millerillusions

[millerillusions]

This was so stunning, and such a nice idea! Enjoyed every moment, and the writing was truly incredible. These two are just so so sweet 🥹♥️❤️

Need Every Inch.

PAIRING : No outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

SUMMARY : Joel needs a last-minute suit for Tommy’s wedding. You happen to be a tailor, one Joel didn’t expect to be so attracted to. Maybe those definitely-not-professional jokes you make mean you're not indifferent either?

WARNINGS : 18+ SMUT MDNI, no outbreak AU, no ellie, no y/n, slight age gap, oral m! recieving, fingering, unprotected p in v (wrap it up people!), creampie, praise, pet names, so many innuendos, teasing, sexual tension, slightly insecure! Joel, fluff, slight inappropriate behaviour from reader but let’s close our eyes pls.

A/N: I wanted to write something from Joel’s POV this time, so this started as a quick oneshot & of course it ended up being much longer than I intended. Sorry not sorry about that! And because men in suits get me all hot and bothered here we are.... Full disclaimer: I know absolutely nothing about tailoring beyond what Google has taught me for this fic, so apologies in advance for anything inaccurate!

Here on AO3 | 18 k (I dont know what came over me)

Joel definitely needed a new suit.

He knew it before he even looked in the mirror. Felt it the second he pulled the damn thing on. The jacket was too short for his arms. The shoulders hugged too tight. The fabric strained across his chest like it was begging for mercy. And the buttons? He couldn’t get a single one to close.

A puff of laughter came from behind him.

“When’s the last time you wore that thing?” Tommy asked, smirking from where he sat perched on the edge of Joel’s bed, watching his brother with far too much interest.

“Years ago,” Joel muttered with annoyance, tossing the jacket somewhere in his room.

The answer was vague, but he knew exactly when it was. Almost two decades ago, the day he and Sarah’s mother said yes in a courthouse. Too young and too rushed. The suit had been bought just days before, off the rack and not even altered. Even then, he hadn’t cared about the suit itself. It was just something he had to wear.

He never bought another one. Never needed to.

Joel lived in work pants, worn-in T-shirts and if you asked his daughter, way too many flannels. Suits were for men with office jobs or lives that required polishing. He didn’t have either. And they weren’t cheap, anyway. Raising a daughter on his own meant every extra dollar went to more important things: shoes she’d outgrow in a month, school supplies, dinners that didn’t come from a can.

Spending money on something as useless as a suit? Not a chance.

He’d kept this one tucked away in the back of the closet, thinking naively that it would still fit if he ever needed it. That time hadn’t changed him that much. But years of hard living, heavier lifting, and broader shoulders had reshaped him. And the suit hadn’t gotten the memo.

Tommy leaned back on his palms, eyebrows raised. “And you were plannin’ on wearin’ that to my wedding ?”

Joel shot him a look. “Didn’t figure it’d be this bad.”

“Joel… you couldn’t button it if your life depended on it.”

Joel grunted. “Didn’t ask for your commentary.”

Tommy just smirked. “Well, I can’t have my best man standin’ next to me at the altar lookin’ like that. Sure, it’d make me stand out more, but still.”

“I’ll find somethin’,” Joel said simply.

“I’m gettin’ married in two weeks,” Tommy said pointedly. “You should’ve figured out weeks ago that thing wasn’t gonna cut it.”

Joel didn’t have much of a defence. Truth was, Tommy was right. He’d had plenty of time, but between long hours at work, planning the bachelor party, helping out with wedding errands, and just… life, it had fallen to the bottom of the list. He wasn’t proud of it.

“You need a proper suit,” Tommy continued, standing now. He looked at Joel through the mirror, their reflections side by side. “Not somethin’ off the same rack you buy your flannels from. A real one. Somethin’ that fits. Tailored.”

“I got no need for that,” Joel muttered, already unbuttoning his shirt, eager to change into something comfortable.

“You do,” Tommy said, folding his arms. “For my wedding. For Sarah’s middle school graduation in a few years. Hell, for your own funeral if Maria sees you without a proper suit at our wedding.”

Joel barked a dry laugh despite himself. “That’s a threat?”

“It’s a guarantee,” Tommy said, grinning. “And Maria’ll back me up.”

Finally in something more comfortable, a soft cotton T-shirt and old jeans, Joel turned fully to his brother.

“And where the hell am I supposed to get a proper suit,” he echoed, dragging out the word with emphasis, “in two weeks?”

“Give me a sec,” Tommy said, already pulling his phone from his pocket.

Joel watched as his brother tapped out a quick text, thumbs flying. Probably to Maria. Who else? Tommy was hopeless over her — had been from the jump — and far as Joel could tell, he didn’t make a single decision without her blessing. Not that Joel minded. She was sharp, the kind of woman who always had a plan.

He glanced at his reflection again, at the man staring back in the quiet morning light.

A new suit ?

It wasn’t like ten years ago. Hell, it wasn’t even like five. Joel had built something since then. Built it from the ground up, with his own two hands. A good life. He and Tommy ran a solid contracting business. He had a two-story house with an actual yard. Sarah had everything she needed and more. 

And for once, he had a little room to think about himself, not just what was necessary. He could afford it. A real suit. Something that wasn’t just practical or durable or bought on clearance. Something that might actually make him feel… good. Confident. Hell, maybe even a little handsome. Not that Joel thought he was an ugly man, never had. He knew how he came across. Rugged, solid. That quiet, hard-working edge that some women seemed to like. He didn’t have the easy charm Tommy had, but he held his own.  But it had been a long time since he felt it for himself. Since he’d looked in a mirror and seen someone worth dressing up. Worth the effort. 

“Maria’s got a place,” Tommy said, cutting through Joel’s thoughts. “Tailor shop over near East 6th. She says if you tell them you’re comin’ on her word, they’ll squeeze you in. Deadline and all.”

“And?”

“And what?”

Joel gave him a look. “What else did Maria say?”

A grin spread across Tommy’s face. “That you better be the world’s most polite client. Or she’ll personally kick your ass.”

Joel huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

That’s how, later that day, with the sun dipping low behind the buildings, Joel found himself standing in front of a little shop he’d never noticed before. Not that he drove this stretch of road often, but still, he’d lived in Austin his whole damn life. He liked to think he knew the city pretty well.

Then again, there’d never been a reason to notice it before.

Frank & Co. Tailoring.

The lettering on the sign was neat, understated. Just enough to catch the eye if you were searching for it. The place was classy, but not showy. The wood-panelled front had a warm, worn-in charm, the kind that said the shop had been around a while, quietly doing good work. In the window, a few sharp-looking jackets stood on mannequins, their fabrics catching the last of the afternoon light. Below them, a neat rack of ties and bow ties added colour, from deep blues to muted reds and subtle patterns,  all carefully arranged to invite a second look.

Joel leaned closer, peering through the glass. His brow furrowed; the place looked empty. He wondered, for a beat, if he was too late. He’d meant to get there earlier, but work, as it often did, had dragged longer than planned. He hadn’t even changed out of his slightly dusty clothes. Not the worst shape he’d ever been in after a day on site, but still… it felt like he should’ve made more of an effort.

But the lights were still on, and the little sign hanging on the door clearly read Open . So after brushing some dust off his pants like that was gonna make any real difference, Joel stepped inside.

A bell above the door chimed softly as he entered, and a voice called from somewhere in the back. “I’ll be there in a sec!” 

He stood there a moment, hands at his sides, suddenly very aware of how out of place he felt. The shop was smaller than he expected, but not in a bad way. Just… personal, he’d say. Wood tones, soft lighting, rows of folded shirts and fabric samples displayed with care. A few mannequins stood off to the side, dressed in sharp, clean lines, everything neatly arranged:  charcoal suits, earth-toned linens, deep navy wools. All of it well-made and tasteful.

Joel moved toward the front counter, his eyes drifting as he walked. Off to the side, he spotted what had to be the fitting area: a tall mirror framed in dark wood, a low platform in front of it, a tape measure draped over a nearby stool like someone had just stepped away mid-task. Private enough that someone standing there wouldn’t be seen from the front window. Toward the back, through an open doorway, he could make out what had to be the workroom: bolts of fabric, half-finished pieces on hangers and the low buzz of a machine humming somewhere out of sight. 

Almost without thinking, his fingers brushed over the sleeve of a red velvet jacket. Bold. Not his style in the slightest, but even he could tell it was quality. The fabric was soft under his fingertips. It made him wonder for a second what kind of man wore something like that and didn’t feel like a damn fool doing it.

“Hi! Sorry for the wait. How can I help you?”

Joel turned toward the voice. And stopped. You weren’t what he expected.

Maybe it was the movies' fault, but when he thought of a tailor, he pictured an older man, probably bald, Italian for some reason, with a measuring tape around his neck and a heavy accent like the place doubled as a front for some mafia. He didn’t expect a woman, younger than him by maybe ten years, hair a little tousled, like you hadn’t planned on more clients tonight. An easy, professional smile. Warm eyes. 

Pretty . That was the word that struck him first, clear and fast.

He cleared his throat, voice rougher than he meant it to be. “I, uh... I need a suit.”

You gave him another smile and slid behind the counter, setting the folded fabric you’d been holding onto the back of a nearby chair. “Well, you’re in the right place, then. What’s the occasion?”

“A wedding,” 

“Oh, lovely.” You reached for the small notebook resting near the register and flipped it open, pen already in hand. “When’s the big day?”

“In two weeks.”

You froze mid-scribble. Slowly, you lifted your eyes to meet his. “Two weeks?” you repeated, like maybe you hadn’t heard him right — or hoped you hadn’t.

He gave a small, sheepish shrug. “Yeah.”

You blinked once. The edge of a smile was tugging at his mouth. You were looking at him like he’d just told you he’d shown up for brain surgery with a pocketknife.

“Maria sent me,” he added, as if that might help.

That earned a very different reaction.

“Did she now?” you sighed, setting your notebook down a little harder than necessary. Joel noticed the way your brows pinched in what looked like familiar frustration. “Fucking hell,” you muttered under your breath.

But Joel heard it, and the corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but close.

You spun back around a second later, as if remembering he was still there. “Sorry. That wasn’t very professional.”

“S’all right. I know this isn’t exactly a normal request.”

You exhaled slowly. “Yeah. Making a full suit in two weeks is…”

“Impossible?”

You gave a tired, dry laugh. “Definitely difficult.”

There was a pause, and Joel figured this was the part where you told him no. And fair enough, he wouldn’t blame you. Two weeks was damn near impossible, and he’d left it too late. A suit off the rack would do. Not great, not impressive, but it would do. Tommy might roll his eyes, but I'll be too busy at his wedding to do anything about it. He didn't want to think about what Maria might say to him, or the way she might scold him like he was a child. Sarah… well, he could already imagine the look on her sweet face. Disappointed, but trying not to show it.

But then, instead of sending him away, you pulled out the chair next to you and sat down, nodding toward the other one across from you.

“Have a seat.”

Joel hesitated, just for a second, then did as told.

“Do you know what kind of suit you’re looking for?” you asked, reaching for your notebook again.

“What kind?” he echoed, brow furrowed.

“There’s classic, slim fit, modern fit, double-breasted, three-piece, tuxedo, unstructured—” you rattled them off quickly, like someone who didn’t have time to waste.

Joel held up a hand. “Whoa, whoa…slow down.”

You laughed, soft but amused, and Joel found himself leaning just slightly toward the sound.

“Sorry,” you said, not sounding sorry at all. “Tight deadline. If we’re doing this, I need to get started tonight.”

“Right. Sorry.”

You shook your head, more gently this time. “Don’t apologise. It’s my job. Just trying to get a read on what we’re working with.” You clicked your pen. “Have you ever had a tailored suit before?”

“Never,” he admitted, like it was something he maybe should’ve been embarrassed about.

But you just nodded, unfazed. “That’s totally fine. Do you at least know what you like?”

The look in his eyes told you everything. You didn’t wait for him to fumble for an answer.

“Take a look around,” you offered, gesturing to the space. “Is there anything here that stands out to you? Something close to what you're picturing for yourself?”

Joel turned his head, taking his time as his eyes moved across the room. He glanced at a few mannequins before his gaze landed on one near the back.

“That one,” he said, nodding toward it. “I guess.”

You followed his gaze and gave a thoughtful little hum. “Alright. Clean cut, traditional silhouette.” You tapped your pen lightly against the notebook. “Are we talking black? Or are we open to a little colour?”

“Black,” he said, and the amused lift of your eyebrow made him wonder if you’d already guessed that would be his answer.

“Can’t go wrong with that,” you murmured with a small nod as you flipped to a new page. “Any want for the fabric?”

Joel hesitated, searching for the right words. “I want somethin’ that lasts. Somethin’ I can wear again if I ever need to.”

You smiled softly, like that was the right answer. “Timeless, then.”

Turning to one of the nearby shelves, you pulled a few fabric samples from a wooden tray and laid them out in front of him. You explained each one — worsted wool, twill and more — pointing out the subtle differences. How some were softer, others more durable. How they caught light differently. How some aged beautifully, and others needed a little more care. Your fingers moved over each fabric with ease, and Joel found himself watching your hands more than the cloth.

He listened more intently than he expected to. Maybe it was the calm certainty in your voice, or the way you clearly knew what you were talking about without making him feel dumb for not knowing it himself. You spoke with the kind of quiet confidence that only came from being good at what you did, and caring about it.

It was… nice, he thought. Watching someone be good at something. Watching you.

After a few more questions, things about budget, lapel preferences, if he wanted anything embroidered (he didn’t), you moved on, your pen scratching notes across the page. You asked about accessories next.

“Do you need coordinated pieces? Tie, bow tie?”

“A bow tie,” Joel said, watching the way your lips twitched into the faintest smile.

You nodded. “Pocket square? Always a good way to add a little pop of color.”

He gave a noncommittal hum. “Maybe.”

“Perfect way to match with your wife’s dress, for example,” you added, smiling.

“No wife,” he said quickly. Maybe too quickly?

You looked up at that, and Joel noticed the brief flick of your eyes to his hand, confirming the absence of a ring. He felt his gaze drop to yours in return. Also no ring. But that didn’t mean anything. Maybe you didn’t wear one at work. Maybe you weren’t married. Maybe you were.

“No one to match with, then?” you asked, tone casual, but there was something in the way you said it. A thread of curiosity woven in, just enough for him to notice.

Was that just good customer service? Or something more? A subtle way of asking if he was spoken for? He couldn’t be sure.

Joel shifted slightly. “I’ll check with the groom. See if there’s a color I need to match. If not…” He hesitated, just for a moment. “Might match with my daughter instead.”

Your face softened. “That’s sweet,” you said, and meant it. “Well, no rush on that. You let me know when you find out.”

You glanced down at your notes, flipping back through the pages as if checking your list, making sure you had everything you needed.

“Well,” you said after a moment, “the good news is you’re not asking for anything too over-the-top.”

“I’m not exactly known for my bold fashion sense,” Joel replied dryly.

You shrugged lightly, not even looking up. “Good-looking men don’t need a loud suit to stand out anyway.”

It was offhand, almost dismissive, like it wasn’t meant to land as a compliment. But it did. Joel’s eyes widened a little, not expecting that. You were already back on your notes, like you hadn’t just called him good-looking, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And maybe to you, it was. Still, the words settled in him. A flicker of something quiet and pleased. It wasn’t vanity exactly, but there was something deeply satisfying about knowing that you looked at him and saw a man worth noticing. That the interest wasn’t entirely one-sided.

You were focused again, pen gliding across the page as you started drafting the order summary: measurements, fabric, deadlines, deposit terms. But midway through, your hand paused. You looked up at him, eyes meeting his again. You had pretty eyes. 

“I forgot to ask your name,” you realised. 

“I’m Joel,” he replied, reaching out his hand automatically. “Joel Miller.”

There was a flicker in your expression at the name. Something small, but noticeable. Recognition, maybe? Or something else he couldn’t quite place. But before he could dwell on it, you were already offering your own name along with your hand. The handshake was brief and professional, but something about it lingered. The warmth of your skin, the subtle firmness of your grip. When you let go and his hand dropped back to his side, Joel felt his fingers twitch slightly. 

Once you were done, you slid the document across the counter, letting Joel skim through it. Everything looked in order. He picked up the pen, signed with a steady hand, and passed it back to you.

As you stood, he did the same, instinctively mirroring your movement. When you walked around the front desk, he assumed it was to politely see him out, and turned toward the door.

But he’d barely taken a few steps when your voice came from behind him.

“Where are you going?”

Joel paused, half-turning back. You weren’t following. You were standing near the fitting area, head tilted slightly like you were trying not to laugh.

He blinked. “I thought we were done for now?” he offered, glancing toward the shop window, where the sun had all but slipped beneath the horizon. “Didn’t mean to keep you. It’s almost night out.”

“Well, Miller,” you said, tone light but pointed as you crossed your arms, “if you want that suit ready for this wedding, I need to take those measurements tonight.”

“Measurements?”

You gave him another look, amused, a little exasperated, but still smiling. “Yes, measurements,” you said, drawing the word out like he was being deliberately slow. “I know I’m very good at what I do, but I haven’t quite figured out how to make a custom suit without them.”

Right. Yeah. That tracked. He hadn’t expected it to happen tonight, though. He figured you’d give him an appointment, send him on his way, and get to it sometime in the next few days.

“And… you’re the one taking them?” he asked, and he knew the moment the words left his mouth that you caught the flicker of surprise in his tone. It wasn’t about your skill. He had no doubt you were very capable. Hell, he just spent less than twenty minutes with you, and he already thought you were excellent. It was the realisation that you were going to be the one putting hands on him. He’d assumed there was someone else. Frank — that was the name on the shop window, wasn’t it? An older man in the back room with a measuring tape around his neck, doing this part of the job.

Not you.

You tilted your head, that same teasing glint in your eyes. “My uncle usually handles the men’s measurements,” you explained, like this wasn’t the first time you’d had to say it. Men either got awkward or a little too enthusiastic once they realised that this was also part of your job. “But he’s on vacation until next week. If you’re uncomfortable, I can reschedule you for when he’s back. But...” You didn’t need to finish that sentence.

Joel did it for you. “I’ve got a deadline.”

Your smile deepened. “Then I’m all you’ve got, Miller.”

There was a beat of silence. Joel cleared his throat, the sound a little rougher than it needed to be. “Okay then,” he said finally. “Guess I’m in your hands.”

“Lucky you.”

Joel walked back the few steps he’d taken. “Where do you want me?”

The corner of your mouth lifted just slightly, like you were holding back an answer. Instead, you tilted your head toward the raised platform near the large mirror, tucked in the corner of the shop. “Over there.”

He followed your gesture, noting how the soft, golden lighting of the room caught in your hair, making it glow. He tried not to notice, but he did.

“Take off your jacket for me, please.”

“Yes, ma’am,”

You let out a quiet hum as you turned away to retrieve your measuring tape. When you turned back, he was already standing tall on the platform, his jacket draped over a nearby chair.

Your gaze moved over him. It was quick. Professional. Measured. But not entirely detached.  The subtle tilt of your head, the way your eyes lingered just a second longer than necessary. Joel told himself not to read into it. He reminded himself this was just part of the process. That you weren’t really looking. Not like that.

Even if, for a second, it felt like maybe you were.

“Well,” you murmured, your eyes sweeping over him one last time, “you’re a lot broader than I expected.”

Joel blinked, not sure what to make of that. It could’ve been a purely professional observation but the way you said it made it land differently. Or maybe that was just him, reading too much into everything.

“Is that a bad thing?” 

You didn’t hesitate. “Not in my opinion.”

Was it a compliment? Just a statement of fact? 

You stepped closer, measuring tape in hand, and gave him a quick, teasing smile. “Alright, Miller. I’m gonna need to get my hands on you,” you said, voice smooth with amusement. “Hope that’s not a problem.”

Joel opened his mouth, then closed it again. He wasn’t sure how to answer that without sounding like a teenager. Because no, it definitely wasn’t a problem. Quite the opposite. So he cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice steady. “Go ahead.”

You gave a knowing little smile, as if you’d heard what he didn’t say, and moved into his space. “I’ll start with your neck circumference,” you said, raising your hands, measuring tape between your fingers.

Joel stood still as you moved, watching as you rose onto your toes to loop the tape around his neck. He was quite taller than you, and the platform added just enough height to make the reach difficult for you.

“You want me to crouch or somethin’?” he asked, brow lifting as he glanced down.

You just smiled. “It’s alright. I’ve handled bigger.”

Joel breathed a little heavier. He wasn’t sure if you meant it to sound that way. You didn’t seem to register what you’d just said, or maybe you did, and you were very good at pretending otherwise. Either way, you carried on.

Joel said nothing. He couldn’t trust his mouth not to betray what his brain was doing, which, at the moment, was a mess of thoughts he had no business entertaining. His jaw tightened slightly as your fingers brushed the side of his throat, the tape snug against his skin. You stood so close now, barely a breath between you. He could feel the warmth of you, could smell something faint and clean on your skin, your perfume or shampoo probably, something sweet that made his chest tighten for no good reason.

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. And when you stepped back a second later, noting the number with a little nod before writing it in your notebook, he swore the air felt colder without your touch.

“Shoulders,” you murmured.

Your fingers brushed over the top of his shirt, finding one shoulder seam, then carefully extending the tape across to the other. Joel held still, jaw tense. He was looking at your face again before he could stop himself. The subtle crease between your brows, the way your bottom lip caught briefly between your teeth as you made sure the tape sat just right.

“Chest now,” you said softly after noting the new number down.

You stepped back in, close enough that the brush of your arms sent a pulse straight through him. You wrapped the tape around his chest, your fingers grazing the fabric of his shirt with just enough pressure to make him notice. Your hands lingered a second longer than they strictly needed to. You hummed, pleased, maybe even appreciative, and Joel couldn’t stop the subtle inhale that followed, chest rising just slightly under your hands. His pulse kicked harder. You didn’t comment. Just shifted lower, sliding the tape down around his waist.

“Hold still.”

You worked methodically, adjusting the tape around his midsection with firm, careful movements. Your knuckles grazed over his belt as you adjusted the measurement, and Joel had to lock his hands at his sides, fingers curling into his palms to keep from reacting. He could feel the warmth of your body near his, the brush of your wrist, the ghost of touch through his shirt. He was sure you weren’t doing anything intentionally; you were just doing your job, but Christ, his body didn’t know the difference.

Next came sleeve length and arm circumference, and still you didn’t rush. Your touch was feather-light, barely there, the backs of your fingers grazing his forearm as you measured from shoulder to wrist, then wrapped around the thickest part of his bicep.

“You go to the gym, Miller?” you suddenly asked with just enough edge to make him wonder if you were teasing.

“No?” he replied quickly, trying not to let his voice betray anything he was feeling at the moment.

You glanced up at him, one brow raised. “Could have fooled me”

He didn’t have time to respond or think about what, exactly, you were implying before you stepped around him again and moved on. You crouched slightly, measuring his wrist, your fingers circling his skin with quiet precision. Then you stepped around him to measure his hips. Joel locked his jaw and focused on breathing. Every touch made him feel self conscious. And he knew you weren’t trying to fluster him. You were just doing your job. But every so often, he caught a look: a glint in your eyes, a hint of knowing in your smile, and wondered if you weren’t enjoying this just a little.

He swallowed hard. If you were, you hid it well.

He tried to focus on anything else. The soft scratch of your pen as you paused to jot down another number. The sound of distant traffic beyond the shop window. The quiet hum of jazz drifted from a speaker in the corner of the shop. Anything but the heat crawling up the back of his neck.

But then your eyes lifted to his, a smirk tugging at the edge of your mouth. “Spread your legs for me, Miller.”

His breath caught, sharp in his throat. “...Sorry?”

You gave him an entirely innocent look, but the sparkle in your eyes told a different story. “For your inseam. I need to measure it. You know… for the pants?”

Right. Of course.

He shifted, clearing his throat as he obeyed, feet spreading slightly apart. This was normal. Routine. You probably did this a dozen times a week.

Still, Joel’s body didn’t seem to care about that fact. You crouched in front of him, and he tried, really tried, not to think about anything he shouldn’t. Not about how close your face was to his zipper. Not about how your fingers moved with quiet precision along his inner thigh. Not about what it might feel like if this were a different kind of situation entirely. Fewer clothes. A lot more touching.

He absolutely shouldn’t be thinking about the shape of your mouth. Or how those lips might feel wrapped around his—

Jesus.

Your voice broke the spiral, smooth and steady. “Open your legs just a little more…”

He hesitated, just a beat too long, and then you glanced up at him with a sly little smile that nearly knocked the wind out of him. 

“Come on, Miller,” you teased. “Don’t be shy. I need every inch .”

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

Joel stood frozen for half a second, caught between disbelief and the slow burn building under his skin. He didn’t know whether he was supposed to laugh, clear his throat, or just walk straight out the door and into the cool night air until his head stopped spinning. But he didn’t move. Couldn’t.

He clenched his jaw. He had to use every single ounce of willpower not to let the image settle exactly where it wanted to. His fingers twitched at his sides, and he forced them to stay there, not to fist in your hair, not to drag you closer, and do everything his mind was thinking about. But his body wasn’t listening. Not when your hand brushed the inside of his thigh to adjust the tape. Not when you looked up through your lashes with that smile like you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

And maybe you did. Maybe you meant for him to stand here, rigid and barely breathing, fighting the very real, very telling reaction threatening to make this whole thing impossible to ignore.

This was dangerous. You were dangerous. 

You tilted your head, smiling just enough to make him feel like you’d noticed every one of his reactions and were choosing not to comment on any of them. 

Joel shifted slightly, widening his stance as you’d asked. And just like that, you went back to work, cool and composed, as if the heat crawling under his skin wasn’t radiating off him in waves. As if none of this affected you. Like you weren’t kneeling between his thighs with your hands so goddamn close, and your voice still lingering in his head.

He stayed quiet, letting you move around him, your hands efficient. What if you weren’t trying to rile him up? What if this wasn’t anything more than routine to you? Just another suit fitting, another client? God, maybe you said the exact same things to everyone? 

Something twisted in his chest. What if all of this, the touch, the look, the low voice, was just him seeing what he wanted to see? Reading into nothing because he was just… starved. For something as small as a look, a smile, a moment of attention from a beautiful woman like you? What if he was just a tired, lonely man letting his body betray him in a tailor shop because someone had been kind? The thought lodged like a stone in his throat.

The shame crept in slowly but sharply; hot behind his ears, down his neck. He clenched his jaw and stared straight ahead, grounding himself with the weight of it. He couldn’t afford to be wrong about this. The mere idea of you looking at him with disgust, of realizing what was going through his mind, was enough to make him freeze. Enough to shame him into stillness, into silence.

He forced himself to breathe, to think of anything else. The old woman across his street with too many cats and a porch full of junk. That goddamn client who changed his mind every  damn week and left him redoing work for free. Maria’s face if she ever found out what he was thinking right now. The disappointment in her eyes. Her fury. He’d never hear the end of it.

This was nothing. A fitting. Just fabric and numbers and tape. That’s all it was supposed to be.

Joel let you finish your work in silence. You moved around him with practiced ease, measuring his thigh, then the circumference of his knees efficiently. He appreciated that you didn’t say anything else, didn’t try to fill the space with small talk or more of those comments he couldn’t quite figure out. Just a quick glance now and then, probably to make sure he was standing right. He kept his eyes forward, staring at a fixed point on the far wall, like it might anchor him.

“Alright,” you finally said, straightening up with a soft stretch. “That’s all I need. Thank you for your patience. You can step down.”

He gave a short nod and stepped off the platform, reaching for his jacket without a word. As he pulled it back on, you were already making your way to the front desk, flipping open your notebook and jotting another thing down. Joel followed, slower this time, careful not to walk too close behind you, careful not to let his thoughts wander again.

You looked up and offered him a smile that was all business now, but still warm.

“Well,” you said, “I think I’ve got everything I need to get started. Would you be able to come back in… let’s say, a week?” You tapped your pen thoughtfully against your lip. “I should have the base of your suit ready for the first fitting by then. If we’re lucky, one fitting will be enough.”

“Sure. What time should I come back?”

“Same time works if it does for you,” you replied, eyes flicking up to meet his again. “I don’t mind late nights.”

That last part lingered in the air a half-second too long. 

“Fine by me,” he said, grateful that it wouldn’t pull him away from work.

You scribbled something final into your notes, then shut the notebook with a quiet snap. “Perfect, then,” you said, and looked up again. This time, your gaze lingered on his for a second, mouth parting like you were about to say something else, but then you didn’t. He took that as his cue to leave.

Joel tapped a knuckle lightly against the desk. “Thanks again… for takin’ this on. Appreciate it.”

“My pleasure.” You smiled softly. “See you next week, Miller.”

“Yeah,” he said, backing toward the door with a short nod. “See you then.”

The bell above the door jingled softly as he stepped out. The evening air hit him square in the chest, and he still felt warm, more than he should’ve. Like your voice was still curling in his ear, your fingertips still ghosting over his skin.

He walked toward his truck with his jacket half-zipped, hands shoved into his pockets. Trying not to think too hard. He told himself he was being stupid. Reading into things that weren’t there. He really shouldn't think about you. 

But later that night, when his cock was hard and aching in his hand, it was you he couldn’t stop thinking about. The way you’d looked up at him from your knees, lips slightly parted, like you were ready to taste him the second he let you. He imagined the soft, desperate sounds you might make with his hand tangled in your hair. The way you'd moan if he’d bent you over that front desk. And when he finally came, spilling over his knuckles and stomach, it was your name that slipped out of his lips.

The week passed both too slowly and far too quickly for Joel.

He would’ve lied if he’d said he hadn’t thought about you. In truth, your face crossed his mind more than he cared to admit. Stupid things stuck with him: the tilt of your smile, the sound of your laugh, the soft way your fingers had brushed his skin when you took his measurements. He’d spent less than an hour with you, and yet he couldn’t seem to get you out of his mind. 

Even Tommy had noticed something was off. His younger brother kept shooting him looks every time Joel was deep in thought. When one morning Tommy asked, “How’s that suit comin’ along?” Joel barely looked up from his cup of coffee. 

“Fine,” he said simply. He didn’t trust himself to say more. Tommy knew him too well. One extra word, and he’d start digging. And Joel really didn't want to explain he was like that over what was basically a crush . Christ. A crush. He was pushing forty for godamn sake. He wasn’t some daydreaming kid anymore; he was a grown man who really shouldn't be thinking so much about you.  

But here he was, exactly a week later, parked in front of the shop, leaning against his truck, wondering if he looked like a fool. 

Because this time, he had made an effort. He’d left work early just to shower, change into a clean shirt that didn’t smell like drywall and sweat, and even put on cologne. Not just deodorant. Cologne . The one Sarah got him last Christmas, the nice kind.

His hand raked through his hair for what had to be the tenth time. He’d tried to slick it back before leaving, but on the drive over, his nerves had undone most of the effort. Now it just looked tousled and unruly, and he hoped it didn’t give the impression he’d just got out of bed. 

He let out a heavy breath. He shouldn't be so nervous for a fitting. One last glance in the truck’s side mirror. One last adjustment to his shirt collar. Then he finally stepped inside, the bell above the door jingling as he did.

This time, someone else was in the shop. A man, a bit older than Joel, was adjusting a jacket on one of the mannequins near the window. He looked up immediately at the sound, turning toward him with a practised smile.

“Good evening,” he said, his voice warm and professional. “What can I help you with today?”

“Hi, I’m Joel Miller,” he said as the door shut softly behind him. “I’m here for a fitting?” His eyes flicked around, instinctively searching for you. But you weren’t out front.

At the sound of Joel’s name, something shifted in the man’s expression. His smile widened, like he knew something Joel didn’t. He turned toward the back of the shop and called your name.

“Your appointment’s here!” 

A muffled response floated from the workroom: “Coming!” At the sound of your voice, Joel stood just a little straighter.

The man turned back to him, his eyes gave Joel a once-over, just enough to feel like he noticed the neat collar, the fresh shirt, the clean shave. His smile grew just a little bit wider, and he offered his hand. “I’m Frank. This is my shop.”

Joel shook it politely. “Nice to meet you.”

“Come on, she’ll be right out,” Frank said, gesturing toward the fitting area. “She’s been working pretty hard on your suit, you know? You’re gonna look sharp.”

“Sorry if I made too much work for her,” Joel muttered, adjusting the strap of his watch.

Frank waved it off. “Don’t be. She doesn’t seem to mind. Honestly, it’s been a while since I’ve seen her this invested in a piece.” He paused, glancing toward the back room again, then added with a hint of amusement, “Especially for something as simple as a classic suit…You’d think she was tailoring for a celebrity the way she’s been fussing over it.”

Joel shifted his weight, not quite sure what to do with Frank’s comment. Surely, you were just passionate about your work? 

Before Frank could say anything else, you appeared from the back, brushing your hands on your hips. “Sorry! Just had to finish a last detail,” and then your eyes landed on him. “Hey,” you said softly, your smile warm, which Joel couldn’t help but mirror immediately.

“Hi.”

Frank cleared his throat politely, though the grin on his face gave him away. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it. Unless you need me to stay and supervise?”

“I think I can handle it,” you replied smoothly, without looking at him.

Frank only chuckled, grabbing a few papers from behind the counter. “I’m sure.” His voice was teasing, and Joel caught the way you rolled your eyes at him without missing a beat. The older man moved toward the door, lifting a hand in farewell. “Call me if you need anything. And Miller?” He gave Joel a quick, almost conspiratorial smile. “I hope you like the suit.”

“I’m sure I will,” Joel said, offering a polite nod as Frank stepped out, the bell above the door jingling as he disappeared into the street.

You watched the door for a moment, then turned back to Joel, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Well, let’s get to it… unless you’re planning on staying the night.”

Joel blinked. Just an harmless joke, but the image of what a night with you would look like hit him fast and uninvited. He pushed it away before it could settle.

“Hope I didn’t give you too much trouble,” he said, clearing his throat as you gestured toward the fitting area.

You let out a soft laugh. “I won’t lie, my sleep schedule’s seen better days.”

“Sorry,” he offered genuinely. But you looked over your shoulder with an easy smile.

“Don’t be. I liked working on it.”

Joel smiled faintly. “So I heard.”

You shot him a puzzled look. “How so ?”

“Frank.”

You groaned softly, and Joel couldn’t help but smile at the mix of affection and annoyance in your expression. 

You disappeared into the back room for a moment and returned with the suit folded neatly in your arms. You nodded toward the small changing alcove at the far end of the room, separated from the rest by a simple curtain.

“Here,” you said, offering the suit to him. “Go ahead and change into it.”

Joel took it from you, careful as his fingers brushed yours. His jaw tightened at the touch. Christ, he really, really , needed to stop reacting like a teenager with a school crush.

“Call me if you need help putting it on,” you added with a small, playful smile.

He didn’t know if you were joking. He hoped you were joking. But there was something in your tone that made it hard to tell, just like last time. You gave him another smile as he stepped behind the curtain and tugged it shut.

The suit felt soft beneath his fingers. Smoother and heavier than anything he owned. He could already tell it was quality. He started undressing, taking off his jacket, then his shirt. His fingers worked quickly over his belt, and soon he was down to nothing but his boxers and socks. He stood there for a moment in the quiet of the curtained alcove, his hands paused at his hips.

Outside, he could hear you humming softly, some tune he didn’t recognise. Probably working on a mannequin while you waited. He turned toward the mirror, catching his reflection, and he hesitated.

What would you think if you saw him like this?

It was a stupid question, but it was still rooted in his mind. He looked at himself longer than he meant to. He wasn’t soft, not exactly, but he wasn’t built like the kind of man who hit the gym five days a week either. His body wasn’t bad. Broad shoulders, thick arms from years of heavy lifting and construction work, strong legs that could still carry their weight. But the soft curve of his stomach reminded him that he wasn’t twenty-five anymore. He didn’t have the abs the guys in magazines did. Never had. His muscles were earned, not sculpted. His stomach was softer now than it was in his twenties, curved slightly under the line of his ribs. A bit of age. A bit of life. A bit of beer and second helpings.

He wondered if that would matter to someone like you. Someone younger, with sharp eyes, surrounded by beautiful things all day. Maybe that’s what you liked in people, too.

He pushed the thoughts away and focused on the task at hand. He began to get dressed, pulling on the tailored trousers with care, then slipping his arms into the dark dress shirt. With the jacket on, he took a breath and turned to the mirror again to finally see himself. Dressed in all black. Clean lines. The structure emphasised his shoulders, slimmed his waist, and lengthened the line of his legs. The fit wasn’t perfect yet; he could feel it. A slight pull at the chest when he shifted his arms, the pants still a bit too long at the ankle. Even with that, it already looked very nice. 

He stepped out from behind the curtain. You turned at the sound, and your eyes landed on him. You didn't speak, just looked him over, taking your time, top to bottom. Your eyes were focused, not just admiring but evaluating. Joel felt himself stand just a little bit straighter under your watchful eyes. Then you met his gaze and smiled, proud and a little pleased with yourself.

“Looking good Miller.” 

He gave a small huff, not quite a laugh, and ran a hand down the front of the jacket, adjusting it more out of instinct than need. “That right?”

You crossed your arms, eyes lingering a second too long. “Mm-hmm. You fill it out nicely. Not every man can.”

He met your gaze, and a part of him wanted to ask: What makes me different, then? But he didn’t. 

“How does the suit feel?” you asked, stepping a little closer.

“Feels good,” he said honestly. “I like it.”

Your smile in response was warm and unguarded, a look he really liked on you. “I’m glad.” You gestured toward the small raised platform. “Can you step up? I want to see you better.”

Joel nodded and moved into place, the soft creak of the wood under his feet the only sound for a moment. You circled him slowly, your practised eye sweeping over every seam and line, noting where the fabric hugged him right and where it didn’t. 

You stepped in front of him again, pulling a small cushion of pins from your wrist. “Alright. I’ll need to mark some spots for adjustment. Don’t worry,” you added with a small grin, “I’ll be gentle.”

Joel’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Hope so.”

You started at his shoulders, gently tugging at the fabric there, smoothing it, fingertips dragging just enough to feel the weight of him beneath. Joel stood still, solid as a statue, but you didn’t miss the way his jaw tightened when your hand brushed the curve of his bicep.

You tugged gently on the sleeve of his jacket, eyes narrowing in concentration. “Feels tight here?” you asked, brushing your fingers over the fabric along his upper arm.

Joel flexed just slightly. “A little. Not much.”

You nodded, pinching the seam to mark the alteration. “I’ll let it out a quarter inch. Should give you enough room to move.”

You stepped around him again, the scent of your perfume brushing past him as you moved behind. Sweet, like last time.

“Arms up,” you instructed gently. 

He did, and you took that moment to tug at the fabric under the arms, smoothing it again against his body. Your fingers brushed lightly across the fabric at his back, marking something near his shoulder blade.

“Gonna open the jacket now,” you said, already reaching for the buttons. Your fingers worked them open one by one, and Joel didn’t move, just watched you, half entranced by the quiet focus on your face and the way your hands moved.  He couldn't help but enjoy the sight of you. Couldn't help but think about how many times this week he'd imagined you late at night, undressing him slowly just like that.

You peeled the jacket back over his shoulders, and he slipped his arms free without a word. He passed it to you, and you handled it with care, folding it across one arm before setting it down neatly on the chair nearby. Then your eyes returned to him, checking how the shirt sat against his chest. You touched the buttons next, fingers sliding down the centre of his torso as if to test for tightness. You stopped near his belt line, fingers still resting there, the pressure light but still too heavy for Joel.

“Shirt fits pretty well already,” you said, glancing up at him again. “Though I might have to tighten the waist just a little.”

Joel’s voice came out low. “Whatever you think’s best.”

His hands itched to move, to adjust his watch, run a hand through his hair. Maybe even touch your waist. Just lightly, just once . But he kept them clenched at his sides.

“Alright,” you said, stepping back. “Let’s talk pants. How do they feel?”

“A little tight,” he admitted. “Mostly around the knees.”

“Okay… Take a few steps for me please? I want to see how they sit when you move.”

He nodded and stepped down from the wooden platform. He took a few slow steps toward you, then turned, walking away so you could assess the fit from behind. 

You clicked your tongue softly. “Little extra fabric here. I’ll smooth it out for a cleaner line across the back.” You looked back at him with a smile. “Thank you. Go ahead and step back up.”

Joel obeyed without a word, and he barely had time to settle before you crouched in front of him. His breath caught in his throat, same as last time. Maybe worse. 

Don’t move. Don’t think .

He stayed still, eyes anywhere but on you, barely breathing, as you pressed your fingers to the end of the pants, checking how the length sat around his ankles. “Little loose,” you murmured, half to yourself, before reaching for a pin. 

You moved slowly, your hands travelling from the bottom hem upward. Fingertips smoothed fabric over his shins, then over his knees. You adjusted a small fold and pinned it, working with quiet concentration. When your fingers skimmed over the inside of his thigh, flattening the fabric there, he clenched his jaw. 

“Fabric pulls here when you walk,” you said. “I’ll let it out just a bit.”

He nodded, stiff, afraid his voice would betray him if he opened his mouth. 

“You alright?” you asked lightly, as if your fingers weren't getting closer to the most sensitive parts of him.

“Yeah,” he managed. “Just standin’ real still.”

“Mmh,” you hummed. “You’re doing great.”

And as your hands reached the top of his inseam, fussing with a pin just inches from his growing problem, Joel squeezed his eyes shut. He could already feel the unmistakable pressure building beneath his waistband. Half hard and rising, despite his best efforts to stay grounded. He just prayed you wouldn’t notice.

But of course you did. 

“This part needs a bit of letting out,” you murmured, fingers brushing along the inseam. “Seems a bit tight here.”

Joel couldn’t help the low grunt in response. You looked up at him from where you knelt, chin tilted just slightly. Jesus, that view was killing him. How were you so pretty? 

“Too tight?” 

He cleared his throat, gaze snapping to some vague point across the room. Anywhere but you. “It’s fine.”

You smiled then, devastatingly slow, your fingertip resting right on the metal pull of his zipper. “Are you sure?” you teased. “That’s…quite a bulge.”

Your name slipped from his lips, rough, strained, close to a warning. “Don’t—”

You tilted your head, still kneeling before him, eyes full of feigned innocence that didn’t fool either of you. “Should I take that as a compliment to my work? Or…?”

“You…” he ground his teeth together, pulse pounding in his throat. “You need to stop sayin’ things like that…”

“Like what?”. 

He let out a low, shaky breath, fists clenched so hard at his sides he could feel his nails dig into his palms. “You know damn well what.”

“Why?” you murmured, fingertips still teasingly close to the bulge straining against the front of the pants. You traced just a whisper of touch along the zipper line, and Joel felt his knees nearly give. He was getting painfully hard now. There was no denying it.

“Because,” he ground out, voice rough, “I’m gonna get ideas. Bad ones. I’m gonna start thinkin’…” He hesitated, almost embarrassed to let the words leave his mouth. “That you’re hittin’ on me or somethin’.”

You couldn’t help it; you laughed, a bright, disbelieving sound that made his cheeks flush hot, the tips of his ears burning, thinking you were mocking him. But then you looked up at him again, your smile still there but your eyes warm and serious. “Miller…” you breathed, half amused, half exasperated. “I am hitting on you.”

For a beat, Joel couldn’t breathe. The words hit him square in the chest. You were? It wasn’t just in his head? He wasn’t just some starved old man seeing what he wanted to see? Hearing what he wished to hear?

“Really ?” That was all he managed to say, as if he needed another confirmation. 

Your smile deepened, and you shook your head, incredulous. “Oh my god, Miller. It’s not like i’m being subtle about it. I’ve been laying it on so thick I’m surprised you didn’t call me out sooner. I don’t think I’ve ever been less subtle in my damn life.”

He stared at you, still kneeling in front of him, one hand resting so casually on his thigh, the other one too close to his crotch and yet not close enough, like it was the most natural thing in the world, like confirming his wildest thoughts wasn’t shaking him to his core. It made him dizzy, made his mind go blank.

“Why?” he finally managed to ask, voice hoarse.

You tilted your head, studying him like you couldn’t believe he needed to ask. “Why am I hitting on you?” you repeated, and when he nodded, you huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Have you seen yourself?”

He couldn’t help the tug at the corner of his lips, a faint, disbelieving grin breaking through. The way you looked at him, he saw it clearly now. Openly, hungrily, with the same wanting he’d tried so hard to bury, made him feel like a fool for ever doubting it. You’d been eyeing him, just like he’d been eyeing you. And now that he knew for sure, it was almost a relief, like a tension snapping loose in his chest.

“You told me you were single,” you went on. “And I just…I couldn’t help it. You bit your lip for a moment, then sighed. “Not the most professional thing I’ve ever done, I admit. I was worried last time I’d made you uncomfortable since you were so damn quiet… If it wasn’t for this ,” you let your eyes flick down pointedly to where the fabric of his pants was still straining against him. “I would’ve thought you weren’t interested.”

Joel gave a rough laugh, low in his chest. “Oh, believe me. I’m interested.” He loved the way your smile widened. How you could be even prettier, he had no idea. He wasn’t complaining, though.

“Mmm, I know. I can feel it.”

There was no pretence now, no false professionalism. Your hand slowly palmed him over the fabric, and Joel grunted, low and unfiltered, finally not having to refrain his reactions. His eyes slipped closed. He was so hard it hurt. So hard for you.

“These pants,” you said with a teasing hum, “are definitely too tight now.”

Joel let out something between a groan and a laugh, his hips bucking instinctively into your touch, searching for more friction, needing more friction.

But then, you took your hand away.

He opened his eyes, chest rising and falling a little faster now, searching your face for a reason. That voice in his head, the one that second-guessed everything, wondered if he’d misstepped, if he was being too eager, going too quick, too soon.

“I’m gonna need you to take off those pants,” you said, reaching for his zipper again. “Can’t risk you staining them.”

And just like that, the voice went quiet.

“Can't have that”, Joel agreed, his tone low and amused. He didn't need to be asked twice. 

It was the right decision; he could feel the front of his boxer already stained from his leaking precum. He was almost surprised at his restraint, at how carefully he was slipping out of the pants, mindful not to damage your work. You helped guide the trousers off, taking the pants away when he was finally out of them, leaving him in his boxer where his aching cock was waiting diligently. You tossed the pants aside near the jacket, not even looking when they landed, never leaving your spot on your knees. Joel blinked at that, at how quickly you discarded them, as if your work was less important than what was in front of you. He grinned at your eagerness, as if your work was just an annoying barrier keeping you away from what you wanted. He liked this look on you, hunger mirroring his own. You looked up to him, your lips pursed a little, and he so wanted to kiss you. He was just about to ask if he could when you spoke first.

“Can I suck you off?” You asked then, and Joel felt like he could come right there. On your knees, your eyes looking up at him from under your lashes, asking him so sweetly was better than any dreams he could have. 

“You don't have to–”

“I want to. I really want to. Please?”

Oh, he could definitely get used to the way you asked, the way you looked at him as if not being able to taste him right now would truly ruin your night. 

“Of course. Fuck– Of course you can.” 

Before he could say anything more, you pulled down the last remaining barrier keeping you away from what you wanted. Joel cock sprang free, throbbing against his stomach. You looked at his hard, thick length, the tip of it glistening with precum. There was something smug in your expression, something deeply satisfied, proud of having drawn that kind of reaction from him. Your eyes found his again, steady and unashamed, and the smile that curved your lips was so soft, so achingly pretty, Joel knew he’d be thinking about it for months. And then, without a word, you finally closed the distance.

Joel inhaled sharply as your lips enveloped the head of his cock, your tongue swirling around his sensitive tip, teasing his slit. A low growl slipped from his throat, and his hand instinctively tangled in your hair, both for balance and because he could finally touch you. He felt you hum against him in quiet approval, the sound sending a subtle shiver through him. You started bobbing your head, taking more and more of him in your warm, wet mouth. One hand still resting on his thigh, the other wrapped around the base of him, stroking what your mouth couldn’t fit. 

“That’s it… Yes, just like that…” Joel panted through heavy breaths.

The feeling of you was so fucking good, better than anything he could have fantasised. He kept his gaze on you, watching you through hooded eyes as you worked him. The sight of your lips stretched around his cock, the sounds of your mouth with every thrust, it was almost too much for him to handle. When he felt you taking him a bit further, he rocked his hips slightly, feeling the back of your throat. It felt like heaven. Your nose was pressed against the dark patch of hair around the base of his cock, taking in his scent, your tongue playing around him. After a good moment choking on his length, you took him out of your mouth, catching your breath for a second, your hand never stopping pumping him.

“Taste better than I imagined,” you whispered, your eyes shining as you appreciated the dazed look on Joel's face before taking him back into your mouth.

Fuck. You’d imagined this too. You’d thought about tasting him, about doing exactly this. Had it crossed your mind last time, the same moment it crossed his? What else had you thought about? He wanted to know everything. Wanted to take those thoughts and make them a reality.

But then he felt your other hand palming his balls, applying just the right kind of pressure, and it was too perfect. Too close. He said your name in a low, rough growl, using every ounce of restraint he had to gently pull you back. You looked up at him, his hand still tangled in your hair, your lips swollen from working his length, a soft pout forming as you began to part them, to ask why. But before a single word escaped, he lowered himself toward you.

“If you keep going…I’m gonna cum like a freakin’ teenager,” Joel confessed, his voice strained. “And I really, really want to feel you come around my cock.”

And oh , if he could frame the way your pupils dilated at the sound of his voice, the way your breath caught and grew heavier with each word he spoke. It was intoxicating, watching you unravel just from the sound of him.

“You want that?” He teased, voice low. “Want me to fuck you?”

“Miller, I thought you’d never ask,” you replied with a knowing smile.

He scoffed, moving to join you on the floor, until you raised a finger to stop him.

“Take your shirt off.”

“Is that so I don’t ruin your work, or because you just want me naked for yourself?”

“Both, but mostly the latter,” you replied as he obeyed, peeling off his shirt and slipping out of his boxer and tossing them casually toward the pile of clothes. 

He looked down at you, leaning back on the floor with your weight supported by your elbows, eyes locked on him. You were still fully dressed, and there he was, towering over you, as naked as one man can be.

“Well, I definitely feel underdressed now.”

You arched an eyebrow, a playful grin tugging at your lips. “Are you? Kinda like this look on you.”

“I’m sure you do. You should try it too,” he said in the same playful tone as you. Then, lowering himself to the floor, he settled over you, his bare knees on the side of your still-clothed legs. His hand slid slowly up your thigh, tracing a path from your knee all the way to the buttons of your jeans. His finger lingered on the zipper, just like you had done earlier, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I can even help.” 

“Such a gentleman,” you teased, sliding the soft cotton sweater you were wearing over your head and letting it fall away. Beneath it, you wore a delicate, lacy bra, the kind of lingerie that felt too intricate for an ordinary day, as if you’d picked it knowing someone special would see it today. Maybe you knew damn well what was going to happen. His eyes drifted over the curve of your breasts, a flicker of appreciation lighting up his gaze.

“Doing what I can now,” he murmured, leaning closer to you, “because I can’t promise I’ll be as much of a gentleman once I feel you around me.”

His fingers found the button of your jeans, undoing it slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. He was completely absorbed in every subtle reaction he could get from you, the way your breath hitched, the slight parting of your lips, the flutter of your eyelashes. At the same moment, you unclasped your bra, letting it slip off your shoulders and fall softly beside your sweater. 

He felt his cock throbbing at the sight of your nipples perking for him, begging him to touch them, pinch them, bite them. He would do all that soon. 

“Don’t want you to be,” you said at last.

Joel didn’t need to be told twice. His hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers curling there with a tenderness that contrasted with the heat in his eyes. And then he pulled you to him with no hesitation, no second-guessing, and kissed you like he’d been holding back to do. It wasn’t gentle. It was hungry. Certain. All the want and need for you crashing into that single moment. His lips pressed to yours, firm and consuming, and you met him just as fiercely, kissing him back like you’d been waiting for it just as long. Maybe you did. He hoped you did. 

His hand cupped your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers, pulling a soft moan from you directly into his mouth. Such a pretty sound. He needed a thousand more of them. 

His other hand slipped to the waistband of your open jeans, fingers curling around the edge. He glanced up at you, waiting for permission, but you were already nodding before he could ask. The two of you shared a quiet laugh at that same urgency mirrored in each other’s eyes. You lifted your hips, and he made quick work of pulling them down, your panties sliding off with them in one fluid motion.

Finally, you were as naked as he was. Joel took a moment, a full, reverent breath, to drink you in. The beauty of your body. The way heat seemed to radiate from your skin, all of it in response to him. A faint sheen of sweat kissed your collarbone, and it made him wonder how sweet you’d taste, how you’d shiver under his mouth.

His gaze dropped, lingering between your thighs. You followed his gaze, parting them for him, unashamed, the glisten of arousal right where you needed him most catching his eyes. He loved that. That confidence of yours. Loved how you showed him exactly where you wanted him, without any ounce of embarrassment. He needed to touch you. To taste you. To fuck you. 

“The door?” he asked suddenly, the thought breaking through the haze. You weren’t exactly in a bedroom where he could do everything he wanted without caring about the outside world. The fitting area was tucked away from view, but still, Joel wasn’t in any rush to have a client , or worse, Frank, walk in on this.

“Closed it when you were changing,” you murmured against his neck, your lips trailing soft, warm kisses along his skin.

He let out a low chuckle. “Had everythin’ planned, didn’t you?”

You answered without words, just a playful nip at his bottom lip, pulling it gently between your teeth before letting go. Then you kissed him again, deeper this time, and when he opened his mouth to you, your tongue met his in a way that made Joel wonder if he had ever liked kissing someone more. 

Two of his fingers went to your cunt, parting your glistening folds, and he exhaled shakily when he felt how wet you were. It was something to see it, it was something else to feel it. To feel the concrete evidence of how much you wanted this. How much you wanted him. 

“All that just from havin’ me in your mouth ?” He murmured against your lips.

Your hand found his hair, fingers curling in deep before giving a playful tug, breaking the kiss for just a second.

“Was wet for you from the moment I saw you at the door.”

Joel couldn't help a half-choked breath. Eyes never leaving yours, His thumb found your clit immediately, pulling out a more than appreciative whimper out of you. His two fingers easily slid into your dripping cunt. He gave you a second to accommodate the intrusion of his fingers, kissing that spot just under your ear, before he started to pump them in and out of you, curling them just right to hit that sweet spot inside of you. 

“Feels good? He asked, even though the soft moans that kept escaping your soft lips were confirmation enough.

You nodded fervently, your hips moving in rhythm against his hand to feel his fingers deeper in you. You didn't have time to ask him; he gave in to you, circling your clit harder with his thumb as he picked up the pace. At the same time, his mouth explored your body, hungry to taste every inch of you. He trailed soft kisses to your jaw, under your ear, to your neck. His other hand went to your back, bringing you closer to him as his mouth met your hardened nipple, biting it, his teeth grazing perfectly. He drank in every sound you gave him, every breathy moan guiding his touch, telling him just how to please you. He could feel you getting closer, your walls fluttering around his fingers, your breath coming in ragged gasps, getting more and more shaky from his touch. 

“Come on, beautiful… let go. I’ve got you.”

With a final thrust of his fingers, Joel sent you over the edge. You closed your eyes as the sensation overwhelmed you, white spots blurring your vision. Your pussy clamping around his digits, pulsing and contracting as you let out the most beautiful sound. Joel kept his thumb circling your clit, applying just enough pressure to let you ride out your orgasm. He held you there, his other hand still on your back, as you came down from your high. 

When your breathing finally slowed down, His fingers left your cunt, and you whimpered at the sensation, already missing the feeling of fullness they brought you. You opened your eyes, as Joel's lips found yours, gently kissing you. 

“Good ?” He whispered, holding you close.

You laughed sweetly, a sound he already knew he could never forget. “Perfect.” 

Your hand found his cock, still as hard as before, just enough to pull a low moan deep in Joel’s throat. He needed to be inside you now.

“Fuck,” he realised at the same time, “I don't have a condom.” 

Even though it was hardly the time to think about his brother, Joel couldn’t help but remember all the times Tommy told him to keep one in his wallet. In case you remember how to get your dick wet, brother! Fucking Tommy and his damn advice. But for once in his life, Joel really should’ve listened to him.

He felt your hand gently trace the line of his jaw, fingers brushing over his scratchy beard. “I���m clean, and I’m on the pill…” You hesitated for a moment, searching his eyes. “If you want…”

He gulped. “Are you sure?”

“I really want you to fuck me, Miller”

He kissed you again, deeper and more urgently than before. He leaned over you, hands braced on either side of your head on the floor, pinning you gently beneath the weight of his broad frame. You brought his cock against your entrance, his tip brushing against your clit, a shared moan escaping from both of you at the sensation. Joel looked down at where he was nestled against your folds, your arousal coating his length. He couldn't look away as he started to push forward, the thick head of his cock stretching your entrance. 

“God, you're so tight… Just relax, beautiful.. Let me in.” He coaxed, one hand cupping your face tenderly.

He pressed his lips to yours, as if he couldn't stay away from you for too long, distracting you as you accommodated to his size. His other hand came up to cup your breast, kneading the soft mound, his fingers teasing your nipple. Slowly, as if he were afraid to break you, he pressed deeper, feeling how perfectly you were taking him, your walls gripping his cock.

“Fuck– You're so–” You were a breathless mess beneath him, words tumbling out in fragments. “You're so big…”

“I know Baby… I know.”

He felt the way you tightened around him at the petname, and his lips curled into a knowing smile against yours. Finally, he hilted himself entirely inside you, his heavy balls pressing against your ass. He had to wait a second before he could move again, waiting for you to relax and for him to take a second to breathe, or he would be coming undone too quickly. You just felt so good around him, so tight and perfect. When he felt both your breathing steadying, he slowly withdrew his cock until only his tip was still inside you. You whimpered under him, your hips begging him to come back. He kept you there for a second, his hands grabbing your hips hard, fingers digging so tightly it wouldn't be surprising if you bruised there tomorrow. Joel liked the idea of you having a reminder of this, of him. 

“What’s it that you said last week, uh?” He taunted, your eyes fluttering open to watch him. “When you were riling me up and I was doing everythin’ to be good?”

You mumbled something incoherent, too focused on trying to get more of him inside of you, to feel that delicious stretch again. You didn't care about last week; you cared about him, right now, but Joel's grin grew wider. 

“Oh yeah, I remember… I need every inch.” he cooed, imitating your voice. “Yeah, you fucking do.”

And then he slammed back in you, his cock hitting the deepest part of you. You let out a cry as the sensation, your arms immediately wrapping around his shoulders to bring him closer to you. He gripped your hips with a low growl, pulling you flush against him as he pounded in you, wanting to go deeper with each thrusts. 

“Joel–” you mewled between whines. “Oh fuck!”.

He wasn’t sure his name had ever sounded that good on anyone’s lips.

“Again.”

You blinked up at him, dazed. “Uh?”

“My name. Say it again.”

So you did, singing his name like it was the only word that you could remember as he kept snapping his hips against yours. His name a desperate plea, a prayer. Joel Joel Joel.

For a moment, the shop was nothing but the sound of your voice crying out his name, the raw slap of skin against skin, and the rough, reverent praise he growled into your ear.

Doin’ so good for me, baby. 

You feel incredible… you’re so fuckin’ beautiful

Sweet pussy so tight for me, so perfect..

Joel leaned down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking and nibbling the sensitive bud. His pace didn't falter, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you with every stroke.

“I'm.. Joel–” You gasped under him. “ Fuck Joel– I'm close…”

He could feel you tightening around him, your body tensing as you got closer to your release. His own orgasm was building, threatening to overcome with every sound you made for him, but he was holding back, determined to make you come first, to give you the pleasure you deserved. His hand travelled to your clit, his thumb moving in half circles, making your whole body shake with pleasure. 

“Come for me, baby, please,” Joel said in a choked exhale. “I want– I need to feel you come on my cock.”

Your cunt clutched around him at his words, your sweet moans filling the room as your orgasm took over you, and Joel swore he was brought to this earth to hear those sounds. The sensation of you, fluttering around him, his name escaping your lips as you did, was his undoing. He couldn't hold himself any longer. He knew you could feel it too, your eyes opening to watch him, your hand grabbing his arm instinctively.

“Baby…” Joel started, but he didn't have time to ask. 

“Inside. Please, come inside me.” 

And if Joel were a better man, he might have refused. But in this moment, all he could feel was you, so tight, so perfectly made for him. So he wasn’t a better man, and honestly, he’d already made his peace with that if it meant having you. He buried himself deep with a final slap of his hips, his cock pulsing as he came hard inside you, your name leaving his lips as his hips jerked with each spurt of his release. He kept grinding against you, working his cock in and out of you as long as he could, prolonging both your orgasms. He could feel your mixed come seeping out of you around his cock with every movement. It was filthy. You both loved it. 

You grabbed his hair, pulling him down to capture his lips in an eager kiss as both your orgasms started to subside. His thrusts finally slowed down to a stop. He rested his forehead against yours, both of you panting and glistening with sweat. You looked at each other, both with a satisfied smile on your lips. 

“That was–”

“Fucking amazing,” you finished for him, and the two of you laughed gently. 

He finally pulled out of you with a satisfied grin, not without appreciating the sight of his cum slowly making its way out of you. He pushed it back inside with his fingers, noticing how you watched him do it with appreciative eyes. Finally, he rolled on his back next to you, your shoulders brushing against each other on the wooden floor of the shop. 

He turned his face toward you, only to find you already watching him, your body instinctively angled in his direction. Your eyes met his in a shared, dazed gaze as his chest finally slowed down. A strand of hair clung to your forehead, damp with sweat, and he gently brushed it back, tucking it away. When his hand lingered to cup your cheek, you leaned into his touch without hesitation, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I…” Joel paused, unsure what the hell he was supposed to say now. “I don’t usually do this.”

“Me neither,” you said, brushing a quick kiss to his lips, too quick for his liking. “Believe me, Miller, you’re the only client I’ve ever crossed the line with. The only one I’ve ever wanted to.”

“You’re gonna make me blush,” he muttered, meaning it as a joke, but it landed closer to the truth than he expected.

Because knowing you found him attractive enough to make a move, multiples even, to risk the usual boundaries, to toss professionalism aside just to see if the attraction was mutual? It set something warm in his gut, a heat creeping up the back of his neck. He was sure it wouldn't go away for a long time, didn't want it to. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” you teased, reaching for a nearby scrap of fabric nearby to clean the mess between your legs. Joel briefly wondered if the small cloth was something expensive, but you didn’t seem to care, and he didn’t ask. His attention was caught instead by the way the fabric darkened with your shared release, the evidence of how deep he was inside you just moments before. 

“I never blushed,” he muttered, eyes flicking back to your face, though the spark in your eyes told him you were just as affected as he was by the sight.

“Don’t go all shy on me now. I liked watching you try to keep it together. You were cute, trying so hard to hide it.”

“I thought I was being subtle,” he groaned, running a hand through his hair, clearly embarrassed.

“Oh, sure,” you smiled, shifting closer and letting your fingers trail lightly over his chest as you tilted your head toward his. “ So subtle. You know, most clients don’t moan when I measure their inseam.”

His brow furrowed, gaze narrowing on you. “I didn’t moan.”

“Yeah, you did.”

Did he? God, he wasn't sure. 

You gave him a wicked little smile, and he couldn’t help but pull you closer, guiding you fully onto him. The warm press of your still bare skin against his made something in him settle, his thoughts only focused on how good you felt. He kissed you again, slower this time, unrushed simply because he could. Because you were there, perfect and fitting against him as if you were meant to.

“Fuck,” Joel cursed softly between two kisses, “If I’d known a proper suit would lead to this, to you… I would have come sooner.” 

You giggled softly against his lips before turning your head toward the scattered pile of clothes on the floor, just a few feet away. Joel felt you shift slightly against him, and his hand moved in slow, soothing strokes along your back.

“I really hope we didn’t ruin the suit,” you said, glancing back at him with a hint of concern. “Should’ve been more careful with it. I seriously don’t have time to fix any major damage.”

“‘S my fault. Gave you an awful deadline, and then here I am keeping you away from your work. I’m a terrible client.”

He gave you a sheepish smile, and you let out a quiet laugh. “Then I must be a terrible tailor,” you replied, “because I really, really like when you keep me away.”

Joel felt something tighten in his chest. Did you even know what you were doing to him? He wondered if you could feel the way his heart beat harder beneath your hand, like it was answering only to you. You were funny, kind, ridiculously talented, and so damn beautiful. Was it foolish of him to think this felt like more than a simple moment of pleasure? To hope this wasn’t just a one-time thing? He wanted more. To see you again, outside this shop. Somewhere he could be the one to make you blush. 

You were saying something about the deadline, about how the wedding was creeping closer when Joel cut you off.

“You should come with me.”

You blinked. “What?”

“To the weddin’. You should come with me.”

“You want me to… come to the wedding? With you?”

Joel shifted, sitting up and taking you with him, guiding you into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. He pressed a slow kiss to the curve of your neck. He couldn’t help himself, not with your skin so close and inviting.

“I do,” he murmured against your skin, then pulled back, needing to see your face, to gauge what you were thinking. The look you gave him was unreadable, and it made his stomach twist just a little. “I mean–yeah, I probably got the order a little backwards. Should’ve taken you out first, done this right,” he said, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “But better late than never, right? And… I do have a plus one.”

There was a beat of silence where you just looked at Joel, expression unreadable, and for a moment, he wondered if he’d pushed too far and ruined whatever moment you were having. But then you gave him a curious smile.

“You want to take me on a first date to a wedding?”

He tensed, trying to sound casual. “Too weird?”

“Between that and the suit,” you teased, “I’m starting to think you’ve got a thing for rushing things.”

He let out a quiet breath, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Forget the weddin’, then. Just…let me take you out. A real date. Please,” he added, the word slipping out faster than he meant to, a flash of uncertainty creeping in. Maybe this was just a one-time thing for you?

You didn’t answer right away, and Joel braced himself for the gentle letdown. But then you said, “Once your suit’s done… I should have some time for a real date.”

Joel smiled instantly. A real, full smile. The kind he rarely gave. The kind that pulled out that faint dimple Sarah always teased him about. You couldn't help but smile back, warmed by the sight of it.

“By the way,” you said, shifting slightly on top of him, “I think you should come get your suit the morning of the wedding if that’s okay with you? I know it’s a little last minute, but I really want to make sure it’s perfect for you.”

Joel nodded as he leaned back on his elbows, his eyes never leaving you as you spoke. He wasn’t in his twenties anymore, but looking at you, naked and perched over his waist, your tits rising slightly with each breath, your pussy still wet from and for him, he knew it wouldn’t take him long to be ready for another round. His hands itched to reach for you again, to be inside you one more time.

But before he could entertain the idea, the familiar sound of his ringtone cut through the moment. You glanced toward the sound with a knowing smile still on your lips — the same lips he hadn’t finished kissing yet.

Joel let out a low groan as he stood, dragging himself away from the warmth of your body. He stepped back toward the pile of clothing, finding his discarded jeans and fishing out his phone. Tommy’s name lit up the screen.

Of course it was his brother.

Joel shot you an apologetic look before answering. “What’s up Tommy?” he said, his eyes still trained on you. You were propped on your elbows, unabashedly ogling his nakedness without any shame. He liked this look on you. 

“Hey Joel. Sorry to bother, I know you're at your appointment,” Tommy started, “but when do you think you'll be headin' home?

Joel’s stomach dropped. Tommy was at his place, keeping an eye on Sarah. His brother never called when he was babysitting. Never needed to. “Why?” he asked sharply, already reaching for his jeans. “Is somethin’ wrong? Is Sarah okay?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw you rising to your feet, your expression shifting. You were gathering your clothes quietly, understanding without needing to ask that whatever you’d just shared had been cut short. He hated that, almost as much as the panic twisting in his chest.

​​“She’s okay,” Tommy said on the other end, his voice calm but laced with that careful tone people used when they didn’t want you to panic. “She’s got a bit of a fever. Nothin’ serious, I swear. Gave her some medicine, but she’s restless…won’t go to sleep.”

Joel’s chest tightened. He pictured Sarah, his sweet girl, curled up under a blanket, cheeks flushed, sniffling and tossing in bed. She needed him. She always had, and he needed to be there, to hold her hand, stroke her hair, whisper that everything was going to be alright.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, already tugging on his shirt. “Alright. I’ll be home in twenty.”

After a quick see you soon from his brother, Joel ended the call, patting his pocket to make sure his car keys were still there and not lost somewhere on the floor, before grabbing his jacket. When he turned around, you were already dressed just like him, but barely put back together. Anyone walking in could tell what had happened between you. Both of you were flushed, your hair a mess, lips still swollen from kissing, skins still glistening and carrying the scent of each other... God, he didn’t want to leave. Not when all he could think about was pulling you close again, hearing those filthy little sounds you made, and finally bending you over that damn counter the way he’d imagined since he first walked in. But reality tugged at him harder. He had to go: Sarah was waiting. 

And somehow, like you could hear every unspoken thought racing through his head, you gave him a soft, knowing smile.

“Go. It’s okay,” you said softly, stepping closer and resting your hand over his chest for just a moment.

“I’m sorry–” Joel murmured, but you were already shaking your head.

“Don’t be. You’ve got important things to do… and so do I.” You nodded toward the half-finished suit waiting on the floor. “Need to make sure we didn’t pop any stitches. The deadline’s already tight enough.”

A smile tugged at his lips despite everything. “Can’t have that.”

He lingered for a beat, then leaned in and pressed a brief but meaningful kiss to your lips.

“See you the day of the weddin’?”

You hummed against his mouth, smiling. “Yes. Now go,” you said, stepping back from him like it took as much willpower for you to leave this moment as it did for him.

He never hated the sound of the bell above the door more than that night. 

The wedding was nothing short of beautiful. Tommy and Maria exchanged their vows in a rustic, converted barn just south of Austin, surrounded by the warmth of family and friends. Sarah served as the flower girl, her laughter ringing out as she gracefully walked down the aisle in a beautiful purple dress. Standing beside his brother as best man, Joel felt his chest swell with a fierce, tender love watching his daughter so carefree and happy. He caught every word Tommy spoke, his little brother’s voice usually so steady and confident, cracking just slightly with emotion as he vowed his love to his now wife. Many wiped away tears as the couple finally said "I do" beneath a canopy of flowers and fading sunlight. 

It might have been the perfect day, if not for one thing. Or rather, the absence of one person. Yours.

Joel never saw you that morning. He’d thought about you all week, a constant pull deep in his chest, forcing himself not to swing by the shop just for a glimpse of you. Instead, he threw himself into work and wedding prep, trying to dull the itch of missing you. He cursed himself daily for not asking for your number. One night, when the longing twisted too sharply in his chest, he searched online and found the shop’s listed phone, but the thought of Frank picking up stopped him cold. He didn’t want to seem overeager, didn’t want to scare you off with his restlessness. It had been so long since he’d felt this way, since wanting someone had felt this easy and this terrifying. He missed your voice. Your laugh. The press of your body against his. And though he was certain Tommy had picked up on the shift in his mood, for once his brother didn’t tease, too focused on the biggest day of his life fast approaching.

So to say Joel had been eager to get to the shop that morning would’ve been a massive understatement. The nice cologne had been used again and he looked more put together than he had the week before, groomed for the wedding later that day but thinking only of you. He wanted to see your eyes on him again. Wanted to know if you’d look at him like you had last time, to know if you wanted him just as much.

It was the only thing on his mind as he pushed open the shop door. But instead of finding you behind the counter, he saw Frank. Joel’s heart sank a little, though he tried not to show it. Still, he asked, as casually as he could, if you were in the back, maybe finishing up the final touches. But the look on Frank’s face said everything before he even opened his mouth.

You weren’t there. 

Joel’s stomach dropped. You hadn’t kept your word. Well… "word" was a bit of a stretch, you hadn’t promised exactly, but he’d clung to that moment, to your smile and the softness in your voice when you said you’d see him on the morning of the wedding. He’d replayed it more times than he cared to admit.

He must not have hidden the disappointment well, because Frank cleared his throat and spoke up, his voice more gentle than Joel expected.

“She was working on it ‘til late this morning,” he said. “Pushed herself too hard, I think. Took the day off to rest. But it was worth it… the suit looks incredible. One of her best, if you ask me.”

So that was it. You weren’t here because of him. The irony of it twisted something in his chest.

Frank disappeared into the back to retrieve the suit, leaving Joel alone with the silence of the shop. His eyes drifted, unbidden, to the spot on the floor where just days ago your bodies had been tangled together, breathless and blissful. 

Would he see you again? Should he wait for you to reach out? Or come back in a few days with some excuses in hope of catching you? 

Maybe this was your way of letting him down easy, skipping this morning to avoid saying it out loud. Maybe agreeing to the date was something you said in the moment to smooth the goodbye. Joel wasn’t sure which version stung worse: the possibility that you didn’t mean it, or that you had… but changed your mind.

Still, he tried to tell himself he was lucky. That if this was the end, at least it ended on a high note, one that had kept him awake in bed most nights this week, haunted him in the shower, followed him even in his truck one morning when the memory of you was getting too much. 

Frank reappeared, the suit neatly encased in a protective garment bag. After settling the payment, Joel took it with equal care. Hands steady, heart anything but. There was a strange mix bubbling in his chest: anticipation to see the final product you’d worked so hard on… and the quiet ache of knowing you weren’t here to show it to him.

He was about to thank Frank and say goodbye when the older man stopped him, reaching behind the counter.

“Hold on,” Frank said, offering a small box with a knowing smile. “She picked this out for you. Took her time with it.”

Joel’s brows drew together in confusion as he gently opened the box. Inside was an elegant, perfectly folded green pocket square. He stared at it for a moment, thinking back to the first appointment with you. That made his throat tighten. With everything going on, he had never told you what colour he wanted. This choice, this detail, was all yours. 

You'd thought of him.

Perhaps you meant what you said, and maybe you’d been thinking about him just like he’d been thinking about you. A small, involuntary smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He’d be coming back, there was no question about it now. He wasn’t going to let this — you — become a fleeting moment. Not when it could be something more.

He looked around the shop one last time, his gaze lingering on the space where he’d kissed you last, a moment he had replayed more times than he’d admit. With a soft exhale, he nodded to Frank.

“Tell her thank you… for everything,” Joel said quietly.

“Will do,” Frank replied with a knowing look.

The bell above the door jingled as Joel stepped out into the sunlight, suit in one hand, pocket square in the other.

When he put it on the suit later that day, standing in front of a mirror in Tommy’s room, he allowed himself to smile. The final suit was beautiful, more than Joel could have imagined. Every stitch was precise, every seam perfectly aligned. He could feel the care you'd poured into it, the way it moulded to him like it had been made by someone who knew him intimately. And, in some ways, you did. 

He looked good, and he wasn’t the only one who noticed.

Tommy let out a low whistle when he caught sight of him. “Well, damn,” he laughed, clapping a hand on Joel’s back. “Didn’t know you cleaned up this good.”

Then came Sarah, who gasped the moment she saw him. “You look so handsome, Dad!” she giggled, running into his arms. He picked her up easily, heart swelling as she beamed at him so wide in her pretty flower girl dress. 

Throughout the reception, a few other guests surprised Joel with compliments. Some people he knew, some others he didn't. A few words on the quality of the suit, or just telling him how handsome he looked tonight. He wasn't used to this kind of attention; he was a man usually more at home in jeans and work boots, and felt a rare heat rise to his cheeks with each kind word. It was a strange thing, being the centre of attention, but beneath the initial awkwardness was something deeper. Some kind of pride. Not just in himself, but in you . People were admiring your work, and by extension, they were seeing him the way you had.

Joel was leaning against the bar, his eyes on the dance floor where Tommy and Sarah were spinning in tight little circles. His daughter stood on her uncle’s feet, clinging to his hands as she laughed with that bright, unfiltered joy only kids could muster. Her giggles rose above the music, and Joel couldn’t help but smile into his glass as he took another sip of whiskey. He wondered how long he had before Sarah would come barreling back to pull him out for another dance. At least now, in this new suit, he wouldn’t look like a wrinkled mess doing it. The thought of the old thing made him grimace; he would’ve been sweating through it by now.

He adjusted that deep green pocket square you'd picked for him as his mind drifted again. To you. It kept happening every time someone complimented him tonight, when a couple swayed close together, and he imagined you in his arms instead. When he caught sight of that guy across the room, who looked vaguely like Frank, when–

“I do love a man in a suit,” a soft voice said behind him. “Even more when I’m the one who put him in it.”

Joel turned so fast he nearly knocked over his drink, his heart jumping into his throat. His eyes widened the moment he saw you. There you were, smiling at him like a dream.

“Hi, Joel,” you said gently, stepping closer to him. You were in a stunning green dress that hugged your body in all the right places. Just devastly beautiful. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words dried out before they could form. Before he could ask you anything, How did you get here? How are you even more beautiful than last time? Did you miss me like I missed you? A voice from the side cut in.

“There you are!” Maria’s arms were suddenly around you, pulling you into a tight hug. “I was starting to think you’d skip the whole thing.”

“I missed the ceremony already,” you said with light guilt showing in your voice, pulling back and taking in her look, “I couldn’t possibly skip the party too.” Your eyes lit up as you looked her over. “You look incredible . That dress…it’s perfect on you.”

Maria grinned and spun in place, holding out the sides of her dress as if she were on a stage. “I know, right?” she said with an almost disbelieving laugh. Then, eyes shining, she added, “Can you believe it? I’m married !”

You leaned in to kiss her cheek. “I can, and I couldn’t be happier for you. Congratulations.”

It wasn’t until the laughter faded that the two of you seemed to remember the man standing just a few steps away, watching in silence. Slowly, you turned back toward Joel. He was staring between you and Maria like he was trying to solve a puzzle he was missing a piece of. You. At the wedding. Hugging Maria like you belonged here.

Maria glanced over and smiled. “I believe you two have met?”

“We did,” Joel prayed his voice didn’t betray his confusion.

You looked at him calmly, maybe even amused by his reaction. “How are you liking the suit Miller?”

Joel met your eyes. “It’s perfect,” he answered truthfully. The way your smile deepened at his words made something in him stumble. His heart, maybe.

“He really does look amazing,” Maria added, throwing you a sincere look. “You did such a great job. Hope he wasn’t too much trouble.”

You held Maria’s gaze for a beat before turning your eyes back to Joel, something unmistakably teasing flickering behind them. “Not at all,” you said, your voice smooth. “He was very… memorable.”

Joel swore the collar of his shirt suddenly felt too tight. His hand instinctively tugged at it as a flush crept up his neck. Before he could say anything, someone called out Maria’s name from across the dance floor. She gave your hand a quick squeeze before she was swept away into the crowd, off to hug another relative or accept another congratulations. 

You turned toward the bar, ordering something light and fizzy from the bartender and Joel’s eyes followed you, tracing the line of your dress, the way the soft fabric hugged every part of you he hadn’t stopped thinking about all week. Just minutes ago, he’d been wondering if he’d ever see you again. Now here you were, real and stunning and close enough to touch.

He stepped closer, barely thinking before the words left his mouth. “You’re here.”

You turned, now holding your drink, and leaned against the wooden bar as you gave him a faint smile. “I’m here.”

“I don’t understand…” Joel admitted as he mirrored your position. “You know Maria?”

“Old friend from college…well, roommate actually,” you said with a small shrug, watching him closely. “Honestly, I thought you knew, since she’s the one who sent you to me. Well… I did right up until you invited me to the wedding.”

Joel huffed a soft, breathless laugh. “A weddin’ you were already invited to,” he said, shaking his head.

You gave a small, almost guilty nod, lips tugging into the faintest smile.

Joel stared at you for a moment. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Your eyes lingered on his, a teasing glint there, but also something warmer underneath. “Didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

Joel’s smile twitched at the corners, but he couldn’t help himself. “Is that why you weren’t there this mornin’?”

You winced just slightly at his words. The regret in your expression was clear, and you stepped in closer. Close enough that he noticed your perfume was different from what clung to his memory. Spicier, but just as enticing. It wrapped around him, and it made him ache to lean in, press his mouth to the hollow of your neck and find out if it tasted the same.

Your fingers brushed the front of his vest, then slowly traced down the line of his jacket. Joel felt his pulse stutter. “I’m sorry,” you said gently. “I really meant to be there. But I was working on this until the sun came up.” You gave the lapel a small tug, grounding your words. “I needed a few hours of sleep if I was going to be any good for the party tonight and–”

“And you knew you’d see me tonight,” Joel finished for you, his voice laced with something hopeful he couldn’t quite hide.

You nodded, your hand still resting lightly against his chest. His eyes followed the movement as your fingers drifted downward until they found the silk of his pocket square. You let your touch linger, smoothing the fabric with a kind of absent affection that made his heart thud harder in his chest. His gaze flicked between your hand and your face, catching the subtle lift of your lips as your smile teased at the corners. 

“It’s the same colour,” he finally murmured, more for himself than for you, as he glanced between the green silk and your dress in that same shade.

You looked up at him then, meeting his gaze fully. The smile you gave him wasn’t coy. It was bold, just like you. 

“Did you… pick this so I’d match you?” he asked then, his voice a little breathless.

“Maybe,” you said in a softvoice, eyes not leaving him. “I wanted to see if you'd wear a little piece of me.”

Joel swallowed hard, warmth blooming in his chest. It was something he’d nearly forgotten how to feel, to be this openly wanted. He wanted to reach for you. To rest his palm against your cheek just to see if you’d lean into the touch. He wanted to kiss those tempting lips of yours, just to feel that low, breathy sound you made when he last had the pleasure of touching you. He wanted to take your hand and find somewhere quiet, somewhere he could reach under that dress and do everything he’d been thinking about since last week. But the night still belonged to his family, and he didn't want to be that guy missing out on this special occasion. 

He turned his head, letting his eyes follow the sound of Sarah’s laughter. She was still on the dance floor, now sandwiched between Tommy and Maria, the three of them a perfect painting of joy. And then his gaze slid back to you. Somehow, he was sure the canvas could only be better if he took your hand and led you into the light. Would you let him? 

“Does Maria know?” Joel wondered, nodding subtly toward the bride. 

You didn’t even blink. “About you fucking me dumb on the shop floor?” you said casually, and Joel nearly choked on nothing but air, coughing into his fist.“No, didn’t really come up yet.”

“Yet?”

“Mmhm.” You nodded slowly. “I mean, you’re still taking me out on that date, right? Then I’ll consider telling her…if it goes well, of course.”

“Of course,” Joel echoed, his hand settling gently at your waist, his thumb absentmindedly tracing the fabric of your dress. Just then, the music that was playing faded into something softer just in time for Joel to lean in and ask: “Can I have this dance?”

You raised a teasing brow. “You got moves, Miller?”

“Plenty of 'em.” 

“Perfect, I’ve been waiting to see this suit in action,” you smiled as Joel took your hand, guiding you toward the dance floor. You leaned closer, your voice dropping to a teasing murmur only for him. “But I do have a question about it…”

Joel raised an eyebrow, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

“Will you let me take it off you later?”

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

[millerillusions]

oh 😭 😭 thank you so much for the mention! definitely going to be reading everything else on this list, so grateful to be here with such wonderful writers ♥️❤️

fic recs: 2024 - january - february - april/may - june

I know, I know, I'm late and I'm so sorry 🥺. life was quite busy this last month, but finally, here it is the July fic recs!!!!!

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Harry Castillo (One Shot)

no one else comes close - @pedroscurls

only want you - @tagged-by-trauma

Going to a party with Harry turns out to be quite different than you expected, but at home you make sure to show him just how much you really love him.

Joel Miller (One Shot)

needy - @littledes1re

You and Joel are fuck buddies…that‘s it lol

red dress - @suuuupernovaaa

a man disrespects you, and joel handles it

good men die too, so I'd rather be with you - @lowrisemiller

you're the last friendly checkpoint before the edge of the Boston QZ. a safehouse disguised as a run-down gas station turned supply pit-stop. you’re not a Firefly, not FEDRA, not quite neutral either. you're your own authority, and people respect that. smugglers pass through, barter, rest. joel is one of them. comes and goes like a storm—gruff, practical, unreadable. you assume he’s only here because it’s convenient. you try not to care. but every time he returns, it gets harder not to.

the secret of us - @lowrisemiller

couch rut - @whimsicalwritersstuff

A quiet night at home turns into something more intense when you in Joel's lap during a movie.

petty grievances - @followyourfleart 

You know your husband—five years of marriage has seared every one of Joel’s habits into your mind. The good, the bearable, and especially the parts you’ve learned to swallow down. So when he gets petty, you know how to manage it. But how much can Joel really handle when his wife is standing right there—and how much longer can he stand there when you look like that?

idle hands - @honeyandruin

You’re just trying to pass your final elective. He’s the instructor who doesn’t say much—but sees everything.

torque and tension - @honeyandruin

Your dad’s best friend is a mechanic. You’ve been finding excuses to bring your car in—he’s been finding excuses to keep you close. One late night in the garage, the tension snaps.

gainin' control - @millerillusions

Joel is always in command, both in and out of the bedroom, and you always surrender willingly to it. But just once, you want to see what it's like to gain that control over him instead.

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if you have any recommendations, please drop in the comments :) love u!

[millerillusions]

[millerillusions]

currently listening to the rest of Ethel Cain’s new album

[millerillusions]

It’s actually insane.

[millerillusions]

someone stop him

[millerillusions]

my drafts keep growing…

[millerillusions]

Thank you so much for 1k notes on this!! yall are crazy

There will be a Part Two, I promise <33

Gainin' Control | Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel is always in command, both in and out of the bedroom, and you always surrender willingly to it. But just once, you want to see what it's like to gain that control over him instead.

Pairing: Old Man!Joel Miller (The Last Of Us) x f!reader

Word Count: 8.6k

Warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, pwp, dom!Joel turned reluctant sub!Joel, dom!reader, rope restraints, dry humping makes joel cum in pants!! cum eating, overstimulation, oral (m!receiving), ball worship, edging & orgasm denial, tiny little bit of ass play, unprotected piv for just a sec (wrap it in foil yall), old man Joel (late 50s-60s), reader age unspecified (is 18+), joel whimpering and begging is a warning in itself, no descriptions of reader other than female anatomy

A/N: i was working on my wips then had this sudden thought of old man Joel and i took a break to write it. this is just pure filth. it was supposed to be a quick under 1k word drabble, but like always i got carried away... really carried away. i love that old man. thanks to anyone who reads <33 dividers by @/saradika-graphics also starting a taglist, just ask!

Masterlist

You can’t stop thinking about it. About him.

About how he’s always in control. Even just in every-day life; he’s always steady, staunch, steadfast.

Thinking before he acts, a burning strength coiling around each of his limbs every time he walks out of your shared house. Like a maneuvering tank, broad and hefty despite his older age and his aching back, hauling a hunting rifle over his shoulder before he places a kiss against your temple when he leaves for patrols in the morning.

Joel Miller is always in control.

You wonder what it would be like for him to have to surrender it, to take instead of give. Just once.

To have him relinquish what he always holds within thick, clenched fists that he sometimes has to strain just to stretch out his fingers, even though he’ll still adamantly pump and curl two or three of those thick digits inside your sopping cunt just to watch you writhe for him.

Even in the bedroom, he likes to have control. And you always give it over to him easily, finding solace in the grasp of his hands on your tender skin, on the scratch of his brown and peppered-grey beard along your flushed neck and your kiss-bitten thighs. And he swallows it down like you succumbing is the sweetest, freshest juice he could hope to find. A caring, blooming, saccharine thing like you gleefully passing over the abundance of your trust with cupped palms like it’s an offering.

You rarely see him stumble in that control. But even he says you’ve always been a determined person.

He’s barely through the front door, his body sagged with exhaustion from the day, movements languid and slow, when your body is practically barreling into him just the same, hands rising to cup his stubbled jaw and lift your face to his, lips pressing to his chin, then his lips in haste.

“Missed you today,” you murmur. Like clockwork, his burly arms wrap around you and despite your blindsiding enthusiasm, he’s kissing you back with equal eagerness, mustache tickling your upper lip as your mouth slots over his.

“Missed you too, sweetheart,” he rumbles back against your lips, pulling away just barely with a sharp breath, swaying slightly when his knees ache after being on his feet all day. His brows are twitched inwards with slight dubiety, even if he isn’t at all repelled by your attention, just curious about your immediate eagerness. “What’s the occasion?”

You don’t keep your mouth off him for long, dipping your face down to litter kisses and short, sharp nips down his neck, eliciting a soft exhale from him, his head tipping back instinctively to allow you more access.

“It’s the end of the week. Meaning I don’t have any more early shifts at the armoury for a month,” you mumble into his skin, tongue whisking out to taste the lingering tang of his day, sweat and earth permeating comfortingly along your taste buds. Like melting wax of a candle, sandalwood and zest.

A grin ticks at the corner of his mouth.

“So we can go back to having regular morning sex?”

A snort of amusement falls from you, rumbled against his throat, along with a toothy grin as you retort back, “Yeah, meaning we can do all of Jackson a favour by making sure you’re not grumpy the entire day.”

Joel tsks as if offended despite his mirth, one of his hands splayed over your lower back sliding up to instead cup the nape of your neck and drag your face back up to him, lips carving over yours firmer this time.

“It’s a good thing, though,” he murmurs, mouth pulling away slightly, biting gently against your lower lip, “you deserve a break.”

You hum in concurrence, hands flexing against his cheeks before guiding downwards, around his shoulders, arms looping. You tilt your head back just slightly, eyes flickering between his, a swirling hunger you don’t bother to swallow down kindling in them.

“Think I also deserve something to celebrate, don’t you?” You suggest, fingers toying with the hairs at the nape of his neck, twirling through a curl. Continuing softly, “Like a reward.”

He pauses, a brow quirking with teasing gaiety, “Does it now?”

Nodding, you lift yourself up higher, deliberately dropping your tone to a coquettish lilt, eyes dipping to a heavy-lidded leer.

Your lips brush with his, a barely-there graze of mingled breath. “Yeah. Think you can help me, Miller?”

His lips are determinedly pressing against yours again. More intentional, purposeful as his hands glide over your curves, tracing your sides with calloused fingers. His tongue traces the seam of your lips, coaxing them apart, opening you up to him. Demanding it.

You conform easily, sighing with repose, shoulders slackening, allowing yourself to lose yourself in the rough movement of his mouth against yours, the taste of his tongue, tangling with yours in a dance that grows heavier and more prudent with each passing beat.

It quickly shifts into something thick, ungraceful- a groan travelled from his throat into your mouth, which you eagerly swallow down. His hands become forceful, urging you backwards until your spine gently meets the plastered wall by the stairs. Your chest arches against his, lower spine preening, his hands pawing at every part of you he can reach; along hips, stomach, upper abdomen, thumbs scathing at the underside of your breasts through the swimming material of his shirt draped over you.

“Upstairs,” you urge breathily against his mouth, never once breaking the kiss- not even as he grunts in approval, large hands sweeping down under your bare thighs, hoisting you up effortlessly. You beam against him, legs mechanically wrapping around his waist and squeezing lightly.

The journey up the stairs is a mess of heavy, panting breaths, grabbing hands and twisting fingers, messy kisses, aching knees, and an exceptionally sore back.

Wood creaks under boot until Joel is haplessly throwing you down onto the bed, joining you a moment later, his hefty body crawling atop yours with surprising speed for a man his age. His hands paw at your legs, clothed in just an oversized pair of his sweatpants, kneading at your thighs to spread them, lifting himself up onto his knees.

“Spread,” he orders in a mutter, darkened eyes hungrily roving over you. Dressed in his clothes like it’s the finest, estimable silk. His large shirt draped over you, white cotton panties peeking out from beneath the hem. And fuck, he swears his heart palpitates at just the sight. He’s positive one of these days you’re going to send him into cardiac arrest earlier than he anticipated.

He shrugs his jacket off unceremoniously, throwing it carelessly to the floor in a haste to get his hands back on you. Soft, pliable you. Then he’s lowering himself back down, hands bracing on either side of you, mouth lowering down to your flushed neck, sucking at the delicate skin, lathing kisses back over to soothe. His hips press flush to yours, letting you feel the effect you consistently have on him over the covering of your centre.

“I’ve.. I’ve been thinking,” you say ardently, caught in between a gasp in the tangled web of hunger.

“About what?” He replies distractedly, mouth moving over your throat, nipping by the flutter of your pulse, by your carotid artery.

“My reward. I wanna try something new,” you explain, pleading with your own volition to remain intact, to not back away.

“Mhm. What’s that, sweetheart?” He mumbles, tongue tracing out to dip by your neck where the collar of his shirt sits over your shoulder.

Your bottom lips purses with the smallest breath of hesitation, hands trailing up his sides, to his chest, splaying there.

“I wanna… wanna be in control this time.”

He pauses.

Head lifting from the crook of your neck to glance down at you, wondering if he heard you correctly. His brows pinch inwards, as though he doesn’t even know how to begin with interpreting the idea.

“You want to be in control?” He parrots dumbly.

Your bottom lip catches between your teeth, wavers of apprehension curdling in your stomach at his reaction. You hadn’t expected him to immediately leap and cheer, sure- but you also hadn’t expected the way his face falls dubiously. Still, you swallow harshly, and nod.

His eyes tilt over your face, scanning, examining. Then they soften, something more tender ticking at his lips.

“You reckon you can?” He rumbles, a teasing curl to his tone, head cocking just slightly down towards you.

“Joel,” groaning his name, you tap your hand against his chest, insisting. “I wanna try.”

His amusement seems to subside there, realising how ardent you are about the idea, that you’re not just toying with his buttons. He looks unsure, multiple leaden beats passing before a heavy sigh falls from him, like there’s an anvil placed atop his spine.

“Please?” You try, desperately hopeful. His gaze flutters, then his lips thin; you see the intrigue murmur past his expression.

“Okay, then. Yeah, a’right,” He huffs, like he’s averse to the prospect of yielding to any control, like his cock doesn’t twitch beneath the zipper of his jeans at the thought of it being with you.

You beam, “Really?”

Affection crosses his features, that permanent furrow of trepidation between his brows smoothing out as he peers down at you. “Really.”

Adrenaline pulses through you all at once, having half-expected for the idea to be shut down. You hadn’t really planned this far ahead, and now you’re stuck with Joel atop you, suddenly uncertain where to go from here.

You hear him chuckle softly, dipping back down to press a kiss against your collarbone, then the curve of your breast over the fabric of his shirt.

“What do you want to do first?” He coaxes, virtually urging the reigns into your clammy palms.

You exhale shakily, mind soaring through an arrangement of crude, potent ideas.

“Get, um.. get on your back,” you direct, nodding your head in gesture towards the empty space of bed beside you both. Joel’s mouth ticks again, as if entertained by your blatant apprehensiveness stepping into this newfound role. You’re determined to stifle that amusement.

He acquiesces, a sighed groan falling from him as he strenuously rolls off you and around onto his back, spine flexing and shifting to adjust himself comfortably on his strained, aching bones.

“Like this?” He murmurs, eyes tracing back around to you, that familiar warmth he reserves for only very few settled comfortably in his gaze.

“Mhm,” you agree, drawing in a final, shaky breath to conceal your nerves and upright your voracity. Rolling around, you flick your leg up and over to straddle his waist, thighs bracketing him. You peer down towards him beneath you, his hands automatically settling on your waist without thought. His chest rises and falls steadily with a strength you’ve become so familiar with.

His body feels newer lately.

Since you both arrived in Jackson, you were gifted the freedom of security, of safety. You were able to let yourself relax, and so was Joel. He didn’t have to be consistently on guard like he always insisted on being, didn’t have to always be astute and keeping a keen eye out for danger- he could let himself be pliable, content.

Present, with you. Instead of with the threats that always loomed when neither of you had confirmed security.

And with that contentment was comfort. A plush, soft bed at night, wrapped in warmth in a place you can call home. And steady, consistent meals. He’s grown softer. His belly slightly rounder, gentler, curving over his belt that he complained is beginning to feel too tight lately.

You adore it.

You’ve always loved how broad he is- how firm and steady beneath your palms he’s always been. The veins in his forearms flexing each time your hands trail along it, how his stomach flexes and clenches with the drag of your fingertips. He once scowled at the idea that he’s grown more plush, but you just beamed in satisfaction, more than pleased to press the curve of your nose against the slope of his tummy where the coarse, graying hairs of his happy trail begins, leading down to slightly unruly curls that disappear beneath the hefty buckle of his belt.

You hook your fingers under the hem of his grey cotton shirt, tugging firmly once. He lifts his hands away from your waist and raises them above his head to assist you, dragging the material away and discarding it carelessly to the floor. Your hands fall back to his plush stomach, and he hisses softly at the light chill of your touch, his jaw tensing once.

You glide your hands up the expanse of him, feeling up his sides, his ribs, along his chest again- and before he has a chance to lower his arms, you drag your touch up his biceps, then his forearms to his wrists, holding them above his head still.

“You trust me?” You murmur, anticipation burning alight through your veins. He peers up towards you, a noticeable flutter of confusion passing his features, before it softens.

“Always,” he answers.

You send him a lopsided grin, then shimmy your body off his lap, climbing off the mattress and towards your backpack stashed by the dresser. You can feel his gaze burning into you from the bed, slinking smoothly over the bare expanse of your legs from behind. You unzip the pack as you crouch by it, hand shovelling around briefly and curling around a frayed, scratchy line you stored in there days ago when this idea first began to forment.

You straighten, turning towards him, a bundle of rope secured in your hands.

It’s not hard to spot the instantaneous uncertainty that crosses over him.

“Baby-” he starts, eyes fluttering sharply between the brown threaded rope in your fingers and your determined face. You trot back towards him, crawling back onto the bed to straddle his hips once again.

“Please?” Your eyes search his face, settling into the hesitation lingering through the air, through his expression.

His bottom lip purses in that way it does when he’s deep in thought, that doubt swirling like wires in his mind. You lean forward slightly, and press your hand to his chest, just beside the frantic pace of his heartbeat, your fingers splaying out, brushing with such reverence it makes his face slacken.

And for one of the first times since you met Joel Miller, you see his shoulders fall, his jaw relax, fingers twitching and unclenching from his fists. Like he’s easing his own grip on the reigns, carefully passing them to your dutiful care instead. Entrusting you with it.

He exhales heavily through his nostrils, like the weight is physically lifting away from him, then he nods.

You tilt yourself forward, fingers brushing over his wrists, before you’re tying them together with slow, meticulous knots, brows pinched together in focus. You secure them to the headboard, tugging softly to ensure it’s steady enough. The rope is frayed and digs into his skin slightly, but it’s steady enough to keep him held.

“Okay?” You murmur, checking in. He grunts in acknowledgement, nodding again, shifting beneath you. Immediately feeling the bulge of him against his jeans, the firm press of his arousal he’d outwardly deny if it wasn’t pressing into your centre so insistently.

You smile lopsidedly, pleased, and trail your palms back down his arms, fingertips brushing over the strain of his neck, tracing over his bobbing Adam’s apple as he swallows, then lower. Over his stomach, brushing through the silver curls of his happy trail. You shift yourself downwards, your fingers tangling with the buckle of his belt. The clink of metal rings out in the room along with Joel’s shallow breaths as you slide the leather through the loops, before working at the buttons of his jeans, keeping your movements slow.

You drag the denim down his legs, tugging off his boots as you go, discarding each item off the bed with a clatter as they hit the floor. Leaving him in only his boxers, you climb back over him, settling down onto his lap, both of you sounding simultaneous sounds as your covered centre meets the firmness against his boxers- him grunting whilst you exhale sharply.

“Look good like this,” you comment, hungry, rounded pupils trailing over him, up the slope of his tummy, the heave of his chest with hoarse breaths, the broad stretch of his shoulders and the flex of his neck and jaw. His dark eyes peering up at you with a mixture of curiosity and blatant lust, and his wrists tied above his head, wrists straining against their binds, his forearms taut with tension.

You lean yourself forward, and in a moment of gifted benevolence, lay a gentle kiss against his lips. Fleeting, making him huff as you pull away, just to brush your lips over his cheekbone, then his jaw, lips pursing against his stubble, grazing over the brown and grey strands that tickle your upper lip.

“You’ll tell me if it gets to be too much?” You muse, and he nods stiffly. You chide him by nipping once at his jaw, stern.

“Say it.”

His eyelashes flutter with surprise, another breath drawing from him, but he relents. “I’ll tell you.”

You hum with triumph, your tongue softly smoothing over the place where your teeth sunk into his pliable skin, coaxing and reverent. You reward his compliance by slotting your hips more firmly over his, rolling down once into his jutting erection, feeling his pelvis twitch at the feeling, his arousal already bundled-up, sitting heavy in his balls yet confined in his boxers.

Like him, you don’t shy away from marking his skin. You apply more pressure to your kisses as you move down the length of his neck, licking just above where his carotid artery sits before parting your lips and sucking. Feeling the gentle stretch of his skin in your mouth as you suckle firmly, teeth barely scraping against the pliable flesh. You pull away with a soft pop, watching with victory as the skin quickly begins to bloom in a blush of maroon and purple.

You continue downwards, kissing along his collarbone, the stretch of golden-tanned skin, your tongue sliding over the dip between his shoulder and the crook of his neck, over the small swoop of the bone there. Your need pulses and writhes, but you keep your movements steady, slow.

“Been thinking about this for a while,” you admit against him, slightly muffled. Nose dragging up the line of his throat, kissing reverently at the erratic flutter of his pulse, feeling it jump beneath your lips.

“Yeah?” He rumbles, and you inhale softly, body preening into his familiar scent. Like woodchips and something heavy- something that smooths over you like the slow flicker of a candle, wax dripping heat down the curve of your spine. You can smell the fresh waver of his shampoo, letting it soothe you as you swipe your tongue over the sensitive patch of skin behind his ear, feeling him tense with a short shudder beneath you.

“Yeah. About giving you what you always give me,” you murmur, one hand returning to his chest and gliding down smoothly, tapping against his ribs until you reach the waistband of his boxers, fingertips teasing over the edge of the fabric. “To have this control.”

His chest inflates with a hefty intake of breath as you let your index finger barely graze over the prominent tent in his boxers, tracing the outline of his length over the fabric, feeling it jolt beneath your touch before you pull it away just as swiftly.

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles beneath his breath, and you lift up to settle more promptly on top of him, hands steadying yourself against his chest, gaze flickering back up to his face. Your chest constricts with joy at his expression- he already looks ruined, his lips parted with curter breaths, the coffee brown of his irises swallowed by the inky darkness of his pupils, swimming with hunger.

He looks nearly desperate beneath you. Cock jumping where your covered centre drags over it when you shift, hips tilting. You can feel wetness pressing into you, and it’s not only from your own arousal already staining the gusset of your panties- but his boxers, dampened where his tip is flush with it, leaking beads of precome onto the worn material.

“Think you like this idea more than you want to admit, baby,” you purr teasingly, a knowing brow quirking towards him. He clicks his tongue, chin jutting upwards like he’s going to defy your suggestion, but he doesn’t quarrel.

“Yeah, know you do,” you tease. Then, finally relenting just enough, you grind your hips down more securely, soaked panties dragging against wettened boxers, over the persistent throb of his cock beneath you. He grunts, fingers flexing where his wrists are bound atop his head.

“Know he does too,” you purr, thighs tensing around his hips, hips ticking forward again, watching his eyelashes flutter.

You don’t give him a chance to respond before you’re continuing, leering down at him,

“Think I should play nice, honey?”

“Yeah,” he answers immediately, hips flexing up towards you with a nod towards his boxers, attempting to assert his own control despite his position beneath you. “Take ‘em off, sweetheart.”

You cock your head at him with a mock expression, unamused.

“Do you ever play nice with me?”

You see the immediate flutter of bemusement that flashes across his face, his eyebrows threading together.

“Don’t be a cocktease,” he scoffs back gently, hips rolling up into you, seeking friction.

You tut, letting him see the sardonic roll of your eyes, and shift yourself back so you’re not slotted so promptly over his clothed erection.

“No, you don’t,” you answer for him, fingers flicking around the hem of his shirt craning over you, tugging it up over your head. You let it fall away, discarding it to the foot of the bed as your arms twist behind you to unclasp the clip of your bra. His eyes instantaneously snap down to your chest as you allow the material to peel off your body, letting it join the growing pile of clothes on the floor, left in only the simple, delicate white cotton panties.

You watch his eyes darken further with lust as he takes in your breasts, sitting against your chest like the most inviting prize he can’t reach, nipples already pebbling in the frigidness of the air that’s stifled with the heat of your arousal swarming through your veins. You see his neck tense as your own hands lift to cup your tits, squeezing the supple flesh, letting it bulge between your fingertips.

Inviting, sweet, a cruel smile stretching along your face. His face is slack, his tongue unconsciously swiping out to dampen his bottom lip.

“You want something, Miller? Gotta speak up,” you urge, coax, fingers tightening around your own breasts, breath stumbling as your thumbs brush over your peaked nipples.

“You know what I want. Jus’ give me a taste,” Joel grunts back, his inky gaze never leaving your chest.

You tut, chiding, tongue clicking against the upper ends of your mouth.

“That’s not how this is working tonight, baby. You’re not calling the shots.”

He frowns deeply at the reminder, unimpressed, his wrists tugging experimentally against the bounds around his wrists, testing. To your relief, they don’t budge.

“Think I like you like this,” you tease, hands coiling, wrapping around his sides then pushing upwards to his pecs, smoothing over his warm chest, up his arms raised above his head.

“Like what? Tied up and desperate?” He huffs, eyes narrowed at your importunate, persistent teasing, his hips tensing in an effort to not buck up into you.

“Exactly,” you breathe, tone like honey dripping from your tongue, breathy, body leaning forward to press your bare chest to his, breasts squishing to him. His eyelashes flutter with a strained breath as your mouth brushes over his bottom lip, “All mine to do what I please.”

“Baby-” Joel groans, chest lugging upwards with another strangled breath, but you promptly cut him off by settling your waist back onto his lap. You grind down, hips rolling, the outline of his thick cock through his boxers pressing to your underwear.

“Can tease you for as long as I want with you like this,” you continue, ignoring his needy breaths puffing against your lips as your fingers brush back down from his arms, your hips keeping a slow, steady pace, not applying too much pressure as you rotate your hips above him, over him. “Could make you ache and beg for it like you always do with me.”

His eyes narrow at the threat, his thighs tensing beneath you. You can feel the pulsing heat of your cunt pressing against him through your panties, drenched and sticking to your puffy, soaked folds. He throbs beneath you, so unremittingly it must be painful, his face flushing with harsher pants, pre-come staining his boxers, leaking steadily from his tip that must be so sensitive and needy.

“Not gonna beg,” he gruffs out, and you straighten, a cocky grin lilting up your lips.

“We’ll see,” you tsk back quickly, coyly, keeping up the grind of your hips. You fix yourself atop him, your ribs constricting with need as a rough, guttural moan slips from his parted lips, his eyes glazed over as they dart downwards to where you’re both connected, hips rolling, covered core sliding over his straining thickness.

You hum, bringing your hands down to his stomach, nails raking over his skin gently to coax his attention back up to your face, quickening your pace slightly. His bleary gaze snaps back up, and now you notice the sheen by his temple, the cover of sweat quickly gathering over his skin.

“Untie me,” he scowls abruptly, his features firming, seemingly fed up with your toying acts, playing with him, his muscles straining in his arms whilst his wrists tug resolutely at their restraints.

You beam down at him.

“No,” you chirp, far too pleased to deny him, the roles so swiftly reversed between you both. You feel his cock jump again, the fabric of his boxers sticking tightly to the length of him, the space between you both growing sticky with your combined arousals sticking to your underwear. His hands ball into tight fists above his head, his eyes rapidly flickering over you like they don’t know where to settle on your body first.

“Sweetheart- let me out of these,” he echoes again, wrists tugging at rope, his brows furrowing with disheveled concentration.

You smirk, lopsided and relentlessly cruel, the thrill of finally seeing him like this beneath you scourging through your veins like ecstasy, the adrenaline it gifts you filling you nearly the same way his length would. Full, brimming with bliss. You hook your thumbs into the waistband of your panties, letting it snap out, before you’re lifting up just to drag them down your legs, throwing them off to the side.

He groans like he’s in pain. Hips bucking up towards nothing.

You circle your waist back down to settle back on him, a soft moan slipping from your lips and your head lolling forth as your sopping pussy makes contact with the dampened material of his boxers, rough and wiry, dragging over your puffy, slick folds.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel grunts, low and hoarse, his head falling back into the pillows behind him with a rasped breath.

“Feel good, baby?” You tease, rolling your hips in a devastatingly slow grind, sliding with how much your arousal has collected on his boxers. He twitches beneath you, hips jerking upwards again, seeking more friction, needing the contact.

“Gonna regret this when I get out of these, sweetheart,” he promises, his eyes dark and forbearing. But you’re formidable, and you can spot the desperate glint of his gaze as he stares down towards where your bare, glistening folds drag over the straining pulse of his cock over his boxers.

You swallow down a whimper, your nails scratching up his belly and ribs to his chest, curling against his collarbone.

“If you get out,” you muse, half-mirthful and half-earnest, an emphatic grin ticking at the edge of your mouth. “Might just keep you like this- laid out for me to use.”

A noise akin to a growl rumbles in his chest beneath your palms. Deep, formidable. But you’re relentless, only responding by quickening your pace, swallowing down a whine as your sensitive clit catches on the damp material of his boxers, your arousal dripping steadily from your hole.

“Baby..” Joel rasps, gaze raking up your body. He looks vulnerable, raw, stripped open for you, unable to do anything but endure the torturous roll of your hips down into his. You clench your thighs around his waist, grind, swivel- and a whimper tears from him.

You want to swallow the sound, let it fester in your ribcage until it’s synonymous with the rush of your blood swinging through your veins.

“I know, honey. Know you want more,” you croon, hands smoothing over his chest, hips never ceasing in their relentless grind against him, your clit puffy and swollen with each wanton roll down into him. He gasps out, his lower back bowing upwards in a jolting motion.

“Baby- I can’t-” he chokes out, a panicked look crossing his face for a beat, his inhibitions cast aside, and you feel his cock jerk nearly violently beneath you.

“You can,” you correct sweetly. His bottom lip trembles like he’s biting back a wail, your name coiling out instead in a shaky, rasped tone. It sends a shudder up along the expanse of your spine, and you only press harder into him, thighs spreading wider to frame his waist entirely.

Another whimper. Wrecked and needy. His arms bulge, veins flexing prominently, hips bucking up.

A strangled groan as his head falls back, his chest heaving with effort, and you see him lock up, his entire body tensing abruptly beneath you-

Then you feel it.

A pulse, heat, his cock jumping erratically beneath his boxers, firm and damp, sticking to the fabric. You feel the drool and wash of warmth below you, a liquid that’s thick, sticky- more than just your arousal or his pre-come.

Oh, fuck.

You still, your breath stumbling in your chest as you watch his throat convulse around a desperate gasp of air, his cheeks flushed over with heat, burning, sweat smeared over his forehead, his greying curls sticking to his skin.

He just came.

Inside his boxers, just from you rubbing yourself over him.

“Fuck,” you breathe shakily, pelvis tightening and churning with arousal. He shifts, an uncomfortable expression pulling like a grimace over his face as the realisation tips over him.

“Joel-” you start, and he responds with a grunt that sounds devastatingly more like a whimper, his hips squirming beneath you and his eyes diverting downwards in a reaction akin to shame. You feel him slacken beneath you, the fabric against your cunt entirely drenched, the outline of his cock prominent, still twitching with aftershocks. But not as firm, softened with his orgasm.

It’s not difficult to see the mortification stretched along his winced features, his jaw set in a firm grind, molars pressing inwards together. Something nearly malicious tugs in your chest, a burning satisfaction curling up through your body to your mouth, curling it upwards unconsciously.

“Oh, baby..” you purr, coo, keeping your waist still as you lean down to meet him, face hovering over his. You brush your lips over his cheekbone, which burns beneath your touch, your breath casting hotly over his skin. “Already?”

His head turns away, his jaw flexing as he bites down against the tip of his tongue, pupils blown wide with a mixture of chagrin and lust, like a reflection of what he usually reduces you to. And each time, he does it without mercy.

“Don’t gotta be embarrassed,” you hum sweetly, ignoring his shame, casting it aside as you dip your face to his neck. Licking a stripe up the side of his throat, tasting his sweat on your tongue, melting against your tastebuds like ash and salt- you can almost taste his humiliation.

“Did so good f’me, coming like that when I haven’t even touched your cock properly yet,” you continue in a pleased rumble, laying a kiss against the crook of his neck. He’s silent- or at least trying to be, his breath coming in short, heavy pants by your ear, arousal swelling thickly through you. Cunt throbbing in neglect, but you ignore it, sliding further down his body, pressing your lips in fleeting kisses over his sweat-slicked chest. His stomach twitches as you kiss over it, a hitched breath cramping his chest when your fingers hook over the waistband of his boxers.

Then, unhurried, seeing as it’s at your leisure, you pull his boxers down. Peeling the drenched material away from his skin, watching as it stretches away from the softened line of his cock.

Your eyes widen taking it all in. His limp cock stuck to his pelvis, pulsing still, and saturated in sticky, white release. It coats over his base, along his inner thighs, sticking obscenely to his heavy, sensitive balls you’re eager to make full again. The coarse silver curls at the bottom of his length damp and flush with his flesh. There’s so much come.

“Fuck.. so messy,” you murmur beneath your breath, which casts just barely over his overwrought flesh, making his hips twitch against the mattress. You drag his soiled boxers down further from his tarnished body, dropping them away to the floor with a wet plomp.

Your attention is rapt on him, his matted curls at his pelvis, the grey darkened with his spend, his skin flush and glistening with it. Your mouth waters at just the sight, and you can’t help yourself, quickly dipping down to swipe your tongue out- starting from the base of him, and licking one smooth, slow stripe up the side of his length until you reach his sensitive tip. Tasting the smear of salt and musk on your muscle.

He sounds a choked version of your name, his cock jumping weakly at the overstimulation.

“I know,” you coo, swallowing with a satisfied noise, eyelashes fluttering as you dip back down, but avoid his cock this time- instead licking at his pelvis, feeling the thick stickiness of his come pool on your tongue in a glob, before you’re curling your tongue up and eagerly swallowing it down.

“See how it feels, hon? Achin’ and unable to do anything about it?” You mock, though your tone sings with feigned innocence, a flint grin sent up to him. Taking in his dishevelled appearance, his hair damp with sweat, chest heaving and flushed, his blown-out pupils locked on you between his thighs, lathing wicked torture on his come-soaked flesh.

Exhilaration burns through you- seeing what you’ve been able to reduce him to. His muscles trembling when you lower yourself to them at lick at the sensitive skin at his inner thighs, cleaning up the mess he made with a complacent hum before nipping at his flesh and making him groan, his spent dick palpitating with interest.

You drag your nose up by his pelvic bone, inhaling slowly, smelling the salty headiness of him, able to taste his lust, his desperation. You wonder if this is the same thrill he so often procures with you- this control clutched and spilling out from between your fingers, hanging on so tightly whilst the other can do nothing but squirm and plead for reprieve.

Sickly sweet, you smile.

Mocking his usual deprived remorseless acts he bares on your body.

Dipping your head down again, your hand rising to press against the base of his dick, worn-out and weary, but slowly gaining thickness once again with the lewd sensations. You angle the soft skin upwards, parting your lips, then wrap them around his engorged head, purple and swollen with sensitivity.

You suckle, and he moans; a ragged, ruined sound.

“Too- s’too much,” he stumbles out from above you, hips jerking downwards into the bed like he’s trying to escape the warm embrace of your mouth. You only suck harder, cheeks hollowing to pull inwards and bring more of him into your mouth, tasting his release directly from the source. He nearly wails as your tongue swipes over him, lilting through his overly-sensitive slit, his thighs quivering and wrists jerking adamantly at his restraints.

“Can’t- baby, stop. It’s too much,” he slurs like he’s inebriated, drunk on lust. You suction him in further, swallowing him down until you reach halfway, his cock stiffening unconsciously in the wet warmth of your mouth, tongue lathing over the underside of him, tasting his smear of release.

“Jesus fuckin’- gonna fucking regret this so much when I get out of these, shit-” he sputters out, all in one breath- hopeless and rushed. He’s cut-off with a wrecked whine, his head slinging back and hips jerking upwards, not of his own accord. His body attuned to you, achingly seeking out more despite the churning wants and needs of his mind.

Allowing some surrender, you pull off his half-hardened dick, which slaps wetly up against his pelvis, base quivering with reactive tension. You purse your bottom lip, blowing a stream of cool air against his sensitive tip, watching in awe as it twitches, pulsing purple and angry.

“Want me to stop?” you croon, coquettish gaze lilting up to him, like the very epitome of a demonic creature posing as an angel, sent to this plane just for his sickened demise. He stiffens, his thick thighs flexing and relaxing rhythmically, jaw churning and chest heaving.

You wait, a brow lifting expectantly. You spectate the bob of his throat, the flick of a greying curl sticking flush to his forehead, and then the tilt of his stubbled, silver and brown chin as he shakes his head from side to side. Wordless, and so, so needy.

You grin up at him, pleased. Effervescent at how you’ve waned this staunch, stalwart man down to something shameless, loose.

Maybe unmercifully, you crane your neck downwards, seeing his cock jump once with intrigue as you lower down further between his thighs. Curling your tongue out with licentious intent, wrapping it along the underside of one of his leaden, sensitive balls.

An obstructed, smothered cry of your name tumbles from his spit-swollen lips. His eyes nearly rolling back into his skull as you repeat the action, tasting the slick of his come on the base of your tongue, before you’re hollowing out your cheeks and suckling the heavy sack into your mouth. Moaning around him, the vibration reverberating up along his spine, making him jerk, then moan- anguished and hasty.

You let his ball fall away from your mouth with a wet pop, angling his cock upwards with two fingers and reaching your head back up before dropping your hand back to his thigh. Wrapping your lips around his tip, a smear of his pre-come splayed out over his pelvis where it dribbled.

You swallow his gradually hardening cock down, down to halfway, then further, relaxing your throat as he nudges at the back, fists curling to reduce your gag reflex. You feel his length twitch against the walls of your throat as you glide your head down, lower, until your nose is pressing against the slope of his tummy, buried in the slick, silver curls of his happy trail.

“Oh, shit..” he breathes hoarsely, his hips instinctually rising to grind up against your mouth. You gag, spluttering slightly, but swiftly retaliate by lifting your hands and splaying them over his thighs, nails raking sternly, warning him to be still. He stiffens, groaning lowly at the sharp pierce of crescents into his skin.

You swallow around him, feeling him thicken, growing girthier against your tongue, a vein pulsing along the muscle, his scent thick and heady, wading through your senses like the drip of a cool lake over your tired bones.

Drooling happily on his cock, eyes slipped closed in content.

You lift your head, cheeks sucking inwards, tongue swirling rapidly over his swelled tip. There’s an obscene slurp as you dip back down, repeating the action languidly, slowly bobbing your head up and down over him. Taking him into your throat, swiping your tongue along the underside of his length, moaning in awe as he hardens, despite his creaking knees and his resisting stamina.

You drag your mouth off him with a wet pop, but don’t give him a moment to protest before you draw in a hasty breath of air and swoop back down to his balls, greedy tongue lapping out on his other come-smeared sac, sucking it firmly into your mouth. He whimpers, pelvis jolting upwards, then grinding down. You decide not to chide him, too lost in the feeling of his heavy, salty balls sitting sluggishly on your tongue, full and sensitive.

You lap and suckle and moan, alternating between each ball, lathering attention on each one, licking up his prior release until they’re both shiny and slick with your saliva instead. One hand drags slowly up from his thigh to curl around his spit-coated cock, nearly entirely hard in your grip now, stiff and throbbing when you squeeze at the base. Veins prominent and pulsing along the length of him, your thumb drags over them as you slowly pump up and down. Continuing to suck firmly on his balls, daubing recognition on either of them, dribbling on his sensitive skin like it’s the sweetest candy you’ve tasted, attempting to suckle them both into the wet pressure of your mouth at once like some twisted game of chubby bunny.

“Tha’s it.. keep on sucking on ‘em like that, sweetheart,” he crows out from above you, rasping and drawling like the drag of a chisel along wood.

Just to deny him, you pull away, his chest constricting with the efforts to huff back a groan of frustration, lamenting. Your eyes dart up towards him, glossy with your arousal, his own inky black with need, wrists tied above his head, cock perched and weeping at full-mast.

You move. The shift barely even registers in your mind, your body moving of its own accord, led entirely on lust and a depraved desire to see him squirm- your chin tilts, dark eyes perched on his to gauge his reaction when you move lower. Press your face forward and experimentally curl your tongue out, letting it swipe over the pucker of his asshole, wet and hot and filthy.

You see his entire body go taught, his thighs tightening and his breath stumbling in his throat like he’s been punched. His eyes widening and pooling round, dumbfounded and he stares down towards you.

“Baby-” he croaks, shaky, his hips grinding down in one swift roll down against the bed sheets like his body is unsure if he’s trying to keen closer to the sensation or climb away from it. Your hand stills around his cock, drumming a frantic pulse and leaking in your touch, your hot breath casting over his tight back entrance.

But you spot it. That flutter of uncertainty in the pull of his bottom lip, his jaw clenching with hesitation no matter how far his eyes darken. Yours search his with a heated sincerity, scanning over his weariness.

You reluctantly pull back. Allowing him reprieve, not wishing to push too far without a rawer conversation, aware of the freshness of the act and how many barriers he’d have to relinquish to release his tension for something of that unknown territory. You don’t entirely abandon the idea, instead just allowing it to settle, thick and coiling through the air like promise, stashed away but present. But you don’t continue, not this time.

Instead you just flutter your eyelashes up towards him, swarmed with understanding and a quiet acknowledgement neither of you speak aloud. You lift your head back up, and wordlessly take his cock back into your mouth, lips wrapping around him and sucking him in deep. Moaning softly with equal need as the primal, gruff sound that rips from his chest when you sink down to the hilt. Swallowing to stave off your gag reflex.

His face twists with tension, deprived and desirous, hips rolling up once again.

You let him this time, the both of you falling into a sloppy, obscene rhythm where you bob along his length, and he meets you with sharp, unceremonious thrusts, lower back preening off the mattress towards the wet embrace of your mouth.

His moans and grunts meet your ears like something sinful, something delicious, your nose bumping against his stomach with each drop downwards, eagerly accepting him into your throat even when you splutter and drool, tears spiking at your waterline with the short cramping of your ribs.

“Feels so- oh, fuck- swallowing me down so good. Baby, ain’t gonna- shit, ain’t gonna last long like this,” he curses, heaving out like it pains him, his eyes lidding as he watches you zealously choke down on his cock like it’s your redemption, pelvis meeting your mouth with enthusiastic puffs from his parted lips. Fucking into your mouth as his wrists strain against the ropes, the frayed material digging reddened marks into his skin that his mind doesn’t even register.

You pull off abruptly.

He groans in protest, whilst you draw in a desperate gasp of air, blinking away the tears that gathered in your vision, a few dripping down your cheeks, slipping from your chin as your eyes meet his.

“You wanna come, baby?” You rasp, palm curling back around him, pumping his slick flesh slowly, seeing his dick drool in your hand, pre-come beading copiously from his tip with just the smallest squeeze.

He nods, firm and quiet, sweaty throat bobbing with his grating swallow.

“Ask for what you want,” you demand, eyes set assertively on his, waiting, expecting.

“Told you I’m not begging,” he gruffs resistantly, pupils narrowing towards you defiantly. It almost makes you want to laugh- how he still refuses despite the position you’ve placed him in, body nearly curdling with throbbing arousal against your hand with every slow drag of your fist.

Your tongue swipes over your bottom lip with an ironical glare towards him.

“I can stop,” you threaten dreamily. Hand stilling around him.

He grunts, like he’s devastated, drawn from his chest with a piercing fish hook. His hips press up into your stiff, unmoving hand to no avail, which he quickly realises. His chest rises and falls, tummy raising with harsh breaths.

His nostrils flare, eyes glistening like he’s going to deny you, refuse to yield. But his lips work with an opposite agenda, forming the words, tongue loose and wanton.

“Please.”

It’s sharp, bitter. Like he has to physically lasso it out from his throat.

“What was that?” You purr, pushing and coaxing.

His jaw works, chewing over the words with blatant vexation. You squeeze around him, fist swiping up to drag your thumb promptly through his weeping slit, his cock jerking violently against the touch.

“Jesus- fuckin’- please, baby- gotta come in your hand, in your mouth-” he scowls harshly, then whimpers, his pelvis tight and rolling upwards, seeking more. Messy and haphazard. Cock leaking like a faucet, nearly drooling down onto your fist wrapped tight around him.

Abandoning all false pretenses, grating, his heart pulsing in a raucous beat, “Let me come, please.”

Triumph swims like blaring, calamitous fireworks in your chest. You nearly purr with your delight, a gratified grin stretching along the swollen, wet expanse of your lips. You tilt, and lay a single kitten-lick to his tip, swallowing down another bead of pearly-white pre-come.

Then you’re crawling up the expanse of his body.

“I’ll let you come, honey,” you promise sweetly, hand releasing his cock as you climb up over him, coming to straddle his hips once again. His breath cracks in his chest as you lower yourself, your sopping, drooling cunt pressing down against the underside of his slick cock.

You both moan simultaneously at the warm, firm contact, your head lolling forward with a tremble that strikes down your spine like electric shocks. Finally placing some stimulation on your abandoned, needy pussy.

You grind down just barely, your folds spreading over him, coating him in your arousal, dragging up and down with a distant squelch.

“Please- take me inside you, shit, let me feel you,” he nearly babbles, eyes glazed over, wrists twisting in earnest against his rope confines. “Gotta feel that sweet cunt wrapped around me.”

Joel’s chest burns with a deep, unfiltered sound, his cock jerking beneath you, his head falling backwards with a rasped whine when his red tip catches at your clenching entrance. Your hands glide up, over his chest, one settling gently on the side of his neck, the other coming to delicately cup his jaw. Holding him in your palms like he’s something fragile, cradling him like he’s precious- which he is, to you.

You soften, heart throbbing with an affection only he has bestowed upon your weakened psyche, an endless stretch of fervour and want you’ve never experienced before. Not with anyone but him. With his firm body that softens in the middle, his stubbled jaw and the wrinkled crow’s feet by his glossy eyes your thumb strokes smoothly over now, his face mechanically tilting into the warmth of your touch despite his haste.

Lowering down, you press your lips to his. Gentle, tender, breathing into him like a life source, exhaling into his mouth the same way his fondness and devotion has for you. He’s still for a beat, before he’s kissing you back with a surprised but careful intimacy, melting into it like second nature. A reverence coiled like a secret between you.

“Gonna give you what you want. Did so good for me,” you mumble into his lips, tongue dabbing gently at his bottom lip as you pull away. You tilt your hips up, the hand against his jaw sliding down between you to curl back around his stiff cock, angling to line him up with your aching entrance.

You notch him against your drooling hole, then finally acquiescing- you sink down. Slow, taking your time, letting you both feel each ridge and drag of him against your wet and warm walls, embracing him like a slick, tight vice.

A groan and a whimper mingling in the air, conjoined like your bodies as you lower, until your hips press flush down with his, thighs bracketing him, his forearms flexing like his hands itch to guide the pace, to settle on your hips with firm intent. He sighs like he’s finally been granted something divine and sensational, his length nudging deep within you, the angle pressed to make it feel as though he’s in your stomach- exactly where you always crave for him to be, and to never leave.

Your body adjusts quickly, your slick sliding briskly over him, mind foggy with relief at the feeling of being so full of him.

You brace your hands against his chest, eyelashes fluttering and head dropped forwards as you tardily drag yourself back up, lifting, your arousal clinging to his pulsing girth and your cunt clenching around him, relishing the feeling of him dragging over your sensitive walls.

Right as you’re about to sink back down, you hear a vague, distant shift, then a noise akin to stretching rubber, unravelling. Then a rumble, deep and low-

The ropes binding Joel’s wrists snap.

"If you can't fight and you can't flee, flow." - Robert Elias M.D

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[millerillusions]

Cowboy!Joel Miller x f!reader

Collages / Moodboards / Drabbles | 3

tw: nsfw mdni 18+, reader wears a dress, thigh grinding in a cowboy's truck and said cowboy's filthy mouth, one spank, unedited. 1.5k

imagining meeting cowboy!Joel Miller at the local bar...

You haven't been there for long. On the last droplets remaining in your glass, the rim stained with a matte lipstick only half-painted across your lips now.

"A whiskey for me, and another gin n' tonic for the lady. 'Preciate it, Ray," a voice rumbles from beside you, directed at the once-nameless bartender, an accompanying hand tapping down against the sticky bar top, firm. Large, calloused and rough.

Your head upturns to face the object of the interruption.

A man, donned in a dark brown cowboy hat. He's as broad as his hand suggests; burly and wide, shoulders set in a firm line, his jaw stubbled with brown and grey and the brim of his hat hiding what you can only assume is the same mottled mess of mahogany and silver.

"Hope you don't mind my intrusion, sugar," he tuts with a dip of his hat, polite. His tongue is laced with a Southern tang, dripping like molasses and softened sand as he tips his head in gesture. Just couldn't help but notice your little get-up from over there. Wanted a closer look. Definitely reckon it was a wise choice."

He's shameless in the way his eyes smooth up and down your form on the bar stool, adorned in a simple, flowy dress painted a dirty white that pauses just above your knees, along with brown boots, carved with delicate white fabric outlining floral shapes.

You cock a brow.

"That's bold."

"I like to shoot from the hip," he retorts quickly.

"Shoot from the hip?" You echo.

"Means I like to act quickly," he explains with a short, smug grin that stretches lopsided along his mouth whilst he observes you. "You not from around here, darlin'?"

"Is it that obvious?" You snort softly, amused.

"Could tell mostly from the boots. Too clean," he gruffs, nodding down towards your newly polished heels, barely a smear of grime covering them.

"You caught me," you tsk with a nonchalant shrug.

"Ain't a bad thing. T's pretty, actually. Real pretty," he murmurs, eyes trailing up from your boots to your covered thighs, and up the expanse of you. Despite yourself, your ears heat at the attention which isn't entirely unwanted- you did come to the bar tonight for company, after all.

"You just passin' by?"

"Visiting for a couple of months. My grandparents own a ranch here," you explain, and his eyebrows raise. You vaguely trail into your exploration here, the sternness of your grandfather and the bitterness of your grandmother that you covertly adore.

"T's sweet. You lookin' after them?" He hums in question, and you nod.

Conversation passes smoother than you expected, dripping between you like the slide of a booted foot into the stirrup of a saddle. Simple and slightly hesitant with inexperience. But he makes it easier with the sweet comments, the drawl of sugar on his tongue, the warmth of his eyes trailing along you like he simply can't help himself.

He orders a second drink for you. Sliding the bill across the bar with a gracious nod to Ray.

It feels inevitable when he eventually invites you to get outta here, darlin’, his tone drawled with promise. You zealously agree, the heels of your boots clicking against wood and then gravel as you wind out of the bar and into the stone-pebbled carpark.

"I tell you how much I like this dress on you yet, sweetheart?" He asks as you both draw near to his truck parked by the far edge of the dimly lit block, illuminated by the low tungsten glow of the streetlights. A maroon Chevrolet settled like a murmured promise against the humid air, paint chipped.

"A few times. I wouldn't mind if you repeated yourself, though," you grin lopsidedly.

He turns to you as he reaches the passenger side, pausing with his thick fingers curled just lightly over the handle.

Eyes drawing down the length of you, then back up. Settling on your lips, then flickering up to your gaze. His pupils look wider in this lighting, darker, beginning to swallow up the brown of his irises. Maybe it should be unmoving, but it only serves to thrill you.

"Real pretty," he murmurs, like he's more saying it to himself.

"Don't know how a sweet thing like you ended up here, lookin' like that. Lord musta' blessed me to let me bare witness to it," he continues in a low rumble, the Southern curl of his voice singeing your veins with a blissful rush.

With the alcohol successfully fuelling your blood enough that your confidence has risen, you step forward to meet him.

"I don't think I'm as sweet as you think I am," you hum, head tilting, pausing just in front of him.

"Then I'm one lucky bastard."

"You reckon you're in the mood to get luckier?" You quip back immediately before your nerve diminishes, deliberately fluttering your eyelashes. His brow raises, flicking up with intrigue.

"Depends what you're offerin', sweetheart," he huffs back, head tipping towards you, eyes searching your face earnestly, evidently interested. A mirthful grin ticks up the edge of your lip.

"How about you shoot from the hip and find out, cowboy?"

It's coquettish and lustrous and it has the exact desired effect, because in the next moment he's swooping forward without question and capturing your mouth with his. The kiss isn't exactly gentle, it's rushed and slightly messy, the edge of his hat bumping into you until he tilts his head and deepens the kiss.

His tongue tangles with yours slowly, eagerly tasting you, hand falling away from the door to curl his strong arms around your middle, pulling you closer to him. He tastes of whiskey, burning down your throat in a syrup you could easily become addicted to.

His lips are slightly chapped, firm, slotting over yours with certainty. A low groan travelling from his mouth into yours like he's trying to breathe you into his lungs.

Broad, calloused hands slide down the length of your spine, dipping downwards until they're curving over the shape of your ass. Squeezing. You hum softly into his mouth, and he responds with vigour, inhaling sharply through his nose whilst your tongues battle. Hunger writhing between the two of you like the thickness summer heat permeates through the air.

It's not long before you get impatient, tugging wordlessly at the collar of his jacket. He disconnects his mouth from yours and tugs open the passenger side door, hoisting you into it with a hand still pressed to your ass.

You can see the smug grin curved along his face as he rounds the truck, heaving himself up into the drivers seat with a short huff. The door closes firmly, and you're encased in the silence of the cab, the lingering scent of cigarettes settled like a murmur in the air.

You don't let him start the ignition. Instead recklessly climbing towards him, settling into his lap. He tuts like he's scolding a child, hands curling over your knees.

And instead, he directs you to straddle his thick thigh clad in dark blue denim, slightly faded with wear. Your breath hitches as your dress rides up, his calloused fingers bunching the material up to your hipbones.

"You're not from around here, sweetheart. Guessin' you ain't do a lot of riding," he gruffs like he's scolding you, his bottom lip pursing as he shakes his head. Flexing his hands and settling you more firmly against his thigh. "F' you're gonna be staying here, you gotta learn to control your hips before you expect to be able to ride."

You still, your eyes rounding with incredulity.

"You want me to-?"

"Mhm. Grind yourself on my thigh, sugar. Need you nice and prepared before you go around ridin' anything," he hums in concurrence, his hands settling on your waist loosely, his fingers twitching like he's holding himself back from gripping on and guiding your hips.

You hesitate, and he drags the material of your dress up further. Peering downwards to find your white cotton panties, the gusset already dampened with your arousal.

"Shit, baby. Look at 'ya. Know she's aching for it- she just needs something to get her goin', don't she?" He purrs, obviously recognising your uncertainty. Flicking the hem of your dress upwards over the curve of your ass so one large hand can smooth over the bare flesh.

Then his palm cracks firmly down against your supple skin, like he's trying to kickstart your movement. Teach you to buck and grind like he's a rodeo horse, to steady your waist over the breadth of his thigh. You bite down against your kiss-bitten bottom lip, arousal churning through you like the crash of a wildfire over dried hay fields.

Swallowing down your nerves, grabbing onto the hem of his jacket to steady yourself.

"Go on, sweetheart. Gotta prove y'er worth," he rumbles, darkened eyes and lust-blown pupils drawing up to you, as glossy as the polished steel of a horseshoe.

"Show me you can ride, then maybe I'll give you somethin' proper to hump your sweet little pussy on."

| ★ | my Masterlist

| ★ | divider by @/saradika-graphics

[millerillusions]

Of course you can!!

Thank you so much for reading lovely 💗💗

Invest In Me | Harry Castillo x f!reader

Summary: Your life has always been structured, dependable. You don’t stray, and it’s gifted you affluence. When you rashly decide to go on a blind date and they don’t show, you’re left with another fruitless, lone night of solitary. Until one equally lonely Harry Castillo invites himself to your dinner table and offers you a partnership just maybe worth investing in.

Pairing: Harry Castillo (Materialists) x f!reader

Word Count: 10k

Warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, unprotected piv (don’t be silly, wrap your willy.), oral (f!receiving), pull out and pray, cum eating, praise, wealthy hedge fund manager reader, lucy doesn’t exist/isn’t mentioned, fancy wine drinking, smoking, fluff, so much flirting, the authors limited knowledge of business and chess, no description of reader other than female anatomy and wears a dress/heels, a little easter egg referencing the kitchen scene bc i couldn't help myself

A/N: yes.. i did just post about my current wips.. but then i watched materialists, and came home and immediately wrote (no major spoilers in this). wanted to write something where Harry finds a partner who's also rich and work-oriented. i caved too quick for him and had to. sorry. thanks to anyone who reads <33 dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Masterlist

Blind dates are foolish.

You knew this. You’ve always thought this. Have never been convinced otherwise.

They’re wishes; a hopeful fantasy that two people will somehow be able to run an effective, effortless conversation despite knowing nothing about the other prior. They’re unorganised, variable.

Inconsistent. Nothing in your life is inconsistent.

You wake up at 5:30AM. Have a shower. Do your hair. Face. Slip on business casual clothes. Breakfast paired with a cappuccino with an extra shot of espresso. At work by 7AM. At your desk by 7:30AM. Home by 4:30PM.

Sure, sometimes the schedule can dip and maneuver in the later hours of the night in accordance with your current work load, but the point is- you have a schedule. It’s unwavering, sustained. Perfectly crafted to suit your needs and the straining pressure of your job.

You don’t do foolish acts like going on a blind date that the incompetent Rebecca you sometimes have a decent conversation with who sits at the desk opposite yours coerced you into believing would be enjoyable.

Witless, you think, as you stare blandly towards the empty plate opposite yours, framed by silver cutlery and a flawlessly folded napkin, pressed to delicacy. The third glass from the 2020 bottle of Argiano Toscana clenched between your impeccably manicured nails that tap an insistent, mindless rhythm against the stem. The liquor swirls like a bleeding wound in your glass, swishing up against the edges in crimson waterfalls each time you twirl it. It’s bitter on your tongue. Some blackcurrant and dark cherry bullshit of a far too expensive amalgamation of Merlot and Sauvignon Blanc.

Plus, there’s also the delicate lace-trimmed Stygian black dress curled around your body that flows down to your shin with a slit up along to the thigh, paired with simple but efficient silver heels. It’s not the most comfortable item you’ve ever worn- but it’s nice. Extravagant, if you look at it close enough.

Reckless, you think, glaring across at that empty plate on the opposite side of your two-person table that belongs to a person who hadn’t shown up. Toby, Troy, or something. Someone who apparently worked in luxury Real Estate, but who couldn’t even sell you one night of fulfillment or anything close to it. You had to call three different acquaintances to even acquire this table booking tonight, and this is apparently how gratitude is expressed back for your effort.

The candlelight flickers and illuminates the few tables scattered around the devastatingly wealth-painted Italian restaurant, the light laying across one side of your face like some sort of forlorn, two-faced golem sat isolated in the corner. Each of the other tables are occupied, mostly with couples on some feigned romantic date they paid too much to obtain, murmuring words of faux-affection across the flutter of a gentle flame and small portions of meals that took half of their last pay to afford.

“Were we still waiting on ordering, ma’am?” A voice abruptly chips into your carefully molded self-preservation, drawing your gaze slowly up to the waiter with the unpigmented mesh apron wrapped tight around his waist. You blink, eyes unfocused after glaring sharpened blades into the plate ahead of you like it might magically force a meal and a person to form.

“Yep. Still waiting,” You confirm, a grimace tugging at your features as you watch the waiter hesitate, glancing between you and the empty chair opposite. The situation you’re in is ridiculously obvious, like an open gash starkly revealed to everyone in the establishment.

He nods in understanding anyways, pivoting on polished shoes to leave, when you chip up to him, voiced edged with an indignation you fail to swallow back.

“Mind fetching the bottle?”

The man blinks back over his shoulder, peering down towards the glass in your hand, mapping out which wine bottle he needs to fetch. His brows twitch for just a beat- though you’re not sure if it’s in concern or awe- before he’s offering you a polite smile and dipping his head, whisking back to the kitchen to follow through.

You exhale sharply through your nose like the very breath is strenuous, eyelids fluttering closed before you’re leaning back in your chair. Dragging your gaze across the restaurant, the tungsten lighting- warm, reassuring, meaning to console the guests. Currently, it just makes you feel dreary.

You’re preparing to go on another wistful subconscious rant about the disadvantaged woes of blind dates whilst wondering if your vibrator’s batteries have been charged when a figure does appear. Looming like an assured shadow before lowering down into the seat opposite. Your head reels up to stare rather owlishly towards the newcomer’s sudden appearance. He leans back into the wooden seat like he belongs there, has already marked ground, a suave kind of allure hovering around him that you’re surprised you don’t immediately find smarmy, especially combined with the easy grin that upturns the corner of his lip.

Brown eyes are amongst the first things you notice.

The kind of brown that ensures it peers right into you without missing a beat, cooling the simmering apprehension in your chest like it’s effortless. Then the way he’s dressed. A black mesh top- formal enough for the establishment but not so lavish it’s considered profligate. He has a Roman kind of curve to his nose, full lips with a littering of a mustache that combs out into a stubble. He’s handsome, to say the least. Enough to make your heart stutter in a beat, but you blame it on alarm.

His brow curls upwards in a quirk at you as though expecting you to speak first, breaking you away from your pensive observation, mouth slightly parted like you’re spellbound. This can’t be Troy, Toby, Something. He looks too put together to fit the category of Rebecca’s acquaintances.

“You’re not my blind date sent by Rebecca, are you?” You ask blatantly.

He doesn’t look offended by the question. Rather, he seems amused.

“You’re the Hedge Fund Manager.”

His voice comes as a lower drawl than you expected. You can’t pinpoint the accent, but it’s like a rumble of a lullaby past your ears, twirling in mollifying notes with the gentle lull of the piano chords whisking in the air through the speakers. His residence here within just moments of seeing him is zephyr-like, as though he shifts and changes in accordance to the room he’s stationed in, all whilst commanding it with just the broad capability he clearly holds.

Your face falls slightly at his unforeseen mention of your occupation. You tilt back in your own chair, unsure if you’re trying to build an air of nonchalance or trying to create distance between you and this stranger that isn’t just the polished timber of the table.

“I dabble in that, sure,” You reply candidly, idly cautious. His eyes seem to lighten with satisfaction in the faint sandstone lighting. Like he’s trying to breach the space you created, he leans himself forward, tucking his elbows onto the table.

“You recently funded the last deal I brokered. Luxe Escapes,” He explains coolly. You perked slightly, gaze whisking along him, trying to regard him with a more inquisitive glance, wondering distantly if you had ever communicated with him before. It feels unlikely. You think you would’ve remembered a face like this.

“How were you involved in that?” You question, distantly wondering if you had clashed with him over the deal and that’s why you dismissed his existence following the conflict; act as though it never happened until the complication eventually dissolves itself into ash whilst you’re left with your triumph.

“I was the Sales Executive,” He assures, noting the slight pull of your shoulder blades in anticipation of a tense conversation. You blink, frets smoothed over swiftly.

“You were the Sales Executive?” You echo, giving him a once-over. Truthfully, it’s not difficult at all to imagine him pacing around a vast space of some grey-painted living room, footsteps leaden and quick as he prattles on about why some company or item would be efficient and worthwhile to invest in.

“That’s me,” He confirms, but he doesn’t look exactly supercilious or smug. Definitely not like that hotel branch company of luxury stays that conform the guests into the daydream of ‘escaping reality’ is rapidly becoming worth millions of dollars.

“And you are?”

“Harry.”

You tsk softly, tongue clicking against the roof of your mouth, seemingly unimpressed. Your head tilts, along with your wine glass as you circle it with mindless consideration, tone sardonic. “Harry. Fancy.”

He smirks lopsidedly, fingers flexing where they curl neatly over each other on the table. “Thought it’d sound less formal than saying Harry Castillo outright like this is a business meeting.”

“You’ve only talked about business so far,” You remind him facetiously.

“That’s fair. Let me try again,” He concurs. Then he rolls his thickset shoulders back to fixate his posture, a good-natured smile stretching along his inviting lips. He tilts himself forward, outstretching his hand towards you over the table. “Harry. I saw you sitting here over here alone and thought I’d come join you.”

You pause for just a beat, gaze fluttering to his outstretched hand, then back to him. Brazenly and uncharacteristically, you decide to amuse whatever this is. Leaning forward to meet him, you stick out your arm and take his hand, offering your own name back. His palm curls over yours, practically swallowing the proportions of your hand. It makes your throat tight realising how large he is, taking up the space like a polished, debonair boulder.

“You didn’t think about if I’d tell you to go away?” You hum, squinting towards him in silent challenge, attuned to keeping up this impression of satire he doesn’t seem to mind. His hand is still engulfed over yours- and instead of shaking, he squeezes once, before attentively turning your palm downwards, until he’s holding just your fingers in his grip. He bends down further, dipping his head down to lay an amiable but lingering kiss against your knuckles.

But what sends your heartbeat tripping calamitously in your ear drums is the way he keeps his eyes perched towards you, unwavering and unmoving. Drowning you in a melody of heat that seeps over you like dripping, melted sugar. That subtle flicker of interest swirling within the embrace of coffee-coloured warmth.

“I did. But I just had hope that you wouldn’t,” He rumbles in reply as he lifts back up, tentatively dropping your hand. It hovers sluggishly in the air for a beat too long before you finally regain control of your motor functions and let it fall back to your thigh. You huff a short, disbelieving laugh disguised as an exhale.

“Hope sourced from what?”

He crosses his hands over his lap, head cocking to the side as he considers the question for a moment, a sense of susceptibility murmured through the language of gaze. It’s not exactly pitying, just heartening.

“From the way you look like you could use some company,” He answers sincerely, his eyes flickering over you in an appreciative once-over that doesn’t feel like he’s leering, only valuing like you’re something cherishable. “And, admittedly, in good faith I couldn’t let that dress go to waste. It looks too good on you to do so.”

Jesus, he’s pulling out every move in the game.

Atypical in comparison to your usual indifferent composure, you can feel your cheeks heating, burning your skin. Actually flustered for the first time in what feels like months.

As if your own personal saviour dedicated to assuaging all your needs, the waiter swoops back in with the bottle of wine you requested held in two hands. He pauses for a second as he notices Harry, incredulity flicking through his eyes. But then he sends you a pleased smirk and unscrews the cork of the bottle, refilling your glass with repeated precision.

You murmur a quick gratitude, and the waiter takes the initiative to fill up the wine glass in front of Harry, who nods his own thanks. He plucks it up from the stem, gaze flickering from the rich scarlet liquid as he swirls it before returning back to you as he takes a sip, gaze remaining set on you. You mimic his actions, eyeing him from over the translucent rim, gaining back your conviction.

“Merlot,” He muses as he lowers the liquor from his lips. Your purse your own with amusement.

“You know wine?”

“No. The bottle's label says Merlot,” He says matter-of-factly, mirth ringing in his tone as he gestures off-handedly to the bottle. You blink quickly, that flushed tint coiling back over your skin, which only spurs him on.

“Fancy,” He comments steadily.

You breathe out sharply, lifting the glass back to your mouth to take a quick sip, lifting your shoulders in a careless shrug. “Didn’t think I was going to have any company.”

“I hope I’ll live up to any expectations you had for tonight,” He says, intentions genuine. But he clearly noticed how the table was set up for two when he approached, and yet only holding you.

It’s correctly jarring and disorienting considering your former thoughts on blind dating just a short while ago. Sure, this meeting wasn’t set up between you and Harry- but it was still accepting an offer of company from a stranger you knew nothing about prior, just as you would on a blind date. Harry continues to persuade you into telling him more about yourself, which you tentatively immerse yourself with.

Much to your bewilderment, you don’t entirely despise the conversation that you slip into with him. It’s smooth, undemanding, and light.

You tell him mundane things like what you had for breakfast, how early you usually wake, your pet lizard who lives back at your parent’s home in LA- before dipping into the story of why you were seated alone in this abundantly ornate and elaborate restaurant. Sheepishly laying out the story of how Rebecca had somehow coerced you into going on a blind date with a guy you can’t remember the name of, and how he stood you up. You shield any mortified winces with expressions of contempt, fingers starting up that irritable tapping against the stem of your glass again.

You go back and forth on sharing short, meaningless information about yourselves. Learning how Harry got into sales, explaining he grew up being surrounded by factors of money and influence constantly. He gestures back to a pair sheltered in a side booth, both hunched over the table and murmuring to each other like deadly secrets are being transferred. He elucidates with a grimace about how they’re newly-weds, boisterous and too sickeningly loving, which is what first led him to approach you when he couldn’t stand another second of third-wheeling his own kin and his newfound wife.

“So I guess we were both just feeling a bit lonely tonight,” You evaluate, chin tilting your face sideways slightly, wondering, are you lonely just like me?

“I suppose so.”

“Any thoughts on how to quench loneliness?” You ask, tone coy, one leg lifting to cross over the other. His gaze follows the movement, dropping to the table as though he can see it through the glossy wood.

“You want me to be honest?” He murmurs, eyes returning to your face, your features cast with casual curiosity.

“Of course.”

“I’d like to invite you back to mine tonight,” He admits, unhesitant.

Your moulded expression falters with the outright confession, heart tripping with it.

“You would?” You almost gawk.

“Only if you’re interested,” He assures, mouth thinning slightly as if he mistook your reaction for apathy.

“It’s not that I’m not entirely interested,” You correct, drawing out a soft sigh to collect yourself, propping one of your elbows onto the table. “I’m just.. weighing the pros and cons.”

He gives a slanted grin as you rest your chin on the palm of your hand. “Pros; you won’t be spending the night alone. Cons; you have to deal with repeats of Pink Floyd continuously playing during the car ride.”

You can’t help the gladdened snort that falls from you at the jest. You purse your bottom lip thoughtfully.

“And what do you expect to get in return?” You try to keep your voice methodical.

“Company,” He answers easily, his tone not housing any insistence for you to acquiesce.

You squint towards him, studying and observing. Maybe slightly teasingly, weighing the options over in your head like you’re being faced with a task from your employer.

“It sounds like an investment strategy,” You comment off-handedly.

“More like a mutual agreement.”

You lean back into your chair, hands falling back into your lap, giving a purposeful show of tipping your head to the side again.

“To fuck?” You question crudely. You catch the brief surprise that whisks along his features, but also the way the corner of his mouth twitches in the starts of a smile.

“To not be lonely,” He rectifies.

“Just for a night?” You test, your arms crossing over your middle loosely in a subconscious move of defence.

“Or we could see where it goes after,” He says with that enticing interest painted over his eyes again, with maybe some mingled hope tangled through it.

“After we fuck,” You lift your chin up, humour dour, like the thought of going back to Harry’s doesn’t send adrenaline pulsing through your veins.

He lets himself grin at your bluntness this time around. “Sure.”

“And if I’m thinking about saying no?” You croon, just to scrutinise his reaction, see if this gallant, poised persona of his can stumble.

His jaw clenches in consideration. “How do you usually approach your possible investments?”

You only pause for a beat.

“Like a game of chess.”

“Chess?” He parrots, intrigue evident. You nod.

“Investment is a game of chess. You think about all the strategies you need to win the board over, not just about your next move,” You cerebrate, eyes tipping down to your wine glass, fingertips etching a mindful pattern over it. “Each piece has its own pros and cons, like multiple investments do. If you move a piece in the right direction, it can become a more powerful player. It can grow in importance over time. But, a rash decision can leave you vulnerable and perceptible to attacks, or you can strategise and reach a checkmate. You need to invest foresight before anything else.”

His eyes round towards you as you tatter contemplatively, a deference evident in the solemn features of his gaze.

“So it’s a high-risk, high-reward situation,” He suggests, drawing your attention squarely back to him. A sly, knowing smile pulls at your mouth.

“That’s only considering it is a high reward.”

He doesn’t back down, fishing out a lighthearted jest, willingly taking the extra leap to solidify the blatant idea whisking between you. An idea you both already know was agreed to the moment he complimented your sleek dress earlier. “You could always find out. The customer is offering a first-hand demonstration.”

“Well, I do have to adapt to my opponent’s moves,” You hum wittingly, an easy, unarmed smile replacing your artful coquettishness.

“Is that an agreement we’re coming to?” He questions, optimism lighting his face the same way the candlelight casting along the strong curve of his jaw does.

“A mutual one, yes,” You assent, your stomach fluttering like a rocket preparing for launch, excitement twirling through you in searing ambers now that you’ve concretely settled on your decision.

“My driver can be here in the next ten minutes,” He suggests, brow raising. You agree zealously, smoothing your slightly clammy hands down the front of your dress as you rise to a stand. Harry fetches both his wallet and phone from his pants pocket, swinging a text his brother’s way to let him know he won’t be returning to advise him on how to keep his freshly-made wife appeased, and then calling his driver to your location. Placing a few hefty bills as a tip on the table even though neither of you ordered any food- which you belatedly realise- before he’s turning back to you, guiding you out of the establishment, his hand hovering just above the small of your back, barely grazing his touch along you.

You breathe out sharply as the pair of you move out of the restaurant onto the sidewalk, the New York nighttime traffic bustling, the usual tumultuous honk of a horn and the blinding streak of striking lights second-hand nature to you by now. You lean back against the rust-coloured brick of the building, hooking out a cigarette from the packet you kept stashed in your purse, just a pick-me-up in case Troy, Toby, Something ended up being a mundane bore.

Now you light the end, watching the embers burn as they smear tobacco into your lungs in hopes it’ll cool your anticipation long enough to arrive at Harry’s place first before you accidentally slip up and decide to crash your lips against his now and try to lick that blackcurrant wine right off his tongue against this brick wall.

“Drive shouldn’t be too long. I have a penthouse just up in up-town Manhattan,” Harry explains, peering down at his phone to confirm the driver’s journey to you both, settling next to you. You exhale, the smoke pluming up above you, catching away with the blur of a gentle breeze that’s swiftly turning frigid despite the mellow spring weather.

“You own a penthouse in up-town Manhattan?” You echo with only a tinge of bemusement intertwined.

“That surprising?” He raises a brow with a serene look.

“Not really,” You answer quickly. It wasn’t surprising at all, truthfully. He carried the staunch of his wealth with every step, his frame swallowing up the space he accompanied like he had banked out millions worth of cash just to own it, even somewhere as mundane as a sidewalk. It makes your breath hitch all the more as you watch his sombre eyes flutter down to your lips as they part to allow a plume of whitened smoke to trail up past your nose.

“Good,” He murmurs, gaze flickering back up to meet yours after a moment too long has passed.

You swallow gratingly at the simple way he eases into such a winsome persona, glamour and charisma tailing him constantly. He ushers you forth with a warm hand at the top of your spine as the car arrives, letting you stub out your half-smoked cigarette on the sidewalk before holding the door open for you as you slide into the backseat of the lush vehicle, smiling stiffly towards the driver, nerves growing fretfully in a churn in your lower stomach. Harry settles into the leather seat beside you, addressing the driver deferentially and directing him to upper Manhattan, back home.

As promised, the trip is entirely filled with the pleasant, tranquil lull of Pink Floyd drifting through the speakers, mingled with occasional talk between you and Harry. But for the most part, there’s just an effortless, unworried quiet between you; no demand to appear modish or shrewd- just a mutual understanding of comfortability.

The driver pulls up to the curb not long after, Harry swiftly hopping out of the car and trudging around to help you out. This time around, his hand settles more firmly against the base of your spine, fingers curling slightly as he leads you up to his penthouse with a phlegmatic gait, nodding his chin in polite greeting to the staff you pass. Your face is shrouded with a sanguine expression, heartbeat growing more erratic as you step inside the elevator.

Harry opens the dark-oaked door for you, allowing you to move inside the space first, his hand falling away from your lower back. Just with a first glance, you can tell how sumptuous it is. A wide, inviting hallway that opens out into a lavish living room and curves around to a dining table and kitchen, extensive floor-to-ceiling windows combing the expanse of the far wall. The hallway has two other doors perched at the opposite end, which you suppose lead to the bathroom and bedroom. It has similar lighting to the restaurant, only lit by the oscillating flutter of the city lights outside the windows, casting shadows inside and streams of gentle light, along with the low copper glow of a lamp sitting on the coffee table.

“You want a drink?” Harry asks, trotting through the living room in the direction of a side-bar set up opposite the dining table. You turn your gaze back to him, away from the darkened New York City skyline, a sight that somehow augmented your confidence.

“You don’t want to get straight to the business part of tonight? Close the deal?”

He pauses by the counter littered with liquors, blinking over his shoulder back towards you, a beguiled surprise whisking along his features. He diverts his actions, hand falling away from the wine he had been reaching for, instead turning around to face you. He leans back slightly against the bartop, a brow lifting with a teasing fashion.

“Well, I was hoping to try and charm you a bit first,” He replies steadily, his gaze looking even darker in the subdued lighting, casting over the entire length of you. Your body tenses slightly under the regarding look of cherishing esteem, your blood buzzing alight beneath your skin, anticipation coiling.

You take a step forward to meet him, which prompts him to kick off from the edge of the bar, taking purposeful steps towards here.

“Inviting me here was enough,” You murmur when he’s only a few short footsteps from you, deliberately fluttering your eyelashes and craning your neck up to meet his auburn-painted eyes swallowed by a blazing darkness. The side of his mouth twitches, as if with amusement, before it’s mellowing and darkening into something more decisive, nearly hungry-looking.

“Well, in that case..” He mumbles, more to himself, closing the distance between you. His hands lift to steady themselves on your hips, fingers curling around your frame with a durable finality. Your throat tightens with suspense, hopefulness whisking through you as his head tilts, eyes dropping down towards your lips. But neither of you shy away, your gaze mimicking his and wavering down to the fullness of his mouth that suddenly seems so close.

He leans in, and you mirror the movement, going to meet him- his breath brushes along the skin of your mouth which parts on instinct, eyes dropping to slip closed. His hands flex against your sides, and he pauses, pulling back with just a murmur of dubiety shadowing him.

“Though- you can pull out of this investment at any time, you know,” He reminds you, earnestly searching your gaze. You appreciate the effort to reassure and console you, but you fear your knees might give out beneath you if you have to go back and forth with this bashful, coquettish teasing any longer.

“Okay. Enough with the business metaphors. Just kiss me,” You husk back, one of your hands sliding up to curve around the nape of his neck and bring his face back down to yours. He meets you halfway, your lips meeting in a secure, firm kiss.

Your other hand lifts to balance yourself against his covered chest as his mouth slots over yours. It’s not rushed or heady like you might have expected in this case; but instead slow, deep. Assured. Bounding in a way that makes your lips part when his tongue drags along your bottom lip, coaxing. You acquiesce easily, sighing as his tongue meets yours, tangling in a precise dance that gradually grows more resolute, determined.

You sigh into his mouth as if you’re alleviated as his arms curl around your waist, tightening his hold on you, large hands tracing over the dress painted over your back. You tilt your head to the side to purposefully deepen the kiss, which he easily follows, movements quickly growing more desperate, a heat you thought had become a long-lost friend burning at the base of your spine, looping around in curling tendrils to your belly, warming. Your hand traces up from his neck to the edge of his jaw, then up into his hair- softer than you expected, threading through your fingers like silk.

You tug gently, urging. He sounds a low groan into the kiss, arms pulling you flush with the firmness of his body, the two of you swaying slightly to the side, unbalanced. He grips at your waist and guides you backwards. You stumble slightly in your heels, to which his hands curl tighter around your sides, nearly lifting you from the floor and carrying you backwards. He delicately but hurriedly pushes you back against a small side-table where he placed his keys by the door in the hallway, mouth working more urgently over yours. You respond with equal enthusiasm, a desperation clawing through each of your movements as your ass presses back into the edge of the wood, hips tilting.

He keeps one arm wrapped around your body whilst the other dips down, fingers toying with the edge of your dress where the split ends on your thigh. His fingers tilt beneath the fabric, carefully skimming along the softer skin of your inner thigh, making you keen towards him. He then swiftly grabs at your hips, and hoists you up onto the table.

The sudden action has you gasping with incredulity, lips disconnecting from his. He doesn’t waste a beat of not occupying his mouth, head dipping downwards to attach his lips to your neck. He kisses down the length of your throat, tongue tipping out to drag along your pulse, feeling it flutter frantically beneath the muscle.

He travels down further with open-mouthed kisses, to the exposed line of your collarbone. He curls his lips, sucking a small, blooming mark of purple into the small dip by the bone, his tongue smoothing over it. You should scold him, knowing you’ll have to cover it when you go into work next- but your thoughts are swiftly disoriented as he steps between your legs which part instinctually for him, his body moving flush to yours. You can feel the bulge of his arousal pressing into where your dress begins to hike up.

Need barrels into you harsher than you expected. With hasty fingers, you slide both of your hands down his body to his waist, hands working urgently at his belt. You barely get the buckle undone before his hands are covering yours, fingers dipping down to curl over your wrists and cease your actions.

He tuts, lifting his head from your neck.

“Not yet, honey. Wanna taste you first.”

You go to groan your objection, but it’s quickly swayed and swallowed by his mouth again, laying a prompt yet lingering kiss before he’s nipping at your chin, your jaw, working downwards. He lathes swift, small pecks of his lips over the curve of your chest, before following further down to your middle, his hand returning to your thigh, dragging beneath the hem of your dress beneath the slit, gliding upwards to your inner thigh, right by where you need him most.

He drops down more, his knees crouching down with a slight strain, and you notice the gentle wince that pulls at his face, the angle just not right. The table an inch too tall for him to comfortably try and settle between your thighs without an awkward position of having his body half-hunched and knees bent gracelessly, like some clumsy structure of a tower.

“You don’t have to crouch awkwardly, Castillo,” You inform through a rather breathless laugh, mirthful. Not mocking him, just finding his rushed enthusiasm endearing. You tug gently at his hair, coaxing him back enough for you to slide off the edge of the side-table so you’re pressed back against it again, ass squished against the wood. “I can just lean back on this.”

His eyes flutter up to yours with an inkling of vulnerability that’s quickly replaced with his own amusement as he comfortably settles onto his knees in front of you, now at the precise height to meet you.

“Great point. Underestimated my height,” He rumbles with gaiety, hiking one of your legs up so it’s resting half on the table, whilst looping your calf over his shoulder, opening you up further to him.

His fingers curl over through the fabric through the slit on your thigh, hiking up your dress enough to rumple it around your hips and give himself more access, both of his hands curling around your shins, before sliding up the expanse of your legs to your thighs with a reverent touch, like he’s sculpting a statue from just the rawness of his fingertips. He opens your dress like he’s unveiling a museum artifact, slowly opening the sheen curtains of the hem.

A nearly distraught sound falls from him.

“Jesus,” He breathes, eyes rounding, locked towards your covered core. Wrapped in a delicate black lace. His thumb swipes out to prod and stroke gently over the gusset he finds already damp, making his eyes flutter and his eyes drop with a ravenous look.

Your breath hitches, and his insatiable attention lifts up to you, locking his gaze on yours like an enchanting siren call.

“This was for him?” He mutters, calling back to your blind date who never showed up. He keeps his eyes on your face as he dips forward, pressing a lingering kiss to the inside of your thigh.

“Not anymore,” You reply throatily, fingers carding through his hair, urging. He smiles, nearly smug, boastful. Then lowers his head and presses another kiss to you, this time right against the soaked fabric of your panties, over your soaked folds held beneath. His hands slide higher beneath your dress to your hips to hook his thumbs through the waistband of the lace, dragging your panties down your legs with meticulous slowness. He curls the moist material in his fist after hooking it over your heels, before he’s tucking it into the back pocket of his pants like a secret fantasy hidden away.

His eyes drop down to where you’re now revealed to him, hands returning to your inner thighs, widening the stance, slotting his broad shoulders between them. You hear his breath stumble as he takes in the sight of you; puffy folds drenched with need, clit basically begging for his attention, hole clenching around nothing like it’s already calling him directly to you.

“So pretty, darlin’,” He murmurs, his thumb stroking out to swipe along the edges of your lips, spreading them wider for him. You feel your heart loop around in a scattered carousel as he lowers his face completely between your legs, his tongue flicking out to flatten against your cunt, then smooth upwards in one slow, long line.

You gasp at the wet heat of his tongue, and he responds with a drawling groan, his hand wrapping tight around your thigh. Then he’s lapping more insistently at your dripping slit, collecting your juices on his tongue like it’s the sweet nectar of a maple tree. His mouth lifts, suckling your clit past his lips, his tongue stroking over it in a smoothing motion that makes you twitch, chest arching upwards with a sharp inhale.

His tongue dips down, experimentally sliding inside you, curling to taste the slick right off your fluttering walls, slick pooling on the muscle. The motion has a devastating whimper slipping from your lips, your hand tightening and yanking lightly at his hair. He moans into you, the sound reverberating right up your spine in a quiver and making your hips flex into his mouth, which he only responds to with an eager, nearly debauched slurp, his mouth covering the entirety of your pulsing core like it’s his personal alter.

He licks into you, maneuvering between plunging his tongue in and out of your hole and sucking against that sensitive bundle of nerves that makes your knees threaten to give out. His eyes slip closed with a fervent expression as he suckles against your clit, his hand coiling up from your thigh to work his middle finger into you, your tightness wrapping around the digit as your mouth parts pendulously, body eagerly accepting the stretch of his thick finger.

He begins to dip his finger in and out of you with strenuous slowness, letting you feel each drag of it along your walls, making you drip more shiny slick onto him, drooling down onto his palm. He swipes his tongue out to collect it right from the source, drawing a ragged moan from both of you as he experimentally plunges his tongue into you alongside his finger. The act is followed by an obscene squelch as he licks up your fallen juices, the curve of his nose pressing against your clit.

“Oh, shit, like that-” You puff, chest heaving upwards. You urge him impossibly closer to you with the end of your heel pressing into his shoulder blade. He avidly complies, his finger moving faster inside you, submerging his tongue and twirling it inside you, curling and lapping. Your hips twist as he finger fucks you, but he stills you with one hand against your hip, whilst the other dips down to flatten his palm against your mound, his thumb slicking out and circling tightly over your clit.

You jerk, a whine curdling up past your throat as the tendrils simmer through your pelvis, the triple stimulation of his finger fucking into you repeatedly alongside his tongue catching any of your dribbling slick, and the rub of his thumb over your bundle of nerves making you lean further back against the side-table.

"Tha's it. You gonna come for me?” He asks into your cunt, voice muffled into your skin, sending another shiver up along your spine whilst you nod earnestly, quickly, lips pursing with another impure moan.

He redoubles and amplifies his efforts, sinking his middle finger deeper inside you, fucking it into you with rougher, sharper movements designed to make you uncoil like thread around his digit. His tongue continues to cuff and curl inside you, licking at you. His thumb strokes acute, tight circles around your clit until your thighs are clenching around his head.

Your hips roll down eagerly, impaling yourself further onto his tongue and finger, eyes slipping closed as your rapture tightens through your system, burning up along your spine and lashing over your chest like a smoothing of velvet honey. You’re pushed and diving thirstily down into the looping ravines of bliss, gushing down onto his tongue, your hand fisting in his hair.

He makes a starved sound against you, his tongue eagerly pushing and swiping, drinking down everything you have to offer like it’s something holy, an amalgamation of sweetness and headiness he’s rapidly becoming addicted to.

You wrench at his hair more insistently as he continues his ministrations against you, although slower, savouring each drip of your slick onto his skin and tongue. You whimper as the overstimulation of the flick of his tongue has your hips tilting away, his thumb a steady pressure against your puffy clit. He grins against you, smug, but relents, lifting his face up from between your thighs and peering up towards you with a lopsided smirk, pleased and satisfied.

“Okay?” He asks raspingly, like his lower face isn’t smeared with your release, lips glossy with you. You don’t reply, instead curling both of your hands over his cheeks and practically dragging him back up your body, lifting him up from his sore knees until his mouth is pressing back to yours, fervent, like you’re starved. You lick into his mouth to taste yourself on his tongue, moaning against him.

His nose bumps against yours as the kiss escalates, famished and keen, his hand grabbing at your jaw to direct your face and deepen your movements, his slick middle finger smearing your want against your skin. His other hand grabs at your hip to steer you away from the side-table, leading you backwards to those two doors by the end of the hall, mumbling into your mouth. “Want you in my bed.”

You both stumble slightly, but quickly anchor yourselves, polished leather and the plastic of heels clacking against the linoleum floors. His hand on your jaw drops down to snake behind you and fiddle with the zipper of your dress until it eventually comes loose, dragging it down to the base of your spine. The glossy material slides off your frame, pooling at your ankles. He helps you step out of it, guiding you backwards through the doorway to where you assume is his bedroom, his lips never breaking away from yours.

He kicks off his shoes whilst you wrestle off your heels, dropping down a few short inches as his hands covetously travel over you, melding over your curves like he can’t trace enough of you in the time he has- which is the entire night. He unclasps your bra, discarding it carelessly to the side with a soft clatter, leaving you completely bare for him.

His large hands come to immediately cup your breasts, squeezing carefully, his thumbs swiping over your nipples that quickly pebble under his attention. You whimper softly, pulling your lips from his and pushing your chest up into his hold, head slinging back with a breathy sigh. He takes the initiative, dipping his head down and attacking along the underside of your jaw, his tongue prodding at that sensitive skin behind your ear.

It’s heady, potent, a mix of heavy breaths and mingled want clashing into a nearly violent need. A different kind of greed than that of desire for wealth, desire for love or affection- but instead something rawer. Unbridled, weighty lust.

You barely get a glance around the costly expanse of his bedroom as you’re grabbing at his shoulders, directing him in a pivot until the back of his knees hit the edge of his king-sized mattress. You gently yet imperatively shove him back onto his bed, the silk sheets shifting with his weight as he lands back against them, his arms falling away from you.

He moves further up the pillows as you climb up onto the prodigious bed to join him, thighs framing his waist. His eyes draw up your bare frame towards you, inky black, his pupils swallowing out the brown of his irises almost completely in the soft lighting and in the consummation of his want.

His hands settle around your waist, squeezing as you dip down to press a swift kiss against his lips, your breasts squishing against his chest whilst your fingers slide down and tangle with his half-open belt, looping it finally through the fabric, before flicking it to the side. You nibble at his bottom lip before pulling away and unbuttoning his pants, zipping them down. You slide down briefly to urge and tug the fabric away from his legs, whilst he takes measure to tug his long-sleeved top over his head.

You crawl back over him, legs straddling his hips, your hands dropping to splay over the broad, warmth expanse of his exposed chest, his body left in just his boxers beneath you, an inviting happy trail of darkened brown hair littered above the waistband. Licentiously, you roll your hips down into him, dragging the soaked state of your core over the bulge of his boxers, making his cock twitch beneath the fabric, a groan rumbling from his chest.

“Fuck, honey,” He huffs, head falling back into the pillows, hands gripping your waist as you move against him in a teasing downwards grind, a carefully precise rhythm. “Can’t wait to have that sweet little cunt wrapped around me.”

You bite down against your swollen bottom lip, body straining with arousal, and hook your fingers through the waistband of his boxers, dragging them down his thighs, swiping them off his legs. Your throat tightens. His cock, thick and throbbing, slaps up against his stomach, the tip red and engorged, dripping a bead of translucent pre-come onto his belly, his balls full and heavy between his thighs. He keeps his gaze settled on you as you gawk like a renaissance painting; his eyes needy, dark, hungry. Unrestrained.

You exhale shakily, hand gliding down to curl around the base of him, manicured nails delicately smoothing over the sensitive, soft skin. You give him the smallest pump with your fist loosely clenched, and his cock twitches in your grip, hipbones flexing beneath you.

“Gotta be honest. M’ not gonna last if you tease me like that, baby,” He rasps sincerely, lips spreading with a rugged exhale like he’s struggling to contain himself and this bubbling need threatening to boil over between you. The confession only sends electrified wire sizzling along your veins in the form of arousal, and you nod in acknowledgement quickly, lifting your hips. You squeeze gently at the base of him, angling his cock until it’s nudging against your entrance.

“There you go,” He breathes, exhaling out through his nostrils, whilst you tilt your hips slightly, slowly sinking down onto his thickness. Your mouth dries at the sheer size of him stretching your clenching walls, jaw falling slack as your hips roll, determinedly swaying down until he’s entirely sheathed inside you to the hilt. You both sound a simultaneous groan of thrill, his brows pinched with concentration as he gives you time to adjust, your hips continuing to absently swirl in circles as the prior dull pain swiftly bleeds out into pleasure, hooking into the base of your spine like a hook.

His jaw works in a grating clench when you tighten around him as you slowly lift your hips, as though your body is trying to keep him inside you. You raise until just his tip is notched inside you, before you’re sinking back down. Slow, steady, his cock curving against the deepest part of you, nudging against that soft, sensitive place that makes your eyes roll back into your skull.

You gradually begin to increase the pace, elevating your hips just to drop back down on him, repeatedly stretching yourself over his girth. His gaze hops over you like he doesn’t know where to settle his attention on; your tits bouncing with your steady pace, the slick of his cock as he’s sheathed in and out of your gripping pussy, folds spreading around him, the inviting line of your neck pulsing as your hips roll. He finally settles on your face, captivated in watching the way your eyes twist with bliss, pleasure striking up along your body, your thighs squeezing around his waist.

“Fuck.. look at you,” He pants, his hands curling tighter around your waist, aiding you, guiding your hips into a slightly firmer tempo. “Look like a goddess on top of me. Like a bloody gift sent just for me.”

You whimper, nodding quickly, cunt squeezing around him, egging him on.

“So pretty taking this cock,” He mumbles mindlessly, eyes drawing to watch where you take him again, your inner thighs quivering. Your fingers curl against his chest, nails digging soft, crescent moons into his skin as you heave yourself up, before slamming down harsher, both of you moaning wantonly at the pressure. Your ass begins to slap wetly back onto his thighs as you rise and fall quickly, your back arching each time his cockhead brushes and prods into your G-spot.

“Other guy doesn’t know what he missed out on,” Harry husks, eyes drawing a searing line up your body as if he’s mapping you out, committing you to memory. His hips sway, grinding himself up to meet your repeated dropping motions, rolling himself flush into you each time. He chuckles, the noise strained with pleasure. “I can’t say I’m that sympathetic for him, though.”

His hands smooth further up along your curves, before he’s hiking himself up enough to wrap his arms around your body, your chest arching into his. You buck down into him, his face burying against the crook of your neck, breathing hot and rasped against your skin, your pulse fluttering frantically beneath it, tensing with each shameless moan that crawls out from your throat.

“Get it all to myself, huh?” He mumbles, sucking against that spot he left on your collarbone earlier, darkening it further, the bruise blooming with red and violet, like a stain against your skin you currently wear with unadulterated pride. Your cunt makes a vulgar, moist squelching sound around him as you jerk yourself onto his cock, riding his lap with a lacerating wildness.

“Yes, baby, fuck- like that,” He moans, tilting his head back to peer up at you, his blackened-out eyes shimmering with lust and something bordering on worship. “S’ all for me, yeah?”

“Mhmm- yes, all you,” You agree haplessly, your tits jerking with your body as you bounce on his dick, chasing that twist you already feel pulverising and chewing at the frayed edges of your burning bliss.

His hand dips down between you, the tips of his fingers consciously rubbing sternly over the engorged swell of your sensitive clit that’s peeking out beneath the hood. You jolt at the added stimulation, pace stumbling, and Harry takes the chance to curl his robust arms tighter around your frame, and before you can process his movement, your vision is whirling in a blinded blur as he flips you both, his cock still impaled in you. He lowers you down into the cushiony comfort of the mattress, silk spilling out around your head.

“You’ve had your turn,” He says with a crooked smirk, dipping his head down to bite gently at the edge of your chin. You go to grumble in petulant protest, but he cuts the sound off from the tip of your tongue with an unyielding, borderline harsh thrust into you, silencing you with his cock.

He repeats the action, slower this time, letting you feel the ridge and veins of his length, sliding through your slick, sensitive walls. Grinding down into you, that coarse thatch of curls at the base of him that’s slowly greying rubbing against your swollen clit peeking out from beneath the hood. You sound a rapturous, libidinous moan, head falling back into the pillows and chest arching upwards with a heave.

His hips jerk at the sight, before restraint snaps like a thread untying, the chain unsnapping that shielded the rabid dog to the pillar. He slams into you, hips slapping wetly against yours, cock plunging into you with brisk speed, firm.

“Yeah, you can take it, can’t you baby?” He moans in a gruff rumble, a sheen of sweat tilting over his temple. “So fuckin’ good. Feel so good wrapped around me- better than I imagined.”

You whimper, arms looping beneath his, hands curling over to his back. You dig your nails deeper into his skin than you meant to, leaving dim, red marks down the length of his back. But he doesn’t seem deterred- if anything, it spurs him on to pound into you swifter, relentless.

“So sweet and wet,” He mumbles more to himself than you, fucking you into his mattress. “Dripping all over my cock, aren’t you?”

His hasty, muttered questions are rhetoric, slipping from his lips like the drip of honey, curdling with sweetness. You couldn’t think to answer even if you wanted to anyways, shameless moans pouring from you in tumbling sways of bliss, body sliding up the bed with each jackhammering thrust of his hips.

You squeeze around him, legs loosely splayed wide for him to pummel into you, cunt slick and hot around his throbbing length, your face flushed and hair splaying widely around your head on his pillows. His hands settle on either side of your head, his eyes settling on yours intensely as his hips swing into yours, his eyebrows saddled with focus, dense breaths and groans drawing out of him. His chest shines with a thin line of sweat, his biceps flexing and the veins in his forearms bulging as he bucks himself forward, fucking you ruthlessly.

It’s shameless, a tangle of bodies and limbs that intertwine like second nature, like your frames automatically blend into each other. As if you hadn’t just met tonight, starting as strangers when you were both meant to grovel around in your own solitary. As if you were both molded to be here; with you beneath him, his cock hammering into your pulsating hole.

“Fuck, m’ not gonna last much longer,” He admits, glancing down between you to watch where your abdomen rolls to grind your hips up into his sharp, plunging thrusts. “You gonna come for me, baby?”

Your mouth feels numb, eyes glazed over with the pleasure that curdles along you. But you nod eagerly, nails digging further into his flesh. He pants, using the last of his renowned energy to buck harder into you, chasing you both to those releases burning through your blood, sizzling to an unstoppable height before it captures the pair of you.

His head drops down, forehead pressing to yours, your mingled noises tangling in the heated air between your mouths.

“Go on, honey. Come for me. Let me feel you squeezing me,” He mutters frantically, and his mumbled coaxing that rasps past your ears are the final length that stretches before that release curls around your veins, splashing like liquid ecstasy through you. Your mouth catches open in a noiseless whine, your eyes rolling back into your head.

Your thighs clamp around his waist, cunt tightening around him before spasming, juices slicking over him in streams, dripping down to his balls and smearing each time they slap against the curve of your ass. He sounds a groan that sounds pained, his hips stuttering in their pace as your walls squeeze and flutter like they’re trying to milk him of everything he’s worth.

“Fuck. That’s it, that’s it, so good for me-” He groans jarringly whilst you mewl hopelessly, hips bucking up. His thrusts turn erratic, uncoordinated as he unceremoniously chases his own orgasm, slamming down into you with propelling hips, sinful, the force staggering.

His mouth pinches in effort as your cunt slicks another gush around him, and with a hiss of restraint, he pulls himself out of your wet embrace at the last moment. His hand hastily dipping down to wrap around himself, length soaked and throbbing. He barely pumps himself once before his thighs are locking up, a trembling moan that whisks off into a whimper as the bliss hits him squarely in the gut, and his cock is jumping in his hold, ropes of thick white painting over your stomach in ropes of heat, nearly reaching your breasts.

You squirm, limbs aching, dipping your chin down towards your chest to see where he weakly strokes over his cock to milk out the last of his come, which dribbles down to your mound, warm and smooth and sticky.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the hoarse panting of your shared breaths as you both reel through the after effects, foreheads still pressed together. Your eyes flutter closed, body sated, a content afterglow burning low through you. You feel him shift above you, dipping his hand down to your stomach.

Slowly, reverently in a way that feels nearly pious, he swipes a thick finger through the layer of his come on your belly, smearing it over your skin and collecting it on the pad of his digit. And then-

He’s carefully lifting it up between your warm bodies to your parted, swollen mouth. His finger taps softly against your bottom lip, coaxing your eyes open to meet his. They’re still dark, inky, but there’s a softer kind of benevolence swimming through them now, tender.

You swipe your tongue out to collect his come from the tip of his finger, letting your jaw fall slack as he guides it into your mouth. You moan softly at the salty taste of him, stifled as you curl your lips around his finger, sucking the essence of his release right from his skin. You hear his breath hitch as he laboriously slides his finger out again, swiping over your bottom lip. A beat passes before he’s dipping down and pressing his mouth to yours, tasting himself on you.

The kiss is delicate, still amorous but with a fondness burning through it. He pulls back, his tongue carefully swiping over his lower lip like he’s relishing the flavour of both of you combined, your need like a physical, potent taste.

He gives you an unhurried, warm smile, before his hefty body is moving from atop you, and he’s dragging himself off the bed with strained, exhausted movements. You exhale shakily into the slightly humid air, your skin gradually cooling as he pads into the connected ensuite. You hear the tap running as the room lulls around you, head drooping to the side, eyelids feeling heavy.

He returns a moment later, crawling to your side. You almost jolt as the warmth of a damp washcloth meets your sensitive skin. He prods it gently over your stomach, cleaning his own release from you, padding it gently against your sore, puffy core. His movements are nothing short of reverent.

He carelessly chucks the rag onto the floor, before he’s maneuvering your body onto your side, settling down behind you, his brawny arm curling around your waist, your arms tucking in front of you. His fingers brush against your wrist as his body presses into yours from behind, broad and assured.

For a while, neither of you speak, simply relishing in the afterglow that drapes over you like a blanket, especially after Harry moves the glossy silk of the sheet over the two of you, the coolness inviting on your warm skin. Consoling, he presses a slow kiss against the curve of your shoulder from behind.

“You know, I’d like to invest further in this, if you’d be so kind as to allow me,” He murmurs into your skin, careful but unhesitant in his decision. There’s a tinge of amusement intertwined with his tone at the inane ridiculousness of the continued jesting metaphors of a business transaction being shared between you.

“What are you offering?” You whisper back into the dull smoothness of his lavish bedroom, a knowing smile lilting up the corner of your lips. You feel his own mouth upturn in a grin against you.

“A second date. If you want it.”

You’re gladdened by the fact he can’t entirely see your face so you can shield the giddy, elated expression that tilts over your expression. Your heart thumping with a vertiginous stutter at the thought of going out on another date with Harry, to share precious time with him again.

Time where you’re both aren’t under the restraints and tensions of your jobs, where you can relish in the taste of each other, the feel of each other, the simpleness of comfort found within tenderness and lasting looks. A time in which you don’t have to be perfect- you can just be.

You tilt your head back, coaxing his face into the crook of your neck, hearing him inhale softly as he breathes you in, the scent of sex and something softer lingering in the air.

“That can definitely be arranged,” You answer, coyness blooming in your voice, but settled with an undeniable soft rawness. His arms tighten gently around you, the both of you ravelled in the other in his large bed, the milk-dipped moon waving somewhere high above the heights of colossal towers that loom like spires, the scintillating but gentle whisk of the city lights peeking into the room, something like nectar settled on the tips of your tongue, saccharine and honeyed, settling into the air like promise.

And now you think; when you return to work, maybe you actually will thank Rebecca for convincing you to go on that blind date.

“But I have infinite tenderness for you. I always will. All my life long.” - Blue Is the Warmest Color (2013)

Comments, reblogs and feedback are so gratefully appreciated! I’m slowly starting a tag list, so if you’d like to be added, let me know.

[millerillusions]

Yeehaw! Santa Fe, NM, December 2023 Shot on Minolta Dynax 5000i with Kodak Portra 400

[millerillusions]

── FAVORITE STUDENT ꩜

( SYNOPSIS ) ── your college professor keeps you after class to ‘run some tests’ on his current project, but that’s not really all he wants.. right?

( WARNINGS ) ── no spoilers!! no smut, just making out. teacher!reed, student!reader.

( TAGS ) ── @jclolz22 @pittsick @fishinsuits [to be added]

“What am I doing wrong?” Reed mutters to himself, his eyes scanning the scattered sheets across his desk. Equations, graphs, and scribbled notes form a chaotic mess. He stands with his hands braced on his hips, tension etched across his brow.

“Everything is off in one way or another,” he sighs. His eyes drift across the empty classroom until they land on you by the door, your bag slung over one shoulder as you quietly push it shut behind you.

“Mr. Richards,” you say with a warm smile, walking slowly toward him until you’re on the opposite side of his desk.

A spark flickers in his expression as he straightens. “Just the person I was hoping to see,” he replies, gesturing for you to come around the desk. He grabs one of the sheets and holds it out to you.

“I cannot, for the life of me, figure out what I’m missing here,” he says, a frustrated smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “And you’re one of the only students who actually pays attention in my class. I was hoping you might give it a shot.”

You blink up at him, wide eyed. The compliment stirs something nervous in your chest. You glance down at the paper, then back at him. “I can try,” you say cautiously.

The two of you end up working together at his desk long after school ends. Your shoulders are hunched, eyes narrowed in focus as you write, then groan softly and erase what you’ve done. Every mistake, every do over brings another sigh. Reed doesn’t say a word.

He sits with his elbow resting on the desk, chin balanced in his hand, his eyes never leaving you. He watches the way your lips draw in when you’re deep in thought, the little roll of your eyes when a solution slips through your fingers again. His gaze drifts lower, taking in the curve of your posture, the frustrated bounce of your leg, the faint flush growing across your cheeks.

You lean back in your seat, arms folded, clearly stuck. When you glance at him, you catch the way his eyes flick abruptly away. He looks down at a notebook he’s kept to himself this whole time.

“Try this,” he says suddenly, rising from his seat. You follow him to another side of the desk as he sets the notebook down in front of you.

You place your hands on the edge of the desk, peering down at the open page. A second later, Reed steps in behind you. His chest hovers barely an inch from your back as he leans in, his voice low near your ear.

“Why don’t you work through that equation? We’ll test it and see if it holds.”

You turn your head to look up at him. The proximity makes your breath catch, but you nod slowly. “Okay,” you whisper.

After another ten minutes of scribbling and refining, you finally hold up the finished work for his review. He glances over it, barely reading before nodding.

“Yeah. That’ll work.” His tone is casual, almost dismissive, as if he already knew the answer. As if this entire session had nothing to do with the equation at all.

“Let’s test it,” he says.

His hand slips to the small of your back as he guides you toward the teleportation prototype. His body brushes against yours as he leans on the table beside it, watching you immediately start making adjustments. You work quickly, altering the placement of key components, aligning the setup to match your equation.

“Just like that, good job.” he murmurs behind you. His hand remains at your back, thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles into the fabric of your shirt.

When you lean back, seeking his next instruction, he doesn’t speak right away. He stares down at you, his expression unreadable but intense. A few seconds of silence before he speaks.

“I couldn’t care less about this project,” he says quietly.

“I know,” you answer, your voice just above a whisper. “I saw your notebook before you gave it to me. You already knew the right answer.”

He raises a brow, a small smirk forming. “So you’ve been running pointless test equations this whole time?”

You nod, biting your lip. “I don’t know. It just felt like you wanted me to.”

For a beat, he doesn’t move. His hand stays planted against your back, but the motion of his thumb slows to a pause.

“I did,” he admits. His voice is barely audible over the stillness of the room. “Maybe I just like seeing how your mind works when there’s no one else around.”

You stare at him. Your lips part slightly. The way he’s looking at you isn’t how a teacher should look at a student. There’s nothing professional about it.

“That’s not really appropriate, Mr. Richards,” you say softly.

“No,” he agrees, eyes dropping to your mouth. “It’s not.”

Neither of you moves. The classroom remains silent, thick with the weight of what’s been unspoken. Reed’s hand slides further around your waist, guiding you closer. Then, without another word, he closes the distance between you.

Your hands come up to his chest instinctively. His arms wrap around you, his kiss deepening as he backs you toward the desk. He leans into you, his lips still moving against yours, until your thighs hit the edge. Without breaking contact, he lifts you effortlessly to sit atop it.

You gasp as he does, pulling back just slightly.

“Mr. Richards, we shouldn’t be—“

He kisses you again, swallowing the rest of your sentence. Your arms loop around his neck as you give in, allowing yourself to be pulled toward him, his hips pressing into yours.

His mouth leaves yours only to trail along your jaw, down your neck. You tilt your head back, breathless, barely able to hold yourself upright as he leans over you, still cradling your waist.

The moment shatters with the sharp sound of some other professors heels clacking just outside the room. Reed straightens instantly, pulling away and adjusting his shirt. The footsteps pass by without stopping.

You stare up at him, your lips swollen and damp, your fingers brushing across your mouth to wipe away the kiss he left behind.

“So,” he says after a moment, still catching his breath, one hand planted on his hip while the other rakes through his hair, “you ready to run that test one more time?”

[millerillusions]

sue and her boys 🥺

(images are mine!)

[millerillusions]

Yeah let’s keep this going.

[millerillusions]

every HARRY CASTILLO scene from Materialists [14/?]

[millerillusions]

★ July Fic Recommendations ★

| ★ | hello! I hope we all had a wonderful July 🫶

| ★ | again, didn’t get to read as much as I wanted to this month, assignments are already kicking me in the ass. also peep the new fic rec graphics

| ★ | as always, show some love to the authors! each of them are amazing and deserve all the hearts <33

🪡 angst, 💋 smut, 🪷 fluff, 🪶 darker themes

| Joel Miller |

★ | JACKRABBIT! by @sceletaflores | 💋

Joel Miller fic where he finds a sex toy on a raid and teaches user how to use it.

★ | STAYIN' ALIVE by @joelsslvts | 🪡

you survived the end of the world by doing what you had to. jackson was supposed to be a second chance. but people talk, and this time, your reputation might not be the thing that ruins you—it might be a man who can see through it.

★ | Be the Thing I Want by @youthereader | 💋, 🪡

Your body still trades well when you move to Jackson. Though ostracized by the majority of the town, you find an ally in Joel Miller.

★ | turn me to ashes by @rainy-day-gracie | 💋

Joel catches you with a cigarette.

★ | Check Me Out by @lucymmiller | 🪷

Two stressed souls meet in the check-out lane of a grocery store. 

★ | @/coffeeguitaar by @littledes1re | 🪷

You find solace chatting online with Joel, an older man, after the passing of your father. Your bond grows quietly until you two meet, nervous but full of hope.

★ | Fast n' Dirty by @writteninthebinds | 💋

Joel’s gotta crush on the girl that works nights at the CVS. He swears it’s nothin, that he’s just a guy lookin’ out for a nice girl in the rougher part of town. He’s lying.

★ | Dirty Work / Lyin' Eyes (Part Two) by @dogwithbird | 💋

Your husband should've known better than to leave you all alone in that big house with Joel Miller.

★ | Not Just One Night by @vingtetunmars | 🪷

You’ve been a regular at Joel Miller’s bar for months—sharing drinks, teasing flirtations, and quiet glances that never quite cross the line. After one too many heartbreaks, you’ve learned not to expect much from men. Still, Joel sees more than you realize. He watched you walk away too many nights, and he’s done staying silent. This time, he’s asking—if you’ll let him, he’ll show you what it really means to be cared for.

★ | STRUTTER! by @loverofoldsadlosers | 💋

against joel’s best intentions, he decides that yeah; he’ll have to be the one to teach you a thing or two.

★ | Dr. Miller's Check Up by @cinnxmxngxrl | 💋

Joel Miller comes up with a brilliant plan… pretending to be a doctor just to get close to you and have full access to your body.

★ | Love is Blind by @livyjh | 🪷, 💋

You and Joel have been best friends for a while now, and then a double blind date goes wrong and you end up in each other’s arms for the first time

| Harry Castillo |

★ | rumors, inches / make it fit (Part Two) by @iamasaddie | 💋

you should know better than to talk with your friend on the phone while you're at work. and you should know better than to discuss your handsome employer's dick. he might just come home early and hear you.

| Reed Richards |

★ | Favorite Student by @plaidcowboy | 🪷

your college professor keeps you after class to ‘run some tests’ on his current project, but that’s not really all he wants.. right?

★ | STIMULI AND RESPONSE: A STUDY IN CHEMISTRY... by @sceletaflores | 💋

sex pollen fic 😛

| ★ | dividers by @/saradika-graphics

| ★ | my Masterlist, if you're interested <3

[millerillusions]

do you like it?