ass even through his pants. A sound slips from my throat before I can stop it, too loud. His hand slides up and covers my mouth, big and warm, sealing me in darkness and heat.
“Shh,” he warns softly, right against my ear. “You gotta keep quiet or they'll hear. You don't want Jack to find his daddy knuckles deep in his girlfriend.” My pussy clenches brutally around him, trying to milk him. I hear his low chuckle. "Yeah, that's what I thought."
His fingers find me without hesitation, sliding through the wetness with a filthy, obscene sound. “Christ,” he mutters. “Soaked already. You know why?”
I bite my lip.
“Because I fuck you how you need,” he answers himself. “I know every little thing that makes you fall apart.” Two fingers push inside me, curling up in that way that makes my knees weaken. His thumb brushes my clit, slow and steady, his other hand braced on my hip to hold me still. “You’re already clenching,” he murmurs, chest pressed to my back now. “Like you’re trying to pull me in deeper.”
He keeps working me with maddening patience, each curl of his fingers hitting just right, each rub of his thumb a little firmer than the last.
My gaze snags on the mirror, and for a second I almost don’t recognize myself. My mouth is slack, lips parted in uneven gasps, eyes glassy and unfocused from how hard Joel is driving into me. My cheeks are flushed deep, damp strands of hair clinging to my temples. I make a whining noise behind his palm and his eyes darken in the mirror at the sound.
“I know, honey,” he mutters, kissing the spot just below my ear before sucking lightly. "Feels good in her, doesn't it? He missed her."
I whimper a quiet yes, watching my body jostling under his movements.
He smirks faintly, eyes dark and certain. “No one makes you cum like I do; no one makes you act like such a little slut.” His hand between my legs moves again, coaxing me back toward the edge. “They’d lose their fuckin’ minds if they knew what we were doin' in here.”
The words send a shiver down my spine, heat pooling low in my belly. He presses his mouth to my neck, the kiss soft but the hold on my hips firm, possessive.
Every thrust rocks my body forward, my breasts swaying, skin glowing under the light. My spine curves instinctively, hips rolling to meet him, and the mirror catches every ripple of motion, the arch of my back, and the drop of my jaw when he hits a really good spot.
My eyes flutter closed, head tilting back against his shoulder as my thighs start to tremble.
“That’s it,” he whispers. “I could make you cum just like this, couldn't I? My fingers in your cunt, my hand over your pretty mouth.”
I’m close already, shamefully close, my hips starting to roll into his touch. He feels it and pulls away. I make a muffled, desperate sound into his palm. His chuckle is low, smug. The rustle of fabric as he shoves his pants down. Then the heavy, hot weight of him nudging at my entrance.
“Breathe for me,” he murmurs, and pushes in slow, inch by inch, stretching me until he’s seated deep. My eyes roll back, a muffled moan spilling into his palm.
“Yeah,” he rasps, hips pressing flush to mine. “That’s it.”
He starts slow, deep thrusts that grind me into the counter, every push making a slick, wet sound that only he can hear over my breathing. His hand never leaves my clit, rubbing in tight, controlled circles that have my thighs quivering.
“You feel that?” His voice is ragged now. “That’s me filling you up, giving you exactly what you need, what you've been missin'."
I whimper loudly behind his hand.
“Shh,” he murmurs into my hair, his lips brushing my ear. “Gotta be quiet, baby.”
I nod, my fingers curling against the counter, my knees threatening to give. He’s still for a moment, letting me feel every inch of him, then he starts to move again, short, urgent thrusts that make the mirror rattle faintly against the wall.
The reflection is almost more intense than the feeling; my flushed cheeks, his broad chest pressed to my back m. His eyes never leave mine in the glass.
“Look at you,” he whispers, voice low and thick. “Taking me so good, like you were made for it.”
I bite down on my lip to stop the sound that rises in my throat. His mouth finds my neck, open-mouthed kisses trailing down to my shoulder. It’s not just lust, it’s something softer buried in the urgency, his lips lingering even as his hips keep their frantic pace.
When he finally takes his hand from my mouth, my breath comes in ragged gasps
His hand slides down from my mouth and to my neck, coaxing my jaw up, forcing me to look at my reflection. I look wrecked, mascara smudged around my eyes, eyes glassy. My tits jerk as Joel fucks into me from behind.
And then Joel comes into view behind me, his expression raw and unhinged. His jaw is taut, teeth bared in a fierce, almost feral grimace as he buries himself into me, eyes dark with hunger and obsession.
"Gonna cum in her tonight, baby," he whispers shakily. "You're gonna have to sit out there stuffed full."
There’s a heat in his gaze that feels like it’s drilling into me even as his body moves with brutal rhythm, shoulders rippling with each thrust, biceps flexing, chest rising and falling rapidly. The veins in his arms and neck stand out, taut under skin that’s slick with sweat, showing how completely he’s lost himself in the motion.
I watch the rise and fall of his back in the mirror, every hard thrust sending him deeper, his hands gripping me, one bracing my hips, the other tangled in my hair. His movements are chaotic and precise all at once, a storm of need I can’t tear my eyes from.
"Look at this fuckin' body," he groans, unable to stop running his hands along my torso. "So tight n' soft. Sweet ass clappin', all for me."
Joel however looks in control, one hand on my hip, the other still wrapped around my neck. He smiles feral at my reflection, his hips and thighs flexing as he pumps into me. I can't keep watching how needy I look, my eyes closing sharply, but Joel's voice washes over me, making me moan.
"Nobody fucks you like I do, do they? Only want this cock, don't you sweetheart?” he breathes in, inhaling my perfume, my sweat.
"Y-yeah," I groan.
The sound of forks on plates outside, laughter carrying in through the walls, it all blurs. There’s only this. Him. The mirror. The impossible urgency of wanting him now, consequences be damned.
His pace changes, slower but the thrusts are deep, deliberate, like he’s trying to brand me from the inside. The sharp smack of skin against skin turns into a low, steady rhythm, each movement dragging a moan from my throat I barely manage to swallow.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my ear, his breath hot and uneven. “That’s better. Feel every inch of me, baby.”
My eyes are half-lidded, hooded with heat, mouth opening and closing in ragged gasps I can hear echoing back from the glass. Every sharp intake of breath, every whimper, is mine and not mine all at once, a reflection of how undone I am.
“You’re mine,” he whispers, the words almost reverent but still laced with heat. “Doesn’t matter who’s out there; doesn’t matter where we are, this-” another hard thrust, his voice rough, “-is mine.”
My eyes lock with his in the mirror, my lips parted, and my body pliant under his grip. We hear movement in the house and even though we continue to thrust we go quiet with Joel's hand covering my mouth.
“Quiet,” he warns again, a quick kiss to my temple. “You want everyone catchin' us? Seein' you bent over getting fucked by a married man?.”
I can’t think about the backyard, the laughter, the clink of forks. There’s only him, the way his breathing grows rougher, the way his hips snap against mine, the way his thumb strokes slow circles over my stomach in stark contrast to the pace of his thrusts.
“You’re my girl,” he says, almost a growl now. “Always gonna be.”
The mirror trembles slightly with each thrust, and my own reflection feels like someone else entirely, someone lost in the way Joel is claiming me.
"Whose girl are you?"
"Yours," I whisper. "Yours, Joel."
"Yeah," he pants, smiling against my cheek. "You're mine."
His hand slides up from my hip to cover my stomach, holding me flush to him as he sinks in again, slow and devastating. I can feel the thrum of his heartbeat against my back. His mouth is at my ear, eyes never leaving mine in the mirror.
"Keep quiet, baby, I can hear those little whimpers."
"I can't," I whine against his palm, feeling needy and pathetic as he uses me. "Joel, I can't it feels too good."
Joel smirks and I watch as he reaches for my panties on the counter. My eyes follow as he drags it to my mouth, the scent of my arousal clinging to the cotton.
"Open."
I acquiesce without thought, watching as he smirks before stuffing the panties in my mouth.
"Good girl. Problem solved."
I want to thank him but the fabric is too tightly wedged into my mouth and Joel has slipped back into me to the hilt, thrusting brutally as my eyes roll back. The pressure pulls tight in my belly, my whines barely muffled by my trembling lips. But I bite down on the panties, the fabric swallowing the building moans as my eyelids flutter.
"Don't you dare look away," he grunts as he pounds into me. "You watch who owns this pussy. You watch the man who makes you cum."
His hand is at the front of my throat, urging my face up to see that the reflection shows my body arching up into him, responding to every deliberate touch, every low, rasping whisper he throws at me.
“That’s it,” he whispers, kissing just below my ear. “That little slut in the mirror knows exactly what she's doin'. Married man buried in her pussy, party goin' on outside."
My hair is a messy halo around my face, strands plastered to my skin, and every tilt of my head, every flicker of my tongue across parted lips, is mirrored back with exacting detail, magnifying the intensity, the mess, the sheer heat of being claimed.
I watch the way my eyes glaze, the way his arm holds me tight against him, the way our bodies fit in the glass. The sounds are shameless: wet, rhythmic, punctuated by the breathless little cries I can’t swallow down no matter how hard I try.
Joel slows only enough to murmur in my ear, “Good girl. Take me deep,” he orders, and I obey, watching his big frame bent over me, his hips working, the flex of his forearm as he keeps my jaw facing the mirror.
I watch myself fall apart, and in the mirror, I can’t look away.
"There she is," Joel says softly before pressing a kiss to my temple. "You don't look away for a second. You watch who's makin' you cum, understand?"
My knees are shaking now, my nails digging into the marble top, my middle pressing hard into the cool edge for balance. Every thrust is harder, sharper, the slap of his hips against my ass echoing in the dark room.
“Almost there,” he growls. “Almost there, baby. You’re gonna cum all over me, yeah? Right here, bent over, everyone just outside?"
I feel my eyes cheating back but I nod, forcing my face forward again, unable to stop looking at him. I want this image imprinted in my mind forever, Joel draped over me, holding me in place as he thrusts.
"You’re gonna remember exactly who fucks you right," he grunts against my cheek, "Gonna remember that this is the cock that makes you cum like a little whore."
The pace shifts, bang, bang, bang, his cock driving deep while his fingers circle my clit faster, relentless. My eyes roll back again, my thighs clamping tight around him as the orgasm tears through me, hot and blinding.
The orgasm rips through me hard, silent but shaking, my fingernails digging into the counter as I ride it out. I moan into the cotton, the sound smothered as my body jerks and squeezes around him, wetness spilling over his cock as I cum.
"That's my girl," he gasps softly. "Cumming on the right cock tonight. Only gonna cum on this cock from now on."
He fucks me harder, milking every last pulse until I’m sagging onto the sink, limp and shaking and nodding. He leans in, lips grazing my ear.
“Now you know,” he says, voice low and satisfied. “You cum so damn easy, but only with the right man."
I'm agreeing, head nodding jerkily. I only want to cum on his cock. I only ever want Joel's cock from now on. His hand is on my cheek, tilting my face up and over my shoulder. He smiles, lips connecting with mine. He kisses me deeply, licking into my mouth before turning me back to face the mirror.
"My turn, baby."
His movements picks up to its previous brutal pace, hips slapping into mine. The sound is echoing and I'm terrified that it'll carry into the next room, but I'm more concerned that he's starting to pump longer, slower and then rapid. He's close.
I throw myself back, arm wrapped behind me around his neck. His eyes blow black, watching my tits jump under my dress from this angle, his cock feeding into me over and over, the arousal dripping down my inner thighs as he keeps going. It looks filthy and gorgeous all at once.
"Not inside, Joel," I whisper into his neck, eyes moving to his in the reflection. "You can't cum inside."
"This is my pussy," he tells me like it's fact, his voice low and husky. He won't break eye contact with my reflection. "I cum in her, darlin'."
"You can't," I insist, even as my hips rock harder against his, the pleasure building again. "You can't."
"I'm gonna cum in her sweetheart," Joel growls against my temple. "And you're gonna watch me do it."
My stomach tightens, muscles bunching and releasing as I brace against the edge of the sink, and in the glass I can see how wrecked I am, my fingers clutching at the countertop like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to reality.
My reflection captures everything: my face twisting in ecstasy, my body shivering and arching, and his wild, almost animalistic intensity, each glance and thrust amplified by the glass until it feels like the two of us exist only here, in this mirrored heat.
“That's right, honey,” he murmurs, his tone both command and praise. "You want me to finish inside, don't you?"
I nod with a whimper, trying to be quiet even with the slap of our skin echoing in the tile.
"That’s it,” he says, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Keep quiet. Don’t want ’em hearin’ how good I’m fuckin’ you.”
I choke back a gasp, my nails curling against the countertop.
"Fuck you're gorgeous like this," he says in an awed tone. He smiles at my grinning reflection. "Oh, you want praise is that it? It's not enough I made you cum you wanna know how good you are?"
I bite down hard on my lip, my eyes flicking around the mirror. He’s looking right at me, his jaw tight, sweat dampening the curls at his temple. My chest is tight, my legs trembling, and he must feel it because his grip on me tightens, his thrusts getting rougher.
“You’re my beautiful girl,” he says, almost a growl now. “Always gonna be. And my girl needs my cum, doesn't she?"
The praise makes something in me unravel. My head tips back against his shoulder, my mouth falling open in a silent cry as I keep my gaze locked with his in the reflection. The sight makes my breath hitch.
“Yeah…” he murmurs, his lips brushing my ear, his breath hot and uneven. “That's right, baby. Just let it happen."
My eyes lock with his in the mirror, my lips parted, my body pliant under his grip as I watch my body being used for his pleasure, his large hands on my hips, the way he holds me in place as he fucks into me. His jaw tight, his hand firm on my hip as he drives into me one last time, burying himself deep.
“That’s it,” he rasps, his thrusts are urgent now. “Look at me. Watch how good you look when I finish in you."
His thrusts stutter and without warning his mouth is at my shoulder, biting down gently as he shudders. I feel the warmth of his spend flooding my pussy, his groan muffled into my skin.
We stay like that for a moment, breathing hard, foreheads almost touching in the glass before he eases out, fixing my dress with quick, careful hands.
He wipes me down, tugging the panties from my mouth and pulling them up my legs. He presses one last kiss to my lips, softer now.
“Go,” he says quietly, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “Before they wonder.”
I nod then impulsively kiss him, feeling my heart soften when his hands come to cup my face before deepening the kiss.
"Who do you belong to?" He murmurs, his eyes on me.
"You."
I answer in a sigh, no thought just the instinctual knowledge that I do belong to him just as much as he belongs to me.
"All of you," he smiles.
I slip out first, my legs unsteady, and the bathroom door clicking shut behind me
The drive home from Joel and Tess’s place is quiet in that companionable way it often is after a big dinner. Jack hums tunelessly to the radio, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He’s smiling but his eyes keep flicking to the road ahead like his mind is somewhere else entirely.
I stare out the passenger window, the cul-de-sac lights blurring into golden streaks as we pass. My chest feels heavy. I can still see Joel in my mind, how he’d caught my gaze across the table, the almost imperceptible way he’d soften before looking away.
I hadn’t wanted to name it before, but now the truth presses up against me, undeniable and terrifying: I’ve fallen in love with him. Not just attraction. Not just fascination. Love. And it’s not the kind you can tuck away in a back corner of your heart and ignore.
It hits me with a sudden, painful clarity—staying with Jack isn’t fair. Not to him. Not to me. Not when I know what I feel for another man.
I feel my phone buzz in my purse. I pick it up and read it, Jack distractedly looking at the road.
Be outside your apartment at 12 tomorrow.
That's all it is, no details, nothing. The starkness of his message makes me wince a little. A reminder that even if Jack and I separate there's no guarantee that Joel will want to continue things.
But that's okay. Because if Jack has really found something with Anne, if that’s why he’s been so distracted, so distant, then this is the kindest thing I can do. This is me showing love to Jack, the most selfless kind I'm capable of.
“I was thinking,” I say softly, my voice breaking the comfortable hum of the radio. “Maybe we could go out for dinner tomorrow night? Just us. The Italian place?”
His head turns slightly, and for a second he looks almost relieved? “Yeah?” His smile brightens, quick and easy. “That sounds great. Been a while since we did that.”
I nod, pretending to share his enthusiasm, but in my mind, tomorrow night is already decided. That’s when I’ll tell him. That’s when I’ll finally let go.
Jack’s gaze lingers a moment too long, and I see his expression flicker, like he’s caught something in my eyes I hadn’t meant to reveal.
We don’t speak much after that.
At home, we go through the motions of brushing teeth, changing into pajamas. Jack kisses me goodnight, but it’s brief, distracted, and when we climb into bed, he turns away faster than usual.
There’s a stiffness in his shoulders, a slight tension in the way he exhales. Within minutes, his breathing evens out. He’s asleep, one arm flung carelessly across the sheets, his phone resting on the nightstand beside him. .
I lie there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, my chest aching with the weight of tomorrow.
A tear slips free before I can stop it, rolling over my temple and disappearing into the pillow. I don’t sniffle, don’t shift. Jack’s breathing stays even, his back warm against the edge of my arm. I remember when that warmth felt like home.
I’m on the edge of sleep, my mind loosening its grip, when a sudden beep jolts me back. It’s sharp in the quiet, the screen glow flashing against the wall. Jack’s phone.
I blink, disoriented for a second, before turning my head toward the nightstand. The screen is still lit. The notification banner is there, bold against the dark.
It’s late, past two am. My pulse stutters, then starts to race. I don’t move right away, my brain caught in the space between disbelief and dread. The light from the phone glows against Jack’s shoulder, and I swear his breathing doesn’t change. He’s still asleep.
Slowly, I reach over, careful not to make the mattress dip too much, my fingers curling around the cool rectangle of glass. The screen tilts toward me, and I bring it down to my side of the bed, holding it low so the light doesn’t spill across his face.
Logan.
My stomach tightens. Logan hates me. Always has. But he’s Jack’s friend, supposedly professional. Still, curiosity gnaws at me. I reach for the phone, but it’s locked. Jack is still asleep. I take his thumb and press it to the sensor. The screen unlocks instantly. The message is simple: a video attachment and the words: For the collection xx
I frown. Collection? The “xx” is personal. I slip in my earbuds, hit play, and my heart starts to hammer. The video opens to a dimly lit room. Jack is sitting on the edge of a bed, his face pink, lips parted in that shy, awkward smile he wears when he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
Logan’s voice is first, teasing, casual. “Look at this kiss-ass,” he murmurs, camera wobbling slightly as it pans. "Worked all week but volunteered for an extra shift. You wanna tell the camera why?"
“Shuddap,” Jack says softly, ducking his head.
“C’mon,” Logan teases. His tone is still playful, but there’s a slow shift. It deepens, softens, and the teasing becomes something more intimate. "C'mon Jack. Tell the camera why you're really here on a Saturday."
Jack fidgets with his hands, pressing them lightly against his thighs, moving with shy, nervous anticipation
"Because you're here on Saturdays."
Logan chuckles softly, adjusting his position in frame, murmuring encouragements in low, intimate tones. "And why did you want to see me, today?"
Jack's face is a bright red. I have never seen him this flustered before. The sight clearly amuses Logan. "That's okay. You don't have to say. You wanna get on your knees for me, pretty boy?”
The question shocks me. I wait for Jack to laugh, push back, protest. But he doesn’t. His eyes light up, eager, bright, full of trust. He stands up from the chair and slowly lowers himself to the floor. Logan goes closer, the camera shifting to close up on Jack.
“Good,” Logan murmurs, voice low, warm. “Take off your clothes. Let me see that perfect body.”
Jack obeys instantly, pulling the T-shirt over his head. His chest is tan, dotted with a few freckles, soft lines of muscle flexing as he bends forward. His pants, his boxers, all are tossed onto the floor until he's there knelt before Logan completely bare now.
His gaze stays fixed on the camera, on Logan, completely unfazed by his own nudity.
Logan's hand moves into frame, fingers gently grazing Jack's cheek. His shoulders are tense with anticipation, chest rising rapidly when Logan's thumb moves to drag along his full lips, slipping it into Jack's mouth.
Jack begins to suck on it gently, eyes going glazed. Logan groans his name before dragging the digit out, wetting Jack's lower lip with his own saliva.
“Gonna use these pretty blowjob lips on me?” Logan’s voice is gentle, teasing at the same time.
“Yes,” Jack replies immediately.
"Good boy” Logan murmurs, low and intimate, dragging his thumb over Jack’s lower lip. “I wanna hear you beg for it. Can you do that for me?”
Jack swallows, eyes widening, shivering slightly. “Yes”
“Look in the camera” Logan says next, and Jack doesn’t hesitate. His voice is soft but needy:
“Please… please let me suck your cock, Logan.”
Logan’s fingers card through his hair gently, thumbs brushing over the soft nape of his neck. “Good boy.”
Jack leans into the touch, eyes unfocused, lips slightly parted. I watch as Logan points the camera slightly down. He's already nude, cock jutting and pressing against Jack's lower lip.
"Show me how much you want it," Logan encourages. Jack doesn't even hesitate, licking the head without breaking eye contact.
The sound he makes when he opens his mouth around Logan is wet, muffled, desperate. The entire scene is a mix of urgency and devotion. Jack’s lips suck and slide, throat humming, moaning quietly with every gentle praise. Logan’s voice keeps low, rich, guiding him with words that are part command, part affection.
"Fuck how are you so good at that?" Logan groans, cock twitching against Jack's tongue.
The camera grain, the slight wobble, the muffled room noises make everything feel immediate, visceral. Every motion Jack makes conveys consent, enjoyment, and deep desire.
Logan’s murmurs guide him, coax him, praise him, ensuring he knows how good he is, how much he is cherished.
"You're so beautiful on your knees for me. Fuck, Jack, you're fucking perfect."
A low moan escapes him with each careful, greedy motion. His hands rest lightly on Logan’s hips at first, and then start to wander, stroking himself in time with the rhythm. He sucks Logan sweetly, eyes up at him as he strokes himself.
“You’re so pretty,” Logan murmurs, running a hand along Jack’s cheek. “God, your skin, so soft….”
The way he moves, slow, deliberate, almost reverent, makes it obvious he trusts Logan completely. I watch Logan's fingers curl in Jack's hair, guiding him to take him deeper, groaning when Jack almost chokes on him.
"Fucking perfect," Logan gasps, thrusting deeper and retreating. "Can you take more?"
Jack moans around his cock, nodding before looking up at him with desperate, needy eyes.
"Fuck. Fuck just- just like that," Logan says, his hips smacking against Jack's mouth as he fucks it.
The noises are intimate and messy, wet slurps, the faint scrape of teeth on skin, Jack’s own breath hitching in little, and uneven pants. His knees are on the carpet, toes flexed, and posture submissive yet eager. Every time he pulls back, saliva stretches from his lips to the head of Logan’s cock, glistening in the soft light.
“That’s it,” Logan murmurs. “Such a good fucking boy.”
Jack moans around him, trembling slightly. His eyes are glazed, glassy, pupils blown wide.
They’re breathing hard now, chests rising and falling in sync. Logan’s hand keeps Jack’s hair guided, thumb brushing the soft skin along his cheek. Jack’s own hand presses against his own thigh, clutching at himself, jerking off in rhythm.
'So pretty,” Logan murmurs, voice low, intimate. “And your all mine, aren't you?"
Jack trembles, lips parting, eyes glossy, completely absorbed in Logan’s guidance and praise. “Yes… I’m yours…”
I bite my lip, chest tight. Every moan, shiver, and whispered word draws me in. Jack is submissive, attentive, eager, responding to Logan’s dirty talk and praise with every fiber of his body.
Their intimacy is palpable, kisses, nudges, gentle guidance, playful teasing, murmurs, shivers, soft laughter. Logan’s husky voice drags Jack closer, praising, coaxing, drawing moans and gasps from him. Jack’s cheeks are flushed, lips trembling, eyes half-lidded, shivering, completely lost in Logan’s attention.
I've never seen Jack like this. My broad, fitness-obsessed boyfriend. I could never have imagined him looking so at home on his knees, sucking another man's cock. The grain of the video captures every nuance, the blush along his cheeks, the small trembles of his hands, the way his shoulders tighten and release.
Jack's hands are back on Logan's hips, bracing himself as Logan buries his cock in his throat. "Fuck, mmm - Jack... Gonna-"
I see the moment that Logan cums, he's holding Jack's head in place, rutting his hips as Jack's untouched cock bobs, before erupting onto the ground below. The two men groan in unison, their orgasms touching, meeting in the air as Logan floods Jack's mouth.
"Jack," Logan gasps "Jack you're so fucking good."
They’re clearly enjoying this, clearly wanting each other, and the tenderness in Logan’s touches makes my stomach knot, shock and confusion twisting together.
I fumble to turn the phone off when Jack shifts in his sleep next to me. He sighs softly, curling closer, and I slip the earbuds out, heart still hammering. I stare at the ceiling, utterly stunned.
I thought I knew Jack. I thought I knew the man sleeping next to me looking so peaceful I hate him for it. I've been in anguish, disgusted with myself for what I've been doing behind his back. And this entire time he was fucking his co-worker?
I can’t stop thinking about that first text from Logan: For the collection xx
What collection?
My curiosity gnaws at me, even though a small, rational part of me knows I should stop. That anymore is just going to break my heart. My fingers hover over Jack’s phone again, heart hammering. The screen lights up in the dim light of our bedroom, and I notice an icon with a small padlock icon sitting smugly next to the name: “Private.”
I remind myself: I shouldn’t be doing this. But the temptation is too much. I don’t know how to break into it, passwords, biometrics, anything. But then I swipe the shape of an L, not surprised when it opens.
I swipe through everything else, anything accessible, and my chest starts to tighten. The collection Logan was referencing is stuffed full of images and videos and voice memos.
Its innocuous images first; Jack and Logan laughing over coffee, in the physio clinic, goofing off at work. Logan’s arm draped casually over Jack’s shoulder in one, a wide, crooked smile stretching across his face; Jack’s eyes are bright, head tilted toward Logan, completely comfortable.
They’re not just coworkers. Not just friends. There’s a soft, unspoken ease in every shot, a closeness I’ve never seen between Jack and me. My chest tightens even more. These moments are small, almost imperceptible gestures: a brush of fingers against an arm, a hand lingering slightly too long, a shared glance across the room. But in the context of the photos, every detail becomes loaded with meaning.
Then the tone shifts, subtly at first. A selfie shows Logan with his cheek pressed against Jack’s, their noses brushing, lips hovering. Jack’s eyes are half-lidded, soft, almost dreamy. Another photo captures Logan’s hand resting lightly around Jack’s leg as they sit together in a quiet corner of the café. Kissing photos, explicit with tongues touching, hands gripping.
And then I see them in bed. Not just in bed, but snuggled together, soft smiles on their faces, the kind of contentment that comes from being utterly comfortable with another person. Jack’s head resting lightly on Logan’s shoulder, completely lost in each other.
I scroll slower, almost afraid of what I’ll see next. The photos reach back as far as Jack’s second week at his physio job. Week by week, they trace a story: quiet morning coffees, shared breakfasts, playful office banter. I see Jack’s face light up in every frame, growing brighter, his laughter genuine, unguarded. Logan is always there, leaning in, grinning, teasing him, their connection deepening with each image.
The more I see, the more my chest tightens. He’s in love.
And it’s not with me.
I stare at a photo of Jack’s head resting on Logan’s chest in a bed I can only assume it's Logan's. He's taken it selfie style, smiling up at the camera as if to say "how darling". Jack's eyes are closed, lips slightly parted, a soft sigh frozen in the still image.
I feel tears prick at my eyes, the ache in my chest deepening. This is his happiness, and I’m not part of it.
I try to put the phone down, to step back and breathe, but I’m too fascinated, too riveted. The photos, the timeline, the intimacy, it’s addictive, voyeuristic. I keep scrolling, lingering over each detail: Jack’s half-lidded eyes, Logan’s soft smile, the subtle ways their bodies touch, the small, precious moments of closeness.
And with every photo, every gesture, every shared glance, it becomes undeniable: Jack’s heart is somewhere else. The ache is sharp, immediate, and yet I can’t stop. My chest tightens, my hands tremble, and I’m caught between heartbreak and fascination, unable to look away.
I stop at the earliest dated video. From about six weeks back. It starts with Jack at the physio office, smiling at the camera, talking through a leg stretch like a patient demo.
Jack shifts his weight slightly, holding the phone at an angle so the camera captures him and the physiotherapy table. “Okay, so this one’s great for your hamstring flexibility,” he begins, voice light, professional, almost performative.
He lifts one leg, bending it at the knee, and gently presses his foot against the wall while keeping the other leg planted firmly on the ground.
"You want your knee straight, toes flexed toward you. Keep your hips square, back flat, and hold for about thirty seconds. Really feel the stretch along the back of your leg, not in your lower back."
He demonstrates the motion carefully, shifting his hips slightly forward, keeping his shoulders even, the line of his leg stretching smooth and precise under the fluorescent lights of the office.
He’s animated, the way he always is when he’s excited. "I usually like to breathe slowly, in through the nose, out through the mouth," Jack says with a charming smile. "It helps your muscl-”
The door to the room opens with a burst. Jack freezes mid-step and Logan storms in, hair tousled, chest rising fast, eyes locked on Jack like he’s daring him to run. There’s something raw in his energy tonight, a storm barely contained. Even from the video I can see his eyes are red-rimmed.
“Logan, what's going-” Jack begins, but Logan doesn’t wait.
His hands are on Jack’s face, pulling him and suddenly their lips crash together. I hold in a gasp, shocked. Jack stiffens at first, arms up in defense, eyes wide, but Logan doesn’t relent. He presses closer, teeth grazing, hands roaming over Jack’s shoulders, chest pressing insistently.
Jack’s resistance flickers, a battle between instinct and desire. His hands hover over Logan, unsure; wanting to push away, yet inching closer with each heartbeat. Finally, they pull back, gasping, foreheads touching. Jack’s hand is still on Logan’s chest, trembling slightly.
“Logan. What the fuck was-” Jack starts voice uncertain.
“I like you,” Logan interrupts, hurried, tense. “And I think you like me.”
A long, creeping silence extends between the men. Their eyes locked, their breathing heavy.
What the fuck? My eyes widen, taking in the scene.
Jack finally blinks, staring. “What do you mean, you like me?”
"I mean... I like you. I want you. I want to be with you."
"That's just friendship, Logan," Jack says laughing weakly.
“Don’t deny it,” Logan says softly, voice almost breaking. "Please."
"Logan-" jack shakes his head quickly, trying to push the thought away. “I'm not gay."
Logan’s hands tighten slightly on Jack’s arms, leaning closer, eyes pleading. “I didn’t think I was either. I don't even know if I am. I've never felt like this about a guy."
Jack looks like he's going to faint, his face blanched.
"That night I came to you about Marissa. The night we went to the pub, there was a moment wasn't there?" Logan looks undone, his voice reedy. "You felt it too. That spark. When you were driving me home and you looked at me and I just knew you felt the same way.”
Jack doesn't answer.
"I can’t stop thinking about you, Jack. I only go through some days at work because I know I’ll see you. That’s it. That’s all I think about.”
Jack swallows, blinking rapidly, the words digging into him. "I have a girlfriend, Logan.”
"So did I" Logan steps back just a fraction, gaze intense. "But the minute I met you it's... It's like the world just got brighter."
Despite everything, I feel my eyes water.. The love is so clear in Logan's eyes and his words.
"And I knew that there was no one else for me. That you were it."
"It's just friendship-'
"I wanna make you cum," Logan says huskily. "I want you to fuck me. That's not friendship, Jack."
I can see in the pixelated image, that Jack's hand hovers loosely in front of his pelvis, trying to hide his building erection. Logan doesn't notice, he starts to pace in front of Jack, his reflection in the mirror behind my boyfriend.
"I know it's a lot and I know it feels like it coming out of nowhere but I've been feeling like this for months, Jack."
Jack swallows hard, his hands fidgeting at his sides. He shakes his head, trying to deny it, to turn away from the truth burning in his chest. “I'm straight, I have a girlfriend, we're planning a future together."
Even as he says it i can see the clear strain in his voice.
Logan's eyes burn, eyes narrowed on the bulge in Jack's pants. He storms over, one arm crooked over Jack's shoulder against the glass, mouth inches from his ear.
I watch as his hand slides down Jack's torso to cup his hard cock through his pants. "Does she make you this hard, Jack?"
"Logan-" His voice is sharp but quiet, almost a whisper that slices through the room. His eyes are on Logan's hand which is sliding along his cock. A cock which is swelling further under Logan's deft touch.
Jack hisses, biting his lower lip as it happens, eyelids fluttering at the unexpected pleasure.
"Tell me this isn't what you want" Logan whispers. His fingers fumble at Jack's waistband before sliding under. I hear the sound of flesh on flesh as he begins to stroke and then the deep groan that escapes Jack.
A sound I've never been able to pull out of him, not even at our best.
"You don't get hard like this for a friend," Logan insists huskily, his movements quicker. Jack is panting, gripping his shoulder as Logan jerks him off.
"Not even twenty seconds," Logan smirks, his movements more rapid. "And you're so close."
Jack's cheeks are pink, eyes glassy as he groans lowly again, eyes never straying from Logan's.
"You tell me it's so hard to cum with her," Logan continues, the movements under Jack's pants increasing in tempo. "But with me? It's just my hand and you're almost over the edge."
Jack shakes his head jerkily, but his hips are thrusting forward, fucking into Logan's hand.
"I think I could make you cum right here against the wall with just my hand, Miller," Logan says not unkindly.
"Fuck- fuck, no don't stop-" Jack gasps just as Logan slides his hands out of his pants. Jack is shaking, his teeth bared as he realizes what he's said.
"You wanted me to keep going." Logan’s words hang in the air, insistent, patient, coaxing him toward a truth Jack clearly isn’t ready to claim.
"Just because it felt good," Jack scowls. "Anyone stroking my cock feels good, Logan. Doesn't mean I'm gay."
Logan sighs, frustrated. "Jack, c'mon..."
Jack's big hands fidget, fingers curling and uncurling, restless. "I have a girlfriend. I love her. "
"I know and I loved Marissa just as much. But I ended it because of this, because of you. " Logan's voice catches on the last word. "I want all of you, Jack; even the parts you think are broken and ugly. The parts you can't show your girlfriend or your parents."
Jack's lower lip trembles, his big strong frame suddenly weakened by the words of Logan. His fingers twitch, hovering near Logan’s chest before dropping. Jack shakes his head, lips parting as he mutters my name, clearly torn. “I don't want to hurt her. I love her.”
"I loved Marissa too," Logan nods. "But it doesn't come close to how I feel about you."
Jack's eyes are overflowing. Mine are too.
“Tell me you don’t want me.” Logan’s voice drops, softer now, desperate, coaxing. "Tell me you don't want me and I'll never bring it up again. I'll transfer to another clinic. You never see me again."
Jack is shaking his head before looking away for a fraction, then back, eyes wide, wet.
I lean closer to the screen, heart thudding in my chest, every muscle taut as I watch.
My stomach tightens, and I press my hand to it without even thinking, because watching him struggle like this, heart and body betraying him, is breaking my heart.
His chest rises and falls too fast, fingers flexing at his side.
And Logan is calm, patient, waiting. Letting Jack make his choice. But the quiet intensity in his eyes is magnetic, and I can see Jack being pulled into it against his will. His lips part, a little gasp escaping before he even realizes it, and I can almost hear the choked words he’s holding back. I lean closer, breath catching, because my chest is tight just watching him unravel.
"I... Logan, I..."
I swear I see it in the screen, the moment he can’t hold it any longer: the faint, involuntary lean forward, the smallest quiver of surrender, the silent confession that is already written all over his body.
“I do want you.” His voice is small, almost broken, his face crumples. Jack’s head dips, his hands trembling slightly as he flexes and curls, struggling to contain the pull he knows he shouldn’t feel.
Logan’s hands cup Jack’s cheeks, leaning closer, their foreheads touching. Jack swallows hard. "I'm tired of pretending I don't want you like this."
“You felt it that night,” Logan murmurs, almost shaking. “Didn't you?."
Jack closes his eyes, nodding slowly. He opens them again, looking at Logan, vulnerability shining through. “I just thought it was in my head.”
Logan leans in, brushing lips against the curve of Jack’s mouth. "This is real.”
Jack hesitates, trembling. His hands graze Logan’s shoulders, then slide down his chest, tentative. “I can’t stop thinking about you. You're the one I want to tell everything to. The one that I get excited to see every day.”
“I want you,” Logan whispers, voice raw, thumb stroking the line of Jack’s jaw. "I want you, Jack."
Jack’s lips part, breath hitching, eyes flicking away and back, wrestling with himself. Finally, with a shaky laugh, he presses his mouth against Logan’s, hesitant at first, then with growing intensity.
Their tongues meet, tentative, exploring, and then deepening as their hips grind together. I watch Jack pull back, his eyes wide. "Holy shit."
Logan pulls back, worried, his eyes searching Jack's face. "What?"
Jack lets out a shuddering laugh, his hands on Logan's waist. "I’ve j-just never felt like that kissing anyone.”
Logan laughs, a warm chuckle that makes both men smile. He kisses Jack slowly, fingers loosely around his neck, their eyes closed, their tongues gently tangling.
"Fuck," Jack sighs, mouth on Logan's. "Fuck this feels...."
"Right?"
"Yeah." Jack shakes his head, letting out a nervous laugh. “I can’t believe this is happening." Suddenly he sobers, face dropping. "Logan, My girlfriend. My parents. How do I tell them?"
I see Jack starting to get agitated, his body tensing. Logan's hands are still on Jack's cheeks, holding his face and gazing at him with adoration. "Shh, calm down."
"Logan they're never going to talk to me again," Jack says with a frantic expression, tears in his eyes. "Fuck, my girlfriend is never going to forgive me. She moved here for me!"
Logan looks like he wants to say something, his mouth tensing. I feel my stomach drop. He's going to tell Jack. He's going to tell him everything, about seeing me and Joel. But then he exhales slowly, bringing Jack into a tight embrace. Jack clings to him, hands trembling.
“You don’t have to do anything right this second,” Logan murmurs, voice low and steady as he holds Jack. “We take it slow. Well figure it out together. I'll be there every step of the way."
Jack melts, I watch him, the gooey way he just lets Logan hold him, kiss him. Jack catches sight of the camera, pointing with a laugh.
“I forgot this was on."
"No way." Logan laughs, coming to grab it. "One for the memories I guess. Our first kiss."
The screen freezes, the video over. My eyes are saucers as I realize how my life will never be the same. The sweet man I loved, my first love, was never really mine. Not in the way I thought.
Jack is turned away from me, his back a solid, unmoving line in the dim glow that seeps through the blinds. I swallow hard, forcing my breathing to stay slow so Jack won’t stir. The irony isn’t lost on me. I’ve been holding a secret in my chest for months, my feelings for Joel, the way I look at him when no one’s watching, the way my skin remembers the heat of his hand.
And yet here I am, my boyfriend desperately in love with someone else. The phone feels heavier in my palm the longer I hold it. Another tear slips free, sliding hot and slow over my cheek. I press the phone face-down against my thigh, the light cutting off, plunging the room back into shadows.
Jack stirs faintly, rolling his shoulder before settling again. I study the slope of his back, the way it rises and falls. I used to love him so cleanly. Now it feels like love tangled with pity, with obligation, with a grief I don’t know how to name. And there's so much relief in it. To know that his heart won't be broken, not really. Not in a way that can't be salvaged.
I set the phone back on the nightstand, my movements careful, deliberate. The glow fades from the room, leaving only the streetlamps pale stripe on the wall. I stare at him again, tears in my eyes. He was my first love, my first home, the man I saw forever with. And even if that forever doesn't exist anymore, I still carry love for him. I always will.
I lie there in the dark, eyes open, heart pounding. The decision is no longer something I’m circling around. It’s already been made.
rating: X (not for minors) \ 14.5k words/bf dad joel miller x female reader
tags: if you don't like smut and morally ambiguous characters this is not the fic for you. there is adultery, thigh fucking, creampies, downright filthy talk, blow jobs, cunnilingus, fingering, keeping quiet, public sex, possessive joel miller and that isn't even all of it.
tldr: you accidentally fuck your bf's dad and then you keep fucking him.
masterlist
This story is only going to get more intense and more porn-y as we go along so please keep leaving those delicious comments of yours and be sure to check back. The ones with photos make me laugh.
I am not able to tag anymore people because tumblr is weird. Just know this story will be updated once a week until complete, probably on Sunday's.
Memory fades, memory adjusts, memory conforms to what we think we remember- Joan Didion
The day before the Houston conference, I’m a mess before I even open my eyes. All night I was twisting in the sheets, heat pooling under the blankets and the stale taste of my own breath in my mouth. And it wasn't just Joel that was keeping me awake.
Its that tomorrow I'm going to be in front of hundreds of people in the industry. An industry I desperately want to be a part of one day.
I've taken the day off today, a chance to recharge my batteries, and honestly some much needed time away from Joel. I need the space, the break from his eyes and his mouth and the memory of both in that truck.
Being with him so often is unnerving, mainly because he's so hard to read. After that truly sweet moment in his truck he's been completely neutral both away and in front of family. It leaves me unsure of how to act.
I've been a basket case all day.
My phone beeps softly beside me, low battery. I pad barefoot down the hall, intent on grabbing my charger from the coffee table before Jack gets home. I've had the place to myself the whole day so when I hear a noise I'm startled.
I’m halfway to the living room when I hear Tess’s voice is all low, careful, the kind of tone you use when you don’t want the rest of the house to hear. Despite she and I being the only ones in the house.
“…No, I didn’t say anything yet. I just don’t know if it would even matter.”
I freeze mid-step, one socked foot sinking into the carpet, my body caught between going forward and retreating.
She’s on the phone.
I shift back until I’m half-hidden in the shadow by the hall corner, breath shallow.
"He's working late again." Pause. "Yeah, yeah I know."
I shouldn’t be listening, I really shouldn't, but something in her voice hooks me. It’s softer than usual, vulnerable. My heart ticks faster as I ease back into the shadow of the hallway, pressing my shoulder against the wall.
“I told you,” she says after a beat, “When we got back together after... her, we agreed we’d stick it out at least until Jack graduated. That was the deal. Give him stability. Keep things steady. And then we'd reassess."
My fingers tighten around the doorframe. Reassess. The phrase feels clinical.
“No, it hasn’t been all bad,” she says, sounding defensive now. “We’ve had good moments just like any couple. Lots of them. You know, sometimes things are fine, sometimes they’re not, it's normal."
The couch gives a faint creak under her weight.
"Yes, when we have it, it's good."
My stomach twists. She’s talking about their sex life. The kind of territory I have no business eavesdropping on, not when I know what Joel sounds like when it’s me under him.
“Lately though it's been weird,” Tess exhales hard through her nose. "Since Jack’s graduation, he’s so hot and cold. One night he's all over me then it's nothing." She trails off again, “it's like he’s somewhere else. Not here with me.”
My throat goes tight, because I know exactly where somewhere else is.
“And the thing is,” Tess says, quieter now, “I’ve felt this before. That pulling away feeling. Right before I found out about, you know... Her."
Her?
Another pause, and then Tess gives this low, dry laugh that doesn’t sound like amusement at all. “You’ve never liked him. You think I could do better, I’ve heard it all before.”
Her sister must be saying something biting, because Tess’s next words come out sharper. “It’s not that simple. Twenty-plus years, a son, a house, a life-” She exhales, long and thin. “I don’t even know if I want to be divorced or if I just want him to fight for this marriage. But when he does try, it’s like it's hard to let him."
The guilt rises thick in my throat. She’s talking about shutting him out, about resisting his touch and I’m the reason for it. Every kiss I’ve stolen from him has been stolen from her too.
Finally, Tess says, almost to herself, “Maybe I already know where this is going and selfishly, I'm not ready to end things. I love him, Claire. I do."
There’s a long silence, just the hum of the fridge and the faint clink of her mug against the coffee table.
"I miss him." Her voice falters. "I miss how we used to be."
The pit in my stomach deepens. There’s something about hearing Tess’s uncertainty and her vulnerability makes me hate myself.
She goes quiet again, listening. The ticking of the wall clock sounds too loud.
The click of the front door lock jolts me. I twist toward it; Jack’s voice drifting in, cheerful.
“Hey, anyone home?”
Panic spikes through me. I duck back fully into the hallway, pressing flat against the wall, heart pounding.
In the living room, Tess’s tone shifts instantly, bright and casual. “ I’m in here, honey, just talking to your auntie Claire!”
I duck inside my room and shut the door, pulse hammering in my ears. I tell myself I’m just relieved to avoid being caught listening. But the truth is, I’m glad I don’t have to look her in the eye. Not with all I know, not with all I've done.
_______________________________________________
Beep beep beep.
I groan, sliding the button on my phone to silence the alarm before a throwing a hand over my forehead.
It’s the morning of the conference.
Four days of the International Builders Conference, my first real immersion into the business, my first time standing shoulder to shoulder with people who actually know what they’re doing.
The people who will hear me speak about Miller Brother Construction, maybe judge me for what I say or how I say it. I’ve been prepping for weeks; papers from Tommy stacked in teetering piles on my desk, late nights highlighting printouts until my eyes burned, running mock pitches in front of the bathroom mirror until my voice grew hoarse. And still, the fear gnaws at me.
When I finally swing my legs out of bed, the floor feels cold against my bare feet. My head’s heavy, my stomach queasy with the kind of anxiety that’s part hunger, part nausea. I reach for Jack without thinking, needing that easy comfort of his warmth and my hand meets only the cool, wrinkled sheet. He's not there, but there’s a folded note beside my phone on the nightstand.
You looked like an angel sleeping. I didn’t want to wake you. I love you so much. Have the best time and I’ll call you tonight. You’re going to kill it out there. Love, J.
My eyes skim the words, my throat tightening in a way that feels ungrateful. I should feel touched. Instead, irritation flares low in my chest. He didn’t even stick around to see me off. No hug at the door. No last-minute pep talk. Just gone. I already know why; jogging time. He’s explained the sanctity of that routine more times than I can count.
I tell myself its fine. That it’s unfair to resent him after the talks we’ve had lately; long, exhausting talks in the shadow of that night at the bar, Logan’s rudeness, and the way Jack’s face had pinched with embarrassment and guilt afterward. He apologized, over and over, and it felt like he meant it. He said he wants to do better. He even floated the idea of therapy. I’m trying to believe him.
I shower, dress, and pull my hair back with shaky hands. The suitcase wheels hum against the hardwood as I drag it toward the kitchen, the smell of coffee growing richer with each step.
Joel’s already there leaning against the counter, a big hand wrapped around a coffee mug, his duffel bag slouched at his feet. His head tips slightly when he hears me, and he looks up.
Our eyes meet for just a second; brief, but enough. Enough for heat to bloom low in my stomach, for my skin to feel too tight. I think of last week, unbidden: how his mouth found mine, slow and deliberate. How his palm cupped my cheek like he was holding something fragile. How he’d brushed my tears away like they mattered to him.
Somehow, that tenderness feels more dangerous than all the ways I’ve wanted him before. More humiliating, too. I can explain away lust. I can’t explain the way he made me feel protected and cared for in a way I don't feel with Jack anymore.
I busy my hands with the coffee pot, pouring into a chipped mug just to have something to do. The hiss of liquid, the faint bitter steam curling up toward my face. When I turn, I choose the chair opposite of the one he normally takes. I don't trust myself to get nearer. The air between us is thick with unspoken things, the faint scent of his soap still clinging to him, the quiet shift of his shoulders as he takes another sip.
“Morning,” I manage, and it comes out softer than I mean it to.
Joel greets me with that quiet drawl and moves toward the table, the fabric of his shirt stretching across his shoulders. His profile catches the light through the kitchen window; sharp nose, strong jaw, the faint crease between his brows. He looks good. Too good. I have to keep my fingers curled around my mug, resisting the sudden, stupid urge to run my hands through his hair just to see how it would fall back into place.
"Where's Tess?"
"Yoga and then work." He smirks. "Jack and his fitness seem to have inspired her. Wish it inspired me too."
We both chuckle awkwardly, that polite huff to fill the awkward silence. “Good coffee?” I ask, lifting my mug to my lips. The steam curls up toward my face, carrying that bitter, grounding scent.
Joel nods, taking a slow sip of his own. “Yeah.”
The quiet between us feels oppressive. I can almost hear the ticking of the clock above the fridge. I wish Tommy would hurry the hell up so we could get on the road.
“So, Jack’s gone jogging already?” Joel asks, brows raised his tone carefully casual.
“Yeah,” I say, tracing the rim of my mug with my fingertip. “Says it helps him get focused for the day.”
Joel’s fingers tap a slow rhythm against the table. “Makes sense. He comin' to see you off?"
I'm embarrassed, shrugging one shoulder as I pour the cream into my coffee. For a second I see a true flash of anger in Joel's face and I can't help but question it, my voice small. "What?"
"I didn't raise my son like that. Not to see his girlfriend off when she's goin' on a trip."
"It's fine, Joel. He said goodbye last night."
"No, it's not, okay," he snaps. "It's disrespectful. If you were mine I'd-" He cuts off abruptly when he hears himself. My heart is roaring in my ears. If I were his. I don't need to think about that.
"It's just how things are," I shrug.
"You okay with how things are?"
I keep my eyes on the swirling coffee in my cup.
"Most of the time. Except the whole jogging before work with Anne every morning all the after-work drinks. The lunches together…”
I’m trying to sound neutral, but my voice has that tight edge I can’t smooth out. Joel’s eyes meet mine, steady and heavy with something I don’t want to name. He doesn’t speak, and somehow that says more than words could.
“Yeah,” I murmur my throat thick. “I know.”
I shouldn’t feel jealous. Not when I’ve been, what I’ve been doing with Joel. But the twist in my stomach doesn’t care about logic.
"You think he suspects somethin'?"
"No." I shake my head. "I just think he's pulling away from me." I twist the mug handle between my hands. “When I first met him in school, we just clicked. I thought he was my person. I mean, I still do, I think.” It’s absurd that I’m spilling this to Joel, of all people.
“But the longer I’m with him, the more I see this side of him I don’t recognize. He seems… different here. And maybe I am too... Not because of you,” I add quickly, shaking my head. “Well, not just because of you. Jack feels different. *We* feel different.”
Joel leans back in his chair, eyes softer now. “That’s just how it is sometimes, darlin’,” Joel says, voice low and measured. “Doesn’t matter if it’s siblings, coworkers, partners. Relationships ebb and flow.” He tilts his head slightly, thoughtful.
“Growing up, I always had Tommy causing trouble. Always had to bail him out or keep him in line. He was a handful, but I loved him. Still do.”
I smile faintly, the comparison settling in my chest like something warm. “Sounds exhausting.”
“Mostly,” Joel says, a quiet laugh slipping out, the kind that softens the sharpness in his face. “He’s a little infuriating sometimes. Kind of like Jack is for you right now, I guess.”
I huff a soft laugh. “Kind of like Jack.” My voice carries amusement, but the edge hasn’t fully left.
Joel nods, glancing toward the window. “Exactly. Hard to understand sometimes, but you wouldn’t trade him.”
Wouldn’t I? I take another sip, the warmth from the coffee bleeding into my hands, easing some of the tension in my shoulders. It’s rare for us to talk like this, to be still and honest without the current of something sharper running under it.
“Joel, do you ever feel guilty? About Jack and Tess?”
“Yes.” There’s no hesitation, no waver. Just blunt truth. “I feel like an asshole every day. I'm being a shitty husband and an even shittier father.”
The way his mouth presses into a line tells me the conversation’s over. I don’t push.
The doorbell cuts through the air, startling us both into motion. The scrape of chairs, the clink of mugs hitting the sink. Joel reaches for my suitcase before I can protest, slinging his duffel over his shoulder in one smooth motion.
“You don’t have to-”
“It’s just how things are done here, sweetheart,” he says with a quick smile. His hand brushes mine briefly as he takes the handle. “Go on and get in the truck."
_________________________________________
It’s a three-hour drive to Houston from Joel’s place, the kind of trip where the horizon stretches out in long, flat lines, the light changing so gradually you don’t notice until you’ve been staring too long. The air still has that early-morning bite to it when we step outside, my suitcase thudding into the truck bed, Joel’s duffel landing beside it.
Tommy’s already in the driver’s seat, one arm draped lazily over the wheel, sunglasses perched on his head. Joel slides into the passenger seat with an easy familiarity, shutting the door with a solid thunk, and I climb into the back. The leather’s cool against the backs of my thighs, the faint scent of old coffee and aftershave clinging to the cab.
As soon as we pull out of the driveway, the brothers fall into their own rhythm. They talk about work; framing schedules, a roofing job they just wrapped, then shift to sports, tossing sarcastic commentary back and forth. Tommy says something about a game last night, and Joel’s laugh rumbles low, warm in the narrow space.
I let the hum of their voices wash over me, looking out the window at the blur of trees and billboards. It should be calming. At one point, when the conversation lulls, I glance up and catch Joel’s eyes in the rearview mirror. It’s quick, almost accidental, except he doesn’t look away right away. His gaze lingers, steady, assessing, and then one corner of his mouth lifts. He gives me a slow, deliberate wink.
It could mean anything. Could be harmless, just teasing. But my pulse stutters anyway, and heat unfurls low in my belly, coiling tight. My core aches in that familiar, unwelcome way.
I shift in my seat, staring down at the tote bag in my lap, pretending to dig for gum I don’t need. Nothing is happening on this trip. That’s the deal I’ve made with myself. I’m here for work, my first big conference, my chance to prove I belong in this business. Joel hasn’t actually been inside me since that first time in his office, and it needs to stay that way.
We just need to keep that up. It’s going to get easier. It has to.
Tommy cranks up the radio to an old country station and starts singing along, loudly and badly. Joel groans and tells him to shut the hell up, but there’s no bite to it.
“You’re just jealous I got the voice,” Tommy says, flicking his eyes to the side.
Joel snorts. “Of a cat in a fuckin' blender.”
I laugh under my breath, and Joel’s head turns just enough for him to catch it. His eyes flick to mine in the mirror again, softer this time, like we’re sharing a private joke no one else caught.
I glance away quickly, focusing on the landscape sliding past. The further we drive, the more the highway opens up, stretches of land broken by gas stations, the faint haze of heat starting to rise from the asphalt. We have to make a bunch of stops to make on the way to Houston. Some metal fabrication stop, a masonry yard, stuff like that. Apparently they have a client who's massive home keeps being altered.
I follow them into the different yards, fascinated by what I see. I listen to Joel and Tommy talk quickly between each other, making decisions without thought, confident and in command.
When Joel talks I can't help but watch. The supplier stands next to a collection of beams and the minute Joel starts talking numbers, the world seems to shrink down to just the two of them.
“Eight-fifty,” the man says flatly, tapping his fingers against the jeans. "Can't let it go for less than that."
Joel just gives him that look, the one I’ve come to recognize; steady, unblinking, no hurry.
“Eight-fifty’s too high for this grade,” he says calmly, voice even. “Not when I’m takin’ three of ‘em. You know that. Let's stop wastin’ time.”
The man pushes back, but Joel doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even raise his tone. He just counters, line for line, weaving in the right words, freight cost, knots in the wood, market dip , like he’s laying down pieces to a puzzle only he can see. I watch his mouth move, the easy confidence in it, the way he knows when to let silence hang heavy until the supplier starts fidgeting. Eventually, Joel tilts his head just so, like he’s already won.
“Six-seventy-five,” the supplier finally mutters, defeated. "But that's it. I can't go below that."
Joel’s mouth curves slow, satisfied but not smug. “Fair enough.” He extends his hand, steady, commanding, and the man shakes it.
Just like that, it’s done. I realize I’ve been holding my breath, pulse a little quick. There’s something about watching him as Joel the builder, the man who bends numbers and people alike until they line up the way he wants. When he finishes the deal he turns and sees me watching. He gives me a smirk and a wink before murmuring that we should meet Tommy.
The cab feels smaller than it should after that, like the air’s gotten thicker somehow. I press my knees together, shifting so I can lean against the door and tell myself, not for the first time since the trip started, that I just need to calm down.
Nothing is going to happen on this trip.
_________________________________________
By the time we pull into the hotel’s covered drive, the evening sun has baked the air into something thick and heavy. The building rises in clean lines of glass and brushed steel, reflecting back the cloudless Texas sky. Valets in navy jackets flit between cars, the faint scent of exhaust mingling with freshly watered landscaping.
"Shit, this place really is fancy," Tommy whistles as we approach.
Inside, the air conditioning hits in a rush crisp, cool, and faintly perfumed with something expensive, like citrus and vanilla. The marble lobby gleams under high, vaulted ceilings, muted jazz spilling from hidden speakers.
Guests wheel suitcases across polished floors while a fountain murmurs softly near the seating area. They all dress like Joel and Tommy in jeans and t-shirts, flannel rolled up to the elbows, boots thick. Men in trades may make decent money, but you'd sure never know it by how they dress.
Tommy slings his duffel over his shoulder and heads straight for the check-in desk with the same loose, easy stride he has everywhere. Joel falls in beside him, his long legs eating the space between us. I hang back a step, my hand still curled around the handle of my carry-on, trying to pull myself into professional mode.
The front desk clerk is a tall, sandy-haired man, with a too-white smile who greets us with a smooth, practiced cheer. His name tag reads Erik.
“Welcome to the Westmont. Checking in?” he asks, fingers poised over his keyboard.
“Yessir,” Tommy says, leaning an elbow on the counter like he’s about to order a beer. “Got a reservation under Miller.”
“Of course,” Erik says, tapping keys and reading the reservation. “We’ve got three rooms booked for four nights."He confirms the credit card details before sliding sleek key card packets across the counter one by one to the three of us. "All on the same floor, twelfth, with a view of the city."
Tommy’s too busy stuffing his key card into his jeans to notice the tension between Joel and I. We're on the same floor? I mean, it makes sense but I think I was hoping we'd be further away.
“City view, huh? Bet it’s nice from up there.” He scoops up his bag. “I’m gonna dump my stuff and then find some dinner. Y’all comin’?”
Joel nods. "Sounds good. That diner today was shit."
We ride the elevator together with me pressed into one corner and Joel standing beside Tommy, his broad shoulders blocking half my view of the doors. The mirrored walls catch little betrayals: Joel’s eyes flicking toward me when Tommy’s not looking, my fingers toying with the zipper pull on my bag just to have something to do.
When we reach the twelfth floor, the carpet muffles our steps. The hallway smells faintly of fresh linen and floor polish, the walls lined with abstract prints in muted golds and blues.
"For you," Tommy says handing me a key.
I go to the door, watching as Tommy disappears into the room opposite me. I prepare to slide my key when I see Joel move up to the door directly beside mine. We meet eyes briefly at the realization before Joel slides his card, the lock clicks, and he pushes the door open with one hand.
I do the same, stepping into a space that smells faintly of new carpet and lavender cleaning spray. The room is immaculate, a king bed with a crisp white duvet, a floor-to-ceiling window spilling light across a sleek desk, a minibar tucked beneath the TV.
And on the far wall, just to the right of the dresser, a door. The kind with a handle on both sides.I freeze for a second, just staring. What the fuck?
A knock sounds from the other side and Joel makes a quiet, low sound, almost a chuckle that I can hear clear as day through the wall. “Well. That’s somethin’. Looks like a connecting door."
I feel the heat crawl up my neck immediately. I swallow, step over, and open mine. The barrier is still solid between us, but when I turn the handle, I can feel the faint give of his doing the same on his side.
“Guess these rooms are for family traveling together,” he says, one hand still on the handle, silhouetted by the light behind him.
“Yeah,” I repeat, my voice coming out thinner than I want. "Right."
“I’ll be sure to keep mine locked,” he says, the words casual, but something else lingers under them; a flicker of something deliberate.
My throat goes dry. “Good. So will I.”
There’s a pause, the kind that feels like it could tip into something if I let it. Then Joel’s tone shifts into something lighter. “Tommy’s probably halfway to the bar already. You comin’?”
I let out a slow breath and step back from the door. “Nah. It's been a long day and I'm nervous about tomorrow. I'm gonna just call it a day.”
"We’ll meet you for breakfast in the restaurant downstairs at eight tomorrow, okay? And if you want anything to eat tonight just order room service," he says, the adds gently. "And don't be worried, darlin', you'll do just fine."
He closes the door and from the other side, I hear his door click locked. I stand there for a moment, hand still on the cool brass handle, trying to shake the image of him just feet away, separated by nothing more than a lock.
_________________________________________
It's a rasping sound that wakes me from a dead sleep hours later.
I turn over in the plush hotel bed, the heavy comforter sliding across my bare arms, and squint toward the nightstand. My phone’s screen blinds me for a second: 2:07 a.m. The room is dark, still. I can faintly hear the hum of the air conditioner and the muted traffic far below. But the sound doesn’t stop the steady slap… slap… slap.
It’s coming from the Joel's room. And the sound is not talking, not music. At first I think maybe it’s the AC ticking. Or the plumbing. But no, it’s too rhythmic. Too human.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
It’s coming from behind the connecting door. The same one Joel had smirked at earlier, muttering something about keeping his locked. My heart skips a beat when the sound is joined by a soft, guttural sound of Joel's voice.
"I want it… want you so bad… fuck-"
My body goes tight, a rush of heat sliding low into my belly even as my pulse quickens with embarrassment at the realization that he's jerking off. I should roll over, put a pillow over my head, anything to block it out, but instead I stay perfectly still, ears straining. His breathing is heavier now. There’s the faint creak of his mattress, the subtle shift of weight, and then his voice again, low and rough.
“Jesus… you’re all I fuckin’ think about.”
My breath catches.
He groans, quieter this time, like he’s trying to muffle it. “C-can’t stop wantin’ you.”
A wet sound follows; slow, deliberate strokes, his hand working himself with obscene precision. I squeeze my thighs together beneath the comforter. My fingertips curl against the sheet.
"Can't get that sweet cunt outta my mind,” he mutters, almost like he’s talking into the dark. “Spread out for me." The pace changes, faster, more urgent.
I shift against the mattress, not even meaning to, my hips making the smallest roll. Shame prickles up my neck, but I don’t stop listening.
“Wanna fuck you to tears,” he says, voice trembling now, desperation bleeding through. “Fuckin’ take you apart. Ruin you.”
I can hear the slick, rapid strokes, and the faint slap of his palm meeting his skin. His breathing is ragged now, deeper, faster. “Christ, I need you,” he groans. “On top of me… bouncin’ on my cock… lettin’ me feel every fuckin’ inch-”
A low, broken sound catches in his throat. My own breathing’s gone shallow. My palm presses against my thigh through the blanket, a heartbeat away from sliding higher.
“Touch yourself for me,” he pants suddenly, and my eyes fly open in the dark. “C’mon, baby… be good, get yourself all wet.”
My hips shift again under the covers, the friction maddening.
His voice drops to a strained whisper, almost pleading. “Please-fuck… I need it. Need you.”
The tempo on the other side of the door quickens again, wet, frantic, desperate.
“Yeah, yeah, just like that- God, I’m close—” His words fall apart, his breath hitching in short, helpless bursts. "Fuck-fuck ridin’ me… your tits bouncin’, oh fuck--”
The sound builds until it breaks, a guttural groan, raw and unrestrained, the kind of noise you can’t fake. The rhythm falters, his breath catching, and then a long, shuddering exhale. Silence follows, heavy and intimate. Just the sound of his chest rising and falling.
I don’t move. I just listen to his breathing until it evens out and try not to think about the fact that I’m still aching for him.
_________________________________________
The restaurant is already humming when I walk in the next morning to meet Joel and Tommy. The space is busy with the other conference attendees and loud with the dull roar of conversation, the clink of cutlery, the hiss of an espresso machine somewhere near the bar.
Sunlight pours through the big windows, catching on the polished tables and the slick menus laid out in neat stacks by the hostess stand.
I straighten the T-shirt I've been given. A black polo with Miller Brothers construction over the breast, a little hammer and ruler as the two L's.
I spot Joel, sitting in a booth pushed all the way into the far corner, like he’s claimed it as his own. One arm stretched along the backrest, shoulders loose, scanning the room with that quiet watchfulness he never quite switches off.
When he spots me he lifts a hand in a lazy wave. I weave through the maze of tables, every step taking me closer to the man I need to stay away from. I can still hear the echo of last night, the rough, broken sounds I wasn’t supposed to hear bleeding through the thin wall between our rooms. I slide into the booth opposite him, cheeks pink .
“Sleep okay?” he asks, leaning forward enough for the morning light to hit the edge of his jaw.
Does he know I heard him?
I keep my gaze on the coffee cup in front of him, on the faint ring it’s left on the table. “Yeah,” I lie, picking up the menu even though I’m not really reading it. My stomach twists, equal parts guilt and something far less innocent. His eyes are on me, I can feel it, but I don’t risk looking up. Not yet.
Joel’s phone buzzes against the table, the sound sharp in the clatter of the restaurant. He picks it up, squinting at the screen, then exhales through his nose in that way that says of course.
“Tommy wants extra sleepin’ time,” he mutters, thumb tapping the reply box but not typing yet. “Says he’ll be down in a little bit, which means…” His eyes flick up at me, dry, knowing. “…an hour.”
The corner of my mouth tips up before I can stop it. “Typical Tommy.”
“Mhm.” Joel leans back against the booth, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Man couldn’t be on time if his life depended on it.”
For a moment, it’s easy talking about Tommy. Joel mentions Tommy getting drunk the night before a big meeting and then nodding off mid-conversation with a supplier. "I had to tell em he had narcolepsy."
That draws a genuine laugh out of me. Joel returns it with his own, showing off his dimpled cheek. The heaviness between us lifts just enough for me to breathe normally again. Then the waitress comes over, bright and efficient, pen poised.
"Y'all here for the conference?”
"What gave it away?"
"Your daughter's shirt." She says with a smile, pointing at my Miller construction polo. "Matches yours."
I make a choking noise, a horrified laugh that doesn't quite make it out of my throat. All the humor in the room is sucked out. I watch Joel's face drop, something like disgust creeping in. "She ain't my kid."
The waitress goes red in the face, muttering about how she needs glasses. I feel my face go red, the heat crawling up my neck. Joel is forty-eight according to Jack. Not that old, but old enough that he could conceivably be my father, I guess.
Joel stiffly orders another coffee and a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast. I ask for tea and oatmeal, my voice sounding too loud in my own ears. She writes it down, offers a quick smile, and disappears back into the chaos.
And then it’s just us again.
"Well, there goes her tip," Joel says with an uncomfortable laugh.
I trace the edge of my napkin with my fingertip, wishing for another text to come through, or Tommy to walk in, or something. Anything but this quiet that seems so thick it could choke us. We both retreat into our phones, the glow of the screens a safe distraction from the heavy quiet. I scroll through unread messages until I see Jack’s name.
You're going to do so great, babe. I'm so proud of you for chasing your dreams!
He’s been texting since I woke up; little good-morning notes, a joke about the weather "back home," a photo of him in one of the rooms at work.
I type a quick reply, fingers tapping out a genuine reply of appreciation. The clink of dishes makes me look up as the waitress returns with our plates. She sets mine down, then Joel’s, her smile faltering.
Joel’s tone is clipped when he thanks her, polite enough to pass but cool enough to make her blush before she hurries off. We start eating. Joel’s focus is on his eggs, mine on stirring too much honey into my tea. My phone buzzes again, vibrating against the table.
I glance at the screen. “It’s Jack,” I say, more to fill the air than to offer an explanation.
Joel doesn’t look up right away. “How’re things with you two since that night?” he asks finally, voice low, casual enough that I can’t tell if he really wants to know.
We haven't mentioned the night Joel came to pick me up. How his kisses made me feel more cared for in one evening then Jack had all month. I hesitate, part of me wants to tell Joel everything but another part of me clenches tight, remembering that he and I have a history no one else knows about.
Jack’s name sometimes feels like a line drawn in the sand, one I shouldn’t cross here, not with Joel. And yet, the truth is clawing at my chest, desperate to escape. I want to confess, to unburden myself to someone who actually understands, someone who’s tangled up in the same chaos.
I also can’t help but wonder why Joel would even want to know. He loves his son fiercely and I’m painfully aware that Jack is the last person he’d want to hurt. Why invite that weight onto him now? Why bring up the topic we try to dance around all the time? It's he trying to normalize it?
I twist the napkin in my hands, caught between the desperate urge to share and the knowledge that keeping it locked away might be the kinder choice. "You really wanna know?"
He nods, taking another sip of coffee. "Yeah, if you don't mind."
I let out a slow breath. “Honestly? Tough. But we’re both trying.” My fork moves through my oatmeal as I talk. “We’ve been making more of an effort lately. I guess that’s something.”
I pick at my oatmeal, spoon trembling slightly. The clatter of cutlery and chatter around us feels distant, muted, like it’s happening underwater. I finally force myself to look at him, at the way his jaw is tight, his eyes distant but focused on me.
“I feel like I’ve ruined things,” I say, my voice low, rough. “For Jack, for Tess. Even if you and I never touch each other again, we’ve got this huge, ugly secret we have to keep forever.”
Joel doesn’t answer right away. He chews thoughtfully, then swallows, finally nodding. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I get it. I do.” His agreement is tepid, careful, like he’s testing the words before letting them exist in the air.
I sigh, leaning forward, resting my forearms on the table with my voice low. “I’m scared I’ll never move past this,” I admit. “Like I’ll carry it around inside me, and Jack and I, we’ll never really be happy. Not fully.”
He shifts slightly in his seat, the leather of the booth creaking under him. He doesn’t try to fix it, doesn’t offer a tidy reassurance. He just stays there, silent, letting my words hang between us.
“I… I don’t know what we do with this,” I continue, my fingers tracing the condensation on my glass. “How you put something this heavy away without breaking?”
Joel finally meets my eyes, and there’s a shadow in his gaze; that looks like sorrow, but tempered by control. "We don’t,” he says softly. “We carry it. We live with it.”
The restaurant noise drifts back in, closer now, intrusive. I can feel the warmth of the sun through the window on my arm, the sharp tang of coffee in the air, but it barely touches me. All I feel is the heaviness of the truth between us, permanent and unmovable and it makes me want to cry.
The clatter of plates and the hum of conversation surrounds us, but it all feels muted, like we’re in our own little bubble at the far corner booth. Sunlight slants across the table, catching on the edge of Joel’s coffee cup and the faint lines around his eyes.
He leans back slightly, one hand drumming absently against the tabletop. His gaze flicks toward mine, hesitant, as though he’s measuring how much I can take. “I’m gonna tell you somethin’,” he says finally, low and rough. “Somethin’ Jack doesn’t know and something I don’t want him ever to know, you understand?”
“Yes,” I manage to whisper.
I can see the tension along his jaw, the way his fingers curl around the edge of the table, knuckles pale. He looks sickened, disgusted with himself even before he starts. “When Jack was about two and a half, me Tess separated for four years.”
Four years. The words echo in my mind, like a chasm I can’t cross.
“Wow,” I whisper.
"She took him to her sister's in Baltimore. I’d fly out to visit him once a month so I don’t think he realized anythin’ was wrong. Just thought his daddy worked out of town."
I let this sink in, my fingers curling around my spoon. Joel’s stare is heavy and suddenly I know something is coming, something brutal. I brace myself, clenching my teeth. "Why did she leave?"
Joel’s eyes stay fixed on me, dark, earnest. He exhales through his nose, sucking at his teeth before speaking lowly. "I had an emotional affair with a woman I knew through my job.”
He watches me across the table, measuring my muted reaction.
"For how long?"
"A few months." He stops, swallows again, and I feel the air in my chest tighten. “Biggest mistake of my life. Her husband saw the texts and called Tess."
“Oh, shit,” I breathe, unsure how to process the story.
“Tess never really forgave me, I don't think,” he admits, voice tight. His eyes shine, wet with memory. “I mean, she took me back after a lot of therapy, promises, groveling but things changed.”
I can hear the weight of it, the guilt and the exhaustion in every word. I think of her on the phone yesterday. Her.
“The weekend we came to get Jack, the night I met you, she’d been talkin’ about how things don’t feel right. How they hadn’t felt right for a few years." He runs his fingers through his hair. "And it's my fault. I'm resentful. Before Jack was born, Tess was insatiable. Couldn't keep her hands off of me. All we did was fuck and laugh and dream about the future."
I blink, trying to picture the woman he describes, the put-together, composed Tess and it clashes with the raw image he’s painting.
“Then Jack was born and she just loved bein’ with him so much, I kinda just got pushed to the side,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck like he’s exposing a wound. “I know that sounds pathetic, but it’s how I felt. She was exhausted, irritable. Went from never keepin' her hands off me to wantin’ nothin’ to do with me.”
I can feel it in him, the hurt, the frustration, the lingering ache of being sidelined in his own family.
“When we got back together Tess thought another baby would help things. But I didn’t want that. All I could remember was how things changed with Jack and…” He exhales heavily, a sound I feel in my chest. “I just wanted my old Tess back. I wanted our old life back.”
The restaurant hum fades around me; the hiss of the espresso machine, the scrape of chairs, the clink of cutlery, all of it retreating as Joel’s voice cuts through with quiet intensity.
"And after my fuck-up I promised myself I'd do anything to make her happy. Anythin' but a baby. I started gettin' serious about ownin' my own business, I made money, and I gave her the good life she wanted." He looks at me now, instead of his coffee.
"I told myself that I had no right to be resentful that she didn't wanna touch me anymore. That I deserved it after what I put her through. And somewhere along the way I realized I was chasing after a feelin' and a woman that I was never gonna get back."
There’s just the two of us, sitting across from each other, carrying secrets too large to lift, too heavy to ignore.
“But with you?” he asks, leaning forward slightly, elbows on the table. His eyes are locked on mine. “I have that feeling again. Like I'm wanted and desired. And that makes me a better husband to Tess because I’m not so upset when she doesn’t touch me. You fill my cup up so I get to love all the other parts of Tess even more. How kind she is, how strong, what a great mother she is, all that without bein' resentful.”
I stiffen, jealousy flaring in my chest, a bitter twist at the thought of Jack ever thinking of me that way. My fingers tighten around my spoon, and I have to look down at my oatmeal to keep my face neutral.
“So, in a fucked-up way,” he continues, swallowing hard, eyes dropping to his plate for a brief second before meeting mine again, “I feel like you’re good for me and my marriage. I'm glad we did all of this because I was getting close to throwin' in the towel and that would've broken Jack's heart."
I go still, caught in a quiet, almost breathless moment. His admission hits me harder than I expected.
"But maybe I was just tellin’ myself that because I didn’t wanna stop touchin’ you.”
He looks embarrassed, cheeks flushing slightly, and he glances away as if the words themselves were shameful.
“I'm telling you this because Jack wants a life with you,” he adds, quieter now, almost like confessing a truth to himself as much as to me. “I know my son, he'd do anything for you. If he fucks that Anne girl it means nothing. Just like the things you and I did meant nothing.”
The words spill out before I can stop them. “They meant everything.”
He challenges me, eyebrows drawn. “Really? Are we in love with each other? Are we building a life together? No. It’s carnal. That’s all it is.”
My throat tightens. "But it changed everything."
"Only if we let it."
I nod slowly, the logic of his words clear, but it doesn’t sit well in my chest. It feels wrong to let my own heart be diminished just because he’s rationalizing our infidelity. Yet when I look at him across the table with his broad shoulders leaning slightly forward, those sharp, pretty eyes staring at me I feel the pulse at my core, undeniable and consuming.
“Shit! You two’re almost finished!”
Our heads snap up, both of us startled. Tommy slides into the booth beside Joel, grinning like he’s just caught us in the act of some private joke.
“What’re you two talkin’ about?” he asks, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Looked serious.”
I clear my throat, trying to regain composure. “I’m just nervous,” I admit, voice a little higher than usual. “I’ve never been to a builders’ conference before. I guess I don’t want to make you guys look bad.”
“Impossible," Tommy says with a wink as he steals some bacon from Joel's plate. "You'll be a natural."
_________________________________________
The convention center hums like a beehive with bright lights, the clink of coffee cups, the drone of overlapping conversations. My badge swings lightly against my chest as I follow Tommy through the crush of people. Joel’s behind me, close enough that I can feel his presence without even looking. I’m doing my best to focus on the names, the handshakes, and the smooth professionalism Tommy seems born into.
"This is Dale Jensen,” Tommy says, pausing at a booth stacked with sample boards. “Drywall supplier we’ve worked with for years.”
Dale's handshake is firm, his smile brisk. “Tommy’s told me you’re new to the industry. Welcome.”
“Thank you,” I say, steady, polite. Is kind that they introduce me like that, like I'm not some glorified gopher.
Tommy continues steering me from one introduction to the next, Joel trailing silently but never far, stepping in just enough to be noticed. I don’t have to look to know when he’s watching; I can feel it in the way the back of my neck tightens.
He’s quiet, only offering the occasional low comment to whoever we’re speaking to, but it’s his voice I hear most clearly in the room. We’re between booths when a tall man, early thirties, dark hair swept just so, cuts across our path. His gaze skims over me in a way that feels predatory.
“First time at IBS,” he asks, glancing at my badge before looking me over, "Miller Brothers Construction Girl?"
“Yes,” I say, keeping my tone polite.
“Well, welcome. I'm Rick from Higher Tools."
"Nice to meet you," I say shaking his hand limply. I don't actually care about this guy, he makes me feel uneasy. We watch the bustling crowd for a moment before he steps a little closer and I feel my spine straighten.
"These things can be a little overwhelming," he says lowly.
I nod, my smile strained. "Yeah it's a lot."
"Best way to get the hang of it is to come to the mixers. Drinks, music, all the right people to know. I could make sure you meet them.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Joel mid-conversation with another man across the aisle, his stance angled toward me even though he’s talking to someone else. He says something I don’t catch, but his voice lowers, his head turning slightly like he’s listening.
I shift my weight as Rick awaits my response, not sure what my evening plans are. "I'm meeting a lot of people today. I'll probably just turn in early."
"No way!" He tilts his head slightly, mouth nearing my forehead. “It’s a lot better than being stuck in a hotel room alone. Trust me."
I don't answer, shrinking slightly. The crowd is building and I scan for Joel who seems to be missing.
"Unless your husband minds," Rick says smoothly.
"I'm not married, but I have a long-term boyfriend," I say quickly, hoping that it'll make the conversation end.
But he just smiles, like that makes this even better. Like he enjoys the challenge of my commitment.
“That's okay, I still think you’d have a good time,” he says, his smile edging into something more personal. “What happens in Houston, you know what I mean?"
I step away from him, disgusted and there’s a pause, just long enough for me to feel the prickle at my back before Joel’s voice slides into the space between us.
“What’s goin' on here?”
Relief floods my very veins at the sound of that low, Southern twang. I look up over my shoulder, expression thankful. Joel glances down into my face and I see a flicker of his eyes scanning my mouth before he glares at Rick.
"Nothing." The man straightens instinctively. “Just getting to know your employee, here."
Joel steps forward, closing the gap until he’s standing between Rick and I, his broad frame an unspoken barrier. He crosses his arms over his broad chest, glaring.
"She’s not here to party with creeps who think a business conference is a pick-up joint."
Rick looks embarrassed and angry all at once. He straightens his tie, eyes moving from him to me.
"She your girlfriend or something?" Rick says with a sneer.
"And if she is?"
The man blinks, caught off guard by Joel's harsh and instant reply. And I have to ignore the swoop of my stomach that makes my legs wobble.
Joel doesn’t raise his voice, but it sharpens, each word deliberate.
“She’s here to work. And if you can’t figure out the difference between ‘professional’ and whatever this is, then maybe you should go find someone else to bother.”
Silence stretches for a beat before Rick forces a half-smile. “Didn’t mean any harm.”
“Sure you didn’t,” Joel says flatly.
The man’s gaze flicks between us, and something calculating passes through his eyes before he forces a smile. “Right. Another time, then.”
He walks off, his cologne lingering faintly in the air. Joel's hand finds the small of my back, warm and grounding, guiding me away from the aisle. He keeps walking like nothing happened, but his body is still tense, jaw set.
I don’t say anything right away, partly because I’m still catching my breath. But relief hums under my skin, quiet and certain. I’m so thankful that he stepped in when he did.
Joel keeps his hand at the small of my back until we’re clear of the aisle, steering me toward a quieter stretch near one of the massive glass walls. The noise of the conference floor is still there, but muted, buffered by distance.
He stops, scanning the crowd once before looking down at me. “You okay?”
I nod quickly. “Yeah. I just-” I glance toward the direction the man disappeared. “That was uncomfortable.”
Joel’s jaw works once, like he’s grinding back something sharper. “Should’ve stepped in sooner.”
“You did fine,” I say, my voice lower now, meant just for him. “I was trying to figure out how to get out of it without making a scene.”
“Guy like that doesn’t deserve polite,” he mutters, eyes still searching the crowd. “You could tell what he was doing from ten feet away.”
I give him a small smile. “Maybe you could.”
His eyes cut back to mine, the tension still there but something else flickering underneath. “I’ve been to enough of these to know the type. They circle the newbies. Pretend it’s networking. It’s not.”
I hesitate, then say it quietly. “I’m glad you stepped in.”
Something in his shoulders loosens at that, but only a little. “Nobody gets to talk to you like that.”
There’s a beat where neither of us moves, his words hanging in the space between us. Then he clears his throat, his voice smoothing back into that steady, professional tone. “C’mon. Tommy’s probably wondering where we wandered off to.”
But as we walk back toward the booths, his hand brushes mine briefly before returning to the small of my back, just enough contact to make me wonder if it’s still part of the act, or something else entirely.
From then on, his presence shifts. Every time someone steps in too close or holds my gaze too long, he’s there adjusting his stance so his shoulder cuts into their line of sight, leaning forward so they have to talk over him to get to me. It’s subtle, but it’s constant.
By the time we settle into the auditorium for the keynote, I’m more aware of him than the giant stage or the voice booming through the sound system.
I'm wedged between the Miller brothers, eyes on my notepad I've brought for the event. I make a few notes, forcing my blush to subside.
“You hear about the clown inviting her to the mixer?” Joel says without preamble, his voice still even but laced with something darker.
Tommy’s expression hardens instantly. “Who?”
“Tall. Thirty-something. Should’ve seen the way he was looking at her.” Joel’s eyes cut briefly toward me before flicking back to Tommy.
Tommy shakes his head, disgust curling his lip. “These guys think the conference is a dating pool.” He turns to me. “Don’t even bother being polite to assholes like that. We’ll make sure you’re not cornered again.”
Joel’s gaze lingers on me for a moment longer, unreadable, before he nods once. The way they act all protective, leaves me with a surprising warmth in my chest. I just nod, grateful for the escape earlier and for the quiet promise now.
Joel's arm brushes mine once, twice, and then stays there, warm and solid during the rest of the speakers welcome. He’s still as stone, but I can feel the low hum of his irritation under the surface.
_________________________________________
After lunch, we’re back at one of the small round tables in the lounge area, all of us flipping through the printed schedule for the rest of the day. I scan the dense grid of sessions and workshops until one title jumps out at me: Builder’s Marketing Symposium: Strategies for the Modern Contractor.
“This one looks interesting,” I say, tapping the page. “Mind if I go?”
Both Tommy and Joel look up.
“Absolutely,” Tommy says, grinning. “That’s a good one, lots of practical stuff.”
Joel nods once, a flicker of approval in his eyes. “Yeah, you should. Would be good for you to hear how these guys are thinking right now.”
Tommy peers over my shoulder. “I was thinking about the roofing seminar. Kind of a deep dive into new materials and codes.” He shrugs, clearly excited.
Joel flips through the schedule slowly, his brow furrowing as he weighs his options. “There’s also a project management panel,” he says, tilting the booklet toward me. “Might be worth it.”
Tommy nods, humming as he looks at more of the panels.
I glance at the time and stand, tucking my notebook under my arm. “Alright. I’ll head over now.”
I’m scanning the schedule again as I walk when I feel a shift in the space beside me. Glancing up, my eyes catch Joel stepping toward me, closing the gap with long, purposeful strides. His brows are drawn, sharp, his expression serious enough that I freeze for a moment.
“Joel?” I murmur, surprised.
He stops next to me, just close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his shoulder. There’s no smile, no softness in his face, just that quiet intensity, the kind that makes it impossible to look away.
I realize my pulse has picked up, my chest tightening as I take in the deliberate set of his jaw, the way his eyes scan the floor briefly before settling back on me.
He doesn’t say anything right away. Simply walking next to me, shoulders squared, a quiet weight in his presence that makes the rest of the room blur at the edges. For a moment, I can’t decide if I’m relieved, flustered, or both.
“I'm comin' with you in case Rick decides to ‘join the class,’” he says, his tone flat but with enough weight to make me picture the man’s smirk from this morning.
I ignore the tingle in my belly when I nod. “Alright.”
_________________________________________
The symposium is in one of the smaller conference rooms with rows of neatly spaced chairs facing a podium and projector screen. Joel follows me in, his presence a quiet anchor as we take seats in the middle.
The speaker, a polished man in his forties, dives into his presentation on marketing strategies: brand storytelling, digital outreach, client engagement.
As the session continues, an example about social media strategies sparks a thought. I hesitate, hand half-raised, but the speaker catches my movement.
“Yes?” he asks.
I clear my throat. “In your example of targeted online campaigns, you mentioned using regional demographics to optimize ad spend. How would you recommend approaching smaller contractors who don’t have a dedicated marketing team?”
The speaker’s eyes brighten. “Excellent question. Absolutely, the key is prioritization. Start with a single platform where your audience is most active, and focus on a few high-quality posts per week rather than spreading yourself thin across multiple channels. Automation tools can help, and even small contractors can see meaningful engagement if they maintain consistency. Think of it as quality over quantity, it’s much better to have fewer, well-targeted interactions than a flood of generic posts.”
I jot down the notes, but out of the corner of my eye I catch Joel leaning slightly toward me. His gaze flicks to my notebook, then to me and I swear I can feel him quietly impressed.
Joel murmurs just loud enough for me to hear, his voice low and smooth, “Smart girl."
I glance at him, flushed, and notice his knee brushing mine under the table. His thigh shifts, the contact subtle but deliberate. The sultry tone of his voice makes my pulse spike in a way that is both professional and undeniably hot.
I force my attention back to the speaker for the rest of the session, scribbling notes furiously to keep my mind from wandering.
After the session ends, we walk down the hall together. Joel’s hand finds the small of my back again, pressing gently, guiding me through the crowd. It’s a gesture so natural I almost forget it’s him, until the warmth sends a small jolt through me.
Tommy’s waiting at the elevator bank, looking tired but satisfied. “Good session?” he asks.
“Really good,” I say.
Joel just gives a short nod, his eyes flicking toward me again, dark with a mix of approval and something more. “You handled that well. Better than I expected,” he murmurs casual enough for anyone to take innocently, but the way he says it and the proximity of his body makes it feel very personal.
"I can handle anything," I reply, voice matching his cadence.
"Anythin', huh?"
I don't miss how his eyes darken as he murmurs that, eyes scrolling my body quickly before smirking and walking on ahead.
By the time we reach the hotel that evening, all three of us are dragging a little. Tomorrow promises the booth fair; more crowds, more conversations, long hours. But as we exit the elevator, Tommy looks my way.
"Joel and I are gonna head down to the mixer. You wanna join us?"
I glance at him, a little confused. “Wait, I thought I wasn’t supposed to go?” I murmur, looking over my shoulder at Joel.
He’s got a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “You weren’t goin' with that Rick guy,” he says, voice low but amused. “But you can come if you want. We'll protect you."
"Damn straight we will," Tommy echoes as you all come to stand outside your rooms.
The thought of being stuck in that sea of strangers, plus another flirtatious guy who might try his luck, makes my chest tighten. “I think I’ll pass,” I say finally. “I’m just going to relax. Maybe head to bed early.”
His smirk softens into something smaller, almost imperceptible. I catch it in the corner of my eye, and for a brief second, I think I see a flicker of disappointment, quickly replaced by composure.
“Smart choice” he murmurs, voice low and easy. “Long day."
They wave me off and disappear into their rooms.
I slip into the quiet of my room, the door clicking shut behind me, and exhale. What a day. I kick off my shoes and settle onto the edge of the bed for a moment, trying to let the adrenaline drain.
Room service; a small indulgence. I pick up the phone and order a cheese plate and some fruit, something I can nibble while I unwind. Oh and a class of white wine.
Then I move to the bathroom, my mind still buzzing. I start running the bath, letting the hot water fill the tub and watching the bubbles swell and froth. There’s something about the warmth, the idea of sinking into it that promises a little escape
I step into the bath and let the water lap over my skin, trying to sink into relaxation. But it’s impossible. Thoughts of Joel keep intruding, uninvited. How he hovered near me all day at the conference, that protective intensity, the way his hand brushed mine when we were walking through the crowd.
I close my eyes and let myself drift into memory. His knee brushing mine at the symposium. The small smirk when he caught the way Rick was lingering this morning. How he watched me during the session, his attention quiet but sharp, appreciative in a way that makes my cunt pulse.
The heat of the bath competes with the warmth pooling inside me, memories and desire folding over each other as I slip my fingers between my legs. I begin to rub gently to flashes of that measured, slightly amused expression, the weight of his presence next to me in the symposium, the way he was so possessive.
I whimper his name riding my fingers, chasing release when there’s a soft knock at my door. Room service. I sit up, shaking slightly, suddenly aware of how flushed I am, my pulse still racing.
My hand lingers on my thigh for a moment longer than it should, even as I step into a robe and out to take the tray from the waiting man in the green tie.
The water steams behind me, a lingering haze, but my mind refuses to untangle from Joel. I can feel the ache in my chest, the tension in my stomach, the heat still threading through me, and I realize just how much his attention has gotten under my skin today.
I tug on my silkiest pyjama set and robe and then settle with my food into the chair by the window, the hotel room dim except for the flickering glow of the TV.
An old marathon of say yes to the dress is on and I'm captivated. It feels good to be in my own private room, eating good food and thinking about all I've learned. I like this version of me. She's an explorer.
My phone buzzes against the wooden table, and I nearly drop it when I see Jack’s name flash across the screen.
A smile spreads across my face, being away from him even for twenty four hours has made me miss him. I swipe to answer.
“Hey,” I say softly, trying to sound casual, but my chest is already fluttering.
“Hey, you,” Jack replies, his grin filling the screen. "How was the first day?"
"Surprisingly great."
Jack looks shocked but overjoyed. "Really?
My knees curl up slightly under my food tray, curling inward like I’m protecting myself. “today was mostly panels and talks and I took a lot of notes.” I chuckle softly.
"Always a good student," he teases.
"You know it." I laugh. "I actually got really into a marketing seminar. Who knew I could care about PPC campaigns?”
Jack laughs. “Really? That’s kinda impressive. I’m proud of you.” His eyes soften. “I wish I could be out there with you, supporting you."
"That's okay," I say. "You'd be bored."
"Still. I miss you.”
“I miss you too,” I murmur, my heart swelling. “I’d love if you were here in bed with me.”
The warmth in his voice makes my stomach flip. I bite my lip, thinking about teasing him a little. We haven't really been having sex lately and I miss it, I miss that closeness. I place the tray onto the table and move to the bed, taking the phone with me.
“What would you do if you were here?" I murmur, letting my voice dip slightly. "Right now?" I emphasize my point by dragging the strap of my pyjamas top down, exposing my collar.
Jack notices this and shifts on the other end, uncomfortable. “Uh… "
"How would you touch me, Jack?"
He looks around the bedroom like he's going to be caught. "Yeah- I-I don’t know if I can really...” His laugh is small and awkward, a little tight.
I grin despite myself. “C’mon, Jack, what would you do? Tell me."
There’s another pause, filled only with the low hum of the TV behind me and the soft rustle of the sheets I’ve tugged around me.
Jack’s hand comes up to rub the back of his neck. “I- I don’t know… Uh, kiss you I guess?"
This is like pulling teeth. I don't feel turned on at all. I obviously have to change things up and take the lead. "I'd want you right here," I murmur sultry, rubbing the space next to me. "So close I could kiss you everywhere."
Jack looks like he's going to burst into laughter. "Uh...Maybe we shouldn’t.”
I feel the warmth of my own frustration, tinged with desire, creeping up my spine. “What, you scared?” I tease lightly, but it’s half-hearted, the teasing unable to fully cut through the awkwardness.
“Maybe,” he admits quietly, his cheeks pink. “I-This feels weird.”
The tension hangs heavy between us. I let out a sigh, curling my fingers around the pillow behind me. “Jack… it’s just us,” I whisper. “Just me and you, here in this moment. I’m not judging you. It's just about having fun.”
He swallows, eyes flicking away from the screen for a moment. “I know, I just-” He shakes his head. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m tired.” He trails off, and I see him blushing.
The moment stretches too long and I feel the sting of rejection settle in my chest, sour and insistent. He fumbles, glancing at his watch.
“Plus I'm supposed to be gaming with Josh in like ten minutes. So..."
Josh is his old college friend, the one who he spends hours with playing call of duty with.
"Right," I say tightly. A soft click in the hallway makes me start. I hear the scrape of shoes and the low hum of a key card opening the door.
"Uh huh, yeah. You too."
It's Joel, talking to Tess on the phone. He gives a quiet goodbye moments later and the sound of his television flicking on. He's back from the mixer. Meanwhile Jack is fumbling with the phone, clearly trying to end the call without being rude.
"Anyway, babe, I'll give you a call tomorrow. I know you'll crush it." He makes a kissy face at the phone. "Love you."
"Love you too."
I stare at the screen, heart sinking, as he ends the call. The quiet after the click is crushing, almost physical. It's been weeks since Jack and I have slept together. Weeks since he touched me not just physically, but truly, intimately and the emptiness presses against me now in his strong absence.
I glance toward the door at the far side of the room; Joel’s room. My gaze lingers there longer than I intend, and I feel a tremor of anticipation and fear coil low in my stomach.
I can hear Joel muttering into his phone, the TV volume low but steady. The knowledge that he’s so close, that he’s there, shifts something inside me. It's a mixture of longing, guilt, and anticipation.
The quiet becomes almost unbearable, charged with every sound in the room and every memory of this morning’s confessions. I glance back at the phone, still dark from Jack’s end, and then to Joel’s door. My chest tightens. The pulse in my core doesn’t let up.
I rise from the bed, stomach fluttering, and make my way to the adjoining door. My fingers hover over the knob for a moment, hesitant, before I tap gently.
“Just a sec,” Joel’s voice calls from the other side. I hear the soft rustle of clothing, the subtle scrape of fabric against skin and I feel a flutter in my chest.
The door cracks open, just enough for him to peek through. His dark eyes widen slightly when he sees my expression, concern flickering across his face. “You okay?” he asks, voice low.
I nod, words caught in my throat momentarily. “Can I ask you something?”
"Of course," he says, shifting his weight so his hand rests on the doorframe. His eyes search mine, earnest and heavy.
“Did you really mean it when you said, at breakfast this morning, that the stuff we’ve done together," I blink, flushing. "Has this affair really made your relationship better?”
Joel studies me for a long moment, his broad frame filling the doorway. "You wanna come in and talk?”
I hesitate, my mind spinning with questions, fear, and a strange ache of desire. The room beyond the door seems warmer somehow, more intimate than any ordinary hotel room should feel. Slowly, I nod.
“Okay.”
He steps aside, and I cross the threshold, aware of every soft creak in the floor, every faint scent of him; soap, a trace of hotel shampoo. The door clicks shut behind me, and suddenly it’s just us, the space charged. I realize my pyjama set is short and I look down to see my nipples hard through the top.
"Here."
I glance up to see Joel handing me his robe, looking away respectfully. Considering everything we've gone through it's almost comedic, but I appreciate it as I wrap it around my body. I try not to think about how it smells like his cologne.
I feel the air thicken, heavy with anticipation, and an undercurrent of longing that has refused to leave me alone since morning.
"So?" I ask breathy. "Did you mean it?"
Joel watches me lean against the wall, watching me, eyes sharp but gentle. “Come here,” he murmurs after a pause, voice soft but commanding.
I take a hesitant step forward, drawn to him in a way that feels like gravity, like inevitability. His hand reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "You really okay?"
I nod and take a small step back, needing to breathe. It's hard to do when he's so close, looking so handsome with his damp curls. "So? Were you serious about what you said at breakfast?"
He blinks at me, and then nods slowly, voice low and steady. "I meant every word,” he says. “Tess and I, we’re doing way better now. I'm more patient, more relaxed now that certain needs have been met elsewhere.”
I blink, startled, and then bite my lip, feeling heat creeping up my neck. “Elsewhere?” I echo, my voice softer, cautious. “You mean- you mean with me?”
Joel shifts, runs a hand through his hair, his jaw tight. "Yeah."
"Even though, even though we haven't actually..." I'm too embarrassed to say more at first. "Even though you haven't actually been inside me in a long time?"
"Yes." His eyes catch mine, steady, honest. “It’s not just the- You’ve just made it easier."
I swallow, heart racing, caught between disbelief, guilt, and a rising pulse of… something else. "But I've barely been in the same room as you these past few weeks. We've barely interacted."
He exhales slowly, and I see the faintest flicker of shame pass across his face. “I jerk off a lot thinkin' about you.”
The words hit me with a jolt. My cheeks flush instantly, embarrassment mingling with a spark of heat I can’t ignore. I glance away for a second, fingernails pressing into the fabric of my skirt. “Oh.”
Joel watches me carefully, an almost imperceptible smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah,” he admits, quieter now, almost shy. “It’s embarrassing to say. But, uh, certain memories are stuck in my head.”
I look back at him, eyes wide, pulse hammering, and I can’t stop the small shiver that runs through me. He steps a fraction closer, eyes dark, intense. "That first night... My office..."
I bite my lip, heart racing, mind swimming. “God, Joel...” My voice trails off, soft, uncertain. The mixture of shame and heat crawling over my skin makes me shiver, despite myself.
He leans against the wall, close but giving me space, watching me like he’s waiting for me to make the next move or maybe just letting me absorb his confession.
I arch my back softly, drawn in despite my racing thoughts. It’s just us, the air thick with tension, confession, and the pull of something neither of us can fully ignore.
Joel steps back just slightly, giving me space, his broad shoulders still filling the doorway. His eyes stay locked on mine, dark and searching, like he’s trying to read every flicker of thought crossing my face. The air between us hums, the morning’s confessions still lingering.
“It’s gettin’ late,” he murmurs finally, his voice low, hesitant. “You've got a lot to think about. I should see you back to your room.”
"Okay. Sure "
He swallows, running a hand over his neck as we walk to the adjoining door. I place my hand on the handle, feeling his body warm behind me.
I bite my lip, heart hammering. “Joel?” I murmur, unsure if I’m asking for too much.
"Mm?"
I find the courage to look over my shoulder and look at him. "Can we talk in my room? I don't feel like sleeping yet.”
His eyebrows lift, just a fraction, surprise crossing his face. He studies me for a long moment, reading, weighing. Then he nods slowly, voice soft. “Yeah, okay. For a bit.”
We move into my hotel room and toward the bed. I sit first, the soft hotel sheets cool against my skin. Joel perches beside me close but careful, his presence warm. The glow of the bedside lamp casts a golden hue across the room, softening the edges of everything, making the world feel intimate and private.
We start talking, quietly at first, about the conference. I tell him about the panels I want to attend. He listens with interest, asking questions, teasing little comments that make me laugh despite myself. Things Jack doesn’t bother asking anymore.
His hand brushes mine lightly at one point, accidental, maybe, but it sends a spark up my arm that makes me catch my breath.
“You’ve got a real knack for this stuff,” he murmurs, voice low and intimate. “I didn’t think you’d get so into the seminar today."
I blush, glancing down, then back at him. “Yeah, I was surprised too."
He leans closer, shoulder brushing mine. The warmth of his body is immediate, comforting and electric all at once. I don't think when I tilt my face to his, or when our mouths connect. All I know is that it feels good to kiss Joel again.
I feel the warmth of his mouth, the gentle press of his lips against mine, and my chest flutters with a mixture of nerves and anticipation. Every brush of his lips is careful, deliberate, as if he’s memorizing me again.
He tilts his head slightly, deepening the kiss just a fraction and my fingers tighten around the back of his neck. The sensation of him leaning into me, of his shoulder brushing against mine, sends a shiver down my spine.
I respond instinctively, leaning closer, letting the kiss grow bolder, hungrier. His hand moves, brushing along my arm, warm and insistent, and I can’t help the soft gasp that escapes me. The kiss shifts again, more urgent, more electric, and my fingers slide into his hair, tugging gently as I pull him closer.
I feel the tension between us squeeze tighter, a delicious, almost dizzying pull, as we explore each other carefully. His fingers trace along my arms, my hands over his shoulders, and every brush of skin against skin makes the room shrink around us until it feels like we’re the only two people in the world.
Breathless, I part my lips slightly, and he responds, a low hum vibrating through him that I can feel against my own chest. The kiss deepens again, hotter now, fervent but still intimate, teasing, like we’re learning how to touch each other all over again. We pause for a moment; foreheads pressed together, hearts racing, breaths mingling.
“I should go,” he murmurs, his mouth still grazing mine, his voice catching in that way that makes my stomach twist. "Before we go too far."
“Not yet,” I whisper, curling my arms around his neck. My hands tangle in his hair as I deepen the kiss, letting the heat between us rise naturally, slow but inevitable. We sink backwards onto the bed together, wrapped in each other, hearts hammering as his tongue dances with mine.
Our bodies press together naturally, his chest warm against mine, my heart racing at the nearness of him. Every movement is slow but charged, the slight graze of his hand across my back, the way his lips linger over mine before pulling back just enough to catch my breath. I feel his cock against my thigh, hard. "Joel…” I whisper, voice barely audible, teasing and vulnerable all at once.
He catches my gaze, eyes glinting in the lamplight. “Yeah?”
"Let me touch you."
He looks at me, dark eyes burning, and I can see the wheels turning behind them. He’s considering it, weighing the desire that flickers across his face against the line he knows we shouldn’t cross. The tension in the room thickens, heavy and electric.
“We shouldn't," he murmurs, voice low, rough with restraint. He swallows, jaw tightening slightly, and his gaze flicks to my lips before returning to my eyes.
I nod, understanding the weight of what I’m suggesting, but I can’t help the flutter in my chest, the ache of wanting him. "He hasn't touched me in weeks," I murmur. "Please, Joel?"
Joel exhales a long, deliberate breath that seems to shake off some of the tension, though the intensity in his eyes doesn’t waver. "You've been pushin’ me away over and over for months. Tellin' me its wrong, callin' me all sorts of names. What's suddenly changed?"
I swallow, my chest tight, the words caught somewhere between fear and longing. "What you told me at breakfast."
Even without words, the shift is palpable in Joel when I say that. The mix of desire and control radiates off him, electric and intoxicating, making my own pulse spike and breath hitch in response.
The man who was hesitant, worried, and measured a moment ago is now undeniably pulled toward me, voice low and dangerous.
"If we start this tonight, I'm not goin' to be able to stop going forward. Do you understand?"
Heat pools low in my belly at his words, embarrassment and desire mingling in a delicious knot.
"Yes."
“That means after I cum in you, I ain’t stoppin’. No more guilt, no more we can’t. We keep fuckin’ until you move out. Understand?”
“Yes, yes I understand.”
“Repeat it.”
“We aren’t stopping until I move out. No more guilt.”
Heat pools in my chest and belly as he draws me closer, the weight of his presence making the world shrink down to just the two of us. His mouth finds mine; kissing me harshly before he's urging us to lay shoulder to shoulder and I comply, heart hammering, breath catching in a mix of nerves and desire.
"Take off your pants."
Joel watches me with that dark, searching gaze as I lift my hips and tug off my pants, every inch of him radiating a mix of control and want as my bare lower half is exposed to him. He does the same, kicking his sweatpants off the bed where they join mine. Our arms are touching, our thighs nearing one another.
I glance over at him, and his eyes flick down to my hands, then back to mine, lingering in a way that makes my stomach twist.
"I'm not fuckin' you tonight," he tells me through exhales. "You need time to think about what you're askin'. About what you're startin'."
Confused, I whine his name, my body throbbing everywhere for him. "Please let me make you cum," I whimper.
I watch the hitch in his mouth as he comes to rest on his side, his cock hard and weeping at the tip. "You will."
I watch in a daze as one of his broad hand comes to take my wrist, dragging my hand between my legs, urging my fingers to rest against my sex.
"Like this," he murmurs, his eyes heavy lidded as rolls onto his back, a broad shoulder pressed against mine. "Only this, tonight." His large hand goes down his torso, fingers wrapping around the thick base of his cock, glancing over at me. "Show me how you touch yourself and I'll do the same."
My breathing slows, deepens, each inhale heavier than the last. There’s a restless ache in my chest and low in my belly, tugging me inward.
"Play with that pretty pussy for me," he says and my face flames with his open vulgarity. "That'll make me cum."
I can feel the heat of him beside me, close enough that the mattress dips in the space between us. My skin prickles, every inch of me aware of how near he is, how easily he could reach out. How much I want him to.
It's intimidating to do this beside someone. I can hear him; the uneven breath. The faint rustle of fabric. My pulse stutters, then quickens. I crack open my eyes just enough to see his gaze fixed between my legs like he’s memorizing every detail before slamming them shut again, intimidated.
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, cheeks warming. He’s focused on me and not on me at the same time, half talking to himself, half to me. “You’re fucking gorgeous.” he says finally, voice softening.
Its strange being this close, knowing exactly what he’s doing, and still not daring to look. My heart feels too big for my chest, beating hard enough that I’m sure he can hear it. Wet sounds start from Joel's side of the bed.
"You hear that?” he asks, his tone dropping to something darker, almost a growl. “That’s ’cause I’m watchin’ you.”
I steal another peek at him. I can see the rise and fall of his chest, hear the way it falters when my knee brushes the blanket between us. It’s clumsy but there’s a spark in it, one that makes my cheeks heat and my lips part without thinking. I’m still nervous, still unsure, but the wanting is louder now than the fear.
His big hand is glossy from his precum. He strokes slowly at first, groaning with big squeezing at the base, twisting as he slides up to the top.
His thighs are spread and I watch him flex up, the muscles in his body tensing and releasing with every jerk and tug. His teeth are clenched, bared every so often. His neck tendons stretch taut as he moves his gaze from his cock to my cunt.
"Fuck, I miss her," he breathes. "Felt like she was made for me." He moves his eyes up my body, reaching my eyes. "Did it feel that way for you?" I see the way he’s watching me; steady, unblinking, like every shift in my breathing matters to him.
"Yes," I breathe honestly. "Never felt so full." I hold his gaze for a beat longer than expected before my attention is drawn between his legs.
"You like seeing this?" He asks hoarsely. "This is what you do to me every fuckin' day," he tells me, ensnaring me with his gaze. "You get me so fuckin' hard, darlin’."
My heart is pounding so hard I almost miss it when he speaks again.
"You have me jerking off in the shower every damn morning," he continues, squeezing the tip before sliding back down, groaning. "Thinking about you there on your knees. Remembering how good you felt wrapped around my cock."
It's too much I have to turn my head and look away. My fingers curl inside me, thrusting shallowly as I listen to his breathing. He would do it so much better. His fingers, his cock, his tongue.
"God, look at you…” His voice is rougher now, like gravel dragged over something smooth. “You got no idea what you’re doin’ to me.”
My hips buck, my whimpers broken. He's jerking himself off quicker now, his other hand gripping the sheets.
"Look at me,” he murmurs, voice low, steady. It’s not a command exactly, but it leaves no room for ignoring him.
I turn my head slowly, meeting his eyes. They’re darker now, softer around the edges, but intent.
"There she is," Joel murmurs, voice hitching when his strokes quicken. "Such a good girl."
The words sink into me, loosening something tight in my stomach. My body feels warm all over, a little weightless, like I’m floating just under the surface of something soft. His breathing isn’t steady anymore. I can hear it, low and uneven, filling the quiet between his words.
The bed shifts faintly with his movements. His jaw works as if he’s trying to bite something back, but he doesn’t stop talking. The rhythm of his breath falters, sharper now, and he lets out a low, strained laugh. His shoulder presses against mine, accidental or not and I feel a shiver run through me.
"I wanna bury myself in you,” he murmurs, low and rough, like he’s talking to himself as much as to me. “Fuck you all night."
I feel heat coil low in my stomach, my pulse tripping over itself and my fingers still, my body trembling.
“Don’t you dare stop,” he says, and there’s no softness in it now. “I need to see you cum. Need to hear it. You understand me?”
"Yes."
My hand snakes up my shirt and I begin palming my breast, groaning as I pinch a nipple and circle my slippery clit.
"Fuck, that's so goddamn hot," Joel grunts and I crack open my eyes to see his hand pumping his cock.
"Joel," I whine.
I draw a deeper breath, my chest rising with it, and his eyes follow the movement. I moan shakily, turned on and overwhelmed all at once. I feel the lazy climb of my hips chasing my fingers. His breathing is jagged now, uneven, and I can hear the small, sharp sounds he can’t quite hide. Each one makes my pulse spike, my chest tighten in a way I’ve never felt before.
“Fuck…” he rasps, voice low and rough, like he’s fighting to stay composed. “God, you’re… you’re… look at you.”
He shifts again, and the mattress creaks beneath him. There’s a trembling in his words now, in the slight hitch in his breath, that’s impossible to ignore.
“Christ,” he murmurs voice almost desperate. “I wanna put it in.”
I swallow, pulse hammering, and his eyes lock onto mine as I whisper his name. "I want that. I want you inside me."
He lets out a low, shaky laugh, like he can’t believe we’re here. “You’re killin’ me,” he murmurs, voice dropping into a growl.
"Please, Joel," I beg shamelessly, spreading my thighs wide, letting him hear how aroused he's made me. "I'm so wet for you."
He groans through gritted teeth.
"It would been so good around your cock," I urge, fingers thrusting into my pussy, tickling my clit. "Remember how you stretched me?"
There’s a little gasp, barely audible, that slips past his lips. "Not tonight,” he admits, tone rough, ragged. “We're not doin' that tonight."
"I need to touch you," I beg, free hand traveling across the bed to the vee of his legs. He groans when my fingers wrap around the case, bumping into his and tugging. "You can touch it for a bit," he pants, "but that's it."
I give an oily smile as I begin to stroke him, my eyes on his face as his eyes slam shut, hips twitching as I jerk him off.
"You feel that?” he asks, his tone dipping low and rough around the edges as he lays there, letting me work both of us. “That’s all for you, darlin'. This cock only gets like this for you."
I sigh around a whine, eyes shuttering. I don't know that turns me on more about Joel, his body or his mouth. We turn our attention to my hand jerking up and down his length, the glossy precum coating my palm and his shaft. It makes me glide smoothly; causing Joel to let out little hisses and grunts.
"I should stop," I tease, smirking to myself when he swallows and closes his eyes. "You didn't want me touching."
He knows that he should stop me; I can see his warring thoughts on his face. But he can't stop fucking into my hand. It feels too good.
"Don't stop," he murmurs, his large hand lifts, coming to covering mine. He strokes my hand up and down, up and down, tilting my wrist, helping me circle the tip before squeezing.
I jerk him off faster, his groans urging my own fingers to pump faster into my cunt until my thighs are quivering. I'm so close. I'm so close and Joel knows.
He gives a soft groan when looks over and he sees my fucked out expression. "You close?"
"Yeah. Yeah."
His hand has wrapped around mine, helping me pump his cock the speed and strength he needs.
"Gonna make me cum all over myself?"
I tip my head back, lips parting on a soft, uneven sigh, following the rhythm of my own heartbeat as my eyes slide closed.
"Eyes on me," he orders, waiting until I acquiesce. "You look at me when you cum."
When my eyes focus on his again, and the moment feels endless, suspended, like the world has narrowed to the rhythm of our breathing and the slow, dangerous current passing between us.
"Don’t you stop," he grunts as he fucks my hand, the tip dribbling with precum. "Don’t even think about stoppin'.”
I nod, too breathless to speak, my fingers thrusting and curling until I'm making little whimpering noises.
"Say you want my cum," Joel puffs out each word, hips thrusting up, his hand working furiously with mine to jerk his cock. "Say it, baby."
"I want it!" I warble, "I want your cum, Joel."
"Then take it," he grunts and I watch as he explodes over our knuckles, spurts of cum erupting from the swollen tip. The sight of it launches me into my own orgasm and I can hear him chanting his approval next to me.
"That's it baby. Lemme see that pretty pussy flutter."
I'm not expecting him to pull me into him with his other hand, crushing my lips to his, murmuring between breathless kisses that I was so good for him, so beautiful.
We spend the next few minutes like that, talking softly, kissing gently, eyes closed and hearts slowly returning to normal. He grabs a warm washcloth and wipes us both down before he urges me under the covers.
"Long day tomorrow. You need sleep."
I'm drowsy, sated, but I still reach for him. Wordlessly he comes to lay next to me, holding me against him, his arm curled around my middle as I face away from him. It feels safe in between his muscled arms, soothing when he kisses my shoulder gently.
"Sweet dreams, baby."
I wait for him to pull away, to leave just as Jack does when the post snuggling coitus becomes too boring for him. But instead Joel kisses my hairline, murmuring that he'll wait until I'm asleep.
