Run-through: About a decade ago you left your home and ran away, looking for a fresh start after having had your heart broken by the boy you loved. Now you’re back and turns out Bucky Barnes – the same man who once broke your heart – is adamant on tormenting you some more. But why? Why does he want you back at all cost when he was the one who once pushed you away and crushed your heart like it meant nothing to him? What secrets has he been keeping for almost a decade? Most importantly, what truly happened that night he broke your heart?
Themes: forced marriage/marriage of convenience, angst, mob!bucky, metal arm, fluff, smut, possessive!bucky, childhood friends-to-enemies-to-lovers trope, bratty!reader, mentions of violence, explicit language, slow burn-ish, HEA
a/n: new mob!bucky pics dropped–
“I do.” You said in a sombre voice, with blood dripping from the cut on your lip as you sealed your fate and married your worst enemy.
Bucky’s face was bleeding too, your nails had done some damage earlier when you both got into a physical altercation like wild animals. You nearly smirked when you realised he looked worse than you did.
Then again you both looked like you went through hell as you stood here, at this makeshift altar, in the middle of what used to be the foyer of your father’s mansion before Bucky and his men shot at it until it was nothing but rubble, broken glass, and cracked marble.
Messy hair. Cuts and bruises all over your bodies. Dishevelled clothes. Your white jumpsuit had your own bloodstains on it, and his all black suit was torn in certain places. But he looked every bit the man they say he is. Dangerous. Cold, dark presence. The large bruise on his jaw was beginning to get darker now, thanks to the many punches from you. His near shoulder length hair was surprisingly looking neat. It pissed you off.
You looked like a mess too. And for a brief second, as his blue eyes looked down at your throat, you knew he could see a matching bruise forming around your neck from when he’d pinned you down to the floor earlier with that damned metal arm.
No one was dead, none of your people and none of his. Thankfully. But right now, as you married the man standing in front of you, you felt dead inside.
“You may now kiss the bride.” Was all you heard and you remained still as Bucky grabbed you by the waist and pulled you into him.
You resisted for a moment, but then he pulled you harder until your chests collided and you had no choice but to remain pressed against him. “I’m tired of these games, princess.” He hissed in a lowered voice, looking down at you with his merciless blue eyes.
You stared back at him with equal contempt. “You’re gonna regret this, Barnes.” You sneered, in a hushed voice. Not that the injured family members and men surrounding you – both his men and your father’s guards who stood and watched the show in disbelief and shock would mind the disrespect for each other in both your tones – but you didn’t want to add to the ridiculousness of this situation.
“Oh?” He taunted with a faint smirk. Only then did you notice the small cut on his upper lip. It brought you a little solace. “You’re my wife now, you will do as I say.”
The bitterness in your tone matched his as you said, “We’ll see about that, husband.”
You could tell he’d accepted the unspoken challenge, and he would do anything to win. After all, everything was a game to Bucky Barnes. He didn’t care who he used, who he manipulated, or who he tossed aside. He paraded around like he owned this world and everything and everyone in it.
Bucky scoffed then leaned in to kiss you, hard. It wasn’t a loving kiss in any way. It was possessive though. Like he was putting on a show for whoever was watching, making sure everyone in this dilapidated room understood that you were his now.
You kissed him back, angrily. You despised him. Your entire family did. But they couldn’t save you this time. Bucky’s attack was unexpected. Your guards were unprepared. You were the last line of defence and this… union was necessary. You had to offer something, anything. Otherwise Bucky and his guys threatened to burn down your half of the city and turned it to ash immediately.
But it wasn’t always like this. Your families used to be allies. You actually grew up with Bucky, he tolerated you enough back then and you had always had a crush on him.
Then that night happened almost a decade ago…
It was your twentieth birthday party, and your father made an announcement which you were not ready for.
He announced to the ballroom filled with important people that you were to marry Bucky, and that both families were beyond happy to transform their friendship into something more solid through this alliance.
You remained frozen in place for long minutes after that announcement was made, even though your heart raced like never before. No one had told you about this, but judging by the way your family hugged and congratulated Bucky’s family you understood that this was all planned.
You kept that smile on your face though, as people walked over to congratulate you. You looked around and tried to find Bucky in the crowd to see if he knew about this but he was nowhere to be found.
You were certain he was here just a moment ago, leaning against one of the pillars and brooding as always. And he’d just disappeared.
The announcement made your heart flutter incessantly. After all, you’d always had a huge crush on Bucky. How could you not? He was the boy you grew up around, he had pretty eyes and nice hair. Sure he was broody and rarely ever smiled but you liked how it suited his bad boy personality. And your young heart was weak for the handsome boy with tattoos and blue eyes.
After people were done congratulating you, you discretely walked out of the party and decided to look around and try to find Bucky. You hated how giddy you were. Sure, Bucky was broody and rarely ever laughed. He spent his entire time glaring at you then getting jealous when you talked to other guys. But you had liked him since forever.
You looked all over your father’s mansion. Bucky was nowhere to be found indoors. So… maybe the pool area outside? You started walking in that direction, feeling like a princess in your white ball gown as you walked down an empty hallway, a faint smile on your face as you looked for the man you were meant to marry soon.
Maybe Bucky knew about this announcement. Maybe he was okay with it. Maybe this would be your fairytale in real life, you thought. Maybe you’d melt his frozen heart and everything would be perfect. Maybe he liked you back all along and you just never knew!
“...marry her?”
Your smile vanished as you stopped right before you stepped outside onto the patio. Was that Bucky’s voice? Was he talking to someone? You quietly stepped closer, hiding behind the plants as you tried your hardest to listen to what he was saying.
You could see him, standing on the black tiles by the pool. He had his back to you, and he held a phone to his ear. His broad shoulders and lean waist accentuated by how well that black suit moulded to his muscular body. You watched as he ran his fingers through his short black hair in frustration.
Who was he talking to?
“No!” He barked at the phone. “Did you not listen to what I just said? I don’t want to do this!” He yelled, not bothering that anyone around might hear him. “I tried to talk them out of it! This is so fucking stupid!”
You blinked in surprise, unable to process what you were hearing.
“I don’t care what I have to do, but I will not marry her.” He said with enough venomous certitude that a silent tear fell down your face.
All your previous delusions turned to nothing but heavy disappointment. It made you feel stupid. This gown felt stupid. The diamonds around your neck, around your wrists and in your hair felt stupid. How stupid of you to think this was all going to end well? How stupid of you to think your childhood crush actually meant something? How stupid of you to think that there was a chance he liked you back? Of course he didn’t. He wouldn’t have ignored you for years if he did.
You couldn’t stop the sudden sob that escaped your mouth. Afraid that he might have heard, you took a few steps back and hid behind a nearby, tall potted shrub.
Things were quiet for a moment or two. You heard him whispering so quietly you couldn’t make out what he said. Your face burned in embarrassment at the thought of him finding you here. You already felt stupid and childish, you didn’t want to get caught eavesdropping in this situation.
But then he resumed talking on the phone. You couldn’t risk moving to look at him so you remained hiding, and listened. Your heart broke with each word that left his mouth.
“And she’s so blind she doesn’t even see it.” He hissed, louder this time. “I barely tolerate her. Her whiny, and bratty attitude. I mean she’s a grown woman and still acts like she’s daddy’s little princess.” He scoffed. “You should’ve seen her today, she looks like a kid’s toy with that ridiculous dress on.”
More tears streamed down your face as you heard nothing but distaste and irritation in his voice. This was the boy you had a hopeless crush on? This is what he thought of you?
You didn’t need to hear more. This was more than enough to completely break you so you turned around and quietly walked back down the same hallway. You wiped your tears, and put a fake smile on as you went back to your party. This time with a plan in your head.
You endured the party with a heavy heart. Faked some more smiles until it ended. You didn’t see Bucky again for the rest of the night, which was good. By the early hours of the morning, everyone had left. You wandered around that empty ballroom like a ghost that night. For hours. Thinking, plotting. It was clear Bucky didn’t want this. And now neither did you. But your families had announced it. So what exactly could you do?
By the time the sun rose, you had already written a note to your father and left it on his desk. By the time the sky brightened, your bags were packed and you were already driving out of the mansion grounds. And you knew that by the time your father would go into his office and find that note, you would already be on a plane, on your way out of here.
You didn’t give too many details in the note. You simply said that you were leaving, not knowing when or if you’d be back.
Truth was, you had no solid plans. All you knew was that you needed to get away from home.
You didn’t know that when you’d return home – almost a decade later, so much would have changed.
Your father was angry. Livid actually, that you’d been away for years without contact. You briefly explained why you needed to leave. And how you’d been able to make a name for yourself elsewhere. But after he was done berating you for what you did when you were twenty and stupid, he filled you in on all that you’d missed in the past decade almost.
Some important points were: your family and Bucky were no longer allies, but were now each others’ worst rivals but no one knew that. The city was now secretly divided – your family ruled and controlled one side, and Bucky ruled the other.
“It’s just him now?” You had asked, and your father nodded.
“A lot happened after you left, actually–”
A loud noise cut him off. Rounds of bullets shot at the windows of the house, from all sides it seemed. And it was pure chaos. You could hear your guards fighting back, but even by just hearing the commotion you could tell you were severely outnumbered.
But whoever it was, they weren’t shooting at anyone, just at windows – making enough noise to get your attention and to get you to come outside.
You marched out of the room despite your father ordering you not to. And you were halfway down the grand stairs when he walked in and spotted you immediately with a smug look on his face.
Bucky. Walked in like he owned the place. He stopped in the middle of the foyer, which was now ruined. Bits and pieces of concrete and glass all over the marble floor. Flower pots destroyed, the gilded mirror in pieces as well. He made a mess of the home you grew up in and you almost shot him right in the heart there and then.
Here was the man who once broke your heart after making you think for years that maybe you had a chance.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You hissed. You could hear your father coming to a stop on the landing several steps behind you. He was unprepared. You were armed with only one handgun tucked into your pocket. Your guards were outnumbered. This was a shitshow.
The guards – his and yours – stopped firing and now just stood all over the place on high alert. And you knew, deep down in your gut you just knew something which you weren’t ready for was about to happen.
“I see you’re finally home, princess.” Bucky just gave you a cold smile and shoved his hands in his pockets. The action drew your attention to one specific thing. The metal arm. You frowned at it in confusion, but didn’t react.
But that word… ‘princess’ brought back memories which chased you out of this place. And it only fueled your anger.
“What the fuck do you want?”
He lifted his nose slightly in the air, like the arrogant prick he had always been. “I’m here to collect what I was promised.” His voice was strong and confident. “A bride. Now you have a choice, princess. Either we do this in peace and no one gets hurt, or…”
He didn’t even have to finish his sentence because on cue, one of his guards sneakily appeared on the landing behind you, holding a gun to your father’s head. You froze for a moment. The look on your father’s face made everything so serious all of a sudden. You had to be extra careful here.
“You wouldn’t.”
He scoffed, “Wouldn’t I?”
You argued, “It’s been almost a decade.”
“I don’t care. We were supposed to marry each other–,”
You cut him off, “Yes, and you didn’t want that, did you? I heard you on the phone that night.” You finally confessed. “By the pool. I remember every single word that came out of your fucking mouth. So don’t come here acting like you’re entitled to–,”
“You think you know everything, don’t you?” He smirked, shaking his head. “Is that why you ran away? And didn’t come home for a decade? Because you spied on me that night and didn’t like what you heard?”
That did it. One moment you were standing on the stairs, afraid that your father might get hurt and the next you had your gun out and shot right at his metal arm, knowing it wouldn’t hurt him but it would make him lower his guard for just a second.
And that one second was enough to jump him and punch him right in the jaw. Fuck, it hurt but it also felt so damn good. All those years you’d been away, you were also training in your free time. And you knew you were good at combat.
But so was he. A few punches in and he managed to throw you down on the floor and pin you to the ground with that same metal hand around your throat, keeping you in place. You didn’t know why his guards just stood and did nothing, as though they had been ordered not to shoot at anyone here.
But you weren’t under any such orders, so you managed to land another punch to his jaw before he yelled, “Enough!” Right in your face. “Stop this shit, or I swear to–,”
You cut him off by punching him again, trying to get free the moment you felt his metal hand get loose around your throat. He growled in annoyance and tightened his grip.
“You’re like a wild fucking animal. Stop!”
You gritted your teeth at the insult and scratched his face exactly like how a wild animal would. You tried everything, tried to punch him again, tried to scratch down his neck and arms which only tore his shirt instead of his skin. You went for yet another punch and only then did you feel another pair of arms – one of his guards – pulling your hands away from his face. You thrashed and tried your hardest to break free but you couldn’t and ended up biting your own lip rather badly in the process.
“I fucking hate you, Bucky Barnes!” You hissed, defeated, and now with a bleeding, throbbing cut on your lip which matched his.
Bucky kept his hand around your neck as he leaned in menacingly and whispered, “Hate me all you want, princess. But you will marry me. Right here. Right now.”
And that’s how you found yourself kissing your husband, in the foyer of your father’s ruined mansion. With your helpless father, and the many guards as witnesses.
You pulled away from the kiss, breathless and angrier than earlier. Jaws clenched, you were ready to tackle him to the ground again, maybe actually shoot him with your gun this time, but he spoke before you could say anything.
“Let’s go.” He spoke, and like the loyal followers that they were, all of his guards silently walked out of your house. And Bucky grabbed your hand firmly in his and began pulling you out of the house as well.
You resisted again. “Wait! You brute!” You pulled your hand away from his and ran back up the stairs to your father. “I ruined everything, I’m sorry.”
He just hugged you and told you to be careful and be smart. And that he forgives you. You promised you’d come to see him soon. And then you left, refusing to take Bucky’s hand again as you walked out of your father’s house.
You needed to think. You couldn’t fight him right now. Besides, it’s not like you married him legally. All Bucky wanted was to make a scene and you let him. For now. You’d need some time to come up with a plan and decide what needed to be done. But for now…
“If you’re thinking about running away and disappearing for a decade again, you better stop. You’re not getting away this time. You hear me?” Bucky spoke, sitting next to you in the backseat of his car as the driver drove to his side of the city, to his house surely. That authoritative tone of his made you want to scratch his face again.
“You seem to be under the impression that you’re in control here, Barnes. Just know, I could still shoot you right now if I wanted to.” You didn’t look at him, you looked out the window. At the city that had changed in your absence.
“Ouch.” He faked his surprise. Then proceeded to put his arm around your shoulders to pull you into his chest, leaning down he whispered into your ear, “That’s not a nice way of treating your new husband, now is it?”
You gave him a fake smile, ignoring the way your brain thought he smelled delicious, and reached into your pocket to pull out your handgun. Placing the cold barrel right under his chin you said, “Try me, husband.”
The driver cleared his throat in nervousness and you didn’t want to traumatise the man so you pulled your gun away but left it in Bucky’s line of sight. He pulled away then, pulling his hand away from your shoulders but placed his metal hand on your thigh. A possessive move.
Yet that didn’t bother as much. But the metal hand? Where did that come from? What happened while you were gone?
He answered your questions voluntarily. “Got caught in a crossfire. I got shot too many times, the arm was beyond saving. So I had the metal arm made. It’s a very intricate technology, but it works just fine.” He said, flexing the hand on your skin.
You didn’t miss the hidden sexual connotation in that last part of his sentence. And you certainly couldn’t ignore the way your body responded to the cold, metal touch. It looked… badass. Not that you would ever tell him.
You tried to look out the window again, but his touch on your thigh was more distracting than you wanted it to be. It was all you could focus on. Just to stop thinking about it you said, “I don’t have any of my things.”
“It’s all been taken care of. Don’t worry.” He answered, looking down at his phone. Acting like he didn’t know his hand on your thigh was messing you up.
Still you frowned at his answer, “What do you mean it’s been taken care of?” Then you paused and thought about it for a moment, “Did you–” You sighed, “You knew I was coming, didn’t you? Did you have people spying on me?”
He shrugged, “You thought I would let my betrothed be out there in the world without keeping an eye on her?” He scoffed, looking up from his phone for a brief moment, “Of course I did. I know everything about you. I even know all about that secret, women-only army you created.” He added, “I was half expecting them to pop out of nowhere earlier at your father’s house.”
You were in disbelief. This whole time you thought you’d hid well. But no.
“Where are they anyway? Your girls?” He asked, and for once it didn’t sound like a taunt. It sounded like he was genuinely curious.
“Probably out hunting and beheading men who think they can get away with forcing women into marrying them by threatening to kill their fathers.” You gave him another one of your fake smiles, “I’ve trained them well.”
Bucky smiled back. “Well good. When they get here to try and free you, we could unite our forces. We’ll be untouchable then, you and I. I have the money and you have an army.” He winked. “Ultimate power couple.”
“You won’t get away with this, Barnes.”
He looked out of the window and said, “I just came to collect what was promised to be mine that night.”
You argued, bitterly, “Oh we both know what happened that night.”
“I do.” He said, “But do you? Do you really?”
You remained quiet for a moment. This was the second time he questioned your knowledge of what truly happened that night. As if you hadn’t heard him loud and clear on that phone call.
“You–,”
He cut you off and looked out the window as he said, “We’re home.”
It had been a long day. And you were running out of energy so instead of arguing some more, you just followed him out of the car and remained stunned for a moment as you looked at his house. It wasn’t his family home. This one seemed new.
It was just as large as your father’s mansion, just a lot more contemporary compared to the more Georgian architecture-inspired one you grew up in.
Bucky’s house sat on a sprawling green and pristine property. It was a perfect blend of sleek architecture and a glass house, which allowed the right amount of privacy but also allowed glimpses of the warm, farmhouse inspired interior. Even from outside you could tell it was homey and bright inside.
Before you could get a word out, you felt his hands on you again. You tensed up and almost hit him again in defence but before you could, Bucky was carrying you bridal style – literally – and marching towards the large doors of his ridiculously pretty home.
“What the fuck are you doing?” You questioned, squirming just a little in the intimate embrace.
“Traditions,” He said, looking down at you, “Can’t have you trip at the doorstep and risk bringing bad luck into our marriage.”
You frowned at him, reluctantly wrapping your arms around his neck for support. “You say ‘our marriage’ like it’s gonna be a real thing. It won’t, Barnes. I’ll be out of here before you–,”
He used you to push open the door and the warm interior of the home shut you up. For some reason you never imagined someone like Bucky would live in a house that actually looked like a home. You pictured him living in some villain’s lair.
But this was… beautiful.
You squirmed into his arms until he finally set you down carefully. You stood there for a minute, in the foyer, just looking around. Then you couldn’t help but say, “It would be a real pain if someone just started shooting at the windows of your house like a madman, wouldn’t it?” You waved your gun in front of his face.
“I’ll send people over tomorrow morning to fix your father’s house.”
“You don’t even sound apologetic.” You scoffed.
“I’m not.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “Was it necessary? To shoot at my house like that? You couldn’t just, I don’t know, ring the doorbell to get me to come outside? You absolutely had to be a child?”
He smirked then said, “First of all, that isn’t your house anymore. This is where you live now, and you will call this your home. Second of all, why blame me when you acted just as childish when you decided to run away all those years ago? Third of all, I did it because, well, I do like some drama.”
You couldn’t not believe him. “You amaze me with your stupidity, Barnes.”
“You amaze me with your bratty attitude, Mrs. Barnes.”
You stepped closer to him, slow and in a threatening manner. “Don’t call me that.”
“Don’t call me that.”
You sighed, “You know you’re still that little boy who used to bully everyone when we played as kids.”
He clarified, “No, I bullied you because you were annoying. Everyone else was fine.”
“I hate you.” You said with enough hostility you hoped it would shut him up.
It didn’t. “Well, see.” He took your hand in his and said slowly as if talking you down, “That’s something we’ll work on together as a couple.”
You pulled your hand away and were so tempted to just–
“Come,” he said, “I’ll show you where our room is.” You began protesting immediately but he cut you off by saying, “Stop being fucking difficult. We’re married now, act like it.”
“I want a separate room!”
“No.”
“I’m not sleeping with you!”
“Then don’t. But you will sleep in my bed. Like my wife should.”
“You’re a fucking animal!” You tried tugging your hand free from his grasp.
Bucky had had enough. So he pinned you to the nearest surface, which happened to be the closed door of his bedroom. He grabbed both your wrists in his metal hand and pinned them above your head. His face was just inches away from yours, and he stared deep into your eyes.
Your mind immediately went to that harsh kiss you’d shared earlier. And you hated how your body squirmed just as the thought of it. You refused to think about it any more, but his mouth was just so, so close. The cut on his lip, the slight stubble on his cheek and around his mouth, the texture of his skin, you were picking up on details you’d missed.
Bucky spoke in a calm, deep voice which sent shivers down your spine. “Let’s be adults here, okay? You stop acting like a brat, and I’ll stop treating you like one.” He said, pressing his chest into yours. “It’s been a long day, and I know you’re running out of energy as well so stop resisting me. If I was an animal, I would’ve dragged you to bed right now and would’ve made you mine in every sense of the word.” He whispered, his voice cold and dangerous. “But I’m not. So you will walk into this room, and head straight for a warm shower and after you’re done we’re gonna clean these wounds. Am I clear?”
You nodded quickly, like an idiot entranced by his gorgeous voice.
“Use your words, princess. Am I clear?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Let’s go.”
—
You leaned against the counter, wrapped in a fluffy robe and another towel wrapped around your wet hair, and Bucky was cleaning the cut on your lip.
His wounds were all cleaned. It looked like he had used a different shower while you were in here. His long hair was damp and tied into a small bun, with strands of his dark hair falling on either side of his face. He had changed into a tight black t-shirt and PJ trousers. It was frustrating to look at him. Because he looked so damn good.
Last time you’d seen him was when he was a twenty year old boy. He’d changed since. He seemed taller somehow. Or maybe it was just the muscles making him look bigger.
You couldn’t look away from the metal arm. And the intricate details on it.
“Are you hurt anywhere else?” He asked, throwing the used cotton balls and napkins in the trash can.
You didn’t miss the way he was being gentle all of a sudden. Calm voice, calm movement. Very different from the man who’d forced you to marry him just hours ago.
“No.” You answered, turning around to look in the mirror. The bruise on your neck was very much visible now. You didn’t notice Bucky approaching you again, you didn’t notice how close he got, not until he reached out and touched your neck with his warm fingers.
And for the first time, he sounded genuine when he said, “I’m sorry. About that.”
You met his eyes through the mirror and remained quiet for a moment. For a brief moment you thought back to that night. What if you hadn’t heard him on the phone? What if you had married him back then? Would this be a normal, daily thing? Sharing a bathroom, a bed?
“I punched you. Multiple times. This makes us equal.”
Bucky scoffed, then nodded. Then said, “Come to bed when you’re done.” And left you alone in the bathroom.
Shit. You stared at yourself in the mirror. What a day. All you wanted was to pay your father a visit and maybe spend some days at home and then fly back to where you came from. Having your father’s house be attacked, getting married, and having to share a bedroom with the man who once broke your heart… yeah, all that wasn’t in the plan.
You changed into some comfy PJs Bucky had brought you earlier and walked out into the bedroom. You found Bucky on his phone again, standing by the foot of the bed.
“Which side do you sleep on?” He asked, not looking up from his phone.
“Uh, right.” You answered, because for some reason now he felt the need to ask for your opinion.
Bucky didn’t say a word as he moved to the left side of the bed and peeled back the covers before getting in. Like this was just another day. Like this was normal. You awkwardly walked to your side of the bed and just stood there for a moment.
“Just get in bed. I won’t touch you.”
He didn’t even look at you as he spoke and, well, the lack of attention from him bothered you. Oh what the hell. You pulled the covers and got under them. You curled onto your side, with your back facing him.
Soon, you heard him click something and all the lights turned off. You sensed movement behind you but that was it. He didn’t touch you. In fact, there was so much distance between you two that your back felt cold. And now that annoyed you as well.
You couldn’t sleep.
An hour went by, you still couldn’t sleep.
Another hour went by, and now you’d begun tossing and turning so much that you heard Bucky groaning.
“Will you stop that?”
“I can’t sleep.” You mumbled.
“Don’t make it my problem. Stop moving.”
“Wow. Some husband you are.”
Silence. Then you felt your body sliding across the bed as Bucky wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into his warm chest.
“What the–,”
“Shh.” He cut you off, his warm breath tickling your cheek as he spooned you from behind. “It’s cold. We could both use the warmth. Now go to sleep.”
You scoffed, but didn’t move. “Your fancy house doesn’t have a thermostat? Fix the temperature.”
“I like this better.”
“I better not find your hands wandering.”
You moved around for a bit, finding a comfortable spot. Then you moved some more and Bucky tightened his arm around you and whispered into your ear, “Stop wiggling against my cock. I understand it’s our wedding night and all but I’m too tired to do anything.”
Your face burned in embarrassment. You tried to put some distance between your bodies, even though you liked his body heat, but thankfully Bucky pulled you right back.
“Did I say you can move?” He chided.
“What now, I need your permission to get comfortable in bed?”
“Brat.”
“Asshole.”
—
You didn’t know when you fell asleep at night. But the heat from Bucky’s chest definitely helped. It must’ve been that. And in the middle of the night, you must’ve searched for more heat. That was probably the only reason why you woke up and found yourself sprawled all over him, face into the crook of his neck and both your hands under his shirt, legs tangled with his.
“You call me an animal. But look at you. Touching me while I was sleeping.” He mumbled. “Shameless.”
You pulled away so fast, but then regretted it. Because now you missed his warmth. You shivered even under the covers. “Would it kill you to keep your damn house a little warmer?”
He just yawned and got out of bed. “Get ready.” He said, “We might have a guest coming over. And you have to be a good little wife and play host.”
“Fuck you.”
“Oh you will.” He teased, “Soon.” Then he winked and walked out of the room.
Well, he at least was giving you some privacy and let you have this bathroom all to yourself. Screw his and his mind games. First he barges into your house, forces you to marry him, then cuddles you to sleep.
You caught yourself frowning multiple times while you showered, did some skin care, and found the closet on the other side of the room. You weren’t even surprised when you found a whole section filled with all you could need. All the shoes seemed like they would fit you, all the outfits as well.
Nothing fazed you anymore. Not even the fact that your new husband might be a bit of a stalker. How else would he know your underwear size!? And there were drawers full of them.
You tried not to worry too much as you got dressed. You were gonna get out of here soon anyway.
Once dressed and ready for the day, you got downstairs and immediately heard Bucky’s voice, along with another voice. They were laughing over something. You found out where they were and approached the high-ceilinged, charming, farmhouse-inspired kitchen which blended with a spacious, cosy dining area.
The other man had his back to you, but you knew that voice. Even though you hadn’t heard it in years.
“Sam?” You couldn’t help but call out, lingering by the large doorway. Bucky remained leaning against the kitchen counter with a coffee mug in his hand, while Sam got up from where he sat at the breakfast counter.
He turned around and his familiar, warm brown eyes met yours. He gave you a comforting smile. You, Sam, and Bucky all grew up together, along with some other kids from families similar to yours. And Sam had always been a sweetheart. You’d missed him.
So you didn’t even hesitate to walk right into his arms once he opened them, wanting a hug. You squeezed him tight and said, “I thought I’d never see you again, Sammy!”
Sam hugged you back just as tight, “I can’t believe I haven’t seen you in almost a decade.” He pulled away to look down at you before giving you a loud kiss on the cheek. Safe to say, he was just as handsome as he was when you left this place. “How have you been?”
You looked over Sam’s broad shoulder and found a broody Bucky. “I’ve been better.”
Sam got really serious, and was about to say something but Bucky’s voice rumbled from behind. “That’s enough hugging and smooching. Sam, stop touching my wife.”
“Ooh, your wife.” Sam teased, before letting go of you and letting you walk out of his arms. “First of all, why didn’t you tell me you two were planning to get married this whole time?” He asked Bucky in an accusatory tone. “My childhood friends got married and I wasn’t even invited.”
Sam sat back down at the breakfast counter, so he didn’t see the questioning stare you sent Bucky. So Sam wasn’t aware of the circumstances under which you got married? Of course he didn’t. Nobody knew, and Bucky wasn’t about to tell anyone
“It all happened so quickly, Sam.” You placed a gentle hand on his shoulder as you said, “Bucky was… impatient. Even my father didn’t have time to prepare much. It all just, you know, happened.” You spoke as you helped yourself to some breakfast, taking a seat at the table where you could see both men well.
You didn’t miss the way Bucky’s jaws kept clenching and unclenching as you tiptoed the line between telling the truth and lying to Sam.
“Yeah,” Sam agreed, “I know how impatient he can be.” He glared at Bucky, who shook his head in disbelief.
“I take it you two work together now?” You only asked because you remember how the parents would always talk about how wonderful it would be if these two boys worked together. Apparently they made a great team back then.
“We do.” Bucky answered, placing his mug down before turning around and began chopping some things.
“You see,” Sam began explaining in a playful tone. “After everything happened, Bucky was all along. Poor little princeling with no guidance and a kingdom to run.” You saw Bucky shaking his head at Sam’s words. Sam continued, “So I knew I had to step in and become his mentor. He wouldn’t have survived without me.”
You made a mental note to ask about what ‘everything’ he was referring to, but couldn’t help but smile at the camaraderie between them, despite it all. Sam had always been a good company. He was the sun rays filtering through dark clouds, and Bucky was the dark, gloomy day who needed the sun’s brightness.
“Wouldn’t have survived.” Bucky muttered, mocking his friend. “You helped me train sometimes. You introduced me to people. That’s about it.” He clarified, bringing over a bowl of chopped fruit over to you and pushed it towards you without a word said.
You liked fruits for breakfast. And you assumed he remembered. But he did it all too casually. As if he did it every day. You didn’t want to cause a scene so you accepted the bowl quietly.
“That’s about it?” Sam shook his head, then turned to you. “I took care of him like a parent–,”
“No you didn’t. You–”
“–and this is how he treats me. I should’ve let you bleed out from that bullet wound that one time. Maybe you wouldn’t be here disrespecting me then.”
You chuckled, clearly on Sam’s team. Bucky didn’t like that. “What about my wife then? Who would be taking care of her?”
“I would.” Sam answered without missing a beat. “We all know if not you then I was gonna marry her.” He turned to you, knowing damn well he was gonna get a reaction out of Bucky any time now. Sam lived to mess with Bucky after all. He always did, ever since you were all kids. “Wouldn’t you have married me if Bucky had died?” He asked you with that mischievous smile on his face.
“I–,”
“You answer that and you’ll never see Sam again.” Bucky said, narrowing his eyes at you, before you couldn’t get a word out of your mouth.
Sam smirked triumphantly.
You rolled your eyes at Bucky and looked right at Sam and said, “I would’ve married you in a heartbeat, Sammy.”
Sam went to grab your hand, surely to bring it up to his lips for a kiss, but Bucky threw a napkin right at him before he could.
“You touch my wife again and I swear–,”
“Must you always threaten people?” You asked, glaring at Bucky.
He glared back. And opened his mouth to say something but Sam cut him off. “Hey, hey, kids. No fighting.” He quickly changed the topic, “Now, since you have gotten married and no one was there, how about a party? To announce it to everyone? We could invite the whole city.”
Party. Yeah right. The last time you attended an extravagant party you had your heart broken. Not just broken, but stepped onto and crushed to a pulp.
You went to say no, “Maybe we shouldn’t–,”
But Bucky declared, “Absolutely we should. After all, we waited almost a decade to marry each other.” He looked right at you as he said that. “It’s time everyone knows you’re finally mine.”
“Perfect!” Sam began planning immediately. He had always been the life of all parties, and he loved them.
While you occasionally answered his questions, you didn’t stop glaring at your husband while you finished your breakfast. There was something he was hiding. You were certain of it. But what?
—
A couple days later, it was finally the night of the party.
The past few days had been more or less similar. You’d always wake up sprawled all over Bucky’s chest, and he always made a teasing comment about it. You’d have breakfast in silence, after which he’d disappear and then he’d come home in the evenings. You never talked while having dinner.
The one time you did talk, it didn’t end well.
You brought it up at dinner. “I tried to go out today. Your people followed me into the city.”
“Our people.” He corrected. Bucky didn’t find anything wrong with that apparently because he simply said, “And they’re your security detail. They’ve been ordered to follow you.”
“So I don’t escape?”
“So you’re always safe.”
“Oh come on. You can’t keep me here forever.”
He shrugged, “You’re not being kept. This is your home, we’re married. This is where you live now.”
You stood up from the table.You didn’t care that the housekeepers you’d been recently introduced to could hear. “And who are you to make that decision for me?” You asked, in a surprisingly calm tone.
He replied in a similar tone. “Your husband.”
You sighed, trying your hardest to keep it all contained. “I have a life, you know? A totally separate life I’ve been living since I left this place. I have to get back to it at some point. You proved your point. Now let me go.”
He ignored all of that. “I’m working on transferring all your businesses and staff here.” He announced. “I’m buying a brand new building in the city, you can have it and set it up however you want. The only thing I can’t find is your secret army of highly trained soldiers.”
“You’ll never find my girls.”
“Why’s that?”
“They’re trained to outrun men like you. All men, in fact.” You added, “I made sure of that. I made sure they’d never be used and moved around like pieces on a chessboard then discarded by people like you.”
“Sounds like you speak from experience.”
“Fuck you, Barnes.” You spat before walking away.
You made sure to sleep on the very edge of the gigantic bed that night, as far away from him as possible. But in the morning, you still woke up snuggled into his chest, on his side of the bed, like you’d been trying to burrow under his skin seeking warmth at night.
You didn’t speak after that. You made sure to ignore him. Each time you left the house, to go see your father or to just roam around the city you’d missed so much, you’d look in the rear view mirror and find big, bulky SUVs following you around.
And here you were now, after days of silent treatment, you stood in front of the large mirror in the closet of your bedroom and watched your reflection. Of course the bastard had chosen an extravagant evening gown for you to wear which looked eerily similar to the one you wore that night for your birthday almost ten years ago.
Except this one was much more elegant. And looked a lot like a wedding dress. With its simple square neckline, thin straps, fitted bodice and a majestic skirt. All white and sparkly. The last time you felt like a princess, the night ended terribly. So this time you were afraid to even let yourself appreciate the beautiful woman in the mirror who stared back at you.
You kept fidgeting, with the skirt of the dress, watching it swish around. You didn’t notice Bucky approaching you from behind. Not until he stood right behind you, his chest brushing against your slight exposed back.
He looked… unreal in his all black suit. Shiny black tie and a small shiny pin. His hair was perfect as always, and his all black outfit really made his eyes seem bluer than ever. Or maybe it was the lights in this closet that did it. But it made you notice the lines by his eyes, which gave away just how much time had gone by.
He was still that bad boy with tattoos whom you had a crush on, who made your race whenever he looked at you. Except now he was older, meaner. And your husband. Whom you hated.
Did you?
You tensed up when he placed a hand on your waist, right where the bodice and skirt were sewn together. You met his eyes through the mirror, but said nothing. You had no mean words to throw at him this time and neither did he.
“You look beautiful.” He said, leaning in just a little to rest his cheek against your temple.
You froze at the soft touch which drove you insane. You must be ovulating, you thought, because there was no way that mere touch was making your heart race like this for no other reason. You began breathing faster, that’s how fast your heart was racing.
You almost leaned into his touch, ready to forget it all just for one moment of warmth. Of peace and quiet. Just one moment to appreciate that you looked beautiful and you had your husband’s attention and all was well. To appreciate that you two look great together. To stop fighting this weird alchemy between you two which kept drawing you to one another no matter what. But then you remembered.
“Do I?” You asked, keeping your voice steady. “You sure I don’t look like a kid’s toy with this ridiculous dress on?”
He remembered too, judging by the look on his face. He looked surprised, then briefly apologetic before settling on a familiar, broody frown. “What did I say about being a brat?”
“I’ll stop being a brat when you stop being an asshole.” You scoffed. “You always were so… careless. With people. With everything. Always thinking you were above everyone else, ever since we were just kids.” You added, “I hate you.”
He smirked, then grabbed your elbow and turned you around so he could look at you, or glare at you with his ocean blue eyes. “You didn’t hate me back then, did you?” He pushed you against the closest surface, which happened to be a wooden dresser. “You craved my attention back then. You used to find excuses to hold my hand when we were little. When we got older you used to hate it when I looked at other girls at school. Now look at you. You’re in my house, you sleep in my bed.” He leaned in, whispering in your ear, “You’re my wife. Then why do you keep resisting me, hmm?”
“I was stupid back then. Wasted so much time trying to get your attention, and all I ever was to you was a whiny, bratty–,” You cut yourself off with a surprised gasp as you watched Bucky lower to his knees in front of you, his hands lifting the skirt of your dress. He was rough with it, crumpling it in his strong fists. “What are you doing?” You asked, shocked and surprised but not making a move to get away. “You– you’re ruining my dress.”
He looked up at you, bunching some of the fabric near your waist and holding the front part of your dress up, pinning the bunched up skirt at your abdomen. As if he wanted to–
Your entire face burned when you realised just how close and intimate this was.
“I bought this dress. I’ll ruin it if I want to.” He spoke in that arrogant tone you weren’t sure you entirely hated at this moment. “You’re lucky I’m not tearing it off of you.”
“And you’re lucky I’m not–,”
He cut you off by leaning in and kissing your inner thigh. Just like that. As if you weren’t on the verge of arguing just now. You were still processing that soft kiss he left on your thigh, and he was already moving to spread your legs apart as he slowly looked up, waiting to see if you’d tell him to stop or push him away.
You didn’t.
His eyes remained focused on your face as his hand reached out and he ran his metal knuckles between your legs, along your wet folds through your thin underwear, making you shudder at his mere touch. You flinched at the cold, but didn’t pull away.
“You’re dripping.” He commented, slowly sliding down your underwear. “Does arguing with me turn you on, baby? Is that why you do it all the time?” He smirked, finally throwing your underwear to the side.
You glared at him, opening your mouth to argue yet again but you ended up just letting out a soft moan as you felt his metal fingertips gently trail up and down your legs. He chuckled at how sensitive and responsive you were. Bucky placed a kiss on your inner thigh again and you gasped.
“Looks like you haven’t been taken care of in a while.” He said, moving his fingers over your clit, circling it slowly. “Have you?” He sounded like he was accusing you.
“No.” You hissed, angry at how much you didn’t mind his touch. “You barged in and married me before I could go out and find someone who might–,”
“I tolerate you talking to and about Sam because he’s our friend.” He cut you off. “But if I hear you talking about any other man, I promise I will be committing unnecessary crimes and it’ll all be on you.” He paused, glaring at you. “You hear me?”
You nodded. Fuck he looked good from up here.
He held your stare as he leaned in and placed his mouth to your core, giving your clit a firm such before his warm tongue slipped past your folds and teased your dripping hole. One hand holding part of your dress up while the metal one worked in tandem with his tongue, circling your throbbing clit and parting your wet folds with ease.
“Should’ve known you’d taste like fucking heaven,” He whispered, almost to himself.
You couldn’t hold the moans and whimpers in, feeling his stubble rubbing against your soft skin, craving more of it. You couldn’t help but slide hesitant fingers into his hair, pulling him closer. “Please, more…” You whined.
That made him wild. And he ate you out relentlessly, taking his time and learning what worked for you and what didn’t, until your legs were shaking and your moans were louder.
He slid his fingers, just a knuckle deep inside you and watched how much you loved that. “That feels good, doesn’t it, baby?”
You only whimpered in response.
When he was certain you were right on the edge, hips moving in a frantic way which made you grind against his fingers and tongue, only then did he pull away and let go of your dress before standing back up to face you with a condescending smirk.
“You think it’s that easy?” He spoke, but you focused more on the wetness coating his lips rather than his words.
You blinked a couple of times to break out of whatever spell he’d just put you under using that damned mouth and fingers of his. He’d… he’d dared bring you right to the edge. But hadn’t let you come.
You were breathing heavily, feeling hot and tingly all over.
He chuckled, enjoying the speechlessness which was rare when it came to you. “If you want more, then behave tonight. Be good and tell everyone how in love we are and all the nice things, and I promise I’ll take care of you later tonight. Okay?“
You knew what he was doing. He wanted you to tell as many people as possible because the more people knew, the harder it would be for you to sneak out of this place again.
He didn’t even wait for a response. He just licked his lips clean, shamelessly holding your stare while he did. Then turned to the mirror and fixed his suit before bending down to pick up your discarded underwear. You looked away, embarrassed but waiting for him to hand it to you.
Except he didn’t. He pocketed it like it was nothing and said, “Come on, our guests are waiting.” Then he walked out of the room like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t made you almost lose your mind just minutes ago. Like he didn’t have his tongue and fingers inside you. Like he hadn’t gotten so close to making you come.
Like your heart wasn’t still racing even after he’d left the room.
Eventually, you calmed down. Fixed your makeup, hair and dress again before heading towards the temporary, clear outdoor party tent Sam had people install in Bucky’s huge backyard. The closer you got, the more it looked straight out of a fairytale. Given the clear walls, you could see the golden lights and decor inside.
The chandeliers, the floral arrangements, the tables and the dance floor where people danced with their partners.
Speaking of partners, there by the entrance stood a tall, dark figure. Your husband.
“Took you a while.” He muttered once you got close enough to him.
You stopped by his side and sighed. Then answered in a monotone voice, trying to hide how bothered you were. “Well, some conceited asshole left me to deal with a mess he made so there’s that.”
Bucky snickered. “Don’t act so indifferent. You were dripping all over my tongue and hand just minutes ago.”
“Keep your voice down.” You hissed.
“Nothing to be ashamed of. It’s not taboo for a husband to take care of his wife, you know?” He sounded just as annoying as you expected he would.
You looked down and noticed he had his elbow extended out for you to take. You took it and spoke once you two began walking into the venue. “If you think you are getting anywhere near me to take care of me again, husband, you are dead fucking wrong.” You put a fake smile on as people began noticing your arrival and flocked to you.
Bucky whispered one last thing into your ear before he left you in the care of the excited, curious, and loud group of ladies coming your way, “Oh you’ll beg me to touch you soon enough, wife.”
Then he was gone again. Leaving you right on that edge again.
Damn him!
—
You had to give it to Sam, he knew how to organise a party. The decor, the food, the music, the performances, all of it was perfect.
He even re-introduced to all the people you might have forgotten while you were gone. And naturally everyone had questions. You repeated the same answers to them all. The same lies.
Where were you this whole time? You wanted to do your own thing, and make your own name so you decided to get away from home.
Why did you leave right after it was announced that you were to marry Bucky Barnes? Oh your father never said when you were to marry him. He just said you would. Besides, both you and Bucky were too young to marry back then.
Did Bucky know you were going to be gone? Of course he did! You two were childhood sweethearts after all. Yes, you did keep in touch this whole time and only fell more and more in love. Yes, distance does make the heart grow fonder and all.
Why did the wedding happen so suddenly and in secret? After almost a decade of being far apart from each other, you two could no longer wait anymore. So you eloped the day you came back.
There are rumours that your father and Bucky have some kind of tension going on between them, is any of it true? That was the one question you didn’t feel too confident about. Because your father never ended up telling you why that was. How did the rivalry start? You lied and said, it’s just because you eloped. Your father wanted to be involved but you were too in love to think straight. So now your father was giving your poor husband a hard time for stealing his little girl.
As you paraded around and met everyone, you could feel Bucky’s eyes on you at all times. You didn’t have to look to know. You could feel the burning sensation along your back and you just knew he was watching you.
And he watched all night. Up until the moment people began leaving and you had no choice but to find him again, not knowing what else to do.
“You lie very well.” He commented, holding his elbow out for you to take again.
You did. And also leaned into him a little because you had been standing for too many hours. You decided to ignore the hostility for just a minute. “Yes, I’m a natural.”
“Everyone bought your bullshit about how we are childhood sweethearts turned lovers.” He whispered, turning his head to face you.
“Well, you did say to make it believable.”
“Oh it is.” He boasted, “Especially since you’ve been looking at me like that the whole night.”
You rolled your eyes, “How?”
“With longing, and desire. You’re all hot and bothered. You crave my tongue back on that throbbing little clit, don’t you?”
“You’re delusional, Barnes.”
“And you’re dripping wet for me, Mrs. Barnes.”
—
The party ended, and after Sam left you and Bucky made your way back inside the house. Sam, being the angel that he was, had made sure a clean up crew would be here early the next morning so you had nothing to worry about.
Not that it should bother you whether or not Bucky’s house is tidy.
You had a faint smile on your face as you went about your nighttime routine. Shower, skin care, a quick snack in the kitchen. And while you were downstairs, searching the pantry for something sweet, you saw Bucky near the thermostat.
The pantry hid you well, so Bucky didn’t see you. But you watched him mess with the temperature. You squinted and realised he was lowering it. The damned bastard was making it colder! No wonder you were freezing each night and woke up each morning snuggled up to him, basking in his warmth.
This asshole.
You remained in hiding until Bucky left, and this time as you made your way upstairs you vowed you wouldn’t reach for his warmth. No matter how cold it got. And he wouldn’t get to use you as a personal heated blanket either. Let him freeze.
You barely lasted thirty minutes under the covers.
And he was quiet and didn’t move so you thought he was asleep already as you carefully scooted a little bit closer, trying to feel where he was in the dark. If only this bed wasn’t so damn big. You patted around, trying not to move to much as you–
“I can hear you, you know? If you want to cuddle, just say it.”
You stopped moving immediately. “Shut up.” You muttered, frowning at him even though he couldn’t see it. You could see his faint silhouette in the dark, so you knew when he turned on his side to face you.
“What is it, wife? You need some warmth on this cold, cold night?” He asked in that mocking tone of his.
“No.” You answered, lying. Because yes you did.
He muttered ‘stubborn brat’ under his breath and then grabbed you and pulled you close until your back was completely pressed against his chest. His warm, comfy chest. You bit back a sigh of relief once you felt his body heating wrapping you in a cocoon.
“I saw you messing with the thermostat.” You admitted.
“Oh?”
“Yes. You make it cold on purpose.”
“Oh no.” He mocked. “ Why didn’t you fix it then?” He asked, and it hit you how childish this was. He leaned in just enough so that his lips brushed against your cheek when he spoke. “Could it be that you like cuddling with me?”
“Shut up.”
He scoffed, finally wrapping his arms around you, but you hissed upon feeling his metal arm on your body.
“It’s cold.”
“Warm it up for me then.”
“What–”
You stopped talking the moment Bucky grabbed one of your legs and hooked it on top of his, spreading your legs to make room for his hand as you both remained on your sides, with him spooning you from behind.
His metal hand found itself sliding into your shorts, past your underwear and he cupped you with such confidence and authority that you couldn’t help leaning into and grinding into his touch. His other hand slid under your pillow and down so he could grab and give your breast a firm squeeze.
Fuck. His hands felt like they were touching you everywhere.
“I told you I’d take care of you if you behaved.” He whispered into your ear. “Time for a little reward, wife.”
He slid two fingers inside you, you gasped at the feeling of him being knuckles deep inside you. You whined as he stretched you a little, moving his fingers around until your hips were moving on their own, trying to get him to move some more.
He chuckled. “That feels good?” He murmured into your ear.
His voice, his warmth, the softness of his embrace, the unhurried way his fingers were moving in and out of you, sliding over your clit and stroking your walls like he had all the time in the world.
Your hands wrapped around his metal wrist, keeping his hand in place as you rode his fingers the way you wanted. Hips moving forward and causing his fingers to slide in and out, while you moaned and whimpered.
His lips brushed against your cheek over and over again as he whispered against your skin, “See how nice it is when you behave? Hmm? You can have me whenever you want, baby. Just be good for me, and I’ll do anything for you.”
The animosity between you was forgotten at this moment. Here, in this dark room the past didn’t matter for a few minutes. Nothing mattered, just that you wanted something and he was giving it to you.
His thumb caressed your clit, teasing it a little more until you cried out, “Bucky, please…”
He froze. You did too. Then he chuckled and said, “So all is takes is a little finger fucking and now you have manners and you call me by my name?” He sounded just as annoyingly playful as you knew he would.
“Oh fuck you!” You spat, then immediately let out a loud moan as he sped up and really fucked you with his fingers until you were a whimpering mess. “Please, please, please…”
“What did I say, huh?” He hissed. “Keep acting like a fucking brat and you’ll be treated like one.” He kept his fingers moving in and out of you. “I planned on really taking care of you tonight, but you know what? This is all you’re gonna get.”
Your moans and whimpers got louder and louder until you began clenching around his fingers, coming undone with a loud cry of his name. Body shaking and your hips grinding down on his hand as you savoured the last moments of your orgasm before he pulled out and pulled away from you.
You thought he’d go right back to sleep but then you felt him get out of bed. “Where are you–,”
“I’ll fix the temperature.” He mumbled, sounding annoyed. Rightfully so. “Go to sleep.”
And that was the last you heard or saw of him until the morning because you passed out right after. You didn’t even know if he returned to bed or not. Not that you cared much.
Right?
—
Things changed after that night.
A lot changed actually. Bucky had, miraculously, managed to uproot ten years of your life from elsewhere and planted it right here in the city. He took you to the building he’d been getting ready for you and it sure was something. You didn’t know what you expected but a brand new skyscraper was not what you had in mind.
The day he handed over papers and keys and gave you a tour of the huge building was the first time you felt a shift in this… bond you shared with him.
“Thank you.” You simply said as you both stepped into the shiny elevator so he could take you all the up to the top floor, to show you to your new office.
Bucky slid his hands in his pockets and turned to face you. “You think being nice equals sexual favours from me, wife?”
You could’ve told him to shut it. Or told him to go get fucked. But he was trying to be good to you, wasn’t he? Even after all he did, he wanted you next to him for some unknown reason and frankly you were tired of resisting. Your entire life was here now anyway. It wouldn’t hurt to… try. Would it?
So instead you answered with, “Doesn’t it?”
Bucky narrowed his eyes at you, searching for the catch. He didn’t find any so he said, “We’ll see about that.”
And that night he followed you into the shower and kissed you hard under the falling water. “I see you behaved yourself today.” He whispered against your mouth.
You pulled him closer by grabbing his neck and said, “Do I get a reward then?”
He didn’t say anything, just kissed you hard again and walked the two of you backwards until your back collided with the cold clear glass of the shower cubicle. Then he pulled away, looked down into your eyes. His own filled with lust and hunger as he asked, “You’re gonna let me fuck you?”
You nodded quickly before saying, “Yes. Please.”
He didn’t waste a single moment. He grabbed one of your legs and hooked it to his hip, spreading you open. He kissed you senseless again while he pushed inside of you. You moaned into the kiss as he filled you up, his cock stretching you out, making you whine and whimper as he slow fucked you.
“Fuck…” He breathily moaned against your open mouth while he moved against you. Pushing deeper, in and out of you until your moans and whimpers got louder and louder. The sound of the water falling from the shower drowned out most of it, so he fucked you until you moaned loud enough that he could hear you over the falling water.
“Please,” You cried out. Weeks of frustration wanting to be let out. “Please, Buck…” Your hands wrapped around his shoulders, and you held on while he fucked you.
Bucky almost froze again at the sound of his nickname falling from your lips. But he maintained his composure and sped up into you, feeling your walls clenching around him, gripping his cock.
“You’ve been good today,” He said, noticing the way you clenched around him hard at the sound of praise. “You didn’t talk back, not once. Is it because you wanted this cock, baby?”
You whined in response. Feeling his damp skin rubbing against yours, and for a brief moment you wanted to live in this moment forever.
“Oh, poor baby.” He gave you a messy, heated kiss then said, “It’s all yours, you know? You just have to ask nicely. And you can have it whenever you want.”
“Please…” You begged again, your pride nowhere in sight. “Please, Bucky.”
“Come for me, baby…” He breathed against your skin. His hands held you in place as he pounded into you. “Come for me.”
You did, moaning so loud it was all he heard as he came right after you.
—
It became a daily thing over the next few weeks. You’d seek Bucky out at random times during the day or more often right when he’d get into bed at night.
“Were you good today, wife?” He asked, his hands already moving all over you trying to undress you as fast as he could.
“Yes,” You breathed into his ear, your hands touching him all over his tattooed chest. “I even made you breakfast, remember?”
“Those burnt pancakes count?”
You shut him up by kissing him, pulling him down onto the bed and straddling him, then proceeded to ride him until you were both moaning and spent, too tired to move.
—
Things got… playful.
Oftentimes you’d catch yourself wondering why you weren’t actively working to get out of here. But your whole life was here now. Work, your family, and your husband. You didn’t hate Bucky as much as you thought you would. Just a few months ago you wanted to kill him on sight but now…
“I saw the new building you work at. He bought you that?” Your father asked one morning when you went over to join him for breakfast.
You cleared your throat and answered, “He did. He moved everything here. My businesses, my staff, all of it.”
“And the girls?” He asked, referring to the infamous, feared, and fierce army you had raised and trained over the last ten years.
“My girls are free to go wherever they want to.” You let pride fill you as you thought of them. “Besides, they don’t have to be here for me to know I can always count on them. They’re just a phone call away.” You explained. “Plus they have work to do. People to save, women to recruit. You know, the usual.”
“I’m proud of you, you know?”
You smiled at your father. Then a few moments passed and you couldn’t help but ask, “What happened after I left? Where is the rest of Bucky’s family?”
Your father looked surprised. “He didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
Your father shook his head. “It doesn’t matter now. They’re all gone anyway. Plus the boy, he… he treats you right, doesn’t he?”
You nodded. Then left it at that. You wanted a peaceful morning with your father, you didn’t want to ruin it by insisting he tell you about whatever it was that he wanted to keep in the past.
—
But it bothered you, knowing that something happened while you were gone that you knew nothing about and everyone refused to tell you about it.
All except one man. Your beloved friend, Sam.
He showed up one morning, demanding to see Bucky.
“He said he has an important phone call to attend to. With someone named Steve. He’s been outside for over an hour now,” You explained to Sam, who stood at the foyer looking disappointed, “It looks like he’ll be out for quite some time.”
Sam frowned, and sighed. “He said to come over for a round of golf.” He sounded like he’d been betrayed. “Ever since he started doing business and being friendly with that Steve guy,” Sam complained, “That bitch has been trying to steal my best friend.”
You chuckled and grabbed his hand to lead him further into the house. “I’m sorry my husband ruined your playdate, Sammy. But you can hang out with me.”
Sam reluctantly agreed only after you promised to make him blueberry muffins. He liked those ever since you were kids.
He agreed to help, and you both had a nice, comfortable conversation going while you worked. You caught yourself shaking your head a few times thinking about how just a few months ago if someone had told you you’d be in Bucky’s kitchen making muffins you wouldn’t believe it.
But here you were now.
Then Sam casually said, “I’m glad you two worked it out, you know? You’re so perfect for each other. Even back when we were kids, remember how everyone used to tease you two and say you would surely marry one another?” He laughed. “I mean after he told me all about how you heard him on the phone with me by the pool, I was worried you might never clear up the misunderstanding.” He chuckled, keeping his eyes down as he lined the muffin tin so didn’t see the way you froze. Sam continued, “I thought that’s why you left when I heard about your sudden disappearance. But–”
You cut him off, heart racing as memories of that night came flooding back in. “Sam… what do you mean on the phone with you?”
Sam looked up, frowning. “That night of your twentieth birthday. Remember how you found Bucky by the pool? He was on the phone with me that night. He was so angry when he told me what his family was planning to do to yours, how they were going to–,” Sam cut himself off as the realisation set in. “Did he not tell you the truth?”
Your heart pounded. Something was wrong.
“Tell me what truth?”
Sam’s eyes softened. “Oh, I shouldn’t be the one to–,”
“Sammy, please.” You begged in a whisper. “Even my father refuses to tell me anything. I have the right to know. What happened?”
Sam tried his hardest to make sense as he told you everything in a rush. “Look, something went wrong back then. Bucky’s family began siding with the rivals and they were trying to take your father down. They tricked your dad into thinking that getting you and Bucky married would be a good idea and well, your father chose to believe his friends so he made that announcement at the party.” Sam sighed, “But Bucky’s family were planning something really bad. They were going to use the wedding as an excuse to gather all your family in one place and… end all of you. Just so they’d be able to expand their territory. Bucky found out about this plan and he was pissed. So that night, he called me. To vent.”
You felt your eyes begin to water.
Sam continued. “But then you found him. I remember him whispering to me that you were doing a terrible job at hiding behind a plant or some shit. Then your huge gown gave away your hiding spot. But given you were listening, Bucky decided he’d get you annoyed enough to have you at least try to call off the wedding which would buy us some time to figure out what to do. That’s when he began saying those things about you. Trying his hardest to sound like he truly did not want to marry you.” Sam sighed, “I mean there might have been a better way of doing it rather than fake dialogues on a phone call, but we were twenty year old boys. We didn’t know better. We didn’t know you’d write that note and just disappear.”
What the actual fuck.
“Sam…” You whispered in disbelief.
He shook his head. “Please tell me you didn’t truly believe all that. He lied when he said those things that night, you know? Bucky liked you ever since we were kids. You don't remember how he used to get mad at me whenever I was around you for too long? How he always ignored your hiding spots when we played just so you’d win at hide-and-seek? You don’t remember how he used to bully your stupid boyfriends as we got a older?”
You couldn’t believe any of this. But Sam would never lie to you.
“Wait,” Sam put the pieces together. “So you didn’t know about any of this?”
You closed your eyes and sighed, “I didn’t. I heard all the things he said that night and… I had spent my entire life loving him and I thought…” You sighed. “I was young and stupid and heartbroken so I just left.” Then you explained. “I got back recently, Bucky made this whole show of raining down bullets at my father’s house and, well, we kinda got married that same day, in my father’s destroyed foyer.”
“You didn’t talk to each other this whole time?” Sam was in disbelief. “Oh for fuck’s sake. And I thought Bucky just never mentioned you while you’ve been gone because… well, he’s not exactly good at the whole heart to heart thing. He’s Bucky.”
Your surprise morphed into anger really quickly. “I need to find my husband.” You said, quickly walking out of the kitchen.
Sam yelled behind you, “I'm gonna take this muffin batter and go before he shoots me after he finds out I told you all this!”
You just yelled back, “Bye Sammy, I love you”
Sam’s voice sounded distant as he yelled back, “Don’t let him hear you!”
You ran out to the back, where Bucky said he would be. And you found him by the pool. Again. The sight of him standing there gave you déjà-vu. Except he wasn’t your twenty-year old crush, in a black suit, arguing with who turned out to be Sam, on the night of your birthday anymore.
He was older now, your husband, wearing dark trousers and a loose white-button up shirt, standing by the pool with the sun setting behind him. You stood on the patio, for a second more, admiring him. The metal hand casually shoved in his pocket and his heavily tattooed arm held a phone to his ear.
You called out, no longer containing your anger. “You absolute piece of shit!”
Bucky looked towards you and just frowned, before rolling his eyes. Then said on the phone, “Hang on a minute, Steve. My wife’s angry at me again.” He lowered the phone to his chest and whispered to you, “What is it this time?”
“How long were you going to keep the truth from me?” You accused him. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
He raised the phone to his ear again and said, “I’ll call you later Steve, something came up.” Then he hung up, tossed his phone onto one of the lounge chairs before turning to face you again. “Don’t get mad–”
“Stop telling me what to do!”
He sighed. “Did Sam tell you anything? I saw his car coming in earlier.”
You hissed, “Oh leave him alone! He’s a good man who doesn’t lie to me!”
Bucky shook his head, understanding that you knew all about what he’d been hiding, and too calmly said, “They were gonna kill you. All of you. Not just your family members, but the guards, the family friends, the members of your family who aren’t even in this life – all of you. I had to do something. My folks were wrong, I couldn’t let innocent people die just because my family got too power hungry.”
You took a step forward, “Why didn’t you tell me before I left? I would’ve talked to someone.”
“We barely even talked to each other as we got older. I thought you wouldn’t believe me.”
“But you could’ve at least tried to say something!”
He was quiet for a moment. Then said, “I came to see you the next day.” He confessed. “The morning after the party. But your father had found your note and you’d already left. You never mentioned exactly why you left in the note, so I let him think it was because of me.” He explained, “Since there would be no wedding I didn’t have to worry anymore. But the threat remained. So I goaded your father into a fight. He took the bait and tried to shoot at me. He missed, of course. But enough people heard about it so he ended up declaring war against my family.”
He paused. You listened quietly.
“No one knew it was all because of me. But at least from then on, your father was more cautious. And he began hating my folks. And they couldn’t keep pretending to be his friend for much longer either. All the truth began spilling out. Soon the city was divided and the attacks began. Allies became enemies, just like that.”
You were quiet. Processing everything. All of that shit happened and you were not aware.
For some reason, you asked, “During those attacks… Is that when you lost your arm?”
You only realised you’d been stepping closer and closer to him when he raised said metal arm and touched your cheek gently. He smiled and said, “No, baby. That was a different time.”
You had a tear sliding down your face. He wiped it away. “What happened then?” You asked.
“My folks didn’t stand a chance. Your father was not only angry and betrayed, but he was also sad that he lost you because of them, or me.” Bucky explained. “It got… really bad. Your father lost a lot of his guys. Then he got angrier. So he stopped responding to the petty attacks and came after my folks directly.”
“He killed them?” They were his friends once.
Bucky said, “He still doesn’t know I helped him all the way until the end.”
“But he spared you.”
Bucky smirked. “He just could never catch me.”
“But your family…” Bucky went against his own you realised.
“They were bad people. Not just because of what they planned to do to you but…” He sighed. “They were doing bad things in the background. Dealing in substances, and people.” He spared you the gory details.
But you understood.
“Why didn’t you tell me all this that day we got married?”
“You wouldn’t have believed me. You had just spent ten years hating me.” He shrugged. “But hey, it kept you safe.”
You stepped closer to him, feeling tired with all that you felt inside you. “So you never meant the things you said that night?”
Bucky pulled you close, cupping your face in his hands. “I have loved you my entire life. I never stopped.”
You sniffled, looking up into his pretty eyes. “We lost so much time. I spent years hating you for nothing.” It hurt thinking about it.
He smiled at you, “I should’ve thought it through better. But I was young and rash, and my family threatened to kill the girl I loved. I thought I was doing the right thing by pushing you away.” He sighed. “I just didn’t think I was going to lose you for almost a decade. I was always aware of where you were and what you did in life in those years. I was so proud of everything you did, the name you made for yourself. But I couldn’t reach you. You were angry and you hated me. So I waited. And then you came back and… I needed you with me. I’m sorry, I couldn’t wait any longer.”
You wrapped your arms around him, shoving your face into the crook of his neck as you let the tears fall quietly.
“Shh,” He whispered, running a comforting hand down your back. “It’s okay now, I’m here. We’re okay.”
“I’ve been mean to you.” You whispered. “I’m sorry.”
He chuckled quietly, “And I shot at your father’s house. We’re equal.”
“I… I love you too, you know?” You sniffled.
Bucky pulled away so he could look down at your teary face. “Sorry to say this, wife, but this isn’t half as romantic as the first time you told me you loved me.”
You frowned. “What?” Did you talk in your sleep? Oh no. Did you? “When did I say it?”
“We were seven, playing in the hedge maze in your father’s backyard.” He smiled, thinking about that day. “He had just had a new water fountain placed in there, and you wanted to show it to me. You must have thought it was pretty and that I needed to see it too. Then you dragged me all the way there and told me you loved me.” He smirked, “Seven-year old you would be disappointed in you right now.”
A chuckle escaped your lips at the faded memory. “I wish we could go back in time.”
“Well, we can’t. But we can have the rest of our lives together.”
You sniffled again, wiped your tears. Then nodded, and leaned in for a kiss. Deepening it the moment he kissed you back. Your fingers found their way into his longish hair and you gently tugged at his roots.
He smiled into the kiss when you whispered against his lips, “I like you with long hair.”
“I see you’re being nice again,” He murmured in between kisses, “Does my wife need something?”
You giggled this time. “I want you, Buck. Just you.”
Summary: Joel saves your life, but help comes at a price.
Warnings: 18+. DEAD DOVE: DNE. NONCONSENSUAL. I’m never ever beating the insane bitch allegations, I fear. Protector-turned-pervert-turned-unwilling-captor-kinda. Corruption kink. Daddy kink. Somnophilia. Misogyny. “It’s too big; it won’t fit” + Joel “I’ll make it fit” Miller. Captivity on both ends. Oral (f!receiving). Gunplay. Oversimplified first-time anal. Uno Reverse Drugging. Evil, inexperienced reader meets evil, feral, slutty Joel. Attempted murder x3. Russian Roulette…as foreplay?
Notes: Both characters SUCK. I condone nothing they do. Please do not take any of their behavior or language to reflect my own moral predilections. That is all 🚬😵💫
You were hardly shaking at all when he’d found you chained, maimed, and frozen half to death on the plains.
He didn’t see that every day, that was for-fucking-sure.
Joel Miller barely got to see his share of happy, grinning girls on the cold and bitter frontier he inhabited. Ones that were tied to posts and clinging to life were even less common, so the sight of you there had almost frightened him at first. He’d approached you like one might advance upon a sleeping bear: with the utmost caution and a Winchester Model 70 levelled directly at your head.
He’d learned you were unarmed and defenseless in less than a second. He’d come to realize you were largely unconscious—and unclothed—even sooner than that.
He had been industrious in freeing your hands and feet from their restraints but never uttered a word as he did.
Even on the two-and-a-half mile trek back home, he hadn’t spoken once. You’d hung off his left shoulder like a pretty, frosted slab of meat, covered only with the sherpa blanket he’d secured around your neck, and dangled precariously down his back for the entire fifty minutes.
Your toes were two shades shy of onyx with frostbite.
Your limbs were hanging like lead over his chest.
A whisper of, ‘You’ll be fine, darlin’, I promise’ had just seemed ill-suited for the circumstances and his nature. In truth, Joel didn’t know if you’d be fine. You might die. The blood wouldn’t be on his hands one way or the other, but he never had liked burying bodies this time of year. He’d have to wait until April to break ground, at least.
Presently, he dropped your limp form to the floor of his cabin and hoped he wouldn’t be needing to bury anyone.
You sort of looked charming in the firelight.
He stomped off to the kitchen and began rifling for pans, preparing to defrost the icy stranger as best he could.
You didn’t die.
You didn’t wake for forty full hours, but you didn’t die.
When you stirred on the floor with warm sherpa around your shoulders and a rough calfskin rug under your ass, you thought you had died—maybe taken a pit stop in cowpoke purgatory while you were at it—but then you blinked. Breathed. Realized you were still very much inside your body and most likely still in Wyoming.
You sat up where you were and looked around.
“Da-a-d?”
You knew it was useless, calling for your father.
He had been dead almost eight months; you just wanted to double-check to make sure you were still on earth.
When dead dad didn’t answer, you tried someone else.
“Momma?”
Still no answer.
Figured, since she was among the ones that had left you chained outside in the first place. It’d been worth a shot.
You started to rise from your place, when a sharp pain in your side made you plop back down on the rug. You winced and lifted the blanket, then your old nightie.
A neat little taped-down bandage had your ribs encased in antiseptics and gauze. You frowned down at a stain in the centre, which looked to you an awful lot like blood. That circle of old fluids must’ve been twice the size of your fist and currently oozing tiny, fresh beads of blood from the strain you’d just exerted. You pursed your lips.
Least they could’ve done is kill me, not leave me here.
You’d take it up with your old would-be assassins another day, you were sure. Right now, you were parched, starving, in dire need of a piss, and reeling on the floor to grab hold of something sturdy to lift yourself. But you were as much a child then as you had ever been, swaying in place and clawing at air like someone who’d never kept their balance before. Or might’ve been drunk.
You rolled onto your good side and cast a sweeping look around the cabin. You smelled slow-cooked barbecue.
Thank fuck, you thought.
Now, if I were a juicy rack of ribs, where would I be?
The kitchen was dark and empty; the smell was coming from elsewhere. You craned your neck, tilted your chin, spotted a loft overhead but figured it wasn’t too likely to find someone grilling up there, so where the hell was it?
And who the hell was it, smoking meats and mending up strangers in the cold and lonely dead of winter like this?
You put a pin in that thought as you searched for a place to pee.
By the time you’d hobbled out of the bathroom, the smoky smell had grown even stronger. It was so pungent it bordered on vertiginous, invading every inch of the cabin with a force. Then it was leading you, teasing you by turns to venture outside. All you had on your feet were some oversized socks and two strips of medical tape.
Against your better judgment, you continued to hobble.
Out the door, down the steps, slowly, then following your nose and the first whiff of smoke you smelled to make it to the place you were almost certain you needed to be.
You trudged around a corner of the cabin’s exterior and stopped. Turned around. Cursed your own senses for being so stupid to miss the huge fucking shed spewing smoke out front—or was it the back?—and plodded on.
Your feet might have carried you a third of the way there before your powers of sight and sound eventually failed you again, and you missed another big something.
Big and beige and coated in snow—baring its teeth and snarling at the unfamiliar presence as soon as it saw you.
The next thing you knew, sixty-two pounds of Belgian Malinois had had you knocked to the ground in less than a second. You hardly understood what had hit you until it was barking and chomping away an inch from your face.
You fought hard and frantic to shove the ugly fucker off, but your bandaged hands were no match for its paws. The dog continued to tear at your blanket, nip at your ears, claw at your neck, and all around snuff out any sense of peace you might have acquired in the dozen-odd minutes since you’d first woken up. You screamed.
You yelled as loud as you could and felt yourself cower and sink lower into the snow as you fought.
Just when you tried to raise a knee—to kick the animal in the ribs or else protect your own—a sound broke out above the buzz.
A voice, clear as day:
“CUJO!”
The dog stalled on top of you a moment, just to be yanked off the next, and the closest thing afterward was a face—kinder than Cujo’s but not by very much.
It was a broad, bearded, pock-marked head with more soot to recommend itself than skin. Lips smeared with ash and grime and curved down in the single most decisive frown you’d seen in your life, the man looked to be beside himself seeing you tits up in the snow.
He gripped one arm of yours, then dropped it.
Picked a leg up, paused, then hauled you into a cradle carry as graceless as you’d ever felt it done before.
“Come!” he snapped, and it took you too long to realize that he was talking to the dog. You’d already wrapped your arms around his neck in abrupt complaisance.
He carried you back into the cabin and kicked the door open in front of you. He held you firm for a second, then, just as he had outside, changed course before you knew what to do and was shortly depositing you on the sofa.
You winced when your ass hit the cushion.
You started to sit, grab a pillow for your back or just bring your knees to your chest, when suddenly a palm was pressing flat on your front. Forcing you to lie down.
“Hey, hey!” you cried when the man started lifting the hem of your nightgown.
If he’d heard you at all, he didn’t show it. He just worked his thick, dirty fingers under the fabric and raised the white satin like he might the hood of a car. He frowned.
It was then that you noticed a blooming red splotch on your side, slowly overtaking the terra-cotta color of dried blood on the bandage and spreading out. Then a pain.
Instead of pushing the man’s hands away, you were holding them tight, wrestling that same touch which was trying to keep you from poking around the area now.
“Quit,” the man said, sedate as could be.
“Hurts,” was all you could think to tell him—and you guessed he’d already had that part down by the outpouring of blood. He shoved your hands off.
The brand new crimson hue had already soaked through the bandage. He pulled it off. You caught a glimpse of a wound that seemed to be weeping through its stitches—oozing pus and blood and a gore you could’ve gone your whole life without seeing. You would’ve liked to run a couple gentle, awed fingers over it, but as it was, your coarse and tight-lipped medic wouldn’t let you.
“Hold still,” he commanded.
“Heystopstopstop!” you implored him, feeling a streak of pain up your side as his calloused hands delved deeper.
At your latest flinch and plea, the man seemed to have had enough. Or just needed to angle your body in a different direction for easier access to the site. He gathered you back up in his arms and walked over to the kitchen, where he set you down again on the counter. Hands moved to your hips, briefly, to push you back on the surface and allow him to stand between your legs. Again, the man frowned as he peeled off your pyjamas.
Two warring fears of pain and overexposure fought like wild beasts in your brain for a second—you yelping and trying to cover your breasts in a hurry, then realizing how much it hurt to lift your arms that way when your ribs were dripping blood, then the man making the decision for you both as he pushed your hands behind your back and said a simple ‘Fuck’s sake’ to keep you pinned.
You didn’t like it.
You didn’t like it, and you let him continue, because you knew that you didn’t know shit about doing this yourself.
Joel must’ve fixed your dressings fourteen times before turning you loose. He’d had you perched atop his counter like goddamned Prisoner-of-War Barbie, all riddled with bumps, bruises, and lesions galore, looked your body up and down just once, and nearly grew sick at the sight.
He’d disgusted himself by feeling as aroused as he was.
Shortly thereafter, he’d toted you off—before the blood could rush down to his dick and start to swell—shrugged your gown over your torso, and stepped away. Simple.
Then you’d had to go and throw a wrench in his plans.
“What if I need to pee?” you’d said as soon as Joel started up the stairs with you in his arms again.
He had meant to drop you off on the bed in the loft, out of sight, but it seemed you were more concerned about the prospect of traversing the steps up and down for potty breaks. Joel had audibly huffed above you.
“I can leave a bucket.”
“Yu-uck.” The latter word had been given two syllables to show the full extent of your disgust, like a child might do.
And that was how you’d ended up here: snug in his bed on the ground floor, curled up in more layers of flannel and wool than you could count and staring blankly up at the man who was standing cold and aloof off to the side.
Your eyelids were growing heavy with sleep.
He figured they would be.
Joel picked up the glass that sat beside your empty one on the nightstand and drank, watching you all the while.
“D’you know my momma?” you asked, voice sounding extra small coming from the depths of your cocoon.
Joel finished his drink in four big gulps.
“Sure hope not,” he said once he’d set it back down.
By the sight of the scars he’d found littering your hands and back alone, Joel was able to surmise you’d come from a pretty rough, ragtag group. Maybe even Raiders. Knowing folks like that simply never struck one’s fancy, so he’d been honest. You might’ve argued, or laughed, if you hadn’t been nabbed so tightly in the grips of those first stages preceding sleep, so instead, you nodded.
“Figured,” you mumbled.
7:11, Joel read on the clock. You’d finished your drink at seven, or somewhere thereabouts. Judging by your size, it wouldn’t take long at all for the medicine to take effect.
‘Medicine,’ Joel thought, sounded a whole hell of a lot better than ‘drugs.’ One was meant to rehabilitate, rejuvenate, bring new life to your worn and weary bones. The other would just knock you cold and keep you there.
On second thought, those were definitely drugs Joel had just slipped in your water before giving it to you to drink.
As your eyes blinked from closed, to open, to closed, then open but slightly less open than the time before, and closed again, he felt a sick sense of accomplishment twist in his gut. If only his former-nurse friend could have seen what he was doing with those morphine sulfate tablets he’d traded for—he likely would’ve slapped Joel across the face. And Joel would’ve smiled all the same.
Yeah, okay, drugging the unsuspecting and defenseless female he’d just saved from death’s doorstep two days ago didn’t look great on paper, he would fully concede.
But this was all in good fun.
Great fun, even.
For him.
“Sick fuck,” Joel muttered as he started to undo his belt. The button and zip were taken apart just as fast, and with two steps, he was standing at your bedside—his bedside—and tugging his trousers down his legs. He took his cock in his hand and glanced over at the clock.
7:15.
He nudged your shoulder.
7:16.
Peeling layers of blanket away from your body.
7:17.
“Hey…honey?”
A lot more nothing from the girl sleeping in front of him. He shrugged his jeans to the floor, kicked them off at his feet, and moved onto the bed. You just looked so sweet.
Joel tried working around the fabric of his boxers but got impatient pretty quick. He hauled those off, too.
Soon, his beefy, bare, and surprisingly tan legs were bracketing your hips as he stroked himself above you. His eyes roamed the lax and tranquil features undeniably characteristic of sleep, and he pumped himself faster. Really, there was no need for theatrics or enhancements now—he was already hard as three tonnes of steel—but Joel would be lying if he said he didn’t like the build-up.
You were no longer in danger of dying, thanks to him. You were slowly but surely on the mend, no thanks to Cujo at all, but many thanks to him, Joel Miller, the man who had pried you off of that post, pulled you out of your chains, ushered warmth back into your limbs, and stitched up your side out of the goodness of his heart.
Any objective onlooker could see that you’d availed yourself of his medical attention and aid without ever asking, so why should he request access to you now? This was the way of the world these days, anyway. Sex was no longer so much a question as it was an answer in most scenarios—a mere transaction, wherein the physically weaker of two parties was forced to capitulate. Not within the four unsullied walls of Jackson and a few other pockets of homestead communities here and there, but on the whole, absolutely. Jackson was down the road a ways away and sufficiently far enough from Joel’s cabin for him to be disentangled from their rules. What mattered now was obtaining what he was owed.
Still, the man hesitated a half-second longer above you. He jerked his cock even faster and felt his stomach start to clench. Was that? No—nerves were fucking juvenile. Getting close to cumming from just the sight of you alone was for chumps. Joel Miller was no chump.
He lifted your nightie and lowered the head of his cock to rest between your folds. Then he shifted his knees so that he could rub himself gently against your warmth.
Joel Miller was a monster, but he was no brute. He also understood female anatomy well enough to know that, well…wetter was better. He started moving his hips.
You exhaled through your nose. Nothing major; you probably hadn’t even felt him long enough to whine.
Joel planted a hand beside your head—a preemptive warning.
“There…” He liked to talk as though you could hear him. Like you might be semi-conscious and dimly aware of what he was doing to you then, “Right there…ah, baby.”
He never did catch your name.
That was no matter. So long as you stayed put and made a nice, wet, pretty little hole for him to fuck, you would be fine. By the feel of your folds alone, he could tell you’d be a fun thing to use. Soft and snug and plied with drugs, you could do, and be, anything he damn well needed.
Or maybe nothing at all, he thought without humor.
Joel brushed your cheek with the knuckles of his free hand and watched you turn away, making a face. He snagged your chin and tilted it back to him, sharply, before gliding those fingers down your chest, then your tummy, then your hips, then dipping between your legs. He found your clit and pressed it with a deliberate touch.
“Hey,” Joel whispered, again, as though you might hear, “You’re gonna stay still and let me do this.”
Your nose scrunched in response, thighs clamping together. Joel pried them apart with one push and continued sliding his cock back and forth. He grunted.
“Gonna let me take what’s mine, hear?”
You didn’t hear much of anything, he suspected, but he asked the question all the same. At least now your legs were staying open and he could rut himself gently into that space without having to keep them spread. A first, gentle ‘mmph’ sounded from your lips, and he was glad. He kept thumbing that spot he knew you would like and rubbing along the seam of your cunt with his erection.
Then Joel felt a weight on his shoulders. Remorse? No. Anxiety? Perhaps. This felt more like a fog, though, seizing his muscles and seeping gently between the grooves of his brain. He gave his head a fierce shake.
“Hold still,” he said, more to himself; you hadn’t moved.
Joel fisted the base of his cock and angled the tip toward your entrance, caring much less whether you were ready or not now that his desires had grown stronger.
He was met with resistance on trying to push in. He dug his fingers in the pillow beneath your head and scowled.
“Quit…clenchin’…like that. Ain’t…fair to me,” he huffed.
He was one to talk.
Now, he’d been with a staggering number of women, experiences ranging all across the spectrum, but even the tightest, most untouched pieces of ass he’d ever tapped had given way more than this. Your walls were unyielding, refusing to give him entry. Joel cursed and rutted his hips in a rough, entirely unsuccessful, thrust.
You hummed in response, eyes still closed, one hand fumbling mindlessly for something to hold. Joel seized it.
“Not lettin’ you off that easy, darlin’, I—”
“Fuck,” you breathed, followed by a low whimper.
Joel froze. Had you heard him? Felt him just now?
Something about the uncertainty laden in those questions sent his mind into overdrive, heart beating a wild cadence in his chest. He realized then that his mouth had gone dry, his vision was skewed just slightly on the outskirts. And his cock was throbbing.
“Ya like that?” Joel seethed, not thinking, still rubbing, “Like givin’ daddy a hard time before lettin’ him in?”
“Uh-huh.” Softly.
You little slut. He knew it all along.
Whatever it was that kept your body from being coupled with his was almost immaterial to him now. Joel’s mind was swimming with desire, cock dragging in desperate, fitful bursts between your legs, never penetrating but still wringing massive jolts of pleasure from that place.
With the way he was feeling now, Joel could cum from just fucking your thighs. And that was alright.
You were moaning underneath him. Even…smiling?
“Fuck, baby, you look so pretty.”
Joel had never called a girl pretty before and meant it. But he hardly knew how else to describe you now with how good and sweet and fine you were making him feel. A strange warmth sank into his chest, making it harder to breathe, and then he was panting above you, as if he were really inside that dripping wet spot. He was close.
“Such a pretty…sweet…fuckin’ thing for me.”
That red, raging, leaky cock of his was almost a blur between your legs, he was thrusting against you so fast. Joel thought for one frightening second that it might be his skull that would explode instead, so high was that pressure between his ears, but his fears were promptly put to rest as the first rope of cum came stuttering out. Then another. Then another. Then another.
By the time he finished, he could’ve sworn he’d left a hundred spurts on your tummy. When Joel glanced down and saw a sea of opaque, sticky white, he groaned.
Then he fell. Fully collapsed at your side with his brain in a tizzy of wild, heady feelings and sank into himself.
He hadn’t even fucked you, and he felt like he had.
He lifted a hand to wipe away his spend, but he couldn’t.
He would get to it in the morning, before you stirred, he thought. He thought. He didn’t have the chance to think much longer at all, as darkness started hedging him in.
He slept.
It was 7:57 when he woke.
The man had no real way of knowing that, though, seeing as he was greeted with a nickel-plated revolver between his teeth the second he opened his eyes.
You were straddling his torso, gun pinched between two calm, bandaged hands. You frowned when he jumped.
“WH—” he started.
“Shut up.”
“ST—”
“I said shut,” you cocked the gun, holding it tighter, then shoving it even further inside his mouth, “the fuck. up.”
The man obeyed.
‘Joel M.’—you’d read the name etched on the butt of his pistol before picking it up some twenty minutes ago.
“Pretty fuckin’ thing,” you mocked the man’s Texan drawl as you wiggled the barrel even deeper along his tongue, “Like givin’ daddy a hard time before lettin’ him in?”
The man’s eyes widened.
How dumb did he think you were?
Offering a semi-clear liquid that should’ve been water; he hadn’t even waited for the morphine tablet to fully dissolve before handing it over to you. Fucking idiot.
You were more disturbed by the fact he’d thought you stupid enough not to notice than him actually trying to drug you. The latter was almost to be expected from predatory, execrable men like him, but the insult to your intelligence? Unacceptable. You’d remedied that affront fairly quickly, though, swapping his glass with yours the second he hadn’t been looking, then nestling into his bed and playing pretend for what had felt like an eternity.
You’d been awake the whole time the man touched you, not knowing what the hell was going on but feeling like you had to stay still. Let him finish. Out of fear, at first, then curiosity, then some strange and unfamiliar sensation that you couldn’t quite describe as anything but a pleasurable itch between your legs. You let the man continue, hearing him grunt and groan and swear up a storm before he shot something hot all over your tummy. By the end of it all, you knew it was wrong, and you knew it was dirty—though you weren’t sure exactly what it was that he had done—but you wanted to learn more.
Which was probably why you hadn’t just shot the old pervert right between his eyes the second he’d stirred.
You shifted atop this ‘Joel M.’ and frowned once more.
“Why’d you stop?”
Gun still wedged in his mouth, Joel’s voice sounded garbled as he spoke, “Wha-agh-at?”
You retracted the metal just long enough to pose the question again. When you had, he still looked stunned.
“Answer me,” you barked, and feeling your patience lapse, got straight to pistol-whipping the motherfucker upside his half-grey head, “You DUMB, or somethin’?”
The man sputtered again.
“No, no— I don’t— dunno what you mean.”
He sounded dumb. You would need to spell this out.
“Why did you stop rubbing me like that?”
If anything, the clarification only seemed to baffle him further. He opened his taut, bearded mouth, then closed it, then eyed you up and down with a look that said he was considering something. Then he stared at one spot.
You glanced down at it too.
“And what is this, anyway?” you asked, swiping one finger at the mostly dried moisture on your stomach, “Why’d you spit this stuff up all over me, huh?!”
“I ain’t—”
You raised the gun as if to hit him again. He jolted back.
“I didn’t mean— shit. Shit, I just…came on you, ‘s’all.”
“Came?”
The word hung in the air like a grenade, waiting. Mr. M was already bracing himself for the impact, it seemed.
“Came?!”
That bracing served him well, because in the next second you were lifting the weapon even higher and eyeing him with the most pointed, putrid look of disdain. You’d never been one for letting grenades go untouched.
“Ejaculated!” Joel hissed, lifting a hand to shield himself, “Felt— felt so good I just couldn’t stop and I-I-I came.”
You paused.
Came. Felt good. Couldn’t stop.
You had felt good when he’d rubbed you. You had not wanted him to stop. But then he had. And you were mad. You’d never been touched that way in your life, and now you were feeling fifteen hundred emotions at once.
Were you supposed to ‘come,’ too? Why did he stop?
“Why didn’t you let me…ejaculate, too?” The words felt foreign and strange on your tongue.
For the first time, you saw one side of Joel’s lips twitch. Evidently fighting the urge to turn them into a smile.
“Girls don’t really…do that,” he said. Then, after a beat, “Why? Ain’t ever had your pussy rubbed on by a man?”
You shortly landed the blow you’d been holding over his head, splitting the skin along his brow with one hit from the butt of his gun. Joel jumped again, then moaned.
“Crazy bitch!”
“Creepy fuck.”
Your eyes narrowed with loathing, unable to comprehend how a man so vile had just made you feel so good. Your stomach was twisting in knots while Joel rubbed his forehead, pawing helplessly at the gash you’d just left.
“I saved your life,” he grumbled, low, “You owed me.”
“Did I?”
Abruptly, and without really thinking, you were sinking the muzzle of the gun into the spot you’d just cut, mouth kicking up in a smile at the sounds of pain it elicited.
“Did I, Joel?” you cooed.
“How the— the fuck do you know my name?”
Momentarily, you yanked the revolver from his face and tilted it to show him his name carved into the bottom.
“What’s the ‘M’ stand for? ‘Molester’?”
“Means ‘mind’ your fucking business,” he spat.
You probably would’ve hit him again had it not seemed as though he were trying to sit up just then. You slid swiftly from his frame—just to take a step off the bed, gun still pointed at his head. Then you backed away.
One by one, rapidly, you unloaded the bullets from the cylinder, maintaining a safe distance from the man all the while. You watched him blink and try to get some thing from his eyes, but he didn’t seem keen to move.
You left just one live round inside. You made a point to spin the cylinder and, again, aim it straight at his head.
The man was blinking even harder. Rubbing now, too.
“I feel…” Joel murmured.
“Drugged?” you returned, “Yeah, that must suck.”
A set of wide, irate, and horrified eyes met yours. His mouth hung open in a stupid look of shock. Trying to piece the last bits of this fucked up jigsaw puzzle together and growing angrier by the second.
“You fuckin’—”
Joel’s words were cut short by the weight of your body barreling back over his. Graceless, you imagined, but still nothing close to something you cared about now. You planted your knees on either side of his ribs and grazed the tip of the six-shooter down the length of his nose.
“Tell me,” you said, “How’d you make it feel so good?”
Your hips twisted for effect, jostling the man’s own parts beneath yours and clearly causing some effect in him. The muscles in his jaw jumped up as he gritted his teeth.
“You know damn well, slut,” Joel griped.
Without another thought, you squeezed the trigger.
Click.
The man’s whole body lurched underneath you. Trembling with the realization that you’d left just one lone bullet for him—and he didn’t know which chamber.
As far as foreplay went, Russian Roulette was probably a first, even for a man as wanton and depraved as Joel. You smiled sweetly and made another gyration with your lower half, which prompted him to grip you. Tight.
“What? Ya want me to fuck you, is that it?” he growled.
“I thought it wouldn’t fit.”
“I’ll make it fit.”
“How?”
Try as you might to conceal it, your gaze likely betrayed a hint of sincerity as you made that last inquiry. Joel’s eyes flickered between yours, searching for something there, and just when those glossy brown irises had found it, they stopped. Blinked. He shook his head, incredulous.
“My mind ain’t…right,” he said, slowly, “But I— I know you know what I mean by that, sweet pea.”
Something in your tummy fluttered at the sound. You gripped the pistol tighter to get rid of the feeling.
“I don’t,” you answered.
Again, Joel was stumped. For the first time, though, there appeared to be some sympathy behind his eyes. Or stupidity. Or just a shit ton of morphine coursing through his veins as he tried to make sense of this situation.
As if to confirm an idea in his drug-addled brain, he lowered a hand between your legs and hovered there a second. He watched you; you watched back but didn’t move.
Then slowly, almost clinically, Joel slipped two fingers underneath you and found a soft, pulsing warmth—far wetter than the last time he’d touched down there. When he pulled his hand away, both fingers and half of his palm were glistening with a fluid. You let out a startled cry at the sight of it and nearly dropped your gun.
“What is that?!”
Joel looked to you, equally awed—for different reasons.
“What do you mean?”
“Why’s it all…sticky?”
You couldn’t even try to hide your horror at the thought of that weird, syrupy stuff leaking out of you. It was strange enough feeling it come out of a freak like Joel, but from your own body? He had to be fucking joking.
“It’s normal.”
“Like hell it is— you— STOP!” The last fragment of your sentence was swallowed by a scream, leaping back when Joel moved his fingers toward your face.
“What? You’ve never seen this?” He sounded like he was teasing. You could shoot him for how smug he sounded.
In very small amounts, you’d seen stuff. Blood every month. Bits and pieces of bodily secretions that, to you, had always seemed gross. But never this. Never big, sticky globs of…whatever the fuck this was. You continued to back away on the bed, gun still tipped toward Joel but now trying to put some distance between your bodies. You didn’t know how else to act.
You did know you wanted to scream when Joel stuck his fingers in his mouth. Bile might’ve jumped in your throat.
He sucked the dew clean off the digits, then wriggled them to show what he’d done. You felt the urge to vomit.
“That came from— from— why are you eating it?!”
Joel grinned. Big.
You weren’t sure why, but he looked psyched to be alive in that moment, and not just because of the narcotics.
Before you knew what was happening, he’d pushed you flat on your back, hips pinned underneath his hands as he moved over your body. He didn’t even try for the gun.
“And here I was thinkin’ you were just fuckin’ with me,” he chuckled, palms sliding under your nightdress. When you felt the residuum of wetness from his spit and your slick stuck together on his fingers, you wanted to squeal.
But you didn’t. You tried propping yourself up on elbows until Joel was sliding your one and only article of clothing over your head, then beckoning you down on the bed in front of him. You watched his gaze flit down to your side.
“Still hurt?” he murmured, tracing over the bandage.
You shook your head no, though it did, a little. At the moment, it seemed the pain was the furthest thing from your mind as you saw Joel slide down your body and try to take up residence between your thighs—with his face planted right there. You kicked his shoulder in protest.
“Quit!” you cried, pulling your legs up to your chest.
“You quit,” Joel returned, yanking them back.
Then you felt you had no choice but to brandish the gun, taking the thing between two palms while you pointed it again—as if he needed the reminder.
“Fine. Why don’t you keep that thing aimed at my head while I give you some?” he muttered. The subsequent ‘See if I give a shit’ was silent.
“Give me some what?”
“Head.”
Head. You’d never heard something phrased that way. Joel’s head was down there, sure, practically grinning from ear to ear as he hooked your legs over his shoulders, but certainly he didn’t mean to do a thing as drastic and dirty as—
“JOEL!”
“Hm?” His voice was muffled by your thighs.
You tried to shy away, but he held you down.
“Joel, I— I pee out of there,” you hissed, “Why the fuck would you wanna put your mouth on that?”
As if your groans of disgust and vehement attempts to get away weren’t enough to deter him, you watched Joel’s tongue dart between his lips and down to yours. The sick fuck was actually licking your folds, tracing the tip across that warm, sticky place and moaning into your skin. Holding you tighter when you pleaded for him to stop. Then, with the hand that wasn’t prying your legs apart, he reached down and started stroking his cock.
Again, it felt dirty and wrong. Beyond the fact that this man was a perfect stranger and easily decades your senior, you were repulsed by the sight of his lips and his tongue and his spit mixing up in that messy, wet place you still didn’t quite understand yourself. You didn’t know much about your body, but it had never once occurred to you to be kissed down there. Joel was roaming every contour and crevice with his tongue like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he liked it.
“I hate it,” you whined, feebly.
You knew you could’ve easily blown the man’s brains out, but some small part of you was still plagued by curiosity. ‘Hate’ was just the first word that came to mind when you were faced with something that made you scared.
“It’s weird,” you tried again. This time pressing the gun to the top of his bobbing head while you grit your teeth, “And wrong.”
At that, Joel stopped.
His eyes flickered to yours, all glass-like and hooded.
“Why? Practically lickin’ ya clean here,” he said, starting to grin to himself as his words came slightly slurred, “There’s nothin’ wrong about this, sweet pea.”
You felt something flutter between you. He felt it, too.
“Like when I call ya that? ‘Sweet pea’?” he said, pausing to flick his tongue over the spot that had just stirred at his words. He watched you fight back a whimper.
“No,” you choked. You pinched your eyes shut, unsure whether it was pleasure or pure revulsion overtaking you—or both.
Suddenly, you felt Joel’s hand smooth over your thigh, still warm from when he’d been stroking himself below. He placed an affectionate kiss to your belly and grinned.
“Is that what this is? Feel guilty about feelin’ this good?” he murmured, “Think it’s…dirty, what we’re doin’?”
At length, and just barely visible to him, you nodded.
“It is dirty,” you corrected him quietly.
Then you saw that stupid pseudo-sympathetic smirk tug at the corners of his lips, and just when you thought he might nudge his way back up your body—to do what, you weren’t sure—he sank between your legs. This time, he made sure to hold your gaze as he re-assumed the position. His palm continued to rub at your thigh, as if to distract you from the rough brush of his stubble or the fact that his mouth was hovering so dangerously close.
“Sweet pea,” he rasped, “Ain’t nothin’ dirty about this.”
As if to punctuate his words, Joel dragged his lips down your slit to press a kiss to your centre, eyes never leaving yours.
“Not here…”
He pointed with his tongue, moving it deftly between your folds. You gripped the sheets, trying to ignore the pleasure that the simple act wrought through your body.
“Not here.”
He kissed your clit. You squeezed even tighter.
“Not on my tongue, on my fingers, anywhere, y’hear?”
You were about to answer—maybe tell him he was supremely full of shit, then flash the gun in his face—when Joel shifted onto his knees on the bed. He moved slowly and as calm as he ever had, motions languid while his mind was likely steeped in the morphine by now. He snagged one of your ankles. He slid his hand up the back of your calf and tugged you down to the edge of the bed. Then he stood up, right between your legs. The warmth radiating from his bare lower half was immediate, almost suffocating from where you lay. You didn’t like it at all.
You refused to meet his gaze, grip tightening on the gun.
“Joel…”
When that warmth at your front shifted inward, though, you hardly had a say in what your reflexes did or didn’t do. You jumped when you felt the head of his dick slip past your pulsing core, closer to the other hole below it.
“Not here, either,” Joel continued, grin still evident from his tone.
Before you could even think to ask what he meant to do ‘here,’ Joel moved one of your legs up, tilting your hips, and pushed ahead with just the tip of his cock. Not breaching it fully, but nudging—prodding at that hole.
For the first time, you let out a moan.
You hastily clamped a hand over your mouth to stifle it.
“Aw, honey,” Joel murmured, “Did that feel good?”
His words reeked of condescension. You scowled at the ceiling.
“No.”
You felt him push a little further—this time making the head of his dick notch into that tight ring of muscles.
No, the word rang through your skull once more. Your curiosity was shortly supplanted by disgust—how the fuck could you let this creepy old man, this stranger, press into you like that? Talk to you like you were dumb? You seized hold of Joel’s pistol with both hands and aimed directly for his chest.
“Stop doing that,” you growled. When the man’s grip on your leg only tightened and you couldn’t writhe away, you lifted the other and tried kicking him in the gut. Of course, Joel caught your foot midair, and it never landed.
“Just givin’ ya options, darlin’,” he said, easy-going. Not seeming to care about the firearm pointed his way.
Fuck it.
You squeezed the trigger again.
Empty chamber.
If Joel flinched, you didn’t see it. He did, however, knock the gun right out of your hand the next second, sending it tumbling with an unceremonious thump on the bed behind you. You tried to leap back for it, but your arm was quickly pinned. Joel cocked one silver-flecked brow.
“You done?” he asked, almost bored.
Your last—and only—leverage taken away from you, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of anger. And desperation.
“I don’t wanna do this,” you cried, trying to squirm away.
Joel didn’t move his cock, but he did hold you still. Blinking with indifference and a fair bit of drug-induced dissociation, it seemed, from the far-away look in his eyes. He pushed both of your legs so they were folded up to your chest, and ignored your whimpers when he did. At length, he pulled out just enough to smear some of your wetness down to the hole he was trying to fuck.
“You want this,” he countered gently.
“I DON’T!”
Joel continued as though he hadn’t heard you, and moments later, you sensed another slick something pooling against you. From your position beneath him, you could see a bead of spit slip from Joel’s mouth and stretch into a thin, glistening string all the way down to the space between your thighs. You watched him rub the saliva in with his fingers, almost meticulous as he did it.
Then he eased his hips forward an inch, wedging himself back in your ass. He groaned when he felt resistance—and a sharp clench of your muscles.
“I can teach ya…show ya everything…there is to know.”
His words somehow made it out through ragged breaths. That broad, tan chest was heaving with every labored pull of his lungs, and you could tell he was feeling good.
You might’ve been able to say the same for yourself, were your mind not singly occupied by the desire to escape. Still at war with yourself, wondering how it would feel or what you might see that first time, all the while despising the man who seemed hell-bent on forcing it.
He might’ve saved your life, but there was no fucking way he’d get to use you like that and stay breathing.
You were raised better than that.
You could do better than anything this man had to offer.
You resolved to kill him as soon as the drugs knocked him out—just like you’d had planned from the second you woke up on the floor of his cabin that afternoon.
Of course being chained, maimed, and frozen half to death on the plains for some well-meaning stranger to find you had always been part of your mother’s—and the rest of the Raiders’—grand plan. Having this stupid, horny sap take you into his home with the hope of claiming you as his own was just the icing on top.
Now you had a reason to kill Joel and steal all his shit.
At present, he fed another inch of himself inside you and grinned when you let out a startled cry.
“Atta girl,” he said, smirking, “Feelin’ okay?”
“Fuck you.”
“Will do.”
Then, as if to prove a point, he bottomed out, sheathing his cock to the hilt in spite of your cries. Your hands fisted the sheets, and you tried to pull off. It didn’t work.
In fact, all it accomplished was giving Joel more room to thrust back into you. And pull out. And shove back in. The snap of his hips was like cruel and excruciating clockwork, completely unhindered by your words or your gestures or your pleas to stop fucking doing that Joel, it fucking hurts! If anything, the sounds of your censure only got him harder, and with it, made it that much easier to fuck you rougher. His eyes shone with pride.
“What’s’at, sweet pea?” he hummed, strokes coming into a steady pace.
“It’s too…big…doesn’t fit,” you whimpered.
In response, Joel glanced down to see the spot where your bodies were joined. He pushed even deeper.
“Yeah?” he said when you yelped, “I think it fits just fine.”
Motherfucker, you wanted to wail, but then your neck craned sideways—your mouth trying to find purchase in anything you might grit between your teeth—and the only thing that escaped your throat was a sob. You tried burying your face in the comforter, only for Joel to yank it back.
Cupping your chin and pinching both your cheeks in a single, punishing squeeze as he continued to fuck you, “What’s the matter, darlin’? Too much?”
You groaned and clenched your jaw, head jerking away.
Per usual, Joel was undeterred. Even smiled.
“My pretty girl need somethin’a bite, huh?” he hummed.
He probably knew you wouldn’t nod, so he went ahead and decided to oblige that one need he saw anyway. Snagging your nightie, Joel raised a hand to your face and proceeded to push the fabric inside your mouth.
Just as he started to lift his hips to deliver another thrust, he had to stop. A sudden, sharp ‘FUCK!’ left his mouth, then a groan, and his hand retreated fast.
You’d bitten him.
You were grinning just a little, and you’d bitten him.
Joel promptly slapped you across the face. If you weren’t so fucking amused by the sight of his bright red fingers, you just might’ve winced. Instead, the smile stayed on your lips, the slap barely registered, and, to your utmost disbelief, something else had just then started to form.
Pleasure, in the pit of your stomach.
“Fuckin’—” Joel snarled.
“Shit,” you finished, eyes rolling back.
You couldn’t help it. Joel was rutting into you relentlessly. That brief hand bite detour had only stoked the flames of his hatred—and arousal—and now he was practically splitting you in half with the force of his thrusts. He slapped you once more for good measure.
“Oh, that you fuckin’ like?” he seethed, cheeks flushed, “Can’t get off with my…tongue on your cunt, but a slap— and my cock buried deep in your ass gets the job done?”
“Uh-huh,” you answered softly. Mindlessly.
Really, there were no two people more fucked up than you in this moment, you thought. Joel growing harder with each desperate objection of yours, you going all soft and hot and bothered the second he slapped your face and fucked you rougher, and together, the two of you letting out grunts and moans of pleasure while the bed shook like an earthquake just shy of a 9.5 on the Richter scale. Were you not already planning to slit the man’s throat after all of this was over, you just might’ve wanted to marry this Joel M for how wonderfully he fucked you.
You let him know as much when you seized his forearms.
Bouncing into his thrusts, you bit your lip and finally met his gaze. Joel’s eyes were trained in somewhat of a daze, pupils all but swallowing his irises as he fucked you.
“Like being daddy’s little cocksleeve, huh?”
Only the sentence was slurred so bad you could scarcely make out half the words. You nodded just the same.
“Like it when he fucks you in the ass?” Joel panted.
You nodded again.
That pleasure in your belly had worked its way up to a full swell—and whatever it was, you couldn’t bear the thought of losing it now. You gripped Joel’s arms even harder as his chest swayed into you, then sank further and further until your fronts were pressed flush to each other and your ankles were hooked tight around his back.
It almost felt intimate. That coarse, weathered, sweat-coated face spattered with patches of grey seemed to you nearly handsome as his lips hung limply in an ‘o.’
Joel’s cock dragged back and forth between your walls at this new, snug angle, and moans fell out of you both.
“Baby.” His voice was hoarse. Strained.
You couldn’t quite make sense of the expression above you, but there was an unmistakable, muted desperation lurking somewhere beneath it. Joel rutted into you quicker, balls leaving rapid smacks against your ass with every thrust. His hair was disheveled, and his hands were making fists in the sheets on either side of your head.
“Joel—”
“Jus’ lemme use you.”
Words so low they were barely audible as he panted.
“But—”
“Daddy’s…almost done, sweet pea. Just take it.”
You were surprised he’d had it within himself to be so soft. A peculiar sort of haze hung over his face, the pace of his hips picked up even more, and suddenly those plush pink lips were hovering a mere hair’s breadth away from yours. Mumbling. Rambling on and on about how wet you were, how perfect you fit him, how nice and sweet and tight your body felt as he fucked you stupid.
That sensation in your own stomach grew even stronger.
Unsure of what to do, you pressed a palm to his chest.
“Joel, I…I feel funny,” you whispered.
Joel hummed. Didn’t slow.
“I know.”
He knew?
“What’s it—ah, fuck.” Your words broke off in a whimper.
Instead of proffering a verbal response, Joel just slipped a touch between your bodies—thumbing sloppily between your folds to earn a couple more high-pitched moans. Your legs tightened around his middle.
“Joel, s-stop!”
It felt so good it almost hurt. He didn’t stop.
“S’just an orgasm, baby,” Joel panted, “You’re okay.”
And, in spite of his own impending climax and the effect of the drugs likely reaching a fever pitch inside him, Joel managed to slide his other hand beneath the back of your head. Cradled you to him while he fucked you into the bed and made you come unraveled with his touch. You tried to writhe away, but he was used to the drill by now—he just fucked you harder and rubbed you faster.
Whatever he wanted would come soon. You doubted there was anything you could do to stop it, but you tried.
Without thinking, you grabbed hold of the damp locks of hair at the nape of his neck and yanked on them hard.
“Joel, I can’t— I can’t,” you keened.
The hand at the back of your head held you firm.
“You can,” Joel returned, tough but surprisingly calm, “Give it to daddy, ‘s’all ya gotta do.”
What exactly ‘it’ was was still unclear. You just knew you felt good and warm and full—about ready to burst. When you felt tempted to give his hair another tug, Joel’s eyes met yours, and they were soft. Insistent, still, but soft.
Dilated as all hell and probably swimming in clouds of a delirious, bleary haze, but always soft. Almost tender.
“Be a good girl and give it to daddy,” Joel slurred, slow, “C’mon, sweet pea…cum for daddy, please.”
For the first time in that short, rough, utterly deranged time you had known this man, he was begging you. Pleading with you, now, as his body grew overwrought with pleasure and just needed release. You needed it, too, not even knowing how you would get it, but the force of his thrusts, the warmth of his body, the look in those warm, bare, powerless eyes—you fucking loved whatever it was that could make a man like that so weak.
You had to strike while the iron was hot. You slid back.
Joel didn’t notice, too focused on your face and the feel of your body to see when you’d reached for the gun.
Just as you took hold of it, a jolt of pleasure tore through you. Your heels dug into his back, and you nearly lost control of the pistol. Joel groaned in your mouth, begged you once again to cum all over this cock, make a fuckin’ mess of it, baby, please, and you could only whine, grip the metal tighter, and raise it slowly to the side of his head while he buried his face in the crook of your neck.
The peak of your pleasure had come into view. You felt it.
You nudged the muzzle through those soft, slick, salt-and-pepper shaded tufts of hair near the edge of his temple right when the first throes of euphoria seized you.
feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART NINE
previous chapters | welp. hey everybody, it's been a little while since this updated, huh? those who follow me will know i haven't been having the best time lately and had to put this fic on hold for a little bit. but finally an update is here, and i'm so excited to share it with you. thank you so much for being so patient and lovely. i also wanna give a huge shoutout to han @swiftispunk who's been there for me relentlessly throughout this rough period and who kept encouraging me whenever i thought this would never get written. i couldn't ask for a better writing buddy & friend, ilysm. i hope you guys like this chapter and here's my kofi if you'd like to leave a tip 💕
chapter summary: joel is taking you away for the weekend, which only means one thing: your v card is going bye-bye.
rating: 18+ explicit
warnings for this chapter: age difference (joel is in his 50s, reader is in her early 20s), innocent/inexperienced reader, loss of virginity, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, dirty talk, praise kink, size kink, tummy bulge, oral (f receiving), catholic guilt, panic attacks, phone sex, mutual masturbation, lap sitting, lingerie, fingering, there is so much goin on pls lmk if i forgot smth
word count: 25k (what the fuck)
ao3
It's crazy how one weekend can change everything.
After days of feeling like shit and wanting - or forcing yourself to want - absolutely nothing to do with Joel anymore, you'd wound up naked in bed together. An ironic twist to the men ain't shit mantra you and Tasha had been trying to live by for the past forty eight hours. You'd laid with your head on his chest, exhausted and sated, listening to his and your own equally haggard breathing slow to a quiet thrum of background noise. You'd kissed the spot above his nipple, soft and warm against your lips as he carded his fingers through your hair and peppered kisses all along the crown of your head.
"So you're taking me away, huh?" you'd asked him in the heavenly afterglow of your orgasms, still tangled together under the sheets.
He'd smiled sleepily, squeezed you tighter in his arms and pulled you in as close as he could, "I'm takin' you away," he'd promised quietly, "Just you n' me. Gonna make this right."
Unbeknownst to him, everything had already become right again the moment he'd walked through the bedroom door.
Tasha had come back about an hour after you'd finished, roused you both from a quick nap by knocking quietly at the door and saying, "Hate to bother you guys but we gotta be out of here by four and the place is a disaster." Looking down at the mascara stained pillowcase beneath your head, you'd known she was right.
A few hours later you'd stood at the airport once again, arms wrapped tightly around Tasha as you buried your face in her shoulder and thanked her over and over again for everything; for being there, for listening, for understanding, for texting Joel, everything.
"You're gonna make me cry," she'd mumbled in your ear, hugging you back just as tightly, "Please, I just did what a good friend does."
You'd hoped she knew that she's the first good friend you've ever had.
Just before she'd headed to her gate, she'd pulled something out of her purse and handed it to you discreetly, palm down. You'd glanced downward to see a little blue package, thin and rectangular.
"Start taking these tonight," she'd said softly, "Take one every day at the same time. Promise me."
"What is it?"
She'd rolled her eyes, "Oh, you sweet summer child."
--
You know what birth control is. You're not that clueless. You just.... haven't really seen it before.
Now, having a pack of it in your possession, in your bedroom of all places, hidden in one of your dresser drawers beneath socks and underwear... it somehow feels more scandalous than the bikini. More scandalous than Joel's flannel beneath your mattress. More scandalous than those short little dresses folded in a bag in the back of your closet.
Birth control means sex. If your parents found your clothing purchases or Joel's flannel you could probably get away with some kind of lie, an excuse. But if they found this.... you don't even want to think about what would happen.
Take one every day at the same time. Promise me.
You pop out a pill quickly before shoving the package back into your dresser, then hurry to the bathroom with it tucked in your palm, clasped tightly between your fingers. You take it quickly with a handful of water and then stare at your reflection in the mirror for a moment, eyes bright. You're expecting to feel an ounce of shame, some guilt creeping in - but you don't. Instead, you find yourself smiling, face going hot when you think about the reason why you're taking these in the first place.
"Dinner's ready!" you hear your mom call from downstairs, and you yank yourself away from the bathroom mirror before your thoughts can get any more X rated.
She hadn't said anything to you when you got home, but then again you hadn't really given her a chance to. Now you shuffle into the kitchen and take a seat at the table, eyeing her quietly and wondering if the silent treatment is over. Your father comes in from the living room before you can find out, taking his usual seat and giving you a stern look.
"I heard you spent the weekend with one of your college friends," he states.
You stare at him for a second, unsure what to really say. You settle for a shrug, "Uh, yeah. Just had a girls' weekend at an Airbnb."
"I'm just curious why you're making time for friends you'll be seeing again in September when there are people here you've barely even said hello to," he raises an eyebrow, squaring his shoulders, "You said the other week you'd be volunteering again, didn't you? Doing more things to better yourself?"
"Well, I helped out at Sunday School," you offer with a grimace, but you already know it's not enough.
"I'm not talking about helping out here and there every now and then," he shakes his head and eyes your mother as she walks over with two plates of dinner, places them in front of the both of you without making eye contact, "You need a weekly activity, something steady, right dear?"
Your mother's gaze flits to yours quickly as he says this and you know exactly what she's thinking without her having to say it: do not mention the guitar lessons. But what the fuck are you supposed to say? You get that she doesn't want your father knowing until your little "plan" has bore a little more fruit, but it isn't fair that he still thinks you need some kind of weekly activity to attend when you already have one. Or, at least, a cover for one.
Maybe your mother can solve this problem for you.
"Well, actually-" you begin, only bluffing, but she bangs the water jug on the table before you can continue.
"I'll work on it with her, don't worry," she says quickly, shaking her head at you as discreetly as she can, "We'll figure something out together."
As usual, your father is oblivious to anything amiss. He just nods and extends his hands to start the prayer, "Sounds good."
Dinner is the usual boring affair, barely any conversation to be had as your father scarfs it down and heads to his office, leaving you and your mother sitting at the table in silence. You poke absentmindedly at your broccoli, thinking about Joel - he wants to see you again tonight, maybe talk about some stuff, and you're not really sure how to feel about it yet; you want to know more about his ex wife, his daughter, want to understand him and his life a little better, but it also scares you a bit. Hearing about his relationship with another woman - a woman who clearly still has a prominent position in his life - it's gonna be a lot to take in.
He also wants to talk about taking you away - a much less scary thought.
"So, you had a good weekend?" your mom asks quietly, and you look up in surprise - you'd thought the silent treatment was still ongoing.
"Yeah, it was nice," you reply - simplistic and not a very true answer, but it's not like you can tell her about anything that happened.
"What did you do?"
You shrug again, "Just watched movies and hung out, talked about how our summers have been going," you take a bite of broccoli and hope she won't press it any further.
"Did you go to your lesson on Saturday?"
You nod quickly, swallowing and doing your best to keep eye contact, "Yep, I learned some new chords." Bullshit. "Mr. Miller is a really good teacher." Less bullshit.
She doesn't say anything else right away and you manage to completely finish your meal before she drops her fork and turns to you with a sigh. "I know what you're thinking and no, I still haven't told your father about it. I already explained why-"
"Because you don't want him getting involved before I've made progress, I know."
"So have you? Been making progress?"
Oh, the things you could say in response to that question. "I think I have. He's, um... he's been very interested in the hymns."
"Which ones are you learning?"
Oh fuck.
"It's a surprise," you say quickly, flashing her a fake smile, "Don't wanna jinx it, ya know?"
Her brows furrow but she doesn't question it, nodding slowly and taking a deep breath as she grabs both your plates and walks to the sink. You sit there for a moment, not wanting to get up until you know for sure the conversation is over.
"So it's working, you think?" she finally asks, turning on the tap and rinsing the dishes, "You're helpin' him?"
You swallow, thankful she's not looking at you as your hands ball into fists against the wood of the table, "Yes," you lie quietly, "Definitely."
--
"You need to teach me a hymn," is the first thing you say to Joel that night as you walk through his front door, passing right by him without so much as a hug, "Or two. Two hymns, maybe three, I don't know."
"Hello to you too," he says with a chuckle, shutting the door and walking over to you to wrap his arms around you from behind, "S'wrong? You alright?"
You have to admit, being wrapped in his arms certainly does make the anxiety ebb away. You close your eyes and lean back into his grasp, sighing deeply and trying to ground yourself as best you can. Ever since that conversation with your mother you feel like your brain has been working on overdrive, reminding you over and over that you're so fucking behind on what you're meant to be doing to keep this façade intact.
"I'm just stressed," you mutter, "My mom asked about the lessons and I didn't know what to say and now I'm all up in my own head again as usual."
You feel him tuck his head against your shoulder, squeeze you tighter, "Hey, it's okay," he murmurs, breath so warm against your ear it makes you shiver, "We'll find a couple easy ones and I'll teach you. You can borrow my guitar too, practice at home."
"My dad still doesn't know," you sigh, "She's waiting for me to have some sort of breakthrough with you to tell him."
He snorts, "And what exactly does this 'breakthrough' look like?"
"I don't know, a pool of golden light? Heavenly angels singing praise?"
He chuckles against your skin, pressing a kiss there, "Well, that'll be easy. That happens every time I make you come."
You feel your cheeks bloom with heat, lips tightening into a bashful smile as he pulls you in closer and noses your ear once again, scruff tickling the skin there. You hum contentedly, pretending for a moment that your parents aren't involved on the sidelines of this relationship, that their opinions don't matter and there doesn't need to be any sort of ulterior reason for your being here - then you remember that you're going to have a whole weekend to pretend that's the case, and you smile wider.
You turn in his arms, wrapping your own around his torso and peering up at him. He's so handsome as usual, hair messy, eyes brown and deep. It's impossible not to lean up and press a soft kiss to his lips, so of course you do, eyes closing as you melt against his mouth. He kisses you back just as soft, rubs your back gently as he holds you close.
"I'm so sorry, angel," he murmurs quietly against your lips, and you find yourself pulling away to look at him in confusion.
"For what?"
He shakes his head, eyes sad, "For everythin' I put you through this weekend, all that added stress," you go to interrupt but he brings one of his hands up to gently press his finger to your lips, stopping you, "Don't tell me not to apologize. I did wrong by you. I wanna fix it."
You swallow, remembering the woman at the bar - his ex wife, remembering the way he'd smiled before he kissed her, the way those soft brown eyes looking at you right now had looked directly into hers as well...
Your stomach twists uncomfortably.
"I meant what I said, about tellin' you everything," he murmurs, "I want... I want you to know me, ya know? I..." he breathes deeply, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against yours, "God, I'm not good at this."
"Good at what?" you whisper, and you feel him shrug in your embrace.
"Just.... bein' open."
You pull back a bit to peer at him again, feeling your stomach unclench when you see that unsure look on his face, the worry lines prominent on his forehead and those plump lips downturned into a frown. He's still afraid he's lost you, you can tell.
"Well, I wanna hear what you have to say," you murmur, "I do wanna learn more about you. But it's okay, Joel. I'm not heartbroken, not anymore."
He winces at your words, "But you were," he closes his eyes again, "You were heartbroken, baby. I hurt you. We... she -" he cuts himself off to sigh, "She didn't know about you when she kissed me, alright? I hadn't told her, and that's on me."
Oh. You didn't know that.
"Why... why didn't you tell her?"
"Because I was a coward," he says immediately, "I didn't... I wasn't..." he takes another deep breath and pulls away from you, unlocking himself from your embrace to grip your arms in both his hands, "Okay," he breathes, "I'm really bad at this, darlin', forgive me if it comes out weird."
You're not sure what he's about to say but you can feel your heart beginning to beat faster in your chest as he stands there looking at you, brow furrowed as if he's completely out of his element, and you suppose he is.
"I haven't... god, I don't wanna scare you but..." he chews his lip for a moment, lost in thought, "I just... I meant it, when I said that I think about you all the time. I really, really meant it."
You stare at him for a moment, processing his words. What is he saying? That he didn't tell his ex wife about you because of how much he thinks about you? How does that make sense? You silently curse yourself for your naivety, your inexperience with relationships. You're sure if Tasha was here she'd be able to tell you exactly what he means.
You're about to ask him to elaborate when you suddenly catch a glimpse of something on the mantel of the fireplace, something that you can't recall ever seeing before. Your eyes go slightly wide and he notices immediately, following your gaze.
"Oh," he says quietly, "Um, yeah, I... I put up some pictures."
His grip on your arms releases when he realizes you want to get a closer look. You make your way over to the fireplace with careful steps, eyeing the framed photograph in front of you as it slowly comes more into focus.
It's Joel - a much younger Joel. You're not sure how young, but there are no signs of age on his face, skin smooth and bare and hair trimmed neatly beneath a baseball cap. He's standing behind a swing, pushing an adorable little toddler in front of him, a big smile on her face as she kicks her chubby legs high into the air.
You stare at it for a long time without saying anything, warmth bursting through your chest the longer your gaze flicks from him to the baby, the baby to him. There's something in her brown eyes, something recognizable, and you realize it's because they're his eyes.
You're looking at his daughter.
"What's her name?" you finally ask, voice soft.
"Sarah," he replies - he sounds close behind you but he doesn't touch you, doesn't make any move to embrace you again, just lets you absorb the information in your own time.
"Sarah," you repeat quietly, thoughtfully, "How old is she there?"
"Few days before her second birthday," he says, and you swear you can hear the hint of a smile in his voice, "Installed that swing set in the backyard for her as a present, but I couldn't wait 'til her birthday to show her - I was too excited."
You smile at his words, feeling fondness flood your thoughts as your gaze falls back to the much younger Joel. He looks a little like the boys you've seen at college, extremely handsome but inexperienced, naïve, maybe even a little lost... kind of like you. You squint your eyes a bit, as if staring at him will help you figure out exactly how old he is.
"I'm twenty in that one," he answers for you.
Your eyebrows shoot up and you finally turn around to look at him, a look of shock prominent on your face. "But... that would mean you had her -"
"When I was eighteen, yeah," he gives you a wistful half smile, "Remember that 'trouble' I told you I got in right outta high school? The mysterious thing I did that got me disowned?" he gestures toward the photo with a light chuckle, "Well, there she is. Little Miss Trouble, Sarah Miller."
Your brow furrows. You remember what he'd said on his back deck that day, the way he'd stopped himself from revealing too much. He'd been so close to telling you, and yet...
"Why didn't you just tell me then?" you ask softly, "That day in your backyard, you... you coulda told me about her."
His smile fades into a frown, eyes going downcast, "I was afraid," he admits softly, "I didn't... I didn't want this to end so soon. I didn't wanna scare you off."
You feel a pang in your heart, a sensation of sadness that bubbles up within you as you peer at his melancholic expression, the shame in his eyes. He really thinks you're five seconds away from running out the door, leaving his life for good and forgetting this whole thing between the two of you even happened. You can see it in his expression, the way he's standing like he's small, the same way he'd looked last night when Tasha had tugged you out of his house and into a cab.
You make your way toward him, palm outstretched as you reach up and press it to the side of his face. His gaze comes up to meet yours, watery and sad and - god, he's beautiful. So, so beautiful.
"I'm not going anywhere," you whisper honestly, shaking your head and smiling softly, "Not before you teach me at least two hymns."
His frown breaks into a grin and he rolls his eyes, the tears spilling over a little bit as he sniffs and tries to pull himself together. You just bring your other hand up to fully cup his face, turning his head so he's looking directly into your eyes.
"I mean it, Joel," you breathe, and you think you're starting to understand what he meant, "You say you think about me all the time, but... I think about you all the time. I can't stop thinking about you," your voice quivers a bit and you feel tears begin to sting in your own eyes, "Even when I was trying to force myself not to think about you, I couldn't do it."
You thumb his cheeks lightly, feeling them tighten under your palms as he smiles again. You can't help but lean forward to brush your nose against his, closing your eyes.
"I think... I don't know, I just feel like-"
"I know," he interjects softly, "I feel it too, angel. Scares the hell outta me, doesn't even seem possible to feel it after such a short length of time, but I do."
You open your eyes to peer at him again, "Is that why you didn't tell her? 'Cause you were scared of how you feel?"
"Yes," he murmurs, "I knew if I told her... if I let myself really feel what I've been feelin'... I'd have to face the fact that I'd been dishonest with you, that I hadn't been showin' you my true self, ya know? And that's... that's always been hard for me." He takes a breath, "She was real sad that night. She... she was comin' on strong, cause she really needed somebody. And I almost gave myself to her, you should know that. I don't wanna lie to you."
It hurts to hear it, but at the same time you're glad he's telling you, glad he feels safe to express himself the same way you do with him.
"We weren't... we weren't official or anything," you mumble, eyes casting downward.
"No, we weren't," he agrees softly, "But it still wouldn't've been right, angel, not for you and not for me. I didn't want it, I just... I just felt for her, ya know? We've been doin' this thing so long, it can be hard to say no, especially when it's someone you care about."
"But you did."
He nods, "I did. And then I told her about you and she understood."
You peer up at him again, unsure, "She understood? Really?"
He smiles, "She understood, sweetheart. She's a good person, I promise. But I also promise that I don't feel things for her the way I used to, not anymore. And our arrangement is over." He blinks away a few tears, locking his eyes with yours again, "Do you believe me?"
You nod slowly, taking in his words. You find that you do believe him, don't even question a word of what he's saying to you. It should probably scare you to trust him this much, to wholeheartedly sense nothing but earnestness from his demeanor and words, but it doesn't. It feels good to hear him say these things and to know that he means it, that he's finally being himself.
"So who are you then, really?" you ask softly, "Who's this whole other Joel Miller I've been missing out on?"
He laughs lightly, bumping his nose against yours, "Well, darlin'... he's old and he's boring, keeps to himself, works too much..." he takes a breath, then meets your gaze again, eyes soft and tender, "And he's fuckin' crazy about you."
His words embed themselves into your brain almost immediately, sending tingles up and down your spine as your arms come up to wrap around him and pull him into a kiss. He seems surprised by your response but only for a moment, then wraps his own arms around you and pulls you in as close as he can, cradles you as he kisses you back with that familiar warmth and safety you've always felt with him.
He's fuckin' crazy about you.
You find yourself moving the two of you toward the couch and he lets you, your legs tangling together as you shuffle over to it. You slowly settle onto it together, him sitting pretty beneath you while you situate yourself in his lap, a leg on either side of his thighs. You don't stop kissing him, whimpering softly into his mouth when his hand stills firmly on your back, holding you close.
"What're you doin', babygirl?" he breathes against your lips, voice dark and husky - he already knows the answer.
You don't reply, just deepen the kiss and grind yourself down into his crotch, feeling his already half hard cock press against you through your shorts. You whimper again, pulling back to look at him through lidded eyes.
"Huh?" he asks softly, his own eyes already dark and unfocused, "What're you doin', sweetheart? What d'you need?" He bucks his hips up with his words and you gasp, clinging to him tightly and resting your head on his shoulder. "Need my cock, don't you, baby?"
You nod even though he can't see you, close your eyes and whisper, "I need it so bad."
"Need it deep inside, huh?"
You swallow and shiver, grinding down against him again in response. He holds you firm in his lap and brings his lips to your ear, trails his fingers up and down your back.
"I'm gonna give it to you, baby, I promise," he murmurs, voice gravelly and low, "Gonna fill you up so good, have you cryin' on it."
You whimper again, squeezing your eyes tighter and imagining how it'll feel to have his enormous size spreading your insides, pushing into the deepest parts of you. It's almost too much to bear, too much to imagine as you whine into his shoulder. You want it now, but you also know that now isn't the right time.
"I- I started taking birth control," you whisper, clinging to him tighter.
He seems to freeze beneath you for a moment, and then his hands move down to squeeze your ass, drag you slowly down the length of him - now fully hard - as you whine again.
"Good girl," he whispers, pinning you to his cock through his jeans, "That's- fuck, you're such a good girl."
You keen at his praise, whimpering into his shoulder as he drags you back and forth along his cock, the denim rough against your bare thighs. You think about what you'd both done together earlier today, the way it felt to have his entire length thrusting through your folds, the head catching on your hole every so often. The way it felt to have the wide tip pressed just enough inside of you, warm and pulsing.
"Take it out, please," you moan softly, pulling back to look at him again, "Wanna feel it. Please, Joel."
He groans at your words, nods quickly and adjusts you carefully in his lap so he can tug down his zipper. You watch as he reaches inside and pulls himself out, and your mouth immediately begins to water as soon as you catch sight of the dark tip, already wet and leaking. Without any hesitation at all your hand moves downward to wrap around his shaft, holding it in your palm.
"This was inside me," you whisper, the words sounding wonderfully filthy in your mouth as your thumb traces his throbbing tip, remembering how it had felt pushing against you.
"Yeah, it was," he murmurs. He's watching you closely, looking up at you with a lustful expression as you touch him, "Felt so good inside you, baby. Wanted to push all the way in so bad, fill you up."
You shiver, "Why didn't you?"
"'Cause I wanna take my time with you, angel. Wanna fuck you slow, get you used to it," he groans when you start to slowly stroke him up and down, eyes not leaving where you're touching him, "Gonna have you beggin' for it."
Without much thought you reach down and start to tug pathetically at your shorts, wanting them off. The angle is awkward and you can't move them properly, something which he notices right away, eyebrows going up.
"You wanna rub on it again, sweetheart?" he asks, his hands going immediately to your waistband.
You nod furiously, desperate whimpers escaping your lips as he eases you up a bit to pull them down. You bend your legs to accommodate his movements, lifting from his lap for just a moment as he tugs down both your shorts and panties, leaving you bare. He wastes no time in pulling you back down again, both of you letting out simultaneous gasps as his cock slips perfectly against your center, wet and waiting.
"Joel," you whine, burying your face in his shoulder and letting him begin to drag you back and forth on his cock again without any clothes in the way. It feels so fucking good, both of your most intimate parts touching and rubbing in sweet and filthy harmony while you cry into his shirt. One of his hands snakes up your back, holds you firm again as he helps you move.
"That's my perfect angel," he murmurs in your ear, voice shaky, "Thaaaat's my pretty girl, so wet for me. Always so fuckin' wet."
"Can't help it," you sob into his shoulder, feeling your stomach tighten every time his warm cock rubs up against your clit, "Can't help it, Joel, feels so good. You make me feel so good."
"I know," he moans in your ear, "I know I do, baby, I know."
It doesn't take long at all for your orgasm to hit you, a high pitched whine clawing its way out of your throat as you frantically grind against his cock and then still as the waves of pleasure wash over you. He rubs your back, holds you close, lets you feel all of it before pressing a finger to your chin and gently turning your face to look at him.
"Yep," he breathes, assessing your expression, "there's that pool of golden light. Heavenly angels singin' praise. You hear 'em?"
You laugh shakily, still overwhelmed at the feeling of his cock continuing to pulse against your pussy. He keeps holding you there without moving, letting you come down from your high, allowing the moment to stay soft and peaceful as he watches your face. Your eyes are tired - you're still not fully recovered from your busy weekend and he can tell.
"You look sleepy, babygirl," he murmurs softly, "Want me to carry you up?"
You shake your head quickly, "No, I still gotta make you come. Just gimme a minute."
He chuckles, "You don't gotta do anything, honey. You know that right? Need you to know that you don't owe me anythin', not ever."
He really is too considerate for his own good, but there's absolutely no way you're gonna leave him hanging like that. With a sly smile you shake your head again and lift your hips up a bit, bringing your hand down to wrap around his cock again. His jaw goes slack, eyes still staring into yours as you start to stroke him again.
"I wanna make you come," you correct yourself, leaning forward to press a tiny kiss to the corner of his mouth, "I want..." you drop your gaze bashfully, trying to let the dirty talk flow naturally like his does as you play with his cock, "I want you to make a mess on me."
"On you?" he asks, clearly surprised by your sudden boldness, "Where, baby? Where d'you want me to make a mess?"
With your other hand - slightly trembling - you pull your shirt up and palm the swell of your belly, just above your mound. He groans, low and lustful.
"On your tummy, baby?" he murmurs, "You want me to get your tummy all messy with my cum?"
You nod, biting down on your lip and pumping his cock faster, eyes coming back up to meet his gaze again as you get him off.
"Want it to drip down onto your pussy, huh?" he continues, brows drawing together in pleasure, "'Cause that's where it belongs, doesn't it?"
You nod again, "It does, Joel," you whisper, "It belongs there."
"You want me to come inside you this weekend, babygirl?" his voice is strained, so close to edge and you moan at his words, eyes still locked onto his, "Yeah, you do, don't you?"
"I do," you whimper, the truth stumbling from your lips before you can even really process it, "I want it so bad, Joel. Want you to fill me up."
With one last groan his eyes roll back and he starts to come all over your stomach, exactly where you'd wanted him to. Holding him in your hand while he comes is a brand new experience - his cock pulses and twitches within your grasp as he makes a strangled noise and brings his hand up to cover his face, overwhelmed by the sensation. You bite down on your lip and watch as his cum paints your skin in thick spurts, warm and thick.
"Fuck," he finally mutters after a moment of heavy breathing, bringing his hand down from his face to look at you again with a sated expression, "You're filthy, baby."
You feel your cheeks warm, eyes going down to where his cum drips down your belly. His gaze follows yours and he smirks, reaching forward to carefully thumb a bit that's trailing dangerously close to your pussy and pushing it up and away from where it shouldn't go - yet, anyway.
"In more ways than one," he murmurs softly, then meets your gaze again. Despite the depraved circumstances you still can't help but feel shy, head tilting away from him as you smile sheepishly and slip out of his lap, pretending not to hear the embarrassingly loud squelch of wet skin against wet skin. You see him grin in the corner of your eye, clearly still fond of your bashfulness.
"I'm gonna need a shower," you say shyly, eyeing your discarded shorts on the floor.
"Go shower, darlin'," he says, still seated on the couch with his legs open and his softening cock peeking through the open zipper of his jeans, "I'll get my bed all comfy for you."
At the mention of his bed you find a little bit of the anxiety from earlier return in the pit of your stomach, twisting uncomfortably. He notices your reaction immediately, a frown settling into his features as he assesses your expression.
"What is it?"
You avoid eye contact, biting your lip and awkwardly tugging your shirt down over your thighs so you're less exposed, "Um, I know nothing happened, I know you didn't... but um, did..." you grimace, "Did she..."
He stands up immediately, tugging his zipper as he goes and reaching you in a single stride, arms coming up to touch your shoulders. You look up and see him shaking his head, brown eyes softly searching yours.
"She wasn't in my bed, honey," he murmurs quietly, "I promise."
The anxiety settles, and you believe him.
--
You cuddle together in bed for a while after your shower, not really talking but just basking in the feeling of being together again after such a shitshow of a weekend. You're warm and comfy in one of Joel's band t-shirts while he lays beside you, spooning you from behind and pressing soft kisses to the exposed part of your neck every so often, his bare legs tangled with yours beneath the sheets.
Part of you still wants answers, wants to learn more about his relationship with his ex, but another part of you doesn't feel ready yet, doesn't want to ask those questions or face those truths. Your mind is running a mile a minute as you lay there without saying anything, brow furrowed as you weigh the pros and cons in your head.
"D'you wanna talk about it, angel?" Joel finally asks, almost like he can sense exactly what you're feeling, his arms tightening around you. Your eyes close and you sigh deeply, squishing the side of your face into his pillow.
"Talk about what?" you mumble, but he's not buying it.
"I know you have questions," he murmurs, kissing the back of your neck again - grounding you, reminding you that it's okay to be yourself here, "There must be a thousand flyin' around that beautiful head o'yours. And I want you to ask 'em."
You sigh again, quieter this time. He squeezes you and reaches up to pull some of your hair back from your cheek and push it behind your ear, stroking it gently. He presses a small kiss there and noses the space beneath.
"You still feel safe with me, right?" he whispers.
At his words you immediately turn in his embrace, a look of shock forming on your face, "Of course I do," you breathe, "Joel, I've never felt safer with anyone than I do with you."
"Okay, okay, just checkin'," he smiles at you, eyes soft and sleepy, "You just seem... somewhere else. And I know why," his smile turns sad again, "And I hate that you're feelin' this way, darlin'. What can I do?"
You shake your head and reach your hand up to palm the side of his face, thumb stroking his cheek tenderly, "You... you can tell me where it is you're taking me this weekend." It's a cop-out and you both know it, but as usual he doesn't push it - you'll talk about your feelings in your own time.
He turns his head and kisses the palm of your hand gently, "Dallas," he murmurs, "Hotel room's booked."
Your eyebrows shoot up, "Dallas? But that's hours away, isn't it?"
"About three or so," he shrugs, "You ever been?"
"Couple times when I was a kid. Why Dallas?"
His arms tighten around you and he leans forward to lightly brush his nose against yours, "I told you, I wanna take you away. Not just twenty minutes or an hour; I want you to forget about all the shit you're dealin' with here for a little while," he kisses the tip of your nose gently, "What better place to do that than another city?"
The thought makes you smile. He's right; getting as far away from your parents as possible definitely sounds like a more than appealing opportunity. You've been to Dallas before but not since you were a kid, experiences that have pretty much clouded over at this point, what with all the restrictive rules you'd had to face.
"I feel bad..." you suddenly whisper.
His expression falters, "Why, baby?"
"'Cause what if I don't wanna leave the hotel room?" You smile slyly and his grin comes back in full force as he pulls you closer, presses loud kisses along the side of your face as you giggle.
"Who said anything about leavin' the hotel room?" he chuckles, then reaches over you to grab his phone from the night stand, "Plus..." he scrolls through it for a few seconds then turns it to face you, "There may be a more specific reason I chose Dallas."
You peer at his phone, see the image of a poster staring back at you: DALLAS GOSPEL MUSIC FESTIVAL. The dates correlate to this upcoming weekend. Your jaw drops, eyes going wide as you turn back to his suddenly cocky expression - he's beyond proud of himself.
"Joel Miller," you gasp with a grin, slapping his arm playfully, "you're worse than me."
--
"So the whole thing just sounds really cool," you lie to your mother the following day, showing her the poster for the festival you'd printed out, "They're also doing group worship in the mornings and there's some other events happening between the shows, like bible trivia." Kill me now.
She raises an eyebrow, assessing it further, "It's an awfully long drive to Dallas on your own..."
"I like driving, it's peaceful."
"And aren't festivals known to have drugs?"
You resist the urge to roll your eyes, "It's gospel, Mom. I don't think anyone'll be handing out drugs. Plus," you point to the little anti-drug symbol in the corner of the poster, "it's not allowed, see?"
She still looks skeptical, bringing her gaze from the poster to your face, "But you've never wanted to go to something like this before. Why now?"
"I'm just-" you smile as earnestly as you can, "I'm really enjoying my lessons with Mr. Miller. I'd like to go see some professionals perform, get inspired, that kinda thing. I think it'll help me with my technique." Technique, sure. Not as if you've played his guitar more than once at this point.
She grimaces, "It seems an awfully big thing to keep from your father..."
And whose fault is that? "You could tell him I'm visiting another one of my friends?"
She nods slowly, thoughtfully, turning her head to look down at the poster again.
You hate this. You hate how much you're lying. You hate how much she's lying. But more than anything, you hate that you have to lie in the first place. You hate that you have to ask permission, as if you're not a grown adult woman with her own agency. None of this sneaking around and coming up with covers and excuses would even be necessary if your parents just allowed you to be yourself under their roof. The whole thing is so fucked.
"Promise you'll let me know when you get there, and text me every morning and night," she finally says, eyes meeting yours again, "And promise that you'll drive safely."
Relief floods through you, along with that all too familiar guilt, "I promise."
--
The rest of the week passes smoothly, albeit a little slow. Your mother gives your father some kind of excuse about this weekend that seems to appease him, something about a bible study group. You try not to think about how many stories you're weaving together at this point, all of them piling on top of each other and twisting and turning into even bigger and badder lies. It's truly becoming a giant mess, but all of that doesn't seem to matter whenever you think of Joel, of this weekend...
Communication with him is so different now - in the best way. No more short and brief responses, no more wondering what he's thinking or worrying he's no longer interested. You text every single day and talk on the phone in hushed whispers almost every night. You've noticed that he's able to call you earlier now, has stopped going to the bar after work with his crew, but you don't mention it to him. He hasn't been back since last weekend, something that makes you admittedly feel a bit of relief.
You text him on Wednesday afternoon from the parking lot of the grocery store - you've been helping your parents out a bit more now wherever you can, spending your days cleaning the house, doing chores, fulfilling to-do lists, etc. It's the least you can do for essentially stringing them along through the worst web of lies imaginable. This trip, however, you'd caught a glimpse of Bethany in the baking aisle and almost had a heart attack, rushing to the self checkout and scanning all your items before she'd gotten a chance to see you. You haven't spoken to her since the incident in the church bathroom and you don't intend to ever again if you can help it.
almost ran into bethany at the grocery store ahhh!!!! i hate this so much. just wanna leave already and forget about all these people :( miss you. hope your day's going better than mine 💕
You sigh to yourself as you pull out of the parking lot, but your sad demeanor is quickly replaced with a grin when you feel your phone vibrate in your lap. At a red light you look down at it, warmth flooding your cheeks.
Soon, angel. Two more days and it'll just be you and me. Can't wait to treat you the way you deserve. I know just the thing to make your day better, call me tonight x
That night he whispers filthy things in your ear while you finger yourself, face buried in your pillow, thumb rubbing furiously against your clit. Your face is hot and your lower half is bare against the sheets, sticky and soft. You're imagining how his cock will feel inside you, buried to the hilt, pulsing deep and wet and warm. The thought is almost too much to bear - you've been physically incapable of thinking of anything else lately.
"Wanna feel it in my stomach, Joel, just like you said," you whine into the pillow, tears stinging your eyes as your pleasure nears its peak. "Please, please."
"You will, babygirl," he gasps, voice low and shaky as he tugs at his cock and groans on the other line, "God you're such a good girl beggin' for it like that. Ask me again, honey, ask for my cock."
"Please, Joel," you try to keep your voice quiet but it's so hard, your fingers plunging in and out of yourself at the exact speed you wish he was fucking you, "Please, Mr. Miller. Please give me your cock."
He lets out another groan, "Oh god, baby, I'm so fuckin' close. Ask me for my cum, angel. Ask for it real pretty and polite."
His words send you over the edge as your hand stutters against your pussy and halts, your whole body trembling as you fall face forward onto the bed. Your skin ignites with even more heat as you shut your eyes tight and whisper, "Please gimme your cum, Joel. Want your cum."
You hear him inhale sharply and then exhale even louder, can almost see the white of his cum behind your lids, dripping all over his bare stomach. You can feel your own slick dripping down your inner thigh, staining your sheets. You wonder if your mom has noticed how often you've been changing your bedding lately, but part of you can't really bring yourself to care.
You try to imagine what it would be like for him to pump you full, for his release to leak out of you, what it would look like, feel like... The thought makes goosebumps rise all over your flesh, especially when you remember that he'd already asked if that's what you wanted. In the heat of the moment you'd said yes, and even now you find that you still do. You have been taking your little pill every day at the same time after all, a fact he's very much aware of.
You turn over in bed and snap a quick picture of your bare pussy, wet and used. It's the second time you've done it this week. You send it without saying anything and smile when you hear him groan again on the other line.
"Perfect little pussy," he whispers, and you can hear the pout in his expression.
"It's yours," you murmur sleepily, feeling yourself begin to drift as you bury your face in your pillow again, "It's all yours, Joel."
--
The only issue that inevitably pops up is the driving arrangement. To your parents knowledge you're traveling to Dallas alone, so leaving in your own car is a vital detail. You want to ride in Joel's truck though, but you're not sure it's feasible with the amount of eyes on you, the questions your parents will ask if your car stays in the driveway.
"That's easy to figure out, darlin'," Joel reassures you over the phone the next morning, "Lemme make a call to my brother, I'm pretty sure he's got a spot in a garage he ain't usin' right now."
You grimace at the thought of someone you don't know doing you a favor, "He won't mind?"
Joel snorts, "Tommy? Not at all, angel. Don't you worry."
You've only heard him talk about Tommy once, that day on his back deck when he'd told you about his upbringing. You'd been under the impression that they didn't have a very good relationship, what with being compared to each other their whole lives. Maybe you'd been wrong about it. You've certainly been wrong about a lot of things. You file it away as another question to ask once you finally work up the courage.
You have to admit, it feels really good to have someone take care of things like this, telling you not to worry, handling everything that's difficult. You've been carrying such a load of bullshit for your entire life and knowing that Joel's in charge this weekend just makes you feel safe. Protected. Cared for. You feel like you could ask him for anything and he'd somehow make it happen for you, something you've never really experienced before. Your parents have always been hesitant to spoil you despite their wealth, had rarely ever taken you on vacations that weren't undercut with the promise of learning or preaching. Your desires and needs have always taken a backseat to appearances, standards, bigger goals. You've never really felt you could ever relax with them, ask for things, be yourself.
It feels so fucking good to have Joel Miller.
Your parents have already left for the day when you climb into your car on Friday morning, tossing your travel bag in the backseat and switching on the ignition with a smile on your face. You and Joel have it all figured out - he'd talked to his brother and there's indeed a space for you to park your car in for the weekend. Joel surprised you even more by taking the day off, so you're meeting him at the garage in about an hour's time. Before then, though... you think another shopping trip is in order - for one specific item in particular.
--
The lingerie store doesn't seem as scary this time around. Last time you hadn't even been able to step foot inside, but this time you're more prepared, ready for the skimpy mannequins and uniquely shaped underwear. You're still not really exactly sure what you're looking for, but you don't panic this time when a salesclerk walks over to you with a smile and asks if she can help you. She's probably around your mom's age, something you're not sure makes you uncomfortable or not.
"Um, yeah," you say awkwardly, unable to make direct eye contact, "I was wondering if you have anything...um... like..." you try to find the words, heart beating a bit quicker in your chest, "Something cute? But sexy too, but, um, not too sexy, if that makes sense," you feel your cheeks warm as you babble, thinking of the spiked bras and crotchless panties you'd seen last time, "Just something not too crazy, something pretty but still... still sexy." God, how many times did you just say the word sexy?
The woman just smiles and nods without any ounce of judgement whatsoever, "I know just the thing, sweetie, follow me." Well, despite being around the same age, your mother would certainly never call you sweetie. She'd also never go lingerie shopping with you either; the very thought is laughable.
She leads you to a section full of floral themed sets, brightly colored and soft, lacy and delicate. Your eyes widen a bit at the selection, the options in shapes and sizes, colors and transparency, boy shorts and g strings. You have to admit that you could see yourself wearing pretty much anything here - it's right up your alley, and you're pretty sure it's Joel's preference as well.
"As you can see, we have a big range," the salesclerk says with another smile, "Some of them are more simple than others if that's what you're looking for," she picks up one of the sets, blue and frilly with little forget-me-nots embroidered over the nipples, "This one is very popular, and comfortable too, speaking from experience."
You nod, analyzing it carefully and trying your best not to picture the salesclerk wearing it, "Thanks, but I'll, uh, just have a look myself, if that's okay?"
"Of course!" she puts the set back down and tosses you one last smile, "Take your time, sweetie. Let me know if you need anything."
Being around your parents so much this summer has really messed with your psyche. You find it odd to encounter people like this, people your parents age, Joel's age, who clearly have no qualms about dressing sexually. It's almost the way you'd felt when you first got to college, the culture shock of taking ownership of your own body and doing what you want with it, not constantly wondering if you're going to go to hell for showing too much skin. It reminds you yet again of your own naivety, everything you've been missing up to this point.
But also... everything you're going to experience this weekend. That is why you're here, after all.
You end up picking out what you believe to be the prettiest set. It's white and transparent in certain places, edged in pink and covered in little embroidered flowers, purple and yellow and green. The bra has buttons in the center that you're not sure actually work or are just for show... though regardless, you imagine Joel slowly fingering them while you peer up from below on the hotel bed, a thought that makes your cheeks burn. The panties are cute and look easy to slip on and off but there's an odd third component, just as pretty with straps that lead to nothing. You furrow your brow, staring at it.
You could ask the salesclerk what it is but you really don't want to embarrass yourself. Instead you take a picture and send it in your group chat:
buying lingerie, what is this?? help!!
Of course, Tasha is the first to reply:
IT'S A GARTER BELT, BABE. HOLDS UP STOCKINGS IN A FUN SEXY WAY. SO BUY STOCKINGS. also that's cute as fuuuuck. ur gonna give the old man a heart attack
You stifle a laugh and shove your phone back in your pocket, picking up the entire set and walking to the cash. You grab a pair of sheer white stockings in your size and slip everything onto the counter, still avoiding eye contact as the salesclerk from before walks behind and starts ringing everything up.
"Find everything you were looking for, sweetie? Did you want to try any of this on before you purchase?"
You shake your head immediately, "No, that's okay." The thought of trying any of this stuff on in a public place is definitely still a little too much outside your comfort zone.
The clerk nods and turns the card reader to you with a smile, "That'll be a hundred and fifty eight dollars."
You're pretty sure you've never looked more shocked in your life.
why is being sexy so awkward and expensive?
welcome to my life sister
158 DOLLARS FOR 3 SCRAPS OF MATERIAL
that's it, let it all out
--
The garage Joel gave you the address for isn't too far from the mall, hidden down a few side streets where you feel confident your parents will never accidentally come across it. With a significantly emptier wallet, you pull into the parking lot and spot Joel's truck, smiling when you see him get out to wave you over. He's wearing one of your favorite flannels - green and black, similar to the one you keep under your mattress - and another band t-shirt underneath; you've lost track of how many he has at this point.
"There's my girl," he says as you pull up beside him with the window rolled down. He leans against your car, tips his head in to kiss you gently, "Find it okay? Directions were clear?"
You can't help but roll your eyes with a giggle, "I just typed it into the Maps app, Joel. Didn't need all the rights and lefts."
He chuckles, "Follow me, I'll show you where to park it."
You inch along behind him as he leads you into the relatively small parking garage and gestures to the right. There's an open spot between an RV trailer and a pick-up truck.
"Those are both Tommy's," he says with a sly smile, "So feel free to scratch 'em up if you want."
You roll your eyes again and carefully pull into the space, being sure to avoid any of the encouraged scratching. It's a comfortable fit and you grab your things from the backseat before climbing out to meet Joel behind your car.
"Hi," you say quietly, peering up at him with a soft smile, not caring that you already had your introduction a few minutes ago. All you can think about now is the time that stretches out in front of you, an entire weekend of just you and him.
"Hi, angel," he murmurs, and you feel his hands come up to squeeze your arms, pull you in close, "Ready to get outta here?" You nod excitedly and he gestures toward the garage entrance, "Then let's hit the road."
--
Three hours on the road passes much quicker than you thought it would. You remember road trips with your parents as a kid, traveling miles in random directions to witness supposed "miracles" or visit religious sites. Before he'd joined the police force your father had been a pretty prominent presence in church groups all throughout the southern states, and by proxy you and your mother had too. You can't really remember much of the experience other than having to constantly be on your best behavior, put on a perfect front no matter what. It was exhausting. Not to mention the only music you could listen to had to be pre-approved by your parents. You'd sit in the back seat with perfect posture, mouthing along to songs about God while you stared longingly at the kids in cars passing by, screaming songs that were forbidden to you at the top of their lungs.
You tell Joel about it. The first twenty minutes or so of the drive is spent unloading your past road trip experiences, something you genuinely hadn't planned on doing. But talking to him is just so easy. The words fall from your lips without any hesitance whatsoever, no fear that he'll ask why you put up with it, why you didn't stand up for yourself, those questions you'd been asked by people at college whenever you mentioned your upbringing. He listens attentively, reaches over and picks up your hand to place it on his thigh, squeezes it reassuringly.
"I'm just rambling now," you finally say with a shake of your head, "The point is, this is my first road trip without all those rules, you know? So it's just... I'm just really excited."
"I get it, honey. And I'm glad I can give you this experience," he turns to look at you with a crooked smile, "Among others." Your cheeks warm.
As usual, he commands the space he's in. He's so big and broad in the front seat, one large hand on the wheel while the other caresses your fingers, thumbs your palm. His forearms are thick and freckled, lined with veins and little nicks and cuts here and there from work. The grey in his scruff reflects light in the sun, sending little twinkles and glimmers into your periphery every so often. He's so perfect, sitting there beside you. So handsome. Yours.
"Which band is that?" you ask him, genuinely curious as your eyes trail down to his t-shirt. You can't help but assume that it's some kind of metal band, what with all the skulls.
"This?" he tugs at it, eyes falling to where you're looking, "Grateful Dead."
"Oh, cool."
He smiles sympathetically, "You have no idea who they are, do you?"
"Is it that obvious?"
He laughs and squeezes your hand again, then lets go to reach into the center console for his phone. You watch him unlock it and pull his face back to squint at it, eyes flicking back and forth between the screen and the road while he tries to access something.
"I can do it," you offer, and without any qualms he slips his phone into your hand with a smile.
"I- uh- I made a playlist," he says, turning his attention to the road again, "For the trip. There's some Grateful Dead on there, if you wanna hear it. You can add your own stuff to it too, don't want you thinkin' you can only listen to my shit."
You don't know why the concept of Joel making a playlist specifically for your trip is so fucking adorable, but it is. You can't help but smile as you open Spotify and spot it immediately - simply called Dallas. You scroll through it and pick the first Grateful Dead song you spot.
"Wait," you say, scrunching your eyebrows as soft guitar fills the truck, gentle and smooth, "This is Grateful Dead?"
He chuckles, "What were you expectin'?"
"Somebody screaming, maybe? Especially for a song called Friend of The Devil," you turn to him with a shake of your head, "God, you're telling me this is the kinda shit my parents forbid me from listening to? It's literally just some guy."
He laughs again, deep and genuine, "Half the shit parents forbid their kids from listenin' to ain't even that bad. I remember a couple years before my momma died, she told me she'd heard this new singer called Bruce Springsteen, absolutely loved him," he grins at the memory, "Meanwhile she'd thrown out all my Springsteen records when I was sixteen, said they were filth."
"Did you remind her?"
He shakes his head, "Nah, I let her believe he really was some new singer she'd discovered. Wouldn't have done any good to rub it in her face. We'd already made peace."
You think about that concept - peace. The very thought of ever having a peaceful relationship with your own parents feels foreign and downright impossible, a feeling that makes you ridiculously sad if you think about it too long. You don't want to entertain the idea of having to say goodbye to them completely at any point, for them to be out of your life entirely because they don't want you anymore. You're glad Joel was able to make peace with his mother, but after years? After his father had passed away? The thought is frightening.
"Now, Backstreet Boys," Joel continues with a wry smile, "that's a band you gotta watch out for. I had to stare at those faces every time I went in Sarah's room for years. Talk about trauma."
The discomfort fades almost immediately, a natural giggle bubbling past your lips at his words. You like hearing him mention his daughter so casually - you're finally in the loop, finally getting to see the real him, hear his unfiltered thoughts.
"Can I... can I ask you something about Sarah?"
His expression changes then, not into one of anger or guilt, but surprise. He nods immediately, reaches back over to take your hand in his, "Of course you can, angel. Anythin' you want."
"Um, how old is she?" You've already done the math in your head, but you want to be sure, want to hear it from him.
"She's thirty eight," he gives you a look, "Does that make you feel weird?"
You shake your head, "No, it doesn't." You mean it. You'd probably find it weirder if she was closer to your age, but thirty eight... a full grown woman, out of the house and living her own life for years. There's something different about that, something that doesn't bring you any discomfort.
"I just wanna say... I've... I've never been with anyone your age," he looks away again, like he's worried about seeing your face as he says it, "You're the youngest person I've been with, save for when I was that age myself." He grimaces, "I don't... I don't go around preyin' on young girls or anything, if you were worried about that. I know the first day we met might've made you think otherwise, but-"
You smile softly as he babbles, "I believe you, Joel. I mean... I can't say the thought didn't cross my mind. I was a bit worried about that this weekend, when I saw you and Sarah. I thought she was my age."
He laughs a little breathlessly, shaking his head, "Oh, she'd be very pleased to hear that, lemme tell you." He makes a face. "The thinkin' she's your age part, not the part about you thinkin' we were together. She probably wouldn't like that so much."
You giggle, "Yeah, probably not."
"But I do mean it, honey. I'm not that kinda man, or at least I never thought I was," he bites his lip, "You kinda turned my whole world upside down that day, if I'm bein' honest."
You don't really know what to say in response, but you feel pride swell in your chest at his words. You reach your other hand over and place it on top of where you're already entwined, peering up at him fondly, hoping he can sense what you're feeling. The song switches over to something else then, another guitar heavy tune. You recognize the melody immediately, your eyes going wide.
"Speaking of the first day we met," you say softly, hoping he'll recognize the significance - and he does. He peers at you with that beautifully tender expression he reserves only for you, grip tightening beneath your other hand.
"Tangled Up in Blue, Bob Dylan."
"I knew it was Bob Dylan."
"Good ear. You play?"
"Um, not really."
The memory sends tingles down your spine. How was that only a few weeks ago? How have you gone from being the shy and bashful girl at the end of Joel Miller's walkway to the girl sitting in his truck holding his hand on a three hour road trip to another city? Talking about your life, his life, the things that matter? The girl with lingerie and birth control packed neatly in your travel bag?
"I'm still plannin' on teachin' you how to play this," he finally says, smirking, "Don't think you can get off easy just 'cause we're focusin' on the hymns."
You roll your eyes with a grin, "When you actually teach me a hymn, we'll talk."
--
It doesn't take long to realize that driving with Joel is very distracting. Not only is he so large and broad in the seat beside you, looking gorgeous and charming as he always does, but he also smells fucking delicious. Being in such close proximity to him in a small space, being able to smell his cologne mixed with the sheer scent of him, raw and masculine and sexy. It just reminds you of how it feels to be underneath him, overwhelmed by him entirely, feeling the rough edges of his body against yours.
You've had the windows rolled up since the first hour, turned on the AC once you'd gotten on the highway and let the cool air fill the truck. But now it's just circulating that fucking smell, thick and heady as you watch little droplets of sweat form on Joel's forehead, trickle down his temples. You feel a throb in your panties, a surge of release, and you clench your thighs together.
"You okay, babygirl?" he asks you softly, reaching over to place his big hand on your bare thigh - of course he'd noticed your change in demeanor immediately, "Need to stop somewhere and use the bathroom?"
His hand on your thigh just makes you clench tighter, makes you lean back lazily in your seat and let out a quiet whimper. You turn and look at him the exact moment his gaze reaches your face, reads it, tries to make sense of what you need.
"What is it?" he murmurs, hand slowly rubbing your skin, "What's got you makin' sounds like that, huh?"
You whimper again, already fully decided on what you want. Your hand goes down to grip his, move it upwards to the crotch of your shorts. His jaw slackens, eyes going dark.
"Need your pussy touched, baby?"
You nod, feeling heat flood your cheeks at his words. You watch as he assesses the road in front of him, the lane beside him. He chews the inside of his cheek and seems to settle on something internally. He keeps his eyes trained ahead while his hand fiddles with the zipper on your shorts.
"Unbutton those for me, pretty girl," he says, voice suddenly low, and you don't need telling twice. You practically tear your shorts open and allow him to reach his hand inside - it's so big and warm, hairy knuckles and callused fingertips slipping past the band of your underwear. Another pitiful sound falls from your lips as his index drops to your entrance and immediately slips inside.
"Joel," you whisper, tilting your head back and closing your eyes as he pushes knuckle deep inside you, filling you quickly and easily.
He doesn't say anything, just prods a second finger against your hole and slowly pushes it alongside the first. You take him so easy now; it doesn't burn the way it did those first few times, and it certainly helps that you're also soaking wet, practically dripping through your shorts.
"That's it," he murmurs softly beside you, other hand still on the wheel while he monitors the traffic around him, "That feel better, baby?"
"Y-yes," you breathe, looking down again to watch the lewd actions happening in your lap, watch the way his hand moves back and forth in your shorts as he pulls his fingers in and out of you.
"Just close your eyes and relax, angel," he tells you gently, "I'll take care of it."
You do as he says, letting yourself relax as best you can while he continues to slowly fuck you with his fingers. Another song starts playing, something low with a steady beat that he suddenly sets the pace to, speeding up as you open your legs a bit wider and moan softly. His thumb finds your clit and circles it, making you whine.
"Shhh, it's okay," your hear him say beside you, working his fingers, "It's alright, babygirl. Gonna give you what you need."
You moan again at the images that flood your brain, the thought of being underneath him in only a couple hours time, the feeling of his cock pushing inside, filling you up in just the way you've been aching for. You imagine his heavy breaths, hot and sticky against your skin. The smell of his cologne, his sweat. The coarseness of his pubic hair against your bare pussy. You writhe in the seat and tighten your thighs together, another whine slipping from your mouth.
"I got you," he murmurs, and he does. It doesn't take much else at all for you to climax, and he gets you there quickly with a few more circles of his thumb, the stiffness of his fingers, his name slipping past your lips as you come.
You lay loose and pliant in your seat for a moment, eyes still closed. He goes to remove his hand from your shorts but you stop him, reaching down to hold his wrist and keep his warm hand inside. He cups your pussy gently and just holds it, the palm of his hand sitting firmly atop your throbbing hole, rhythmically pulsing against his skin.
"Just keep it there," you whisper, chest heaving, "Please."
"Christ," he grunts under his breath, and you open your eyes to look at him, see the flush of his skin as he looks at you with desire in his eyes, "You were right, babygirl. I don't think we'll be leavin' that hotel room."
--
You like Joel's playlist a lot. After stopping into a gas station to clean up a bit, you sit in the passenger seat while he loads up on gas and scroll through it on your own phone, liking certain tracks that have stood out to you. His musical range is very broad; there's a lot of artists on it that you've never heard of, but you're not sure if that's just because of how sheltered you've been or because he's so much older than you. You choose to believe it's the latter - you hate thinking about how much you've missed out on. He'd said you could add some of your own songs but the thought makes you feel embarrassed; you haven't really had much time to form your own music taste, have spent your college experience so far just listening to whatever's popular since you couldn't when you were younger. You wouldn't even know what to add.
You scroll back up to the top of the playlist and tap Joel's profile out of curiosity, wondering if he has any other public playlists. You smile to yourself when you see titles like BBQ, 80s Tunes, Good Solos, Acoustic, Oldies, Angel.
Hold on...
Angel
You stare at it for a moment, thumb hovering over the icon but making no move to actually press it. You suddenly feel like you're invading his privacy somehow, like this isn't something he'd want you to see, not unless he said you could. With all the strength you can muster you hit the back button and return to the Dallas playlist, tapping a random song and locking your phone.
Joel gets back in the truck, oblivious to your discovery. "Gettin' closer, darlin'. You excited?"
You smile, warmth bursting in your chest, "Can't wait."
--
The conversation drifts here and there throughout the rest of the drive, both of you asking and answering questions back and forth about your lives, your pasts, your interests, your dislikes. You learn that Joel really likes music. You've known this, of course - it's not like it's some huge surprise - but hearing him talk about the artists he likes, the instruments, the melodies, the lyrics... you can hear the passion in his voice, the adoration for his favorites, the infatuation with certain lines and words. He loves music.
"Why aren't you a musician?" you ask him, genuinely curious, "Like, this really seems like something you should be doing professionally."
He chuckles at that, shakes his head, "Knowin' a lot about somethin' doesn't necessarily constitute a career in it," he shrugs, "I mean... I can't say I never thought about it. To be honest, when I was a teenager I did dream about performin' live, recordin' an album, all that jazz."
"So... why didn't you?"
He tilts his head with a half smile, "I think you're forgettin' the part where I became a dad right outta high school."
You wince, "Oh. Right."
He laughs, "S'okay. I mean, I still probably coulda done it. But there was a period there in those early years where I stopped playin' altogether, so it kinda just... slipped my mind."
You frown, "What happened? If you don't mind me asking."
He takes a breath, thoughtful for a moment as he tightens his grip on the wheel and squeezes your hand at the same time, like he's preparing himself - or preparing you.
"Well, uh... Sarah's mom, she left." Your lips part in surprise but you don't say anything, giving him a few seconds to collect his thoughts again before continuing, "She, uh, she had really bad post-partum depression, lasted a really long time. Of course, at the time, that kinda thing wasn't really talked about very much. And on top o' that we were both living with her parents since I'd been kicked out and we couldn't afford to go anywhere else. Even when we finally managed to move out they stayed in our business."
"And her parents... were they...?"
"They were strict, yeah," his jaw tenses, "They were... they were very hard on her, which made it worse. And she never wanted to be a mom, ya know? She was only seventeen when it happened and it completely uprooted all her plans. She'd wanted to get outta Texas, go to California or New York, get away from her parents and all the bullshit." He sighs, shaking his head slightly at the memory, "But livin' where we did, abortion was outta the question and her parents were our only option."
He's not looking at you but you can see the pain in his expression, the regret. A wave of sadness washes over you as you watch him talk about this particularly difficult part of his past, a part you'd been curious about ever since last weekend but had been too afraid to ask about. You're not really sure what to say.
"They made us get married," he makes a face, "And I mean, it's not like we weren't in love at that point, 'cause we were. She was my high school sweetheart and I loved her so much, I wanted it to work. But she was so unhappy. So distant. And when Sarah was born it was like she was gone. The Mish I knew just completely disappeared." He finally looks at you, expression apologetic, "That's her name - Mish. Well, Michelle, but she hates Michelle. God," he sighs exasperatedly, "I'm sorry, darlin', I shouldn't be ramblin' on about this."
You shake your head quickly, pulling your hand from his grip to lay it on top of his and squeeze, a comforting gesture, "No, Joel, don't apologize. Tell me. I wanna know."
He peers at you, hesitant, "You're sure?"
"Yes. I... I wanna know you, if you'll let me." You squeeze his hand again, reassuring him quietly.
So he tells you. He tells you about getting his first real job in construction, working the latest hours possible to earn as much as he could to get the three of them out of Mish's parents house and into their own. He tells you about Sarah being born, how he'd never felt as happy in his entire life as he did when he first held her in his arms, how she was a light in the darkness for him, lit up the room with her killer smile and big brown eyes. He tells you how he'd woken up one morning to a note from Mish, telling him that she couldn't do it anymore, that she had to get out before the situation swallowed her whole. He tells you about how his little brother Tommy, the one you'd thought he disliked, the golden boy, started skipping school to take care of Sarah when Joel couldn't - not because Joel asked him, but because he'd wanted to help.
"They say it takes a village," he says with a soft smile, "But for me, I had my brother and that was enough. It was like the past however many years of that godforsaken rivalry our parents pushed on us hadn't even happened."
"This coming from the person who asked me to scratch his truck an hour ago," you tease, and he just laughs, peering over at you with a genuine smile and tears shining in his eyes. There he is, the real him.
"Mish, she uh-" he clears his throat, "She came back, when Sarah was a little older, but then she disappeared again, same story. We found out later that she was dealin' with a whole lot more than post partum. I won't go into the details but once she got on the right meds, started therapy, she came back to us. Took a little while for things to settle - we tried on our relationship again, but we realized we just didn't fit, it was never gonna work." You squeeze his hand again. "She stayed in our lives though, became a good mom to Sarah, that's what mattered most."
"And you were just... you were just alone, through all of that?" you ask quietly, "I mean, I know you had Tommy, but... that must've been so hard." You can't even imagine dealing with all of that, find it difficult to comprehend the fact that Joel had become a father when he was younger than you, had to drop all his dreams and desires and start living entirely for someone else. "Didn't your parents ever try to reach out at all? Didn't they want to know Sarah?"
He sighs, eyes on the road, "My momma did, I know she did. But my father wouldn't let her, and she did as he said, no questions asked."
You can't help but picture your own parents, the way your mother bends over backwards to police herself around your father, the way she's taught you your entire life to do the same. The way she can't even talk to him about what's really going on - or at least what she thinks is going on - for fear of him winding up in control of the situation, making the decisions for her.
"I wonder if my mom would still wanna see me if she knew what I've been doing," you say aloud, unable to keep the thought to yourself. "Or if my dad would force her to shut me out."
Once again your hands swap places, Joel wrapping his fingers around your palm and gripping it tightly. But he doesn't say anything, doesn't give you any words of reassurance, and you know it's because he can't.
--
A soft kiss to your right cheek, then your left. Whiskered and warm. Your eyes flutter open and you see Joel leaning over the center console with a tender smile on his face, brown eyes peering down at you fondly.
"We're here, baby," he murmurs.
You blink a few times, confused. Only moments ago you'd been listening to music, chatting about your degree and answering Joel's questions about your other life, the one where your parents aren't in charge. He'd been so attentive, so interested in learning more about you. You vaguely remember a song coming on, slow and melodic, and then...
"I fell asleep?" you ask blearily, sitting up a bit.
"Out like a light," he says with a smile, "Had to skip all my heavy metal."
You roll your eyes and peer out the window, confused by the darkness beyond.
"We're in the parking garage at the hotel," he clarifies quickly, leaning back into his own seat, "Ready to check in?"
You nod and yawn, opening the passenger side door and stepping out to stretch your arms above your head. It feels good to be out of the small confines of Joel's truck, even though it was nice while it lasted. He follows suit and walks around the side to grab the luggage from the back.
"You brought your guitar?" you ask, watching as he picks up the long black carrying case and slips it over his shoulder.
"That I did," he replies with a wink, "Gotta get that lesson in, right?"
You feel heat bloom in your cheeks and avoid his flirtatious gaze, moving toward the truck bed to grab your bag. He gets to it first, picks up both his bag and yours and carries them easily in both hands, walking over to meet you on the other side of the truck.
"I can take mine," you offer, "That's a lot to carry."
He just chuckles and shakes his head, walking in front of you, "You ain't liftin' one single finger on this trip, sweetheart."
Walking from the darkness of the parking garage to the suddenly blaringly bright sun of Dallas is disconcerting at first, but certainly not unwelcome. Your eyes squint against the sunlight, focus on Joel's broad back as he walks in front of you with all the bags, guitar case swinging from his shoulder. God, he looks good carrying all that, big hands gripping the handles of the bags as he saunters ahead. That's yours, you remind yourself yet again, he's yours.
You're so distracted by how good he looks that you barely really take notice of the hotel until you're pushing past the doors into the main lobby, and that's when you freeze in place with your jaw practically on the floor.
What the fuck?
When Joel told you he'd booked a hotel, the only thing you'd really pictured in your mind was the room itself. You'd imagined a pretty sizeable room with a big bed, an ensuite bathroom and maybe a balcony if you were lucky. You've never really spent much time in a hotel before, especially nothing fancy or expensive. When you'd traveled with your parents you usually stayed with family friends or other parishioners; they hadn't wanted to expose you to too much luxury or wealth. It's hypocritical now when you think back on it, considering the large house your parents live in, the pool, the cars, the boat your father wants to buy. They'd had money to throw away on those things but couldn't splurge on a hotel room every once in a while? Couldn't treat you to something you really wanted?
Now you stand in an absolutely gorgeous main lobby, all marble floors and bright greenery, glints of gold and crystal and diamonds everywhere you turn. You suddenly feel like you've walked into a European country - how the fuck did you drive three hours from Austin and end up in a place like this?
Joel is stalling a few feet in front of you, that cocky smile in full view as he watches your reaction, "Ain't too shabby, huh?"
You're still staring with wide eyes at the sleek floors, the glittering fountains, the fucking bell-hops wearing those silly little outfits. You turn back to Joel with a shake of your head, mouth open.
You barely register the checking-in process, too mesmerized by your surroundings to pay attention. A bell-hop loads up your bags onto a luggage cart, the clerk hands Joel a key card, and you're still in complete awe of what you've just walked into as you follow Joel almost robotically to the elevator without speaking.
This is too much, you want to say.
How much did you spend? you want to ask.
The room itself is fucking beautiful, overlooking the hustle and bustle of the city below, a sight you already know will look gorgeous when the sun goes down and the buildings are lit up. The bed is huge, much bigger than you'd anticipated, with a giant flatscreen TV on the wall overtop a confusingly high-tech looking fireplace. There's a comfy looking couch and an ensuite to your right, and a fucking balcony, just like you'd hoped for. You stand in complete silence in the doorway for a solid minute until the bell-hop is gone and Joel has to nudge you forward a little to shut the door.
"Say somethin'," he murmurs, wrapping his arms around you from behind and nuzzling his face in your neck.
You shake your head again, eyes still wide, "I- I don't even know what to say."
"D'you like it?" his voice is muffled in the warmth of your neck, lips pressing a soft kiss there as his arms squeeze you gently, "Tell me what you're thinkin'."
You swallow around the lump in your throat, close your eyes through freshly stinging tears and lean back into his embrace. "I'm thinking that.... that I can't believe you did all this for me."
He kisses your neck again, slow and sweet, "Of course I did, angel. S'what you deserve."
You open your eyes and look down to see his big arms holding you tightly, feel the firm warmth of him at your back, smell that heady and delicious scent of his cologne. This isn't some dream you're having, some weird and sinful idea you came up with in your head; this is real. You're really here, standing in a beautiful hotel room with the most beautiful man you could ever imagine. You feel so safe.
And now you have an entire weekend to show him how much that means to you, a thought that sends a chill up your spine when your gaze rises back up to the bed. There it is. That's where it's going to happen.
"So... what's the plan?" you ask quietly.
He chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to your ear before pulling back and spinning you around in his embrace, peering down at you with a soft expression. "Anythin' you want," he says with a smile, "You're in charge."
You can't help but feel yourself pout a bit, "What if I don't wanna be in charge?"
He leans down and brushes his nose against yours softly, "Well, then I'd say..." he's cut off by a sudden gurgling sound, and your eyes widen when you realize it's your stomach - you haven't eaten since this morning. He laughs lightly, pulling back to assess you fondly, "I'd say we better head down to the dining room and get some food in you."
You grimace, even though you know he's right. "Spoke too soon."
--
While you enjoyed the thrill of the hotel surprise, part of you wishes Joel had told you what kind of place this was so you could have packed accordingly. You definitely didn't pack anything super elegant or fancy, although you had packed all the dresses you'd bought a little while ago, the ones you'd tried on in his kitchen and haven't had an opportunity to wear since. You assess your options now, bag open on the couch, fingers trailing through the different fabrics. The little pink bag with your new lingerie still sits tucked into the side, and you wonder if you should wear it underneath whatever you choose to wear for dinner. As usual, you're not really sure how this kind of thing is supposed to work.
You settle on the pink one; you know from past experience that Joel's certainly a fan of that color on you. You take it into the bathroom along with the lingerie while he rummages through his own clothes, oblivious.
"Okay," you whisper to yourself as you stand in front of the mirror and tug off your t-shirt, then shorts. You stare at yourself in your underwear and bra for a few seconds, then carefully peel them from your body and reach inside the little pink bag. You'd already cut the tags off - no going back now.
The set fits perfectly, hugging your soft curves and the swells of your breasts, shaping your tummy and accentuating your thighs. You look good, as much as you feel odd admitting that to yourself. It's still been hard to look in the mirror lately and see what Joel sees, to not feel guilty for simply having a body. It gives you a similar feeling to how you'd felt in your bikini, though the lingerie leaves a lot less to the imagination with its transparent material and plunging panty line.
You tug on the dress and then the sheer white stockings, loving the way they stop at your thighs just under the dress and show off a small sliver of bare skin beneath the hem. You decide to leave the garter belt in the bathroom until later, tucking it into one of the cupboards underneath some towels. You peer at yourself in the mirror again, assessing yourself up and down and hoping Joel will like what he sees.
He does.
The second you come out of the bathroom you see him pause, looking up from where he's buttoning up a nice black dress shirt to gaze at you hungrily. His lips part, eyes going hooded as he walks over to you and firmly palms your lower back, pulls you close and trails his other hand up the side of your body.
"Christ," he breathes, almost a growl, "You're so fuckin' pretty."
Without any other words one of his hands suddenly reaches up your dress, grips tight to one of your thighs. You gasp, eyes widening as he thumbs the bare skin just beneath your panties, pulling back to peer down at you with a lustful expression.
"God, I could fuck you right now," he mutters, and the words send a squeak past your lips, a gush of wetness into your brand new panties, "Yeah, you want me to bend you over and fill you up? 'Cause you look positively sinful right now."
You whimper, tempted immediately by his words, at the thought of being bent over the edge of the bed and taken right there without any preparation. But you know that's not how you want this to go; if it was, you'd have already been fucked by him ages ago. And you know that he knows it too, that he wants the same things you want - to take it slow, to take your time, feel everything the way you want to feel it.
It doesn't mean you can't tease him, though. "Would you actually?" you ask softly, voice shaking a little bit in anticipation.
"God, yes, I would," he murmurs, "Just say the word and I will."
You bite your lip, almost genuinely considering it for a moment before your stomach suddenly growls again and you sigh exasperatedly.
He smiles, leans down to press his lips to your ear, "We have all weekend, remember?"
You shiver at the thought.
--
Dinner is beyond lovely, delicious dishes served on sparkling silver platters in a grand dining room, bottomless champagne which you surprise yourself by indulging in - about a glass and a half - and a live band performing some soft jazzy numbers on a stage nearby. It's so romantic, so dazzling and classy and like nothing you've ever experienced before. Your eyes flicker back and forth between everything periodically, like you can't really believe you're sitting here - but you are.
It feels so nice to sit in a public place with Joel, be surrounded by people who have no idea who you are and no concept of the secret nature of your relationship. It's just normal, easy, no need to be guarded or quiet or pretend you're something you're not. He smiles at you from across the table and you smile back easily without any pretenses, without that nagging voice in the back of your mind telling you to be on your best behavior. You can just be yourself.
He's so handsome, dressed mostly in black with his greying curls gelled back a bit, deep chocolate eyes almost never leaving yours. He looks at you like you're the only person in the room, the only one he can see while you trade more stories about your lives, your favorite things, your dreams. You tell him you'd like to write a book one day, not exactly sure what about yet but how you're not sure you'd even have the confidence to actually publish it - he tells you with warmth and tenderness that he'd read anything you wrote, be the first one to buy a copy. He tells you how he's written songs but never played them to anybody before, but he'd play them for you if you wanted to hear them - you do.
Despite the pretty music, the twinkling lights, the cozy atmosphere and yummy food... you can't wait to get back to the hotel room. Your skin is buzzing with anticipation of what comes next, what you both know will happen as soon as you're back behind closed doors. The thought has been sitting there in the back of your mind all day, all week - for crying out loud, it's been there since the day you met him. It's nice to sit and eat and chat and pretend for a little bit like you didn't come on this vacation for a very specific reason, but that reason is becoming glaringly more apparent the longer you sit across from each other, stealing glances and soft touches. You need him. You need him right now.
Your eyes must go glassy, a faraway look in your expression, because a few moments after finishing your food Joel extends his arm to you and squeezes your hand, peers at you with darkening eyes.
"I know, babygirl," he murmurs, calloused fingertips caressing your skin, "Let's go."
--
As soon as the door shuts behind the both of you Joel's arms are immediately around you again, just like they'd been when you first stepped into the room after check-in. This time though, he presses his body firmly to yours, pushes his groin against your ass and reaches up to pull your hair back behind your ear, other hand flat against your stomach.
"I want you so bad," he whispers, and your whole body seems to convulse in his grasp in anticipation, "Been thinkin' about it all day."
"Me too," you whisper back, like it's a secret. "I'm ready, Joel."
He noses your ear, your neck, your shoulder. You feel him pull back the sleeve of your dress and press an open mouthed kiss to the skin there, slow and wet.
"I'm gonna take care of you," he murmurs softly, "I promise."
You lean back into his touch, eyes fluttering closed as he continues to press kisses all over your exposed skin, the rough prickles of his facial hair feeling sinful against your flesh. He grinds himself into you again and you whine.
"You're gonna feel it right here," he reminds you, rubbing your tummy gently and inhaling your perfume, "Right there, babygirl."
You whimper, legs buckling underneath you, "I want it, Joel, Want it now, please." Your thoughts are clouded by the smell of him, the feel of him, and it's only when you feel him start to unzip your dress in the back that you remember what you're wearing underneath.
"Wait," you say quickly, pulling away and turning around to face him, "Wait, just - just gimme one minute," he looks confused and you smile apologetically, "I have a surprise for you first." You reach forward and take his hands in yours, pull him toward the bed and gently nudge him onto the edge, "Just wait there, okay? I'll be right back."
You start backing up to go to the ensuite and can't help but appreciate the way he looks sitting there for a moment, leaning back on his hands while he gazes at you from the bed under his lashes. His legs are so long, belt buckle shining tantalizingly under the overhead light. You watch as he kicks his shoes off, smiling up at you.
"Don't go anywhere," you tell him, still backing up, "Stay right there."
He grins, "Ain't nowhere I'd rather be than right here, baby."
Your skin heats as you turn the doorknob and head into the bathroom, locking it behind you. You try not to think too much about what's about to happen, what you're going to do together the second you open that door again - the thought is so beyond overwhelming that you can already feel goosebumps rising all over your body.
The dress comes off easily and you place it with slightly trembling fingers onto the counter, reaching down to open up the cupboard and grab the garter you'd stowed away. You don't look at yourself in the mirror until it's securely in place, stockings hooked into it symmetrically albeit a little precariously, and when you finally do see yourself - bright eyed and flushed, hair a little tousled, anticipation clear as day on your face - you can't help but grin.
You're about to lose your virginity. To Joel.
You take a few steadying breaths in the mirror, closing your eyes and giving yourself a moment to just quietly exist. You press your palms to the counter, inhaling and exhaling slowly, grounding yourself and working up the courage to go back into the room.
And then you hear it - a low buzzing sound, rattling against the solid tile of the bathroom countertop. You open your eyes in slight confusion, looking toward the sound; it's your phone, tucked against the wall, hidden behind the hand towel. Your brow furrows - has it been in here this whole time? You can't remember checking it at dinner, don't think you'd even unlocked it since before Joel woke you up from your nap in the truck.
You reach over and grab it, wondering who could be calling you - and that's when your heart plummets to your stomach.
6 messages. 4 missed calls. All from your mother.
Fuck.
Are you in Dallas yet?
Let me know when you arrive.
What hotel are you staying at?
Text me back now.
Where are you?
Answer the phone.
"Shit," you whisper, "Shit, shit, shit." You scramble to type out a response, erasing typos and re-typing over and over until you wind up with something that you hope makes sense:
sorry!!! i was so tired from the drive and passed out as soon as i got in my room. i'm still half asleep, i'll talk to you more tomorrow.
How the fuck could you forget to text her?! It was the one thing you'd promised her, the one thing you weren't lying about before you left, and it had still managed to completely slip your mind. You stare at the sent message, watching a whole minute go by until her typing bubble appears, slow and steady. Finally, her reply comes in:
I told your father about Mr. Miller. We'll discuss when you get home.
Well, that's definitely not the response you'd been expecting.
Your face scrunches in confusion as you read the message again; you're not sure how it correlates at all to your lack of communication, the breaking of your promise. You suppose she'd been so worried she'd had no choice but to tell your father the "real" reason you're in Dallas - the music festival, and by proxy the lessons with Joel that "inspired" the trip in the first place. That would make sense. It's not like she has any way of knowing that you're actually here with Joel, right? No, that's illogical. You've been careful.
Okay, you know what? Good. This is good. You've wanted him to know all along. One less secret to keep, right? It's a good thing.
So why does your heart suddenly feel like it's on the floor?
You read the message again, and then again.
It's fine. Don't worry about it, it's okay.
You look up from the phone and into the mirror, eyebrows going up when you see yourself. For a moment you'd forgotten where you were, what exactly you're doing in the bathroom of a hotel room in Dallas wearing nothing but lingerie. The stark contrast of the freedom you'd felt a few moments ago and the sudden anxiety you feel now is palpable, eyes going a bit blurry as you assess yourself in the mirror again. You suddenly feel slightly disconnected from the image itself, like the person you're looking at isn't you - it can't be you, can it? Is that you?
Water, you need water. You cup your hand in the sink and turn on the tap, collecting a small pool of liquid there before bringing it to your lips. The action reminds you that you'll need to take your birth control later, a thought that sends another pang of anxiety to your already discombobulated body. Why do you need to take birth control again? Oh yeah, because you're about five minutes away from losing your virginity. To Joel. Your ears begin to ring.
Your hands shake above the sink, water dripping downwards off your hands into the much too fancy basin below. What are you doing here? Who do you think you are? You really think this is okay? You really think everything you're doing, everything you've been doing, isn't going to have major consequences? Your vision blurs.
You shut off the water and shove your trembling hands into a dry towel, tears beginning to stream down your cheeks. You avoid looking at yourself in the mirror, avoid acknowledging the way you look all together. What the fuck is wrong with you? Who are you? What have you become? Lying to your parents, resisting everything they ever taught you, doing filthy things behind their back?
The sins you've acted upon are against God, you can practically hear your father spitting at you, the behavior you've exhibited will surely leave you with nothing but a one way ticket to Hell.
Your heart pounds in your chest, much faster than normal, much faster than you think it's ever beat. So fast that you briefly think you might be having a heart attack. You clutch at your chest and fall to the floor, attempting to catch your breath and utterly failing to do so, eyes wide and panicked as you practically fight for your life on the marble tile. What the fuck is happening? Not even five minutes ago you'd been totally fine, completely ready and willing and excited, and now you want nothing more than for the floor to open up and swallow you whole.
"J-Joel?" you gasp out, voice echoing against the walls; it's like you're calling out for emergency assistance, a last-ditch attempt at survival. He doesn't answer - you hadn't been loud enough. You take another gasping breath and call out a bit louder, "Joel?"
You hear his voice almost immediately on the other side of the door, "I'm here, baby. You okay?"
You shut your eyes tight, head leaning back against the wall as you pull your legs up to hug against your chest. How the fuck do you even answer a question like that? No, I'm not okay. I'm completely the opposite of okay.
"I c-can't breathe," you practically spit the words out, teeth beginning to chatter.
"Hey, hey, what's goin' on? Can I come in?"
You don't answer, can't answer. The knob jiggles and you silently curse yourself for locking it, "What is it, baby? What's wrong? Talk to me." You can hear the worry in his voice.
"I don't kn-know" you hiccup, hands coming up to cover your face, "I just... I just g-got really sc-scared all of a sudden."
"Oh sweetheart, that's okay." His voice is calm, soothing, reassuring. "That's alright, honey. It's okay to be scared, that's normal. That's okay."
"N-no it's not," you gasp out, hands still shaking, "I'm- I'm going to hell."
There's a beat of silence, then -
"I think you're havin' a panic attack, babygirl," you hate how muffled his voice is through the door, like he's ridiculously far away, "That's okay, I have those too. I have those all the time."
Your eyebrows go up in surprise, "Y-you do?"
"I do. And I can help you if you let me in, alright? We can get through it together, I promise."
"Y-you won't be m-mad at me?"
"Babygirl," he breathes, the tone of his voice doused in shock, "I'd never be mad at you for somethin' like that. Not now, not ever." Another knob jiggle, "Open up, sweetheart, lemme hold you."
The thought of being in his arms is the only thing that gets you off the floor, legs shaking like a baby deer as you lean against the wall for support and sidestep over to the bathroom door. With relentlessly shaky fingers you manage to unlock it, tugging it open just a little bit. He does the rest.
You barely get a look at his expression - full of concern and tenderness - before you're suddenly being scooped up into his big, warm arms. He lifts you off the floor like you weigh nothing while you bury your face in his shoulder, close your eyes and try your best to focus on the sound of his breathing, the smell of him, the way he feels. Your legs instinctively wrap around him almost like a koala as he carries you over to the couch, sits down while you cling to him in the safety of his lap.
He doesn't mention the fact that you're practically naked, doesn't ask about the lingerie or point out the little wet spot at the front of your panties where only a few minutes ago you'd started getting wet with anticipation. Instead he simply does exactly what he'd said - he holds you. He pulls you in close and rubs your back and squeezes you tightly while you try to calm your breathing, try to disconnect yourself from the panicked feelings.
"You're okay, angel" he whispers to you softly, and you just cling to him tighter, "You're safe, you're alright. Nothin' bad is gonna happen to you, honey."
Except going to hell, you want to say, but you find that your fear is already starting to ebb, being replaced with the feeling of Joel's wide palm against your back and his soothing words in your ear.
"We have all the time in the world to take this step," he murmurs softly, "I don't want you to feel any pressure, don't want you to think you have to do anything you don't wanna do."
You remember his words from the other day: Need you to know that you don't owe me anythin', not ever. But the frustrating thing is that this isn't something you feel you owe him, it's something you want to do - or at least had wanted to do, before you picked up the stupid fucking phone.
"I'm r-ruining everything," you manage to gasp out, tears still flowing relentlessly down your face, "I'm s-sorry."
"You're not ruinin' anything," he breathes, and you can hear the sincerity in the tone of his voice, "That is not the only reason we came here, sweet girl. We came here to be together, get away from everythin'." You feel him press a gentle kiss to your temple, "Now, tell me what's goin' on. What's got you so scared, baby? Talk to me."
You sniff, face still buried in the warm fabric of his shirt as you tell him about the messages, the response from your mom about telling your father, the way your heart had sunk when you fully registered what it would mean for them to really know what's going on. You realize you're getting tears and snot all over him but he doesn't seem to pay it any mind, continuing to rub your back soothingly.
"It's fine that he knows, or thinks he knows - whatever," you sniffle, "But the whole thing is just- it's just so fucked. If they knew what I was d-doing here, if they knew what I was wearing-"
"Shhh," he trails his fingers through your hair as you babble and you bury your face into his shoulder again, feeling beyond embarrassed. This is not how you'd seen this night going at all. "Shh, sweetheart, it's okay. Hey, look at me. Look at me, sweet girl."
Hesitantly, you pull your face from his shirt to peer at him from under watery lashes, his handsome face blurry through your tears. He reaches down and takes both your hands in his, squeezes them carefully.
"Follow my breathing, okay?" he tells you softly, voice barely a whisper. You watch as he closes his eyes and slowly inhales through his nose. You count about five seconds before he exhales through his mouth again, opening his eyes, "In and out, real slow like this."
It takes a few minutes to get into a good rhythm, to feel the breathing exercise really start to work, but eventually you start feeling calmer again, more yourself. As you breathe Joel continues to hold your hands in his, keeping you present, grounded. You open your eyes a few times, almost like you're making sure he's still there despite knowing you're in his lap, and each time you see his beautiful face - eyes closed over with his lashes fanning his cheeks, plump lips under greying scruff, the lines and wrinkles you want to kiss every single one of - you feel a wave of reassurance wash over you, a reminder that you're safe, you're not alone.
Once your heart has stopped beating a mile a minute, you wrap your arms around him again and nudge your head lazily into the crook of his shoulder, eyes closed as you hum softly in appreciation. He starts rubbing your back again, soft and slow.
"I don't believe in it anymore," you finally whisper quietly, "I don't. I haven't for a long time. But it's hard to remember that sometimes. It can just... it creeps up on me."
"I know," he murmurs, "I dealt with that for a while too, babygirl. It's a lot to reconcile, a lot to put in the past, I get it."
"I get scared when I think about them finding out about us," you admit softly, "Not because it'll change what we have, but because it'll change what I have with them." You bite your lip "You... you know that better than anybody."
He suddenly grimaces at your words, eyes going up to the ceiling for a few seconds before falling back to you, "I knew it," he grumbles, and your brows furrow in confusion, "I knew I shouldn't've talked about that shit with my parents today."
You shake your head immediately, "No, no, Joel, it has nothing to do with that. I wanted to know that stuff, I wanna know you."
"But it -"
"This is my own thing," you tell him softly, gaze meeting his, "This isn't because of you. You've been..." you smile through your tears, "You've been so amazing, Joel. You've helped me so much."
He brushes his nose against yours again, and with a soft sigh he murmurs, "You've helped me too, sweetheart. More than you realize."
"What d'you mean?"
You watch as he reaches beneath him to pull something out from his back pocket, adjusting you a little in his lap as he does so. He pulls out his wallet, small and brown, weathered around the edges - he's definitely had it for a while. Puzzled, your eyes fall to the tattered inside as he opens it, and you immediately spot something sitting in the compartment reserved for cash - something that catches the light, sparkles under your gaze.
"Is that my crucifix?" you ask quietly.
He nods, slipping his finger inside and pulling out the chain, the cross hanging from his fingertip. "This," he tells you, "has gotten me through two panic attacks of my own this week."
What?
He can tell you're at a bit of a loss for words, confused and surprised. With a small smile he wraps his hand around the crucifix, presses the cross into his palm, then brings it to his lips and presses a small kiss to the metal. The action doesn't make much sense to you, what with Joel being an Atheist and having never shown much interest at all in religion other than how it made you feel.
"But you don't believe in that stuff," you state, suddenly unsure.
He nods, letting his hand fall back down into his lap to touch yours, "I don't," he murmurs, "It's... it's a symbol more than anything." He takes your hand, the cross fitting directly into the center of your palm, "When I hold this, it reminds me of the beautiful girl who trusted me with it, the one sittin' so pretty and perfect in my lap right now."
You can't help but feel a bit embarrassed at his words, painfully aware of the tears drying on your puffy cheeks - you probably look a mess, but he doesn't seem to care.
"Makes me feel less alone," he tells you softly, and you swear you hear his voice hitch on the last word, "Keeps me safe."
You peer at him for a moment, processing his words. You don't really know what to say, beyond touched by the sentiment but still unsure how an object that caused you such pain and frustration could be a light in the darkness for him. How could it have a different meaning than the one it was intended for?
It's like he can sense your hesitance, your questions. He shifts you a bit in his lap, pulling you so close that his nose brushes gently against yours. "You should only believe in somethin' if it feels right," he whispers, "Only if it makes you feel like the luckiest person alive just to experience it, to be in its presence. And angel," he sighs softly, tilting forward so his forehead lightly nudges against yours, "if that ain't me about you."
"Joel," you whisper, fresh tears shining in your eyes. There's nothing else you can really say, nothing that feels right, other than the one thing you've been wanting to say since you arrived, something on the tip of your tongue begging to slip past your lips - but you don't. For now, you just think it, think it with all the warmth and adoration you feel blooming in your chest as you peer at him.
I love you.
You kiss him then, slow. His lips are soft and patient against yours, slightly hesitant, like he's holding himself back - and you suppose he is, considering the situation. He doesn't want to push, doesn't want to assume that what was meant to happen when you got back to the hotel room is still going to happen.
But you already know that it is.
You find that you can now notice the fact that your skin is bare, that he's touching you without anything being in the way, one hand cupped against the soft flesh of your hip while the other still squeezes your hand. It dawns on you that you're wearing the lingerie, the special surprise essentially ruined by your outburst. You frown against his lips.
"What is it?" he murmurs, pulling back to peer at your face, assess your expression.
"I...I bought this for you," you tell him softly, and you watch as his gaze falls to your scantily covered form, "Sorry I ruined the surprise."
His adam's apple bobs in his throat as his eyes trail up and down your body in slow, repetitive movements, like he's only just now fully noticed what you're wearing, taking in absolutely every inch of you - every little embroidered flower, every bare patch of skin. He releases your hand to carefully place both of his palms down on your thighs, the naked part between your panties and the stockings. You watch as he fingers the garter straps, eyes dark.
"Dressed up all pretty for me, huh?" he breathes, thumbs stroking your inner thighs as he brings his gaze back up to meet yours.
"I wanted it to be special," you whisper, "I wanted to wear it when you..." You trail off, mouth going a bit dry all of a sudden.
"Do you still want that, babygirl?" he asks you softly, "Do you still want me to?"
You don't even need to think about it, mull it over in your head or take another breath. You've never been more sure of anything in your life.
"Yes," you whisper, an edge of desperation in your voice, "Please." You kiss him again and he sighs deeply against your mouth, grip tightening on your thighs.
"Say it," he murmurs, teeth nipping lightly at your bottom lip, "Tell me what you want me to do, baby."
You shiver, "Want you to fuck me, Joel," your voice quakes with anticipation, hands balling in his shirt, "Please fuck me."
He doesn't need telling twice; at your words one of his big hands comes up cradle your back again, fingers digging into the soft skin there while his other slips from your thigh and curves around your ass, squeezes. He picks you up again, slips the crucifix into his pocket and stands there without moving as he peers at your face and holds you firmly against his body.
"Please," you whisper again, eyes locked with his as you whimper and buck your hips against him, feel the shape of his half-hard cock rub gently against where you're aching. He looks down without speaking, watches as you pathetically grind your hips, legs tightening around his waist.
"The sweetest girl," he says softly, leaning his face forward to kiss the corner of your mouth, "Already beggin' for my cock, huh?"
You mewl and grind your crotch against him again, already feeling the wetness returning to your panties in slow pulses. He just smiles and finally walks with you to the bed, tilts you downward and lays you out like you're a meal he's about to indulge in, swallow whole. And god, you want him to. Need him to. He pulls back to stand over you, hands going into his pockets as he peers down at you with lust in his eyes.
"Lemme just look at you, babygirl," he says quietly, eyes trailing to your breasts, your bare stomach, your exposed mound and soft thighs. He nudges you over a little bit and then sits on the side of the bed, hand reaching down to stroke one of your arms, slow and gentle, "You look so beautiful."
You lie there, staring up at his face with hooded eyes as you try not to squirm under his gaze. His hand moves from your arm to your shoulder, your shoulder to your collarbone, your collarbone to the space between your breasts. Just like you'd imagined when you'd bought it at the store, he deftly fingers the buttons there a few times, tracing them up and down.
"Pretty," he murmurs, and without warning he slowly slips his hand inside your bra, fingertips brushing your nipple. You whimper again, another surge of arousal dripping into your underwear.
"My sensitive girl," he whispers, brushing it again and smiling when your hips buck, "Are you wet, baby?"
You nod quickly, expression hazy, "Yes."
"How wet?"
Your thighs rub together almost unconsciously, another pathetic sound slipping past your lips, "Really wet, Joel."
He chuckles softly at your impatience, releases your breast and leans down to press a slow and wet kiss to your neck. You moan softly, eyes fluttering closed as his lips trail gently up and down the expanse of your neck, your chest. You feel his hands curve up underneath your back, busying themselves with the latches of your lingerie.
"As much as I could look at you wearin' this for hours," he whispers, "I think theres somethin' under there that deserves my attention." He slips the bra off easily, tugs the straps down your arms and exposes your bare breasts to him, nipples peaked and hard. He immediately captures one in his mouth and starts to suckle gently, hand traveling downward to rest teasingly on your inner thigh.
Fuck, it feels so good. Your eyes roll behind your lids, mouth popping open as you sigh in contentment and just let him play with you. He sucks and licks, nips lightly every so often, travels between both breasts like they were made specifically for him to have in his mouth. Your pussy pulses somewhere below, feeling beyond ignored, and you rub your thighs together again to try to ease some of the pressure. He notices and his hand inches upward to cup you through the material, eliciting a gasp from you.
He pulls off your nipple and you open your eyes to see him peering up at you, eyes almost black, a smirk on his face, "Need your pussy touched again, don't you baby?" You nod, lips turning downwards into a pout, "Okay, sweet girl. I won't tease you too much."
You're very much aware of the fact that Joel is still fully clothed, a fact that you have to admit turns you on a lot more than it probably should. You watch as he crawls on top of you carefully, hooks his legs around you and slowly eases downward, eyes staying locked with yours as he starts kissing his way down your stomach. Your heart rate quickens again, but this time you welcome it.
His fingers play with the straps of your garter as he presses soft kisses to the tops of your thighs, the dips of your waist. You shiver when he presses gentle kisses to your mound, fingers slipping inside the band of your lingerie and carefully tugging it down to expose your pussy to him, wet and aching. He pulls back to look at it, expression one of pure lust as he thumbs one of your lips and pushes it open.
"There she is," he murmurs, "The sweetest little pussy."
"Joel," you moan, closing your eyes and focusing entirely on the way he thumbs your outer lip, caresses it softly like it's something precious and fragile. He dips his thumb further inside and brushes against your folds, sending another thick and syrupy drop of release onto his fingers.
"Look at her pulse, baby," he says, voice husky and dark, "Droolin' for me."
You open your eyes again, watch him lean down and lick a stripe through your dripping folds, collecting the juices on his tongue. You whimper when he swallows and leans in to press a whiskery kiss to your clit, already puffy and twitching.
"She's cryin' for my cock, honey," he breathes, "Been waitin' so long, been so patient."
"Please," you whisper, and his gaze meets yours again, "Please put it in." The words are filthy and full of desperation, your brow furrowing in pleasure as his thumb slowly begins to circle your clit, "I need it."
"I know, sweet girl," he whispers, "But you gotta wait just a little bit longer, gotta let me taste this perfect little cunt first," he presses kisses along your folds, kitten licks past them a bit to slip the tip of his tongue just barely inside your hole. You whine, hand coming down to touch his hair while the other grabs one of your breasts and begins to toy with your nipple, as if on instinct.
He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, hands coming up to grip your waist and hold you still as he starts to eat you out. Just like the first time, it's beyond overwhelming, your eyes shutting tight and your teeth biting down hard on your bottom lip as his mouth does sinful things to the most intimate part of you. He plunges his tongue inside and buries the curve of his nose in your clit, rubbing it up and down, back and forth, while you whine and whimper above him. Your fingers tangle in his hair and holds his face firm between your legs while he tastes and devours.
"Joel," you keep whimpering, unable to stop from saying his name every chance you get, a reminder to yourself that you're really here with him right now, that he's the one making you feel this way. He barely pulls up for breath, scruff glistening with your release as he pleasures you relentlessly, arm coming up to splay across your belly and push you down into the mattress, holding you firm.
He makes you come easily, but that's no surprise. Just like in the truck earlier, you cry out and toss your head back, body shaking through your orgasm as he sucks on your clit and slips one of his fingers easily inside of you, curves it and makes your body rise up off the bed in pleasure as you shiver and squirm.
"Good girl," he tells you softly when he releases your clit from his mouth, looks up at you with dark lips and messy hair, "That's my good girl."
Only for you Joel, you want to whisper, but you're too blissed out to speak, Only wanna be a good girl for you.
You feel him press soothing kisses around your pussy, finger still slowly pumping in and out as you calm your breathing. He pulls it out and brings it to his lips, sucks it with a deep groan, "God, you taste so good," he murmurs, resting his head for a moment on your thigh and inhaling deeply, "So fuckin' sweet, babygirl."
You remember the first time he'd tasted you, remember how you'd come so hard you'd seen stars, remember how he'd come in his pants. The thought makes you sit up on your hands, look down at him with a raised eyebrow.
"Did you come?" you ask, slightly worried for a moment.
He laughs, pulls his head up and begins to crawl back to you with a smile on his face, "No, not this time. That was a moment of weakness." He cups your face and and looks down at you with a soft expression, "You wanna taste yourself?"
Without any hesitation, you nod. Joel leans down and presses his lips to yours, eases his tongue inside and lets you indulge in your own release, your own special flavor. You've never really tasted anything like it before, unsure how exactly to describe it - you're not sure you'd really call it sweet, but it's not bad by any means, just... different.
"Good?" he asks.
You shrug, "It's... interesting."
He chuckles, pulling his face back, "How're you feelin'? You wanna stop?" You look up at him like he's crazy and he laughs again, putting his hands up, "Okay, okay, just askin'."
"I want-" you cut yourself off, feeling blood rush to your cheeks, and he peers down at you softly.
"What d'you want, babygirl?" he murmurs, "I'll give it to you."
You reach up to tug at the collar of his shirt, finger the buttons there, "I want this off," you breathe, "Want all of it off."
He nods slowly, eyes hooded as his eyes fall to your wet lips, "Okay, what else?"
"Want you to fuck me," you whisper again, as if he doesn't already know. Your hand reaches downward to carefully cup the long shape of him through his pants with trembling fingers, "Want it inside."
He reaches down, covers your hand with his and squeezes softly, "You want what inside, baby? Words."
"Your cock," you whisper, edged with a whine, "Want your cock inside me, Joel. Please. No more teasing."
He smiles softly, "Okay, baby. No more teasin'."
Watching him undress sends tingles all throughout your body, lips parting as he undoes the buttons of his shirt and tosses it to the floor, reaches for his belt buckle and slowly starts to unfurl it. He keeps his eyes on your face, watches your expression as you bite your lip and assess the way his cock juts out underneath his pants, begging to be taken out and touched, played with. The thought makes you sit up on the bed, lean toward the edge and dig a few of your fingers into his waistband, pulling him closer.
He watches as you slowly move forward to mouth his cock through his pants, lips parting and stretching around the big shape. You sigh in contentment at the feeling of it pulsing through the material against your tongue, drag your mouth up and down a few times as a whimper gurgles in your throat.
"Thought you said no more teasin'," he murmurs, and you feel his hand come to rest at the back of your head, helping you move. You moan softly around his length and you can practically hear the smile in his voice when he says, "Just need it so bad, don't you?"
You do. You can't count the number of days you've thought about it now, thought about it against your face, your thighs, your pussy. You want it everywhere - you want him everywhere. You've waited so long and you're tired of being patient, of waiting for the right time, the right moment. It's here, it's now, and you're ready.
"Please," you breathe again, pulling your mouth off his clothed cock and looking up at him with wide, almost tear-filled eyes, "Please fuck me, Mr. Miller."
His eyes go dark and the smile fades from his lips, hands coming down to unzip and unbutton quickly as you lay back on the bed and open your legs. It takes no time at all for him to be completely naked, pants and underwear thrown haphazardly off to the side while he crawls back on top of you and starts kissing your neck again, skin rough and warm. Your hands come up to grip his bare back, eyes closing as you let him silently worship you, kiss every inch of skin he can reach.
You can feel the heavy length of him on your thigh, settled there as it pulses and leaks. It's so big, so thick, and you can't help but reach down and engulf it in your small fist, fingers still unable to go all the way around. He groans into your skin, pulls back to look at you again.
"D'you want me to use a condom, babygirl?" he asks, even though he knows the answer - he wants to hear you say it, which you appreciate.
"No," you whisper, "Please don't."
He groans again at your words, reaches his hand down and easily slips two of his fingers inside of you without any resistance. You're so ready, have never felt more ready for anything in your entire life. You know you should be reveling in the moment, taking time to enjoy and appreciate - but at the same time you just want him inside of you already, want to be connected to him in the rawest of ways, complete. You can't wait anymore, you can't. He starts to add his third finger and you whine, wishing it was something else.
"Gotta open you up a little more, sweetheart," he tells you quietly, filling you with all three fingers and slowly starting to pump them in and out, "Want this to feel good for you, don't wanna hurt you."
"I want your cock, Joel," you mewl, tears welling in your eyes.
"Shhh," he kisses you gently, fucks you slow, "I know, baby, I know. Just a minute now, sweetheart. Be patient for me."
"Don't wanna be patient," you're starting to sound like a bit of a brat but you really don't care, the desperate and touch-starved part of you just aching to be filled up, held close, fucked deep. "Wanna feel you in my stomach, please."
"Jesus Christ," he mutters, almost a groan as he pulls his fingers from you and drags them against his cock, taking it from you carefully and then pumping himself twice with your release, "Okay, babygirl, I hear you, I got you."
Joel eases himself downwards carefully, hovering over you like he had last weekend. He kisses you again, soft and safe, a quiet reminder that what's about to happen means more than what it seems like on paper, means more than either of you could even articulate. He peers into your eyes tenderly, reaches up to push some stray hairs out of your face.
"I'm gonna go real slow," he tells you, "You tell me the second somethin' doesn't feel right, okay? Promise me."
"I promise," you whisper, hands splaying across his back and pulling him down further so your breasts are pushing softly against the hair on his chest, impossibly close. You just wanna feel him, feel all of him.
When he says slow - he means slow.
You'd felt the tip of him last weekend, were already anticipating the burn and stretch, but this time there's not the same desperation, the same time limit or rush. Now you have all the time in the world, the clarity to take it as slowly as you need to in order to really feel everything, make it count. You feel the shape of his wide head carefully nudge the tiniest bit into your throbbing heat, and your eyes immediately go wide.
"You're okay," he reminds you softly, just like he had last time, "You're alright, angel."
Your nails dig into his back and you nod, peering up at him with a look that you hope says, I know, and I trust you, because you do. He kisses you gently and you feel his hand at your thigh, pushing you open a little wider for easier access. The garter strap strains against your legs but neither of you make any move to remove it.
He pushes inside a little further, his whole tip crowding the space at your entrance once again. You make an odd sound, something that comes from the back of your throat, and he freezes.
"Okay?" he asks, and you frantically nod. "That's the tip of me, baby. You got it, you're doin' so good."
"More," you whisper, voice breaking, "More, please."
He reaches his hand back up and locks it into place on the headboard above you, holds himself up as his knees dig into the plush cotton of the duvet. With his other hand he slowly eases more of his cock inside, just a little bit.
"Fuck," you hiss, and you can feel it now - the burn, the stretch. It's not painful by any means, but it's not comfortable either. You make a face and Joel stills, brow furrowing.
"Hurts?" he asks softly.
"N-not really," you breathe, "It's just - it's really thick."
He kisses you again, noses the side of your face and inhales deeply, "You tell me when to move," he murmurs, "You're in control from this point forward, babygirl. What you say goes."
You take a few deep breaths, eyes closed as you hold Joel to you and revel in the way he peppers tiny little kisses all over your face, your nose, your eyelids. Now it's his turn to be patient, and he's certainly much better at it than you are.
"Okay," you breathe after a moment, "Okay, you can move."
He inches in another little bit and your hips stutter, hands trembling against his back. You don't say anything, just grip him tighter and bite down on your lip - more stretch, more burn. But there's something about it, something about the odd sensation of being spread open, that has your pussy suddenly throbbing - and you whine.
"Tell me to pull out and I will," he murmurs in your ear, "We can spend some more time-"
"No," you whimper, shaking your head, "No, Joel. It feels good." You grip tighter to him and tangle your ankles with his, wanting to be even closer than you already are, "Keep going, please."
It goes like that for a while - a continuous push, inch by inch, a whine or whimper, a check-in from Joel, reassurance that you're alright, then the cycle starts again. You quickly grow accustomed to his girth, the stretch getting significantly less and less the longer he stays pressed inside of you. You're painfully aware that this probably isn't the sexiest experience for him, that he'd probably much prefer being able to go deep and stay deep and pound you senseless - and as much as that thought also appeals to you, you know there's no way your body could handle it on the first go.
"M'sorry," you mumble to him quietly during another moment of adjustment, both of you laying still while a little more than half his cock sits patiently inside of you.
"For what?" his eyes scrunch, confusion clear on his face.
"F-for taking forever to get used to it," you admit apologetically, eyes going downcast, "Especially after I begged so many times."
He shakes his head, eyes narrowing, "Do not apologize for somethin' like that, sweetheart. This is about you, not me."
"But I'm-" you take a breath, forcing yourself to be honest, to not keep your worries inside no matter what, especially in such an intimate moment like this, "I'm scared you're not enjoying yourself."
His eyes widen, "Not enjoyin' myself?" He almost laughs, light and soft, "Sweetheart, do you have any idea how fuckin' good you feel?" You shake your head and he leans down to kiss you, moans softly against your lips, "Your pussy's so tight around me, sweet girl" he whispers, "She's pulsin' around my cock, it feels fuckin' incredible."
Your thighs tighten a bit against his waist, center throbbing once again at his words. He groans, and it finally sets in that every throb you feel, every pulsation, every twitch, he can feel it too. Because he's inside of you.
"You're inside me," you whisper, and it sounds like such a dumb revelation but you don't care, lip trembling a little bit as your fingers stroke gently against his back.
"I'm inside you," he echoes, voice soft and reassuring, "M'not goin' anywhere, baby. Gonna take it as slow as you need me to."
He's so gentle, so tender, it makes you want to cry. How did you get so lucky to be having your first time with someone like this? Someone who genuinely wants you to feel good, feel taken care of? Someone who feels beyond amazing? His cock is so big, so perfect; he feeds it to you over the next few minutes, makes you whine and cry out in the dim light of the hotel room, legs trembling and hands coming up to cover your eyes as he finally bottoms out, finally eases himself completely inside of you - and stills.
Full. You're so full. It's the only word that seems to cross your mind, any and all other vocabulary going completely out the window the longer you lay there with his cock buried deep inside. He carefully pulls your hands back from your face and kisses you again and again, murmuring praise.
"You're doin' so good, angel," he whispers, "Takin' it so well, such a good girl."
It's not that filthy of a thing to say, but his words do something to you then that you can't really explain. Odd sounds escape your throat, slip past your lips pathetically as you squirm a bit beneath him. Your eyes shut tight, heart beating fast, not a thought in your brain other than the fact that there's a huge appendage lodged so deep inside of you that you can't even think, can't speak.
"I know," he's whispering, carding his fingers through your hair, "I know, baby. That cock is so big, I know, I know," he kisses your temple, holds you close, "So big inside that little pussy."
"Joel," is all you manage to whimper out, toes curling in pleasure, "Joel."
"I know," he murmurs again, and you swear he pushes his hips forward just a little bit more, the heavy shape of his balls pressing firmly against your ass, "I'm in your tummy, baby, just like you wanted."
At his words your shaky hand travels downward to feel your stomach, press your palm against the skin there, and your eyes snap open when you realize you can feel him there - near the bottom of your tummy, feel the long and thick shape of him bulging out from beneath.
"Fuck," you breathe, and his eyes meet yours, dark and hungry, "Fuck, I f-feel it."
His hand comes down and covers yours, helps you move the garter belt out of the way to shape your fingers around the long shape of him. You can feel the fat head pulsing deep within you, pushing against something you didn't even know was there, every throb sending constant gushes of release around his cock. You must be a mess down there, slick dripping down your thighs as you whine again and reach up to tangle your fingers in his hair.
"Ohmygod," the words are almost slurred, garbled, and you're realizing very quickly that talking with a cock inside of you is very difficult. Your thighs squeeze together again and Joel groans.
"God, you feel so fuckin' incredible," his expression is wrecked, plump lips parted as he inhales and exhales, "You're chokin' my cock, honey."
You can't wrap your mind around the fact that this isn't it, that simply having his cock buried deep inside you isn't the actual sex itself. Because how can just this feel so good? How can you feel so close, so full, so wonderful, all from just this?
Joel leans down and buries his face in the pillow, nudges his nose to your ear and whispers, "D'you want me to move, babygirl?" to which you immediately respond, "Yes."
At your okay he slowly eases himself out of you, the sensation unlike anything you've ever felt before as inch by inch he leaves your body until just the head sits heavy and waiting at your entrance. He looks down at you, thumbs your cheek, and murmurs, "Who's my good girl?"
You shiver, moan softly, eyes closing again, "I am," you whisper.
Just as slow, he pushes himself back inside, and you cry out and bury your face into his neck, legs shaking.
"Who is?" he asks you again, burying himself to the hilt and stroking up and down your naked body gently with one hand, "Who's my good girl? Tell me again, angel."
"I am," you repeat, a bit louder this time and drenched in pleasure as he slowly pulls out again, leaving you almost empty. "Joel," you whisper, and he pulls his face back to look at you, nipping at your bottom lip and pouting at your already fucked-out expression, "Joel, it feels so good."
"I know, baby," he murmurs, then eases himself back in, brings your hands down to your stomach again to feel the way his cock protrudes lewdly against the skin, "You're takin' it so well."
"I-I've-" you whimper, tears overflowing, "I've n-never-"
I've never felt like this before, you want to say. I've never felt so close to another human in my life. I've never wanted to live in a moment more than I want to live in this one.
Instead, he just brings a finger to your lips, eases himself out again and murmurs, "I know," like it's a mantra, "I know."
You feel him thumb your clit and you can't believe that anything could feel this good, that anything could even compare to the way it feels to have Joel everywhere like this, so deep inside and above and all around, his scent lingering in every move he makes, his hair pressing firm to the softest parts of your body. He's so warm, so safe, and more than anything all you can think about is that thought from before, the one you know now to be absolute - I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.
He keeps the pace slow, doesn't let go of you or pull away even once. You already know you're not gonna last, not with his thumb rubbing you like that and his cock so unrelenting and huge inside of you, filling you up in a way you never thought possible. You're pretty sure that you've only got one more orgasm left in you tonight but you don't feel worried or stressed out by that fact - you have a whole weekend for more of this, to explore and experience and enjoy.
"I'm gonna come, Joel," you breathe, and you can feel tears stinging your eyes as you say the words, "I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come."
"Okay, baby, that's it," he encourages you softly, thumb unrelenting against your clit, "Lemme feel you come, angel. Let it out for me. Give it to me, sweetheart." And you do.
Coming around his cock feels fucking incredible. Your pussy tightens and throbs, releases more slick than you could even imagine, and you feel yourself start to cry, tears flowing down your face as a sob wracks from your throat as you pull him down on top of you. He fucks you through it, groaning in your ear at the way you continue to choke his cock, tight and firm.
"Fuck," he groans, "Fuck, angel, I don't think I can last."
"Then don't," you cry into his ear, eyes shut tight as your body convulses, "Don't wait, Joel. Want you to come inside me, want it so bad."
He makes an unhinged noise, his thrusts becoming a little faster, a little more erratic. Without warning you kick your legs up to wrap around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer and letting out another loud moan when you both hear the sound of his balls slapping against your ass. He's so deep. So, so, so deep. Just like he said he'd be.
"Fuck," he mumbles in your ear, "Fuck, I'm comin', honey, I'm comin'." At his words you feel the massive length of him pulse deep inside, your walls constricting around the intrusive shape as he starts to come. Your eyes go wide, mouth opening in a silent gasp of pleasure as you feel the warm spurts of his come begin to coat your walls, filling you up.
"Joel," you breathe, and you're pretty sure your nails have broken the skin of his back but he doesn't seem to care - if anything it makes him groan even louder, makes him pull back to look at you and make direct eye contact as he empties himself. You stare at each other, eyes wide, lips parted, and he leans forward to press his forehead to yours as his jaw clenches.
The moment he's finished coming he falls on top of you with his entire body weight, something you welcome instantly. Your hands roam up and down his back, feel the crescent moon shapes lining his skin as you close your eyes and let the reality of what's just happened wash over you, settle into your very being. It's only when you shift a little underneath him that Joel finally pulls himself up to look at you. He's so beautiful, hair a mess, lips red and raw, cheeks flushed, and tears shining in his soft brown eyes. He nuzzles his nose against yours and breathes a long sigh, one of satisfaction and contentment.
"Stay inside me," you whisper. You don't know why it's the first thing you say, but somehow it feels like the most important. Because the idea of him separating from you now after what you've just shared, the idea of not being within his embrace or feeling as connected as you feel right now - it sounds like the worst thing in the world.
"Okay, angel," he murmurs, eyes sleepy, "M'not goin' anywhere."
warnings: sex work, exhibitionism, voyeurism, it’s literally porn, drug use, dirty talk, explicit p in v sex, premature ejaculation, oral sex, come eating, finger fucking, squirting, dirty bar sex
summary: as your star continues to rise, you still can’t shake the part of you that just wants joel.
a/n: eternally grateful to @frannyzooey for putting eyes on this while i was losing my mind and @fish-fearme for emotional support.
You don’t hear from Joel.
And it’s not like you were waiting for him to call. Not really.
You know that’s not what this is, whatever it is. It’s not who you are. You’re not some wound of a girl, lingering by a landline, weak and waiting, writing a name over and over in the lonely pages of your diary. You don’t need, not like that, not from men — not anymore.
At night, your sheets are soft, still a little sun-warm from the light that slips through the window. You stretch, fingertips scraping the walls, the chipped paint. Your ankles hook over the edge of the bed, a pillow bunches beneath your cheek. Sleep is easy, always there, waiting at the edges, a gentle lull. Your days are so full — of sex and laundry and learning to roll your own cigarettes, crowded around the coffee table, your roommates fingers curling over yours.
And nothing about the nights feels lonely. You don’t miss the shape of anyone else beside you. There’s no emptiness to fill, nothing waiting for an answer. You don’t need — not him, not anyone.
But still.
You sort of thought he might call.
After that night in the hills — everything that was said on the balcony, the way he looked at you, how he touched you. It felt like some seismic shift had taken place, tectonic and sure, locking into place.
This thing between you — it lives now, it has legs. It’s going somewhere, you just don’t know where, can’t predict the plates shifting beneath you, reordering the world. It feels entirely out of your control.
And it scares the shit out of you.
You don’t need. But you want.
You want him. The way he makes you feel, that toe-curling electric current that runs between you, the way every touch is right, exactly where it needs to be. How your bodies fit together, slot seamlessly, like there was never meant to be any space between them.
It’s hungry, the wanting. It’s a gnawing little ache in the pit of your belly, incessant, insistent. And you’re not lingering, you don’t even look at the phone where it sits silent on the windowsill. You drink your coffee and you make your plans and you shelve any softer feelings.
But still.
The hunger is there.
Little teeth scraping at your stomach lining, unspooling your insides so you’re even more tangled than you were before. So that every nerve ending is a little too raw, a little too real.
But there are other things to focus on, so you do.
Lucky is taking off — the name, the brand, the girl that lives inside you, a second self ready to step out, winking. The next run of tapes sells out, so Tess organizes the re-release of some of your other scenes to appease the demand, the desire.
And that means a lot more than a phone that doesn’t ring.
The days look the same. You go to the corner store to buy milk, scratch the ears of the tawny cat stretched across a crate of paper towels. You do your hair in the too-small bathroom and burn your neck with the curling iron, the bruise raw and shining. You drink wine on the rooftop with your roommates, watch the sun sink low on the horizon, swap stories of the places you used to call home.
But sometimes —
You’ll catch the eye of a man at the bus stop. Sense the lingering gaze of a waiter. Feel the stare of a stranger across a crowded room. A look that drags across your skin, eyes that widen when you meet them, a fizzing spark behind their gaze.
And you realize that they recognize you.
Lucky.
They see her in the curl of your lip, the long line of your legs beneath your cut-offs, the curve of your hips as you lean against a bar or reach for something on a high shelf. Even if your hair is unwashed, or you’re in the least-flattering of your laundry day clothes, some too-long t-shirt stained with coffee. She’s still there in every angle, the arch of your eyebrow and flick of your wrist.
It’s usually harmless.
Most of the men who recognize you are too embarrassed to say anything at all. You spot them — that open hunger in their faces, that horny gape — and they shrink into themselves, like they’ve been caught with their dick in their hands on the corner of La Cienega. There’s a shameful sort of a shuffling, a squirming self-consciousness, a hasty retreat. They rarely linger long.
Sometimes it’s more overt.
A few clumsy, flustered flirtations. Clammy handshakes, breath heavy with liquor. Murmurs of —
“God, you’re even prettier in person.”
A shot you didn’t order sliding across the bar with a wink —
“Gentleman at the end said this was for Lucky.”
Business cards slipped into your hand or left at your table, phone numbers scribbled on bar napkins, still damp with a nervous sweat. Sometimes your friends will leave them in bathroom stalls, with the added scrawl: for a bad time call.
It’s so easy to deflect, to ignore, to slip away with a polite smile and say maybe another time.
You expect it to bother you. Make you feel exposed, vulnerable, stripped down for strangers. But it doesn’t.
Sure, they've seen you naked. They know the shape of your breasts, the shade of your nipples, the pink between your legs. They know what it looks like when you come, how your mouth wraps around a sigh. They’ve heard every gasp and whimper.
But you know something about them too.
You know their slinking shame, ducking into the back room of the video store. Seeking you out, someone to keep them company. You know the dark, musty bedrooms. The sad squirt of lotion. The frantic, desperate rutting, the thick-fisted jerk and gritting teeth. The musk of loneliness, low grunting heaves, spilling into a tube sock that crusts over by morning. The tape whirring, clicking off as it ends, the fading glow of the black screen. The quiet that follows.
And all of that makes it less scary than it might be otherwise, de-claws the anxiety that something curls low in your stomach.
You are the fantasy. The untouchable thing, the object of their desperate desire.
The girl of their fucking dreams.
x x x x x
Sometimes paychecks get left for you at the production office in Burbank.
It’s way out of the way, a fucking hike from the west side, but the end of the month nears, rent looms, and so you stop by after a shoot.
You’re a flower, playing the part of a daisy in some psychedelic trip, just shy of parody, a fucked up homage to Alice in Wonderland. You sort of regret taking the part, sure that the White Rabbit is going to give you nightmares. After, you stuck your head in the sink to wash the semen out of your hair, and it’s still damp, dripping around your shoulders as you step into the tiny production office.
The wallpaper is yellowed and peeling, a once-cheery pattern faded from the baking sun. The woman who works there is sweet, always stopping to chat about the weather, offering you a stale, crumbling biscuit from the tin she keeps on her desk. She shocks you sometimes by referencing a film you’ve done, slipping in a bit of filth — nice fat cock on that one, I tell you, if I was a few years younger —
It usually makes you laugh. You’ve spent long hours leaning against the counter as she tells you some of the raunchier stories she’s collected over the years.
But it’s midday, and your skin itches as you wait in the sticky warm office, the slowly rotating fan doing nothing to stir the dense air in the room. You need a real shower, need to scrub the smell of clove cigarettes from your skin, that too-sweet, cloying scent that gives you a slight headache.
She’s particularly slow today, squinting through her turquoise glasses, the beads that rattle around her neck. Shuffling between filing cabinets, searching for the folder with your name on it.
“Spell your last name again for me, hon.”
And you pray for some fucking patience as you spell it out slowly, for the dozenth time, pitch rising as you see her fingers wandering towards the wrong end of the alphabet anyways.
The door swings open behind you, hinges creaking, bringing with it a fresh wave of shivering heat. You glance over your shoulder —
And freeze.
Somewhere in the middle of your last name, letters dangling unfinished from your lips.
Joel stands in the doorway, still gripping the handle, filling the frame with his broad shoulders. And it looks like he has half a mind to leave, now that he sees you standing there. His dark gaze flickering over you, stuttering like the schick-click flame of a lighter, an inconstant heat.
“Oh, Joel, there you are,” the woman says behind you, “Good to see you.”
He stiffens. Forces something like a polite smile, though it looks pained as he unclenches his hand from the door handle and crosses the small space to stand beside you at the counter.
“Doris,” he says, nodding at her and then, without looking at you, mutters your name like an afterthought.
And it stings, even if it shouldn’t. Smarts and ache, those teeth digging deeper in your stomach, the hunger biting inside of you. Want. You want.
But obviously he doesn’t.
He won’t even look at you.
You can feel the tension rolling off him, the stiffness in his shoulders, the tight line of his jaw. The heat of his body radiates, warms the air around you, and you’re already sweating.
All you can think about is his mouth on your neck, the scrape of his hands over your skin, the roll of his hips against yours. The way he coaxed an orgasm out of you, murmuring filthy praise against your throat, looking at you like it all meant something. Walking away before you could say something that might make him stay, find the words to shape the moment into meaning.
And now — nothing.
You’re a water cooler. A desk chair. A fucking paperclip. Just another unimpressive feature of this stale office, not worth looking at, barely worth acknowledging.
Every slow second is agonizing.
His fingers drum against the countertop, an agitated beat.
“Ah, here it is.”
The woman pulls an envelope from one of the folders, squinting down to double check the name before offering it out to you.
“Appreciate your patience, hon.”
You snatch it from her hand before she finishes, stuffing it into your bag, backing out of the office.
“Thanks.”
You take a final, fleeting glance at the rigid line of Joel's back. Swallow down the knot in your throat and leave, letting the door slam shut behind you, rattling on its rusted hinges.
You strip down the second you step inside your apartment, leaving a trail of clothes from the front door, naked before you even reach the bathroom. You slip into the shower before the water has a chance to heat, and you stand there shivering, letting the chill sink into your bones, hoping it will chase away whatever this feeling is.
But later, when you’re laying in bed — a little buzzed, a little high — you feel it stir inside you.
The hunger. The want.
The pinch of sharp little teeth inside you.
A thing that lives, that has legs.
That is completely out of your control.
x x x x x
There’s a heatwave at the end of the month.
You sweat through your clothes, shower, and sweat through them again. You suffer the suffocating heat of the apartment for a few days, the four of you spread across the floor, cooling your feverish skin with cans of Coke, the drip of condensation. It doesn’t ease at night, the air dense, too thick to sleep in.
The beach is over-crowded, bodies piled on the stretch of burning sand, jostling elbows, vying for space as seagulls shriek overhead.
So you head inland. You take the bus into the nicest part of the city, neat green lawns and smooth sidewalks, sprinklers clicking, windows closed to keep the cool air in.
You climb the fence of a fancy hotel, slipping through the service entrance, the sterile air of long hallways, until you reach the pool. You spend the day there, claiming a couple of chairs, spreading out your bright towels, stripping down to your bikinis. Ordering drinks at the bar, charging them to different rooms at random.
By the time the staff catches on, one of the girls has already befriended an actual guest, a woman who swears you’ve been with her the whole time. They can’t kick you out, so you stay, soaking in the little bit of stolen luxury, the sway of palm trees overhead.
You drink frozen, sugary drinks, the dye staining your lips. Twirling the tiny umbrellas between your fingertips. Watching the pool water bead and dry on your skin, the smell of chlorine and sunscreen, damp hair curling in the heat.
You watch as a little girl paces the edge of the pool, daisies patterned on her pink swimsuit, a smear of sunscreen over her shoulders. Her father stands in the pool below, arms outstretched, waiting to catch her. It tugs something sad and distant in your stomach. An ache you sometimes forget is there.
A shadow passes over you, and you squint up to see a man standing over your lounge chair.
“I know you.”
You frown up at him, or the shape of him, too sunblind to make out any features.
“I doubt it,” you say.
“You’re Lucky, aren’t you?”
You shield your eyes from the sun. It takes a moment, his face coming into focus as you blink away the white-bright burn.
And you realize you know him.
He’s an actor, his features sparking that low tug of distant recognition. That not-quite familiarity. You know his face from faded posters at the movie theater, smiling from the glossy cover of a magazine.
He’s a little older now than his last role, his blonde hair faded, lines creasing at his eyes. But he’s handsome, his smile easy and warm as he looks down on you.
You push yourself up on your elbows, tilting your head.
“I might be.”
He nods. And he doesn’t look embarrassed, to have recognized you, to out himself as someone who has seen your tapes.
“Yeah, I thought so.”
He doesn't tell you his name. You wonder if he’s fallen out of the habit, assuming that everyone already knows, the familiarity of his face making the ritual of introduction obsolete.
“Are you staying here?” he asks, “You and your friends, I mean.”
He glances over to where your roommates sit at the edge of the pool. You follow his gaze and see that they’re all staring, unabashed. One of them waggles her fingers in a wave.
You shrug.
“Something like that.”
He looks bemused.
“Just stopping by, then,” he nods, “I get it.”
You feel his gaze from beneath his sunglasses, the blue of his eyes bright and burning with a joke he hasn’t told yet. Or maybe, he’s told it a hundred times, and you’ve already heard the punchline. There’s an ease about him, an informality, like you’ve already met.
“I keep a suite with some friends,” he tells you, “You should come up. Doors always open.”
He leaves it there, heads back inside. But a few minutes later a waiter comes by, tray heavy with a fresh round of drinks and a set of keys for the penthouse suite.
It’s hot, too hot to tan for long. You’ve all had a few drinks, the buzz warm in your veins. And none of you want to go home yet, back to the heavy heat of the apartment. So you take the elevator up to the top floor, bare feet on the carpeted floor, bathing suits clinging to your skin, shorts unbuttoned.
The door is open, like he said it was, music drifting out into the hallway.
The suite is a massive, sprawling space, light spilling in from a wall that’s all windows, an uninterrupted view of the sea. The air is frigid, icy against your bare skin, raising goosebumps on your arms the second you step inside.
There are people everywhere, draped across the bland, expensive furnishings, clustered in the kitchenette, sitting cross-legged on the unmade bed. You recognize some of them. The drummer who had a drug problem that was in the papers. A model you’ve seen on the cover of magazines, her eyes heavy with liner, a sleepy sort of smile as she stretches across an armchair.
Some are strangers, strange in the way that they seem so out of place among the smooth, impersonal furniture, the placid neutrality of the hotel. A man with sandy, unkempt hair who looks like he might have just wandered in from the boardwalk, his nails dirty as he rolls neat little joints, offering them out to anyone who passes. A group of hippie looking girls, their hair loose and tangled, knees knobby, a wide-eyed vacancy in their expressions.
And then him. The actor. Stepping in from the balcony, welcoming you with wide arms.
“You’re here,” he says, with an air of finality, like he’s been waiting forever and you’ve finally arrived.
It seems like some of them have been living here. There are untidy piles of clothing tucked under chairs, a toothbrush left by the ice bucket. Little pockets of life left among the impersonal objects of the suite, the vague artwork, a little statue of a lion, reared up on its hind legs.
Someone pours you a glass of orange wine, and you sip it by the window, watching the way the coast stretches and flexes until it disappears somewhere in the haze of Malibu.
The other girls settle in easily, like they always do. Filling a space that’s already full, brightening a room that’s already bright. Giddy smiles, warm laughter. The slide of a record from its case, changing the music, shifting the vibe. A shot of adrenaline, everywhere they go.
You settle on a chaise, tucking your legs up under you to make room for the actor to sit beside you. He rests his hand on your knee, and you find you don’t mind it. It’s a little soft, his palm smooth. Uncalloused.
“Is it corny to say that you’re even more beautiful in person?” he asks, tone light, teasing.
You smirk.
“It is.”
“Damn,” he shakes his head, “That was my best line, too.”
“Bet it helps when you have people write them for you.”
He nods, “You have no idea.”
You lean back, watching as the girls tilt and sway to the music.
“At risk of it sounding like another line,” he says, “I've seen all of your films, and you’re really something else.”
You blush and take a sip of your drink. There’s something in the casual way he says it, like seeing you naked is the most natural thing in the world.
He nudges your shoulder.
“Feel free to say something about one of my movies now.”
“I would,” you tell him, “But I haven’t seen any.”
He throws his head back and laughs, loud enough that the model rouses in her chair. She gives a sleepy little yawn, then settles back down.
“I guess I deserve that,” he says.
He looks at you with interest. And it’s not sexual — at least, it’s not only sexual. It's appraising. Intrigued. Like you’re something he’s trying to figure out.
“Do you like it?”
You tilt your head, “Like what?”
“Making dirty movies.”
You think about the hazy glow, the grainy light. The tapes with your name on them, the name you gave yourself. The slide of skin against skin, cameras catching a smile, a sigh. Men at the bus stop, at the corner, being wanted in ways you’re only just beginning to understand.
“I do.”
He nods, like he was expecting that answer.
“I could tell. I think that’s what makes it sort of special,” he says thoughtfully, “It’s not for us. It’s for you.”
His thumb strokes over your skin, an easy touch, there’s no pressure to it.
“Do you like it?” you ask.
“Like what?”
“Making regular movies.”
“Sometimes,” he shrugs, “I used to like it more. Feels sort of phony now. What you do is a lot more real.”
One of the long-haired girls floats over, her eyes wide and unfocused, a syrupy sort of smile on her face, melty and warm. She has something curled in the palm of her hand.
“Hungry?” she asks the actor.
He tips his head back obediently and opens his mouth. She lays a small tab on his tongue, then brushes a sweaty, affectionate kiss against his cheek. It seems like a kind of ritual, something they’ve done a thousand times before, unthinking and easy.
She turns to you, her eyes so wide they seem to fill her face, giving her a moony, ethereal sort of softness.
“Want one?”
You hesitate, just for a second, before opening your mouth. You feel the press of her fingertip against your tongue, a little scrape of nail, and then the tab’s bitter dissolve.
You think of communion wafers and consecration. Your knees pressed into an unforgiving bench, fingers folded together, searching for a sin you might be willing to confess. Your mother’s hand curling at the back of your neck, nails digging into your skin. Louder — she’d hiss — God can’t hear you.
The afternoon tips and spills. Hours pass, glacial and strange, a haze of slow, slippery seconds.
One of your friends is fast asleep, curled up in the middle of the unmade bed, snoring softly. Another disappeared with the drummer some hours ago, tangling her hand with his, looking back with a guilty, giggling secrecy. The other has been ensconced in the group of untidy girls, her head laid on their laps as they braid her hair endlessly. Someone ordered room service, a dozen orders of only truffle fries.
You lay on a patch of sunny carpet, stretched out like a cat. It smells like weed and spilled wine, the faint tinge of disinfectant. You feel watery, waves crashing through you, swept up in the tidal pull of your own breath. You think you had legs at some point, but you can’t feel them anymore. You don’t mind. You like it here.
The actor appears over you, his hair glowing gold with sunlight, his pupils blown wide, edging out the blue of his eyes. You think he looks even younger like this, his smile easy, unbothered.
“How are you feeling?” he asks gently.
You consider it. You’re feeling so much it’s hard to find one answer, pull a single word from the twisting, shimmering haze. Finally you say —
“I'm in space.”
He chuckles. “And how is it?”
“Warm,” you tell him, because it is. It’s warm and it’s good, and sometimes if you look too long at something it starts to move, but not in a bad way.
You pull him down on the carpet beside you, resting your shoulder against his, his sandy leg hair brushing against your bare stretch of calf. You want him to see the patterns on the ceiling, how it glitters and swirls, the kaleidoscopic spin of light and color, like there are stars stuck up in the plaster.
But he keeps looking at you instead.
You grab his jaw, fingers digging into his cheeks, forcing his gaze up.
“Alright,” he laughs, “I see it, Lucky. I swear I see it.”
You relax, satisfied. Stretching out, the carpet warm beneath you. Feeling every inch of your skin, so alive, your blood humming in your veins. You turn your head to look at him, the actor, his face so familiar and not at the same time. A stranger you’ve known almost all your life.
“You never told me your name,” you tell him.
He smiles at you.
“You know my name.”
x x x x x
The come down is not nice.
The heat finally breaks the next morning, a fog rolling in from the water, and you sit shivering on the sofa. Blinking against the light. Everything is a little too sharp, grating against raw nerves. You wince when the phone rings. One of your roommates throws her shoe at it.
It’s Tess.
“Why is someone trying to send you a fruit basket?”
“Fuck,” you groan, “Please whisper.”
She snorts, amused, but her voice is a little less sharp when she speaks again. Not soft, you’d never call Tess soft. But still.
“Someone from William Morris called asking for your address. Who did you fuck?”
“No one,” you tell her.
Which is true.
You did not fuck the actor.
You laid on the carpet for what felt like half a century, the minutes slow and sticky, made of molasses. Shadows slipped across the room and the sun set behind the hills. Your one roommate returned, the drummer slinking in behind her, clothes slightly askew, a satisfied flush on her cheeks. And eventually there wasn’t much reason to stay, so you didn’t.
He had the front desk call a car to take you home — kissed your cheek on the way out and thanked you for showing him the stars on the ceiling. You were still high when you went to sleep.
“Alright,” Tess relents, “Who didn’t you fuck?”
So you tell her his name, the one you know she knows.
And she makes a sound that’s hard to decode. You think she might be impressed.
“Well then I guess I’ll give him your address.”
The fruit basket arrives that afternoon, but it’s more wine than fruit. All expensive vintages, embossed labels in swirling script, some fancy chocolates. There's a neat little envelope with his name and phone number.
You call him the next day.
Because what would it hurt, really. If you let him kiss you. Let him take your clothes off, roll around in those expensive sheets. Maybe make you come, maybe not, it doesn’t really matter. It’s a hell of a story either way.
You’re young and you’re pretty and sometimes men on the street want to sleep with you. You have sex almost every day, you fuck in front of cameras, and the one person you want to look at you won’t. There are so many contradictions, and you don’t want to waste your time unriddling them.
The actor is fun. Easy. Uncomplicated, free of contradiction. A question that answers itself.
He asks to take you to dinner and you agree, slipping into the sleek black car when it pulls up to the curb. The restaurant is all low-lighting and smooth leather booths, a live band playing in the corner, jazz drifting over to your private table. It’s all a little much — the fluttering, eager attention of the waiter, champagne poured before you’ve even looked at the menu, the owner coming out to shake his hand.
You raise an eyebrow at him.
“Is it always like this for you?”
He looks up, smiling, letting you in on the joke. The answer is obvious. Yes. It is always like this.
He calls you Lucky, and you don’t mind. You are Lucky. Her flashing smiles, her fluttering lashes.
He's easy to be around, and the world is easy around him. Rules bend, doors open. There is always a table ready, always a car waiting. A ceaseless tide of good times.
When he takes you to bed, it’s nice. Easy. His hand is warm and smooth over your skin, gentle with you, affectionate. He laughs when you take him into your mouth, his hand stroking over your hair. Lucky, he calls you. He has to stroke himself back to stiffness a few times, but when he pushes inside it feels good. Your bodies slide together, his eyes bright and blue, looking at you like he’s always known you. When you come — and you do — it’s a little, tripping thing. Light, easy. A laugh cut off by a kiss.
You don’t think about the thing that isn’t there.
Heavier hands, the scrape of stubble against your skin. A low, rasping voice, one that knows all the right things to say. The want, the hunger, low in your belly, that burns and burns and burns.
You don’t think about that at all.
x x x x x
August melts into September but there’s no change of seasons here; your shoulders stay bare.
It’s late afternoon on a Friday. The other girls are gone — at work or an audition, or in the back of the tour bus with that drummer. You’re eating dry cereal. Someone forgot to buy milk, and the little bit you have left is spoiled.
The phone rings. And you think it might be the actor, because he calls sometimes just to tell you about his day. Or play a record he thinks you might like. Or invite you over to read through a scene with him, some new script his agent sent over, because he hates acting against nothing.
You wedge the phone under your ear, balancing the bowl of cereal in your hand.
“Hello?”
It's Tess.
“How fast can you get to the Valley?”
There’s an edge to her voice, and you hear it immediately. You frown, setting your bowl down on a stack of books.
“Why?”
There’s a scuffling sound on the other end, a door snapping shut. It sounds like she’s moving away from people, muffled conversations growing distant.
“Had a girl show up trashed, we can’t use her,” she says, “We’re going to lose the whole day. Bleeding fucking money over here.”
You almost agree, your instinct to say yes to her kicking in. But then you hesitate.
“Whose shoot?”
There’s a pause. And you get the sense she was hoping that you wouldn't ask.
“It’s Joel’s.”
Because of course it fucking is. Tess wouldn’t waste a favor on just anyone.
“And he’s okay with me coming?” you ask, wary.
“It was his idea.”
You bite your lip, worrying it between your teeth.
Because it’s not a good idea, not really. You can already feel that thing rising up, the hunger waking, those fucking teeth digging in again.
“I can be ready in ten,” you tell her.
And you can hear her exhale, that sharp relief.
“Great, I'll send a car.”
You’re already waiting at the curb when the car pulls up, hair still damp from a hasty shower, legs stinging from a mostly dry shave. You ask to roll the windows down, dabbing at a few cuts beading little drops of blood around your kneecaps.
It takes thirty minutes to get there, and you try not to think too hard.
Not about the last time you saw him, the nerve ticking in his jaw. Or the time before that, the not-quite fucking in the hallway, how it burns white-hot in your memory.
The car pulls into the mostly empty parking lot of a bar called Frank’s, and your stomach swoops a little when you spot the familiar truck parked by the entrance.
There’s a hastily written sign taped to the door, warning customers that it’s closed for the day.
A bell digs when you push open the door, dust swirling in the air. It’s a true dive, bordering on a shithole, made more apparent by the midday sunlight streaking in through the dirty windows. The stale smell of beer hangs in the air, sticky with it. A bison head is mounted on the wall, all glassy eyes and flaking taxidermy.
The crew is already set up, the camera standing to the left of the bar, cables snaking between the stools.
There are a few extras milling around the pool table, looking a little bored, a little lost. It’s a thankless task, to be a spare body in a dirty movie. Most of them were likely lured in by the promise of free booze.
Tess spots you and steps away from an irritated looking camera man.
“Thank god for you,” she mutters, taking your arm and leading you down a narrow hallway.
She pushes open the door to reveal a grimy single-stall bathroom, a garment bag hanging over the mirror. Graffiti is scrawled across most of the walls, and the air is damp with the acrid smell of urine. It’s pretty bleak.
“We’re on a shoestring here,” she says apologetically, “They’re really fucking us.”
You squeeze her arm.
“It's fine. I'll be ready in five.”
She gives you a grateful look, then steps away, pulling the door shut behind her. The script lays open across the sink, and you flip through it quickly, scanning the pages.
But you’re good at this. You don’t need much, just a few words to set the scene. The rest just happens, spills out of you, this thing you think maybe you were born to do.
You unzip the garment bag. Inside is a slip of a dress that’s almost sheer in the light. When you pull it over your head, you can see your nipples through the fabric. You leave your panties on, the black line of them barely visible, a suggestive hint.
You swipe glitter over your eyelids, dab gloss on your lips. And you’re ready.
You step out of the bathroom just as the door at the end of the hallway is opening.
Joel fills the doorframe. Dressed simply, a dark t-shirt and jeans. The boots he always wears, that heavy tread that’s so familiar, every solid, steady step.
He stops short when he sees you.
Surprise flickers across his face, and then his expression shutters. Goes stony, unreadable. You can see the slight flare of his nostrils, a furious inhale, and then he steps back inside, snapping the door shut.
Shit.
You stand there.
Staring at the closed door.
Muffled voices rise on the other side. The unmistakable bitter taint of an argument, his low, growling anger.
Something uneasy settles in your stomach. The feeling that you are not supposed to be here right now, that he doesn’t want you here.
Doesn’t want you at all.
The door swings open again and you tense, but it’s Tess that steps out, muttering under her breath.
“Fucking idiot.”
She pauses when she sees you waiting there, something like guilt passing over her expression. She clears her throat.
“We’re uh, not gonna need you, actually,” she says, not quite meeting your eye, “Sorry, kid. I'll still pay you the day rate.”
“What happened?”
Her expression twists, and she shakes her head.
“I didn't realize how far he’s got his head shoved up his own ass.”
A bitter taste rises in the back of your throat.
“He didn't tell you to call me.”
And it’s not a question, not really.
Tess sighs, “Not in so many words.”
“Jesus, Tess.”
“Look, it’s my problem, not yours. I'll handle it.”
But it is your problem — your problem with him, his problem with you. The knotted tangle of your time together, this stupid fucking stand off, this dance you’re really sick of doing.
You push past her, storming down the dingy hallway, shoving open the door at the end.
Inside is a small office. Receipts spiraling out over the desk, a sagging sofa in the corner. Another piece of crumbling taxidermy, a watery-eyed weasel, hunched high on a shelf, its tiny teeth bared.
Joel stands with his back to the door, smoke curling from the cigarette in his hand, leaning against the desk chair. The set of his shoulders tense, strained.
He straightens at the sound of the door, turning as you slam it shut behind you. You see the way his gaze skates over the barely-there fabric of your dress, the near-nakedness of you.
“What the hell is your problem?” you snap.
He frowns. Stubs out his cigarette.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re a fucking asshole.”
His eyes flash.
“Watch it.”
He says it low, threatening. Takes a step forward so he’s towering over you, this hulking mass of a man, all dark eyes and thick arms and endless frustration.
You hold your ground. Glaring up at him.
“You’re just gonna have Tess send me home?”
“I didn't ask for you to be here.”
And it stings, even if it shouldn’t. Even if you already knew that. Even if you shouldn’t want to be wanted, not by him.
“Well, I'm here,” you snap, “And you don’t have to like me, but I'm the best you’ve got.”
His dark eyes flicker over your face. And there’s something there, just the shadow of it. You can’t name it, don’t know what it means. But it’s there.
Some of the fury ebbs from his expression. His shoulders drop, and he shakes his head.
“Jus’ ain’t a good idea.”
“Why not?” you press.
But then there’s a little sliver of doubt, a curl of anxiety, souring in your stomach.
“Is it — am I not good enough?” you ask.
He shakes his head, a rough jerking motion.
“That ain’t the reason.”
And — okay. Great. That’s better than the alternative. But it’s still not an answer.
You fold your arms over your chest. Hold his gaze.
“Then give me a better one.”
He glares down at you, jaw working, hands flexing at his side.
“Fine,” he says finally, teeth grit.
He shoulders past you, striding back into the hallway. You hear the heavy him say something to Tess, a gruff exchange of words, and then she’s calling out for places, people.
You suck in a steadying breath. You sort of hadn’t expected him to fold, and you don’t know what it means. But you’re here now, you’re doing this. So you smooth down your dress, set your shoulders, and walk out of the office.
The set is quieting down. The overheads have been switched off, leaving behind the moody pools of light from table lamps and neon signs, the few running lights set up at the edge. A red glow spills over the shelves, illuminating the good stuff left untouched. The wet mouths of house bottles shine along the counter, catching the light.
Joel slopes behind the bar, his movements jerky, restless. There’s an edge of frustration in the way he paces — not looking at you, looking anywhere but.
Tess gives you a searching look. Checking in.
You nod and take your seat at the bar, where a glass of something is already waiting for you. You take a sip, swallow down the burn, try to let the scene sink into your skin.
The smell of whiskey. Salt. A lime muddled under a heavy booth, ripe and rotting against the uneven floorboards. The low thrum of music, vibrating the bar beneath your fingertips.
You’re on your last drink. A little drunk, fizzing with a tipsy kind of confidence. The bartender is hot. He’s been watching you all night. He wants you here.
“Action.”
Joel stands at the counter, wiping down glasses with a rag.
You watch him. The steady drag down the glass, the sort of phallic twist to it. The way his muscles move with the motion.
He eyes you from across the bar.
“Your friends run out on you?” he asks.
You raise one shoulder in a little shrug.
“Guess they can’t handle their liquor.”
He cocks his head, considering you. Dark eyes dipping to the low neck of your dress.
“So what are you still doing here?”
“Wanted to settle up,” you say, letting your voice lilt, lacing the words with suggestion.
You prop your elbows against the sticky tack of the counter, ringed with watermarks. You pull the cherry from your glass, licking the drip of alcohol that clings to it. You linger there, pressing your lips to the tender, sweet skin, teasing it with your tongue. Teasing him.
Joel’s eyes linger on your lips, the wet shine of them.
“Reckon we can figure something out,” he says, voice low, rough.
He sets down the glass. Flicks the rag over his shoulder. Crosses to the wall and tosses the light switch twice, the overheads flickering on and off, drawing the attention of the remaining stragglers.
“Don’t have to go home,” he calls out, “but you can’t stay here.”
There’s a shuffling, a scrape of chairs, that whining drag. The bar begins to empty as the last few patrons file out, swallowing down the final dregs of their drinks, the swill at the bottom of the glass.
You stay on your stool. Waiting. Watching the door. A little zip of anticipating sparking through you, a low coil of arousal gathering in your core. The want. That almost aching hunger.
The bell dings as the door closes behind the last person. And then you’re alone. Just you and the bartender.
You and Joel.
He comes around the counter, crowding up against your stool. Bracing his arms on either side of you. Not touching, not yet. But close enough that you can feel the heat of him, that you have to tilt your head up to meet his gaze.
“Pretty girl like you couldn’t find someone to take you home?” he asks.
You smile up at him, almost sweetly. Almost.
“I don't need to go home.”
You spread your knees apart, spreading them over the stool. An open invitation, the come-on of all come-ons. Your dress inches up your thighs, and you see the way his gaze drops, how it darkens. His knuckles are white where they wrap around the edge of the bar.
You press your hand against his chest. Feel the heavy thud of his heartbeat against your palm, the way his breath hitches when he meets your eye.
“I'm just fine right here,” you murmur.
And then he’s on you.
He ducks his head, scraping his teeth over your throat, the fragile tendon there, straining against his touch. Then dragging down, mouth hot against your skin, tasting your tripping pulse.
His hands drop to your thighs and he tugs you forward, stepping between your legs. He drags his palms over your skin, slowly, inching up towards your core.
You laugh, breathless, and it slips out of you before you can stop it —
“Really oughta buy me a drink first.”
Joel pulls back. Looks down at you. And you swear you see a smile at the corner of his mouth, an almost smirk.
He leans over you, chest flush against your, and reaches across the counter. His stubble scrapes against your cheek as he snatches a bottle of whiskey from behind the bar.
He straightens. Unscrews the lid. Slides his other hand up your neck, cupping your jaw between his thick fingers, forcing your head back. The glint of a challenge in his gaze.
“Open.”
You do, parting your lips, offering out your tongue. He tilts the bottle, and whiskey pours down your throat, a smoky, sizzling burn.
He pulls back when you’ve had enough, giving you a second to swallow. Some of it escapes from the corner of your mouth, drips down your neck toward the valley of your breasts.
His mouth is there, chasing it with his tongue, dragging down your sternum, burying his face between your breasts. A low growl leaves his chest, a hungry, desperate sound that makes you ache.
You can already feel the sticky thread of arousal between your legs, the heat that sparks and burns every time he touches you.
He slips a strap off your shoulder, baring more skin to his teeth and tongue. Scrapes his mouth along your collarbones, then dips down, sealing his mouth over your nipple. A jagged little edge of pleasure shoots through you, straight to your core.
You arch into the wet drag of his mouth as he kisses across your chest, teeth digging into the sensitive skin of your other breast. You tangle your fingers in his hair, pressing him closer, a whine leaving your lips.
“Yeah?” he mutters, the words muffled in your skin, “That feel good?”
He bites at your jaw, titling his head to nose against your neck, startling another needy whine from your throat.
“Shit - yes.”
His hands slide beneath the thin fabric of your dress, pushing it up over your hips, leaving everything else exposed. He pulls away to look at you, the mess he’s made of your neck and chest, little red marks from his mouth.
You drop back against the bar, breathing hard. His eyes rake over you, and the heat of his attention makes you tremble slightly.
“Fuck, honey,” he mutters, “Look at you.”
And it does something to you, the low gravel of his voice, the raw want in it.
He nudges your knees further apart, gaze fixed on the apex of your thighs. His thumb drags up the inside of your leg, teasing along the line of your panties, so close to the aching, pulsing heat at your center.
“Bet you’ve been wet since you walked in here.”
Your breath catches in your throat as he hooks his thumb through them and pulls, dragging the wet scrap of fabric down your legs. Exposing the wet splay of your pretty pink sex.
He steps back so the camera can see the shine of your slick on the leather seat. He shakes his head, a teasing note to his voice.
“Fucking dripping for me.”
Joel kneels between your legs, lifting them over his shoulders, keeping you spread open. He licks a line up your inner thigh, catching some of the slick smeared across your skin. You feel the scrape of his beard, the burn of it, his breath hot against your core.
And then he’s eating you, mouth hard and hungry as it moves over your soaked skin. His tongue curves against your clit, a hot, flickering pressure that makes you moan. Your hips buck against his mouth.
You feel the press of his thick fingers at your entrance, and then he’s sliding them into you.
“So tight, baby,” he groans.
You dig your fingers into his shoulder, the flexing tendon there, twisting the fabric of his shirt. You’re making ragged, desperate little sounds, whining for him. You’re getting close, the heat licking up your spine, the hunger a writhing, roaring thing inside of you.
“Think you can take one more?” he asks, twisting his fingers, making you whimper.
You nod, unable to form words, digging your nails a little deeper as you feel a third finger stroking at your soaking hole.
“Gotta stretch this cunt,” he grunts, “Get you ready f’me.”
And then there’s a stretch, a slight burn as his third finger presses inside. He crooks them, stroking upwards, and you gasp, jerking against him. You feel him smile between your legs.
“Right there, huh?”
He presses the same spot, driving even deeper, twisting and pressing. Dark eyes fixed on your face. Your back bows, a ragged breath caught in your lungs, a silent cry.
“Yeah, that’s it. Let me feel you.”
His thumb swipes over your clit, and you’re coming, clenching around his fingers, pleasure coursing through you.
Your legs close around Joel’s head, but he doesn’t stop. He licks you through it, a low growl of satisfaction rumbling in his chest, making you twitch and whine in his grip.
You untangle your fingers from his shirt, ease off enough that he can slide your legs from his shoulders and stand. Your gaze flickers up to his and he looks —
Fuck.
He looks wrecked. Chest heaving with ragged breaths. Eyes so dark that they’re almost black, a feral kind of hunger in his face, his beard shining with your slick.
He steps between your spread legs, sliding his hands up to your hips. He taps your thigh, twice, and you get the hint, wrapping your shaking legs around his waist. There’s an urgency in his touch, a tension rippling beneath his muscles when you wind your arms around his neck.
Joel lifts you easily, holding you tight to his chest as he carries you across the bar and sits you at the edge of the pool table. He stays between your legs, keeps a hand tight on your thigh, like he’s afraid you might go somewhere.
“Need to fuck you,” he mutters.
His other hand fumbles with the button of his jeans, ripping down the zipper, pulling his heavy cock free from the press of denim. He’s hard, an almost painful stiffness, the head of him smeared wet with pre-come.
And then he’s there, pressing up against your entrance, his eyes flicking to yours as he fills you in one, slow thrust.
You moan, and hear his own, ruined sound in a response. A groan that seems to rip through him, his fingers digging even into the flesh of your thighs.
“Perfect fucking cunt.”
Joel’s voice is hoarse, an unfamiliar roughness, almost anger. His head tips back, face twisted in something like pain, something like pleasure.
He begins to move, grinding his hips against yours, cock sawing in and out of your wet heat. You whine at the way he fills you, the steady drag of him inside you, and wrap your hand around the back of his neck. Holding tight as he fucks you deeper, harder, faces only inches apart.
His gaze flickers up to yours.
And he groans, hips stuttering against you as he spills inside, filling you with a warm flood of come.
Shit.
You feel his hands tense on your hips.
“Shit,” he mutters.
You look up at him. And there’s something almost vulnerable in his expression as he stares back at you, eyes wide, hands still tight on your hips. For a second, neither of you move.
Then his expression shutters, and he’s pulling away, pulling out of you. Stepping away and tucking himself back into his jeans.
“I, uh —” he clears his throat, “I need a minute.”
He walks off set.
Leaving you dripping, legs still spread, somehow full and so achingly empty at the same time.
You feel eyes on you. Wary, uncertain. Even Tess looks like she doesn’t know what the fuck to do.
You pull your dress straps over your shoulders and slip down from the pool table, the hem falling down to cover you. You feel his come dripping down your thighs.
This has happened before. Other sets, other scenes.
It’s never a big deal. It might make a shoot run long, but it’s usually something you could laugh about, sometimes twist into a compliment — just couldn’t help myself, sweetheart.
But that’s not Joel.
He’s not really a laugh it off kind of guy. He’s more of a go into the woods like a dying dog kind of guy.
You hesitate for half a second, then go after him.
He’s back in the small office, the door left slightly ajar. You approach it slowly, cautiously. Peering through the sliver of light to look inside.
He’s braced against the desk, shoulders bunched by his ears, head low. Every line of him tense, taught.
He looks over his shoulder when he hears your soft steps, the creak of the door as you push it open just enough to slip inside. His face contorts when he sees you.
“Goddamn it.”
“Hey, it’s okay,” you say gently, easing the door shut behind you.
He turns, almost wary. Arms folded over his chest.
“Look — it happens,” you tell him.
He shakes his head. Scoffs.
“I’m too old to be coming like a fucking teenager.”
You shrug, biting back a smile.
“At least you made it out of your jeans.”
“This is why —” he stops himself, shaking his head. He makes a frustrated sound, jaw working.
And you just — you want to make him feel good, as good as he always makes you feel when you fuck. You sort of doubt he’ll ever agree to shoot with you again, and you don’t want the last time to be tainted like this.
“Can I help?”
You take a slow step closer to him. He doesn’t quite meet your eye.
“M’fine,” he mutters.
But you move even closer, coming to stand just in front of him. Looking up at him, waiting until his gaze meets yours.
“Let me help,” you say softly, coaxing.
Joel stares down at you. And he looks uneasy, almost skittish. But he doesn’t stop you when you take the last step, closing the distance, and your hand cups him through his jeans.
He exhales sharply through his nose. And he’s tense, rigid beneath your gentle touch. He shakes his head jerkily.
“You don’t gotta —“
“I want to.”
You rub him slowly through the denim, feeling the half-hard shape of him.
His eyes flutter, and his hand twitches towards your wrist. But he doesn’t stop you. He lets you touch.
“Fuck. That’s — that’s nice.”
His eyes fall shut, and you see some of the tension ease from his shoulders.
You undo the zipper and slip your hand inside, sliding over the soft skin of his cock. The dark curl of his hair is damp with your slick, some of his release. You wrap your hand around him and he hisses, still sensitive.
“Slow, baby.”
And so you go slow, a careful caress, your little fingers tucked into the front of his jeans.
You lean in and lick the line of sweat on his throat. His head falls back as he groans, fingers flexing at his sides.
“Goddamn it.”
And it’s much softer than when he said it before, warm and rough. So you keep licking and sucking, small scrapes of teeth at his neck as you stroke him. You feel him start to stiffen in your hand, the blood pooling beneath your palm like a bruise.
You give him a few more strokes and then his hand closes around your wrist.
“Shit. That's — yeah, that’s good. I'm good.”
His eyes open, and he looks down at you. Hand lingering around your wrist. His thumb swipes over your pulse. His chest shifts, expands. A slow inhale, a heavy exhale.
Then he drops his gaze. Clears his throat.
“We oughta get back.”
And you should go back. You know that Tess and the rest of the crew are waiting, just a few thin walls away. You know you’re burning daylight, you’ve lost enough time as it is, and you still have most of the scene to finish.
Except —
“I can’t go back out there like this.”
He frowns down at you.
You take his hand in yours, slipping your fingers around his wrist. You drag it under your skirt, between your legs, so he can feel where his come is leaking out of you.
You look up at him, the hint of a smile on your lips.
“You made a mess.”
His eyes go dark.
“Christ.”
His fingers move against you, slipping through your folds, dragging his release across your damp skin.
“Can’t have a —” you cut off with a gasp as his fingers graze your clit, “Continuity error.”
Joel chuckles.
“Can’t have that.”
He eases himself onto his knees beneath you. You lift the hem of your skirt, exposing yourself to his hungry eyes, the heat that still burns there.
He gently pries your thighs apart, staring at the spread of your sex, the sticky drip of his semen inside of you. His thumb strokes along the tender crease of your thigh.
“Fucking full of me, ain’t ya,” he murmurs.
And then he leans forward, swiping his tongue through the mess of your release and his.
You moan. Tangling your hand in his hair, legs trembling as he licks through you, into you.
He eats at you slowly, languidly. Cleaning his come from your folds, your still dripping hole. He’s careful about it, coaxing, the delicate slide of his tongue inside you.
His thumbs pull you apart, and you feel more of his come slip out into his waiting mouth.
And it’s filthy, fucking debauched, but you can’t help the twitch of your hips, the heat that builds as he dips his tongue into you, tasting you together.
He’s not trying to make you come, not really, but the occasional nudge of his nose against your clit is enough. The coil tightening, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.
You’re almost there when he pulls back, apparently satisfied. He lets your dress slip back down, smoothing the fabric over your thighs before he stands.
Joel’s eyes flicker over you, taking in the flush on your cheeks, the breath that shivers through you.
He tilts his head. Gives you a knowing look.
“You close?”
You feel the blush burn a little brighter.
“Maybe.”
He pulls the door open. Nods his head towards the set.
“I’ll take care of you.”
There’s heat in the promise, and you feel a tug low in your navel, the thing that lives there digging its teeth in a little deeper.
You slip out of the office and he follows. You can feel the shape of him behind you, the floorboards shifting beneath his step. That steady, heavy tread.
The crew is waiting at the edge of set, a sleepy sort of lull to them. Breathing their smoke through a cracked window. Rolling a pool ball beneath a heavy palm. Flicking through song titles on the jukebox.
There’s a shift when you step back into the set, a snapping to attention. Their eyes find Tess.
She flicks away her cigarette. Gives you a once over, gaze sharp, cutting between you and Joel.
“We good?”
“Fine,” Joel nods, “Where do you want us?”
And for a second, Tess looks like she might say something else, but seems to think better of it.
“Take it from your cross,” she says, “Walk closer to camera this time, we’ll find somewhere to hide the cut.”
He gives a low grunt of acknowledgement.
There's a tug at your waist, and then Joel's arm is around you, lifting you up. A surprised laugh punches out of your lungs, and you grip his shoulders, wrapping your legs around his hips.
He looks at you, dark eyes skimming the blush on your cheeks, down your neck, to your breasts beneath your dress.
He looks back up, eyebrow raised.
“Continuity,” he mutters.
And, oh — right.
You reach up and slip your straps from your shoulders, letting the dress drop down to your waist, like it was when he first carried you across the bar.
You don’t miss the way his eyes linger on your breasts, the skin still flushed and sensitive from his mouth, little red marks around your nipples.
“Alright,” Tess calls out, “Let’s get back into it.”
Joel's arms tense around you. Holding you a little tighter. And you have a single, breathless second to collect your thoughts, find your place in the scene before —
“Action.”
For a moment, the world is a spinning, shifting blur. And then you’re back on the pool table. The warm wood against your legs, the green scratch of felt on your fingertips as you lean back to look up at Joel.
And fuck — he looks good. Skin sweat-damp and fever-warm, heat rolling off him in waves. The heavy press of his dick against the denim of his jeans.
His dark eyes drag over you, and he ducks down to nip at your jaw.
“Gonna fucking ruin you, sweetheart.”
A little gasp slips from between your lips. He pulls back, straightening to his full height, towering over you. He reaches over his head and tugs his shirt off, exposing the broad stretch of his chest, the trail of dark hair down his stomach.
He undoes the button of his jeans and tugs down his zipper. His cock is thick and full when he pulls it out, a rigid line between your bodies.
He brushes your hair off your shoulders, gathers it at the back of your neck. Tilts your head down so you’re staring at his cock.
“Spit on it.”
You shiver, the words surging like heat through your veins, gathering in the slick between your thighs.
You let saliva pool in your mouth and drip from your lips, a sticky strand dribbling down onto him. He grunts, satisfied, when his cock shines with your spit. He strokes along his length, coating himself in it before he drags the tip over your entrance.
You whine a little, restless, aching to be filled. Leaning back on the pool table, looking up at him. A melty little mess, waiting for him to make good on his promise.
He huffs out a laugh.
“So fucking needy.”
He slides his spit-slick cock between your folds, catching on your clit and you twitch, already sensitive, already so close to coming.
You catch the hint of a smirk on his lips as he slides in.
There’s the stretch, the burn, the slow drag of him against your sensitive walls. You clench around him, feeling every ridge, the heavy weight of him inside you.
And it’s there — right there, the sparking edge of your release, the heat that’s threatening to overtake you. Your hips rise, chasing friction, fucking yourself deeper, a desperate little whimper slipping from your lips.
His hands stroke over the soft swell of your stomach, an almost tender touch, his fingertips dragging down between your legs.
“It’s alright, baby. I got you.”
It doesn’t take much. The roll of your swollen clit beneath his thumb, a slow, dragging thrust and you’re gone.
“Oh, fuck —”
You arch into it, your cunt clenching around him as he grinds his hips into yours, fucks you through it.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, “There you go.”
It flows through you, your muscles fluttering around him, the coil unraveling. It fills you with a kind of hazy heat, satiating some of the hunger — but not all of it.
You blink up at him. Bite your lip. Watch as his dark eyes drag over you, see a want in them you recognize.
Joel tucks his hands beneath your knees, pulling them up and pressing them against your chest. Spreading you, exposing the place where your bodies connect, the stretch of your sex around him.
He groans.
“Sweet little cunt.”
He begins to fuck you harder, hips shoving against yours, so you feel the burning scratch of the table at your back. Every long, steady stroke forces a little whimper from your lips, a keening, desperate sound.
He leans forward, bracing his hands by your head. His sweaty chest presses against your calves, folding you under him, forcing you into a small, fuckable shape. Your faces inches apart, every grunting breath hot against your open mouth.
And the angle allows him to drive that much deeper, the thick heat of his cock stretching inside of you, scraping against something new. A secret hollow, a hidden place that’s white-hot and wet.
Your legs start to tremble, stomach tensing.
“Wait — fuck, I think— ”
Your vision goes white, body arching, head tilting back as a low moan is pulled from somewhere deep inside you — that empty, aching place.
And then it spills out of you, a hot, slick rush of release.
Joel groans, low and almost painful, fucking through the wet mess of you. His hands pressing your thighs even further apart, watching as your hole flutters around him. A sticky-slick pulse, a sudden gush. Soaking the length of his cock, the dark hair at the base of him.
“Fuck, honey.”
He pulls out, his cock shining with your release, dripping with it.
You stare up at him. Jaw slack, eyes wide. Legs still shaking in his hands as he holds you open, keeps you spread.
And that’s — new.
When his eyes flick up to meet yours, his expression is intense. He looks like he wants to rip you open, to eat you raw.
“You’re gonna do that again.”
And you whine. You’re already so sensitive, stripped down to your shivering core. Little tremors wrack through you, and you writhe in Joel’s grasp.
But he doesn’t let go.
He nudges your knees further apart. Drags his fingers through your sore, swollen folds, the aching mess between your legs.
“Didn’t tell me this pretty cunt could come like that.”
And you want to tell him you didn’t know, you’ve never done that before.
But then he slides two thick fingers into your stretched, sensitive hole. Pressing deep, curling up. Stroking that spot inside you. Your hips jerk, twitching against him, but he holds you steady.
“There it is.”
He flattens his other hand against your stomach, the tense fluttering muscles. He presses down, feeling his own fingers deep inside of you. And you can’t think, can’t form words. Can only feel him, that pressure, the burning heat that builds.
He fucks into you with his fingers. Fast, hard.
“Show me,” he grunts, “Soak my fucking fingers.”
It’s so much, almost too much. The slick shove of him into your hole, the sticky-wet heat. There’s a whining, desperate panic and you feel something inside you about to snap.
And then it does.
A gush of slick pours out of you. Soaking his hand, coating his fingers in a sweet, syrupy release.
“Good girl.”
He doesn’t stop. Filling you again and again with his fingers. His palm digging deeper into your stomach, arm flexing as he fucks you with what feels like his whole hand.
You cry out, nails digging into his shoulder. Pulling him closer, pushing him away.
He grunts, pressing down, fucking deeper.
“Know you have more for me.”
And somehow, you do.
Your eyes roll back and your mind goes white-hot, scorching. It sears through you, a burning wave of arousal, a tight pressure between your hips. Your back arches off the table as another surge of release rips through you, spills over his hand, drips down onto the dirty bar floor.
“Fuck. There you go.”
It leaves you boneless, a shaking body beneath his hands, a soft bundle of shivering limbs.
You feel the drag of his tongue along your inner thigh, collecting the drops of your release, the wet that still drips out of you. He licks a broad stroke through your soaked folds and you whine, way too sensitive, but he doesn’t linger long.
Joel stands between your knees, gently tugging your legs down so they dangle from the edge of the table, around his hips.
You blink up at him. A wobbly, soaking wet mess. Tears clinging to your eyelashes, a bloom of blotchy-red blush across your cheeks and chest.
His hand comes up to your jaw, coaxing it open, thumb swiping over your bottom lip. You let your mouth hang open, wet and waiting.
He leans over you and spits your own release in your mouth.
“Swallow it.”
You do, your own taste sliding over your tongue.
He stands over you and strokes his cock over your damp, shivering stomach. You can hear the soft schlick of your own wetness on his skin. His eyes are dark, fixed on yours as he fucks into his hand.
All you can do is tremble, legs twitching around him, a faint please slipping from your lips.
And then he’s coming, spilling onto your stomach and chest. The damp spray of semen over your skin, coating the marks left by his mouth.
You stay like that for a moment, looking up at him.
The only sound is the thunder of your pulse in your ears. The low hum of the radiator. Your quiet little gasps, his ragged breathing. Filling the damp, sticky air.
“Alright, let’s cut there.”
And it’s over.
You come back to yourself. To the bar and the set, the stale air and sweaty press of the table beneath you. Tess standing a few feet away. The camera and crew. The sun hanging low in the sky behind a dirty window pane.
Joel looks down at you. Something unreadable in his expression.
You force yourself to sit up. Still sensitive, sore in a way you’ve never felt before.
He steps away, and there’s an ache, a twinge —
But he doesn’t go far.
He takes the robe from Tess and brings it back to you. He wraps it around your shoulders, brushes your hair back from your damp, sweaty face. Your body is still soft and boneless in his hands, melting into him, a drip of a girl.
“You good?” he asks.
You blink up at him. Feel the realization settling in you, the slow spread of a smile across your lips.
“I didn't know I could do that.”
It’s a giddy, tripping thing inside you. Something new, something secret he found in you.
The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches. An almost smile.
“Hate to be a buzzkill,” Tess says from behind you, “But we’ve gotta start striking the set. Bill will kill us if we keep him closed after five.”
Joel steps away, tugging his jeans up over his hips.
You slide down from the table, knees still weak. Your steps are a little shaky, and you feel coltish and feeble as you slip down the hallway, away from the set. Feeling Joel’s eyes on you as you make your way back to the bathroom.
Inside, you strip the sweaty mess of a dress from your skin. Splash water onto your feverish face, wipe the sticky mess of semen from your stomach. Settle back into yourself.
You feel — strange. A little aching, a little raw. Ripped open in a way that you rarely are after other scenes. You’ve never needed much aftercare, never really asked for it. But now, you think maybe it might be nice.
To have a quiet moment. To be touched in a way that wasn’t just sexual. To be held.
But that’s not what this is.
And you know that, even if the thing in your stomach doesn’t. Even if its sharp little teeth are still scraping against you. The want satisfied, the hunger satiated. But something else left waiting.
Wanting more.
You step back into the hallway, still doing up the buttons on your cut-offs. And Joel is standing there, scrubbing a towel along the back of his neck, drying the sweat from his skin.
You look up at him. Wary, uncertain. Not sure where you stand.
His gaze holds yours for a moment. Unreadable, unreachable. Then he jerks his head towards the door.
This series is one of the most exciting things I’m reading right now. I can see this all so clearly (not just the glorious, sticky, messy smut, which yeah of course) but the world they’re in, the extras on the set and the strangers in the apartment, the schmoozy smile of the celebrity. Vibrant is the word, everything vibrant and glowing with detail.
And I love how the theme of this chapter is like, being seen, being exposed. How the “fans” who approach her see her as something she both is and isn’t. How Joel sees and touches parts or her she doesn’t know yet, and coaxes feeling from her she doesn’t want to claim. And how she exposes Joel to his rawest bits and he can’t control himself around her.
Every chapter of this is somehow more incredible than the rest and it’s so clear how much care you put into your scene building and all of your sentences, let alone how blazingly fucking hot the smut is, Jesus! if you need an orgasm look no further. I can’t even find real porn this good. (And where can I pick up a burly, grumpy ass to finger me to squirting orgasm? They have those on Amazon?)
I’m completely obsessed; thank you for this, as always!
series masterlist | kofi | so this is FILTH. like. please heed the warnings before reading. i would recommend reading the rest of the series in order to really understand reader's headspace here, but if not, the previous part "wait" should be enough to make it make sense, as this does tie into what happened in that part.
summary: joel takes care of you in every way you need.
rating: 18+ explicit
warnings: daddy kink, age gap, dirty talk, praise kink, unprotected p in v, creampies, comeplay, tummy bulge, size kink, mild free use, sub space (reader is very disconnected from reality), cockwarming, pussy eating, squirting, deepthroating, face fucking, wall sex, floor sex, AS I SAID.... FILTH
word count: 4k
you practically live in joel's bed now.
it's only been three days since he picked you up at the bus stop, brought you back and took care of you the way he always has, the way he knows best. and he hasn't stopped since he finally admitted his feelings for you, face buried in your bare shoulder with his cock still deep inside of you.
he fucks you every morning. every afternoon. every night. you have absolutely no idea where he gets the stamina, how the fuck he's able to keep going and going, but you're certainly not complaining. your bodies have practically melded into one at this point, warm and sticky and safe amid groans and whimpers that match each other, heartbeats that pound at the same rhythm.
you shower - together. you take snack breaks - together. you sleep - together. and in between he fucks you in every possible position the two of you can manage, big hands roaming the softness of your body, the sheer size of him dwarfing you whenever he's on top, beneath, behind.
you find that ever since you reunited with him, you feel different. you feel sort of disconnected from reality, from the real world, everything you left behind that night. your parents don't know where you are - although you doubt they care very much. you've missed three days of classes, were supposed to turn in a paper yesterday morning. you're essentially dead to the world and you find that you like it. you like that only joel knows where you are. you like that only joel knows who you are, has always known.
you've never been so lost in this dynamic you share, never gone so long without saying his real name or simply being apart. sure, you've always let him take control in the moments you've shared, have always been the smaller, softer one in his big and capable hands, have wanted it that way - but never like this. a broad and seemingly unlimited time period spans in front of you; there's no rush, no sneaking around, no threat of being found out. you're completely at his mercy, letting him do anything he wants, enjoying him doing anything he wants.
he periodically checks to make sure that you're alright, that you still want what's happening. it's been three full of days of him practically controlling your autonomy, keeping you locked away from the rest of the world in his bedroom, and he's rightfully concerned, though not necessarily complaining.
"i want this," you reassure him softly for what feels like the tenth time, cupping the greying scruff on his cheek as you lie together on his bed after he fucked you deep into the mattress til you saw stars, "just wanna be yours for a while, daddy," you lean forward to brush your nose against his, eyelashes fluttering tiredly against your cheeks.
"you tell me the second anything changes, okay?" he whispers. his legs are tangled with yours beneath the sheets, soft hair tickling your bare ankles, "if it gets to be too much, we stop."
"i will," you whisper, then lean in to kiss him softly, "i promise."
--
"daddy, i'm gonna come again," you whine, legs close to giving out as he presses you up against the wall opposite his bed, his large body pinning you against the cool surface. he's so fucking deep, has made a home within the innermost parts of your body, so far inside you can feel the tip of his cock poking through the pouch at the bottom of your tummy.
"i know, baby, i know," he pants in your ear, thrusting harder and faster and deeper, your bodies pounding into the solid expanse of the wall, "come on that cock, sweet girl. make her sing, come on darlin'," his hands are gripping your hips so tightly, his lips sucking a mark into your shoulder alongside the dozens of others he's left there over the past few days.
you shake in his arms, eyes rolling back as desperate sounds tear from your throat, rip through the room like animalistic snarls. you go practically limp and he has to hold you up, doesn't stop moving, just keeps fucking and taking and using.
he finishes only a moment later, pulsing deep inside as he bites into the tender skin of your shoulder and gives all of it to you. you're still full of him from this morning, thighs sticky with everything that's dripped out over the course of the past few hours.
"so much, daddy," you whimper, feeling his grip on your hips lessen slightly, hearing him groan as his cock continues to twitch and pump you full of his release, "so much, can feel all of it."
"i know, babygirl," he whispers, voice positively wrecked, "gotta keep you so full, gotta make you remember who owns this little pussy, right?"
"right," you agree softly, forehead leaning wetly against the wall.
"and who owns it, baby?"
"you do, daddy," you whisper back.
"good girl," he nuzzles his face into your neck; you can feel the sweat dripping down his jaw, hear him trying desperately to catch his breath as he moans against your skin, "such a good fuckin' girl for your daddy. just made to take this fuckin' cock."
you're both only able to lean against the wall for another moment before you're completely exhausted. he's still so deep, cock softening but not moving, staying pressed firmly within your walls. his hand comes up to rest on your tummy, pressing kisses all over your shoulder.
"feelin' full, baby?" he murmurs, "feelin' good?"
"so good," you sigh, eyes closing and tears stinging behind your lids - good tears, happy tears, fucking joyous tears - "want you to fuck me again, daddy. do it again."
he makes a strangled noise into your skin and then starts walking backwards with you, arms wrapping around your middle and tugging you toward the bed. you both fall down onto it in a heap, still gasping for air but not wanting to part from each other unless absolutely necessary.
"how many times is that now?" he mumbles, chest heaving against your back.
"i don't know," you admit honestly. your head leans back to rest against his sticky shoulder, tangled hair dripping onto his chest. his hands come up to squeeze your breasts, pull you harder against him like he never wants to let go. and you know he doesn't.
"just wanna fuck you over and over again," he whispers, breath hot against your neck, "take care of you. wanna show you who you belong to."
"i belong to you," you breathe, opening your legs and peering down at where you're still connected.
"good girl," he groans, and his hips jerk as his cock twitches inside you, "good fuckin' girl."
you both lay there catching your breaths for about five more minutes before joel slowly pulls out of you, the wet squelch borderline pornographic in the silence of his bedroom. you both listen as your pussy releases some of his come, eyes trailing down to watch the warm white liquid dribble down onto the sheets.
"fuckin' full of me," he murmurs, reaching a hand down to thumb some of it back inside, cupping your pussy with the palm of his hand. you whimper, bucking into it and biting down hard on your lip.
you've never felt so desired in your life, so wanted and taken care of. you could fall asleep right now and know that you're safe, know that joel will make sure all your needs are met before he gives it to you all over again. this is all you've needed this whole time, from the moment you stepped through your ex boyfriend's door and came face to face with the man whose arms were so warm around you in that first hug, the same arms you nestle comfortably in now.
"i love you, daddy," you mumble softly, eyelashes fluttering as your exhaustion takes over, "love you so much."
"i love you too, babygirl," he breathes, pulling his hand up and hugging you from behind again, "rest now for a little while."
--
he runs you a bath and wakes you when it's full, carries you to the bathroom and places you inside the tub. you drift off again as he washes you, wipes you clean of all the sweat and tears and come, stays with you until he has to wake you up again to dry you off. you're nothing more than a doll in his arms, pliant and loose, allowing him to touch you everywhere he needs to before carrying you back to bed where he's already replaced the sheets.
he makes you a snack - popcorn, your favorite. feeds it to you with a knowing look that makes you squirm under his gaze. as he pops a kernel into your mouth you find yourself wrapping your lips around his finger and thumb, tongue slowly licking off the butter and salt. you push the popcorn to the back of your cheek and instead focus entirely on sucking joel's fingers, wet and tight.
"oh babygirl," he breathes, voice soft, "need daddy's cock again, huh? need to suck on it, don't you?"
you nod, already desperate, eyes big and round as he pushes his fingers further into your mouth, presses down on the back of your tongue. you swallow around him lewdly, eyes watering.
"open," he whispers, and you obey, only for him to slowly pull his fingers out - along with the popcorn in your cheek - and then stand up by the edge of the bed, reaching for his zipper, "nice and wide, baby."
a moment later you're choking on the thick length of his cock, the tip prodding the back of your throat while he tangles his fingers in your hair and peers down at you calmly, eyes dark, hips slowly thrusting.
"thaaat's it," he whispers, helping you move your head back and forth as he fucks your face, "there you go, sweet girl. that's what you needed, huh?"
your head is swimming, eyes full of tears, heart full of love and devotion as you lock your gaze with his and moan around his cock. his brow furrows as he looks at you, nods in your direction with eyes that soothe and relax you.
"daddy's good little girl," he murmurs, and pride swells in your chest.
--
he goes down on you a lot. especially in the morning, when you're just slowly waking up and don't have the energy to get on all fours or climb on top of him to ride. he crawls down beneath the sheets and noses your puffy pussy lips, presses kisses all over the parts that feel raw and tender. he laps at your folds, eyes hooded and hazy like he's enjoying a delicacy he's never experienced before, every single time.
"poor baby," he murmurs, pulling back to pull apart your lips and peer down at your fucked-out hole, "so used, honey," he licks a stripe up your pussy and you writhe in the sheets, "daddy used her all up, huh?"
you look down at him with a pout, eyes large and innocent, "she likes getting used, daddy," you whisper.
"i know she does," he agrees quietly, then slowly prods his tongue inside, licking at your pulsing walls and sucking on all your favorite spots, leaving you a whimpering and whining mess above him.
he makes you squirt, something you only discovered you could do yesterday, something he's now made you do at least six times since that first time. your wetness coats his lips, his chin, drips down his jaw all over the sheets as he leans back in and laps up every drop he can manage. your eyes roll back, hoarse cries croaking past your lips as another steady stream of your release practically pistons into his mouth. he groans as he swallows, low and deep.
--
it's dirty. it's intense. it's real.
you find yourselves splayed together on the floor of his bedroom on the third day, nothing but a throw blanket between your bodies and the hardwood. your head rests against the soft expanse of his tummy, the hair above his belly button tickling your ear as he breathes in and out.
he just fucked you so good. practically bent you in half against the floor with your ankles dangling by your ears. he was so deep; so fucking deep that he had you screaming for him, screaming so high and loud and wild that he'd had to cover your mouth before the neighbors called the cops. he'd let out a multitude of his own loud noises when he'd come inside you, holding you still while he filled you to the brim and then released his hand from your mouth so you could let out one last pathetic whine.
now he cards his fingers through your hair, hums something soft and angelic somewhere above you while you drift in and out of consciousness. you've never felt so close to another person in your life.
"so sleepy, babygirl," he whispers in between his humming, scratches a pleasant spot behind your ear, "all tuckered out, huh?"
you make a quiet noise of agreement, nestling your cheek further into the squishy warmth of his belly. his cock rests low and flaccid only a few inches away, a sight that makes your mouth water all over again. you're starting to wonder if you'll ever be sated. you don't ever want to leave this room.
"daddy's gonna run another bath for you," he murmurs, "that sound nice?"
you nod, still unable to really say anything. your body aches, your jaw is sore, your skin is covered in love bites and small bruises. a bath sounds very nice right about now.
"you doin' okay, baby?" he adds softly, still running his fingers through your hair, "you with me?"
you're not really sure how to answer that. you still don't really feel like yourself. he knows that too, but just wants to check and make sure you're still in this headspace. he's probably wondering when you're ever going to come out of it. if you're ever going to come out of it.
"i'm with you, daddy," you mumble, pressing a featherlight kiss to his tummy, "i'm here."
--
you can miss class, but joel can't miss work, at least not for long. he's eased himself of a few of his duties, handed some stuff over to his employees via email, but there are certain things he can't avoid for very long. luckily though, he can work from home.
early on the fourth day - after eating your pussy for about twenty minutes and making you come three times - he leans against the headboard with his laptop placed precariously on his belly and answers some emails, does his best to do some of the work he's behind on. you sleep for most of it, but wake up when you hear him chatting to someone on the phone beside you.
"gonna have to change that," he's saying quietly, cell pressed up against his ear, "the crew's not gonna be happy."
you peer up at him with a sleepy expression, blinking a few times. he only notices you've woken up when you stretch your arms above your head, breasts peeking out from under the sheets - you see his gaze drop to them immediately.
he points to the cell and makes a face, mouthing sorry and rolling his eyes, making you giggle. he wastes no time in reaching over and squeezing one of your breasts in his palm, then starting to toy with your hardening nipple as he continues the conversation.
"no, that won't work either," he says, pinching it between his thumb and finger and making you jolt a bit, "last thing we need is another person quittin' on us for shit we coulda prevented."
you look up at him, dazed and already wet underneath the sheets as he rolls your nipple between his fingers over and over, the corner of his mouth twitching up when you inch a bit closer to him, pushing your chest out for easier access.
"how about we just do what was already suggested?" joel continues, and you watch his eyes grow dark when you pull the sheet down and expose your naked body to him in its entirety, opening your legs and showing him your already glistening pussy, still wet and juicy from his saliva and your arousal, "yeah," he says, voice hitching a bit, "yeah, that's good."
he closes his laptop and places it on the nightstand, then turns back to you and carefully pulls down his own side of the sheet with one hand, showing you his equally naked body - and hardening cock.
"that should work," he says quietly, then points to his length, tilting his head slightly as he peers into your eyes, "yeah, that's what we need."
you climb into his lap, wasting no time in taking hold of his cock and positioning it at your entrance. you sink down onto it with hooded eyes, mouth popping open as he fills you with a calm expression, still talking on the phone.
"good," he says, "that sounds good. that's what we'll do."
you're still tired and achy, not really able to hold yourself up properly from everything your body has been through over the past three days. riding him was so much easier on that first day when your thighs didn't feel so sore. as if he can read your mind he wraps an arm around your back and pulls you in so you're chest to chest, allows you to place your chin on his shoulder as you bottom out on his length and sigh delicately in his ear. he trails his fingers up and down your back, noses your ear gently.
"so, what about the transportation issue?" he asks into the phone, tightening his arm around you and holding you still on his cock, like he just wants you to sit there until he's done the conversation - something you have absolutely no issue doing. "uh huh, yeah, that'll need to be in writing."
you stay connected like that for the next half an hour, pussy throbbing continuously around his length and getting wetter and wetter the longer he drones on and on with whoever it is from his company that's got a matter so pressing it couldn't be done through an email. hearing the faint sound of another person talking sends a sort of recognition into your brain you hadn't been expecting - a reminder that other people actually exist outside of this bedroom, that life is continuing to go on.
you can feel the spell starting to be broken and you're not sure how it makes you feel.
by the time he finally hangs up the phone you find that you've started to come back to some semblance of reality, whatever your reality is at this point. you remember that you have a phone somewhere, in your bag - wherever that's ended up in the clutter of joel's room - and that you might have unread messages, missed calls. you remember the fact that you had a paper to turn in and it sends a wave of anxiety to the pit of your stomach. you remember why you're here in the first place, how awful the other night had been until joel picked you up.
joel hangs up the phone and tosses it to the side, then wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer, buries his nose in your neck and breathes in.
"you're such a good girl, baby," he murmurs, big hands traveling skillfully up and down your spine, "so patient on daddy's cock."
you don't say anything, brow furrowed and expression completely out of his view as you hitch your chin on his shoulder and dig your fingers into his back.
"need to be fucked, baby? or do you just wanna sit on it for a little while longer?" he still hasn't sensed a change, still waiting to make the decisions, half expecting you to mumble something incoherent.
"um, actually," you say softly, voice gravely and dry, "i think... i think i need some air."
he pulls back immediately to peer at your face, eyebrows going up in surprise when he sees you. you're not sure how you've appeared to him over the past few days, probably had a permanent look of ecstasy on your face, innocent and naïve, oblivious to everything. he must see something different now; recognition, realization, something that shows you're coming out of it.
"of course," he breathes, hands going down to carefully pull you up from his cock. you wince at the strain of your muscles as you lift yourself from his lap and settle on the bed again, making a face. you feel his finger on your chin as he tilts your head up to look at him, expression one of pure concern and love.
"are you back, babygirl?" he asks softly, eyes soft, "feelin' like yourself again?"
you swallow around the lump in your throat, nodding slowly as tears blur your vision, "i think so," you hiccup, "and i don't like it."
--
he sits with you on his back patio, lets you lean against the solidness of him on the wooden steps as you stare out at the trees and grass, the blue expanse of sky and singing birds.
you cry for a long time. you don't really know why.
--
he makes you pasta for dinner, puts on cheesy 80s music and dances dorkily around the kitchen as it boils in the pot. you sit on a stool by the island and just shake your head at him with a genuine smile and tired eyes, hair wet from your first shower without him in days. you're wearing your own clothes again, freshly washed. you feel a bit more yourself now.
things are starting to make a bit more sense as time passes. you figure it all caught up to you that night, much more than you'd realized. you'd thought it would all be okay once you were back in joel's embrace, but you'd still been running from things you couldn't face. the things you'd been through, the things you'd done.
"you just needed to... not think for a while," joel tells you softly as his fingers card through your hair later that night. you both lie together in the dewy grass of his backyard, staring up at the stars, breathing in the cool air. "that's the only way i can think to explain it."
you nod slowly, biting your lip, "i was so annoying," you say with a grimace, "like i literally demanded every second of your attention, didn't i? i'm so sorry."
"babygirl, i am not complaining," he murmurs with a chuckle, pulling you in a bit closer, "it was nice. it was... fun."
you smile, "it was. it was fun."
you cuddle with him as the evening turns into night, quiet and safe. you never thought you'd get to this point, never thought you'd ever be able to just exist with him, just be.
"my only complaint," he suddenly says, a bit of a grumbly edge to his voice, "is that i think i destroyed my back."
you snort, bringing your hand up to cover your mouth.
"i'm serious," he groans quietly, nosing your hair, "i'm gonna have to go to a chiropractor after all that."
you can't help but laugh, pressing a kiss to the corner of his jaw as you smile up at him.
feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART SIX
previous chapters | again, thank you so much for all the love on this fic. it's so beyond overwhelming and wonderful to know that people are enjoying this story. i hope you enjoy this chapter, let me know! and here's my kofi if you'd like to leave me a tip 💕
chapter summary: it's time for your first official "lesson" with joel.
rating: 18+ explicit
warnings: age difference (joel is in his 50s, reader is in her early 20s), innocent/inexperienced reader, praise kink, dirty talk, pet names, mentions of religion, catholic guilt, fingering, oral (f receiving), lap-sitting, grinding
word count: 8.7k
ao3
You feel ridiculous.
You stare in your bedroom mirror at yourself with a look of pure mortification, assessing the beige dress you're currently wearing that your mother picked out from her own closet, falling to your ankles and bagging off your hips in the most unflattering way imaginable. It looks like a potato sack with long sleeves, long and floppy and absolutely horrendous.
You slowly shake your head at your reflection as she comes up behind you with attentive eyes, assessing the same trainwreck you are. You can see in her expression that she's similarly disappointed in the way it looks.
"I'm not wearing this," you say quietly, trying not to sound too harsh, "Please, Mom, this doesn't fit me right."
She bites her lip, eyes still scanning you up and down, "You're probably right," she sighs.
She wants you to dress modestly for your first lesson with Joel. You'd settled on Saturdays as your official "lesson" day, a perfect choice in your opinion as you now have an excuse to go to his house on the weekend without having to lie to your parents about where you are. You want to appease them in some way, your mom in particular; you've felt so bad about all the lying you've been doing, you feel you owe her something. And that something is apparently agreeing to let her pick your outfit, a decision you're already regretting immensely.
"The navy blue one was nice," you say, gesturing toward one of the other options she's laid out on your bed - one that's actually from your own closet and not hers, "I know I've grown out of it but it's not that short."
She walks over to your bed and picks up the dress in question with an exasperated sigh, eyeing the clock on your night stand, "I guess it'll have to do, we're running out of time. You don't want to be late," she hands it to you quickly, "You'll have to wear stockings with it though."
You nod - that's a compromise you can deal with.
She gives you some privacy to change, leaving you to fight your way out of the oddly shaped beige atrocity on your own. It crumples into a pile at your feet and you kick it to the side with a little too much aggression. Imagine if she'd actually made you wear that - Joel would never want to touch you again.
The thought of Joel sends a rush of warmth throughout your body as you slip into the other dress, velvet and modest but nowhere near as awful as the previous one. You'd talked to him on the phone last night after he'd finished work, cuddled in bed against an extra pillow in place of him - you'd slept so well on Thursday night when you'd slept in his bed, felt so safe and warm in his arms, you're now doing anything you can to replicate it. You'd wrapped his flannel shirt around it, coating it in his scent.
"I miss you," you'd whispered through the phone, the insecurities from the previous night almost nonexistent as you nuzzled your cheek into the fabric of his shirt, "I know I saw you this morning but I can't help it."
He'd laughed lightly, soft and familiar in your ear, "I miss you too, babygirl. Miss havin' you in my bed."
You'd taken only one deep breath before admitting softly, "I miss your cock."
He'd groaned, low and deep, "I know, darlin'. I know you do."
You'd both had simultaneous orgasms about ten minutes later, your name on his lips as he came into his fist and you buried your face in the pillow you wished was him, fingers scissoring inside you. You walk over to your bed now and pull up the mattress a bit, tugging his shirt out from underneath while you have a spare moment alone. You bring it to your face and inhale deeply, eyes closing and heart fluttering; you're obsessed.
"Ready to go?" your mom calls from downstairs, and you quickly shove the flannel back under the mattress, making sure it's hidden before you dash to your dresser to grab a pair of stockings. They're black and stop at your thigh, the edges hidden beneath the dress; you already know Joel will take them off soon enough.
You immediately notice the grimace on your mother's face when you appear at the bottom of the stairs and you wonder what you've done wrong already. She assesses you again without saying anything, gnawing on her lip and circling you a bit.
"Can I go?" you ask quietly, unsure what she's going to say, "I don't wanna be late."
"Where's your crucifix?" she finally says, tilting her head slightly, "I don't think I've seen you wear it all summer."
Astute observation - you haven't worn it all summer. It's still upstairs in your jewelry box, exactly where you'd left it when you went off to college several years ago. You'd begun to resent everything it represented and no longer felt like parading around with it on your neck like you'd done your whole life. The thought of wearing it now after so many years of forgetting it even existed... well, it certainly doesn't appeal to you whatsoever.
But you are trying to make up for all the lying, even if she doesn't necessarily know it.
You plaster a forced smile on your face, "I'll go get it." She mirrors it and nods as you turn around and head back up to your bedroom. Do it for the lessons, you think to yourself calmly.
Looking in the mirror after clasping the silver cross around your neck is a trip to the say the least. You suddenly feel ten years younger, standing in your bedroom preparing for an early service, Sunday School homework crumpled in your backpack and an immense weight of pressure on your shoulders to be perfect. You stare at the crucifix and feel that familiar sense of guilt begin to creep in, surrounding you in a quiet but palpable void of judgement that you've spent years trying to escape.
Why the fuck are you doing this? Why are you so hellbent on following the rules, after everything you've done? Why does the approval of your parents still mean so much to you? How is any of this even worth it?
You swallow back the pain you feel, the guilt, the anger, the resentment, all of it. Now is not the time to have an existential crisis; you have a "lesson" to go to - something you are not going to feel guilty about, no matter how bad your former Catholic brain may want you to.
As if by some ironic miracle, your phone buzzes and you unlock it to see a sudden surge of text messages in your college group chat:
have fun at your lesson 😘
don't do anything we wouldn't do!!!
pls give us all the details later 🥵
ITS ENTIRELY POSSIBLE TO SUCK DICK ON ACCIDENT JUST FYI
A breathless laugh escapes you, relief flooding your body at the sudden sense of normalcy, the reminder that what you're doing is not wrong. You're so glad you told your friends about what's been going on - you can't imagine keeping this secret all to yourself any longer. Knowing that they're there, that they support you and care about you and want you to have these experiences... it's enough for you to turn from the mirror without a second glance.
It's just a fucking necklace.
--
You arrive on Joel's doorstep at exactly ten o'clock, smoothing down your dress a bit and taking a deep breath before knocking. You're not sure how he's going to react to you standing there in all your Catholic glory, hair down and parted through the middle, crucifix dangling from your neck, hymn book weighing heavily in your purse. You still feel like that past version of yourself, shifting nervously from right foot to left as you stand there waiting for him to open the door.
The knob finally twists and there he stands, tall and broad in front of you. Your eyes widen when you see him, lips parting in surprise - the exact same reaction he has when he sees you.
He's dressed up. No band t-shirt or jeans to be seen, no bare feet or messy hair or disheveled beard. His grey curls are gelled back, demure and handsome, scruff trimmed up to shape his jaw. He's wearing a grey button down tucked into a pair of black dress pants, shoes that look freshly shined. For all intents and purposes, he looks like he's about to go to a church service.
You both stand there staring at each other without saying anything, both pairs of eyes scanning up and down your bodies with almost no regard for politeness. You're speechless, completely in awe of his sudden transformation, a transformation you certainly had not been expecting.
"I thought, uh-" he chokes out, breaking the silence between the two of you as his hand reaches up to awkwardly touch the back of his neck, "I thought your mother might bring you."
You continue to stare at him, a ball of emotion suddenly growing heavy in your throat, "Y-you wore this in case my mom came with me?"
He slowly nods, suddenly looking a bit sheepish as his eyes scan the road behind you for any onlookers, "I wanted to make a good impression."
With a shaky inhale full of a feeling you can't describe, you take a step toward him, unable to stop yourself from reaching forward to grab his hand, "Joel," you whisper, barely audible and almost alien in your mouth - you're so used to calling him Mr. Miller, "That's... that's..." you don't even know what to say, words completely failing you.
"It's no big deal," he says with a small smile, tugging on your hand and urging you to follow him inside, "C'mere."
As soon as the door closes behind you he's grabbing both your hands and pulling back to look at you again, eyes still awestruck. You can't help but feel embarrassed when his gaze freezes on your crucifix.
"My mom made me dress up," you mumble, "I know, it's a lot."
He nods and clears his throat, taking a long exhale through his mouth as he continues to peer at you, "I'm a bad man." Your brow furrows, confused for a moment before he laughs breathlessly and shakes his head, "I am, I must be, 'cause I shouldn't find you wearin' all this so damn sexy."
A giggle slips past your lips, skin warming as he entwines his fingers with yours and moves forward a bit to tower over you, eyes trailing to your lips.
"I mean it, darlin'," he whispers with a tender smile, "You look... fuck, you look pretty."
"Thank you," you whisper back, tilting your head up a bit more, waiting for him to kiss you - and he does. It's soft and sweet, not the type you'd been expecting after a comment like that. He seems slightly reserved as he kisses you, squeezing your hands in his and pulling away far too quickly, "What is it?" you ask quietly, raising an eyebrow, "What's wrong?"
He shakes his head again with a chuckle, "Nothin' at all, babygirl. I'm just... I'm tryin' to keep at least some of these next two hours focused on learnin' guitar."
You make a face, "Oh. Right."
"Remember what I said the other night?" he looks down at you with a playful smirk.
We'll make it sexy.
A smile spreads slowly across your face, "I remember."
--
He sits you between his legs on the couch, just like the first time he'd touched you. He noses your shoulder and breathes you in, pulls you close as he carefully places the guitar into your lap. His arms are warm and comforting, thighs strong and safe. You lean back into his touch immediately with a sigh of contentment, closing your eyes.
"Now, how am I supposed to teach you if you've got your eyes shut?" he asks with a laugh. You pout and open your eyes again, turning your face a bit to catch a glimpse of his relaxed expression.
"Sorry, it's just - you're distracting."
He snorts and redirects your attention to the task at hand, reaching down to capture your fingers in his and bring them up to the neck of the guitar. It's already distracting having him so close, but you can feel the shape of his cock against your lower back; it's not even hard -not yet, anyway - and your heart is already pounding.
"I mean it," you mutter softly, "I can't think when you're so close to me. Not after..." you trail off, feeling your cheeks warm at the thought, "Not after what we did the other night."
You feel him smile against your jaw, lips ghosting your skin, "I know, it's overwhelmin' isn't it?" His fingers trace the shape of yours, pressing gently against the guitar, "That's normal, sweetheart. We took a big step."
You can't help but lean back into him as he speaks, head coming to rest gently on his shoulder, forehead brushing his neck, "It felt so good," you whisper, secretive and shy, "When you were on top of me like that. When you had your mouth..."
He hums softly in understanding without you having to finish the thought, turns a bit to nose your hairline, "You want my mouth on you again, huh?"
"Yes."
He kisses your skin softly, lingering for a moment before moving his face downward, "How 'bout this?" he murmurs, pressing another soft kiss to the bare skin at your neck, "How 'bout I teach you three chords? Just three," another kiss, this time to the spot above your collarbone, near your crucifix, "and when you can play them for me without my help, I'll give you a reward."
"What kind of reward?" you breathe, eyes closing again as his lips graze your neck back and forth.
"Somethin' that feels really good," he whispers, and you swear you feel the tip of his tongue flutter against you for a brief moment, warm and wet, "Somethin' new I wanna show you, if you'll let me."
"I'll let you do anything," you admit, voice shaky, "You know that."
He smiles against you, then slowly licks a long stripe up from your neck to your cheek, an act that probably would have disgusted a previous version of yourself but now sends you reeling, skin going hot beneath his mouth. You turn your head toward his and he captures your lips in a searing kiss, the kind you'd expected at the door, full of arousal and sex and the promise of more. You're already wet and throbbing when he pulls back to peer at you.
"I know," he murmurs, hand that's not on the guitar coming up to hold your chin between his thumb and index finger, "You'd do anything I asked, huh?" You nod, eyelashes fluttering as he thumbs your chin and whispers, "Such a good girl."
Your mind is empty as he releases your chin and takes your other hand in his, bringing it down to the strings. You let him move you the way he wants to, adjusting you a bit between his legs so you're pressed more firmly against him, his broad chest tight against your back. You can't help but let out a breathless noise, almost a whimper.
"I know," he repeats, voice calm and soothing as he pushes his groin forward so his clothed cock makes even more contact with your lower back, "I know, babygirl, it's so much, isn't it? Feelin' so many different things," he carefully adjusts your fingers on the neck of the guitar, places them on the correct strings and murmurs, "You can do this, I know you can. And then you'll get your reward, I promise."
His words are smooth as butter and have almost no meaning at this point, thoughts foggy as you press down on the strings and try your best to focus on what he's asking of you. You're suddenly completely pliant under his touch - he could pick you up and bend you over the kitchen counter and you'd let him, wouldn't even have a thought in your mind as he did it.
But he won't - that's not why you're here.
Learning guitar chords with a half-hard cock digging into your back and warm breath at your neck is much easier said than done. You don't know how you manage to get through the fifteen minutes it takes you to learn the C chord, and the ten minutes it takes to learn what you think is the D chord - you can't even remember now, you're so distracted by his body against yours. He's teaching you G when you feel yourself slipping, thighs rubbing together to seek some kind of relief. It's never felt like this before; usually you'd be touching yourself at this point or he'd be touching you. The lack of contact almost hurts, your pussy throbbing around absolutely nothing and dampening your underwear, begging silently to be relieved in some way.
"What's wrong?" he whispers, big fingers still pinning yours to the neck of the guitar, stubble scratching against your skin as he presses a feather-light kiss to your ear, "Tell me, darlin'. Why're you wigglin' around like that, huh?"
He knows why; you can feel the smirk on his face, sense the teasing edge to his voice. He's enjoying this, having you completely under his spell while you try your hardest to learn and remember. His cock is getting harder by the second, the movement of your hips and ass certainly not helping the situation by any means. You know what it looks like now, what it feels like, can picture it in your mind growing stiffer and stiffer, leaking from the tip through his pants.
"Feels f-funny," you manage to whimper, forcing yourself to strum out your first G with shaky results. You try again, pushing your fingers more firmly against the strings with Joel's help, feeling his nose trailing gently across your temple.
"What feels funny, sweetheart?" he murmurs, and part of you wants to rip yourself from between his legs, toss the guitar to the floor, and straddle his lap, grind yourself down on him. You've never done it before but you can suddenly see it in your mind plain as day, an obvious solution to the problem in your panties that's growing worse by the second.
"My pussy," you moan, closing your eyes and tilting your head against his shoulder again, hands loosening on the guitar, "It hurts."
He pulls you in closer, inhales your perfume and releases a low groan, "Poor baby," he murmurs, "I know, honey, you're just achin' to be touched, huh?" He tightens your fingers against the strings again, eyelashes fluttering against your neck, "Come on, sweet girl, you almost got it, you're so close."
You're not sure he intends for that to have a double meaning but it makes you groan nonetheless, a weak sound that makes him chuckle. He removes his fingers from yours and waits for you to show him the chord without help - you can feel his eyes on you as you shakily strum. You wince when it comes out sounding wrong.
"Gotta push down harder," he murmurs, "You almost got it, babygirl, show me."
"I can't," you whimper, shaking your head, "I can't, Mr. Miller, it's too much, please."
"Shhh," he soothes, pressing a gentle kiss to your neck, "You can, darlin'. You're doin' so good." You feel him pull your dress up in the back as he speaks, and then he's suddenly pulling you up and into his lap, sitting you directly on his clothed cock. "You just gotta push a little bit harder." He grinds against you at the word, firm and purposeful, pinning you to the solid length of him.
"Oh my god," you gasp out, awestruck by the feeling of him, so big and thick and warm beneath you. Your pussy continues to pulse and throb and you know you're already starting to soak the nice pair of dress pants he'd worn for you, covering his crotch in your slick.
It's somehow still not enough. You find yourself grinding down onto him, matching his own movements as your hands squeeze the guitar and your thighs push together. You whimper pitifully in his lap, squirming and making a mess but too horny to care about how ridiculous you probably look.
"You feel my cock against your pussy, baby?" he asks, voice low and deep, and all you can do is nod frantically, a moan tearing from your throat, "That feel better? Think you can play now?"
You truly don't think you can, but he's clearly still waiting for you to show him. Your whole body is on fire, hands trembling as you push your fingers against the strings as hard as you can, strumming out the G chord with more success this time. You sigh in relief, loosening your grip on the guitar and leaning back into his touch.
"Now show me all three," he whispers.
"Mr. Miller," you groan, frustration and arousal starting to fully overtake you, "Please."
"Shhh," he repeats, "Shh, baby, it's okay. It's okay, I'll touch you this time. Just play those three chords while I play with your pussy, alright? Can you do that for me?"
You nod again, swallowing tightly as you reposition your fingers on the neck of the guitar and try to remember where they're supposed to go for the C chord. It's impossible to focus as Joel snakes his arm up around your belly, slips his hand down beneath your dress to where you're aching.
"Lemme feel," he murmurs, fingertips tickling over the wet spot of your panties and pressing down gently against you, "Oh, she's throbbin', babygirl." You moan again, borderline hysterical as he uses two fingers to circle your hole through the fabric, callused tips prodding your folds. "Shhh, I know, baby, I know. Keep goin honey, keep playin'."
You don't know how you do it, have absolutely no idea how you manage to actually strum out the chords while he's touching you like this, but you do. You shakily play the C as he slips his index finger inside your panties and places it against your hole, feels how much you're dripping for him and groans into your neck.
"Always so fuckin' wet for me," he murmurs, "Never even had a cock inside you and your pussy's so ready for it every time, babygirl, just beggin' to be filled up."
He pushes both his index and middle fingers inside as you play the D chord, slipping them in with barely any resistance as you grip the guitar and try your hardest to keep going, to not give up - you're so close, in more ways than one. You whimper when the tips of his fingers brush gently against that spongey part inside you that you can't reach yourself.
"That's it," he encourages you softly, slowly beginning to fuck you with them, pulling them out and pushing them back in as he noses your neck and breathes you in as you tremble, "I know, sweetheart, feels so good, doesn't it? One more, baby, one more."
Tears are stinging in your eyes as you strum out the G chord, the last one you need to play in order to get your reward, to end Joel's teasing and finally get what you were promised. You push your fingers down as hard as you can and play it with a finality that makes him smile against your skin.
"All done," he murmurs, taking the guitar from you with one hand and tossing it to the other end of the couch. You moan out a sound of relief and he pulls you in close, holds you firm against his lap and speeds up his fingers, fucking you harder and smiling wider when you cry out in pleasure, "Good girl, angel, good girl."
You can't speak, jaw going lax and eyes hooded as his fingers plunge in and out, his other hand spread on your belly as he pushes you down onto his cock. You turn your head slightly to bury your face in his neck, biting down on your lip and letting the sensations overwhelm you, whimpering when you feel his cock twitch and pulse through the material.
"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" he asks huskily, "Didn't even wanna learn guitar today, did you? Just wanted to come over and be my good little girl, get fucked by my fingers and grind against my cock, that right?"
You're unable to answer any of his questions, letting your body do all the talking for itself as you become completely loose and pliant under his touch, a ragdoll in his lap as whimpers continue to escape your mouth.
"Wearin' this little dress," he murmurs, "And these fuckin' socks," the hand that's not on your pussy comes down to rest on your thigh, squeezes the bare spot between your dress and your stocking, "Just beggin' to be touched, babygirl."
You should've seen what I had on before I left the house, you think to yourself, remembering the beige potato sack and thanking the heavens that your mother hadn't made you wear it. You watch as Joel pulls up your dress in the front, exposing both of you to the pornographic image of his hand inside your panties, fingers fucking you relentlessly while you drip and soak everything within reach.
"You want your reward now, baby?" he asks you softly, pulling your hair back and pressing a wet kiss to your temple, fingers beginning to slow, "Huh? You wanna try somethin' new?"
"Y-yes," you manage to finally speak, voice faint and weak, "W-want it so bad." And it's true - you don't even know what it is but you're dying for him to do it already, teach you something else that's not just chords on the guitar.
At your words he pulls his fingers out of you and you whine, petulant and frustrated as your hips buck in his lap. Without a word he pulls you off of him and carefully slips off the couch, placing you back against the cushions where he was sitting. You watch with wide eyes as he kneels on the floor in front of you, hands coming up to rest on your knees as he slowly pushes your legs apart.
"W-what are you doing?" you whisper, but a small voice in the back of your mind tells you that you already know, recalling past discussions from your friends that you'd listened to with curiosity. Is he...? Is he really going to?
"Gonna kiss it better, baby," he breathes, hands trailing up to the edges of your stockings and carefully thumbing your bare skin, shuffling closer and looking up at you with those big brown eyes, "Gonna make you feel so good."
"Isn't it..." you feel yourself frowning, thoughts muddled, "Don't guys not like..." you're not sure how to word it, grimacing, "Aren't you supposed to hate doing that?"
His brow furrows, "And where'd you hear that from?"
"My friends at college," you breathe, "They say guys hate doing it. Or... or they don't know how to do it right or something like that."
He surprises you when he smirks, eyes going devilish and sexy in that rugged way you love, "That's 'cause college girls usually sleep with college boys, babygirl," he says softly, "And college boys are dumb as rocks."
You giggle at his words, thinking back to that freshman party you'd attended where the handsome college boy had rejected you, gone for your friend instead. Joel's words are validating, comforting.
He pushes up your dress a bit more, then drags your panties down your legs, completely soaked. He smirks again at the sight of them, squeezes them in his palm before dropping them to the floor and picking your legs up to place them on his shoulders, pulling you toward him. You let out a gasp, eyes going hooded again as he scoots you forward and then dips his head down, presses a kiss to the soft skin of your inner thigh.
"This," he murmurs against your skin, "is one of my favorite things to do in the whole world." He kisses your other thigh, the hint of his tongue just barely flicking out to wet your skin, "And I wanted to do it to you," another kiss, "since the first day," and another, "you showed up on my doorstep."
You're losing your breath again, lips parting as he finally brings his lips to where you're aching for him, soaking the couch with your arousal. He presses a small and tender kiss to one of your outer lips, then the other, then carefully moves his hands up to thumb them apart, holding you open for him. You don't dare make a sound, biting down hard on your lip as you watch him look at you, take you in.
"Prettiest pussy I ever saw," he says quietly, breath fanning out over your wet skin, "I mean it, sweetheart. Ain't never gotten to kiss a pussy like this," he leans forward then and presses a small kiss to your clit, feather light. Your hips buck immediately, an odd sound coming from the back of your throat as you try to keep yourself together, "I know," he murmurs, "Just let go, honey. Don't hold back, want you to come all over my mouth."
And then he's licking a stripe up your folds, just like he'd done to your neck, long and languid and wet. Your eyes roll back, head hitting the back of the couch as he tastes you. The feeling of his mouth on such a sensitive part of you is indescribable; your head is suddenly empty again, no thoughts to be found other than feels so good, feels so good, feels so good. You don't even realize you're saying it out loud until he laughs, mouth vibrating against your pussy in the most perfect way.
"Love this cute little clit," he murmurs, kissing it again and then tugging it into his mouth with his tongue, sucking on it and making you writhe on the couch, fingernails digging into the cushions. He hums around it, pulls off it relatively quickly, then drags his mouth downward and pushes his tongue inside your hole, fucks you with it as your head lolls atop your shoulders.
College boys really are dumb as rocks.
"Your tongue," you moan out, eyes scrunching together as gasps continuously rip from your throat, "Oh fuck, oh my god." He licks inside you, pulls his tongue out to suck your labia, nose bumping against your clit. You shriek, hands coming up to cover your face as you bite down so hard on your lip you fear you might draw blood.
"Tastes so fuckin' sweet, babygirl" he says gruffly, pulling away for only a few seconds to peer up at you, chin glistening with your juices, "Just like I knew you would." He drops back down to suckle on your clit again, the tip of his tongue circling it over and over until you're on the verge of completely falling apart, a fire burning inside your belly that's growing stronger and stronger by the second.
The only thought that comes into your mind before you come is how sinful you must look right now, wearing your Sunday best, crucifix around your neck, hymn book strewn to the side as your fifty-six year old neighbor eats your pussy, coaxes noises out of you that you didn't even know you could make. You should feel ashamed, should feel sorry, but you don't. In fact, it's probably the hottest thing you've ever experienced in your life.
You have no time to give him any sort of warning, not that he needs one anyway. With one final suck to your clit you're gone, hips bucking upward as you cry out into Joel's living room pathetically, eyes shut tight as you flail beneath him. He puts his hands on your hips, pins you to the couch so you don't fall off as you come all over his mouth, just like he asked.
You lay there for what feels like a long time, body like jelly as you sink further and further into his couch. He peppers tiny kisses all over your pussy, avoiding your clit as not to cause you too much overstimulation, then very slowly pulls back to look at you, dropping your thighs from his shoulders.
"Good reward?" he asks softly, and all you can do is nod.
You listen as he gets up and busies himself in the kitchen for a moment, running the tap. He returns with a wet cloth and a glass of cold water, handing it to you before dropping back to his knees to wipe you clean. You hiss a bit when he touches your clit, hips stuttering.
"Shh, it's okay," he murmurs, "Just cleanin' you up, sweetheart."
When he's done he scoots in beside you on the couch, lets you curl up against him and lay there for a few quiet moments, breath evening out as you come back down to Earth. He strokes your hair, kisses your forehead, thumbs your cheek.
"That felt really good," you finally whisper softly, eyes hazy as you open them to look at him, "Thank you."
He smiles, charming and gentle, "You're welcome, babygirl."
"What time is it?"
He looks at his watch, "Ten after eleven, still got some time to spare," he brushes his nose against yours, "You wanna keep practicin' or do you wanna relax?"
"Relax," you hum, "Definitely relax."
He chuckles, "I'll put this away then," he extricates himself from you and reaches for the guitar, turning around to lean it back against the wall. He picks up your hymn book and goes to slip it back inside your purse before you sit up, shaking your head.
"I told my mom I loaned that to you," you smile sheepishly, "You should probably, um, keep it for a little bit."
"Ah, so that's my reward," he says with a laugh, thumbing the pages gently, "I'll take good care of it, promise."
Your eyes go wide at his words, "Oh my god."
He raises an eyebrow, puzzled by your reaction, "What?"
"You never came," you sit up on the couch, shaking your head frantically, "I'm so sorry, oh my god, come here, let me help," you reach toward his belt and he just laughs again, taking a step back.
"You don't need to do that, sweetheart," he says softly, kindly, but you're not having it.
"No, I want to, please," you stand up from the couch and step toward him, gripping his belt buckle, "Please let me."
He shakes his head; suddenly he's the one looking sheepish. You halt your movements, staring at him in confusion.
"I came, darlin'," he says with a breathless sort of laugh, smiling at you, "I came in my pants like one of your college boys. Haven't done it in years, actually. I'm surprised I still could." He pulls your hand off his belt and brings it to his lips, presses a kiss to your knuckles, "You're not the only one who learned somethin' new today."
You feel a proud sort of flush tinge your cheeks, smiling softly to yourself as you take his words in.
"That bein' said, I'm gonna need to change," he winces a bit as he adjusts his pants, "I'm a bit of a mess right now." His eyes suddenly light up with some kind of realization, and he quickly puts his finger up before walking over to one of his bookshelves and pulling a little gift bag off the bottom shelf, "Which reminds me," he says with a smile, heading back over to you, "This is for you."
You stare at the bag, confused, "For me?"
"For you."
You take it from him, feeling beyond touched despite not having any idea what's inside. Your heart is beating fast as you reach in the bag, push past the tissue paper and pull out something lightweight, soft under your touch. You stare at it for a few seconds, looking at the pastel pink material and thumbing it gently, brow slowly beginning to furrow.
"You said you needed a new swimsuit," he says softly, "You wanted a bikini, remember? I picked this up for you."
"Yeah, I... I remember," you're still staring at it; it's cute and ruffled, nothing too crazy like the things you'd worried he might get for you. However there's an odd feeling in the pit of your stomach as you look at it, dropping the bag at your feet and holding up the top half in front of your face, staring at it like it could attack you at any second.
It's quiet for a moment, then, "I can take it back if you don't like it, darlin'. No worries."
"No, no, I...I like it," you say quickly, "I just..." you can't really explain how you're feeling, unsure how exactly to word it, "If my parents ever saw me in this..." you suddenly feel like you're going to cry, shaking your head and dropping the top back into the bag, "I'm sorry, I know I told you to get it but... now that I'm actually looking at it... there's no way I can wear this in my pool. Not without my mother having a conniption. I don't know what I was thinking."
You feel his eyes on you as you reach down to pick the bag back up, pushing it back toward him, waiting for him to take it from you - he doesn't.
"It's yours, angel," he says softly, "You don't have to wear it but I want you to have it."
You shake your head, pushing it toward him again, "No, you don't need to waste your money on something I'll never wear."
"I don't care, I want you to have it," he repeats, voice kind yet firm, "I bought it for you, it's a present, and I think you deserve to have somethin' nice for yourself."
"I have plenty of nice things," you snap, letting go of the bag and watching as it cascades to the floor, "I don't need it."
You can't bring yourself to look at him, crossing your arms against your chest and biting down on your lip to keep the tears at bay. He stands there for a few seconds silently, probably waiting for you to say something else, but you don't.
"Well, I'm gonna go change outta these clothes," he says quietly, "I'll meet you out on the back deck, alright? It's real private out there, don't gotta worry about anyone seein' you."
You nod slowly, staring at a spot on the floor. He turns away from you and heads upstairs, leaving you standing there feeling like a complete asshole. What is wrong with you? He just gave you a fucking present, not to mention the best orgasm of your life, and this is how you treat him? You take a deep breath and force the tears away, sighing to yourself and bringing your gaze back to the little bag on the floor.
You hate this. Why does every single thought you have need to be somehow policed by your parents despite them not even being in the room? Why is every decision, every move you make, always influenced by that guilty part of you, the part of you that wants to be their perfect girl, their star student, their obedient God fearing daughter? How has it gotten this deep? Why are they so ingrained in you to the point where something you literally asked for is tainted by thoughts of their disapproval?
You stand there staring at the bag, arms still crossed, thoughts going a mile a minute. Get over yourself. You just had a man's mouth on your pussy and you're suddenly worried about wearing a bikini? You make a grumbling sound in your throat, exhaling and shaking your head. Stop letting them control you. Stop giving them power.
You slip inside the downstairs bathroom, little bag in tow.
--
The sun is hot against your skin as you step out onto Joel's back patio, clad in your brand new bikini and surprisingly less self conscious than you thought you'd be. He was right; the backyard is very private, shielded by trees and a tall white fence similar to your own. You briefly wonder why he'd choose to play guitar on his front step when he has such a nice atmosphere back here, but the thought fades quickly when you see him sitting there in front of you in a lounge chair, wearing a pair of shorts and nothing else.
You feel yourself flush as you walk forward, shutting the door behind you with eyes glued to the hair on his chest, the sweat clinging to his skin, dipping into his tummy. You're still a bit embarrassed by your initial reaction to your gift but it's seemingly water under Joel's bridge when he turns around at the sound of the door to see you standing there.
He whistles when he sees you, low and cartoonish, "Phew. I think I made a good choice," he looks you up and down as you smile shyly, "Gimme a twirl."
You do as you're told, the thin ruffles tickling the tops of your thighs as you spin on the spot. You giggle when he whistles again.
"I really do like it," you say softly, walking over to him and settling into the other lounge chair, "It suits me. I'm sorry I got all weird."
He smiles at you tenderly, "That's alright, babygirl. I understand," he pauses then, looks thoughtful for a moment before saying, "You know... I know what it feels like to be worried about disappointin' your parents. To always be seekin' approval."
Your brow furrows at his words, "You do?"
He nods, leaning back a bit in the chair and sighing a bit, "I may be new to this neighborhood but I ain't new to Texas, darlin'. Born and raised here, went to church every Sunday just like you, had a curfew and rules and expectations and all those things you have." He closes his eyes against the rays of sun, "Difference is, I'm not an only child. I wasn't dealin' with it alone, thank God. Had my little brother Tommy with me every step of the way."
You smile at that, trying to picture a much younger version of Joel in his childhood, horsing around with another little boy. You'd always thought about what it would have been like to have a sibling, to not be the only one with all the pressure on your shoulders, but your parents had never given you any. Your mom had wanted to have more kids and simply couldn't, another layer of guilt added to your ever increasing pile. Her only daughter - a sinner. You shake the thought away and continue to listen to Joel.
"The thing about havin' a brother, in my experience anyway, is that people will always find ways to compare you. Tommy was always the smart one, the moral one, good head on his shoulders, always did well in school and knew his scripture back to front," he chuckles to himself, "I tried so hard to be like him but I just couldn't do it, wasn't built that way, never have been. I was the angry one, the problem child. Was always good with my hands but my parents never saw much value in that, always ended up askin' me the same shit: Why can't you be more like Tommy? Tommy's got straight A's, why don't you? When are you gonna start actin' more like Tommy?"
You frown, feeling a pang in your heart at the words.
"Was too much pressure to be like Tommy. He was their golden boy, you know? And I just couldn't compare. God knows I tried but..." he reaches over the side of his chair and picks up a bottle of beer you hadn't noticed before, bringing it to his lips and taking a sip, "I started messin' up a lot when I hit my teenage years," he continues, "Drinkin', breakin' curfew, sneakin' out to see girls. I had fun but my parents...phew, my father in particular, he was not happy, let me tell you. And then -" he cuts himself off suddenly, frozen for a moment before taking one last sip of beer and putting it down again.
"Then...?" you ask softly.
He shrugs to himself, hesitating a bit before answering, "Then... I got myself into some trouble. Won't go into it, not right now, but they kicked me out. That was that, didn't wanna have nothin' to do with me after that."
Your stomach twists at his words, "That's horrible."
He shrugs again, finally turning to look at you, "It ain't as bad as it sounds, trust me. I was better off, I didn't need any of their judgement in my life, any of that Catholic guilt. It was like a weight came off my shoulders. Sure, I had some bigger fish to fry after that, had to do a lot of things on my own, but I wouldn't change a thing."
"So, do you still talk?" you can't help but ask, feeling slightly selfish; it's for you, for your own conscious.
"Who, me and my parents?" he laughs lightly, "They're long gone now, sweetheart. But yeah, after my Dad died I spent some more time with my Momma, got to have her in my life again for a bit. That was nice." He ponders to himself for a moment, "I think, as cliché as it sounds, time really does heal most wounds. Nothin's ever perfect, nothin' can ever go back to the way it was, but people change. And while they're changin', you gotta focus on what's right for you, on livin' the life you want, not worryin' about what they'll think."
You nod thoughtfully, taking in his words. "So... this life, the one you're living right now... is it what you want?" you ask softly, brow furrowed, "Are you happy?"
He sighs then, leans further back into the chair and closes his eyes once more, "Now that's a complicated question."
You both lay there in silence for a little while, though it's neither awkward nor uncomfortable. It feels nice, to just sit with somebody with no pressure of making conversation or answering things about yourself. Every time you've interacted with anyone this summer, whether it be your parents or your mom's friends or people you used to know, there's always been an expectation to inform. To prove yourself, to show how good of a person you are, how much you've achieved. With Joel none of that pressure exists; it's so easy to just be with him and not have to be anyone but yourself.
Though he hadn't really answered your question, you have an answer of your own. Before you met Joel, almost two weeks ago now, you hadn't known where you stood in life, what you wanted, who you were. And now you're slowly beginning to realize that there's this whole other person inside of you, dying to get out, to be free. And you like that person, want to be her more than anything, want to live that life.
But just like Joel said - it's complicated.
"Do you ever..." you break the silence, trailing off slightly before continuing, "Do you ever feel like you're just kind of going through the motions? Like... wasting all your time doing things for other people instead of yourself?"
"Honey, you just summed up my whole life," he says with a laugh, deep and smooth, "You think I wanna be out workin' til ten every night, doin' construction and barkin' orders and layin' plans for shit I got no interest in? I'm fifty six, I should be thinkin' about retirin' by now." He winces at his own words and then sits up a bit, giving you an odd look, "Forget I said that."
You raise an eyebrow, confused, "Why?"
He grimaces, "I don't need to be remindin' you how old I am."
You can't help but laugh, smiling to yourself and shaking your head quickly, "I don't mind, Mr. Miller, really."
His expression softens at your words, but then his brow furrows. He's quiet for a moment, the cogs in his head seemingly turning until he finally says softly, "Call me Joel, darlin'."
You're a bit surprised by his words, eyes widening, "Oh, I'm sorry."
He smiles, "Don't be sorry, sweetheart. I... I do like you callin' me Mr. Miller, but you can call me by my name too, if you want. If it feels natural for you."
You nod slowly, "Joel," you say quietly and he chuckles, "Joel," you repeat, smiling to yourself, "Joel."
"Don't wear it out," he admonishes with a grin, reaching down to pick up his bottle of beer again, "Though I do like how you say it."
Your cheeks warm at his words and you settle back into the chair, closing your eyes and inhaling the fresh air. Your time is winding down now - you'd told your mom you'd be home around noon; the sun is almost at the highest point in the sky.
"So what would you be doing?" you ask suddenly, "If you had more freedom for yourself, if you weren't doing the whole contracting thing?"
He thinks to himself for a moment, then shrugs, "Playin' music, I guess. Always wanted to when I was young but my parents didn't like the idea, I'm sure you can imagine." You grimace at his words, understanding completely. "But yeah... doin' some gigs, playin' guitar, singin' a bit here and there... that'd be the dream." He smiles at you then, crinkly eyed and gorgeous, "What about you, darlin'? If you didn't have all these things with your parents to worry about, what would you do?"
You bite your lip, averting your eyes from his as you softly murmur, "I think I'd still be sitting right here with you."
He looks at you for a long time, thoughtful and soft. You can't help but feel shy under his gaze, toying with a ruffle on your bikini and wondering if maybe you've said too much. You've barely known him two weeks, you doubt he's feeling any ounce of the butterflies that have been fluttering in your belly since the day you met him, and yet you can't help but hope that maybe...just maybe... he's starting to.
"You want a beer or anything, sweetheart?" he interrupts your thoughts, standing up from his chair and gesturing toward the house, "I'm goin' in to get another one. I have some lemonade too."
"Lemonade sounds nice," you say with a smile, and he mirrors it, reaching down to push a strand of hair behind your ear.
"One lemonade comin' right up," he murmurs, then leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips, sweet and quick. You melt under his touch, eyes closing as he strokes your cheek, realizing you could sit here forever just existing with him, being touched by him, being kissed by him.
Yup. Very complicated.
--
You arrive home to find your mother sitting at the kitchen table eating lunch; she looks up as soon as she sees you, eyes lighting up, "So? How'd it go?"
You're wearing the dress again, the stockings, the crucifix. The only difference is that the hymn book in your purse has been replaced with the pink bikini, wrapped in tissue paper. You sit down across the table from your mother, feeling a little lighter, like there's a little less weight on your shoulders.
"It was amazing," you tell her, unable to stop the genuine smile that spreads across your face, "I learned so much."
Summary: As Jensen struggles to juggle solo parenting, Y/N becomes a safe place for him so he can be more present for his children. The more time he spends with her though, the more he has to deal with if he can or even should love again…
Masterlist
Pairing: Jenssen x nanny!reader
Word Count: 7,200ish
Warnings: language, angst, death of a spouse, lying, mentions of injury/death of a spouse/death of a parent, internal turmoil
A/N: Please enjoy all the torture I put poor Jensen through in this one!
cw: heavy sexual content (no sex actually happens but miguel has thoughts), mention and depictions of panic attacks.
(minors/ageless/blank blogs, do not interact!! if your age is not on your page, you will be blocked!!!)
“¿míguel, mi amor?” you start, “have you gotten…bigger?”
your husband lets out a stifled laugh upon realizing you hadn’t meant that he’d gained fat, instead offering a snarky response.
“why? do you want my new nickname to be gordo?”
you roll your eyes and pretend not to laugh as you walk away from your tiny daughter’s crib and down the hall to your bedroom where he swiftly follows as you continue.
“i didn’t say fatter, papí - i said bigger. look.”
you stop in front of the mirror and point as he removes his white shirt - too stained from gabriela’s babyish drooling to wear any longer. he runs his large hand through his mess of dark curls and stares.
miguel had only caught glimpses of the version of himself that originated on this earth - but dead or alive he can see that you’re correct.
he’s not just taller than that miguel was but he’s much broader - his arms thicker. his bulkier frame stretches the elastic of his costume more when he’s on duty as spider-man - compared to you and your daughter? he’s monstrous.
“being spider-man making you work out more, eh papí?”
you tease, as your soft lips trailing his neck from behind.
you had not brought it up - presumably because he seemed to have had a traumatic weekend fighting the vulture - but miguel had been acting different sexually too.
meaning, he hasn’t acted at all.
you’d had chaste kisses and tight holds, but his brain cannot let him do more than that. the idea of taking you like that when he’s partially a pretender - it would feel dubious, dishonest, a borderline breach of consent.
he has you all to himself and the idea of touching you - even when you seem so willing and ready to be touched - it drives him insane.
and here you are; hands on his bare chest, smiling up at him in front of a mirror, skin so tightly hugged by your nightgown especially your breasts - full of milk for your daughter.
and he so desperately wants to. he wants to let his hands slide downs your thighs and grope your curves. he wants his mouth to sink against yours until his tongue has memorized the taste of your own. and the the taste of your neck and your collar and your breasts, down and down and down.
he wants to know if you squeal, if you pant and moan when his tongue dips inside that most sensitive area. would it there be a hairy bush or clean-shaven sweet skin awaiting him? are you more of a silent type or would you curse and whimper and beg, hands gripping his hair like a lifeline?
you said he was bigger - you were right.
his hazy memory of this earth’s miguel was smaller - not unfit but thinner and had likely spent less time as spider-man considering his life with you. that size difference… did it apply to down there too? would you notice visually or would it take him entering you - making you squirm and whine about it being “too much” as he pounds it in.
he wants to know. he so desperately wants to know…
he can’t.
he’s the bigger man; he’s spider-man. he has the great power but the fact the allure of a lacy nightgown and sweet skin made him even contemplate betraying the great responsibility? he’s supposed to be the good guy.
the fact he even so much as contemplate taking you like that, on the basis of a lie, makes a feeling of sickness and cold grip his stomach.
“míguel-” you start to purr, in between dashing your lips across his neck. you pause sharply seeing his face in the mirror.
it’s not the usual look of arousal, or the teasing smirk, or even amusement. it’s a look of conflict, lips and eyes expressing sheer unadulterated horror that makes you pull away from him immediately voice almost breaking in concern.
“¿míguel?!” you almost yell out, overwhelmed with surprise and concern, hands the only part of your body that stays in contact with his broad form. you cup his chin and pull down to look him in the eyes.
now you’re worried. god, that makes him feel even worse. it’s clear you’ve been worried for a while - that you’ve observed difference in him; the way he pauses at foods he used to love, the way he seems just a little bit more animalistic as spider-man whenever you catch a glimpse of him on the news, and now his growth and sheer paralysis at the notion of touching you.
his heart is beating faster.
“¿qué te ocurre?” you say not in an accusatory tone but one of concern. “te ves enfermo, estás actuando extraño y no me estás hablando.” your strokes his face and he doesn’t flinch nor lean into your touch he just stays still.
your words aren’t reaching his ears except a small, so pitifully exhausted - “miguel. have i done something wrong?”
his breathing starts to become unsteady.
he knows he is the one doing something wrong. and to see you - motherly, beautiful and stubborn you - even for a second, doubt all the happiness you and gabriela have given him in this small time on this earth? he pulls away, absolutely shattered.
there is an internal battle: a devil and an angel on his shoulder yelling at him to tell you, tell you, tell you.
it is just another thing he can’t do.
his palms are sweaty.
first, he thinks it’s his regular spider-like secretion. then, he notices it’s everywhere, his hairs are standing on edge. it is a feeling he only gets as a warning — the spider sense affecting every one of his nerves to tell him something is wrong, and that he should be afraid.
there is danger in telling you that he’s not who you think he is.
you say his name one more time and his eyes flicker red and he realizes - the stoic, tall, ever-serious spider-man 2099 realizes:
A/N: Back already with something for you all. Hopefully you’ll enjoy what I wrote yesterday morning. Ah! I love young Joel Miller, neighborhood dilf.
Summary: Joel neglects himself before you have to leave to give you one last dopamine high.
Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader/You (No y/n)
Tags: +18 Smut (minors DNI), clit stimulation, fingering, dirty talk, squirting, Joel has big strong hands and just likes to please if he is in control
Word count: 1.9k
Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47667250
Hurried Morning
Joel says that he is merely feeling generous with you as he pulls your half-naked frame into his lap, so that your back is resting comfortably against his broad chest. You want to say that he is simply lazy but it’s not like you are ever going to let that slip from your mouth.
It’s late Sunday morning and you’re both seated against the headboard of Joel’s bed. Sarah will be home just before noon, and Joel has to change his bedsheets, air out the room, have a shower and maybe fix up some lunch for him and his daughter. You, on the other hand, just have to get cleaned up and go home before she is here.
He doesn’t have to tell you about his generosity; you know he is insatiable, giving and generous by now, actually knew about a week after the first night that he had taken you to his bed. You know it is cliche to sleep with the hot neighbor, but no one knows about it yet, so you’ll bask in the beauty of how he makes you tremble until someone finds out that you’re screwing the hot single father. You pray, no pun intended, it isn’t the God-fearing Adlers.
You’re in a loose t-shirt that screams weekend, a Batman logo on your chest, but beneath the hem, a pair of cotton panties with a little bow cover your core. You rest your head against Joel’s shoulder as he rests right hand just above your belly button, it seeming undecided at whether or not to go down. His left hand is placed on top of your thigh, scratching slightly until you shiver.
“Do you have a plan with those hands?” You ask him.
“We ain’t got much time,” he muses with a sigh in his pretty little Texas accent. You squirm a little, “I’ll just have to forget myself for a moment, hopefully I’ll forgive myself for it.”
“You’re not going to fuck me?” You ask with disappointment in your tone but the left hand curls around your thigh to pull it a little to the side, opening you up for him.
“‘Fraid not, sweetheart, but I’ll have you chanting my name anyway,” he spreads out your other leg too, noses along your throat and grins into your skin as he sees your toes curl in anticipation.
“O-okay,” you reply, simply waiting for more.
Joel kisses your throat then, right hand descending to hover over your underwear. He only hesitates for a split-second before he cups your sex, fingers sliding over your cunt and then rubbing his whole palm over you to feel the warmth radiating through the fabric. You sigh contentedly.
“Feels good?” He asks, holding his hand there for a moment and a bit of slick seeps out of you. For someone who said that you were short on time together, he sure is taking it.
“Yes,” you try to breathe in deeply but the breath ends up hitching in your throat as he finds your clit on the outside of your underwear. The pads of his index- and middle finger rub slow and lazy circles.
“So this is what we’re gonna do,” he booms behind you. You ready yourself for instructions, “I’ll make you come on my fingers, and then you’re gonna go home and not think ‘bout me all day and night. Night, do you hear me? Especially all night.”
Oh good lord, that went straight to your pussy. You nod quickly, “Whatever you say. I’ll do it.”
The fingers on your clit disappear again but only so Joel can use his thumb instead, and you’re reminded of how huge his hands and fingers are. He presses down on your sensitive nub for a moment, and blood rushes between your legs.
His free hand goes from your thigh to slide up under your t-shirt, cupping one of your breasts to squeeze before his thumb and forefinger tease your nipple. It hardens immediately, and you instinctively buck up your hips. It makes Joel hum behind you, and soon, you feel his generous size poke into the small of your back. It is unbearable to remember that he told you that he won’t put it in you.
“You don’t have to say anything, I know,” he tells you as you moan into the room, turning your head so your face is towards his jaw. You have your eyes squeezed shut as he scratches a little from side to side, making you clench around nothing but emptiness. He continues speaking filth, “I know, baby. I’ll touch you properly soon. Hang in there.”
Your legs shift a little on the sheets when he starts going in circles again, coaxing more arousal out of you until your panties feel sticky. To think that you were happy that you had a pair that wasn’t ruined by him, and with a chance of being dry underneath the jeans that you were going to wear as you walked home later.
You moan a little louder as a bolt of arousal pulls from inside your cunt and goes to your clit. You can feel it pulse against the fabric, against Joel’s thick finger.
“You can have it all, baby— shit, listen to you,” he gropes your breast obscenely, even tugs a little, as he rubs you off with a little more pressure. You want more than this, want him to go inside and relieve some of the pressure that builds inside of you.
“Please, Joel,” you plead shakily, “It’s not enough.”
“I know, never is,” he removes both hands from your body but only to slide them up and down your thighs a few times, finally going inwards to grab on either side of the front of your underwear. He pulls the fabric upwards and taut against your clit, making you whimper as he doesn’t relent quickly again, “Bet you could come so prettily like this. Bet you you’ll go home and do it to yourself later whilst not thinking of me.”
Joel’s breath is hot against the shell of your ear, even slightly elevated from what the both of you are doing. He is still rock hard against you, so you grind back into him.
“Stop,” he commands immediately. His hand flies up to grab the front of your throat, fingers digging slightly into your carotid artery and making your head spin.
“It won’t go away without me,” you pout as he lets go again when your hips have stilled.
“This ain’t about me,” he tells you, then follows up patting your swollen cunt a few times on the front of your underwear. You keen, and he shushes you softly, “This is about you. About her.”
The fabric has smoothed out once more after Joel had to let go of it, so now, both of his hands slide underneath the waistband to touch you directly. He trails a finger from each hand over your labia, expertly avoiding your clit. They go down, one scooping up some of your slick by dipping into your for just a second before going back up.
You are shaking like a leaf, a string of noises leaving you. They were supposed to be words but it’s like you have lost connection to the part of your brain that controls speech. Joel chuckles behind you.
He rubs your clit again with his arousal-covered finger for a moment but then decides against it. For less than a second, you start to feel the pressures in your lower abdomen fade but then Joel uses his other hand to pull back the hood of your clit. When his slick finger starts touching you so directly, you can feel it spike immediately again. It is intense. You thrash on the bed.
“Fuck!” You cry out and look down where his hands are in your panties, moving and straining pornographically underneath the fabric, “Keep going. You’re— you’ll make me come like this.”
“That’s not the plan,” he growls in your ear, panting slightly but not making any effort to stop what he is doing, “I’ll make you fucking gush, yeah? Just like last night. Sheets have to be changed anyway or I’ll smell you on them and fuck my hand without getting any shit done around here.”
“Then do it,” you buck up into his hand like before, but this time also lifting your hips off the bed just slightly. Joel removes the finger from the hood of your clit to slam down your hips again, but despite everything, it just feels nice to not be so directly touched. You don’t want to know what you could’ve missed if you had come right now.
Roughly, the way you like it, Joel pulls your panties to the side. He reaches further down and shoves two fingers inside of your cunt, tilting his wrist downwards to finger against your g-spot quickly. The wet squelches of your wetness fill the room along with your mewls as your orgasm builds again without warning.
Your hands find purchase on Joel’s strong thighs but it still doesn’t feel like enough. Something is building right behind your clit, all muscles around your womb tightening like a coil being pulled. You want it, want it to snap.
“Please, please, please, oh fuck, Joel, make me come,” you are inconsolable, knowing that you’ll start sobbing if it doesn’t happen soon.
“Should’ve had a mirror right in front of us, so you can see my fingers sink into your little pussy,” he moans for the first time, feeling your walls flutter around his two digits and your clit throbbing against his index finger on the other hand. He rubs you and fucks you open in earnest.
Your right hand reaches up to cup the back of his head, fingers curling into the soft hair at the back of his neck. You hold on for dear life, pulling then to embrace what is coming. Joel growls behind you.
And then it happens. Everything that has been pulled tight releases into a high that has you feeling like you’ll melt into the mattress or lift off into the air from it. Your legs shake violently, and as soon as Joel notices the first spasm of your cunt, he pulls his fingers out to see the wet gush that leaves you and forms a stain on the sheets. He fingers you again and repeats the move, watches you gush a few times more.
You quickly grab at his wrist with a sharp intake of breath when the over sensitivity sets in. He stops moving his fingers on you and instead cups what he feels is his more than yours.
“Christ,” you hear him mutter, attempting to rub your cunt soothingly but you whimper, gripping his wrist tighter. He kisses behind your ear, “Wore the little plaything out, didn’t I?”
“What time is it?” You ask quietly, exhaustedly.
“We have an hour,” Joel says after looking at his wristwatch that is on the bedside table, “Think you should take a cold shower, soothe yourself a little.”
“You’re not joining me?” You look up at him with big innocent eyes. They’re pleasing but Joel is strong enough to resist.
“I’ll clean up here, finish up here too or we won’t make it out of the bathroom in time. Can you stand?”
You accept it.
“Yes, hold on,” you crawl off of him, avoiding the wet spot on the bed. You’ll accept anything from a man that has just given you an earth shattering orgasm.
SUMMARY: Joel realized how much you matured since he last saw you 4 years ago and can’t resist you.
WARNINGS: age gap [reader is 22, joel is 35], smut minors dni, no descriptions of reader aside from having shoulder length hair & having a girly sense of fashion, pervy!joel, shy-ish!joel, needy!joel, reader seduces joel. 18+ WARNINGS: infidelity if you squint (technicalities people), brief objectification, masturbation (f), oral (f receiving), dirty talk, reader was a lying little shit in high school but it paid off
WC: 7.3k [please read author's note]
A/N: this was originally going to be a 15k word long smut as part of my LDR series, but........ I figured the more parts I can make out of it the more content I can produce, so here is part one of Us Against The World. Enjoy :) Edit: I’m rereading this and noticing a few typos, I apologize about those! Grammarly isn’t so helpful sometimes…
There you were in your blue tank top and yoga pants laying with your father’s dog in the middle of the front yard. You had just returned from New York a few days earlier from college, which your father amicably told Joel about over a few beers the week before.
Joel was expecting to see your 18-year-old self: long hair, sparkly eyeshadow, dressed in your late mother’s hand-me-downs from the 80s. But that was no longer you.
You dressed more modern and age-appropriate. Your hair was shorter, looked curlier, and you had highlights. Your eyebrows were thinner and your face was free from the loud makeup your teenage self was accustomed to. Joel would make jokes from time to time about how he believed you were just born with glitter all over your eyes.
Joel felt a little silly thinking you wouldn’t have changed. Who doesn’t make a drastic change when they leave high school? He hadn’t found the time to stop by and say hello but he wasn’t necessarily rushing it.
He’d met your father when you guys moved in next door in 1993 and he remembered you introduced yourself the second you saw him and Sarah playing outside despite your father’s protests.
You told Joel about how your dad was only being grumpy because he’d just turned thirty-six. Something about getting old. You didn’t bother to retain that information.
But here you were: all grown up. It reminded Joel of the day he overheard you and your best friend talking about how handsome you thought he was. He wondered if you still felt that way.
You sat up, feeling the sense that someone was watching you; your eyes scanned around until instinct made you look to the same window Joel was standing in.
For some reason, he didn’t feel embarrassed about being caught staring. He offered you an energetic smile and you took in his appearance.
He hadn’t changed much — his hair was a little longer and he had a few more fine lines across his face, but he was still the handsome man you remembered and admired.
You stand up and walk over to the window prompting him to open it.
“Hey, creep,” you teased with a big grin, “how ya been?”
Even your voice sounded different with its blend of Texas and New York. It was sultry with a hint of confidence. He tried not to let his weaknesses show.
“I’m doing all right… Sorry for starin’. Could hardly tell that was you,” he responded.
You just barely saw his eyes glance down to your chest, and it made you smirk.
Had this been any other man you’d have your fist meeting their jaw, but it wasn’t any other man. It was Joel. You hadn’t forgotten that he was attractive, but you did forget just how attractive. Or maybe his sexiness came with his age.
Not like it mattered anyways. It wasn’t like you could make a move.
“I been gettin’ that a lot… Dad tells me you’re a contractor now with Tommy.”
Joel nodded and said, “Yep, hated workin’ for other people, so…”
You were unsure if you were being awkward or if it was just… Awkward.
“Cool. Yeah, no, I get that. How is Tommy, by the way? Is he still really cute?” You giggled.
This made Joel roll his eyes. “Not cuter than me,” he answered begrudgingly. You watched how his eyes faltered again, trailing from your lips to your belly ring. “Your dad let you get that?”
You scoffed and waved your hand lazily as if you were swatting his condescending tone away. “One, Dad can’t tell me what to do with my body. And two, Tommy was always the cuter one.”
“S’that so?” Joel grunted as if he were tempted to laugh.
You gave him a cunning look and nodded. “Yeah. But you were always more handsome.”
Joel found himself blushing at the compliment, trying to wipe the redness away with his calloused palm to no avail.
You let out a quiet teetering laugh and looked back to make sure your dog was okay for a moment. “He get that dog after I left?”
Joel focused on you again and confirmed it once he noticed the dog again. “Yeah. I think your dad likes having something to take care of.”
You looked back into Joel’s eyes and bathed in them for a moment. He seemed more like himself, more certain of who he was. It made you a little sad to know how much time has passed, but maybe it was better this way.
“He was always like that. I think it started after… Well, you know.” You took a deep breath and tried to change the subject. “How’s Sarah? She still my little rockstar?”
“She’s more of a pop star, now,” he said. “She still wears that bracelet you let her have, the… The silver one.”
Your chest swelled with joy and you couldn’t contain your excitement. “Really?! Aw, man, that’s so cool. I remember I would throw a fit if I didn’t have that damn thing on.” The dog barking grabbed your attention once again. He was just barking at the mailman but settled once the worker started petting him. “Sorry!” You shouted before returning your focus to Joel. “Well, Joel it was nice seeing you. We should… Catch up. I could use some… Life advice.”
“I’m free tomorrow night if that works?” He tried to contain his excitement.
You slowly backed away, giving him one more nod and smile. “Perfect. Just come over whenever like old times.”
Joel decided to be respectful enough to not ogle over your ass as you walked away. He turned away from the window wondering how the hell he was going to get over this… Crush?
Is that what this was? A crush?
He decided to not torture himself with his intrusive thoughts.
“Hey, kid,” Joel greeted. You rolled your eyes at the nickname but greeted him back. He entered the backyard slowly trying to get a feel for the mood. He sat next to you in the extra papasan chair and snatched your beer out of your hands. You glared at him, unable to hold it for long when he shot you that infamous smile. “Everything all right?”
He tasted your strawberry chapstick around the rim of the glass and let the taste linger on his tongue. His eyes fell to your lips as he thought about how the chapstick would taste coming straight from you. Raw and unfiltered.
You held your breath, wishing you had enough courage to ask your father these questions. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust your father, you just wanted an opinion from an outside perspective. You were hoping Joel wasn’t as inclined to protect or embarrass you as much as your dad.
“There’s this guy I’ve been dating for a few months now… I…” You sigh frustratedly with the tension surrounding the question meanwhile Joel grew tense and jealous? He asked himself why that was the way he felt about you having a boyfriend.
You apprehensively said, “We had sex a few times before I left and it wasn’t…good.”
“Okay?” Joel asked as a way to tell you to keep going.
“How should I go about telling a guy that?”
He cleared his throat uncertain of how to answer your question. He didn’t want his newly discovered feelings to cloud his judgment as the chances of you two becoming a thing were slim to none. He wouldn’t want to sabotage you or your relationships. Especially when you trusted him enough to ask such a burdening question.
Joel accepted the awkwardness of the topic and put it aside. He didn’t want you to feel embarrassed. “Well, have you tried suggesting things that he can do to make you—it feel good?” He asked.
“Yeah, but I’m starting to wonder if it’s me,” you admitted.
“Does he do the things you ask him to?”
“Kinda?” Your cheeks flushed and your eyebrows furrowed tightly.
He gave you a look that said come on now.
“He like… Does half of it?” You could just die of embarrassment right now.
“Wh—? How does he do half of it?”
You groaned obnoxiously and chugged some more beer. “I don’t know?! He does what I ask for like five minutes and then just does what he’s used to I guess.” He watched you poke your bottom lip out to pout as you stared into the glass bottle. “I really like him, Joel.”
“Does he like you?”
“Well, yeah,” you said as if it were obvious. “Fuck is that supposed to mean?”
He inhaled sharply through his teeth and stole your beer bottle again. “All I will say is that a man that truly likes you would try harder, especially during sex, and especially if you’ve told him how he could make you feel good.”
“So… What do I do?”
“Do you think he likes you?” He asked again. “Think about it for a second. What does he do for you?”
“Well, he…” Your voice trailed off into silence as your mind went blank. Surely this guy did something for you to make you like him, right? But anything that did happen to come to mind was the bare minimum. You didn’t want to give Joel the satisfaction, so you said, “I think it could work.”
“Who’re trying to convince? Me or yourself?” He saw the frustration on your face and propped a finger below your chin to make you look at him. “If a guy really likes you, sweetheart, you wouldn’t have to ask more than once,” was all he said after he took a sip of your beer.
“What do you mean?”
Joel’s sigh almost sounded irritated. “I mean… A guy that truly likes you and deserves you won’t make you suffer through sex. A real man’ll take care a’you.”
“A real man, huh?” You bantered.
“Mm-hmm.”
“Like you?”
“I’d like to think so.”
“Do you like me?”
Why the fuck did I ask him that?! You thought as soon as the words left your mouth.
Joel didn’t couldn’t answer right away. His voice just stumbled over his tongue and out of his mouth.
“I think you’re a sweet girl,” he finally said, “and you’re smart enough to know who’s worthy of your time and attention. Doesn’t sound like it’s him.”
You couldn’t defeat the growing smirk on your face as he fought the urge to look over your body. He wasn’t so good at hiding it.
You turned your body in the chair slightly and dauntingly lifted your leg to touch your bare toes against his calf. You watched his breath get caught in his throat and your mouth fell open in awe at how easy it was to get him riled up.
He looked at the ground, not moving a single inch of his body. He was overwhelmed by your confidence.
The amount of attention Joel’s given you in the last ten minutes already seemed to surpass the attention your “boyfriend” (can you even call him that?) had given you.
Your foot trailed up Joel’s leg before you rested it upon his knee; Joel’s eyes screwed shut as if he were praying to not get caught like this, but your voice brought his gaze back to you.
“You didn’t answer my question, Joel,” you whispered seductively. Your foot left his leg and you got on your knees in the chair, then you leaned forward, hands around the rim of his own seat, and leaned in devilishly close to his face. “Do you like me?”
He swallowed hard, his fingertips turning white as they pressed into the bottle.
His lack of an answer caused an impatience to grow inside you. You leaned in even closer and strengthened your eye contact with him. Your fingers absentmindedly trailed over his knee to the midpoint of his clad thigh.
His spine shivered and his arms grew goosebumps. “Why don’t you have this attitude with your boyfriend?” He asked lowly in a poor attempt to further evade answering you.
You snickered and looked over his beer-covered lips, craving to taste them. “If I’m being honest he’s technically not my boyfriend… You’re tellin’ me things about men and how they should act. It’s making me feel like… He just can’t handle me.”
He smirked at you, fighting the way his body pleaded to touch yours. “If that’s the case then, sweetheart, I don’t think he’s the one for you.”
“Oh?” You got even closer, your nose touched his and you heard him choke on his breath. “Do you think you could handle me?”
He chuckled rashly and straightened his posture, now sensing you tense up. “I could,” he confidently confessed. “But this ain’t right, sweetheart.”
“Please,” you scoff, “you can’t keep your eyes off of me.”
“If you keep actin’ like a spoiled brat you won’t be able to keep my hands off of you.”
“Maybe that’s what I want,” you retorted, a cocky essence in your eyes.
“That so?”
“Maybe you can show me how a real man should be taking care of me.”
Joel had to stop himself from speaking as it would have potentially led to consequences. His flustered cheeks and wide lustful eyes created a hunger you’d never felt before.
However, you wanted Joel to earn it. Push him to the point of begging for just a taste of you. You needed to know if he craved you. Something you longed for from other men that just could not deliver.
You hovered your agape lips over his so dangerously it tickled his nerves. You gave him a soft kiss on the cheek then sat back in your original position.
Joel was both relieved and disappointed with the kiss. Relieved it didn’t end up with his head buried between your thighs, and at the same time disappointed that it didn’t.
For the next few days, you settled into your room as best as you could and got everything how you wanted it to be. Well, almost. You wanted a shelf to go over your closet so that you could display your most prized possessions.
When the idea sparked in your head you remembered that your dad said he was going to be gone for most of the day. You figured you could hold off for one more day. That was until you heard some power tools and heavy grunting from beyond your window.
Joel.
Joel had followed your lead as best as he could and you had to admit that the lack of physical contact was making it harder to resist him.
You felt a bit strange, however. After all, this is Joel. Sweet, caring, next-door neighbor Joel. You and your friends had a crush on him and his brother, Tommy, sure, but this wasn’t that. And you surely weren’t a child anymore. But still, you couldn’t help but think of how strange the dynamic is.
It wasn’t enough to stop you from taking your sweatpants off and changing out of your t-shirt into a stretchy tank top. You poked your head out of your window and shouted Joel’s name a few times until you successfully got his attention.
“Hey!” You said with a proud smile.
“Hey, kid!” He shouted back.
“Can you build a shelf for me? I wanted to get my room done today, but my old man’s gone!”
“Right now?” He tried to seem indifferent.
You just smiled harder and motioned for him to come over. “Please?!”
He huffed and looked at his half-done project, ultimately deciding to help you instead. The sooner he helps you the sooner he could create distance, he figured. Though deep down he knew that wasn’t the real reason.
You patter downstairs to unlock the door for him. He could see from the corners of his eyes that you were half naked, only in white panties and your top.
“Couldn’t a’put pants on?” He asked grumpily as he walked past you, not giving you the satisfaction of staring. You shut and lock the door before guiding him upstairs.
“Yeah, but I figured since you were doing the job for free I could at least give you something to look at,” you flirted. He didn’t even bother trying to stop you.
“What d’ya need done exactly?” He asked, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
“I want those shelves to hang over my closet right… Here. I have a power drill here already, I just couldn’t figure out how to get it.”
He was doing a decent job at keeping his eyes anywhere but on your body, but in his mind he had already taken your clothes off and fucked you against the wall.
“S’alright, I can get it for ya,” he said while giving you an earnest look.
“What?” You asked after a moment of silence.
“Nothing,” he answered with a shrug and a smirk. You lightly smack his arm and plop down on your bed.
You lay on your stomach and flipped through a fashion magazine, occasionally smelling some of the perfume samples. You snuck glances at Joel’s broad back as he made sure everything could be lined up, smiling to yourself at how efficiently he worked.
“How’s your boyfriend?” Joel randomly asked after about ten minutes. You looked at him through your eyelashes as he peaked over his shoulder.
You stifled your laugh and began looking at the magazine again before answering him. “He actually ended things with me two days ago. But like I said, he technically wasn’t my boyfriend. He never asked.”
“Oh… You doing okay? Seemed like you really liked him.”
“I like someone else more,” was all you said. Joel took a second, then just nodded even though you weren’t looking at him anymore.
“This someone have a name?” He asked after a few more moments of silence.
Joel’s internal conflict was teetering between giving in and giving up. He wasn’t sure why he was so drawn to you, but that’s what fueled his filthy thoughts even more.
“Yep, he sure does.”
Your tone was the exact opposite of what you were feeling. You felt hot and desperate, but you (almost) fooled him by sounding bored. He didn’t want to give into your childish game of beating around the bush, so he kept his mouth shut and began hammering a nail into the wall.
Suddenly you had an idea. An awfully sinister one.
You tossed the magazine on your nightstand and sat up in the bed, leaning into a few pillows and angling yourself so that Joel could get the perfect view if he dared to look.
Your hands traced uneven lines and patterns over your clad breasts and you gasped softly at your nipples perking up quickly. He couldn’t hear you over his hammering.
You rid yourself of your wet panties, kicking them to the edge of the bed. You spread your legs and began working big and slow circles over your sensitive clit. You used your free hand to pinch your nipple over your shirt, the combination of stimuli making you give a more audible moan.
Joel didn’t think much of it at first — he figured you were moving around on the bed to get more comfortable. So when the next moan came and he stopped his work to look at you he was taken aback, to say the least.
He said your name, but you shook your head in protest. “Is this okay?” You asked, innocence spreading across your face.
He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe.
“Joel?” You snapped him out of his daze. “S’this okay?”
He nodded and watched your trembling hands dip down into your glistening slit, collecting your wetness and coating it over your clit. Your body was stiff with anticipation, watching him watch you.
He took in all of your beauty like the way your eyes fluttered halfway shut and how you bit your plump lip to quiet your mewls. One hand cupped your breast so gently and the other rubbing steady, taunting circles over your sensitive bud. He watched the way you pleased yourself and let this picture of you engrave itself into his memory.
One day, Joel thought, I’d be able to make her feel as good as she makes herself feel.
He ignored the hardening of his cock pressing against his jeans, not caring enough to touch himself if it meant he didn’t get to feel you. He found the situation quite sexy and the lack of physical contact made him feel good.
You were showing him that he didn’t need to touch you or talk to you. He didn’t need to do a damn thing. All he needed to do was stand there and let you look at him.
Your moans were quiet and soft, barely heard by him. You squeezed your nipple harshly and jolted at the shock of electricity it sent throughout your body, your eyes screwing shut and your legs curling up into an almost fetal position at the feeling.
He saw you swallow the lump in your throat as you looked into his eyes again, soon scanning over his body and imagining how he would feel on top of you. The imagination was more than enough to get you going.
You imagined he felt strong and heavy above you, trapping you with his burly arms and using his lean thighs to keep your legs open for him as he rolled his hips to meet yours.
You absentmindedly curled your middle and ring finger into your creamy pussy, chasing after the feeling of being stretched out by Joel. Your pussy effortlessly squelched as your discharge poured out of you like a waterfall, coating your plump ass cheeks in your juices.
You got a bit louder but remained mindful of the open windows just a few feet away. You watched the movement in his jeans from his cock that twitched, longing for just some fucking relief. But he didn’t move, he didn’t even adjust his pants. He wanted you to know that you were the one in charge and that he was willing to suffer just for you.
“Joel,” you breathed out in between helpless murmurs.
He almost caved at how sweetly you said his name like you were asking for help. You reached even further into your sex, pressing into your sweet spot carefully. You pretended it was him.
Allowing your eyes to shut and your mouth to open, your mind dove deeper into the fantasies of Joel. You imagined him fucking you slowly, steady enough to not make your bed squeak too loud. Your fingers followed your mind, bumping against your g-spot the same way you wanted him to: carefully, yet forceful.
Joel felt awkward just standing there watching you, but you looked so beautiful. Sprawled out just for him with your fingers dipping into your sopping cunt as if you were made just for him. He saw your shoulders twitch and a hiss escaped your lips.
A ripple of ecstasy shocked your nerves, your walls tighten around your fingers, and your clit tensed up with a tickling sensation.
Your face twisted from the overwhelming feeling that began to encapsulate you from your core to your mind. Your moans became shallow and louder. Your clit throbbing beneath your palm motivated your to work your fingers faster. You fucked yourself with more desire than you had before, still twisting your perky nipple between your other fingers.
You were a lot more gentle with yourself than Joel would have expected. You took your time, didn’t overwhelm yourself.
He knew he loved it when the ever-growing pressure inside of you burst into a million flames throughout your trembling body. He saw that the slower you were with yourself the more intense the orgasm was.
He accidentally groaned at the sight of you: clinging to your bedsheet with the very hand that toyed with your breast, eyes refusing to open from the immense pleasure soaring through your veins, curling up into a ball because your body couldn’t comprehend just how good you were feeling.
He noticed how your cum gushed around and below your fingers creating a wet spot on your blanket. He carefully watched as you opened your eyes, still slowly fingering yourself. You continued to feel your orgasm, exploring how much of it you could endure.
You moved your free hand to your clit and rubbed tiny and fast circles around it. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you refused to moan anything but his name.
You shoved your fingers deep inside of you to press against your g-spot relentlessly. Your toes curled at the mix of pleasure.
You knew your orgasm was coming back more powerful than before already, and you braced yourself when your walls flexed against your fingers basically forcing them out; you chewed hard on your lip and laid your stiff fingers flat against your clit to rub from side to side at the arrival of your squirt. You squealed behind your swollen lip and let your squirt splash everywhere.
Joel palmed his rock-hard cock for some relief as he watched in awe at how you came for him. You looked so fucking delicious soaking yourself in your juices. His heart punched against his chest and his mind nearly blank, only filled with you.
Your lips formed an ‘o’ shape as you eased up on your clit. You let out sweet hums of bliss and you opened your eyes again, carefully analyzing his body language.
He practically reeked of inferiority. He was your marionette, your toy, whatever you wanted him to be. He didn’t recognize you in the best way possible. You were an unwrapped present that he couldn’t wait to open and play with. Your confidence grew at his puppy eyes that were low and dark, filled with a need to serve you.
Your fingers collected some of the creamy nectar between your folds before you brought it to your mouth and darted your wet tongue out to taste it.
You never broke eye contact once, observing how his body shuddered at the filthy action. His breath was heavy, his chest heaved in anticipation. You stuck your fingers inside of your mouth moaning at the salty goodness coating every single taste bud.
It wasn’t until your fingers dropped back down to your side and you gave him a shit-eating grin that he finally looked away, sighing loudly.
He felt ashamed of himself.
He’d known you since you were a child.
How could he ever look you in the eye again?
How could he ever look your father in the eye again?
You slipped your panties on again while he wasn’t looking and just grabbed your magazine, flipping through the pages again like nothing ever happened though the wet spot on your bed clearly said otherwise.
When Joel saw you had returned to your previous activities he did the same. Drilling and hammering your shelves onto the wall like nothing fucking happened.
“Here you go sir, you have a lovely day,” you chirped at the customer as you handed him his food waiting until he left. You turned around to straighten up the counter behind you when the bell on the door jingled. “Hello, give me just one moment and I’ll be with you!”
You gave the counter a lazy wipe with the wet washcloth before tossing it into the sink nearby and turning around, being met with a smirking Joel.
“My, my, you working at a burger joint? Never thought I’d see the day,” he teased.
You made a face and told him to shut up. You tried not to notice the sheer layer of sweat that coated his partially exposed chest. “What can I get you, sir?”
His face contorted with arrogance and he placed a hand over his chest. “Sir? You callin’ me sir now? Oh, you are just too cute.”
With a roll of your eyes, you huffed out a stream of air, waiting for him to stop fucking with you.
“Okay, okay,” he laughed, dropping the act. “Can I get a burger and some fries?”
“You don’t want a drink?” You asked before writing his order down quickly and sliding it through the kitchen window.
“Are you tryin’a make me tip you more?”
You shrugged. “Nah, it’s just that the cola here is really good.”
“Mmm,” he hummed as if he didn’t believe you.
“If you want a cola I’ll make it extra cold for you,” you whispered as if you were telling him a dirty secret.
“Mhm, okay. Fine, I’ll take your word for it. Gon’ and get it f’me then.”
“You can ask that a little nicer,” you scoffed. You walked off, breathing in a gust of smoke on your way to the soda machine. “F’here or to-go?!” You shouted.
“Mm, I was gonna get it to go, but I think I’ll stay and keep you company.”
You could just hear the smile in his voice.
“Awe, how thoughtful of you,” you bantered before rinsing out a clean cup and filling it with ice. The cook called out the order was ready and you thanked him before finishing up with Joel’s drink. You grabbed the tray and walked over to the end of the counter where the stools sat, setting the food in front of Joel with a weak smile.
He watched you closely as you leaned onto your elbows waiting for him to try his food.
“What r’ya doing workin’ in a restaurant? Didn’t you graduate for like… Fashion or some shit?” Joel asked, unable to keep his smile down at how pretty you looked in your uniform: a teal skirt and a mustard yellow shirt, but so, so tacky. You hated the fucking outfit, it was everything you would never wear, but Joel thought you made it look good.
“I did,” you confirmed, “but I wanted a humbling job before I truly entered the world of fashion.”
Joel’s thick and somewhat dirty fingers unraveled his greasy burger after he dumped the fries out chaotically. He took an unnecessarily big bite, not seeing how your eyes watched the trail of juice trickle down the corner of his mouth to his chin before he swept it set with his thumb.
“Humbling, hmm?” He questioned before swallowing his barely chewed bite. “You’re a wise girl, you know?”
“So I’ve been told,” you smugly replied. You stole a fry off of his tray and smiled at his frowning face while eating it before washing it down with his fizzling soda. “Best drink that ‘fore it goes flat.”
You walked away momentarily to help a customer that just walked in; she only wanted a dollar milkshake so you told her not to worry about paying. You took a dollar and some change from your tip pocket and put it in the register before grabbing a styrofoam cup and packing her cup.
Joel noticed halfway through you making the shake that whenever you tapped the bottom of the cup against the counter your breast jiggled against your arm. He felt the lady nearby staring at him so he turned his head just enough to see the mix of disgust and concern on her face.
If only she knew how filthy you were for him just last week…
He didn’t care enough to stop though, he just went back to looking at how your clothes hugged your body.
You finished up her shake and popped a lid on it before grabbing a straw and walking back to give it to her.
Joel heard the lady ask if you were okay, and he promptly rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and tried his best to not laugh. You were confused by her question, simply nodding your head and saying, “Yeah?”
She looked at Joel once more, choosing not to say another word before leaving.
“Fuck was that about?” You asked, watching her walk away.
“She saw me starin’ at your tits,” he said between obnoxious bites. “If only she saw—“
Your eyes widened. “Do not finish that sentence.”
“Whatever you say, doll,” he teased before taking another bite.
You pretended to be grossed out by seeing the chewed-up food in his mouth as he spoke, swatting his hand gently. “You’re so gross.”
“You love me,” he quipped with a simper. He took a sip of his drink, humming at how refreshing it felt. “This is good,” he told you.
“Told ya.”
“What time are you out?”
You looked at the door when your manager came in, apologizing for taking longer than she expected.
“You’re fine, it’s a slow day,” you told her as she walked to her office. You looked at Joel and slammed your book and pen on the counter near the register. “I’m out now. Why?”
“Your dad asked me to pick you up.”
You felt a rush of worry. “Why? Is he okay?”
“Yeah, honey, everything’s fine. He forgot about pickin’ you up today and got drunk with his buddies and called me—well, he called Tommy. Said he wouldn’t be back home ‘til tomorrow.”
You raised an eyebrow at the mention of his brother’s name. “Oh? Well, why isn’t Tommy here?” You strutted around the counter and stood next to Joel as he inhaled the last of his food.
“Think you know why,” he grunted.
Anxiety pang inside of your chest, but you convinced yourself it was excitement. You were hoping that he wanted to get you alone somewhere and fuck you into the next week.
But you didn’t want to seem desperate. You kept a straight face, waiting for your boss to come back out before getting your things and punching out.
You followed Joel to his Chevy and thanked him when he opened the door for you. He huffed when by the time he got inside the car himself you were already flipping through his book of CDs.
“I got a good one in already—“
“Is it The Writing’s On the Wall by Destiny’s Child?” You interrupted after you found said CD.
“No, b—“
“Then it’s not what I want to listen to.”
Joel endured your (arguably bad) singing for the ten-minute ride back to your house. He thought about a few things in that ten minutes:
-Sarah wasn’t home, so he didn’t need to worry about food (or getting caught), so this time was optimal to make a move on you.
-If he were to make a move on you, then you two wouldn’t get caught.
-If he were to make a move on you, how exactly would he do it?
Once he arrived in his driveway, you both stepped out of the car and he walked over to your side.
“You not working tonight?” You asked.
“No, we finished early.”
You looked at him with lush eyes and bit the inside of your mouth, a flirty smile coaxing your lips. He looked hopeful for something, anything.
“I was just gonna watch TV all night,” you started, “and maybe make some dinner. I know you just ate, but you and Sarah are welcome to come over.”
“Sarah’s at a friend’s tonight, doing some studying,” he answered. His voice trailed off as if he weren’t finished speaking his thought aloud, but you picked up where he reluctantly left off.
“Do you want to come over, then? Just you?”
He looked around the quiet neighborhood as if he had to think about what he wanted. “Uh, yeah, sure.”
You lead him to your house, kicking your shoes off at the door and he followed. He felt unsure of his decision. He wondered if this night would play out platonically and just be filled with conversation and dinner, or if this was truly the beginning of a secret he’d have to keep forever.
“Spaghetti okay?” You asked him once you both entered the kitchen, decorated with oranges and reds, and yellows, reminiscent of your late mother. You tossed your half apron on the island before making your way to the refrigerator.
You heard his feet patter on the linoleum quickly but before you could turn around on your own Joel did it, pinning your back against the refrigerator and knocking down some of the bottles inside of it.
You gasped when his fingers peacock over the outsides of your thighs, gripping at the hem as a means to pace himself.
His eyes were bright yet lustful as his proximity alone sucked the air out of your lungs. Your chests heaving against each other’s created the only other physical contact you had with him.
He then dropped to his knees before you got the chance to speak; his calloused hands rose beneath your skirt, hiking it up enough for him to pull your wet panties down to your ankles. You stepped out of them for him and he lifted one of your legs over his shoulder before meeting his mouth to your clit tongue first.
You moaned at how he just dove into it, not bothering with kissing or easing you into it. Your digits laced through his messy curls while his tongue coated itself in your juices.
His tongue did crazy laps around your clit and he smacked a couple of firm kisses in between his licks. You tried to watch his work but your stupid fucking skirt was in the way. You settled, however when his eyes opened, the only visible part of him from your view.
You tasted so good to him, he tasted your day of work mixed in with your salty precum and he couldn’t get enough of it. He moaned when you tugged at his hair, burying his face as deep as he could and closing his eyes.
You let out a stream of obscenities while using your calf to push into his back, afraid that if you didn’t hold on tight enough he’d vanish.
He wrote out his full name over your clit like he was casting a spell that anything you or someone else touched you there you would only think about him.
You were amazed at how good he was eating you out — you didn’t think he’d be bad. You just didn’t know it could feel this good. It was like you felt him touching and kissing and licking all over your body, swimming in an endless pool of dissolution.
His touch was decadent through remembering how careful you were with yourself. He wanted to cater to you and to make you feel as good as you made yourself. And on top of that, he just really wanted to eat your pussy.
Savor it.
Taste it.
Drink you until you fucking ran dry and begged him to stop.
Nothing could have torn his lips away from your pussy. Hell, someone could have walked in and he’d still keep going.
“Joel,” you gasped, throwing your head back and grinding on his face.
He loudly moaned, tightening his grip around your thighs and wagging his head furiously from side to side to provide more stimulation.
Your hips bucked into his face roughly and you screeched, pulling even tighter on his hair.
“Joel, oh—fu-fuck!”
He smirked and pulled at the skirt to unveil his eyes again. His dick angered in his jeans, but he ignored it. He’d much rather focus on the way you writhed from his touch. Your panting growing heavier fueled his already intense movements. He began to suck while still shaking his head earning another screech from you.
You never felt out of control with how loud you were before. Every motion sent a million shockwaves throughout your body. You always did a good job at keeping quiet enough so that the neighbors wouldn’t hear, but fucking hell was Joel the one to break that evergreen streak.
You felt his hot breath collide with the fluids coating your sex and his nails leave indents on your flesh.
His tongue darted out to collect a stream of your cum, but his nose butted against your clit as he continued shaking his head making your hips buck once more. Then he realized… He got to stimulate your sensitive bud and lick between your folds.
He loved it.
Your moans became more distressed and uneven; he felt you chasing that high. He wanted you to cum so fucking badly. To let all of your pent-up cum pour over him.
You held the back of his head gently and he angled it just right enough for you to ride his face.
“Use my fucking face,” he moaned loud enough between your legs for you to hear. “Use my fucking face to cum.”
Your body gave in finally at his hoarse voice; your hops sped up, still using his nose and lips to overstimulate yourself. The orgasm was forceful, your moans strident.
Joel felt a pool of your cum leak out and drip down his chin onto his neck. He watched you crumble and curl into him and he was attentive enough to hold you steady while your balance dissipated.
Your head was dizzy and your vision blurred. You slowly halted your movements and just stood there being held by him while he placed light, but loving kisses along your dripping cunt.
He finally pulled his face out from underneath your skirt and carefully put your leg down before standing. He tucked some loose hairs back or behind your ears, then caressed your cheek and gave you a peck.
You wiped some of your cum off of his wet chin with your thumb and held it up to his mouth which he gladly sucked on. He grinned at you afterward and fixed your skirt for you.
The silence was soothing because frankly, neither of you knew what to say. It left you speechless, but that could just be the aftereffect of your climax.
The night was beginning to close in sooner than either of you wanted it to. You two just talked, truly catching up on the past four years. He was a lot funnier than you remembered, your cheeks were aching from how much he was making you laugh.
"You are a real gentleman, Joel Miller. What can I say? Dinner and an orgasm?!"
He lifted you up from your spot on the couch and pulled you into his lap so that you were straddling him. "I don't have to be," he murmured against your lips. His fingers flexed into your feverish skin, holding you upright and close by. He chased you with his lips until you finally let him kiss you. "Be honest with me... Did you really think I was handsome in high school?"
Your face grew warm and you hid behind your hands in embarrassment. "Oh, my God."
"Why are you actin' all shy now?"
"Because you weren’t supposed to know about that."
"Know about what exactly?"
You crossed your arms, deciding to let him win this time. "You want details?"
He smirked and leaned back to get more comfortable.
"Well... I used to lie and tell my friends that we fucked," you admitted.
"Really?" Despite his surprise the smirk never left his face. If anything it grew wider.
You sheepishly nodded. "I used to tell them how good you were. Everything you would do to me."
"What would I do to you?" His cock was already throbbing against his jeans, and just like every other time, he ignored it.
"You would fuck me up against the wall," you explained. "Sometimes, you would bend me over the edge of the bed and spank me for being naughty. Or just 'cause you felt like it. I'd even tell them about how you played with my ass so gently because you didn't want to hurt me."
Every word went straight to his dick, making it jerk and prod your thigh.
"Maybe I do need to bend you over and spank you for all that lyin' you were doin'. Your friends probably think I'm some creep now," he said; his tone wasn’t scolding or cold. He sounded thirsty for more of you. Like his throat had already run dry despite how much of you he drank earlier.
"I'd tell them the truth, but if I were to do that now then I'd be lying again," you whispered against his lips.
"We certainly cannot have you spreadin' no more dirty lies, now. Can we?"
Based on the The Star tarot card for Renewal and Rest themes with Stargazing AU
Please do not replicate/translate/rework my work
“I’ll never know how you keep findin’ these beers,” Joel knocked back his bottle, arm behind his head as you both settled down on the blanket.
“I got my ways,” you nursed your own bottle, staring at the clear sky above you that was speckled with stars and wisps of light a million miles away.
“Dare I ask?”
“I’m not fucking anybody for them so get outta here with that judgy tone,” you smacked his arm.
“I don’t have a tone.”
“You had a tone.”
“I mighta had a tone.”
“Uh huh,” you rolled your eyes, sitting up a little on your elbows. “I trade eggs for luxuries sometimes. Chickens are in overdrive right now. No idea why but it gets me beer and packs of bar snacks.”
“Just…you don’t need to sell yourself. I’ll find you shit if you need it. Ellie’s real good at findin’ chocolate. Swear she’s got radar for it.”
“The way you’re concerned about my honour is endearing,” you reached up and started tracing constellations in the sky.
“Well, you took care of us both through some rough times.”
Those rough times had been Ellie bleeding profusely from a head wound after they'd gotten jumped by raiders. They found your farm and were lucky you didn’t blast them away with a shotgun at first but you’d allowed them to stay, helped Ellie heal and, after some initial stilted conversation with Joel, formed something of a friendship.
Honestly, it was sweet introducing Ellie to your animals and her childish joy at feeding them restored a little bit of hope to you that the world wasn’t totally fucked. These midnight stargazing conversations with Joel had also made you a little more social.
Now your farm was a trusted halfway house where you could host those travelling on to the West or up North and Joel made sure only vetted people knew your whereabouts. So far you’d had no incidents, no one being inappropriate. Everyone was just polite and grateful for the rest.
“She keeps bugging me,” Joel said after a time, breaking the silence.
Normally he only spoke when spoken to or interacted with. Rarely did he initiate conversation.
“Ellie?” You looked over at him.
“Yeah. She wants to stay here, with you. Don’t think she realises farm life ain’t simple. Takes a lot of work.”
“Less work with two,” you pointed out. “But she’s far too bright to be out here with me. She could do so much more in your town and make a difference. She’s never gonna find someone to love out here either unless she commutes now and then.”
“That’s more or less what I said but she’s real fuckin’ stubborn.”
“Let her stay a week. She’ll hate it by the end.”
“Or she’ll be best friends with the goat.”
“The goat has a name, thank you.”
“She’ll be best friends with Simon then,” Joel cracked open an eye and sighed. “God, I swear you could’ve birthed that girl. You both give things stupid names.”
“Simon is not a stupid name and I was gonna name the new pony Joel but you just lost that privilege.”
He just laughed, finishing his beer and sitting up, staring at the twinkling night sky before looking at you in a way you didn’t recognise. What was that expression? Was it fondness or want?
He leaned over and kissed you, far too quick for you to push him away.
“Joel, Joel stop,” you wriggled back.
“What’s wrong, darlin’?”
“This…this isn’t like that.”
“This?”
“Us. It’s just friendship Joel. Sorry if I’ve given you a different impression but-”
You were on your back faster than you could comprehend, your bottle rolling out of your hand to spill the last dregs of beer across the blanket. Joel was on top of you, a hand jammed over your mouth.
“You didn’t give me a different impression. You gave me a frustratin’ one. Been tryna lay the groundwork for a while and even Ellie has been droppin’ hints we’d be great together. So what the hell is the problem?”
He let you speak, removing his hand as your mind raced, wondering exactly what his game plan was. Surely you hadn’t ignored the danger signs that had culminated in this moment? Joel had never indicated that he liked you as something more than a friend. Neither had he given any inclination that he was a forceful man.
“I’m already seeing someone. I just keep my love life private. We’re just friends, alright? I’ve never thought of you as anything else. Now get off me and I’ll forget this happened, okay?”
“Your little lumberjack boytoy, you mean? Ain’t been round in a while, has he?” Joel shushed you again.
How did he know that? What the hell?!
“Did you kill him?!” You tried to get out around his palm.
“He weren’t right for you, darlin’. Couldn’t even fight his way outta the clicker nest I kicked him into. Sure did make a great diversion though for me to get you some canned fruit pie. You need someone who’s gonna look after you. You’re out here all alone. Ellie needs a mother figure as well n’ all she talks about is you.”
You fought with him for a moment, getting free and scrambling back, getting your foot twisted in the blanket and crashing down into the lip of the balcony you’d built.
“Wait, just stop!” You held up your hands as Joel came after you. “Ellie would not approve of this and you know it.”
“She’d overlook it. Kid’s desperate for a mama and she idolises you. Her surrogate father and her badass feminist hero together? She wouldn’t question it. Now, don’t you dare scream and wake her.”
He lunged, catching you around the middle and you had nowhere to go but over the railing so you could only be dragged back to both safety and peril.
“Shh shh shhhhh,” he whispered against your ear as he trapped you under his body face down.. “You’ll like this, I promise. Just keep quiet. Ellie don’t need to walk in on this.”
“Joel, please! Let’s just have another beer and see how it goes. You don’t need to engineer it like this.”
“You just said you’d never thought of me this way. I ain’t got the time to put more into this. Ellie needs a family now. She needs us.”
“Stop using her to justify your own wants!”
“Fine,” Joel got your jeans and underwear down around your knees. “I need you too.”
He spat on his fingers before you felt them searching between your legs, getting your folds slick and ready for him. Part of you wanted to yell so loud that every clicker would come from miles around, part of you was terrified to expose Ellie to what was happening to you.
You knew Joel would never harm her, and was a good pseudo father to her. Calling attention to what he was doing would only leave her isolated and alone when she disowned him. She’d lost enough.
This was not the first time you’d been taken advantage of or traded your body for something. The world was brutal now. You just didn’t think Joel would be part of the problem.
“Come on, girl. Open up for me,” he stroked his fingers over your clit so delicately you could scarcely believe he was doing this out of aggression. “I ain’t done this in a while but I know I ain’t lost the skills.”
He really hadn’t. Somehow you hated it more that he was zeroing in on what made you twitch, your breath hitch.
“It’s okay to enjoy this,” Joel bit at your earlobe softly. “Doesn’t make you any less of a fighter.”
While his index and middle finger were rubbing circles, his thumb slipped into you massaging against your walls. The sensation made you forget temporarily the horrible situation you were in. The apocalypse had not left a great amount of talented lovers around, even less in these rural parts.
“Shit!” You let out your first noise as you felt the first wellings of an orgasm building.
“That’s it, girl. Come on,” he encouraged, letting go of your wrists with his other hand and cupping over your mouth instead.
The cry you made was stifled, muted as you came, bucking against his hand for both more stimulation and less. It was something that should’ve embarrassed you but you didn’t care, just chasing the high right until the end when he completely let you go, lifting his weight off.
“Bet that felt good, huh, darlin’? A man that can handle you?” Joel continued his sweet talk, like he was whispering to a skittish horse. “Now I’d love to turn you over so I can look at that pretty face while I fuck you but are you gonna give me problems?”
“Just do it,” you turned over yourself. “You’re gonna do it anyway.”
“Cute enthusiasm,” he cracked a grin. “Think you gonna be sayin’ somethin’ different soon.”
You smacked him across the face, one last act of defiance that had his lip bleeding but that only made him lose the care he’d taken so far with you. Suddenly his elbows were digging into the crook of yours to keep them in place, sending numbing tingles down your forearms.
“You get that for free,” he spat the blood out on the blanket next to you. “Because I understand this an adjustment but we ain’t gonna have no more violence, girl. Not a good example to set to our kid.”
“You’re fucking delusional, Joel!”
“Who isn’t these days?” He snorted before unzipping his jeans and lining up with your entrance. “Whole world gone to shit. Fantasy is all we have sometimes.”
When he pushed in, your whole body had to arch to accommodate him. You tried to zone him out as he began to thrust, looking past him to the stars but they didn’t hold any comfort for you any longer. You just associated stargazing with Joel anyway.
“Don’t get lost in your head, please” he kissed your cheek, going slower. “I’ll look after you. I’ll look after you until the day I die. Same with her. These visits here have been everything to us.”
The rawness in his voice created discord between your brain and your heart. God knows you’d done things you weren’t proud of over the last decade. You’d killed someone to take over this farm after all, buried them in their own pig sty just so you could continue to live and thrive. The former owner’s life was over anyways, he was in his eighties and struggling to use the equipment.
You’d also beaten Joel’s brother to death, though you didn’t know who he was at the time, after being startled by him breaking in to get away from a rainstorm and he was currently somewhere under the orchard. Not that you’d ever told anyone that. You’d just let Joel continue thinking his family was missing.
Were you any better than him? Did you owe him this? Was this your karma?
“Okay, we’ll take care of Ellie,” your guilt won out and you accepted him properly.
“Thank you,” he whispered before going for another kiss which you didn’t flinch from this time.
You could taste the copper tang of blood from his lips as he sped his thrusts up again, smearing against your own. Your arms were free to rove wherever and they cupped behind his shoulders, urging him on to finish.
“Oh, gross!” You heard Ellie’s voice at the door.
“Ellie, go to fuckin’ sleep!” Joel stopped immediately, trying to cover you from view.
“Okay! Geez! You two should really shut the fuck up then,” she rolled her eyes but you could also see the tiny spark of delight she had that you and Joel appeared to be together.
“Ellie!” Joel barked a little louder. “Kinda busy here!”
“I’m going! God!” She flipped the bird before she closed the door and disappeared back into the house.
“Now, where were we?” He waited for a minute until he was sure she’d settled back into the guest bedroom. “Right, makin’ you see some different type a’ stars.”
He moved much more violently now, more urgently. No doubt he didn’t want to be interrupted again. The closer he was getting, the more you could feel him swelling within you, pressing against a spot that made your legs clench around him.
“Fuck!” You muted your second orgasm by biting the side of your hand as the fluttering of your walls tipped him into his own, hips stuttering against yours.
His groan was relieved, pent up, finishing in a growl as he unloaded into you.
“Shit, Joel. I don’t have emergency meds,” you shoved at his chest. “I’m gonna have to go on a run.”
“No, y’ain’t,” he nosed at your cheek. “You’re not gonna do anythin’, darlin’. Nature will take her course if it’s meant to be.”
“I’m not-”
“-because you owe me some family, right?” Joel’s tone got darker, colder.
It was no longer the night air giving you goosebumps. Your whole body felt frozen.
“The life of a kid for the life of my brother?” He continued. “I know it was you, darlin’. I know you killed him. You started treatin’ us different when you saw his picture. Accidental I’m guessin’ but doesn’t change the fact you hid it from me. It’s only because I really like you that I didn’t strangle the fuckin’ life outta you, understand me? But you can make up for it by being a good mother to Ellie or any kid we make. Come on now, don’t cry. This is a second chance for all of us. We all found a new family and as long as we do our part, we’ll have a great life.”
He pulled out, going back to the cooler and cracking open another beer as you stared at the sky, catching the trails of meteors as they zipped by and knowing the life you knew was over.
Wishing upon a star wasn’t going to help you now, nothing would. Nobody ever escaped when they got on the wrong side of Joel Miller and you deserved everything that was coming your way.
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