Summary: Joel returns home from patrol and you help him get warm with your body.
Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, fluff, comfort, established relationship, horny!Joel, a touch of somno, nipple play, f!oral, fingering, coming in pants, swearing.
Word count: 1,5k
A/n: thank you, lovely anon, for this idea 💞 Kisses to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing😘 Dividers by @/saradika-graphics 💞
MASTERLIST
Joel came home when you were already sleeping. Shivering from a blizzard raging outside he quietly walked into the dark bedroom and kissed your soft cheek. His lips were chapped and cold, and seeking your warmth, they lingered on your skin for a second too long and woke you up.
Whenever Joel was patrolling outside of Jackson, you slept badly, tossing and turning in bed that seemed too big and too cold for you without him, disturbing thoughts not letting you relax. But that day Tommy was patrolling with Joel, and busy with newcomers, Maria asked you to babysit Benji. That tornado of a boy left you completely exhausted and you fell asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow.
But just like in Sleeping Beauty Joel’s soft kiss pulled you out of your dreamland.
“You’re back,” you rasped, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. His clothes and skin were cold against you and chills immediately covered your body. A smell of smoke and winter reached your nose and you took a deep breath of your favorite scent — your Joel.
“Shhh… go back to sleep, baby. Gonna take a shower.”
“Noooo…” you protested, not letting him go, nuzzling his neck and clasping him against you. “Don’t go yet.”
Joel was huffing and puffing, bent over you in an awkward position. He planted his hand on the bed by your side, keeping himself from collapsing on you, and chuckled,
“Darlin’, it’ll take me five minutes.”
Joel pulled away slightly and searched for your sleepy eyes, barely visible in the dark. You heard worry in his voice as he muttered,
“What’s wrong? Tell me.”
“Nothing,” you said hastily, staring up at him like he’d hung the moon and the stars. “You’re cold. Let me get you warm.”
His lips spread in a sweet smile and it was the answer you needed. You took his winter-kissed face between your palms and started peppering hot kisses over his cold nose, cheeks, scruffy chin and forehead as he was laughing softly.
Impatiently you pulled him down and Joel plopped on the bed by your side and then sighed contentedly when his head rested on your chest, that was warm and covered by a thin nightie.
“‘s nice?” You whispered as your skin erupted in goosebumps, his chilly cheek at fault.
“Oh yeah,” Joel mumbled and his arms snaked under your duvet and wrapped around you. You held your breath, keeping yourself from shivering again, scared that Joel would part from you if he noticed you getting cold.
To your pleasure Joel was happily snuggling up with you. An encapsulating feeling of love filled your heart to the brim. He was there with you, safe and calm, and your soul was finally at peace.
Slowly you drifted back to sleep, lulled by the comforting weight of Joel’s body, his steady breaths, his big embrace, which was still a bit chilly, but the warmth of your bed didn’t let you get uncomfortable.
Suddenly your own soft moan woke you up,
“Oh, Joel…”
You knew right away that Joel was the one making you feel all THAT. No one else was capable of plunging you into an ocean of ecstasy that fast and that expertly. You fluttered your eyes open and saw what was happening — Joel had pushed the neckline of your nightie down, out of his way, and was licking at your nipple. Then he nibbled on the hardened bud and gently sucked it into his hot mouth.
Your breathing was already fast and unsteady, your pussy wet, your body close to a climax.
Tugging at Joel’s soft locks you took a sharp breath, trembling under him, and whined,
“Joel… what are you doing?”
The man parted from your breast with a pop and even in the darkness you saw how blown out his eyes were — he was already deep in the pit of lust.
“You’re so warm and soft, baby… couldn’t help myself.”
His big cold hands glided up your sides, then circled around your breasts and lightly squeezed them.
“Go back to sleep,” he said with his voice strained, staring at the soft flesh in his palms, his jaw slack.
You shook your head and moaned when Joel latched onto your perked up nipple and started sucking on it. You pushed your thighs together, desperately seeking pressure to your aching pussy, your fingers clasped in Joel’s hair, your back arched, your eyes closed from the immense pleasure.
“Joel, my pussy..,” you whimpered weakly, ready to beg him to take care of you, but there was no need. Mumbling ‘yes, yes, darlin’,’ Joel got up and started taking his flannel shirt and jeans off, his breathing heavy. You were marveling at his broad and strong frame with hazy eyes, still a bit sleepy, as he was hastily discarding his clothes. You couldn’t believe he was yours, couldn’t believe how lucky you were that he called you ‘mine’.
“Need a shower but… I ain’t waitin’,” he panted, leaving his white undershirt and boxers on, palming his huge cock under the material, his eyes glinting in the dark.
“Come,” you breathed out, reaching out for him with your arms but Joel shook his head.
“I know where my baby needs me.”
He walked to the foot of the bed, lifted your fluffy duvet and dived under it.
You squeaked when his chilly hands spread your legs and he began settling between them, pushing them apart with his broad shoulders, pulling your nightie up until its skirt was around your waist. Soon your thighs were resting on his shoulders, his warm breath fanning your wet cunt.
“Honey,” you called, staring at the huge lump under the duvet. When you lifted it, you saw Joel’s head hovering over your pussy, but like a feral animal he growled “no peekin’ ” and pulled the cover back down.
You were blinking at the lump in surprise until a gasp fell from your lips when you felt a pair of lips kiss your heat. They were still a little cold and you took a sharp breath at the unusual sensation.
Joel ran his tongue over your seam, tasting you, and then immediately delved between your soaked folds. His fingers spread them apart and he began licking your pussy, from your clenching hole to your puffy clit— up and down, up and down.
“Hngggg,” you were hearing him groan under the duvet. You knew how much he loved eating you out and his lustful noises turned you on even more.
With your nightie pulled down, you were twitching your nipples, drowning in pleasure, panting with your eyes closed. Your heart was pumping loudly in your ears. No way you could fall asleep then.
Drawing another whimper out of you, Joel pushed his finger into your entrance and added a second one, aware of how much you loved a stretch.
His thick digits began pumping in and out of your hot core, making your eyes roll to the back of your head, and when he placed his open mouth over your blooming pussy and started flicking your clit with his hot tongue, the temperature contrast and the stimulation brought tears to your eyes. He was sucking on your clit and fingerfucking you until your pussy was drenched with his spit and your slick, until your skin was covered in sweat, your legs trembling.
“Joel!” You came with his name on your lips, your tensed thighs locked around his head, your hands clasping the bedsheets. A wave after wave were rippling through your body, Joel’s fingers squeezed by your pulsating cunt, your clit twitching against his tongue.
When your body relaxed, Joel rested his head on your mound and you felt him panting heavily, just like you were, catching your breath.
For some time you were lying like that, sharing this intimate moment. At one point you thought that Joel had fallen asleep under the duvet but when you carefully lifted it, he raised his head and looked at you with eyes half-lidded.
“Damn, baby, you’ll be the death of me.”
“What?” You giggled. “I only wanted to get you warm. Didn’t ask you to…”
“I know, I know,” he hurried to assure you. “I ain’t cold now, that’s for sure,” he chuckled, emerging from under the duvet all sweaty, with his cheeks flushed. You grinned at him, proud to have given your man all of your warmth.
“Now I’m definitely showerin’,” he sighed, standing awkwardly by the bed. “Came all over my pants… Jesus Christ.”
You bit your lip, feeling incredibly flattered, and then giggled as he waddled towards the bathroom.
“Can I join you?” You shouted, eager to help him wash the tiring patrol and cum off his body.
“Sure, darlin’,” he replied and you hurried out of bed.
Thank you for reading! Please, comment and reblog if you enjoyed the story. It’s the greatest compliment for a writer💞
dark!joel x innocent f!reader. post-apocalypse au.
main masterlist | ao3 | kofi | fic tag
summary: can you hold a man as both your savior to be worshipped and the monster that he is? completed series.
warnings: 18+ MDNI! noncon, nonconsensual touching, dubcon - reader eventually enthusiastically consents but the syndrome is stockholming so its dubcon, ddlg dynamic, dom!joel, reader is a virgin, big juicy age gap (reader is 19, joel is 55) innocence kink/innocent reader, smut, reader has hair and clothing is described, reader can be picked up by joel but he’s actually got hulk like strength in my mind always, each chapter will have individual warnings!
part i: deliverance
part ii: resistance
part iii: compliance
part iv: surrender
part v: penitence
part vi: sanctification
part vii: convert
part viii: punishment, peace
part ix: fracture
part x: hysteria
part xi: dawning
part xii: liberation
part xiii: exhibition
part xiv: unraveled
part xv: condemnation
part xvi: absolution
part xvii: devotion
EXTRAS:
one shots:
precious (joel pov)
satin
polaroid
ambrosia
good luck, blossom (crossover crack fic)
series tag / inspo
art commissions: one | two | three | four
spotify playlist
pinterest board
moodboards | one (thank you wym! ) | two (thank you gi!)
summary: You'd survived twenty years without much thought for romance. But Jackson was safe, and safety had a way of making people act in strange ways—priorities change, rumors spread. Which happens to be how you uncover your patrol partner's best kept secret.
|| smut MDNI 18+ virginity loss, virginity kink, age gap (reader is 25, joel is in his 50s), jackson!joel, unnamed best friend, dual pov, drinking, nervous!reader, prudish!reader, virgin!reader, overthinking, swearing, pinv, kissing, like nasty kissing hell yeah, grinding, joel teaching you how to take 🍆, he talks you through it, f!receiving oral, handjob, dirty talk, praise kink, size kink, joel refers to himself as daddy, some pussy pronouns used, Joel We'll-Make-It-Fit Miller ||
a/n: my fellow freaks will understand. is joel kind of a perv for this? suuuure. but it's hot and consensual so who cares :)
wc: 11k sry
You, now
Your hand was practically shaking off its hinges by the time you lifted your knuckles to the wooden door.
You blamed the freezing temperature as you gathered your courage. Just the cold. The porch light buzzed faintly overhead, casting a weak yellow ring around the doorframe. It made the wood look darker than usual, older. Maybe it had always looked like that. Maybe you were just seeing it differently tonight. You glanced down at your shoes. Snow was really caked around the rubber soles, slush seeping in through the canvas seams, dampening your socks. You weren’t entirely sure if you still had toes anymore; they were so numb. Just the cold, you told yourself again, that was why you were trembling so badly. Just the fact that Jackson’s first winter storm decided to roll in the exact same morning you decided to… well…
Adjusting your stance instead, you smoothed a wrinkle in your coat, then reached up, but dropped your hand again.
Ridiculous. You were acting absolutely ridiculous. It’s not like you were some lost kid on a stranger’s porch. You knew this man. You’d walked patrols with him, ate silent breakfasts across from him before said patrols at the mess hall, both of you always quiet with each other. A comfortable quiet you’d enjoyed, actually. And you’d been to his house before—once, last spring, when you’d offered to trade him the coffee beans some folks had passed through town with. In exchange, he’d carved you a little likeness of your favorite mare from the stables, sanded smooth and small enough to fit in your palm. You’d thanked him twice, though he’d just nodded once, gruff as ever.
But that had been broad daylight. And this was…
Before you could talk yourself out of it again, before you could check the stitch in your glove a third time or flatten the nonexistent wrinkle in your coat, you lifted your knuckles and quickly rapped on the door.
Nothing happened.
You supposed that was normal. It’s not like he’d be waiting on the other side of the door for you. He wasn’t expecting anyone, at least you’d hoped. So you stared at the grain in the wood, the little green wreath hanging there, memorizing the leaves and pine needles that decorated the braided branches, and then—
You heard the footsteps, quiet and shuffling, but heavy on the other side. Your stomach dipped as they grew closer. You knew the sound of them by heart, etched in your mind as the sound of safety. Camaraderie. They followed behind you on trails, echoed in supply rooms, paused beside you at the watch post just before he would offer you the last thermos of coffee.
Your mouth was dry. You licked your bottom lip without thinking and immediately cursed at yourself—chapped. You’d forgotten balm. You never forgot your lip balm.
The footsteps stopped just on the other side.
You held your breath.
You, before
It had started—as many bad ideas do—in the Tipsy Bison one Friday night.
The place was humming with music and chatter, the lowlights of sconces bringing an amber warmth to every surface. Someone was playing a Fleetwood Mac song on their acoustic guitar, a gentle strumming meeting your ears across the way. A couple men just off patrol were clinking pints a little half-heartedly after a long day out in the early winter frost at the bar. Someone had lit a fire in the hearth, a loud crackle punctuating the room now and again, and you could feel the heat rising in soft waves against your back from where you sat.
And beside you, smug as ever with a grin on her lips, cheeks flushed from her whiskey sour, was your best friend. Her glass was sweating onto the wooden table beside her, and her fingers tapped lightly against the rim as she watched you.
You knew that look. You had a complicated relationship with that look. Secrets, trouble, you name it. Whenever she had a drink or two in her and she looked at you like that, you knew something was afoot. And usually it involved her over-interest in your love life. Or… lack thereof.
“I’m just saying,” she drawled, dragging her words out with that infuriating mix of innocence and glee, “if you’re so worried about it being awkward the first time, there are options. Experienced options.”
You made a face, tugging at the sleeve of your cardigan, already regretting letting her steer the conversation this way. “Like who? There isn’t exactly a whole sea of fish to choose from here. Half these people are partnered up and have kids now. And I swear, these guys born during the outbreak have zero game. ”
She let out a cackle. “Uh-huh. Like little five-year-old you really learned anything before the world went to shit.”
“Okay, fine. Enlighten me, oh wise one.” You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you, lilting up, amused.
She leaned in, elbow creaking against the table, voice suddenly lower. “Do you know who took mine?”
You tensed. “Oh my god. Please don’t do this to me. I don’t want to know, I really—”
“Joel Miller.”
You nearly choked. You did choke, actually, spluttering on the air you’d inhaled, spit gone down the wrong lung. A few people around you turned to glance in concern as your hand went to cover your open mouth. “What!?”
She grinned wide, completely unbothered. “Don’t get all worked up! He’s hot.”
“Joel?” you hissed, voice already pitching with disbelief. “My Joel—but he’s—he’s my…he’s my patrol partner!”
“Your grumpy, brooding, carved-from-stone, sexy patrol partner,” she corrected smoothly, nodding. “Yep. That one. It was a little over a year ago, I was still kinda new to town. I don’t even remember how it started. But it’s like… a thing,” she insisted, her voice dropping again as she scanned the room conspiratorily. “His thing. He’s like Jackson’s Cherry Picker.”
You blinked. “Excuse me?”
She nodded, lips twitching around the rim of her glass. “I’m serious. I’d heard rumors, okay? I was so desperate to get rid of this… this thing that made me feel like I had a target on my back. Like hello! Town virgin over here!” she laughed as you covered her ever-growing loud mouth, and she quieted down, waving you off, “and then one girl told me he’d done the favor for her and her friend. I don’t know. He was really sweet though. He did this thing with his tongue and—”
You slapped your hands over your ears. “Oh my god, stop, I don’t want to hear any more—”
She laughed loudly and downed her drink, “Okay, miss prude. I’m just sayin’, if you could choose anyone, I’d go with him. Haven’t you ever wondered? Haven’t you guys gotten stuck out there together and had to cuddle up real close, and oh no, there was only one bed!”
You rolled your eyes, “Actually, we tend to be just fine thank you. Joel takes good care of us if we’re—”
She was grinning, teeth gleaming, her brows doing a ridiculous little dance.
“Oh, shut up,” you muttered, tossing a napkin at her across the table, trying to ignore the way your heart was thudding just a little faster than before.
Because the truth was—yes.
You had wondered.
You, now
And then, the door was opening.
A thick hand appeared first, resting on the wood as it pulled inward. The rest of him followed a beat later, somehow even broader, taller than you remembered. Barefoot, in sweatpants and a flannel sleep shirt that hung open at the collar. His hair was mussed like he’d just come from rest, or something close to it. It felt too intimate.
“Mr. Miller—” you started, and immediately winced. “Joel. Hi. I—sorry, maybe this was… I might’ve picked a bad time.”
“S’alright, darlin’,” he said, voice low, rough from disuse. “Took me by surprise is all. What can I do for ya?”
You opened your mouth and promptly forgot how to speak.
Because how the hell were you supposed to explain this? That your best friend had told you between giggles and sips of her second whiskey about the favor he offered. That there were girls, maybe a few, maybe more than a few, who’d come before you for the same thing. That you were here asking for something he offered unbeknownst to most, passed along in rumors and blushing confessions. Never outwardly known or spoken of, but something only understood by the women who’d needed it once. Was it only once? And what did that make them to him, exactly? They weren’t partners, that much was clear. Not flings, either, at least you didn’t think so. He never talked about having partners or girlfriends. He probably wouldn’t even if given the chance.
You wondered if he remembered them individually, or if they blurred together to him. God, what if he thought of them like a collection—trophies he’d caught and taken first place, people he’d…he’d conquered? What would it mean for your relationship going forward? The patrols that were usually comfortable and easy, would they be suddenly full of awkward silences, or worse, would he refuse to patrol with you at all?
There was a little smile spreading across his face at how god damn red you must’ve been turning.
“S’a bit cold out there, ain’t it? All this snow.” he said, looking around outside, hazel eyes gleaming in the soft light, “Why don’t you come on in.” he offered, opening the door wider, spreading his hand out welcomingly into his abode.
“Okay,” you barely managed.
Stepping inside, you felt more like an intruder than ever. The warmth hit you first, thick with the smell of firewood and something faintly herbal in the air. The hearth was already going, the flames crackling in a steady rhythm, casting deep shadows across the living room. A pair of reading glasses sat neatly on top of a copy of An Idiot’s Guide to Space on the side table, the title catching the light just enough to be legible.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Joel said, voice low and even, his hand brushing lightly against your back as he guided you forward. “I’ll get ya somethin’ to drink.”
You nodded but couldn’t speak, your mouth still dry, throat tight. Your body moved before your thoughts could catch up, sinking onto the couch opposite his recliner. The cushions gave easily beneath you, soft and lived in. The heat of the fire reached your skin slowly, unthawing your face, your toes, the stiffness along your spine that hadn’t unclenched since you’d stepped onto his porch. You took your time peeling off your gloves and setting them aside, pins and needles prickling the tips of them as they warmed beside the heat.
He returned a minute later, though you didn’t notice him right away—your eyes fixed on the fire, the way it danced behind the grate, and your mind had gone thin and fast with thoughts you couldn’t quite hold down. You startled only slightly when he appeared beside you and set the mug into your hands. It was tan, with a little owl stamped on the front. You stared at it for a long moment before lifting it to your mouth. Lemon and honey with a sprig of cinnamon. Your favorite.
You swallowed the first sip slowly, letting it move through you, letting the heat settle low in your stomach like you could track its path through every nerve. You tried to focus on that instead of everything else.
Across from you, Joel groaned softly as he eased into his chair. It wasn’t reclined now as he leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, mug balanced in both hands as he took a sip.
“Everythin’ okay?” he asked, eyes on you now.
“What?” you squeaked, then cleared your throat before continuing, “Oh, yeah, yeah, everything is fine.”
He kept looking at you, quiet, and you worried you’d turn red again before he lowered his gaze to the tea in his hands and gave a small nod, like he didn’t fully believe you but wasn’t going to press. “You just seem a little nervous, is all. Somethin’ happen?”
You shook your head and turned away, not wanting to meet his eyes. The lemon peel floated in a lazy spiral near the rim of your cup, and the rising steam pressed gently against your face, a kind of soft shield between you and whatever came next. You still held yourself stiffly, spine straight, shoulders squared like you were bracing for something, though you kept reminding yourself there was no reason to. This was Joel. You’d spent more time with him out of anyone, even your own best friend. You knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was a good man.
You took another sip. Then another.
“I just…” you began, the words thick in your throat. You exhaled, tried again. “I heard a rumor.”
Joel let out a short huff of amusement, his shoulders shifting as he leaned back more comfortably into the chair. “Oh yeah? What’s goin’ around the rumor mill these days?”
You watched him settle in, the way his hands stayed on the mug even as he relaxed. For a second, you wondered if he’d actually been worried. If he thought something had happened to you. If he’d been ready to help.
“It’s probably nothing,” you said quickly. “Just… something someone mentioned.”
He didn’t say anything.
You glanced up, half-hoping he’d read your mind. Maybe he’d say it first. Maybe he’d change the subject entirely and save you from the humiliation of asking him to take your virginity. But no, he was still watching you, still waiting, his face calm, unreadable in the firelight.
You looked away again.
“I guess I just—I heard that you… help people. Sometimes.”
There was a pause, only joined by a quiet sound as he set his mug down. You heard the shift of fabric, the creak of the recliner beneath him. When you looked up again, he’d settled back, legs spread slightly, one hand resting on the arm of the chair. Still composed, still listening.
“Help how?” he asked, but the tone had changed, lower now. Softer, careful and measured. Like he was giving you the space to choose your words. Like he already knew which ones were coming. He must’ve known, after all. He had to. Maybe he wanted to see you squirm.
You swallowed.
“Girls,” you said, and your voice nearly cracked, not from emotion but from how tightly you were holding yourself together. “Women, I mean. I heard that sometimes, if someone’s… nervous, or if it’s their… that you’re… that you’ve helped.”
There. It was out, more or less. Maybe a few words left unsaid, but it was there now, between you. A live wire, humming, waiting.
Joel didn’t lean back, didn’t shift, didn’t even glance away. He was just staring at you, barely blinking or moving. And then, after a long enough pause that you nearly opened your mouth again just to fill it, he spoke.
“Are you askin’ me somethin’, darlin’?”
You swallowed again, willing your courage, forcing the up and down of your head, nodding at him, eyes glued to his face, watching his expression.
“I’m gonna need to hear you say it,” he told you, softly and without judgement, “And then we can talk about it.”
You set the mug down with careful hands, fingers lingering along the rim like they weren’t quite ready to let go. Your palms found each other in your lap, squeezing once, then flattening against your thighs. Courage, you told yourself. Be brave. You were twenty-five, for God’s sake. Frontal lobe fully developed, capable of decision-making, of risk, of owning the weight of your own choices. You’d killed infected, harvested crops, patched up fences, pulled your weight in every way that counted in Jackson. You’d grown up out of necessity, carried yourself through the years without needing anyone to hold your hand.
This shouldn’t have to be so hard. But it was. And still…this was the moment. You could feel it waiting there in the silence between you.
So you sat up a little straighter. Pressed your palms into your legs, just for the feeling of grounding, and tried to be brave.
“I’m asking you to take my virginity, Joel.”
You did your best to sound determined, sure of yourself, some small reserve of confidence rising as you looked at him, eyes locked on his face. You furrowed your brow to keep yourself from faltering, zipped your mouth shut to keep yourself from over-explaining, even though every part of you wanted to fill the silence. But the plain and simple truth of it laid bare between you now.
After a long moment of sitting there like that, the two of you watching each other carefully, he finally spoke.
“Why?”
The question caught you off guard. Your face faltered, your fingers tightened against your thighs, unsure you’d heard him right.
“W–Why?”
He nodded, very serious now.
You hesitated. “Because… don’t you? I heard you… you do this thing. For women.”
“But why do you want it?”
Your face burned. You weren’t sure if it was the fire in the hearth or the question or how quiet the room had gotten now, but suddenly you could feel the heat rising into your scalp, behind your ears, into the hollows of your throat. Your fingers were tangled in your lap again, squeezing one hand with the other like you could press the answer into your skin.
You sat up a little straighter, and let your hands fall still once again. Brave. Be brave.
“Because I don’t want it to be careless,” you said, “I don’t want it to feel like something I just let happen. And I don’t want to be with someone who only cares about what they’re getting out of it.”
You looked at him then, made yourself hold his gaze.
“I’ve waited a long time. And it hasn’t really been on purpose, but now that I’m here, I don’t want it to be meaningless. I want it to feel… like I chose it. Like I chose the right person.”
You felt your chest tighten. Your heart wouldn’t stop moving around inside you like it was trying to warn you of something, but it was too late for that.
“I trust you,” you said, quieter now, the truest thing you’ve ever said. “I think I trust you more than anyone else in the world.”
Joel let out a long breath, the kind that sounded like it had been sitting on his chest this whole time. He looked away from you then, toward the fireplace, the orange glow flickering against the lines in his face. One hand rubbed slowly against his knee, the heel of his palm dragging in a steady circle, over and over, like it helped him sort through whatever was moving behind his eyes.
You didn’t dare say anything.
You watched him, studied him. He was so handsome, after all. And something had changed, not that he had, not really. He was the same man who walked beside you on patrols, who shared granola bars and poured your coffee before his own. He checked your boots before a long route. Adjusted your gaiter once without asking, gloved fingers gentle against your jaw. You’d always chalked these things up to kindness, to the sort of responsibility a man like Joel Miller shouldered without complaint. But now, sitting here in his home, the fire warming your skin and the tension curling thick between you, you didn’t know how you’d ever seen them as simple gestures.
Your eyes traced the slope of his nose, the graying in his beard, how his hair had grown longer this winter and streaked with more silver. His thick fingers moved slowly against the fabric of his sweatpants, flexing, working some silent thought through his palm. You remembered those hands—gripping the handle of his revolver, steady and unshakable. Reaching back to stop you short with a firm grip at your elbow. Pushing you behind him when an infected got too close, machete already raised in his other hand, swinging hard through mold-thick bone. He’d protected you more times than you could count. And it had always felt… safe. Never like a performance. He didn’t ask for gratitude. He just... did it.
And then a thought struck you again, unwelcome, as you watched him—what if he said no? Could things ever go back to the way they were before? This was a line, a big one that you were crossing now. You didn’t know how to take it back, not now that you’d looked him in the eye and asked for something you’d barely ever admit to yourself was a want, not a need. You weren’t sure what you’d done, only that there was no coming back now.
You weren’t afraid of him. But you were afraid of what this all meant, how different it felt now that he knew.
But still, you wouldn’t look away.
He sat there for a long time, staring into the fire. And then finally, he turned back to you. His eyes found yours, steady, clear.
“Okay,” he said.
Joel, now
Joel didn’t have very many rules left that he hadn’t broken.
He’d repented for his sins, said his sorries—more or less—and moved on. He knew there were still notches on his soul, marks he’d carry to the grave, but he held fast to a few rules he’d made for himself, lines he’d drawn in the sand and did his damndest not to step over. He liked what he did, took a special liking to the women who came to him, nervous, wide-eyed, asking for something they didn’t want to get from someone careless. It was never more than they bargained for, never more than they asked for. But he still enjoyed it.
He was open to just about anyone that came around, regardless if they were twenty or fifty, as long as they asked kindly and seemed like they were doing it for a reason that made sense. Not that it really mattered—if they were offering, he was taking. And he loved to take. Selfish, he knew that about himself by now. And still, he loved it.
But here he was, crossing the last line he’d drawn a few springs back, back when he first met you in Jackson.
You were the exception. Always.
From the beginning, he’d known he wouldn’t touch you, not in that way. No matter how much he wanted to. And he did, God, he did. Dreamed of you, thought of you, let his mind go places it shouldn’t, wondered how you’d taste, how you’d sound, what you'd look like beneath him. And on the nights when patrol took too long, when you had to share a tent or squeeze into the corner of some half-collapsed building, curled up together in the cold, your breath ghosting against his neck—he’d nearly lose his mind with your closeness and sweet scent.
He wouldn’t take from you. He told himself you were off limits. You were so sweet, so good. He didn’t even realize you were a virgin, truth be told. And it sure didn’t help the way you were mustering up your courage in front of him, all doe eyed and nervous and trusting. But no, Joel never wanted to take this from you. Or anything, for that matter. All he ever wanted was to give. He always gave you the last sip of water or coffee, the last strip of jerky and the better seat when the fire got too smokey. He even made you that little horse out of pine because you kept choosing her for patrols, and you’d wept when it was her last ride before her retirement. He liked doing things like that for you. Liked to give. He would not take.
Joel would see you around with your best friend—hell, he’d picked her, when she came asking. She took as she wanted and went on her way, same as the rest. He saw you hanging around Jesse too, and that’s when he really had to keep himself in check. But when he brought it up one day, asked about it quietly on the trail, you’d brushed him off. You’d told him Jesse wasn’t your type. Joel remembered the way something small and mean and smug had sparked in his chest when you said it, right before the bigger wave of guilt rolled in.
But here you were now.
Looking like that. Fidgeting like hell, eyes darting around, nervous in a way he’d never seen before. It rattled him when you’d appeared on his porch. His first thought had been that someone hurt you. That something bad had happened. He was already halfway to grabbing the shovel by the door, ready to ask where the body was. Anything you asked, he’d do it. He knew he would. No question.
And then you’d come out with the real reason you were here.
It took you some coaxing, sure, you were nervous and trembling like a trapped fawn in a wolf’s maw. And once the words were out his blood surged before he could control himself. He had to breathe, distract himself, try to collect his thoughts and put them into neat little boxes before the wrong one burst open and he scared you off. He needed to be careful. He needed to think about what it would mean to break that last rule. If it would ruin what the two of you had, if you would look at him differently. If you’d regret it.
But the truth was already there, pounding its way through his chest. He’d known the second you said the words that he didn’t give two shits about those rules.
That was the last clear thought he had before he turned to you and said, “Okay.”
He watched your eyes widen, watched your tongue sweep across your bottom lip, and the last thread of his control nearly split just then.
“Okay?” you asked, barely above a whisper.
He nodded, lifted his hand, palm up, a quiet invitation.
You hesitated, only for a second, then stood with that same purposeful grace you always carried when you moved ahead on a patrol. Not rushed or uncertain. Chosen. Like your feet knew where to go before your head did. You crossed the room slowly, your breath held, and when your soft hand found his, it was like some invisible thread finally went taut.
Joel tugged you gently between his knees, both of your hands in his. He looked up at you like he wasn’t sure this part was real. The warmth of you so close, the gentle weight of your fingers resting in his, how your fingers still trembled.
“Are you sure?” he asked, breathless, quiet. He needed to be soft and gentle, your sweet face so pretty with how it was looking at him now, sure of yourself, but still nervous.
You nodded, your thumbs tracing the thick of his knuckles. It made his skin pebble in goosebumps.
“Usually when someone asks,” he murmured, “I make ‘em wait.”
He had to get through this part. Had to muzzle himself back into control, to know for certain. As much as he wanted to take, he would be good for you. For you, for you. Always for you. Like prayer, like penance, like something sacred in his keeping.
“Why?” you asked, quiet as a mouse, your brows furrowing. You really were adorable. Sweet enough to eat.
“To make sure they ain’t ovulatin’,” he said, and the line was meant to tease, but his voice came out tighter than he wanted. “Don’t need any mini-Joels walkin’ around, do we?”
He tried to smile, but thought it probably looked more like a leer, animal in the way his teeth shown in the firelight.
Oh, was all you seemed to manage.
Joel exhaled slow, like he could let some of the heat in him go that way, like he hadn’t just undone every restraint he’d spent years building. His hands slid up your arms, slow and steady, your sweater sleeves in the way. He wanted to feel you, your skin, your heat. He’d make himself wait.
“Don’t think I can do that with you, though,” he said, voice gone quiet again, “Been waitin’ a long time for this, baby.”
Your gaze flicked to his, searching. “You have?”
He nodded, “Christ, it’s all I’ve ever thought about.”
There was a long moment of quiet, of only the crack of the fire. As if waiting. Both of you, waiting for the other, held in the suspended moment before everything changed.
“I think about you too.” you confessed then, “All the time, Joel.”
The leash on the beast in him flew from his hands, and he was squeezing your arms harder, pulling you down into his lap. You yelped at the sudden movement, and it made him force himself to soften again, coaxing, to be gentle with his hands. He smoothed them up and down your arms, though the closeness of your thighs bracketing his turned his brain to mush.
“I’m sorry, don't be scared, I’m sorry,” Gentle, be gentle, he scolded himself, “It’s just…you think about me, huh?” He cooed. “What do you think about, baby?”
You were nibbling at your lip again, eyes flicking down like you didn’t know what to do with yourself now that you’d said it aloud. He caught your hands and pulled them to his chest, pressing them flat so you could feel the thud of his heart beneath your palms.
“You can touch me, darlin’,” he said, almost a whisper. “It’s okay if I touch you?”
You nodded, wordlessly, eyes eager in their nervousness.
His hand reached up, careful, and brushed a piece of hair from your cheek, tucking it behind your ear, taking his time.
“So tell me,” he said again, “what you think about.”
Your voice came soft and certain. “Kissing you.”
His breath faltered, fingers twitching against your cheek, forcing them down and to settle on your hips. Something deep in his chest raged against his ribs to be let out—this was the night, he was sure of it now, the night he finally snapped, lost every inch of control he’d ever clung to. He might go insane with you, here, in his lap, telling him about your dreams, your wants, your desires for him.
“Do you wanna kiss me now?” he asked.
You nodded.
“Before you do,” he said, hands squeezing, “we need to talk.”
Your face shifted, the subtle kind of worry that made you look child-like, almost scolded. He saw your shoulders inch up like you were bracing for a lecture, and he hated that. He slid his thumbs under the hem of your sweater instead, just enough to brush the warm skin of your waist, soothing whatever tension lie beneath the surface.
“Have ya ever done anythin' before?” he asked, dipping his head slightly, trying to catch your eye. When you met his gaze, you shrugged, sheepish.
“I’ve kissed a boy before. Not like…” You sighed, glanced off to the side. “Not like with tongue or anything. And it was a dare.”
Joel chuckled at that, “A dare, huh?”
You gave him a mock glare, your nose wrinkling in protest. “Don’t make fun of me.”
“Never,” he murmured, the smile still tugging at the edge of his mouth. He let the air settle for a second, then took another breath, slower this time.
“You’re gonna need to tell me when somethin’ don’t feel good. When you want me to stop, alright?” He watched you closely now, his thumbs still rubbing careful, slow lines against your skin. “Pick a word that means stop. Don’t matter what it is, but you say it, and everything stops. We talk, figure it out. You won’t be in trouble, I just need to know you’re okay.”
You opened your mouth like you were about to argue, and he could see the protest already brewing, the way your brows pulled together, the way your lip started to tuck between your teeth.
“I don’t want you to stop just because—I know, er—-I’ve heard it hurts, a little, the first time,” you said, your voice quiet, almost defensive.
He shook his head gently. “It’s not about that,” he said. “This ain’t for little discomfort. I know you’re tough, I know you can handle that. But this—” he softened his voice again, “this is for if somethin’ don’t feel right in your gut. If you change your mind, or I do somethin’ you don’t like. You don’t owe me anythin’, you understand? I ain’t gonna be mad.”
Your teeth were worrying your lip again, eyes darting like you were thinking hard, weighing something heavy. He watched it all and felt the pull in his chest that came from how goddamn much he wanted to reach up and kiss the thought right out of your head. But this came first. You deserved this part too.
After a moment, you nodded. “Okay. Okay… what about… pickleback?”
He blinked, caught off guard. “Like the shot?”
You nodded again, smiling this time, your eyes downturned. “I love them.”
Joel huffed a low laugh. That smile…it had his belly doing flips like some kid. You were so sweet and shy, like you didn’t know what it did to him.
“Alright then,” he said, brushing his hands up your waist again, savoring the heat of your skin, the way you felt under his hands, “Pickleback it is.”
And god, you were so warm. He took a long breath through his nose, collecting himself, trying to keep his thoughts grounded instead of letting them scatter into the fire like ash.
“Alright,” he said softly, almost to himself. “C’mere, baby.”
One of his hands abandoned the skin beneath your sweater to slide up your spine, tracing each vertebrae to the base of your neck, just under the edge of your hair, and he felt the tremble in your body like a secret only he got to keep. Your eyes were so wide, mouth parted like you were bracing for something. But you didn’t look scared. Just... expectant. Waiting. Brave.
Joel tilted his head slightly, his nose brushing yours, and his breath was warm when it hit your cheek.
“I’m gonna kiss you now,” he said softly, his thumb brushing under your jaw. “And I want you to relax. Don’t worry about what you’re s’posed to do. You don’t have to do a thing, baby. Let me take care of you.”
You nodded, breath hitching just a little, and he waited until he felt the tiny flex of your fingers on his chest like you were anchoring yourself there.
Then he kissed you.
He pressed his mouth to yours with a slow, aching tenderness, just warmth and patience and the softness of your lips beneath his. He felt you gasp, just a little, and he moved slow as molasses, letting you settle into it. His hand at your neck stayed firm, thumb stroking over your jaw. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d imagined this moment until now, until your mouth pressed harder against his, until your hands were sliding up to grip at his collar as if you didn’t want him going anywhere.
He pulled back then, a fraction, close enough that you were still breathing his air.
“You okay?” he asked.
You nodded again, lips a little wet, your eyes flicking down to his mouth, and Joel felt something in his chest cave.
“Good girl,” he said under his breath. “Let’s try that again.”
And he kissed you a second time, this one deeper, more certain—his lips parting slightly, coaxing you to follow. When your mouth opened under his, he groaned softly, chest tightening. You tasted sweet, like honey and lemon from the tea, and something else too. Something that was just you. Your hands gripped his hair now, fingers curling tight at the nape. He felt your tongue poke out between your lips, discovering and curious, and he met it with his own. You squeaked a little at that, and he couldn’t help but smile, pulling away once again.
“Gimme your tongue, baby, let me see your tongue,” he coaxed, fingers tightening in your hair.
You did as you were told, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out at him. He couldn’t help but smile at you with fondness. “Relax, like this,” he murmured, showing you how, his own tongue flat in his mouth, patient. You mirrored him, and he reached up, licking at your waiting tongue, honey and lemon and cinnamon and a burn of desire filling his mouth, making it water, his stomach clench.
You let out the softest sound, a little hum deep in your chest, and Joel answered before he even thought about it. He wrapped his lips around your tongue, pulling just slightly: gentle, savoring you. Your eyes shuttered closed, sighing into him, your hips rocking involuntarily. He felt, beneath layers of clothing, a little pulse between your legs.
“Oh, she likes that, don’t she, darlin’?” Joel asked when he pulled away again.
“You—” your voice was hoarse, almost drunk with desire, licking your lips, “you could feel that?”
He nodded, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. “Can you feel me?” he asked, quieter now. “Feel how much I want you?”
You nodded, cheeks heating, “I like it.”
Joel didn’t wait. He kissed you again, deeper, hungrier, and you melted into him with confidence. Your arms looped around his neck, your breasts pressing to his chest beneath your sweater, body giving into him. His hands slipped beneath your top again, finding your skin, your back warm and smooth beneath his palms. He pulled you in closer, like you weren’t close enough already. He thought he could kiss you for hours. He thought he might go insane if he couldn’t.
And between the moans and whimpers, you murmured to him between a kiss.
“Can I have your tongue, Joel? Please?”
Joel’s brain was so scrambled, monopolized by desire, that he did as he was told before he could think. And then his brain really did snap in half as your lips sealed around his tongue, and you suckled on the muscle, moaning, tasting, wanting.
Joel groaned loudly, eyes rolling to the back of his skull, his hands beginning to dig into your skin. He needed you closer, closer.
And when you released your gentle hold of him, lips connected again for another kiss, he was dragging your hips against him harder, sawing your little center across his thickening length beneath his sweatpants. It just wasn’t enough, not nearly as close as he needed you.
“Oh fuck,” he whispered, kissing you harder, unable to take anymore, “fuck, baby, you’re killin’ me, grind on my cock some more, it feels so damn good, little thing wants me bad, huh?”
You gasped at his dirty mouth, but he couldn’t help himself, he was gone. Lost to it, hungry, hungrier than he thought he’d ever been for anything. All Joel could think about now was your pulsing, wet, puffy cunt beneath your clothes. How it would feel to not take, but give. And he’d give it to you so damn good.
You pushed your hips down, and he guided you, hands back on your hips, pushing and sawing you on top of him. It was damn near heaven, friction and heat, everything he’d wanted.
“Take this off, baby, please, is that okay?” he asked, pulling at your sweater.
You were already moving, hasty, as undone as he was, both of you chasing the same edge. The fabric came over your head with shaking fingers, and suddenly you were bare in front of him, breathing hard, flushed all over. No bra. So that was it. The final nail in his coffin. The quiet, damning proof that you hadn’t just come over hoping he’d give you what you wanted—you’d known he would.
You’d decided. You’d trusted him. You’d made up your mind long before he opened the door.
“Joel,” you murmured, shirt off.
He was staring. He knew he was staring. His brain was blank, white space as his mouth parted. His eyes drank you in like he’d never seen anything more perfect. He wasn’t sure he ever had, truth be told.
As he shook his head to unscramble the thoughts, he heard his voice from far away: “Yeah, baby?”
“I think I might go insane,” you said, your voice so soft it was almost a confession. “I feel—”
You wrapped your arms around yourself suddenly, like you needed to hold it all in, covering yourself, pushing your breasts together, fingers brushing your throat, your eyes darting away as if you didn’t know where to land.
He forced himself back to the present, maybe he’d been too quick, too forceful, too willing to give over all control to the beast in him that wanted so badly it made him blind. “What is it? Are you okay?”
You nodded—then shook your head, “I want you so bad I think I might…It hurts, Joel. I might cry if you don’t do something.”
Joel’s hands came up to your face, palms warm against your jaw, his thumb stroking the corner of your mouth. Your bare chest pressed to his shirt, burning him through the cotton. His breath stuttered in his throat.
“Don’t cry, hunny,” he murmured, kissing the tip of your nose, nuzzling into your cheek, “don’t cry, daddy is here, daddy is gonna take care of you. I want you so bad, just wanna take it slow for ya, is all.”
You were gripping his arms, rocking your hips harder, chasing that friction in his lap. Joel forced himself to keep his eyes open on you, as much as they wanted to roll back into his head again. Everything just felt so damn good when it came to you. He clenched his jaw, his hands anchored on you, guiding you.
“I need more,” you whined, breath hot against his neck.
“Okay, okay, what about this?” he said, voice rough with restraint, though he was smiling a bit. He lowered his head to your chest, kissing your clavicle, licking a broad stripe between the valley of your breasts. So heavy and pretty, his for the taking. His mouth closed over one nipple, tongue flattening against it, and you gasped, arching into him like your body knew what to do before your mind caught up. Your fingers dove into his hair, tangling, tugging, your body trembling against his.
He sucked and pulled and bit on your pert nipple, inhaling your perfume, the smell of the hearth, the heat of your skin. Everything was a blur of a dream and reality, his memories of his fist around his cock just thinking of you like this mixing with the reality of it happening here and now.
He was going insane. That was the plain truth.
He kissed up your neck again, tongue flat against your skin as he licked and nibbled his way to your jaw. Your sweet little moans filled his lungs, breathless sighs spilling out against his cheek, feeding something wild in him. He wrapped his arms beneath you and lifted you with ease, and you giggled as your legs locked around his waist, clinging tight while he started toward the hallway.
“No, no,” you whined, petulant, “want to do it here, in front of the fire,”
“S’not right, baby,” he muttered, the sound breaking as he groaned and held you aloft, looking up at you, “should take you in the bed, where you’ll be comfortable.”
But you shook your head, tugged his hair, eyes wide and pleading, still shining with that sex drunk look in them. “Want you here,” you said again. “It’s warm… and it’s nice in here.”
“Alright,” he breathed, giving in without a fight. You were kissing him before he even settled you back down, greedy wet mouth pressing up into his, your arms wrapping tight around his neck. He lowered you onto the couch, eased you onto your back, and your legs opened for him, letting him into the cradle of you. You moaned as he pressed down into you, grinding slow and teasing.
“Such a pretty little thing,” he murmured, lips wandering lower again, down your throat, your collarbone. He kissed everywhere, licked and tasted, needing to map every inch of your skin. “Gonna take these off now,” he said, gaze flicking up to meet yours as his fingers slipped under your waistband. “That okay?”
You nodded, chest heaving, lips parted and kiss bitten.
“Words, baby, let me hear your pretty voice too.”
“Yes, please—please,”
“Atta girl,” he praised, and it rumbled deep in his chest. He began pulling your layers off, slowly, gently. Socks went first, plucked only with his forefinger and thumb, and he kissed the insole of your foot, his hand covering your frozen toes to warm them. He pulled off the rest, unwrapping his gift. His jaw nearly unhinged at the sight of you laid bare in front of him. He dragged his palms along your thighs, taking in the sight before him. Glistening, puffy, nearly dripping onto his sofa in front of him. You pretty pussy just waiting for him to devour. He could feel his cock answer in earnest, twitching, pre cum dribbling down the inseam of his thigh.
“Oh, hunny,” he sighed, leaning the side of his head on your propped up knee, bringing you closer, dragging you up before him so he could get a better look. It felt like he might’ve started drooling, completely entranced by the way your perfect pussy clenched on nothing, begging for something that wasn’t there yet. Torture, that’s what it was, to leave her untouched this entire night.
“Are you going to…to touch me?” he heard you ask, so fragile and yet so brave. He looked up at you then, and watched, enamored, at your sweet face, your nervous eyes that were heavy lidded.
“You want me to?”
You nodded vigorously, lifting your foot to rest on his shoulder, pulling him closer. Suddenly so confident in your want for him.
He took your leg, kissed the inside of your calf, then bit into the meat of it in a playful little warning. You yelped, giggled, and kicked him lightly in the chest. “Bad,” he scolded, though there wasn’t a trace of real reprimand in his voice.
“You’re taking so lonngggg,” you whined, dramatic.
“Let me savor this,” he said playfully, kissing your skin again, warm mouth against warmer flesh, the heat of the two of you seeping into ever pore. He moved slowly, lips pressing, tongue tasting, his beard dragging in little teasing strokes along your thigh that made your skin pebble. He took his time climbing the soft inside of your legs, and he could feel you trembling, tightening in anticipation.
When he reached the apex of your thighs, he stopped to stare, because the firelight had turned you into something unreal. Glistening, soft, swollen with want. The smell rising from you was honey and sweat and something sweetly feral, and it pulled at him like gravity. He laid one hand gently over your pubic bone, the other hooking under your thigh to pull you closer, closer, until you couldn’t move away even if you wanted. He leaned in and blew across your glistening folds.
You whined, hips jerking in his hold. “Hurts, Joel,” you whimpered.
“What does, baby?” he asked softly, voice teasing at the edges. “This?” He blew again, gentle and warm, and your puffy pussy twitched in response.
You shook your head, “Waiting—it hurts, she wants you. I want you.”
She. As if his brain wasn’t already scrambled enough, you were using pronouns for your sweet, velvet keep. He felt his pulse pounding in his fingertips. Humming in a sort of understanding, he lowered his head.
“Might feel a little weird, okay? You ever touch yourself before, hunny?” He asked.
You nodded, nibbling on the nails of your right hand. He kissed the top of your mound, eyes on your sweet face. “Have you ever had an orgasm before?”
“Yes,” you sighed, eyes beginning to close as he kissed along your soft thatch of curls.
Joel let out a deep breath, reverent in his hunger, the sound shaking through his chest. He lowered his face until the bridge of his nose rested just above your entrance. He knew he was torturing you, stringing you along like this. But what if this was the only time he ever got to touch you like this? Every other woman had come to him once and left satisfied, done with him. If they returned, he always turned them away, told them he wasn’t built for more than the favor he gave. But you… you were different. He wanted to keep this. To savor this.
He wanted to remember how you looked right now for the rest of his life.
“S’gonna feel a little different,” he promised, voice rough as gravel. “But daddy’ll make it feel good. I promise.”
“Okay,” you breathed, reaching down to pet your fingers through his hair. The moment your nails scraped lightly against his scalp, another sound rumbled out of him, low and almost pleased enough to be a purr.
He could no longer deny you. He could no longer deny her. If he held himself back another second, he didn’t think he’d survive it. And he’d never be able to call himself a good man again if he dragged out this torture.
He started slow, a kiss to your little pearl, and it pulsed between his lips when he kissed again, suckling gently, your soft whines and breathy sighs rising above him like a symphony. He licked a fat stripe from your perineum, his tongue like a basin for catching your nectar, drinking you, inhaling you, eating you. He tried to be kind, gentle, but once he’d had a taste, he couldn’t stop himself.
Joel was a menace. He knew it. Growling under his breath, his breathing heavy and ragged, the beast in him was closer to the surface than he’d let it get in years. Muzzle off but leash tight, he licked and drank and sounded like he’d never eat again. He moaned into you, harmonizing with your sweet, desperate sounds, both of you moving without thinking, your hips pushing into his mouth while he rocked up against the bottom of the couch, the precum from his cock already staining the fabric of his pants.
“Oh,” you mewled, trembling, “oh, Joel—Joel, I think… oh god—”
The sound of his name like that on your lips, pleading and filled with want was a blow to his gut. He paused his grinding, knowing full well he could finish in his pants if he let himself go even one inch further.
He couldn’t take his mouth away from you. He wanted to tell you everything, wanted to praise you, to worship you, to admit how beautiful you were, how unreal you tasted, sweet and warm and soft like velvet against his tongue. He was losing his mind, forcing his heavy‑lidded eyes to stay open, to watch you fall apart for him.
The hand that was placed upon your mound had started thrumming at your little clit so he could fuck your keep with his tongue, pushing and drinking you in, forcing your back to arch, your lungs to heave, throat crying out. And that’s when he felt the pulsing swell of your orgasm crest and rush through you, thighs shaking, heels pulling him in, digging into his shoulder blades as you brought him closer.
“Yes,” he swore, “That’s it, baby, fucking soak me, come all over my face, atta girl,” his voice was raw with desire, aching for it, and you let out one final scream of pleasure as he kept you there to ride it out, tongue pushing in, thumb circling your clit.
And as you settled, thighs trembling, he saw your throat bobbing, hoarse, eyes heavy and moist as you looked at him again, “Holy shit,” you whispered, giggling a bit.
Joel wasn’t in the mood for playfulness anymore. Not with the way that feral, starving thing in him was thrashing now, begging, snapping at its leash. His cock strained violently through his sweatpants, painful and insistent, and he crawled over you like gravity had taken hold of him. His hands cupped the bowl of your skull, holding you steady as he kissed you, deep and claiming, pushing his tongue into your mouth.
“Taste yourself,” he commanded between breaths, “taste how fuckin’ good you are,”
You moaned into his mouth, and he thought he might scare you with how badly he wanted you, it scared him a little too. But you could feel his cock, and you were grinding on the outline of it, creamy folds pulsing around the cotton covered mold of him. He was groaning and pushing into you, sawing his hips hard into your cradle.
“That feels so good, Joel, oh god, please, I want it, I’m ready, I’m ready,” you babbled, mouth soft and open for him as he kissed down your chin, along your jaw, to the shell of your ear. He sat back on his haunches, fingers shaking as he tugged his waistband down. He didn’t care to discard them fully, he was too lost in his need, his hunger. Monopolized by it, it’s all he could think of, giving you this. Giving you him.
But as he brought his cock to lay across your belly, too heavy to bob up against his own, your eyes widened, a prickle of fear through them as you looked up at him.
His hand slid to the crease of your hip and thigh, thumb settling right into that soft pocket of skin. He stroked you there, slow, reassuring. “S’alright, baby. You ever seen a cock before?”
You shook your head. “In pictures,” you whispered. “But not… not—” You lifted your hands to your face, peeking through your fingers like you were bracing for a jump scare. “It’s not gonna fit, Joel. Absolutely not.”
He chuckled before he could stop himself, but it wasn’t soft. It sounded rough, a little feral, like something wrenched out of him without permission. "We'll make it fit, honey," he said with finality.
He tried to school that feral part of him back, but then your hand moved.
You were reaching down, touching, your finger tracing the ridge of the head, making him hiss. You jerked your hand away, startled, but he caught your wrist with surprising gentleness. “S’okay,” he breathed, eyes falling shut as he tried not to lose what little control he had left. “Feels good. Maybe too good.” He guided your hand back, lacing his fingers over yours, helping you cup the weight of him. He rocked into your hand, slow and tight.
“So warm,” you whispered to yourself, “Soft, too, like velvet,”
Joel hummed, lost to the way your delicate fingers felt around him as he rucked against you. The friction wasn’t enough, and he brought your hand to his mouth, spit into it, your eyes wider, and brought your hand back down. His head thrown back and mouth open, he let you play, no longer guiding, letting you explore. Your wet fingers traced him, teased him, wrapped around him, and he felt his vision spark white at the edges. He wanted to watch so badly but couldn’t, the feeling of your wet exploration, your learning of him, far too delicious to focus on anything but touch alone.
“I want to try,” you said at last, “maybe just…just be slow,”
Joel looked back down at you, but you weren’t looking at him, instead, you were staring at your own hand, enraptured by the way it moved over him, touching him like you were trying to memorize every vein and ridge. When you reached further, cupping his balls gently, he let out a groan that tore through him, a sound he couldn’t have held back if he tried.
He gripped himself, shifting so he could slide through the slick honey you made for him, his cock jumping at the feeling of your warm keep.
You moaned at the contact, hands flying to his forearms, gripping as you whimpered at the notch of when he finally prodded the entrance.
“M’nervous,” you whispered.
Joel leaned down immediately, cupping your cheeks in both hands again, kissing your mouth once, soft and grounding, trying to soothe the tremble running through your body. “I got you, baby. Daddy’s got you. Gonna take it slow, I promise. You ready?”
You nodded, arms slipping around his neck, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him close like you couldn’t bear even an inch of distance.
Joel’s mouth fell open, jaw coming unhinged as he pushed, slowly, like molasses, through your walls. They clenched down, as nervous as you were to his intrusion. He kissed you again, distracting you with his tongue, coaxing you through it, letting you mewl sweetly into his mouth as your body adjusted around him.
“Oh!” you squealed, “you’re—you’re in my belly,” you hissed as he pulled back a little, settling there.
He pushed your hair back, your forehead dappling in sweat, “It’s alright,” he murmured, over and over, his voice a low litany. “It’s alright. Gonna hurt for just a minute. That’s halfway, baby. Only halfway. You’re doin’ so good. She feels like heaven.”
You were moaning, whether in pleasure or pain, Joel knew he needed to wait. He felt your walls pulling and pushing, constricting like a fist, all the blood in the thick vein that rushed along his shaft pulsing. He kissed your neck, your jaw, all to keep himself in line, to keep that shred of restraint, waiting.
“Bein’ so good for me, baby,” he whispered, “How you feelin’, hm? Talk to me.”
You drew in a deep breath. “Feels funny,” you admitted, “but better.”
“Yeah?”
You nodded, eyes fluttering. “Keep going. Please. I want to feel all of you.”
Joel looked into your eyes then, searching, both of you a mirror of desire, of nerves, of want, “Okay, okay,” he cooed, pushing in a few more inches. Your neck arched back, eyes squeezing shut, and he tapped his thumb against your jaw, “Look at me, honey, daddy’s got ya,”
Your eyes opened, and your breath came heavier, and soon your grimace was turning into an ‘o’ of pleasure as he seated himself fully, his balls pushing into the cheeks of your ass.
“Ohhh…” Joel groaned, “Ain’t that so good, sugar?”
“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck,” you were whispering.
Joel eased back just enough to look down between your bodies. You followed his gaze, chest heaving, watching with him as his cock slid out, slick with your release, veins streaked with white cream, the thick length glistening under the low light. His hair was damp, peppered with sweat and ecstasy.
“Holy fucking shit,” you breathed, eyes wide, watching him push back in, your neck arching with the stretch, head tipping helplessly into the pillows. “Please, please don’t stop—it feels—oh my god—it feels so fucking good—”
And finally, fucking finally, after what felt like ages of restraint, of being good, of holding himself and muzzling that mean dog in him, Joel let go of the leash.
He started fucking into you with full force, sawing deep, hard, relentless, watching the way his cock disappeared and reappeared inside you, dripping with slick. His jaw clenched, his body shuddering as he gave in to the hunger.
“You’ve got no fuckin’ clue,” he growled, “how long I’ve wanted this.” His hands moved to grip your hips so hard his knuckles blanched. “How long I’ve thought about you like this. Moanin’ my name with my cock deep in you.”
Your eyes were wide as you watched him, moaning his praises. Oh, god, oh god, tell me, daddy please tell me—
He couldn’t stop looking, watching himself move in and out of you like it was the only thing left in the world, and his mouth spilled every unclean thought he'd ever had. “You got no idea, baby. Wanted to fuck your throat every time you gave me lip. Wanted to bend you over the cabin floor that time we got snowed in, make her cry for me. God, I wanted you so bad.”
Sweat was dripping from his forehead, falling onto your belly, hot against hot. The room blurred at the edges, fire and muscle and want, just you taking everything he gave.
“Ain’t my fault,” he murmured, a crooked little smile tugging at his mouth. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect. This ass. That face. You’re perfect, baby. All mine now. My perfect girl.”
“Yes, Joel, I’m yours—I wanna be—it’s all I’ve ever—” you were gasping, hiccuping on a moan, nails dragging down his arms. “Please, come here, closer—”
He dropped over you again in an instant, kissing you hard, bellies sliding together, soaked in sweat, his rhythm never slowing. The couch rocked beneath you as he kept fucking into you, kissing you as if it might kill him if he stopped.
“I’m yours,” you whispered against his mouth, nails scraping into his scalp. “Fuck me like I’m yours, Joel.”
He bit into your neck, rough and deep, and you wailed, body tightening as he sawed into you. He forced himself to keep a steady rhythm, he would not ruin this by being an animal. He told himself he’d teach you one day how to take a good fucking, maybe bent over the armchair or over his kitchen counter, or maybe in the shower, but tonight he needed to still be gentle and good, keeping it steady for only you.
His thumb found your clit and you jolted like you’d been shocked.
“N–n–no, too much,” you cried out, writhing, your hands pushing at him weakly.
“Say your word n’ I’ll stop, baby girl, come on, know you’re tough, know you can take it,” he growled, “wanna feel how fuckin’ tight she’ll get when she comes around me, come on now, be daddy’s girl and come for me.”
You were wailing, tears beading in your eyes, but you didn’t say your word, you nodded, kissing him, salt and wet and delicious as your breath came shorter and shorter. And then you froze, legs widening until your thighs were planted on the bed, taking your orgasm, letting him fuck you through it, your velvet keep a vice around his cock, a fist, threatening to choke the life out of him as you came.
"I'm gonna come inside," he wanted, "I have to, I can't—"
"Yes, yes, yes," you whispered.
He was babbling praise in your ear as he held on through sheer force before his own body went taut and he was coming inside of you, unable to talk himself into pulling away. That’s a good girl, atta girl, what a sweet little thing takin’ daddy’s cock so good, that’s it, that’s it, yes.
And in the after, the two of you lay like that, bodies tangled and unwound, catching your breath while the sweat cooled and soaked into the old couch cushions beneath you. He kept his mouth on your shoulder, slow open kisses that tasted of salt and the faintest sweetness of your skin. Your fingers stroked gently at his hair, a soft and steady petting that calmed him. He felt the heavy rise and fall of your chest begin to ease, your heartbeat settling back into its natural rhythm, the thrum of it against his sternum.
“Thank you,” you whispered, the words faint and almost shy.
Joel hummed against your skin, his lips still wandering, kissing whatever they could reach. He did not know how to answer you without saying too much.
“What happens now?” you asked even quieter.
He lifted his head, brushing a kiss to your chin, then the swell of your bottom lip, then the tip of your nose, giving himself time to think. “We’ll get you cleaned up, and you can...” He paused when he saw your brow crease, the worry clouding the softness that had been there a moment ago. “What is it?”
“I don’t wanna go home,” you whispered. “I don’t want this to be the last time. I want…I meant what I said, Joel. I’m yours, if you’d have me.”
He went still, just for a moment, watching the worry flicker behind your eyes. He hated that worry. Hated that he might be the cause of it. You were brave enough to say it, and he knew what that cost.
He’d lived a long time doing favors for folks, keeping to himself, giving women what they asked for without stepping past the boundaries they laid down. Jackson’s Cherry Picker. That stupid little nickname had stuck, and maybe he’d earned it. But he never took what wasn’t offered, they never stayed long after, and he never asked for more. They came to him wanting a lesson, a night, a rite of passage, and he’d give them exactly that. No promises. No expectations.
And most days he convinced himself he liked it that way. It kept him unbound, kept things simple. And it kept him from wanting what he’d already lost too many times.
But simple had turned into lonely long before tonight, and he hadn’t even noticed until now, with you in his arms. You had been the exception from the beginning. But now…now…
He lifted his hand to your cheek, thumb brushing the heat there, and saw how much you meant every word you’d said. It would be the easiest thing in the world to tell you to go, to stick to the script he always used, to keep his life small and untouched.
But he couldn’t picture you leaving. Not after this. This was mind altering, a seismic change, like fault lines rearranged in his heart for you. A spell cast between you, irreversible and unseen. Whatever line you’d crossed together, it wouldn’t be uncrossed. And that’s what he wanted. He wanted to keep giving, to let himself soften and offer and pour whatever he had into your hands, if you chose that path with him.
“Stay here,” he said, more certain than he had felt in years, “Stay with me.”
request: so um WTH UR JOEL FIC WAS SO GOOD!! It was. A great mix of serious and smut oml- anyways I wanted to request for him again I see alot of Joel x baker reader ? Gathered this is when they’re in Jackson but you could spin it to where reader was a baker and they meet outside of Jackson etc IDK I just need another fic I beg ty ty
word count: ?
warnings: +18 minors dni, really sweet sex, joel being flirty and grumpy. please let me know if i have missed anything!
even after the many years you've spent here, jackson still smells like rain-soaked wood and smoke this time of year. you’d been pacing the bakery’s wide-plank floors for ten minutes now, tracing little loops in the flour dust, waiting for him. and he’s late, of course. because joel doesn’t rush for anybody, especially not for something as "unserious" as baking, as he likes to say.
you glance at the tray of eggs you cracked, the mountain of sugar, the softened butter, and the dog-eared recipe cards you scrounged from behind the counter. miss shelley, the older woman who usually runs the place, trusted you to lock up for the night. “just don’t burn the place down, sweetheart,” she said with a wink, and gave you a key.
you weren’t going to do it alone. not for the town’s spring celebration tomorrow. you’d begged him for this—him of all people—joel miller, resident brooder, secretly gifted with his hands in ways most people never got to see, but you had. *wink wink*
“there’s nothin’ complicated about cookies,” he’d grumbled that morning, folding his arms.
“i want them to taste like something, joel,” you’d insisted, poking a finger into his chest. “not like regret and disgust.”
he’d snorted, mouth twitching at the corners, and after a minute, like it physically hurt him, he agreed.
breaking you out of your thoughts, the door creaks open, and you don’t even have to turn. the sound of his boots on wood is enough to make your spine straighten, a ripple of awareness climbing up your back.
“you bakin’ or throwin’ a damn science fair?” he mutters, already peeling off his jacket. his eyes move over the counter, then to you. you pretend not to notice the way they stick to your legs, the hem of the dress barely grazing mid-thigh.
“just tryin’ to impress the town,” you say sweetly. “or you. which ever’s harder.”
his brow arches. “you ain’t got to dress like that to impress me.”
you flash him a fake innocent look. “like what?”
“like trouble,” he says, low, making you glance away with flustered cheeks.
he rolls his sleeves up, exposing those forearms that should to be illegal. thick-veined, tan, dusted with salt and pepper hair.
you hand him the bowl. “start creamin’ the butter and sugar. use the wooden spoon.”
“bossy tonight, huh?” he grumbles, but he does it.
you watch the muscles flex as he works, the way his wrist moves in slow circles.
“did you ever bake with sarah?” you ask, casually. you two have spoken briefly about his relationship with sarah. he was very hesitant to tell you how she died, but after a couple of beers, he poured his heart out.
his jaw tenses, but it’s a soft thing, not offense or sadness.
“yeah...when she was little. she’d make a fuckin’ mess of it, but.... thankfully made the place smell like cake for a week.”
you don’t answer, just let the silence sit between you. it was kinda nice working in silence with his comfortable presence.
he looks at you after a moment. “you know what you’re doin’?”
“not really, it's a new recipe,” you say cheerfully. “that’s why you’re here, to try it with me.”
“should’ve known this was a trap,” he mutters.
you laugh, and you’re leaning over to grab the flour, one foot off the ground, hips tilted just enough that the dress pulls up—and you feel a smack.
a puff of white explodes against your ass cheek. you yelp and whirl around. joel’s holding a fistful of flour, smug as sin.
“did you just—”
“you bent over like that in front of me, ‘course i did.” he shrugs, not even sorry.
you grab your own handful, lob it at his chest. “you’re such a child.”
he lunges, making you squeal and dart around the island, heaving a laugh that feels good echoing in the high ceiling of the bakery.
“you think you’re fast, huh?” he growls.
“i know i’m faster than you, old man.”
“fuckin’—”
he catches you by the waist, spins you, lifts you onto the counter. your thighs part around his hips automatically, your breath caught in your throat. his eyes burn into yours, all the humor gone.
“shouldn’t tease me like that, darlin’,” he says. his voice is grainy and mean.
you stare up at him, pupils blown wide. you whisper, “do something about it, then”
his lips crash into yours too quickly to even comprehend. the kiss was completely savage. no sweet build-up or gentle asking, his hand cups the back of your neck, fingers threaded through your hair, tugging until your mouth opens wider under his. his tongue licks into you like he’s starved for it, like the taste of you is the first thing he’s allowed himself to want in years.
your legs hook around his waist, heels digging into the meat of his ass. he grunts into your mouth, grinding forward, and you feel the thick, heavy line of him through his jeans.
“fuck,” he mutters against your lips, voice thick with gravel. “you planned this, didn’t you? struttin’ around in that little thing—bendin’ over like you wanted my goddamn hands all over you.”
you nod, panting, lips kiss-bitten and tingling.
“yeah?” he hisses, gripping your thighs and dragging you closer to the edge of the counter. “then you’re gettin’ what you asked for.”
his mouth dips to your neck, licking and biting. his salt and pepper beard scrapes the sensitive skin as he drags his lips lower, working open-mouthed kisses along your throat, your collarbones, the tops of your breasts.
“take it off,” he growls, tugging at the hem of your dress.
you lift your arms, and he peels it off slowly, but the second it’s over your head, his control breaks.
“jesus,” he mutters, staring at you in nothing but a lacy bra and matching panties, flour dusted across your hips. “fuckin’ look at you.”
he sinks to his knees.
that's a sight to see, joel miller on his knees.
your hands scramble for something to hold onto as he spreads your thighs, dragging you forward until your ass is barely balanced on the edge of the counter. he kisses the inside of one thigh, then the other.
“you know what’s the best part of bakin’?” he asks, voice dark and close.
you shake your head, too breathless to answer.
“gettin’ to taste what you made.”
his mouth presses against the damp cotton of your panties, tongue laving up the center, making your hips jerk.
“you..fuck—joel—”
he hums against you, fingers digging into your hips to hold you still. then he hooks a finger into the waistband and peels your panties down, dragging them over your knees, off your ankles.
he looks up at you from between your legs, eyes firey, lips already wet with you.
“keep your fuckin’ eyes on me.” his tongue slides between your folds, slow at first, savoring you; he licks broad and flat, then teasing, flicking over your clit just to hear you whimper.
your thighs begin to shake.
“more,” you beg, voice breaking.
he gives it to you. sucks your clit into his mouth, rolls his tongue around it like he’s drawing circles on your spine. his fingers join the party—one thick finger sliding into you, crooking just right, then a second stretching you open.
his beard is slick with your arousal. he groans like he needs the taste, like your pussy is the only thing that’s ever mattered.
you claw at his hair, hips bucking wildly against his mouth.
“you gonna cum for me, baby?” he asks, tongue fucking back in before you can answer.
you cum with a choked cry, thighs clamped around his head, heels drumming against his back.
he doesn’t stop. just continues to lick you through it, makes you ride it out until you’re twitching and whimpering his name like a chant.
he finally stands, face soaked and shining with you. he drags the back of his hand across his mouth, but doesn’t wipe all of it away.
“never tasted anything sweeter,” he mutters.
then his hands are on his belt. the worn leather creaks, and the somewhat rusted zipper hisses. he pulls his cock free and it’s thick, long and heavy with a flushed red tip.
“joel—”
he shoves your knees up, crowding in between them, one hand wrapped around the base of his cock.
“look at this mess,” he growls, dragging the head through your folds. “so fuckin’ wet for me. you wanted it, now take it.”
he pushes in, instantly. his cock splits you slow, and wide continuing to drag along walls already swollen from his mouth.
you grip his shoulders hard, fingertips digging into muscle. he’s not even all the way in and your pussy’s already fluttering, already trying to squeeze around him like it’s too much—like he built it for you and you’re still not ready.
“joel,” you gasp, voice strangled, “fuck—fuck me—”
he stills, deep enough that your breath catches in your throat.
“you feel that?” he growls, hand cupping your jaw, angling your face up so you have to look him in the eye. “how tight you are around me? like you’re tryin’ to keep me in.”
you whimper as his cock pulses inside you.
“this what you wanted, sugar?” he grits through his teeth. “havin’ me take you right here? bent over flour and cookie dough?”
“yes,” you whine. “wanted it all day, wanted you—”
he starts to move. slow grind, hips rolling, his cock dragging against every single hypersensitive nerve like he’s trying to reprogram your body from the inside out.
“say it again.”
“wanted you,” you cry, fingers fisting in his shirt. “wanted your hands, your mouth—your cock, joel—”
he groans and slams into you, the counter creaking, your breath punched from your lungs.
“that’s it,” he growls, picking up the pace, fucking you deeper now, hard and mean and perfect. “you know how long i been thinkin’ about this? thinkin’ about takin’ this sweet little body—watchin’ that mouth beg me for more while you come all over my fuckin’ face?”
you can’t even answer him. you’re a complete mess, legs trembling, mouth open, just a mess.
he leans down, forehead to yours, panting against your lips.
“you don’t even know, do you?” he says. “how fuckin’ crazy you make me. God, the way you look at me, the way you talk—all that smartass mouth—and i been wantin’ to shut it with my dick since the day you showed up.”
“then do it,” you whimper, dazed and desperate. “joel, please—please—”
he pulls out and grabs your throat. not choking you—just slightly guiding. his cock taps your lips, stil wet with your arousal.
“open up.”
you moan around him as soon as he pushes in, filling your mouth.
“gotdamn,” he groans, head tipped back. “that’s it, baby...suck it like you mean it.”
you swirl your tongue around the tip, lips stretched wide. your hands grip his thighs, your throat working as he fucks your mouth slow.
“look so fuckin’ good like this,” he mutters. “slobberin’ all over me.”
you pull off with a wet pop. “want you back inside me,” you whisper, spit and precome slick on your chin. “please—want you to ruin me, joel.”
his hands are on you in a second—turning you, bending you over the counter, yanking your ass up. he slaps it once, the crack loud in the quiet bakery.
“ask me nice.”
“joel, please—fuck me. hard.... don’t stop till i’m cryin’.”
he drives into you in one savage thrust, burying himself to the hilt.
“you asked for it,” he growls, and starts pounding into you, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise you. the counter shakes beneath you. something falls off the shelf, shatters on the floor. yet neither of you care.
his balls slap your clit on every thrust, your juices loud and wet and obscene.
“you hear that?” he snarls. “that’s how wet you are for me. so desperate, so fuckin’ needy.” you can't help crying at the immense pleasure—tears dripping off your chin, mouth open on a moan that never ends.
“you gonna come for me again?”
“yes, yes—joel, i’m—fuck—i’m gonna—”
he reaches around, finds your clit, rubs it in tight messy circles. “then do it....cum pretty,”
your whole body spasms, toes curling, back arching, choking on a scream as your pussy clenches tight around him, milking his cock.
joel snarls, fingers digging deeper, hips jerking once, twice—then he comes. spilling inside you with a guttural moan.
you feel the heat of it, dripping out as he keeps fucking into you slow, like he doesn’t want to stop.
you both sag over the counter, chests heaving.
“...still think bakin’s for suckers?” you rasp, voice shot.
he huffs a laugh against your shoulder.
“depends what i’m bakin’ in.”
special tags: @inbred-eater , @wintfleur , @555aturn
-Peepaw Joel tugging you down to sit in his lap after noticing you eyeing him up
-“C’mere, sugar…” “That’s it, darlin’…”
-Him peering at you over the rim of his reading glasses… those big brown eyes so full of admiration and even dirtier things…
-Those big strong hands gripping your waist… sliding down your thighs. You wanna take them and kiss every single age spot and freckle on them.
-Joel seeming so fucking smug and cocky that you want him… He should feel like a dirty old man, but all he can think about is kissing his way between your thighs, sucking dark marks onto your skin, claiming you so none of the other men in Jackson have a chance…
-The feeling of tangling your fingers in the graying curls at the base of his neck, tugging just the way he likes…
-The scratch of his beard against your cheek while he whispers the most vulgar things in your ear as if he’s just talking about the weather…
-The way he holds you after, stroking your spine with those big, warm hands of his. “Did so good f’me, darlin’…” Constant drawling reassurances in your ear while you melt into a puddle. Just how he likes you… all pliant and fucked out. And only he can do that to you.
-Laying in bed at night, being Joel’s big spoon, tracing the soft swell of his belly, toying with his graying happy trail until he’s purring like a big cat. “Keep doin’ that and we’re gonna have a problem, darlin’…”
-Joel ignoring his creaking joints and aching back to lunge and flip you onto your back, pinning you with the ease of someone thirty years younger all because he knows how much you love it. And he adores that little gasp of surprise you always make… the way your lips part in a silent “o” while your pupils swell to the size of your irises. “There it is… My sweet baby… Needin’ me again, ain’t ya?”
-The constant weight of his arm around your shoulders or hooked around your waist, as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear. The smell of pine needles and sawdust and sweat becoming your favorite scent. Becoming home.
♡ grumpy!Joel that tells you to shut the hell up while you’re humming on patrol, but keeps walking slower so you’ll stay close.
♡ grumpy!Joel that complains every time you pick wildflowers on the road, then tucks one behind your ear when you’re not looking.
♡ grumpy!Joel that huffs every time you call him “cowboy,” but positions himself between you and danger without a second thought.
♡ grumpy!Joel that pretends he doesn’t care when you get a scratch, but won’t sleep until he’s checked it twenty times and kissed your forehead after.
♡ grumpy!Joel that says “you’re gonna get us both killed” when you smile at strangers, but still lets you do all the talking.
♡ grumpy!Joel that rolls his eyes when you sneak into his sleeping bag at night, but pulls you tight against his chest like you’re the only safe thing left.
♡ grumpy!Joel that tells you to quit being annoying while handing you the last piece of jerky without blinking.
♡ grumpy!Joel that acts like your teasing means nothing, but almost shoots a guy just for looking at you too long.
♡ grumpy!Joel that keeps his gun in one hand and yours in the other, grumbling about “being careful,” but never letting go.
♡ grumpy!Joel that finally calls you “baby” during a firefight, like it slipped out in panic—but won’t stop saying it after.
♡ grumpy!Joel that mutters “you drive me insane” when you laugh after almost dying, but kisses your temple like you’re the only reason he’s still fighting.
♡ grumpy!Joel that hates how soft he is with you, especially when you patch him up and call him a “big baby.”
♡ grumpy!Joel that kisses you like it’s the last time, every time, because in this world—it might be.
♡ grumpy!Joel that pushes you against a crumbling wall, panting and bloodied, just to groan, “you’re mine,” before kissing you breathless.
♡ grumpy!Joel that makes love to you in abandoned houses like you’re the only thing that survived the end of the world.
♡ grumpy!Joel that swears under his breath when you giggle during sex, only to say “keep smilin’, baby. I live for it.”
♡ grumpy!Joel that holds your face like it’s something sacred and whispers “I love you” like it might destroy him.
♡ grumpy!Joel that fucks you slow after every close call, just to feel you alive and breathing under him.
♡ grumpy!Joel that lets the whole world burn as long as you’re safe in his arms.
Safety Net: Part I | ~13.8k wc | Co-Written with @ovaryacted | Series Masterlist
CHAPTER SUMMARY: Motivated by boredom, Marcus goes on a sugar dating app and lands himself a date with you, the only person that captured his attention.
CHAPTER TAGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. Modern AU. Sugar daddy Marcus Acacius/Sugar baby reader. Age gap [Marcus is 50/reader is 25+]. SMUT. Plot with porn. Kissing/Makeout session. Dry humping. Premature ejaculation. Oral (f! receiving). Multiple orgasms. Overstimulation. MARCUS THE MUNCH! Sexual tension. Flirting & banter. First date chronicles. Lots of plot & world building beforehand. Takes place in Chicago. Marcus uses a sugar dating app. Reader is explicitly described as a curvy woman of color: darker skin tone, curly hair texture, etc. Reader has feminine characteristics - wears dresses, heels, jewelry, & makeup. Reader is afab and able bodied. Marcus is recently divorced. Marcus comes from old money and is a businessman. Chivalry isn't dead.
A/N: This has been in the works for far too long but finally, we managed to lock in and cook up some straight heat! This is what happens when you put two yapping hoes on a doc, so we hope everyone who feens for Marcus Acacius as much as we do enjoys the fruits of our labor lol. Reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated. Support your BIPOC writers 🖤
Another lone dinner, nothing but the gritty sound of the song echoing from his record player to accompany him.
Tonight was meant to be a small victory. Marcus had enrolled in a cooking class to keep busy after the divorce, and this meal was supposed to put those new skills to use. But as he chopped, cooked, ate and cleaned, the expected satisfaction never came. Instead, a quiet boredom crept in—maybe even isolation.
It was like his body was moving on autopilot, simply going through the motions.
He brings the rim of his glass up to his lips, eyes falling down to the city below. From his penthouse, the skyline sometimes blurs beneath a soft haze of clouds, making the world below look like a dream. The wealth, the view, the opulence—it’s everything people imagine happiness to be. And yet… loneliness seeps into his bones, slowly debilitating his already precarious joy.
He assumed that divorcing from his now ex-wife would help pull him out of this stupor. They were both in agreeance that their marriage had been nothing but one out of convenience—the best thing for the both of them at that time. No romance, no passion, just a practical arrangement that worked. At least, until it didn’t.
Marcus hadn’t expected her to fight for the marriage, but he also hadn’t expected her to fixate on the prenup. One night, in the midst of her moving out, he’d overheard her gossiping on the phone with one of her friends. It would’ve gotten a lot nastier if I hadn’t gotten what I was owed.
The words hit harder than he expected. On some level, he had loved her. Not in the way a husband should love a wife, but in a way that still meant something to him. There had been care, respect, even a kind of tenderness—out of duty, maybe, but real nonetheless. He even enjoyed being a stepfather to her teenage son.
No resentment was held, not when they were about to part ways.
She was entitled to a payout, and he made sure she got it, wiring the full amount before the lawyers could sink their teeth into the process. No use in dragging things out or turning something empty into something bitter.
So they ended it quietly and swiftly. One last dinner as husband and wife, a toast to a chapter closing, and then the signing of papers that made it official.
It has been months since then, and Marcus is right where he’s always been. The same life, the same routine—just without the pretense of a marriage. He’s outgrown the bachelor lifestyle and has no interest in jumping back to it. He’s in fifties with a divorce under his belt, family business in his care, and more money than he knows what to do with.
Most men in his position would see this as a rebirth, an excuse to run wild. He’s seen it plenty—divorcees burning through their wealth to impress women half their age, indulging in recklessness until, eventually, they wonder how the fuck they lost it all.
The thought makes him scoff slightly, shaking his head as he continues to lose himself in his own mind, still gazing over the city.
Ever since word got out that he was single again, the men in his social circle have been relentless. They want him to “get back out there,” find some young thing to do more than stroke his ego and remind him he’s still got it. Their concern isn’t for his happiness—it’s for their own validation. They want him to fall in line, to indulge like they do, to prove they’re all still kings of their own little worlds.
The idea of dating brings a faint migraine thumping at his temples. No way in hell. He doesn’t have it in him to go through first date purgatory of asking the same grueling questions, only to have nothing in common with the person at the end of the night. And his work acquaintances aren’t suggesting anything so conventional, anyway.
He’s lost count of how many times they’ve invited him to strip clubs or proposed outrageous tropical getaways filled with booze and paid company. They aren’t subtle about their misogyny, either. They brag about the escorts they’ve hired, the women they’ve bought for the night, offering him contact information like they’re handing out business cards. In case you get tired of using your fist all the time, they joke.
The detachment of sex is what he finds peculiar. It’s not about pleasure, it’s about seeking validation from other men while putting another notch at their bedpost. It’s why he rarely accepts their invitations. Avoiding their outings, distancing himself as much as he can… but only to a certain degree. Unfortunately, these men are his business partners, and in his world, he wasn’t exactly given the luxury of full separation.
The act of paying for sex isn’t the problem. He doesn’t care how they get their satisfaction, really, it only grates on him when their vulgarity spills into business meetings, when corporate lunches turn into competitions over who had the best night with the most expensive woman.
Take today, for example, when a longtime partner had sidled up to him as he was headed home for the day, practically shoving the phone into Marcus’s hands.
“Met this chick on that app I was telling you about and scored myself a date tonight. She’s hot.”
Marcus resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the way this grown man was waving the information around as if it were something to boast about. He barely glanced at the screen—a woman in a tight dress posing in front of a bar. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? Congratulations?
Before he had to give an answer, the elevator doors opened. A perfect escape. He handed the phone back and muttered a quick, “Have a good weekend,” stepping out and letting the doors shut on yet another conversation he wanted no part of.
Now he’s here, two and a half glasses of whiskey deep with a curiosity that feeds off his boredom. He retreats from his reprieve at the window, walking into the living room and settling on the couch. Flipping mindlessly through TV channels, nothing seems to hold his attention.
His fingers drum against the side of the glass cup before intrigue gives way, slipping a hand into the pocket of his sweatpants. He pulls out his phone, unlocking it with a swipe of his thumb, his whiskey resting loosely in his other hand.
With furrowed brows, Marcus navigates through his phone at an infuriatingly slow pace. He squints slightly, trying to read the small text, and his large thumbs fumble across the keyboard, leaving a string of typos that have him muttering curses under his breath. He misspells the damn thing twice until finally, the name of the ridiculous app pops up in the search results.
The little loading circle spins, downloading the application to his phone. When the prompt to open it appears, he hovers, as if contemplating if this is even worth it. A few seconds pass before the liquor in his system decides for him, opening the app with a tap.
The first thing it asks is if he’s the benefactor or the beneficiary. He huffs, taking a sip of his drink, choosing his role as the sugar daddy before ultimately filling in the blanks needed for an account set up. It all feels ridiculous, but what does he have to lose?
Then he reaches the About Me section and stops. The blinking cursor taunts him, he can’t help but scowl at it, whiskey swirling in his glass as he thinks. What do you say about yourself when you don’t even know what you want?
Marcus A. 50+. Chicago. Business Owner. Not sure what to say here. First time trying something like this. I prefer a strong drink over small talk, but I appreciate good conversation with someone who has something to say.
Not his best work, but he doesn’t dwell on it. He skips through the rest of the trivial questions—religion, favorite movies, hobbies. The longer the list grows, the more tedious it feels.
Then comes the photo prompt. Somehow, this feels like the hardest part.
Marcus scrolls through his camera roll and realizes most of his photos aren’t of him at all—just landscapes from his travels, on-site projects, plenty from his trips back home to Italy, but few that actually put him in the frame.
He settles on a lone one from an important dinner a few years back. It’s stiff, formal, but at least it’s something.
When he’s done, he studies the profile. Sparse. Impersonal. He’s not exactly proud of it, but he’s not here to impress anyone. He’s here to look—nothing more.
The next hurdle? Preferences.
He frowns slightly, finishing off his drink before setting the glass on the coffee table. He sinks further into the couch, glaring at the screen.
He sets the minimum to twenty-five. Mature enough to have lived a little, young enough that he isn’t limiting himself too much. Local, of course. No sense in complicating things.
With that, he’s finally done.
Marcus isn’t sure what he expected, but the more he scrolls, the less interested he becomes.
The app is filled with beautiful women—plenty of soft smiles, sultry gazes, perfectly angled selfies. Glossy, curated versions of themselves, posed just right, filters smoothing away any perceived imperfection. He sees them in designer bikinis lounging on yachts, captions that all seem to blur together. No hookups. Fluent in sarcasm. Just here for the pay pigs.
That last one gets a quiet chuckle out of him.
Nevertheless, it’s all the same. It bores the hell out of him. He swipes left again and again and again…
He’s about to call the whole thing immature bullshit when he comes across your profile.
No forced captions, no excessive filters, no painfully obvious attempts to curate some idealized version of yourself. You have a natural confidence, an ease in the way you present yourself. The way you talk about your interests—travel, food, new experiences—it doesn’t feel like a list of things meant to impress.
And then there are your pictures.
Your hair is thick, wild with curls, framing your face in a way that makes you look like you belong in the kind of old-world paintings he admires when he’s abroad. Your brown skin, kissed with warmth, glows under the soft light of a restaurant where you’re pictured, hands wrapped around a glass of wine, a knowing, almost amused look in your eyes. There’s another shot of you at a market, caught mid-laugh as you react to something just out of frame.
Marcus exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw.
Damn.
He doesn’t message you. Not yet.
He told himself that this app was just for curiosity, just to look and pass the time. He hadn’t expected to actually come across someone that made him consider.
The whole damn thing feels ridiculous. He’s a grown man, successful, established. And here he is, sitting alone in his penthouse, scrolling through an app designed to find a sugar baby of all things. What the hell is he even doing?
Without thinking about it, he taps the Super Like and immediately closes out the application.
You probably have a dozen other prospects already lining up in your messages, throwing out their best lines, trying to capture your attention. He’s just another name in the mix, another notification you might just skim over before moving on.
So be it, he got it out of his system—whatever that was. Some passing curiosity, a distraction fueled by whiskey and boredom. By tomorrow, he’ll be preoccupied with work, meetings, actual obligations, and the whole thing will be nothing more than a brief lapse of judgment. Maybe he should save himself the trouble and just delete the damn app now, wipe his profile along with it before he even has the chance to regret it.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he sighs, pushing himself up from the couch, stretching out the stiffness in his shoulders before making his way toward the bedroom. His night routine is as methodical as everything else.
Yet, as he settles into bed, he finds himself thinking about you and how for a moment, he had felt something he hadn’t in a long time—intrigue.
The next day flies by quickly for Marcus, swamped with the countless meetings lined up for him at the architectural firm. Overseeing a new development in the city took whatever time he might’ve thought he had, his poor assistants making multiple trips to the coffee shops nearby as the day progressed. He was already greatly familiar with the boost of caffeine running through his veins, growing more on edge with every file that lands on his desk.
By the time he got home, he was damn near slumping against his front door, tossing his keys in the trinket tray by the foyer, tugging off his blazer and throwing it over the edge of the couch while dragging his tired feet to the kitchen. Yanking on his tie and popping it off with one swift pull, he removes his cufflinks and folds the sleeves of his button down up to his forearms, plucking a few of the buttons from his collar to finally allow himself to breathe.
Reaching over to one of the cabinets, he grabs himself a glass, dropping in some ice cubes and taking his favorite brand of whiskey, filling it halfway. The headache building at his temples ebbs away as he gulps down the amber liquid, palms resting on the granite countertop under him. He merely stares at the stone, eyes blank and now deep in thought. A frustrated exhale leaves his aquiline nose, running a hand through his graying curls as the stress of the day radiates through every cell in his body.
He knows he should probably just order something for dinner tonight over cooking, his mind too fried to put together an ingredient list, and the thought of washing dishes was enough to force the decision for him.
Marcus refills his glass and takes his phone to the living room, turning on the TV and leaving the news to play for some background noise as he sorts through his options of what he might be able to stomach.
What was he even in the mood for? Italian? Korean? Chinese? Some lo-mein sounds good, maybe with an egg-roll or two? Yeah, that sounds about fine.
He calls his order in, finding some spare cash and picks it up from the lobby. He didn’t bother to remove his leather shoes when he took the elevator 50 floors down for the handoff, coming back up the same way until he was munching into an egg-roll covered in duck sauce on the couch.
Food long gone and the glass coffee table now cleared of his takeout, the gold watch on Marcus’ wrist reads 10:30 pm when he finds himself weary of the late night news turned mediocre comedy segment. Grabbing his phone and pinning a few emails for him to read over in the morning, he swipes to his apps menu, spotting the new dating application he had completely forgotten about since setting up his profile the night before.
Fuck it, what the hell.
With no thought, Marcus opens the app for a second time, watching the icon load on the screen before he lands on the main page. Swiping to the chats section, his screen explodes with the 99+ Super Likes he had gotten over the past 24 hours. Yet, he could care less of the other profiles he has to sort through. The only match that loads on his screen is from your account, an unread message he had gotten no notification of despite it sitting idly in his inbox for a day. Nervously, he taps at the message box, your icon popping up on the screen along with what you had sent last night.
“So you’re just going to super like my account and not say anything?”
The corner of his lip twitches when he reads that over, his eyes scanning over the sentence more than once with a raised eyebrow. His brain short-circuits as he tries to find a suitable response that doesn’t make a fool of himself. He’s positive he already looks like an idiot by having an account in the first place, but he’s gotten this far, might as well stick around.
After a few minutes of typing and deleting a singular sentence, he triple checks his spelling until he’s satisfied with what he came up with before hitting send.
Marcus A.: “Must’ve missed the chat option when I hit your profile. Didn’t mean to keep you waiting, I’m new to this whole thing.”
His screen updates with the dot under your profile turning green, a sign that you were active again. You definitely saw his message, and the three little dots he notices at the bottom make his pulse spike, anxiously waiting for what else you had to say to him.
“That’s okay. Figured you had other things going on. You look like a guy that has a lot on their plate, Mr. Businessman.”
Now he was smirking.
Marcus A.: “You have no idea.” He typed the reply and sent it, and you responded just as quickly.
“Try me.”
Should he talk about what he has to deal with on a daily basis with his work? Bore you with how he oversees the blueprints of different construction plans throughout the city and has extensive meetings that last all day? So much for a lasting first impression.
Marcus A.: “I wouldn’t want to bother you with work stuff. It’s not all that interesting.”
“I don’t mind really. I’m a little curious to know what takes up all of your time. Must be something serious if you’re all stressed out.”
No harm in being honest right?
Marcus A.: “Well, usually I have a lot of meetings and paperwork to handle while conducting new building developments in the city. But today was particularly hectic, I was swamped all day, probably drank way more coffee today than I had all year.”
Was that good enough? Not too much, not too little. Didn’t come off as petulant or like he wanted pity. This isn’t too bad, at least Marcus thinks so considering you were working on your reply.
“Sounds like a lot of intense work, lots of brain power. At least you have a team to help you out, takes a bit of the strain off your back. Hope you’re relaxing a bit now.”
Marcus A.: “Yeah, got home late but had some dinner. Just watching the news before I repeat the cycle tomorrow. How was your day?”
Bingo. Perfect bait and switch.
“Boring, honestly. Work was alright for the most part, finished a bit early. Ate a few hours ago, and was reading something before bed when I saw your message.”
Oh? Another avid reader?
Marcus A.: “What do you like to read?”
“A mix of things. Non-Fiction, Sci-Fi, History, Romance. It depends on my mood really, but right now it’s Circe by Madeline Miller.”
Marcus A.: “I read that a while back, it’s a pretty good book. I think you’ll enjoy it.”
“It definitely has my interest. I hit the halfway mark, so maybe I'll keep you updated once I finish it. :)”
Somehow, he wasn’t opposed to the idea.
Marcus A.: “I wouldn’t mind listening to your thoughts about it.”
The three little dots appear for a second before vanishing. Marcus stares at the screen for a beat longer, hoping it wasn’t just a fluke. Maybe he scared you off? Said the wrong thing, or something finally gave away just how out of touch he was to all of this. At this rate, he might as well get 50 & Divorced tattooed on his forehead in bright red ink.
There was no point in stressing out about this anymore, it’s late anyway, close to midnight and past his conscious bedtime. Switching the TV and lights off in the living room, he quickly showers and rinses the day off. Changing into some fleece pants and a baggy gray shirt, he brushes his teeth and spits out his mouthwash, flicking off the light as he steps into his bedroom.
As he slips into his too-big king sized bed, he untucks the cream sheets and rests his head on one of the many pillows, glaring up at the ceiling with a huff. Turning over to his side, he catches the lights of the downtown area reflecting by the window, trying his best not to think about how cold and empty the other side of his bed remained. With a sigh, he eases into slumber, hoping that whatever tomorrow brings will be significantly better than today.
The next day in his week was thankfully less hectic, but instead of document packets, his phone had been going off all day speaking to clients, other business partners, and suppliers. And that was only counting Chicago. He got other additional calls from properties in New York, Los Angeles, and now some new construction he’s attempting to get signed off in Miami. He was so preoccupied with his business phone that his personal device was left untouched for the majority of the day.
It was 8:00 pm when Marcus walks through the front doors of his penthouse, repeating the same mundane pattern of tending to his needs and finding something to keep himself occupied until he fell asleep. In the back of his head, he remembers the brief conversation he had with you last night, curiosity getting the best of him as he wonders if you left him something to read over this morning.
Tensely, he opens up the dating app, heading straight to his inbox to click on your unread message from 18 hours ago.
“Maybe I’ll send you a full book review. Put it in an episode of a podcast. I think it would do numbers.”
The circle on your icon is green now, and he rapidly types something so he doesn’t lose this momentum.
Marcus A.: “Forgive me for the terrible response time, I had another busy day in the office, dealing with non stop phone calls this time.”
The three little dots turn up again, and Marcus sighs in relief.
“No worries. You have things to handle, just part of being a working adult.”
If he wants to take his shot, he knows his best chance is to do it now.
Marcus A: “Actually, I’d like to get your number, if that’s alright. Me and this app don’t mix well. I wouldn’t want to give you the wrong idea and make you think you were being ignored.”
You begin typing before you disappear, the green circle now turning gray. He scared you off, maybe even gave you the ick when that was the last thing he wanted. Marcus was just doomed from the start, and getting on this app was a mistake. What would you even really want to do with an old man like him? It’s pitiful really.
Anxiously, he shuts his phone off and storms off into his bedroom, throwing some water on his face and getting into bed once more. He probably should’ve just went to sleep and left you alone, but his hands itch to see if you answered him. Twisting to get his phone from his bedside table and reopening the app, the empty space in his chest flutters when he sees you had left him a very clear yes with your entire phone number, right there for him to take it.
Copying and pasting your number into his phone, he sent you a quick text letting you know it was him, and you reassured him this was no problem, that you hated the app with a burning passion.
“I’m guessing it’s close to your bedtime now?”
Marcus A: “Unfortunately, I’m an old man remember? But, my phone will be on me tomorrow, so I’ll be around if you want to chat some more.”
“Sure thing, I’ll be around too. Don’t want to keep you up so I’ll let you go. Goodnight Marcus.”
He likes the way you say his name, type it out like it’s yours to say. With one last “goodnight”, his phone is off and his face is digging into the pillow underneath. For once, he is looking forward to tomorrow, and secretly hopes that you’d still be interested in talking some more. Maybe, he might just end up lucky.
Marcus quickly realizes he enjoys talking with you; at least when you both had the time to converse with each other, it was better than scrolling aimlessly on his phone. Texting is convenient for the most part when he can, sending little questions about you here and there, and you feed him breadcrumbs, still holding some control over how you want him to perceive you. He doesn’t mind, he’s mostly on your time, and if you want to play the cat and mouse game, he’ll play.
It was actually you that asked to call him the first time, a laconic talk just to hear his voice, to get a feel of him. Marcus didn’t know what to think of how you reacted to the way he spoke, but he knows hearing your voice might’ve been the catalyst to his growing interest in you. The conversation was short-lived, but it was good to hear you on the other end.
He has enough confidence to call you again later on in the week after work, a more extensive recap of both of your days. In the midst of laughing at a stupid joke he’s made, he’s thinking of the best way to formally ask you out. He’d been mulling over it for the past few days as you both tiptoed on getting to know one another, and he knows if he wants to take his shot, it has to be now.
“Out of curiosity, are you free Friday night?” He inquires, holding his phone close to his ear, anticipating every word you say.
“I might be, unless I just happened to forget my plans. Why?”
Shooter’s shot.
“I wanted to take you out to dinner. There’s this steakhouse downtown by Kinzie Street, really nice food, intimate setting, expensive wine or cocktails if that’s your thing. Think it would be a good time.”
“You had me at cocktails.” You both chuckled at that notion. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
“Does 7 work for you?”
“Make it 7:30. A girl needs time to get ready, Marcus. First impressions matter y’know?” It was his turn to laugh despite his hands sweating.
“Then I’ll come by at 7:30 and pick you up. Unless you want to go on your own, I can arrange a ride for you.”
You hummed on the other end of the line, contemplating your choices. Probably assessing what was the smartest way of getting out of the situation if things were to go horribly wrong.
“A ride to the place might be better. You don’t need to see me full of anxiety so early in the night.”
“Well, I want to see you either way. I’ll have my driver pick you up, alright? How does that sound?”
“Sounds perfect. It’s a date then.” There was no question or doubt from you, and he’s glad you were the one that determined what the occasion was.
“It’s a date. I’ll see you Friday night.”
The call ends, and Marcus missed how intense his heart had been beating in his ribcage the entire time. Setting a reminder to call the restaurant tomorrow to place the reservation, he spots the time on his phone screen blinking 11:45 pm on a Wednesday. Two more days until he gets to meet you face to face, and the thought alone brings an eerie sense of restlessness to his stomach.
He’s made it this far, there’s no way he could fuck this up, right?
Friday night rolls around, and the anxiety that’s been bubbling in Marcus’ gut since he asked you out to dinner rears its ugly head. He spent a significantly longer time getting ready, making sure to fit a haircut in during his lunch break and left some room for a beard trim after his extensive shower. Hyper focused on making the most ideal first impression, he dabbles some scented aftershave on his neck and mixes it in with a few spritz of his signature cologne, double checking to ensure it isn’t too overwhelming.
Sorting through the multitude of suits hanging in his closet, Marcus decides that sticking to what he knows would be the best thing for him. He pulls out a classic black suit set and matching dress shoes, foregoing a tie and leaving the first button undone, the skin of his neck slightly visible from the opening. Clicking his golden cufflinks into their designated slots, he finishes his look for the night with his golden watch on his left wrist and slipping on the emerald signet ring on his right pinkie. Before stepping out the door, he takes the bouquet of long stemmed roses he picked out for you, giving his styled curly hair a look over and walking out the front door.
Regardless of how put together he appears, he is anything but composed. Finding himself way out of his comfort zone, his lack of experience in the dating department catches up with him on his drive downtown. His phone rings with a message from you letting him know you’ve been picked up and will be meeting him soon. It was 7:15 pm when you sent that text, and the lump in his throat worsens his breathing the closer 7:30 pm comes.
He’s been mentally preparing for your arrival for the past ten minutes, repeatedly staring down at his watch or his phone to see if you’ve said anything else to him since your last message. Waiting out front, roses in hand, his mind resets to his default settings of methodical overthinking once it hits 7:35 pm.
Did you stand him up? No, maybe something happened on the commute. Must be sudden traffic, it is a Friday night after all. Or you finally came to your senses and your cold feet convinced you to turn his car around and head in the opposite direction.
By 7:40 pm, the familiar view of one of his Escalades rolling into the driveway quiets his mind, brown eyes focusing solely on the figure that steps out from the vehicle.
He is immediately struck.
The dress you’ve chosen is sinful in its simplicity—long-sleeved, form-fitting black fabric hugging every curve, sculpting you like it was made for your body alone. The light jacket you wear does little to hide your figure underneath it; the dress flows over your hips and clings to your waist, cuts off right above your knee leaving your calves bare for him to admire, not to mention the neckline teases just low enough to show the swells of your breasts.
Your curls are pulled back in a half-up style that showcases your beautiful features accentuated by your makeup, leaving the delicate slope of your neck bare—an invitation, a temptation. The golden accents—your earrings, your rings, and the necklace that rests against your collarbone—catch in the evening light, making your warm brown skin glow like you’re drenched in sunlight.
He swallows hard, his grip tightening around the bouquet in his hand as he watches you step forward, poised and self-assured, utterly unaware of the effect you have on him.
He’s staring. He knows he is, yet he can’t help it.
Because right now, with the city lights flickering behind you and that unreadable expression on your face as you scan the area for him, you look like something ethereal. Like a star that shot down from the sky and landed right in front of him, impossibly real, impossibly his for the night.
He stands frozen in awe of you until your glossy lips move, talking to him in the flesh.
“Marcus, right?” you ask, holding on to your purse with one hand. “I’m so sorry for being late, the traffic was more active than usual. I hope I didn’t ruin anything?”
He finally finds his voice in the next couple of blinks.
“No, it’s alright. It’s a Friday night, I forget everyone else has plans set.” That gets you to laugh, and he exhales at the break in tension. “You look beautiful.” It’s sincere as he says it, and from the way you smile at his words, he thinks he’s doing something right.
“You don’t clean up too bad yourself.” You were a witty one, at least from the tone of your voice and demeanor, he can tell this wasn’t your first rodeo. “You didn’t have to get me flowers.”
“I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I came empty handed. A little birdie told me that first impressions matter, remember?” The corner of your mouth curls up at the way he echoes your words from two nights ago, a light chuckle escaping you. He extends his arm to hand you the bouquet, observing your reaction as he did so.
“They’re lovely, thank you,” your voice softens as you speak to him, a faint warmth settling on your cheeks under your makeup.
“Of course. Ready to go inside?” He suggests, and with a nod you take a step forward to the restaurant’s entrance.
As the hostess ushers you through the restaurant, Marcus keeps the steady weight of his palm on your lower back, just the right amount of pressure to not seem too forceful. You are brought to a more quiet section of the place, a few other dining patrons nearby but limited in number. The setting is intended to be intimate with the dim warm-toned lighting, a mixture of stone and archived pictures of an industrialized Chicago decorating the walls around you.
The hostess steps away once you reach your table, and Marcus swiftly helps you remove your thin jacket, placing it on the edge of your chair and pulling it out for you to take a seat, pushing you in afterward. Now situated in your designated place, the older man steps around you, watching him as he undoes the front button of his suit jacket before sitting down, looking in your direction and offering a gentle smile. Mimicking his expression, you drop the flowers at the center of the table, feeling the delicate tablecloth in front of you.
“Have you been here before?” He queries once you are both settled, a waiter coming by to fill your glasses with water.
“No, I’ve been trying to score a reservation here for months but I heard it’s been booked out way in advance. Not entirely surprised you found a way to grab a table so quickly, but color me shocked.”
“I’m a man of many talents. It’s a good thing you found me when you did.” The same waiter from before returns to pass the menu, prepared to give the tailored list of the chef’s specials for the night. “Feel free to indulge. Get whatever you like.”
As tempting as the invitation is, you are more than conscious of what you order off the menu. Playing it safe with a classic salad, a hearty steak, and two glasses of wine that leave you satisfied in terms of appetite. Marcus surprisingly does a good job of keeping you engaged throughout the night with simple conversation, easing into the comfortably of letting his curiosity speak for itself with the questions he asks. Though, he quickly comes to realize you’re charismatic with your responses, almost trained to know what to expect, how to answer and the tone you should be using.
It’s by the time the entree hits your table and you finish your first glass of wine that you loosen up, flipping his questions back to him, finding out more about his career, who he is, his likes and dislikes. Your grin widens more with every sip of your drink, pacing yourself to be sensible in your consumption while you eat.
Now almost finished with your second glass of expensive red, you swirl the last drops that pool at the bottom of the glass. You glance at him from across the table, eyeing him closely with a hint of mischief. He mirrors your expression, his cheek dimpling as he looks at you from the other end.
“You’re an awfully observant man, Marcus.” You remark, a slight edge to your voice, glossy lips staining the rim of your glass as you finish off your drink.
“When something is deserving of my attention, I have a habit of not cheapening out.” He playfully shrugs, his glass running empty a while ago, declining a refill as he’s taking it easy tonight. “Are you in the mood for dessert?”
Whether he meant the next course or something else, that was for him to know and for you to find out. Though, as enticing the prospect is to take it there, you don’t want to misread the situation beyond what it is.
“I actually don’t think I have room for anything else, the steak did a number on me.” An upbeat giggle pours out of you, and he laughs along with you.
“Then unless you want another glass of wine, I can ask for the check. Or…” his voice drifts off, the suspense grabbing your attention.
“Or?” That’s when he sees it, a spark of intrigue that fills him with a boldness he’s been harboring since sitting down at this table.
“Or you can join me for a drink, back at my place, if you’d like of course. If not, I can drop you off at home before heading back to mine.” Marcus is asking you to go back home with him, at least that’s what he thinks. Yet, it almost seems like it’s more than a suggestion, but a subdued command. Not that you’re complaining, you were hoping he’d ask at some point.
“Sure, I wouldn’t mind another drink.”
He tries to hide his surprise at your answer, but after seeing the faint gleam in your eye, his cheek dimples once more.
With a quick gesture of his hand, Marcus whips out his black card and covers the tab, his palm taking its place on our tailbone as you both walk out of the restaurant together. His tinted Escalade rolls onto the street, and he steps to the side to let you in first, closing the door behind him and setting his address as the next destination. Throughout the ride, there is a comfortable distance between you, stuck on opposite ends in the backseat, throwing each other side glances when looking away from the window, a smile here and there. Still, he keeps his hands to himself, thick fingers thrumming on his lap and you hold your bag in yours, the anticipation of seeing where the older man lived incrementing inside you.
Twenty minutes later and a brief dinner recap, he extends his hand to help you out of the car, faintly squeezing your fingers as he does. He remains steadfast in keeping his touch on your lower back as he guides you through the lobby hall, the doorman greeting you both whilst passing him.
Entering the elevator, he taps part of his key on the scanner and presses the PH button at the very top of the selection, what you assume to be the penthouse. He gives you a knowing look, a gleam in his eyes as you’re sent up higher in this modernized building.
Crossing through the hallway that awaits you once the elevator doors open, you are brought to a pair of double doors. Allowing Marcus to formally unlock the door, you step into his space for the first time, and you can’t help the gasp that slips out of you.
Guided through the foyer of his apartment, you find high rise ceilings and earthy tones surrounding you, hints of creams and metallic accents left everywhere to find. The kitchen is fully decked out with modern stainless steel appliances and light wooden cabinets, a marble island taking the empty space in the middle. The open concept layout allows you to see the living room, sunken into the floor at a lower level, spotting a plush dark brown L shaped couch with smaller cream cushions behind a deep wooden coffee table, paired with a twin set of auburn armchairs and an overarching lamp between them. A fireplace is built into the accent wall, a plasma screen TV seamlessly hanging in contrast to the wooden panels that cover that portion of the room.
You can tell there is probably more for you to discover, another hallway that would allow you passage to an office or his bedroom, but that will be left for another day. What really catches your eye is the wall of books to the farthest side of the room, close to the frosted windows and balcony that grant a perfect view of the Chicago Loop area at night. The shelving carries a catered collection of works that were found over the years, and your curiosity piques to see what titles he might have in there.
The space is gorgeous, surprisingly warm and inviting, simultaneously masculine and calming. A harmonization of colors and textiles all in one space. You envy him just a tad for having such a nice apartment, though you might consider this one to be the best interior you’ve seen so far.
“What do you think? Hopefully it’s not too much,” you hear Marcus utter from behind you, taking off his suit jacket and hanging it off to the side. He offers to take off your overcoat, allowing his hands to lightly caress over your shoulders as he tugs the layer off, hanging it next to his. He also grasps the bouquet you’re holding, setting it down on the table closest to the door to grab later on your way out.
“I think you’re a man of fine taste for both exteriors and interiors.” You continue to marvel at your current backdrop. “Did you design all of this too?”
“Partially. Worked with an interior designer to figure out the dimensions of things, what exactly I needed to achieve my vision. But for the most part, the colors, textures and where everything goes was all me. The sunken living room was definitely my idea, did not sit well with the building managers but they came around.”
“I’m amazed you managed to get away with that.”
“You pick up a few things here and there the more you learn about the industry.” He looks at your side profile for a second before he speaks again. “Do you still want that drink?”
“That depends. What do you have?” You turn on your heel to face him, a coy smile on your pretty face.
“Anything really. Wine, whiskey, I can mix a drink for you if you’d prefer that.” For some reason, the potential of seeing Marcus make a drink tugs at your chest. Taking a second to think of a solid option, you settle on a reasonable cocktail.
“You know how to make a whiskey sour?” You watch the way his face quirks up at your choice of drink.
“Sure do. Make yourself at home.”
Marcus wanders off to the kitchen where he has what looks to be a whole bar built into a portion of the sectioned off room. You walk around the space he’s tailored to be his, running your fingertips over the edge of the couch and admiring the paintings hanging on the wall by the bookshelves. Scanning over the varying book titles, you note the multiple accounting and real estate books, some shelves primarily only having that with the rest filled with classics you recall him mentioning to you in passing.
The sound of ice shaking forces your attention back to Marcus whose focus was primarily in making your drink. From the corner of your eye, you see he has his sleeves rolled up his forearm, his bicep flexing as he holds the shaker in his broad hand, moving it with efficiency, a curl falling over his forehead from the effort. You look away when he pops the top off of the shaker, hoping he didn’t see you ogling him longer than you should have.
Playing clueless, your eyes land on a certain part of his book collection, titles relating to history and the world catching your eye, global wars and conquests amongst other things. You were too busy scanning the spines of the different books to notice Marcus observing you as he walked in your direction with a glass in each of his hands. Turning once you feel his presence by your side, you whisper a thank you and take your drink, tentatively sipping through the small straw he offered you, to taste the perfect mix of lime and aged rye.
“How is it? I eased up on the whiskey, figured you wouldn’t want something too strong.”
“You should’ve done bartending instead of real estate. Bet you would be a hit with the ladies, make a hell of a lot of tips.” Marcus chuckles, a pleasant sound that emits through him.
“Guess the mixing classes are paying off.”
A coltish smirk lands on your face in amusement, tilting your head to the bookshelf to grab his attention. “Wouldn’t take you as a history buff.”
“What can I say? I like learning about the world, the past shaping the present and influencing the future. Plus, it keeps me well rounded as one would say, pairs well with traveling.” You hum with a nod, pointing to a specific title you notice.
“SPQR: A History of Ancient Rome by Mary Beard. I was obsessed with Ancient Rome when I was a kid, well that and mythology. Sort of ironic considering you’re from there, you’d fit in.”
“It’s a special interest of mine, but I’m curious about the history of the general area, besides what’s been passed down by family members.” He states casually, letting you wander around a bit more before heading to the couch in his living room, his hand instantly holding yours as you step down into the sunken floor along the way.
With every sip of your cocktail, you find yourself more entranced by Marcus, your eyes drawn to the muscles in his arm contracting when he takes a gulp of his whiskey. Time flies by as you converse more with him, the ice melting in your glass as you sit your empty cup on the coffee table. Your heels are now somewhere scattered on the floor, legs folded over one another as you lean into the couch on your side, facing your date. He stays seated on the corner of the couch, body angled towards the fireplace and his legs spread with his hands on his leg as he listens to you talk.
“You never mentioned it, you know, why you’re on the app to begin with. You don’t seem like the kind of man to bother with this whole sort of thing.”
“And why do you think that?” He twists his head to look at you, curious in your reasoning.
“You’re too smart to be bullshitting around with anything, and I think relationships are the same. Something happened along the way, no?”
Ah, there it is, the feared question. Why was he on that app? Originally it was a joke, he wasn’t taking it seriously, and yet here he is, sitting on the couch with someone from a sugar daddy app of all places. He could lie to you, say he just wanted some company for the night just to save his own ass. But one look at your face and he knew the last thing he wanted to do was use the usual facade that fed the void in his chest.
He pauses for a beat before finding his words.
“I was married for a few years. The divorce was finalized a few months ago, but feels like it happened way before that.”
“I’m sorry, Marcus.” Your palm flies to his knee in a supporting pat, the action not lost to him as warmth springs from your touch for a moment before taking it back.
“There’s nothing to apologize for. Things just didn’t work out, it wasn’t in the cards.” He fidgets with the ring on his right hand, a nervous tick he’s adopted over time as the air thickens in the room. Moving the spotlight from himself, he flips the question to you. “And what about you? Why were you on the app?”
“Honestly, I forgot I still had an account after doing this a few times, never really worked out in the past. I was about to deactivate my profile when I saw your super like. Didn’t want to pass up the opportunity, so I answered. Besides, I was curious about you.”
“You must’ve had hundreds of profile matches at that point.” You chortle under your breath.
“Oh, please. You open the app and it’s just all up in your face. It’s so…overwhelming. But if it’s any comfort, you were the only account I liked back.”
Marcus’ neck pivots to peer at you, sincere in your confession to him. He fights the urge to have his lips curve upwards, instead he shifts his gaze back down to the floor with a shake of his head.
“You flatter me.”
“I’m serious,” you jest, straightening your back and jokingly slapping his bicep. “You’re sitting here acting like you didn't have hundreds of likes coming out of the woodworks.”
“Seeing that high number took me off guard, I’m surprised my phone didn’t glitch from it and I was spared from getting a headache. But I didn’t really care much for the rest. I liked your account and turned my phone off, called it a day.”
Your eyes bore on to Marcus’ face, staring at him incredulously. “You didn’t.”
“I did. Lots of beautiful women on there, don’t get me wrong. However, I’m more particular about what I like.” He ogles at you, as if he needed to make it any more obvious he found you attractive. The thought brings heat to your cheeks, the alcohol doing wonders to lower your inhibitions.
Your sight detours to his hand where his thumb runs over the emerald signet ring on his pinkie, your curiosity getting the best of you.
“What’s with the ring?” You jut your chin out to point to the shiny piece of jewelry.
“Family heirloom. Been in my family since my grandfather, went to my father, and now passed down to me. Just something I mess with often.”
“Can I see it?” You move your hand towards him, suggesting that you want to see the emerald piece up close.
Marcus offers you his hand, your fingers grazing his palm as you look at the ring. He tries his best not to think too much about the way your touch feels, how your soft fingers sweep his calloused ones as you examine the way the ring circles around his thick digit, running your thumb over the emerald stone at the center.
To his disbelief, you bring his hand to your cheek, his knuckles caressing over your jaw and ear before guiding it towards your neck. The knuckle of his pointer finger rasps the front of your throat and the divot of your collarbone, your fingers circling his wrist and slowly bringing his touch down the middle of your chest. His heart pounds in his ribs when you drag his hand over your midriff before placing it on your waist, comfortably laying on your hip and he gives you a nervous squeeze.
Swiftly, you shift your position on the couch, bending on your knees to crawl towards his lap. Marcus watches you the entire time, leaning backwards and letting you get situated with zero protest. The end of your dress rides up your thighs slowly, your hands on his chest, sensing the tension radiating off of him in waves. He keeps both of his hands on your waist, his head angled back to hold your gaze, concealing the groan that threatens to escape from feeling your body over his.
“Is this okay?” You ask, seeing him nod. “Marcus…” you entice him with a whisper, leaning towards him, the tips of your noses edging together. “I really want to kiss you.”
Marcus’ eyebrows shoot up to his forehead as he gawks at you, slightly tipsy from your earlier drink coursing through your veins. He’s considerate enough to keep his hands on your waist, holding you steady as you stare at him with stars in your vision.
“Can I kiss you? Please?” You press yourself against him, one hand on his chest as your words captivate him. His focus lingers in your hazy eyes, then drifts to your lips, watching how they part subconsciously with every breath. Succumbing to his desires, he nods again, and you tip forward to slot your mouth over his.
It’s the lightest of pecks, brief and sweet enough to not overwhelm either of you, a test of boundaries. You briskly pull away, carefully watching Marcus’ reaction, reading his body language to see whether or not he wants to pause or keep going. He squeezes your waist, and that is all the initiative you need to kiss him again.
With a faint grin, you offer him another peck, then another, and another. After every kiss, the gloss on your lips fades and transfers to his mouth, and by the fourth peck, he pinches your chin and brings you forward to kiss you with more intention. Your body ignites with the prolonged feel of his mouth against yours, the curve in your spine deepens and your hands move on their own.
Marcus lets you lead him into the kiss, following your pace and sighing in content when your fingers thread through the hair on his nape, tugging the strands a little to angle his head differently. A groan rumbles in his chest from your touch, taking advantage of this position and teasing your tongue over his bottom lip, signaling you want to taste more of him.
Granting you passage, his mouth opens to welcome your tongue, curling around his own and keeping your grip on him. Slanting your head to the side to get the right angle, your body inches nearer as your hips press over his. Without much thought, his hands move up your back, the feel of his palms a comfort against your heated skin, trailing lower to cup your ass. The action forces you to gasp, pulling away to find darkened brown eyes staring at you carefully and bringing his hands back to your waist, the start of an apology dying on his lips before you interrupted him.
“It’s okay, Marcus. You can touch me.” You coax his hand down to your lower back, fingers intertwined with his and urging him to squeeze your tender flesh. “I want you to touch me.”
He doesn’t need any more convincing, the desire he’s been carrying all night dominates the rest of his self-doubt. Palming your ass with one hand and keeping the other on your side, he swoops in for another passionate kiss, more comfortable in initiating this time around. You simply let him have it, the edge of your dress riding up your thighs as your hips settle over his, the center of you pulsing after another greedy squeeze.
The need for his attention grows more ravenous as you sit prettily over his lap, carding your fingers through his graying strands. Discreetly, your hips hesitantly shift over his hips, feeling the evident bulge developing under your thigh. Marcus bites your bottom lip at your slight movement, pushing his hips closer to yours as his cock hardens in his slacks.
Plucking your lips away from his, you litter kisses over his cheek and the side of his jaw, nipping at the juncture where his jaw meets his neck. He grunts when you finally reach his neck, gliding your tongue over the vein that pulses along with the rest of him. Head thrown back on the edge of the couch, he lets you touch him however you want, kneading your rear with his thick fingers, skimming over more of your bare skin as your dress moves higher up your body.
It all feels too good, the realization of just how touch deprived he is hits him like a ton of bricks. Here you are sitting on his lap, grinding against him in such a way he can feel your heat through his clothes, your scent wafting under his nose with your close proximity. It’s almost too much for him to take.
And he doesn’t want you to stop.
Controlling your movements over him, you adopt a steady rhythm gyrating your body against his thighs, his hands encouraging you with every push and pull. Your panties begin to stick to you, the gluttony enrapturing you growing to new heights as the erection hidden under expensive material twitches the harder you grind. Decorum out of the window, Marcus fantasizes what it must feel like to be between your legs; imagines if you taste just as sweet as you smell, or if your cunt would tighten and clench around him when he brought you to the edge over and over again until the only thing you remembered was his name.
His own imagination paired with your incessant humping forces his body to hit his peak prematurely, shuddering under you with a rasped groan. You’re stunned as his body betrays him, the bump in his pants deflating once the wave of pleasure is done washing over him, his grip tightening around your hips.
The air around you crackles despite the silence, stiff as you observe the man underneath you trying to catch his breath. You can tell he wasn’t expecting this to happen, much less to feel so much he ended up spilling in his briefs from a little bit of kissing and movement. His bearded cheeks are shaded with hints of pink and his eyes distantly off to the side, avoiding your observant gaze.
“Fuck, I am so sorry,” Marcus starts, the self deprecating thoughts running rampant in his head from his mediocre performance.
He curses himself, thinking he should’ve been better prepared for this, maybe jerked off before the date to begin with in hopes he would last longer. This certainly is a first for him, coming prematurely like a fucking teenager was not something he’s known for, and should be reason enough to bury him six feet under from the embarrassment.
“Don’t be. Honestly, it’s kind of flattering,” you affirm bashfully as the last bits of your arousal settle in your gut. “I think it’s hot.”
“Really?” Marcus flexes his eyebrows, seeking your reassurance.
“Feeling so good you just couldn’t help yourself? It’s sexy. I’ll take it as a compliment,” you express, kissing him sweeter than you had for the past thirty minutes. “I can clean you up if you want…”
Your hushed words make his cock twitch again despite already making a mess in his briefs. His mind is going into overdrive, envisioning you on your knees, pretty mouth wrapped around his length and your manicured nails handling the rest.
Next time.
“No, it’s alright. I’d rather repay the favor.” Sure, it might’ve appeared to be a form of damage control, but the reality is he’s developed a craving that only you could satisfy.
“You don’t have to Marcus, it’s fine really. I don’t mind.”
“I’m not the kind of man to leave a woman unsatisfied. Not in my character.” He kisses you again, reviving the same familiar pulse from between your legs. “Let me make you feel good.”
A whimper threatens to slip past your lips, but you swallow it down. From the way he kissed your lipstick off, you wondered what it would feel like to have his mouth on another part of you, granting you something you desperately needed since getting in the car from the restaurant. Reason had already left your mind a while ago, and your body spoke of your intentions before you confirmed them yourself, muttering an airy okay with a nod.
You barely register how smoothly he maneuvers you, the shift so seamless it feels like second nature. You’re sinking into the couch, your back meeting the plush cushions as he takes control.
Marcus doesn’t rush. He never does. Not in business, not in conversation, and certainly not in bed.
But right now, with you spread out on his couch, looking at him like you’re daring him to take whatever he wants, he feels something hungry unravel inside him.
He moves with intention, mouth against yours in a deep, passionate kiss. Your spine arches, breasts pressed up against his chest, fingers ghosting over his shoulders, clenching when he drags his lips from yours to your jaw, then down your neck.
You smell divine.
He lingers at your neck as he inhales against your skin, your perfume an aphrodisiac that disorients him, fogging his mind. It makes a groan vibrate deep in his chest, the sound sending goosebumps over your skin, your nipples hardening beneath the fabric of your dress.
Marcus cups your tits in his large hands, relishing the weight of them, the way they fill his palms so perfectly. He squeezes, kneading the satin-covered flesh, his thumbs dragging over stiffened peaks.
His deep exhale fans over your plump breasts before he continues downward, dragging slow, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat. His facial hair grazes your skin, a delicious contrast to the softness of his lips.
He licks the swells of your chest, teeth nipping at the supple skin, making you yelp playfully and you can feel the small smirk that pulls at his lips before he moves lower, veiled brown eyes flitting up to your flustered face as his tongue mouths your nipple over the dress, biting down on it softly.
“You like that?” He asks, already knowing the damn answer, the satin dampening beneath his tongue as he flicks and sucks at the hardened bud.
“Yes, Marcus…” The breathy sigh of his name is like music to his ears, neck tilting back as your eyes flutter close when he repeats the action on your other breast, kneading its twin in his large hand.
“You are so gorgeous.”
He shifts again, going lower, pushing the skirt of your pretty dress up until it’s bunched at your waist. His palms are warm and firm as he trails kisses above your mound, teasing you with his descent. Your thighs twitch under his touch, anticipation buzzing through you like an electric current.
He spreads your legs wide, pushing them up to your chest and keeping you in the position he wants by pressing his hands to the back of your thighs near where your knees bend.
The sight of your barely covered sex is more erotic than if you had forgone the undergarment all together. Short, dark curls tease him over the flimsy hem of your panties and his cock stirs at the sight despite the mess he’s already made in his slacks.
“She’s real pretty.” His voice drops an octave, the rasp in it making the compliment sound wanton. Your hips move on their own ever so slightly, a natural reaction your pussy is having to his tone, chasing the sound.
Marcus hums, a quiet sound of appreciation, feeding off every little tic of yours. His lips part slightly, tongue rolling over them as his attention remains on your thong.
Thin black lace, skimpy. Practically useless.
His fingers toy with the waistband, slipping beneath it, testing the stretch. Then, with a little too much enthusiasm, he pulls and it gives, the sound of the fabric tearing setting you off even more.
He almost scoffs. The material of it feels expensive beneath his touch yet it rips so easily. He could easily buy you a hundred of these. Better.
Your eyes lazily find his and for a moment, there’s nothing but a silent exchange between you—a subtle tilt of your head, the slight arch of your brow, questioning. Are you really going to do it?
His smirk is slow, knowing. A dimple dents his cheek.
Yes.
And with that, he grips the lace and rips the damn thing off, throwing it over his shoulder. The ruined panties fall onto the coffee table behind him, forgotten.
Now you’re completely bare, the lips of your pussy spread from how he’s got your legs parted, sex aching and glistening beneath the dim opulent lighting. A perfect, needy mess just for him.
The soft trail of hair that leads down to your pretty cunt has Marcus leaning in, nuzzling his strong nose against you, inhaling the musky scent that lingers there, letting it invade his senses and seep into his bloodstream like an intoxicant.
His tongue follows next, broad and slow, dragging up the length of the strip, savoring the contrast of coarse curls against the slick warmth of his mouth. The taste of you spreads across his tongue, earthy and sweet. You let out a drawn out moan, palms sinking into the couch as you attempt to ground yourself amidst the sensation.
“Shit,” the curse word is muttered, barely audible as you feel delirious from feeling him so close to where you need him. You don’t remember how long it’s been since you craved the touch of a man like this, and it doesn’t help that the alcohol you’ve been consuming all night is amplifying your lust.
Your pussy flutters involuntarily, a fresh trickle of sweet arousal slipping lower, trailing down to the curve of your ass.
Marcus is enraptured, taking in your exposed, creamy flesh, how your smell infiltrates his nose and it’s like his eyes gloss over with a carnal desire to devour you, eat you until you’re crying and begging him to stop.
He needs to reel it in, remind himself that it’s only the first night. He can’t overwhelm you too quickly, scare you away before he’s able to show you what he’s truly capable of. Of how good he can actually make you feel.
“So wet,” he mutters as he maps wet, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs. His fingers sink into the soft, pliant flesh, squeezing, kneading—reverent in his touch. He drags his lips closer, his breath ghosting over your messy cunt, teasing but never quite giving.
“Hard to hold back when you’re spread out like this,” he murmurs, nosing against the sensitive crease where your thigh meets your core. “But fuck, sweetheart… I don’t think I want to.”
“Didn’t get the impression that you could hold back.” The timbre of your tone makes him pause, pulling away slightly to look at you properly.
“If I really let you have it…you’d already be begging me to let you breathe.”
The glint of amusement that flickers through your gaze is gone in a blink, replaced by unguarded desire.
“I can handle it.”
His smoldering stare rises to meet yours, narrowing just slightly, a silent challenge passing between you. His thumbs press into your skin as if testing the truth of your statement.
You’re bracing yourself beneath his touch, muscles tensing in anticipation, as if proving to him that your words aren’t just bravado. You mean them. You want this. You want him.
Good. He wants you to need this as badly as he does.
The first swipe of his tongue is slow, savoring, as if he’s tasting something forbidden, something he’s been denied for too long. But patience? That doesn’t last. It shatters the second he gets his first real taste, and the groan that rumbles deep in his chest is downright filthy.
Marcus is gone.
He buries himself into your pussy, tongue dragging flat up your slit before going taut and flicking up to your clit, testing what makes you gasp and elicit more of those sweet noises that fill his ears.
“Oh Marcus, just like that.” It’s as if he flips a switch that has your words pouring out. “You’re doing so good.”
Your praise melts into him, impassioning him. He’s been craving this kind of lust for years. It’s been too fucking long since he let himself indulge in his roaring sexual appetite.
He swirls your sensitive nub around with his tongue, sealing his lips around the pert flesh. He suckles on it, making out with your pussy, having you wail out like an aching woman.
Marcus thrives off the way your hips rock toward his mouth, groaning like he’s savoring a meal far more decadent than the dinner from earlier tonight.
Your heady and potent taste drowns his taste buds, clit pulsing against his tongue—all of it is enough to make him lightheaded. His big hands curl around your thighs, pulling you somehow closer, the friction of his nose and beard rubbing against your pussy making you keen and further lose yourself in the pleasure he is giving you.
“Fuck don’t stop, oh my god.” Your sounds turn pornographic, tugging at his hair while your other hand moves up to palm your own breast, the fabric of your dress slipping until your chest is exposed, nipples sensitive to the cool air.
The hand at your left thigh traverses up, nudging your hand out of the way and you let him grab a handful of your tit. The growl he emits vibrates against your sex as his fingers begin to roll and pull at the perky bud.
Marcus’ tongue then slips inside your fluttering entrance, fucking into you as his aquiline nose rubs your slick pearl.
The obscene sounds of his mouth working you over fill the room—sucking, slurping, the guttural groans that rumble from his chest every time he dives back in like he can’t get enough. Because he can’t. He’s drunk on you, addicted after only minutes, and the more you writhe beneath him, the more he loses himself in it.
Marcus. Marcus. Marcus. His name becomes a hymn as your orgasm looms, taunting you, threatening to end this beautiful, salacious act despite you wanting to live in this pocket of pleasure for the rest of the night.
You did not expect him to be this good or fucking eager. Most men treat a woman’s pleasure like an afterthought, something to be checked off a list before they roll over and chase their own release. But not him. He’s eating like he’s never going to get the chance again, showing you with every flick of his tongue, every messy, open-mouthed kiss to your cunt, exactly how much he enjoys this.
Your hand moves on instinct, covering his where it grips your breast, your nails raking over his knuckles and the sleek face of his expensive watch, dragging down until you can feel the veins running beneath his skin. His tongue doesn’t slow, doesn’t falter, even as you babble through a desperate plea.
“I’m right there, mmm don’t stop, please.”
You gyrate against his handsome face, claiming him in the messiest, most unceremonious way, coating his chin, his nose, those full lips that have been driving you insane all night.
He can feel your desperation in how your fingers clench his hair or how your other hand moves to grip the back of the couch, back arching high off the cushions. You’re unraveling for him, and fuck, that just makes him want to push you further.
Marcus doesn’t need his fingers to make you come. Just his mouth. Just his tongue plunging into you, curling, lapping up everything you give him, working you until you’re trembling—until those soft gasps turn into ragged, broken moans.
And when you finally finish, when you sob his name like it’s the only thing you know, Marcus still does not stop.
He takes your orgasm, drinks it down, tongue still lapping at your sex as your thighs snap shut around his head, as if you’re trying to pull him deeper, to keep him there. And he lets you smother him, lets himself drown in you.
It’s overwhelming. Your vision blurs, lashes wet with tears, streaks of mascara and eyeliner running down your cheeks. You’re coming apart under the relentless assault of his mouth again, your second orgasm stretching, rolling, growing into something bigger than yourself.
“I—I—” The words tangle in your throat, lost in the heat of it all, stolen by the wicked, practiced flicks of his wet muscle. When he pulls back, it’s only to drag his tongue over his bottom lip, hollowing his cheeks and spitting filthily onto your throbbing cunt.
“Thought you could handle it?” He taunts before diving back in, both hands returning to keep you firmly against his face.
You can’t think straight, thoughts slipping through your grasp like water. “T-Too much, oh—” you attempt to pull your hips away, body writhing as if you were a possessed woman, the overstimulation of it all feeling like you’re burning from the inside out in the best way possible.
But Marcus keeps you locked down tightly, staring intensely up at you, letting the edges of his teeth graze along your sensitive clit. A white-hot jolt of sensation rockets up your spine and makes you scream so high-pitched, you’re sure the windows of his penthouse rattle from the force of it.
Your back bows violently, stiffening as the pleasure crashes over you, unexpected and devastating. Your release gushes out in a messy, sinful rush, soaking the lower half of his face. Marcus groans deeply, slurping it, shaking his head against your cunt to smear it all over, the primal feel of it all only intensifying with each drop of yours that he tastes.
Only when you finally slump against the couch, spent and trembling, does he ease up, pressing lingering kisses to your clit, enjoying how your pussy twitches from coming so hard. A thin string of your essence clings to his lips as he finally—reluctantly—pulls back, breathing heavily, dragging the back of his hand across his slick beard.
The blissfully wrecked look on your face is one that’s going to be burned into the back of his eyelids for eternity. It’s in this moment; as he takes in your swollen lips, ruined makeup, and your ravished body, that something in him clicks. It makes Marcus recognize that whatever this is sprouting between you two is something he wants to continue to chase.
He flashes you a lopsided smirk, one that deepens when the single curl falls onto his forehead. Kisses are placed on each quivering inner thigh in an attempt to soothe the tremors still running through your body, before he begins his ascent, reversing the path that led him to the heaven between your legs.
The skirt of your dress is smoothed down with careful hands, his large fingers tugging the fabric into place, covering you as if he’s tucking away something precious. Then, with the same tenderness, he draws the neckline back over your chest. But his lips don’t stop their journey. They find your neck, trailing up to your jawline, the corner of your mouth—teasing—before finally claiming your lips.
The smell of your pussy clings to him as he kisses you passionately, making you taste yourself. It makes the kiss filthier, his mouth moving against yours with the same fervor he’d shown between your thighs. You whimper into him, feeling the lazy roll of his tongue as he takes his time with you. Neither of you wants to break the moment.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, still kneeling between your legs, his hand coming up to cradle your face, thumb grazing your cheek before tugging at one of the curls that’s slipped loose from your updo. “Taste so good, too.”
Your smile comes naturally—not coy, not calculated, but soft, bubbling over, breathless. There’s a twinkle in your eyes, and Marcus feels himself get lost in it, entranced by the way you look at him. If this is what he’s rewarded with every time he makes you come, then he’ll gladly do it over and over again.
“Thank you for not holding back,” you finally manage, your voice still wrecked, but carrying that teasing lilt. Your fingers weave into his curls, tugging lightly as you take him in—his dark, blown-out gaze, the shine of your slick still glistening on his beard. “Even if it looked like I was tapping out there for a second. You’ve got real magic in that mouth of yours.”
Marcus huffs out a laugh. “Thanks.” His brown eyes soften while he wipes the streaks of your makeup away with his thumb. You could stay like this all night, just looking, feeling, letting the attraction simmer until it boils over and you’re tangled in his sheets with his name on the tip of your tongue.
But you both know better. This is something to savor and let breathe, allowing chemistry to take the lead.
“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”
“More than I anticipated.”
The answer strokes something deep in his chest, an ego he rarely lets get the better of him. But with you? He allows it, just a little.
“I’d like to keep seeing you. If it wasn’t obvious.”
You sigh, still reeling from his ministrations, tilting your head, unable to stop drinking him in. “Same here. You are a very intriguing man, Marcus.”
“And you are a very fascinating woman.” He gently takes the wrist of the hand in his hair, bringing it to his lips, placing a kiss on your palm. It makes your heart stutter. “I’ll call the driver to take you home if you want to go freshen up.”
You raise an eyebrow, teasing, “Oh? You’re kicking me out?”
“If you want to stay, be my guest.”
The invitation lingers in the air between you, heavy with temptation. And it is tempting, yet despite the fact that he had his mouth buried between your thighs not even five minutes ago, you don’t want to lay all your cards on the table just yet.
“I’ll get out of your hair. My bed beckons me.”
Marcus stands, offering his hand as he helps you to your feet, pointing you to the direction of the master bathroom. You feel the intensity of his gaze as you walk away, aware of how his eyes track the intentional sway of your hips. You can’t help but smirk.
Only when you disappear behind the door does he exhale, rubbing a hand down his jaw, feeling the sticky remnants of you still clinging to him. He glances at the ruined scrap of lace on the coffee table, sporting a smug smile of his own, grabbing his phone to call the driver.
Once your ride is handled, he moves around the space to gather your things, adjusting himself in his pants, cringing at the reminder of the mess that’s there.
You emerge a few minutes later, face wiped clean, hair slightly more composed yet just as gorgeous, your legs carrying the delicious remnants of euphoria in every shaky step.
“Mailing you my doctor bill if this problem doesn’t go away anytime soon,” you joke, sinking onto the couch to slip your heels back on.
Marcus smirks, shaking his head as he watches you, holding your gathered belongings in his hands. “Think of it as a souvenir. Something to remember me by until we see each other again.”
“Yeah? And when will that be?”
“You tell me.”
You hum, pretending to consider as you rise to your feet, your body brushing just close enough to tempt. “I’ll have to check my schedule and get back to you.”
You reach for the delicate scrap of lace left abandoned on his coffee table. “You owe me a new pair, by the way.”
He chuckles, helping you slip into your jacket, then handing over your things. “That thing was on its last thread. Surprised it didn’t just dissolve off you with how soaked you got it.”
You roll your eyes, biting down on your lip as warmth creeps up your neck at the memory. He watches the way you react, the way your body still responds to him even now, and it only cements his need to see you again.
Guiding you out of the penthouse, he keeps conversation light, the easy chemistry between you both lingering like an unspoken promise. But the moment you step into the lobby, you feel the burn of the doorman’s knowing stare, his amusement barely concealed as he tips his head in greeting.
“Have a good night, miss,” he says, and you fight the urge to duck your head in embarrassment, thanking him quietly.
Outside, the cool Chicago night air wraps around you as a sleek black Escalade idles in the porte-cochère, waiting. Marcus, ever the gentleman, steps ahead to open the car door for you.
You stop just before getting in, looking up at him, your voice soft. “Thank you for tonight. I had a wonderful time—you’re great company.”
He grins. “Likewise, beautiful. I’m glad you didn’t deactivate your account when you did.”
Your heart flutters at that, and before you can second-guess it, you lean up on your toes, pressing a series of slow, lingering kisses to his lips. He hums against your mouth, his hand naturally finding its place on your waist, the metal of his ring grazing the fabric of your dress.
“Let me know when you make it home, alright?” he murmurs against your lips.
“I will.”
One last kiss, then you pull away, climbing into the backseat. You share a final, lingering glance through the open door.
“Good night, Marcus.”
“Good night, sweetheart.”
You smile, and with that, he shuts the door. The SUV pulls away, disappearing into the city streets, swallowed by the skyline. Marcus watches until you’re gone, your touch still burning against his skin, your scent still clinging to his shirt.
He exhales heavily, running his fingers through his hair before turning back toward the building.
“Have a good evening, sir?”
Marcus smirks, the memory of your body, your taste, your voice still fresh in his mind.
As per usual your support, your comments, your hilarious asks, your funny memes, your impossibly contagious enthusiasm - all of it got my tippy tappy fingers writing away! Please know that while I don't respond to all comments (something about it sometimes stresses me out, I cannot explain it) I READ all of them and LOVE all of them and sometimes when I'm down on myself and want to give up, I read a comment or see a funny mention and I just get inspired to keep going.
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F*ck-It List masterlist here
It's been two weeks.
Two weeks since Joel's brother almost caught you in the office. Two weeks since he nearly made you come bent over his desk, your ass cheeks warm from his palm.
Two weeks since you made that offer to Joel as you left.
And two weeks of subsequent silence because Joel is out of town.
You found this out the morning after your escapade, confused when his schedule suddenly appeared blocked off. You knew for a fact that you hadn't done this and mentioned it to your dad as he came into the office.
You tried to sound casual, a worried assistant, nothing more.
"It's the acquisition in Fort Worth, remember?"
"The acquisition?"
"Mhm," your dad mutters, coffee in one hand, scrolling his phone in the other. "We're acquiring a firm there, remember? For the expansion?"
"I thought you were going to do it," you say, brow furrowed.
Your dad was always the one for the more social of the endeavors. Joel was fully capable, but your dad was more naturally charismatic. When it comes to Big mergers or sales It's usually your dad taking the lead.
And sure enough, as you clicked on your email you saw the message from Joel indicating that he was indeed heading out of town.
"I was supposed to take this one but Joel volunteered," your dad continues. "He's been so ornery lately I thought a break would be a good idea."
Joel volunteered for this? Your stomach feels wobbly at that admission, insecurity bleeding into the rest of your day.
He wanted to leave. He wanted to get out of town. After everything that happened with the two of you, Joel took off.
The thought haunts you, your face on fire as you think of Joel doing everything in his power to escape your company.
On top of everything Jacob has caught mono and won't be in until next week at the earliest.
It leaves you with lots of time to think, to scroll Instagram, to plan your dad's schedule and to help Kathleen with things around the office.
"You're just the sweetest," she gushes when you offer to do some research and help with the company BBQ.
"Still trying to figure out a good place to have it," she says with a frown. "Your dad thinks we should do it somewhere more fun than a park."
You tell her you'll think on it, googling nearby places.
Thankfully this time away from Joel also gives you opportunity to connect with your friend Emily from college who's moved back home to Austin like you.
There's a hope that maybe she'll relate to your arrested development, that she too is fighting familial expectations and navigating romantic relationships.
But when she arrives to the cafe in a new hummer you have a feeling this might be wishful thinking.
Over coffee Emily tells you about her success, about taking over her parents law firm here in Austin. She tells you about her engagement, fanning her long fingers to show you a tasteful emerald cut solitaire.
You spend the entire time feeling pathetic and beaten down. Emily isn't trying to do this, she's always been driven and social and everything you're not.
You go to bed early feeling sullen and blue. You take the next two day off, sleeping intermittently and wishing that you'd never come home in the first place.
///
Joel paces back and forth in his hotel room, nodding as he speaks with Gary from the local architecture firm Quicksilver.
"Uh huh, and that's why we put that in section three," he repeats, tired from the last two weeks of meetings and dinners, of schmoozing and site visits.
He wanted this though. He needed to be somewhere new, somewhere away from his home.
As Gary blathers on about the finalization of the contract Joel's mind drifts to the future.
Tomorrow he leaves for home and tomorrow his attention will turn back to things he's paused in his mind during his time here in Fort Worth.
Things like you and the photo he's been touching himself to every night since he left. That coupled with memories of you bent over his desk, your eyes heavy lidded and your moans verging on whines.
He glances down to see his cock tenting his pants and he rolls his eyes, holding in a sigh. He needs to stop thinking about that day in his office.
What will he say when he gets back? Is not as if the two of you are in any relationship. You're just finding mutual pleasure.
Yeah because you wanted to get back at her dad.
Joel can't help but wince at that internal admission. He knows that it's completely true. He did all of this with the intention of hurting your father. Of having an evil little secret that he could laugh about to himself when your dad got too high on his horse.
And at the time it did seem like a frivolity, a funny little thing. But now as he looks back on all that you two have done, he feels a niggle of concern.
He'll never find out.
Joel tells himself this as he finishes up his conversation with Gary. They're no way you'd tell your father and Joel certainly isn't going to.
Still, Joel considers he may need to make this clear to you. Yes, you signed the contract, but you're human. The guilt might get to you.
He just has to nip this in the bud.
///
"You need to move on."
You sit across from Jacob in his apartment, the stem of a wineglass twisting between your fingertips.
Your jacket is rumpled on one end of the couch next to Jacob's magazines.
He's much recovered but he's still a little logy and has a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.
You've told him that the guy you were doing this list with is kind of MIA. You can't be too specific. But Jacob's response, has you spiraling a bit.
"He's really busy at work lately," you defend.
"No guy is so busy at work that he can't find time to fuck a girl he's into," Jacob says with a roll of his eyes.
"He runs the whole...store," you say to ensure you don't make it obvious who you're actually referring to.
"So?"
"So he's under a lot of pressure."
Jacob takes your hand in his before squeezing gently.
"Honey, the last time you saw him you said what, exactly?"
"That I wanted to do number one and that he could let me know when he was free to do it."
"And has he made any contact since then?"
You don't respond. Jacob frowns, shaking his head.
"Did things go okay the last time you were both together?"
"Yes," you answer quickly before remembering how you were stuffed under his desk like a pretzel while he and his brother talked passive aggressively at one another.
"I mean... It could've gone better."
"So find a new guy on tinder," Jacob shrugs. "You're telling me no other guy is gonna help you knock things off your sexy list?"
You grin at your friend, taking a sip from your wineglass.
"He's the only guy ...I just... It feels good doing this stuff with him," you mutter, cheeks heating. "He knows what he's doing."
Jacob, always a fan of tantalizing details gives you a smirk, leaning towards you as he drops his voice.
"How big is he?"
You blink. "Uh, I don't know yet."
"You mean you haven't even seen it yet?" Jacob looks horrified. "What if it's a pencil dick? Or a coke can?"
From what you've glimpsed you're a bit terrified that Joel falls into the latter category.
Hadn't even thought about it. You've been so fixated on the fact that Joel hasn't been around that. You didn't stop to think of the implications of knocking off number one on your list.
Jacob seems to sense your hesitation because his tone softens.
"I'm just kidding. From everything you've told me this guy knows how to turn you on. He's made you feel safe, right?"
"Right."
"So maybe something has really come up for him? Or he's nervous that you've changed your mind. So why not just go for it? Go get undressed and put on your jacket. Show up at his place and show him exactly what he's been missing out on."
You giggle nervously at the prospect, feel like your stomach bubble with anticipation before you sober.
"He's out of town visiting family."
"Far?"
"A few hours."
"So go meet him halfway at some hotel," Jacob says, inspired.
"Jacob that's ... That's a great idea."
Jacob's phone goes off before he can properly preen at your compliment. You don't miss the way he shields the screen from you as he reads the incoming text.
"Seems I'm not the only one with a thriving sex life."
Jacob rolls his eyes at you before excusing himself. You finish your wine before reaching for your purse on the kitchen table.
"One sec."
Jacob returns to the kitchen moments later with your jacket in hand.
"Don't forget this. Wear it on your date, its the perfect kind to go naked under."
You take it from him, pressing a dry kiss to his cheekbone.
"Thanks for listening to my rambling."
"Anytime, babe. Now, go make me proud and fuck that man's brains out."
///
The drive home is a distracted one as you imagine how to actually suggest this idea to Joel.
No, you're not going to show up naked to his hotel room. That would be insane. But you do like the idea of meeting at a hotel. It feels clandestine and sort of exciting.
But how do you start a conversation like this organically? A text? A phone call? Joel's a gen X so either could be appropriate. You run through a possible opening line.
Hi Joel, it's me. Just wondering when you wanted to fuck me? Does tonight work?
Nope.
Hey Miller, you want some of this pussy? I'll make-
Fuck no.
You could always text him, pretending that its work related. You're still thinking about it when you get inside and find your dad at the kitchen table looking red-faced. You shrug off your jacket, peering at him. He's curled over the table with a beer in front of him, his breathing tight.
"Dad you okay?"
"Just fine," he replies with a weak smile shot your way. "Was hot so I was cooling off."
"Dad are you stressed about something?"
"No, I'm not, Trix. Why?"
"You seem agitated." You frown.
"Uh yeah, that might actually be it," for Dad says nodding slowly. “Just thinkin’ about work stuff.”
He doesn’t meet your eyes and you can only say that you hope he feels better. He nods, standing and making a comment about watering the lawn.
Ignoring you father's bizarre actions you sail into your bedroom, closing the door before holding the phone in front of you.
Just a quick call. Fast. Up front. Simple.
You turn on your laptop, playing your latest Spotify playlist near the door lest your father come back inside and walk by. You try to pump yourself up and begin pacing around your room, heart racing as you click on the number.
"Hi, I'm just calling because I wanted to talk to you about the list," you murmur to yourself, practicing and trying to steady your breath as the phone rings. “I wanted to see if sex was-“
"Hello?"
His voice comes through clear and smooth like it always does and you feel your pulse quicken. For a moment you feel small and shy and your cracked voice reflects this.
"Uh, hi, Mister M- Joel?"
You cringe at yourself as Joel hums the affirmative.
"This is-"
"I know who this is," he says silkily.
He clears his throat, and you wonder if he senses how nervous you are. He must.
There's a loaded silence. You think you hear him breathing slowly and deeply before that gravelly voice reaches your ears again.
"What can I help you with?"
You're fucking this up.
"I just had a question." Your voice cracks slightly, but you quickly recover, hoping he didn’t notice. "About your schedule."
"My schedule?"
You nod, even though he can’t see it. You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts.
“I'm sorry if you're busy,” you say, a bit too loudly. You clear your throat, trying to sound calm. “I just....um.... Uh, I know you're finished your meeting and coming back tomorrow."
"Mhm."
"And I wondered, I mean, it’s probably a weird idea but I thought maybe, uh about your hotel room?" You swallow hard, wishing you could just stop rambling. “Why don't I come to you?" you add, holding your breath as you wait for his response.
"You mean here at the hotel?"
"It's only a two hour drive. I could be there at seven.”
There’s a long pause on the other end and you instantly regret the suggestion. Was that too forward? Too weird? You want to curl up into a ball on your bed.
"You sure you want that?"
"Honestly I think it's our best bet," you tell him, your toe curling against your door frame to stretch. "At least we know there won't be distractions. No family members fucking it up for us."
"No one knows us out here," Joel offers, clearly intrigued by the offer. "Would be a lot safer than a hotel in Austin."
“Just thinking out loud," you sputter flustered and shaking your head before collapsing onto your bed. "But I thought maybe we could, meet up and, uh, knock number one off the list like we talked about."
"A hotel seems like a nice, neutral spot," you explain, unable to stop rambling. "And in Fort Worth the odds of us running into someone we know are pretty low."
Your fingernails dig into your palm, your eyes closing as you wait for his response.
"S'a helluva drive."
It's not a no.
"Only two hours," you answer far too eagerly.
There’s another pause, and you can feel the tension building between the lines of the call.
"Yeah, that could work," he finally says, his tone casual. "What time were you thinkin’?"
You freeze for a second, your mind racing. Time? Right. You hadn’t even thought that far ahead.
"Uh, anytime’s good for me. I mean, whenever works best for you," you rush out, your words tumbling over each other. "If I left now I could be there by seven. I wouldn’t stay long. I could come there, we do it and then I leave."
There's a weighted silence and you wonder if the phone disconnected.
"Joel?"
"This isn't that kind of a hotel," Joel says huskily. "I think it might look a bit strange to have a girl coming up to my room for an hour."
You silently scream at the heavens before pressing your forehead against the wall as you continue to hold the phone to your ear.
"Oh. Right. Yeah, of course."
"I'll get you a room here," he offers. "For the night."
So he's agreeing to this? He's actually saying this is a good idea? You look at the time and you nearly choke on your response.
"Okay good.”
"I'll meet you in the lobby."
"Awesome. Great."
You wince as you hear yourself, why are you so nervous? You're two adults who agreed to this. No big deal. You can almost hear him smiling through the phone, and it's enough to make your heart skip a beat.
"Oh, wait," you say suddenly struck by something.
You put the phone to your chest and open the bedroom door. Peeking around the frame you're happy to report that your father is still outside, the water tinkling in the distance. You bring the phone back to your ear.
"Do you have... Protection?"
He chuckles softly, the sound so rich that it almost makes you forget about the nerves twisting in your stomach.
"Yeah, I got protection."
"Okay. Good."
You nod again, picturing him on the other end of the line, and wish you could just say what’s really on your mind. That you're nervous and excited. That you're worried you're secretly bad at sex. That is not possible for anyone but you and your vibrator that can make you come.
But you don't. Instead, you make sure you sound normal.
"I'll see you at seven," you say, your voice a little steadier now. "Bye."
You end the call and with your heart still pounding you try to remind yourself that everything will be fine.
///
It feels strange to be packing for a fancy hotel in Forth Worth on Tuesday night. You're freshly showered, groomed to your liking. You feel good, nervous as fuck of course, but good.
Anticipatory nerves tingle all over your body. Yes you and Joel have talked and shared those obscene things over the phone, and the memory of his hands on your ass have been fueling your every waking thoughts since it happened.
But this is sex. This is coming on Joel Miller's cock. Joel Miller. Your dad’s best friend, your boss. What if it's even more awkward? What if you panic and you just stand there not knowing what to do? You don't know that you could survive that.
It's not like you haven't had sex before, it's not like you haven't had partners. But for some reason when you think of being withdrawal Miller it's like your brain goes blank. All the things you do know seem to slip out your ear.
Tonight you resolve that you're going to show him just what you know. You may be a little more inexperienced than him, but that doesn't mean you're a nun.
With resolve you pack your overnight bag, the one with lemon print. You're taking a change of clothes, your set of lingerie and on impulse a bikini you bought last summer. You know from the website that this hotel has a huge pool and a sauna.
Finally you look at yourself in the mirror, feeling sexy as you slide some glossy red lipstick on. You wink at yourself cheekily.
"Go get that dick, girl."
You're grabbing a soda for the road from when your dad saunters into the kitchen typing away on his phone. His eyes slant to your bag in interest.
"Where're you off to?'
"Just getting drinks with friends."
"With that bag?"
Shit.
"Uh huh." You force yourself to look neutral but heat is already creeping up your neck and burning your cheeks. "I might sleep over at Hannah's after if I drink too much."
There that's a good lie. He doesn't need to know that Hannah moved to Iceland a year ago.
Your dad lowers the phone, fixing you with a very solemn look.
"Honey I'm not an idiot. If you're going to smash that's fine by me as long as you're safe."
Did your ancient father just say smash? Disgust bleeds over your features.
"Excuse me?"
He enters more fully into the kitchen, hands raised in an understanding wave.
"You're going to enjoy some bumpy cuddles and that's totally fine," your dad continues over your groan of horror.
Where the hell is he picking this lingo up?
"Dad. No. Stop."
"If this is a hotline bling situation-"
You cover your ears dramatically.
"I'm begging you. Stop. I can't hear another word."
You make your way to the front door, disgusted and terrified about this altercation especially when he walks after you.
"I mean, we're both adults," your father continues. "And uh, you know I think you should know-"
"Gotta blast, dad," you almost scream as you make your way out the front door, slamming it on whatever grotesque thing he was about to say next.
///
The hotel is a nice one, that's for sure. Not the kind of place that Joel stayed at in his younger days. It's an extravagance in his opinion, but your dad insisted on it.
"You never get out of town, Joel. Stay somewhere nice, yeah?"
Your dad may be clever but he doesn't know shit. Doesn't know that Joel comes to this hotel ever ear. Doesn't know that Joel always stays in the same room.
Joel brushes his teeth carefully, tongue and all as he looks at his tired reflection in the mirror. This takeover has been a bitch for his sleep schedule.
He brings the tiny bottle of mouthwash to his lips, sipping and swishes the minty liquid before spitting it into the sink.
Joel can't remember the last time he went to so much trouble in terms of grooming. He's always freshly showered, his beard trimmed, smelling good but this extensive oral hygiene is definitely a reflection of his anxiety.
Is it anxiety? Or is it anticipation? The quaking in his lower belly doesn't really lean one way or the other.
He considers flossing when the buzz at his hip goes off, an alarm to remind him to exit down to the lobby.
He looks at his reflection in the soft grey T-shirt and dark jeans. Nothing fancy, but clean. He thinks he looks pretty damn good for his age, but you're younger and it makes him second guess the man staring back at him from the mirror.
"S'good enough," he mutters to his reflection before grabbing his room key, wallet and sliding on his shoes.
The lobby is strangely busy for this time of night. The last two weeks in the hotel have been perfectly quiet and not so busy that he had to fight to get an elevator.
But right now there are groups of people milling around, talking loudly on their cell phones, gesticulating wildly to the concierge.
Joel swings his gaze around the space, his shoes sliding over the marble floor as he tucks his hands into his jeans. He saunters through the groups of people, his dark eyes scanning the space for you.
And then suddenly there you are walking through the sliding front doors, a lemon printed bag over one shoulder and a nervous smile on your face.
He watches you glance around you, smiling politely at the others before your eyes land on Joel. You wave to him and approach timidly, hand gripping the strap of the bag like a lifeline.
"Hey," you say, your voice coming out a little more breathless than he expected. "Uh, thanks for meeting me here."
Joel notices that familiar look on your face; nervous but trying to mask it.
"This place is stunning," you add clearly trying to fill silence with your words. " I don't think I've ever been inside a hotel this fancy before."
As you gaze open-mouthed at the luxurious looking lobby around you Joel takes a moment to drink you in, seeing the lipstick you've applied, the way you've done your hair, the scent of warm vanilla on your skin.
Your skin. Joel is going to see so much of it tonight. Did you bring that delicious lingerie from the photos? Fuck he hopes so. No wait, fuck, he has to stop thinking about that because a tingling has started in his groin.
Your eyes flick to his for just a second too long, like you are reading his thoughts and Joel feels that old, familiar stir in his chest
Maybe its the quiet tension in the air or the way you're looking at him but whatever it is Joel suddenly feels unsure of himself. He takes a step back and motions towards the front desk.
"Let's go get you a room."
///
You trail after Joel a step behind and can't help but admire Joel's form as you do; the snug jeans that cradle his perfect ass, the breadth of his shoulders in the deep green flannel. He looks good.
As the two of you approach a shiny-faced man behind the desk your eyes cast around to the gorgeous decorations in the lobby. It's modern in here with sleek marble floors and chandeliers that glisten like diamonds.
You're so enraptured with your surroundings that it takes you a moment to notice that Joel is raising his voice.
“What do you mean you have no damn rooms left?”
You glance over to watch the man behind the desk (Grant according to his name tag) and how his face morphs from a practiced customer service smile into a deep frown. He types hurriedly, fingers flying across the keyboard.
Finally, with what looks like resignation he lives his rheumy eyes up to Joel.
"I'm sorry Mister Miller," Grant says with an apologetic grimace "We really are booked up solid."
Joel narrows his eyes, motion into the large foyer with his broad hand.
"How is that possible? This place is huge. I've been here two weeks and it's never been busy."
"We had a last minute wedding scheduled," Grant says shifting his eyes right to left before leaning forward and dropping his voice. "A senator's daughter."
"So?"
"So the family had the remaining rooms booked up to ensure there was accommodation for everyone flying in as well as their security."
"There must be a way to make this work," Joel says stiffly. "I'm a loyal customer."
"Yes, you are," Grant says as he runs a hand anxiously through his thinning hair. "And I wish I could be of more help."
Joel's jaw clicks irritably. He likes this hotel. Whenever he's in the area he always stays here. It's pleasant and clean and he likes the room he always books. It's comfortable and familiar during this time.
"Hey," you whisper, tugging slightly on his sleeve. He glances over at you, brows furrowed. "I have an idea."
He tilts his head as you beckon him with your hand.
"Maybe we could get a cot put in the room or something?"
Joel's fingers drum along the counter as he stares down at you, seeing the hopeful look in your expression. You've clearly been looking forward to this and that sends a flutter of anticipation through his body.
But he doesn't do sleepovers anymore. He doesn't let women stay the night. He doesn't cuddle and kiss, that's not who he is.
That's not what this is.
---
Joel's face is unreadable but you can tell that this suggested compromise upsets him. You feel crestfallen at the realization that this isn't going to happen, but it's not as if you want to cajole him.
"Nevermind," you murmur, taking a step back. "We can reschedule."
"Again Mister Miller, I am so sorry," Grant is saying, repeating it like he's a robot out of options.
You're surprised when Joel lifts a hand slightly off the desk, half shrugging at Grant.
"You can send a cot up?"
"Yes. Right away."
Joel glances over at you now, brows rising. "You sure you're okay with that?"
You nod, trying not to look over-eager. "Yeah."
"Alright," he says in a dark sotto voce voice. "Guess we just need another key for the room."
Grant nods, looking impossibly relieved as he tap something on his computer.
Joel shifts from foot to foot, clearly wanting this exchange to be over. Because that's what this is; an exchange. Not a fucking sleepover, so why are you acting like he's your date?
"Let me pay for my half of the room tonight," you insist with a smile that Joel doesn't return.
"Not necessary."
"I know, but I want to."
Because then it feels less like a date, you tell yourself. Joel shoots you a dark look sideways, heavy wrists planted on the desk as he waits for Grant to finish getting you a key.
"I'm not lettin’ you pay."
"Joel, I'm paying."
Your hand thrusts into your coat pocket for your phone, pulling it out to bring up your Apple pay.
However as you do, you bring out a handful of condoms from the pocket as well. They smack against the marble floor, causing the three of you to glance down at the colorful foil squares.
What. The. Fuck.
For a second no one moves. All eyes are on the handful of condoms that have fallen out of your jacket pocket. They sit on the floor like some tiny, shiny beacons.
Where the fuck did these come from? Why were they stashed away in your jacket and- you start as the answer becomes obvious.
Jacob. That fucking bastard.
You give a squeak of embarrassment, falling to your knees and hunching over the pile as guests walk by.
Joel's face is a mask of indifference as you crouch down and hurriedly shove the condoms back into your jacket pocket with a neck and chest so warm you could cook eggs on them.
"Lemme just get the room."
"Yep. Okay."
You drop to the ground with your face flaming, scrabbling to pick up all colorful condom wrappers that you can. You can hear people whispering nearby and you avoid everyone's gaze.
When you stand your face is throbbing with heat, the humiliation almost debilitating.
Joel finishes up with payment, the back of his neck pink. You stand just as Grant is handing Joel the extra key card.
"Let’s go,” Joel murmurs and you follow after him like a wounded puppy, unable to return Grants polite farewell.
It's not until the empty elevator that Joel speaks again.
"How many times did you think we were gonna do it?"
///
Joel swipes the key card quickly, his eyes on you when he does it. You watch the flickering of the red lights and the soft beep before turning emerald.
Joel holds the door open with one large palm, tilting his head to indicate you should enter first.
You step into the hotel room, sliding between Joel and the door, feeling flushed.
The room is spacious; the open layout designed highlighting the modern style. You gaze around, the cool air of the space mingling with the warmth of your cheeks. You're still humiliated after that moment in the elevator.
The soft glow of the minimalist lights catches the gleam of the modern decor. Everything about the room screams sophistication. The crisp white sheets on the large bed, with its pile of plush pillows, takes center stage in the room.
To the left is a sitting area with a buttery looking leather sofa, a low glass table, and a sleek armchair are all arranged neatly beneath a muted abstract painting.
You feel Joel's body coming up behind you, warmth radiating. You feel like he's staring at you.
You take a steadying breath and force your hands not to shake as you move deeper into the room.
The floor-to-ceiling windows offer an unobstructed view of the Fort Worth, its skyline stretching out in the distance in a glittering sea of lights. For a moment you're hypnotized by it.
The horizon beyond is a gradient of deep blues and purples, the last traces of sunset fading into the night.
The view is one that makes the room feel more like a private sanctuary than just a place to stay. This hotel room is nicer than your own house.
Joel clears his throat and you're brought back to the moment.
"Will this work?"
Joel stands a few steps behind you, surveying the space with a casual air.You glance over at him, trying to keep your face composed.
"It's beautiful."
"S'alright."
His smile for you tonight is relaxed but it feels like there’s something more behind it when he looks at you.
Inside the room and away from any prying eyes your face still burns with humiliation.
"The condoms aren't mine," you insist to Joel.
"Right," Joel says slowly. "You're holdin' em for a friend."
"No, my friend put them in there as a joke." You open the bag further, digging out the rest of the foil packets.
"He found out I was going on a date and this is his version of being funny which he isn't. I'm going to kill him."
Standing here in this hotel room you can’t help but feel that Joel’s presence is commanding in a way that makes your pulse flutter. You swallow, trying to calm the storm of thoughts swirling in your mind. It's just the two of you now, and suddenly, it feels like the air is too thick to breathe.
This is it. This is happening.
"So, this is where we're gonna do it."
You say it to shatter the thick quiet between you, but out loud it sounds strangled.
Joel's dry cough covers his surprised chuckle, but you wince anyway. What a stupid fucking thing to say.
You don't have to fill every awkward silence you fucking donut.
Joel's phone buzzes in his pocket and he lifts it to his ear, listening for a moment, as relieved as you are for the diversion.
"Just a sec," he murmurs to you before typing away on his phone. You watch this passively before moving your eyes around the fancy room.
"So you're a loyal customer here, huh?"
"I stay here at least once a year," Joel mumbles as he types away on his phone. "Seems pretty loyal to me."
You hide your grin from him, your eyes moving around the space as you saunter around. You notice the small suitcase in the corner of the room sitting on its side.
In curiosity you turn to the glossy black dresser and tug the top drawer open. Your nose wrinkles when you see it's empty.
"You've been here for two weeks?"
"Mhmm."
"Where's all your stuff?"
Joel looks up from his phone to blink at you in confusion before pointing to the suitcase in the corner.
"In there."
"You didn't unpack this whole time?"
Joel places his phone face down on the table, brows rising.
"Huh? Why would I do that?"
"Because unpacking is the best part of staying in a hotel," you insist. "I always unpack even if it's just overnight."
"Why?"
"Why not?" You challenge, hefting your bag onto the dresser. You unzip it, pulling out your bathing suit. "Feels fun I guess."
Joel is at your side in an instant, peering into the drawer as you begin to unpack.
"Why the hell did you bring a bathing suit?"
"This hotel has a pool."
“So?”
"Well, I like swimming," you say both embarrassed and indignant. Joel's body is near yours and his voice is dripping with honey.
"Thought you'd have a lot of free time tonight? Gonna come for me and then go for a dip?"
Your brain buffers as you fight to maintain the strength in your legs. Something about the casual way he speaks about what's to happen has your body turning to jelly. You manage to glance over your shoulder at him, throat bobbing.
"I....I...uh..."
Joel's smirk is subtle, but you don't miss it. He's doing this to fuck with you, to get you on edge. You spin from him, forcing your pulse to slow with deep breaths.
"Figured I was already getting wet."
You smile victoriously to yourself when Joel chuckles behind you before he moves to the window.
"Do you come here a lot?"
"Sometimes."
"But not for work," you say with a crooked smile. "I'd remember booking a conference or meeting at a place this fancy for you and my dad."
"S'not for work," Joel says, slipping his phone into his pocket. "Are we gonna-"
"So you come here to watch tv and get room service?" You continue to tease. "Or... Do you bring your dates here?"
A sharp look from Joel drains the amusement from your face. A look that says volumes. Quit pushing. The room, previously warm now feels bitterly cold. If you linger in this awkward moment you’re going to back out. So instead you flash a smile and grab your bag.
"Well, I don’t want to take up your whole evening. Do you mind if I change?"
The chill is gone from his eyes. "Go for it."
You slip into the bathroom quickly, your face heated. You had foolishly assumed that this whole venture would be a lot less embarrassing after the things you've already done. But now thinking of Joel seeing every part of you naked terrifies you.
You try not to think about it as you change into your lingerie, straps slapping against your skin. When everything is in its place you look at the mirror above the counter, twirling to see yourself from all angles. You look good, but will Joel think that? Photos are one thing, you can use good angles and lighting. But tonight he’ll be able to see cellulite and all your other imperfections.
Would he be okay with the lights off?
Or maybe you could do it like the Mormons do through a hole in a bed sheet?
Wait, do they actually do that?
You brush your hair and ponder this question until you need to know. And if you don’t sate this curiosity you’re going to be distracted. Sitting on the closed lid of the toilet you open your phone furtively, your fingers flying across the letters as you type into Google.
Do Mormons actually have sex through a hole in a sheet?
A few links pop up and your forefinger hovers over the first blue link. A young woman with blonde curls looks at the camera in exasperation. You're so focused on the task at hand that when Joel knocks on the door you're startled.
"You okay in there?"
Your phone falls to the floor and from the speakers comes the loud voice of the woman.
"I'm so sick of people saying we fuck through a hole in a sheet!"
You can hear Joel shift from foot to foot. "Huh?"
"I'm just fine!" You all but shriek, slamming your phone buttons frantically. "Everything is fine. Two minutes!"
Your phone continues to blast the sound.
"We have sex just like everyone else! Naked!"
You finally tap the volume button enough for the phone to go silent. The entire room is quiet and you pause, hearing Joel shuffle over the carpet.
You take another look at yourself in the mirror, inhaling. You look good, you need to stop comparing yourself to a Hadid sister- even they don't look like their magazine covers.
You walk over to the closed door, exhaling slowly. You're ready.
"Joel?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you undressed?"
"I can be."
You smile to yourself, nodding at the door. "Yes please."
You hear the rustling of fabric, movement over the carpet and then quiet.
"Okay."
There's a beeping noise, the phone for the consent video. Something about it makes your body tense.
"Joel, can you face away from the door?"
You cringe at your question, feeling so out of place it's humiliating. How are you so bad at this? The other men you slept with never made you anxious like this.
Because they were boys and Joel is a man.
The answer is there without even having to think about it. Not only is he your dad's best friend, he is older than you, more experienced, gentle and calm. Where as you are harried and anxious.
If it was any of the other young men you'd been with in the past on the other side of the door you doubt they would give you this much patience.
"Uh ... Sure."
A beat passes and you reach for the door handle. A deep exhale in and you're stepping through the threshold, eyes scanning the darkened room.
He faces away from you as promised, typing on his phone. You can see from where you stand that it's a contact for the buyout. Does the man ever stop working?
You take advantage of his distraction to observe the navy blue boxers briefs he wears, taking in how they hug his ass, his strong thighs on display.
From this angle you see just how wide his shoulders are, tapering into his waist, giving him the appearance of someone not only strong but beautiful as well, with a face that makes it feel like he was carved from stone.
You want to touch him, to feel that smooth golden skin of his back under your fingertips. But you feel frozen in place, body hunched in shy insecurity.
"Uh, okay, I'm good to do this if you are."
Joel turns around at the sound of your voice, fumbling with his phone. His dark eyes slide to your body in curiosity but his expression turns from intrigued to turned-on almost instantly, drinking you in your lingerie up like he's parched.
"Damn."
And there it is, every insecurity, every fear vanishes as Joel's cock immediately tents his pants. His phone, previously held at his side is raised almost violently. You hear the beep of the video starting.
"Say you consent," Joel all but growls. "Be specific."
Joel's cock twitches in his boxers, you actually see it and your body flushes with heat.
"I consent to sex with you," you whisper hungrily, looking at Joel instead of the camera. "Full sex. Penetration."
He throws the phone to the bed, not caring when it bounces off and falls onto the floor.
You meet him halfway to the bed, your body buzzing with excitement. You're so turned on at the sight of him stalking towards you that you almost giggle. His fingers twitch palms raising only to fall back several times. Like he doesn't know where to start with you, like he doesn't know where to touch first.
"Wrapped up like a present for me," he murmurs with a soft laugh as he scans you. "Fuckin' perfect."
You can't help but preen under his words. Joel Miller says exactly the right things to get you aroused.
"You wanna lay on the bed?"
You nod, following him over to the large plush king. You toss back the white blanket, burrowing underneath it as Joel does the same.
"It's so comfy," you say smiling.
"Mhmm."
Joel slides closer to you in the bed as you take the sheets between your fingers and rub.
"Bet it has a really high thread count."
He's propped himself up on one arm, the other moving between the two of you. "Mhmm."
"I need to get some sheets like-"
He's on you, fingers at your hips, pulling you a little closer to him, your hips touching under the sheets. He's so hard you can feel him throbbing through his boxer briefs.
"Okay," you whisper, your eyes stuck on his plump lips as you arch back slightly. "Let's get down to it."
He pulls back, brows knitting together, eyes narrowing. "Down to it?"
"The fucking," you say, propping yourself up on your elbows. Obviously.
"That's not how I do things," Joel explains slowly.
You don't know how to explain to Joel that you don't want it to feel too intimate. The slow seduction he likely wants to employ is too much for you.
"It's just... I want to ..." You search for the words, getting flustered under Joel's watching eyes. "I don't want to take up too much of your time. I know you're doing this as a favor."
You force yourself not to look down the length of his broad torso. His head tilts, trying to catch your gaze.
"Look at me."
Your eyes slide upwards to see him looking at you with concern.
"I'm in no rush. We have the whole evening if you want." He cocks his head. "And it's not gonna be very fun if you're not wet-"
"I'm wet," you interrupt like an eager student. "Very wet."
The second that sentence leaves your mouth you feel your body go up in flames. Did you really just say that? You were so excited to show how ready you were but now you think you might have sounded unhinged.
The reaction Joel gives you is equally unexpected. Instead of amusement or even disgust, his eyes seem to darken, trailing over your body.
"Oh yeah?"
Those dark brown orbs slide down your body. You feel them hitch at your breasts before sinking lower, falling to the sheets that cover your lower half.
"Y-yeah."
He looks hypnotized, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. "Why's that?"
"What do you mean?"
"How come you're already so very wet?" He mimics lowly.
You swallow, your body feeling taut as Joel draws closer. It's now or never. What do you have to lose by being honest?
"Because I'm excited," you breathe. "Because I've been thinking about this for weeks."
"Thinkin’ about how I'm gonna make you come?" He purrs. His voice is so low it scrapes the floor.
"Mhmm."
You see the hesitation flicker across his face for only a moment.
"I don't wanna intimidate you, but I'm not small," Joel says quietly, not as a brag, more a concern.
"That's okay. I figured."
Joel smothers a grin at your bluntness.
"But that means I gotta open you up first. I gotta make you feel good and relaxed I have any chance making you come,'" he tells you huskily. "Which means you gotta be drippin'."
Everything in your body tightens. That syrupy Texan drawl has your pussy starting to throb. You can't reply to him, can only stare at him from under heavily hooded eyes.
You feel his calloused fingers start to trail down your abdomen, warm and heavy.
"Are you drippin' yet?" His eyes flick up to your now, molten chocolate. "Should I check?"
You can only blink at him, your body coiled in anticipation. Yes. Please check. You manage a shallow nod.
He's so close you can see the flecks of honey in his eyes. He moves his face a little closer, the warmth of his exhale landing on your upper lip. A part of you panics.
“No kissing-“
"I remember," he says unbothered. His mouth continues its travels, damp lips meeting your collarbone, and you feel yourself deflate at how easily he agrees.
The truth is you would love to kiss Joel right now; you would love to feel if those lips are just as plush as they look.
But you know yourself, you know that there's too much intimacy in the act. And while Joel may be able to separate and compartmentalize those parts of his life, you have a feeling you just haven't yet acquired those skills.
Your head tilts back to give him better access, your breasts swelling in your lingerie with the movement.
"Tell me what you like," he says between kisses to your throat, his hand still firmly placed on your hip. "Tell me what gets you wet, just in case."
Steam all but comes out your ears at that comment. He raises his head, arching a brow in curiosity when you don't reply. You don't have to be embarrassed with him. This is what he signed up for.
"I like it when you talk," you say gently, lips dry as he stares at you. "When you talk like on the phone... Dirty stuff."
"Dirty stuff," Joel repeats before he exhales through his nose slowly. You don't miss the darkening of his gaze.
"Like how hard I am right now and you haven't even touched me?"
"Y-yes," you whisper.
"Like how I've been fucking my hand imagining you in this slutty little outfit for weeks?"
What? Is that true? Or is he just saying what he knows you want to hear?
Does it matter?
Joel's eyes are shiny black marbles now, cheeks flushed, looking fucked out before he's even touched you. You can only whimper as you nod and Joel returns it with a half grin. His gaze moves to take in your breasts through the transparent gauze.
His large hand moves over your breast, drawing down the cup just like he instructed you to do weeks before as you lay on your bed.
"I can't wait to put my mouth on these," he says, almost dazed.
He watches your nipple pucker as it's exposed. He drags a wide thumb over the nub, hearing your shaky inhale and watching it tighten further.
He makes a groaning noise in the back of his throat before his mouth descends. First he licks the tip, a quick flick before his lips latch around and begin to suck.
Your body arches aggressively off the bed.
"Fuck!"
Joel grunts, his body gently pressing against yours. "Relax."
You fall backwards, head hitting the pillow eagerly. He hovers above you to one side, the back of his fingers slowly moving down your abdomen. You shiver at the delightful sensation.
His eyes snap to yours, eager to see your reaction to his every touch. His fingernails graze the top of your panties and your breathing elevates. You're drowning in his dark eyes, fascinated that they look nearly black. Do yours look the same?
He smells so good, his body so warm it could almost lull you into sleep if everything in you wasn't humming with arousal.
"Feel nice?"
You nod. Your eyes remain locked as his wide fingers run themselves over the top of your thighs, mesmerizing you.
Joel sees the sudden saddle of your brows, raising his own in question. "What?"
"This is so... Intense," you whisper.
"Close your eyes," Joel murmurs. "Might help."
You nod thankfully at the advice, eyes shuttering closed as you feel Joel's fingers pick up again, placing themselves to rest on your inner thigh, drawing small circles there. You melt into the mattress, going boneless.
Then his mouth is at your ear, his low and honeyed. "Tell me how it feels."
"G-good," you mutter, swallowing. "Really good."
He gives a hum of approval and you feel those same wide fingers moving up, thumb stroking the crease of your thigh, edging the lips of your pussy.
For some reason it puts everything in sharp perspective. You're here with Joel Miller. Your dad's best friend. Your employer. He doesn't actually have real feelings for you; you don't have real feelings for him. It's all so... Weird.
And he must be able to feel the warmth of your sex through these lace panties. The overwhelming slick. It's embarrassing how wet you are. You might actually be dripping. The thought makes your face heat and you flinch.
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing."
His fingers are gone, his body tilting back. You feel the warmth seep from your body like ink on parchment and your eyes fly open.
"Why did you stop?"
"Because you look like you're headin' for the guillotine," Joel says.
He draws his lips together until they're bloodless, squeezing his eyes until they disappear. Then he relaxes his face once more. "That's what you looked like."
"I'm fine."
"Don't lie. I do somethin' to upset you? I push you?"
"No. Not at all," you insist with a shake of your head, horrified he'd think that.
"Then what is it?"
How can you phrase it?
"I think.... I think I've just realized I'm not someone who can just jump into having sex with someone."
The word sounds so stark in the quiet and you feel your face flush with embarrassment. You look down at your feet, curling your toes against the sheets.
"S' let's start with something else," Joel says with a shrug.
Your eyes dart to his face, full of awe. "Really?"
"'Course. This isn't gonna work if you're not into it," he shrugs again as if this is common knowledge. "So what do you feel like doing?"
"It's stupid."
"I'm sure it's not," Joel says shifting on the bed. "What do you wanna do more than anything right now?"
He watches your face as you consider the question, your expression turning gleeful.
"I wanna go swimming."
///
Joel exits the hotel shop and into the lobby swinging a bag at his side. Inside is his new pair of swimming trunks. You wave at him, two striped towels tucked up under your arm, your hotel robe cinched.
"I'm so glad it was still open," you say in relief.
"Caught ‘em just before they closed," Joel tells you as the two of you head for the pool.
This is definitely not what he had in mind when he asked what you wanted to do. He'd been expecting talking or an in room massage, not a trip to the fucking pool.
Moments later Joel eases himself into the pool, flinching at the cold as it creeps up his body.
Joel doesn't exactly know how he's going to parlay this chilly water into a sexual act back in the room. It's really doing the opposite of stoking the fires of lust - the water is so cold he feels like his balls are inside his body.
"Is it freezing?"
Joel's eyes flicker toward you as you step out into the pool room, your bikini catching his attention.
"S' alright, he says casually, his voice a little rougher than he intended, his eyes tracing your movements as you step to the edge of the pool.
You seem oblivious to his staring, shooting him a polite smile. He's hypnotized with the sway of your hips, the subtle sexuality you exude.
He doesn't mean to gawk but it's hard not to when you're standing there looking so fucking luscious. He swallows, his mind racing for something else to focus on.
The lustful moment is shattered however, as you take a running leap towards the lip of the pool before jumping into the deep end your arms around your calves.
"Canon Ball!"
You hit the water and make a decent splash. Joel sputters on a mouthful of pool water as you break the surface, giggling to yourself.
"I haven't done that since I was a kid!"
Joel doesn't reply, just scowls and goes treading away from you, starting to do some laps.
You don't notice, you're too busy swimming along, looking serene. He watches you bob in the water, noticing how your breasts bounce deliciously in your swimsuit when you move.
He continues to slice through the water, trying to keep his focus on the movements of his shoulders, his arms, his legs.
But even with all that effort seductive, uninvited, images remain distracting him.
Your nipples are hard in there, he notices the shadow of the buds in the fabric. He hopes you don't catch the way his gaze lingers, the way he has to will his mind away from the temptation.
But it's too late. He's hard. So fucking hard he has to bite back a groan as he swims.
For the next thirty minutes the two of you enjoy the entire empty pool to yourselves. Joel does his laps, you do your diving and floating.
"Thank you so much for this."
Joel stops his movements, breathing raggedly as he hears your voice echoing off the tiles. He's been pushing himself hard, desperate to kill his erection.
But now you’re paddling over to him and it feels like everything in his body suddenly just turned up a notch.
"I used to go swimming all the time," you tell him with a grin, unaware of how his fingernails dig into his palms. "My mom would take me."
Joel nods, unsure of what to say as he stares into your face. Your lashes are clumped together from the water, your hair glossy. Your expression is brighter than usual, your attitude more carefree.
He tries to act natural, like this doesn’t affect him, like he hasn't noticed the way your presence shifts the air around him.
He clears his throat, moving a little too stiffly, pretending he's more interested in the hot tub than you.
"Gonna hit the hot tub."
He's more than thankful when you tell him you're going to shower, wrapping the towel around you and heading to the changing rooms.
At least now he doesn't have to hide his hard on.
///
The two of you pad back to the hotel room, hair dripping, hotel robes cinched and feeling much more relaxed. You showered in the pools spa room, amazed at the ointments and gels and soaps they had. You feel incredibly pampered. Joel must have done the same because he smells like aloe and spicy soap.
Once back inside the room you see the small cot resting near the end of the king bed. It looks like something out of a sad camping video. But oh well, you’ll make do.
You lower the bag holding your swim stuff, glancing over at Joel. He has a curious look on his face, both intense and luminous.
Then all at once he’s crossing the room, coming to stand in front of you, taking your breath away when his fingers land on the sash of your robe. He’s taking charge and you’re so thankful to him for it. His face is close to yours, eyes dropping to your mouth.
And then, like the traitor your body is, your stomach chooses that moment to gurgle.
Loudly.
So loudly Joel pauses what he’s doing to look at you. “You hungry?”
“Nope.”
The truth is you're starving. You are so anticipating tonight that you couldn't manage to swallow down anything on your drive over. But now you're paying the price as your stomach sticks to your spine.
Joel does that thing, the arch of his brow combined with the slight crooked tic of his jaw. It's a face that tells you to quit your bullshit without having to say a word. You raise one shoulder, chin grazing it.
"Well, maybe a little."
Joel's smirk is barely suppressed as he reaches for the menu next to the phone.
"I'm gonna hit the shower. You order us some dinner. Burger and beer for me."
///
Joel can hear you talking quietly with room service over the running shower and tries to stifle the groan building in his throat.
He's been quietly stroking his cock for the last five minutes, desperate to be quiet. He was leaking by the time he hit the water and he hasn't stopped touching himself since.
How am I gonna explain a second shower in fifteen minutes?
One hand is palm flat on the expensive marble tiles, the other fisted around his cock, stroking feverishly.
He wasn't expecting to be this hard. He wasn't expecting that just the promise of seeing you naked gonna get him so hard he was worried about creaming his jeans. He hadn't done that since he was a teenager.
You're even sexier in person, lower lip swollen and damp from you biting it nervously, the sheen of your skin from the lotion, the sweet scent of your perfume. No lingerie could be better than that. No photo could do that justice.
“They said ten minutes!” your voice calls from the other side of the door, causing him to drop his cock like he’s been caught shoplifting.
He rinses off, towel drying his hair as he comes to stand in front of the mirror.
"Get your shit together," he tells his flushed reflection.
///
A half hour later with the remnants of your meals on the large table of the room, the two of you sit across from one another in you fuzzy robes, your hair air-drying wildly.
“And now I’m stuck having to plan the damn company BBQ,” you tell him draining your wineglass. “I hate those things.”
“You and me both,” Joel nods, taking a pull from his half-empty beer. “I don’t know when everyone decided that workplaces and coworkers had to be some damn second family. I miss the days of going to work, working and goin’ home.”
“I mean, I enjoy having co-workers I really like,” you admit, eyes sparkling. “I just hate the forced frivolity of some events.”
Joel nods, his dark eyes distant. You lapse into silence, finishing the rest of your wine and feeling pleasantly buzzed. Maybe that’s the reason you can’t stop looking at the hollow at the base of Joel’s lean neck.
“I meant to ask, what do you think of Tess?”
“She’s fine.”
You cock your head. “And the truth?”
“I don’t trust her,” Joel says flatly.
He wouldn’t normally say this to you, not to his receptionist, not to his best friend’s daughter. But you feel different tonight, like the two of you are just people without a tied past. He leans into it, enjoying how relaxed it makes him feel.
You grin, shaking your head. “Men. So intimidated by a capable woman.”
“That isn’t it,” Joel defends. “You’re a very capable woman and I’m not intimidated at all. It’s that there’s something about Tess that just doesn’t sit right. I feel it in here.”
His fingers touch over the belt of his robe and your eyes linger. But all you can hear is you’re a very capable woman.
You’re a very capable woman.
You never really thought Joel saw you like that. The thought makes you smile goofily to yourself.
“What’s so funny?”
You look up at him, features smoothing. “Nothing. Nothing is funny.”
He stares at you for a beat and then surprises you by pushing his seat back, away from the table. His legs widen under his robe and you marvel at how big he looks in that chair, how imposing he can look even while wearing a hotel robe.
“Come sit here,” he says quietly, tilting his head to his lap.
“Like…on your lap?”
“Mhmm.”
“… Okay.”
You stand warily, sliding over to perch on the end of his lap, feeling like a ventriloquists dummy on the knee of your puppeteer. He slides a muscled arm around your waist, tugging you backwards. You yelp, back slamming into his front, your thighs widening over one of his.
“Relax.”
His large palms slide up and down your upper arms, his eyes scanning your face. You think he must be assessing if you still want this. And you do, your skin feverish where Joel's hands move over you, even through the robe.
“You know what your problem is?”
Not exactly the dirty talk you were hoping for.
You glance over your shoulder at him, seeing the amusement in his face. “What?”
“You’re too in there,” he says, gently tapping your temple. “We need to get you here.”
His wide hand goes to your abdomen, right over the belt of your robe. He presses there gently and you find yourself breathless.
“So that’s what we’re gonna do,” he murmurs, arms wrapped around you from behind, deft fingers coming to untie the belt of your robe. He works quickly, the hotel room quiet and dark, but not in an oppressive way.
You can only stare as the robe is tugged open, in some sort of trance as your breasts are slowly exposed to the air. You’re bare everywhere but the panties you wear, skin glossy from the lotion in the spa. Your nipples tighten from both the air and anticipation.
Joel’s mouth is at your ear, his breathing soft and warm.
“You just close your eyes and you feel how good it can be,” he whispers, hypnotizing you with his voice and his touch. Joel breathes deeply through his nose, his wide hands slowly sliding up your middle before coming to cup your breasts from behind.
He hefts their weight in his hand, swallowing a groan as you whine his name. He presses more tightly against you and you feel him there; hard and throbbing at the apex of your thighs as his plump mouth continues to sponge kisses along your shoulder, moving upward.
“Just relax. I’m gonna take care of you.”
Your eyes close as you give yourself over to the sensation of his mouth leaving wet kisses along the back of your neck, the rumble of his voice against your skin. His fingers begin pinching the straining nubs of your nipples making you arch, the back of your head falling against his shoulder.
“Just feel,” he orders as he kneads your breasts, his voice scratchy. “Can you do that for me?”
“Yes,” you breathe, your brain already emptying itself of every other thought.
He licks over your jugular and you whimper, hips rolling. Through the fabric of your panties your clit rasps against his upper thigh and you shudder.
It feels so good.
You do it again, rubbing against him and Joel isn't immune to the way your breathing elevates, his greedy eyes taking in the way you're starting to grind against his thigh. Joel makes a soft grunting noise and you feel as his fingers skim under the waist of your panties
You don’t hesitate or jump when his fingers slide along the seam of your pussy, parting you to splay over your clit. His middle finger slides down, finding you so wet that he groans along with you.
“You are drippin’,” he says huskily.
You can’t even answer you’re so needy. You just nod wildly, your hands on either side of the chair arms for balance as your cunt chases his fingers.
His fingers rub gently at first and you feel him smile against your shoulder when your hips roll.
“She likes that,” he observes before you start to rut against his fingers wantonly.
His free hand slides down from your breast, coming to curl over your hip.
“You’re gonna come for me right here.”
Like this? Sitting in his lap on a chair? Now you panic. "I've never-"
"You can do it," Joel promises, his voice breathless his fingers start to circle your clit. "I know you can.”
Your protestations die on your lips as you slide against his fingers, gasping when you feel one slip into your waiting hole. He sinks in knuckle deep, finding no resistance thanks to your copious arousal. He adds a second finger, gratified when you begin to keen.
Joel shifts slightly and you feel his hard cock brush against your thigh. But he makes no move to touch it or have you do so. Instead he curls his fingers within you, his chin coming to rest over your shoulder.
“Fuck, look at her,” he says gazing down the length of your body to where his fingers disappear into your sex. “She’s cryin’ for me.”
Jesus H Christ.
He’s not wrong though. You’re so wet it’s coating his fingers, giving off soft squelching noises every time he withdraws and then sinks his fingers into you again. You buck in response, breasts bouncing as you begin to ride his fingers.
“Ride 'em,” he growls against your jaw. “Take what you need.”
Something in your lower belly is coiling. Something electric that causes your breath to hitch. Something warm and heavy and…
You’re going to come.
How is this possible? How are you already on the precipice? You’ve never gotten this close this fast. And never by another person.
“Joel… Joel I’m…”
"That's right pretty girl," he groans, his bicep flexing under your grip as his fingers continue to pump in and out of you. "You come on my fingers like a good girl and I'll give you my cock."
Pretty girl. Cock. Good girl. Fuck. Cock. Biceps. So sexy. So hot. I'm so wet. Pretty girl. Joel.
It’s like Joel hits all the right buttons, mapping your body with every micro expression you wear, ever subtle shift of your body. He studies you and he moves so with such confidence it’s like he knows your body better than you do.
"Just like that," he encourages you, his smile beaming. His hands grip your hips, urging you to grind harder. "Fuck, come just like that."
And you do, body twitching, mouth slack as you moan out his name. You explode like a berry bursting in the summer heat; warm and violent and beautiful in its intensity.
Joel can only gape at you as your body rolls, your head heavy against his shoulder as a cry of his name pierces the quiet hotel room, sharp and plaintive.
You shudder for several minutes, both of you catching your breath. Your body sags against him, the back of your head still resting on his shoulder.
“Why the chair?” you ask suddenly, breathing slowing. "Why facing away?"
“I think a bed and having someone watching you intimidates you,” he answers with a half-yawn. “Figured if we tried somewhere new it might work.”
“Well, you were right.”
The two of you chuckle softly. You’re surprised when Joel shrugs your robe back over your shoulders, giving you back your modesty.
Your eyes glance over your shoulder and lock with Joel's. You see the hunger there in the mahogany depths and you shiver.
You know what he must be expecting next and you stand shakily, making your way over to the bed. You collapse onto your back, looking at Joel still seated in the chair just watching you.
You want to fuck him, you really do. It's just that after swimming and food and coming... you're a little fatigued.
"I just need a quick nap," you murmur, sated and sleepy. “Then we can do it.”
Joel smiles over at you, feeling strangely endeared by your shuttering eyes.
"That's fine," he says as you slump against the pillows. “We don’t have to do anything else tonight.”
Your brows crumple. “But the list-”
"You came didn't you?”
He holds a chuckle in at your grin, your eyes fully closed. "Yeah. You're right. Half-check it off."
Your eyes are closed so you miss the self-satisfied smirk on Joel's face as he internally congratulates himself. You came twice for him, a woman who’s never been able to come with anything but her own stimulation.
He grins before yawning so wide his jaw cracks. He too is feeling the pull for sleep, the night having gone on much longer than he anticipated. Not that he’s complaining. Watching you come while riding his fingers is going to be stored in his spank bank until his dying days.
He watches your eyes shutter and he prepares to rise, to remind you that your bed is the cot. He stops his ascent when he sees your body relax, your sleeping becoming long and low. You’re out cold.
He looks at the small cot at the end of the bed and debates his options a moment. He can’t comfortably fit there. And he can’t just wake you out of a dead sleep to force you onto it. It seems weirdly rude after what just happened.
So he shrugs off his robe, clad in just his boxer briefs. After a moment’s pause looking down at your sleeping form he goes to the suitcase and tugs on a white t-shirt before settling down beside you.
He takes a moment to watch your face smoothed in sleep, the plump of your lips as your cheek is squashed against the pillow. He has the strangest desire to run his fingertips along your lower one but he stops himself.
He turns off the light, facing away from you and setting the alarm on his phone. He’s surprised when he feels your body rolling towards him, cuddling up against his back. His body tightens, eyes blowing wide in the dark.
It's too intimate, he tells himself as he feels your body against his. You make a soft snuffling sound before growing quiet again, your breathing steady.
I should push her away.
I should…
But sleep has come for Joel, silencing any remaining doubts.
Chapter Summary: To celebrate taking a step forward in your relationship and moving in together, Joel charters a yacht for the night. He couldn't possibly have an ulterior motive, right?
Chapter Warnings: language, reader has a strained relationship with her parents, smut (18+ MDNI), fluff, unprotected piv sex, oral sex f! and m!receiving, multiple orgasms, reader has at least shoulder length hair, food and alcohol consumption
WC: 7.7K
Series Masterlist
"Reschedule it for next week. I made a promise."
Seven days never flew by so fast.
Joel had been pacing around his house like a caged animal all morning. It was Saturday, but he still took a few work calls just as a distraction. It didn't help much. He found his hand drifting to his pocket every two minutes where a flawless diamond ring in an expensive box was kept.
A couple months prior he had woke up early with you curled up against his side. There wasn't anything particularly exceptional about that day. It was a workday, he remembered that much. It was raining, which was unusual for Los Angeles. But on that day he woke up and looked at you sleeping so peacefully in his bed and it hit him out of nowhere: he wanted to wake up like that for the rest of his life. He had never felt more certain about anything.
He quickly ran into a problem, however. You technically already had an engagement ring. One that was used as a prop, although a very fucking real and very fucking expensive prop, back when you first met and accompanied him to Fiji. He had hired you through a dating agency that specialized in catering to higher end clients like himself. His needs were slightly unusual, however. He had wanted you to pose as his fiancée with the stipulation you weren't to breathe a word about your fake arrangement to anybody in order to win over a real estate tycoon and bid for the last parcel of land on the island.
Behind closed doors, you had your separate rooms.
It was temporary. It was only supposed to be one month and he would never see you again.
It made him laugh now to think about it. He didn't stand a chance. You had him hooked from the moment you stepped into his office with your quick wit and no-bullshit attitude. It took him a while to accept it, but once he did, he never looked back.
When you returned from the island, Joel insisted you keep the ring, which you'd worn on your right hand ever since. He went back and forth over it for weeks. Should he get you a new ring, or should he use the old one and propose to you properly?
He was going to let you decide. Either way, they were both yours, which he anticipated fielding an argument over as you still struggled to adjust to your new, lavish lifestyle with him.
As he looked out the window at the moving truck and two cars puttering up the long driveway, he wondered if he should have spaced things out a little for your benefit. Asking you to marry him on the same day you were moving into his home might be a lot for you to handle all at once. But then he saw you step out of your beat up car, one he planned to replace as soon as possible, and smiled at the excitement written on your face.
He was about to step away and go downstairs to greet you when he saw your mother and father step out of the second car. He froze for a moment, an unexpected jolt of nerves rocking through his chest. He hadn't met your parents before and when you told them you would be moving in together, they suddenly decided to drop everything and travel all the way from Tennessee to help you pack your things.
You thought it was a nice gesture given your delicate relationship with them, but he knew better. They were worried about you and they wanted to make sure he wasn't some psycho coming along to take advantage of their only daughter.
He didn't blame them one bit and he suspected he would behave similarly when Sarah met somebody one day. But he knew how he came off to people. He had a tendency to be gruff and a little cold. It was the by-product of a few horribly failed relationships, as well as years and years of cutthroat business deals. Anyone would have to be hardened to get to where he was in his career.
Still, he intended on making a good impression. These were your parents and, hopefully, his future in-laws. He wouldn't let anything screw this up.
"Honey?"
"In here, Mom!" you called from Joel's master bathroom. Your master bathroom now.
Your mother appeared in the doorway, eyes bugging out of her head when she took in the sizable room. A crystal clear glass shower that could easily fit two people, something you and Joel had already proven more than once, sat in one corner with a built in granite bench and custom tile walls imported from Italy. In the opposite corner was a massive claw foot tub that sat in front of a huge window overlooking the breathtaking ocean view from Joel's backyard. Currently, you sat on the floor in front of the double sinks built into the white marble countertop going through your boxes of toiletries.
"My goodness," your mom breathed with a hand pressed gently against her chest. "Why on earth would he have a tub right in front of a window? Anybody could see you bathing!"
"It's one sided," you giggled. "You can see out but no one can see in."
Her face relaxed and she took a step into the room, making a surprised little noise when she felt the warmth emanating from the tile floor.
"It's heated," you explained before she could ask. She nodded slowly and continued to look around in awe.
"I see."
You could hear her tone, a tone you had grown too familiar with your whole life. She wasn't pleased.
"What's wrong?" you asked, setting down your bags of makeup so you could give her your full attention. She bit her lip nervously before quickly shutting the bathroom door and joining you on the ground.
"Don't you think all this is a little... much?"
You frowned. "Much?"
"This lifestyle is what I mean. This isn't you, honey," your mom said with a soothing squeeze of your arm.
"No, but I'm getting used to it," you said defensively. "This is what Joel is used to and I love him. It doesn't bother me so much, it's just an adjustment."
"He's got a whole staff to tend to this place," she continued with a low voice. "I saw a gardener and a pool boy. Don't tell me he has a maid, too."
"Well, yeah, he does-"
Your mother's jaw dropped with a disbelieving snort.
"He can't pick up after himself?"
"He doesn't have to! He's paying someone to do it for him! Besides, he's very busy. He works long hours every day to afford all this. Why should he-"
"It humbles a person to be able to cook and clean for themselves," your mother said firmly. "It builds character."
"Mom," you whined, "it's different out here and you know it. This isn't Tennessee. Most homes have some hired help, it's just how it is."
"Well, I was just envisioning a different life for my only child, don't come for my head about it," she huffed while straightening her skirt.
"No one's coming for your head, I'm just trying to explain how people live out here. It's different but I really like it. And most of all, I'm happy. I love Joel, Mom, more than anything. And he loves me, too. He treats me well, he cares for me... he's a good man," you finished softly. Your parents never liked the idea of you moving to the west coast with your best friend, Celine, for college. It unknowingly deepened the rift between you and them that you had been trying to mend for years.
"Well, I suppose he does seem rather charming. He has nice manners, at least," she sighed. You thought back to the lunch the four of you had shared not an hour earlier, finding it surprising that your mother found something nice to say about Joel at all given the uncomfortable atmosphere. To his credit, Joel really tried. He asked your parents about their jobs and their church. He even shared some stories about himself, trying to find some common ground, but your parents hardly offered anything in return and it irked you.
"Then why were you and Dad so stand-offish during lunch?" you asked pointedly.
"We were not-"
"Yes, you were," you argued back before she could lie. "I was sitting right there. Why don't you like Joel, Mom?"
She sighed and looked around the ornate bathroom again before floating her hands in the air.
"We just aren't used to all this, sweetie. It's a lot for us. Your father feels uncomfortable around all of this... grandeur."
"Well, do you think you can try a little harder? For me?" you asked, sounding exasperated. "All of this stuff shouldn't matter as long as I'm happy, right?"
After a beat, she slowly nodded.
"You're right. I'm sorry. I'll talk to your father."
"Thank you," you breathed with a small smile. "Now, can you please help me with the last of these boxes?"
She grinned and pulled the last one over to open it up. "Of course," she said, then made a face at the way everything inside was tossed about. "You're lucky none of these things are broken. You pack like a maniac, honey."
You laughed and pushed yourself onto your knees to get a better look inside the box.
"Well, guess it's a good thing you and Dad helped out with the important stuff."
"That reminds me, the boxes for your office are still in the foyer. Dad packed all of that for you," she said while taking out a few bottles of shampoo. "You know him, properly organizing everything. He's retired but he's still labeling and sorting everything in the house like he's working a case." Your father, a recently retired police detective, always had an attention to detail. "He said your important looking work documents were all in one box he marked fragile."
"Oh, great, thank you. I think Joel's still having one of the bedrooms converted into an office space for me so I'll have to ask him where to store it for now," you said, pausing when your mother gave you a look.
"One of the bedrooms?" she repeated. "How many does he need?"
"Mom! You said you'd try!"
"You're right, you're right, I'm sorry," she said with a light laugh. Then she stood with an armful of items. "Where should I put all this?"
"That door right there is a walk-in linen closet."
You noticed her eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the spacious linen closet, but you let it go. Your relationship with them was still a little rocky and you didn't want to press the matter. She said she and your father would try to get used to Joel's lifestyle, so you had to give her time to follow through on her promise.
Your parents left for the airport in the late afternoon. After your tense conversation with your mother, you were ashamed to admit you were a little relieved that their visit had come to an end. But when you saw both your mom and dad give Joel a hug before they left, you softened up a bit, even if their hugs were a little stiff. They promised they would try and that was all you could ask for, even though Joel didn't deserve to be treated unfairly in the slightest. As their car disappeared down the winding driveway, you had visions of all the ways you could make it up to him, but then he surprised you with some unexpected plans.
"You chartered a yacht?" you exclaimed. "Why? To mark the occasion?"
Joel thought about it for half a second.
"Yeah. I wanted to celebrate," he said smoothly while sliding his hands around your waist. "We got it overnight so pack a small bag."
You squealed with delight and grabbed his face to pull him down for a quick kiss. When you turned to hurry back inside, he swatted you lightly on the ass, making you yelp and then giggle your way up the stairs towards your shared bedroom.
The marina was absolutely beautiful at sunset. The last golden rays from the sun reflected off the water as you approached, spreading flashes of deep purples, pinks and greens across the horizon. Joel had insisted on driving you both himself, something that surprised you but you shrugged off, assuming he wanted to allow his driver, Richie, to enjoy the weekend.
"We have this entire yacht?" you asked, mouth agape as you approached a huge two story charter.
"Yep," he had replied, pleased with your reaction. Two crew members had met you at the car and grabbed your bags, leaving your hands free to walk carefully across the bridge to board the yacht. You smiled bashfully when the crew of eight introduced themselves, then tucked yourself into Joel's side as the captain gave you a quick tour. When he paused in the doorway of the master suite to point out all the amenities, you shot Joel a playful look and waggled your eyebrows. He stifled a laugh and rolled his eyes before kissing the top of your head and following the captain through the lounge and to the deck, where there had to have been what looked like a hundred candles lit on every available surface. The sight took your breath away, it was so stunning. Flickering candlelight reflected off the polished wood and glassware that sat atop the table, already prepped and ready for you to be served once you got out onto the open water.
"Pink roses?" you said when you spotted the centerpiece as well as the decorative adornments that were peppered throughout the deck. You leaned in to sniff them and closed your eyes.
"I know you like the pink ones the best," Joel replied as he watched you look around in wonder. Then your eyes found his again and you smiled.
"When did you become such a romantic, Joel Miller?"
His heart skipped a beat in his chest when he replied, "When I met you."
While the yacht made its way a few miles off shore, the two of you found the bar inside the lounge and shared some drinks in front of the small fireplace while soft, classical music filtered through the speakers hidden strategically throughout the room. In the left corner of the room sat a white baby grand piano, sparkling but untouched. To the right was the bar, tended by a discreet looking gentleman with greying hair.
"You know what this reminds me of?" Your leg was draped across his lap and he was drawing slow circles over your calf, but his movements paused when you asked your question.
Joel grinned and nodded, pulling his eyes away from the flames to look at you.
"Glenn's yacht?"
You smiled and leaned in closer.
"Yep," you said, lowering your voice so the bartender couldn't overhear. "Remember the last night we were there?"
Joel bit back a groan at the memory of you on top of him, practically begging him to fuck you, but he had refused. That didn't stop you from finding another way to drive him completely insane. Instead, you had gotten yourself off by riding his thigh. It was the first time the two of you had blurred that line from a business relationship to something more.
"Yeah. Yeah, I remember," he murmured. Your eyes looked heavy as you gazed up at him and it took every ounce of strength he had not to toss you over his shoulder and take you back to the master suite right then and there. Instead, he pulled you in for a deep kiss, tasting the sweetness of champagne on your tongue.
His hand drifted back to get lost in your hair when you both heard someone nearby softly clearing their throat. You pulled away and let your gaze sheepishly fall while Joel handled the crew member who had come to let you know that dinner was about to be served.
"Oops," you whispered once the they were out of sight. A low rumble of laughter bubbled up from his chest and once you stood, he tugged you against him and cupped your face.
"Don't worry. Place'll be all ours after dinner," Joel told you. He gave you a quick kiss before curving his arm around your shoulders so he could lead you out towards the deck.
"Wha - Joel! We - we can't drive this thing!"
He chuckled at the panic in your voice. "Just for the evening. They'll drop anchor and be back in the morning. I ain't gonna get us killed, baby."
"Oh," you breathed a sigh in relief. He pulled your chair out and you sat down primly, glancing down at the complicated looking appetizer that waited for you. A small smile played at your lips when you asked, "And why are they leaving overnight, Joel?"
He sat down across from you and flicked out his cloth napkin with a wink.
"You'll see."
Dinner was elaborate and rich, but you had grown used to that with Joel. You had lost count of how many courses they brought out but when a cheese plate was placed between you after the main dish, you gave him a pained look.
"Joel?"
"Hmm?" he hummed while taking a sip of red wine. Your fingers inched across the white linen tablecloth, seeking out his hand. When his own fingers linked with yours and curled around your knuckles, you smiled at him tiredly.
"This is lovely," you began, "but I'm wondering when I'll get my dessert."
"Dessert's after the limoncello," he assured you. He shifted a little nervously in his chair and adjusted his tie. His mind was elsewhere but you had no idea.
"That's not the kind of dessert I meant," you whispered. You saw the realization dawn on him and you stifled a giggle. He leaned forward, hands still intertwined, and picked up a piece of cheese. He held it out between his thumb and forefinger and as seductively as you could, slowly stretched your neck forward to wrap your lips around his fingers and the small cube, all while maintaining eye contact with Joel.
"Good?"
You nodded and swallowed. "But I know something that tastes better."
"Christ," he groaned, eyes darkening as heat began to spread under his collar. Subconsciously, his finger began to slide your ring back and forth, fiddling with it. He wanted to just ask you right then and there. Just take the thing off and put it on your other hand and say the fucking words. But he had to wait. He had a plan.
Mercifully, dessert finally arrived. Actual dessert. Tiramisu, to be exact. But you were growing restless. He could tell by the way you sighed and tugged at the straps of your dress or flicked your hair over your shoulder to rub your neck with a soft moan. You were trying to get him to break and it was working magnificently. It had him checking his watch and mentally doing the math, trying to figure out if he had enough time to fuck you before his plan was set into motion.
The crew was packing up somewhere in the depths of the yacht. The captain had just left your table after confirming with Joel whether or not he needed anything else, and the anticipation of having the boat all to yourselves was killing you. But when he stood and extended a hand, asking you to join him on the deck instead of dragging you back to the bedroom, you hesitated. He grinned and wiggled his fingers.
"C'mon. Trust me."
You did. Of course, you did. So you stood and let him take your hand, leading you out onto the deck which was alight with flameleas candles and string lights wrapped around all the railings. A small seating area sprinkled with rose petals awaited you, the sight causing your suspicions to stir.
"All this to celebrate moving in together?" you asked. Joel didn't respond. He just smiled and sat down on the plush couch, which was facing the vast, empty ocean, and patted the seat next to him. Slowly, you sat down and leaned into his side before scanning the water. The moon was full that night and blazed a bright beam of light across the sea. It was quiet and serene and had you melting into his chest as his arms wrapped around you.
"It's peaceful," you murmured. In the distance, you could hear the soft hum of a motor from the boat taking the crew back to shore. Joel glanced nervously at his watch and you frowned. Tilting your chin up a bit, you caught his eye.
"What's going on?"
"Nothin'," he said immediately in response, only furthering your suspicions. You shifted so you could get a better look at his face.
"Why are you checking the time? What's-"
"You want somethin' to drink? I can get it for you," he interrupted. Okay, now you knew something was up. His fingers were tapping rhythmically against his leg, which was bouncing so fast the deck was creaking.
"No," you said, "Joel, why are you acting-"
A loud boom muffled the rest of your sentence, which ended up being a scream, anyway. Then a flash of color appeared in the sky above your heads and you looked up in surprise. Fireworks. There were fireworks going on above you, being set off from a barge somewhere you couldn't see on the water.
"Joel," you breathed in between booms. You looked at him and he grinned. "You did this?"
He nodded and said, "Wanted to do somethin' special."
"This is too much!" But you laughed and jumped when another firework popped in the sky, undermining any scolding on your part.
Your curiosity vanished, successfully distracted by the fireworks display. Joel curled an arm around your shoulders and you sunk against him once again with your back pressed against his front. You tipped your head back to rest on his shoulder so you could watch the fireworks, completely missing the way his heart began to beat faster against your back when he reached for your hands, which were resting in your lap.
Thinking he was just holding your hand, you shot him a quick smile before refocusing your attention on the sky. Maybe it was the drinks you had with dinner, but you hadn't even realized he slid your ring off your right hand until he held it up. Your gaze dropped down to look at it pinched between his fingers and your eyebrows knit together. The huge diamond sparkled with the reflection from the fireworks, all the reds, blues, and yellows shining within every flawless carat.
"Joel?" you said quietly. So quietly that it was impossible to hear over the loud booms.
Then you saw the tremble in his hand that held your ring and your eyes widened with a slow realization: the private yacht, the fancy dinner, the fireworks... this wasn't an evening designed to celebrate moving in together. This was something else.
Joel lifted your left hand from your lap and adrenaline began to course through your whole body. Your ability to blink and breathe just... vanished. Time might have even stood still as you stared down at your hands, watching in disbelief as he carefully slid your ring onto your left finger. Then you felt his beard brush against the shell of your ear from behind.
"Looks better on this hand. What do you think?"
Tears welled up in your eyes almost immediately. You splayed your fingers out in front of you both to look at the ring on your hand, but your vision blurred and your hand shook worse than his. Then two fingers found your chin, tilting your face to the side so he could look you in the eye.
"I wanna spend my life with you," he murmured softly. Your lower lip began to tremble and your heart stuttered in your chest, but you did your best to focus on his words. "You changed everythin', sweetheart. Changed my entire life. Brought me back together with my brother, with my daughter... reminded me what it's like to enjoy life again." His own eyes grew misty when he gave you a small smile and added, "Made me believe in love."
You laughed a little and two fat tears trickled down your cheeks.
"I've never known a peace like the one I have when I'm with you," he whispered. He was talking softly but even with the fireworks still going off above your heads, you could hear every word, almost as if the entire world melted away in that moment and all that remained was just the two of you.
His eyes looked so warm as he stared at you. They were so adoring and vulnerable. It made you want to crawl into his lap, wrap your arms around him, and never let him go. But you wanted to hear the words. You were desperate to hear the question you longed to hear, so you bit harshly into your bottom lip and fought back the desire.
Finally, he dragged in a ragged breath and asked, "Will you marry me?"
"Yes!" you sobbed, and it was like the floodgates opened. You flipped around and tossed one leg over his lap to straddle him, missing the way his face beamed with excitement when you grabbed his cheeks with both hands and kissed him. Your tongue slid easily between his parted lips, catching his groan between your teeth. When your thumbs brushed over his cheeks, you felt dampness there. Tears. Shortly after, your own streaked down your face, but you couldn't stop smiling.
The fireworks were probably coming to an end, you couldn't really be sure. You were too lost in your little bubble, perched on Joel's lap with his hands fiercely gripping your waist. You couldn't remember if it was you who started to grind your hips into him or if his hands had urged you to move. Regardless, within just a few short minutes, you found yourself dragging your pussy up and down his thigh while your kisses grew more and more urgent.
"C'mon, let's go inside," he panted while you sprinkled kisses down his jaw. When he tried to pull you off him, you shook your head and pushed your knees deeper into the cushion, keeping you both planted in place.
"No - here," you murmured before hiking up the skirt of your dress so it pooled loosely around your waist, freeing your legs to spread even wider. Joel groaned when his chin dropped to his chest, watching as you pulled your panties to the side with two fingers. You bit your lip and swiped your fingers through your folds while he nearly ripped his belt open with shaky hands. He had just unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock, already hard and leaking, when you pressed your glistening fingers against his lips. His blood was pumping so fast, he was growing lightheaded, and when he parted his lips to taste your arousal on your fingertips, his eyes fluttered shut and his head dropped to the back of the couch in a daze.
"Dirty girl," he rasped after he licked your fingers clean. You smirked and reached down between your bodies to wrap your hand around his aching cock. He made a soft noise in the back of his throat and opened his eyes so he could watch you stroke him up and down.
His hands squeezed your hips and encouraged you forward, unable to wait any longer. Fortunately, you couldn't, either. You lined him up against your entrance and removed your hand, the only sounds that filled the air now that the fireworks were over was your shared heavy breaths and the water lightly lapping at the side of the yacht.
"It's why you sent the crew away, right?" you breathed as you slowly sunk down on his cock. "So you could fuck me wherever you wanted?"
A strangled groan slipped past his lips when you began to shift ever so slightly, the feeling of your tight cunt wrapped around him taking his breath away.
"Didn't want them to hear," he replied through clenched teeth. "Didn't think you'd - fuck - didn't think you'd be so fuckin' needy so fast."
The fact he really thought you wouldn't want to jump him as fast as possible after he proposed was laughable, and you told him so as you began to bounce quicker in his lap, gasping when the tip of his cock kissed your cervix.
Joel just chuckled breathlessly and clutched your hips harder, helping you glide up and down his shaft.
"Ain't got nothin' to do with it. You wanted me to fuck you halfway through dinner."
"Is that such a bad thing?" you moaned, arching your back when his hips began to buck up into you. You grappled frantically at his shoulders and tipped your head back with a sharp gasp, leaving you with a beautiful view of twinkling stars above you.
With your throat exposed, Joel lunged forward to suck a red mark just below your jaw. You smelled so good and your skin was so soft that it had him sitting up straighter so he could gain better access.
"God, Joel!" you cried out into the night sky. His hands grabbed at your ass, fingers digging roughly into each cheek, forcing your body up and down on his cock while he slammed into you, knocking all the oxygen from your lungs and every thought from your brain.
"Gonna make the perfect little wife, baby," he growled, teeth scraping lightly down your jaw. Wife. The word sent a thrill through you.
"Yeah?" you gasped, eyelids fluttering as you felt yourself nearing your peak. "You think so?"
"Mhm," Joel murmured into your neck. "Love you so much, love you so fuckin' much, y'make me so happy. Just wanna spend my life takin' care of you, give you everythin' you need."
He was rambling now and a lazy smile stretched across your face.
"I love you, too," you whispered before tilting your head down to capture his lips in a searing, messy kiss.
Your hips stuttered and your moans grew more high pitched each time you dropped yourself back down on his cock. And because he knew you so well, he grinned against your mouth and murmured, "You gonna come for me?"
"Yeah," you whined in between heated kisses. Your hands clawed at his face and hair and you gasped shakily every time your clit rubbed against the curls at the base of his shaft. "Yeah, yeah I'm - I'm gonna come," you breathed, too lost in your own pleasure to say much else except repeat him, so fucking close that all it took was one or two more deep thrusts and it sent you reeling into your climax.
You tightened around him with a silent scream. Your brows were furrowed and your mouth hung open against his as your orgasm rocked through your entire body. Boneless, you drooped against him, nuzzling into his neck. He pulled you in tight against his chest while fucking up into you recklessly until he let out a deep groan and his body stilled.
"Look." Joel tapped your shoulder, stirring you back to life. You forced your eyes open and followed his gaze down where you were connected. A second later you watched as a small amount of his thick, milky white release dribbled out of you, pooling at the base of his cock.
Unable to put into words how hot it was to watch yourself overflow with him, your mouth greedily found his, tongue probing past his lips with a moan.
You sat there for as long as he would allow, limp and spent while sharing wet, lazy kisses until his cock softened and he slipped out of you with a grunt. The palm of his hand was soothingly rubbing your back and you had never felt more content in your life, but when a sharp breeze drifted over the ocean and made you shiver, Joel broke the kiss and cupped your face.
"Let's go to bed."
You nodded sleepily and allowed him to lead you back into the yacht, through the abandoned lounge that still played classical music faintly through the hidden speakers, down the well lit hallway, and finally to the master suite. The bed had been turned down by one of the crew members before they left. A bottle of champagne with two glasses with a note that read congratulations! was left next to the bed, but you were too exhausted. It was a miracle you were able to wash up and change out of your clothes before slipping into the plush bedding, but you stayed awake until Joel had turned out all the lights and joined you. With a sigh, you curled up next to him, resting your cheek on his shoulder and slotting your leg between his, then finally drifted off to sleep.
The clock read a little after three in the morning when you awoke. You were in the same position you found yourself before falling asleep hours earlier: fitted snugly into Joel's side with your palm placed gently over his heart. You used the bathroom and drank some much needed water but you had trouble falling back asleep, so you perched on the bench by the window and watched the way your ring shone in the moonlight.
It took you back in time when you saw the ring on your left hand again. Memories of confusing feelings, devastating rejection, fake love stories and intense pain flickered through your mind when you thought back to the whirlwind month you spent with Joel in Fiji, masquerading as his fiancée.
But now, it was real.
Now, that lie, that story, was going to become reality.
You couldn't have been happier. After everything you had been through, all the ups and downs your relationship faced from the very beginning, you were finally going to get your much deserved happy ending.
You just wished your parents and their opinions would stop plaguing your mind.
"What're you doin'?" Joel's groggy voice called from the bed. You snapped your head up in surprise, just to find him sitting on the edge of the bed and rubbing his eyes.
"Nothing. Sorry. I couldn't sleep. Too excited," you grinned when holding up your left hand. His eyes hadn't yet adjusted to the darkness, so he reached over to flick on one small lamp next to the bed. The room was cast in a dim, yellow glow, but he saw you holding up your hand and he smiled.
Joel stood and took two steps forward when he froze. Something passed over his face that had you frowning with concern.
"What's wrong?"
"I - shit!" he exclaimed before turning on his heel and rummaging through his suit coat, which he abandoned across a chair on the other side of the room when you came to bed. You cocked your head to the side and allowed yourself a moment to appreciate how fucking handsome your fiancé was, bending over in just a tight pair of black boxer briefs. Your gaze flickered back up when he swiveled around, holding a small, black box in his hand.
"I got you a new ring," he said as he crossed the room, "I'm so sorry. Forgot to give it to you earlier 'cause, well -" he shrugged and shot you a playful grin. "Y'know."
"A new ring?" you repeated as you stood. "W-why? I have this one!"
He opened the box and you gasped when you saw the flawless cushion cut, crystal clear diamond engagement ring, which was bracketed by two smaller diamonds.
"Joel," you breathed, eyes flitting back and forth between the one in the box and the one already on your hand. "I-I can't! I can't have two!"
Joel chuckled and plucked it from the box.
"Why not? You got ten fingers."
You scoffed and shook your head, but he continued.
"I wanted you to have the option and I wanted to get you somethin' new," he explained while holding it out towards you. You stared at it, still in shock, but stopped yourself from reaching for it.
"You know..." you began slyly. Joel arched an eyebrow at your tone. "You never actually did get on one knee."
His hand dropped to his side and he narrowed his eyes.
"You want me on my knees?"
You bit your lip and nodded vigorously, and when he held your gaze and began to sink down to the ground, still clad in just his underwear, your heart began to do flips in your chest.
On one knee, he murmured your name lowly and reached for your hand. You gave him your right one and grinned when he slipped it onto your finger and asked, "Will you marry me?" for the second time.
"Yes," you whispered. You took a step forward and carded your fingers through his hair. Joel leaned into your touch and briefly closed his eyes, enjoying the way your nails scraped gently over his scalp.
"I see the appeal, now," you said softly, "having a man fall to his knee like this."
"Yeah?" he rasped, opening his eyes to give you a heated look. Then his fingers drifted up your legs to push up the satin nightgown you had slipped on earlier and your breath caught in your throat.
"Get used to it, baby, 'cause I'm ready to spend the rest of my life right fuckin' here." He leaned forward, pressing his face right between your legs and taking a deep breath before mouthing hungrily at your waiting cunt through your panties. You gasped, skin tingling, and fell forward almost instantly, hands sliding helplessly over his bare back while he held you up with his hands wrapped around your thighs.
With one swift turn to the left, he pushed you up against the wall and tugged your underwear down your legs. Tossing them somewhere behind him, he lifted one of your legs to drape over his shoulder, spreading your pussy underneath your hiked up nightie.
His fingers dug into your skin when his mouth came in contact with your center, groaning in delight to find you already so wet and eager for him.
Joel's jaw dropped open wide, sealing his lips over your slit and running the tip of his tongue up the middle. Your vision immediately blurred and you threw your head back against the wall in ecstasy. The scrape of his beard against your sensitive skin, the feel of his fingertips dimpling your thighs, the way his hot tongue laved over your cunt all had you reduced to a trembling mess in a matter of minutes.
You wailed out his name into the room, your voice echoing off the walls and suddenly Joel's plan to send away the crew was making a lot of sense.
"More," you whined while rolling your hips as much as you could without losing your balance. The one foot that remained on the ground was stretched, perching on your tiptoes, while the other was curled tightly over his shoulder, holding him in place.
His mouth released you with a gasp and you whimpered pathetically at the loss while your fingers clawed uselessly at his hair.
"C'mon, let's move to the bed. Want you to sit on my face."
His voice was deep and gravelly and it send a shudder through your limbs.
"No, please, Joel, I-I... I'm so close," you begged, looking down at him with watery eyes. He looked like a mess: disheveled hair, wet mouth, flushed neck. He scanned your face and relented, giving you want you wanted and diving back in between your thighs.
You immediately resumed rolling your hips against his face, chasing your high while his tongue slid messily between your lips over and over, collecting the arousal leaking from your hole and flicking over your clit teasingly each time he dragged his tongue back up.
"I'm- I'm gonna come," you gasped, unable to look away from how enthusiastically he ate at you. It was such a turn on to see such a wealthy and powerful man on his knees for you, a man people not only in his office but throughout the country cowered before. But not you. No, you had him wrapped tightly around your finger.
Well, two fingers now that he had gifted you a second ring.
It was the way Joel's lips wrapped around your clit, sucking and swirling his tongue over it with a deep groan that had you tumbling over the edge. Your body bent forward with the force of your release, curving over his back with your hands buried in his hair for leverage.
"Fuck, that's it," he whispered into your pussy before swiping his tongue through your slit again. Tears stung the backs of your eyes from the stimulation but you let him continue, trusting him implicitly.
There was no doubt in your mind you would find little circular bruises on your thighs later from the way he clutched at you. The thought of seeing those marks, of seeing the way he claimed you, had your stomach muscles tightening unexpectedly once again. You cried out weakly as another gush of fluid flooded his tongue, then shivered when you heard his surprised groan vibrate throughout your entire body.
"Jesus," you rasped, chest heaving, when he finally pulled away. His pupils were blown wide, making his eyes look nearly black in the dim lighting as he gazed up at you from his spot on the floor.
"So beautiful," he murmured breathlessly, dragging his wet lips over your thighs, kissing your bare skin and working his way up your stomach. His mouth brushed along the silky fabric of your pajamas until he reached the tops of your breasts. Once he found your warm skin again, he peppered kisses all across your chest and neck until he was finally standing upright and plunging his tongue greedily into your mouth.
His cock pressed hard and pulsating against your stomach while his tongue leisurely mapped your mouth, and your legs trembled from the idea of taking him inside your cunt again. You knew yourself. It would be way too much. You were exhausted and your muscles felt so weak, but you would be damned if you went to bed without taking care of him. So you broke the kiss, gave him a playful wink, then sunk to your knees between his body and the wall.
If he had any qualms about the change of plans, he didn't show it. He braced one hand against the wall and the other got lost in your hair when you peeled down the band of his boxer briefs and wrapped your hand around the base of his shaft. You dragged your fist up and down a few times, humming softly under your breath at how hard he was for you.
You locked eyes with him. He looked absolutely wrecked, leaning against the wall and looking down at you, jaw slack and eyes glazed over.
While still maintaining eye contact, you opened your mouth wide and slid your lips carefully around his girth, tongue swirling around the tip of his cock before taking him deeper. His hips shifted forward, gently pushing more of himself inside your mouth until he kissed the back of your throat. You gagged a little and pulled back, earning a chuckle from up above.
"Too much?"
All you were able to do was shake your head. Your mouth was full of him, sucking him deeper once again while taking steady breaths through your nose. Joel's fingers tightened in your hair when you began to bob up and down, hollowing your cheeks with one hand still fisting his base and the other gripping his thigh for support.
"Fuck yeah, that - that's good," he moaned. Your chest swelled from the praise so you kept going, keeping a steady rhythm, sliding your tongue up and down the length of him until your lips felt numb and your jaw ached, and even then, you kept going.
"Oh shit, baby, don't stop," he growled. His fist tugged at your hair a little harder than you expected and you gasped around him. Somewhere above you, his other arm collapsed against the wall, now relying on his forearm to keep him upright while you sucked his cock with the kind of enthusiasm that had his knees going weak and his stomach pulling tight.
His hips rocked forward, meeting you thrust for thrust, groaning your name as he watched himself disappear inside your mouth over and over. Your tongue was flat along the underside of his cock when you felt it pulse and a moment later he spilled down your throat, swallowing every drop of his hot, sticky release.
He was cursing breathlessly above you while you cleaned him up with your tongue, and it wasn't until his hips stuttered and he yanked you off him by the hair that you stopped.
"Christ," Joel whispered, sagging tiredly against the wall with his forehead pressing against his wrist after you kindly fixed his boxers for him. His eyes were squeezed shut and his lips were parted, sucking in air fast as he tried to catch his breath.
"Oughta propose to you more often," he panted with his eyes still closed. You giggled and stood, taking his hand. His eyelids fluttered open, allowing you to lead him back to bed.
"Please don't tell me you have a third ring somewhere," you said tiredly after you burrowed under the covers and he curled himself around you from behind. He chuckled and kissed the back of your neck.
"Nah, just two."
You smiled when he nuzzled your ear, his deep breathing already lulling you back to sleep.
"Where do you think we should get married?" you yawned, yearning to just hear his voice. His fingers searched for your hand resting across your stomach and he gave it a squeeze.
"Thought we already decided a year ago," he mumbled. His lips grazed the shell of your ear when he said:
"Fiji, baby."
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