the tortured men department

archiving the anatomy of emotionally unavailable men.

[torturedmendept]

welcome to the tortured men department.

navigation | about us under the cut

applications are closed—we’re full. every desk is occupied by a man with a tragic backstory and a deep emotional wound he refuses to discuss. they haunt this place like folklore: grease-stained hands, cigarette smoke, and that quiet ache behind the eyes that says i’ve seen things.

our mission is simple: to study, archive, and occasionally romanticize the myth of the tortured man. he is bruised and baffling. he fixes engines but cannot fix himself. he apologizes with actions, never words. he loves like it’s a war he’s doomed to lose.

the members here? we know better, but we stay anyway. we document, we analyze, we write fanfiction essays at three in the morning about the sound of his voice saying our name. we call it research.

welcome, new recruit. grab your clipboard, your poetry, and your emotional support whiskey. it’s going to be a long semester in the tortured men department.

meet the chairman.

now that you know about us, it’s time you know about me.

i’m raelee, twenty-six, founder and acting chairman of the tortured men department. i built this place out of soft spots and bad decisions. i’ve spent years studying the male condition—specifically, the emotionally unavailable variety with tragic pasts and forearms that belong in ancient literature. consider me both head researcher and repeat offender.

disclaimers.

this is an adult institution. applicants must be 18 or older to enter the premises. minors are kindly asked to step away.

sometimes, the topics here are heavy and/or taboo. we deal in heartbreak, trauma, violence, grief, guilt, and more. consider this your content warning: the halls of this department echo with dark themes. warnings will be given for your convenience and safety. with that being said, tread softly, read the fine print, and care for yourself first.

this is not romanticization. this is fiction and satire. if there is something that you do not agree with, simply move on. it’s not for you, and that’s okay. a lot of our members are here as a coping mechanism—remember that. so please be kind. not every victim fits into the same box.

[a7estrellas]

PEDRO PASCAL surprises fans at Star Wars: Galaxy's Edge

[gutsby]

Who’s Your Daddy?

Pairing: Stepdad!Joel x Reader

Summary: You get stuck in the washing machine. Thankfully, your stepdad is around to help you out.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Deadbeat-Perv-Peepaw LOVES corny porn tropes and women over half his age. Stepcest & dubcon technically bc Reader’s locked inside an appliance, but she’s into it (getting fucked, not stuck). One (1) kick in the dick. Spanking. Brat-taming. Choking. Daddy issues. Size kink. Praise kink. Infidelity. Creampie.

Note: Saw this post by @ovaryacted and started BARKING. For my Old Man lovers/daddy issues crew, this one’s for you.

Word count: 8.3k

It was the closest thing to porn you’d ever done before.

Still, you weren’t quite ready to call it that.

And why should you? Financial straits were no anomaly to a girl your age, especially in this economy, and almost everyone you knew had a side gig of some kind. It just so happened that your job required slightly skimpier attire. And a webcam. And some very special…accessories that would likely send your grandmother into cardiac arrest if she ever took a peek inside your bottom dresser drawer.

Okay, it was definitely porn.

But you never showed your face, so it didn’t really count as the same kind of stuff that your family condemned.

You scampered out of your room the second you heard the front door to the house slam closed all the same. Arms laden with G-strings, stockings, satin bralettes, lace and tulle bodysuits of almost every style imaginable, you ran a quick, perilous path to the living room window and made sure to keep your head ducked low as you did. You peered out through the gap in the curtains and had to squint hard to see anything in the midafternoon sun.

Then you saw it and felt instant relief—they were leaving.

Your grandma for one, your mother for second, and wherever the latter was headed, you knew her shadow would be soon to follow. You saw a thick plume of smoke outside and surmised that Joel was somewhere around the other side of the SUV, smoking and droning on about how he was perfectly fi-i-i-ne to drive, don’t be like that.

By ‘like that’ he meant sensible. And by ‘perfectly fine’ he meant two Miller Lites shy of completely shitfaced. You could already imagine the wry smile on your mother’s lips as she tried prying the keys from his hands. Your stepdad would probably plant a wet, sloppy kiss on her cheek to win a ‘yes’ in return—and when she shyly reminded him that he couldn’t afford to get another DUI, he’d get pissed and yank them out of her fist anyway.

Fucking loser.

Fucking triple-the-legal-limit dumbass motherfucker.

It didn’t bother you as much today because you knew they were only driving a couple blocks away to get to the farmer’s market, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t hope he’d get caught. Again. Maybe blow a 0.25 this time and land his old, ungrateful, law-breaking ass in Travis County Jail, where his little brother Tommy was likely keeping a cell bench warm for him, per usual.

At any rate, you didn’t have time to be fantasizing now. It was your turn to embody some guy’s grossest wet dreams for the next two to three hours. Stripping away layer after layer of your latest, tightest ‘costume’ while catering to whatever requests happened to float in your inbox, you knew you’d be up to your eyeballs in work. Though almost routine by now, you had to hurry up.

If you could just get the rest of this ridiculous gunk out of your clothing, you’d be all good to go for the job.

TRMAN22: Pour honey on your tits in the next vid???

TRMAN22: Milk too. All over you.

Looking back, you probably shouldn’t have obliged that request. Now you were facing the consequences—forced to throw all your clothes in the washing machine because the milk and honey you’d dumped on yourself for that video had gotten everywhere, and then swiftly congealed while wasting away in a pile of laundry for over a week.

The whole heap smelled rancid. Still felt sticky, too. Presently, you chucked each one inside the washing machine while holding your breath, and as soon as the last was discarded, you sniffed the shirt you had on.

Tolerable. With the rest of your stuff in the wash, you hoped to get at least one request off the checklist:

TRMAN22: Bet you’d look sexy in a schoolgirl outfit!!

TRMAN22: Why don’t you try one on for me?

It was gag-worthy and gross. Slightly alarming for a man who was more than likely twice your age and old enough to remember Watergate, but you agreed to play along. Your old school uniform was, after all, the only clean clothes you had left, and ‘TRMAN22’ was, unfortunately, your top subscriber. He’d paid $300 for this video alone.

TRMAN22: Wear some NEON pink panties for me too ;)

You squatted in front of the washing machine and stuck a hand inside. You sifted around, furrowing your brows.

The brightest undies you owned were in there, soiled, but you figured you could get away with one gross article of clothing, all things considered. You reached a little further and continued to dig. When you couldn’t find it by feel alone, you peered inside the circular, metallic cavern of the washing machine and craned your neck.

Not here…not here…not—

You tilted forward, venturing a closer look with your head, then shoulders, pushing into the machine.

—here, not here, not—

“EW!” you shrieked.

In your search, you’d inadvertently brushed up against a mildewed piece of clothing that had gotten wedged between the grooves of the washing machine’s interior.

A pair of boxers, it seemed.

You recoiled as soon as your fingers grazed the wet and smelly thing. Your skull went crack against the low-sloped ceiling of the appliance, and a jolt of pain was quick to course through you at the contact. You groaned.

Of course Joel had forgotten some old, cum-stained scrap of fabric out of his last load. Always leaving his shit around for you or your mom to pick up like he owned the place. And here you went, again, angrily plugging your nose and pulling as hard as you could on the shorts to get them free from the washing machine. You hardly thought twice, just made a face and then yanked on it.

The boxers wouldn’t budge.

You tugged even harder. The fabric stayed put.

Something akin to a grunt and a whimper, only far more pathetic, slipped out of your mouth, and you slapped the half-hollow steel wall in frustration. Surrounded as you were—fully encased in metal—the sound just echoed.

“Fucking…CUNT.”

You weren’t sure if you were talking to the shorts, the machine, or Joel Miller in the abstract. Or maybe all three. You just hated the thought of washing your lingerie with your stepdad’s skivvies, and no amount of rational thought or practical reasoning could hold you back now.

The tip of your index finger sank deep beneath the same ridge of the wall where the boxers had gotten stuck. You curled it inward, trying to loosen the material up a little. You wriggled your knuckle even further. And just when you managed to get a hold of the cusp of the tangled fabric—just when it seemed the green plaid cluster was about to give way—you heard a low pop. You felt it, too.

Shortly, your finger was pinched inside the deep, blunt valley of steel that had similarly snagged Joel’s boxers. It seemed you’d pushed the tip of your finger so far that you were caught straight down to the second knuckle—trapped between two grooves of unforgiving alloy inside the washing machine tub with no clear means of escape.

You jerked your arm back, panicked. When the metal sank its teeth even deeper, you didn’t stop. Completely heedless of the pain, you operated on impulse and by the feeling of needing to get the fuck out of that little space, quickly, and instead yanked your hand back even harder.

To your horror, your finger was stuck.

“FUCK!”

You stared down at the poor digit, only half-visible inside the wall at this point, then glanced down at the heap of sweaty, sticky, slutty pieces of clothing that were presently strewn about you, and felt an even deeper stab of dread. Stuck inside your family’s washing machine with every bit of damning evidence one could hope to have—and wearing your old school uniform to boot—you realized at once you were fucked if you didn’t get out.

You slammed your palm against the nearest wall once more, shaking your other wrist like an unruly child.

“FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!”

You weren’t good at solving problems. In point of fact, you sucked at all things prudent resolution-related and regularly made it a habit to capitulate whenever you sensed loss inevitable. You were a little like your mother in that way, quick to give in to life’s uglier challenges. The only way you could conceivably claim to be stronger, the only place you always had the strength to say ‘no’ was—

“Aw, shit.”

—Joel.

Your throat tightened as soon as you heard the voice. Your eyes went wide, and the rest of you went numb.

Bent at the waist and kneeling with half your body inside the washing machine, you remained there, motionless. Back arched and ass out. Thanks to the way you’d rolled your old plaid skirt, the fabric covered almost zero cheek.

Someone behind you cleared their throat. Then coughed.

And coughed again, again, and again. Evidently trying to clear the smoke out of his lungs and the surprise from his eyes as he drank in your sight from the doorway.

“What in the—wh—th—” You could hear Joel wheeze, beating his chest with his fist, “What— in— the hell?!”

“Help me,” you hissed.

You weren’t sure why you chose that as your go-to. It just sounded like the right thing to say, and frankly, you weren’t sure how else to distract from the fact Joel was probably gawking at your ass as he coughed up a lung.

“The fuck do you mean ‘help’?! What are you doing?”

The coughing subsided, if only momentarily. You tried pulling back on your finger again to get out, but couldn’t.

“I-I’m…I was just…” you stammered, heart racing.

You heard the tread of heavy footfalls. You felt them.

“Just—trying…” you ventured again, suddenly at a loss for words and breath alike as you felt a presence draw in.

You could smell him.

That realization alone made you want to stop taking in air altogether. It happened out of instinct, really—feeling the shift of two huge boots settle behind your feet and then flinching inward, further inside the metal tub for…safety? A pang of abject humiliation? You were far past the point of civility with the man, caring what he thought, or fearing for your modesty in a position like this, but something about the proximity now just made you itch.

You wished your finger wasn’t jammed inside this appliance so you could give that feeling relief, somehow.

At length, Joel’s voice dragged you back:

“What’s stuck?”

Too calm. A second passed. Then he added, more stern,

“This some fuckin’ joke’a yours or somethin’?”

“No!”

“Then what—”

“My finger. My finger’s stuck.”

You tried to crane your neck to see behind you, but all your eyes had to feast upon was denim. Bluish-grey stonewashed denim, faded with years of use. Joel stood back for a second, as if considering what to do, and then you saw two hands descend to brace themselves against his knees. He bent at the waist to get a better look below.

When his eyes locked with yours, you got the same twist in your gut as you’d felt before, only sharper. Shameful.

The look on Joel’s face was abnormally bright.

“And how on earth did that happen, dumbass?”

Your shame morphed into chagrin in a blink, seeing the ghost of a smile bleed into your stepdad’s features.

“‘Cause of you, leaving your shit in here!” you snapped. Your chin jerked toward the green fabric, “I was just trying to get your boxers unstuck—and my finger…”

Your finger was kind of fucked.

Joel cast a look inside at the source of your frustration. He extended his left arm and reached over your torso, and as he did, you felt the slightest, albeit solid, sort of warmth press in. The man let out a low groan of exertion—likely at the strain the movements placed on his joints.

The warmth got worse. You weren’t sure where it started.

Vaguely, you were aware of Joel’s thumb pressing into your hand. Gliding down your finger, stroking across the spot where your knuckle had gotten caught, he circled over it, slowly, and made another sound in his throat.

“Well that ain’t…good.” Not one to mince words.

By now, your whole body was on fire. You barely had the strength to keep kneeling, much less speak to the man thumbing your hand and pressing his heat so close—

“Just get me out!” you shrieked.

You heard your mother’s voice in that. A shrill, impatient lilt in her speech that came out, invariably, around Joel. Normally, he would have done something to deserve it. But today, with his hand splayed over yours and his breaths as calm and even-keeled as he could hope to have them while he tried to help, he was blameless.

Evidently, he heard a trace of your mother too, because you heard him laugh. You felt the reverberations of his amusement travel up from his belly all the way to his lips.

“Cool your pits, kid.”

For that, you would’ve loved nothing more than to reach back with your free hand and hit him in the balls. But, as it was, this man was your only hope for escape, and he was being tolerably polite, anyway. He pinched your finger between the tips of two of his and gave it a tug.

“Okay, lemme just—” Joel started.

“Why are you home, anyway?”

The question came out more clipped than you meant it.

“Why are you dressed like that?” Joel countered evenly.

“I asked you first.”

“I asked you second.”

You reckoned he could probably feel you roll your eyes, even if he wasn’t able to see you do it right now. He waited another moment, then leaned back on his haunches and withdrew his arm from the tub.

“Mama don’t like me drinkin’ and drivin’, you know that.”

With that, the warmth was gone. Joel retreated.

“Like that’s ever stopped you before.”

You heard him exhale a little harder through his nose. When he’d steadied himself against the washing machine, gave his knees another second to prepare for getting up again, you could feel his eyes back on you. Maybe he lingered longer than his legs really needed.

Maybe if he hadn’t stayed crouched like that, he wouldn’t have gotten the chance to give your surroundings a second look. He wouldn’t have stopped to watch the rate of your breaths pick up or the way your skin startle to bristle with some strange, unknown sensation. He certainly wouldn’t have felt for himself the fever leaking out from the base of your spine right then.

Today just wasn’t the day for keeping secrets, it seemed.

“And what’s this?” You could feel Joel lean back in.

He was looking again. Peering inside. Steadying his weight with the edge of the washing machine gripped in one hand, while the other snaked its way back inside.

You’d already squeezed your eyes shut by the time Joel got a hold of something. You didn’t know what it was.

But it became painfully clear that it wasn’t just one ‘thing’ that had grabbed his attention at all, but rather a series of items that his hands were just now getting to explore. You didn’t have to see his broad and tan, callus-streaked fingers to feel them roaming over your clothes.

Gross.

Gross.

“Gross,” Joel agreed, as if he’d read your mind. Grinning.

If you thought the embarrassment was bad before, you really only knew a fraction of what humiliation could be. Your finger throbbed along with the pulse in your skull.

Your mother’s husband whistled and lifted something.

“Darlin’, this is just…disgusting.”

You winced. You tried not to pry an eye open, to steal a covert look through the frame of your lashes in that dim and crowded spot, but the inducement was too great—Joel was dangling one of your lime green G-strings like it was a fish he’d just caught out on the lake. Boasting it.

Doting, almost.

“Well I’ll be—”

“Will you quit?!” you snapped.

You grabbed the thing out of his hand and threw it aside.

“Can you be serious? For one fucking secon—”

“Oh, I’m bein’ serious, sweetie,” Joel cut in. Cool as ever, “Serious as the business end of a .45, I swear.”

He paused. Then he reached for a white nylon bustier, drenched in a layer of honey that was as hard as a rock.

“Do you always keep your little…skank tanks so filthy?”

That was it. You kicked your heel back—and up—and made a pass to hit your stepdad square in the balls.

Your aim wasn’t the best it’s ever been, seeing that half your body was trapped inside a home appliance at the moment, but what your jab lacked in accuracy, it made up for in force: your foot plunged into the seam of Joel’s jeans full throttle. From the way the back of your heel plowed into his crotch, and the sound that clawed out of his throat the same instant, you reckoned you did okay.

What you weren’t expecting was a smack in return.

An answer in kind—delivered by the palm of Joel’s hand.

A taut, thoughtless THWACK on the swell of your ass.

Your mouth fell open. Your body barely had the chance to recoil when, shortly, another blow landed on your cheek.

Joel spanked you.

Spanked you.

“Fuckin’ brat,” he spat. His palm had slid up with the weight of his last slap, and now his fingers were clenched in a fist in the back of your skirt. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel him gripping fabric. It was firm.

He was firm—unrelenting in his hold.

Kneeling behind you, yanking back a handful of tartan skirt like it was nothing, then sidling up behind you.

And just when your attention was drawn to some other firm thing, it was shortly diverted by another sensation.

“JOEL!” you shrieked as he gave you another spanking.

The bare skin of your cheeks was on fire. Joel hit hard. Just when you feared you might legitimately whimper with the sting of that last blow, and while the imprint of his palm was still fresh, you felt it move again. Lower.

“Joel.”

That came out more like a whine than a cry of protest. And how could you, now, when he was soothing the raw bite of his hand with a touch that was kneading the skin?

Working the soft, supple flesh of your ass in his hand like he’d never dream of being anything else but gentle to it.

“Good?” Joel said.

Your head flinched to nod, but your brain thought better.

It did feel good. So good, in fact, that your eyelids were starting to droop just a bit and your back was subtly arching into the touch, but those were only instincts. Stupid, useless, brain-rotted reflexes born of years of paternal neglect and replete indifference, the likes of which could bring a grown man to his knees, begging—

“Please.”

But the entreaty was your own, and the voice that spoke it was hoarse. Your belly sank into the circular aperture of the washing machine, and you could feel your ribs scraping close to metal. Nevertheless, you didn’t mind. That ditzy lizard brain of yours was starved for physical touch, and who were you to deny her at a time like this?

No, not when Joel was squeezing like that.

Groping was the more appropriate word for it, really. Notwithstanding the decades of sexual experience that no doubt preceded the man that was standing before you—behind you—today, Joel was unduly coarse. His broad, weathered hand made as if to cool its former sting, but the motions themselves were jerky. Desperate.

He needed this worse than you, the fucking pervert.

Just when the realization had begun to settle over your mind and your legs were getting to feel a little less like jelly, knowing you weren’t the only weak one here, Joel’s palm slowed down. He pressed the heel of it into your flesh as if to force himself to stop, then he took a breath.

“Now use your words.”

“But—” you sputtered.

“I said,” Joel resumed, and you could sense it was through gritted teeth. His movements came to a halt.

“We use our words when we want somethin’, hear?”

It was the first you’d heard Joel attempt to enforce anything close to discipline with you in your life.

That had to warrant a little defiance, no doubt.

Under your breath, quiet: “So ‘we’ includes ‘you,’ too?”

Beneath that one, seemingly innocuous question was lurking another, and both of you knew it: Remember that time you put a fist through the kitchen wall? Was that a good example of what it means to ‘use words,’ Joel? Whether it was adequate provocation or not, you could sense what was coming next before you’d even finished. When the spank landed on your right cheek so loud that it echoed, you didn’t flinch. You did snag your lip between your teeth to keep a sound from spilling out.

“A dad makes rules. Ain’t his to follow,” Joel growled.

You blinked and bit down harder. Watched the broad, amorphous shape of the man’s reflection shift along the back metallic wall in hues of grey and blue and wished you had the strength to turn around and face him then.

“You aren’t my dad.”

“Said ‘a’ dad, didn’t I?”

“You’re not that either.”

Heat was rising to your cheeks again, this time for different reasons. For a cause you were far better acquainted with to date—annoyance at Joel.

“So that means I’m—”

“Nothing. You’re nothing to me,” you finished, tone wry.

Nothing to anyone, you wanted to add. Not with a shiny gold band latched onto your left hand to tell the world that you’re married to my mother, a pack of smokes tucked away in the jeans she washes every week, or a couple years spent under the same roof as me. Nothing.

Your teeth clamped back down—and almost sank clean through your lower lip this time—when next you felt a touch at the plush, covered mound that was normally shielded between your legs. The spot that was hardly ever tilted up in a position like this, exposed to the air and a man’s hungry gaze, now invaded by the press of a single thing: a warm and soft middle finger at your core.

Joel brushed the tip of it against your entrance, through your panties, and sucked a breath through his teeth when both of you felt a tiny squelch at the pressure.

He pressed harder, and the wetness only spread.

You didn’t have to be in Joel’s position to know what he was seeing, but the feeling from his finger overpowered any better sense to speak—or tell him to stop. He traced his slow, cruel circles against your warmth and moved it up to where he knew he’d find your bud, and when you whimpered, he simply added his index to the mix. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind you were leaking heat at that point. You could feel it seeping beneath his touch.

“Nothin’, huh?” Joel breathed, voice low. Your arousal made a sickening hiss beneath his fingers as he rubbed you even harder, “This feel like nothin’ to you, honey?”

You couldn’t speak. He knew you weren’t capable of it.

“‘Cause this sure don’t feel like nothin’ to me.”

Wet and tacky beneath his touch, your warmth supplied the answer that your mouth couldn’t form. It came out in more of a tap, tap, tap, punctuated by breaths that were toiling in earnest not to turn into moans too soon. But, as hulking and clumsy as his hands had once shown themselves to be, the old man knew where to put them, at least. He made circles on your clit with practiced ease.

“You can try lyin’ to me, but she can’t.”

He was right. ‘She’ was a traitor.

You could deny it all you wanted, but the proof was there.

Indeed, she was crying. Aching. Bleeding with desire. Throbbing beneath the pads of Joel’s fingertips and growing only more desperate as he increased the speed of his touch. When he notched the drenched cotton to the side, you had to grit your teeth to keep in a whimper.

Joel whistled.

“See? Seems like she likes me just fine right here.”

Your jaw stayed wired shut with the weight of your own humiliation. Instead of answering aloud, you hummed. Made a sound low and soft in your throat like, ‘Uh-hmm’ and tilted your hips, as if you didn’t know how else to ask. Joel couldn’t see inside the washing machine, but he must’ve felt the gesture, because he greeted it with a motion of his own: he chuckled, and he puckered his lips.

And when you felt the warmth of his spit hit you between your folds, your shame should’ve tripled. Should’ve made you flinch away from his touch and tell him that was so fucking gross, Joel, stop, but then he smeared it up your slit. He pressed in and mixed it with the rest of your arousal; any reproach died on your tongue in an instant.

A part of him was on you now. Trickling in, sticking to the most sensitive part of you, and settling into your skin like a glaze. With his other hand, he found your skirt again.

“Who’re ya wearin’ this for, sweet pea?” Joel murmured.

“No one.”

Another glob of spit landed between your cheeks. Now, the man used the lubrication to sink two fingers inside you—pushing them in until the rim of your cunt met his knuckles. You whined at the stretch, felt him coax your walls open with a consciousness and a carefulness that felt almost mean, but then he stroked down the base of your spine with the hand that still held onto your skirt. He soothed your startled cry with a curl of his fingers.

And he found the soft, spongy patch of flesh inside that made your eyes roll straight to the back of your skull, quickly. Working his fingers in and out, flattening the base of his free hand over the skin exposed by your flipped-up skirt, and watching your body give way to the force of his fingers, he was uncharacteristically patient. Exacting in the way he worked your body open to him.

“What do you care?” you groaned. You winced when you felt a squelch signal that he’d stretched you even wider.

“‘Cause,” Joel started, slow. Pumping his fingers through your folds and likely wondering when he’d add a third, “You got your hand stuck in a fuckin’ washing machine, a treasure trove of this slut stuff piled in a heap…I mean…”

“They’re just clothes!”

“Just clothes?”

In the wake of those terse, incredulous words, you tried your best to match his tone—call his bluff—but the only sound that came out of your mouth was punctured by a pitiful whine. He tried another finger but couldn’t fit it in. As wet as you were, and as strong as he was, your cunt wasn’t quite ready to accept all three of Joel’s thick, probing digits inside. You’d fit more than a thing or two with a girth even greater than that in the past, but you figured your nerves might have something to do with the way you were tightening around the man’s fingers now.

Why you couldn’t take more of him in, as much as you wanted him there, felt, at present, like something of a shortcoming, and a pathetic one at that. You let out a breath, and a second later, Joel slowed his motions.

You didn’t expect him to stop. Didn’t hold out a hope he might curtail his pace and talk you through a quiet, gentle arrangement for fitting a third finger inside you—that just wasn’t him. You didn’t have to share a paper-thin bedroom wall with your mother and her husband for the last however many years to know that Joel Miller was not a tender lover. It simply wasn’t in his nature to care.

So when you heard the clink of a belt coming undone a moment later, your senses strangely flooded with relief. He wouldn’t care, wouldn’t inquire, wouldn’t coddle with false, romantic ideals of how a woman should be treated.

In that way, Joel shared something in common with your father after all: he set standards as low as they could go.

“Just clothes?” he repeated, snapping your underwear against your ass and jerking the fabric further aside.

Then somehow send those expectations even lower.

There was a hand splayed out across the small of your back. Another fiddling with the front of his pants, wrestling the button and zip of his jeans in little more than one, two, three careless seconds, before he drew in closer to your rear. Your slit was messy, wet, and exposed to his eyes once again. For a second, you almost took comfort in the fact that your hand was still wedged inside a groove of steel and you couldn’t meet his gaze.

That was, until Joel slid his bare length along the seam of your cunt. When the inability to see him made it so you had no other choice but to be surprised when he finally touched you was unnerving, to say the least.

And when the head of his cock blended seamlessly between your folds, was drenched in less than a blink and nearly notched straight into the place you needed him most—well, that had an effect on him, too. Joel moved his flat and sweaty palm up your back, found purchase in the hem of your blouse, and gripped it. Tugged it down a little more and let a low groan billow out of his throat while he rocked his hips back and forth.

Desperate, clumsy, pussydrunk Joel was back before you’d even realized he’d left. Only now he was keen to put the disquiet and hesitations to rest; he needed to fuck you before either one of you wisened up just then.

Your parts and his commingled again. First, with the lethally warm trail of precum leaking out from his tip. Then the intrusion that followed, inevitably, glossed with self-indulgence and desperation—soiling any semblance of platonic affection or parental attention—as he fed you the first inch of him. Barely half the head got fitted inside and your grip on that was like a vice. Joel’s was bruising.

Suddenly firm on your hips, carving crescents in the skin:

“When’s the last time you got fucked, baby?”

You reckoned Joel had a guess—and it wasn’t correct.

“Last…week,” you whimpered, words punctuated with a sigh as his cock tried to make room for more of him.

Joel sucked in a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. He’d barely gotten an inch past his tip, facing more resistance than he’d felt in a long, long time, and you were wet, but so tight. He was big but not so massive as that. He couldn’t fathom what you were saying was true.

“That…fratboy fuckstick you went out on a date with?”

“Didn’t think you even saw me leave.”

Joel withdrew, gripped your hips even tighter, then drove his cock to nestle three solid inches inside your cunt. It was extra snug, but he made sure to try to loosen you up with a couple short, shallow thrusts and a hand gradually drifting down between your legs. Of course he saw you.

The circles on your clit and slow-growing movements may as well have been kerosene in your veins. With what limited range of motion you had in that grey, compact space, you let out a sigh and dug the fingers of your free hand into the closest scrap of fabric beside you. Joel’s own touch gradually moved from your hip to drag your hand behind your back, clasping his. He fucked in deeper

“So that’s who this is for?” Thumbing your skirt.

“Y-Yeah,” you lied.

“Wanted to send naughty pics in the schoolgirl getup?”

“Yes,” you lied again. You closed your eyes when Joel sank his cock even deeper and made you stretch inside.

“‘Atta girl,” he praised.

It might’ve been the first he’d validated you in your life.

“Grippin’ this cock extra tight, ain’t ya, sweet girl?”

Never in a million years would you have imagined it’d come this late—or leave Joel’s mouth in a way like that.

‘Elastic’ wasn’t a word you’d ever used to describe your body, either. Frankly, there was no need for it to be; every one of your partners before had been average-sized, and every other object that went inside you, too, had almost always been a comfortable squeeze between your walls. Outside of maybe your first time and a once-off awkward hookup now and again, you were never forced to feel a stretch to this degree. Joel felt huge moving inside you.

He was nearing your cervix and still nowhere close to the base of his cock. Meanwhile, you were stuffed to the brim, saturated with arousal and his spit, and practically keening at every stab of his hips. You couldn’t reach back because Joel’s fingers were still enmeshed with yours, gripping them hard behind your back. As wore down, fucked out, and desperate as you already were, you were less than only a second away from asking him to ease up.

And then he stopped.

Joel pulled out, let go, and pressed onto the old washing machine, where you heard his touch echo through metal.

He was leaning against it. You were about to turn around. Before you could, though, you felt his form mold into yours—this time not in it, but on it, as he drew closer and once more reached into the space where you were stuck.

“Can you be brave for me, baby?” Joel murmured.

“Wh—” you started, soft, only to feel the words plucked straight from your lungs as Joel leaned his body inside. Carefully, and with concerted effort, it seemed, he was trying to squeeze his way into the O-shaped hole of the washing machine, snaking his arm around your torso.

Pinching your finger again. Breathing just gently enough for his exhales to tickle at your shoulders and your neck.

“Can you be brave?” he repeated, and you weren’t sure you’d ever heard him so soft-spoken, or felt him so close.

You nodded, not knowing why.

Without another word, your stepdad pinched the digit even tighter and yanked it out from where it was stuck.

It all happened so fast. Joel freeing your finger, squeezing it tight, helping you out of that hot and crowded space while your legs gave way like mush beneath your weight—and your hand throbbing in pain. You’d never thought a single finger could cause a feeling as strong as that, but it stung like hell. You almost raked your nails through the man’s arm when he tried to hold you back, holding you up just as well as you stood.

“Joel!” you screeched, like the whole thing was his fault.

You flexed your hand and wanted to sob. You could feel the streaks of pain start to claw up your wrist, were just about to shove Joel aside and wallow in agony, when at length, he did something strange and unexpected again.

This time, he lifted your index to his mouth and kissed it.

It wasn’t a sensual kiss. Coming from Joel, it hardly even seemed affectionate. His lips were so warm and firm and decidedly unacquainted with anything approaching a threat of tenderness that his act read almost aggressive. He let your finger rest loosely against his mouth, and he kissed it again, while his eyes burned holes into yours.

‘You’re okay’ came out muffled against your hand.

“You’re okay—hey—baby, you’re good. Don’t cry.”

You hadn’t even noticed the tears had started to form. You blinked and felt one trickle down your cheek. With the hand that wasn’t holding your wrist, Joel brushed his thumb against that lone trail of moisture. He didn’t cup your face, hold you close, or stroke your cheek in the seconds that followed, though he did keep kissing you.

Or, rather, it—your finger.

Joel didn’t have to care for you at all. He just feared he might’ve pulled on your hand too hard in getting you out.

‘You’re okay’ was being mumbled away like a fractured refrain, touch descending gently to your hip, and his eyes grew softer by the second, surely he had to be thinking it.

Sinking inside you, again. He was standing; your hips were tilted to his, and your ass was pressing flat against the front of the washing machine. All it took was an inch or two off the ground and your limbs hanging limply around his hips for Joel to fuck back into you. He sucked on your finger so hard you feared the skin might actually bruise—a hand hickey, of all fucking things—and when his grip tightened on your side, you knew he felt it too.

His teeth succeeded his lips in an instant, and he was biting, gnawing pathetically as a groan shuddered through his chest. If you didn’t know better, you might’ve said the sound was veering perilously close to a whimper.

Fully sheathed inside you, Joel Miller didn’t seem to care. His lids fell like lead across the upper half of his brown, glossy eyes, and the expression behind them was blank.

Safe.

“‘S’alright, baby,” he grunted. Maybe he’d just seen you wince, as he cradled your hand and withdrew another inch, “Keep squeezin’ me, it feels real good. Right here.”

Out of instinct, your gaze drifted down to the spot where his body joined with yours. The sight was hardly a shock, but the feelings it evoked were not—he had you split along two-thirds of his dick, a pretty shelf of belly protruding beneath and gleaming with the arousal he’d drawn out from your body. Tufts of silver and grey littered his skin in every direction, aged muscles tensed with the weight of each thrust, and the warm weathered hand that hadn’t dared touch you once before today was now cupping your chin. Tilting your head closer to him.

“Right here, baby. Look at daddy.”

Wild, unbridled heat flooded your brain in a second. The thing seared the insides of your skull with all the force of a fire and stole the air from your lungs just the same—still, you couldn’t refrain from making a face in disgust.

“What the fuck, Joel?” You shouldn’t have liked it.

His hand ascended your throat in a blink.

“Ain’t that what you want, sweet pea?”

“I—”

Just as you started to answer, though, his cock took a dizzying plunge, hitting exactly the right spot inside you. Like clockwork, your mouth fell open, a whine tumbled out, and Joel took that as his chance to grip your neck even tighter and push your hips against the washing machine, where his height afforded him an easy hold.

“What you want—”

He squeezed harder.

“—what you need—”

You gasped, starved for air. It wasn’t every day a man took your breath away. Not like Joel could, anyway.

“—is me, ain’t it?”

The gaze fixed on your face was alight with desire.

“Bet you miss him somethin’ awful, huh? Been needin’ a man to fill that spot ever since he left, haven’t ya, baby?”

‘He’ required no further clarification. The words stung. You communicated as much by wriggling your hips back and pressing your hand against Joel’s chest, just quit it.

Keep fucking me, but shut the fuck up about my father.

“I don’t miss shit,” you sniffed. Felt the head of Joel’s cock carve a shape somewhere deep inside your body and couldn’t pretend it wasn’t filling a metaphorical void someplace else. You hadn’t got this much attention from a man as many years your senior since…well, ever, really.

You preened beneath his touch. Wanting to feel. Wanting to please. Wanting, more than anything, to be needed.

Joel sated each craving with a simple hand smoothed over your face. His palm moved from your throat to your chin to the hinge of your jaw before coming to rest at the nape of your neck. This time squeezing lightly, bringing your face in close while he fucked you. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, and your stomach tightened inside you.

“That’s alright,” he said, words hardly above a whisper, “No need to miss that man at all, ‘cause I’m right here.”

For once the assurance came as somewhat of a comfort. You suspected it had something to do with the fact he was balls deep inside you and pushing you closer and closer to the brink of release with each painstaking stab of his cock. You fisted his flannel, holding him there. Spreading your legs, accepting his thrusts, taking each movement with ragged, shallow breaths and moans that blended with his own, you felt your body grow warmer.

Almost febrile beneath him as he tilted your head again.

“Who’s your daddy now?”

You winced, shaking your head. You hated that word.

“Who’s your daddy?”

Joel lowered his hand and began to thumb at your clit. Hot pleasure coursed through you, made you whine at the contact and dig your heels even deeper in his back.

“Who’s your daddy, baby? It ain’t that hard to say.”

But it was. Joel stroking your clit, stuffing you full, ghosting his lips against yours without ever furnishing a kiss, just goading you on with: ‘I know you wanna say it.’ Tough grey stubble teased your mouth with each word.

“I know she needs to cum, sweet girl. Know that poor little pussy’s taken a beating—and she’s done so good for me—but she needs to let it out now. All over me.”

His gaze held yours. You couldn’t turn away.

An unmistakable tenderness pervaded that look, and it didn’t seem keen to depart. No matter how tightly you pursed your lips, made fists in his shirt, or choked his cock between your walls in fluttering, desperate pleas, the man remained calm. Attentive. The eyes didn’t stray.

“It’s okay to say it.”

“C-Can’t—”

“Sure can. Be the easiest thing you ever do—D-A-D-D—”

“Please. Please.”

You hardly even knew what you were asking for at this point, only beholden to that big, swollen something in your tummy starting to give way beneath the push of Joel’s cock. Tightening up, leaking out, practically drooling down the length of this man who seemed relentless in his current pursuit. Two more circles on your clit and you were keening, whimpering pathetic as ever:

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease.”

“Say it now. Who’s it for?”

Above you, Joel’s teeth gleamed in a smile—or a snarl, you couldn’t tell. All you knew was the pleasure, the concomitant pain of having to contain this desperation while his thrusts sped up. You were bouncing on him, getting fucked against the washing machine in the raw and terrible central Texas heat wearing a sheen of sweat and a set of clothes that no longer fit your body, but that was just fine. You were okay. Joel was here, and he was holding your head, lips hovering less than an inch away.

“Who’s. Your. Daddy?” His words were slow. Coarse. Spilling into your mouth with every short puff of breath.

You couldn’t take it. You felt a band of pressure come to a head in your belly and the brush of Joel’s cock making its rounds in and out of your swollen cunt, pushing hard, and you knew that you’d had enough. He knew it, too.

“Y-You.”

“Who?”

“Joel.”

“Who?”

Your wet, pearly slick rang a deafening pitch. Enough.

“You, daddy! Daddy—please, fuck—I-I-I’m gonna cum.”

“Gonna cum for me? Make a mess of your old man?”

“Make a m-mess— yes, daddy, yes—” you slurred.

Joel drove his cock, fully coated in you, down to the hilt. He captured your lips in a kiss and didn’t even mind your mouth was whining, hissing, whimpering its filthy pleas for him to fuck a nice, big orgasm out from your body.

“—want yours inside,” you added, without realizing it.

“Sweet girl…” Joel groaned.

You didn’t know what you were asking him for. How badly he wanted it, too. His cock dragged in and out of your precious cunt and was barely more safe from the threat of its grip when you spasmed, at the last. Joel should’ve expected no less, after all the time he’d spent teasing and edging, then begging you gently, in grunts, ‘Cum for daddy, baby. Let me have it, that’s it, good girl.’ Still, somehow, he wasn’t prepared in the slightest.

When you squeezed your eyes shut and kissed him back—that was all it took. When you clenched on his cock, gave the front of his shirt a tug, locked your ankles about his hips so you could more properly increase that friction by fucking him back, grinding in place, he feared he might fairly make an irreparable, unforgivable mistake.

And when the whites of your eyes appeared again—eyelids fluttering open while your lips were glossed with his spit and a lazy smile—and said what you said next, he sensed that his fate was sealed. The old man was fucked.

“Cum inside me, daddy. Please.”

Joel couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried. He shuddered, then flooded your insides with rope after rope after rope of his spend, burying his face in your neck and taking your hips in his hands like a looser grip might lose you to him forever. He fucked his cum deep, deeper, darlin’ don’t move, can’t lose a drop, baby, please, he let out a whimper that made your walls pulse again. You felt him fill you to the brim and keep rutting his hips. Your body and his were shaking by the last of it.

And when he was finished, Joel dropped a kiss along your limp, glistening lips. He slid you back on the metal. By the expression on his face, it was plain to see he was loath to withdraw, but he had to. That tender little hiss and the sounds of your shared fluids trickling out were all the impetus he needed to act quick. As soon as he’d pulled out, Joel was back leaning against the washing machine—tilting your hips back a little, then lowering his sweaty, handsome head to the spot between your legs.

The wrinkles to the sides of his eyes grew more pronounced when he smiled. A happy grin, plastered across his lips, would have struck you as almost smug, were it not for the look of sheer adulation that followed it.

Joel was enthralled, watching his cum leak out of you. He kissed your thighs, flickered his gaze to your own, briefly, then damn near sank his nose inside the place he was watching before your fingers stopped him cold.

It was your body, after all. He had already had his fill.

Hardly knowing what came over you in that moment, you sank two fingers inside your wet, drooling hole and watched the eyes of the man beneath you go wide. He soaked in that sight completely: you pushing his cum back in, drawing it out, using the viscous white liquid as a lubricant of sorts before releasing a pleased little sigh.

Joel closed his mouth reluctantly. It took him more than a second to tear his eyes from that place, but when he did, the motions were quick to grow assured, by turns.

As if remembering something.

In a second, the innocent smile you’d seen before was being infiltrated, slowly, by a look you couldn’t place. Joel’s grin morphed from gentle to contented to plainly enthused and beaming ear-to-ear with a conceited glint. With his finger, he tugged your panties back into place.

“Baby—” he started, only to be cut off lightning-quick.

“What? What is it?”

His smile stretched even wider. By that act alone, you were half-tempted to forget the events of the last hour and set your jaw in a scowl. You looked down, unamused.

“What?”

“It’s just…” The man trailed off, and as he did, his gaze descended with it—straight down to your bare pantyline.

You cast a look there too—“What the fuck is it, Joel?!”

At that, two brown eyes flitted back up to you.

“I thought I asked for neon pink underwear, baby.”

Your breaths slowed. His gaze didn’t waver. Your heart came to a standstill in your chest, and you were amazed you had even half your present willpower then to speak.

“Wait, Joel, wh—”

“Shame you couldn’t get around to filmin’ today. Had me hard as a fuckin’ rock with all that milk and honey stuff.”

You nearly choked on your spit. Joel kept grinning.

“You’re—”

The guy. That fucking subscriber. The one who’d paid almost $500 in commissions in the last month alone.

You stared at Joel with eyes as wide as saucers, and were about to press on, when you heard the front door to the house shriek back on its hinges. Two sets of footsteps followed it, and their entry inside was loud.

Immediately, Joel rose to his feet. It seemed that grin wasn’t meant to stay long on his lips, because the next thing you knew, he was dropping a kiss somewhere soft and sweaty on your face and flipping your skirt back into place, holding his index up to his lips and stepping away. Your mouth twisted into a frown but stayed zipped out of sheer necessity. Seeing this, and likely unable to help himself, your gross, depraved, grinning old man leaned back in and planted his hands on either side of your hips on the washing machine. His nose nudged into your own.

“Between us—” he began, slowly.

“Get fucked,” you finished for him.

Joel nodded his assent, smirk faint. He cast a look over his shoulder, and, hearing what sounded like your mother’s footsteps drawing closer, lowered his voice.

Rubbing his thumb under your chin, making you tip your head back to meet his for one final look—then a kiss:

“You keep my secret, I keep yours, alright?”

—

Note: I’ve never done a real writing challenge before, but hopefully this fic will work for #hotdilfsummerchallenge !!! @hellishjoel this is such a fun ass idea & i hope you enjoy❣️

[twola]

Absolute perfection by @kenobiwanx . I keep staring at their expressions and am so in love.

(Yes, there is more. Yes, I’ll post it later 😉)

[peepawmiller]

Summary: Your husband is unfaithful, and your contractor is hot.

Pairing: Contractor!Joel Miller x Married!Reader

Warnings: Porn with some Plot?, piv, cunnilingus, fingering, massage, Joel works for reader, adultery, but reader's husband cheated first so it doesn't count and i stand by that, divorce, Joel has a big dick, Tommy Miller, shitty marriage

WC: 8.2k

A/N: This really got away from me im so sorry. but low key lmk if i should make a part 2. Love to hear your thoughts :)

You didn’t set out to hire a contractor with the sole purpose of cheating on your husband. It just happened.

In all fairness, he cheated first. Consistently and repeatedly. His ongoing affairs are the reason you’ve found yourself in this situation in the first place. 

In truth, it started long before his infidelity had. You knew marrying him was a mistake the moment he showed just how little he cared for you and your needs, miniscule as they may be, in your opinion. 

You married Jeremy straight out of college, which was your first miscalculation. Guys your age never quite met your standards of what a healthy and loving relationship should be. But you married him anyway because you thought it’s what you had to do.

His job in finance allowed you to buy the house of your dreams, though it definitely needed some work. He promised you – insisted – that he could take care of the repairs himself despite having the financial means to hire someone else to do it and zero experience doing any sort of manual labor. Your career was just as lucrative as his, so between the two of you, there was no reason you couldn’t afford to hire someone to do the job. You lost track of the amount of times you’d fought him on the topic.

Just hire someone! No, I can do it myself! When? I’ll start soon, I swear!

He never started soon. And now, it’s been five years

The home itself was perfect – full of mid-century modern charm, large, bright windows, sleek, low-pitched roof, open floor plan. You loved it. You did not love the orange shag carpet or the lime green cabinets in the kitchen, nor were you a fan of the square teal tiling covering every inch of both bathrooms. But those problems could be easily resolved. 

Your husband, cheating, vile, misogynistic scumbag that he is, was considerably less simple to deal with.

When you discovered his habitual adultery, you were surprised to feel nothing but anger. Not hurt. Not betrayal. Just pure, unbridled anger.  You hadn’t been happy in years, and quite frankly, you weren’t sure you ever were. 

It sparked a thirst for retaliation in you that couldn’t be quenched without taking full and total control of your life again. 

First on your to-do list was filing for a divorce. You had all the proof you needed to back up your claims of his infidelity – texts, phone calls, receipts for motels – Jeremy was not smart, nor was he careful, which made the task incredibly simple. Seeing as he fucked anything with a pulse, you had plenty of evidence to go on. Your lawyer was astonished, either at his stupidity or the sheer amount of women Jeremy has been caught with, you weren’t sure.

Next, you gathered the funds you needed in order to complete the renovation to your home, and luckily, you’d been saving for that specific task. You wanted him to be dumbstruck when he saw the final product, and then you would hand him the divorce papers and tell him to get the hell out.

Finally, you had to hire the right contractors to get the job done. This proved to be your most ardent task yet. 

It took you weeks to find a suitable contractor to take on your project. You vetted and price checked and examined their work with a scrutiny that would impress even the most seasoned detectives. You took recommendations, avoided certain ones entirely, and finally landed on Miller & Miller Construction.

Their website had no flair. No pizazz. No gimmicks. It was plain, clean, and it showcased their work in stunning clarity. You were impressed. The custom cabinetry was just what you’d been looking for, the craftsmanship simple, but precise. Their eye for design, their workmanship, everything spoke to you. You set up a consultation and met with them as soon as you could.

Joel and Tommy were two completely opposing entities that you weren’t quite sure how to read. Tommy did most of the talking, his smile easy and bright, immediately likable, while Joel sat quietly, eyes trained on you, not exactly frowning, but there was no smile to be had on his face either. You liked them, despite how quiet the elder Miller was, grizzled hair, trimmed scruff on his jaw and chin, mustache flecked with grey.

Something about him made you squirm. 

You could tell immediately how their dynamic worked. Tommy was the salesman, the entrepreneur, the frontman. And Joel was the brawn, the craftsman – it showed in the rough edges of his features, his hands, his discerning eyes. Though, you’re sure they both put in their fair share of hard labor.

Tommy had a tablet in front of him, typing out the details of your project. Joel paced the kitchen, measuring, examining, testing. You watched him, admiring the slope of his broad shoulders, the sharp line of his jaw, the faint hints of grey in his beard, rippling muscles hidden under a flannel and a t-shirt.

You blinked out of your haze when Tommy spoke.

“Full-scale kitchen remodel. Custom cabinetry. Updated appliances. Marble counters – that won’t be cheap,” Tommy muttered, but you waved your hand.

“It’s covered. I’ve been saving for years.”

His grin flashed, warm and friendly, “Don’t worry, we won’t drain it all.” He types something else out, muttering, “Hardwood floors, new trim, drywalling, tiling..” he trailed off, listing out everything the two of you had discussed for the entirety of the house. When he was done, he looked across at you with a smile, “I’ll get you an estimate in about a week or so.”

You almost bounced in your seat, giddy with the prospect of your home finally coming to life. You were so ecstatic you almost forgot about the wreckage of your marriage.

“We’ll have our design team set up a consultation, pick materials, colors and such, and then we can get you a fixed timeline. Do you have any questions for us?”

Your eyes darted between him and his stoic older brother before shaking your head, “No, thank you so much.”

In all of your searches and meetings with various contractors in the area, it was the first time you felt seen. They didn’t ask if you needed your husband’s approval. They didn’t ask if he wanted input in the project. Didn’t even ask if you had a husband. But it was clear in your surroundings – the framed picture of you two on your wedding day situated right behind you on the china cabinet, the men’s tennis shoes discarded by the door, the ugly recliner just visible in the living room. Your wedding ring.

Your meeting with their design team went even better – though team was a bit of an overstatement. A woman your age, friendly, bright, excited to help you design your kitchen. Her name was Winona, and she was bubbly without being obnoxious, smart without being a knowitall. And best of all, she took your design ideas and turned them into something spectacular. You loved her.

Jeremy was on a business trip, probably fucking anything that moved, when you signed the final contract to get the house started. And the progress was swift. Efficient for two guys who did all the work themselves. You wondered, briefly, how many projects they normally took on. If they had a crew doing work elsewhere. But it didn’t matter. They were working on your house. 

And Tommy was right. The estimate he provided didn’t drain all you’d saved for the project. You had just enough left over to tuck away for your lawyer fees for your inevitable divorce. Something you were wildly ecstatic about.

Over the course of two weeks, Tommy and Joel arrived at seven am on the dot, ripping apart your house piece by piece, hauling things away, cleaning up the site, and working at a scarily efficient tempo.

By the end of the first week, they’d had the upper level of your home completely bare, painted in the soft, off-white color you’d chosen for the hallways, and the corresponding colors you’d chosen for your office, bedroom, and guest room. You slept on the couch while the upstairs was under construction, and by the end of the second week, you were back in your bedroom, adding the decorative touches you’d been working on while they did the hard labor.

Now that your primary living space was completed, they’d moved on to the rest of the house, spending two weeks alone on the bathrooms, and another full day hauling debris from your house.

You enjoyed seeing them bright and early every day. Tommy’s friendly smile, Joel’s gruff nod. After just under a month, you’d grown accustomed to them. You offered them coffee, brewed in your home office instead of the kitchen, and had bagels and fruit out on the kitchen table for them to enjoy at their leisure. Tommy ate the bagels and fruit. Joel guzzled coffee like it would cure whatever had him looking so grumpy all the time. 

You chatted with Tommy during your lunch breaks, and you were surprised to find that you enjoyed his company. He was charming and friendly and sweet and nothing like his quietly cantankerous brother. You were lucky if you got more than two words out of Joel in a day, but Tommy was quickly becoming the highlight of the entire project.

You learned a lot about him, and incidentally Joel, every time the two of you sat down for lunch. He told you about their construction company, the scale of their work, and how business has really picked up over the last couple of months. He told you about his wife, Maria, and how she was due to give birth any day now. He expressed his excitement, his trepidation, and joy at becoming a father. He’d had a lot of practice with Joel’s daughter, but she was grown now. That surprised you.

You couldn’t picture Joel getting close enough to someone to have a child with them.

While Joel cut lumber on your back patio, you lowered your voice and asked, “He’s married?”

Tommy took a heaping bite of his sandwich and shook his head, “Nah, wife ran off a couple months after Sarah was born. ‘S just him now that Sarah’s gone off to school in Washington.”

You could see Joel through the patio door, hunched over a piece of lumber, marking it with a pencil, brows furrowed in concentration, eyes focused. You hadn’t let yourself examine him very closely, but watching him work, you were struck by how handsome he was. You’d thought so when you first met the pair of them, but you were so focused on getting the project off the ground, you paid little attention.

His green flannel drew tight over his shoulders and biceps, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He tucked the pencil behind his ear as he maneuvered the piece of wood into place and ripped it through the saw. His forearms tensed, fingers deft and precise as he pulled the wood through. His jaw clenched as he examined it, flicked away the sawdust, eyes singularly focused on his task. 

“Easy, sugar,” Tommy drawled, snapping you out of your trance, “He’s a surly old bastard. Don’t wanna get mixed up with that.”

You gaped at him, cheeks coloring, pressing a hand to your chest, “Excuse me? That would be highly inappropriate.” You tried to sound glib, but Tommy was right. You were attracted to Joel. And you were aching for someone to touch you. 

You hadn’t had sex in nearly a year thanks to Jeremy’s exploits. You were not interested in contracting an STD from him, and you were so disgusted by him, the thought of having sex with him turned your stomach.

In the month since the project began, Jeremy had only been home twice, complaining about the mess and the dust and screaming at you for going through with the renovation when he’s perfectly capable of doing it all himself.

“Who’s paying for all of this anyway?” He asked derisively. You crossed your arms over your chest, glaring at him. Joel and Tommy were downstairs, completing the tile work for the guest bathroom, and you knew they could hear every word. “I bet they’re taking you for a ride. Women always get scammed by contractors, are you stupid?”

“Shut the fuck up, Jeremy!” You shouted at him, unable to contain your fury. “Why don’t you just go back to fucking your assistant and keep your shitty opinions to yourself!” You stormed out of the room, slamming the door in his face and retreating to the back patio where Joel was hunched over a wet saw, lining up a tile to cut with with the precision you’d come to expect from him.

He looked up at you, his face neutral, lips set in a firm line, dark eyes assessing.

“Everying alright?”

Stunned by his gentle voice, you’d been unable to speak, simply nodding your head and watching as he nodded back and hunched over the saw again.

Jeremy left, and hadn’t been back since.

Between your frustration at your husband, and Tommy’s comment about Joel, a spark of determination lit inside you like dry shrub in a wild fire. Your previously controlled, distant admiration of Joel transformed into a cloying, desperate urge, and he was the one and only thing on your mind.

But that didn’t mean anything would happen. Not with Joel’s sour disposition and gruff exterior. Talking to Tommy was easy. Talking to Joel – well, there was very little that came out of his mouth, so you weren’t sure it could be qualified as talking. Which is why it was so shocking to you that he’d spoken to you in the first place.

You tried. You really did. Every time he came to your office for a coffee refill, you immediately dropped what you were doing in order to strike up a conversation with him. But he never budged. Just grunted, gave one word answers, sometimes even just stared at you like you hadn’t spoken at all. You wondered why he even bothered coming into your office in the first place. Why not just send Tommy to get his refills if it was such a burden to talk to you?

His silence perturbed you. And you were determined to get his attention. 

You were so desperate, you started wearing less. Instead of yoga pants and a conservative pull over sweater, you switched to shorts and loose t-shirts that hung off your shoulder. It was an easy switch to make as the last remnants of chilly spring weather finally succumbed to the prickling heat of summer.

If Joel noticed your slowly deteriorating selection of moderate clothing, he didn’t let on. And the more he ignored you, the more you wanted him.

Instead of letting him come to you for coffee, you brought the pot out to him, low cut, form fitting, spaghetti strap top displaying your perky breasts. Your shorts barely covered your ass. And he didn’t even blink.

“Coffee?” You ask coquettishly, lifting your chest just a touch. His eyes stayed on yours, steadfast, hard, and determined, as he held his mug out for you to fill.

“Thanks,” he grunted, taking a large gulp. 

“Hot today,” you point out, the beginning of summer making its presence known. “You sure you don’t wanna come inside? Take a break?”

His eyes never strayed. Not once. He shook his head, “Tommy should be back with more lumber any minute.”

It’s the most words you've heard leave his mouth in a consecutive string. It emboldens you.

You nod at the comfortable, air conditioned living room just on the other side of the French doors, “Just a quick break. I can get you something cold to drink. Lemonade? A beer?”

You were pushing, and he wasn’t conceding, turning back to the makeshift work table he had set up under the shade of your patio; three saw horses with a large piece of plywood acting as the tabletop, “‘M alright, darlin’. Why don’t you go cool off?”

Darlin’. That subtle Texas drawl, syrupy smooth, deep and rich like honey. He’d called you Darlin’. 

You shouldn’t devote too much thought to it. Tommy calls you ‘Sugar’ all the time. Even goes as far as ‘Sweetheart’ on some occasions. But it was natural coming from him. Harmless and utterly platonic. He’s a smooth talker and a schmoozer. From Joel, it was so foreign, so out of character, you didn’t know what to do. He’d hardly said two words to you in the past, and now he’s giving you sweet nicknames. Calling you Darlin’ was just as harmless as Tommy calling you Sugar, but it did something to you.

You left him on the patio and shuffled back to your office, dazed. 

You liked it, you realized, skin flushed and heat simmering low in your belly. You wanted him to do it again. Call you by more endearing pet names. Even in your five years of marriage to Jeremy, he’d only ever addressed you by your name or a condescending ‘babe’. You hadn’t realized how pathetically you’d been yearning for more. Something softer, sweeter, kinder. Not until Joel.

But he didn’t seem interested. Should you be more direct? Ask him, outright, if he was attracted to you? Should you strip naked and throw yourself at him? No, no. That was too direct. You had more self respect than that. Maybe. Probably not.

Jeremy had neglected you for so long, your mind was spinning out of control. You want to be wanted. You want to be touched. And you want Joel.

When Tommy returned with the lumber, you watched them unload it from his pickup truck. Joel shed his flannel and was now clad in a white t-shirt that hugged his biceps, his back spotted with sweat and his muscles bulging with the effort of lugging wood into your home. Fuck, you couldn’t stand it.

You have to do something about this ache between your legs. The sudden, unquenchable thirst you feel for him. If skimpy outfits and shy invitations to join you for coffee don’t do it, you know what will. And it’s just about as close to stripping naked as you could get.

When Joel arrives the next day, without Tommy, you greet him with a smile, a fresh pot of coffee, and a question in your gaze that asks where his brother is.

“Wife went into labor late last night. I’ll be finishin’ up without him,” he grunts, though without any of the typical irritability that comes with the need to socialize. Maybe the birth of his nephew had softened him.

You’re a little sad you won’t get to see Tommy, but thrilled to have Joel all to yourself.

As you step aside to let him in, you don’t miss the way his eyes flit down your bare legs. You hadn’t bothered getting dressed, still clad in your oversized sleep shirt that barely hangs down past your ass. 

As he sets about getting his bearings from where he left off the previous day, you pour him a cup of coffee and toast and butter a bagel for him, knowing he doesn’t much care for the indulgence of cream cheese or jelly. He thanks you with a grunt and shuffles his way onto the patio to get started. Your eyes linger on the way his navy t-shirt stretches across his broad, muscular back.

After you change into a revealing tank top and the shortest shorts you own, you coop yourself up in your office to get some work done. But when you’re done for the day, you can’t help yourself. You check in on him, peering through the back doors and asking if he wants something to eat. You expect him to decline, but when he graciously accepts, you bounce giddily to the kitchen to make him a sandwich. 

Today is different. You can feel it. 

When you present him with the sandwich, he dusts his hands on his jeans and nods at you in thanks, but doesn’t say anything. He only watches you, eyes flitting to your cleavage so quickly, you think you imagine it. But then he looks you dead in the eyes as he takes a bite of the sandwich and chews it slowly.

Something in you snaps and your blood heats, making your skin flush. You rush away from him, and as you retreat inside, you swear you hear him chuckle.

With your heart racing and an idea bubbling to life in your mind, you race upstairs and start digging through your closet until you find exactly what you’re searching for. If he wants to tease you, you’re going to tease him right back.

You pull on a white and blue bikini with strings that tie at the hips, around the base of your neck, and at the middle of your back. After applying a nude gloss to your lips and dabbing a light amount of makeup across your cheeks, you pull on a black sheer coverup, that flows down past your ankles, leaving it open. It does little to hide your scantily clad body as you tiptoe back downstairs with a book and a bottle of tanning oil in your grip.

You walk past the back door as deliberately as you can, making sure to catch his attention as you carefully maneuver your way through your deconstructed kitchen to fill a glass with ice water and lemon slices. With your sunglasses perched on the bridge of your nose, you finally step onto the patio, your tits on display, legs bare and gleaming, and smile coy and searching.

”I’m going to lay out by the pool for a bit. If you get hungry or thirsty, help yourself to anything you like,” you tell him, feigning disinterest. Acting like you don’t see the way his throat bobs and his eyes greedily drink you in. He doesn’t say anything to you as you take the three short steps down to your yard and traipse over to your pool.

The early summer sun is blazing hot, and sweat prickles your skin the moment you lay out on your teakwood lounger, the white cushion comfortable but warm from the heat of the day. Your eyes dart toward Joel to make sure he’s watching, and you slowly slip out of your coverup, intentionally dropping it and bending at the waist to pluck it off the stone pavers surrounding your pool.

It feels almost comically pornographic to resort to this type of temptation, but with the blatant way he watches you, it’s worth it.

You lean back on the lounger, snatching up your book and flipping to the page you’d left off on. It’s some tawdry romance novel with a shirtless cowboy on the front. Painfully transparent with little to no plot, but you’re not reading it for the plot, anyway.

Your skin prickles with awareness, your eyes darting toward Joel every few minutes to catch him watching you for the briefest moment before he returns to the meticulous work of assembling your cabinetry. 

When your ice water is half gone and too warm to enjoy, you decide to take a brief dip into the pool. You stand, adjusting your bottoms, pulling them up just a touch, before wading slowly into the rippling water. The effect is instant, the water immediately cooling you and making goosebumps pebble across your skin, tightening your nipples. 

You’re careful not to get your hair wet, brushing it aside as you drift further in, then back toward the shallow end. A quick glance in his direction makes you frown. His back is to you, broad shoulders leaned over his plywood table. 

The power saw buzzes to life, then quiets. He blows away the sawdust, t-shirt damp with sweat. Biceps straining as he joins two pieces of wood together, fastening them with a clamp. You’re enraptured by his focus. Envious of your very own cabinets and wishing he’d look at you with such deliberate intent and concentration. House be damned.

When you can tell he’s about to turn in your direction, you climb out of the pool, allowing the water to trickle off your frame and slick down your body. You run a hand down your stomach, briefly toying with the pink jewel at your naval, then adjust your bottoms again as you strut back to the lounger.

Under the dark, impenetrable lenses of your sunglasses, your eyes dart to him. He’s staring, his throat bobbing, hands tight around the clamps he’s using to fasten the cabinets together. 

You hide your smile, laying out on your towel to let the sun soak up the water from your skin. You feel his eyes on you more prominently than the moisture coating your body. With a sly smile, you push your sunglasses down your nose to look at him.

“Hey, Joel?” Voice dripping with honey and mischief.

“Yeah, darlin’?” He calls back, still watching. Not even bothering to pretend anymore. And he calls you that name again. Darlin’. Your core clenches.

Biting your lip, you give him a coquettish look that’s all sin and wicked intention, “Will you help me put on some sunscreen?”

Straight out of a porno. The oldest trick in the book. Painfully, achingly transparent. You’re inviting him to touch you. And even from afar, you can see his resolve snap. Eyes darkening, posture going rigid.

“You sure about that?” He asks, voice tight and rough.

You nod, biting your lip for good measure, “Uh huh.”

He shakes his head like he can’t believe what he’s about to do, and a devilish smile spreads across your face, triumphant. Joel dusts his hands off on his jeans, trudges down the patio steps, and prowls over to your lounger. His tall, broad frame eclipses the sun, casting shade over you. You grin and roll onto your stomach, acutely aware of the way your ass looks in your tiny bikini.

“Sunscreen, there,” you point to the bottle of tanning lotion on the teakwood table next to you. It’s more of an oil with UV protection, but the idea is the same: you want him to rub it all over your body, and then fuck you senseless.

The scent of pine and leather wraps around you as he sits on the edge of the lounger, careful not to touch you. He grabs the oil and huffs a laugh, “This ain’t sunscreen.”

“It has UV protection!” You argue.

“This is nothin’ more than body oil.”

“Still. Please?” You ask, looking back at him and resting your cheek on your arms. He shakes his head, cheeks dimpling against the smile he’s trying to fight off.

“Ain’t payin’ me to lather you up, honey,” he says under his breath, flicking the cap of the oil open and drizzling it along your back.

“That’s okay. You need a break.”

He hums, setting the bottle aside. Your entire body tingles with anticipation, waiting for his skin on yours. You wait and wait, feeling the oil drip along your spine, your shoulders. Then, finally, the coarse surface of his work roughed hand meets your skin and you shiver.

“S’it okay if I untie this?” He asks, voice so low, so smooth, you’re sure you imagined it. But then you feel his fingers playing with the ties at your neck and you nod, frantically, too eager. “Of course it is.”

You almost giggle. He knows what you’re doing and he’s still placating you. You wiggle a little when he unties the neck, then the back, leaving you bare from the waist up. The moment his hands are back on you, you gasp. Pressure firm, but gentle. Sure and thorough as he spreads the oil around your skin. Brushing your hair aside, he massages the oil into your neck. You peek at him to see that concentrated look on his face. Like tearing him away from his task would undo him.

Then, both of his palms press into your back, eliciting a moan straight from your lips. You clamp your mouth shut, but the pressure is so divine, you almost do it again. 

“Feels okay?” He mutters, hands skimming down your body, your waist, your lower back, and then up again. His fingers graze the sides of your breasts and you nod again. God, if he stopped now, you think you’d cry.

Every pass of his hands turns you to jelly, and soon, he moves down to your legs, first starting at your ankles, then up your calves, careful not to go much further than the bend in your knee. You’re soaked. Skin humming with the effects of his firm, soothing touch, heated by the sun, and glowing faintly with the sheen of oil.

When you feel his hand inch up the inside of your thigh, you suck in a breath.

”Relax,” he coaxes, moving from the top of your thigh down to your knee and back up again. Over and over and over, pressing a little firmer on the way up, and stopping just short of the gusset of your skimpy bikini. “You told me to help myself to anything I liked.”

You did say that. And then you called him over to you to touch you freely. You grin, peeking up at him, cheek resting against your arms, “And you like me?”

His cheeks dimple, his smile so soft, so sexy, you almost say to hell with your little ruse. Something between a grunt and a laugh escapes him, “Darlin’, you got no idea.”

Darlin’. You don’t think you’ll ever get tired of it. You feel yourself grow damp as he moves his hands to your other thigh, repeating the same, torturous ministrations. But this time, he goes so much higher, you think he’s going to graze the covered, soaked apex of your desperately neglected pussy. He never does. Massages right below it. There’s no reason to put oil there, but he does it anyway. His thumbs get closer, massaging circles into your skin, very nearly grazing you, teasing, refusing to give you what you want.

When his hands leave you, you almost cry out in protest, but then he’s nudging your hip, “Turn over for me, sweetheart.”

As you lift up to turn, you toss your bikini top aside, having no desire to feign modesty any longer. He knows it, and you know it. You want him to fuck you.

His eyes spark with interest as they land on your breasts, perky and waiting, nipples tight from your dip in the pool. You lie back, making yourself comfortable as he stares. 

He chuckles, deep and smooth, “Not bein’ shy no more, are you?”

You grin in response as he grabs the oil and drizzles it over your chest, your stomach, and along your arms. He starts at your hands, making sure you’re fully covered, his large ones engulfing them completely in his grasp. The texture of his fingers is rough, but you like it as he moves his way up your wrists, your forearms, and then toward your shoulders, massaging along the way.

“Mm, Joel,” you sigh, his hands rubbing the oil into you completely before moving on. He presses his thumbs into your shoulders, then your collar bones, then the tops of your breasts. He still doesn’t touch you there, but then one hand wraps around your throat, resting, thumbing your pulse point where it hammers rapidly against your skin.

“Lookin’ so pretty,” he says quietly, keeping one hand on your neck while the other finally finally covers your breast. The initial touch is feather light, thumb grazing your nipple. Then, he presses firmer, his entire hand covering you with his palm while he kneads and massages. His hand leaves your neck only to cover your other breast, and you’re giddy with need as he works you into a whimpering, keening mess. “That feel good, darlin’?”

“So good,” you nod, grabbing his wrist to keep him there, demanding more.

He hums, keeping the hand you’ve now possessed on your breast, while the other moves down to rub oil into your tummy. His hands are a work of art, skilled in so many ways. You’re trembling by the time he reaches the top of your bikini bottoms. His pinky slips under the hem, making you gasp. He withdraws and does it again, rubbing back and forth until your hips move up to seek his touch.

“Want me to take these off?” He asks, tugging at the strings, already knowing your answer before you nod rapidly.

“Off, please. Take them off.”

His reply is a deep grunt, and you think that must be his grumpy little way of teasing you, “Needy little thing.”

The bottoms come off, and you’re bared to him, your center slick with need and ready to be fucked. But you just know he’s going to take his time. Simultaneously, you can’t stand it, but you also yearn for it. Being teased and molded into a whimpering mess, desperate for his touch. Your husband has never made you feel like this. Sexy. Desirable. Loved.

“Fuck, look at that pussy, baby,” he groans, still not touching you where you really, really need it. He’s massaging your hips now, leaning over you in a way that’s almost obscene as he gets closer to your slick heat. His thumbs press into your hips, then down your thighs until he’s rubbing oil into your legs, still neglecting you, even though every pretense of professionalism has all but burned up in the wake of your arousal.

“Joel,” you whine, arching your hips.

“Patience,” he answers sternly. And that’s that. Nothing more. 

Every stroke up and down your leg is torture as he repeats the same teasing he’d done to the backs of your legs. Getting closer and closer to your pussy, but never fully touching. You’re so eager, your slick coats your thighs, and on a final pass, he rubs it into your skin before his fingers finally graze your clit. You suck in a sharp breath, your hand shooting out to grab him again. To keep him there. Because if he stops now, you think you’ll actually die.

You look up at him, his eyes dark, his grin wide. You’ve never seen him smile like that, and it’s blinding, warm, and teasing. He rubs circles over your clit delicately, not pressing too hard, not too light. It’s so perfect and you’re so on edge that it has you on the precipice of your orgasm faster than you can blink.

And then he eases up, halting your peak so quickly, your hips buck, making you moan in protest, “No, no, no, don’t stop, please, Joel.”

“Ain’t plannin’ on stoppin’, baby,” he says softly, “Just need to get a better look at you.”

And then he shifts, gently lowering himself to the ground, knees probably screaming in protest, and grabbing you by the hips to pull you to the edge of the lounger, slightly askew on the cushion, but still comfortable. He lowers his head, making you squirm, lips brushing against your hip, across your tummy, briefly pausing to kiss around the pink belly button piercing. You arch your hips, enticing him.

“So eager,” he grumbles, one hand spreading your thigh, hooking it onto his shoulder, the other running up your opposite leg, kneading and massaging you into a puddle.

“I need — I need—“ you breathe, one hand clutching the teakwood, the other reaching for him, digging into the muscles of his shoulder.

“What do you need, baby?”

Your chest is heaving as he plants another kiss below your bellybutton, still massaging your leg while his other hand keeps your thigh firmly planted over his shoulder. 

“Fuck, you smell so sweet,” he sighs, inching down. It’s torture. It’s pure, unbridled torture — waiting for him. You’re a slick mess, oiled up, pussy wet, walls fluttering around nothing. “Tell me what you need,” he repeats.

“I need your tongue,” you gasp, the prickle of his beard on your skin driving you insane. You never would have guessed this. That Joel Miller is a fucking tease. That he’s slow and methodical. That he enjoys making you squirm. But here he is, peppering kisses all across your body, everywhere except your aching core, “Please, make me cum. Please, Joel.”

His chuckle is deep, a hint of red coloring his cheeks and neck, either from the sun or arousal, you don’t care.

“Since you asked nicely.”

And then his mouth is on you, hands spreading your thighs wide, keeping you open for him as he drags his tongue from your weeping cunt to your clit where he sucks, teasing you, making you gasp for air, arching your back off the lounger.

Your burrow a hand into his hair — it’s damp with sweat, but that doesn’t bother you in the slightest. 

His mouth is devastating against you, licking stripe after stripe up your slit, pausing briefly to suck and nibble at your clit until you’re sobbing with need. And then, just when you think it can’t get any better, he pushes one, thick finger into you, stretching you. The burn makes you cry out, the slow drag sending prickles of lightning up your spine.

“This is what you wanted, right, darlin’?” He asks, voice rough with arousal, eyes nearly black as he slowly pumps his finger into you. “It’s why you’ve been walkin’ around lookin’ like that. No pants on. Shorts barely coverin’ you, askin’ me to touch you. Askin’ to get fucked.”

You can’t answer. Your voice stalls in your throat. You can only nod, frantically. He adds a second finger and it almost undoes you. You’re so fucking close. He pushes them deep, leaning down to tease your clit again with his mouth, sucking hard, groaning.

“How do you think your husband would feel if he knew his pretty little wife was gettin’ fucked by the help?” 

He twists his fingers, curling them just so. He prods at the sensitive, soft spot inside you, making your arch.

“Ex. Ex — husband. Soon.”

He hums, “Judging by that ring, he’s no ex.”

It takes every ounce of will power you have to rip your hand away from him and tear the ring off your finger. It glints in the sun and clatters on the table next to you when you slam it down. Then your hand is back in his hair, urging him back to your cunt where he grins and licks you again, this time not pausing, not slowing.

Your orgasm is volcanic, blinding. You think you scream. You know your fingers clench around his hair so tight, you’re in danger of pulling it out of his scalp. And he just keeps going. Finger fucking you into oblivion, tasting your release on his tongue, moaning against you as you ride the waves of your climax into bliss.

You’re trembling when he lifts himself off the ground, fingers still probing deep, hunting for another orgasm. He leans over you, bracing his other hand next to your head, and kisses you. You whimper into his mouth, tasting yourself on his lips, tongues stroking and breaths mingling.

“Joel,” you moan when he removes his fingers, leaving you empty and limp. But he’s not pulling away. He’s kissing down your neck, sucking a spot just below your ear that drives you crazy that your husband always neglects, and undoing his belt.

“Tell me what you need,” he says into your neck. But he already knows. You know he knows. You’ve been begging for it this entire time.

“Fuck me, Joel,” you whine, hands searching for the end of his shirt. They slip underneath, and you moan at the way his muscles feel under your fingertips. He’s warm and rough and you want to see him. “Off.”

He hums, leaning up to pull his shirt over his head and toss it somewhere among your discarded bikini. He comes back to you, lips hot on yours while you concentrate your efforts on getting his jeans undone. He’s hard against your hand as you pull the zipper down, aching and needy.

Once his cock is freed, you break away to take him in, and you almost shrink. He is huge, leaking from the tip, resting heavy against your thigh. Even with how wet you are, you don’t know if he’ll fit. But God you want to try. 

“Don’t worry, baby, I got you,” he grunts, shoving his jeans and boxers off. He straightens you on the lounger, making room for himself as he climbs over you. He’s golden and glistening in the sun, slick with sweat and your arousal shimmering on his chin. 

The sight of his broad, hard form over you almost makes you cum again. 

He catches you gawking and you could swear he’s trying to fight off a smug smile, but his lips only twitch in amusement instead. Taking his cock in hand, he drags the tip through your folds, making you shudder and reach for his hips, holding him as he hovers, nails pressing a little harder than you intend. He doesn’t seem to mind.

As his tip catches your entrance, he groans, “Nice and wet for me, aren’t you?”

You can only nod, speech evading you as he slowly, cautiously sinks into you. The stretch is everything. You’re so full, so wet, and inconsolable, it makes you mewl in delight. 

“What’s that, darlin’?”

”So — so big. Your cock is so big, Joel,” you sigh, shifting your hips, taking him deeper. The burn is exquisite, but you need him to move. Need him to fuck you into another reality. ”Please..”

”Such pretty little manners,” he tells you, withdrawing slowly.

The first thrust is devastating. The second is mind numbing. And after the third, you’re holding onto him for dear life. It doesn’t take long for you to melt underneath him, arching your hips so he hits at just the right angle. 

“Tightest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever had, baby,” he pants, leaning down to mutter profanities into your ear, nibbling and kissing your neck, “That husband doesn’t take care of you at all does he?”

”No, no, no, never,” you chant, every part of you ready to snap.

“Bet he hasn’t fucked you proper in years,” he grunts, the sound of your skin slapping together downright obscene. “That’s all you needed, huh, darlin’?”

“Uh huh,” you yelp, almost a broken sob leaving you as he drives into you, “Fuck me, Joel..”

“Nothin’ to worry about now, I’ll take real good care of you.”

You could cry from the relief of it. The way his hips slam into you, how deep he is, how attentive. Even at the strongest point in your marriage, it’s never been like this, and it’s ecstasy.

Pleasure pools low in your belly, his cock hitting that sweet, sensitive spot inside you so perfectly, the precipice of your orgasm is on you in an instant. Just as you’re about to cum, he stills, breath heaving, your walls trembling, clenching around him.

“Joel,” you whine, breathless and wanting.

“Not yet, baby,” he tells you, voice syrupy and thick. Pressing a kiss to your neck, then your lips, he sits up on his knees, takes you by the thighs and lifts your hips to grind against him. The position is utterly indecent, back arched, him holding your thighs for leverage while he begins snapping his hips against you. And it’s like he never stopped in the first place.

Your orgasm crashes into you, hands reaching for his wrists to hold on as he towers over you, giving you everything he’s got. The power of his thrusts knocks the breath out of you.

“Take it, baby, fuck, you’re such a good girl,” he grounds out, sweat slicking his muscled chest, dripping down his temple. “You got me so wound up, darlin’, prancin’ around looking sexy as sin. Now I’ve got you all to myself.”

“Don’t stop, please,” you keen, desperately grasping for air, your climax driving away all rational thought and composure. “It’s so good, please, don’t stop.”

“Gonna make me cum, sayin’ things like that.”

You think, then, that you’d be fine with it. Letting him cum inside you, or paint your oiled up body with his seed. Mark you, stake his claim on you. He can cum wherever he wants, you decide, as long as he promises to do it again.

“Ain’t gonna let that piece of shit husband touch you again,” he declares, pinning you with a solid, steady stare, “You’re mine now, darlin’.”

You tell him, then, “Cum inside me, Joel,” nearly sobbing as his powerful thrusts drive you toward another orgasm with blinding speed. His movements are precise and deliberate, his eyes going dark at your words.

You know he wants to do it, that he can’t stop himself even if he wanted to. Even if you weren’t begging for it.

“Yeah?” He huffs, hooking his arms a little higher around your thighs to gain better leverage. You shift your hips, cry out as his cock goes deeper, spearing into you so completely you never want him to leave.

You’re almost sobbing with the approach of another orgasm, one that will undo you and wreck you for the rest of your life. All you can do is nod and gasp and hold onto him as he fucks you deeper. Your neighbors are going to hate you.

“Shit, darlin’,” he grunts, the buck of his hips frantic as he chases his release. When your nails bite into his forearm, the tight coil of his control snaps like a cable and you feel warm ropes of cum fill you. A final orgasm paints stars across your vision, and you faintly hear a guttural moan leave him as you tighten around him once more. He doesn’t stop fucking you until you’re both spent, your muscles aching and fingers sore from how tightly you have them wound around his wrists.

He collapses on top of you in a heap, your bodies slippery with sweat and oil. His hot breath fans over your neck, the weight of him both grounding and comforting. The scruff of his beard prickles your skin as he peppers kisses along your chin, down the column of your throat.

”Ain’t gonna be able to finish those cabinets today,” he grunts.

A slow smile spreads across your lips, ”Why not?”

He lifts his head to gift you with a warm smile of his own, captivated, even after the way he’d fucked you. Surprised that he gives it so willingly now that you’ve had each other in the most physical and intimate manner possible.

”Wanna take you out. Dinner. Will you let me?”

His offer stuns you into silence. 

Yes, you’d practically begged for him to fuck you. Asked him to cum inside you. Told him you were as good as divorced. And yeah, you have every intention of having sex with him again.

But a date? That says something. It speaks volumes to his intentions. Which both frightens and thrills you.

Despite you throwing yourself at him for weeks on end and finally getting what you want, he wants more. And not just your body. 

Your hesitation draws his eyebrows down, “We don’t have to ––“

”I want to,” you answer quickly. But there’s still that lingering sense of doubt. Of trusting someone with yourself only to be stabbed in the back. Betrayed in the most visceral sense. You didn’t have sex with him because you wanted to move on from Jeremy right into another twisted, sickly excuse for a relationship. You just needed attention. And Joel gave it.

He lifts himself off of you and pulls on his jeans, “It’s fine if you don’t wanna ––“

”Joel.”

”I’m too old to be playin’ games, darlin’. If I wasn’t clear before — I like you. More than I should. And I know you’re married, but that didn’t stop us, did it? So if you want this, I’m here. If not, no hard feelin’s.”

He’s half dressed now, jeans buttoned, belt still hanging loose, t-shirt hanging over his broad shoulder. His wide frame blocks the sun, allowing you to see him clearly. No man has ever been as direct and straightforward with his needs. Not like that. It’s… different. Refreshing. Almost unheard of.

You almost want to pull him back down and let him have his way with you again, but you’re a woman of control and poise. You can articulate your needs just as clearly as he has. And you’d be lying if you said you weren’t at least a little bit interested in seeing what manifests.

”Dinner would be lovely,” you begin, keeping your expression controlled, “When Jeremy gets back from whatever trip he’s on, I’m serving him the divorce papers.”

You can see the moment when your words sink in, the pleasant twitch of his lips, the way he leans over you and brushes his lips against yours. This kiss is tender and sweet in a way you haven’t experienced from your own husband in years. But it’s what he says next that turns your body into mush and your mind pliant and docile.

“Good girl.”

I apologize for the length of this

@isabellaboo2025 @milla-frenchy

[engageforsin]

Maybe I’m a whore but I forgot people read fanfics for anything other than smut

[torturedmendept]

every other month: gay

june: gay²

[astcrian]

Determined Little Thing

pairing: outbreak!joel miller x fem!virgin!reader

summary: they didn't even know each other. but after one shift on morning patrol, joel knew that if he was partnered up with her again, he wouldn't be able to hold himself back.

warnings: 18+ content, minors dni, SMUT, unprotected piv, female anatomy, she/her pronouns, sexual tension, praise kink, size kink, he's gonna make it fit, virgin reader, reader gets bucked off a horse, alcohol

word count: 10k (oops!)

A/N: Thank you all so much for the love and support. I hope you like this one just as much as I did!!

Nobody in Jackson was ever thrilled to be paired with Joel Miller for morning patrol. 

He had arrived in town just a few months ago, and his arrival was a community event. Everyone was pleased to be a part of Tommy’s reunion with his brother. 

But that excitement for his presence dwindled down pretty quickly as Joel became known for his stoic, quiet, and intimidating demeanor. 

Joel wasn’t exactly a rude man by any means. He mostly just kept to himself when not working, either in the stable or on his front porch with a guitar perched on his lap. He never joined community events, whether it was movie night or Sunday morning church. 

However, his lonesomeness seemed to be a threat to the community. Rumors floated through town, most often spread from patron to patron at the bar or amongst the women who cooked for the Sunday brunch. 

He’s just too quiet. So judgemental. Did you see him yell at his brother yesterday? What a prick. 

Of course she had heard these rumors, which is exactly why she felt deep despair when she found out she was being paired with him for morning patrol for the next week. 

Tommy had posted this week’s duties on the town hall board. It wasn’t unusual for her to be on patrol duty, in fact she preferred it. It was peaceful, getting up bright and early to see fresh, untouched snow powder on the ground. The sound of it crunching beneath the hooves of her horse, a beautiful black mare, was the highlight of her day, everyday. 

But usually she was paired with Ian, a 30-something-year-old man who had become one of her best friends since she arrived a year ago. Occasionally, she would be paired with Eileen, a woman who was around the same age as her. Eileen was very strict, almost too strict. There had been plenty of times where her intense rule-following put their lives in danger.

But nonetheless, she would have much rather been paired up with Eileen than Joel Miller. 

She woke up Monday morning with an atypical amount of anxiety, swirling deep in her chest. She barely got any sleep last night, her mind racing with possible scenarios that could play out on her patrol with Joel. 

She had never even met Joel before. Sure, she had seen him talking to Tommy in the bar on occasion, or heard the soft strumming of his guitar late in the night, way after everyone had fallen asleep but she was still awake, unable to turn off her brain. 

But the two had never shared the same space before. She wasn’t even sure if he knew who she was. Of course, the community of Jackson was ever so small, but she didn’t have a giant presence in the community herself. She attended church for the sole purpose of false hope that there was something greater out there, and she helped hand out popcorn to the kids on movie nights. 

But other than that, she would spend her time in the library, reading every book she could get her hands on, no matter the genre. It was a tiny reminder of life before the outbreak, when she was still a child and spent all her free time reading adventure novels. 

Begrudgingly, she got up and dressed, opting for her typical jeans, boots, flannel and winter coat. She braided her hair back into a french braid, her signature style. After wrapping her gun holster around her thigh and shoving her knife into her boot, she set out towards the stable. 

She was usually early to the stables in the morning so she could sneak her horse an extra apple she had taken from brunch. So it was quite a startle when she flicked on the stable lights to see Joel, already saddling up his brown quarter horse in the dark. 

“Oh!” She squeaked out, hands reflexively squeezing the straps of her backpack. She froze in her place, unsure how to go about the situation. 

He looked at her over his shoulder as he finished tightening the cinch of his saddle with a huff. His eyes took one sweep over her before he just turned back to his horse, his face locked in a nonchalant scowl. 

Joel knew who she was to a certain extent. He noticed her when he visited the library for the first time during the tour Tommy was giving him of Jackson. The library was in an old house that had been remodeled. What used to be the living room and kitchen was now one big room, the walls lined with bookshelves. 

She was sitting on the tiny loveseat that was placed in the corner of the small room. Her feet were tucked underneath her as she was nose deep into a copy of some old romance novel. She didn’t even spare him a glance as Tommy introduced him to the librarian, an older woman named Connie. 

The next time Joel saw her was at the bar. She was celebrating her 21st birthday with a group of people he didn’t recognize. He had only been in Jackson for a handful of weeks at the time, and he spent more time at the bar than his own home, grappling with the loss of everything he’d ever loved. 

The group was purely obnoxious, offering her drinks left and right, singing and dancing to whatever old CD was playing on the radio. Joel stared straight ahead at the bar, downing a few glasses of whiskey before he finally had enough of the young group. He angrily shrugged on his coat before rising from the bar. 

His eyes landed on her, dancing in the middle of a circle of people. She was wearing a short black dress, something the town tailor made for her as a gift for her birthday. His eyes didn’t linger, but the memory was burned into his mind. 

The way the dress hugged her curves, the huge smile on her face, the way her makeup was slightly smudged with a night’s worth of drinking and dancing. For a brief moment, it felt like things were normal. Like he wasn’t in a stranded town in the middle of an apocalypse but rather spending another lonely night in a bar, watching women far too young for him get drunk and grind against men they didn’t know. 

That exact memory played in his mind when he saw her standing in the stable doorway, much more modestly dressed this time. He inhaled sharply through his nostrils, focusing on adjusting his horse’s saddle with a frustrated grunt. 

She frowned momentarily before blinking herself back to consciousness and turning towards the first stall on the left, where her beautiful mare stood waiting patiently. 

“Hey, pretty girl,” she whispered softly, smiling when the horse snorted in response. She unlocked the stall, walking up to the horse and tickling her chin before scratching her chest, muttering soft coos and compliments to her. 

She pulled back to unzip her jacket, pulling out the apple she smuggled and offering it to the horse, “here you go, good girl.” The horse took it happily, eating it in one bite and snorting with pleasure. 

“Tack up,” Joel’s rough voice echoed in the stable, causing her to jump again at the sudden sound. She looked over her shoulder to see him pulling himself up on his saddle with a strained groan before clicking his tongue and walking towards the door, staring at her the entire time. 

“Be ready in ten minutes or I'll leave without you.”

The two had been on patrol for a total of twenty minutes and she was already desperate to be done. 

They hadn’t spoken to each other, not even a discussion of the rules. It wasn’t necessary, they had both been on countless patrols. Joel simply took off on the trail, not caring if she followed him or not. 

She trailed a solid distance behind him, refraining from any possible interaction she could. Her demeanor was steady as she clicked to her horse and occasionally pet her neck with words of encouragement, but her mind was swirling with anxiety. 

Joel was doing exactly what he was supposed to, analyzing the trail for any signs of life, infected or human. He didn’t care to check on her, make sure she was following protocol. He heard the clip-clop of her horse’s hooves against the ground behind him, and that was enough for him to know she was still following him. 

Another painfully silent ten minutes passed and the two still hadn’t acknowledged each other. The trail led into the woods, a clear path ahead of them thanks to years worth of patrols. 

The sounds of the forest were one of her favorite things. The way the leaves brushed against each other in the gentle breeze, the chirping of the birds, frogs croaking in the faraway river. It was so serene, such a deep contrast to the state of the world. 

The sound of a twig snapping caused both of their heads to whip over to the left, her hand reaching straight for the pistol strapped to her thigh, Joel immediately aiming his shotgun towards the noise. 

The two horses stalled immediately. Her heart was racing as she noticed her horse’s ears pinned and twitching towards where the noise came from. Joel scanned the area with keen eyes, looking for any movement. 

There was absolutely nothing for a solid thirty seconds. Both of them didn’t move, didn’t even look at each other. Just staring deep into the forest for any signs of someone. 

Joel clicked his tongue ever so quietly, urging his horse off the trail and towards the noise. His horse didn’t even complete two strides before a deer jumped out of a bush next to her, darting behind her horse, kicking up rocks at her as it took off. 

Her horse spooked at the feeling of something unknown behind her, rearing up with a whine before falling back forward and kicking back towards the now far away deer. Joel whipped around with wide eyes and an aimed shotgun, quickly lowering it when he noticed her spooked horse. 

“Shh!! Shh, girl, stop! It’s okay!” She pleaded, holding on to her reins and squeezing her thighs against the horse as tight as she could, trying not to fall off. But her horse was too far gone, spooked and bucking relentlessly. 

With one particularly strong kick, she flew from her saddle with a yelp, landing hard on her back. Her horse took off back towards Jackson, following the trail back to where she knew was safe. 

“Y/N!” Joel yelled, sliding his shotgun under the horn of his saddle and sliding expertly off his horse, running over to her on the ground. 

She was rolling over to her side with a loud groan, reaching back to hold her back that was now sore from the fall. Joel stumbled down to his knees with a groan of his own, eyes scanning over her to assess her condition. 

His hands hovered over her body, unsure if he should touch her or not. “Y/N, are you alright?” He asked, his voice raspy and deep. He reached for her head, touching the top of her head with a featherlight touch, “did you hit your head?”

She shook her head with a groan, “No, just landed a little hard.” She inhaled deeply before slowly sitting up, her back and ass aching from the impact. She stretched her neck, her wrists, her ankles, making sure she didn’t break any bones. She sighed with relief that she was still intact, albeit a little sore. “I’ll be alright. Let’s just finish our rounds.”

Joel frowned slightly, watching as she stretched out her muscles. He knew what it felt like to take a fall like that, and if it had been him, he wouldn’t have been able to stand straight for a week. 

He wanted to protest her as she began to rise to her feet slowly, but he just kept his lips shut, offering her support. He wrapped one arm under hers, grabbing her waist to help lift her to her feet. 

“Fuck,” she huffed at the pain, but was able to stand up straight. Once she was back upright and her head stopped spinning, she realized she was still holding on to Joel’s shoulder, and quickly disconnected herself with wide eyes. “I’m good.”

He watched her with uneasiness as she hobbled over to where her backpack had been flung off her horse. She groaned in agony as she bent down to pick it up, shrugging it onto her shoulder with all her strength. She turned back around to him, noting the expression of uncertainty on his face. 

“I’m fine,” she reiterated, her tone more insistent this time. She made her way back over to him, huffing as she walked past him and towards his horse. She knew they had to finish their rounds.

Just because it was a deer this time doesn’t mean it won’t be a clicker next.

Joel stood stuck in his spot, watching as she limped over to his trusty steed. He crossed his arms, watching with a smirk as she attempted to lift her leg up into the stirrup, only to fail with an exasperated huff. 

She turned to Joel with furrowed brows, gesturing to the horse. “Could you help me, please?” She asked so sweetly, frowning at her condition but determined to finish their rounds. Joel noted that determination before he walked back over to his horse, shaking his head with disbelief. 

“Tough girl,” he stated as he pulled her backpack off of her shoulders, slinging it over one of his. He helped her lift her foot into the stirrup slowly, letting her move at her own pace as she winced in pain. 

“‘M gonna lift you on three,” he mumbled, placing his hands on her waist. She sucked in a breath at the feeling of his big warm hands through her jacket. She bit her bottom lip, doing everything she could to ignore the butterflies that fluttered softly in her stomach at the feeling of him touching her. 

He counted up to three before hoisting her up, and she stood up straight with her foot in the stirrup before swinging her leg over slowly, groaning in pain in the process. Joel tapped her foot, signaling her to remove it from the stirrup so he could join her atop the horse. 

She slid as far forward in the saddle as she could, taking her feet out of the stirrups and instead stretching out her legs. Joel reached up to grab the horn of the saddle, his arm resting against her thigh in the process. 

She did everything in her power to ignore that sensation, too. 

Joel hoisted himself up, sliding into the saddle behind her and adjusting his feet in the stirrups. Her back was pressed right up against his chest, the back of her thighs warm against the top of his. 

Her ass pressed right up against his pelvis. 

Joel inhaled sharply at the realization of their proximity. He attempted to scoot back in the saddle, but there was no way to escape how close she was. 

And her heart was racing at the feeling. She was only 12 when the outbreak happened, and a pandemic wasn’t exactly the best conditions for finding a romantic partner. She had only experienced her first kiss just six months ago after getting drunk and finding the bartender particularly attractive that night. And she was lucky enough that he had his eyes on her also. 

She hasn’t been to the bar since that night.

“Um,” Joel mumbled behind her, interrupting her thoughts. His voice vibrated through his chest and into her own body, sending a shiver down her spine. “I need the reins,” Joel said flatly, trying his best to remain nonchalant. 

“Oh,” she said softly, lifting her arms so he could reach under her arms and grab the brown leather reins. He cleared his throat, reaching for the reins and clicking his tongue, encouraging his horse back onto the trail. 

For the first five minutes, his arms hovered above her thighs with extreme hesitation. But his arms were starting to ache, and he had to lower them. 

“Is it okay if I, uh-,” Joel said, his voice breaking the prolonged silence. He didn’t finish his sentence before resting his forearms against her thighs with caution. 

She took in a deep breath at the feeling. The sight of his strong hands sitting just inches away from the apex of her thighs and his arms resting against her thighs, the only barrier being her jeans, was very overwhelming. 

“Yeah,” she answered breathlessly. She scolded herself internally at the sound of her pathetic little agreement, worried that he might think she is actually enjoying this closeness. 

Even though she is absolutely enjoying this closeness. 

The sound of her little whimper of a ‘yes’ sent adrenaline straight down to his dick. He cursed himself out in his mind when he felt his cock twitch to life behind the confines of his jeans.

 He absolutely would not get a boner right now. 

Right now with her back pressed against his chest. 

Right now with her thighs on top of his strong, muscular thighs.

Right now with her hips moving against him in rhythm with the steps of his horse.

Right now with her ass nestled against his cock. 

Fuck, he thought to himself as his dick began to press more persistently against the zipper of his jeans. 

In that moment, he prayed to God for the first time in a decade. Praying that she couldn’t feel his cock growing harder against her. 

It was a week after she had her first interaction with Joel. 

That first day played in her head on repeat. The two had finished their rounds without incident, and Joel was able to hone in his teenage-like hormones with the thought of how many people he’s murdered over the years. 

When they had returned to Jackson, everyone rushed to the door, worried sick for their wellbeing. Her sweet mare had returned to the town without her, which sent everyone into a panic, assuming the worst had happened. 

To say you were the talk of the town for the next two days would be an understatement. 

Much to her dismay, Joel had convinced Tommy to take you off of patrol for the week. You were replaced with John, the most boring, mundane white dude in Jackson. 

John was the perfect patrol partner for Joel. 

Not her. 

Tommy insisted that she stayed home for a week to recover from her fall, even though she wasn’t actually injured. Maria checked in on her every day, making sure she wasn’t concussed or something. 

She really did not understand all the fuss. 

Anytime she left her small home at the end of the street, it was like there were people posted specifically to help her. Two or three people would swarm her, offering to help her with anything she needed. 

“I’m fine, thank you,” became her slogan. 

She wondered why Joel was so insistent on switching partners. Did she do something wrong? Her horse getting spooked wasn’t her fault, and everyone knew she was a steady shot. She didn’t even talk to him for the rest of their rounds, so she couldn’t have possibly said something to hurt his feelings. 

One thing she did know, however, is she could not get him out of her head. 

She had never felt this way about a man, about anyone really. He was the first thing she thought of when she woke up, wondering if he was up too, if he was already at the stable and preparing for patrol. He was the last thought before she dozed off, wondering if he would dream of her like she did of him. 

It had only taken a week, one day’s worth of interaction, for Joel to worm his way into the folds of her brain. 

And Joel had become a ghost.

 It seemed like he was avoiding her at all costs. He was never on his porch, never near the stable, never at brunch or dinner or movie night. She didn’t even see him sitting with Tommy in the evenings, sharing a beer like they do every evening. 

Which is why, exactly a week from the day they met, she made her return to the bar. 

The door chimed with her entry, and she was thankful when she saw a woman bartending rather than the guy she had drunkenly traded saliva with all those months ago. She made her way straight to the bar with one goal in mind and one goal only.

To get drunk. 

“Whiskey sour, please,” she asked softly, sliding onto a bar stool and bracing herself against the bar. 

“Good choice,” the bartender nodded with a smile, reaching for a glass and pointing to her with squinted, inquisitive eyes, “are you the chick that fell off her horse?”

Her face flushed with embarrassment, and she brought her hands up to cover her face with a playful groan. “Oh god,” she chuckled softly, the bartender giggling at her reaction as she began pouring the whiskey. “I don’t even want to know what you’ve heard.”

“Not much,” she shrugged, squeezing lemon juice into the glass. “Just that you’re a badass.” She grinned at her as she slid the glass to her across the bar, “I’m Lena.”

“Thank you, Lena,” she smiled back, taking a generous sip of the drink, humming as the liquid burned its way down her throat. “Y/N.”

The sound of heavy boots thudding against the floor caught her attention. She turned towards the sound, noticing a man leaving the restroom. She turned back to Lena, opening her mouth to say something before the man slid onto the stool a few feet away from her. 

“Whiskey. Neat.”

Her spine straightened at the sound of the voice, a sound she had been imaging for a week straight. She couldn’t even look at him, her breath stuck in her throat as she stared straight ahead. 

“Yes sir,” Lena said, walking over to prepare his drink. She put the glass down in front of him before pulling a bottle off the wall, pouring a generous amount into his glass. “You see we’ve got the town badass here tonight, Mr. Miller?”

Her heart was racing, and even though she had been seeking him out for the last few days, she wanted nothing more than for a sinkhole to form right below her stool and suck her into it. 

Joel looked down the bar to see who Lena was referring to, doing a double take when he noticed that it was her. She lowered her face behind her hand in embarrassment, but her rose tinted cheeks were still very obvious. 

She was dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans, black Converse sneakers, and a plain black women’s henley with all four buttons undone, showing off her cleavage. Her hair was brushed, laying against her back in long, shiny locks, a striking contrast to her typical French braid. 

Fuck, Joel cursed to himself when he felt his whole body temperature increase a few degrees just at the sight of her. 

Yes, he had been avoiding her.

He had begged Tommy to change his patrol partners, making sure he was never paired with her again. He refused to put himself in any position where he would see her, staying inside when playing guitar or sharing a beer with his brother. 

That night after their shared patrol, he laid in his bed, unable to sleep. She was the only thing on his mind. Her determination, her stubbornness, her scent, the heat of her body, the softness of her hair. All of it, he couldn’t get enough. 

His dick had been hard for so long it was becoming painful. Joel struggled with his conscience for about ten minutes before he finally shoved his hand beneath the waistband of his boxers and wrapped his long fingers around the length of his cock, groaning as he imagined it was her hand wrapped around him. 

He fucked his fist to the thought of her that night, cumming harder than he had in years. 

There was no way he could face her after that. 

He had heard through the grapevine, now that she was a local celebrity, that she never visited the bar. Of course the day he decided to grab a drink, she ended up making her return to the goddamn bar. 

An awkward silence had fallen on the three of them as Joel simply stared at her. Lena’s eyes flicked between the two of them for a moment before she raised an eyebrow, “Alrighty then.”

Lena turned down to the other end of the bar, chatting up a regular and serving him another beer. 

Joel kept his eyes trained on the woman next to him, watching as she slowly lowered her hands and finally met his gaze. The sight of her big eyes staring back at him through her lashes was enough for him to remember exactly why he was so turned on by her. 

She chewed nervously on her bottom lip as she looked at him, wanting to say a million things all at once, but the thought of actually speaking made her feel unbelievably nervous. She grabbed her glass in front of her, downing the rest of her whiskey in hopes it would encourage her to face him. 

He watched her throat as she drank the liquor, licking his lips at the sight. The sound of her glass hitting the bar top was loud in the rather quiet establishment. He inhaled sharply before finally breaking the silence. 

“How’s your back?”

She cleared her throat, her lips forming a straight line as she nodded, her eyes trained on her fingertip that she traced around the rim of her glass nervously. “Fine,” she answered, sitting up slightly straighter to punctuate her point. 

He hummed, turning his attention to the bottles of alcohol that lined the wall behind the bar and taking a healthy sip of his whiskey. He noticed her leg bouncing ever so slightly from his peripheral, her lip drawn back between her teeth and her brows furrowed. 

What he didn’t see was her inner turmoil, trying to decide how to approach the situation. She had so many things she wanted to address; why was he avoiding her, what did she do wrong?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Joel letting out a small groan as he leaned over, his arm reaching out towards her. She jumped slightly as his hand reached for the underside of her stool, gasping softly when he pulled her and her stool closer to him possessively. 

There was maybe only a half of a foot between them, she could feel the heat radiating off of him. His actions only made her more confused as she stared at him with wide eyes while he drank the rest of his whiskey before turning to face her fully, his thighs pressing against the outside of hers. 

“What’s got ya so worried?” He asked gruffly, leaning against his elbow on the bar as he studied her. 

Her face was flushed red in embarrassment, confusion, and worst of all – arousal.

He was so close, so warm, so big, and so intimidating. She couldn’t even bring herself to form words, overwhelmed by the proximity. She could literally smell him, a mix of whiskey, tobacco, and a musk that was so distinctly him.  

He couldn’t help but smirk down at her, noticing her flustered state. For just a brief moment, he was transported back to 2003, before the outbreak. When he would sit in a bar and flirt up a girl for hours before taking her home and having his way with her. 

Joel was about halfway through that cycle now with her, and he didn’t plan on breaking that cycle tonight. 

He opened his mouth to speak when he was interrupted by Lena, her eyebrows raised in surprise at her patrons’ newfound closeness, “Getting snuggly in here, huh?” She reached for Joel’s glass, filling it again for him to which he nodded in appreciation for. Lena giggled at Y/N’s obvious embarrassment, “you want a refill, hun?”

Y/N cleared her throat, shaking her head while she fiddled nervously with her fingers in her lap, “No, thank you.”

Lena nodded, taking her empty glass and placing it next to the old sink, “Alright. Remember you two – no fucking on my bar top!” Lena laughed softly when Y/N gasped before prancing off to serve the newest patron at the bar. 

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Y/N muttered under her breath, combing her fingers through her head to shield her face from Joel’s heavy stare. He couldn’t help himself when he automatically reached out, tucking her hair back behind her ear before letting his hand fall down, rubbing her arm softly before bringing his hand back to his knee. 

Her skin raised in little goosebumps at the feeling of his calloused fingertips brushing against the soft skin of her cheek and ear. She closed her eyes at the feeling, trying to will away her desperate arousal and ignoring the growing warmth in her core. 

Joel refrained from smiling at her reaction as he sipped his whiskey refill. 

“Why have you been avoiding me?” She blurted out of nowhere, causing Joel to choke slightly on his drink at her sudden outburst. He looked at her while wiping a dribble of whiskey from his bottom lip with raised eyebrows. 

She frowned, her body relaxed instantly as if that single question had been what had her wound up so tight. When Joel saw that sweet pout on her face, mixed with a tinge of uncertainty and sadness, he damn near fell apart. 

He inhaled deeply before letting out a sigh, taking his time to find his words before he slowly brought his hand from his own knee to hers, holding her thigh just above her knee, his thumb rubbing back and forth against a little grass stain on the knee of her jeans. 

“Didn’t want to avoid you,” he said softly, his voice strained and low. His tongue swiped across his bottom lip as he stared down at the little grass stain, almost nervous to look at her face. “Had no choice, darlin’.”

She tried to ignore the way that little pet name sent a shiver down her spine and a flutter to her core. Her mouth ran dry as she watched his thumb rub against her knee, the heat of his big hand hot on her thigh. She was confused by his answer, but before she had time to press on, he was already answering her unasked questions. 

“I knew that if I had to go on patrol with you again…” he trailed momentarily, leaning back to grab his glass and down the rest of the liquor, hoping to calm his nerves with the liquid courage. “Knew that if I even saw you again, I wouldn’t be able to hold myself back.”

Joel finally lifts his head to meet her eyes, his own flicking between hers, searching for any reaction. 

“Can’t get you out of my head, darlin’. Can’t stop…fuck, I can’t stop imaging your ass pressed up against me in that saddle.”

Her jaw dropped open in shock, a blush creeping up her neck all the way up to the tips of her ears. She was completely speechless, staring at him with wide eyes as she processed his words. Her pussy fluttered at his admission, and suddenly she felt like she was being suffocated by their proximity. Her eyes flicked across the room, nervous that any of the other patrons just heard what he said. 

“Oh…” was all she was able to utter, unsure how to respond. Her body felt like it was on fire, and she frantically searched around the room, focusing on anything but him. 

He watched her nervously, immediately wishing he could swallow his words back up and keep them locked in the deepest depths of his soul, never to be heard. 

There was a long stretch of silence between the two of them, and Joel was about to just apologize and leave before she finally said something in response, reaching for her jacket while she stood up. 

“Leave ten minutes after I do,” she said, standing on her feet between his thighs. His eyes widened as he shifted so she could walk away, listening intently to her instructions. 

“I’m going to go home, Joel. Come to the back door.”

Joel stared at his watch for the entire duration of the ten minutes after she walked out of the bar. His knee was bouncing anxiously, his mind was racing, and his cock was already getting excited at the thought of what was to come. 

He walked as inconspicuously as possible, hoping nobody was paying him any mind. Luckily, it was late out, and most of the town had retired to their bed already. He made his way through her backyard and up to her back door, taking a deep breath before knocking on the screen door. 

It opened after a brief moment, and she ushered him inside. She had already taken off her coat and shoes, and she had a few candles lit in the kitchen. 

“Could I get you something to drink?” She asked politely, reaching up in a cabinet and grabbing a glass. 

Joel nodded, “water’s fine.” He took in her space, noticing the large bookcase that sat in her living room. She had one loveseat that sat across from a fireplace, the mantle above it decorated with hanging plants and small wooden horse figurines. There was one framed photo placed directly in the center of her mantle. He made out two adults and a child in the photo, presumably her and her parents. 

She poured him a glass of water, handing it to him and gesturing to the couch, “please, make yourself comfortable. I can take your jacket.”

He shrugged off his jacket, handing it to her with a polite ‘thank you’ before making his way over to the couch. She didn’t take long to follow suit after hanging up his jacket, pouring herself a glass of water and joining him on the couch.

A long stretch of silence weighed heavy, tension so thick in the air she could feel it pressing down on her lungs. Joel stared into the fire while taking a big swig of his water, gulping down half of the glass. 

His body felt like it was on fire being so close to her. Joel hadn’t been with a woman in years, he had no desire to. But something about her was so divine and enticing, drawing him in like a moth to a flame from the moment she first stepped foot into the stable.

She leaned forward to sit her glass down on the little coffee table in front of the loveseat. Her hands were shaking, and Joel noticed. Her entire body seemed to be fidgety, like a live wire.

After she sat back upright, Joel sighed, sitting his own glass on the coffee table before leaning back up against the couch. He didn’t look at her, his eyes trained on the fire once more, but he reached out, placing his hand on her thigh, just above her knee. 

She took in a deep breath at the feeling, swallowing nervously. Joel’s thumb traced little circles on her jeans before his hand started to move, ever so slowly inching up her thigh. 

“You’re a very pretty girl, ya know that?” Joel said softly, finally turning his head to look at her. He was pleased when he noticed her flustered state and rosy cheeks. His hand made its way up to her hip, where he gripped her flesh possessively. 

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered.

She let out a shaky breath, her tongue swiping over her bottom lip before she shook her head, moving one of her hands to his forearm, holding the strong, warm muscle. 

“I don’t want you to stop.”

Joel took in a long breath at her words, exhaling even longer. His eyes searched hers for any caution, any uncertainty. And when he found none, he leaned in to wrap his arm around her waist and pulled her onto his lap. 

She straddled him with a tiny yelp of surprise, giggling at how easily he was able to move her. He smiled at the sound of her giggle. 

She smiled back at him. She had never seen him smile before, his teeth were straight and clean, suiting his features perfectly. She tried her hardest to etch the image into her memory. 

Joel hummed when she brought her hands up to his shoulders, rubbing the tense muscles softly. He brought his hands to her thighs, rubbing them gently before moving his hands to her ass, giving them the same treatment. 

Her ass was simply perfect. It fit in his large palms like a missing puzzle piece, meaty and strong. He couldn’t help himself when he drew his hand back, clapping it back against her ass with a grin. 

The whine that left her lips was completely beyond her control. 

She was already overwhelmed by the feeling of being so close to him. The feeling of his warm breath fanning across her face, the feeling of his body beneath her relaxing with her touch, the feeling of his incessant need growing harder against her core. 

So when he smacked her ass, she couldn’t help it. 

And he couldn’t get enough of it. 

He smacked her ass once more, this time on the other cheek, grinning in satisfaction when she moaned louder this time. 

“Fuck,” Joel muttered, adjusting himself and unintentionally lifting his hips up against her. They both let out a little moan at the sensation, and his cock felt like it was about to rip through his jeans itself. 

“Joel,” she whispered, her eyes closed as she tried to recalibrate. His cock jumped at the sound of his name on her lips. 

She hesitated for a moment, too embarrassed to admit her secret. She let out a groan and shoved her face into the crook of his neck, trying to hide from him. His brows furrowed in confusion, but he lifted his hand from her ass to her back, rubbing her back in small circles. 

“What is it, darlin’?” 

With a small pout, she muttered the words against the skin of his neck. He was too concentrated on the feeling of her lips against his skin for the words to process, but when they did, he knew it was over for him. 

“I’m a virgin.”

Oh. Oh.

He nearly just came in his pants.

The thought of him being the one to touch her first, claiming her as his and his only, showing her how good it could feel to be bad. God, it was almost too much for him. 

And she knew it when he let out a groan and lifted his hips against her even harder. She didn’t know what to expect, but him being into the idea was the last thing she expected. 

“Oh, sweet girl,” he cooed, trying to hone in his strong need to fuck her into next week and instead give her the affection she needed. “We don’t have to do anything,” he grumbled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple as he continued to rub her back, bringing his other hand up to her head to run his fingers through her hair. 

“But I want to,” she said, closing her eyes and enjoying the feeling of him comforting her. She had never felt this before, so cared for and considered. 

Joel smiled, “me too, honey.” He bit down on his lip as the hand on her back trailed back down to her ass and the hand in her hair gripped her locks gently, just enough to pull her head back and face him. 

He lifted his hips against her with a hum, smiling when she let out a pathetic little whine. He hadn’t even kissed her yet and she was already so far gone. 

“Feel how bad I want ya?” He asked, rolling his hips against her once more. She moaned a little louder, rolling her hips back against him, causing him to sputter out a little, “fuck.”

She sat back up in his lap, licking her lips and grinding against him a little harder, eliciting a groan from deep in his throat. “I’m a little nervous,” she admitted, “I don't want to disappoint you.”

As she stared at him with those big eyes, he couldn’t bear the thought of her thinking she could ever disappoint him. 

“Could never disappoint me, darlin’,” he rasped, one hand gripping her ass and the other moving up to her cheek. He drew her in slowly, his eyes focused on her lips. He was just millimeters away from kissing her before uttering one final phrase that made her simply melt. 

“Such a good girl.”

His hot lips pressed against hers in a slow, innocent kiss. Her body was on fire as she moved her fingers to his hair, gripping his salt and pepper curls to ground herself. He groaned against her at the feeling, opening his mouth and pressing his tongue against her lips delicately. 

She opened her mouth, moaning at the hot intrusion of his tongue against hers. Her hips moved on their own accord, grinding down against him. The feeling of his hard cock straining against the confines of his jeans made her heart race, her hips moving on their own to continue to rut against him. 

Joel quickly became hungrier, needier. His hips bucked up to meet hers, his hand on her cheek moving to her fist her hair, pulling her head back before he moved his hot lips to her chin, tracing her jaw and placing delicate kisses against the column of her throat. 

The sensation of his hand in her hair mixed with his mouth on her neck set her skin on fire, her chest heaving as she struggled to maintain a steady breath. She let out a moan when he smacked her ass while simultaneously biting her pulse point, making sure he left a mark. 

Joel couldn’t help himself as he pulled her closer into him, if that was even possible. He pulled away from her, grumbling a low, “where’s the bedroom, honey?”

“Second door on the left,” she huffed out, moving to stand up but being abruptly cut off when Joel wrapped his arms around her waist, hoisting her up. She yelped, wrapping her arms and legs around her, giggling as he placed featherlight kisses against her cheek as he walked towards her bedroom. 

The sound of her giggles in his ear made him chuckle softly against her cheek as he continued to pepper her face with kisses when he walked into the bedroom, swiftly making his way over to her bed and sitting her down gently. 

She reached up to turn on her lamp, a little pink shade with a white base. Joel stood at the foot of the bed between her thighs, grinning down at her. 

After a few moments of his staring, she couldn’t help but laugh nervously, moving her arms to try and cover herself, feeling hot under his gaze. He smirked at her nervousness before sinking to his knees at the foot of the bed with a groan, his knees popping in protest. 

She sat up, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He reached for one of her ankles, pulling off her sock gently before moving to the next one. Her heart swelled at the sight: Joel Miller on his knees between her thighs, pulling off her little white cotton socks. 

Once both of her socks were off, Joel brought a hand to each of her calves, massaging the muscles gently. “Such a beautiful girl,” he said, his tone full of admiration. “Does my pretty girl want to take off her clothes?” he asked, softly. 

She nodded, her pussy fluttering at the possessiveness in his words. He hummed in response, reaching up and putting his hands on his hips before thumbing the hem of her shirt. Slowly, his big, warm hands slid under her shirt, grazing her nipples through her bra before pulling the shirt up and over her head. 

She shuddered at the feeling of his hands against her skin, and her whole body twitched when his hands ran over her pebbled nipples. 

When Joel finally got her shirt off and tossed it to the side, he couldn’t help but moan pathetically at the sight of her little black bralette that held her beautiful tits in such a way that he felt jealous of the bralette. 

“Fuck, you’re like a goddamn angel,” he said softly, reaching to cup her breasts through the bralette. She gasped at the feeling, moaning when he brought his index finger and thumb together to pinch her nipples through the lace fabric. 

He brought one of his hands down to her hip, watching her every move as he slowly dragged his hand across her thigh before up and tracing the hem of her jeans, smiling when her body twitched in response. 

“How about we get these jeans off ya, princess?”

She nodded excitedly in response, leaning back on the palms of her hands while he began to make work of the button and zipper of her jeans. He took his time sliding the zipper down, smirking up at her as he watched her breathing get heavier by the second. 

Finally, he curled his fingers through the belt loops of her jeans. “Lift your hips, baby girl,” he said gently and she immediately followed orders. He slowly slid the jeans down her thighs, his fingers grazing her skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. 

After what felt like an eternity, he finally pulled her jeans off her ankles, tossing them in the same direction as her shirt. 

Instinctively, she squeezed her thighs closed, embarrassed to have someone so close to her core. Joel looked up at her through his lashes with a threatening expression, clicking his tongue and bringing his hands to her knees, wordlessly spreading her legs apart. 

The look on his face sent her heart racing even more, and she felt herself clench around nothing. 

Joel licked his lips when he was finally face to face with her panty-covered pussy, smirking at the obvious wet patch on her light pink cotton panties. 

“My god, straight from Heaven,” he uttered before bringing his hands around to her ass and tugging her towards the edge of the bed. She let out a little squeak of surprise, moving her hands to his hair as he moved in closer to her core. 

He could fucking smell her arousal and it smelled like the sweetest honeysuckle known to man. 

He hesitated before going in, wanting to be sure he didn’t push her too far. Looking up at her, he nodded towards her, “can I taste? Please?”

She damn near came at the sight, nodding and spreading her legs even further apart. 

He moved in, pressing his nose against the wet patch of her panties, breathing in as deep as he could. She gasped at the feeling, running her fingers through his hair nervously, trying to ground herself and realize that this was actually happening.

Joel let out a low hum before pressing a gentle kiss to her thighs, his hands moving from her ass to the waistband of her panties. He couldn’t even mumble out the question before she was already lifting her hips, and that made him smile. 

“My good girl,” he whispered as he pulled her panties down her legs. 

After throwing them to the side, he was finally face-to-face with her bare pussy. Leaking sweet nectar, her puffy lips glistening in her arousal, Joel decided then and there that if he were ever to be asked what his last meal on Earth would be, her sweet pussy would be his answer. 

He mumbled out a little, “oh my god,” before moving in, pressing his lips to the top of her mound. She had her lip drawn between her teeth and her eyes squeezed shut, trying to focus on the sensations. 

She couldn’t help the moan that slipped past her lips when he brought his hand from her ass to her pussy, spreading her lips and pressing a kiss to her swollen clit. He pressed a few more soft kisses against her clit before finally pressing the wet, hot muscle of his tongue up against her.

A guttural moan she didn’t even know she was capable of ripped through her, and she felt immediately embarrassed. But Joel hummed happily in response to her, making her whine again and suddenly she didn’t care how loud she was. 

And Joel only wanted her to be louder. 

He moved his finger down to her patiently waiting hole, barely pressing his fingertip against her. His other hand moved to her mound as he brought his thumb to her clit, his tongue and thumb performing perfect ministrations against her. 

Slowly, he pushed his finger further into her tight, virgin hole, curling it upwards against her until he hit that particular spot that made her moans grow even louder. 

She fell flat on her back against the bed, her tits bouncing and her fingers pulling on his hair in pure ecstasy. He watched the whole thing, groaning against her as he began to add a second digit, and then a third. He watched her body contort as he moved his thick digits inside of her, his thumb and tongue still working on her clit. 

“Oh fuck,” she cried out, her thighs beginning to quiver. She squeezed her thighs against his head as her orgasm quickly approached, overwhelming and overstimulating. 

With one skilled curl of his fingers, she came undone. Her orgasm washed over her with an intensity she never knew was possible. Joel didn’t stop, instead fucking her with his fingers and lapping up her nectar even faster, taking everything that she was willing to give to him. 

After a few minutes of this, it became all too much. She whined, pushing her hands against his forehead and wiggling away from him, mumbling nonsense.

He finally pulled away against his will, bringing his fingers to his mouth and licking them clean, savoring any last drop he could. He stood up to his feet with a groan, leaning back over her. 

Her face was flushed a deep tinge of pink from the intensity of her orgasm. She was a babbling mess, her hair splayed all around her and a slight collection of drool dripped down her cheek. 

Joel fell in love with her at that moment. 

She reached up for him, tugging on the collar of his flannel and pulling his face down to hers. His chin glistened with her arousal, and she could taste herself on his lips. His wet beard and mustache spread her slick all over her face, and all she could was hum in satisfaction. 

She began fumbling with the buttons of his shirt desperately, pulling away from the kiss to mumble little pleas. 

He moved with just as much urgency, kicking off his boots, pulling down his jeans and boxers to his ankles and tossing them to the side before slipping off his flannel and white t-shirt he always wore underneath it. 

And there he was. Joel Miller, completely naked before her. Completely naked in front of a woman for the first time in three years. 

If his dick wasn’t so painfully hard, he would’ve taken more time to relish the moment. 

When she finally laid eyes on his cock, her jaw dropped in shock. He was massive. From the base that was covered in soft little black curls, all the way to the angry red tip, he was thick. Prominent veins caught her attention, running up and down the length of him. 

And then the anxiety set in. 

“There is no way that is fitting inside of me,” she said anxiously, her brows knitted together in worry. “I mean like absolutely no way.” 

Joel couldn’t help the small chuckle he let out, shushing her softly and leaning down to press a gentle kiss against her forehead, then each of her cheeks, and then her lips. She physically felt her heart rate slow down at the sweet gesture, but she was still in disbelief at the size of him.

“We’ll make it fit, my sweet girl,” he said softly before pressing another gentle kiss against her lips. “If you still want to do this,” he added, making sure she knew she could back out if it was too much. 

She nodded, whispering a soft, “okay,” before bringing her hands up to wrap around his shoulders, tangling her fingers in his hair. “Just, please go slow.”

“Of course, baby girl,” he smiled, pulling her into another intense kiss as he adjusted his hips, laying his cock flat between her lips. They both moaned at the contact, and Joel knew that this was going to be the ultimate test of patience.

Joel moved to his lips her jaw, then her ear, and then her neck, all while reaching behind her and popping off her bralette masterfully. 

Still got it, he thought. 

He groaned at the sight of her bare breasts, moving his hand to massage one and pressing kisses against the other, working his way down slowly before finally pulling her nipple between his lips. 

She gasped at the sensation, closing her eyes and trying to take deep breaths, calming herself down. Joel slowly moved his hips, bringing his already leaking tip to prod against her tight little hole. 

Joel removed his lips from her nipple, looking up at her with a sense of endearment. “Take in a deep breath, baby,” he said softly, moving over to her other nipple and sucking it into his mouth. 

When she followed his orders, breathing in deeply from her belly, Joel pushed the tip into her hole, effectively stretching her out. The intrusion was extremely painful, and she made it known with a groan and clawing her fingers down to his shoulders from his head. He grunted, his arms practically shaking as he tried to hold back from burying himself to the hilt. 

“Doing…so good, baby girl,” he damn near whimpered, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. When her breaths finally slowed down, he pushed a little further. Her face scrunched up in pain, but it was slightly more bearable this time. “Tell me to stop,” he said through strangled breaths, sheathing himself at a snail’s pace. 

She nodded, concentrated on keeping her breathing steady and her body relaxed. Each painful millimeter by painful millimeter, Joel kept his eyes focused on her in case she hesitated for even a millisecond. 

But she didn’t, all the way up to when he was buried balls deep inside of her.

For a second time this week, he noted her determination.

She let out a long exhale when she felt him fully buried inside. It was extremely painful, and she couldn’t move an inch. Her body was frozen, just silently taking him in. 

And Joel was placing gentle kisses across her chest and neck, whispering little praises in between each kiss.

 “So good,” “feels so fucking perfect,” “like you were made for me,” “my sweet princess.” 

He was struggling, using all of his willpower to not move even though he wanted nothing more than to slam into her with full force. But he refrained, making sure to take things at her own pace. 

This time, at least. 

After a long pause, she finally opened her eyes to meet his, her breath shaky and hot against his face. He drew her in for a kiss before raising a brow, “you okay, honey?”

She nodded, “‘S good, so fucking big.”

He chuckled softly, “I know, baby girl. You ready for me to move now?”

She hummed softly in response, giving him the go ahead. She hissed when he started moving, which made him stop immediately. She shook her head, “‘S okay, keep going.”

So, with every fiber of his being, he slowly moved out of her entirely. He took a moment to appreciate the view of his cock, coated in her slick, pressed against her weeping hole. 

“Fuck,” he sighed appreciatively before pressing back into her, moving slightly faster this time. She moaned, to which he responded with, “Taking me so well, baby girl, doing so good for me, yeah?”

“Feels good,” she shuddered out, her skin covered in goosebumps as he slowly fucked her. He hummed in agreement, leaning back and gripping her hips to watch as his cock slid into her before pulling out even slower, his tip tugging on the rim of her hole before he pushed back in. 

The movement of her hand caught his eyes as she brought it to her ribs and ran it slowly down her stomach, bringing it to her pussy where they connected. She moaned at the feeling of his cock pushing in and out of her, throwing her head back and bringing her fingers to her clit, rubbing small circles around the sensitive nub.

The sight alone made Joel’s hips stutter, his orgasm already surfacing. This little test of his patience seemed to have turned in the quickest orgasm of his life, and he let out a groan at that thought. 

Just as he was about to pull out completely and try to take it down a notch to prolong his orgasm, her walls squeezed him with all her strength as her orgasm suddenly took over. 

Her fingers stilled against her clit as her thighs began to quiver, her face contorted into an expression of pure ecstasy, her head thrown back against her pillows. 

“Oh, fuck,” Joel groaned, his hips automatically moving at a quicker speed, causing her to moan even louder. “Yeah, baby, fuck... what a good fucking girl,” he said in between thrusts, now fucking into her at a remarkable pace. 

“Where ya want it?” He asked gruffly, his hips sputtering in a chaotic manner. His orgasm was approaching faster than he had anticipated, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut and will it to slow down with everything he had. 

“Inside.”

That single word, in her soft-spoken little voice, was enough to bring him over the edge. He groaned a strangled, “fuck,” before burying himself as deep as he could, ropes of cum coating her cervix. 

She couldn’t describe the feeling, in fact she was too overstimulated from her own orgasm to really even process what was happening. Her ears were ringing, her body was on fire, and all she knew was that she had just fucked Joel Miller.

And she was determined to fuck him again. 

After Joel came down from his own high, he slid out of her, causing her to let out a hiss at the friction. He collapsed on the bed next to her, and she automatically rolled onto her side to cuddle against him. 

He hummed, laying his arm down so she could rest her head on his bicep, bringing his other fingers to her chin to bring her into another sweet kiss that was full of a new sense of admiration and dare she say…love?

The two laid there in silence for a while. She ran her fingers back and forth through his greying chest hair as he drew little hearts with his thumb against her hip. He cleared his throat, breaking the silence. 

“You okay, darlin’?”

She hummed, her eyes closed and a relaxed smile on her face. 

“Never been better.”

[vetckkie]

girl get off that c.ai and embrace the 'x reader'

[thelhc]

nobody has been there for me like the ‘x reader’ tag has been there for me

[thelhc]

men come and go but x reader fic is forever

[polaroidsex]

your boyfriend never lets you win pushing him away while he fucks you with his mouth

you try once, twice, fingers twisting tight in his dark hair, yanking because the pleasure is so sharp it almost hurts. your thighs are already trembling around his ears and every drag of his tongue feels like it’s peeling you open layer by layer.

he doesn’t budge.

instead he makes this low, broken sound against you, half groan half whimper, the vibration sinking straight into your clit. his big hands clamp down harder on the backs of your knees, spreading you wider, pinning you exactly where he wants. like he’s saying without words: you’re not going anywhere.

“baby—” your voice cracks, barely a whisper.

he answers by flattening his tongue and licking a slow, heavy stripe from your entrance all the way up, curling the tip around your swollen clit at the end. then he sucks, gentle at first, then firmer, cheeks hollowing while his eyes flick up to watch your face crumple.

you pull again, desperate, scalp burning under your grip.

he moans louder this time, shameless, hips jerking once against the mattress like he can’t help it. the pain lights something up behind his eyes and he presses his face deeper, nose buried, tongue working faster, messier. wet sounds fill the room, obscene, unapologetic.

your legs try to close on instinct. he growls, actual growl, and forces them apart again, shoulders wedged firm between your thighs now so you can’t even think about closing them.

he likes the tug. likes the sting. likes knowing he’s overwhelming you so completely that all you can do is claw at him while he drinks you down like he’s starving.

another hard suck and your back bows off the sheets, a sob ripping out of your throat.

he doesn’t stop.

just keeps groaning into your cunt every time you pull, every time it hurts him a little, like the pain is proof you’re still here, still feeling every filthy second of what he’s doing to you.

you’re shaking apart and he’s latched on like he’ll never let go.

[xreader1989]

“You slipped into your favorite hoodie, a pencil skirt, tights, and your beat up high top sneakers.”

I absolutely fucking did not.

[colmiillo]

me acting like I just didn't read the most filthy nasty hot smut fic of my life

[winnysplayground]

“he’s so babygirl”

babe he just killed somebody.

[thebookbutterfly]

fanfiction isn’t enough, I need to chew on him

[gutsby]

Raw

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel begs to cum inside you.

Warnings: 18+. If y’all don’t like an age gap and a nasty, nasty breeding kink, DO NOT read this shit—I’m serious. Unprotected p-in-v. Daddy kink. Jealous!Joel. Feral!Joel. Cumplay à la sucking Joel’s dick clean after he fucks you.

Note: This is a one shot in the Waiting Game universe. If I had to guess, I’d say it takes place between Homemade & Ruined!

Another Note: ‘Sweet Emotion’ by Aerosmith is the song Joel’s listening to when he’s trying to kill his boner LOL.

Word count: 3.5k

Joel’s mind was always buzzing with bad ideas.

He’d left for work that morning with his dick as hard as steel, balls as heavy as rocks, and you, gorgeous and naked and entirely unfucked in his king-sized bed.

Idiot that he was, he forgot to buy condoms last week. You’d cleared all thirty-six of the rubbers he’d had during your most recent visit from college, and since then, Joel had been meaning to restock, but it just slipped his mind—now, he was suffering the consequences of that oversight in spades, as he hadn’t been able to get his typical fill of you before he left for work. Or last night.

You’d so sweetly suggested some 69 action after he’d picked you up from the airport the night before, knowing just how badly you wanted each other—despite the fact that it was three A.M. and you happened to be ovulating. But it wasn’t meant to be. No sooner had Joel shucked off his boots, jeans, boxers, and shirt and crawled into the space beside you in bed than you were passed out. Snoring loudly and lying splayed between his sheets without the faintest idea of how horny the old man was.

There is something very wrong with me, he thought.

He’d been so pent-up and wild with thoughts of you writhing underneath him, cunt snug around his cock, that he hadn’t even been able to rub one out after that. It was like some maggot had crawled its way inside his head and had him needing insane things. Stupid things.

Shit that would legitimately get him locked up, or kicked to the doghouse, if he ever shared these thoughts aloud.

He wanted to pump you full of cum.

He craved the feeling of you leaking him.

He felt an urge to fill you like he never had before.

Had he really forgotten to buy those condoms last week? Or had it been the workings of his own subconscious mind, begging him to test the waters of what you would look like flush with that milky white substance and drip—

Shit.

Joel almost spilled his piping hot two-dollar coffee from the gas station onto his pants. Again. He cut the wheel and made the turn, set the cup in its little holder, and, without a second thought for his own well-being, cranked the car stereo to fifty. Fuck his hearing.

‘SWEEEEEEEET EMOOOOOTION!’

That should do the trick.

It seemed deafening himself with classic rock was the only way Joel could keep some semblance of composure today. Admittedly, it worked wonders. He learned it was much harder to stay horny when your head was ringing.

Of course, it had been just his luck that before he’d been able to stop by H-E-B to buy rubbers on his lunch break, you’d called and said you needed a ride from the repair shop. Apparently, your dad’s truck was all kinds of fucked up and he’d asked you to drop it off at the mechanic that afternoon. You’d needed a ride home after, and Joel had only too happily, and hornily, obliged.

He was still stiff as shit pulling into the parking lot a minute later. He reached for the radio dial again but quickly found that he’d turned it all the way to its limit.

His phone buzzed in his pants.

Your name was on the screen.

I gotta fill out some bullshit paperwork. Come on in.

You must’ve seen him park the Bronco from inside.

Is that you blasting Aerosmith in your car? 🤨

Joel let out a sigh and shut off the engine.

Readjusting his rock-hard cock in his jeans, he went in.

And the moment he stepped in there, he regretted it. Joel got exactly one foot inside the door before his eyes nearly bugged out of his head and his jaw hit the floor.

You were signing paperwork alright—bent over the front desk where everyone in the waiting room of the repair shop could see right up your miniskirt. Joel choked.

There had to be fifteen men in there, at least. All but one old guy dozing off in the corner were gawking at your backside pushed up in the air. Joel saw you shuffle some papers around, eyeball a form and pose a question to the man behind the desk, who was also trying his damndest not to stare, and then hum something low. You laughed.

You were so naïve.

As if a switch had flipped in his head and every thought thenceforth was from a place of being an overprotective, asshole-ish, caveman of a guy, Joel strode in, scowling.

He shot pointed, putrid looks of disdain at every shameless voyeur drinking you in with their eyes, and, to his surprise, a couple turned their gazes guiltily away.

That’s right. Keep your fucking eyes to yourself.

Then, without even really meaning to think it:

She’s all mine. So don’t get your hopes up.

Would anyone in there think you were with him? Did it even matter? In that moment, Joel didn’t give a shit. He just walked in with his head up, jaw clenched, and eyes shooting daggers at every scumbag who dared to keep looking. He approached the front desk just as you turned

“Oh! Hey.” You breathed a sound of surprise, smiling. “You scared the shit out of me. I’ll just be a minute.”

You had about thirty seconds before he yanked you out by that little skirt and drilled you on the hood of his car.

Instead of saying that, though, Joel just frowned.

“C’mon, kid, I got places to be. Hurry it up.”

You flashed him a puzzled look but said nothing in reply. He hadn’t expected you to, seeing how occupied you were with discussing your old man’s truck’s transmission flush, tire rotation, wiper blade replacement, and on and on and on until Joel’s head was spinning with all the jargon. Since when did you know about ignition coils?

No matter.

Just a few more action items to parse through, then you’d swipe your card and get the hell out of there.

“I mean…do y’all have to replace that cabin air filter? Can’t my dad do that himself? Or just wait a little bit?”

Surely you knew you were torturing him now.

There was no way you weren’t doing this on purpose.

The shop employee scratched the back of his neck and gave a sheepish smile, right after he’d unglued his gaze from the cleavage spilling out of your top. He coughed.

“Well…well, uh, see here, our last service report says…”

Joel didn’t give a flying fuck what the service report said. He tuned out the rest of what the little pervert was trying to tell you then and turned to face the waiting room with a flinty, stern look. Several sets of eyes snapped away.

One in particular, he noticed, didn’t flinch at all.

Of course it belonged to some shit-brained kid. Probably only two or three years out of high school and ogling you like a slab of meat while his father sat beside him, trying to do the same but slightly more discreetly. How polite.

It was almost as if Joel had acquired some supersonic hearing ability over the last five minutes, and he could somehow tell what the ass-hat was muttering to his dad.

‘Hell, I’d like to bend her over a desk myself.’

His father grinned, eyes wandering again.

‘Yeah. I bet she’d like that. Love it, even.’

Fuck this.

Technically, Joel hadn’t heard the words come out of their mouths, but the intentions had been behind their eyes all the same. He hated it. The longer he stood here with you, the more the odds grew he’d end up decking someone, or throwing a chair at their head, so he swiftly tilted and pressed a touch to your elbow. It amazed him how gentle it was, given the bloodlust percolating within.

“Honey, we need to go,” he told you, voice low.

“What?” You turned. Brows furrowing. “Why?”

Because every swinging dick in this establishment wants to get in you. Let’s dip before I kill someone.

“Because I’m paying for all the repairs. C’mon.”

Before Joel could even begin to contemplate the ramifications of this offer—exactly how much cash he’d be blowing on his best friend’s truck thanks to his impulsiveness—he slid his credit card across the desk and jerked his head toward the door. Telling you to go.

“Joel, you can’t—” you’d just started to say.

“Now that’s a real fine thing to do for your daughter, b—”

It was the latter of these two statements, seemingly spoken at once, that Joel paid any mind at all. The stranger behind the desk’s thinking that he was your dad, and not your partner, made his blood boil beneath the skin. His conviction to do this only grew stronger.

Suddenly, Joel was turning his body to you. Leaning down, gripping your chin in one hand, and letting his mouth land firmly on yours, so that there would be no mistaking who he was, or what he was to you. Not today.

Your lips were warm, and they kissed him back gently. When he’d pulled away, your face, and every expression around yours was painted with some degree of surprise.

The man behind the desk cleared his throat: ‘Uh, sorry.’

Not the dad. Got it.

Joel was glad to spread the message, even if your gaze was lingering on his with a wordless little threat, like you would get him for this. He just grinned and nodded to the door again, then watched you leave, skirt swishing and bobbing all the way to the door. Hardly any eyes followed now, as most were too busy flitting to him.

Good.

Great.

“That’ll be $4,898.72, sir.”

Goddamn.

You hadn’t seen Joel this feral in ages.

Hell, maybe ever.

His cock seemed to be cleaving your body in half with how hard his thrusts were coming in now. How loud those wet slaps against the swell of your ass rang out through the cramped backseat of his car, how deep his tip sank, and how quickly the motions repeated, like Joel was beating a drum somewhere far down in your cervix.

Your eyes rolled. Jaw slackened. Tongue darted from either corner of your lips to lap away the spit that was trickling out. Joel was fucking you that hard. His strokes jostled your body, dick wedging deep and unforgiving, and his eyes were alight with a look you couldn’t quite decipher. Your own vision was blurring at the edges.

“Tell me it’s mine,” Joel panted against your neck.

Then, as if his hips had been made to pummel at this relentless, frantic pace, he lowered his torso to yours and drilled away even quicker. The force and the friction were so great you had only to grip his forearms and meet his gaze, barely able to get the words out: ‘Y—Yours, Joel.’

Doing this the day after your period tracker claimed you’d been ovulating probably wasn’t the best idea. Insane as he was with desire, the thought did also seem to cross Joel’s mind as he pounded away. More than once, his brow pinched, and his hips made as if to stutter to a halt. Then the need kicked in. The thing picked up again, harder than it had before, and Joel was back to fucking you hard on the upholstered seats of his Bronco.

Above you, his jaw clenched. His teeth ground tighter.

“This…” he grit out, as if words evaded him. “…OK?”

Yes, Joel.

You’d never seen such bare-faced need from him in all your life, and you loved it. It wasn’t just the expression of a man in love—which he was—but also the face of a person in pain. Someone whose need for your touch was so agonizingly great that he was blind to anything else. Joel lifted his arms to bracket your head so he could get in even closer, and his frantic pants warmed your cheeks. Come evening, you’d happily be popping Plan Bs like candy if it meant another moment of seeing him like this.

Sweat glistened on his brow and in between spatterings of silver and black along his jaw. His gaze was hard and determined, like he was contemplating something else.

Slowly, and with legs trembling against his sides at every thrust, you reached to cup his face. You stroked it gently.

“Is—Is everything alri—”

“I wanna cum inside you.”

Joel’s voice was deadpan, with no preamble or warning. Mere inches from your face, his own was twisted in that strange, pained look. His cock twitched; its pace slowed.

Your walls clamped around him instinctively. You blinked.

“W-What?”

“Wanna fill you up.”

There wasn’t a shred of hesitation in his tone as his hips rocked steadily against you. If anything, his grip grew even tighter, like he was trying to press you down.

“But Joel, I’m—” Another clench. Another strangled breath. “I still might…be…ovulating. And you’re…”

“Old enough to be your father, ain’t I?” he sneered. “Least, that’s what everybody in that shop seemed to think. What if you made me one today, hm, sweet pea?”

He didn’t mean it.

Joel knew how bad it’d be if he really knocked you up. Just the same, you couldn’t contain the sharp, startled whimper as his cock stirred inside you and that thought took shape—his hot and sticky seed being shot in ropes, painting your needy walls, making you so, so full of him.

Your lizard brain didn’t bat an eye at that.

Blame it on ovulation, a glaring oversight in sex education, your undoubtedly compromised morals or whatever the case may have been, but you wanted it.

You needed him in, making a mess where he shouldn’t.

With sunlight bathing you both in the backseat of Joel’s car, classic rock drifting through the speakers, and one handsome, weathered, earnest expression hovering over yours with the faintest of smiles, how could you refuse?

He sped up again. The hands that had slid to your hips constricted to an almost suffocating level, but it was possessive. Protective. Envy sparked in Joel’s eyes.

“Don’t want nobody oglin’ what’s mine, y’hear?”

It was a question, but it didn’t warrant a reply.

You nodded anyway, watching the older man’s gaze shift from your eyes to your lips to your breasts to, eventually, the sight of his length plunging in and out of your body below. Your eyes trailed after it, and you watched one hand of his move from your hip to your ribs. Rubbing.

Your wet and pliant hole took him with ease and welcomed him in. The sounds of your shared fluids were obscene, but it made the kind of wild, dizzying refrain you knew you wouldn’t be able to forget for years, if ever.

Slowly, Joel’s palm slid over, and his fingers splayed out.

His hand rested flat against your belly as he fucked you with abandon. At a particularly deep thrust, it was as if you felt him all the way up in your lungs, and your throat pushed out a cry. Your legs tightened around Joel’s waist, and you knew the end wasn’t far from sight.

“All—All—All yours, daddy. Cum in me, please.”

Joel’s fingers flexed gently on your tummy, then he moved them back and forth as his dick did the same.

The friction nearly sent your mind in a spiral; you glanced down, and you saw his outline, faintly, under that touch.

Joel was so big, and your body was lying perfectly supine on the seat that you could feel him—see him—push repeatedly inside you. A little bulge took shape where his hand was pressing in, and the sensation was overwhelming. Your hands slid to Joel’s hair and yanked.

“Fill me—wanna feel you, daddy, please just fill me—”

“Think a little swell in that belly’ll keep those boys from lookin’, huh? Is that what I gotta do to show ‘em you’re—”

“Yes! Fuck!” you whined.

“—always gonna be mine?”

Joel’s thrusts were relentless. Your brain was on the fritz. Your hips tried to lift, mindlessly, begging him to fill you with his cum, but the man had you pinned underneath him. Sweat drenched you both, and the wildest ideas were humming between you. You were almost there.

“That’d be one way to tell your dad, huh?” Joel panted.

Oh, fuck.

“Have you come home from college all swole up with my kid—he couldn’t keep us apart then, huh?” he went on.

Your father would probably skin him alive if he found out. Still, your lips parted, and you dumbly, sweetly mumbled, OK, OK, Joel. Give me one. Make me a mommy, please.

Joel almost lost his hold on your hip and your belly with that last part; he all but folded in on you with that request. Breathily, through his teeth, he gritted:

“You mean that, baby?”

Again, you nodded.

Momentarily forgetting the outline of his cock in your tummy, the thought of seeing you leaking his cum and squirming for more, it seemed, Joel just sank into you.

He bracketed his arms around your head like he had before, flattened his chest to yours, and fucked you.

It was primal. Needy. Wet. Insatiable. You probably looked feral and senseless, and neither of you cared.

Overhead, the strains of an old ZZ Top song reached a crescendo, and Joel’s eyes stayed locked on yours. His cock stretched you in a way that seemed implausible—you felt him from root to tip and could sense the oncoming pulses before they ever left a drop.

Then Joel kissed you. In his warm, soft, and loving way, his lips melded to yours and caressed them continually. Though it might’ve only lasted a few seconds, the effect was profound, and you found yourself pulling him deeper. Squeezing him tight and taking him whole.

“You really wanna have a baby with me, Miller?”

“Nope.” Joel’s response was instantaneous.

“Wh—”

“Eight kids, at least. You OK with that?”

If you weren’t on the verge of climax, you would’ve laughed in his face. But because you were, and you happened to be head over heels in love with this man, you grinned, nodding. Joel smiled and kissed you again.

“Alright. First one’s comin’ now if you’ll just—oh, fuck.”

It seemed like Joel wanted to drag things out a little longer, but his body had other plans. Yours did, too.

Right as your walls clenched and your senses started to flood with those sweet, euphoric feelings, Joel’s cock throbbed once. Twice. Again and again, unleashing ropes of his cum in a seemingly endless stream. Your heels dug deep in Joel’s back, and your jaw fell open, instinctively. While that sticky-wet warmth filled your insides and Joel continued pounding away, a shriek clawed out from you.

It started as a cry and quickly morphed into a moan, shrill as anything: “Please, baby. Please, please, please.”

You never thought you’d want to upend your life with a child before you even graduated from school or got a job.

Joel clearly hadn’t been planning for that either, and still, his voice was as slow and sweet as molasses in your ear.

“Take it all now, darlin’. That’s it. That’s my girl. So good.”

He stroked your hair and emptied himself completely. His balls must’ve been drained, because you could sense what felt like a torrent of warmth between your legs.

When he pulled out, you both groaned at the sight.

Joel was drenched in his cum and yours. Dripping.

Still oozing a little at the tip, the old man was spent, and it appeared he was about to give himself a good shake and wipe it all off, when you stopped Joel in his tracks.

Your mouth watered as you watched him. You swallowed.

You didn’t even bother to ask for what you wanted, just stuck out your tongue and peered up with doe eyes.

Joel groaned and nodded. He shuffled closer and lowered himself in until his tip was at your mouth.

Your lips closed around him, and your head bobbed down. As his cock filled you whole, your mind went blank. It wasn’t even a matter of sucking him off or getting him clean; you just needed to feel and taste the cum that had sprayed your insides. You craved the scent of the sweet, affectionate man who was well over twice your age and still on board with giving you his babies.

Even if it was just a fantasy between you both…for now.

You hadn’t even realized your eyes had closed until your lips slipped off him with a pop, and your vision suddenly brightened. You eyed Joel curiously from below, and your heart skipped a beat when you could see he was smiling.

Before he could speak, or else try to clean you up any himself, your own lips twitched a little at the corners. Your gaze searched Joel’s with a soft, tender intensity, and for a second, you debated whether or not to say it.

Quickly, you made your choice.

Just as Joel was about to lean down to reach for his clothes, maybe search the floor for a clean t-shirt or towel to wipe you both down with, his eyes were still glued to yours, and your grin was slowly growing bigger.

Joel cocked a brow in question, and you went on ahead, fighting the urge to laugh while you said, sweet as ever:

“So…it looks like my little miniskirt trick actually worked.”

And if I said Reader got pregnant with twins…THEN WHAT