You Could Be The One
dark bfd!joel miller x younger fem!reader
summary: you shouldn't come home when sarah isn't around, because her daddy's got a thing for you-- an obssesion that happens to run deep like water and cut like a knife.
warnings: 18+ (minors dni), DDDE 🕊, age gap, dark!joel, dubcon, corruption kink, praise kink, humiliation kink, fingering, pussy spanking, pussy pronouns, dacryphilia, choking, power imbalance, very ooc ahh smut I'M VERY AWARE PPL!! JUST MOVE ON IF U DON'T LIKE IT!!
word count: 5,725 words
side note: dark joel miller comeback thanks to this request (i'm sorry it took over a century BUT I FULFILL jskskks). i've been beating myself over it for a week, so sorry if it's crappy; this is just pwp. fic connosieurs and moralists, don't hmu. also, i'm aware the new updating schedules are monday or/and friday, but i thought it would be fun to post it today bc my last post was june 17th. did u survive the dilf-docs' drought?
Joel's life used to be black and white.
Black coffee, the usual. Bitter. White, like the background of the clock that always rang at five in the morning, not because he needed but out of habit. It had long been since Joel last drove Sarah to school; bought her a car now that she was in college. Black like the dark inside his room, lights turned off earlier than needed, because there was no one else to see to keep them on. White like the faded paint of his porch. He hadn't sat there since the divorce.
Enter a storm of colors: you. Sarah's friend from college.
Joel still remembers the first day he saw you. Pretty young thing, two ponytails for the summer and a floral dress that fluttered too much with the breeze of the Austin night. He should've felt embarrassed, fawning over his daughter's friend, but he made sure to wash that shame away in the pitch black of his room, cock hard and leaking. He didn't bother to clean the mess away, licking it thinking it was yours.
You were a goddamn rainbow. Entered his life like a trainwreck. Two years later, his daughter's bestfriend and his best kept secret. The one who spends half of her time on his house, walking around like you own it.
(He likes to think you do.)
If Joel could pick a color to describe you, he'd choose pink.
Pink.
Like the overly sweet frosting you'd use to decorate your cookies. He'd walk into the kitchen, stealing some, only for Sarah to berate him for the sugar. You'd smile sheepishly, always leaving two trays behind.
Pink.
Like the tongue you'd stick out because he kept bothering you girls, making his daughter groan embarrassed about her overbearing dad. It's girl time, she'd complain, yet you never kicked him out.
Pink.
Like your nails. He loved how they were always the same color. Soft. You always made sure to lightly nudge him during his kitchen raids, your touch electric. So he kept coming back for more; needed your touch like a drug.
Pink.
Like the small dust covering your cheeks when his gaze held a little longer than needed. Something on my face? you'd ask, so sweet and innocent. He'd just chuckle, color darkening a shade.
Pink.
The best part: not the smell, not his daughter's laughter, nor the trays on the fridge. Your underwear. Cotton, he'd guess. The soft material's peak he'd get when you bent to open the oven. Would you ever know he didn't give the old appliance any mantainance so you'd take longer trying to push the door down?
Pink.
Joel could swear your heart was like no other. Shaped like those pink heart-shaped cookies of yours. Coveted in the same color and that saccharine nature of yours that bloomed out of every part of your body. Made you impossible to resist, as one would think of the best dessert there is.
And yet, you don't know. You sweet, pretty, naive little young thing. Walked right into the lion's den, smelling like the perfect goddamn prey.
It's alright, Joel Miller is a patient man. He's just waiting for the right moment to sink his teeth on your tender flesh.
Three knocks at his door. Joel gets up faster than he should. He may not be as young as he used to, but Joel often likes to think there are some things about him that haven't change. Take his senses, for example. Those three knocks: soft but sharp. Decided. Like the person behind the door was determined to fulfill the task they had in mind.
Opens the door and there's you: all sweet smiles and pink cookie batch clutched to your chest. Weren't you always so driven?
"Hi, Mr. Miller" with such familiarity it makes his chest ache. With such sweetness for a random hot Austin day. With such a frail little summer dress he can spot the strawberry pattern of your bra. "Is Sarah here?"
Joel notices how you avoid his eyes, a shy little quirk about you this two years hadn't been able to shed. But he loved that about you. The idea of you intimidated by him hit places a good man shouldn't be going.
Good thing Joel was a bad man, then. A sinner. He wasn't a criminal, but he was the type of man your parents would warn you about. A cautionary tale that smelled like cigarettes, wood, sweat and whiskey.
No responsible father would lust after his daughter's friend. He loved Sarah to death and tried to be the best version of him for her, but goddamn, he just couldn't resist you.
But you're too sweet to notice, the kind of naive that makes men like him weak. Bad men.
"We've been over 'tis, sugar" in that thick drawl of his. "Jus' call me Joel. We familiar 'nough for them Mr. Miller thing"
"Sorry, Mr. Miller" you laugh sheepishly. "Joel it is" and his pants tighten a fraction.
"See? Easy. That better"
"Is Sarah here?" you repeat, a bit louder this time, like he didn't listen the first time, hanging on every little word out of your glossy pink lips. His gaze falls to the container, clutched in your arms. You little jumpy thing. It's your trademark. He feels warm, fuzzy and something more primal.
"C'mon in" before he can stop himself. And you? Pretty and obedient doll do as told. More blood rushes to his tight sweatpants, and Joel wishes you'd glance a bit down his way.
"Sarah?" you ask into the empty house.
Joel grips the doorknob as he closes the door, fists white. If you ask one more time about his daughter, he'll lose it. Nothing personal, he'd rather just have your attention for himself only.
"She ain't here" he drops, no point in lying anymore.
Your turn around, red and confused. "Oh... Well, I'll just leave these here then"
Before you can move, his big hand grabs you by the wrist, tightly.
"You don't need'a rush, sweetheart. What's the matter?" you flush at the nickname. "Ya' don't expect me to eat all 'tis by myself, do ya'? Have a bite with me"
You don't correct him that, technically, the cookies are for him and your bestfriend.
"I'm not sure-" you falter.
His grip doesn't. Joel Miller is persistent, you think. "C'mon, 's bad manners to leave someone's invitation hangin', don't 'cha think?" he presses.
You gulp.
"But I came here for Sarah" you offer, lamely.
Weakly. Not convinced. He smirks, satisfied. You just need a little more pushing.
"Then stay for me"
The way you raise your head up, so quickly a bone snaps in there, is almost comical.
"Easy there, doll. I ain't going anywhere" he chuckles. Why on Earth is the sound so grave and the effect on you so disarming? It's unfair a laugh can be this deep, rich and sultry.
Though, this isn't the first time you've think of Sarah's dad like this. As a menace to your sanity.
The man was attractive. The type of attractive one can tell from the very first moment, choking on your own spit when Sarah introduced him to you. Long curly hair, warm brown eyes and a tanned worn skin that spoke of hard years of work. So did his body: broad shoulders and strong arms. His smell reeked of sweat, ashes and something like wood or leather. Beer on his breath most times, especially on the summer. His soft stomach confirmed his liking for the drink as well. Yes, he was a dream.
But he was also incredibly... intimidating. Joel Miller carried this sort of menacing air to his presence, clinging like a shadow, trailing behind the soft crunch of his worn boots. You often ended up looking at your feet, arm, Sarah even, when he entered the room, unable to meet him in the eye. He stayed, like he knew it got under your skin, reveled on the fact he made your nervous and reduced you to a meek scared little thing. And when he talked to you? His voice alone could subdue you. Just like his laugh: that gruff, husky tone that made your legs wobbly in fear or something else.
It was, maybe, his persistance. Demanding. Insisting. Suffocating.
He seemed the type who wasn't used to a no. Or one who probably just wouldn't allow it. It was on the way he spoke softly yet gave no signs of another option, like right now.
In his dark stare, waiting for you to glance on his direction, almost a dare yet it felt like a trap, one you couldn't fall for: you were sure you wouldn't be able to escape.
You have an idea already of what it would be like as you sit across from him, eyes fixated on the cookie in your hands. Freshly brewed coffee wafts through the air, Joel Miller taking sips with his plump lips.
"S'it good?"
You haven't even touched your mug. He's basically telling you to do so. You place your cookie down and hold it with trembling hands, sip to try even if it's burning.
"It's lacking a little sweet"
He snorts, like he already knew it and was just trying you. "'F course"
The chair creaks as he leaves. When he returns, he appears from behind you, his larger figure practically towering over your smaller sitting form, placing a jar with a loud thud.
"'S honey okay?"
You can't help but smile. "I always use honey"
"Figured"
You take one spoon of honey and mix it. "Am I that easy to read?" without looking at him.
"'M trynna figure that"
You blush under the intensity of his gaze. Take another nervous hot sip, make a face.
"It's still bitter" as you reach for the jar.
"Black coffee" he says, to supply an explanation.
The chair creaks again. He's behind you so fast, you barely register his scent up your nostrils before Joel's leaning forward.
"Lemme help ya'"
His larger hand envelops yours, practically swallowing it, roughness abrassive to your soft skin. He takes your hand and pour two spoons in a tortuous manner that feels longer than it should. He then places the spoon back, his hand leaving yours. It burns-- lingering.
"That's better"
Your throat goes dry. "Better?"
Joel just chuckles, sitting again across from you. But this time it's different: the air feels charged, with an unspoken force that sends shivers down your spine.
"So, Sarah..." you trail off, unsure where to stand or what to say, anything, to fill the asfixiating crushing silence full of uncertainty.
Joel takes another loud sip, clearly unbothered. If you were reaching, you could even say he seemed to be enjoying it.
"Her mamma took 'er out to dinner"
"Oh, I see"
"You wouldn't have known" he offers, lamely.
You bounce your legs on the floor, feet tapping anxiously against the wooden floor. If he notices, he's kind enough to not say anything. You wonder if it's pity or nonchalance. Poor little girl, I just touched her hand and she's a mess.
"No, I wouldn't"
"It was a surprise. She ain't know 'bout it"
He's trying so hard to keep a conversation, you can't help but feel a little guilty. Still, you don't offer much, hands clammy and shaky as you grab another cookie, just to busy yourself.
"'Cause tomorrow's her birthday"
"I know" maybe more cutting than necessary, nerves on edge.
You instantly cringe. That was rude. This poor man is trying to make you feel comfortable, and while he was a bit overbearing, Joel hasn't done anything bad so far. You're anxious and he's making it hard with his imposing cologne and burnt cigarrette smell.
"And what else do you seem to know, sweet girl?"
Your face goes red and the tapping against the board off the charts. He's clearly noticed, hell, heard, now.
"Easy, doll. No need'a be scared" you feel a sudden touch graze your legs, those exposed by the sundress. "Tell me, 'tis big ol' man makin' ya' nervous?"
Your heart stops beating for a moment, your body tensing up, taut muscles making it impossible to react.
"Quit the bouncin', baby" his palm presses against your knee, softly but insisting. "I don't bite" a crooked grin adorns his face, "unless y' wanna"
Your throat goes dry. This is the same man who has opened his door for you, given you a bed to sleep. The father of your bestfriend. How is this even real? Why is he looking at you like he could eat you whole?
Why are you thinking you'd let him?
But you should've seen it coming. Wasn't he clear enough before? His actions were enough for the lack of words.
"C'mon, doll. Cat ate your tongue?" he mocks, like he knows he's got you cornered: he, the cat. You, the mouse.
"N-no, Mr. Mill- Joel, sorry. No, Joel" you ramble, tongue tied as your stomach in knots.
His hand slowly moves up your thigh. You swallow. Dry and hard. A shallow breath escapes past your lips.
"Forget 'bout it, angel. No Joel. From now on, you gotta call me sir. Understood?"
You're about to protest, probably to ask what the hell is going on and how a simple cookie delivery has you with his hands over your thighs under the table.
"I asked somethin', sugar" he chuckles lowly. A drowned gasp falls off your mouth as he digs his fingers into your skin. "Understood?"
"Y-yes"
Joel applies a bit more pressure into his hold. "Just yes? Thought ya' were smarter than that, baby. Don't 'cha know how t' follow summ rules?"
"Yes, sir"
Joel's touch becomes almost light-weight, leaving your thigh where you're sure a bruise will show up in a few days.
He smirks, pleased. "There ya' go. Easy, ain't it?"
You nod, feverishly.
He pats you, almost mockingly, and let's you go. You release a breath you didn't even know you were holding.
"Yes, easy" you chuckle, nervous. "Sir"
Joel smiles. "Don't let it get to y' head, doll, but I'm gettin' real used to the sound of that"
The chair creaks again, and every bone in your body shivers, body anticipating. He stands above you, were you can see every wrinkle and facial hair of his stubble.
"Y' know" he reaches out. You cower at first, but he's quick to grip you by the chin, and yet, despite the force of his hold, his finger runs smoothly across your lip. "If ya' beg so sweetly, I might just give ya' what 'cha need"
He examines you like he can see right through you, those cold brown eyes looking at you with fascination.
"Upstairs" is all Joel says.
This is how you find yourself in the current situation: on Joel Miller's bedroom, inches away from his bed.
It's ridiculous, really, how you decide to notice, him towering you at the moment, but your eyes take in his room, anyway. You may not know Joel that well, but you decide it's very him. Texan, with the old handmade furniture, the chipped wood and the single horse picture above his bed. A pair boots, forgotten by the night table. An ash tray and a pile of clothes on an old chair, signs of years of leaving in the quiet comfortable solitude. After some time you come to realize he may have built most of the furniture you see.
"Like it?" as if he can read your thoughts.
"It's... nice. Lived in"
"Appreciate your thoughts, darlin', but It's kinda lakin' somethin', don't 'cha think?"
"Oh" you chuckle nervously, "and what can that be?"
"You"
Of course. If his crooked smile and hungry eyes raking you up and down didn't give away enough. A tight knot forms in your stomach.
Joel wets his lips with his tongue. "Now, we're gonna have real fun, you and I"
He waits for you, yet you don't move at all. Joel lets out a tired sigh, probably dissapointed by your lack of cooperation.
"Here doll, lemme help"
His rugged hands get rid of your dress, pulling it over your shaky body.
"We've talked about this" another sigh going past his lips. "S'al'ight. I won't hurt 'cha"
"I-I know that" you hold your tongue. "Sir"
He smiles, eyes darkening with lust as he takes in your body, that lingerie he imagined now under his fingers as he traces the cotton with his thumb.
His starved gaze lingers until it gets under your skin. "Do you?"
You whimper as his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down slowly.
"Ain't ya' the prettiest little thing? Knew that the moment ya' walked in" Joel growls, voice thick with want. "And y'gonna look even better naked 'n under me"
He continues the tortuous descent of your strawberry panties, sliding down through your bare legs, the filthy pathetic drowned out noises from your lips against the softness of your skin and the sweetness of the pattern of your underwear making blood rush to his already hard cock.
Joel's eyes shimmer with a hunger so raw, it makes your heart race, heat creeping up your neck.
"Y' like the idea, sweet girl?" he smirks. "'M gonna explore every inch of this sweet sweet body of y'rs and take ma' time, 'cause finally" he inches closer to your neck, breathing in your scent before licking his lips wickedly, "y'r mine"
His hot breath fans over your flushed skin, beard scratching, marking you. Your core throbs involuntarily, pulsing stopping like a swallowed breath when his fingers graze your entrance.
"S'all wet down'ere" Joel chuckles with amusement. "S' much for sayin' ya' don't want me. Don't be shy, angel. I think y' don't wanna admit it, but you do like the idea" his words accompanied by a low, sinful purr, almost threatening.
"N-no" you whimper, "please-"
His lips press firmly together as if irritated. Your walls clench when he removes his finger from your core.
"Sir"
"Please, sir" you whimper.
Joel just chuckles, like making fun of you. He raises his fingers, the one he rubbed you dangerously close to his lips, taunting. As if you were spellbound, you find it impossible to tear your eyes away as it dissappears inside his mouth. He licks it, obscenely, your lips parted.
"Look at that. Sweet as y'r cookies"
His hands now slide down your ass, his calloused digits digging into the skin, bruising, as he pulls you flush against him. You can feel his throbbing, thick length pressing against your stomach.
"Don't be ashamed, sweetheart" Joel growls, the rumble so deep it vibrates through your body. "I just wanna hear ya' say how badly ya' want 'tis"
It's like your mouth's gone dry. He throws your body against the bed, your muscles going taut with fear. Maybe anticipation. Joel then leans over you, hovering like he's trying to cage you under his weight. You look at the night table, eyes lingering on the burnt cigarrettes, sleeping dead on the ashtray, holding onto anything, all to avoid looking into that gaze which threatened to consume you.
"What's wrong, baby?" he asks through a low tone, his erratic breath ghosting over you.
It's like a wave of clarity heats you. There, laying over the old wood, another portrait: curly loose hair, toothy grin, a purple t-shirt with a rainbow, and that unmistakable eyes that hadn't changed a bit.
"Sarah" you whisper.
The shame, guilt and fear hit you all at once. The hesitation from before becomes nausea over the idea of letting your bestfriend's father so close to you, let alone being in bed with him.
"W-we can't, Jo- sir" you bite your lip, anxiously chewing. "We can't-"
He follows your gaze, landing on the picture. He sighs softly, hand reaching out to place the frame down.
"Don't worry, doll. She don't need'a find out 'bout what we'll do"
"It's not right-"
"I think y'r body's not agreein' with 'cha, baby. So don't give me that crap"
You close your eyes, body ridig. You hear him click his tongue, then let out a heavy sigh. Next, his fingers caress your cheek softly as he removes some loose strands from your face. You open your eyes, only to find him smirking.
"Sarah won't find out, I give ya' my word 'bout it. But you gotta keep the end of y'r bargain, sweetheart" then, in a low voice, borderline meneacing, says: "Ya' keep your bestfriend and I get a taste of 'tis sweet pussy. Just gotta earn it"
His big calloused hands dissappear into your middle, making your thighs press together. He chuckles, parting your legs with ease. It's like your whole body has forgotten how to act on its own, so easily spreading for him.
"Atta girl"
A moan dies in your throat at the sensation of his fingers back in your pussy, rubbing the area like he knows it. Your body betrays you, you know it in the way you feel your walls clenching in anticipation at the feeling of his fingers. It's so much better than when you do it yourself, and even if your mind is against it, you can't find the pleasure that's started to sweep in through the cracks of your ressolve.
"See, baby? No use in denyin' when she's tellin' me otherwise" there's an agonizing tease in the way Joel drags the pad of his middle finger across your pussy. "Tell me, no boys back at campus to help ya'?"
"No" you begin to answer, voice hoarse.
"No what?" he asks, plunging two fingers inside of you, making you squeal. Your hand holds to his forearm, almost like an instant, nails leaving little crescents on his sunkissed skin. You can feel him smile at the pain, more at the thought of you holding to him and the feeling of more of your skin against his.
"No boys sir" you manage to choke out.
Joel lets out a rumbling growl of satisfaction at your admission, his eyes flashing with a possesive glint that makes your throat go dry.
"Good girl" he crooks his fingers, a pathetic whine that sounds like his name escaping your lips. "Makes 'tis even better. Now, lemme take real good care of ya', baby"
You suck in a gasp when he starts moving his fingers. He drags them along your cunt until he finds your sweet spot, making you squeal. Your cheeks feel hot, and when Joel notices, he chuckles.
"Don't hold 'em back, baby. You don't know how long I've been waitin' to hear all those lil' sounds outta ya" he rasps, voice rough with desire. Joel rolls your nub between his digits, your treacherous hips moving to meet his rapid movements. "Been dreamin' of 'tis day for a while"
"An' now here ya' are, bein' so good to me" he praises. His rough fingers delve with more intensity into your soaked folds, stroking through the slick evidence of your arousal. He pumps faster, harder, plunging in and out of your soaked, clinging walls. "Just mine"
His hand cups your jaw now, thumbing over your swollen bottom lip.
"So pretty" Joel mumbles in your ear. You part your lips as he starts fucking you faster. "Told ya', easy. Y' give, and I give ya' as well. Imma giver, baby"
He chuckles, beard scratching against your neck as he nips and sucks at your racing pulse. "So don't 'cha worry, sweetheart. I'm gonna give y' exactly what 'cha need. Just sit back and look real pretty" Joel says, feeling your walls clenching around his fingers, "which you doin' a great job on"
He adds another finger, the wet sound of your eager walls bouncing off the wall. You stil try to refrain from voicing out loud the traitorous satisfaction Joel's making you feel, but you squeal around his thumb, eyebrows tightly furrowed with how much pleasure you're getting.
"You cummin', aren't 'cha? Ya' want that, doll? Bet you do. So fucken' easy to break" you moan in desperation, body rigid no longer from abstaining but from chasing your impeding orgasm. "Look at ya', so eager, ridin' ma' fingers like a slut. I know ya' want it. So easy t' read"
Your whole body tingles, vision going white. You come all over his fingers, walls clenching as you close your eyes, nails clawing at his arms again, orgasm washing over you. As your climax crashes over you, Joel drinks in every second of your surrender, relishing the way your body became so pliant as you moan his name.
"Good girl" Joel praises as you go limp in his arms, legs trembling. He places a sweet kiss to jaw, his fingers still inside you, still moving yet slowler. "Next, 'm gonna fuck 'tis sweet cunt so hard and so deep that you'll be feelin' me for days, baby"
Joel's hand slides up to wrap around your throat, calloused fingers curling possessively around your delicate neck. "Beg for it, baby. Ya' know how to"
"Please, sir" you choke out, brain fuzzy. It's pathetic, really, but all you can think now is how bad you need him inside of you, walls throbbing in need.
He presses his thumb tighter into your throat. "Words, baby"
"Please. Too much" you whine. He removes his hand from your throbbing pussy. You shake in his arms. "I need you, Joel"
Joel's eyes carey a triumphant gleam to tengo upon hearing your desperate plea, a crooked smile twisting his rugged features. Then, he smacks right into your sensitive clit. You writhe, another whine falling off your lips.
"Told ya' to not call me that, but I can't lie and say I don't like 'da way ya' say ma' name, sweet girl" as he lets go of your neck. "I'll let it pass 'tis time"
He captures your mouth in a devouring kiss, tongue plunging past your lips to claim your lips as if he wants to make himself a home inside the warmth of your mouth. He breaks the kiss, a wicked grin breaking in his face at your disheveled state.
"C'mon, sweetheart, don't be shy now" he taunts. "I know y' got it in ya'. The way 'tis greedy body responds to me... Y'r jus' dyin' to he used, ain't 'cha?"
A pool of shame forms in the pit of your stomach. You know this is wrong, your mind fighting against it, yet, the desire that consumes your body overrides the sense your brain is begging you to have.
It's embarrassing, really, but it's almost as if Joel knows exactly what to do to numb your body, head fuzzy.
He knows.
Joel's hand fists in your hair, pulling your head back as you yelp in surprise, forcing you to meet his burning stare. "I'll take that as a yes"
He exposes the vulnerable column of your throat, attacking he flushed skin with bites for kisses, his teeth sinking into your flesh hard enough to leave bruises to bloom.
"J-Joel" you mumble, pathetic.
He yanks harder, forcing your pleading eyes to meet his predatory gaze as he looms over you, a dark grin spreading across his face. "I want to hear ya' beg f'r it, baby. Beg for my cock like the desperate, filthy slut y'are"
His other hand slides down to your thigh, gripping it tightly as he hitches your leg up around his hip, opening you wider. He licks his lips to te view: your dripping, aching core, bleeding with a wet need. All for him.
"Jus' tell me how ya' want it, sweetheart. Tell me where you want me to fuck you first"
You close your eyes, writhing. "H-here. It hurts. Please, sir"
Tears pool in the corner of your eyes out of desperation, a treacherous one falling down your cheek. Joel lets out an amused chuckle at that, wiping it with his thumb.
"No need'a cry, baby. Imma give ya' what ya' need. Ya' know I wanna"
He withdraws his hands, reaching for that thick belt he's always wearing. The sound of his zipper bounces in the quiet room, every hair in your body rising un anticipation as he slides his pants down, taking them off.
Never, in a million years, would you imagine the sight for you to behold.
His cock, springing free of its confines: long, thick and angry at the tip. Red as your face. It slaps against his lower soft stomach, precum in display.
Joel leans down to whisper in your ear, nipping your earlobe sharply. "Can ya' feel it? All 'tis for you, baby. 'S how ya' make me feel ever since ya' first waltzed in here with y'r pretty little ass"
It slaps against your stomach, hot and heavy, length pulsing with need. You catch your breath, eyes wide.
"Don't 'cha worry, doll. It'll fit" with a crooked smile. "And I know you'll be of help"
Joel reaches down, gripping your thighs and spreading your legs wide, opening you up for him. Then, he settles between your thighs, positioning himself at your entrance.
"Now, be a good little cocksleeve and take my dick like da' good girl y'are"
A familiar pressure settles in your cunt as his tip begins to enter you, your breath catching at the stretch.
"Feels good?"
Before you can answer, with one brutal thrust, Joel slams his hips forward, burying his cock balls-deep inside your tight cunt.
"S' tight" he grits. Your vision goes blurry at the sensation of his dick stretching you, trying to adapt to his size. So you focus on his touch, the heat irradiating off his body, and the raw desire in his brown eyes. Tension turns to pleasure, where there was once pain now a delicious numbing sensation. You hate how easy your body has surrendered to him, how effortless is to feel satisfaction at his minstrations.
Joel sets a rapid pace. Brutal, punishing. His hips slam against yours, making the old bed wobble and creak.
"Fuck, doll. Takin' my cunt so well" he sneers with pride and praise. "Look at y'r tight cunt, squeezin' it jus' right"
His breath comes in harsh, ragged pants. His hands go over to your hips, his fingers digging into the skin, keeping you in place to meet his thrusts. On top of you, Joel Miller is a rare sight: sweaty, flushed honeyed skin and carnal eyes bleeding with a need so primal it takes your breath away. It just then hits you how much he had been holding back, how long he'd been wanting this, stalking and calculating from afar, like the most tantalizing game of cat and mouse there had ever been. It's obvious too, in the way his gaze drinks your body: pliant, soft, flushed and needy, watching your every reaction-- from the small gap between your lips and the involuntary sounds falling from your mouth, to your nails on his biceps and the way you hold to him like you're scared to fall.
"Don't 'cha worry, sweet girl. I ain't never lettin' you go"
He angles his hips, slamming his cock, trying to find your sweet spot deep inside your tight walls with every thrust, determined to make you fall apart in a sweet plea. Joel's really trying, tiredly resting his head near your shoulder, breath warm against your skin. You cling to him, your nails digging into his back to ground yourself. The room is filled with the sounds of his grunts and your moans. It's like outside his bedroom walls, the world is nothing but everything happening on Joel Miller's bed.
"That's it, baby" he whispers, a silent reverence in his voice. You whimper at the pleasure. "You're perfect. Jus' like 'tis"
"It's too much, sir" as you shift beneath him with a trembling voice, drunk in pleasure.
Joel's hands find yours, and with a newfound softness, his fingers intertwine with yours to steady you as he stares down at your tear-streaked face, blood pumping to his cock at the sight of the fat tears streaming down your cheeks.
"S'okay. Relax and lemme handle all'at"
When you instinctively tighten around him, his thrusts become more erratic, his balls slapping against your ass as he chases his release.
"If ya' keep that up, I might not last any longer" you meet his gaze, flush rising to your cheeks, breath coming out in short, desperate gasps as the pleasure builds. "That's right, I'm gonna fuckin' give this pussy exactly what she needs. Jus' focus on me, doll"
"M' close-" you manage to croak out. "I-"
Joel's voice is rough when he speaks. "Then don't hold back"
The pace frantic, a sloppy mess as you both chase your release. It's crazy how your bodies meet in perfect sync, like made to be. With a groan and a cry for your name, Joel slams his hips forward one last time, burying his throbbing cock to the hilt inside your dripping sex as he comes, flooding your walls with his hot, thick seed.
Joel collapses on top of you as he catches his breath, his softening cock still buried deep inside your cunt. "No need'a cry because 's over, baby" he rumbles, his voice a hoarse growl against your neck. "We can always have a round two"
He licks the tears that have escaped your eyes after your orgasm, and while your brain is still fuzzy, trying to grasp the stakes and problems to arise in between the numbness of your orgasm, you hear him say:
"'Sides, a little sweet dove left some cookies downstairs. In case ya' wanna charge those batteries of yours"
cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @loregifs
