jazzdalorian

[jazzdalorian]

to call you mine - series masterlist

Pairing: dbf!joel x reader

MDNI* this series contains mature and explicit themes

How is it that in one simple, fleeting moment, the dynamic with the constant in your life, your dad’s best buddy, old, gruff Joel Miller.. shifts into the most thrilling, turbulent secret you’re forced to keep under wraps?

If only you knew where it was always doomed to lead.

1: kindling

2: upper hand

3: combing through the wreckage

4: something’s got to give

5: broken parts

6: to you, i surrender

7: there it blooms - June 15

[jazzdalorian]

Beck and Call

18+ MDNI!

Summary: You’ve been divorced from Joel for a little while, now. But when your sink breaks and threatens to flood your house right before a date, you have no one else to call but him. Why does he come? You don’t know. Why does he look so fucking good? You don’t know, either.

W.C: ~6.2k

TL;DR: Rule number one of getting divorced: don’t fuck your ex-husband. (Optional).

Warnings: ex-husband!joel x ex-wife!reader, sappy love confessions, improper use of a sink, praise, oral f!receiving, mirror sex, unprotected p-in-v sex, (no outbreak!)

Note: as a child of divorce, i am allowed to touch upon this matter. anyway, happy fucking i mean reading

One-third. A married couple’s least favourite fraction. 

It was (and is) a well-known fact that one in three marriages ends in separation. And of course, you—being the lucky duck you were—found yours rapidly accelerating toward that destination.

You and Joel had agreed that you’d be better off apart. Joel got his own place while you kept the house. And Sarah lived with you every other week.

All you needed to do was send your attorney the signed divorce papers.

Outside of the sympathetic comments you received from acquaintances and relatives almost daily, you were doing just fine.

In fact, tonight you had a date.

A date. The kind that made you choose a tight-fitting dress that hugged your curves just right. The kind that inspired you to wear your hair in something other than a claw clip. The kind that provoked you to shave places you haven’t shaved in a long time.

The lucky bachelor was a fellow divorcee named Mark, whom you had met on a single-parent dating app. He had a full head of hair, a decent sense of humour, and two rescued Labradors. He offered to bring you to his favourite Italian restaurant, bringing up the fact that he’d pick up the bill no matter what, much to your protests. Needless to say, you had a good feeling about him.

After one last check in the mirror, you grabbed your coat and slung your purse over your shoulder, ready to head out the door.

Then, you heard it.

A faint gurgling. 

You blinked twice, trying to zero in on the sound. Proceeding a few moments of intense concentration, you followed the sound into the ensuite bathroom.

The faucet was running. Had you forgotten to turn it off?

You reached for the handle. Twisted it. It spun freely, and nothing happened. 

You tried and tried again, but all your efforts were in vain. You could only watch the tap stubbornly defy you as the handle jutted uselessly, loose in its socket.

“Shit.” You breathed.

The faucet sputtered out a particularly heavy spurt of water as if to say: shit, indeed.

You sighed, staring helplessly at the sink as it stared contumaciously back, water that couldn’t be swallowed by the drain toppling over the edge of the sink.

A quick Google search informed you that you needed to turn off the principal water pipe—the mains. Which you didn’t know how to do. 

So, you resolved to delegate the problem to more capable hands. Like, a twenty-four-hour plumbing service. No, they could easily overcharge you. You could call your dad? No, he was too far.

Or…

Sighing, you dug out your phone from your purse and called your only remaining option. Someone who was a seasoned contractor, someone who dealt with this sink before, and someone who you just so happened to be divorcing. 

He answered on the third ring.

“Hey—everything okay?” Joel’s concerned voice filtered through your phone.

“No.” You inhaled. 

“No?” Joel echoed hesitantly, then waited for elaboration.

When nothing came, he cleared his throat.

Slightly confused, slightly wry, he continued, “This is the part where you tell me what’s wrong.” 

“Um, my sink’s busted.”

“Your sink… is busted?”

“Yeah. Faucet won’t turn off. It-It’s a lot of water.” You bit the inside of your cheek, leaning on the wall. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

A moment of silence, then:

“You need me to fix it?” 

Was that annoyance? Exhaustion? It definitely wasn’t exhilaration at the prospect of doing manual labour at eight o’clock on a Friday evening.

“You know what? Forget I called. This was stupid. Sorry to bother you—”

“I’m on my way.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, after he hung up, the smallest of smiles began forming on your face. 

Fifteen minutes later, a knock came from your front door.

You swung the door open, and there he stood. Tool bag in hand, flannel shirt stretching tightly over his broad shoulders, salt-and-pepper hair just a little bit unkempt.

It had been a good few months since the two of you went your separate ways, but there he was—still at your beck and call. What that meant, exactly, remained to be seen. 

But you were glad to see him, nonetheless.

“Hi,” You said breathlessly.

Upon seeing you, Joel’s brows shot up, and he blinked a few times.

“Hi.” He said back slowly, then cleared his throat. “Am I… interruptin’ something?”

You glanced down. Right. Tight dress and makeup.

“I have a date in…” You raised your left wrist and winced as you looked down at your watch. “Five minutes ago.”

“A date.” He clicked his tongue, nodding to himself. “Well, I’ll try to make this quick, then.”

You hummed a noise of agreement, pivoted, and, with a wave of your hand, invited Joel inside.

He stepped through the doorway with a quiet grunt. And, as he bent down to undo his boots, his coffee-brown gaze landed on a pile of unopened mail by the entryway table. A few envelopes had slipped to the floor, and he crouched to gather them without thinking. 

But, as he straightened up to his full height, his eyes lingered on the recipient line.

“Mrs Miller?” Joel read aloud.

“What?” Your breath caught in your throat, and you spun around to meet his stare.

Joel wordlessly held the envelope up with two fingers, the corners of his lips slightly upturned.

“Oh.” You cringed inwardly. “Yeah.”

“Didn’t, uh, realise that you were keepin’ the name.” He shrugged offhandedly, tossing the stack of mail onto the entryway table.

“I’m not. I just…” You ran a hand through your hair. “Paperwork isn’t final.”

For the divorce.

Joel’s eyebrows pinched together. “I sent you my signed copies, if—” 

“I know you did. I just haven’t sent the papers to my lawyer yet.” You pressed your lips into a thin line and avoided his gaze. “Just got a lot on my plate, recently.”

That was very unconvincing.

Joel hummed a noncommittal noise.

“Well…” He huffed sheepishly. “You know I always liked my name on you.”

You swallowed, feeling your stomach do a funny flip and your ears burn up. Why were your ears burning up?

“C’mon. The problem is upstairs.”

The faucet, to your dismay, hadn’t stopped. It was worse now, if that was even possible, spitting little rogue sprays of water alongside the main stream. Great.

You checked your watch again. Fifteen minutes late. You would no doubt have a few missed calls from your poor suitor if you had the guts to check your phone.

Joel sank to one knee as he inspected the sink, squinting at the appliance and shaking his head. Miraculously, he reached in and, a few rusty squeaks later, the water stopped.

“You fixed it.” You blinked.

“Far from it,” He muttered, frowning. “The cartridge’s shot. And the valve stem’s stripped. Who installed this?”

Without missing a beat, “You did.”

“…Right.”

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest. “So?”

“So, this isn’t a quick fix. I need to pull out the whole assembly. Maybe replace the handle, too. And judging by the corrosion around this nut—” He held up a discoloured metal hexagon like it had personally offended him—“you’ve probably had a leak back here for a while.”

You blinked. “And you didn’t notice that when you lived here?”

Joel turned to shoot you a look. “I was your husband, not your handyman.”

“Really? I could’ve sworn I married you for that toolbox of yours.”

“And here I thought it was ‘cause of my radiant personality.”

“Definitely not that.” You huffed out a laugh.

Despite his back being turned to you, you could just about make out a reluctant smile forming through his slightly greying stubble.

You watched as he rolled up his plaid sleeves, exposing tanned forearms that were entirely too bulky for someone in his mid-forties. He then dug into his bag, fishing out an Allen Wrench.

“You can go on your date,” Joel added, not looking at you. “I’ll be out of here in an hour. Two, tops. But… if you feel like gettin’ frisky, maybe do it at his place. Just in case.”

Right, your date.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you took out your phone. Six missed calls and a flurry of concerned texts.

Decidedly, you typed out an apologetic message mentioning a water-related emergency and stuffed your phone back in your purse.

“I’m staying with you.”

Joel froze and turned to look at you from over his shoulder. “No, you ain’t. I’ll take too long.”

“Well, I can’t leave you to fix my problems while I’m out eating overpriced ravioli.” You shrugged and, with a soft grunt, took a seat against the wall near him. “You’re not a plumber, you’re a… you’re my…”

Ex-husband.

You cleared your throat, then emphasised, “You’re not a plumber.”

Joel let out a slow exhale. “Do whatever you want, but I doubt watching me fix your sink is gon’ be as fun as your date.”

“I’ve got a full bottle of Pinot Noir in the fridge.” You tilted your head. “We can make it fun.”

Joel’s eyebrows shot up.

“Not—not in that way.” You rubbed a clammy hand down your face.

To your surprise, that earned you a small, gruff laugh from Joel, his eyes crinkling momentarily the way they only did when he was truly amused.

His voice was soft when he responded. 

“Go on and get the wine, then, sweetheart.”

Two crystal glasses and a little while later, Joel had put down his wrench and opted instead to sit beside you on your tiled bathroom floor, his shoulders brushing up against yours in the cramped space.

Efforts to tame the defiant sink had long since been forgotten. He did the best he could, but retired upon discovering that you had no spare sink handle lying around—how very unprepared of you.

The bad news was that you weren’t going to be able to wash your hands in the master bedroom ensuite tonight. The good news was that you were having a surprisingly good time with Joel. The conversation evolved from discussing your stood-up date (you showed Mark’s profile, Joel was convinced he was lying about his dogs being rescues), then to how his company was going, and then, reminiscing about the good ol’ days.

“All I’m sayin’,” Joel continued through a laugh. “Is that she did it on purpose.”

“My mom has always been bad with names!”

“Bad enough to still call me ‘George’ after a year of us datin’?” He scoffed.

You stifled a giggle. “In her defence, it’s a very similar—”

“Like hell it is. And your dad? He was worse.” Joel chuckled, finishing the last of his wine. “How is he?”

“Fine. Just called him yesterday, actually.”

“He still callin’ me–?”

“He still calls you ‘porn stache’, yes.”

Joel snorted into his hand, his shoulders bobbing up and down with laughter. Real, genuine laughter.

You smiled and turned to steal a glance at his profile.

His eyes crinkled at the corners, his hooked nose scrunched mid-chuckle, and his laugh was exactly as it was before—low and rough, but somehow boyish and unguarded.

You had almost forgotten how his whole face lit up when he laughed.

And, you didn’t mean to stare. But you did. 

God, you missed this.

“I think I prefer George.” Joel ran a hand down his face, still smiling.

You cleared your throat and leaned over to retrieve the almost-empty wine bottle, refilling your glasses.

“Sarah told me to say hi to you, if I got the chance, by the way.” You said, pouring the Pinot Noir into his glass. “She’s with my parents in the lake house.”

“The lake house?” Joel hummed, taking another sip of his drink. “Still disappointed I didn’t get that in the settlement.”

You snorted, amused. “You don’t even like lakes.”

“No, I don’t like the mosquitoes that come with the lakes.” Joel corrected you, pointedly. “But, I don’t know, I guess I just miss it. A lot of good memories there.”

You felt yourself smile. “Yeah. Yeah, there were.”

A beat.

“Hey, at least you kept the cars. And the boat. And the frequent flier miles. And, well, you see Sarah every other week.” You turned to look at Joel, but he was already looking at you.

A certain vulnerability swam in the brown of his eyes. Something you hadn’t seen in a very long time.

“Yeah, well… there were more important things I couldn’t keep.”

The air thinned. The wine, the laughter, the conversation—everything dissolved in the quiet admission, hanging thickly in the space between you.

And suddenly, there was only you and Joel and the mistakes that had wedged you apart yet somehow brought you back together again; on a random Friday evening on the floor of a bathroom you used to share.

“Joel…” You swallowed, your hand falling from your lap onto the tiles.

But you couldn’t form any semblance of a sentence. How could you? 

There was nothing to say. Yes, you missed him. ‘Missed’ was an understatement. 

Sometimes you’d roll over in the night, wishing to feel the weight of his arm resting on your waist, reassuring you that these past few months had only been a bad dream. Sometimes you came to pick Sarah up early, just to get a few more minutes with him. Sometimes—no, a lot of the time, memories of him came rushing back, cleaving your heart into two, further and further each time.

No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t let go of the man you spent so many years loving. 

Joel’s eyes still bore into yours. And nothing in the world could have torn you away.

He exhaled slowly, then set down his glass with care. His hand barely brushed yours, but it was enough to make your breath hitch.

“I think about it,” He said softly. “More than I should.”

“Think about what?”

A quiet, almost sad laugh escaped from his throat. He leaned back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling.

“How things used to be.”

“Oh,”

A moment passed, marked only by the metre of your incessant heartbeat pounding in your ears.

And then, “Do you ever miss us?” Joel asked.

You faced him once more. The answer was on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Because that was too complicated. Because that would break you.

Joel didn’t need you to say it. He found the answer in your eyes.

All the time.

Instead, you asked, “Do you? Miss us, that is.”

“Of course, I do.” He said softly. “More than you can imagine.”

You held your breath.

Joel heaved a sigh.

“I think about calling,” He added, voice low. “Just to hear your voice.”

“I’d answer,” You said, barely above a whisper.

He smiled in a bittersweet, melancholic sort of way and leaned in just slightly. Unconsciously, you mirrored him.

And then his eyes flickered down to your lips. It was only for a second, but it was enough to make your stomach flutter.

This was dangerous. You should’ve told him to leave ages ago. Or, maybe you should’ve left yourself and gone on your date.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

“Can I ask you something stupid?” You whispered.

Joel whispered back, “Always.”

“Do you…” You trailed off, biting your lip.

“Do I what?”

“Do you—does even a part of you… want what we had back?” 

You knew what he was going to say. You just wanted to hear it for yourself.

And you did.

“Yes,” He admitted earnestly.

You searched his face for any sign of deception, but found none. The only thing in his coffee-brown eyes was regret. And, maybe, something else, too. Something softer.

Your eyes widened. “We fought a lot.”

“We did.”

“And we probably said some shit.” You sighed, looking up at the ceiling, as if all the answers were written there. Joel did, too.

His voice came softly, sadly, “We did.”

Silence again. Thick and fragile and charged with so many unspoken words.

Joel’s knee brushed yours, neither of you pulling away. It was nice to have him close, to feel his familiar warmth, to see him—really see him. Bare and raw and vulnerable. No facades of indifference. No hiding behind closed car doors. Just Joel, your Joel, there beside you; soft-eyed and quiet, like maybe he was seeing you, too.

Your fingers twitched on the floor beside his. You wanted to reach for him, but you wanted him to reach first. 

He looked at you then. Not a glance, but a full turn, slow and deliberate. His dark eyes searched your face, pausing on your mouth, your cheek, your lashes, then settled on your eyes again. He looked at you like you were something he’d spent months trying to forget, and only just now remembered why he couldn’t.

You held your breath.

Joel’s voice, when it finally came, was low, cracked around the edges.

“I know it was bad in the end, but I meant what I said.” He breathed. “I miss us. I miss you.”

Your heart twisted. And there went that cleaver again, slicing further.

“I miss seeing your keys on the kitchen counter and knowing you were home. I miss kissing you before work and smudgin’ your lipstick. I miss watching stupid movies with you that we’d fall asleep to halfway.”

His throat bobbed. He leaned back against the wall, like it hurt to say it out loud.

“Yeah, we fought and said some real mean shit. But God help me, I’d give anything to go back in time and fight for you like I should have. Because you were it for me. You were everything. Still are.”

His eyes glistened as he held your gaze, fierce and unflinching.

“Because, no matter how hard I try to ignore it,” He smiled to himself, shaking his head like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I love you.”

He loves you.

Those three simple words rang in an echo in your mind. He loves you, he loves you, Joel loves you.

“You love me?” You could barely hear your voice above the deafening thrum of your pulse.

Your faces were barely an inch apart, now. You could smell the familiar scent of his laundry detergent, and traces of his cologne, and wood, and tobacco, and something that was so uniquely him.

Joel nodded.

“I never stopped.” He whispered.

Without thinking, you closed the remaining distance, smashing your lips against his. Joel grunted in surprise, but quickly gave in, exhaling through his nose like he’d been holding a breath in for years. 

He returned the kiss with equal fervour, reaching out to cup your face and pouring all his pent-up emotions against the haven of your lips—longing, relief, desire.

You pushed yourself closer against him. Closer, impossibly closer, until you were straddling his lap, moving against the tent in his jeans, feeling his big hands instinctively settle on your hips, and tasting the Pinot Noir on his lips.

Shit. Was this even a good idea?

You pulled away suddenly. A tiny whine came from Joel, who tried to chase your mouth, but you were insistent.

“Wait,” You panted.

His eyes opened fully. His brows were knitted, his lips were kiss-swollen, and his chest was heaving slowly.

“What?” Joel asked quietly, his thumbs idly tracing circles on either side of your hips.

“This…” You breathed. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. I don’t want it to mean nothing.”

Joel smiled softly at your words.

“Means a whole lot to me, sweetheart.” His hand went to gently tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, caressing your cheek in his wake. “We can talk about what this means, if you w—”

“Okay, good. Means a lot. Talk after.”

“After?” His eyebrows rose.

“After you fuck me.”

A breathy ‘Jesus Christ’ slipped from his throat, but Joel didn’t spend a second refusing your bold assumption.

With a hand on your nape, he leaned forward to capture your lips in another searing kiss, which you happily accepted, sighing against him.

His big hands then travelled to the back of your thighs, and the next thing you knew, he carelessly swept away whatever was decorating the base of your faucet, and carried you with ease to perch you atop the sink.

“Joel.” You mumbled urgently into his lips.

“Mmm?” He hummed back, not wanting to break your mouths apart for even a second. 

“Might break the sink again.”

“Don’t care. I’ll fuckin’ fix it again, then. Just… need you,” Joel groaned. “Look too fuckin’ good,”

And he pulled away. His half-lidded, cloudy gaze drank you in, sweeping down the snugness of your dress, and lingering on the generous amount of cleavage it revealed. His hands drifted higher and higher up your thighs, until they reached the hemline—dipping under just slightly.

“Too fuckin’ good,” He snarled.

You smirked. Knowing him, he was definitely going to ask if—

“How much was this dress?”

Sighing amusedly, “It wasn’t cheap.”

“How attached are you to it?” He mumbled, a hand reverently skirting up to your hip.

“A moderate amou—”

“Can I rip it off you?”

There it was.

In the many years you were married, Joel shredded more than enough articles of your precious wardrobe in similar heated moments. If you were to count the offences, you’d likely run out of fingers. Your wedding dress had been among the few survivors of his destructive tendencies, though not for lack of trying on his part.

You stifled a snort and shook your head, reaching up to caress his face. 

“No.” You smiled. “Because I’d like to wear it again.”

Joel held your hand against his face and huffed out an exaggerated sigh. “Next time.”

And then his hands found the zipper on your side, pulled it sharply down, and tugged the dress off you.

His eyes darkened.

You had chosen to don an intricate, black, lacey number underneath your dress that teased just enough and only hid the bare minimum. Of course, you had. You hadn’t had an opportunity to wear anything vaguely provocative in ages and were expecting some luck after your date.

You certainly didn’t expect that your ex-husband would be the one seeing it.

“This for him?” Joel’s lip twitched.

Heat rose in your cheeks. “Well, I—”

“Yeah, these don’t get a pass.”

With a sharp tearing noise slicing through the air, Joel ripped the flimsy lacey bra clean in half, watching intently, hungrily, as your tits spilled out.

“Joel!”

“I know, I know,” Joel grunted. “I’ll buy you a new set… buy you all the fuckin’ sets.”

You were about to object, intent on citing the price attached to that particular pair, but Joel had sunk back on his knees and spread your legs apart.

He pressed his lips on your inner thigh, scruff tickling your skin as he slowly, softly trailed his mouth upward, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

His face came to a stop in front of your core, noticing how heavily you were breathing, and his eyes flicked up to yours, smirking. Smug fucking bastard.

“Joel.” You gritted your teeth.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Don’t fucking tease me.” 

And he leaned his forehead against the lower part of your navel, taking a second to breathe in the unmistakable scent of your arousal seeping through your lingerie. 

He was practically salivating, now. 

“I’ll try not to, ma’am.” 

Without another word, he took the lace into his teeth, yanked his head sharply, and tore your panties open.

Confirming his suspicions, you were absolutely soaked. Slick drooled freely out of your puffy folds, taunting him and draining every ounce of self-restraint he had. 

Fuck, you were gorgeous.

“Tell me,” Joel said lowly, meeting your gaze once more as a thick finger swiped lightly through your lips, collecting your arousal. “This for him or me?”

“You.” You breathed without a second thought.

“Louder, sweetheart. My ears ain’t what they used to be.”

“You.”

Smirking wider, “Damn fucking right.”

Then, he happily hitched your legs over his shoulders, leaned forward, and dove in.

His tongue prodded into your heat, dragging down your walls and sending jolts of electricity down your spine. He worked fast and sloppily, sliding through your folds and flicking into your walls, urgently tasting you like he wouldn’t get another chance. 

Your arousal coated the lower half of his face, his eyes were almost black with desire, obscenely wet noises echoed in the silence of the tiled room as his tongue eagerly devoured you whole—

“Fuck, almost forgot how good you taste. So fuckin’ sweet.” Joel mumbled against your sex, entirely, wholly bewitched. “She missed me, too, huh? Just drippin’ for me…”

He continued to furiously lap at your entrance, scruff rubbing against your inner thighs. And then he moved up, planting messy kisses higher and higher until he reached your swollen clit.

You gasped brokenly, flinging a hand to grasp his curls as his lips alternated from pressing messy kisses along your seam to greedily sucking at your bundle of nerves, latching onto it almost desperately.

After a particularly delicious drag down the roof of your core, you rolled your hips up into his mouth and brought him closer to you with your grip in his hair.

“Shit—sorry.” You panted, breathing heavily.

He barely pulled away to look at you.

“Don’t fuckin’ be. I can handle it, you know I can.” Joel all but growled, before returning to attend to your needy fucking pussy.

He was like a man possessed; lapping frenziedly, groaning lowly into your sensitive skin, curved nose swiping through your folds as he worked.

Very soon, a familiar tingle in your lower stomach introduced itself.

“Joel,” You called urgently, attempting to warn him.

He knew you were close. Oh, he knew. So, he went faster and harder, pressing himself further against you, suffocation be fucking damned.

His low, wrecked voice came slurred and slightly muffled by your sex, “y’gonna come? Go on, baby, all over my face—thaaat’s it.”

A shattered moan escaped from your throat, and you felt your release take over your body almost violently. You couldn’t help the way your legs clamped down around his head, but Joel loved it, letting you smother him and humming happily into your heat as he worked you through your climax, swallowing your release and eating like a man starved.

Finally, he pulled away with a wet squelch, softly pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, and gently let your legs down.

And you were immediately greeted with the sight of his lower face shining with your slick.

A good look on him, if you’d say so yourself.

He smiled lazily, eyes blown-out and absolutely fucking pussydrunk. 

“That good for you, sweetheart?” He mused.

“You, Joel Miller, are what we call a munch.” You smiled back.

Pride bloomed across his face. “Gladly, sweets.” 

And you pulled him up by the collar of his flannel shirt into a filthy kiss, tasting your arousal on his lips.

He let his eyes fall shut and reached up to curl a hand around your jaw as he returned the kiss, his brows furrowed in concentration.

Not wasting any time, your hands flew to his belt, blindly fumbling at the leather material to slide it out of the loops of his jeans.

Joel chuckled, leaning forward to trail his lips down your neck, leaving a path of open-mouthed kisses.

“Need somethin’, baby?”

“Wanna return the favour,” You glanced down at the bulge in his lap.

“Mm-mm. That was more for me than you. Missed your sweet fuckin’ pussy.” Joel mumbled against your pulse point.

“Munch.” You couldn’t help but giggle.

“Yeah, yeah.” Joel sighed, lifting his head and undoing his jeans just barely enough to pull himself free from his boxers. 

You heard yourself swallow.

Joel Miller was a big man, and you were very aware of that fact. It was written all across his body; from his impossibly broad shoulders, to his beefy arms, to his thick fucking cock.

He stroked himself, once, twice, as his eyes fell to your pulsating, slick core. Beads of precum leaked from his flushed tip and down his length as he did so.

“Spread those legs wider for me, baby. Let me see you,” He breathed lowly.

And you very willingly obliged.

“There’s my girl,” Joel hummed.

With a hand around his base, he guided himself closer to your drooling cunt, nudging his swollen head against you.

Sighing, “Deep breath, baby.”

And he slowly forced himself in, one hand on the small of your back, the other on the underside of your thigh, prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist as he steadily fed you his cock.

You gasped some variant of a plea.

Needless to say, he was a tight fucking fit.

“Takin’ me so well. That’s it, baby, let me in.” He blabbed mindlessly as he continued to sink deeper inside. 

Deeper, deeper, deeper…

He winced. “Shit—there you go.”

When all of him was nested inside your welcoming channel, he let out a gasped expletive at the sensation.

Full. You felt so full with him inside. You always did.

“Fuck, missed this.” Joel panted, resting his forehead against yours. 

You tried to echo the sentiment, but the only thing you were capable of doing was letting out an incoherent groan of his name.

Joel got the message, though.

Maintaining an unhurried tempo, he rolled his hips back and forth, slowly dragging his thickness against your walls, making you painfully aware of every last inch of him.

“How’s that feel, baby?” He mumbled, voice airy.

“Good. Feels so good.”

And, fuck, he did. 

He felt amazing.

His tempo soon picked up, leaving your mouth to fall open as you took every inch of him again and again, stretching you open with enough pleasure to dull the slight pain.

“Tell me,” Joel hummed as he continued to drive ceaselessly in and out of your tight channel, adopting a false lilt of indifference. “Who’s fuckin’ you so good, huh?”

An incoherent syllable slipped from your lips.

“Who, baby?” Joel urged you, unrelenting in his pace. “Sure as hell ain’t fuckin’ Mark.”

Dumbly, you shook your head.

“You, Joel.”

Your words were almost drowned out by the symphony of your own moans, which were accompanied by the obscenely wet slaps that sounded every time his hips fully met yours.

“Louder.” He snarled, punctuating his response with an intentionally rough ram. “Neighbours can’t hear you yet, c’mon.”

“You, Joel!”

Satisfied, his hands went to hold you by your waist, keeping you as still as possible as he drove insistently into you, his tip now kissing your cervix with every thrust.

You cried out at the feeling, nails raking down his back.

Heat pooled in your gut, your vision blurred, a high-pitched ringing almost deafened your ears.

“Joel, Joel, I’m…” You babbled.

“Close? Go on, gorgeous. Let me feel you choke my dick.”

With his blessing, his name left your mouth in a high-pitched scream, and you felt yourself clench around his throbbing length as your orgasm rippled across your body like an earthquake.

Joel, being the overachiever he was, didn’t stop for even a second until your breathing slowed and your eyes fluttered open again.

And, once he saw that you had recovered, he leaned forward to slant his mouth against yours, swallowing your sighs.

“You okay?” He mumbled into the kiss, barely breaking away.

“Yeah.” You exhaled. 

He smiled against your lips.

“Good. Almost there, baby. Gonna take you against the sink, now, and you’re gonna give me one more, how’s that sound?”

You nodded dreamily, feeling him slowly pull out.

He leaned back and, with his hands on your waist, delicately set you down.

“Turn ‘round for me, sweetheart.” 

You acquiesced without hesitation, bracing yourself on the porcelain countertop.

Joel hummed, kicked your legs open even wider, and, not long after, sank the entirety of his cock into you in one deep thrust.

A sharp breath hit the air behind you, and an airy ‘fuck’ followed it. This angle made him feel bigger, if that was even possible.

He didn’t wait long after that. He couldn’t. Overcome with the need to feel you, he started moving. The first thrust was slow. Experimental. The second was hard. The third was harder.

Before you knew it, his big hands found a home on your hips, and he began to drive roughly into you, as if making up for lost time.

He certainly proved he was willing to atone for his absence, thrust after thrust.

“Oh, look at you.” Joel tutted and pulled your hair to tilt your head upwards.

You came face to face with the woman in the bathroom mirror.

Somewhere in between thrusts, your mouth had fallen agape, letting loose a long whine of pleasure, which was stuttered by every slam of his hips against yours.

Your hair was frizzy, your face was flushed, your hooded gaze was flooded with desire, and a light sheen of sweat doused every inch of your skin.

You were a wreck, thanks to the man fucking you so well behind you.

“Eyes up here.” Joel sighed. “Keep ‘em open. Gotta watch how well you take me.”

Joel was even more of a sight. 

The top few buttons of his flannel were undone, his sleeves were haphazardly rolled up, his hair was wild, and the look on his weathered face was nothing short of territorial as he held you to him and fucked you with reckless abandon.

Your eyes fell to where your bodies were connected, hypnotised by how easily his tanned cock disappeared in and out of your puffy cunt.

Again.

And again.

And again.

The corners of his lips were coyly upturned when he cooed, “Don’t we look good, baby?”

You could only respond in broken syllables.

“Yeah,” He grunted. Then, after a particularly forceful thrust, “we do.”

He continued to ram into you, finding your cervix with each thrust, keeping his eyes trained on the mirror, fixated on how your tits bounced so prettily for him.

“Beautiful.” He whispered, jaw tight.

If your brain hadn’t been turned to mush after the two orgasms he forced out of you, you would’ve heard him. But all you were focused on was the rush of another climax approaching.

You gripped the countertop harder and gritted your teeth, feeling warmth collecting in your stomach and bracing yourself for impact.

As if reading your mind, Joel’s hand moved from your hip to your front, trailing down until he brushed your clit, rubbing sloppy semi-cricles and whispering sweet things as you whimpered.

“You gonna give me one more?” He murmured encouragingly, his nose nudging the side of your face.

You could only manage an open-mouthed nod.

His fingers sped in their motions, swiping at your clit feverishly as he continued to rut into you, grazing your cervix each time.

Again. And again. 

“Come for me, sweetheart. I’ll catch you.” He whispered gently.

Your jaw slackened, your heartbeat quickened, and, in a blinding flash of pleasure, you came with his name on your tongue, helpless to the throes of your climax.

“There you go. Shit… so good for me.” Joel groaned. And then, urgently, “Where—where do you want me to–?”

Not even a full second later, “Inside.” 

“You sure?” He panted, starstruck. 

“I have an IUD, just—please.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he pressed closer, his chest flush against your back, letting you feel every shaky pull of his breath as he caged you in. His hands found yours at the edge of the sink, lacing over them gently. His head dropped beside yours, his forehead nearly touching your temple, and a warm breath fanned across your skin as he sighed. 

And then he resumed his earlier pace.

He rammed into you hard and fast, chasing his own release as if it were a life-or-death situation. And all you could do was take it.

After a dozen more jerky thrusts, his breath caught in his throat and, with a low curse, he came. Hot ropes of his spend spilled inside you, and he rode it out until he couldn’t give you any more, which took a few more lazy rolls of his hips.

His breath evened not long after, warm and steady against your browbone. Soothing, almost.

Gently, he pulled out of you, and you felt his come slowly drip down your thighs.

“Fuck,” He breathed, pressing a soft kiss to your hair, scruff rubbing against your crown as he did so.

And he bowed his head to rest it on the crook of your neck.

“That was great, George.” You panted.

Joel snorted tiredly. “Just couldn’t help yourself, huh?”

“Nope.”

He huffed out a chuckle.

Then, he languidly pressed a trail of open-mouthed kisses wherever his lips could reach—the underside of your jaw, your throat, your neck, and down, still.

A warm, fuzzy sort of feeling radiated from his touch, lulling you into a state of bliss. It felt like love; it felt like coming home.

You couldn’t help the smile that stretched across your face.

Joel mumbled something unintelligible against your shoulder.

“What?” You replied, breaking free from your trance.

“I said,” He pulled away and, with two fingers on your chin, tenderly turned your face to look at him. His voice was wrecked and so very earnest when he finally repeated himself. “Don’t send the papers. Please.”

He held the rest of his plea in his eyes in the way they shone with a certain sincerity.

You smiled softly and shook your head. Because you knew you never really had any intention to. Because you wanted to hold on to him. And you were glad he wanted to hold on to you, too.

Your lips found his. Gentle, delicate, a reassurance. He gave in to the kiss almost immediately, sighing into your mouth.

“I won’t.”

And you meant it.

thanks for reading!!! reqs are open, if you wanna send an idea or anything over :)

🏷️: @whaddupbaby, @pedritodowney08, @martuxduckling, @aadhinagony, @lanabobana, @pedr0swh0r3, @romancherry, @strawberriesandhotmen, @streamermattsgf, @bonneyzsk, @worhols, @serendippindots, @paprikainfurs, @lanternnightgarden, @12vamppp, @savvyisss, @umadirectioner, @tinawantstobeadoll, @not-the-teen-witch, @wundagre, @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere, @guelyury, @joelspickle, @callofdiva, @hotnmad, @brightestxxwitch, @pearl-diver-m, @kungfucapslock, @hellokittyyloverrrr, @meganfoxismywife, @natalieispunk, @billionairecowgirl, @my-tearsricochet

[jazzdalorian]

GIRL I just read the ex husband! Joel and it's amazing... Can you do a continuation one where Y/N's IUD failed, please... ;)

A continuation to Beck and Call you say? I guess we’re getting more divorced!joel idk i still don’t make the rules

Everybody say thank you to this anon!!

This baby’ll be out in a week and a bit maybe 😼😼😼

EDIT: GUYS just wanted to say, like B&C, this one won’t just be smut, there WILL be plot and sappy shit, i swear to ya!

[jazzdalorian]

Middle aged men are the sexiest things ever created.

[jazzdalorian]

Waiting Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel Miller has mastered the art of self-control in all areas except one: not fucking his friend’s daughter. A cross-country road trip home from college takes a hard turn when he’s forced to share a motel room with you.

Warnings: 18+. Protected p-in-v. Praise. Overstimulation. Sweet, possessive, slightly obsessive and pussywhipped Joel. Daddy kink. Drug use. Angst. Accidental creampie. Joel fucking you while on the phone with your father.

Word count: 13.1k

Read on AO3

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

“You okay, hon? You sound…distracted,” your dad presses. A hint of concern rises from his end of the line.

At length, Joel grips both of your legs and brings them up over his shoulders, and he grins before kissing your ankle and shoving his cock even deeper.

“Yes!” you yelp as you crush the phone to your ear, hoping your father can’t hear any of the filthy sounds down below, “Just a little stretched—I mean stressed out, is all.”

Aside from the fact that he smoked like a chimney and bumped far more Billy Joel than any man ever should, Mr. Miller was an A-OK friend—your father’s best friend.

All you needed was a ride home for the holidays.

From the second you’d set foot in his old Ford Bronco, you sensed this trek wouldn’t be an enjoyable one—thirty-hour road trips rarely ever were—but you leaned back in the passenger seat, propped your feet on the dashboard, and bopped along to ‘You May Be Right’ for the fifty-fifth fucking time that morning and smiled.

Joel frowned.

“Dogs off the dash,” he muttered, swatting at your bare, polished toes before you kicked his touch away.

“Shotgun puts her feet up, driver shuts his cakehole.”

That wasn’t even how the saying went. Oh well.

Joel slowed the car to sixty in the right-hand lane and smacked your ankles even harder. You yelped.

“Hey! You can’t hit a woman!”

“I’m not hitting a woman, I’m hitting a little gremlin,” Joel tried not to grin as he delivered another tart slap to your foot, and you almost jerked into the passenger door.

He momentarily righted the car before it went veering into the lane beside it, seized one of your feet, and tried to forcibly shove it off the dashboard, to no avail. As soon as he moved one limb, the other would glide right back up to take its place; Joel’s hands were big, but they weren’t massive enough to grab hold of both of your legs at once and make you stay the fuck there, Christ’s sake.

You liked to see him flustered. Brought a whole new hue to his tough, stubbled cheeks that folks rarely got to see. You squirmed in your seat when he reached for your side.

“Wh—NO! No tickling!” you cried, trying your hardest to roll away.

But the man was nothing if not a lover of cheap shots and filthy antics. He’d never played a clean game in his life and wasn’t about to start now.

His gaze darted from the road to your writhing form, pinned against the door and begging him to stop, while he pressed his foot harder on the gas and smirked.

“Too much?” he teased, “Say pretty, pretty please.”

In other words: give up. You would do no such thing. Your elbow jutted out to the side and clipped his fingertips sharply, and right before he could reach for you again, you were heaving yourself up and leaning almost halfway out the open window, trying to shy away from his touch.

“You fuckin’ nuts?! Get down!” he yelled.

“But it just may be a luuuunatic you’re lookin’ for!” you sang along to your old friend Billy Joel and pretended not to see, or hear, Joel Miller twisting desperately across the center console to take hold of your belt loops.

“Get—I swear to God, kid—DOWN!”

Joel had just managed to finagle a loose, feeble grip on your denim waistband as he tried to keep the car from soaring across three lanes of traffic, was just about to yank you back inside and give you a red-faced, fatherly lecture of a lifetime, when a sound startled you both.

A siren, and a set of flashing blue lights behind you.

You scrambled back in your seat and swallowed a lump in your throat the size of a peach. You turned off Mr. Long Island.

“Great! Good fucking going,” Joel griped beside you as he flicked on his blinker and started to pull off the road.

Dogs no longer on the dash—and a very pissed off cop pulling up behind your car on the shoulder of the road—you got the feeling this would be a long couple of days.

You hadn’t even made it outside the city limits of Boston.

Somewhere between Richmond and Roanoke, the two of you turned off the highway to find a place to sleep.

Joel had sat and stewed and ignored you for the customary duration of about two hours before choosing to re-engage in conversation, but deep down, you knew he was still kind of irked by that reckless driving citation he’d received. You couldn’t help but feel responsible.

Though it had been pretty funny when the state trooper had approached the car and pointedly asked, “What the hell was your daughter doin’ danglin’ outta this thing?!” Joel was nowhere near as amused as you, but he managed to roll with it and told the cop you were just trying to wave to the cows in the fields passing by.

The police officer hadn’t bought it.

He probably would have arrested you both if you hadn’t been such a coquettish flirt and somehow managed to persuade the man to let your ‘dad’ off with just a ticket.

You had hoped that would temper Joel’s anger some, but if anything, the sight only seemed to make him more mad at you. You weren’t sure why.

Presently, you pulled up to Balmaceda’s Mountain Lodge and cast a bleak look at the front office before you.

This looked nothing like the snug, homespun mountain retreat you’d been picturing in your mind. Ahead of your car, there stood a single-story concrete slab of a motel, tilted to one side and consumed almost entirely by the dark of night and wide open wilderness. A big block letter neon sign displaying the owner’s name in red now barely flickered above a muddied, pinkish glow. You groaned.

But before you could complain to your travel companion, Joel was already stepping out of the car and heading toward the main office. Hastily, you followed after.

“No way, Miller. No fucking way are we staying in Murder Motel,” you hissed.

“Bal-ma-ceda’s,” Joel intoned with a maddeningly accurate lilt, ignoring your protests, “I think that’s a Chilean name.”

He swung the door wide for you to enter and pretended not to see you shoot him a glare as you strolled in.

“Needin’ a room?”

The lady behind the counter barely graced your entrance with a look.

“Yes ma’am. Whatever you got,” Joel replied, smiling.

“Smoking or non?”

“Smoking, please.”

Of course he would. You could already feel the fetid stench of American Spirits wafting up to your nostrils.

“King or two Queens?”

“Queens,” you and Joel answered in unison.

At first, the woman nodded, flicked through a rolodex on her desk and nosed through a couple yellowed pages in front of her. Then, frowning, she looked back up.

“Sorry. All the Queens are took up. Rest of the rooms are being fumigated but the one—” she tapped a manicured nail on the motel map, “—and it’s got a King. That okay?”

No. No, it was not. You opened your mouth to speak but were shortly cut off by the woman before you could.

“Of course, if you don’t want dad hoggin’ up all the sheets, there’s a pull-out sofa for him to sleep on.”

The sixty-something desk clerk offered a smile, and you likely would’ve returned the favor if you hadn’t been so deeply nauseated at the thought of everyone around you assuming that Joel was your father. You chanced a look at the man, who seemed equally uncomfortable as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. You sighed.

“Alright.”

Defeated, but marginally pleased that you wouldn’t have to share a bed with your ‘old man’ that night.

Joel paid and signed the papers without another word, or look, to you or the woman. By the looks of it, he just wanted to book the room and get the hell out as fast as possible, his brow pinched inward and lips zipped tight.

He’d turned to leave so quick that he was almost approaching the door when the lady called out,

“Mr. Miller! You forgot your keys.”

You hardly needed to steal a glance in Joel’s direction to see that he was flushed. Even blushing a bit.

You strode over to the counter and intercepted the keys she was dangling for someone to take, then politely, finally, were able to manage a smile and a thank-you.

You turned back to Joel.

“Here you go, Daddy.”

In a blink, the small silver set was pelted in his hands, and the man nearly dropped them—and lost his balance. By some miracle, Joel managed to catch them between his big sweaty palms and step aside just in time for you to saunter past him, straight through the door.

“I’m starved,” you announced, then, averting your face to hide your smug expression and lower your voice a bit, “Feed me, Daddy.”

In that moment, Joel thanked every last one of his lucky stars that his pants were made of denim, and that the denim itself was thick. And that the woman at the front desk was swift to turn her attention back to her tabloid magazine, away from you two, and didn’t look up again.

If they weren’t, and if she hadn’t, it would’ve been plain as day to see that Joel Miller was sporting a hard-on.

A huge, swollen hard-on that made it almost impossible for him to walk and haul luggage and try to keep apace with your steps as you sailed along the gravel drive. So big the man had to will himself not to limp, not to make it known how stiff he was, until he eventually failed at both.

Once you’d grabbed your bags back at the car and made it up to your place, you entered Room 102 with a lightness you hadn’t felt all day. Joel slogged behind with all of the baggage and a boner beneath his jeans that probably could’ve cut sheet metal, if needed.

He was fucked. No doubt he’d have to enlist in the Witness Protection Program after your real father found out that his best friend had gotten visibly bricked up for you, his one and only daughter. How awkward holiday dinners were bound to be from that point on; how humiliating it seemed to him to pop a chub at a thing as dumb as saying ‘daddy’; how batshit insane it was that he hadn’t gotten laid in almost a year, and you were still, somehow, the only one he wanted to break the dry spell.

Joel was better than this. A fucking pro at self-control and all things dirty old guys didn’t do. He could chill out.

He just needed to rub one out in the bathroom, fast.

So, while you flopped down on the bed, Joel dropped every bag and made a beeline for the toilet. Slammed the door so hard he probably could’ve knocked the thing off its hinges, but he didn’t care. He was wrestling his belt, button, and zip off in a second. Then haphazardly turning on the sink to mask the sounds of all that was to come. No pun intended.

He yanked his thick, throbbing, rock-hard member out of its confines and had to hiss through his teeth to keep from moaning. The sensitivity he felt was unbearable, the front of his boxers already painted with pre-cum.

Gingerly, Joel wrapped one hand around his cock and raised the other to anchor himself against the sink. He slid his palm, which he’d just barely lubricated with some spit of his, up and down the shaft and groaned. A welt of pleasure formed in his chest, and he rubbed even faster. And, in spite of his legs feeling a bit like jelly, he stood there and fucked his fist and wished with every bit of himself that it was your warm, lush folds opening around him instead. Stifled a groan and would’ve paid any sum of money to hear your moans spilling out while he thrusted. The act here was more mindless and reflexive than anything else—jerking himself and soaking in the sharp, fiery sensations that shot up through his body.

To him, at least, it was all purely physical. Mechanical.

Nowhere near as euphoric and otherworldly as it would have been with your hand actually curled around him.

Or your lips. Or your tongue. Or your tight, wet cunt.

Fuck, he needed a shower.

Blindly, Joel moved inside the tub to his left and yanked the curtain shut over a space almost two times too small for his frame. He turned on the water and made it hot. Then he fisted his cock again, pressed his head to the shower wall, and pumped himself as fast as his forearm would allow him—trying all the while not to think of you.

You, with all your wily, shrewd ways were still the daughter of the man who guzzled down IPAs with him at the local dive bar every Thursday night over jalapeño poppers and buffalo dip. The man who clapped him over the shoulder and shook his frame with the kind of good-natured sneer that only a best friend could make, ‘A man as suave as you oughta get some tail every now and then. Go find you a gal and fuck her brains out, Joel!’

But the only ‘gal’ Joel wanted to rail was the one who called that man ‘dad’—and just called him ‘daddy’ for the first time that night—and he hated himself for it.

Sparks of pleasure continued to ignite across his lower half as he jerked himself in the shallowest, short pumps. He flicked his hand back and forth, circled the tip with his palm, and felt a groan start to claw at his throat. He tried to picture any face but yours but failed miserably.

All he could think, see, or breathe was you—imagining your lips enveloping the head of his cock, jerking him softly, taking him down to the back of your throat and bobbing that pretty little face up and down his length.

That sweaty, desperate fist of his just wasn’t cutting it.

For the first time, Joel couldn’t make himself cum.

Now even more pent-up and pussywhipped than he’d been when he first started, he slammed his palm against the wall and flung the shower handle in the opposite direction—turning the water as cold as it could get.

Five minutes passed, and the icy spray had scarcely left a dent in his raging erection. Joel stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his hips, and stood in front of the mirror to see that he was still very hard.

Fuck this.

He bunched his strewn aside clothing together and held it over his crotch, discreet as he could, and waddled out.

And, either the temperature inside had just jumped fifty degrees or the world outside had just caught fire, but Joel’s face was flooded with heat the second he exited.

You were sprawled across the bed wearing nothing but a thin white tank, shorts, and fuzzy socks—and a scowl.

“Sofa’s broke,” you said.

Joel blinked.

“Broke?”

You nodded toward the busted sleeper couch at the far end of the room, torn to pieces and kicked a half-dozen times since you’d tried unfolding it in Joel’s absence.

The jaws of the old steel frame had simply refused to give way, and now the sofa was so out of sorts and misshapen that you had no hope of putting it back the way that it was. You sank further in the bed and pointed to the floor.

“You can sleep there.”

Joel eyed a flat sheet and a pillow laid across the carpet, visibly coated in dust and grime. He turned back to you.

“You’re smokin’ crack if you think I’m doin’ that.”

“Be grateful I’m not making you sleep in the car, daddy.”

Again with that fucking name. Joel tightened his grip on the clothes he was holding over his dick and tried to fight a thousand dirty thoughts threatening to seep back into his head.

Unfortunately, the dirty thoughts had hands—and were beating his ass to a bloody pulp when he first caught sight of your nipples poking up through your shirt. Just when the man might have started to drool or else begun humping that pile of clothes, you snapped your fingers.

“Miller Lite. Eyes up here.”

Fuck.

“Got a…stain on your shirt,” he grumbled in his defense.

“Shut up. Now, we can flip for the bed if you want.”

By turns, Joel’s focus was slowly coming back, and the man was trying like hell to find a place on your face that didn’t arouse him to no end—to help ease the intrusive thoughts and all. So far his search had yielded nothing.

“Like, uh…coin?” he asked. Endearingly stupid.

“Heads, I win,” you said, nodding, “Tails…”

Joel swallowed.

“Tails, what?”

“Tails, you tell me what was going on in your head when you were jacking off to the thought of me just now.”

Your words came out in a hurry, almost too quick for Joel to comprehend. He still heard them, though, and nearly choked on his spit when he tried to swallow again.

“I wasn’t—”

“You were,” you bit back, “I heard you moan my name.”

Joel didn’t remember that. Joel didn’t remember much of anything that had taken place in that bathroom apart from being implacably horny and unable to bust a nut. You stepped off the bed to stand in front of him.

“What? Cat got your tongue all of a sudden?” you sneered, “Think I’m just gonna run off and tell my da—”

“Don’t,” Joel’s response was immediate, insistent. Then, setting his jaw in a way you knew too well, contemplating about fifty different thoughts in the span of two seconds, he pressed the clothes pile to his crotch even tighter and sighed, “Don’t…do that, please. I’ll take the floor.”

You raised both brows, mildly amused.

“I said we could flip for it. C’mon,” you said.

“Ain’t got any coins.” Joel was already retreating to his makeshift sleeping pad on the floor, eyeing the shag carpet for any traces of blood, piss, or rodent droppings. Before he made it too far, you reached for his arm.

Joel tensed under your touch.

“We can try something else.” Your voice was cloying, almost too sweet to be trusted.

It had just dawned on you then how bare the man standing before you was. Clad in only his towel, every taut, toned inch of Joel’s body was there on display—coated with sweat and a fine sheen from the shower, his skin practically shone in the glow of the bedside lamp. You watched him shift in place and saw the towel around his hips stir along with it. He never let those old clothes in his hands move an inch away from his groin, though.

“What game?” he asked.

“Something my roommates showed me,” you began, “‘Too Hot.’”

“Too Hot?”

“You heard me.”

“What, like— like Spin the Bottle, or some bullshit?”

Joel could just picture it: a gaggle of your college pals huddled around an old, empty bottle of Bud Light as you watched it turn circles again, and again, and again on the dorm’s linoleum floor. You tugging at the sleeve of some oversized man-child from a frat Joel couldn’t name, leaning in and beaming like the insatiable flirt he knew you to be, asking that boy if he wanted to sneak off somewhere and let his tongue take a tour of your mouth.

The thought made Joel’s stomach turn.

Presently, you wrinkled your nose up at him.

“Spin the Bottle? That’s rookie shit,” you made another face reminding Joel, once more, how little he knew of the life you lived 1,900 miles away from Austin, at college.

He still couldn’t shake the thought of those boys.

“No, Joel,” you shook your head, drawing your syllables out for effect, “‘Too Hot’ is just…edging your opponent.”

Joel’s throat tightened, and he tried not to let his eyes widen too much, but he was almost certain they had. Before he even knew the words he was saying, the thought of your father taking his fist—or a shotgun—to his face made him blurt out in response, stammering,

“We can’t— I can’t— can’t lay one finger on you, darlin’, you know that. Your dad would murder me.”

To his surprise, the smile on your face only widened.

“Bingo,” You stuck one pretty finger in his face like he’d made the world’s finest discovery, “You can’t touch me.”

“Huh?”

“That’s the whole fuckin’ game, Miller. We can kiss, but we can’t touch each other with our hands. First one to crack and grope the other player loses the game.”

Your expression now was something just shy of sadistic. Watching him with keen, narrowed eyes and a wicked little grin, it seemed you were half-expecting him to fold on the spot. No way was this a game your college friends taught you; you just wanted to play him. Make him lose.

And Joel was a man who couldn’t stand to lose, no matter the stakes.

You watched that failure-averse glint eclipse every shade of lust in his eyes, at least momentarily. Suddenly, Joel didn’t look so fearful of your father’s wrath or what lurid implications this night might bring—he just had to win.

“You suck, you know that?” he said, at last, dropping his makeshift shield from the front of his towel and knocking you flat on the bed with a single push.

“You wish I would,” you grumbled, heart still jumping up in your ribcage all the same. You scooted back.

“I bet you will.”

The man was a menace when he had the will to be.

At length, Joel crawled over your body and made room for himself snug between your legs. The bulge that he’d been trying to hide all this time was now heavy on your center, pressed tight to your stupid-thin shorts and the panties you’d conveniently forgotten to wear. He grinned.

“Are tongues allowed?” he hummed.

“Everything but hands,” you shrugged.

Try as you might to play it cool with him, though, every fibre of your being was alight with desire for the man on top of you. You flitted a look between his soft brown eyes and slightly parted lips and could’ve melted in that bed had Joel not lowered his head and dove right in for it.

His mouth was far gentler than expected. Reverent, even. He slotted his lips between your own and made a fine, delicate showing of just how tender and adept he could be while imparting his slow, sweet kisses. Skirted his tongue across your bottom lip before driving it inside, coaxed your mouth open to him in a matter of seconds. He was graceful. And patient. And lithe with that tongue.

Joel Miller was showing off for you—the bastard.

“Sweet little thing,” he groaned against your mouth, “Ain’t felt a tongue this shy on mine in a long time.”

Of course he’d try taunting you, too. Same old Joel.

“What’s it been? Two years since a woman let you touch her?”

“Twenty since I felt one this good.”

You would’ve liked to reach around the back of his head and seize a clump of that thick, dark, grey-speckled hair. But you couldn’t. Your hands remained plastered to the duvet beneath you, and then, just slightly, your fingers started to curl inward. Joel’s palms laid flat on either side of your head.

It felt weird; mashing lips, teeth, and tongue with a man who’d been alive about twenty years longer than you and went further back with your father than you could even remember. What felt even stranger was the fact that you couldn’t touch him, or take him between your two hands.

Joel’s tongue continued roaming every contour and crevice of your mouth like he had an ache for this taste that he just couldn’t quench. Your tongue tried keeping up, too, but frankly, you were too preoccupied by a pulse between your legs—your parts and Joel’s practically throbbing in time with one another—to work just as hard.

Even through the towel, he felt huge.

You whined when Joel started to grind up against you, and shortly, those fingers of yours that had just been grazing the sheets before were gripping them. Tight.

“Earlier…” Joel murmured between kisses, hips working a vicious pace against you, “You said you were hungry.”

“Yeah?”

“Sorry—starved,” he corrected himself, and you almost could’ve smacked him for being so smug about it.

“What’s your point, Miller?” You were fisting the sheets beneath your palms and gyrating your whole body to meet the motions of the man currently dry-humping you.

All of a sudden, Joel’s movements stopped.

He peered down at you with a curious look.

“I could go for something to eat, too,” he declared.

You blinked. Stared. And just when you’d opened your mouth to say, well, maybe you should’ve grabbed us a bite to eat when we passed that Burger King on the way in, dipshit, Joel’s torso started to move down your own. Slow and painstaking as ever as he made sure not to graze one inch of your skin with his hands while he did.

You leapt back against the headboard, almost cracking your skull on the wood.

“Joel— Joel,” you hissed as the heels of your feet dug into the mattress below, and Joel just sank even further.

Then he was slowly, scrupulously pinching the fabric of your shorts between each index finger and thumb, gaze trained close on your lower half to make sure he never touched you, and he started pulling it down.

“This isn’t—” you started again, only to be offered a soft shush and an even quieter rustle of the cotton material sliding down both your legs.

You dropped your head on a pillow and probably could’ve burned a hole in the ceiling with the wide-eyed look you fixed on one spot, in utter disbelief of what he was doing.

“No panties, huh?” Joel observed. Gentle puffs of his breath were now fanning across the whole bare expanse of your lower half, and your pyjama bottoms were shortly discarded. His face was just hovering there, and you could tell that he knew you knew by the way he lowered his voice and brought his head to have only the tips of his chin stubble grazing your abdomen, “You needed this.”

Some lone remnant of ire flashed in your eyes.

“I don’t need shit from you, Miller. You need me. And you’re gonna lose this.”

Even though your gaze was still trained to the ceiling, you could feel him grin against your delicate skin.

“Hey,” he mumbled, “You said tongues are fair game.”

Fuck me, you wanted to keen the second his lips made contact with your…lower ones, and Joel swiftly got to kissing you there just as he’d done to you above. Hot, soft, and tender as the first rays of morning sun heralding a new day, he sponged his lips across the seam of your heat and made as if to massage the place, gently.

You could hear as well as you could feel that effusion of desire leaking out of your cunt and pooling around the man’s mouth. How eager he was to lap it up with his tongue, to grace your ears with those delectable squelching sounds, he caressed every inch between your folds and only sank deeper when you whined above him.

“Joel.”

Right now you couldn’t look down. Not with the way your legs were already trembling around his head, your chest heaving with the fastest, most frenzied breaths. You’d sooner die before you watched him unravel you like this.

“Darlin’, you’ve got a man soaked.” Some sound almost resembling a chuckle reverberated between your thighs and sent a brand new shockwave of pleasure in its wake, “You like it when daddy uses his mouth on this needy, wet cunt, don’t you?”

Yes, yes, you did. But your answer was nonverbal: a sharp curl of your toes and a grip between your fingers so tight across the sheets that he saw you veritably could’ve torn the linens in two.

Neither of you had laid a hand on the other.

Joel was perfectly content to make do with his mouth for now.

“Got those sheets all balled up, you’re fixin’ to rip ‘em.”

“My tongue make ya feel that good, honey?”

“Poor thing can’t even breathe it feels so nice, right?”

So he’d seen you hiccup, try to steady your breaths, and fail before succumbing to a string of lewd moans. Joel saw you, and knew how you felt, as if he’d had his own secret gauge for how good his mouth was doing you in.

Surely, he could’ve sensed the words before they ever came out of your mouth.

“Touch me, Joel, please.”

His tongue was just then making a lazy circuit around your clit, mouth saturated in your juices, when he smiled.

“Nah.”

Curt and cruel as ever. Then:

“No matter how fuckin’ perfect this pussy is, I ain’t losin’.”

He completed the arc with his tongue and took your bud between his lips, sucking in. You almost screamed.

“Motherfucker.”

“Miller, baby, Miller. Close, though.”

And just when you thought he’d had his fill of cheeky games, Joel sucked your clit even harder and flicked the tip of his tongue against your bundle of nerves until you were writhing, crying on the bed above him,

“JoelbabypleasebabyfuckmefuckohfuckitfeelsoGOOD.”

It was a bit tough to decipher through your strangled, desperate moans, but Joel got the picture. Heeding your requests, he kept at that pace above your clit and slid his tongue back and forth, over and over, lapping up your honeyed glaze like it was the finest thing he’d tasted. Scruff harsh against your thighs, lips soft in a perfect suction, Joel Miller had your head swimming in desire and your better judgment dissipating before your eyes.

At the first sign of bliss, your muscles clenched, and the last linchpin of your resolve crumbled right along with it.

You carded your hands through Joel’s hair and grabbed hold of those locks with a full-throated moan, using his head for shameless leverage to buck and rut your hips into his face as you rode out the peaks of your high.

And, ever the gentleman, Joel fought like hell to keep his lips and tongue connected to your core while you writhed above him—this time at liberty to work his arms under your thighs and hold them since you’d given up the game. He would’ve smiled if he weren’t so narrowly preoccupied, seeing you thrash about and moan out loud and fuck his face like it was the last thing tethering you to earth. He liked seeing you come undone beneath him.

A bit too much, if he were being completely honest.

While you made the languid descent from ecstasy and your breaths were still slowing in your chest on the bed, Joel was back on his feet. Padding toward the bathroom door, slamming it shut behind him as he had before. When he returned in a minute or two, he was clothed. He fished for his keys in the pockets of his snug, stonewash Wranglers and made a face. He didn’t look at you.

“I’ll be back,” he said, starting toward the door.

“Back?” You sat up, perplexed, “The hell ya goin’?”

“Out.”

This motherfucker.

“Did I miss something? Were we not just seconds away from getting down to some how’s-your-father?”

Joel visibly grimaced at your choice of sex slang. Under the circumstances, you would concede it wasn’t ideal.

“O-kay, sorry,” you returned, crossing your legs out in front of you, “I mean…don’t you want me to get you off?”

Again, Joel’s expression twisted into something just shy of overwrought, weary, and repulsed—a look that you couldn’t begin to understand, for the life of you—and you watched him flit his eyes from the bed to the door, again and again, seeming to be pining for the sweet release of leaving your shared motel room as soon as possible.

You’d been with your fair share of emotionally avoidant fucksticks, but most of them didn’t ghost until after they’d gotten their nut and felt no reason to stick around. Joel’s exit seemed premature. Strange.

“So you don’t want to fuck?” you asked, deadpan. You’d never been one for beating around the bush.

“Can’t,” Joel shook his head, bringing one hand to rest on his hip while the other fiddled uncomfortably with his car keys, “Your dad…that’s just— that’s crossing a line.”

“And being nose-deep in my cunt isn’t?”

You stared him down, incredulous.

So now he decides to claim the moral high ground, after coaxing you to soak every inch of his beard and cum all over his tongue? How very fucking charitable of him.

“That’s different,” Joel retorted, rubbing his knuckles in a nervous tic, “That was a game. I won. We’re done.”

You set your jaw just tight enough to keep your tongue in check and refrained from firing off a brash, unsavory remark. It wouldn’t do either of you a lick of good.

You let him leave. Joel had told you that you could keep the bed, he didn’t mind, and then he slipped out the door without another word. Leaving you cold and alone on the soiled, tawdry floral bedspread of Room 102, wondering what the hell had gone so wrong in the span of the last five minutes. From the center of the bed, you could see Joel’s Bronco pull off into the silent, frigid night.

You were still hungry as shit.

Rolling onto your side and rummaging through the bags at the end of the bed, you found nothing even remotely edible—save for, literally, one of Joel’s brownie edibles—and you groaned out loud. You threw your shorts back on, stepped into your old Luccheses, and did a quick circuit around the room to find your jacket before you left. As it turned out, you’d forgotten it back in Joel’s car.

You dropped to your knees and went back to tearing through luggage, searching for some suitable outerwear.

By the end of that second suitcase foray, though, you found you had nothing of your own that was hefty enough to brave the below-freezing temperatures outside, so you had to settle on a dark brown, fleece-lined coat from Joel’s bag. It was durable enough but about four sizes too big—and reeked of cigarette smoke.

You trudged outside, not really knowing where you were going or what you were hoping to find. Your stomach growled, and a few cool gusts of wind came to lap at the bare skin of your thighs where Joel’s spit was still drying.

You stepped a few feet out and turned toward the road.

Bal-ma-ceda’s, you read the seedy neon sign and heard Joel’s enunciation of the name ring between your ears.

What you wouldn’t give for the greasiest, girthiest, barely-FDA-approved 7-Eleven corndog to kill your thoughts about that sleazy little fucker right now.

You started toward the convenience store across the street but quickly found that it was closed—along with every other establishment on that stretch of road. You glanced toward the front office and caught a glimpse of your old friend dozing behind the counter. The speakers outside were playing a tinny rendition of ‘Piano Man.’

Just as you tried not to barf in your mouth at the sound and silently primed yourself for a long, long trek through the boonies to the nearest gas station, you stopped.

In a compact little breezeway that cleaved the motel in two, you saw light pool around an old vending machine.

You almost fell over yourself trying to get to it.

Never mind the fact that there were about half a dozen ragtag teens decked out in camouflage and comically tattered denim cutoffs crowding the area. All absently smoking and blowing o’s, or else sipping on cans of beer in the cramped, concrete passage, they looked bored. A couple lazy smiles broke out upon seeing your approach.

You nodded back and sidled up to the snack dispenser.

Then you zeroed in on the first sugar-packed products you could find: a pack of sour gummy worms and a bottle of Sprite—no, Mountain Dew—and a chocolate bar. Maybe a bag of Cheetos or Fritos thrown in for good measure. All of the snacks were probably stale as shit and hadn’t seen a replacement since dinosaurs roamed the earth, but you didn’t care. You were prying singles out of your wallet and salivating before you could think.

“Gotta kick it a couple times ‘fore it’ll spit anything out,” one of the boys lounging around you piped up.

You’d just inserted a couple bills and were waiting for the machine to dispense your gummy worms, when the thing appeared to stall. Stuck in its tracks, like he’d said.

You raised a brow and tapped the toe of your boot to the appliance, turning toward the one who’d addressed you,

“Like this?”

“Nope. Nuh-uh.” The redhead got up and strode over, where his much bigger, square-toed boot delivered a kick to the vending machine that almost toppled it.

A bag of Trolli Sour Brite Crawlers dropped out.

The kid—who actually happened to be nineteen years old and a student at some college a few states away, along with his whole group of friends—was kind enough to repeat the same ritual for all of your treats. You’d just gathered your stuff together and were about to thank him for his services, when the guy presently stuck a hand in your direction and introduced himself as Connor.

Then Blake. Then Micah. Then Wyatt. Then Trent. All traveling with their team for a tournament that weekend.

Then a beer was held out to you. You declined. A little homemade deer jerky? No, thanks. How ‘bout some Oreos? I’m good on snacks, really. Well, shit, you seem a little high-strung, why don’t you take a hit right here? And Connor pulled his dab pen out from his pocket.

Well.

You hadn’t smoked in a minute. You might’ve decided to take a bite out of Joel’s brownie back in the room, but you hadn’t known how strong it was—or where the fuck he’d gotten it. The pen this stranger was offering you was one that looked similar enough to the kinds you’d seen passed among your friends a hundred times before that you felt comfortable taking one hit, maybe. Two max.

You felt stupid as soon as you’d sucked in every breath, but you ended up taking four hits in total.

You hacked and sputtered and blinked up at Connor, who was grinning big.

“Alright, hardass,” he chuckled, taking back the device.

“Daddy know you smoke?” Wyatt cut in with a sneer.

Daddy?

There was no fucking way Joel looked that old for everyone to think he was your father. You inwardly cringed.

“Y’all been spying on us?”

“Ain’t shit else to do around here.” That was Blake.

You tried to swallow but found your throat much drier than it had been before. And not just from the weed.

“He doesn’t care,” you said, managing a shrug.

It wasn’t entirely false. Joel did give no fucks about you.

“Dude looks like a— a fuckin’ DEA agent or something,” Micah said, amused.

“Like that guy from Narcos,” Trent snickered.

You’d never seen the show and didn’t particularly care to know what law enforcement archetype Joel appeared to embody—in fact, you didn’t want to discuss him at all.

Just as the first fuzzy beads of warmth began to roll into your head, you were already planning your exit strategy. Thank Connor for his selfless assistance and cannabis, bid the group a good night and the best of luck in their upcoming lax tournament, and be done with this shit, ASAP. You were still trying to steady your tongue in the bone-dry cavern that had become your mouth when one of them kicked at a near-empty case of beer at their feet.

“We’re about out.” Micah announced.

Seconds later, Connor was turning to you.

“Wanna…restock in our room?” he asked, the corners of his lips twisting into a smile as he looked down at you.

You crinkled your nose and shook your head. Connor leaned his whole weight against the vending machine between you, seeming unconvinced by your answer.

“I don’t believe you,” he said, “I think you wanna come.”

“Do I?”

You only entertained the backtalk because your brain was currently swimming in a far-off, pleasant void of contentment and indifference. Every sharp edge dulled in your mind, to an extent, and your body at ease. You didn’t have to be home to anyone, anytime, and Joel was probably halfway plastered at a dive bar down the road. You didn’t move back when Connor stepped forward.

He wasn’t even that close. You could leave whenever you pleased.

“For sure. I think you’d enjoy our shitty beer and even shittier company. We can smoke some more, too.”

The man certainly had a way with words. He muscled in a bit closer.

“You think so?” you hummed.

“I do. I really do.”

“And you’re willing to risk the wrath of my dad if he finds out where I am?” You made it sound like a challenge.

“Wyatt can fight.”

Connor motioned toward his friend, who was mindlessly chomping on deer jerky in his lawn chair off to the side, glossy-eyed and hammered. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, but make sure he’s ready. I can only stay for five.”

Connor seemed wounded as he put a hand over his heart in mock dismay.

“Only five minutes?” he griped, “Why not ten? Or twenty?”

“Six.”

“Fifteen at least.”

You folded your arms over your chest and felt an opaque haze beginning to settle over your brain. It wasn’t quite a high, just a lightness of being that drove tender little streaks up your spine. Like Joel, tickling at your sides while you writhed around in the front seat of his car.

This time you took the beer Connor offered and cracked it open. He seemed pleased—and taken by surprise—to see you down the drink in spite of the overflowing foam.

“Ten,” you returned once you’d swallowed it all.

“Twenty.”

“Honey?”

The last voice didn’t belong to anyone in the group. You turned on your heels and almost coughed up your beer.

It was Joel, of course.

Standing at the threshold of the breezeway like a surly, disconcerted parent, of all things, watching you like he’d just caught you red-handed in the most horrific of acts.

Clutched in one hand was a Burger King takeout bag.

“Daddy. Hi,” you breathed.

Apparently your attempt at casual came across more slurred than anything else, because Joel stepped closer.

‘Let’s go’ was all he said. No accusations, no threats, no outward displays of emotion found anywhere on his face. Just a gruff ‘Let’s go,’ and a free hand reaching for yours.

Instinctively, you recoiled.

“We’re just talking,” you said, gesturing behind you. If you could have seen the uniform looks of discomfort and agita, damn near treading on fear, among them all, you probably wouldn’t have bothered.

“Good. Now you’re leaving,” Joel supplied in a moment.

He was blissfully indifferent. Asserting his will in a space where, less than one hour ago, he couldn’t bear to share a room with you, much less impart a shred of dignity or care to your condition. He had nerve, that was for sure.

“I’m not leaving,” you said, a touch more venom in your voice than you intended.

Joel raised both eyebrows.

“No?”

His expression, directed to you, was infuriating.

“Fuck no,” you answered.

A few of the guys behind you sucked in a breath as if to say, ‘Okaaaaay, time to go!’ but then Joel pressed,

“For someone who wants to be treated like an adult—”

“Adult?” you scoffed, “You treat me plenty like an adult, Joel. Just whenever the designation suits your needs, huh?”

No one moved.

Well, Joel flinched a bit. Then he squeezed your wrist.

Truly, you never failed to underestimate the man’s brute strength when it came to carrying you off at will—but there you were, being yanked behind the big, bad Joel Miller as he hauled you off to who-knows-where. You scowled but didn’t bother to steal a glance behind you at the beer, boys, or vending machine treats you were being forced to abandon. All you could do was stare a hole through Joel’s skull and tug back—largely ineffectually.

“You’re an ass,” you spat, digging your heels into the gravel terrain as he pulled you along.

“You’re a brat,” he fired back.

In a minute, the exterior of Room 102 was coming into view; Joel was practically toting your ass like a knapsack.

“You just abandoned me back here, Miller. You— you don’t get to pretend like you give a fuck now.”

“I was getting you Burger King, for Christ’s sake.”

Joel was fiddling with the lock now. Simultaneously juggling your hand, the paper bag, and a set of keys that didn’t seem keen on cooperating, he huffed, disgruntled.

“Even got you those—” Joel grunted, thrusting his shoulder into the door, “—fuckin’ curly fries you wanted.”

Your jaw slackened. That was supposed to make it okay?

“Joel, FUCK your curly fries!” you cried, “Are you seriously still trying to play good guy right now?”

“If that’s what you—”

“No. You don’t get to tonguefuck your friend’s daughter and buy her a goddamn Double Whopper and act like it’s all good. Sure as hell don’t get to dictate who I talk to.”

Like he had before, Joel cringed to hear your crude language—particularly as it related to what he had done to you but didn’t seem capable of owning up to just yet. You couldn’t bear another second of that look.

“Fuck this. I’m sleeping in the car,” you grumbled.

You thrashed your arm out of Joel’s hold and started off in the other direction. Picked up your pace when you heard the bag of fast food drop to the ground and Joel trotting after you. Calling your name.

Even at your most brisk, you knew you couldn’t outstrip those big, beefy legs of his. He gained on you in seconds.

So you took off running.

Joel gripped his side, thinking, ‘Aw, hell’ before breaking out in a sprint just as fast.

You were pissed at how far he’d parked this time around. You caught sight of the old Bronco perched a ways away from your room and almost opted to change course on the spot, to the front office—maybe dive behind the counter and beg that poor old woman to give you another place to stay—but you kept at it, anyway. For once, you were glad to have had Joel beat by so many years, because the man’s endurance was, evidently, shit.

“Hey, s— stop!” Joel shouted after you.

Fat chance, Miller.

You closed in on the car. Joel rarely ever locked it.

Your hand secured a grip on the door and jerked it back. It swung right open.

Just as Joel was pulling up the rear, you had the driver’s side slammed shut and your palm laid flat on the door lock knob—shoving the little black lever down each time Joel tried to unlock the car.

It was a fruitless endeavor, you knew; you couldn’t keep the man out all night so long as he had the car keys in his hands. You could piss him off some more, though.

“You won the fucking game, just take the bed!” you said, straining against the door with your weight pressed hard on that knob. Joel was furiously working to get it open.

“I mean it, Joel, I-I don’t wanna sleep in there wi— shit.”

You leapt back in your seat as Joel flung the door wide open. You scrambled across the center console, made a desperate grasp at the passenger door to climb out the other side, but your ankle was taken between two hands. Just as you tried to slink out on the opposite end of the vehicle, Joel pulled you right back in. Flipped the center console up so you were sprawled flat across the bucket seat at the front of his car and pinned underneath him.

Then he pulled you over his lap.

Not into it—nestled on top of his crotch, with your ass pointing up in the air. Joel’s big ass Carhartt jacket was bunching up around your torso, collar crowding you up to the chin. Your twisted just far enough to meet his gaze.

“What do you want from me?” Joel demanded, “What?”

You stared up at him, poring over your options in the span of what seemed like two milliseconds. Wondering, silently, why he wasn’t touching you anywhere.

“I want you to fuck me, Joel,” you replied at length.

Seated between driver’s side and shotgun, Joel looked perfectly unperturbed, raking a hand through his silver-flecked hair and letting his gaze trail up to the ceiling, as if considering something of grave importance.

“And what after that?” he asked, still staring at the roof.

Before you could reply, though, he was forging ahead,

“What happens when I can’t even look your dad in the eye knowin’ I’ve been balls deep in his little girl, and every fuckin’ time I’m over at your house or you’re over at mine, I’ll be thinkin’— no, dreamin’ of what it was like to have you wrapped around my cock, screamin’ my name and takin’ it so deep inside you like I know ya want it?”

You paused a beat. Had to bat your eyes a couple times to rid your head of those filthy thoughts he’d planted.

“We could, uh— fuck…then…too,” you ventured quietly.

Joel grinned at the spot he was watching, humorless.

“That easy, huh?” he mumbled.

Again, before you could speak, Joel continued,

“I can’t even cum with you on my mind,” he said, and for a split second you thought that might mean he wasn’t attracted to you in that way, when he swallowed hard and closed his eyes, “I’ve tried beating off twice today—in the bathroom and as soon as I left earlier—and I can’t…even get close with you here. You fuck with my head.”

You fuck with my head.

Without meaning to, your hips stirred over his, and Joel audibly groaned. At last, he dropped a palm to your ass and gave it a taut smack, and your whole lower half reverberated with the sensation—and a welt of pleasure.

“You think I want it to be like this?” Joel said, voice strained, fingers kneading over the flesh he’d just struck, “Think I enjoy havin’ the biggest set’a fuckin’ blue balls known to man whenever I’m around ya, honey?”

You winced when you were spanked again, letting out a whimper into the seat’s charcoal-colored upholstery.

“I can help with that,” you hissed, feeling him massage the spot once more. You arched your back into his touch.

“No. You’d make it worse,” Joel shook his head, “Once I get a feel inside this sweet cunt I’ll never wanna stop.”

At the soft rumble of his words, you felt yourself growing aroused. Noticeably so. Your skin broke out in broad swaths of gooseflesh every place he touched, and in the wake of those hands grew a pool of dull warmth. Sticky, slick, soak-straight-through-your-shorts sort of warmth.

Joel’s hand hovered about an inch from the source.

“We’d get bored eventually. It’d be fine,” you said, words crawling off of your parched tongue with some difficulty now. That faint, heady feeling from before had become a high, finally, and it seemed every sense you possessed was ablaze with desire. You were barely able to breathe, much less speak, but there you went, rambling anyway,

“Soon enough, you’ll get over the thrill of screwing me, and I’ll find a nice, polite, age-appropriate boy to spend the rest of my life having nice, polite sex with, and we can both pretend like this never happened. Deal?”

It was quite possibly the dumbest offer you’d ever made.

Joel slotted his hand between your legs to rub against that dampened patch of fabric. You almost jumped.

“Yeah? Just fuck around and forget about it?” Joel spoke, and you truly couldn’t tell if it was a sneer or real sincerity, as your eyes were squeezing shut, “Is that all you want from me, sugar?”

His fingers slipped beneath your shorts and made swift, easy contact with your heat. You buried your face in the seat and tried to muffle the sounds that were clawing their way out of your chest, while your hips tilted up.

“Please, Joel,” you whimpered.

By now, your head was spinning, in a daze, that you almost didn’t notice him tug your shorts down your legs. Or take them off at your ankles. You did get a sense of when he was breaching your folds—taking two, meaty fingers and trailing them up the slick glaze of your cunt.

“Doesn’t seem like this pussy wants ‘nice and polite’ to me,” Joel murmured, eyes gradually fastening to that lovely, exposed spot pointed up to him. He wet his lips, “Needs somethin’ else, doesn’t she, darlin’?”

Speaking of your pussy in third-person wasn’t something you ever thought could be hot, but coming from Joel? While his fingers traced up and down the seal of your entrance, tips circling your tight, hot, throbbing hole? Arousing didn’t even begin to cover it.

You pushed your ass back, and Joel chuckled above you.

“Wanna fuck daddy’s fingers? Is that it?” he taunted.

No, no, no—you wanted his cock buried inside you. But now you just needed reprieve from that ache, and your senses were practically on the fritz trying to get it.

Your hips rocked back and forth over his fingers—sliding the two digits in and out of your cunt with each motion—and, as much as Joel would’ve liked to make you beg and wait a little, your desperate pleas as you fucked his hand were more than enough to satiate him. He worked his free arm under your body and pinched hard on one nipple, eliciting a soft moan of ‘Joel’ underneath him.

“Oh, baby,” he breathed, watching you rut your hips for more friction, “That’s it, baby, fuck daddy’s fingers. Use my hand to make yourself feel good— that’s my girl.”

At the last, you probably could’ve cum on the spot, and Joel could tell by the way you clenched around him. He nudged a third finger between your plush, sensitive walls and heard your moans take on an even higher pitch.

“Hurts,” you whimpered, with no real indication of pain. You just felt stretched out, stuffed, and aching again. The only ‘hurt’ was not having even more of him in you, “Need more of you daddy, please. It hurts.”

Joel wanted to see you cum on his fingers. He really did. But when you got down to begging and pleading for his cock like that, the man’s whole heartbeat throbbed in his jeans, and he simply didn’t possess the resolve to refuse.

He hoisted you upright in his lap so you were straddling his hips. The fabric of his jacket hung loose off your frame and both of your arms as you latched around him.

“Are you high?” Joel asked, voice evening out all of a sudden to pin you with a serious look.

“Yeah.”

“How high?”

“I can consent, Joel.” Your thighs tightened around his sides, and your hips had already begun to stir.

“Not just can consent—do consent. Do you want this?” Joel’s hands moved from the small of your back to cup your face. You gave him a squished-together pout.

“Yes, I want this,” you managed through pinched cheeks. When Joel released you, you lowered your own hands to the buckle of his belt.

It felt foreign and familiar at once—this age-old ritual of fumbling for each other’s clothes and wrestling to get them off, like your bodies might catch fire if you didn’t act fast enough. Joel was a tad more graceful as he shrugged his jacket off of you, peeled your tank top off, and helped you maneuver your bare limbs around him. You, on the other hand, felt half-feral and every bit the wide-eyed novice while you stripped his body garment by garment and wordlessly told him just leave the jeans, I can’t wait another fucking second. Joel bit back a grin and had to steady you above him, feeling his cock twitch against his tummy but still slowing down enough to remind you, shhh, shhh, honey, it ain’t goin’ nowhere.

You had a tough time remembering that as you rubbed your wet centre over his shaft. Feeling so good you feared the feeling might escape any second, you whined.

“I know, baby, I know,” Joel cooed as your head fell in the crook of his neck, “Still hurtin’ somethin’ awful, hm?”

The tip of his cock just barely grazed over your clit and you buried your face even deeper, nodding furiously; Joel leaned forward to grab some item out of the glove compartment behind you and braced your body to him.

He tore something with his teeth. You craned your neck just slightly.

“Don’t laugh,” Joel muttered, voice momentarily stifled by bright, metallic wrapping.

“Is that…” You straightened up enough to cock a brow at him. Joel’s tongue rolled across the inside of his cheek.

“Cobwebs and all.”

Beneath your gaze was the flimsiest, dust-ridden, damn-near vintage condom—a decade old, at least.

“You buy that before or after the Great Depression?” you teased.

“Shut up.” Joel was already working it onto his dick.

“So Prohibition-coded.”

“I can find something to shove in that mouth, y’know.”

You were having too much fun at the old man’s expense, blissfully unaware that Joel was about one Gen X joke away from making you suck three of his arousal-soaked fingers. When you opened your mouth to speak—to try another wisecrack or else question the integrity of this ancient relic of a rubber—Joel crashed his lips against yours and made you mute with his tongue instead.

At the same time, he slowly eased himself inside you.

Your mouth fell open when you sank down on his length, fully, but no sound came out. You just gripped Joel’s shoulders and peered into his face as if to say, ‘Shit.’

No way any man was ever meant to feel this good.

No shot your walls were fitting his cock like a glove.

Joel soaked in your gaping, wordless stare with a nod.

“Good?”

“Great.”

You’d give all eight inches of the man a goddamn standing ovation if your legs weren’t feeling like jelly. Joel let out a small grunt when you clenched around him.

“Nice and…easy,” he said, as much to himself as to you. He pinched your hip in one gigantic hand and held you there, “Let ya take a second and adjust, alright, darlin’?”

“But Joel—” you whined, already trying to slide back up.

His grip kept you impaled on his dick, anchored in place. With the other hand, he brought a thumb to your clit.

“Just feel me, sweet pea,” Joel said, slow and languid as molasses while he touched you, “Ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

You couldn’t be sure if the man was a sadist or the world’s biggest fan of cockwarming—or just polite.

The bare, slightly-less-sexy truth was that Joel hadn’t done this in a very, very long time. Even the sex he’d had, close to a year ago, was something more of a flashbang than a bona fide carnal experience; he’d just bent a perfect stranger over the bathroom sink and drilled her. This was a fever dream, a first to end all firsts, and at present, Joel felt himself toeing a razor-thin line between self-restraint and bliss by just your presence alone.

In short, he didn’t want to fuck it up by busting too soon.

When you rolled your hips and squeezed your eyes shut above him, well, Joel almost fell into a panic.

Think of golf. Differential equations. The weather in Kuwait. Anything to get his mind off of how tight your pussy was holding him in, how lithe your body worked to grind above him while he sat there, so helpless and—

“Big,” you whined, stretched to the fullest you’d ever been. Unable to bounce up and down like you wanted but still squirming for more friction, “So big, daddy.”

Hockey. Geometry. Wind patterns around the Maldives. He held you even tighter, but your motions were growing desperate. You had to start moving.

“Joel, please,” you begged him.

“Baby, I’m—”

About to cum. I am two seconds away from cumming.

“Need you now, need you so—” your voice broke off in a moan as you sank your nails into his muscly shoulders, “So bad, daddy, please, please, please—”

On the seat beside you both, your phone lit up, buzzing:

Dad 💙

Fuck.

FUCK.

Your eyes locked on Joel’s in a shared look of panic and horror, and for once, your bodies stopped, perfectly still.

You knew your dad too well. Just as much as Joel did.

Your father wasn’t the type to call late at night unless something was up. And he wouldn’t stop calling until someone picked up.

“Should we…?” That whisper came from you.

Joel was frozen in fear, eyes now glued to the screen.

“Just…give it a sec,” he breathed, “Might be nothing.”

But his tone couldn’t mask the dread behind his words. He gritted his teeth and watched the phone ring.

It stopped.

Then started again.

The pair of you clung to one other in the old Ford’s bucket seat like your dad might veritably hear the two of you having sex from 1,300 miles away if you moved.

It stopped once more.

The screen stayed black.

You let out a small sigh and felt your eyes start to close.

Then the trill of a ringtone under Joel’s ass started up the second they’d fluttered shut, and suddenly your gaze was wide, and frightened, and freaking the fuck out when you realized that your dad was trying to reach Joel.

“Answer,” you hissed.

“What?!” The whites of Joel’s eyes were bigger now than you’d ever seen them.

“He’ll know something’s up! Just—” you slipped your hand under Joel’s rear, completely devoid of any sexual insinuation this time, and yanked his old iPhone 6 out of his pants, “Answer it. Now. Be cool.”

Joel’s expression was still paralyzed with terror, but he brought the ringing phone to his ear anyway. Gingerly tapped ‘answer’ once you’d smacked him on the bicep.

“He-e-y man.”

You were so fucking dead.

Your face hovered mere inches away, and you could almost hear the warble of your father’s voice on the line.

“Great,” Joel answered, stilted as a puppet with someone’s hand up its ass, “So good. How are you?”

A beat.

“She’s good, she’s good.”

For a moment, Joel’s gaze flitted to the spot where your bodies were still connected and you saw a flash of desire, followed by guilt, then his head tip back to close his eyes as he tried to concentrate on the conversation at hand.

“In the bathroom…Uh-huh…Phone must be dead…”

“No, she’s been a trooper—just fine…”

“Somewhere just shy’a Bedford, I think…”

You listened to Joel drone on and clench his jaw, and every now and then you’d feel a squelch in that tiny space between you two when one of you moved, and it occurred to you then that it probably was not in your best interest to stay seated on his dick while he talked. You shifted your legs underneath yourself to get up.

When you started to slide up Joel’s shaft—the first time you’d ever really moved, mind you—you felt a knot in your tummy start to tighten. The friction was to die for.

You sank back down and heard a hoarse little cry spill out from your lips before you got the chance to swallow it.

At the same time, Joel groaned. Then stopped himself. Then coughed—profusely.

“Sorry, just got a little—” Suddenly, a fiery set of eyes were searing holes in your head, angry as they were desperate, “—tickle in my throat is all.”

You ignored the strained Southern drawl and the eyes that looked ready to put a bullet between your own, and you rocked your hips again. The sensation was just too good. Your body practically acted of its own accord, and suddenly you were bouncing up and down in Joel’s lap.

The man beneath you looked enraged. Aroused.

Ready to wring your neck and maybe spit in your mouth.

“World’s movin’ too. damn. fast,” Joel seethed, trying to communicate to you semi-covertly while you rode his cock, “She’s one hell of a— firecracker, man, I’ll tell ya.”

You heard your dad’s laughter on the other end. While the sound subsided to chuckles, Joel grabbed your neck. He covered the mouthpiece for a second, then, in a murmur,

“This is not a fucking game.”

He squeezed your throat so tight you probably could’ve lost all circulation going to your head, but you smiled.

In spite of the hot, glowing embers of pleasure taking shape at the pit of your stomach and the coil that kept twisting and swelling inside, you grinned down at him. Then you mouthed, softly, ‘Yes, it is,’ and you rocked your hips against him even harder.

Joel drew in a breath through his teeth and watched you ride him with bleary, half-hooded eyes—keeping one hand on your carotid as the other hand cradled the phone to his ear. The man was transfixed.

By the pinch of just one set of fingers, you knew you were done for. A dwindling supply of oxygen, combined with your high and the hundreds of nerve-endings being brushed by Joel’s cock every other moment, you were spiraling toward release and didn’t know how to stop it.

When Joel pursed his lips and lifted his hips to start fucking up into you, you had to let go. Couldn’t hold on. You grabbed hold of his forearm, still hovering across your throat, and you moaned as the bliss washed over you. You slid your needy lower half back and forth, squeezed that tanned, tough arm practically bulging with veins above you, and you came around Joel’s cock. You whimpered his name, again and again, feeling him stroke your walls and fuck you through a euphoric high.

The next thing you felt was the seat cushion behind you—and the shift of Joel’s body weight pinning you down.

His cock hadn’t slipped an inch when he flipped you over; his grip was still secure on the phone.

The only thing that had changed was that look: malicious and vindictive with the hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Joel felt you pulse around him, starting to come down from your high, and he just decided to fuck you even harder.

“Shouldn’t be much longer now…” Joel hummed aloud, lowering a hand to your throbbing clit and muttering a soft ‘Uh-huh’ to your father while you clawed at his wrist.

“Joel,” you choked.

Now the feeling was too much. You were still so wet, raw, and sensitive that the pad of his thumb almost drew a shriek from your chest when he moved his finger in circles. You heard them chat about football. Joel shared a short, strained laugh with the man on the other end and pretended not to hear your whines as he continued to rail you senseless in the front seat of his car.

With the diversion of the phone call keeping his own climax at bay, Joel was free to fuck you as rough as he pleased—and couldn’t be more in awe seeing you veer close to the edge, again.

“Please, daddy, please,” you beseeched him, tears springing to your eyes as Joel’s thrusts kept shaking you.

He just shook his head and smiled as if to say, ‘Hold still.’

“It’ll be fine,” he said, “Mahomes is next-level. Best they can do is keep their heads down and take it, y’know?”

Your own soft, aching hole was taking the beating of a lifetime, and somehow, you managed to meet Joel’s gaze with a look that almost struck him as loving. That blissed-out, cockdrunk look of pure debauchery crossing your eyes in a way he hadn’t come to find in ages, if ever, was intoxicating. He felt the first fluttering pulses of your orgasm squeeze around him again, and suddenly he was pumping you faster, drilling you harder, gripping your throat and starting to sense his own climax draw near.

He couldn’t finish off like this.

Not talking shop and Super Bowl to your father—no.

Joel had to do something you might rightly hate him for for the rest of your life, and never forget, or forgive.

He lowered the phone, and right before he did, said,

“She just stepped outta the bathroom, actually. No, yeah, she’s right here. Wanna say hello?”

Your heart skipped a beat and nearly jumped into your throat. You tried to shake your head—fast—and even went so far as to try and dodge the phone when Joel brought it down to your ear, but that motherfucker had a grip like you couldn’t believe and wouldn’t stop stroking inside you or holding you down. You hated that you found Joel’s total dominance and control…kind of hot.

You flashed him the most nasty, bratty, ‘I’ll get you for this, Joel’ look you could muster anyway, and when he pressed the phone to your cheek, you mouthed a few more silent expletives before changing your air entirely:

“Hey, dad!”

Joel knew he was cooked from the second you said hello. Something objectively malevolent inside him got a rush to hear you speak to your dad in such a contrived, high-pitched tone of voice, knowing the unspeakable things he was doing to your body the whole fucking time. He could focus, now, with no need for any strained civilities of his own, but deep down, he knew it wouldn’t last long. He would not last long.

Might as well make it fun while it lasts.

“He…did,” you hummed, flitting your eyes up to Joel when he brushed your lower lip with his thumb—still holding the phone up for you while he rutted into you, “No, nuh-uh…Mr…Mr. Miller didn’t mind, no sir.”

Shit, the sound of you saying ‘sir’ was something that made Joel’s whole body lurch with pleasure. He made a mental note to have you call him that later and stroked your lip once more.

You tried to turn your face away—telling Joel, wordlessly, that you couldn’t keep up this conversation with your father if you had a thumb in your fucking mouth, but Joel didn’t care. He watched you pause for a moment, let just the tip of his finger press into your tongue, then, battling your better judgment, wrap your lips around the digit almost cautiously and suck. He knew you liked it, too.

He knew it by the way you bobbed your head, hummed, and nodded every time he thrust inside your aching walls and dragged his cock back out. The way your teeth clamped hard on his thumb whenever he grazed a particularly sensitive spot and how your lips held him in like a gag, or some other thing to keep you quiet amidst the moans and the whimpers bubbling up in your chest.

Suddenly, Joel was at your other ear, lips grazing skin and tongue praising your every move.

“My sweet girl.”

“Doin’ such a good job stayin’ quiet.”

“Takin’ daddy’s cock so well, aren’t ya, darlin’?”

From that point on, every single one of your father’s words over the phone fell on deaf ears—all you could hear was Joel. All you could feel was Joel. Your lips parted as if starting to speak, but all that would come out were small puffs of air, perfectly in sync with each one of Joel’s thrusts.

“You okay, hon? You sound…distracted,” your dad pressed. A hint of concern rose from his end of the line.

At length, Joel gripped both of your legs and brought them up over his shoulders, and he grinned before kissing your ankle and shoving his cock even deeper.

“Yes!” you yelped as you crushed the phone to your ear, hoping your father couldn’t hear any of the filthy sounds down below, “Just a little stretched—I mean stressed out, is all.”

The sick, smug fuck currently wedged eight inches deep inside you almost burst out laughing. If you weren’t so perilously close to your fourth orgasm of the night, you would’ve told Joel to take a long walk off a short bridge.

“Just worried about grades a-a-and all,” you stammered.

Joel leaned forward and almost tore a scream out of your chest—his tip was kissing the edge of your cervix now.

“Yes, sir. I will.” You tried your hardest not to whine and almost let out a sigh, “I’ll…ask him about it, for sure.”

As bone-crushingly fun as this all was, Joel was close.

He could feel it in the furthest recesses of his stomach; he was about to blow his load.

So, leveraging his weight to strike just the right angle and pushing his thumb in to stifle your moans, Joel sped up and drew even closer, face-to-face, so he could see your every expression from a hair’s breadth away.

He was so near he could hear your dad’s droning voice. See you struggle to take cock the closer you got to your release. You hadn’t cum in such quick succession…ever, really. All but one of the guys you’d let between your legs before seemed like amateurs compared to Joel, and to be honest, you weren’t sure if you could make it to four.

You popped his thumb out of your mouth and mumbled some ‘Sure, okay’ or other to your dad before casting a pleading look up at Joel. His hips were working up to a ruthless pace.

You covered the mouthpiece.

“I can’t, Joel.”

“Sure you can, sugar.”

“Joel,” you hissed, and tried to grab his wrist, when you felt your stomach start to cave. Every exposed inch of skin gave way to waves of heat, and your toes curled in. Worst of all, Joel was letting out sounds you hadn’t ever heard—short, ragged breaths that broke off in low groans—and it felt as though he were cradling your head. Holding you to him. Your eyes were locked on one another, your mouths practically panting in time, and what parts of you had not yet become commingled with him were practically coated with sweat. And shaking.

Then, in tones that rang like music to your ears:

“Alright, I’ll let ya head to bed, then. G’night, pumpkin.”

Your dad hadn’t even fully hung up the phone before you flung it across the car. Heels dug deep in Joel’s back.

“Cum for daddy,” Joel coaxed, “Cum all over this cock.”

You didn’t need much more instigation than that.

You came. He followed.

And it probably split his eardrum in two having his name screamed so fucking loud, but frankly, Joel hadn’t seen a reason for going deaf that he could’ve enjoyed so much.

Then, he didn’t sink so much as simply collapse on top of you while you both kicked back and let the waves of ecstasy roll over you. You adored his warmth in spite of the heat practically suffocating you both in that car.

Until it was in you.

Sticky, sweet dripping inside you.

You pushed Joel hard in the shoulder.

“Did it…”

“What?”

“Joel!”

You flipped your legs down and tapped his abdomen furiously, telling him, pull out, pull out right fucking now, and Joel gently obliged. Dragged his cock three-fourths of the way out when a frail, tattered condom came loose around the head of his cock and almost fell off entirely. That damn prehistoric rubber had broken inside you.

“JOEL!”

“I’m sorry! Fuck, I— fuck.”

Joel scrambled to get his cum-drenched cock and what remained of the condom away from your body, but the damage was done. You started throwing on clothes.

“I’m ovulating this week, I am so fucking fucked!”

Joel swallowed, shimmying his boxers and jeans back into place and scoping the front seat for his shirt.

“What’s…ovulating?”

You wanted to tear your hair out at the root.

There was no way this man had survived half a century on earth and didn’t understand the menstrual cycle.

“It means I can get pregnant if we don’t get a Plan B up in this bitch immediately. Let’s GO!”

That part seemed to click. Joel almost fell over himself trying to find his keys, while you slid out of the Bronco.

“Where are you going?!”

“To— to try and get some of this shit out of me first!”

Joel bounded after you, and within the first steps, you were sprinting across the parking lot. Your sweaty, half-naked companion tried—and failed—to slow you down.

“Are you not on birth control?” Joel huffed.

“Are you not capable of buying condoms more than once every fucking decade—or three?” you snapped.

Your strides were growing wider and more frantic by the second. Joel clutched his side and struggled to keep up.

“I’m…sorry,” he grunted, more embarrassed and worn-out than anything at the moment, “I’m sorry, darlin’.”

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t get your cum out of me, daddy.”

Your words couldn’t have gotten any more caustic or merciless—or inopportune—if you tried.

As it was, you were passing by the breezeway where all the bored lacrosse players were still lounging around, cracking cold ones, and craning their necks to see what the fuss outside was all about. The sounds of your feet racing fast on gravel and you and Joel’s raucous, bickering back-and-forth had caught their attention, and shortly, Connor was sticking his head around the corner. His expression—along with all the faces behind him—had twisted with horror. Confusion. A visible look of disgust.

Joel had just slowed down to catch his breath. He doubled over and braced both hands on his knees.

“I’ll fuckin’…duct tape my dick next time I hit it, honey!” he wheezed, barely loud enough for you to hear but perfectly audible to all the terrified guys around him.

Joel turned his head and almost groaned.

Then he was straightening himself back up, starting to retreat from the group who had him pinned with genuinely frightened—and nauseated—looks.

Joel normally wouldn’t care. This time, though, he threw his hands up and thought, fuck it, I’ll clear the air.

Over his shoulder, he grinned, yelling back to the guys:

“I’m not actually her dad!”

All of them stared back. Half-jealous, half-awestruck, Connor stood up, raised his beer, and called after him:

“I SURE FUCKIN’ HOPE YOU’RE NOT!”

[jazzdalorian]

summary: You didn’t expect to spend your birthday catching your boyfriend cheating in your own bed. You definitely didn’t expect to end the night on your knees for someone else while on the path for revenge. || nsfw (?) MDNI 18+, m!receiving oral, blowjobs, Joel smokes cigs, cheating (not w Joel/reader), annoying ex bf, age gap (15yr gap mentioned but not specified), no outbreak, reader is drinking age, revenge, based off a song but not gonna mention cause singer is a trumper boooooo || a/n: good morning I woke up with the need to blow joel miller like his life depended on it. had this in my docs for a few weeks and decided to finish it up with some goooood ol' smut. enjoy!

Tyler was easy on the eyes. He came from a rich family, always looked put together and had a job at his daddy’s company, but truly… that was about it. He wasn’t clever, or thoughtful, or even remotely romantic or slick. If he had tried to cheat, he didn’t have the brain cells to pull it off. But you weren’t stupid. The scrunchie under your pillow wasn’t yours and the way he started turning his phone screen down whenever you were together wasn’t subtle. You saw it coming.

But you held your tongue, waiting. You gave him rope, a chance to prove that you were wrong.

And then, on your birthday—your fucking birthday!—you walked into your apartment after a long shift, already picturing the glass of wine and that nice dinner he promised he'd made a reservation for. You were halfway to slipping off your shoes when you heard the moaning.

High-pitched, theatric as hell, and coming from your bedroom.

Oh, Tyler!

Yes, Tyler!

It was like nails on a chalkboard.

You stood frozen for a second, your hand on the wall. It felt like something inside you cracked. And then the heat came boiling with rage filling your chest, crawling down your arms.

You crossed the room, your steps marching and purposeful, heart hammering behind your ribs. You didn’t even knock as you slammed open the door.

There she was: naked and sitting square in your bed, bouncing on your boyfriend’s dick like it was a trampoline. She turned at the sound, and her face went pale. Tyler’s too. Like a couple of deer in headlights.

You didn’t flinch. There were no tears.

You looked her dead in the eye and said, calm and flat, “His dick’s not even that good.”

They scrambled, tripping over each other like some half-assed comedy sketch. You just watched, arms crossed, unmoved. Tyler, once she was gone, spent the next hour groveling. Begging, bargaining, spinning his bullshit into excuses—something about how he thought you didn’t care, how you didn’t love him enough, how it was your fault. You let him talk himself in circles until he started getting angry, like his pathetic little tantrum might undo what you’d seen with your own two eyes.

You waited until he shut up, then threw his duffel bag at his chest and said, loud and clear, “Get the fuck out.”

Which brings you to now.

You knew exactly where he’d be on a Friday night. It was with the same group of knuckle-dragging football bros, drinking cheap beer and hollering at whatever game was on. You pulled into the gravel lot and spotted his car instantly. That brand-new black Jetta gleamed under the parking lights like it was proud of itself. Rims all shiny and new, fresh wax job and leather interior. 

You parked a few spaces down and killed the engine. For a second, you just sat there, breathing, fingers curled tight around your steering wheel. Your pulse thudded hot behind your ears.

Then you looked around. The sidewalk was empty, the lot full of cars but no one to be seen. And the nice thing about dive bars was they didn’t give a damn about security, so no cameras that you could see.

Good.

You stepped out, walked up to the Jetta, and just stood there for a moment. The night was quiet, but all you could hear was the roar of your blood in your ears.

 What a stupid fucking idiot. 

You weren’t sure if it was meant for him or you were talking to yourself. Tyler was a dumbass, no question, but you knew what he was before all this. You’d seen the signs, but you ignored them, made excuses for his sorry ass. So what did that make you? 

Still, you shook your head. No. That wasn’t on you.

Any decent person wouldn’t cheat on the girl who stuck by him for five damn years. The one who pulled him through college, helped him look for internships, edited every shitty cover letter he ever wrote before he'd given up and begged his own dad for a job. And not to mention, the girl who gave the best head he’d probably ever get in his sad little life.

Your grip tightened.

You flipped your keys in your palm, pressed one between your fingers, and brought it to the shiny sleek passenger door. You dug it into the steel, and began dragging it nice and slow and deep, carving a line into the shiny paint.

The screech of metal on metal made your jaw clench, but you didn’t stop. Because it was so fucking satisfying too. You moved to the driver’s side, dragging it around to the front, then the other side. One long, continuous line until his car looked like it had been attacked by a wild animal with a grudge.

Maybe that’s what you were, afterall.

You stepped back and admired your work before turning back to your car for the next step.

Next came the knife—his pocket knife. The one he gave you last Christmas because he "forgot to buy a real present in time." You took it from your bag and knelt beside the driver’s side tire and made a clean slash, the hiss of air escaping was music to your ears.

You did all four, each one a little more satisfying than the last. By the time you were done, the car sat sagging on those dumb, overpriced rims, looking completely defeated.

And then you reached for the bat.

A Louisville Slugger. Wood, not aluminum. Shiny and classic. You’d kept it waxed and clean since high school softball. You gripped it with both hands and stepped up to the front of the car, lining up your swing.

Your body tensed, knees bent, and you drew it back.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Your heart kicked up in panic as you spun, bat raised and ready, in case one of Tyler’s meathead friends had stumbled outside to play hero.

But it wasn’t any of them. It wasn’t anyone you recognized at all.

A man stood just beyond the glow of the bar’s neon sign, a cigarette balanced between his fingers as he exhaled smoke into the night. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with messy dark hair and a beard to match. The light above him flickered, buzzing with moths, casting a yellow wash over his face.

You didn’t lower the bat completely, but your grip relaxed just a little.

“Can I help you?” you asked.

He shook his head slowly, taking another drag. “Nope. I’m good.” He tipped the cigarette with two fingers and gave you a look. “Can’t say the same for you, though.”

You rolled your eyes and turned your back on him, raising the bat again. “Mind your own goddamn business.”

He let out a low whistle. “Now you’re just makin’ me feel bad for the guy.”

You huffed a dry laugh. “He had another girl in our bed just hours ago, wouldn’t feel too sorry for him.”

That shut him up for half a beat. Then he gave a soft laugh behind you. “Shit. Sorry about that. Sounds like a real winner.”

“He’s a piece of shit.”

“I believe you.” He nodded toward the car. “Still wouldn’t do that.”

You swallowed, throat dry, peering back at him, eyes dragging from his dirty boots up to the dark glint in his eye, “You seem to know a lot about this kind of thing.”

His eyes lifted to meet yours.

“You could explain away the scratches. The slashed tires, maybe. But bashed in headlights?” He shook his head. “Harder to blame that on a wild animal.”

He dropped the cigarette, pinched it out beneath his boot.

“And for the record,” he added, blowing out the last plume of smoke, “I’ve never cheated. If that’s what you’re getting at.”

“I wasn’t,” you said, a little too fast.

Silence stretched between you as you felt all the adrenaline, anger, and fire draining from your blood. Your shoulders dropped, leaving nothing but a hollow ache in your chest. Your fingers loosened, the bat slipping from your grip and hitting the ground with a dull thud. You covered your face with your hands, trying to hold back the sting in your throat.

The crunch of footsteps moved toward you.

“Hey,” he said, voice low but close. He didn’t touch you, just stood nearby, hovering. “Didn’t mean to upset you.”

You shook your head, swiped your eyes with the heel of your hand. “I’m fine, I’m good. I just… I shouldn’t have come here.”

He was quiet for a beat, then said, “Come inside.”

You blinked at him, confused. “He’s in there with his idiot friends.”

“Yeah,” he said. Then he looked at you again, steadier this time. “All the more reason.”

You stared at him. “Are you saying I should…?”

He didn’t finish the thought for you, he didn’t grin or wink or push it. All he did was give a small shrug.

And now that he was closer, you noticed just how big he was. Broad in the shoulders, tall enough to cast a shadow over you even in the low light. He smelled like pine and something woodsy, warm and clean even with the leftover tang of cigarette smell. The scent clung to the cool night air as the breeze passed between you.

You looked up at him, and he met your eyes without flinching. Even in the low light, they held a thousand colors—green and gold and deep, earthy brown, all muddled together in a warm, unreadable hazel.

“I’ll buy your first round,” he said, voice softer now. “If you change your mind.”

Then he turned and walked back toward the bar with that same calm, heavy gait.

The inside of the bar was dim and loud, but not packed. Neon lights flickered above the bar shelves, a pool table clacked somewhere in the back, and country music played just low enough not to drown out conversation. You sat on a high stool, elbows on the bartop, a fresh drink in hand. Joel, you’d learned his name, was next to you, close enough that you couldn’t move an inch without brushing up against him. His legs were spread wide, thighs solid beneath his worn jeans, your knees between his, both turned toward each other in a natural way of things.

There were enough people that you at least were well hidden from Tyler and his friends who packed into a booth at the far end by the jukebox.

And you were two drinks in, starting your third, warm enough to finally feel loose.

“He wore loafers with no socks,” you said, scoffing into your drink. “Like, on purpose. He said it made him ‘look sophisticated’. I told him he looked like a youth pastor.”

Joel gave a low chuckle, eyes fixed on the beer bottle in his hand, but his smile curved deeper when you kept going.

“He couldn’t cook, couldn’t fix anything, couldn’t win an argument without quoting Andrew Tate. I swear to God, if I had to hear about ‘high-value men’ one more time—”

“Jesus,” Joel muttered as his lips met the rim of his drink, shaking his head.

“Yeah, real winner.” You echo his earlier quip, tipping your drink back, then nudged his inner thigh with your knee. “But the real tragedy is he’s never gonna find another girl who gives head like I do.”

Joel choked. Like, spluttering his sip of beer kind of choking.

You watched with satisfaction as he coughed mid sip, nearly slamming his beer down on the bar as he wiped his mouth, eyes wide.

“Jesus Christ, woman,” he rasped, clearing his throat hard, still catching his breath. “Warn a guy first.”

You tried not to grin, but it was impossible. “What? I’m just telling the truth.”

“You can’t just…say shit like that outta nowhere,” he said, still recovering, voice lower now, rougher. He looked over at you, eyes flicking to your mouth, then down to your legs before dragging back up again. “Damn near killed me.”

You smirked into your glass. “You walked up on me with a bat in my hand, remember? I’m not exactly the ‘ease into it’ type.”

Joel laughed, a quiet sound that curled low in his chest. He leaned toward you more fully now, his thighs pressed warm against yours. His eyes twinkled in the dim bar light as his grin settled across his face. He was handsome. Not polished or pretty, but rugged and built like a man who worked with his hands. Masculine in a way that felt rare now, like he was made of dirt and calluses and something heavier. You couldn’t tell exactly how old he was, but he had to be at least fifteen years your senior. And somehow that didn’t bother you. Not one bit.

You were leaning in too, your fingers wrapped around your glass, the condensation slipping over your knuckles as your blood warmed beneath his gaze. The space between you buzzed.

But then, remembering yourself, you looked away and sat back a little more.

“Thank you, by the way,” you said, voice a little softer now.

Joel’s smile faded into something more curious. “For what?”

“For... this. For making it so my birthday didn’t totally suck.”

His brows furrowed, the smile wiping from his face entirely. He was just opening his mouth to say something when he was cut off by the sound of your name beside you.

You turned, and standing there, in all his fuckboy glory, was your ex. 

You rolled your eyes as you set your sight on him, turning away as soon as you could. Joel’s knees still bracketed yours, still facing you, his hand coming down to your thigh to steady you.

“The hell do you want, Tyler?” you asked, voice flat.

You didn’t look to see the expression on his face, and you wondered what the slow cogs in his brain were thinking as he looked between you and the man in the barstool across from you.

“What the fuck is going on?” he asked, voice pinched and high with something that sounded suspiciously like jealousy.

You took a slow sip of your drink, thinking through how you wanted to go about this. 

You could feel Tyler standing there, stewing, his presence irritating as the whine of a mosquito. Joel didn’t move, didn’t even look his way. He just kept sipping his beer, calm as anything, one hand still resting on your leg.

Tyler finally broke.

“So what—what is this?” His voice was tight, defensive. “You cheating on me now?”

You turned, purposely slow, and looked at him like he’d just said the dumbest thing in the world. Then you laughed. Not a chuckle, a full, disbelieving bark that caught the attention of the bartender and a few people down the bar.

“Cheating on you?” you repeated, eyes wide with disbelief. “Are you out of your mind? We’re broken up, you asshole.”

Tyler blinked, thrown off by your tone. “We didn’t break up.”

“Yes,” you said, voice clipped. “We did. You just weren’t listening when I kicked your ass out of the apartment and told you never to speak to me again. You remember? When I came home from work to the sound of you fucking some girl in our bed?”

His face twitched, jaw tightening. “It wasn’t like that.”

“It was exactly like that,” you snapped. “You couldn’t even give me one night for my birthday.”

Tyler looked confused, like the words hadn’t registered.

“I was gonna take you somewhere nice,” he said, voice rising as he gestured between you and Joel. “I figured you just needed to cool off. We were gonna go out tomorrow.”

You stared at him open-mouthed. “Tomorrow.”

“Yeah. I had a whole thing planned.”

“Tyler,” you said, voice flat with exasperation, “my birthday is today.”

He blinked again. It took a second, but then he winced.

You gave a soft, bemused laugh, shaking your head like you couldn’t believe the universe had really let you waste five years of your life on this man.

And then, beside you, Joel started laughing.

Not a big, loud laugh like yours, but just a low, quiet one. A little huff that grew into a full chuckle, deep in his chest. He shook his head, sipping his drink casually.

Tyler’s head whipped toward him.

“The fuck’s so funny?”

Joel didn’t look at him right away. He tipped his beer toward his mouth again, finished the rest in a few slow gulps, then set the bottle down on the bar with a soft clink.

“Just amazed she lasted five years,” he said as if reading your mind and finally glancing over his shoulder. “You make dumb look like a full-time job.”

You bit your lip, trying not to smile. Joel didn’t so much as blink.

Tyler bristled, standing up straighter. “You don’t even know her.”

Joel shifted beside you, his legs brushing yours as he twisted on the stool, planting one boot firm on the floor. He didn’t look at Tyler, hardly even acknowledged him. Like the kid wasn’t worth the breath it would take to answer.

“Know enough,” he said easily.

Tyler scoffed, puffing his chest like he could make himself bigger. “She’s not some prize, you know. She’s a fucking slut.”

The word hung there for a second. Long enough to feel the floor shift under you.

Joel went still.

Completely still.

His hand left your knee.

He stood and looked down at your ex.

And for the first time, Tyler actually looked nervous.

Joel stepped forward, close enough that Tyler had to tilt his head back just slightly to look him in the eye. Joel didn’t yell, didn’t shove. He didn’t need to.

He just looked at him hard and cold and steady.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen, kid.” he said, not blinking, not smiling. “You’re gonna turn around and walk back to your little friends, and you’re gonna keep walking and count yourself lucky, because if you stick around long enough to say one more word to her, you and I are gonna have a different kind of conversation. One that ends with you choking on your teeth.”

Tyler didn’t move at first. He just stood there like he thought he might still be able to win whatever stupid pissing contest was playing in his head.

But Joel didn’t look away. He barely blinked, barely even moved.

And something in Tyler finally folded.

He scoffed, muttered something under his breath, and backed away. His footsteps were loud against the sticky floor as he turned and stalked over to the other end of the room.

You let out a slow breath, heart pounding harder than you’d expected.

Joel turned back to you, his eyes softer now.

“You alright?”

You nodded. Your voice wasn’t quite ready yet.

He sat back down beside you, the warmth of his presence sliding back into place. His legs bracketed yours again, your knees brushing his upper thighs.

“Didn’t mean to make a scene,” he added, picking up his empty bottle and signaling the bartender for another.

You looked over at him, studying the curve of his jaw, the easy set of his shoulders, the slow breath he took like nothing had just happened.

“That was…oddly really hot.” you said, almost before you could stop yourself.

He raised an eyebrow, but his grin tugged wide.

“That right?”

You blushed crimson, feeling the warmth of blood rush to your cheeks, “Don’t let it get to your head.”

He chuckled, soft and pleased, and when the next drink landed in front of him, he slid it your way instead.

“Happy birthday,” he said.

Looking back, you couldn’t exactly say how it happened. 

You remembered following Joel outside for a smoke, the air cooling your flushed, feverish skin. You shared the little white stick between you, the cigarette passing hand to hand, his fingers rough and warm every time they brushed yours. That simple touch felt electric.

You knew it was you who leaned in first. You were the one who grabbed his shirt, pushed him back against the siding, your fingers going straight for the thick hair at the base of his neck.

He smelled so damn good. Beneath the cigarette smoke and cheap beer was something deeper—pine, woodsmoke, a trace of sweat and musk that made your stomach twist with heat. He seemed so masculine and wild and grounding all at once.

His arms wrapped around you fast. One slid down to your lower back, the other tossing the cigarette aside without a second thought before wrapping a fist through your hair. He kissed you back just as hard, tongue sweeping into your mouth, like he’d been waiting all night for you to get the courage.

From there, it all moved very quickly. 

Because now Joel was looking down at you on your knees, the shadows of the side alley carving deep lines across his face. His voice came low and rough, barely more than a breath.

“What was it you said before, huh?” he said as his hand touched your hair, fingers curling around your ear as he tucked some of it back, “About givin’ the best head that prick ever had?”

You looked up at him with a slow, wicked smile, your palms dragging up his legs. You squeezed the thick muscle of his thighs, fingers digging into denim. Your heart thudded with anticipation, your mouth already watering as he cupped your cheek in one hand, thumb brushing your skin.

The other hand went to his belt.

The sound of the buckle unfastening made your breath hitch. The sharp metal clink, the slow drag of the zipper felt like a dare.

Joel’s hand dropped, wrapping around yours. He pulled your fingers from his thigh and placed them right over the hard bulge in his jeans, pressing your palm down slowly.

“Go on then,” he murmured, voice like asphalt, steady despite the heat you could feel radiating off of him. “Show me.”

You lifted your hands to the waistband of his jeans, tugging them down along with the band of his briefs, just far enough to free him.

His cock sprang up in your face, thick and flushed, the tip already glistening for you. It slapped lightly against his stomach, curved upward with a heavy weight before falling back into your eye line—aching, proud, and impossibly hard.

You swallowed.

He was thick from base to tip, the head swollen and flushed a deeper shade of pink, a bead of slick gathering at the slit and catching the low light. His cock twitched once as you stared, greedy for touch, for heat, for your mouth.

You wet your lips with a slow sweep of your tongue, your hand lifting as if drawn there by instinct. Joel hissed softly when your fingers wrapped around him. He was warm, so warm, the weight of him heavy in your palm. The dark, coarse hair at his base tickled your skin as you pressed your hand flush to him, steadying him as your grip tightened.

You glanced up, eyes meeting his.

He was so beautiful like this. Pants half down, jaw tight, hair mussed from your hands, chest rising with a slow, shaky breath. 

And in that moment, you made a decision. You were going to ruin him.

You were going to make him come in your mouth.

His expression told you he already felt it coming. His brows drawn, lips parted, eyes so dark they barely looked human. There was pride in that stare, but something else too. Need, barely held together, a tension you were about to unravel. He knew you’d ruin him too.

Your mouth opened slowly. Your breath stopping as you leaned in, the scent of him thick and heady, musk and skin and arousal coiling low in your gut.

You leaned in and ran your tongue along the slit at the tip of his cock, catching the bead of precum as it touched your tongue. He moaned breathlessly, and the sound went straight to your head, turning your thoughts to static.

You flattened your tongue along the underside, dragging it along the ridge where head met shaft. Then you pressed slow, wet kisses to the bulbous head, your lips soft, your breath warm. You licked and suckled, easing into a rhythm, teasing until his hips gave the slightest jerk.

Joel groaned, his breath hissing through bared teeth as he looked down at you. His gaze was heavy, unblinking, fixed on the sight of you between his legs.

And then, casually, he reached into his jacket and pulled out another cigarette.

You blinked, pulling away slightly to look up at him. “Seriously?”

He just grinned, the cigarette resting between his lips as he cupped the lighter and struck the flame. His eyes never left you, even as he took the first drag, the orange tip flaring in the dark.

You rolled your eyes, but you weren’t laughing. Something about it made your blood run hotter.

You sank down and took him fully into your mouth, lips sealing around the thick heat of him, your tongue flattening to feel every vein and ridge as he slid deeper. He let out a quiet curse under his breath, and his head dropped back against the brick behind him as he exhaled smoke into the night air.

You hated to admit it, but there was something so hot—so unfairly, stupidly hot—about watching him smoke while you blew him.

"You got the prettiest lips, baby," he groaned, "Look so good around my cock."

You pulled back slowly, letting your lips glide over him with just enough pressure to make his stomach flex as you moaned at his praise. Your hand wrapped around the base, slick with your spit, and you stroked him, watching his abdomen tighten with each pass of your warm slick palm.

Then you took him deeper this time, hollowing your cheeks as your tongue traced the underside, catching every pulse of blood in his veins. Your jaw ached almost immediately from the sheer stretch of him, but you didn’t stop. You wanted it to ache, to feel it for days after.

Joel groaned, quiet at first, like he was trying to keep it in. But the longer you worked him, the less restraint he seemed to have. His hips rolled slightly, not enough to choke you, just enough to meet your rhythm. You could hear the drag of his breath between his teeth, the low rumble in his throat as he let out a breathy curse. His free hand slid into your hair, just holding, his fingers curling loosely at your scalp.

His chest rose and fell in slow, uneven waves. The glow of the cigarette tip pulsed with each drag, the smoke curling upward and disappearing into the night as he watched you again.

You moved your hand in sync with your mouth, stroking the base as you bobbed slowly, building a rhythm he could sink into. Every time you pulled back, your tongue dragged along his length, warm and wet and unforgiving. You twisted your wrist when your hand met your mouth, just like you knew drove a man insane.

You could feel the tension in his thighs now, in the way his muscles tensed beneath your hand, in the little shudders that ran through him each time you went a little deeper. His groans were getting rougher. Louder.

You pulled back for a second, just long enough to kiss along his shaft, your mouth slick and open, tongue dragging up the side before you sucked his head in again, swirling your tongue in slow, teasing circles.

“Fuck,” he breathed, the word barely audible, his voice rough as gravel, "Gonna let me come in your mouth? That what you want?"

You looked up at him, nodding as best you could as you licked at his cock again with eyes wide and doe-like. His head tilted back, lips parted around the cigarette, brows drawn tight. His hand tightened slightly in your hair, and you took that as agreement.

You smiled, slow and smug, and ducked your head again.

This time, you didn’t stop. You let him hit the back of your throat again and again, worked your hand in tandem, made every pull of your mouth feel deliberate. The kind of rhythm that unraveled men. You moaned around him, lost in it too.

You felt him start to shake.

"Oh god, oh god," he chanted.

His thighs were trembling now, the muscles locked tight. His hand fisted in your hair, not to stop you or guide you, but to hold on for dear life.

And when he came, he swore. Loud, rough, his body curling forward over you like the force of it knocked the wind out of him, cigarette burning forgotten on the ground. You hadn’t even noticed when he dropped it.

His cock pulsed in your mouth as thick ropes of his come painted your throat, and you took it all, salty and thick but somehow not entirely unpleasant. You were surprised how easy it was to swallow every drop.

You didn’t move right away. Just rested there, mouth soft around him, lips still closed as he twitched once, twice, breath dragging heavy from his chest. When you finally pulled off, slow and careful, your chin was slick, your mouth swollen, your throat sore in the best way imaginable.

Joel stared down at you, completely undone. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, then looked up at him, breathless.

“Told ya,” you said with a sly smile, voice a little hoarse but playful.

He let out a laugh that cracked right down the middle, then leaned back against the wall, head tilted up toward the sky, needing a second to recover before remembering how to speak.

You stood slowly, wiping your hands on your thighs before reaching into your bag for your lip gloss. The little click of the cap echoed in the quiet alley as you twisted it open and ran the wand over your mouth, smoothing it back to its glossy sheen. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the nearby window: hair wild, lips swollen, eyes a little too bright, and gave a small, satisfied smirk.

Joel hadn’t moved. He was still leaning against the wall, pants zipped back up, cigarette now completely gone, the filter crushed under the heel of his boot. His chest was still rising and falling like he hadn’t quite gotten a full breath back yet.

“Well,” you said as you tucked the gloss away and gave your jacket a tug into place, “thanks for the fun, Joel. I’ll see you around.”

You turned toward the mouth of the alley, but his voice stopped you before you could take more than two steps.

“Now where do you think you’re goin’?”

You glanced back over your shoulder, brow lifted. “You seem tired, old man. Didn’t think you’d make it to round two is all.”

Joel pushed off the wall with a slow roll of his shoulders, his mouth twitching into something between a grin and a challenge. He stepped toward you, his boots crunching quietly in the gravel.

“You live far from here?” he asked, voice low again, steady and curious like he already knew what answer he wanted.

You narrowed your eyes slightly, lips twitching. “Why?”

Joel stopped just to the side of you, looming close enough that you could smell the last trace of smoke on his breath, the salt of his skin. His hand reached up to push your hair behind your shoulder, and he dipped his head, speaking just beside your neck.

“Because I’d much rather fuck the birthday girl in a bed than in some dirty alley,” he murmured. “Somewhere I can really take my time.”

The goosebumps hit instantly, your lips parting as the space between your legs pulsed with fresh heat.

“Ten minutes,” you managed. “Give or take.”

Joel pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, but his hand moved to rest at your waist.

He looked down at you for a beat, then gave a small shake of his head. “You’ve been drinkin'.”

“So have you.”

“Neither of us should be drivin',” he said, voice still soft but firmer now, threading just enough authority through the warmth. “I’ll call a cab.”

You let out a slow breath, a half smile playing at your lips. “Being responsible is such a buzzkill.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his fingers skimming your side, tracing the curve of your hip, his hand up under your jacket, “but I’d rather make through the night so I can live to hear what you sound like with my cock in you, pretty girl.”

That shut you up.

[jazzdalorian]

hey, kitty-kitty-kitty [incomplete wet Joel Miller icons collection <3]

[jazzdalorian]

I’m clawing at the WALLS BRO FUCK

[jazzdalorian]

۶ৎ Mess of a man.

| Joel didn’t know why he’d let his little brother convince him a night at the bar was what he needed. But he might need to listen to him more. Smut!

[this is pure FILTH. I don’t know what came over me, I need this out my system and I need Joel in mine STAT. If you’re a minor pls don’t interact, this is not a safe space.]

Warnings; language, drinking, age gap (Joel is in his late forties, reader is 21) masturbation reference, daddy, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, oral (both receiving), over stimulation, come eating?let me know if I’ve missed anything

"Still haven't gotten your dick wet, huh?" was Tommy's way of greeting his brother.

Joel grumbled something, propping his foot on the coffee table in front of him. "Get lost, Tommy."

He'd thought that with his daughter, Sarah, at summer camp he'd get six weeks of peace, get work done, maybe take his daughter somewhere nice when she got back. But he forgot he had a brother and he forgot how annoying he was.

Sure, six weeks without his kid was a perfect and maybe a once-in-a-lifetime to get his dick 'wet' as Tommy put it. But he'd been out the game for years, out of practise. He wouldn't know how or who to approach.

"C'mon, what kind of brother would I be if I let you mope around alone in the house," he said, whacking Joel on the shoulder.

"A good one." Joel took a swing of his beer, watching the sport without knowing what team was doing what.

Tommy turned off the tv and snatched away Joel's beer, getting him up from the sofa. "There's a bar I know where everyone looking to get fucked goes, c'mon."

Joel decided he didn't want to know how his brother knew this place but as Tommy was already grabbing his truck keys and heading out the door. He'd be damned if he let Tommy drive his truck.

Yeah... that was why he was going...

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The bar was already loud when he and Tommy got there and ordered their beers. Joel would have one, maybe another if he was here long enough but then he'd go home and... see to himself if he had to.

It would have been nice to have something for the evening. It had been a long time and his own fist wasn't enough. He had a pick if he needed, he guessed. He wasn't immune to all the single middle aged mom's around him that would talk to him on the school drop off, invite him to one of their garden parties. Even some with rings on their fingers always lingered too long when shaking his hand or asking for some 'construction' advice.

But none of them did anything for him.

Tommy patted his brother on the back as he winked at the lady behind the bar. "See anything you like, yet?"

They'd been there... what? Ten minutes.

Then yes, he saw something he liked and his jaw almost dropped.

Tommy spotted the way he stilled and followed his gaze. "Holy shit."

You were with three girls- your friends, Joel assumed- and a guy hanging onto you, an arm draped around your hips. You were nursing a drink, laughing with your friends, tongue darting out to the straw of your cocktail.

Joel was done. He knew it immediately.

You were only twenty-one, young and beautiful and worse, Sarah's baby-sitter. Sure, his daughter was fourteen but on the late nights he had to work he didn't like to leave her alone.

Enter you. Good grades, polite, always called him Mr Miller like it wasn't the hottest thing. You stayed every night Joel needed to work, you cooked for Sarah, even ensured there was left overs for Joel and Tommy sometimes.

You'd tidy when he never asked, you never drank the beers he left for you. You were perfect.

And Joel knew, the first day you'd baby-sat his daughter over a year ago he'd made a mistake. He knew it when he watched you walk down his porch, when he started offering you lifts home and wishing you'd accept, when he had a wet dream like a horny teenager and it was you under him.

This was some cruel joke.

As if you could hear his thoughts your eyes caught over the noise of the bar. There was shock registering first and then you were dismissing your group to walk over to the Millers.

Joel gulped when he spotted what you were wearing. A tight high collared shirt, your hair pinned and the shortest skirt with heels.

Like a present to be un-wrapped...

"If it isn't the Miller brothers," you grinned.

"Hey darlin'," Tommy greeted first, reaching up to give you a small hug.

Joel's jaw clenched as you hugged him back. But Tommy was respectful, hands staying high on your body. Better than Joel would do.

You pulled away and smiled at Joel. "Mr Miller."

He nodded, taking a swig of his beer as he watched your tongue dart out in search for the straw. Fuck.

Tommy held a hand on your back. "I gotta take a leak, keep him company would you."

Joel didn't know what kind of game his little brother was playing.

"Of course," you smiled, sliding into the seat Tommy had vacated. "Don't I strive to look after the Millers."

Tommy chuckled and winked at Joel as he disappeared into the crowd.

"Hi there," he drawled.

You smiled. Maybe it was the lighting, or the alcohol, but your eyes were darker than he'd ever noticed. "Hey. Didn't expect to see you here tonight."

"Sarah's at camp," he said. He was painfully aware you knew. You hadn't been around in two weeks because he'd had no reason to ask you. Well, no appropriate reason.

"She enjoying it?" you threw a leg over yours, grazing his leg as you did.

"Think so," he said, "what about you, huh? Enjoyin' your freedom?"

You chuckle. "You know I love working for you, Mr Miller."

"Joel," he corrected you. He took a swing of his beer, watching you watch him.

"Jo-el," you draw out his name.

Something in Joel stirred, his pants couldn't be growing tighter, right? Thank god for the dim lighting.

He cleared his throat. "So this is where the kids hang out these days, huh?"

"I dunno about kids?" you said, leaning your body over slightly. "Am I a kid?"

Joel let his eyes wander down. The expanse of your legs, the skirt riding up your thighs and the way your chest rose and fell with your breath. Then slowly, he trailed back up your body. "I guess not."

Of all those times he'd watched you from the porch, you'd always looked back at him at least once, maybe twice to give a little wave as he leaned on the door. Or when you'd started accepting his lifts home and would always linger in his seat when he turned the engine off, the two of you leaning over the console and chattering a bit longer. Or when it came to staying to watch a game with him when Sarah had gone to bed when he knew you hated sport.

Of all those times he'd never let his mind wander as much as it was not.

"Tommy dragged me out," said Joel, taking more of his beer.

"He dragged you?" you chuckled. "You didn't want to come?"

"I'm glad I did," he said.

You take a longer sip of your drink, nodding. "I'm glad you did too."

Joel watched you a second as you tilted your head, a small tilt to your head. "You wanna another drink?" he asked. He wasn't even sure how much you'd had already. Was all this new look and attitude the cocktails talking?

"I should be good," you muse.

Joel decided in that moment he'd either spend the rest of the night in your company, or go home alone. "Your friends not missing you?" he didn't even want to look back at your friends maybe waiting for you. Or that guy watching you.

You also didn't care to look back. "Let them."

Joel smirked as he brought his bottle to his lips. "Atta girl."

He heard your intake of breath and felt satisfied. Your leg kicked off your other one and had grazed his, going down and down and he was sure you weren't doing this on accident. Not anymore.

"You can't say things like that," you chuckle, shuffling in your seat.

God, your thighs were pressing together tightly. Such a pretty sight...

You leaned over in your seat. "Do you know how many women would kill to hear you say that to them?"

"Well, i'm saying it to you, ain't I?"

You look at him through your lashes and Joel's legs widen to accommodate for the rising need in his crotch. It was wrong. It was so wrong. It was crossing a line. "I think I'll take that drink, if you're still offering?"

Joel nods and waved someone over to get you the same. The two of you talked a little more as you waited, your drink sliding over moments later.

"It must get lonely," you said, fingers dancing around the condensation of the glass. "That house all alone."

It seemed both of you had forgot about Tommy at that point.

The game being played between the two of you suddenly seemed real to Joel. "You tryin' to get an invite over?"

"Maybe."

You didn't miss a beat.

Joel looked at you. People were piling into the bar, music was being played but all he could focus on was you.

Your hand darted out, your fingers grazing his knee.

He looked down at his knee, where you touched him. Could you make out the dent in his jeans. "You know, i'm old enough to be your father."

"So should I start calling you daddy?"

He chocked on his beer. He managed to finish it, smirking to himself. "You got a mouth on you."

"You started it looking at me like that."

Joel rested against the bar. "I'm your employer."

You shrug. "And i'm not at work."

Joel looked around the bar and found his brother making out with a woman at the furthest end. He was sorted. "Why do you hang out here, huh kid?" if what Tommy told him was true he wasn't sure he could handle the idea of you coming here, looking out for someone that wasn't him.

You shrug. "It's a good bar, good drinks, good company usually."

"Usually?" he teased, his hands on his thighs. "You know, Tommy told me some filthy things around this place."

You lick your lips, holding back amusement. "Really?" you stand to your feet, leaning on the bar closer to him. You slot perfectly between his thighs.

His hand danced close to your hip but didn't touch you. Not yet. "People come here for one thing."

"Enlighten me, Joel."

His name from your lips made his brain fuzzy, effecting him more than any beer. But he couldn't do it, god, he couldn't stop thinking about it. Of the counter. Of how good you'd look bent over the counter, tight skirt bunched up at your hips.

But the words failed with him.

It was like you could tell, like you knew every move of his and every twitch.

You take one more sip of your drink before sliding it over the counter.

Joel watched as you got to your feet and worry rose on him. Worry he'd lose all he wanted.

"I'm going around the back, i'm going to be there for two minutes before I call an uber to go home. See you."

You meant it to. He watched you walk off, only briefly waving to your friends as you wove in and out of the people.

You were giving him two minutes to fuck over his life.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You waited, and waited for what you thought was two minutes. Truth be told you didn’t have a watch and lingering around the back of the bar probably wasn’t the greatest idea.

You could tap your foot and wait, rethinking your words and actions and hope that every time the door swung open, it would be your boss.

Joel fucking Miller. What game were you playing? More to the point, what was he doing?

Looking at you like that, carelessly letting his eyes wander as he imagined everything he wanted to do to you? You weren’t immune to his looks, his touches that lasted too long and the way he always watched you walk up to your front door, the engine only roaring once you were safe inside.

But now it seemed- faced with the ultimatum of fucking you or leaving you as nothing but his daughter’s babysitter- he was choosing the latter.

You’d really thought your lonely nights with only toys and fingers for company may have been rectified.

As you push yourself off the wall you really thought-

A sudden strong and rough hand grabbed your wrist and turned you back until you were against the wall and until lips were on yours.

You knew the scent, knew the strength of the body as Joel Miller pressed himself against you, groaning and licking into your lips.

You hands are in his hair, tugging at the curls of black and grey as you let him feel all your body, his arms caging you in and hand dragging down and down and-

"That was three minutes, sweet girl," Joel’s beard scratched your neck as he dragged his lips over your pulse.

You hold back a moan. The music in the bar was loud and the only people coming this way were the ones looking for a quick piss. Still you wanted nobody to stop this. "Wanted to give you a chance."

He nodded into your neck, biting the skin and winning a gasp from you. Joel tilted his head back, searching your gaze that only saw him. "Tell me you want this."

You nod. "I want it."

His hand cupped your cheek, thumb dragging down your bottom lip. He watched, entranced. "You’d let me down anything, wouldn’t you?" He whispered, looking as if he wasn’t all there. That some part of his mind was already fucking you against the wall.

You lower your head until you can reach the pad of his thumb, kissing the tip. "I want it."

"Oh, fuck baby," he groaned, pushing the pad of his thumb further into your mouth. Promises of things to come. "You’re gonna kill me sweet girl."

Your hand ran down his stomach until it meant the tightness of his pants and running up and down until you could feel the press of his length in your palm.

Joel indulged for a minute. His thumb in the warmth of his mouth while your other hand rubbed him right. Then he snapped back into reality as the door banged on the wall.

Not there.

Against himself, he took his thumb from you and grabbed your wrist, alerting you.

"I need your word that if we do this, Sarah doesn’t find out," he said sternly.

You chuckled. "Well I’m hardly gonna tell her I screwed her dad, am I?"

"Hey," he held one finger in front of your face, defying your smirk. "Your word, little miss, or I can drop you off home and you can watch while I take care of the problem you created."

You gulped. Maybe for a moment you forgot it was Mr Miller you were affronted with. Quickly, you nodded your head.

"Good girl," he surged forward and sucked on the bottom of your lip, his hips digging into yours. He groaned as you ground on him, nails digging into his biceps. "Feel wha’ you do to me, huh? You know how many times I’ve had to fuck my own fist and think of you?"

You practically melt at his words, leaning back into the wall. "Joel… please."

"Please what? Huh?" he taunted, rutting his clothed hips into your own, biting down on his lip as you threw your head back, moaning at the sensation. "C'mon, tell me what you want. Be a good girl and say it."

"I want you to fuck me," you whispered.

Joel scoffed. He left his hips against yours. He tutted. "I'm an old man, darlin', you're gonna have to speak up."

"Fuck me!" you all but screamed, desperation turning you into a mess.

Joel grabbed your hand and started to drag you from the alleyway, searching around as if his daughter might pop up out of nowhere.

You couldn't care less, didn't think about the group of friends you were leaving, or the guy that wanted you. Your hand circled over Joel's stomached t shirt, nails scratching as you leant into his side, lips marking up his neck.

"Fuck, baby," Joel groaned as he searched in his pocket for his keys. You joined the search, your fingers searching all around the dent in his jeans. "Fucking desperate, aren't you, huh?"

"Can't wait, Joel," you whisper in his ear, lips brushing, shivers running down his spine as you squeezed his crotch. "Please baby."

Joel grunted. He was practically shaking with the need to fuck you, to feel you against him. To have his hands wander all over you and memorise the way you moaned under him. There was so much more he wanted. Wanted to have you scream, wanted your neck bruised with his love and his back to carry the scratches from you.

He just needed.

"Fuck," he couldn't believe he was being so reckless. Couldn't believe that with a kiss and a grope you had rendered him a horny teenager. "Get in the back, babygirl."

He held open the door and practically pushed you in, climbing over you.

You jumped into his lap as soon as the door slammed shut and Joel chucked his keys somewhere to the front. Your lips worked against his, claiming it as yours and invading an unknown territory. You moaned as his tongue ran against yours and sucked it into his own mouth.

His hands were warm and large as they gripped your ass harshly, a soft slap echoing around his truck.

"You gonna let me slide my fingers into your pussy, baby?" he asked against your lips.

You moaned.

"Hey!" he grabbed your chin, pulling you back to stare at him. Your lips were already red and swollen. "You gotta talk to me baby. You want my fingers? Say yes."

"Yes please," you say, catching your breath. Your chest felt heavy, your pussy throbbing. "Please, want your fingers."

Joel smirked, finger tips brushing under the band of your skirt. "So polite."

The space at the back of his truck was small and cramped but he'd be lying if he hadn't thought about this. Hadn't thought about you in the back of his truck, cock stuffed down your throat or his face buried in your thighs.

All those times he'd taken you back, it had never been as innocent as he would let on.

But having you in his lap, begging for it, practically drooling with just his words, he had a feeling you weren't as innocent as you'd always made out to be.

Joel let the elastic of your skirt slap into place, causing you to jolt into him. As you jolted, he used the leverage of your hips to pull your skirt up and feel under you. "Jesus baby- you're soaked."

His finger slid up the cloth of your panties, collecting the dampness and smearing it.

You gasp as he presses into your pussy, pushing the cloth into you. "Joel please, I asked so nice."

"You did, sweet girl, you did," he nodded, watching as your eyes squeezed shut. "Hey- eyes on me baby, right here." He gently slapped the under part of your chin to get you to look at him as he easily hooked your panties to the side and sunk a finger in.

You hum out a moan, head tilted back.

Joel found the crevice of your neck, dragging his beard against the soft skin and relishing in the red that bloomed. "You like it? You like my fingers inside your heat? God, you're so warm."

"Like it," you nod, eyes shutting again.

Joel groaned low in his throat as he grabbed your chin and forced your forehead against his. "You keep your eyes on me, you understand me. Or i'll drop you off home. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mr Miller."

"Oh-" Joel sunk his ring finger in until he was knuckle deep. "You're so good for me."

You tighten around the feel of his fingers. He's barely curling them and already you're squirming at the sound of your own slick.

"Ride my fingers, babygirl, gowan' now."

Obediently you started to move, riding his hand. His rough palm moved with you. His mouth remained open in a small 'o' as you wither against him, moaning.

Joel couldn't help the filth that spilled from his mouth. But with every clench you gave around his fingers, you didn't seem to mind.

"So good for me... such a good girl,"

"Dirty too, riding me in the back of the truck you and Sarah ride in."

"Fuck, i've dreamt of this, you look so good with my fingers stuffed inside of you."

At his encouragement you grip his shoulders, moving faster until your skirt is ridging up your hips and the little wisps of your hair are sticking to your forehead from sweat.

His thumb pressed down on your puffy and begging clit.

"Shit- ah- fuck!"

Joel's hips involuntarily bucked up to yours. "You wanna cum, sweet girl?"

You bite down on your lip, nodding and looking at where his forearm- taunt and veiny- disappeared under you.

Joel rested his head next to yours, kissing the sweat at your neck. "Tough baby, you're so dirty. Dirty girls have to do a lot of waiting till they get their reward."

Slowly, he retracts his fingers.

"Look at all this mess," he tutted, looking at how his fingers glistened with your need. He pats your hips, "up."

You fall onto the seat next to him, legs spread and head resting back on the car door.

You watch as Joel lifts his hips, un-buckling his belt as he starts to pull off his boxers and jeans. Your foot danced over to his lap but he impatiently pushes it away.

"You want to cum, don't you?" he asked, sending you a dark look. His hand grabs your ankle as you nod and kisses the bare skin above your heel. "Then behave."

The hand that you had just been riding wrapped around his cock and brought it out.

Your mouth opened as you stared at the beauty of the thing. He was big, bigger than you'd seen and bigger than you'd dare dreamed. He shone with pre-cum and your arousal as he spread what was on his fingers. His hand worked himself up and down as he relaxed back in his seat.

He looked over at you. "Eyes up here, baby."

Your gaze flicked up to him. "So pretty, Joel."

He chuckled and tugged himself. "Always knew you'd like it. God, you've no idea the things i've dreamt."

"Tell me. Please."

Joel leaned his head back, moving up and down his length slowly as he re-called every filthy dream his mind conjured. "Your hands wrapping around me. Your mouth being so warm and wet as you fuckin' choke on it. God, bet your throat's not used to a man's cock, huh? Only used to boys, ain't that right?"

He opened his eyes, peeking at you.

You'd dared closer to him, leaning over. You nodded.

"Bet that kid in there was hoping you'd give him a chance," he went on, his other hand coming up and thumb and forefinger tugging at your chin. "He didn't stand a chance as soon as you saw me, did he?"

You shake your head, shuffling closer into his side.

He jerked your head toward him. "Answer me."

"Only want you, Joel," you tell him.

You lick your lips, eyes darting from him to his leaking cock. The tip was red, begging for attention. "Can I- Can I please?"

Joel stroked back your hair. "Go on then, baby. Have a play." He stretched his arms along the back of the truck and watched to see you move.

But Joel quickly realised you didn't come around to play.

You'd always seemed so innocent- so un-knowing- when you looked after Sarah, when you helped him clean down the kitchen, when he'd offer you lifts back or to stay over you'd always blush and lower your head.

You were lowering it now, throwing your hair back over your shoulder and holding the base of him.

First, you touch him with your lips lightly and he smiles, daring not to think this might be the only time he lets you touch him like this. Your lips are so pretty and pink, swollen and wet from kissing him as you drag them along the sides.

Then you pepper kisses along the skin and start moving your hand around the base.

"You really gonna tease me?"

"Wanna take my time," you mumble into his though, kissing the skin.

Next, your hand cups his balls that were heavy with need. He wasn't exaggerating, it had been years since his last good fuck and no amount of jerking himself off to the thought of you could satisfy him. As your fingers played with his balls, rolling them around and giving them warmth and attention they craved, you made out with the tip of his cock.

You collected his pre-cum with your lips and tongue while still fondling him.

He could feel his shirt stick to him, his chest rising and falling quicker. Shittin-fuck. How was he supposed to last if this was what you were giving him?

"Easy, baby, easy," he eased you, stroking back your hair.

He knew you heard cause you were smirking then opening your mouth and taking him deep, almost all the way in one.

Joel groaned and grabbed the door. "Shit-ah-"

He didn't care if he wasn't far from the bar. Didn't care if anyone tried to get a look in through the fogging up windows. He didn't care if Tommy came by and applauded him for getting his dick wet. All he cared for was the feel of your wet mouth all the way down him, spit drooling down his cock.

You were doing so well and he wanted you to know.

"You wanna take me deep, huh?" he grunted, clutching onto your hair and holding you down. You gagged around him. He chuckled. "I'm not even all the way in there. You got room for more?"

You dragged your mouth up, taking a deep breath and nodding. You wiped your mouth from the mess you made and went in again.

This time, you took him again and again, deeper, bobbing him in your throat until he was a grunting and groaning mess. His hips moved of their own accord, shoving himself in even when there was nowhere else to go.

But the sounds of gagging, of his balls slapping against his own thighs as he moved, of the moans coming out of you were enough to almost having him finishing in your mouth. Almost.

He wanted to, boy did he, but he wouldn't, not until your cunt had swallowed him.

Joel pulled you up, letting you release him with a pop. "Want to be inside, need to be inside."

The truck wasn't the best place but it was the only place he had for you. He wished he could give you a bed, give your hours to welcome him, but Joel needed like he'd never needed. He imagined this is what starvation was, having your treat dangled in front of you.

And you were moving with him, lying down on the back seats, legs accommodating him as he slid in between you.

Joel gently pulled down your panties and stuffed them in the back of his pocket. If he was gonna have to jerk himself off to thoughts of you again, having your soaked panties was the least he deserved.

He glanced down at your swollen pussy and salivated.

Your hand trailed down, circling your clit as you moaned at the time he was taking.

Joel grabbed your wrist, bringing it up to his mouth and nipped at the skin. "Only I get to touch, yeah, babygirl?"

"Yes," you answered, breathless.

Joel loomed over you, bringing the tip of his leaking cock to smear himself over your folds. "Tommy told me somethin' real interestin'. Ask me what?"

"I don't- I don't care about Tommy, right now," you grab his shoulders, trying to pull him forward.

"He tol' me-" Joel strained, his lips brushing yours. It wasn't just your torture he wad delivering. It was his own. "He said people go to that bar to get fucked. Is that why you were there?"

For a moment you seemed shocked to hear it. Then the palm of your hand held his cheek, running over the stubble.

"Worked, didn't it?" you teased.

Joel sunk into you with ease. "Yeah."

He hid his face in your neck as you arched your back into him. 'Take it, take it,' he spoke into your skin, tattooing the words there.

"Joel-" you gasped, holding onto his back. "Fuck!"

"You're ok, baby. You're ok, babygirl," his breath was short. He needed to feel you more, the half way in wasn't enough. "Fuck, you grip me so well."

You gasp, holding him in you. "Need-need more."

"I dunno baby, you think you got it?" he teased.

"Yes, yes."

"What have I said about speaking up?"

You groan, throwing your head back on the seat. "Fuck me, please Joel!"

With a grunt loud enough to be heard outside, Joel sunk further into you. 'Shit, yeah.... fuck,' spilled from his lips as he slowly took himself out of you before sinking in all the way again.

"You feel me?" asked Joel. He held himself up over you because he'd be damned if he wasn't gonna watch you fall apart on his dick.

"Feel it, feel you everywhere," you mumble.

You really did. You felt the soft seats of his truck, smelt him everywhere. The smell of old cologne, cigarettes (though you were sure he didn't smoke) and new wood. It wasn't just his cock sinking into you but his voice as he mumbled filthy things in your ear. His hand dragged down your face, gripping your neck. Not tight enough to cut airways but tight enough to make you squeeze him.

He stuttered, "sh-shit. If you do that again I won't last," he told you. "And I want you to come first."

"Then fuck me Joel," you said, looking up at him.

Joel looked down to where he disappeared into you. You were already rocking your hips into his, desperate for something- anything. His hand pushed back some of your hair as he stared at you with something more than need. Desire. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

Wasn't it? Wasn't it everything you wanted since he first laid a hand on your shoulder and led you into his home, welcoming you to his life. "Yes."

His thumb dragged out your bottom lip before his lips were smashing onto yours, wet and sloppy as his thrusts increased.

He moved his hips in and out rapidly, giving you no more time to adjust. It wasn't long before he had to release your lips to breathe.

"Ah- shit!" you yelled.

"That's it baby, be as loud as you like. Let the whole fucking street know who's fucking you," he panted. His hands were at your neck, holding the both of you steady.

"Joel!"

"Shit! You feel so good!"

Joel tugged down your top, not in the mood to care if it rips. It's not like he was letting you back in that bar. He pulled out your tits and latched onto them like a child, nipping at the nipple.

Your hand winds itself in his hair, pulling at the roots and throwing your body into his. You could feel his cock stretch you, the pain mixing delightfully with the pleasure. With every thrust he tipped you closer and closer onto the ledge and as his warm, wet mouth sucked on your nipple, the other hand squeezing and playing with the other, you knew it would be the best orgasm of your life.

"I'm gonna, arg-"

Joel licked around your nipple. "Not yet."

"Joel!"

"Hold it!"

He pushed himself up, holding onto the back of the seats as he used the position to put a foot on the ground and fuck into you harder.

The windows were steamed, your bodies slick with sweat.

The truck was fucking shaking at how hard he was moving you.

You threw a hand out behind you to hold onto the door, bracing yourself as you rocked your body into his.

Joel threw his head back, his neck stretching you and tempting you. "Best fucking pussy out there. And I've been wasting you as a babysitter."

"Yours," you mumble. He hadn't even asked and you were giving him the promise.

His lips tilted into a lobsided smirk as he leaned closer to you. "You mine, huh? All mine? My girl, my pussy?"

"Yes," you nod.

For a minute you can only hear your breaths with the sound of his hips slapping into yours.

Joel's fingers dig into your thighs and bring your leg up to wrap around his waist. "Mine," he all but growled into your chest, nipping at the skin. "Show me. Show me you're mine. Cum."

He thrusted into you hard, his thumb holding your stomach down and playing with your clit until you were coming all over his cock. 'That's it baby... all over me.... there's a good girl.... keep coming,'

Joel fucked you throughout. He had his own finish to reach but watching you fall apart, your mouth open in a silent gasp as your fingers claw into his shoulders.

He cupped your chin, smiling down at you. "You gonna help an old man out?"

You were in no state to, coming down from your highest high.

Joel cupped your ass and lifted you from the seats that were slowly soaking in both of yours juices. "Ah-" he yelled out at the new angle he was reaching, his balls heavy hitting your pussy. "Yeah- there- just there baby."

"Joel!" you yell. "S'to much."

"No it's not," he shook his head. His eyes were screwed up as sweat rolled down his cheeks. "You can take it. You know you can."

Your pussy was throbbing, squeezing him so intensely you didn't know how he was still moving.

You bit down on your lip as you watched him concentrating hard. You test the waters, wrapping your legs around his waist until your entire lower body was in his weight.

"Fuck!" Joel's jaw clenched as he looked down at you, his fingertips digging into the skin of your soft thighs until he was sure bruises would be there for only him to see. "I'm gonna... shit- Where you want it?"

"Inside, please," you mewl.

Joel looked at you, danger in his eyes. "No, baby, we can't."

You nod and squeeze his hips. "I'm on the pill."

The words were heaven to his ears.

You squeeze around him and Joel yelled out, falling atop you as he spilled out inside of you.

"Take it! Take it! Fucking let me- let me in!" he yelled, hips stuttering as he fell into you. One of your legs remained around him but the other he let drop, holding it weakly.

You were sure you were still coming down from your high as his hips stuttered on yours. You could feel every drop of him smear on your pussy and leak out.

Then Joel's fingers danced around the space his cock was softening in you, pushing it all back in.

His brows rose as he looked down, a shaking laugh coming out. "I-"

You didn't want to hear the words that came after. The regret. The 'we shouldn't have' or 'think about Sarah'. You just wanted this moment of feeling held and cared for by Joel to last a little longer.

Your lips move against his slowly, tasting the salt of sweat from the both of you on there.

He didn't push you away, he just held his lips close to yours, in small and attentive brushes. "How do you feel?" he whispered, pulling back enough to look around your eyes.

"Good," you nod, "real fucking good."

Joel chuckled and looked down. Slowly, as not to hurt you, he pulled out.

You moaned at the sudden emptiness in you, lying there to catch your breath and so you didn't have to prepare for regret in his face.

But it seemed regret was the last thing on Joel's mind.

He had no idea what kind of animal was possessing him or just how far his need went. But when he fell back against the door, listening out to the low drum from the bar, he saw your swollen cunt. Red and white. Red from how hard he'd fucked you and white from the mixture of you and him.

Something growled inside of him- maybe it was him- but before either of you understood what was happening, Joel lunged back in and spread your thigs, diving in.

You lurched up onto your elbows, looking down at him. You could see the top of his hair, his eyes closed and you could feel his nose moving around you and nudging you. "Joel, what are you- holy-"

Joel hummed into your pussy. It was heaven on his tongue, dripping into him. So sweet and all you. He'd never felt closer to a person before. Never felt such a need. He was slobbering like a damn dog over your pussy.

"What the fuck have you done to me, huh," he'd pulled back only enough so you could understand his words.

Neither of you were sure if he was talking to you or what laid between your legs.

He opened up your pussy and went in, tongue fucking into you. He was caught between wanting to push his spill back into you and eating you out till you were dry.

"Joel!" you screamed, voice breaking. "You-you can't-"

"I fucking can," he snarled. His face was being pushed into your cunt as he shook it, smearing both of you all over him.

There was nothing you could say or do before your legs trembled and you came all over his beard and lips. You didn't know what to do, whether to push him off you or pull you closer.

Joel held your hips into his mouth and groaned as he took in everything you gave him.

Every flick of his tongue had you shaking. Every time he gripped your thighs you made a noise of pleasure.

Hours might have passed since he first discovered heaven between your thighs before he pulled himself out.

His face was wet with you. It was sinful and like nothing you could ever imagine. "Look at what you've fucking done to me."

You'd made an absolute mess.

[jazzdalorian]

joel lost weight in five years due to all the sex we started having after returning from salt lake city

[jazzdalorian]

i just whimpered and moaned

[jazzdalorian]

um anyways

[jazzdalorian]

[jazzdalorian]

pls can u write a jealous! joel who has just settled into jackson after bringing ellie back from the hospital! if you’d like, can you please have reader be pissed at him because he made her stay behind while he went to drop off ellie:)

CHEMISTRY ✮

𝗳𝘁. jealous/jackson!joel x ex-gf fem!reader

𝘄𝗰. 5k

𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗹𝘂𝗱𝗲𝘀: straight smut, age gap, oral (f receiving), fingering, slight dirty talk, cussing, unprotected p in v, coming inside v, feelings involved…

𝗮/𝗻: this is way longer than i wanted it to be but like not even mad about it tbh skdhdjj anyway i hope you enjoy!! :3

You couldn’t believe your eyes. 

It had been almost a year since you had last been in Boston. Since you had last seen him. Joel Miller. An ex-lover of yours; who chose a job over staying with you— all because he couldn’t come to terms with the feelings he had for you. 

You had crossed the country to find this little settlement you heard other raiders talk about. Packed up and moved away from Boston after waiting and waiting for Joel; who left you cold and lying in your bed alone. 

And you were finally starting to be happy again in your little corner of the world. Patrols, tasks, a drink at the bar, meeting other men or women to fill that little hole Joel had left inside your heart. 

And now he was here, in Jackson, standing at the other end of the Tipsy Bison, watching you with that heavy gaze you remembered all too well. 

Your eyes locked, almost at the exact same time, as if sensing each other’s presence or feeling some kind of pull towards each other. 

The live music pumps loud in your ears but the blood rushing to your head is louder. You can feel your pick of the man for the night kissing against your throat, his hands wandering along your body, but you’re not focused on him in the slightest. 

But Joel sure is.

Even across the room you can see the storm behind his eyes. The anger, the confusion, the jealousy. 

His boots are loud and heavy as he stalks across the hardwood. You try to detach yourself from the man grinding up against you but Joel is faster. One large hand is grabbing the collar of the other man’s shirt, dragging him entirely out of your personal space, and tossing him against the bar’s floor like he’s a damned rag doll. 

“Shit! Joel!” You shout, grabbing onto the thick of his bicep and dragging him backwards. 

Joel stumbles back, only because it’s you tugging on him. 

“Keep your fuckin’ hands off her.” Joel growls, pointing at the man thrown to the floor. 

You utter a swift apology to the guy, whose name you didn’t even know, before you’re dragging Joel towards the closest exit. 

When the cold winter of Wyoming hits your skin, it feels like your entire body is steaming with how flushed and angry you are. Joel’s just a step behind you so when you suddenly stop and swivel on your heel to face him, he’s standing directly behind you. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” You scoff, pure disgust dripping off your tongue. It tastes sour, unfamiliar to you when you were so used to speaking to him with so much love. 

Joel’s eyebrows knit in confusion. As if he half expected you to fling yourself into his arms and cry his name at his sudden return.  

“Me? What about you? He was all over ya!” Joel sneers with a deep frown settling onto his face. 

You laugh in disbelief at his statement, unable to wrap your head around what he was saying. “Yeah, Joel, that’s the whole fuckin’ point.” You curse under your breath, rubbing a hand across your face. The warmth of a headache was already beginning to crawl its way across your mind.

“And you think that’s alright?” Joel huffs in similar disgust, pushing his jacket aside so his hands can settle on his hips. 

You roll your eyes at him, pointing an accusatory finger his way. “I ‘member you leavin’ me back in Boston, so yeah, I think it’s alright.” 

Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes. “You promised to wait for me.” He whispers, seething with jealousy and anger. 

His words chill you more than the cold of Wyoming does, makes you shudder and hug yourself a little tighter to fight off the cold.

“Dammit Joel! I did wait! I waited for months before deciding to move on. You still left me! Choose a job over me!” You shout right back, almost pushing up onto your tippy toes to be eye level with Joel just so he could also see the anger in your eyes. 

Joel scowls down at you. “Apparently you didn’t wait that long. Was the bed even cold?”

That’s it. Those words nail the coffin close. You had told yourself that maybe, if you had ever run into Joel again, you’d find a small little piece of your heart left big enough to forgive him for asking you to stay behind and wait for him. 

“I can’t believe this.” You whisper, throwing your hands up in defeat. “Fuck you, Joel. Don’t talk to me again.” 

You spin on your heel, demanding your legs to move, stalking through the snow in search of the path that would take you home. You’d forget everything in the morning. Boston, him, those months of waiting—everything. 

“Now wait here—“ Joel’s voice chases after you and he takes three simple strides to catch up to you, a strong hand grabbing your bicep and holding you still. 

You try once to shake out of his grasp but it doesn’t work, he’s got ahold of you now. He turns you back to him, forcing you to face him, as he plants himself before you once again. 

“I’m sorry.” Joel says, his breath fogging up into the cold night’s air. “I’m…a fucking idiot. And I’m sorry.” 

The words make you feel a little lightheaded hearing them. Joel, apologizing? The man you knew back in Boston, the raider you knew, would have never said sorry. Not even if his life depended on it. 

What the fuck happened on this “job” he took? 

Silence stretches between the two of you for a few heartbeats. Letting his apology sink further and further into your skin and bones. 

“You don’t get to just…apologize and make everything okay again.” You whisper, eyes fluttering under his gaze. Suddenly the cold has reduced your anger to nothing but smothered coals. You wouldn’t admit that maybe your heart was betraying you just a little…because this definitely wasn’t the man you knew roughly a year ago. 

“I know, I know.” Joel’s voice cools, the anger and jealousy subsiding, leaving just a hollow pain to his tone. “I’m sorry. I just, dammit, I don’t know. Seeing you with someone else…all this time, I thought maybe you were gone…and I would never see ya again. But…think it’s worse seein’ ya with someone else.” 

Your heart pounds inside your chest at his words. This…vulnerable side of him was something you had not expected to ever see or hear. Listening to him mutter his feelings and his apologies all in one night? Unheard of. Even if it was all over something as silly as jealousy…it was strange; new. Made you feel like a little girl with butterflies in her stomach. 

“Well, I didn’t die, as you can see.” You reply, embarrassment fanning over your cheeks. Silly to feel so…young and dumb again. But you weren’t dead, even though the last several months had tried their hardest to kill you. “Now, let go. I’d like to go home.” 

Joel doesn’t move an inch though. Instead he’s stepping closer to you, his fingers trailing down the length of your arm until they gently wrap around your wrist. He brings the back of your chilled fingers to the cusp of his warm lips, placing a tender kiss against your skin. 

“Let me make it up to you, shuga,” Joel whispers, slow and heavy in his Texan accent. Knowing exactly how to tug on your heart strings. 

You narrow your eyes, glancing over him once more. Time wasn’t kind to him either, it seemed. The graying in his hair was worsening. You could see at least a handful of new scars on his face. But something else had changed…something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. And you couldn’t tell if it was a good thing or a really fucking bad thing at the moment. 

You swipe your hand from his grasp, the cold holding your hand now as his warmth leaves the tips of your fingers. You glance towards the ground and the snow underneath your boots, tapping your foot ever so slightly as you try and decide what to do. 

A heavy sigh leaves your lips and you shove your hand into the pocket of your jacket. No more hand holding; for now. “Don’t disappoint me, cowboy.” You fire back at him, calling him by his old nickname to rile him up— before you lead him to your little home in Jackson.

You expect the roughness. Expect the door to slam behind you with him stripping you out of your jacket the second he passes the door— like the good ole days. Raider Joel wanted to devour you. Wanted to taste every inch of you while you screamed his name. He used to need the pleasure to numb his mind. Needed you so badly it hurt him. 

But now it’s just a little different. 

The door closes softer when you arrive back to your place. The light stays off, no visitors right now, but with the help of a little moonlight you can still see his face and weathered eyes. 

He stands right in front of you. Taking in every inch of you with his hungry gaze. The way your hair falls is even prettier than he remembered. How you still smelled faintly of some pretty floral soap. The way your eyes still scan his face, looking at him like he was everything you had ever wanted.

Joel reaches behind his back to take off his jacket. It’s slow and precise, stripping it off his broad upper half, before letting it fall onto the back of a nearby rocking chair. His fingers work on rolling up the sleeves to his flannel, pushing the fabric farther and farther along his tanned forearms. 

His fingers move to brush against your side, pushing up and up until he’s stripping you of your own jacket— slow and steady—before he tosses your coat right next to his, moving to work on getting you out of your shirt. Strong hands grab the hem and tug it leisurely above your head. Taking his time in undressing you— teasing you. 

But fuck if the slow pace he sets isn’t almost a little painful. Everything he does, every move he makes, feels so strategic and meticulously planned out— like he’s been thinking about doing this with you every single day since you two strayed from each other. 

The worst part, you think, is that he does it all in silence. He doesn’t speak or say anything for the moment. No quip or dirty jab to get under your skin to make him fuck you faster. It’s just him, and his eyes, drinking you in like it’s the first time he’s ever seen something so delicate before…and he wants to be careful not to spook you.

It makes your heart pound, hard, against your ribs. Playing a melody that only he could hear as every precise touch is slowly driving you crazy; forcing your lungs to expand faster to the point that you’re panting standing still as stone.  

His fingers raise and slowly push back some hair behind your ear. You flinch just a little, expecting the rougher side of him to take over but instead his soft gaze returns to scanning your face. 

The tips of his fingers trail down to follow along your jawline, where he tilts your head back. His lips brush against your forehead first, your temple second, and then finally— ever so gently— he lays his lips onto yours. 

The kiss is tender and soft, as if he’s scared you’ll run away. But when you stand firm, following his lead, he presses on. Placing another firmer kiss against your lips. And another. One more, faster, more daring. Another one that melts you into him. 

Joel’s hand leaves your jaw to cradle the back of your neck, pulling your mouth closer, closer, closer, into his. The quick pecks are replaced by longing, desired filled, hot, open mouth kisses. His pace quickens until the living room is filled with the sound of your chaotic and sloppy make out; where tongue and teeth alike collide.

Your lips gnash into his own, breath quickening with each twist of your mouth. Your entire body hums with his touch. Can feel his thumb rub soothingly across your skin as his other hand settles on your hip, dragging you just that much closer into his body. You’re chest to chest and the thought of you two being perfectly made to fit each other crosses your mind before it’s gone; being replaced by a swipe of his tongue.  

You groan as the taste of him spreads like honey, sticky and sweet inside your mouth. It’s warm and welcoming as you roll your tongue into his. And you kiss him with as much vigor and eagerness as you can muster. 

You’re a little ashamed to admit you’re the first to break, gasping for air and clutching onto the front of his flannel. Your head is spinning but Joel never falters, not even a little. 

“Bedroom?” Joel whispers under his breath, lips roaming down the curve of your jaw. He kisses firmly down onto your throat, his beard just barely scratching across your throat. His teeth nip at your skin while he moves his hands across the curve of your body, molding you in your hands like a precious sculpture– until he lays his hands heavy onto your hips again. 

“Bedroom.” You respond, jerking your head in the direction of the bedroom sitting just behind you. 

Without another word, he backs you up into your bedroom, guiding you with his fingers tangling into the loops of your jeans. Somehow in the mix of the make out session, he’s skillfully stripped you of your bra, leaving you topless as you make your way to the bed. 

Joel walks you right up to the edge of your bed, forcing your knees to buckle, and lets you fall onto your mattress with a whoosh. He doesn’t let you relax though, when he’s already working you out of your jeans. 

He strips you of your jeans. Quick and easy, and as soon as the fabric hits the floor he’s slotting himself between your thighs. The flat of his palm smooths upwards across the curve of your cunt, already aching and begging for him.

“Lace?” Joel mumbles, fingers rubbing against the lacy panties you wear, right where your clit is. His lips hover over your lower abdomen. His warm breath spreads along your womb before he places a tender kiss against your tummy. 

You shiver at his words but still manage to roll your eyes, even as his fingers press against your core. You silently curse your body for betraying you so easily. Already drenched for him with barely any stimulation like you were back in Boston. 

“Shut up,” You sigh, teasingly, pushing your fingers through his graying hair. “Just enjoy. I had to trade some serious shit for ‘em.” 

“Mhm.” Joel breathes. He places another hot kiss against your womb, his fingers hooking around the thin part of your panties and giving them a sharp tug. The fabric gives way to his strong hands easily; ripping the lace right off your body. 

You gasp as he tears away your underwear, eyes widening as you stare down at him with a shocked look. “Joel!? What the fuck!” 

“You wore these for other men.” Joel growls, soft and warm, lips barely just brushing against the bare skin of your stomach as he speaks. “I’ll get you another pair…that you’ll only wear for me.” He chuckles, dark and deep from within his chest, sliding his thumb up against the bundle of nerves that call for him.

“Ugh, enough of this jealousy bullshit.” You mumble, settling your legs heavy against his shoulders. Oh he was for sure gonna make it up to you tonight; especially after ripping your underwear. 

“Pretend all you want,” Joel whispers. Another kiss against your womb. “I know you’re enjoying this…” He trails off. His thumb slides away from your clit, threading through the wet seam of your cunt, circling that fluttering little place that is increasingly coming to yearn for him. “Just look here, you’re soaked.” 

You can feel the heat of a blush stretching across your face at his words. Damn him for being right…and damn your body again for betraying you! 

“Well then you better fuckin’ do somethin’ about it, cowboy.” You huff, tugging slightly on his hair. 

Joel laughs at the pet name rolling off your tongue, replacing his thumb with a thick finger he easily slips into the velvet soft of your cunt. “With pleasure.” He mumbles before his lips attach to the flat of your aching core. No more talking, he had work to do. 

His tongue darts out immediately, pressing through the folds of your pussy while he curls his finger inside. He returns to his slow pace from before. Drags his finger in and out of your core, making sure you feel every inch, every bump of his knuckle, as he twists and turns it inside of you. Makes you feel the entire length, from the tip of his finger to the base of his knuckle. 

Joel’s tongue doesn’t move any faster either. He slowly presses and brushes his tongue along your clit in agonizingly slow rolls. Spit dripping off his tongue to mix with your increasing slick, making it easier for his finger to move in and out— teasing you beyond teasing at this point. 

You groan at the fleeting pleasure. Just when you think it’s going to be a rush, a flurry of his fingers stretching you out, he takes it away. He’s moving just enough to leave you wanting more. And damn if he doesn’t know it. 

But damn if it wasn’t working wonders on you. Your entire body trembles under his well talented hands; leaving you breathless and trembling. He knew your body so well you’re almost convinced he may have crafted you out of some piece of wood with his bare hands at some point. 

Joel twists the finger inside of you until his palm is facing upwards and just when you think he’s going to remove his finger, he slips a second one inside. Your hips lift to meet the sharp thrust of his second finger, moaning his name as your hand tightens in his hair. 

His fingers thrust faster inside of you now, just a little more than before but not enough to pull you over the edge. He was saving that for just the right moment. His fingers spread deep inside of you, stretching you out with every thrust, while his tongue flicks back and forth against your clit. 

“Joel! Quit teasin���!” You huff, trembling at every deep thrust of his fingers. You can feel him chuckle against your cunt, sending an electric shock through your entire body. 

But for once this entire night, he listens to you. Joel’s fingers pick up in pace, thrusting deep and shallow into your core. He doesn’t let you live with that long before his pace changes again; his fingers curl before he’s digging into you. His entire hand is moving up and down, instead of in and out, forcing right into every sensitive spot deep inside. It’s faster and rougher, burning hot through your entire body. 

“Fuck!” You whine, lifting your free hand to palm at your closest breast. Once your fingers roll over the nub of your nipple, you know you’re not going to last long at all. 

You’ve quickly become coiled tight, ready to leap over the edge, ready for your orgasm to burn right through every inch of your body with every thrust of his fingers and dance of his tongue. Your legs scramble, your thighs tighten, back arches and you’re close, close, close—

But just before that thin line holding you together snaps, Joel removes his fingers and backs off. Edges you straight into a spiraling mess of whines and pleas; exactly what he wants. 

“Not yet. Not until I say so, sweetheart.” Joel huffs softly, rubbing calming circles into the thick of your inner thighs to bring you back down to him. 

“You asshole…” You groan deeply, sitting up onto your elbows to stare down at him.

Joel’s lips tilt in a smirk, kissing your knee before he straightens up to his full height. “Needy?” He asks with a teasing tone you’re not really used to yet. 

You roll your eyes, lifting a weak leg and pushing into his hip, forcing him just a little to stumble backwards. 

He’s quick to undress himself then, clearly just as needy as you are, starting with his belt buckle. You listen to him undo the front of his belt before sliding it free from his belt loops. Once he kicks off his jeans, leaving him in his boxers, you try your hardest not to stare at the tent under the fabric. Clear as day, leaking, and hard as a rock. 

You turn your gaze away briefly, blushing like it’s your first time fucking seeing him…but it was also a little comforting knowing you weren’t the only one enjoying this. 

When your gaze returns to him, he’s taking off his flannel shirt, and your breath catches in your throat– but for reasons outside of what was going on. 

You stare at his abdomen, where a large scar is smeared across his skin. “This is new…” You whisper, sitting up solely to stretch out to him, trailing your fingers down the scar along his midriff; shaping its size with the tips of your fingers. 

“Eh, lil somethin’ I picked up on the job. Call it karma.” Joel responds with a twitch of his lips, a smile, before he tosses his shirt off and onto the floor. He makes himself comfy on the bed where his hands grab hold of you, dragging you up and into his lap. 

You stifle a laugh at his joke. Maybe it really was karma for leaving you…but a dark, twisted feeling flutters through your heart briefly. The scenario of him dying somewhere, alone, with maybe the thought of you on his mind— without you ever knowing…the thought hurts much more than you were willing to admit in the moment. But it’s quickly swept away when Joel presses a kiss into your throat. 

“Don’t get distracted now. I’m right here.” Joel hums softly, hands sliding up the side of your body.

You instinctively wrap your body around him. Legs hooking behind his back and your arms sliding around his shoulders. Hugging him as close as your bodies would allow. 

“Yeah, I gotcha baby.” Joel mumbles in response to your clingy hands. One large hand falls onto your lower back, rubbing soft, soothing circles into your skin. His other hand trails down to your knee, where he adjusts the both of you perfectly, lining himself up against the drip of your seam. The tip of his cock sweeps through your drenched lips, gathering any of his spit or your slick onto the head to make it all just a little easier. 

Then he steadily, almost cautiously, presses into you. The burn of his cock spears you but the stretch of him is forgiving with the pleasure it brings. His name rolls off the tip of your tongue as your pussy accepts more and more of him– stuffing every inch deep inside of you with ease. Your breath quickens as you suck more of him inside until there’s nothing more for him to give. 

He bottoms out, cursing under his breath at the tightness surrounding his cock, gripping your body just a little rougher as he forces himself to still; allowing you to fully catch your breath and relax around him. 

When he finally begins to move, Joel rolls into you, slow and steady like he has been all night. He hooks your leg back around his waist, his hand returning to lay heavy on your hip. He tentatively thrusts up into you; not harsh like a storm but more calming, relaxing– like a wave you float on. He reaches deeper than you remember; and with you sitting in his lap, his hands spread out against your hip and back, lips attached to your neck, all your senses sky rocket to an eleven. 

“Fuck Joel,” You groan, meeting every slow roll of his hips with your own. 

“Mmm, yeah baby, ya like that?” Joel whispers against your skin, sinking his teeth down onto a thicker part of your throat, marking you as his. He was gonna make sure if…this didn't work out, any man for the next few weeks would at least know you were made for someone else.

You don’t…hate it though.

Joel thrusts shallowly but just like with his fingers, he’s easily pressing into every sensitive curve inside your pussy. Your mouth falls open as your bodies connect again and again. You clench around his weeping cock as he bottoms out again and again inside of you with every roll of his hips. Feeling a little victorious as Joel curses under his breath at the tightness wrapping around him but it doesn’t last long when you’re already leaping for that damn ledge he edged you back from earlier. 

“Mm, Joel,” You whine his name, fingers kneading into the thick of his shoulders, head tilted back as he places another harsh mark on your throat. And he knows you’re close. Knows everything about you that it makes you want to weep in his arms and stay there with him—forever. 

Joel stops though. Edges you yet again and it makes you sob. He just doesn’t want to admit that with his age…he was also reaching the end a little earlier than he used to. It probably didn’t help with the way you moan his name, so sinful yet light— like it was the only word you knew how to speak. Or when you were so wet and drooling all over him; or clenching around him so tight he could see stars.

“Wanna hear you say it,” Joel breathes, fire and ice prickling along your skin. “Say you’re mine.” He adds with a hum against your throat. 

Joel stays completely still deep inside of you, throbbing against your velvet walls that scream for him to move. 

You bite down on your bottom lip, silencing yourself for a second before just absentmindedly obeying him and his words. You almost want to be difficult, to scream and yell at him that this wasn’t the time and place for his jealous ass to be taking over; but god was it hot. From the start, speaking next to no words to now panting hard against your skin, whispering the filthiest of things. 

“C’mon baby…” Joel chuckles softly, rolling his hips to dig deep inside of you– making stars dance across your eyes. “Say it. You’re fuckin’ mine.” 

You shiver in his grasp, releasing your bottom lip and letting your mouth fall open to speak what he (and you) both want to hear. “Yours!” You shout, nails digging into the thick of his shoulders. 

Joel hardly waits for you to catch your breath before he’s digging deep into your core again. His hips jut forward, picking up his pace the second that word leaves the tip of your tongue. He moves faster, thrusting harsher again and again into your pussy. You swear he’s hitting your womb in this position and it strips any air from your lungs. You feel him deeper and fuller than you’ve ever done so before and you already know you’re not going to last long with the sudden, brutal pace he sets. 

“Repeat it.” Joel growls. His grip on your hip tightens, using your body to meet every single one of his thrusts.

“Yours!” You gasp, legs locking tighter around his entire waist. You follow his lead with every single thrust, rolling into meet them. If your mouth was open, you’re sure you’d be drooling from the mind numbing pleasure running it’s coarse throughout your entire body. “Fuck! I’m yours, all yours Joel!” You babble, tears springing to the corner of your eyes. 

Joel chuckles deeply, skimming his lips from your throat, where he’s left your skin a blossom of reddening petals, to your jaw. “All mine. No one else gets you. Not ever again…” He mutters, leaning back ever so slightly so he can see your eyes. 

Unfocused as much as they are, Joel still captures your gaze. You briefly look into the warmth of his eyes before his lips capture yours. He kisses you once again, buried deep into your quivering cunt, setting a flame beneath your skin. 

It doesn’t take long now for your orgasm to spread through your entire womb. It blooms swiftly, taking hold of every one of your senses. His name sticks to your tongue as you coil up tighter around him. Your legs lock behind his back, your hands slide to cup the back of his neck as you kiss him deeper while your orgasm rocks through you. Your hips jerk wildly and you clench down hard around him, gasping between every small part of broken lips. 

Joel breaks the kiss this time, gasping wildly for air between clenched teeth. He growls, like a wild animal chasing after its prey, and bites down on his lip hard enough to bleed. He lets his head fall, forehead resting on top of your shoulder as he comes at the same time you do. He continues to roll into your gushing pussy, painting the insides with his own orgasm. Fucks you into overstimulation— broken sobs and the wet sound of splashing off skin echoes in your bedroom— until he’s entirely finished himself. 

Then silence stretches. Neither of you move, neither of you speak— only gasp for air. You continue to sit perfectly still in his lap, fingers rubbing into his sweaty skin. His own fingers run soothingly along your back. 

“I’m never letting you go again,” Joel breathes, breaking that built up silence, as he comes back down from his own high. His breath is warm across your body like a summer’s sun. “Never leavin’ you again.” 

The declaration makes your head lighter than your orgasm ever could. Joel was a different man. Muttering soft words you have never expected to hear from him. But the cherry on top that sends you spiraling into tears?

Three little words. 

“I love you.”

@ 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐙𝐄𝐕𝐑𝐑𝐀 | 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐄𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖/𝐎 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍

@lowrisemiller

[jazzdalorian]

the giver

READ HERE!!

- pairing: joel x reader x tommy

- summary: the ‘sweetheart’ of jackson has two brothers wrapped around her pretty little finger, and they’re ready to take what she’s willing to give

- warnings: sex, threesome (m/m/f), rough sex, oral (m receiving), hair pulling, light spanking, cum eating/swallowing, sort of cucking, alcohol consumption, manhandling, creampie, light fingering, joel lovessss ass, kissing, neck kissing, thigh riding, orgasms

roughly inspired by the song ‘the giver’ by the lovely chappell roan.

[jazzdalorian]

The F*ck-It List | Part Six | Number Seven

rating: 18+ (if you're a minor, please don't interact with this story. Seriously.)

chapter: 11.4k

story tags: DBF!Joel , Smut , Romance , Angst , Comedy, Mutual Pining, dirty talk, and more Smut.

a/n: Sorry it's a little late, got some shitty inbox comments from anons but I wanted to get this out to you.

As per usual your support, your comments, your hilarious asks, your funny memes, your impossibly contagious enthusiasm - all of it got my tippy tappy fingers writing away! Please know that while I don't respond to all comments (something about it sometimes stresses me out, I cannot explain it) I READ all of them and LOVE all of them and sometimes when I'm down on myself and want to give up, I read a comment or see a funny mention and I just get inspired to keep going.

For those requesting to be tagged Sadly tumblr will not let me tag more than 30 ppl so instead you'll have to follow my updates blog! @auteurdelabre-updates I also post most of my work on A03.

F*ck-It List masterlist here

Number Seven

Joel doesn’t dream of her often, but when he does it’s always the freckles over her nose. He doesn’t know why that minute detail clings to the interconnecting strands of his brain, but it does. That dusting of light brown over her roman nose.

And then it’s that bed. The sheets. The stomach plummet.

His dream turns fitful, visions of dark forest and empty plains scatter across his cerebellum, his chest tight as he fights to speak. Flashes of color appear there, similar to when he's pressed his knuckles into closed eyes, rubbing tenderly after a long day. 

And then a soothing warmth, sunlight peeking through the cracks of darkness. Pleasure at the edges, bleeding into his body like molasses. 

His body wakens before his brain does. Joel he slides into consciousness with a sluggish groan, his body heavy below the waist. 

"F-fuck."

The world is blurry but his hips are lifting, hands palm flat on the mattress. He's on his back and it takes him a moment to realize where he is. 

The hotel. Last night. Making you come. Shit, he fell asleep beside you. What was—

He feels like he's going to come and he doesn't know why. Not at first. But then he realizes the distinct sensation of wet warmth around his cock it becomes apparent. 

His bleary eyes take in the shape underneath the covers, the warm body positioned between his legs. That same sweet wet pleasure is enveloping his cock and his spine tingles. He groans, throwing back the bed sheet to see you nestled between his legs on your belly. 

As the sheet is thrown back your eyes blink wide. You're still naked save for your panties, breasts squashed against the mattress. Your hands are gripping his upper thighs for purchase and your mouth is full of his throbbing cock. 

You smile around it when your eyes meet. 

"What're you doin'?" He asks in a scratchy voice, his hips jumping when you slowly pull off of him. His cock falls from between your lips, a string of spit connecting the tip to your glossy bottom lip. 

Joel stares at his erect cock glistening with your saliva. It twitches as he moves his eyes up to you in a daze.  You’re smiling.

“Number seven," you murmur, mouth starting to trail along the seam of his inner thigh. 

"Huh?"  

It comes to him like a slap across the cheek. Number Seven; wake up partner with oral.

The mirth drains from your expression when he doesn't smile back at you. He watches as your face slowly drops, eyes turning owlish.

"Oh shit... Oh shit, I didn't … I'm so sorry I didn't even ask if that was okay. Oh my God I didn’t even ask consent. Oh fuck, I just assumed because-“ you push up from him aggressively, baring your breasts.

You give a terrified yelp, hands covering your chest as you cringe

“Oh and fuck my tits are out! This is so bad!”

Joel can see that you're working yourself up into a frenzy. You try to back up and away from him but he sits up, lurching forward. His large hand locks around your shoulder, keeping you in place. He stares at you with heavily lidded eyes before shaking his head. 

"Don't stop."

Your mouth hangs open for a split second, concern and indecision slowly draining from your features. “You’re sure?

“Never been surer of anythin’in my entire fuckin’ life.”

There’s remaining hesitation in your face, but Joel is firm. He lifts his heavy hand from your shoulder and lies back down again.

“If you want this, I want it.”

His head hits the pillow and he stares down the length of his body at you. His cock still stands at attention, throbbing and waiting. You stare at Joel until he gives you a slow wink.

Go on, now.

You shoot him a shy grin before moving back to the position you were in before. You liked it better when the sheet was over you, when Joel was groaning and rolling his hips before he could see you. It made you feel more confident. Now you falter, feeling his scrutiny.

There's the slightest bit of nervousness as your face moves back, the tip of your tongue coming to slip up his twitching length. But when he groans at the sight you seem to regain your confidence. 

Joel moans when he feels the hot scorch of your mouth circling the head of his cock. His legs spread wider, encouraging you to snuggle there between them, your tongue curving as your head tilts back. 

He could watch you for hours, could lay here in this soft bed with your mouth on him, your skin glowing in the early morning. Your eyes fall shut, head slowly bobbing as you groan. Joel can feel the vibrations traveling down his shaft. 

He can't help himself, a large hand comes to your cheek, fingers tracing along your jaw. He feels the delicate bone under his touch, tapping ever so gently. 

"Eyes on me."

His voice is cracked with sleep, heavy and approving. Your eyes flash to his without question, open and eager. Your fingers curl into the meat of his thighs before your right comes to grip him at the base.

"Tell me what you like," you whisper, echoing his words from last night. 

"Just keep doin' what you were doin' before I woke up," Joel groans, his neck tilting back into the pillow. He keeps his hooded eyes on you, feeling goose bumps rise all along his body as you continue to stare up at him. 

"Like this?" You ask, giving the head of him a slow, sloppy lick. When his lower lip trembles you do it again and again. You stroke slowly as you continue to suck, focusing all your energy on his pleasure. 

“Attagirl,” he groans, pleased when you offer a small whimper at that.

He's only got a T-shirt on, the rest of him bare. He should feel more exposed but with your warm body and your hair falling over his thighs he's never felt so relaxed. 

"Fuck," Joel groans, watching as you lap at the head of his cock. "Fuck, you look good doin' that." 

You flush, lowering your eyes, not seductively as most women, but shyly. 

"Keep goin'," he urges in a raspy morning voice. "C'mon pretty girl, you've got this." 

He sees the way you silently preen at that. Pretty Girl. Your mouth envelops his cock again and a rumble escapes him. The wet sounds of your mouth working on him are sinful in the quiet room. 

This is so wrong, he tells himself as your nails dig into the meat of his thighs. Your best friend's daughter is suckin’ your cock right now. 

But he can't find it in himself to stop you. Especially not when he glances down to see your head beginning to bob up and down, your eyes rolling back. 

It's turning you on. Sucking his cock is turning you on. 

Greedily he reaches forward, hands sliding up either side of your neck. You shiver under his deft touch. His wide fingers comb upwards through your hair, collecting the strands in a loose ponytail. 

"Can I?"

You nod his way and he tightens his hold. It must pull pleasurably on your roots because you offer a husky moan that reverberates around the head of his shaft. He feels himself hurtling off the edge but it's too soon. 

He wants to savor this early morning sensuality with the light illuminating the drapes, casting the entire room in a soft yellow glow. It touches your shoulders, your left cheek, the tips of your lashes. It makes the spit on his cock turn glossy. 

"Slower," he rasps, holding your ponytail and tugging lightly, pulling you off of him. Your breathing is shallow and you nod obediently. 

"Yes, Mister Miller."

It slips out, an innocuous comment borne from repetition. You're so focused on the task at hand it's like being at your desk working on Joel's contract. But the honorific causes Joel to make a choking noise in the back of his throat. Your brow rises in interest, clearly observing how the term affected Joel. 

He’s laid out there before you, legs parted, stomach twitching, eyes heavy with need and sleep. His mouth is so fucking pouty right now, parted in disbelief as he watches you. Overwhelmed your eyes drop to his belly as you take him deeper, melting into him.

"Keep your eyes on me."

A whisper of a smile is there at the edge of your full mouth. "Yes, Mister Miller." 

Fuck fuck fuck. Why is that getting his cock so hard? You start to slowly swallow his thick length once more and to his delight your eyes actually remain on his face as you do.  This is the woman he was told of; bold and confident, not the scared mouse that runs around the office.

When you deep throat him Joel actually feels dizzy. How long has it been since this? This quiet, comfortable pleasure-giving? His wife never liked oral either giving or receiving and he never faulted her for it. Some of the women years after her gave Joel delicious head but it was always sloppy and quick. 

You seem to be taking your time, the architecture of your jaw moving delicately as you continue sucking him off. He gives you a sleepy smile when your eyes fall shut, your head bobbing slowly. 

"You like this, huh?"

You nod, mouth stretched obscenely. You love this. You love seeing Joel's eyelids flutter when your tongue flicks the underside of his shaft. You love knowing that right now you hold all the power.

"Seem so innocent even though you suck cock like you were made for it," Joel mutters to himself, his fist still holding your hair. "Pretty fucking mouth needs my come." 

Joel sees how you squirm, your eyes fluttering. He can’t help but let out a slow, syrupy sigh.

"You wanna taste it?" 

You nod again and Joel feels as you nestle him there between your tongue and the hollow concave of your upper palate. Joel feels the tingle in his spine, his hips circling, his brows knitting.

You suck once more and Joel feels it all come to a crescendo.

"Darlin' gir-" Joel starts, his breathing tight before he catches himself. 

Darling girl. 

If he wasn't already on the brink Joel might have gone soft right then. As it was your eyes flicked to his, blinking slowly, tongue swirling. You want it. His head is thrown back as he comes, hips undulating as he floods your mouth. He holds himself still, his hand on your ponytail urging you to keep sucking until he finally lowers his ass to the sheets once more, spent. 

His eyes are clenched tightly, body electric as you swallow before slowly pulling off of him.  Joel's neck and cheeks are red, his eyes wide as he stares at you. You lay there between his legs, eyes bright, lips glossy and you're still smiling. 

"That was fun." 

You give a soft little laugh, like you still can't believe this happened. You don't look regretful or disappointed. And Joel should be elated by that, he should feel heady and sated. He should feel anything but this overwhelming guilt that's eating him away the more the two of you lay there. 

The silence stretches too long for you though, because you give another quick smile and push yourself up, covering your breasts with your forearm. 

"I'm gonna get dressed."

Joel can only nod slowly, even as his brain screams that he wants to make you come on his tongue. That he wants to swap places and have you arching into the plush bedding. 

But you're grabbing the robe beside the bed, cinching it at your waist and grabbing your clothes on your way to the bathroom. 

Joel hears the shower going and propels himself out of bed, tugging up his boxer briefs as he mutters to himself. 

"Fuck... Fuck..." 

Things have changed. This is not the emotional complexity he was expecting.

You reappear shortly with your hair damp and your body dressed in tights and a sweatshirt. But all the clothing in the world can’t erase what he’s seen of you. He watches you pack your belongings in your bag, your face placid.

And just as he thinks of something to say, something to end all of this you turn a beaming smile on him and offer a sweet “See you at work.” Then you’re out the door with a spring in your step, your bag tapping against your thighs as you go.

///

I can’t believe I did that.

You’d been half asleep when the idea came to you, snuggled in Joel’s arms with his erection prodding into your lower back. A quick glance over had confirmed he was still out cold and you had a thrum between your legs began that could not be quieted. When he gave a soft snort and flipped onto his back, still deeply asleep it had been the last push you needed.

You were trembling when you shrugged off your robe, slipping between the covers until you were face to face with the tent in his boxer briefs. You knew that there was no going back from this, and that excited instead of terrifying you.

Seeing Joel from that angle was so much less intimidating. On his back with a saddling brow making low, rumbling groans. Holding your hair, looking at you with disbelief as he murmured pretty girl. He was so fucking delicious it's hard to breathe. 

Seem so innocent even though you suck cock like you were made for it. Attagirl. Pretty fucking mouth needs my come. Attagirl.  Keep your eyes on me. Attagirl.

Joel's mouth should be registered as a weapon because his words are burning you alive from the inside even hours later. You still can't believe you were there, sucking his cock, feeling so powerful as his groans turned gravelly. 

You replay the entirety of what happened in your mind, from the awkward phone conversation whisper-asking him if he had protection, to the way his voice rumbled when you had his cock in your mouth. You're almost home when the smile you've been wearing almost the entire drive suddenly fades. 

Why did Joel have protection? 

Why would he have condoms if he was going away for a business meeting? He sure as hell didn't expect you out there for a visit. Something goes through your center, a slithering ugly thing that comes along with the realization that Joel obviously planned on getting laid out there. 

The very bed you woke up in is the bed Joel likely fucked some woman in only days... Or maybe hours before. The thought makes your stomach turn and the rest of your drive home is in a uneasy silence. 

You push inside the house only to be greeted to the familiar scent of dark roast coffee. You're hoping your father grabbed an early cup and is gone for the day. You don't exactly feel like listening to more of his strange TikTok lingo. 

But as you round the hallway you see his argyle socked feet splayed out in front of him on the recliner, a half empty cup of coffee at his elbow. He doesn't seem to notice you're home yet. 

An old baseball rerun on the TV plays quietly in front of him. But his attention is on the phone in his hand, a look of concentration on his face. You watch as his fingers fly across the screen, typing out what looks like a long text message. 

You lower your bag to the floor and it hits a little louder than expected against the wood.  Your dad starts at the sound and quickly flips the phone face-down on the arm of the chair, giving you a smile as he glances your way. 

"Hey, Trix." 

"Hey Dad. What's up?"

"Nothing much." You're dad gives a tight smile your way, scratching the side of his nose. "Just watching the game."

His phone gives a chirruping notification but he makes no attempt to answer it. He pushes back his hair, eyes just a little too wide. "The weather good this morning?”

Seriously? The weather? 

"Not bad. A bit muggy for this time of year but..." You shrug as if to say what else is new? 

You're dad continues to sit in the recliner looking agitated. "Yeah, good. Good." 

You wait for him to say something about the overnight bag at your feet, but he seems distracted, desperate to find a new topic.

"I meant to tell you yesterday, we're gonna have some of the staff over for the Superbowl party this weekend so if you have any food requests lemme know."

"Loaded potato skins for me." You toss over your shoulder as you prepare to head for your bedroom. You're about to step away when something stops you, nose wrinkling in surprise. 

"Wait, isn't it Jo- Mister Miller's turn? We hosted last year, right?" 

Your dad gives a soft grimace before settling back in his chair. "Yeah, well, I wanted to do it this year."

"Really?" 

Your dad and Joel always take turns hosting. You've never attended one of the infamous Superbowl parties but you don't love it when it's hosted here at your place.

"We'll, with Tess coming on board n' all that I thought it would be nice to show her some Mill Group hospitality. And since Joel is still in a bad way about it, I figured I should take over this year."  

You give a hum of vague interest, remembering what Joel said about Tess. How his instincts tell him she's untrustworthy. You can't say that you felt the same, but then again judging people isn't always your strong suit.

Could you have ever imagined Joel helping you with your list? 

The phone chirrups again and you see your dad wince. Strange. You take a long look at your father, concern growing in the flutter of your pulse as you stare at the downturned phone. You can't ignore the way he looks almost sheepish, the way his eyes don't quite meet yours so he forces them to the television. 

Is something wrong with the company? Is this why Tess was brought on in the first place? 

Your dad starts to motion to the television, making some comment on the golf game but you're far too preoccupied with the thought that something is wrong. 

"Dad, how's the company doing?"

"Huh?" Your dad turns away from the screen, silencing it with the remote. "Whadda you mean?"

"Like financially. Is the company doing okay?"

You're dad is unreadable, but his brows knit. "You worried about the company?"

"Not worried, more just curious." 

"Ah, well that makes sense." Your dad relaxes slightly in his chair, shoulders less tense. "It's good you're taking an interest."

"Oh?"

He nods, looking pleased. "It is a family business after all. You should know the goings on." He shifts. "I always thought it was too bad Joel didn't have a son for you to marry so we could keep it in the family." 

Your dad chuckles at his little joke as you internally cringe.  

"Anyway, I’m glad you're taking an interest, Trix. And in answer to your question we've had a better quarter this year than ever. Even with the whole Brian thing." 

"What Brian thing?"

Your dad makes a dismissive waving motion with his hand. "Nothing. All you need to know is that the company is doing great." 

His phone chirps again and both of you go to look at it, your dad's cheeks stained red. 

"Dad who keeps texting?"

"Uh, oh, your brother," your dad says quickly, eyes averted. "He wanted to talk about uh, personal stuff."

Strike one.

Your brother never texts and if he does, he sure as fuck isn't getting emotional. He's a technical engineer in the military that's up to his ears in work at all times. You're lucky to get a text from him every couple of weeks. 

"Really. Huh. Weird, I haven't heard from him lately." 

"Yeah, he's got a new girlfriend he wanted me to... Know about." 

Strike two.

Your dad is practically puce at this point. But as if he can tell more questions are coming his way your dad forces a broad smile your way.  "And how was your night? Where did you go again?" 

Surprise home run for the old man.

You slowly back away, a chagrined look on your face, tugging your bag along with you. 

"It was nice. Talk to you later, dad." 

///

When you walk to the office on Monday you feel strangely buoyed. You wear new heels and an outfit a bit more revealing than usual. You even brought out some crimson lipstick, pleased with your reflection. 

You feel like a bolder, more confident version of yourself at the coffee shop, stuffing several bills into the tip jar before sailing out with a wave to the friendly barista. 

You feel more congenial, quicker to smile at those you pass in the lobby on the way to the elevator. You swish your hips a little more, toss your hair over your shoulder. 

"Someone's lookin' good," Katherine from fiance says with a whistle your way. "What's your secret, lady?"

Having Joel Miller groan your name while you blow him. 

"Good night's sleep I guess!" 

Your good mood is somewhat dimmed when you get to your desk and find that Joel is working from home today. Something he only booked off his calendar late Sunday night when of course you couldn't see. 

Your father is off-site with Tess on an upcoming project, leaving the offices behind you quiet. 

Subsequently there's not much for you to do today. You play a lot of solitaire between sparse paperwork filling. You research more of the M.Arch programs in Austin before you find yourself searching overseas for similar programs and costs.

Jacob is still off sick and you're dying to go for coffee to tell him all about the weekend (except who it was with of course). You shoot him a covert text, knowing that being on the phone in the office is a Mill group no-no. 

Work sucks without you. 

I know. I'm the best. 

You got Aki taking care of you??

Hell no. Level ten clinger. 

You laugh to yourself, shaking your head. 

When are you back? 

Doctor said Wednesday. Think you can survive until then? 

We'll see. Probably not. Lots to talk about. 

wait meaning what??? What's to talk about? 

Holy shit did you actually take my advice and go to the hotel? 

Maybe. 

Bitch you better not leave me hanging. 

See you Wednesday!!

You lower the phone before glancing back at the computer. 

"Are you busy?" 

Kathleen's cheerful smile is above your computer, illuminated by the screen. You smile up at her cherubic face, shaking your head. "Nope." 

"I wonder if I could take you to lunch? We could talk about the company BBQ and write it off as a business lunch?" 

You grin, already standing and grabbing your jacket. 

"I know just the place."

///

Joel sighs as he pours himself his third coffee of the morning. He watches the added sugar dissolve in the dark brown brew, feeling bleak. 

His head hangs between his shoulders, dark curls falling into his forehead. He's exhausted and not from work. 

He curls his fingers around the steaming mugs handle, padding back to his couch. His laptop sits there, shut. There's not much for him to do today and that doesn't matter to him. All he needed was to be away from the office. 

Away from you. 

At his age he should not be afraid of a woman half his age. He should not be tossing and turning with anxiety at the thought of seeing you after everything that happened. 

He needs to stop all this. He can't keep this up. Not only is it wrong for all sorts of reasons to do with your father, its wrong full stop. 

He'll have to talk with you about it tomorrow. 

He settles into the couch, taking a sip of coffee as he boots up the laptop. The familiar logo swishes in, his email the first thing to pop up. 

Three messages in inbox. 

His stomach flips when he reads your name at the top with the subject line: URGENT. He swallows, quickly clicking on your email.  

He doesn't know what he was expecting, but he feels strangely letdown when all he reads is:

Deetz meeting rescheduled for Friday at one pm. Owners are wanting to flip walls for the oven. Please reply with confirmation.

Why does the officiousness of your message piss him off? His brows lower, large fingers typing quickly. 

You know my schedule. 

He waits, actually waits there in front of his laptop, thumbnail wedged between his two front bottom teeth. And then a bolded message. You've replied quickly. His heart hiccups. 

Apologies, Mister Miller, your recent last minute change to schedule made it necessary for me to confirm.

Joel scowls, knowing you're referring to his last minute switch to working from home today. 

Mister Miller. He writes back an affirmative quickly before slamming the laptop shut. He's hard.

What the fuck is that about? He's pissed off at your reply. The flippant, overly professional way you've responded. It's not you, it's a mask. So why does that turn him on? 

"M'fuckin' sick," he mutters to himself in the empty apartment.

He should never have agreed to this stupid sexual bucket list. You're his employee, you're younger than him, and you’re his best friend's kid for fucks sake. 

It's a bad idea to continue. 

Even if it does feel good. Even if it's been so long since he was so openly desired and so turned on by someone else. But it's dangerous. 

Rousing next to you in bed the other morning was a wake up call. Body curled around you, inhaling your sweet scented hair feeling something that's much closer to comfort than lust. Something he hasn't felt with another woman since Michelle. It feels like a certain type of betrayal. The kind borne of years alone with too much time to think. 

Guilt tugs at his lower belly, fighting with arousal at the memory of how pliant and soft you were there in the bed. Your lazy grin as you sucked him off. 

He shouldn't have let you do that. Shouldn't have let you continue with him in your mouth. Shouldn't have let himself give over to the desire that felt debilitating. 

"It's fucked up," he murmurs to the empty room.  

He tells himself this as his large hand slips under the waistband of his sweatpants, his thick cock swelling further. 

It's wrong. I should stop this. 

His head falls back against the couch, chin tilting up, eyes rolling back as his fingers coat themselves in his copious pre-come. 

They glide up with ease, making a fist and tugging. A groan escapes him at the delicious sensation. 

Shouldn't have done it. Shouldn't have. Shouldn't have done it. 

His movements grow jerky when he remembers your face as he made you come. The noises you made. 

Shouldn't have done it.

Your hips rolling as you ride his thigh.

Shouldn't have done it.

Your lusty cry meeting his ears. 

Fuck I wanna do it again. 

//

"We need to do something special," you insist between bites of the sushi you share with Kathleen. "Better than some boring old BBQ. Something that really makes the employees feel special.”

"Special," Kathleen echoes with a nod, licking wasabi from the corner of her mouth. 

The two of you are at a new sushi place Jacob mentioned to you weeks ago. You felt like a change of pace. Kathleen looked overwhelmed with the choices and you were glad to guide her in the selection.

"Yeah, I mean, we had a great quarter, right? That's what my dad told me." 

Kathleen nods after a moment's hesitation. "I believe so, yes." 

"So let's splurge on something memorable. Maybe... A casino night with amazing prizes?"

Kathleen nods enthusiastically, making notes in her large spiral book as she bites into another dragon roll. 

You notice she writes in cutesy bubble script. It seems to suit her and her large owlish eyes and round cheeks.

You've always seen Kathleen at the office, spent time with her, laughed at her corny jokes. But you've never really taken the time to look at her as a woman independent of her job here. She's pretty in her own way, you surmise, a kind of old fashioned beauty you'd find in oil paintings of medieval women. 

She dresses plainly, her dark curls threaded with grey often in a ponytail. Sometimes she wears glasses, but more often than not its contact lenses. She's always kind to everyone at the office. The kind of woman who loves so freely you can't help but enjoy her company.

If she was a bit younger you actually think she'd suit someone like Joel. Someone who needs to be loved tenderly.

Huh. Where did that idea come from?

You don’t want to be thinking about Joel right now, you want to be enjoying the overflowing plate of sashimi between you and Kathleen. You want to enjoy her company and help to make this summer’s event one to remember. 

"Maybe personalized swag bags?"

Kathleen is so excited she half chokes on a roll, sending bits of rice everywhere. 

"Genius!"

///

Joel can still hear the sound of beeps at night. Only if he's overindulged on cheap beer or has had shitty sleep. And with that sound is the inevitable wheeze of old machinery, the click of buttons dispensing painkillers, the steady beat beat beat of her heart on the screen. 

The cancer was so fast that chemotherapy was never an option. Michelle always said that this was a blessing because she got to keep her hair. She'd always had such gorgeous raven hair she'd braid to just below her chin that often smelled like peaches. 

But during that last week, she looked frail in their bed at home, her hair frizzed, her cheeks gaunt. 

She wanted to be at home that last week, in the cramped two-bedroom Michelle had tried to spruce up years ago on a shoestring budget. Back when they were younger and in love and didn't care about money as long as they had each other. 

Back before things got complicated. 

In the week leading up to her death, Michelle was often in and out of consciousness, propped up in her mountain of pillows. The Afghan her mother knitted placed over her legs. 

"We never got a dog," she said weakly as the rain cried itself down the windowpane. She looked near tears as Joel crossed the room, placing his toolbox at the door before kneeling beside the bed.  

"We never wanted one, honey," Joel reminded her with a palm brushing the hair from her face. 

"I didn't," she corrected, turning those large brown eyes his way. "But you did." 

When she wasn't mired in the "what ifs" of their relationship, she was quietly amused at Joel's poor cooking skills and how she'd wake up from a nap to find him sitting next to the bed with the football game on quietly. 

"Just think, your next wife might actually like watching football," Michelle said with a wry grin.

Joel didn't smile back though.  "Don't say that." 

"Joel c'mon," Michelle said, pressing a hand over his forearm. His heavy hand sandwiched hers there, thumb rubbing small circles. Michelle had seen the glossy sheen to his eyes, heard the catch in his voice. 

"Honey, I don't want to think-"

"Well I do," Michelle said stubbornly, mouth pursed. "And since I'm the one dyin’ here, I'd say I win the argument." 

Joel couldn't help but smile at that dark humor Michelle was known for. He believes it was because she was a nurse and had seen so much dark shit that the only way to survive was to laugh. He’d never been one for dark humor though, and her inevitable death was doing nothing to change that.

"I've made a list," Michelle said, motioning to the closed notebook in front of her. "A checklist on what you need in a future wife." 

"I don't want another wife," Joel said with a squaring of his broad shoulders. He couldn't imagine a topic less pleasant. 

"Of course you don't right now," Michelle said with a roll of her eyes. "But you might one day. You're not that old, Joel. You won't want to spend the next forty or fifty years alone." 

Joel never thought in terms of being old and alone. Every day was a struggle these weeks, barely able to keep his head above water between working and being home with Michelle. He felt her light fingertips tap him lightly.

"Just look at the list, would you?"  

Joel exhaled slowly, coming to slide the notebook his way over the lap table. Michelle watched him with a curious glint in her eyes. Only Michelle would make a list like this, thinking of him in the future.

Joel cleared his throat, peering at the list with eyes that would soon need glasses. The elevens between his brows deepened. 

"Number one; She has to be smart." 

"I mean that's a given," Michelle said as if it were the most obvious thing ever. "If she's ambitious too then that's perfect. You don't do well with women who sit around doing nothing." 

Joel nodded, amusement touching his lips as he continued.

"Number two: she has to be kind. Not just ‘gives to charity at Christmas’ kind. The real kind of kind." Joel frowned. "The hell does that mean?"

"Real kindness is done without hope of recognition," Michelle explained. "Like they wanna make the world better in their own way."

"Number three: she has to be good in bed." At this Joel lowered the book, shooting his wife a sardonic look, one brow raised. "Really, Michelle?"

"You wanna be stuck with someone who doesn't get your dick hard?"

"Jesus. Okay, number four: she has to make Joel laugh." 

The book was lowered once more. 

"That's an important one," Michelle said, fingers weakly rising from beside her in bed to graze his cheek. 

"Sometimes you get so focused, so serious. Taking care of me and your brother and everyone else that you forget to have fun. You need someone that brings out the laughter." 

Joel nodded, looking at his wife. He closed the book, not wanting to read more for the moment.  Michelle fell quiet, eyes casting around the room as if to memorize it. The two of them sat in quiet contemplation. 

Michelle finally gazed up at her husband, the telltale worry in her dark eyes. Guilt soon edged it out. 

"Joel, I know I haven't been the best wife. Especially the last few-"

"Honey, no," Joel said, cutting her off, hands going to grip hers. "We're not doin' that."

"I know I have no right to ask you for anything."

"I'll give you anythin'," Joel promised firmly. "Anythin' you need." 

"Just promise me that you won't give up on fallin’ in love again. Your heart is so big, you have so much to share. Don't hide it away." Her eyes bounced between his. "Promise me, Joel. Swear it on my life. Swear it like nothin’ you've ever sworn before."

She lay there with fat tears on her cheeks and a tremble of her full lower lip. How could he say anything else? 

"I swear."

///

"Good morning, beautiful.”

A voice murmurs above you the following morning. You glance up to see Jacob there, in the flush of health with a grin on his handsome face. The rest of the office is a quiet drone in the background, but with Jacob here it feels more colorful.

"Finally!" You say, standing to wrap him in a quick hug. "This place was way too quiet without you."

You grip his shoulders, smile turning into a frown as you drop your hands from him, taking a step back. "Actually, I'm mad at you." 

You fall back into your seat, fingers going back to typing. He says your name quietly and you continue playfully ignoring Jacob as he gapes at you.

"Hello? What the hell are you mad at me for?" 

You covertly glance from side to side, lowering your voice to ensure that only Jacob can hear you. "I can't believe you put all those condoms in my pocket!"

His worry is replaced with glee and he hides a laugh behind a cough.

"You needed protection," Jacob defends with a muffled giggle, "unless you wanna end up with kids."

"You know I don't." 

Having children has never interested you. While other children played Mommy and house, you preferred to shape LEGO in the design of unique buildings or houses. You simply couldn't relate to the idea of motherhood being something of interest. 

And as you grew that feeling stayed with you, never really understanding the motivation for others to have a child. You loved them of course, but having them? No, it never sat well. 

It's why you and your college boyfriend didn't work out. He wanted kids and you knew you never did. You've never felt maternal, never picked out baby names or imagined what an infant of yours would look like. 

It's been the catalyst for a lot of your single years. Most of the men you've been with insist that they want kids "one day", that you'll "change your mind when you get older".  

Well, you're older and the feeling is still here. 

"Then you should be thanking me," Jacob grins, shrinking away when you go to slap him. "I was just trying to help a friend be safe!" 

His hands wrap around your slapping wrist and the two of you collapse into laughter. It's hard to stay mad at Jacob when he's just like a mischievous real-life Puck. He mutters something about grabbing a coffee, leaving you to look at today’s schedule.

No Joel booked for today. Working off-site.

Again.

He hasn’t done this much off-site work in all the time you’ve known him.

Joel has been avoiding you all week. You’ve been ensuring that you keep it professional, only contacting him with work-related questions and more. It doesn’t mean you haven’t been jumping at the sound of your phone going off during the past few days. It’s usually Jacob or an alert from socials.

Just then there's a quiet murmur from the far hallway, the sound of an elevator ding and the energy in the room changes. 

Joel is here. 

You can tell it by the chill that goes through the office. The way smiles are dimmed and voices hushed. The way Kathleen walks quickly by your desk with a bunch of files in her arms and a frazzled look on her face. 

"Might wanna keep your head down today,” Jake murmurs as he passes your desk on the way back from the good coffee machine. You raise your eyes from your screen, brow furrowed. 

"How come?"

"Miller is here and he's in a bad fucking mood."

"What? He's not on the schedule." You click to make sure, frowning when you see he was supposed to be working off-site. He didn’t update the schedule. Your eyes sail back to Jacob. "Why is he in a bad mood?"

"No idea. Your dad and him were talking in the hallway and then suddenly he was all pissed off. Bit off everyone's head downstairs."

Great. 

You wave Jacob off before going back to your work emails, still distracted that Joel would show up.  Did he want to see you? Is he feeling different now that you've done really intimate stuff together? Is he actually trying to find a reason to be around you? 

Why does that make your skin tingle? 

You hear the distant ping of the elevator and you tense up. He moves quickly, voice low and dulcet as he passes one of the finance officers. 

"And those numbers aren't ready because…?"

"I'm so sorry," Terry says, big eyes wet behind her oversized purple specs. "I thought you said by end of day."

Another voice rings out now, louder and much more boisterous. You glance up to see your father smiling at Terry, looking comforting as Joel frowns, arms crossed. 

"Not a problem Terry. Joel here is just being extra on the ball. End of day is more than fine." 

Terry gives a wobbly relieved smile, nodding before rushing back off to speak with the rest of her team. You catch your dad's eye and he gives you a wink and a smile, mouthing "good morning" before wandering over to Kathleen's desk. 

Your eyes dart back to the computer screen when you notice Joel heading your way. Your eyes go to his crotch, almost like a magnet. He’s wearing his usual jeans but you’re sure you notice a bulge there now.

I know what his penis looks like.

You have the most perverse urge to laugh right now, cackle right in the middle of this crowded workplace pointing at Joel’s jeans and running around announcing your victory. But you hold yourself together, typing slowly. 

Your pulse pounds brutally, a staccato of your heartbeat against your ribs as a shadow is cast over you. The scent of sandalwood and leather falls over you, making your body thrum. You breathe slowly as your eyes begin moving up his buttoned shirt, moving to that jaw, his full mouth, that sharp nose and then, finally, those arresting dark brown eyes. 

Suddenly nothing is funny. Everything about him is intimidating, including the python you know he's packing. 

"M-morning," you offer through a stutter. 

"Mornin'," he says flatly. "Messages?"

He doesn't seem to be acting any different than before your foray into the hotel room. How can he be so casual? Maybe Joel can teach you a few things about how to act totally casual after having another person's genitals in one's mouth. 

You feel flustered, fingers clumsy as you pick up the package of mail from the last two days. You go to hand it to him, sure not to touch his skin for fear you'd make some humiliating noise. He looks so handsome, so tall and broad and... Why is he just standing there staring at you? 

"Mind lettin' go?"

You force your eyes from him down to where your fingers still clutch the envelopes in a death grip. "Oh, sorry." 

Get a fucking grip you loser. 

You quickly sit down at your desk, cheeks burning in embarrassment. You avert your eyes to the floor, fingers poised over the keyboard. You wait for Joel to stride past you as he always does when he's in a mood at work. You wait for the slamming door, distracted tapping on his phone. But today he pauses, shifting from one shoe to the other. You see them in your eye line, ankles flexing slightly. 

Then he moves past, jeans rasping as he goes. You're entire body is tensed, not ready to release until his door is closed. He clears his throat lightly from behind you. 

"Hey, uh, before I get caught up in stuff are you free to talk for a minute?"

You raise your head slowly before glancing over your shoulder to see Joel standing at the doorway of his office with his brows raised. He's got a strange energy about him, as if he's forcing himself to appear relaxed. You make your mouth attempt a smile. 

"Yes, of course." 

He watches you stand, eyes trailing after you as approach. He stands there in the narrow doorway, making it so that you graze him in your effort to squeeze past into the office. You feel like he's holding his breath. 

He follows you in, door closing quietly behind the two of you. The air is thick with tension, the silence oppressive. 

You take the seat you're accustomed to: the one with sumptuous leather covering. You sit there, knees pressed together as you wait. 

Joel walks at a slow pace to his desk. You watch with tensed shoulders as he slowly moves back behind his desk, lowering himself into his chair with a muffled sigh. 

What is this about? Is he unhappy with the Deetz file? You had no choice but to double check with him. You were just doing your job. 

You watch his forearms prop against the desktop, his dark eyes tracing your face. It feels like intimidation as much as curiosity. 

You cross your legs, smoothing your blouse and trying to look professional. You're trying to focus on work. But all you can think of right now is the other morning with Joel groaning your name in bed. 

C'mon pretty girl, you've got this.

As if he can tell your heated thoughts his eyes drift away from yours, moving to the paperwork on his desk. 

"I think it's time we called this off," Joel says quietly.

He says it so casually you don't register what he's talking about. He's so detached, his face unreadable. 

This? 

Wait, does he mean the list?

When you finally do understand your stomach plummets to the ground, leaving you dizzy. 

"You mean the list."

Joel nods as you scramble to understand. Your fingers are twisting the cuffs of your left sleeve anxiously, tongue wetting your dry lips.  

"Did I do something wrong?"

Joel's big hand waves off that suggestion, his head slowly moving from side to side.

"S'not anythin' you did. I just think we've done enough and it's a good stoppin' point." 

You digest his words with a slow inhale, trying not to look upset. You'd really been looking forward to knocking more items off the list. Specifically number one, but properly this time. But that's not going to happen now is it? Not with Joel at least. 

"Right. Okay." Your face feels hot. "It's just I.... I thought we were working well together."

His brows rise, like he's confused you'd talk back. Joel is quiet, jaw clenching, one hand resting on the desk, the other now gripping the arm of his chair.

"Best to end it before we go too far," Joel adds with a tight exhale. 

What counts as too far? You've already had your mouth around his cock, his fingers in your cunt. How much further is there? 

"You don't think what we've done already is too far?" 

Joel straightens in his chair, tossing his pen with a soft clack onto the desk. It's a casual move, one that shows you he's calm and collected whereas you are almost trembling in your shoes. 

Your hands go to curl around the arms of your own chair, holding your body still. You start internally trembling.  

You feel foolish sitting there in front of him, knees pressing against the cool wood of his desk, eyes wide, disappointment barely concealed. 

Joel sits there stonily, not saying anything. But his dark brown eyes pierce you, holding you there in your seat like a pinned butterfly. 

"I should go," you offer with a whisper, rising and walking to the door. You want to leave quickly but your feet drag. 

No more list with Joel. No more groans and whimpers. No more dimpled smirks and knowing gazes. It's over. 

Insecurity is running through you, the scratch of Joel's pen against paper behind you pierces the grave silence. 

What screwed up? 

Your heel plants in the carpet, propelling you into a slow spin to face Joel once more. He's hunched over his desk now, signing some of the contracts. You take a step towards him, wincing. 

"You're sure I didn't do something wrong at the hotel?" Your voice is creaky, your throat bobbing as you swallow. 

"I'm sure."

"It's just...I really hope I didn't make you unc-"

You're cut off by the sharp smack of his palm against the top of his desk. It cracks the quiet room like a whip and you jerk backwards a step. 

"I'm done talkin' about this," Joel snaps. 

All that confidence you'd been stoking the fires of today seems to disappear, snuffed out. 

"Okay, okay," you say backing up further. "Forget it. Forget all of it."

He sits there with a cloudy expression, like your presence is upsetting him further. And if he were anyone else maybe you'd fight him on it. Maybe you'd insist that what you'd been doing has been working. 

But he's Joel Miller, your dad's best friend, your boss. He intimates you within the walls of The Mill Group. He's not someone you want to get on the wrong side of.

He's also not a very good man; firing Brian, his unkindness to Tommy.  This is why you chose him, why you allowed this entire thing to continue, the knowledge that you wouldn't get too emotional.

And so you nod politely, forcing a smile to your face. 

"I won't bring it up ever again."

[jazzdalorian]

to call you mine

chapter four: something’s got to give

masterlist | series masterlist

“You’re gonna stop pretendin’,” he growls. “Stop actin’ like this don’t mean nothin’. Not when you’re so fuckin’ wet I could slide into you right now without even tryin’.”

Pairing: dbf!Joel x female reader

Summary: Joel’s been missing you. So much so, he plans a whole work event just to get his hands on you. When you spend most of your time laughing with his brother, Joel finds an excuse to get you alone, and makes it clear exactly who you belong to.

Tags: *SMUT!! MDNI - age gap (24/45), dad’s best friend, cursing, consumption of alcohol, angst!!, jealous, possessive joel, *unprotected p in v sex.

Wc: 7.7k

Authors note: uhhh hell yeah we’re fuckin’! finallyyyyy. once again thank you so much to all the love on this series so far. as always any feedback and a reblog goes such a long way, i can’t explain how much i love your reactions and thoughts and getting to engage with u all! enjoy, let’s get laid!! ✨

dividers by @saradika-graphics 🖤

It’s eight-thirty in the morning, and the heat is already oppressive.

Bright honey sunbeams lick at the back of your neck as you sit at the breakfast table, legs pulled up, your headphones sat snuggly over your ears, head absently bobbing to the beat flowing through them.

The back door is wide open, drenching the kitchen in a golden glow that stretches across the floor, climbs up the legs of your chair and warms your fingers as you brush the crumbs from your half eaten toast back onto the plate.

Even through your music, you can hear the dull rumble of your dad pushing the lawnmower back and forth over the grass in the yard in his usual determined silence, lost in another tranquil weekend chore.

It’s oddly soothing, in a way that tugs at fading childhood memories.

You sigh softly, letting yourself melt back against the chair, head tipping back as you let the sunlight pour over your face.

Your eyes fall closed as you hum under your breath, soaking up how everything feels easy, peaceful for the first time in weeks.

And for a fleeting moment, everything remains perfect.

Until -

One side of your headphones suddenly pulls back, snapping back against your ear with enough force to startle you upright.

“What the fuck - ” you yell, almost spilling your coffee as your eyes fly open.

Your eyes immediately land on Joel, leaning all too casually against the edge of the table with an infuriating, smug smirk plastered on his face.

“Mornin’, sweetheart.”

Your heart slams against your ribs, both from the startling intrusion and… well, him.

He looks good. Too good.

Worn jeans and a soft grey t-shirt clinging to his frame just a little too well, a light sheen of sweat lacing the hair at his temples.

You scowl at him, lowering your headphones around your neck. “You scared the hell outta me, asshole.”

Joel chuckles, his eyes amused as they trace over your flustered expression.

“Didn’t mean to,” he murmurs, though the grin on his lips tells you otherwise.

You raise an eyebrow skeptically, your pulse still racing as you reach to pause your music. “Oh yeah, you look real sorry, Miller.”

“Maybe I just like seein’ you get all worked up.” he shrugs, leaning more comfortably against the table.

You try not to smile, but it’s pointless.

It’s been over a week since you’ve seen him properly, his shifts with your dad running late into the evenings while they make the most of the long stretches of summer daylight.

It’s left little room for the two of you to be close like this, intimate in a way that extends beyond an awkward hug goodbye with your dad looming close behind.

“Didn’t know you were a, uhh, breakfast with headphones kinda girl.”

You bite your lip to conceal the laugh that almost breaks free in response to his weak attempt at casual conversation.

With a soft hum, you lean back in your chair, crossing your arms over your chest. “Didn’t know you were the type to break into people’s kitchens uninvited.” you challenge.

“Door was open,” he says, holding his hands up defensively. “Besides, ain’t like you’re just ‘people’.”

The sentiment knocks you still for a moment, your hands dropping to steady yourself against the table, a warm weight settling right between your ribs.

You open your mouth to reply, but before you can even string a cohesive sentence together, Joel’s hand reaches out, fingers carefully brushing your hair behind your ear.

Your eyes lift to his, finding them full of warmth, and for a second, you nearly forget to breathe.

Joel smiles knowingly. “Missed y - ”

“Goddamn piece of shit mower!” your dad’s voice cuts sharply through the kitchen. “Packed in on the last patch of grass.”

You startle, shifting backwards in your seat as Joel straightens back against the edge of the table. He puts a casual amount of distance between you both as your dad stomps into the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dirty rag.

”Piece of junk. Should’ve - ” he stops short when he sees Joel, his brows lifting in surprise. “Shit, Joel, didn’t know you were here yet.”

“Didn’t want to interrupt the mower funeral.” he chuckles.

Your dad barks out a laugh as he tosses the rag onto the counter. “Might have to bury the damn thing.” he grumbles before gesturing vaguely towards you. “Hope this one’s not givin’ you trouble.”

“Me? What the hell - ”

“Nah” Joel cuts in, his eyes slowly moving back to you. “She’s bein’ real good.”

You shoot him a scolding glare, ignoring the desire that heats your belly as you lower your leg to kick him from beneath the table in a silent warning.

Of course, he just stands there grinning, like he gets some sick kind of enjoyment out of teetering so dangerously close to the edge of saying something that your dad is too oblivious to piece together.

Your dad groans as he slumps himself down into one of the chairs around the table, his coffee spilling over the rim of his mug as he sets it down clumsily.

Joel follows suit, taking the seat across from you, his eyes watchful as you adjust awkwardly in your seat, pulling your headphones free from your neck.

You try not to squirm under his quiet scrutiny, but it’s a losing battle. His eyes are warm, longing, like he needs to be close to you again, needs to reach out and touch you.

Your dad slurps noisily at his coffee, your attention shifting away from Joel as you grimace, shooting him an irritated look that he misses entirely.

“Oh shoot - before I forget,” your dad snaps his fingers together. “You workin’ tonight?” he asks, his mug half raised back to his lips.

“No,” you answer cautiously. “Night off. Why?”

Joel leans back in his chair, arms folding loosely across his chest, a sly smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

It’s subtle enough that your dad would never notice, but not you. You’ve spent far too long watching his mouth, memorizing the curve of it when he smiles, the way it tugs higher on the left when he’s holding back a thought he’s not supposed to say out loud.

“We wrapped up the East Riverside job yesterday,” your dad says, sharing an accomplished look with Joel. “Ahead of schedule. All those late nights this week finally paid off.”

He jerks his thumb in Joel’s direction. “This one decided we oughta celebrate. Barbecue down at the site tonight with the crew, get some burgers on the grill, beers on ice.”

You glance back at Joel, and sure enough, he’s watching you carefully. “Your idea, huh?”

Joel lifts one shoulder in a casual shrug. “Someone’s gotta keep morale up around here.”

You fight the pull of a smile, teeth sinking into the inside of your cheek.

“Anyway,” your dad continues, “we could use an extra set of hands. Thought maybe you’d wanna join, since you ain’t workin’.”

You hesitate, contemplating the idea as you drum your fingers against the wood of the table. It would give you more time with Joel, sure. But your dad would be lingering, getting in the way of you being able to be with Joel in any way that you need him. Crave him.

“You up for it, kiddo?” your dad presses when you don’t answer straight away.

Joel arches an eyebrow. “Could use the help. Keep the guys in line.”

He says it like it’s nothing, but the look in his eye betrays him. He wants you there.

You drag your coffee closer to you, wrapping your hands around its warmth as you let out a resigned sigh.

“Yeah,” you say with a shrug. “Sure. Why not.”

Your dad grins, satisfied. “Atta girl. We’ll head out around five. You can ride with Joel, I’m pickin’ up some of the guys.”

You nod, hoping the way your stomach flips as your thoughts jump straight back to the last time you hitched a ride in Joel’s tuck isn’t written all over your face.

Your dad downs the last of his coffee, pushing back from the table. “Right. I’m gonna go shower, got goddamn grass all over me.”

You watch him head down the hall, not moving until you hear the bathroom door creak open, then thud shut a second later.

Joel claps two heavy hands against the tabletop before standing up, collecting the mugs and carrying them over to the sink.

“So,” you say casually, tilting your head to the side. “What would you have done if I was workin’ tonight?”

Joel misses a beat, not answering straight away. He rinses one of the mugs slowly, like he’s mulling over just how honest he wants to be. Then, he glances over his shoulder, a half smile tugging at his lips.

“Would’ve rearranged the whole damn thing,” he says simply. “Moved it to next weekend. Cancelled it or somethin’.”

You push your chair back, rising to your feet as a smile threatens at the edge of your lips. You bite it back, your tongue pushing into the side of your cheek as you step around the table, casually tucking your chair back under it.

“Just like that, huh?” you ask.

He shrugs, drying his hands on a dish towel. “Ain’t the same without you.”

You hum softly as you step closer, rounding the counter towards him slowly.

“So, you planned a whole party,” you say pointedly, watching his eyes track your every move, “just to see me?”

He turns to face you fully, the playful glint in his eyes turning hungrier.

“I’d plan a hell of a lot more than that just to see you, sweetheart.”

It only takes a step, maybe two, and then you’re right in front of him, stepping between his feet, your fingers curling into his shirt as his eyes fall to your mouth.

His hand lifts slowly, cupping your jaw, thumb brushing across your cheek.

“We shouldn’t. Not here.”

You nod, lips parting, but your body leans into him, defiant with desire.

“So don’t.” you challenge.

Joel’s jaw tightens, his movements faltering for just a second.

After a brief pause of reckless decision making, his hand slides from your jaw to the back of your neck, drawing you in with a quiet, strained urgency. His mouth presses warm against yours, a relieved moan pouring from his lips.

It starts off slow, like maybe he thinks there’s still time to pull back. But then your fingers tighten in his shirt as you press your body firmly against him, the soft swell of your breasts brushing against his chest and he snaps.

His other hand finds your waist as he knocks your legs open with his knee, pulling your cunt over his leg as he kisses you like he’s trying to make up for every minute he’s been deprived of you.

His tongue brushes against yours as you roll your hips to grind against the firm muscle of his thigh, your hands sliding up over his shoulders.

You moan into his mouth before you can help yourself, still chasing friction between your thighs. Joel pulls back with a pained groan against your lips.

“Jesus,” he grunts. “You tryna kill me? Doin’ that shit here?”

You almost laugh, but it dies in your throat when you see the look in his eyes. He looks pained, tortured, like he wants to take you, devour you, yet hates himself for it all at once.

Your knees suddenly feel unsteady.

“You started it,” you argue breathlessly, your fingers dragging lightly across his chest. “Plannin’ a whole damn barbecue just to see me,” you say between soft kisses to his jaw. “Don’t act surprised when I try to thank you properly.”

Joel huffs out a short, strained laugh. He leans to rest his forehead against yours, his nose brushing over yours gently.

“If your goddamn dad wasn’t upstairs…” he grits through his teeth.

“Then what?” you urge, pressing yourself harder against his thigh. “What would you do?”

His lips barely brush yours, just enough to make your head tip forwards, chasing more.

He shifts suddenly, switching your position as he presses you forwards, your hip bones bumping the edge of the kitchen counter. His palm slides flat against your lower back, guiding you down until your chest meets the cold marble.

Your breath catches, the chill biting into your skin, your cunt clenching with anticipation.

“I’d bend you right over this fuckin’ counter,” he growls quietly against your ear. “Show you just how much I missed you.”

”Fuck,” you breathe, your hands gripping tight against the counter.

Joel leans over you, one hand sliding down your side, trailing around to your midriff. “I’d make you beg for it,” he drawls, inching his hips forwards. “Loud.”

You whine, pressing your thighs together as your hips grind back against him, desperate to feel more.

His lips press against the sensitive skin beneath your ear. “If I showed you all the things I’m thinkin’ darlin’,” he drawls sinfully, “you wouldn’t be walkin’ into that damn party.”

“Joel,” you whine, writhing restlessly beneath him.

He hums softly, stepping a strong leg between yours, forcing them apart. “Bet you’re already soaked for me,” he says, all too smug. “Bet you’d let me take you right here if I told you to, huh? Even with your daddy just upstairs.”

You nod your head dizzily, not thinking with any kind of logic, only the heat between your legs. “Please. I’ll be so good, Joel,” you whimper, pressing your breasts against the countertop. “Be so quiet, he won’t hear, I swear.”

Joel lets out a dark chuckle, your desperate pleas almost enough for him to give in.

Almost.

The warmth of him behind you disappears, and you’re left gripping the counter, breathless and aching.

You whip around, lips parted, but Joel’s already halfway to the door, eyes raking over you with a sickeningly smug smile.

He pushes a hand through his hair, like he’s completely unbothered by the fact that you’re left trembling in front of him.

“I’ll pick you up at five,” he says, “Don’t keep me waitin’.”

Your nostrils flare, your hands pulled into tight fists at your sides. ”You. Are such. An assho - ”

“Wear somethin’ pretty tonight” he interjects, gripping the handle as he steps around the door, humming thoughtfully. “Y’look good when you’re all fired up for me.”

And then, he just leaves.

You’re left staring at the door, heat pulsing low in your belly, underwear slick with need.

You want to scream. Instead, you pick up the dish towel beside you, scrunch it into a tight ball between your hands and launch it at the door he just left through.

“Fucker.” you mutter under your breath, turning back to the counter and leaning on your elbows, hanging your head in your hands.

Five o’fucking clock.

You spend most of the afternoon helping your dad load the truck, struggling to haul in the grill and a couple of propane tanks, followed by two coolers of beer, and way more burger buns than anyone’s realistically going to eat.

Once everything is packed, you disappear upstairs, spending far too long standing in front of your closet.

Three outfits later, you settle on a red sundress that clings in all the right places, just short enough that it will drive Joel out of his mind. After his little act earlier, you don’t even feel guilty about it.

At about four-thirty your phone vibrates with a notification.

Joel: On my way. Just grabbing some beers.

You stare at the message, your heart thudding against your ribs. You grab your bag, swiping on some lip balm before you head downstairs.

Your dad left about ten minutes ago, eager to get on with his rounds of picking up the guys who’ll drink far too much to make it home by themselves later.

By the time Joel’s truck rumbles to a stop at the end of your driveway, you’re already out of the front door before he can even text his arrival.

Your dress sways around your thighs as you step down the porch steps, an apprehensive lick of heat warming your lower abdomen just from the way Joel’s eyes track you from behind the windshield.

The engine’s still running when you pull open the passenger door, sliding into the seat with a sigh, the leather warm against the backs of your thighs.

Joel’s eyes trace over your bare legs, then your neckline, all the way up to your lips.

“That red’s gonna be the fuckin’ death of me,” he groans.

You smirk. “You’re the one who said to wear something pretty.”

“Didn’t expect you to weaponize it,” he mutters under his breath.

You laugh softly as you buckle your seatbelt, your lips falling into a mocking pout.

“Aw. Call it karma, asshole.”

He chuckles, reversing out of the driveway with one hand braced on the back of your seat. “Alright, y’got me there.”

The drive starts out quiet, the warm air slipping into the truck through the open window as you make your way out of the neighbourhood.

A few minutes in, you jump as Joel clears his throat.

“We should probably talk.”

You frown, a little thrown off by the shift. “Talk?”

“’Bout last week.”

Your eyes remain fixed on the windshield. “What about it?”

“Wanna be sure we’re on the same page.” he says. “I ain’t lookin’ to screw up your life, or cause shit with your dad.”

You huff, leaning your head back against the seat. “Joel, it’s not that deep.” you brush off his concern quickly.

He glances over to you, raising a brow. “It’s not?”

“No,” you lie smoothly, maybe a little too fast. “We’re just… messing around. That’s all.”

Joel’s jaw tightens, fingers drumming against the wheel, the way you’ve noticed they seem to do when he’s stuck in his head, holding something back.

You watch him from the corner of your eye. “Aren’t we?” you ask, feigning indifference even as your stomach twists uncomfortably.

He doesn’t look at you. “If that’s what you want it to be,” he says carefully.

You shrug, pretending that the idea doesn’t sting.

“I mean,” you say, forcing a small laugh, “we’d be insane to make it anything else, right? My dad would literally kill you.”

Joel’s face is unreadable. “Yeah,” he agrees with a short nod. “He might.”

The silence that follows isn’t easy this time. It stretches between you uncomfortably, like the facade of each of your indifference is a blanket suffocating you both.

You stare ahead, blinking hard, your throat tightening.

Eventually, Joel nods towards the windshield. “Almost there.”

You nod quickly too, eyes remaining fixed forwards defiantly, like not looking at Joel will remove whatever this conversation just stirred.

Joel turns down the final stretch of road, tires easily slipping over the freshly laid tarmac as the new neighborhood unfolds in front of you.

It’s eerie how complete everything looks.

The houses are done, porches patiently waiting for welcome mats, but the streets are still quiet, untouched by the noise of kids learning to ride bikes, or neighbours gathering under the summer sun.

It feels like you’re stepping into a paused moment, a place still waiting to become something.

Joel shifts the truck into park near the curb of the shared green space, a wide stretch of grass between the rows of empty homes.

Someone’s already dragged a folding table out into the center, coolers stacked at either end, a speaker perched on the tailgate of your dad’s truck playing something you can’t make out from here.

The grill is already fired up, smoke slowly curling upwards into the hazy gold of the late afternoon sky.

When he finally kills the engine, you reach to unbuckle your belt, but Joel’s hand wraps over yours, stopping you short.

“You sure you’re alright?” he asks quietly.

You lift your eyes to meet his, finding him leaning back against his chair, one arm casually draped over the wheel like he hasn’t been knotted tight with tension since you left the house.

“I’m fine,” you say, but the words come out strained. You clear your throat and try again. “Are you?”

Joel huffs as he yanks the keys from the ignition. “Fuckin’ peachy.”

You roll your eyes at his sarcasm, but offer a small smile anyway. “C’mon. Game face.”

You’re already pushing the door open before he can say anything else, sliding down from the cab as you smooth your dress, trying to ignore the way you feel his eyes on you.

He slams his own door behind him, grabbing the cooler from the bed of the truck before he heads towards the others.

Your dad spots you both first. He waves Joel over, beer in hand, flanked by a couple other guys near the grill. One you recognise, Denny, a longtime crew member who always calls you ‘sunshine’ because you’re pretty sure he can’t actually remember your name.

“‘Bout damn time!” your dad calls, grinning. “Thought you got lost or somethin’.”

“Blame Joel!” you call back, lifting a hand to shield your eyes from the glare of the sun as you walk across the green. “Drives like he’s eighty.”

Joel grunts, shaking his head as he waves off the jab. “Stopped for more beer. Know what these guys are like.” he gestures with his thumb towards the group.

He drops the cooler with a solid thud at your dad’s feet, who laughs and claps him on the back before turning to you.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says, reaching out to pull you into a one armed hug, the scent of smoke already clinging to his shirt. “Told these idiots I roped you into helpin’. Said they oughta be grateful.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Yeah, yeah. Always happy to slave away for free.”

The men laugh, and your dad gives your shoulder a squeeze before tipping his chin towards the group.

“You remember Denny,” he says, gesturing to the older man who gives you a grunt and a wave. “And this here’s Sammie,” he adds, nodding towards the guy you don’t recognize. “Newest fella on the crew. Joined us right at the start of this job.���

You nod politely as they offer you their own greetings. Sammie’s significantly younger than Joel and your dad, maybe your age or a little older, with a confident smirk that reminds you far too much of boys who don’t know when to quit.

“Y’all be nice to her,” your dad warns with a mock glare. “Last thing I need is her tellin’ me how much dumber y’all get with a drink in your hand.”

You laugh softly, eyes still scanning the green with a furrowed brow, expecting to see at least one more familiar face.

“Wait. Where’s - ?”

“Right here, trouble.”

You turn at the sound of Tommy’s voice as he strolls up from the direction of the trucks, beer in hand, his face painted with a grin.

He opens his arms without hesitation and you step right into them, his hand ruffling the back of your hair like always.

“Good to see ya,” he says, pulling back but keeping a firm hand on your shoulder. “Feels like it’s been forever.”

“It’s been, what, three weeks?,” you say with a soft roll of your eyes.

“Yeah, well. Missed you anyways,” he gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze.

You hear Joel’s low laugh from behind you, but when you glance his way, he’s not smiling, his jaw grinding tightly.

Tommy doesn’t seem to notice. “C’mon,” he says, draping an arm around you. “You gotta help me find the good beer before the old timers get to it.”

You let him steer you a few feet away to the fold out table, arm still draped lazily around your shoulders like its second nature. You don’t have to look back to know Joel’s eyes are unwaveringly following you.

Tommy flips the lid on one of the coolers, squinting through the sun as he rummages through the ice.

“There's gotta be somethin’ good in here,” he mutters, pushing aside the drinks impatiently. “You didn’t let Joel pick, right? Man drinks the same shit he did in the nineties.”

You laugh under your breath, nudging his side. “Unfortunately, he bought the beer before he picked me up”

“Tragic,” Tommy sighs, but then his expression brightens as he pulls out a bottle of something a little less cheap and watered down. “Now we’re talkin’.”

He cracks the bottle open against the edge of the cooler and presents it to you theatrically. “For you, my lady.”

You roll your eyes, but take it with a small, uncontained laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously thoughtful,” he corrects, holding his beer in the air. “To survivin’ your dad’s burnt burgers.”

You laugh again as you raise your own bottle, clinking it softly against his before pressing the rim against the smile still resting at your lips, taking a long, refreshing sip.

The two of you lean casually against the table, the warm sun stretching golden across the empty neighborhood.

Joel is still standing with the others near the grill, half listening to whatever your dad appears to be ranting about, tongs flailing around in his hand - but his eyes haven’t left you once.

There’s a heat in his eyes that burns just as hot as the sunbeams warming your skin. His look is fixed, unrelenting as he watches the way your head tips back as you laugh, the way Tommy leans into you when he says something that makes you roll your eyes.

It makes something in him stiffen, his body taught with a rigid tension that you can feel even from here.

He’s pissed. But he’s holding it back, barely.

“C’mon,” Tommy says, nudging your elbow as he takes another sip of his drink. “Let’s head back before your dad starts shoutin’ about how we’re slackin’.”

You huff as you push off the table, brushing your hair behind your ear, still too aware of the heat prickling across your skin as Joel watches you both make your way back.

Every step feels like you’re walking towards the eye of a storm, an unmistakable feeling of dread licking up your spine.

The tension rolling off Joel is thick, coiled tight beneath his skin, obvious in the tight line of his lips, the way he watches you through narrowed eyes.

He doesn’t say a word as you rejoin the group, just shifts a half step to the side when Tommy slots himself into the space between you both.

Your fingers tighten around the neck of your bottle as you divert your attention towards the grill, hiding from his heated glare.

Your dad’s complaining about all the paperwork left to file for the job, his voice raised over the hiss of fat hitting flames on the grill.

“They always say it’s the build that takes the most time,” he says, tongs still waving in the air. “But I swear the worst part is all the damn signatures.”

Tommy laughs under his breath, then nudges your arm with his elbow. “So what’s new? Still workin’ nights at the bar?”

“Unfortunately,” you nod, sipping your beer. “My manager acts like I'm contractually obligated to die behind the counter.”

Your dad lets out a grunt of agreement. “She’s right y’know. Works her too damn hard. Joel here’ll tell you the goddamn unholy hours he’s picked her up”

Joel shifts uncomfortably, shoving his hands in his pockets, jaw ticking ever so slightly.

Tommy lets out a low whistle. “Damn. Want me to key his car?”

You laugh again, too easily. You catch yourself, conscious of the way Joel’s watching.

“Ever think of doin’ somethin’ else?” Tommy presses, casual but interested. “Could join us guys out here, keep us idiots in line.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, sure. Like I could keep you in line.”

Tommy grins, a warm laugh escaping his chest.

“I’m serious!” he insists, lifting his arms to exaggerate the point, his beer sloshing around the bottle and almost escaping the rim. “We’d have so much fun. No more finishin’ work at two in the mornin’.”

You squint at him, entirely skeptical. “I don’t know, you guys still finish pretty late sometimes.”

Tommy scoffs, waving off your argument.

“I can picture it now. ‘Get those beams up stat!’,” he imitates in an unflattering attempt at your voice, pointing aggressively with one hand. “‘That concrete needs pourin’ within the hour!’.”

Your dad barks a laugh, still flipping the burgers on the grill. “You’d sure keep our asses in gear, kiddo”

You scowl playfully, arms crossed over your chest. “I don’t even sound like that.”

“Sure you do,” Tommy laughs, raising his bottle again a little more animatedly. “‘Hey, boys, get those goddamn - ’,”

Before you can even process the subtle knock of Joel’s elbow against Tommy’s arm, the bottle jerks in his hand, beer splashing all over your front.

You flinch, a soft gasp passing your lips as the cold liquid sinks into the thin fabric of your dress. It trickles over your chest, sticky against your skin.

“Shit,” Tommy blurts, hunching over a little towards you as he panics for some kind of solution. “Fuck - I’m so sorry.”

Your hands hover uselessly over your soaked dress, your expression stuck somewhere between shock and blinding irritation.

“Damn. Clumsy ain’t ya?” Joel’s voice cuts through, dry and stoic.

You lift your gaze and immediately notice the glint in his eyes, the smug angle of his mouth.

You stare at him, gritting your teeth, your nostrils flaring with a breath you hope will quell the seething fire in your veins.

Without a fucking doubt, he did it on purpose.

Tommy’s still hopelessly apologising, his hands hovering awkwardly, like he doesn’t know whether to help or just back away. “Shit, really, I didn’t mean - ”

“It’s fine,” you cut in tightly, brushing his concern off with a forced, tight smile. Your fingers pinch the soaked fabric away from your chest where it’s clinging stubbornly.

“You want me to go grab some napkins or somethin’?” Tommy offers, already turning back towards the table.

“I got it.” Joel cuts in.

You glance at him just in time to see him catch the keys your dad tosses through the air.

“There’s towels in the kitchen in the show home,” your dad says distractedly, already turning back to the grill. “Ain’t got no electricity yet, but the water should be runnin’.”

You open your mouth to protest, mainly because you know exactly what Joel’s doing, but before you can speak, his hand finds the small of your back, already steering you away from the group.

Your fingers pry at the damp fabric around your stomach as you walk stiffly beside him.

“You did that on fucking purpose,” you hiss under your breath once you’re a few paces out of earshot.

Joel doesn’t say a word, just keeps walking, guiding you towards one of the vacant houses across the green with the same frustrating calm he always wears when he knows he’s in control of the situation.

“Joel,” you snap again, stepping free from his hold. “You bumped him. I saw.”

His jaw ticks, but he doesn’t stop moving. “He was swingin’ his damn beer around like a goddamn idiot. Just happened to be standin’ too close to you.”

“Sure.” you mutter.

You step up onto the porch of the house as Joel unlocks the door and swings it open, the scent of fresh paint and plaster hitting you as you step into the hallway.

You march your way through the house without waiting for him, searching blindly for the kitchen. You head straight for the sink, and count your blessings when the water actually sputters to life.

With a little effort, you lean over the sink, wordlessly squeezing the worst of the beer out of the fabric, watching as the water darkens with it and swirls down the drain.

You rinse the tops of your arms, dragging the cool water over the stickiness that clings to your collarbones, washing it over your chest.

Joel watches you far too calmly as you yank open different drawers until you find a towel, dabbing furiously at the soaked fabric clinging to your skin.

“You got somethin’ to say, Joel?” you snap, not even glancing at him.

Infuriating as ever, he doesn’t respond, probably with good reason. You’re not sure what excuse you’d even want to hear.

You continue pressing the towel over the fabric, but soon enough you grow tired of the futile effort and throw the towel on the floor before crossing your arms defensively over your chest.

Joel steps forwards silently, reaching to pick it from the floor before stepping slowly towards you. You eye him as he inches around you, wetting the towel slightly beneath the running water.

“C’mere,” he says softly, resting a hand on your shoulder as he draws you reluctantly closer to him.

Your body gives in before your head, moving to slot between his feet with a resigned sigh. He dabs the damp towel at your neckline without a word, ridding you of the sticky residue still uncomfortably coating your skin.

You lift your eyes to his face as he drags the towel gently over chest, before moving to the fabric of your dress. You soften only slightly as you trace the sorry lines of his expression, his furrowed brow, the tight muscle of his jaw as he mulls over what to say.

His eyes flick to yours, pausing for just a second before he pulls his attention back to his hands.

“Didn’t mean to piss you off.”

You let the silence hang for just a beat, eyes dropping to the towel still ghosting over your chest.

“Well,” you murmur, “you did.”

Joel’s lips press into a tight line. “Ain’t proud of that. I just - ” he hesitates, eyes tracing your face. “Didn’t like how close he was to you.”

“So you douse me in beer?” you scoff. “It’s only Tommy, for fuck sake, Joel.”

Joel looks at you, and you feel his frustration escalate, the space between his brows furrowed in a deep line.

Oh.

“You’re not mad about Tommy,” you say quietly, not sure if it’s an observation or an accusation.

Joel’s lips part, but nothing comes out right away. He lifts the towel again, brushes it once more across the damp fabric of your dress just to give him something to do.

“‘Course I’m mad about Tommy,” he says, pressing closer, crowding your space until your back hits the cool edge of the counter. His palm slides slowly down your side, settling below your ribs.

“But that ain’t all,” he murmurs. “That shit in the truck, what you said about this bein’ just some casual way to mess around..”

Your spine straightens as his hand drops to curl around your hip, pulling you into him until there’s no space between you.

“That’s what you’re mad about?” you whisper.

His jaw clenches. “You really think I planned a whole damn barbecue just to watch you spend it with my goddamn brother?”

You can’t help the stubborn roll of your eyes. “Joel - ”

“No,” he bites, cutting you off as his hand slides lower, gripping the top of your thigh. “You don’t get to pretend this ain’t more than that. Not when I’ve had you the way I have, beggin’ for more of me. Not when I’ve felt how much you fuckin’ want this.”

His hand hooks behind your knee, pulling your leg up, forcing you open to him as he hooks it around his waist. He slots himself between your legs, a rough hand sliding up your thigh beneath your dress.

“You can try and play it cool all you want, sweetheart, but you feel this,” he presses the hard line of his cock against your inner thigh, dragging a gasp from your throat. “Same way I do.”

You whimper softly, your chest rising sharply against his, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt.

“I never said I didn’t feel it,” you whisper. “I just…”

You trail off, because there’s no use. Not when you’re this close, not when your body is already thrumming with such an intense desire for him that it renders all logical reasons to say no utterly useless.

Joel can read your body like an open fucking book, secrets sprawled carelessly across the pages. It’s not complicated. He touches you, and you’re on fire, and he knows it.

The way you shudder beneath his fingers is all it takes.

His mouth presses against yours, and there’s nothing slow about it this time, his hunger and frustration pushing every trace of denial out of your head.

You moan into his mouth as his tongue licks against yours, his hand moving to cup between your legs, pressing against your slick underwear.

“You’re gonna stop pretendin’,” he growls. “Stop actin’ like this don’t mean nothin’. Not when you’re so fuckin’ wet I could slide into you right now without even tryin’.”

You whimper, head falling back as his mouth drags down your throat, lips pressing hard along your pulse.

Your hips jerk forwards into his hand as his fingers press slow circles over your clit, your nails biting into his shoulders.

“Fuck, Joel,” you whine, head spinning, limbs already feeling heavy yet weightless all at once.

You’re lost in the pleasure already, but Joel growls your name, pulling your attention back just long enough for him to look at you - really look at you.

“You want me to stop?” he asks, chest heaving. His eyes are blown with a reckless, insatiable kind of need, but beneath it there’s a sincerity, one that tells you no matter how bad he wants this, needs this, he can’t unless you say so.

Even now, when he’s burning with frustration, he’s giving you the chance to say no, would walk away if you asked.

You swallow, the tight pang between your ribs a painful reminder that, fuck, you’re not sure Joel could ever only be a bit of fun when he looks at you like this, like you’re the only thing that fucking matters.

“No,” you breathe, shaking your head. “Need you to fuck me.”

Joel’s jaw squares, his grip behind your leg tightening as he lifts you to sit on the marble counter.

“Then pull your pretty little panties to the side,” he orders, “and put your hands back on the fuckin’ counter.”

Your fingers tremble as you bunch your dress up around your hips and hook your underwear aside, breath hitching as the warm air hits your slick.

Your hands curl around the edge of the counter, back arching just enough to display your cunt to him, how you ache for him.

Joel groans just at the sight of you, his hand falling back between your legs, thumb dragging through the sticky mess of your desire before pressing hard against your clit again.

“You got no idea what the hell you do to me,” he rasps, his other hand fisting the fabric bunched around your waist, holding onto you desperately.

His hand drops from your cunt and you let out a pained whine as he moves to push his jeans just low enough to free his cock. He’s thick, hard, already leaking for you as he grips his length at the base tightly, dragging himself through your folds. You jerk a little as the tip presses over your clit, slick with your need.

His other hand still fists tightly at your dress, holding you still as he presses the thick head of his cock against your entrance.

”Ain’t got the time to be a gentleman about it, baby.” he warns, hips grinding forwards only slightly, just enough for you to feel how his size threatens to stretch you open.

You whimper at the first nudge of him, your hips rolling into him on instinct.

“Don’t fucking care. Just fuck me.”

There’s no easing into it, no slow stretch. Just a single, deep thrust that knocks the breath straight from your lungs and makes your fingers curl tight around the edge of the counter.

“Fuck,” Joel bites through gritted teeth, holding himself there for a second, buried to the hilt, your tight heat clenching desperately around him. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good, baby.”

Your legs tremble as they wrap around his waist, pulling him closer. It’s almost overwhelming how full you feel with him deep inside you.

You didn’t expect it to be like this, not just the stretch, the delicious ache, but the way your body welcomes him like it’s been waiting for him, like it was made for him.

Joel breathes heavily above you, forehead pressed to yours as he gives you a second to adjust.

“You okay?” he mutters, lips brushing yours.

You nod, but your breath comes out a little shaky. “Yeah. Just - fuck. Don’t stop.”

He pulls his hips back slowly, still too careful, like he's holding something fragile. You drag your nails lightly up his arms, and he groans when your hips roll towards him, greedy for more.

“Don’t hold back,” you plead. “I want it. Want all of you.”

“Shit.”

He sinks back into you with a grunt, hips pushing against yours at a pace that makes you feel every inch of him.

Your head tips back on a broken moan, your thighs trembling on either side of his waist as he fucks you harder, the skin at the back of your legs dragging over the counter under the force of his relentless pace.

Your skin heats at the lude, wet sounds of your bodies joining, the slap of his skin against yours echoing around the vacant house.

“Feel that, darlin’?” Joel growls against your neck. “How much I fuckin’ need you?”

You can’t answer, at least not with words. You’re too full, too warm, your blood burning too hot in your veins. All you can do is nod, gasping as his hips slam into yours harder, rougher.

“Still wanna pretend this is nothin’, huh baby?”

Your eyes flick to his, as he slows his thrusts back down, dragging his cock in and out of you at an agonising pace. Your mouth falls open as he circles his hips, nudging his tip perfectly against the tightly wound ball of heat in your abdomen.

You’re so fucking painfully close to cumming already it’s insane.

Joel dips his chin against his chest, gaze falling between your writhing bodies, watching the slow draw of his cock moving inside of you.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he groans. “Say it.”

“Yours,” you gasp without a second thought. “Yours, Joel.”

His hand curls around your throat, his lips pressing against yours in a clumsy, wet kiss that’s all tongue and uncontained need. His thrusts quicken, all his built up restraint slipping.

And you take it, all of it, because it’s him. And fuck, you‘d give him everything.

Your back arches into every thrust, the cabinets shuddering noisily beneath you, but you don’t care. All that matters is Joel, his body pressed to yours, the stretch of him inside you, the way he kisses you like it might be the only chance he ever gets.

“God, baby,” he mutters against your skin. “Squeezin’ me so goddamn tight. You close?”

You can’t even find your voice, just nod your head as you whimper under each punishing thrust of his hips. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, holding onto him like you’ll fall apart without feeling him close.

The heat pooling in your belly threatens to spill over, each brush of his cock inside your cunt pushing you closer, and closer, until finally, his hand moves, thumb pressing against your clit.

“Joel, oh my - fuck, don’t stop - ”

“I gotcha,” he grits through his teeth. “Wanna feel you come for me. C’mon baby girl.”

His hips falter a little, like he’s only holding on still just to feel you flutter tight around him when he finally gives in too.

“Shit,” you whine, but it’s not just with a lustrous need anymore. It’s a need to be his, to be wanted like this, by only him.

“Look at me.”

Joel’s hand slides up your throat again, guiding your gaze back to him. “Wanna see you fall apart for me.”

The moment your eyes meet his, you break.

Your thighs tremble around his hips as your pleasure rips through you, your blood thrumming hot through your limbs, your cunt clenching tight around him.

You barely register the sound Joel makes as he pushes himself deeper, grinding into you as he follows you over the edge.

“Fuck, baby, I - ” he breathes, rocking his hips through every wave of release.

His forehead falls against yours, heavy breath fanning against your cheeks.

There’s something strangely tender in the silence that follows. Joel stills inside you, his hands rubbing softly over your thighs.

“You okay?” he asks eventually, lips brushing yours.

You nod, still breathless. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Just… fuck.”

He laughs softly and presses a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth, then another against your jaw. His thumb strokes your waist, and when you glance up at him, you see it again, that look.

The one that makes your chest fucking ache.

Before either of you can say anything else, you hear muffled laughter outside across the green, and reality slams forcefully back into place.

Joel groans quietly. “Shit. We should get you cleaned up.”

You nod reluctantly, and he eases out of you with a low groan, reaching for the towel to help you wipe down.

He tugs your dress back down, smoothing the fabric as if it’ll remove any evidence that he just fucked you senseless on the kitchen counter.

You hop down on shaky legs, grabbing the edge of the sink for balance as he tucks himself back into his jeans.

Joel lingers in front of you, like he doesn’t want to move, like he’s not ready to step out of this moment yet.

And truthfully, neither are you. Because you both know once you walk out of that door, it’s back to pretending.

You share a look that doesn’t need any words, you both know you’re thinking the same thing.

“C’mon,” Joel echoes your words from earlier, taking a step towards the door and holding it open for you.

“Game face.”

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