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ninebluehearts · 3 months

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Heat

Alpha Jake Lockley X Omega f!Reader

Not Beta Read - For the @moonknight-events Bingo Event!

Prompt: "Tell Me No."

Author's Note: This was my first omegaverse fic so be gentle please and thanks.

Summary

The CEO of Lockley & Co. is an alpha and has agreed that omegas can work at his corporation, so long as they agree to stay on suppressants. You needed your job, and you needed it badly, so you had no problem with compliance. But why aren't your suppressants working?

Tags/Warnings

NSFW, omegaverse, A/B/O, Jake is an Alpha and reader is an Omega, messy sex, unprotected p in v sex, breeding kink, creampie, knotting, strangers hooking up sort of, rough sex.

You wanted the job at Lockley & Co. so bad you could hardly stand it. Nine to five, Monday through Friday with health benefits and a 401k. You couldn’t pass something like that up, so you were happy to follow the rules for Omegas: take your heat suppressants, or take some sick leave when the time for your heat arrived. There was no exception, and if you couldn’t follow the rules, then you would be fired.

You’d done well for yourself, prepping the perfect resume, carefully adorned with your special skills and experience working for prior well known employers. It all earned you a position as Mr. Lockley’s personal secretary. Not just anyone was cut out for the job. You had to be sharp, an exceptional multitasker, and excellent at problem solving. You felt confident that you could handle it, and you were sure that your confidence is the reason his assistant hired you.

“You’re an omega…” she’d looked up from your resume, eyes scanning over you to cast their judgment. “You’re aware that Mr. Lockley is an alpha, aren’t you?”

You nodded, “yes, but I’m on suppressants, I take them regularly, and I wear a pheromone blocker.”

She hummed in approval as she continued looking over your resume, “we can try it out, but if you become a problem then this may not be a good fit.”

You assured her it wouldn’t be an issue. You weren’t a stranger to your heat, and you knew how to handle it.

You had it under control…you thought.

On your first day, Mr. Lockley strode into the hall by his office, the place where your desk sat by the door to check people in for appointments and take calls. He stopped in his tracks, dark eyes darting to yours and his nostrils flaring slightly while he stared. Could he smell you? Of course he couldn’t. You’d taken the suppressants, you took care of your shit so you could work. You checked your wrist, the small green light on the electronic pheromone blocker you wore indicated that it was still working.

But it wasn’t working.

Mr. Lockley’s cheeks flushed, his movements turned fast as he stormed to his office and slammed the door. You jumped, not sure why he was reacting that way. You looked around. Maybe there was a new omega hired that was around and you didn’t see them? No, there was no one else up there with you at the moment. It was just you, and Mr. Lockley on that floor.

You could hear him in there, making all sorts of noise as it sounded like he slammed down his briefcase and rustled through his documents. He was loud for a while in there, the sounds of his footsteps echoing out into the hall even through the closed door. It was after an hour of the racket that you heard some glass break, so you finally decided to knock on his door.

“S-sir?” You asked softly.

A deafening silence ripped through the hall where you stood.

“Come in,” he choked out, not in the confident, deep voice you’d expected to hear.

You opened the door slowly. You were shocked to see him adjusting his tie and fixing his hair as you stepped into the room.

“Stay there!” He shouted, forcing you to jump back in surprise.

You’d never seen Mr. Lockley like that, cheeks dusted pink and hair a bit unruly. He was known for his inexplicable ability to keep his composure, even in the most unnerving situations. You envied him for that trait.

“What do you want?” He asked harshly.

“I was just…” you looked at the broken corporate award from last year on the floor, which you assumed was the source of the breaking glass you heard earlier. “I was just checking on you, you sounded–”

“I’m fine,” he rushed to say. “You should go home early, I don’t need you today.”

“Well I have a lot of work to do, it’s my first day, I should–”

“You’re fired!”

You gulped, rendered silent by the finite words leaving his mouth.

“I’m…what?” Your bottom lip started quivering against your will. “You can’t–”

“No, you’re not fired but just…just go home! Don’t make me ask again!”

You nodded and left his office before he changed his mind back to terminating you again. Your heart was racing and you felt like you’d been punched in the gut. There was no excuse for him to be in such a mood, but then it hit you. You were in your heat. He was acting like an alpha would if they smelled you.

He could smell you. There was no other reasonable explanation.

But you had taken suppressants, you knew you did. As you were leaving you rifled through your bag. In your purse you found the suppressant package with one capsule missing, you turned it this way and that, looking for any explanation as to why it wouldn’t be working. The fine print stated:

Caution: this medication will have little to no effect on alphas that have marked the omega taking this drug. In the case of ‘perfect mates’, this drug will have little to no effect. Disclaimer: Suppressants and their potency are not a reliable way to determine ‘perfect mate’ compatibility. If you have a high blood pressure or heart disease, please consult your doctor before taking any form of suppressant.

You wracked your brain the entire way home trying to think of when Mr. Lockley might’ve marked you. The two of you had never even spoken before, and he certainly had never touched you. You’d heard from others that he made a point never to touch employees of his just in case. You wondered if that’s why he still had his gloves on when you’d left his office earlier.

—

Jake couldn’t figure it out either.

He spent the day in his office, trying desperately to get the smell of you out of his head. He used his aromatherapy pen, something he bought on Amazon that was supposed to help quell his rut when an Omega in heat was nearby and off their suppressants. It helped…a little.

He was able to get through the better part of his day, sitting through some of his morning meetings and sifting through emails. When his assistant came in, opening the door and letting a breeze air waft through his office, he lost what little control he had left. You’d left your damn coat behind at your desk in your attempt to leave the office quickly, and it stunk like you.

“Sir, are you alright–”

“Cancel all my meetings, I’m going home,” he grumbled, stalking out of his office in a huff.

She looked surprised, but nodded nonetheless. Jake snatched your coat on the way by your desk as he made his way to the elevator. No amount of aromatherapy bullshit could stop the feral heat coursing through his veins. By the time he reached the ground floor he was covered in a thin veil of sweat, only made worse by the inquiring employees all asking ‘if he was okay.’

He was fucking fine.

Except he wasn’t.

Jake had meant to go straight home, truly, but he found himself standing outside your house instead, knocking on your door with your stinking coat in hand. He just had to give it back to you. If he didn’t, it was going to continue stinking up his car, or his house, or his bed. That’s all he was there to do…nothing else. He wiped his sweaty palms on his suit coat. It was unlike him to be shaken up like that. The CEO and founder of Lockley & Co., made into a panting mess by a little omega who forgot to take her suppressants. He was stronger than that…at least that’s what he kept telling himself.

—

You heard a knock on your door and could see your boss through the ring camera at your front steps. You felt every nerve ending in your body come alive. Your core immediately started tingling with anticipation, knowing there was an alpha right on the other side of your door. With hesitation, you grabbed your phone, speaking through the intercom.

“M-Mr. Lockley what are you–”

“You left your jacket, I brought it for you.” He spoke in a low rasp. Even through the phone, his tense demeanor was evident.

“Thank you,” you gulped. “You can just leave it there at the door.”

“I’m sorry for my behavior but…you need to take your suppressants, you know the rules. There’s a reason–”

“I did take them, but they don’t work if you marked me but…I don’t remember you marking me,” you felt your body overheating the longer he stood outside your door.

“I didn’t, it would’ve been impossible. Besides, I have a strict policy with my employees.” He said sternly.

There was an awkward silence that passed through the closed door. You felt your slick dripping out of you, ruining the clothes you’d changed into when you got home.

“Well you must’ve because–”

“I didn’t!” He yelled, forcing you to step away from the door. “I didn’t.”

“Okay.”

You felt an overwhelming need to open the door and see him. Your feet carried you involuntarily to the knob, and on its own your hand reached out to grasp it.

“Don’t open the door,” he warned.

“I’m opening the door,” you retorted, turning the knob.

“I’m begging you not to open the fucking door–”

“I’m just going to get my coat from you, it’s not–”

“-and I don’t think I’ll be able to control myself if–”

“-you’re making a big deal out of nothing I’m just going to–”

You both froze when the door was finally open. A smart omega would’ve kept it closed like she was told, but you weren’t a smart omega. You were in heat, desperate, dripping wet between your legs with slick, and there was a perfectly healthy and ready alpha on your front step. How could you just let that opportunity slip by?

—

Jake could smell your slick pouring out of you like a little fountain. You were so wet that it filled his head with a fog he couldn’t shake. His hands were clenched into fists and his jaw was so tight he thought his teeth might break in his mouth. Your heart was pounding in your heaving chest, he could hear it. He could see every little bead of sweat on your soft skin. What a pretty little omega you were, so ready to breed.

Jake charged toward you, dropping your coat and slamming the door behind himself. He grabbed the collar of your shirt.

“Tell me no,” he demanded.

“I can’t,” you breathed, grabbing onto the lapel of his suit.

His mouth slammed onto yours with a heavy need, tongue invading your mouth in a desperate hunger. A rumble erupted through his chest as he ripped your shirt open with reckless abandon, buttons flying all over the room as the blouse was ruined.

“Bedroom,” he murmured against your mouth, “bed.”

You pointed in the direction of your room, jumping up and wrapping your legs around his waist so he could carry you, never letting your lips disconnect all the way to the bed. He dropped you onto the mattress, making quick work of his coat and starting to work on his white button-down. You fumbled with his belt, shaking hands struggling to get the buckle undone.

“Do your own, go, go,” he said, breathing so hard it sounded like he’d just run a marathon.

You started getting your pants off, removing your panties and bra in the process. In a matter of seconds you were two sweaty bodies connected at the mouth, moaning and grinding on each other messily.

“You’re so fucking wet, should we get a towel or–”

“Fuck me,” you rushed to say.

He plunged himself deep into your core without a second thought, forcing you to throw your head back from the sheer ecstasy of the moment. You moaned deeply, feeling Jake’s cock slamming into the deepest parts of your heat. His mouth was all over you, lips sucking and lapping at your skin like he meant to devour you. Your nails dug into the meat of his shoulders, sure to leave divots with how hard you gripped him.

“Fuck, you’re such a filthy little omega, such a nice cunt you’ve got,” he growled. “You did this, you did this to me. You feel how fucking hard I am? Feel how big my cock is right now?”

You nodded, whimpering with every slam of his hips, “yes, sir, yes!”

“Good, fucking good.”

You were panting, unable to catch your breath or find your mental bearings. It was a purely pleasure-filled fog permeating your mind. All you could smell was Jake’s pheromones in the room, his unadulterated hunger to fill you, to breed you. He slammed harder, the headboard of the bed rocked off the wall with every thrust. You gasped when he bit into your flesh and sucked the skin between his teeth.

“I bet you did this on purpose didn’t you? You wanted me to fill you up huh? Bet you couldn’t stop thinking about spending your heat being bred by me,” he hissed in your ear.

You couldn’t get a word out, your mind too fucked out to focus on anything much other than your breathing, and the way your body felt like it was electrified all over.

Jake could feel your cunt squeezing around him, your slick making a sticky mess between both your bodies as it continued spilling out of you. He’d never had such a desperate omega, such a pretty and needy little thing so ready to take every ounce of his spend. He pounded faster, feeling himself so close to his climax he could hardly stand it.

“You really think you can take everything I’ve got, querida? It’s been a long, long time since I’ve been with someone. And I’ve never fucked anyone as breedable as you,” he whispered, breath punching out of his lungs.

“Yes, I can, I can!” You held onto him tight, arching your hips to take him deeper.

Finally his hips stopped flush against yours. He groaned, hard cock throbbing inside you, cum gushing and filling your cunt until it was overflowing. You felt him knotting, pushing the engorged base of his girth into you and forcing a gasp to erupt from your chest.

“Oh f-fuck!” You shrieked.

“Stay still, oh for fuck’s sake stay still…”

You did as you were told, feeling your own orgasm tear through your body, your cunt contracting over his knotted dick in waves. You breathed heavily, holding onto him tight and kissing along his neck and jawline, doing your best to keep your body still. You’d been through a few heats, and always been able to get through it on your own, but now that you’d had an alpha, you didn’t know how you’d made it so long without one.

“That was incredible,” you whispered.

“It was a mistake,” he whispered. “Incredible though, yes, fucking incredible.”

He lay there on top of you, lazily kissing your sweat slick neck, adjusting your bodies to a more comfortable position on your sides to wait out his knot. Jake kissed your forehead, holding you close against his chest.

“I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I promise I’m on suppressants I don’t understand…” you trailed off.

He chuckled, “are we a perfect match, little omega?”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks. It was the only thing that made any sense given the precautions you’d both taken to prevent this sort of situation from happening. You looked into his dark eyes, unable to tear yourself away. The feeling of his knot still throbbing inside you, and the bite he left on your neck made you feel more connected to him than anyone ever made you feel before.

You nodded and sighed contentedly, “a perfect match.”

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ninebluehearts · 4 months

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its the last month of 2023 so i’m just gonna say it: what the absolute fuck was that

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ninebluehearts · 4 months

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Cry Harder

Dark!Joel Miller x fem!reader

Masterlist : Taglist (NEW TAG LIST)

A follow up to Keep Cry'n, but you don't need to read it to read this. But you do need to read the warnings lol.

For my event, Dead Dove December which is still open until January 1st, and there's no sign up! Plenty of time to join <3

Summery: While keeping you captive, Joel's sex drive is insatiable, and the sex seemed to be never ending. You tried to warm him you needed to use the bathroom... he didn't listen.

Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. Non con. Piss kink. Dacryphilia. PIV sex, oral f!recieving. Smoothing via pillow. Threat of murder, threat of necrophilia (Joel's just trying to scare her.) little smacking. Degredation, daddy kink.

Immersabilty: Reader is fem.

1k works

A/N: I'M BACK!!! I'll chat a lil more in the notes at the bottom and be sure to read the housekeeping but thanks for sticking around <3

You don't have to like piss kink but don't make fun of me okay lol

Support writers! Reblog and comment

******************************

“That’s it baby, cry harder”

As if you had much of a choice. Joel had you here for 2 days by this point, and the man was fucking insatiable. He had explained to you, not that you asked, that he goes in and out of “shifts”, essentially. For a few weeks, he raids and stocks up on all he needs. Then, if he’s got somewhere decent to stay, he’ll take a pretty girl for a week or so and just go insane on sex, food, and any drugs or booze he could get. You were well fed at least, and sometimes Joel let you take a few hits of weed or sips of alcohol to numb you, but other than that he wasn’t giving many mercies.

It had been hours at this point, no refractory period except sometimes to go have a smoke, but 5 minutes later he came back hard and thrusting into your swollen lips.

You were exhausted, spread out naked on your back as Joel knelt before you, thrusting. You just wanted it to be over, sobbing into the pillow you pulled over your face.

“Awwww, little babies embarrassed? Wassamatter, little baby, don’t want me to hear you moaning again?” Joel taunted you with a laugh. He liked laughing at you. He did make you moan, that was the embarrassing part. Joel wasn’t necessarily trying to make you cum, but he did get giddy and gleeful when the stretch of his cock was enough to make you orgasm.

You weren’t entirely sure that’s what was happening right now, but something was. “Joel…” You whine into your pillow. “My stomach hurts…”

“Why -thrust- the fuck -thrust- do I care?”

“It feels funny…” You hoped maybe he’d stop if you were sick. Not that he cared about your well being, but rather he wouldn’t want you getting sick all over him. Or maybe he was into that.

“Just shut the fuck up and -mmmph- just fuck’n take it. Always fuck’n whining like you got a hard job.” Joel smacked a tit, making you whimper and clench down.

Then you realized what the feeling was. “Joel, I gotta- MPH!”

Joel shoved the pillow into your face. “Tired of your fucking voice. ‘Joel I need this, Joel I need that!’” He mocked you in a high pitched voice. “Just shut the fuck up before I smoother you and use your cold pussy instead. Bet the rigor would tight’n you up a bit.”

Fresh tears wet your pillow as you wriggle, trying to keep quiet. You needed to pee. Or maybe you were going to cum. Joel had gotten you pretty drunk this time and his dick jamming into your cervix made everything a little hazy, but you needed to pee, and you needed to pee BAD. Still, the struggle to breath was the first concern. It wasn't cutting off all your hair, but it was getting difficult.

You tried to warm him, but Joel simply kept the pillow over your mouth and he filled you up again and again, thick cock stretching you so far you weren’t sure how you were supposed to be any tighter, but men were never satisfied. The pressure continued to build and suddenly you were very confused; was this an orgasm, pee, or both?

Joel was growing erratic above you, and you wondered if he got off, if this would be it for today. You tried to hold it back, never wanting Joel to have to satisfaction, but the combination of the feeling and Joel in your stomach were too much. Unconsciously, you let go.

Joel stops, not pulling back enough to pull out but enough to see you and you release the warm liquid onto him as you cum. “Oh shit” He chuckles. “Did you squirt?” You remove the pillow the your face to catch him looking at your sore cunt as the liquid isn’t stopping and he realizes what was happening. “Ohhhh fuck!” He says gleefully, thrusting into you with renewed vigor.

“That’s it baby, piss on my cock, ooooooh yes, fuck yes, pee on daddy’s fuck’n cock, mmmmm god, gonna- fuuuuck, gonna cum, gonna cum in daddy’s little piss baby.”

You cover your face with your arms as you crying, sensitive as all hell from cumming hard as you reveal yourself, humiliated but knowing he’s close. Just gotta power through.

Huffing, Joel pressed his hand down on your lower stomach, pushing out more pee as you yelped.

“Goooood DAYUM!” Joel shouts loud in your ear as he cums inside you, filling your tired pussy with his cum.

Joel falls on top of you, laughing, his heavy weight nearly as suffocating as the pillow was. A light cuckold turned louder as he laughed harder and pulled away. As Joel pulled his cock out of your soaked folds, he was all but cackling, derangement in his eyes as he looked at the disaster that was the shitty bed you slept on.

“Such a messy girl…” He eyed your cunt, and you whimper. Joel didn’t go down on you. This was for him to get his dick wet, nothing else…

But soon, his mouth was between your legs, lapping at the mix of cum and piss and sweat between you two, his beard a rubbing irritant against your puffy skin. “Such a pathetic little girl” He muttered between breaths, rutting himself against the bed, and you knew he was hard again. “Fuck’n weird, can’t even keep from making a mess of yourself” He growls, licking you clean. “Fuck’n- ohmygod- fucking disgusting little piss Wh-who-oooooremmmm.” Joel came against the bed, jut as you were about to come again, and pulled away.

You can’t help the way your body wriggles as the “Nooo” You whine, ever so quiet. You hated how much he made you want him sometimes.

Joel giggles, awfully pleased with himself. “Nah, baby, I’m done with you for now. Maybe next time you’ll learn to appreciate when I give you this cock.”

Butt naked, Joel exited the room, telling you to clean yourself up. “You smell.”

*************************

TW depression, skip to the bold for romana housekeeping

I havn't posted much outside an occasional Blessed Be the Fruit and if you follow my main, you kno why. This semester has been incredibly hard on me, a genuine deep depression i han't experienced in a long, long time. It was awful. I nearly hospitalized myself a few times and I should have but I am american and not insured. I was not safe, and was a danger to myself.

Yet, somehow, I managed to get my course work done and I finished the semmester on friday ;-; now i have 2 weeks approximately off from work which isnt ideal but hey, traveling and shit. Then for about a month I'll be working back at day care again before coming back for second semmester soooooo im hoping this free time will allow me to catch up on writing and reading

Housekeeping

As linked above, this is for my event dead dove December! It's for the Oscar Isaac/ Pedro Pascal fandom, and we got so many fun entries including lots of Joel, some triple frontier (santi AND frankie) William tell, and soon some Jack from mojave, rydall keener and more!! Would love for you to join me! if you dont wanna write but like dead dove, search #deaddovedecember2023 I didn't realize at the time there was a similar event for the bucky barnes fandom but they have the same hastag, so if you like bucky, check them out too!

Also, i'm gonna be working on a new series once Blessed be the Fruit and a few on my main end, a dark!triple frontier. Check out the coming soon info, and comment if you'd like a tag!

Be sure to join the new tag list, as i changed my tag options just a little!

@m0nster-fvcker @miraclesabound @fandxmslxt69

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ninebluehearts · 4 months

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Helpless

summary: those drugs your captors injected you with didn’t just knock you out, and now you need Steven’s help.

prompt: SEX POLLEN (w feelings teehee)

pairing: steven grant x fem!reader (brief mentions of marc spector)

contents: 18+/NSFW/MINORS DNI, sex pollen, dubcon, mentions of being kidnapped and drugged, masturbation (fem), unprotected sex, dirty talk, creampie, kissing, cuddling, pining friends to lovers

wc: 2k

disclaimer: as a mod/organizer of @moonknight-events, my participance in this event is purely for promotion and i will NOT be entered into the drawing for any prize.

SP BINGO 2024 | moonknight masterlist

The sound of Steven’s blood-curdling scream will forever haunt you. Even as you sit beside him now, even as he drives you far far away from your captors— as he drives past the hotel you two had been staying in for one outside of the city.

You shift in your seat, having a difficult time getting comfortable. Something inside you seems off, your skin crawling. You chalk it up to the memory of waking up to unwanted hands on your skin, of the skitter of rats near your feet, of being pushed into the corner of a room full of cobwebs. How could you feel comfortable after thinking you were dead? That you would be murdered, never seeing Steven again.

The thought has you glancing over at him once more, eyes tracing the slope of his nose.

Steven’s gaze meets yours quickly, “You alright, love?”

Better now that you’re sat next to him. Far from okay. But, things will get better. One day this’ll be a distant memory, one you can hardly remember the details of, except that Steven was there.

You give him a half-hearted smile, shrugging, “Little shaken up.”

Steven reaches out to grab your hand, squeezing it gently. Where the action would usually make your heart flutter, all you can do is notice the relief it gives you. Strange.

“I’m so sorry,” He murmurs earnestly, catching your attention. “Marc was right, I shouldn’t have let you come in with me.”

“I appreciate you believing that I can handle myself. And I can, just not against 4 men that are twice my size.”

—

It grows unbearable in the shower.

You start with scalding hot water, wanting to burn and scrub the night’s events off of you. A symbolic erasing, hopefully, your mind will follow suit. It isn’t long after you’re in the shower that your skin grows feverishly hot. That uncomfortable feeling from before turns into some nagging scratch that sits deep in your belly.

“Fuck,” You breathe heavily, reaching out to turn the nob. The water turns cold, icy cold and for a few seconds, you think you’ve found some relief. You run your soapy towel over the skin of your tummy, up and over your breasts when your breath catches.

That. That feels like true relief.

It throws you— being confusingly turned on after a night like tonight. But you’d woken up groggy, maybe they’d drugged you? Maybe your body was having some strange reaction to whatever substance they’d given to knock you out.

You push those thoughts away as you discard the towel in favor of rubbing your hands over your breasts once more, biting back a soft whine. Flesh on flesh, yeah that’s better. You tug and tease your nipples, leaning back against the tile as you practically tremble from the ecstasy that begins to course through your veins.

Your first peak comes rapidly and unexpectedly just from the teasing touches. The gnawing feeling inside you subsides and you take a deep breath, reaching to turn off the water. Before your hand meets the job you're overwhelmed by that need again. It's louder this time, more consuming as it takes up more of your focus than before.

You’re sent into an orgasm-chasing frenzy, spreading your legs and dipping your fingers between your folds to rub at your clit. Each high you pull from yourself ends with you shivering and shaking, your moans echoing off the walls. But it’s not enough and you grow impatient even as you attempt to satisfy yourself again and again.

There’s a knock at the door that makes you jump, and then Steven’s voice floats through the door, “You alright in there, honey?”

Steven.

You need him. Steven could help you, he could make you feel good. You barely have the mind to turn off the water as you step out of the shower, heading straight for the door and throwing it open.

Steven’s mouth drops open, eyes going wide as he takes in the sight of you completely bared to him. He’s dreamed about this one too many times— Marc has too, but this was the last thing he’d expected when he’d come to check on you. You take a step towards him and he realizes that he’s been standing in place, ogling you.

“I—oh—um, I’ll just,” He mumbles, turning away and covering his eyes for good measure. He starts to apologize, though you were the one to present yourself this way he feels guilty. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—“

You reach for his shoulder, “No, Steven, touch me. Please, touch me, I need you.”

“Oh, gods above. I can’t just…on a night like tonight, where you’ve been made vulnerable,” He reasons, though he doesn’t move out of your hold.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me but Steven, I need you to help me. Please,” You whisper desperately, stepping forward to press your body against his.

Steven whimpers, shuddering when he feels the way you lean in to bury your nose in his curls and inhale his scent. How you’re affecting him so deeply when you’re the one begging is beyond him. He feels helpless— to you and your needs. Helpless to the feelings that have been blooming inside of him for you since the moment he and Marc had laid their eyes on you.

“Help you?” He murmurs, voice lying somewhere between caution and eagerness.

“Touch me. Take me. Make me cum on your cock,” You whisper into his ear, letting your hands run up and down his arms.

Steven gives out a rough laugh, “Honey are you—“

“Sure. I’m so sure, Steven. I’ve wanted this so long just please,” You ramble, not caring that you’re exposing the crush you’ve been nursing.

Steven ignores the way Marc tells him to resist— he can detect the jealousy, the longing in his alter’s urging. He ignores honor and dignity and manners, turning around to scoop you into his arms. His mouth is hungry as it skates across your skin to find one of your nipples. He sucks feverishly, one of his hands dipping to slip fingers between your folds. You keen at his touch, spreading your legs wide for him. It almost makes him dizzy, the way you’re giving him so much power. But you’ve trusted him with taking care of you and he refuses to mess this up.

“God, you’re so slick, darling. Did you touch yourself? It wasn’t enough?” He murmurs, guiding you back into the bathroom and against the wall.

“No. Made myself cum so many times,” You breathe, gripping his curls and pressing his face more firmly against your chest.

Steven gets the message, taking turns swirling his tongue around both your nipples. His hand doesn’t stop, teasing your clit in time with his mouth.

“Gotta take good care of you then, yeah?” He mumbles between flicking his tongue over your stiff bud.

You nod eagerly, chest heaving up into his mouth, “Yeah, with your cock Steven.”

“What are my mouth and fingers not good enough?” He teases, even as he uses his free hand to drop his boxers and sweats. They bunch around his knees, and he doesn’t bother to take them off fully— somehow growing just as needy and desperate as you are in a matter of minutes.

“Good enough and not enough.”

“Sounds a little impossible, doesn’it?” He asks with a soft chuckle.

You glare up at him, growing entirely too impatient. “Never took you as a tease, I always imagined I’d be Marc.”

“You’re certainly right, I just want you to be sure,” He admits as he hoists you up against the wall with ease, wrapping your legs around his hips.

You groan in frustration, pivoting your hips up greedily, “I am sure, and I’m also pretty sure I’ll spontaneously combust if you don’t fuck me right now.”

“Love a headstrong girl,” He whispers into your ear, rubbing the head of his cock against your clit in a move that makes you shiver. You open your mouth the beg him once more but then he’s pushing himself deep inside of you, spreading you open.

“Steven,” You mewl softly, mouthing at the curve of his jaw, eyes rolling back at the taste of his skin.

“I’ve got you, love, right here, gonna make you feel so so good,” He reassures you with gentle rocks of his hips. His head dips and then his mouth is on yours, the hunger inside of him much more apparent as he devours you.

This is scratching the itch, the sweet drag of his cock through your walls starts to alleviate that gnawing inside of you in a way your fingers couldn’t. You kiss him back with matched fervor, hands running up his arms and shoulders to knot in his curly hair, holding him to you so that you can take and take and take. You need every drop of him—every taste, every inch of him, every touch. You need…more.

“Harder.”

Steven tightens his grip on your hips, sinking more firmly onto his heels so he can increase the intensity of his thrusts. It still isn’t enough.

“Deeper,” You whine, tugging his head back by your hold on his curls.

His head falls back into your grasp, his speech soft and breathy, “Darling—“

“Fuck me, Steven. Like you mean it.”

With your spurring, Steven pins you more firmly against the wall with his chest, dropping one of his hands to your cunt so that he can open you up for him even more. His thrusts grow even harder as he reaches deeper inside you, the tip of his cock pressing against the spot inside of you that makes you a little breathless. He can feel the way this change makes you tighten around him, and he groans, pleasure blooming more urgently in his groin. He’s getting close and he can only hope that you are too.

“God, that’s fucking good,” You gasp, resting your head back against the wall as the room begins to spin.

“So good, love, so tight and sweet,” He agrees, kissing his way down the column of your throat. He marvels at how soft and supple your skin is against his lips. “Perfect little pussy, can’t believe you're letting me have it.”

“Make me soak your cock,” You beg, guiding his mouth to yours again, desperate to taste him again. His mouth is so soft, lips full that feel perfect against your own like the two of you were made to fit together like this.

If he wasn’t completely focused on you before, he is now. Every thought in his mind is on making you feel good, on giving you exactly what you need. He rubs your clt with his thumb this time, with firm but gentle pleasure, and you fall apart around him like it's your destiny. You still find yourself unsatisfied, needy for something but before you can say anything Steven cums, gritting his teeth as he continues to fuck you, making sure that his seed is nice and deep. It's only then, when you feel him filling you with warmth that a strange sense of peace washes over you. You’ve never felt more satiated in your life.

“Fucking hell,” He breathes, resting his forehead against yours.

“Thank you. That was— thank you,” You murmur, pressing another kiss to his lips.

Steven kisses you back eagerly, sure that this is it. That it’ll be the last time he gets to kiss and hold you like this, his last taste of your mouth. The last warmth of your smooth skin. He guides himself out of you and then lowers you both to the floor. He tries to let go of you and give you some space, but you get comfortable in his arms, pressing your cheek to his.

“Is this okay?” You ask tentatively, not meeting his gaze.

Steven brings you more firmly against him, dropping a tender kiss onto your forehead, “It's perfect.”

moonknight taglist: @pastanoodles11 , @campingwiththecharmings, @steven-grants-world, @stevengrcnt, @mccn-bcys, @whatthefishh, @silversprings-mp3, @simpforbritgents, @maisondenachtai @ninebluehearts, @rmoonstoner, @later-gators12, @foreverinwanderlustt-blog, @aleeb, @eyelessfaces, @marc-spectorr, @missdictatorme, @toracainz

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ninebluehearts · 5 months

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when you start getting requests again can i get a shy!reader x softdom!miguel ? like reader is sososo shy of showing her face when they have sex and miguel is sososo patient with her and then they're having sex and reader shows her face and miguel is all like "hi honey :)" ugh it's just so cute

ughhhh this is so adorable i just had to

nsfw mdni

plap plap plap

the sounds of miguel’s dick disappearing into your cunt clouded your mind. he plunged his cock into you repeatedly, his fingers bunching up the fabric of your long sleeved shirt on your belly. his thumb caresses the soft, plush skin there.

“ngh! mmmm~” you squeak, your wrist over your mouth as your other hand clenchss into a fist near your neck—covered in purplish marks from miguel’s lips and teeth earlier.

miguel’s thrusts ease to a slow roll, as his hands move up to gently pull your hands away from your face. “lemme see my pretty girl,” he says, out of breath. you whine, twisting your head to press against the pillow under your head.

“aw c’mon,” miguel laughs as his cock twitches inside of you. he ruts into you again, and you yelp, going to bite the sleeve on your wrists. but miguel holds your wrists down gently against your chest. he sees your flushed sweaty face, heating with embarrassment.

“hi honey,” he whispers, leaning down for a kiss.

“h-hi” you hiccup, your lips disconnecting from his as a string of saliva hangs between the two of you. you writhe under him.

miguel holds your forearms tight against your chest, pounding into you from above.

plap plap plap

“you’re so pretty, baby,” he mumbles, staring down at your face contorted in pleasure, as your mouth hangs open in an ‘o’ shape. you let out another whine in disagreement, turning to avoid his gaze.

“nuh uh,” miguel releases one of your arms to grip your chin gently.

“wan’ you to look at me while i fill you up” he growls, his pace even faster now as his breath hitches.

“please, miguel~” you squeal as the broad-shouldered man spills into you with a shaky groan, exhaling loudly.

“fuuuck” he whispers, pulling out slowly to see his arousal drip out of you. miguel slides a finger along your pussy cunt, “too pretty,” he smirks at your blissful face before brushing a piece of hair out of your tired eyes.

i would like to be filled up next pls 🗣️

#💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙thoughts #fic recommendation #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut

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ninebluehearts · 5 months

Text

miguel keeps so many nsfw pics of you in his phone.

one where he’s taking you from behind and you’re looking over your shoulder with a lazy smile

one where you have your tongue laying flat against the tip of his cock and you’re looking straight into the camera

one where you’re laying on your back, bare breasts as you give your best naught smile to the camera and doe eyes that makes him go crazy

one where you have your tongue out, his cum dripping all over it as you grin widely and looking up to the lenses

one where has his large hand cupping your bare tit under the soft material of your tank top (and another where he’s playing with your nipples)

one where he takes a close up picture of your pussy spread open, filled with him cum

one where you both go sunbathing at the beach and he’s laying on the plump of your ass cheek

one where he pulls his cock out of your pussy halfway and sent it to your ex boyfriend because he can’t fucking stop texting you as he added with the caption that says ‘she’s fucking busy’

one where his face is buried deep into your pussy, hands gripping around your thighs. eyebrows furrowed, eyes red as a devil as he looks into the camera

one where it’s a night in, a movie is playing in the background as he settles his face in between your breasts while you read your book

one where you’re naked, just in your panties, on your stomach and rolling yourself a blunt

one where you just got both of your nipples pierced and he took the picture right after

and lastly, one where he fucked you on your wedding night, just in your white matching lingerie set, panties to the side, garters still attached around your thighs and a veil still perched on top of the crown of your head.

details here ;)))

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ninebluehearts · 5 months

Text

someone to be thankful for

DBF! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: It’s Thanksgiving—when dinner with your nightmare of a family goes south, you find comfort in the person you least expect it from: your father’s best friend, Joel Miller.

warnings/tags: 18+ only, MINORS DNI. (AU, NO OUTBREAK) non canon, DBF! Joel, AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s, i do not specify her age, but she’s a recent college grad so do with that what you will, not everyone graduates at the same specific age ya know? Joel is in his mid-ish 50’s). Reader’s a teacher, she is visiting her suburban childhood home from a big city. Reader’s parents are religious and practice traditional-ish gender norms (i.e father is head of the household kinda thing) reader’s family celebrates Thanksgiving (sorry) several mentions of food and alcohol, reader’s parents suck, she has two brothers who come with names, a lot of her relatives come with names, watch out for Aunt Ines she’s a bitch. (TW) body/weight shaming (twice) PLEASE BE MINDFUL if this could be triggering. mentions of and implications of childhood abuse (not graphic) reader’s dad gets in her face, implied infidelity (reader’s dad), implied toxic marriage (reader’s parents). soft, caring, protective Joel. Joel’s recently divorced, mention of Sarah, mentions of the ex-wife. SMUT. oral sex (female receiving) p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) reader states she’s on baby blockers (birth control), creampie, DADDY KINK (bc reader clearly has a few daddy issues), LOTS of pet names (darlin’, baby, pretty girl, sweetheart, honey), size kink (ish?), cockwarming. think i got it all?

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. if this isn’t your thing, that is fine but just keep on scrolling.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION.

word count: 11.5k

a/n: yeah…idk. this was very delayed because it turned into a whole thing. if anyone actually reads all 11k of this, i will bake you muffins.

You take a deep breath and look in the mirror.

Skirt pressed, not a wrinkle in sight.

Hair brushed, not a single strand out of place.

Makeup done, not a blemish to be seen.

And somehow, someone will still find something.

Something to point out.

Something to comment on.

Something to criticize.

If not your appearance, it’ll be something else.

Because someone always had something to say.

“Should you be eating all of that?”

“Another year gone and still no boyfriend?”

“Don’t you want to get married?”

“When I was in my twenties, I had two children.”

Boundaries didn’t exist on Thanksgiving.

Actually, for your family, boundaries didn’t exist at all—somehow, they are still scratching their heads and wondering why you’d decided to up and leave the minute your high school principal handed over that diploma, your ticket to freedom.

“Sweetie!” Your mother’s shrill voice calls from the kitchen downstairs. “I need a hand! Our guests are going to start arriving soon and there is still plenty left for us to do before they get here!”

You groan outwardly.

There’s still plenty left to do?

How’s that even fucking possible?

You’ve been cooking and baking since sunrise.

“Don’t you think it’s too early?” you’d grumbled at five o’ clock in the morning when your mother had pulled you out of bed, declaring it was time for the big dinner preparations to begin—even though it’d be several hours before your family came over and gathered around the table to break bread. She had pulled the turkey out of the freezer a few days ago, a massive, thirty-pound whole bird that looked big enough to feed a small village. In addition, she had picked up a ham and a brisket. “Mom, why’s there so much food?” Rubbing the sleep from your eyes with the sleeve of your robe, you’d started making your way over to the Nespresso only to realize that the coffee machine was hidden behind paper bags full of groceries. “Are we cooking for all of Texas or something?”

“Very funny,” she had glared at you. “Of course we aren’t.” She started unwrapping the turkey. “We’re simply making sure we have enough food and that we have different options for everyone to enjoy, so knock it off with the wisecracks and get to peeling those carrots for me for the stuffing. There is not a single minute to waste today, you hear me, missy? We’re hosting a dozen people, so everything must be absolutely perfect. I won’t accept anything less than perfection today, do you understand me?”

Thirteen hours later, she’s still driving you insane.

You’re only home visiting until the end of the week and then it’s back to the Midwest. You can survive her for three more days, right?

You hear her calling your name and exhale a small, frustrated sigh. “I’m coming, mom!” you call back. It’s difficult to mask the annoyance in your tone of voice, but somehow you manage it. “One minute!”

Smoothing down your pleated plaid skirt, you take one last look in the mirror to make sure everything is in order—there is a loose thread on the sleeve of your brown, knitted sweater and you carefully snip it off with a pair of scissors before sliding your feet into the comfiest pair of ankle boots you’d packed and head downstairs, nose leading the way as you follow the warm, delicious scent of the made from scratch biscuits and rolls baking in the oven.

You find your mother standing at the center island counter garnishing a charcuterie board with sweet gherkins and sprigs of fresh herbs. She is donning festive apron embroidered with fall leaves over her designer dress; her hair’s still up in rollers. “Finally, there you are,” she huffs out loudly the second she hears you walk into the kitchen. Down the hallway, your father and two younger brothers are shouting at some football game on the flat screen television in the living room—men don’t lift a single finger on this day, at least not in this household. “I need you to start setting the table for me. I have place cards in that bag over there. Make sure your dad’s at the head of the table. Oh and don’t forget to bring out the children’s table for all your little cousins—” She glances up, letting out a small gasp when she sees you. “What in the world are you wearing?”

Frowning, you look down at yourself. “Clothes?”

Her ruby red lips purse together in a tight thin line.

“Honey, that skirt is too short. It’s inappropriate.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at her. “It’s like an inch above the knee, how is that inappropriate? It’s not like it’s a miniskirt, mom.” As she eyes your skirt with disapproval, you decide you’re not in the mood to argue and say, “Okay, fine. I’ll go upstairs and change into something else then—”

“No, no, forget it,” she shakes her head. “We don’t have the time for that.” Your mother whirls around, picking up the bag of place holders—she’d special ordered little turkeys carved out of wood. She also takes a marker and a notepad, shoving everything into your hands. “Here. I wrote down all the names of everyone who’s coming for dinner. The children get place holders too but make sure the little ones are sitting beside someone older to help them. Oh! Did I already mention putting your dad at the head of the—”

Tuning her out, your eyes scan down the guest list and if there’s one thing to be thankful for today it’s the fact that your mother’s given you the power to seat everybody wherever you want. Halfway down the list, you see the names of several relatives that you don’t want anywhere near you at the table. An Aunt Miriam who smells like the inside of a casino; a cousin Jennifer who refuses to acknowledge her forty-eight month old is actually four years old; an uncle Richard who always has one too many beers and winds up spewing antigovernment conspiracy theories, ranting until he’s passed out somewhere, such as on the floor of the guest bathroom.

You get to the bottom of the list and can’t help but raise an eyebrow in surprise. “Joel Miller?”

She nods, returning to her board.

“You remember Mr. Miller, don’t you, sweetie? He and your father went to college together—he’s one of his oldest and dearest friends. Don’t tell me you forgot about him? You’ve met him plenty of ti—”

“Yeah, I remember who Joel is, mom,” you mutter, cutting her off. “Didn’t he and the family move out to Arizona like, four years ago? To Phoenix, right?” You’d been away for college then. Taking a second glance at the list, you notice she had forgotten the names of Joel’s wife and daughter. Surely, it’d just been a mistake on her part, though. “I had no idea they were in town visiting. Dad didn’t mention it to me at all.”

“They’re not.” She lowers her voice, as if someone else is standing in the room listening. “Joel moved back to Austin, he’s been back for a few days now. He and Connie, they um—” Pausing for a moment, she reaches up and clasps the cross hanging from her neck before whispering, “They got divorced.”

Taken aback, your mouth parts slightly. “What?”

“I know. Joel and Connie were the last people that I ever thought would get divorced. Such a shame,” your mother remarks, shaking her head. “I ran into Mrs. Adler at the super market and she was telling me all about it. Thinks they could have saved their marriage if only those two—”

“Would get right with Jesus,” you finish, biting the tiny smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “She says that about everything, mom.”

“Well, she isn’t wrong! The sacrament of marriage is a lifelong bond that shouldn’t be broken. It’s not right.” Dropping her hand away from her necklace, she crosses her arms over chest. “Anyway, Connie stayed in Phoenix. Sarah’s spending Thanksgiving with her. Your father didn’t want Joel spending the holiday alone and invited him over for dinner. That means I need you to be on your very best behavior tonight. I don’t want you embarrassing your father in front of his closest friend. Is that understood?”

You can’t help but scoff a little. “I’m not a child.”

She narrows her eyes at you and scoffs right back, planting her hands on her hips.

“No, you’re a smart aleck. Need I remind you what happened last Thanksgiving with Aunt Ines?”

Of course she didn’t have to remind you about last year’s fiasco with her insufferable bitch of a sister.

“That’s an awfully big piece of pumpkin pie,” she’d remarked loudly, eliciting snickers from everybody sitting at the table. “Don’t forget, dear—a moment on the lips, forever on the hips. And you have quite a few forevers on your hips already, darling.”

You had smiled sweetly at her, your fingers itching to fling your mother’s fine china at her. “I wouldn’t really worry about my pie, Aunt Ines,” you had said as soon as you realized that nobody, not even your parents, would be coming to your defense. “Much less when your husband’s stepping out and eating someone else’s pie when he’s away on all those so called business trips. Worry about that instead.”

That comment hadn’t gone over all too well. Three months later, Aunt Ines and Uncle Louis started to see a marriage counselor. Whoops.

“Well?”

“She deserved that,” you say, shrugging lightly.

“She’s family.”

“She’s a jerk.”

“You crossed a line.”

“She crossed it first.”

Before your mother can respond, the sound of the doorbell ringing echoes throughout the house.

“Jesus, we don’t have time for this!” Your mother’s eyes widen when she tries running a hand through her hair and realizes she still has her rollers in. “Oh no, people are arriving and I’m still not ready!” She makes a beeline for the hallway. “Get the door and greet our guests, I’ll be down in five minutes!”

She disappears upstairs into her bedroom and you hear the doorbell ring again. Your father shouts for someone to go answer it, someone other than him or your brothers because it is the end of the fourth quarter and they just can’t possibly miss that.

You make your way through the foyer and open up the front door expecting it to be one of your family members, but it’s not.

Your throat instantly goes dry at the sight of him.

He’s broader than you remeber, so much broader.

The fabric of his sage green dress shirt is nice and snug on his frame—stretched taut over the planes of his chest and his wide shoulders. He’s holding a box of store bought something or other but you’re much too preoccupied with the way the sleeves of his shirt are hugging his biceps to notice what it is although you assume it’s some kind of dessert. He looks far more delicious than whatever sweet treat could be in that white box he’s got in his hands.

After a minute, you realize you’ve been gawking at him and the heat rushes to your cheeks. “Hello Mr. Miller,” you greet him politely. “It’s very nice to see you again. Please, come on in.”

He smiles, his brown eyes warm and sweet behind his square, black-rimmed glasses. “You remember me,” he states and the syrupy richness of his voice sends a pleasant tingle up your spine. Stepping off to the side, you allow him inside—as he steps past you over the threshold, the tantalizing scent of his cologne almost brings you to your knees. Notes of a citrus accord like tart grapefruit, fresh bergamot mixed with the woodiness of vetiver and musk; it’s intoxicating, something you could easily get drunk off of if you’re not careful. “I’m surprised. S’been a real long time since you last saw me.”

“It hasn’t been all that long,” you reply, closing the door behind you. You speak to him in the steadiest voice you can muster, with nonchalance—as if you aren’t one missed heartbeat away from feeling like a silly little schoolgirl with her first crush. “Has it?”

He thinks about it. “‘Bout four and a half years.”

“That’s really not that long.”

“S’not,” Joel admits with a chuckle. “But with how much I’ve aged in that short amount of time, I just wasn’t sure if you’d recognize me, y’know? I look a lot different than I used to.” He pauses and laughs, shaking his head. “I must look like an old geezer to you now, don’t I?”

Grays lightly pepper his thick dark brown curls, his beard and his mustache. He’s got crows feet when he smiles, he has worry lines and creases between his eyebrows—he does look a lot older, but he’s so goddamn handsome, wrinkles, fine lines, and all.

You toss him a playful eye roll, prompting a grin. “I don’t think you look like an old geezer, Mr. Miller.”

“Well, you’re sure as hell makin’ me feel like an old geezer by callin’ me that, darlin’ girl.” He gives you a little wink and you’re not quite sure if it’s that, or if it was the way he’d used a pet name that knocks all the wind out of your lungs. “Please, just call me Joel.”

You nod and shyly agree to it. “Okay, then. Joel.”

“S’much better.” His grin widens and a prominent, deep dimple appears on the left side of his cheek.

There’s a silence that follows, but it’s not awkward or weird. It’s comfortable—being in his presence is comfortable. His sweet disposition makes you feel so calm, so at ease.

Joel’s always been a nice man of course, although your interactions with him had been limited—kind, quick hello’s in passing on Sundays whenever he’d come over to watch football with your dad, maybe a polite how are you here and there if you bumped into him at gatherings like a backyard barbecue or birthday party. But you’re older now, no longer the child who greeted her father’s best friend because it was bad manners if she didn’t. You don’t want to throw him that kind, quick hello or that polite how are you and then scurry off the way you used to as a little kid. You actually want to talk to Joel Miller.

But you suddenly remember he’s not here for you.

He’s here for your father.

Joel!” Your mother screeches, five-inch high heels clacking loudly as she descends the staircase. She had ditched the apron and hair rollers—and put on one too many layers of her heaviest perfume. With a delighted squeal, she rushes up to Joel and pulls him into a bone crushing hug, almost causing him to drop the box he’s still holding. “Oh, it is so good to see you! It’s been far too long!”

You force back a small, amused snort.

As if she hadn’t been judging the man for a failed marriage just minutes ago in the kitchen.

It’s performative, too over the top to be sincere.

“S’good to see you too.” He steps back and laughs as he adjusts his glasses with one of his hands. He holds out the box to her with the other. “Picked up a pecan pie on the way over here. I would’a tried to make it myself, but the kitchen’s still all packed up in boxes.” He pauses, laughing again. “Then again, I ain’t really much of a baker. Store bought was for the best I reckon,” he admits, sheepishly. When he shrugs his shoulders, his shirt strains a bit over his frame and even your mother can’t help but stare a little.

Lightly clearing her throat, she takes the box from him and reminds him, “Didn’t I tell you that all you had to bring tonight was a nice, healthy appetite?”

Joel lightly pats his stomach. “Brought that too. In fact, I didn’t eat a thing all day long. I’m absolutely starvin’ right now. Could eat a whole horse.”

“Good! Dinner’s going to be served soon. William’s in the living room with the boys, watching football game after football game. Come with me, I’m sure you’re eager to see him.” Your mother spins on her heel and hands you the dessert. “Sweetie, will you be a gem and go put this in the kitchen for me?” It isn’t a request, it’s an order masked as a request—it’s the kindest she’s been to you all day. She takes Joel’s arm and leads him down the hallway, calling out over her shoulder, “And please set the table!”

You do set the table, and when you do, you decide to sit yourself right next to Joel Miller.

Your mother lightly clinks her knife against the rim of her wine glass and clears her throat. “Everyone! It’s time to join hands and say grace before we dig into our meal,” she announces, her voice breaking through the loud, buzzing chatter at the table. She waits until there’s complete silence and then takes her seat, the chair adjacent to your father’s. You’re on his opposite side and Joel’s right beside you. “I think you should do the honor, William. You are the man of the house, after all.”

Nodding, your father begins the prayer.

“Heavenly Father, bless this food we are about—”

You’re not listening. You’re distracted by the jolt of electricity that zips through your entire body when you put your hand in Joel’s. His hand dwarfs yours and it’s rough and calloused, but somehow it’s the most gentle, soothing touch. Heat prickles at your face and neck when you feel him sweep his thumb across the back of your hand—you open your eyes and glance over at him, wondering if that had just been an accident. You’re convinced it was, until he does it again, running his finger over each knuckle one at a time. Slowly, like he’s savoring the touch.

Biting your lip, you give his hand a gentle squeeze.

His head is bowed and his eyes are still closed, but a faint smile tugs lightly at the corner of his mouth and he firmly squeezes your hand back. There’s an unmistakable desire that’s already burning deep in your lower belly, a flame you can’t extinguish even when the angel on your shoulder reminds you that not only is Joel Miller twice your fucking age, he is also your father’s best friend. His best friend.

“…through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

“Amen,” your relatives chime together in unison.

You force out the declaration. “Amen.”

“Amen,” Joel murmurs, opening his eyes. He turns to you and his gaze flits to your hand in his and for a moment, it almost seems like he doesn’t want to let it go. It feels like Joel doesn’t want to let it go—and he doesn’t. He doesn’t let it go until the sound of your father’s loud, booming voice announcing it is time for him to carve the bird startles the two of you apart. Clearing his throat lightly, Joel turns his attention forward and reaches for his cabernet. He gulps down half his glass in one easy swallow.

Dinner’s fairly uneventful.

You eat in complete silence, as does Joel.

Part of you wonders if it’s because you’re sitting in between him and your father, the only person that he’s most comfortable conversing with. Assuming this is the case, you’re just about to ask him if he’d like to trade places when he turns to you and says, “Your dad told me you went to school in Chicago.”

He’s just being friendly, you remind yourself when your heart starts to flutter wildly at the notion that he wants to talk to you. He’s friendly. That’s all. It doesn’t mean anything.

“Yeah. I did.” You pick up your glass of wine, taking a sip hoping it’ll ease the nerves. “I graduated over the summer and took a teaching job out there.”

“You became a teacher?”

“Yeah. I teach kindergarten.” You smile proudly.

“Can you believe that, Joel?” Your father lets out a scoff and shakes his head. “I spent thousands and thousands of dollars to send her to school. All that money and for what? For her to learn how to teach little ankle biters how to color inside the lines?” He rolls his eyes and gestures to your two brothers on the opposite side of the table. “Now my boys, they are smart. Chose good careers to pursue. Brandon starts applying to medical school in the spring. Oh and Matthew? He got early acceptance to Yale. He plans on studying law.” He shifts his attention over to you once more and shrugs. “Not too sure where I went wrong with this one.”

You stare at him in complete and utter disbelief.

“Dad.”

Chortling, he waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, come on, honey. I’m just kidding around. You know that I don’t mean it.” He then reaches out, pinching your cheek roughly. “Don’t be so sensitive,” he tells you before turning his attention back to his plate.

But he does mean it.

His comments hurt, and you hate that they hurt.

Joel nudges your arm with his. “Y’know somethin’, it takes someone real special to become a teacher, ‘specially to kids that age,” he states in a matter of fact tone. “Someone who’s real sweet and patient, someone real smart too. Someone just like you.”

Warmth radiates through your entire body. It’s not just his words, but it’s the sincerity behind them.

You shoot him a small, grateful smile.

The two of you wind up talking to one another.

Joel’s moving his contracting business, bringing it back to Austin from Phoenix to run it with Tommy, his younger brother who you vaguely remembered meeting a time or two in the past. He mentions his daughter here and there, but doesn’t bring Connie up once—perhaps it’s too painful for him? It’s hard to tell. He seems to be in good spirits and truth be told, it doesn’t appear he’s mourning his marriage; but it’s difficult to believe he’s not missing her, the woman he’d spent three decades of his life with. It shouldn’t even matter to you whether he’s missing his ex-wife or not, if there are residual feelings still lingering around. But it does matter and you don’t know why. Or maybe you do know why, but you’re too ashamed to admit it.

“Do you like Chicago?” Joel questions, curiously.

Shrugging, you respond, “Yeah. It’s a cool city.”

“You plan on stayin’ out there permanently?”

“I’m not too sure,” you admit. “It’s too expensive. I don’t want to live with a roommate forever. Unless teachers start getting paid more, I don’t think that I’ll ever be able to afford to live alone in Chicago.”

Joel seems hesitant about his next query. “Do you ever think ‘bout comin’ back to Austin at all?”

Suddenly, you’re not too sure about that either.

You’ve been itching to go back and get as far from Austin, Texas as possible, but now, it means being far from Joel Miller. There’s a deep, sinking feeling inside of your chest at the thought.

Realizing he’s still waiting for a response, you have no choice but to tell him the truth. “I don’t think I’ll ever come back here, to be honest. Not to stay.”

“Oh. I see.” He sounds disappointed. “Are you��do you plan on visitin’ home again for Christmas?”

“I do. I’ll be here for Christmas and New Year’s.”

He’s being friendly. He’s being friendly. He’s—

“It’d be real nice to see you again then.” Flushing a deep shade of red, subtle regret flashes across his features, as if he’d said it without thinking. Picking up his glass, he drains the rest of his wine and you can swear he’s nervous. About what he’d just said, and about whether or not your parents, who are in such close proximity, had overheard him. Because what business did he have in telling their daughter it would be nice to see her again?

They’re both much too preoccupied. Your father is attempting to be slick checking his text messages underneath the table and you can tell by the smirk on his face that it’s one of his secretaries. He’s got a penchant for perky blondes in tight pencil skirts. Your mother is well aware of this. She is also aware he’s on his phone, but she turns a blind eye just as she always does and distracts herself by being the perfect hostess.

Feeling foolishly courageous, you turn back to him and nod, heart pounding against your sternum. “It would. It’d be very nice, actually.”

Relieved, he nods and murmurs quietly, “We’ll talk ‘bout it later, then. That okay, darlin’?”

Not wanting to seem too eager, you nod again and turn away from him, teeth sinking into your lip in a futile attempt to hide the giddiness in your smile—but the soft chuckle Joel elicits under his breath is a clear indication that it’s useless.

He knows how he’s making you feel. He likes it.

Your mother returns from the kitchen carrying two baskets of fresh crescent rolls, one for each end of the table. She sets one of them down right in front of you and you reach out to take one when a voice, one that sounds as awful as nails scraping down a chalkboard, remarks loudly, “Should you be eating so much bread, dear?” Ines, who’s sitting a couple chairs down, next to your grandmother, looks over at you and raises an eyebrow. There’s a smug little smile on her face, almost as if she were daring you to run your mouth like you’d done last year.

For as much as it pains you, you make your choice and decide not to take the bait. You pull your hand out of the basket of rolls and pick up your glass of wine instead, chugging it down like it’s water.

Frowning, Joel picks up the basket and takes a roll that you assume is for himself, but it’s not. Putting it on your plate, he shoots her a frigid glare. “Don’t you listen to her.” He says it loud enough for her to hear him. “You just enjoy yourself, alright?”

Your aunt bats her eyes, innocently. “Well, I’m just saying. If my skirt was that tight on me, I would be thinking twice about what goes into my mouth.”

Hushed laughter sweeps across the entire table.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” You slam your empty glass down so hard onto the table that the entire dining room goes completely silent. The little ones at the children’s table stare with big and wide eyes, mouths full of food hung open because a grown up had just used a naughty word.

Your mother says your name warningly. “Don’t you start,” she hisses, shaking her head. “Be quiet.”

Angrily, you round on her. “Seriously? You’re going to let her say that to me? You don’t care that she’s making comments about my weight?” You almost laugh. Of course doesn’t care, she has never cared and she never will. “I’m your daughter! Would it kill you to defend me for once in your fucking life?”

“Shut your mouth!” Your father stands up, shoving a threatening finger into your face, so close the tip of it almost touches the tip of your nose. He hasn’t put his hands on you since you were nine, but he’s as drunk as he is angry, and you find yourself back in the shoes of the little girl who would curl up into a ball in the corner of her room as she begged and pleaded for him not to hurt her. “You hear me?”

Joel stands and walks around your chair. Placing a hand on your father’s chest, he mutters, “Hey now let’s take a step back from her, alright?” He guides him back down into his chair. “Ain’t gotta be in her face like that, Will.”

“I’m sick and tired of her ruining everything—can’t get through one dinner without her screwing it up! Always has to run that fucking mouth of hers! She still acts like a goddamn fucking child—”

You can’t bear to sit there and hear another insult.

Fighting back the hot tears that are threatening to spill over, you quickly stand up and rush out of the dining room. You make a beeline for the front door and step outside onto the porch. It’s about sixty or so degrees in Austin and the cold nips at your bare legs, but that’s the least of your worries. Without a place to go, you descend the porch steps and find yourself walking towards the swing that’s hanging from the old bur oak tree in the front yard. You had asked your father for a swing when you were three years old—it wasn’t until your brothers asked for a swing a couple years later that he’d hung one up.

You sit down, hands curling around the rope that’s so old and weathered it’s beginning to fray slightly but not so much so that you’re concerned about it snapping. You’re so busy trying to keep it together that you don’t notice the sound of crisp, autumnal leaves crunching under a pair of boots behind you. A hand gingerly touches your shoulder. You let out a startled gasp and glance over to see it’s Joel.

“Hey there, darlin’,” he says, gently.

You stare at him in surprise.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Needed to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” you grit the lie through your teeth.

Joel’s expression softens. “You ain’t gotta pretend with me, sweetheart.”

His concern is genuine. It’s real.

You don’t quite know how to handle it. Accept it.

“It got real ugly in there, ‘specially with your dad.”

Tears prickle at your eyes all over again. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Joel. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” Baffled, Joel walks around the swing and a minor labored grunt escapes him as he squats in front of you. “There’s a few people who need to be apologizin’ for what happened, but darlin’ you sure as fuckin’ hell ain’t one of them.”

It’s odd. Feels foreign, even.

You’re not used to someone being on your side—it prompts more tears to spring forward and despite your best efforts to fight them off, it’s useless. You manage to whisper his name. It’s a feeble warning, one that’s telling him to go back inside before he’s caught in the torrential downpour of emotions you are mere seconds away from unleashing on him.

But he doesn’t budge. He waits. Joel knows you’re about to break and he’s ready to catch the pieces.

Finally, a tear slips and rolls down your cheek, only to be followed by another and then another. You’re holding onto the swing for dear life now, emotions that you’ve been holding in for your whole life now coming to the surface. The rope digs painfully into the palms of your hands. He reaches out and curls his fingers lightly around your wrists.

“S’okay to let go,” Joel encourages you and you’re certain he’s not just referring to the swing. “Listen to me, darlin’ girl. I ain’t gonna let you fall, alright? I’m right here to catch you. You can let go. I’ve got you, okay?”

You allow Joel to take your hands off the rope and he guides them around his shoulders as you begin to crumble. Leaning forward slightly off the swing, you wrap you arms around him and bury your face into his neck. “Joel,” you choke out his name as he wraps his own arms around your waist, pulling you closer into him.

He feels like stability.

He feels like security.

He feels like safety.

Your entire body shudders as you cry, cry, cry.

“S’alright, sweet girl. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

He repeats his reassurance over and over again.

He wants you to believe it.

And you do believe it.

Joel’s as patient as can be. It’s growing colder and his knees are begging for a change of positon, but couldn’t care less about the discomfort. He rubs a soothing circle into your back and waits until there is nothing left except little hiccups and sniffles.

“Shit,” you mumble when you pull back and notice you’d left behind a wet spot on his shirt along with light traces of mascara. You wipe at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater. “I ruined your shirt.”

“S’okay. Nothin’ the dry cleaners can’t take care of for me.” Joel chuckles and lets go of you. “You feel a little better now, darlin’?”

“I do.” You glance over your shoulder at the house, then exhale a sigh and turn back to him, admitting quietly, “I don’t want to go back in there, though.”

He rises to his feet and pulls out a set of keys from the pocket of his black jeans. “Well, y’dont have to go back in there,” he states. “Is there somewhere I can take you? Friend’s house, maybe?”

“My best friend Megan went to Puerto Vallarta for Thanksgiving. Most of my other friends left Austin like I did,” you explain, sighing again. “Anyone who didn’t leave is spending their time with their family tonight and I don’t want to bother them.”

Joel hums, mulling it over in his mind. “Well, don’t know how comfortable you’ll be with the idea, but my place ain’t all too far from here. Ten minutes or so. Less if there’s no one out on the roads.”

“Joel, that’s so nice of you to offer, but I’ve already ruined your dinner tonight. The last thing I want to do is put you out even more,” you say, sheepishly.

“Sweetheart, you didn’t ruin a fuckin’ thing for me tonight. And you wouldn’t be puttin’ me out at all,” he promises. “S’gettin’ late and truth be told, I just wanna get you somewhere warm.” Holding out his free hand, he adds, “And comfortable.”

“But Joel—”

“I can be real stubborn too, y’know,” he teases you with a playful grin. “We’ll be out here all night long freezin’ our fuckin’ asses off.”

He isn’t going to take no for an answer.

“Okay,” you relent, accepting the offer.

You place your hand in his and he helps you off the swing. He doesn’t let it go as he leads the way to a sleek, black Dodge Ram that’s parked behind your grandfather’s silver Mercedes. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze before dropping it. “Sorry, sweet girl. It’s a bit of a trip up into the seat,” he remarks, chuckling as he opens the passenger side door for you. He gives you a boost into the truck; the scent of new leather is mixed with that of his cologne. It is all man and couldn’t be sexier. “Good up there?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

Joel closes the door and hurriedly walks around to the driver’s side of the pickup, climbing up into his seat with ease. “Seatbelt,” he tells you as he sticks the key into the ignition. The first thing he does as soon as the engine roars to life is turn on your seat warmer. He switches on the heater as well, waiting a minute before asking, “You warm enough?”

“I am. Thank you, Joel.”

“‘Course.” He nods and pulls away from the curb.

As Joel’s driving you further and further from your parents’ house, all you feel is sweet relief.

“M’sorry the place is such a mess.”

Joel leads you into his living room and touches his hand to the back of his neck, embarrassed.

Amused, you raise an eyebrow at him and say, “I’d hardly call cardboard boxes stacked neatly over on one side of the room a mess, Joel.” You take a look around his townhouse—most of his furniture’s still wrapped up in plastic, except for the black leather couch and the rustic, acacia wood coffee table. He has a flat screen mounted over the brick fireplace; he’s been sleeping on the couch, or at least, that’s what the pillow and Texas Longhorns fleece throw tells you. You turn to him. “If you want to see a real mess, you should see my apartment in Chicago.”

You watch him as he takes off his glasses and puts them down on the coffee table.

“S’it pretty bad?”

“My roommate’s a kindergarten teacher too. You’d be surprised at how many popsicle sticks two girls in their twenties can end up bringing home. Not to mention all the glitter.”

“If you’re tryin’ to make me feel better, it’s workin’ like a charm.” Joel picks up his blanket and drapes it over the armchair adjacent to the couch. “Go on and make yourself comfortable, darlin’. You thirsty at all? I’ve got water or I can make coffee. Also got a pack of beer in the fridge,” he adds, jokingly.

“What kind of beer?” you ask curiously as you sink down onto the couch.

He seems pleasantly surprised by your interest.

“Lone Star.”

“I’ll have one. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“‘Course it’s not too much trouble. Not at all.”

It’s hard not to stare as he walks away towards the kitchen. Your thighs clench together—his back, his shoulders, those unkempt salt and pepper curls of his that tuft at the nape of his neck right above his collar—this man is the epitome of utter perfection. Your mind wanders and you can’t help imagine the way your legs would look thrown over those broad shoulders. How his large hands would feel on your plush skin as they wrap around your thighs to hold them in place against his chest while he fucks y—

“Here you go, darlin’.”

Joel’s deep voice shatters your train of thought.

He’s standing beside you, holding out the bottle of beer, which he’d uncapped along with his own.

Blood rushes to your cheeks. “Thank you,” you say as you accept the beer from him, trying not to lose the sliver of composure that you’re holding onto—it wavers when your fingers accidentally brush his.

“S’it too cold in here for you?” he asks. “I normally keep the thermostat pretty low.”

“It’s a little cold,” you admit. “But it’s not a prob—”

It’s too late. Joel walks over to the fireplace and he manages to strike a match and light it with just his free hand. After tossing in a couple logs, he makes his way back over to the couch and he takes a seat beside you. “That a bit better, sweetheart?”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs. “You said it was cold.”

He takes a long, generous swig of the golden lager before setting the bottle down on one of the green ceramic coasters on the coffee table. He sits back; an arm stretches out over the back of the couch in a casual manner and his legs spread open causing your thighs to clench together once more.

“You feelin’ alright?”

“Huh?” You then realize he is referring to what had happened at dinner. “Oh. Um. Yeah, I’m alright.”

Joel peers at you, his concern evident, clear in the depths of his dark brown eyes. “You sure?”

“No. Not really,” you confess, tracing the mouth of your bottle with your index finger. “But I’ll get over it. I don’t have a choice but to get over it.” Another lump starts forming in the back of your throat and you swallow it, quickly chasing it down with a gulp of beer.

“M’guessin’ your family’s got somethin’ to do with why you decided to leave Austin?”

“Bingo,” you deadpan. “I was so sick and tired of it all. How I was talked to, how I was treated. Like I’m such a fucking disappointment.”

He frowns. “You’re not a disappointment, though.”

“My parents think I’m a disappointment. My dad’s never told me he’s proud of me, Joel. Nothing I do, nothing I have ever done is good enough for either of them, but especially not for him.” There is a dull ache that settles in your heart and all you can do is silently will yourself not to breakdown again, not in front of him, at least. You sigh. “Do you know what it’s like, not feeling good enough for someone that is supposed to love you no matter what? Someone who’s supposed to love you unconditionally?”

Joel knows it’s a rhetorical question, he knows it’s not something you’re expecting him to answer.

But he does answer, because he does know.

“I do, actually. I know all too well what it feels like.”

He looks down at his left hand, which is resting on his thigh and you do too. Your eyes flicker over the fading tanline on his finger—where he once wore a wedding band. You don’t even think twice about it and reach over, sweeping your own finger over the patch of pale skin. Without missing a beat, you tell him, “You’re good enough, Joel.”

He can’t help but laugh a little. “She’d disagree.”

“She’s wrong.”

“You don’t know what happened.”

“I don’t have to know what happened.”

“That ain’t how it works, sweetheart.”

Stubbornly, you lift your chin. “I don’t care.”

Joel laughs. “Y’think you know me, darlin’? Y’think you know what kinda man I am? Hm?”

“I do know.” You place your hand on top of his and his jaw clenches. “You’re a good man, Joel Miller. I know that you’re a good man.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong ‘bout that.” There’s a brief pause and he hesitates before confessing, “A good man wouldn’t be sittin’ here just fuckin’ dyin’ to kiss his best friend’s daughter.”

You freeze and grip your bottle so tight, you would not be the slightest bit surprised if it shatters right in your hand. “You—you want to kiss me?”

“Since the moment you opened up that front door and said hello to me.” Joel shakes his head. “S’not right.” He’s riddled with guilt, with shame. He pulls his hand out from under yours. “I ain’t a good man at all. You’re half my fuckin’ age and I shouldn’t—”

You cut him off, softly uttering his name. “Joel?”

“Yeah?” His voice sounds hoarse. Strained.

“Can you—will you kiss me? Please?”

You need more than just his kiss, so much more.

You need him to unravel you in every way possible, but beggars can’t be choosers and if one kiss was all you’ll get tonight, then you’ll fucking take it.

Joel swallows dryly. “That really what you want?”

His eyes flicker down to your lips and then back to meet your sweet, innocent gaze.

“Yes,” you breathe in reply. “Please. Kiss me.”

He leans in, and there’s brief hesitation on his part and he stops mere centimeters from your face, his nose lightly brushing against yours. “We shouldn’t be doin’ this.” His warm breath fans over your lips; they’re parted, eager to meet his own. “I shouldn’t let this happen. I—I should take you back home to your family before I do somethin’ real stupid.”

Your heart sinks. “That really what you want?” you parrot his own question back to him and hold your breath, knowing there’s a chance his answer could be the answer that you don’t want to hear, the one that could end up crushing you.

Joel lifts his hand, cupping the side of your face in his palm. “‘Course it’s not what I want.” His thumb strokes your cheek, his dark eyes taking in each of your features. He’s studying, memorizing them, as if he’ll never get another chance to be this close to you again. With the line he’s about to cross, you’re both about to cross, that just might be the case.

The tension seeps through your skin and into your bones.

You exhale shakily. “Then just kiss me already.”

He moves his hand and gently curls it around your chin, holding you steady as he leans further in and closes the gap of space in between you. He moves slowly and he’s gentle—too gentle. You want to tell him you’re not made of porcelain, but you’re much too preoccupied with how Joel’s mouth feels, how perfectly it molds against yours. He delicately nips your bottom lip with his teeth. It’s a silent request.

He wants more, more, more. Your lips part for him, granting him the access he’s seeking. Joel doesn’t waste a single moment and he explores every inch of your mouth with his tongue, eliciting a whimper from you. Without breaking contact, he takes your beer and somehow he manages to lean over to set it down on the coffee table without dropping it. He then pushes you back into the couch and the next thing you know, you’re lying on your back and he’s settled in between your legs, using one of his arms to keep himself propped up, while the other wraps itself in your hair. Your own hands clutch at fistfuls of his shirt, fingers gripping the fabric so tight, the skin over your knuckles stretches painfully thin.

You whimper out again, the noise prompting a low growl to rumble through his chest—suddenly, he’s not being so gentle. He isn’t being rough. But he is hungry, he’s possessive, and he’s letting it show in the way he’s swelling your lips with his kisses, how his fingers are gripping the hair at the base of your neck as he firmly tilts your head backwards to give himself better access to your mouth.

Your mind is racing, and yet, you can’t think at all.

It’s not until his hips buck into you and you feel his bulge through his jeans against you that you break away from him. “Joel,” you gasp his out name. You grip his shirt even harder, chest heaving as you try to catch a much needed breath of air. You can feel the arousal pooling between your legs. The flames burning in the fireplace are nothing in comparison to the ones that are burning deep in your belly.

“Fuck,” he curses, pulling back. “M’sorry—”

The last thing you want is for him to be sorry.

“No! Please don’t be sorry,” you rasp, gazing up at him. Your eyes are glazed over with a lust you have never felt for another man before. “I want this, you know I want this—don’t you?”

Joel sighs, brushing a soft kiss to your temple. You wish he could take a peek into your mind, see how badly you want to be wrapped up in his arms—you want to get lost in his embrace, feel him all around you, inside you. You want him to write his name on your bare skin with his tongue, whisper his secrets into the spot where you’re aching for him most.

He sighs again and lightly shakes his head.

“Baby, y’need to think real hard ‘bout this—”

“I want this,” you repeat yourself. “I want you.”

Relaxing the death grip you have on his shirt, your hands release the fabric and move to the buttons. Your fingers tremble slightly as you undo each one of them; after an embarrassing fumble or two, you manage to get them all and push Joel’s shirt off of his shoulders. He sucks in a quick, sharp breath as your greedy hands begin roaming, exploring every inch of smooth, tan skin on his upper body.

Your touch erases all the uncertainty he’s feeling.

“Wanna feel you too, baby.” Joel takes the hem of your sweater and gestures for you to sit up slightly so he can pull it over your head. Carelessly tossing it somewhere behind him, he glances down, blood rushing to his cock as he takes in the sight of your supple curves clad in sweet, delicate white lace. “Christ, you look so fuckin’ soft.”

He doesn’t even realize he’s saying it out loud, not until he catches the flirtatious little grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. You sit up slightly once again and reach behind you to unhook the lingerie and take it off, adding it to the ever growing pile of clothes on the hardwood floor. Licking his lips, he meets your gaze for just a moment before dipping his head down, wrapping them around one of your hardened nipples. “Joel,” you mewl his name as he flicks the pebbled flesh with his tongue.

Joel releases it with a lewd, wet pop and he tosses you a smirk before he moves to the other to give it the same attention. He’s a biter, you find out as he takes it between his teeth, nipping over and over.

Your throbbing center clenches around nothing.

“Joel, please. I need you—I fucking need you.”

He tears away from your nipple. “Where, baby?”

You open your mouth to answer him, but your own gasp cuts you off as he starts trailing his lips down the length of your body until he comes to a stop at the waistband of your skirt. One of his hands finds the zipper on the side and he looks up at you, as if asking for permission. Desperate, you nod. Pulling the zipper down, he slides the skirt, along with the pair of lace white panties you’re wearing off of you and discards them, leaving you completely naked.

Your insecurities begin to trickle in, but Joel’s able to halt them right in their tracks.

“You’re too fuckin’ beautiful, sweetheart,” he says, his reassurance calming your nerves instantly. “So beautiful. So beautiful and so fuckin’ perfect.”

You watch as he makes himself comfortable—well as comfortable as he can—in between your legs. He shoots you a sheepish look.

“Knew I should’a put the damn bed together. But I been puttin’ it off and puttin’ it off all week long.”

You giggle breathlessly. “Who needs a bed?”

Chuckling, Joel feathers a kiss on your inner thigh.

Your smile is all but slapped right off of your face.

“Joel.”

Any traces of humor vanish. You’re both reminded of the next wall that’s about to be broken, the next line that’s about to be crossed.

He looks down and groans. “Such a pretty, perfect little pussy,” he remarks, his voice low, husky. “Bet she’s nice and wet for me, ain’t she baby?” He lifts his hand and drags the tip of his finger up your slit slowly, your slick coating his digit. He smirks up at you. “Oh, she’s fuckin’ soakin’, sweet girl. S’this all for me?”

Foreplay wasn’t in the vocabulary of guys your age and while part of you wishes Joel would hurry, you also find yourself enjoying the fact that he’s taking his time, teasing you—making you really want it to the point where you’re willing to fucking plead him for it. Joel Miller’s the only man you’d ever beg for.

He skims your other thigh with his nose and kisses it just like he’d done with the other. “Tell me darlin’ s’this where you need me? Right here?”

Frantically, you nod your head.

“Words, honey. Gotta use your words for me.”

“Yes!” you choke out. “That’s where I need you. So bad. Need you so fucking bad. Please Daddy—”

You freeze and momentarily, he does too. Truth be told, you wouldn’t really blame him if he just stood up, gathered your clothes and tossed them at you, demanding you put them back on and leave.

Joel raises an eyebrow. “Daddy, huh?”

Your face is on fire. “I—it slipped,” you stammer. “I didn’t mean to call you—I’m so sorry, Joel. I’m not even sure where that came from. I’ve never—”

You’re on the verge of panicking, then notice there is a certain glimmer in his eyes and realize he liked it when you’d called him that. You’re taken aback.

He fucking likes being called Daddy.

“Sweetheart, there ain’t nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout. I promise. You can call me that. But on a condition.”

You stare at him, no idea what the condition could possibly be.

“Ain’t allowed to call anyone else that. Ever.” There is a possessiveness in his tone and it nearly makes you come on the spot. “That understood?”

You nod obediently. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” he prompts.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good. That’s a real good girl, honey.”

For a split second, you can’t breathe.

This man will surely be the death of you.

Joel plants one final kiss, this one on your mound.

“Please,” you whimper, the heat in your lower belly growing and fizzling out to the rest of your body at the feeling of his breath over your aching core.

“Please what?” he murmurs into the sensitive skin as his arms curl around your legs. “Tell Daddy—tell Daddy what you need baby, so he can take care of you.”

“Your mouth,” you beg him, desperation mounting with each passing second. Your hips buck upward; his biceps flex as he tightens his arms around your thighs, pinning you down in place. “Your mouth—I need your mouth. Please.”

Joel moves his head to the junction of your thighs, his mouth hovering right over where you needed it the most. He looks up at you with hunger, like he’s a ravenous, starved man who hasn’t had a thing to eat in days. “What a good girl,” he praises, dipping his head even lower. His mouth waters at the sight of your glistening folds. “Bet you taste as delicious as you fuckin’ look, don’t you, pretty girl?”

He flattens his tongue and glides it up your slit, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he gets his first taste. You gasp out when it grazes your swollen, aroused clit and your head falls back onto the couch. “Oh fuck,” you whine, reaching for his hair. You weave your hands through his graying locks and pull his face closer. Another swipe of his tongue causes your back to arch up off the leather and the edges of your vision to blur.

He pulls an arm from around your legs and drags a finger down your drenched entrance, lips securing themselves around your clit. His gaze stays locked on you as he pushes his long, thick digit into you—you feel him smirk as he curls it upwards, pressing the pad of his finger firmly against the soft spongy spot inside you, making you see stars. Joel slips in a second finger and curls it along with the other to double the pleasure. He begins thrusting his digits in and out of your warm cunt, eliciting what had to be the sweetest sounds that he’d ever heard in his entire life from you. He combines it with with slow, firm, and precise stokes of his tongue on your clit.

“Fuck, yes, just like that,” you encourage him, your loud, breathy moans bouncing off the bare, freshly painted walls of his house. “Yes Daddy, fuck—feels so fucking good, please don’t fucking stop—”

It’s not like you have to tell him what to do.

Joel knows exactly what he’s doing, and he knows it too. He listens to every single one of your moans and feels every single buck of your hips. He is sure to pay extra attention to when your hands pull and tug at his curls; he remembers what combinations of licking, sucking, and fucking make you squeeze your plush thighs tighter around his head; reminds himself of which technique brings your body off of the couch, what makes your toes curl. Joel’s quick to learn your body’s cues, each and every last one. He already knows when to give you more, when to give you less—when he needs speed up, when it is time to slow it all down.

You sing his name over and over again, pressure of an orgasm already building between your hips. His tongue swirls around your sensitive little bundle of nerves as his fingers pump in and out of your cunt and you glance down. You almost choke when you catch a tiny glimpse of the muscles in his forearm, the way they flex underneath his skin with each of his movements as he’s fucking you. Your gaze flits to his face. His own eyes are fixed intently on you.

You’re milliseconds away from release.

“Joel, I’m so fucking close. I’m gonna come—”

His arm squeezes your thigh in encouragement.

One last, broad stroke of Joel’s tongue on your clit sends an overwhelming wave of pleasure crashing over you. Strangled cries tear themselves from the back of your throat as your velvet walls flutter and convulse, squeezing his fingers. Joel, who’s face is still half buried in your pussy, takes it upon himself to help you ride through the high. He peppers soft, delicate kisses onto your swollen clit as his fingers continue to slide in and out of you slowly. He waits patiently until your loud cries dissolve into nothing but breathless little whimpers before he crawls up, positioning himself on top of you, a hand on either side of your head. His beard and mustache glisten with a mixture of saliva and slick—and somehow it it ignites another fire and you’re ready for more, so much more.

“Sweet girl,” Joel murmurs. Leaning down, his lips meet yours and you taste yourself on his tongue

You place a hand on his chest, right over his heart, which beats strong and steady against your palm.

You start dragging your hand down his chest, your fingernails raking over his skin. It travels lower and lower, gliding over the softness of his stomach. He tenses when you brush the waistband of his jeans.

Tearing away from you, he grits out, “Baby. No.”

You immediately snatch your hand away from him.

“You changed your mind?” you question, stomach sinking at the thought of it being over already.

You’re just so fucking greedy for this man.

He offers reassurance—and an explanation.

“No, that ain’t it at all. S’just—” Joel pauses briefly and flushes a shade of red. “S’just that, well, I ain’t got condoms on me, darlin’.”

Relieved, you assure him, “It’s okay. I’m clean.”

“Me too. But that ain’t what I’m worried about,” he admits, his face going from red to maroon.

You smile, finding his embarrassment endearing.

“I’m on birth control.”

Joel clenches his hands into fists. His cock strains against his zipper at the thought of it—taking your cunt bare. “Y’sure you want this?” He rasps out. “I need you to be a hundred percent sure ‘bout it.”

“I’m a thousand percent sure, Joel. I fucking need it. More than anything I’ve ever needed in my life.”

That’s all he needed to hear.

Joel stands up, his gaze never leaving your own as he kicks off his black leather boots. You sit up, and it takes every ounce of strength you have in you to remain composed as he unbuckles his belt, unzips his jeans and pushes them down his legs. You bite down on your bottom lip and try not to stare at his bulge like it’s your first time ever seeing a dick, but if he’s as big as he looks in his boxer briefs, maybe this would end up being a lot more than what your body could handle.

He hooks his thumbs underneath the elastic of his boxer briefs and slides them off, allowing his thick, hard cock to spring free from its confinement.

You swallow harshly. He’s fucking massive.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” Joel chuckles at the expression on your face as he kicks aside all of his clothes. His length rests on his lower abdomen and precome smears the skin there. Wrapping one of his hands around it, he gives it a couple strokes, just a hint of relief until you come into play. “Hm?”

Licking your lips, you nod and stand up. You take a couple of wobbling step towards him—Joel’s cock hasn’t been anywhere near you and you’re already fucking walking side to side. “Come here,” you say to him, taking both his hands in your own. You pull him back to the couch and gently guide him down into a sitting position. Swinging your leg over both of his, you straddle his lap. You gingerly place your hands on his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh softly when you feel him brush against your pussy; the contact makes you both moan in unsion. “This okay?” you ask him, breathily. You can’t be sure as to why you’re suddenly feeling a bit shy, like you’re not planning to ride his fucking soul out of him.

“More than okay.” Joel brushes your hair over your shoulder and then drags his hand down the length of your body, committing to his memory every one of your curves. “Gonna be a real good girl and ride my cock, baby?”

You gift him with a cheeky grin. “Yes, Daddy.”

The shyness begins to dissipate and you dive your hand between your bodies, wrapping it around his cock, causing his breath to catch in his throat. You lift yourself slightly off his lap, teasingly gliding the head of his cock down your drenched slit, then up, letting it graze over your clit, which is still senstive to the touch thanks to his lips and tongue.

Joel’s hands find their way around you, running up the curve of your spine. “Wasn’t aware that my girl was such a little fuckin’ tease,” he remarks in a low tone. He slides his hands back down and his large, warm palms cup your ass, fingers kneading flesh.

“Your girl?” you repeat, your heart skipping a beat, stomach fluttering at the idea of being his. “Is that what I am to you, Joel? Your girl?”

“S’that what you want, honey?” Joel whispers, his eyes finding your own, two hopeful gazes meeting in the deepest, most intimate moment that you’ve shared all evening. “Y’wanna be my girl?”

Leaning forward, your reply is preceded by kiss, so soft and so sweet his heart swells inside his chest.

“I do,” you mumble against his lips. “I really do.”

Still gripping your ass, Joel eases you up and lines himself up at your entrance. He bucks his hips and slides the head of his cock past your folds and into your heat. “Breathe, baby,” he whispers, his hands moving to your hips, thumbs grazing your skin. He slowly guides you further down his shaft, grunting as you sink down, taking him inch by inch. “Christ, you’re so goddamn fuckin’ tight—”

The initial stretch is almost too much for you. Your nails sink deeper into his shoulders as he pulls you down further down onto him. “Joel,” you whimper, biting back a loud cry. You’re fully seated, his cock completely sheathed inside you, his head pressing against your cervix. You’re so full of him.

One of his hands abandons your hip and slips over your lower belly.

“This where you’re feelin’ me, pretty girl?” he coos gently. “This where you feel Daddy’s cock? In your belly?”

“Yes,” you sigh out contentedly. “Feels so good.”

You lift yourself off of him, then slide back down in a slow, languid motion.

Joel’s head falls back onto the couch. “Christ.” He mutters the word, his chest heaving. Staring up at the ceiling, he takes a moment to catch his breath and silently wills himself not to explode. Once he’s managed to somewhat compose himself, he looks at you again, pupils blown so wide you can’t find a single trace of brown. “Go on, then,” he rasps. “Go on, sweetheart.”

The living room fills with the sounds of low moans and panting breaths as you move, alternating your maneuvers between rocking and bouncing on him in a frenzied, fast paced rhythm. The friction of his pelvis each time you grind into it winds up the coil between your hips and suddenly you’re desperate, so pathetically desperate for another release.

“Yeah, that’s it baby,” Joel encourages, feeling the beginning of his own climax building quick—much too quick for his liking. “Jus’ like that, honey. What a good girl you are for me, so fuckin’ good for me. Just like I fuckin’ knew you would be.”

“Fuck,” you whine. “You feel so good, Daddy. Feel so fucking good inside me—”

Leaning back, you firmly plant both your hands on his thighs and arch your body, head falling back as you pick up the pace. The burning fire casts a soft, orange glow around you and his jaw falls slack. His eyes drink in every single fucking thing about you, watch you with an adoration that, for the first time in your whole life, makes you feel wanted. Actually wanted.

“Joel,” you whisper his name over and over. You’re both beginning to lose track of where you end and he begins. You can hardly hear the praises that are spilling from his plush lips over the squelching wet sounds of your cunt sliding up and down his cock. There’s no chance to warn him—your mouth parts in a silent scream as you come undone on him.

“M’so fuckin’ close,” Joel grunts. He feels his cock twitch as your pussy grips him like a vice. “Where? Where do you want it, pretty girl?”

“Inside me. Please, I need you to come inside me,” you plead him, the innocent tone of your voice the last thing to push him over the edge he’s teetering on. “Fill me up, Daddy—please, want every drop of you inside me—”

Joel reaches for your arms and yanks you forward, into him. Throwing them around his neck, his own arms wrap around you and roughly slam you down onto him, holding you firmly in place. He bucks his hips upwards, balls tightening, his cock pulsing as he comes. Strings of hissed curse words and deep gutteral groans muffle when he drops his face into your collarbone. Still holding you in place, he spills his load into you, his seed filling you to the brim.

He sags back against the couch and pulls you with him. Wrapping his arms tighter around you, he lets himself stay buried inside of you, the primal in him relishing the heavenly feeling of his come dripping messily out of your pussy and all over his thighs.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks after a minute.

“M’perfect,” you mumble against his chest. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re coming down from a high or if it’s because he’s tracing patterns on your shoulder blade with his finger, but you shiver in his arms.

“Let me get the blanket—”

Joel starts to move to get up, but you stop him.

“No, please don’t,” you say, pushing him back. You put all of your weight onto him, as if he can’t move you off to the side if he really wanted to. “I—I want you inside me for a little while longer. Please.”

“But baby, you’re cold—”

You don’t bother explaining to him that you’re not.

“Just hold me. Please.”

And that’s exactly what he does.

Snuggling into him, you close your eyes and Joel’s hand strokes at your hair. Between that, the thrum of his heartbeat against your cheek and the sound of the fireplace crackling behind you, you’re nearly soothed into sleep.

“Joel?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“I hate Thanksgiving,” you admit, smiling tiredly to yourself when you feel a laugh rumble in his chest.

“Do you, now?”

You nod. “I do. But I’m really thankful for you.”

Giving you a gentle squeeze, Joel kisses the top of your head and murmurs, “Well, m’thankful for you too, sweet girl.” He pauses momentarily. “I ain’t all too sure how I’m s’pposed to just let you go home. I know I have to but—”

Lifting your head off of his chest, you take the side of his face and cradle it in your palm. You meet his gaze, heart sinking when you see the sadness that has replaced the lust from earlier.

He doesn’t mean home to your parents’ house. He means Chicago.

You graze his beard with your thumb. “I’m coming back in a few weeks,” you remind him, gently. “I’ve only planned to spend a week out here just for the holidays, but I can visit sooner. As soon as the kids go on winter break, I can come back to Austin.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course I would, Joel. I’m not sure how it would work what with my parents and all, though. I don’t want them catching onto us.”

“C’mere.” Joel brushes your lips with his before he makes his promise. “I’ll figure it out, baby. Leave it all to me and I’ll figure it out.”

divider credit to @saradika-graphics 🤎

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #fic recommendation

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ninebluehearts · 5 months

Text

Cream

Summary: (horny husband!joel x reader) Joel is insatiable. He convinces you to get it on at his aunt's house on Thanksgiving. He's also got a lot of dirty Thanksgiving jokes he thought of last year that he's been saving to annoy you.

Tags: Whipped cream play, unexpected breeding kink, unexpected daddy kink, unexpected praise kink, biting, (this fic was very unexpected as a whole) piv, creampie, smut, oral (f receiving), joel is your husband but that doesn’t stop him from relentlessly flirting with you, dirty thanksgiving jokes, fear of getting caught

A/N: idk what happened sunday night when I conjured this shit up. shoutout @gracieispunk because i love her. shoutout @noxturnalpascal because i love her too, and she strokes my ego and fixes my silly little mistakes when she sneak peaks my fics. and also shoutout @papipascalispunk because i love her as well.

It’s Thanksgiving. A truly underrated holiday. Yeah, you’re at your husband Joel’s eccentric Aunt Jackie’s house, and yeah, the kids are screaming and it’s loud as hell, but you’re happy. A full belly and your jeans undone to accommodate. Sarah and some of her cousins are in another room playing video games, and you’re with Tommy in the living room, dozing off to the sound of distant cheering on the TV as the football game plays. Tommy had noticed you falling asleep, so he laid a blanket on you and turned the volume down. Such a gentleman.

Unlike Joel.

It would seem that Joel is a gentleman, but you know better. Joel loves to get under your skin, and has a habit of being unable to keep his hands to himself. Earlier in the kitchen, Aunt Jackie was preparing sides for dinner and you were at the oven, basting the turkey and enjoying a nice conversation with her when Joel snuck up behind you and squeezed your ass. You yelped and felt your cheeks warm, embarrassed that he chose that moment out of the entire day to grope you. “You really are the master baster, honey,” he whispered. He tried to keep his voice low, but his aunt had heard his dirty mouth. She glared at Joel. “Really, Joel? It’s Thanksgivin’.”

“What’d I do now? Why am I always in trouble?” Joel wasn’t exaggerating. He really was always in trouble with Aunt Jackie, and rightfully so. She used to babysit him and Tommy when they were boys, and Joel was always a troublemaker. That trait has lasted well into adulthood.

“I’m gonna wash that mouth of yours out with soap,” Jackie chastised Joel, who rolled his eyes. When Joel dipped his finger into the bowl of mashed potatoes you made to steal a taste, Jackie smacked him in the arm with a wooden spoon. “Go bother someone else, you animal. Leave us girls alone,” Joel raised his arms in surrender before giving you a kiss on the cheek and stealing another bite of potatoes. You shooed him away and when he left, Jackie turned to you and said, “They’re dogs. All of them. Tommy’s a good boy, though.”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “Tommy is a good boy.”

You’re not sure how long you’ve been in your food coma, curled up on the couch and resting your head on a pillow. You’re in that half asleep, half awake sort of state where you’re slightly aware of your surroundings, but not entirely. You wake up a little when you feel a weight by your feet. It’s Joel. “Hey, sleepy,” he whispers. “You want some pie? S’blueberry. Got it before everyone else.”

Ooh, that’s your favorite. “Yes, please,” you say groggily.

“Where’s my piece, Joel?” Tommy asks.

“You ain’t my bride. You’re the younger brother I never wanted,” Joel taunts, though his tone is a little more spiteful than joking. “Go get it your own damn self.”

“I’ll get you a piece, Tommy,” you offer. Joel looks offended, and Tommy smiles at you with kind eyes.

“You’re too nice, sweetheart,” Tommy tells you, stretching out on his chair and rubbing his belly. “Don’t worry about it. Could use the extra steps after all that turkey, anyway.”

Tommy leaves to go into the kitchen, and you’re left with Joel and your slice of pie. He looks so handsome today. Facial hair neatly trimmed, but the hair on his head a little longer and curlier than usual. He likes to grow it out in the colder months. He’s wearing a plain green flannel, many years old and somehow both softer and scratchier than all the other flannels he owns.

Joel hands you your plate. He knows you so well, knows your perfect pie to whipped cream ratio. And then you look at Joel’s plate and just sigh. Oh, Joel. His slice of pie is paper thin, nearly translucent. You could hold it up to a lamp and see light through it, probably. The rest of his plate is filled with ribbons and ribbons of whipped cream.

“What?” Joel asks you.

“Joel, maybe have some pie with your whipped cream,” you tease.

“I do have pie,” Joel argues, gesturing to his plate. “See?” He takes a bite, and you’re not even sure there was any pie on that fork. You wipe some whipped cream from his lip with your finger, then bring it to your mouth and lick it clean. Joel smirks, wiggling his eyebrows, “Got somethin’ else you could lick if you like cream.”

You roll your eyes, then take a bite of your own pie. “Classy, Joel.”

“Yeah, you want it,” he purrs seductively.

You roll your eyes, but you do. You can’t lie to yourself. You really made out like a bandit, marrying Joel. Not only is he handsome, generous, and a wonderful man, he’s an excellent lover. You read once in a magazine that some 40% of women in heterosexual relationships don’t have orgasms with their partners. Those poor, poor women. Hopefully Santa gives them some vibrators in their stockings for Christmas. This Thanksgiving, you’re grateful you’re not part of that 40%. This Thanksgiving, you’re thankful for the never-ending orgasms so eagerly given to you by your absolute horndog of a loving husband.

Joel’s mindlessly eating his whipped cream and watching the game. He smiles when he hears Sarah giggling with her baby cousin, and you smile too. “So I’ve been thinkin’,” Joel starts.

“Oh no. That’s not good,” you say.

“Yeah, usually ain’t. But I think this is one of my better ideas,” You take a bite of pie and motion for him to go on. “Well, Sarah’d be a good big sister, don’t you think?”

You know exactly where this is going. “I do,” you smile.

“And you’d look so sexy with a bump,” he whispers.

“I would,” you agree.

“...All swollen with my baby,” Joel continues, biting his lip. Somehow his plate is already licked clean. You have to laugh, he’s a bottomless pit. “C’mon,” he says, grabbing your thigh. “Let’s go make one. Now.”

“Now? At Jackie’s house?”

“Now,” Joel confirms.

You scoff and remove his hand from your thigh. “No way. Not here.”

“Yeah,” he encourages you, putting his hand back on your thigh, it creeps upward. “Yeah, we can do it here. Quick an’ dirty. And I know Jackie wants more babies in the family. What do you think, nice Christmas gift for Auntie, huh?” You giggle, trying to remove his hand again. He keeps it firm on your thigh. “We could at least practice.”

“Mm,” you hum, “I thought I married a nice man.”

“You knew what you were gettin’.”

True as that may be, you politely decline his offer. “Pass,” you say. “Go master baste your own turkey.” Joel chuckles, and turns his attention to the game. You cut off a big piece of pie with your fork and bring it to your mouth–

“Aw, fuck!”

“What?” Joel turns to you, concern in his eyes before he smiles. The pie fell off your fork, with some of it falling down your cleavage and the rest falling on your nice sweater. And you love this sweater. It’s your favorite. Fuuuuuuck.

Joel follows you as you get up from your place on the couch and find Jackie. Jackie helps you to the bathroom and gives you some cleaners to try and work out the purple blueberry stains, then gives you one of her favorite Christmas sweaters to wear so your own sweater can dry. “It’s okay, honey. Just wear this,” she tells you. It’s a hideous sweater, but an incredibly sweet gesture. “Shit happens!” Jackie laughs.

Joel had planned to follow you into the bathroom, but his Aunt Jackie whisked you away so quickly he couldn’t keep up. The sound of whipped cream coming out of the can caught his attention instead.

Joel walks over to Tommy, who has the same habit of making his plate 90% whipped cream and 10% pie. They come by it honestly.

“Gimme that,” Joel mumbles as he rips the can of whipped cream from Tommy’s hand. “I need this more than you.”

“What the hell?” Tommy’s baffled as Joel takes off in your direction, then it clicks for him. What exactly Joel’s planning on doing with the whipped cream. “Oh Jackie,” Tommy draws out in a singing tone.

Joel shakes the can in Tommy’s direction. He whispers, “If you snitch, I snitch.”

Tommy scoffs, “You don’t got any dirt on me, brother.”

“Jackie’s Chevy. Sophomore year.”

Tommy turns bright red, stutters a little, and Joel walks away confidently. He doesn’t know how exactly Tommy fooled Jackie into thinking he was a good kid, but Joel knows for a fact Tommy was just as bad if not worse than Joel.

Joel knocks on the closed bathroom door. “S’me,” he says.

You open the door just a crack, and Joel shimmies in. You’re in just your bra with your sweater laid out on the counter of the bathroom sink, aggressively rubbing the fabric together. “Fucking sweater is stained,” you complain. “Trying to get it out.”

“We can just toss it in the wash, hm?”

“No, Joel, we cannot just toss it in the wash,” you huff. “It’s not–fuck, it’s not coming off.”

Joel leans over your shoulder, his large, warm hands finding their way to your waist where he rubs his thumbs back and forth. “You’re stressed,” he whispers, pressing kisses into your shoulder and neck. Desire flutters through your insides when you feel his hard bulge pressed against your ass. “Don’t be. We’ll get it out.”

“Joel, it’s my favorite–”

“I know it is, sweet girl,” he kisses higher on your neck, behind your ear. Your breath hitches and you try to push him away, but he remains right where he is.

“Need to get the stain out, before it—”

Kshhhhh

Joel squirts a ribbon of whipped cream across one of your shoulders and begins to lick it up. You stop working the stain out of the fabric and look up at his reflection in the mirror. You have so many questions. Why does he have a can of whipped cream? Why is he doing this now, of all times? And how in god’s name is he still able to stuff his face?

You open your mouth to speak, and in a swift motion Joel spins you around and fills your mouth with whipped cream. He dots it on your shoulders, your chest, between your breasts, where he finds that piece of pie you dropped. He picks it out of your bra and eats it without a second though. “Mmmm,” he hums, licking up the cream dotted over your body.

You swallow the whipped cream, “Joel, what are you doing? Someone’s gonna hear us and my sweater–”

Kshhhhh

“No one’s gonna hear us,” he purrs. “And I’ll buy you more sweaters. Just not tomorrow. Fuckin’ hate Black Friday.”

Oh, he’s such an ass. Shutting you up with whipped cream. You try to argue, but he’s undoing your bra and dotting your nipples with the cream, then a long curved line on your tummy. A smiley face. You married a middle school aged boy in an adult man’s body.

He kneels before you, sucking one of your nipples and moaning at the way it hardens beneath his tongue and the sweet taste of the whipped cream, then repeating the action with the other. He drags his tongue over the curved stripe on your tummy, then unbuttons your jeans and pulls them down your thighs, helping each leg out of the clothing.

“Joel,” you whine, “Joel, serio–ohh, god,” as he pulls your panties down too, tosses a leg over his shoulder and licks a long, fat stripe up your slit.

“M’done with the whipped cream now,” he breathes, his hot breath tickling your core. “S’is…much better.”

Your fingers find his head and tug on his salt and pepper curls, your eyes fluttering shut as he eats you like a man starved. Which, he probably is. For both food and your body, he has a voracious appetite.

He drags his tongue through your velvety folds, dipping at your core and tasting your arousal. He circles and sucks your clit, holding your standing leg tight with his arm as you wobble. You’re a shaking mess of crying and moaning.

You whine as he pulls away, “Had this all under control,” he tells you, “But you’re bein’ too loud. We are gonna get caught,” You drop your mouth open in shock. Joel’s not one to leave you high and dry. But quickly, he rectifies your displeasure by stuffing your mouth full of whipped cream again. “Quiet.”

You nod and cover your mouth, sitting on the sink countertop and spreading your legs wide for Joel. “So thankful for you. My beautiful wife,” he coos. “S’thankful for this pussy. So fuckin’ good t’me.”

“I love you, Joel,” you breathe.

“Love you more, honey.”

His knees pop as they press into his aunt’s hideous mauve rug covering the floral tile floor. He dives right back in, licking and tasting your wetness, savoring the feeling of your soft folds under his tongue. He inserts one, then two fingers into your pussy, curling his fingers repeatedly into your sweet spot that he knows so well. With his free hand, he reaches for yours and holds it tight. He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, teases the sensitive area with the tip of his tongue. You do your best to keep yourself quiet.

You come undone, short, breathy whimpers stifled by your hand. With his tongue and fingers, he works you through it until you’re shaking, clamping your thighs around his head. He loves this part. Loves to play with you until you’re a writhing, squirming mess under his tongue.

Joel stands up to meet you, holds your face into his hands and kisses you in a way that is so very Joel. Rough, but gentle. Urgent yet slow. Biting your lips softly and tasting the sweet combination of whipped cream and your arousal.

His hands leave their place on your jaw to unbuckle his belt and pull out his member, already fully hard and leaking precum. At any other time than now, your mouth would be watering. You’d love to return the favor. But you just can’t right now.

“Joel,” you place your hand on his to stop him.

“Yeah, you want my wishbone”

Oh, Jesus Christ. You bite your lip to hide your smile, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of making you laugh at one of his dirty Thanksgiving jokes. The man doesn’t have an off switch. “Joel, seriously, I’m bloated and full and–”

Joel ignores your protests and pulls you off the counter, turns you around and spreads your legs wide. His eyes are soft and warm in the mirror’s reflection. “So am I. Don’t worry about it. We’re fat an’ happy, right?” he asks, “Why don’t you just stay pretty like this f’me, and I’ll fuck you real nice, hm? Ya won’t have to lift a finger. Let me burn off some calories.”

You don’t need much convincing. “Yeah, I want that,” you agree.

“Good. Turkey’s not the only thing getting stuffed this Thanksgivin’.”

Oh. dear. lord.

“I’m divorcing you for that.”

“S’fine,” Joel grunts as he adjusts your hips, pushes your chest down a little and lines up with your center. He drags his cock through your folds, coating himself in your slick. “Just marry you again. Wasn’t too hard the first time. Now how about I give ya some baby gravy.”

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” you giggle, “Gross.”

“Yeah, that–that wasn’t great. M’sorry.”

With a low chuckle, Joel enters you in one swift motion. You watch his face in the mirror, that look of euphoria on his face, how his brows knit together and he groans softly. He runs his hands up and down your spine, squeezing your ass and sides before finding a comfortable place at your waist.

“Oh,” you moan, “Mmm, yeah.”

“Yeah, sweetheart. Love those pretty noises you make f’me.”

Joel lets you get used to him for a moment, kissing and biting at your neck. When you’re ready, he pulls out of you again and pushes right back in. “S’it,” he murmurs. “Such a good pussy.”

When Joel finds a steady pace, not too fast, you back your hips into him. You watch him in the mirror, his lips parted, tongue peeking out as he focuses. Eyes darting from your face, contorted in pleasure, down to your bouncing breasts and back to your face. You’re so beautiful like this and you’re all his.

Joel adjusts your stained sweater on the sink countertop and presses down on your head gently, lowering you so you can just relax while he fucks you, just like he promised. Your eyes flutter shut as you try to control your noises, biting your bottom lip to keep your moans muffled. You don’t even realize the words fall from your lips, but they do. “Yeah, daddy,” you moan.

“So that’s who I am, huh? Daddy?” Joel pants, and you feel your cheeks heat up. “I can be daddy if that’s what ya want. Y’want that, sweetheart?”

You nod shyly. “Please,” you whisper.

“Yeah, daddy’ll take good care of ya. I always do, don’t I?”

“Yeah,” you agree in a breathy tone.

“Attagirl,” he praises you, “Just relax for daddy. That’s it, now. Gonna look so pretty with my baby in ya.”

You don’t have enough energy to move with him, back your hips into him like you usually would. So you lie there, bent over the counter and just take him. You’re lost in him, lost in Joel, the way he makes you feel, the noises he makes. His thighs hitting your ass, jeans at his knees and his belt buckle hitting your legs, his balls slapping against your clit. One of his hands on your waist, holding you steady. “You feel good, s’good, mama.”

Joel lets out choked and quiet groans, trying to keep himself quiet. You can hear his sharp and unsteady breathing through his gritted teeth, and you know exactly how he looks in the mirror. His messy curls bouncing with each of his thrusts and his brow furrowed, his attention all focused on you, fucking you just how you need.

He wriggles a hand under your torso, then holds your jaw in his hand and guides you to look in the mirror. “Look at yourself, sweetheart,” he coos, but you can only look at Joel. His neck and cheeks are flushed and he’s got that hungry look in his eyes, a crooked smile on his lips. “You look real pretty with Daddy’s cock in ya, baby,” His hand trails back down your torso before he reaches between your thighs and finds your clit, tracing you those circles he’s perfected.

“M’close, Joel,” you whine.

“Alright, now,” he breathes, “Keep lookin at us when you come,” as if you could peel your eyes from the sight in front of you. He rubs your clit expertly as his once calculated and steady thrusts turn frenzied and he begins to lose his rhythm. He’s close too.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, Joel,” you gasp, feeling your walls begin to pulse and squeeze him. “Right there, right there, fuck.”

“Go on, let go f’me,” he pants. “Let go f’me, sweet girl.”

Within moments, you fall apart on him. Joel covers your mouth before you can moan, his hand feels damp and warm on your face. Your orgasm is deep and powerful and so satisfying like you didn’t realize how much you needed this. Joel fucks you through it, chasing his own release. The sensation becomes overwhelming. “Too much,” you try to say, but the words hardly come out.

Your frantic moaning is muffled by his hand, “I know, mama. I know,” he groans. “Quit squirmin’, need t’fuck you deep. Gotta fill you - ohh, fill you up,” as he thrusts into you deep, his hard cock kissing your cervix and making you ache. He speeds up before he leans forward, his teeth biting softly into your shoulder as hespills into you with quiet shuddering breaths and grunts, filling you deep with his spend. He soothes the bite marks with his tongue as he comes down from his high.

His come is warm as it drips from your pussy and down your thighs when he pulls out of you. You turn around to face Joel, both of you panting as you catch your breath. He wears a mischievous smile and wiggles his eyebrows at you, like he’s taunting you. He won. He fucked you at his aunt’s house. On Thanksgiving. He wears that goofy smile as he bends down to clean you up a little and dress you back in your clothes and his aunt’s spare sweater, green with a little embroidered snowman on it. Yeah, that stain isn’t gonna come out of your sweater.

Joel opens the bathroom door and guides you to exit first. “Absolutely not,” you hiss, wiggling yourself between Joel and the door. “You first. We can’t walk out together. Everyone’s gonna know what we did,” you say as you push him. “And here–take this,” as you shove the now room temperature can of whipped cream into his hand.

“Yeah, alright,” Joel rolls his eyes. “But wait, I gotta tell ya somethin’.”

“What?”

“On a turkey I do love dark meat, but when it comes to you I’m a breast man through and through,” he teases as he gropes your tits. You swat his hand away, but Joel looks proud of himself.

Middle schooler. In an adult man’s body.

“How long have you been saving that one, Joel?” you taunt. Joel shrugs and kisses your cheek, then leaves.

When you come downstairs after counting to 100, ‘one Mississippi, two Missisippi…”Tommy wears a disappointed frown as he tries to squirt ribbons of whipped cream onto another slice of pie. Hardly anything comes out. You notice Joel wearing a sly smirk, and Tommy glares at Joel.

“There you are. Been lookin’ for you,” Jackie startles Joel and grabs him by his bicep, marching him to her kitchen sink. “I’m putin’ you to work. You’re doin’ dishes,” Joel protests but gets to work anyway, he knows his place. Jackie makes her way back to you.

“What can I help you with?” you ask her, eager to assist this sweet lady with whatever she needs.

“Nothin’, sweetheart. You just take it easy. You got enough on your plate, dealin’ with that husband of yours.”

“Yeah,” you agree with a chuckle, “He’s a handful.”

“But do let me know when you see those two little lines on that stick, hmm?” she winks, a knowing look in her eyes.

Busted.

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