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The Tides Between Us part 6

Pairing: dbf!Joel x fem!Reader | dbf!Tommy x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: The last day at the Millers’ beach house. Just you and Joel.

WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI, SMUT, dry humping, unprotected PinV, oral, no outbreak au, no ellie, dbf!joel, dbf!tommy, age gap, no use of y/n, angst and tension, forced proximity, idiots in love (finally)

A/N : Final chapter of this fic! Thank you so much for sticking with me and this silly story. These two were really fun to write, and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Hope to see you in another fic, maybe? And as always, let me know what you think, your comments mean the world ♥

Here on AO3 | Wc : 16 k

A gentle hand on your shoulder pulls you from sleep the next morning. It’s barely there, more a suggestion than a touch, and for a few seconds, you don’t even realise it’s real. You’re still tangled in the last threads of your dreams, warm and comfortable beneath the covers.

Then the mattress dips beside you as someone sits carefully on the edge of the bed, as if afraid to disturb you too much. A moment later, you hear your name, spoken softly, in that familiar tone meant for half-asleep mornings. You recognise your dad’s voice instantly.

“I’m leaving soon,” he says.

You mumble something into your pillow in response, might be a word, might not. Your brain is still slow, fuzzy around the edges, reluctant to wake up.

“I know, I know, it’s early,” he says gently. You can hear the smile in his voice. “You don’t have to get up. I just wanted to let you know Tommy and I are heading out.”

That gets through the fog. Your mind stirs, slowly piecing things together. Leaving. Goodbyes. People you love about to go somewhere you are not.

Your eyelids flutter open. Your dad is sitting beside you, still in his jacket, keys probably already in his pocket. The room is dim, the sun hasn’t fully risen yet, and you’re grateful for it. It makes waking up easier. You blink a few times, trying to focus on his face.

“What time is it?” you ask quietly, your voice hoarse with sleep.

“Just before six,” he says quietly. “Figured I’d leave at the same time as Tommy. Beat the traffic.” He gives your shoulder one last squeeze. “Take your time. We’ll be downstairs.”

He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head before standing. The gesture is so achingly familiar, like when you were little, and he used to wake you for school, patient and gentle even when you grumbled. Just like back then, he leaves the door cracked open. A thin strip of hallway light spills across the floor, enough to keep you from drifting right back to sleep the way you used to.

You sit up slowly, rubbing your eyes, trying to calculate how much sleep you actually got. Surprisingly, you fell asleep quicker than you thought you would last night. You’d expected to toss and turn, your skin still buzzing from everything that happened yesterday. From Joel’s hands. His voice. His promises.

But you’d fallen asleep almost immediately. Like your body and your heart had both agreed to be merciful. Like they were just as eager as you to get to the tomorrow he promised. The thought makes a slow smile spread across your face. Suddenly, getting out of bed doesn’t feel so hard.

You finally get out of bed and head downstairs, following the murmur of voices toward the entryway. The early morning air sneaks in through the open front door, cool and crisp. Your dad is outside by his car, lifting his bag into the trunk, while Tommy stands nearby, talking about traffic, highways and the best route out of town.

It takes them a moment to notice you standing in the doorway. Tommy’s face lights up the second he sees you. He breaks away from the car and heads toward you with an easy grin.

“Hey, you,” he says. “Didn’t think I’d actually see you this mornin’.”

You lift your chin proudly. “Told you I’d be here to see you off, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, yeah, you did,” he admits with a chuckle. “Real nice of you to sacrifice your precious sleep for us.”

“Oh, please,” you snort. “I’m going straight back to bed the second you guys are gone.”

“Of course you are,” he laughs.

From by the car, your dad calls your name, glancing over as he shuts the trunk. “You’re gonna get sick dressed like that.”

You look down at yourself. Cotton shorts. An old T-shirt. Bare legs. You hadn’t thought twice about it when you padded downstairs, still half-asleep. Now the early morning breeze slips over your skin and makes you shiver.

When you glance back up, you catch Tommy’s eyes trailing, almost absentmindedly, up your bare legs before snapping back to your face. It’s subtle, but not subtle enough. He realises you noticed and gives you a sheepish little smile. “Want me to grab you a jacket?”

Before you can answer, something warm settles over your shoulders.

You recognise the flannel instantly from the faint scent of detergent and something distinctly him. When you turn your head, Joel is there, standing close behind you. He must have come out without you noticing. His expression is calm, but there’s a firmness in the way he looks at his brother, something wordless and unmistakable.

Then his gaze shifts to you, and the sternness disappears as quickly as it came. His eyes soften, warmth replacing whatever edge had been there.

You pull the flannel tighter around yourself, fighting the smile that threatens to spread across your face. “Thanks.”

“Didn’t even see you come out,” Tommy says, a grin tugging at his mouth. “You move quiet for a big guy.” His eyes flick between the flannel around you and Joel’s now empty shoulders. “Really generous of you.”

Joel shrugs, unfazed on the surface. “She looked cold.”

“She did. And you just happened to notice that from the kitchen?” He gestures vaguely toward you. “That’s some impressive awareness, brother.”

“Do you want your coffee or not?” Without waiting for an answer, he pushes the travel tumbler into Tommy’s hand with a little more force than necessary before turning toward your dad to hand him the second cup.

Tommy can’t quite hide the quiet snicker that slips out as he follows his brother back toward the cars, coffee in hand. When their backs are turned, you instinctively pull the flannel tighter around yourself. The fabric is still warm from him, carrying that scent that’s unmistakably Joel. It settles around you, and the shiver you feel has less to do with the early morning chill now and more to do with the way your chest feels. You almost want to chastise yourself for reacting like this; it’s just a flannel. Just a simple gesture. But you can’t even find it in yourself to care. After a second, you walk over to join them.

“Well, I think I’ve got everything,” your dad says, glancing around the driveway one last time before turning to the brothers. “Thanks for the invite, guys. I had a great time.”

“It was really nice having you,” Joel replies, sincerity woven easily into his voice. “Thanks for making the trip.”

Your dad waves a hand like it was never a question. “Like I wouldn’t have. We’ll have to do this again soon, alright? I just love this place.”

Joel nods with a small smile. “Anytime.”

Your dad’s gaze shifts between you and Joel. “I’ll see you two tomorrow then?”

Joel’s eyes flick to you briefly before he nods. “Yeah. I’ll drop her off in the afternoon.”

“Great.” Your dad turns back to you. “Just text me when you’re leaving, okay?”

“Will do.” He pulls you into a hug, as if you will be gone for more than one day.“See you tomorrow, Dad.”

“Enjoy your extra day for me,” he murmurs. “And don’t send me too many pictures or I’ll burst with jealousy.”

You smile against his jacket. “Can’t promise anything.”

He laughs softly and squeezes you a little tighter before letting you go. Then he steps toward Joel to say his goodbyes, clapping him on the shoulder in that appreciative way he always does.

Tommy nudges you gently. “Well… I guess this is goodbye for us too.”

You groan, dramatic. “Terrible. I honestly think no one should ever leave the beach house. Ever.”

“Indeed.” His smile softens, sincere. “I had a really great time with you. It’s always fun when you’re around.”

“You too, Tommy,” you reply, meaning it.

“You should come hang out in Arlington one of these days. We’d have fun.”

“I’d like that,” you say honestly. Even after everything that’s happened, or what didn’t end up happening, between the two of you, you know how genuine he is, how good of a person he’s always been, and how well you connect—even if it’s just as friends.

He wraps his arms around you in a quick, warm hug. “Take care, pretty girl.”

You can’t help the little laugh that escapes at the nickname, knowing it will stick for a while. “Bye, Tommy.”

He hesitates just for a heartbeat, and then leans in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Try not to break his heart, okay?”

You freeze, lips slightly parted, caught off guard by his words. Is he saying what you think he is? How? Does he know? Since when? Is everyone noticing? Sarah first, now him… What about your dad? Your mind races.

“I…” you start, searching for a response, any words to deflect, but there’s no hiding it. Tommy’s tilt of the head is patient, almost teasing, urging you to be honest. And you can’t find it in yourself to lie. “Okay,” you whisper finally.

He nods, satisfied, and gives a small wave. You can only watch in quiet disbelief as he turns to your father, pulling him into a quick side hug before they both head to their cars.

Joel comes to stay by your side as the engines turn over, both cars rumbling to life. He keeps a careful, polite distance between you, just enough to be proper, just enough that anyone watching would see nothing at all.

And yet every inch of that space feels unbearable.

You’re suddenly hyper-aware of him beside you; the warmth radiating from his body, the steadiness of his presence. You want to close that gap. To lean into him. To rest your head against his shoulder and breathe him in without having to think about who might be watching.

You lift your hand and wave, your heart heavy but full, until the cars roll past the trees and disappear down the long stretch of road. You keep your gaze fixed there for a few seconds longer, almost irrationally convinced they might come back. That someone might reappear and catch you in something you haven’t even done yet.

But the road stays empty. The quiet settles in slowly, wrapping around the two of you. No engines. No voices. No witnesses.

You’re alone.

You hesitate before turning your head, and when you finally look at Joel, you find he’s already looking at you. His eyes are warm, brighter than usual in the morning light, and there’s something open there, something unguarded that makes your breath hitch just slightly. It pulls a smile from you before you can stop it.

One whole day. Just the two of you.

His mouth curves too, slow and knowing, like he’s been thinking the exact same thing. Like he’s been waiting for this moment just as much as you have.

All the worry about Tommy’s whisper, about who might suspect what, fades into the background. None of it matters right now. Not when he’s looking at you like that. Not when it’s just the two of you standing there. When it comes to your heart, it’s always been him. It narrows down to him so easily, so completely, that sometimes it scares you.

A yawn slips out before you can stop it. You lift your hand to cover your mouth, cheeks warming slightly. “Sorry,” you mumble.

Joel’s expression softens even more. “‘S still early,” he says gently. Then he holds out his hand to you. “Wanna go back to bed?”

His hand is warm when you slip your fingers into his, and he leads you back inside without a word. The door closes softly behind you, sealing the two of you away from the outside world. You follow him up the stairs in silence, painfully aware of how loud your heart seems in your chest. You wonder if he can hear it too, if he knows how fast it’s beating just from the way your grip tightens around his hand.

When you pass Sarah’s door, Joel slows slightly. You instinctively prepare yourself to speak, but he doesn’t stop like you thought. He simply walks past it, then glances back at you over his shoulder. The look in his eyes steals the words from your mouth. It makes your stomach flutter and your lips part without you even realising it. You follow him without hesitation. You pass the other empty rooms until he finally stops in front of his bedroom door. He opens it and guides you inside, still not letting go of your hand. You pretend not to notice, but inside you’re clinging to that small contact like it’s proof this is real. That he isn’t going to change his mind.

You take in the room slowly; you’ve barely been in here before, only once or twice, always on some errand for Sarah. You’d never lingered, never dared to look too closely, too afraid of crossing an invisible line. Now, standing here, it feels different. Like you’re being allowed into a part of him you’ve never seen.

It’s simple, just like you imagined it would be. A few clothes folded neatly, others draped over a chair. His suitcase sits in the corner near the door. A bit messy, like him. And then there’s the bed, perfectly made, smooth and inviting. The sight of it makes something warm bloom in your chest. You can’t help wondering if he made it this morning before leaving his room. If he did it knowing you might end up here. Knowing he wanted you here. The thought makes you feel light and dizzy and impossibly giddy.

Joel lifts his free hand to the flannel still wrapped around your shoulders. His fingers brush lightly against your arm as he slides it off, slow and careful, as if he’s afraid of moving too fast. He holds it for a second, hesitating, eyes searching your face.

“Is that okay?” he asks quietly..

You meet his gaze, your heart pounding, warmth spreading through you at the tenderness in his expression. You nod, your voice soft but certain when you answer.

“Yes.”

He lets the flannel slip from his fingers, and it falls softly to the floor between you. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. His gaze drifts over you slowly, unhurried, as if you’re wearing something far more beautiful than an old T-shirt and cotton shorts. The way he looks at you makes your skin warm, makes your pulse jump. You expect him to close the distance, to pull you closer, take off the rest of your clothes and make up for everything you both held back the night before.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he keeps smiling, that soft, almost shy smile you’ve come to recognise, and gently guides you toward the bed. You glance at him, confused, searching his face for answers. He only nods, tilting his head slightly, silently encouraging you.

You slip under the covers, heart racing, and before you can even overthink it, he follows you. The mattress dips beside you, and then he shifts closer, pulling you back against his chest. His arms wrap around you firmly, protectively, like he’s afraid you might disappear if he loosens his hold. You fit against him perfectly, your back resting against his warmth, his breath brushing lightly over your hair.

He exhales slowly, a sound of pure contentment, as if this simple closeness is everything he’s been wanting.

For a moment, the intensity of it all almost overwhelms you. The feel of him behind you, solid and steady, his heartbeat faintly beneath your ear. You wonder if he feels your breath quicken, if he senses the questions swirling in your mind. Why isn’t he doing more? Why isn’t he fucking you into the mattress? He must, because he leans forward and presses a soft kiss to your neck, more affectionate than demanding.

“Just let me hold you,” he murmurs against your skin.

His voice is low and sincere, and somehow, it quiets every restless thought in your head. Your breathing slowly falls into rhythm with his. You remember that you have all day, just with him, and finally, you let yourself relax completely, settling deeper into his arms.

You’ve dreamed of this before. Of lying in his bed, wrapped up in him, feeling safe and wanted and cherished all at once. Now that it’s real, you don’t want to rush it. You want to savour it. So you close your eyes, and sleep comes easily.

You’re not sure how long it’s been when you wake again. Maybe twenty minutes, maybe hours. The only clue is the pale sunlight slipping through the curtains, painting warm lines across the room. You’re still in his arms, still held just as tightly, as if he never once thought about letting you go.

Joel is still pressed close against you, so close there’s barely any space between your back and his chest. You try to move a little, just enough to turn and see his face, but then your hips brush against his, making you pause immediately. Your stomach flips, heat rushing through you as you realise that Joel is hard against you. You shift again, just to make sure, you tell yourself. Your ass brushes against him this time just a little bit harder. Yes, definitely hard.

You stay still for a moment, unsure what to do. You should let it go, ignore what is an obvious natural reaction. But you’re already wet, embarrassingly so, just from the feel of him. You remember the feeling of his cock inside you, how good he filled you. You are so turned on, you can’t help but try to feel him once more.

Immediately, a large hand comes to rest on your hip, stopping you before you can move any further.

“What’re you doin’?” he groans against your neck.

Instead of answering with words, you grind back once more. You feel him twitch, somehow even harder now. Thank god for soft sweatpants. The thin layers do almost nothing to hide how thick he is, how much he’s straining.

“Be good.” His voice is rough with sleep, so low it only makes you want to be bad.

You tilt your head just enough to catch the corner of his eye over your shoulder. “Please.”

“Can’t you wait?” His fingers flex, tightening on your hip, but he doesn’t push you away.

“Joel…” Your voice cracks into something embarrassingly needy. “Please.”

The sound of you begging must break something in him because this time, he’s the one who pulls you back, grinding himself against you in one long, slow drag that makes your breath hitch.

“That's what you want?” Joel murmurs right against your ear, sending another violent shiver racing down your spine. He rolls his hips again, grinding the thick of his cock against your ass. “Is that what my baby can’t wait for?”

Fuck, his mouth is filthy so early. You bite down hard on a moan, teeth sinking into your lip as he keeps you pinned tight against him. He groans with every drag of his hips, the sound vibrating through your back and straight to your core, making you soak through your underwear even faster.

“Let me hear you,” he rasps, broad palm sliding under your shirt to splay hot and possessive across your stomach. He presses you back harder against his body, eliminating every last inch of space. “Don’t hide those pretty sounds from me.”

You don’t even realise the small, needy whimpers are escaping until they’re already out; soft at first, then louder, bolder with every open-mouthed kiss he drags down the side of your neck. His hand keeps travelling higher under your shirt until rough fingertips find the soft swell of your breast. He cups it fully, thumb brushing your nipple once, and you feel his cock jerk hard behind you.

“So fuckin’ soft for me, baby,” he growls against your skin, rolling the stiff peak between his fingers until your moaning louder for him. “Love those little noises you make. Does that feel good?”

“Yes,” you gasp, eyes fluttering shut, completely lost in the heat of his palm and the relentless pressure of his body grinding into yours. Your hand flies up, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging him closer. “Don’t stop—please don’t stop.”

He kisses you then, messy and devouring. Tongue sliding against yours, chasing every moan straight from your mouth like he wants to drink them. It’s just dry humping, just clothes and desperation, and it shouldn’t be this devastating, but it is. Your whole body is trembling, clit throbbing with every slow, filthy roll of his hips.

Right now, you’re convinced Joel could do anything to you—anything at all—and you’d beg for more. The thought should scare you. It’s too soon, too much, too dangerous. And yet, you can’t bring yourself to care.

Suddenly, Joel shifts. In one fluid motion, he rolls you beneath him, pinning you to the mattress with his broad frame. Your breaths come in harsh pants, chests heaving in sync. Even in the dim glow of the outside world, you can see how blown his pupils are, dark and hungry, like he’s trying to memorise every inch of your face to make sure this is real; you, here, in his bed, wrecked and wanting him.

He crashes his mouth back to yours before either of you can speak, kissing you like he’s starving, like being apart for those few seconds was unbearable. You nip at his bottom lip, making him growl low in his throat. Emboldened, you tilt your head and attack the line of his jaw, lips brushing over the coarse scratch of his beard. He braces himself on his forearms, careful not to crush you under his weight, even though you can feel how badly he wants to press every hard inch of himself flush against you.

You trail open-mouthed kisses down the column of his throat until you find that perfect spot where neck meets shoulder. You bite gently at first, then firmer, and Joel’s hips jerk involuntarily, a rough sound tearing out of him. You smile against his skin and do it again: bite, suck, lick your tongue over the mark you’re leaving. His big hand starts roaming your body like he’s trying to commit every curve and dip to memory. Fingers trace your ribs, the soft dip of your waist, the swell of your hip.

Finally, his palm settles at the hem of your shorts. He pauses there, thumb brushing lazy circles over the sensitive skin just above the waistband.

“Can I taste you, baby?” His voice is wrecked, soft and gravelly and so fucking sinful it makes your thighs clench. “Please.”

“Taste me?” you echo, half-dazed, like you need him to say it again just to be sure you heard right.

He toys with the elastic of your shorts now, fingertips dipping just under the edge, teasing but never quite committing. His eyes lock on yours, dark and pleading.

“Yeah,” he rasps. “Can I eat your pretty pussy? Please, sweetheart.”

Jesus. Yes, you're pretty sure you could come from his voice alone. Who knew the quiet, grumpy Joel Miller was hiding this? A mouth that could ruin you with a few sentences. You want to discover everything he doesn’t show the world.

“You don’t have to,” you manage, even as the mental image of his head between your thighs makes your whole body melt.

Joel’s lips curve into something dangerously close to a smirk. He leans down until his mouth brushes the shell of your ear.

“I want to,” he murmurs, already hooking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and underwear. “Fuck, you have no idea how much I want to.”

“Tell me,” you urge, voice trembling as you lift your hips to help him peel the fabric down your legs. The cool air hits your skin for only a second before his warm mouth is there instead.

He starts slow, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, tracing the soft line down to your navel. Every brush of his beard sends sparks skittering across your skin.

“Thought about doin’ so many things to you,” he murmurs between kisses, voice low and wrecked. “Thought about this… a lot.” His lips settle at the sensitive dip where hip meets thigh. “Thought about how you’d taste when I finally got my tongue inside you. How you’d sound when I made you come on my mouth.”

Your hips arch instinctively when he kisses just above your mound, so close and yet not close enough. “Fuck, Joel—”

“So will you let me, sweetheart?” He finally looks up at you from between your thighs, pupils blown wide. The sight of him there, broad shoulders spreading your legs, should make you self-conscious. Instead, it only makes you feel powerful, desired, fucking worshipped. “Will you let me take my time with this pretty cunt?”

“Yes,” you breathe, too wound up, too desperate to pretend otherwise.

That slow smile of his undoes something deep inside you, but it’s nothing compared to what happens next. Joel doesn’t tease anymore. He simply lowers his head and disappears between your thighs.

The first drag of his tongue is devastating, licking a slow, deep stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit. You gasp sharply, back bowing off the mattress. Then his mouth closes over your clit, and his tongue starts flicking, circling. Precise, like he’s already mapped out exactly what makes you shake.

“Ah—!” The sound rips out of you, shockwaves ripping straight to your core.

One hand flies to his hair on instinct, fingers twisting into the soft, salt-and-pepper strands, holding him right there. Joel hums in approval, the low, satisfied vibration rolling through your clit and straight up your spine. Your thighs tremble around his head.

He doesn’t let up. His tongue dives deeper, parting your folds, lapping at your slick with raw, shameless hunger, like he’s been starving for this taste and can’t get enough. He groans into you, the sound muffled against your cunt, and the rumble only makes you clench harder around nothing.

One thick forearm bands across your hips, pinning you down so you can’t squirm away from the overwhelming pleasure. His free hand slides up your inner thigh, thumb brushing the sensitive crease where leg meets body, spreading you open just a little wider for his mouth.

He pulls back for half a second—just long enough to rasp against your soaked skin, voice thick with want:

“You taste even better than I thought,” Joel murmurs, voice muffled against you as he laps at you like he’ll never get enough.

“Oh—fuck—fuck, Joel—” Your voice is completely wrecked, and the sound of it only spurs him on harder. He dives back in with zero hesitation, abandoning every last bit of restraint, burying his face between your thighs like it’s the only place he wants to be.

His big hands clamp down on your thighs, fingers digging in just enough to keep you pinned while you writhe and buck against his mouth. You squeeze your eyes shut, overwhelmed by the rising intensity. Every flick of his tongue, every hungry pull of his lips sends white-hot sparks racing through you.

You don’t see the way his hips grind down into the mattress in helpless little thrusts, chasing friction for his aching cock while he devours you. He’s just as wrecked as you are, fueled entirely by the sounds you’re making, the way your body responds to him.

“You’re dripping for me, baby,” he breathes out, pausing only long enough to drag his tongue in one long, slow stripe up to your clit. Then his focus narrows around that swollen bundle of nerves while two thick fingers slide down to your entrance. He pushes in slowly, curling them just right, hitting that spot inside you that makes your whole body jolt.

“I—oh my god—”

He pumps steadily, curling deeper with every thrust, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room. Combined with the constant, perfect pressure on your clit, it’s too much and exactly enough all at once. You’re climbing fast, thighs trembling, breath hitching.

“Are you close, baby?” Joel rasps, feeling you flutter and tighten around his fingers. “Yeah? Gonna come for me?”

You didn’t think he could push you higher, but then he does; his tongue circling your clit in tight, relentless loops while his free hand slides up your body, rough palm finding your breast. He rolls your nipple between thumb and forefinger, tugging just hard enough to make you gasp.

You feel him everywhere; his mouth, fingers, hands, the low rumble of his groans vibrating against your core. It’s overwhelming, perfect, too good. You try to tell him—mumbling broken praise, half-formed “so good” and “don’t stop” and “Joel, please”—even as your body starts to unravel.

“Yes, come on, sweetheart. Please, baby, let me see you come like this. Please.”

The way he begs, almost desperate, like your pleasure is the only thing that matters, snaps the last thread inside you. You shatter.

Your legs shake violently, hips lifting off the bed as white-hot bliss explodes through you. Your vision whites out, every muscle locking and releasing in waves while you tremble and gasp against his unrelenting mouth. Joel doesn’t let up; he works you through it, fingers stroking slow and deep, tongue lapping gently now, drawing out every aftershock until you’re a boneless, shuddering mess.

When the world finally steadies, you manage to crack your eyes open.

Joel’s looking up at you from between your thighs, lips and beard glistening with your release, a wide, almost boyish grin splitting his face. His eyes are bright, shining with something close to awe, like he’s never been happier than right here, covered in you, wrecked by you.

“That was…” You start, voice hoarse.

“Good?” he supplies, teasing, but his smile is soft.

You laugh—breathless, giddy. “Good doesn’t even begin to cover it. Fuck, Joel. That was… amazing.”

He presses one last gentle kiss to the soft skin of your inner thigh, humming low and content in the back of his throat. His tongue darts out to catch the last traces of you on his lips, and when he finally looks up, there’s a smug, proud little grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He wipes his beard with the back of his hand like he’s savouring every second of having wrecked you so thoroughly.

You reach for him, fingers curling into his shirt to pull him back up your body. He comes willingly, settling over you just enough to let you kiss him deep and grateful. You taste yourself on his tongue, and fuck, you don’t think you’ve ever liked that as much as you do right now.

“Can I return the favour?” you murmur against the corner of his mouth, already sliding your hand down toward the waistband of his sweatpants.

“It’s okay,” he says quickly.

“Really, I want to—” Your fingers brush the elastic, but he catches your wrist before you can slip inside, just firm enough to stop you.

You pull back slightly, searching his face, suddenly worried you’ve crossed some invisible line. But what you find isn’t rejection. His cheeks are flushed a deep, embarrassed red, eyes flicking away from yours like he can’t quite meet them.

“I mean… I…” He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. “You were a sight… fuck, when you came, I also…”

Your gaze drops automatically. There, darkening the front of his grey sweatpants, is a noticeable wet patch right where the thick outline of his cock had been straining moments ago.

Oh.

Your eyes snap back to his face. Joel’s looking off to the side now, jaw tight. The big, gruff man who just ate you out like it was his last meal came in his pants just from feeling you fall apart on his tongue.

You cup his face with both hands, thumbs brushing over the hot flush of his cheeks, and pull him into a fierce, messy kiss, trying to pour every bit of how okay this is, how much you love it, straight into his mouth.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing hard.

“Is it bad that I find that… really fucking flattering?” you whisper.

He scoffs, a short, disbelieving sound, like he thinks you’re just being nice.

“I’m serious, Joel.” You drag your thumb along his bottom lip. “It’s hot. Like—really hot. Knowing I did that to you? Just from your mouth on me? Fuck.” You laugh softly, a little breathless. “I’m only sad I didn’t get to feel you come in my mouth instead.”

He groans low against your shoulder, half in embarrassment, half from the image of it, and buries his face in the crook of your neck for a second, like he needs to hide from how much your words affect him.

“Let me go clean up real quick,” he mutters, pressing one last kiss to your collarbone before rolling off the bed.

He disappears into the bathroom for a few minutes. You use the time to catch your breath, limbs still heavy and loose from one of the best orgasms of your life. The sheets are a tangled mess around you; your clothes are god-knows-where across the room. You don’t bother looking for them.

When he comes back, he’s swapped the ruined sweatpants for soft black boxers and thrown on a faded T-shirt. He looks softer like this, his hair still mussed from your fingers, cheeks still faintly pink, and it makes your chest ache in the best way.

He slides back under the covers without a word, pulling you backagainst his side like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You curl into him instantly, head on his chest, one of his thick thighs slipping between yours. You fit together like pieces that were always meant to slot this way, no awkward fumbling, no second-guessing.

“Feelin’ okay?” he asks as he nuzzles closer.

“Feeling great,” you murmur, tracing lazy circles on his chest through the soft cotton. “Thanks to you.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, the sound vibrating through you, and hooks his leg a little higher, pressing you even closer. You sigh happily into his neck.

He glances toward the window. Sunlight is pouring in now, golden and bright, painting long stripes across the bed.

“Looks nice out there today,” he says softly. “Perfect day for the beach later, huh?”

“Yeah,” you breathe against his skin, smiling like an idiot. “Perfect day.”

You’re not sure when you fell asleep again, somewhere between the hazy aftermath of your orgasm and the steady comfort of Joel’s body next to you. When you wake, your eyes stay closed at first. Instinctively, you reach for him, already missing the way he held you. Your hand meets nothing but cool sheets.

You open your eyes, and for a moment, you just stare at the empty space beside you, blinking away the last traces of sleep. The room is flooded with sunlight now, bright and golden, spilling across the walls and the bed. Definitely no longer early morning.

You sit up slowly, pushing the covers aside and listening. The bedroom door is slightly ajar, and faint sounds drift up from downstairs. Enough to tell you where Joel probably is.

You stretch lazily, muscles loose and relaxed in a way you haven’t felt in a long time. The bed isn’t much different from Sarah’s, the same mattress, the same kind of sheets, but somehow, being here makes it better. Being in his room. Waking up where he sleeps. You smile to yourself.

You pad toward the bathroom, still half-dreaming, and catch your reflection in the mirror. A soft laugh escapes you. You look… ridiculously happy. There’s no point trying to hide it, even from yourself.

You turn on the shower and wait for the water to warm, leaning against the counter as steam begins to fill the small space. The bathroom is simple and practical. Very Joel. His toothbrush sits in its holder, his razor nearby, clearly untouched for a few days. Your eyes linger on your reflection in the mirror, on the thought of his scruff against your skin. You think you like his facial hair that way.

When the water is warm enough, you step in, letting it cascade over you. It washes away the last of your sleep, leaving you fully awake and strangely light. The heat feels good, even if it does nothing to stop the shiver that runs through you when your mind wanders back to earlier. You shake your head with a quiet laugh and reach for his shampoo. Three-in-one. Of course. You roll your eyes as you squeeze some into your hand, already planning to tease him about it later. But when the familiar scent fills the air, you hesitate. It smells like him. Maybe he doesn’t need to change it after all. It’s not like his hair is not perfectly soft when you let your fingers play with it.

You finish up quickly, wrap yourself in what you assume is one of his towels, and head back into the bedroom. Standing in the middle of the floor, you glance down at your t-shirt in your hand, then around the room.

Your shorts and underwear are nowhere in sight, lost where Joel threw them over his shoulder earlier. You consider walking to Sarah’s room to grab some of your clothes, but before you do, your gaze drifts to the suitcase sitting near the door.

When you step into the kitchen, Joel’s back is to you. He’s wearing the same clothes as earlier, fabric stretched across his shoulders as he moves around the counter, completely focused on whatever he’s doing. For a moment, you just stand there and watch him, quietly taking in the familiar sight.

You tiptoe closer, careful not to make a sound, peeking around his side to make sure he isn’t handling anything dangerous. Satisfied, you slip your arms around his waist and press yourself against his back.

He startles instantly, letting out a small, surprised yelp as he jerks forward. You can’t help but giggle.

“Should put a bell on you,” he mutters with a sigh, already relaxing into your touch.

He sets whatever he was holding aside and turns, pulling you properly against his chest. His hands settle on your back. He looks down at you, and his expression softens immediately. A smile spreads across his face as his eyes search yours. He leans in and presses a quick, gentle kiss to your lips.

“Hi,” he murmurs.

You smile against his mouth. “Hi.”

Then his gaze drifts downward, slowly taking in what you’re wearing—his clothes. The soft, worn T-shirt hangs loose on you, slipping slightly off one shoulder, and the boxers sit low on your hips, far too big and somehow perfect anyway. If the way his eyes darken as he looks at you is any indication, he thinks so too.

“Couldn’t find my clothes,” you say with an innocent little shrug.

“Such a shame,” he replies smoothly, fully aware that you could’ve gone to Sarah’s room if you really wanted to. His eyes trail down your bare legs, unhurried, thoughtful, and you know exactly what he’s remembering, because you’re thinking about it too.

He takes a slow breath, like he’s grounding himself, then finally steps back and gestures toward the stove. A large pan sits there, bacon sizzling gently beside fluffy scrambled eggs, filling the kitchen with a warm, comforting smell.

“Hungry?” he asks.

Your stomach answers before you do, and you smile.

“Definitely.”

Joel gestures for you to sit as he finishes up at the stove. A moment later, he sets a mug down in front of you, the familiar scent of coffee rising with the steam.

“Could you pass me—”

“Already put cream and sugar in it,” he interrupts.

You raise an eyebrow before taking a sip. It’s perfect. Exactly the way you like it.

You look up at him, surprised, and he chuckles at your expression. “Broke my heart to do that to a perfectly good black coffee.”

“And yet you did it flawlessly,” you reply with a smile. “Thank you.”

He sets two plates on the table next, adding a few slices of golden French toast beside the eggs and bacon, then finally sits across from you. The two of you dig in, everything cooked just right.

“Sarah is right,” you say between bites. “You make a mean breakfast.”

“Thank you,” he replies, pointing his fork at you playfully. “But I assure you, I know how to cook other things too.”

“Oh yeah?” you tease. “Like what?”

He pauses, takes a sip of his coffee, then looks at you more seriously. “I’ll make you dinner when we get back. A proper one. Then you’ll see.”

There’s a softness in his expression, that familiar hint of shyness when he isn’t quite sure how you’ll react.

“Just the two of us?” you ask, wanting to be certain.

“Yes,” he says. “Is that okay?”

You nod quickly—probably a little too quickly. “I’d really like that.”

His hand reaches across the table and finds yours, and he gives your fingers a gentle squeeze as he smiles. He keeps his hand in yours as you both continue eating, his thumb occasionally brushing against your knuckles without thinking. The meaning behind his words slowly settles in. It’s not like you’ve never eaten alone together before. You’ve shared late-night takeout, rushed sandwiches, quiet movie nights where food was barely an afterthought. Those moments had been special too.

When both your plates are empty, a comfortable silence falls between you. You lean back slightly, lifting your mug, and that’s when you notice it; Joel keeps glancing at you. Or more specifically, at the shirt you’re wearing. His. You’re grateful it’s loose enough to hide how warm his attention makes you feel, how sensitive you suddenly are under the soft fabric.

You take another sip and smile faintly. “Liking my clothes?” you tease.

“Among other things,” he replies, almost absentmindedly, like the words slip out before he can stop them.

“Like what?”

He hesitates, looking down at your joined hands. “Nothing,” he mutters. “It’s stupid.”

“Come on, tell me,” you say softly, leaning forward and resting your arms on the table.

You know exactly what you’re doing. The loose collar of his shirt falls open just enough to reveal a teasing glimpse of cleavage, and you pretend not to notice. You are not above a cheap trick. You watch him instead.

His eyes betray him immediately, like a moth to a flame. They flick down, just for a second, like he didn’t mean to look at all. Then he snaps his gaze back up to your face, his cheeks already tinged pink.

After a moment, he sighs in surrender. His hand drags down his face before he finally says, quietly, “I was just… thinkin’ you look better in my clothes than in Tommy’s.”

Oh. That was definitely not what you expected.

Your shoulders sink a little in surprise, your mouth parting as you stare at him, unsure of what you’re supposed to say. Your mind jumps immediately to that moment just a few nights ago, when he caught you in Tommy’s shirt outside his room. Of the way it looked.

Joel watches your expression shift. His jaw tightens, lips pressing together.

“Ah, fuck,” he mutters. He stands abruptly, gathering the empty plates and walking to the sink. “I shouldn’t have said that. Forget it.”

You’re on your feet right away.

“No, Joel. Wait.”

He sets the dishes down with a little too much force, but he doesn’t turn around. His shoulders are tense, drawn tight with frustration, at himself more than anything. You step closer and gently place your hand on his arm.

“I think…” You begin softly. You wait until he’s really looking at you. “I think we should… talk about it. Properly. Don’t you?”

He exhales slowly, conflicted. “We don’t have to,” he says, though he clearly doesn’t sound convinced.

“I think we do,” you reply quietly. “We’ve been… really good at leaving things unsaid. At pretending stuff doesn’t matter when it does.” You swallow. “And I don’t want that. Not with you.”

You take his wrist gently and guide him toward the living room. He follows without resistance, letting you lead him to the couch. You sit beside him, your thumb absentmindedly rubbing over the inside of his wrist.

“If we’re going to…” You hesitate, searching for the right words. “If we’re going to be something… I want us to be honest with each other. About everything. No more guessing.” You look up at him, nervous but determined. “Is that okay?”

He studies you for a moment, taking in the seriousness in your eyes, the way you’re searching his eyes as much as he searches yours. He lifts your hand and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“Yes. Yes, of course. I’m– yes. Let’s talk.”

There’s a moment of silence between you, both of you unsure where to begin, how to open something like that. Joel is the one who finally breaks it. His hand is still wrapped around yours, thumb brushing softly over your skin.

“I shouldn’t care,” he admits quietly. “I know I shouldn’t ask, I know that, but…” He exhales through his nose, looking at you.“What happened with Tommy?”

“You can. Ask, I mean,” you say gently. “You can ask me anything.” Your gaze drifts to his hand, so much bigger than yours. You notice the fine hair on his forearm, the streaks of grey mixed in, all the little details you’ve memorised without meaning to. “I told you we kissed,” you continue softly. “And that nothing happened.” He nods, eyes fixed on you, waiting. “It’s true. Nothing did. But… it could have.”

You hear his breath hitch, just slightly. When you look up, he’s still calm, still listening, even though there’s a faint tension in his brow.

“Tell me.”

“That night,” you continue, “when you guys were at the bar… I’d spent the whole day telling myself I needed to get over you.”

His eyebrows knit together in surprise. “Get over me?”

“Yeah,” you admit with a small, nervous laugh. “From my point of view, you’d… rejected me. You weren’t mad at me anymore, but that was it. And I didn’t want to keep hoping for something that might never happen. I was scared I’d lose you completely if I did.”

He looks like he wants to interrupt, to say something, but he holds himself back. So you keep going.

“So when Tommy came back early, and I was already in that headspace… all I could think was that I needed to move on. That I had to. And when he flirted with me, I just… it felt right. Like it was what I was supposed to do. Like maybe it would help me stop wanting you so much.”

There’s a stretch of silence where Joel simply looks at you, taking in every word you’ve said. His jaw tightens, then relaxes. He opens his mouth, closes it again, clearly searching for the right way to ask what’s been weighing on him.

“Do you…” He hesitates. “Do you like Tommy?”

You don’t look away.

“I do,” you answer honestly.

You see him flinch, just barely, like he wasn’t prepared for that. Before he can retreat into himself, you reach out and brush your fingers over his arm, grounding him.

“Tommy is great,” you continue softly. “He’s fun. He’s kind. And he’s uncomplicated. It was easy to understand what he wanted. Easy to read. And you…” You shake your head with a small, almost self-conscious laugh. “God, this is going to sound so stupid. But, Joel, I don’t think you realise how much I liked you. I was going crazy over you. Completely.”

His eyes lift to yours, surprised. It makes you want to smile. As if those past days hadn’t been enough for him to see that.

“So when Tommy flirted with me, I flirted back,” you go on. “Because I never thought there could be anything with you. I thought… maybe if I let myself like someone else, it would finally make it stop. Maybe it would help me move on.”

Your voice grows quieter.

“So I let him take me back to his room. And we almost—” You pause. “Almost. But we didn’t,” you finish. “I just… fell asleep there. That’s all. Nothing else happened.”

Joel squeezes his eyes shut, like he’s trying to erase the picture forming in his head. His brow furrows, and for a second, you have to fight the urge to smooth it away with your thumb.

After a moment, he exhales and looks down. “Why didn’t you?”

You hesitate for a second, wondering if you should tell him it was because of him. Because you couldn’t. Because your heart wouldn’t let you. But that wouldn’t be the whole truth. And you don’t want to soften it just to protect him. If being honest is enough to make him pull away, then maybe he shouldn’t have you at all.

“We didn’t have protection,” you admit quietly.

He looks up at that, surprised. You can see the wheels turning in his head.

“But we…” He frowns slightly. “We didn’t either.”

You nod. “I know.”

“But you let me—”

“Fill me up?” you finish for him without thinking.

Joel groans under his breath. “Jesus, woman.”

You can’t help laughing. He was murmuring filthy things to you just hours ago, and yet now he’s blushing like you caught him swearing in church. Southern man through and through.

“Like I told you,” you continue softly, “I’m on the pill. And I’m clean. I’ve never… I’ve never not used protection. Not until you.”

He goes still.

“Why?” he asks quietly.

You tilt your head, studying him. “Come on, Joel. You know why.” He doesn’t interrupt. He needs to hear it. “Because it’s you. Because Tommy wasn’t you. Because once I finally had you, I didn’t want half of it. I wanted all of you. I wanted— I want everything. I’ve never felt that way before. Fuck, Joel… no one compares to you. Not for me. No one ever has.”

Your cheeks warm at the admission, heat spreading all the way to your ears. Sometimes what you feel for Joel seems too big to fit inside you, too big for your chest, for your thoughts, for your words. It takes up so much space in your heart, in your mind, in every quiet moment when you aren’t distracting yourself. Saying it out loud feels terrifying, like no sentence could ever really capture how your heart stumbles every time you look at him.

Joel stays quiet, really looking at you now, as if he’s trying to memorise every word you just said. You can almost see him replaying it in his head. The silence stretches, filled with everything you just confessed. His eyes shift with too many emotions for you to name, fleeting too fast to properly catch one.

“Are you mad?” you finally ask, when it becomes too much to bear.

He blinks, as if realising how his silence must look. He clears his throat softly and squeezes your hand.

“I’m not mad at you,” he says gently. “Of course I’m not.”

His other hand rises to your cheek, thumb brushing your skin in a slow, grounding touch.

“Am I jealous?” he admits quietly. “Yeah. I am. Do I wish my brother hadn’t touched you? Yeah, I do. But…” He exhales. “I can’t blame him for wantin’ you. Not when I know how much I do. How long I’ve been wantin’ you.” His voice softens. “I can only blame myself for not tellin’ you sooner.”

Before you can respond, he leans in and kisses you, like he’s making up for every moment he held back, every word he swallowed. Like he’s reclaiming something he thought he wasn’t allowed to want. You melt into it immediately, hands curling into his shirt, heart racing. His fingers slide into your hair, anchoring you there, holding you close like he’s afraid you might disappear.

When he finally pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours.

“Thank you for tellin’ me, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

He draws you in, settling you against his side on the couch, your body fitting easily into his. You tuck yourself close, your head against his chest. He breathes in slowly, burying his face in your hair for a moment, as if grounding himself in you.

You like how it feels to have lifted that weight from your chest. Like you and Joel have finally leveled the ground between you, made it steadier, easier to stand on together. A better starting point. You’re not naïve enough to think one conversation fixes everything. You know it won’t magically make what comes next simple. But the road ahead, whatever it leads to, feels less fragile now. Less like it might crack beneath your feet at any moment. Still, the question lingers. What comes next? It circles in your mind as you rest against him, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. This, this is what being with Joel could be like. Sitting close.Talking things through. Feeling his warmth, his presence, his quiet reassurance.

But tomorrow, you’ll leave the beach house. Tomorrow, real life will be waiting. Austin. Responsibilities. Other people.

You think about how this will affect everything. His relationship with your dad. Your relationship with Sarah. Most of all, Sarah and Joel. You and your dad. All those carefully balanced connections, shifting because of you. Because of this.

It’s scary. Scary to want him this much. Scary to wonder if something that feels this good could also make things harder. Scary to risk turning this perfect, gentle warmth into something tangled and messy.

You tilt your head up to look at him, and you shouldn’t be surprised to see him already watching you. His eyes soften when they meet yours, a small, tender smile curving his lips. Something in your chest loosens at the sight. Somehow, despite all the fear, you realise you’re willing to face whatever comes, as long as he keeps looking at you like that.

“What do you wanna do now?” he asks quietly.

For a second, you almost say the obvious answer: Stay like this. Stay with me. Don’t move. Don’t change anything.

“Go to the beach,” you say instead. “And just… enjoy the day.”

“Sounds perfect,” he replies before he clears his throat, and you notice the faint flush rising in his cheeks as he gathers his next words. “I was thinkin’… Would you let me take you out tonight? There’s a nice place in town. And I wanna do this proper. Like I should’ve done a while ago.”

He tilts your chin gently, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

“What do you say?” he murmurs. “Will you let me take you on a real date? I realise I don’t wanna wait till we’re back home.”

“You want to court me, Joel Miller?” you tease, even though your heart is practically trying to leap out of your chest.

“Have I not made that clear enough?” he says with a grin, leaning in to kiss you again, longer this time, just enough to make you breathless. “So. Can I take you out tonight?”

“It’s a date,” you answer before chasing his lips again.

Joel Miller blushes. A lot.

It’s a realisation you can’t help but make now that you’re really watching him. Now that you know you’re allowed to. Now that he lets himself truly look at you. Now that you can do things that make him blush. It’s wildly endearing, seeing this forty-year-old man’s cheeks warm with colour so easily.

When you kiss him breathless on the couch, leaving him flushed all the way up his neck and ears. When the two of you get ready for the beach, and he sees you in your bikini, and lets himself take you in like its the the first time, a small, appreciative sound escaping him as pink dusts his cheeks. When you do the same to him, letting your hand trail over the grey in his chest hair, making you want to press kisses right there. When he tries to joke, self-deprecating, about the softness of his stomach, how it isn’t what it was twenty years ago, and you tell him how ridiculous how has no idea how attractive he is. How gorgeous. When he stumbles over his words, when you let your nails drag lightly down to his happy trail, making you seriously consider staying inside instead. Yeah. The blush definitely deepens then, especially when he cleared his throat and adjusted himself, pretending he’s perfectly fine.

You wonder how many times you missed this before. How many times have you might have made him blush like this and never noticed? Or noticed, but never realised it was because of you. The thought makes your skin buzz. Leaves you restless. Wanting. Wanting to keep drawing this out of him. Your sweet, rough man. So strong, and somehow so easily flustered. You don’t say any of it out loud. You know he’d get self-conscious immediately. Try to hide it. Fail, obviously. So you keep it to yourself. Your little secret.

At least at the beach, Joel could pretend that the color in his cheeks came from the high sun in the sky, warming his skin, rather than from you sitting so close to him. He watched you intently as you put sunscreen on, turning it into a quiet game—tracking every movement, every slow pass of your hands—his jaw twitching slightly each time you rubbed it into your skin.

He only seemed able to look away when people passed by not far from you. Sadly, the beach wasn’t as deserted as you’d hoped. Others were out enjoying the weather, and you even recognised the older couple you’d seen a few days earlier.

You were a little surprised that Joel didn’t pull away when you arrived and realized you weren’t alone. You’d thought that, with people around, he might put some distance between you. Instead, his hand stayed right on your waist, steady and warm, as if it belonged there.

Not for the first time, you find yourself wondering how the two of you must look to everyone else. For the first time, you think the answer is obvious: you look like you’re together. There’s no mistaking the way you watch each other, heated and unguarded. The closeness of your bodies as you let the sun soak into you. The way his fingers trace slow, absent lines along your spine while you talk about nothing and everything at once.

When the sun starts to feel like too much, you suggest finally going into the water. Joel tells you to go ahead, and you’re not sure if it’s because he’s enjoying the view of you walking away, or because he’s waiting for the slight tent in his swim trunks to calm down. Either way, you leave him on the towel with a small smile, eager to let the cool water soothe your overheated skin. You can feel his gaze on you the entire way.

The water is perfect, just like everything else seems to be today. You let yourself enjoy it, smiling at a few other people nearby as you wade in deeper. Once you’re far enough, you dive under, letting the world go quiet for a moment. When you resurface, you turn to see if Joel has finally joined you, only to find him still back on the beach.

You’re too far away to call out to him, so you consider going back to drag him in yourself. The water feels too good, and you want him here with you.

“Hey,” a voice says from your right.

You turn, only to find a man floating nearby, treading water easily, wearing a wide smile.

“Hi?” you reply.

“Hi,” he says again, his eyes openly following the water as it slides down your body without any attempt to hide it. “I’m Luc. What’s your name?”

You brush the water droplets from your eyes and take a better look at him. He looks to be around your age, with short blond hair cut in a style that reminds you of something military—never your favourite—and a flirtatious smile pasted confidently on his face. You hesitate for a second before giving him your name.

“Can I help you?” you ask.

“I was over there playing with my brother,” he says, gesturing toward a kid nearby, floating in snorkelling gear, his bright yellow tube bobbing in the water as his feet kick lazily. “And I couldn’t help but notice you. I think you’re very pretty.”

He lets his eyes roam over you again as he says it.

“Thanks?” you reply, keeping your tone neutral as you cross your arms over your chest, hoping your body language will be enough to signal your lack of interest. Instead, he seems far more focused on the way the movement presses your breasts together.

“So, what’s a beautiful girl like you doing out here all alone?” he asks, lowering his voice in what he clearly thinks is a seductive way. You have to fight the urge to wrinkle your nose in distaste.

“I’m not alone,” you answer, starting to turn to look for Joel.

Before you can, he takes a small step toward you. You immediately step back.

He raises his hands in front of him, at least looking a little apologetic. “Hey, my bad. Didn’t mean to scare you. I’m not trying to be a creep, promise. Just wanted to shoot my shot. I’m here for the week, and I was wondering if I could get your Insta or something. Maybe we could hang out… or something.”

He lets the last words linger, as if you might somehow miss the implication.

You’re about to politely but firmly turn him down when you hear your name.

“You good?” Joel calls, moving toward you through the water with quick, determined strides, his eyes already fixed suspiciously on the guy beside you.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry,” you reply quickly, and you can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face at the sight of him.

“And who’s that?” Joel asks as he comes to stand beside you, and you immediately feel yourself relax at his presence.

“No one,” you reply lightly. “He was just leaving.” You let your hand trail to Joel’s forearm, already ready to walk away with him.

“Wait—you didn’t give me your Insta,” the guy calls after you, and you can’t help wondering why some men are so terrible at reading the room.

You feel Joel tense beside you.

“I think she’s not interested, boy,” he says evenly.

The guy looks at Joel and laughs. “Seriously? You got your old man scaring off guys for you? You could’ve just said you weren’t interested.”

You roll your eyes, about to tell him that you’d made that clear from the start, when Joel suddenly tilts your chin up and presses his mouth to yours.

The kiss is immediate and confident. He captures the small gasp you let out, deepening it without hesitation, leaving no room for doubt.

“Oh,” you hear the guy mutter. “Right. Not your old man. Got it.”

“Good talk,” Joel replies simply.

His hand slides to the small of your back, fingers brushing deliberately against the hem of your bikini in a way that leaves nothing to the imagination. He guides you away, moving you farther into the water until he seems satisfied you’re well out of earshot.

You hear him mutter something under his breath, his voice tight with annoyance, and you can’t help but smile at the stern set of his jaw.

“I had it handled, you know,” you tease softly.

“I know,” he replies, though the way he says it makes you laugh.

You press closer to him. “You were jealous,” you poke.

He looks away immediately. “I was not.”

“Yes. Yes, you were.”

You wrap your legs around his waist, and his hands instinctively catch the back of your thighs, holding you securely. He looks at you then, a faint smile tugging at his lips. You lean in and press a kiss to his neck, feeling the way he shudders slightly under your mouth.

“My jealous old man,” you murmur.

“Whatever,” he huffs, but he pulls you even closer as he wades a little deeper, until the water reaches your shoulders. He presses a kiss there, just below your ear. “I don’t like him thinking he could have what’s mine.”

Your breath catches.

“Am I?”

“What?” He brushes your hair aside, giving himself better access to your neck.

“Yours?” you repeat, your voice softer than you meant it to be.

He pulls back just enough to look at you properly, studying your face for a moment. Then he smiles, the one you love, a bit cocky and yet so sincere.

“I sure hope so,” he murmurs, leaning close to your ear. “’Cause I’m definitely yours.”

The two of you stay in the water until your skin feels pruny, kissing and laughing when you try, unsuccessfully, to pull him under. You discover he’s weirdly ticklish in one spot, just under his ribs and nowhere else, and you keep attacking it until he tries to get you back. You shriek and try to escape, but he doesn’t let you get far, far too happy to pull you back against his chest, trailing kisses along your back while you laugh.

It’s so easy, so good, that you barely notice time passing.

When you finally head back to your towels, you realise someone could’ve stolen your things, and you wouldn’t have noticed, as you’d been far too focused on the man beside you. Thankfully, everything is still there, and the two of you walk home the same way you arrived, hand in hand.

When the sun starts to sink low, you’re stretched out on the couch together. A movie plays in the background, mostly ignored, while you half-doze against his shoulder. Eventually, you decide it’s time to shower and get ready. You start to stand, but Joel catches your hand before you can go far.

You turn to him, noticing the hesitation in his expression.

“What?” you ask gently.

He pauses, looking you up and down. “Nothing.”

“You sure?”

He waves it off. “Yeah. No. It’s stupid.”

“You know you can’t say that,” you reply immediately, smiling. “Now I want to know even more.”

“Really, it doesn’t matter. Go on.”

“Joel.” You tilt his chin until he looks at you, until those beautiful brown eyes meet yours, filled with so much fondness it almost steals your breath. “Tell me. Come on. Be selfish, Miller.”

The word seems to hit exactly where it’s meant to. His pupils widen slightly, and he takes a slow breath, as if gathering his courage.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice low, “will you wear the blue dress tonight? Please?”

Holy shit. A shiver runs down your spine at his words. For once, you’re the one left speechless. For a moment, you just stare at him, completely at a loss.

He wants you to wear that dress. The same one you wore when you kissed him. The one you’d put on the other day just to rile him up, clearly with more success than you’d realised. The fact that he’s asking for it now, quietly and almost shyly, is… unexpectedly hot.

You nod, watching the way his pupils widen slightly. It’s intoxicating, the way you can affect him like that. You lean in to press a quick kiss to his lips, stepping back before he can deepen it.

“See you in a bit, Joel.”

You leave before he can give you that look, the one that makes you want to climb into his lap, kiss him for hours. You head upstairs quickly, smiling when you hear his soft scoff behind you. You grin all the way upstairs.

In the shower, you take your time, letting the warm water run over you as your thoughts drift. About this past week. About how much has changed. About how you and he, together, used to feel like something that only existed in your fantasies, and now, somehow, it’s real.

You find the dress in your bag and hold it up for a moment, smiling to yourself. Slipping it on, you feel your confidence rise instantly. You smooth the fabric over your hips, already imagining his hands there later. You do your hair and makeup just the way you like, all the while thinking about him getting ready a few doors down. About him standing in front of the mirror, probably tugging at his shirt, wondering if he looks okay. About him checking his watch for the tenth time. About him telling himself to calm down. Sweet, sweet Joel.

By the time you head back downstairs, you feel strangely shy, suddenly aware of how official all of this feels. A proper date. Joel is waiting at the bottom of the stairs, hands in his pockets, shifting his weight slightly. He looks up when he hears you, and for a second, he just stares in a quiet, stunned way. His jaw works once, twice, before he exhales hard through his nose.

“You look beautiful,” he says finally. Your smile comes instantly.

He holds out his hand, as if you need it. You take it anyway, your cheeks warming under the intensity of his gaze. The moment your fingers lace with his, he tightens his grip just a little, grounding himself.

His thumb brushes softly over your knuckles.

“Ready?” he asks quietly.

You look up at him, at the warmth in his eyes, at the nervous hope there, at the way he’s trying so hard to do this right. You rise on your toes and press a soft kiss to his cheek, savoring the way color immediately blooms there.

You squeeze his hand. “Yes.”

Joel takes you to a small restaurant in town, the kind of place with warm lighting that makes it intimate without trying too hard. When the host greets you and leads you past a few quiet couples to a nice table, you realize he made a reservation. You glance at him as you walk in behind the host, curiosity tugging at you. When did he do that? You spent most of the day together. Did he call yesterday, before he even asked you? Had he already known what your answer would be?

The thought sends a warm flutter through your chest.

He guides you to the table with his palm warm at the small of your back, a gentleman’s touch that feels both old-fashioned and achingly tender. He pulls your chair out, waits until you’re settled, then takes his own seat across from you.

For a moment, he just looks at you. Then he exhales softly through his nose, shaking his head a little, like he’s still slightly stunned by the sight of you. You wonder if it’s the dress. Or if he’s feeling the same quiet amazement you are, that this is happening. That the two of you are here. Together.

You’d been braced for awkward silences, for the sudden weight of “date” turning everything stiff. But it never comes. The conversation flows easily, just like it always has. You order a few dishes to share between the two of you, laughing as you debate which ones sound best.

When the server asks about drinks, you order a glass of wine. Joel hesitates for a second, and you catch the brief flicker of uncertainty on his face before he orders a beer instead.

“Scared of a little merlot, Miller?”

He snorts, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“You don’t want me pretending i know anything about wine swheatheart. would be embarrassing for both of us.”

You laugh, and he leans forward just enough to nudge your foot under the table.

You let your gaze linger on him. The black dress shirt stretched across his shoulders, sleeves rolled to his forearms. The dark pants that fit just right. He clearly tried to tame his hair, but it’s already falling back into its usual glorious mess, silver threading through the dark strands. You wouldn’t change a single thing. He looks so handsome, like right out of one of your dreams. a very nice one. You tell him as much, and he ducks his head for a second, that bashful half-smile breaking across his face. And suddenly you have the overwhelming urge to stand up, walk around the table, and kiss him right there in front of everyone.

But then you catch it the insistent gaze of an older couple a few tables away. Their eyes move from Joel to you and back again, brows furrowed, lips pressed together in a way that makes their thoughts painfully obvious. There’s no question what they think they’re seeing. You can almost hear the judgment forming in their minds as they take in the years between you. Without really meaning to, you straighten slightly in your chair.

Joel must notice something shift in your expression, because his hand moves across the table and settles over yours.

“You good?”

“Yeah, it’s just…” You gesture vaguely, trying not to point directly at them even though they’re still looking far too obviously. “You know.”

Joel doesn’t hesitate. He turns his head and looks directly at the couple. Caught staring, they both look immediately embarrassed, turning back to their menus with exaggerated focus.

When Joel turns back to you, his hand starts to pull away from yours, like maybe he shouldn’t have been holding it so openly, like maybe it was his fault.

“Don’t,” you say quickly, turning your hand so your palm slides properly into his.

He doesn’t hesitate this time, his fingers closing around yours again, warm and firm.

“It’s just…” you sigh, searching for the right words. “This. Us. It feels so right. But other people might not see it that way.”

Joel watches you carefully. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

“No. No.” You shake your head immediately. “Why would you apologise?” You squeeze his hand gently. “I just… I forget sometimes that not everyone’s going to understand.”

You don’t have to say anything about your dad. Or Sarah. Joel understands immediately. He says your name quietly.

“Will you be okay?” he asks gently. “With this?”

“Joel, I’m not ashamed. It’s just… new. And believe me—if being with you means I get a few stares, I’ll gladly take them.”

Something in his face softens at that. Without caring who might be watching, he lifts your hand and presses a slow kiss to the back of it. With his eyes so focused on you, so warm and steady, the rest of the room fades away again.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Because I don’t want to hide us.”

Your heart skips.

“I want to do this when we get back,” he continues. “Take you on dates. Real ones. I don’t want to make this relationship a secret.” He pauses.“Of course we’ll take all the time you need. But I want people to know how I feel about you.”

You blink at him, a little stunned. “Really?”

“Yes,” he says immediately. “Of course, sweetheart.” His voice softens. “I told you. I want this to be serious. I want Sarah to know. I want your dad to know. I want to take you out, hold your hand, kiss you without feeling like we’re hidin’ somethin’.”

His gaze doesn’t waver.

“I won’t hide you,” he adds quietly. “Or us.”

You wonder sometimes how Joel Miller—a man who can struggle so much with saying what he feels—can also, somehow, find exactly the right words when it matters most.

Emotion rises suddenly in your chest, thick in your throat, stinging faintly behind your eyes.

“That’s what I want too, Joel,” you admit. “I want to tell people.”

His smile grows, warm and relieved.

“Then we will.”

For a moment, the two of you just look at each other, smiling a little foolishly, a little giddy with the promise of it.

The server arrives with your plates, and Joel reluctantly lets go of your hand, though the smile on his face doesn’t fade. The two of you start eating, the conversation flowing easily, comfortable and warm.

At some point, something crosses your mind and you laugh quietly to yourself.

Joel lifts an amused eyebrow. “What?”

“You remember Dina? My friend—you saw her at the Fourth of July thing, I think.”

Joel nods slowly.

“She is going to completely lose her shit when I tell her about us.”

“Why’s that?” he asks, taking a sip of his beer.

“Because she’s been listening to me talk about my crush on you for… a while.”

He pauses, lowering the bottle with a small smirk. “You got a crush on me, sweetheart?”

You stretch one leg under the table and nudge his chin lightly with your foot.

“I think we’re past that point, Joel.”

He hums in quiet satisfaction, clearly pleased with himself, and the two of you keep eating. But your foot doesn’t move away. Instead, it lingers against his calf, brushing there lazily while you keep talking.

You watch him carefully as you do it; the way his shoulders tense slightly, the way he clears his throat mid-sentence. The faint colour creeping up his neck again. It’s far too entertaining to stop. Your foot trace a slow path higher along his leg as the conversation continues, and Joel’s words start to stumble just a little. Finally, when you push your luck a bit too far, your foot sliding higher than it probably should, his hand shoots out and catches your ankle before you can move again. His fingers wrap firmly around your calf. Joel fixes you with a stern look across the table… though the effect is slightly ruined by the clear flush coloring his cheeks.

“Enough,” he says quietly.

His hand doesn’t let go.

“Sorry,” you reply sweetly, even though you’re very obviously not.

Right then, the server returns to clear your plates.

“Was everything alright? Can I get you anything else—maybe dessert?”

Joel doesn’t answer immediately, looking at you. His gaze drops briefly to where your leg is still trapped in his hand, then returns to your face. There’s something darker in his eyes now, something warm and dangerous that sends a little thrill down your spine. You meet his stare without backing down.

“We’ll take the check,” he says immediately.

All you remember from the drive back is Joel pinning you against the car as soon as your are out of the restaurant, mouth crashing into yours like he’d been starving for it. His low, ragged “you’re gonna fucking kill me” vibrating against your lips before he wrenched the door open.

Then his hand sliding up your thigh as he drove you back, the same way it had yesterday, only this time every slow inch promising something you were done waiting for. His fingers slipped just beneath the hem of your dress, teasing the sensitive skin there, and when you glanced over he shot you a look so dark and impatient it made your pulse hammer between your legs.

The second the front door clicks shut he’s on you again, back slammed against the wood, his body caging yours. His mouth finds yours instantly, uncoordinated, like he can’t decide whether to devour you or breathe. Your head thumps the door; he mutters a rough “sorry” against your lips but doesn’t stop, and honestly you barely register the sting. You’re too busy chasing the taste of him.

His hands map you greedily, your waist, your hips, the dip of your lower back, before they settle at the hem of your dress, fingertips playing with the fabric like he’s debating ripping it off.

“You really like this dress, Miller?” you breathe.

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, pupils blown. “You kissed me in this dress. Course I fuckin’ like it.”

You drag your lips along his jaw, stubble scraping your tongue, and slide your hands under his shirt to pull him impossibly closer. “Good thing I packed it then. Didn’t realise it made such an… impression.”

His laugh is low, wrecked. “Baby.” That word in that gravel tone always undoes you. “I fucked my fist thinkin’ about you in this dress. More than once.”

The image slams into your mind before he even finishes the sentence; Joel alone, hand working himself, your name probably bitten off between curses, imagining the exact way the fabric clings to your thighs. Heat coils tight and sudden low in your belly. You press your legs together on instinct, trying to ease the ache.

“Fuck, Joel—”

“Yeah?” His voice drops darker, smug. “You like knowin’ that?”

Before you can answer, his hand dives under your dress. Thick fingers trace the edge of your underwear, then his thumb brushes right over the damp center of you. He feels how soaked you already are and lets out a quiet, mocking sound that makes your knees threaten to give.

“Oh, you do.”

You have to clench your jaw to keep from begging him to take you right here.

“Bedroom.” You say instead. “Now.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. You barely make it down the hallway without breaking apart. His mouth on yours, your fingers fumbling at the top two buttons of his shirt, his hands gripping your hips like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. The bedroom door bangs open; he pushes you inside with just enough force to make you stumble back a step, laughing breathlessly at how wrecked he already looks.

The sound barely leaves your lips before he catches it with another kiss, smiling against your mouth like he can’t help himself. He trails hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, across your shoulder, while his hands slide the straps of your dress down your arms. His breath snags audibly when he sees what’s underneath: the pretty matching set you’d thrown in your bag on a whim. A girl could dream. Turns out she was right to.

Joel’s gaze drags over you, lighting something fierce and confident in your chest. You stand a little taller, letting him look. He steps in close again, one hand sliding to the small of your back, pressing your bare skin to his clothed chest as he kisses you. The other hand fumbles at the clasp of your bra, until he swears under his breath, frustrated, making you laugh softly. He spins you around so he can see what he’s doing, muttering, “Shut up,” against the side of your neck before he finally gets it right. The bra joins the dress on the floor.

Immediately, his chest is flush to your back. His hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they pebble under his touch. You sigh, head tipping back against his shoulder as he rolls them gently, then a little harder, drawing a soft whimper out of you.

He keeps kissing everywhere he can until you’re squirming against him, restless. You can feel how hard he is, thick through his jeans, pressed right against your ass. The friction makes your thighs clench.

He walks you forward until your knees hit the edge of the bed, then turns you so you can sink down onto the mattress. You settle on your back, propped up on your elbows, watching him through heavy lids as he finishes the last buttons of his shirt. The way he looks at you, spread out on his bed just for him, waiting, wanting, makes heat lick low in your belly.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he says, like he can’t help it, like a truth he simply has to face.

Heat floods your cheeks. You’re still not used to the way he looks at you You don’t think you ever will be. From where you are, Joel looks devastating: the messy curls, lips swollen and flushed, the dark eyes locked on you, the faint sheen of sweat already gathering at his collarbone. You want to drag your nails down his chest, mark him up, pull him down until there’s nothing left between you.

“Take off your pants, Joel.”

He huffs a low, amused sound. “Eager much?”

“Yes,” you admit without hesitation. You see the flicker of surprise in his eyes; he’d expected you to play coy. “Now take them off and fuck me. Please.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” he mutters, already moving. His hands make quick work of the belt, pants and boxers shoved down and kicked off in one impatient motion, faster than you thought possible.

Then he’s climbing onto the bed, looming over you, broad shoulders blocking out the dim light from the hallway. The sheer size of him hits you again in the best way. How great it feels to be under him like that.

You pull him down for another kiss while your hand slips between your bodies. His breath hitches the second your fingers brush him, tracing the thick length of him, feeling him twitch under your touch. Then you wrap your hand around his cock, and his eyes flutter shut, a rough sound catching in his throat.

“Like that?” you whisper against his mouth.

“Jus’—mmph—little tighter? Yeah… yeah, fuck, like that.”

He drops his forehead to the hollow of your clavicle, hiding there as if the sight of your face might undo him completely. Soft grunts and broken moans spill against your skin with every slow stroke of your hand. Your beautiful, wrecked Joel, coming apart because of you, because of the way you touch him. One of his arms braces beside your head, muscles flexing to keep his weight from crushing you. The other hand roams your thigh, calloused palm dragging up the inside, higher, until his fingertips hook the edge of your underwear. He’s trembling just enough for you to feel it.

“Can I take these off?” he manages, voice gravel-rough between the gasps he can’t quite control.

You nod, even though the thought of him just shoving the lace aside doesn’t bother you in the least. But Joel wants it done right.You release him so he can hook his fingers under the waistband and drag the underwear down your legs, peeling it away until there’s nothing left between you.

For the first time, you’re both completely bare. No fumbling in the dark of the car, no sleepy touches in the grey morning light. Just skin on skin, breath held, eyes drinking each other.

Your gaze drops to where his cock stands flushed and heavy, the head glistening with precum from your earlier touch. He lets you look, even though you feel the involuntary twitch under your stare, the way his hips shift like he’s fighting not to thrust into your hand again.

His palm cups your cheek, thumb tracing the swell of your lower lip. You part for him without thinking, letting it slip inside. You suck lightly, tongue curling around the rough pad, and watch his pupils blow wide, dark and helpless.

Almost shy, voice barely above a whisper when you ask: “Can I go down on you?”

He groans low in his chest, forehead dropping to yours. “God, sweetheart… you’re killing me here.” A rough, honest laugh escapes him. “I’d really fuckin’ like that. But if you do, I’m not gonna last long enough to give you what I’ve been dyin’ to.”

You smile against his mouth. “Another time, then.”

He nods, kissing you eagerly. “Yeah. Another time. Please.”

The kiss deepens fast. The simple knowledge that there will be more times lights something fierce between you: his real bed back in Austin, the worn leather of his couch, maybe the kitchen table you’ve always thought was exactly the right height for—

Your thoughts scatter the second his fingers slide between your legs.

He exhales a shaky breath when he feels how wet you are, how ready. A cocky little smile tugs at his lips as his thumb finds your clit and circles it. The gasp that rips out of you is involuntary, and it only makes that smile deepen.

Then two of his fingers slide inside you, curling just right while his thumb stays devoted to your clit, relentless circles that drag the most shameless sounds out of your throat. You’re too far gone to feel embarrassed by it. When the ache becomes unbearable, when all you can think about is him filling you completely, you grab his wrist, voice wrecked. “Joel… need you inside me. Now.”

He’s just as wrecked. His breath stutters as he pulls his fingers free, leaving you clenching around nothing, already aching at the loss. He settles properly between your thighs, the head of his cock brushing your clit.

“Do you want me to get a condom?” he asks even as his hips twitch with restraint.

Your hand finds his forearm, stroking gently. The fact that he still asks, even now after all you talked about, makes something tender bloom in your chest. “No,” you whisper. “Wanna feel you, Joel. Just you.” You wrap your fingers around him again making him hisses softly at the contact, and guide him to your entrance. “Need you.”

One of his hands settles on your hip, steadying you both. He pushes in slowly, eyes flicking between your face and the place where he disappears inside you inch by inch. When his hips finally press flush to yours, buried to the hilt, you both let out long, shuddering sighs against each other’s mouths.

It’s only been two days, but god, you’d missed this: the perfect stretch of him, the way he fills you until there’s nothing left but him.

He doesn’t rush. He starts with shallow, languid rolls of his hips,pulling out just enough to make you feel the drag, then sinking back in deep. Every movement is measured, controlled, like he’s savoring every second. “Perfect,” he mutters against your lips, voice rough with awe. “Fucking perfect.”

He keeps that steady, unhurried rhythm, slow enough that he can kiss you properly; your mouth, your jaw, the sensitive spot under your ear, murmuring praise the whole time. “So good for me… feel so fuckin’ good… that’s it, baby…”

You can’t look away from each other. Smiles break through between moans, soft and dazed, like you’re sharing a secret no one else gets to know. Every thrust pulls a new sound from you; every sound makes his eyes darken further.

At some point he hooks his hands under your knees, tilting your legs toward your chest. The new angle lets him sink even deeper, hitting that spot that makes white sparks burst behind your eyes.

“Joel—fuck—”

“Yeah? Right there?” He grinds in again, watching your face. “Baby, talk to me.”

“Yes—yes, don’t stop—”

“Not stoppin’. Fuck, you feel amazin’.”

You try to rock up into him, chasing more, harder, but his hands pin your hips gently but firmly to the mattress.

“We’re not in a rush,” he murmurs, voice gravel-low.

“Joel,” you whine.

He chuckles and rolls his hips in a slow, filthy circle just to prove his point. “We’ve got all the time in the world,” he grunts, eyes locked on yours. “Let me feel how good you are around me… just like this.”

You feel it building slowly at first, a warm, tingling heat that spreads through every inch of you with every measured thrust. His praise lands like sparks against your skin, each whispered word making your body flutter and clench around him.

“Are you gettin’ close?” You nod, nails digging into his back as he drives deep. “Fuck you are— I can feel it.”

“Are you?” you manage to gasp.

“I’ve been close since the second you touched me, baby,” Joel groans, hips stuttering. “Just… trying not to end up like this mornin’.”

“I liked—” You cut off with a sharp cry as he thrusts forward again. “—this morning.”

The shared confession pulls a breathless smile from both of you. He leans down for a messy kiss. Your words dissolve into broken sounds after that,nothing coherent except his name, over and over. His rhythm starts to fracture, thrusts turning harder, deeper, chasing both your peaks with the same hunger. His hand slips between your bodies again, two thick fingers finding your clit with perfect pressure.

“Can you come on my cock, sweetheart? Please — fuck, I need to feel you.” You must nod frantically, because he continues. “Of course you can. You’re my perfect girl.”

And because you are, it only takes a few more punishing thrusts and the relentless circle of his thumb before the edge rips through you. Your orgasm crashes over, legs shaking, back arching, walls pulsing tight around him as you cry out.

“Joel— Ah! Joel—”

Above you, Joel growls something filthy about how tight you are, how perfect, how good, but the words blur under the roar of your release. His face drops to your neck, hips snapping only a few moments, then burying deep as he follows you over. You feel the hot rush of him spilling inside you, his groan vibrating against your throat while his body trembles with the force of it.

He stays still for a minute, braced on forearms so he doesn’t crush you, both of you panting hard. When he can finally focus again, he brushes a sweat-soaked strand of hair from your forehead. Then he kisses you, soft presses to your flushed cheeks, your closed eyelids, your swollen lips, until a helpless giggle bubbles out of you.

Only then does he ease out, eyes immediately dropping between your legs. He watches, transfixed, as his release starts to slip from you. After a beat, two of his fingers push it back inside with gentle insistence. You squirm, still oversensitive, and his cheeks flush darker at the sight. He settles beside you on his side, skin gleaming with sweat, and finally meets your eyes. Both of you are smiling, sated, a little dazed. He pulls you into a deep kiss, the kind that says everything words can’t: how much he liked this, and you kiss him back just as hungrily, completely lost in him.

When you start to pull away after a minute, trying to sit up, Joel immediately tightens his arms around you and pulls you back down against the mattress.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he murmurs.

“Just to the bathroom,” you laugh as he wraps you closer against him.

“Don’t,” he mutters against your neck.

The realization makes you giggle againt his chest. Joel Miller is a cuddler after sex. “I need to clean up,” you tell him, amused. “And pee.”

He lets out a quiet huff of reluctant acceptance, pressing a slow kiss to the top of your head, lingering there. “Five minutes,” he bargains.

You can’t help smiling at this unexpected clingy side of him, and for a moment you stay where you are. You nuzzle a little closer into him before pressing a light kiss to his Adam’s apple, feeling the way it shifts under your lips as he exhales. He eventually lets you go, though it takes closer to ten minutes than five, and you hurry into his bathroom. You don’t want to be away from him for long either.

When you catch your reflection in the mirror, you pause. Your hair is messy, your lips swollen, your cheeks flushed. You look thoroughly, unmistakably well-fucked. And happy. Stupidly, stupidly happy.

You bite your lip to hide the grin and grab the first shirt you can find before leaving the en suite. Back in the bedroom, Joel is lying on the bed scrolling through his phone. The moment he sees you, he sets it aside, his eyes immediately moving over you.

“Putting some alarms for tomorrow,” he explains casually, though his gaze lingers a little as he takes in the sight of you in his shirt.

“What time do we need to leave?” you ask.

“Not early, don’t worry.” He lifts the sheet slightly in invitation. “We are sleepin’ in.”

“Perfect.”

You slide back into the bed, and the moment you settle, Joel pulls you into his arms again , chest to chest, your head tucked under his chin, one big hand splayed possessively over your lower back, like it’s the most natural thing in the world

“How you feelin’?” he asks quietly, lips brushing your temple.

“Amazing,” you whisper, tracing lazy circles over his heart. “You?”

He just hums contentedly into your hair, a sound of quiet satisfaction that vibrates through his chest where you’re pressed against him. You tilt your head up, catching those soft brown eyes watching you in the low light. They’re so open, so fond, it steals the air from your lungs.

“What?” he asks.

For one dizzy second, the words are right there on your tongue. Those three little words people are so eager to say and so afraid of. You almost tell him. Maybe it’s the warmth still humming through your body, the quiet bliss of the moment, the feeling of being wrapped in his arms like this. But you swallow them down. Not yet. It’s too soon. Too big. The thought might scare him and truthfully… it scares you a little too. Maybe it’s just the endorphins talking. Though it doesn’t feel untrue.

“Nothing,” you say instead.

Joel studies your face for a heartbeat longer, like he can almost hear the unsaid words anyway. Then leans down and kisses you softly before settling back against the pillow. Within minutes, his breathing deepens, steady and calm. You lie there listening to it, a small smile forming as you relax against his chest.

It’s okay, you think, curling closer. You have time. So much time. After everything, you know you’ll tell him someday. After all, this is only the beginning for the two of you.

Joel turns the key in the lock and pushes the door closed behind him. Out of habit, he twists the doorknob once more, testing it to make sure it’s properly shut. Only when he’s satisfied does he turn around.

And of course, you’re the first thing he sees.

You’re leaning against the truck with that smile he’s pretty sure he’d follow anywhere. The morning sun catches in your hair, the ocean breeze tugging at the hem of your shirt, and for a second he has to remind his lungs how to work. It’s been like that for a while now: you walk into his line of sight and the rest of the world quietly fades to background noise.

He crosses the gravel, boots crunching, and stops just close enough that your knees brush his.

“Got everything?” he asks.

You glance into the backseat where both your bags are tucked together. “Think so!”

He leans in and presses a slow kiss to your cheek, then opens the passenger door for you with an exaggerated little flourish.

You laugh, and the sound hits him square in the chest. He decides right then that he’s going to keep doing stupid chivalrous shit for the rest of his life if it keeps making you laugh like that. You deserve doors opened, seats pulled out, every small thing.

He rounds the hood, slides behind the wheel, and slots the key into the ignition. Before he turns it, he catches you staring back at the house through the window, something soft and a little wistful in your eyes.

You feel his gaze and turn to him. “You know I’ve always loved this place,” you say quietly. “It’s always been full of so many memories.” Your eyes drop to his mouth, then lift again. “And now I love it even more. I’m already missing it.”

Joel reaches over, curls a hand around the back of your neck, and kisses you. “We’ll come back soon,” he murmurs against your lips. “That’s a promise.”

“I’d love that.”

He starts the engine. The radio hums to life when you twist the knob, some old country song drifting through the cab like it was waiting for you two. As the truck rolls down the driveway, you watch the house shrink in the side mirror until it disappears behind the dunes. Soon you will be back to Austin. Back to real life. Back to figuring out what “them” looks like when the world isn’t paused in those stolen days. Joel feels the same small tug in his chest, leaving this little pocket of peace, but it’s quieter than the excitement buzzing under his skin. If anything, he feels something closer to anticipation.

He reaches across the console without thinking and threads his fingers through yours. You squeeze back immediately, and when he glances over, you’re already smiling at him like he hung the damn moon. He mirrors it without even meaning to.

You tip your head back against the seat, eyes half-closed, breathing in the sharp, clean scent of the sea one last time.

Joel doesn’t let go of your hand.

𓇼 Thank you for reading this story! Please tell me what you thought! Leave a comment, a reblog, or even an ask! It would mean a lot :) 𓇼

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