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revelisms · 1 year

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Excerpt: What You Needed

After years, Jinx and Vi are reunited—and starting to make amends.

From ‘heron blue,’ an AU where Vi and Jinx reconnect under different terms. Slow, rocky relationship rebuilding, found family messiness, and political schemings. CW: Abandonment issues, dissociation, psychosis, dysfunctional family dynamics Full story on AO3

Her painted fingers clink out a red-capped glass bottle, and hold it stiffly across from her. "You...still like the cherry ones, right?"

Vi takes it from her, slowly, criss-crossed on the blankets across from her. "You bet," she says softly. Her mouth makes a strange twist: not quite a smile. She turns the bottle in her hand. "Still like blueberry?"

Jinx screws off the cap of her own, a glittering spin off the stones. "Uh, yeah—best of the bestest."

The lights hum around them, a pleasant, blitzy static. Jinx draws up her knees, curls her arms around them, and sips. For a long, horrible moment, there's nothing for them to say. Nothing she can get out: the questions stuck in her stomach, in her heart, like lead on her tongue.

Why did you leave me—?

"When...when did you build this?" Vi's looking at the decorations all around them, the paint and the color and glow, with a quiet awe.

Jinx wonders, for a moment, if she means the alcove or the club itself. They'd kept the bones, but rebuilt it all, straight from the ground up. No more smelly storeroom—too many ghosts; all boarded up now. They'd cleaned and sanded and revarnished the floors; painted the rooms, retiled the bathrooms; brought in that beautiful imported glass to bubble around the walls, a new addition to the spaces wholly their own on the third floor, with the same old staff kitchen and storage closets and divots in the walls.

Jinx shrugs, bobbing her knee. "Oh, I dunno—years ago."

Vi's smiling, now. She looks down at the bottle in her hands: twists off the cap. "I...I missed this, y'know. All your creations."

It lights up something in Jinx's heart, like a little lamp tuned to life. "I—I never stopped, really," she says, a flash of her teeth. "Painted up my room all pretty—oh—I just got this new color in from that big guy in the third district." She props closer, with a brightening grin. "It's, like, the prettiest blue—gonna put it on Whambo. He's gonna be a nail bomb. And I might use it for some details, on Fritz—he's a smoke flare, mostly, but he can double as a firecracker launcher—cool, right? I've been trying to get the combustion ratio right, for ages, but the thing keeps fizzlin' out too early—that old doc's tried to give me equations, but ugh—anyway. Work in progress, Fritz."

And then she's telling her about Jabberwock the ray gun, that she'd engraved with the emblem of a little seahorse—and about the Zing-Dusters she'd built: the respirators they used in the air dispensaries, that she was making a new model of—and the water filtration systems they were going to pilot in the rotted hovels of the Sump, once they got the right treated metals in.

She tells her about Tullo the mechanic, a giant of a man, with hair to his knees and tattoos gaudy as a pirate's, who she gets her imports from. Tullo, who Sevika got in a fight with the other day, after he'd called her arm just for show—and Sevika was a big old ogre, just as awful as ever: she ate blood sausage and grits for breakfast—yeuch!

She's rambling, on and on: the words pouring out of her: a runoff of shaky-laughed, tense-shouldered babbling.

There's so much she doesn't say.

She doesn't tell her about Little Man. She doesn't tell her about the voices in her head, or Mylo or Claggor, or her stuffed rabbit nailed to the wall, or how she spent years and years trying to carve herself in the chasm she'd left behind, not knowing why she wasn't enough, good enough, worth enough to bring her back; or how Silco would find her beating her hands bloody in the old arcade, or how he never laughed, not really, and never, ever cried, except when he talked about Vander, and then he nearly did both; or how, sometimes, when Sevika laid her arm around her, it almost, almost felt like hers—and she does not tell her about how Powder is dead and gone and drowned, drowned in a well, drowned by Jinx's own hands, and Jinx—Jinx is strong, now.

The voices ring through her ears: a pitching, endless drone.

It's too quiet, again.

Jinx swallows, fidgeting. She lifts her eyes from the roof. Vi is just looking at her, looking and frowning, with that burning sort of sadness Jinx hates. She's looking at her, and not saying a word—and for all Jinx doesn't tell her any of that, she is terrified that in some small, terrible way, she knows it, all the same.

"You're quiet," Jinx mumbles. She rips her eyes down, again.

Vi reaches over, wraps her hand beneath her own. "I know—I know. I'm sorry, I'm just..." She huffs out a breath, turning away, staring at the bustle of the streets. "I'm just thinking." She's nervous: her hands heavy and fiddling, so warm over Jinx's own. "It's—it's just..." Vi clears her throat. "It's been so long, I've been—I've been so worried about you."

Jinx scrapes her nail over her thumb. Those words hit something unpleasant inside her—worried about you—plunge a sickly chill in her stomach: a blazing knot of self-disgust, of rage; of sharp, splintered old hurt.

The words trapped in her throat bubble out, before she can stop them. "Why..." They stick like grease on her teeth. "Why did you leave me?"

She knows they cut at her sister. She knows they sting.

Part of her wants them to.

Vi looks down. She weathers her thumb over Jinx's own. "I—I tried to get back to you, I promise." The same as she'd said, before. "I did—but I—"

"You left me." It sounds so pitiful coming out of Jinx's mouth, and she despises herself for it. She yanks her hand out from Vi's own: tucks it under her knee. "I didn't—I didn't understand—"

"I know," Vi hushes. "I know, I—there hasn't been a day I haven't regretted it. Not a single one, from every damned night I was in that cell—but I—I just—" Her shoulders sink. She's looking away, forcing air through her teeth. "I needed time."

Something blitzes up Jinx's neck: leaves her head twitching.

You're not ready!

She scowls slow at the tiles. "Away from me."

"That's not—"

I told you to stay away!

Jinx scrapes her nails against the stones. "Things changed, when you left." Air shudders against her teeth. She fights the heat broiling in her throat: blinks it quick out of her eyes. "I—I changed," she whispers.

Vi's hands fist between her knees. Something in her turns venomous: like it did in Silco, when someone said something that got under his skin; when he let his words turn harsh and biting, looming over his constituents, a shadow of a monster with red-tipped wings.

"If I'd known you were here," Vi is saying, a low firmness in the words—and Jinx knows where they're going, before she even speaks them; feels her shoulders draw firm as stone. "If I could have—I would have done anything to find you; I would have got you out of here, as soon as I—"

A numbness washes through Jinx's veins.

"Got me out," she repeats.

She feels so far away from herself. Floating.

She's seeing Little Man, with his hair still short and his arms still gangly: his hand shackled around her wrist, hard enough to crush her, pleading to a girl who didn't exist—Powder, come with me, please—we've found a place in the sewers, away from all of this, where you'll be safe—whatever he's done, I'll make sure he never gets to you, again—

"I don't need you to save me," Jinx bites out. Tension gnaws through her fingers: turns them white-knuckled on her knee.

Mylo's wrong, Powder. You're stronger than you think.

You're strong, now—just like you were always meant to be.

She wrenches her head from the words, the memories: Vi's fist colliding with her cheek, Silco's thumb sweeping against it. "I never needed you to save me, I—I needed—"

Because you're a jinx! Mylo was right!

Jinx is perfect.

"Someone else," Vi mutters. Jinx falters, ice in her lungs. Stares wide-eyed at her. Vi is frowning at the green glow beyond them, rasping her thumb against the wrapping over her knuckles. She takes in a hard, gritty breath, and eases it out. "I know," she continues. "I left you, and he—" The look in her eyes turns so strange: bitter, scathing. "He showed up." It's like the words are pulling out her teeth. Her thumb presses hard into her knuckles. "And maybe, that's—that's what you needed."

Jinx tries to swallow. Heat burns and burns in her throat. "You want me to hate him," she tests, prickling with spite. "You don't want me to be here." Flashes of color outside the edges of her vision: eyes and faces and howling words. "You don't like him—you don't like any of them—well, none of you all liked me, either—"

"That's not true—"

Ghosts are picking at her ears and clawing at her arms and too loud.

"—because I—I was just some—some loose screw, screw-up, always screwing things up—shut up!" She wrenches her head into her hands, squeezes it tight, tight between her nails, to keep her skull from splitting open. "Shut up, shut up!"

Vi's looking at her like she's broken, a wind-up toy with all the cogs gone: like something she doesn't know how to fix. Carefully, her bandaged hand lays over her knee. "That's not true, and you know it," she says gravely. The words crack. "We loved you, Powder. Vander, and Mylo, and Claggor—"

"Don't." Jinx seethes it out, feral: wrenches herself away from Vi's burning hand. "Stop." She breathes long, cavernous, heaving. "Stop, don't—I don't want to think about them—I don't want to think about them, I don't—"

Vi closes her eyes, clenches her jaw. "Okay."

"I don't," Jinx hisses again. There's too much color in her eyes, too much noise in her head.

Vi's holding her. She doesn't remember when she started holding her.

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pedrospatch · 1 year

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fall into temptation | two

Jackson! Joel Miller x Preacher’s Daughter Reader

series masterlist

summary: Of all the women to catch Joel Miller’s attention—it just had to be one of the goddamned preacher’s daughters.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. SLIGHT PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION OF READER, mentions of her hair which she can put up into braids as well as her style of clothing. despite the nickname Joel gives her, it does not speak to her body type or size. mentions of hickies, but i try to be as vague as possible. AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 56). several mentions of religion and religious symbols, mention of biblical verses, reader has several pet names (little dove, sweet girl, darlin’ girl, baby, babygirl), angst, jealousy, hints of possessive Joel, hints of soft dom Joel (if you squint), reader talks about leaving her faith/family, Esther makes an appearance, Seth also makes an appearance idk he’s nice to reader but we still hate him and will hate him even more in the next chapter. SMUT. mention of virginity (brief), reader is inexperienced but she’s not clueless, masturbation (female, minor mentions of male masturbation), public sex, oral sex (f receiving).

word count: 11.8k

Your soft, breathless moans fill the church just like a sweet, angelic hymn—a song of praise, devotion and adoration for the rugged older man whose lap you were currently straddling, your legs resting on either side of him as he sat in the wooden pew, his long, thick, calloused fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. Your pale blue blouse was unbuttoned and open for him, both cups of your plain, cotton white bra pulled down to give him access to more of you and your smooth, supple skin to ravage.

“Joel,” you gasped out his name, hands tangling in his unkempt salt and pepper curls as he flicked his warm tongue over a sensitive, hardened nipple—it only added fuel to the flames burning deep in your lower belly when he moved his mouth to the other, his lips wrapping around the peak to show it the same amount of attention. He lifted one of his hands and he cupped the breast that his mouth just abandoned, his fingertips brushing against the gold cross that was hanging from the long, delicate chain clasped around your neck. You still wore it every single day despite being the furthest you had ever been from your faith—there was something oddly fascinating about seeing the religious symbol next to all of the marks that Joel left on you, how it was surrounded by all of his sinful love bites. Your hands gripped at his hair even harder, breath catching in your throat as he rolled your nipple between his fingers, giving it a hard but pleasurable pinch. Arching your back, you found yourself grinding your hips into his in an attempt to relieve the intense pressure building between your thighs. “Joel, please—please, I need more.”

Groaning, Joel released your breast and trailed his mouth up north, his lips latching onto the delicate spot right under your jawline. He suckled gently at your pulse point, being careful so as not to leave a visible mark behind. The ones he left on your chest and shoulders were easier for you to hide, but your neck was out of the question seeing as your father made you wear your hair up in braids all the time—you wouldn’t be able to cover them up. The primal in him almost craved to send you back to him with your neck covered in his hickies. Joel wanted to make it known to your father that there was now a real man in your life, one who planned to break the chains and set you free from a life of control. You’d yet to fully express your desire to leave, however if and when the time came, Joel wouldn’t hesitate in taking you away from him.

He would take good care of you, protect you, keep you safe, and the only worship you would know from that point on would be Joel’s worship of your body every single night in his bed.

“Christ, darlin’ girl,” he groaned into your neck, his fingers digging harder into your hips. Surely, you’d have bruises there in the morning. “Keep it up and you’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me, babygirl.”

Desperately, you rubbed your soaked clothed cunt against his bulge. He was rock hard and throbbing for you, straining against the zipper of his jeans. It wasn’t enough to feel him through his clothes, not anymore. You needed more of him, so much more. You dropped your hands from his hair and reached down for his own, picking them up off of your hips and moving them to your thighs. You guided them underneath your skirt and slid them up higher and higher, closer and closer to where you needed him the most, where you were aching for him to finally touch you. As Joel’s fingertips brushed the crease in between your thigh and your hip, along the soft, thin cotton of your panties, he jerked back, pulling his hands out from underneath your long skirt.

“No, little dove,” Joel chastised, lightly shaking his head at you. “Not tonight, sweet girl.”

“Joel,” You whined out his name. “It’s been almost a month! Are you kidding me right now?” You kept your word to him—for over three and a half weeks, you had been patient, just like he’d asked you. You had been sneaking out and meeting him in the old church house every night, spent hours upon hours sitting with him in the pew, or at least, you started the night sitting with him but at some point, you’d end up sitting in his lap instead. Half naked, hands tangled in his hair, your lips swollen with his kisses that you’d become so addicted to. He would never let it go further than that, though, and it was really beginning to wear your patience thin. It really did seem as though he planned on making you wait an eternity for him. You let out a small, frustrated sigh. “Okay, so if not tonight, then when?”

He leaned back against the pew, mulling it over in his mind for a minute. “Don’t know yet.”

You stared at him in utter disbelief, gaze wide.

He didn’t know yet?

“Joel,” you said his name slowly. “Do you not—is it because you don’t want me? Is that what it is?”

Joel’s hands reached up and he cupped your face, cradling it gently in his palms. His eyes met yours.“Of course I fuckin’ want you,” he said, shaking his head again. “More than anythin’ I want you, baby.” He paused and bucked his hips upwards, brushing his hard on against you through your panties. “You feel that, darlin’ girl? You feel my cock?” When you didn’t respond, Joel gave your face a soft, but firm squeeze as he bucked again, eliciting a moan from you. “Just asked you a question, little dove.”

Breathless, you nodded and replied, “Yes, Joel. I feel it.”

“Then don’t ask somethin’ like that ever again,” he warned you, firmly. “That understood?”

You lifted your hands to his, fingers curling lightly around his wrists. “I’m sorry,” you apologized. “It’s just that I don’t understand it. If you want me, why haven’t you touched me?” You could hear the little tremble in your own voice—you hoped Joel hadn’t caught it, but the softening in his dark brown eyes made it clear he had. “I want you to touch me. You have my full consent, you know. I want this, Joel. I want you so badly. Please, just touch me already.”

“Baby, I told you. I don’t wanna rush it with you—”

“But why not?” you pressed, cutting him off. “Why wait when we both clearly want it?” Unable to help yourself, you exhaled a small, breathy laugh. “Why wait when I’m already sitting in your lap half naked with my breasts in your face?”

Joel sighed. He knew you were trying to lighten up the mood. “Baby—” he trailed off and softly grazed your cheeks with his thumbs. He tried to think of a response to give you but the truth was, Joel didn’t have an answer for you—he himself didn’t seem to fully understand why he was so hellbent on taking his time with you, waiting when he could have had you back on the first night and every night since.

He wasn’t just torturing you.

Hell, he was torturing himself too.

When he would go back home, Joel would fist his cock, his heart pounding almost violently inside of his chest, guttural grunts and groans spilling from his lips as he came to the mere thought of you. He almost found it amusing that you had the audacity to think he didn’t want you when every night, he’d shoot his load onto his stomach as he moaned out your name over and over again quietly underneath his breath.

He wanted you just as much as you wanted him, if not so much fucking more.

But there was something holding him back from it and he couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

For as much as Joel enjoyed spending your nights together with you straddling his lap, mouths fused with one another as he copped a feel of your body, making out like a couple of horny teenagers sitting in an old car on some hill that overlooked their tiny town—he vaguely remembered those nights in the cab of his dad’s old pickup—he found it wasn’t the only reason he looked forward to your company.

He liked being with you, liked being in your presence.

He actually liked talking to you.

There was something so endearing about you, the way you talked about working in the town’s schoolhouse and how you absolutely adored spending all day with a bunch of little ankle biters. He liked that you’d been comfortable enough to tell him of your life before the outbreak, about how, despite the religious, strict upbringing, you’d had a decent childhood. You spent your afternoons after parochial school at the river skipping rocks with your sisters. You were the rebel of the three, pulling your braids out in the car on the way to morning mass and spilling your juice on your dress on purpose—you told him about the way your parents would have to put you outside in timeout for being unable to sit still during services and Joel couldn’t help but laugh when he pictured a little girl with messed up hair and a dress stained with grape juice, feet dangling as she sat on some bench outside of a church with the other children who couldn’t behave themselves.

“It got so bad my mother had to start bribing me,” you’d told him with a sheepish little grin one night. For once, you weren’t in his lap. Instead, you sat in the pew while Joel laid back, stretching out on the bench with his head in your lap. His gaze had been fixed on you as you lightly scraped your fingernails against his scalp through his hair over and over. “It was the only way. The night before church, Mama, she would tuck me into bed and promise me she’d spoon extra strawberry ice cream into my bowl for dessert all week if I behaved during service.”

“Was strawberry your favorite?” he’d asked, curiously.

“It was. What about you, what was your favorite?”

“Was more of a chocolate kinda guy myself,” he’d answered, closing his eyes as you continued to toy with his curls.

Joel looked forward to spending his time with you. After his long, grueling patrol shifts, all that he had to go home to was a silent house, the air under his roof filled with unmistakable tension. Ellie had told him she was thinking of turning the garage behind the house into her own space—when he offered to put his past experience as a contractor to good use, she shut down his offer for help, mumbling something about having already asked Tommy. His brother confirmed it, informing him he’d be helping Ellie move into the garage that same week.

That night, seeing you had been the one thing, the one fucking thing that kept him from heading over to the bar to pitifully drown himself in bourbon.

“Joel?” Your soft voice snapped him from his train of thought, your fingers squeezing his wrists. “Are you okay?”

“M’fine, darlin’ girl.” He offered you a small smile, his thumb sweeping your bottom lip. “You’ve been a real good girl for me, sweetheart. And I promise, you’ll get what you’re askin’ for soon. But not tonight.”

You pouted against his finger.

“C’mon baby, put the lip away,” Joel chuckled and pushed it back in with his finger. He let both of his hands fall from your face and pulled at the cups of your bra, gently tugging them back into place. “All I need from you is a little more patience, alright?”

“Fine,” you huffed out in defeat, rolling your eyes.

“Y’know, you’re awful cute when you’re annoyed,” he remarked with a playful smirk. He placed a soft kiss on your forehead and with his lips still against your skin, he murmured, “S’real late, little dove. I need to get you home now.”

Reluctantly, you nodded and climbed off his lap.

You started buttoning your blouse, but Joel stood, reaching out to stop you. “Wait. Let me do that for you, baby.”

Dropping your hands to your sides, you swallowed harshly, arousal pooling between your legs all over again as you looked down, watching his hands. Oh God, how those large hands of his just did you in—how was it possible that watching those hands do something as sweet and innocent as buttoning up your blouse for you had your cunt aching, dripping down the insides of your thighs?

“Joel,” you managed to choke out his name.

He finished with the last button. “Yes, darlin’ girl?”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He touched your cheek and smiled wistfully.

“Just wanna take care of you how I can, that’s all.”

Turning your face, you pressed a kiss into his palm with sweet affection he hadn’t known in well over two decades.

After switching off all the lights in the church, Joel locked the door and slipped the key under the mat where you kept it hidden. He took your hand in his and the two of you started the fifteen minute walk to the residential side of the commune. Your place was down the road from his, a two story white and yellow cottage you shared with your family. Joel walked you up the front porch steps to the door, dropping your hand. He kept his voice quiet as he turned to face you.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night, same time.”

“Tomorrow night, same time,” you parroted.

Joel leaned down, brushing your lips with his own, softly. “Go on and get some sleep, my little dove.”

Your eyes widened slightly—had Joel meant to say it like that? My little dove?

Had he meant to call you his little dove? His?

“Goodnight, Joel.” You bit back a smile and turned towards the door, opening it. Slipping inside of the house, you closed it behind you quietly before you carefully tiptoed your way up the stairs. The house was older and the hardwood floors creaked as you walked down the hallway. Slipping off your oxford shoes, you carried them in your hands as you tried to make it to your bedroom without waking one of your sisters—or worse, waking your father. He was a heavy sleeper, but you still took extra care not to make any noise as you padded past his door. Finally, you made it to your bedroom and slipped inside.

Breathing out in relief, you flipped on the light and turned around only to see one of your sisters there in your room, perched on the foot of your bed with a small smirk on her face. You dropped your shoes on the floor and let out a small, startled yelp.

“Leah!” you gasped, a hand flying to your chest. It surprised you that neither the sound of your shoes hitting the floor nor your scream woke Lydia—she was in the bedroom on the opposite side of your paper thin wall. “You just about gave me a heart attack! I thought you were an intruder!” you hissed. “What are you doing in here just sitting in the dark?”

Leah’s smirk widened.

“I’ll tell you that when you tell me why Joel Miller’s walking you home at two thirty in the morning, my sweet baby sister.” She watched with a glimmer in her eyes as all the color drained from your face. “Is he the person you’ve been sneaking out to see?”

Heat prickled at the back of your neck. “Oh stop it right now, Leah. You and Lydia already know that I go to the church house at night to pray—”

“For hours?” Skeptical, she raised an eyebrow and stood up, walking over to you. “And where does he come into play in all this? Hmm?”

You quickly racked your brain. “He, um, he was—he was walking home from the bar. He saw me as I was leaving the church and he was nice enough to offer to walk me home so I didn’t walk alone.”

Leah snorted. “That’s bullshit. For one, the church and the bar are on opposite sides of the commune and two, Joel Miller isn’t a fucking gentleman who just offers to walk a lady home on a whim. You two were together all night, weren’t you?”

“Of course not, all he did was walk me home—”

She reached out, roughly tearing open the front of your blouse and sending buttons flying all over the room.

“Leah!” You pulled the fabric over your chest but it was too late—she had seen the marks that littered your chest and shoulders.

“Oh, he did more than just walk you home.” Leah’s eyes widened slightly. It was hard to tell if she was shocked—or if she was impressed. “Wow. I did not think you had it in you, baby sister.” She shook her head and sat back down. “And with Joel Miller? Of all the fucking men in the commune—you decided to go for the most feared man in Jackson? I mean, how the hell did that even fucking happen?”

You hung your head in defeat.

There was no way around it.

You’d been caught.

“It’s—it’s a long story.”

She patted the spot next to her. “Well, it’s the end of the world and we’ve got nothing but time.”

Sighing, you took a seat beside her. You started to tell her all about what happened the night you had decided to leave The Tipsy Bison alone—how Kent had assaulted you, how Joel had saved you before the unthinkable happened. You told her how you’d taken Joel to the church to clean up his hand, how you asked him to kiss you after patching him up.

“Wait a minute, Kent called me a slut?”

You glared at her. “Leah.”

“Right. Sorry.” She cleared her throat. “So you and Joel have been seeing each other ever since?”

“Almost every night,” you admitted. “Except when he gets stuck with evening patrol. Or has a double shift. He had to do a few of those as a punishment for what he did to Kent.”

Leah let out a small, nonchalant, “Hm.”

“You know, for somebody who just discovered I’m seeing a man who’s twice my age, you don’t seem to be the slightest bit surprised by it.”

“Oh, please. Don’t think I don’t remember the way that man was staring at you that day when walked by him at the stables,” she grinned at you. “I knew Joel had a thing for you when I caught him staring at you. I just didn’t think he’d act on it,” she added as she leaned back into her elbows. “You do know what people around here say about him, right? I’m sure you’ve heard about things that he’s done—he’s killed people. With his bare hands, too.”

She didn’t sound all too concerned.

She sounded like she was curious about it. Fascinated, even.

“I’m sure he did what he had to do to survive—the same way most people in this town have. Besides, Joel isn’t the monster people make him out to be.” You paused. “I see a different side of him, Leah.”

Leah chuckled. “Oh, I’m sure you do.”

“Leah!” You smacked her leg lightly, biting back a small laugh. It was a relief, having her to confide in without receiving any kind of judgment.

There was a brief, momentary silence, broken only when she asked, “So—the church house, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“That’s pretty fucking hot. Makes me wish I would have thought of that myself.” Leah’s smile faltered and she sat up. “Please tell me you wipe down the pew the that he fucks you in, though.”

You nearly choked on your own breath of air. “No! I mean, it’s not like that,” you sputtered out. “We do get together at the church but we don’t—we don’t do that. We haven’t done anything.”

“Your tits are covered in hickies. You can’t possibly tell me that you’re still a daisy fresh girl,” she said.

“Unfortunately, I still am,” you muttered, sourly.

“What do you mean?”

“I want him to—” You stopped, unable to say it.

Leah raised an eyebrow. “To fuck you?”

The blood rushed to your cheeks. “Yes.”

“You won’t burst into flames if you say it, you know.”

Ignoring the jab you continued on, “But he won’t. I keep asking him, but he won’t touch me. He keeps telling me he doesn’t want to rush it and he wants to wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“I don’t know, but I wish I knew. I want him so bad but he won’t budge. I’ve practically begged him to just take me already.”

“You little sinner,” Leah teased.

“Being with him doesn’t even feel like a sin. It feels so right, Leah.” Peering at her, you confessed, “It’s like the closer I get to Joel, the further I step away from God—from our faith.” Without thinking about it, you reached up and clasped your cross. You had expected it to trigger some kind of emotion in you but as your fingers curled around it, you found you felt absolutely nothing. “And the scariest part of it all is that I don’t even feel an ounce of guilt for it.”

“Well, I would say that’s a fucking good thing.”

“Papa would be so ashamed that I have strayed so far away from our faith.”

“Oh please.” Leah rolled her eyes and stood up. “It doesn’t matter. Papa doesn’t have to know.”

“But Leah—”

“We’re already living in fucking hell, baby sister, so you might as well start enjoying yourself.” Pausing at your door, she shot you a teasing little wink over her shoulder. “What better way to start than to get fucked by big, bad Joel Miller?”

Leah disappeared, quietly closing the door behind her before you could even think of how to respond to her.

Later on, in the earlier hours of the morning, you’d found yourself tossing and turning in your bed.

The ache between your legs made it impossible to fall asleep.

Rolling onto your back, you stared up into the dark of your bedroom, chewing nervously on your lip as you slipped a hand under your quilt and brushed a finger along the waistband of your pajama pants.

You’d never in your life touched yourself. Sure, you had been tempted once or twice before—but as of late, the urge was becoming too difficult to resist.

The throbbing between your legs wouldn’t stop.

You needed relief.

Release.

Hesitantly, you slipped your trembling hand under the elastic band of your bottoms, fingers anxiously skimming along the elastic band of your panties. It took a minute or two to work up the courage—but you finally slid your hand into your underwear. You closed your eyes, fingers brushing against the soft curls on your mound. Moving your hand lower and lower, you slowly dipped your index finger, sinking it in between your folds. You gasped out softly, the feeling of your own wetness igniting a fire that you knew you would only be able to put out by making yourself come.

You thought about Joel and imagined it’s his hand in between your thighs instead of yours. You softly grazed your clit with your index finger once, twice, and then started rubbing the sensitive bud in slow circles, jolts of pleasure shooting up your spine.

Suddenly, you withdrew your hand.

Less clothes—this would feel so much better with less clothes.

Kicking the quilt off your body, you peeled off your pajama bottoms and panties, sending them to the floor along with the blanket. Eagerly, you pulled at your oversized t-shirt, yanking it over your head. After discarding that too, you leaned back, resting comfortably against your pillows as you dove your hand between your legs. The other cupped one of your breasts, pinching and rolling a hard nipple as you rubbed your clit. Soft, quiet little moans begin to fall from your lips—remembering Lydia was just on the other side of the wall, you bit down on your bottom lip in an effort to keep the noise down.

You could feel Joel’s hands and mouth on you, still smell his scent on you from earlier.

Woodiness, spice, and musk.

It’s become all too familiar to you.

Just like his touch, just like the sound of his voice.

“You feel that, darlin’ girl? You feel my cock?”

Just the thought of that man had you on the edge and you moved your fingers faster, the wet sounds of your own slick filling the air around you. As your desperation mounted, you imagined Joel’s fingers plunging into you—long and thick, stretching your pussy out in an effort to warm up your tight, virgin walls to take his cock for the first time.

The coil that was wound up deep in your belly was close, so close to snapping. You thought about his goodnight to you at your front door, and it was the way Joel had called you his little dove that pushed you right over the edge. You clawed at your sheets as your cunt convulsed, your velvet walls fluttering around nothing. Biting down on your lip again, you tried your hardest not to moan out Joel’s name.

Just up the road, Joel was up in his bedroom lying in his bed, trying not to groan out your name as he came too.

You covered your mouth, stifling yet another yawn with the palm of your hand.

The late nights with Joel were starting to catch up with you and waking up early for Sunday morning services had been particularly difficult for you that week. You’d overslept, but still managed to get up, get dressed and make it to service on time—still it meant nothing when your father expected his girls to be present at the church house two hours prior. All three of you helped set up for mass and while it was often Leah whom he scolded for not showing, later that morning it was you who would be on the receiving end of his agonizingly long lecture about honoring obligations, especially those to God.

You weren’t looking forward to it.

Sighing, you leaned back against the pew. You and your sisters always sat in the front—the very same bench that you straddled Joel’s lap in every night.

You sagged slightly against Leah who chuckled as your father began delivering his sermon. The topic on the table that morning was lust of the flesh.

“How appropriate,” she whispered, nudging you in the ribcage with her elbow. “Better pay attention.”

“Shut up,” you giggled, elbowing her right back.

Lydia, who sat on the opposite side of you, leaned over, pressing her lips against your ear. “Um, since when does Joel Miller come to church?”

“What?” You shot her a strange look before taking a glance over your shoulder, following her gaze—it threw you for a complete loop to see him standing at the very back of the church near the doors with his rifle hanging over his shoulder. Throat bobbing harshly, you whipped back around in your seat.

What was he doing here?

“Jesus, he can’t bring a gun in here!” Lydia hissed, shaking her head. “Is he insane?”

Leah, who had caught onto the slight commotion, glimpsed over her shoulder. She put a hand on the pew between your bodies and lightly pinched your leg, fingers squeezing the flesh on the side of your thigh causing you to jump slightly in your seat.

“Ouch! What did you do that for?”

“He wants you to meet him outside.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Why else would he be here?” Leah rolled her eyes at you. “And besides, he’s gone.”

Perplexed, you looked over your shoulder again.

Your sister had been right about the latter.

Joel had seemingly vanished into thin air.

“Don’t make it so obvious,” she murmured. “Give it a minute or two and then go—pretend that you have to use the bathroom. And don’t take too long,” she added. “Or it’s going to seem suspicious. Okay?”

You nodded. “Okay.”

Smoothing your skirt, you waited two minutes just to be safe and then leaned over towards Lydia. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to go use the bathroom.”

“But I thought you hated using the outhouse.”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “A girl’s got to pee.”

Excusing yourself, you stood up and quickly made your way around to the side of the church, making your exit as inconspicuous as possible. Thankfully, everyone was too focused on your father to notice you making an exit.

Once you’d slipped through the first set of double, wooden doors, you exhaled the breath you hadn’t even realized you had been holding back. You then pushed through the second set of doors, stepping out onto the porch of the church house.

You looked around, but there was no sign of Joel.

“Where did you go?” you mumbled to yourself.

Maybe Leah had been wrong after all.

You walked down the steps and around the side of the church only to find him leaning against the old building, his hand wrapped around the strap of his rifle.

“What are you doing here?” you questioned as you approached him.

“Well good mornin’ to you too, my little dove.”

Your heart fluttered wildly inside of your chest.

There it was again.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized, sheepishly. “I’m just—I didn’t expect to see you here, that’s all.”

Joel stepped towards you. “I know. I’m on my way to the stables to head out for mornin’ patrol,” he explained. He placed his hands on either side of your waist to pull you closer to him. “Wanted to see you, baby.”

“You did?”

He chuckled softly. “What? That strange?”

“We’ve never seen each other during the day.” You frowned at him. “Isn’t this kind of risky, Joel?”

“Ain’t no one around but us.” Joel leaned his head down, brushing his mouth softly against yours. He was warm and still tasted like his morning coffee. Pulling away slightly he stated, “There’s somethin’ I have to tell you, too. I ain’t gonna be able to meet up with you tonight, sweetheart.”

“Did you get stuck with double patrol again?” Your disappointment was evident in your tone. Tommy and Maria had already reprimanded him for Kent’s beating, were the double shifts still necessary?

Joel shook his head.

“No. Tommy’s birthday is today. They’re throwin’ a big party for him at The Tipsy Bison. M’real sorry—”

Flashing him a sincere smile, you lifted your hands and placed them on his chest, assuring him, “Joel, there’s no need to apologize for anything. It’s your brother’s birthday. I wouldn’t expect you to miss it just for little old me, you know.”

“I know you wouldn’t, sweet girl. S’just that—”

He paused, momentarily hesitating.

“What is it, Joel?”

“Wish I could take you with me. Y’know, as my—”

Joel stopped once again, his neck burning.

You raised an eyebrow, grinning. “As your date?”

“I was gonna say as my girl. But yeah, that works too.”

His girl.

Your heart fluttered again. “I would love that. More than anything.”

“Your old man, he wouldn’t like that, though.”

Your smile faltered. “Joel, please. Don’t—”

“I ain’t wrong, sweet girl. What would your dad say if he knew you were with someone like me? A man twice your age with more blood on his hands than the fuckin’ town butcher.”

“He wouldn’t approve—but I don’t care, Joel. I just don’t care. I like you,” you confessed, clutching his jacket. “I like being with you. And I know who I am, it makes things complicated, but—” Stopping, you chewed apprehensively on your bottom lip.

“But what, little dove?” he prompted. “Tell me.”

“Maybe—maybe things could change someday,” you said, softly.

Realizing what you meant, Joel’s brows shot up.

“You would leave?”

“I would,” you confessed. “For you Joel, I would.”

He couldn’t believe it. “Don’t go sayin’ somethin’ if you don’t really mean it. Might get my hopes up.”

“But I do mean it,” your voice was earnest. “Really, I would, Joel. I would do anything to be with you.”

Joel took one look into those sweet, innocent little doe eyes and groaned. “Fuck, darlin’ girl. C’mere.”

Crashing his lips to yours, he spun you around and pinned you up against the wall of the church. Next to you was an open window—you could hear parts of your father’s sermon coming from inside as you melted into Joel’s arms. His tongue brushed along the seam of your mouth, silently demanding more. Your lips parted, granting him the access that he’d been seeking. His tongue curled with yours and he swallowed every little moan and whimper, drinking them down just like water.

Joel reached down and lifted your long floral skirt, slipping a hand underneath the lace trimmed hem of it. His rough, callused fingers dragged up your thigh and over your hip, lightly grazing the band of your panties.

“Joel,” you gasped, tearing your mouth from his, a look of complete shock crossing your features. He couldn’t be serious—in broad daylight? Outside of the church where your father was preaching to the congregation at this very moment?

But even the shock of it all did nothing, absolutely nothing, to stop the arousal from pooling between your thighs.

Joel skimmed your cheek with the tip of his nose.

“You wet for me, baby?” Before you could respond to the question, he cupped your cunt through your panties, eliciting another small gasp. “Oh fuck, my sweet little dove. You’re fuckin’ soakin’ for me.”

Heart pounding painfully against your sternum, all you could do was nod your head and fist the lapels of his jacket even tighter. Your knees trembled and you were grateful to be securely pinned between a wall and this big bulk of a man, otherwise you’d be a crumpled heap on the ground by now.

“What’s the matter, darlin’?” he cooed, though he knew exactly what he was doing to you. “Hm?”

“It’s just that I—oh Joel,” you mewled his name as he cupped you harder in his hand.

Smirking, Joel pulled the damp cotton fabric aside and slid his index finger along your slit, your sweet slick coating his digit. “What do you want, my little dove?” He asked quietly against your cheekbone.

You opened your mouth to respond, but it seemed as though you’d forgotten just about every word in the English language.

“Gotta tell me, sweetheart.” His finger grazed over your clit, sending shock waves through your whole body. “Use your words, babygirl,” he coaxed, nuzzling your cheek. “Gonna have to tell me what you want from me. Ain’t doin’ anythin’ unless you ask me for it.”

“I—I want you to touch me. Please, Joel, touch me more. I need you to touch me more.”

That’s all Joel had needed to hear.

He slowly pushed a finger into you, biting back his groan—you were wet, warm, and so fucking tight.

“Joel,” you moaned out his name.

Joel quickly covered your mouth with his opposite hand. “Shh,” he shushed you. “The window’s wide open. Someone could hear us if we’re too loud. M’gonna need you to be real quiet for me, alright? Think you can do that for me, sweetheart?”

You nodded, your reply muffled by the palm of his hand. “Mhm.”

“That’s a good girl.”

His hand dropped away from your mouth.

You sank your teeth into your bottom lip, holding a cry as he pushed his finger further inside of you. It didn’t hurt, but you felt the pressure between your hips intensifying—on several nights you’d plunged your own fingers into your throbbing cunt in effort to pleasure yourself, but his were just so long and so thick and he reached spots you simply couldn’t reach no matter how hard you tried.

“Christ, you’re so fuckin’ tight, baby. You think you can take another one? Hm?”

Your legs spread further apart for him in reply.

“Eager little thing,” Joel chuckled, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek before slipping a second finger into you. He bit back guttural groan—if your pussy felt this fucking good around his fingers, then how would it feel around his cock?

“Oh God,” you hissed, bucking down into his hand as his thumb swept your clit in a circular motion.

“He ain’t here, little dove,” he murmured. “S’just me.”

Releasing his jacket, you grasped at his shoulders. Your skin stretched taut over your knuckles as you held onto him, silently willing yourself to somehow stay tethered to this earth.

Joel dropped his head into the hollow of your neck and slowly began to pump his fingers in and out of you. “This sweet little pussy feels so fuckin’ good.” He licked a stripe up the column of your throat, his fingers curling inside of you and hitting a spot that made your knees tremble. “But y’know what, I bet it tastes even fuckin’ better.” He lightly nipped you on your chin and withdrew his hand from between your legs, sinking down onto one knee.

You watched with wide, shocked eyes as he took a hand and bunched your skirt in his fist to keep the fabric out of his way. With his other hand, he lifted one of your legs and draped it over his shoulder. It brushed lightly against his rifle.

He placed a gentle kiss on the inside of your knee.

Heart pounding with anticipation, excitement, and apprehension, you reached down, tangling both of your hands in his soft hair.

As Joel began trailing his lips further up the inside of your thigh, part of the sermon carried out of the open window, your father’s voice loud and clear as he preached to the congregation.

“For this is the will of God, your sanctification:

that you should abstain from sexual immorality…”

Joel glanced up at you. “Y’tell me if you want me to stop—”

“Don’t,” you choked out. “Please. Don’t stop.”

Planting one final kiss on the inside of your leg, he pulled your panties aside and brought his face into the apex of your thighs. His mouth met your warm core, his tongue slipping between your slick folds.

Your father’s voice continued on—he sounded too close. He often paced around as he preached, and he must have drawn closer to the window. “…that each of you know how to control his own body in holiness and honor…”

You bit back a helpless whimper as he dragged his flattened tongue up, down, and then up again, lips tasting every inch of you he possibly could.

“…not in the passion of lust…”

Joel pushed your skirt up even further, completely exposing you. His mouth wrapped around your clit and he swirled his tongue around the swollen little bundle of nerves, groaning into you as he lifted his other hand, thrusting two fingers into your pussy.

“…like the Gentiles who do not know God.”

Your fingers gripped his curls like a vice, your nails scraping against his scalp—with every lick, suckle, and kiss of his tongue and thrust of his digits, your release drew closer and closer.

“Joel,” you whispered his name, desperately. “Joel I’m so close, I’m so so close—”

He groaned into your cunt, the vibration of it along with the way his thrusts quickened and the way he devoured you like a man starved sending you right over the edge you’d been teetering on. Feeling you convulse around his fingers, Joel pulled his mouth away from you and quickly rose to his feet. He had made it just in time—sealing his mouth over yours, he muffled your loud cries of pleasure.

His lips, his tongue, they lingered with the taste of you.

Joel’s fingers slowed as he helped you ride out the crashing wave of pleasure. Letting go of your skirt, he slipped his arm around you, holding you steady against himself so that you wouldn’t keep digging your back into the wall. “I’ve got you, darlin’ girl. I’ve got you,” he murmured against your lips. His gaze met yours as he grazed your clit one last time, sending aftershocks throughout your body that made your knees buckle. Smirking, his arm tightened around you. “So fuckin’ sensitive, sweetheart.”

He withdrew his hand from between your legs and brought it up to show you—you felt the blood rush to your cheeks at the sight of his fingers. You’d left them dripping, coated completely with your slick.

“Open your mouth, baby.” His command was firm, but still soft, gentle. You did as Joel told you—your eyes fixed on his, you parted your lips slightly, just enough for him to slip his fingers into your mouth for you to lick clean. Wrapping your fingers around his wrist, you slowly sucked your release off his digits, a hint of shyness in your half lidded gaze. “You like how you taste, don’t you, my darlin’ girl? Hm? Like how fuckin’ sweet you are?”

Moaning around his fingers, you nodded, and then released them with a small, wet pop.

Joel groaned. He had half a mind to put you down your knees right then and there and have you take care of the straining in his jeans. Instead, he let go of you and checked to make sure your skirt looked okay. He then reached up and smoothed your hair, saying, “You gotta go back inside now, little dove.”

Before you could say anything, the sound of Lydia calling out your name caused you to jump slightly.

She must have come outside looking for you.

“Go,” he nudged you. “I’ll head around the back of the church so she don’t see me.”

Joel started to whirl around to take off in the other direction when you caught his arm, stopping him.

“Baby, what are you—?”

Standing on your toes, you kissed his cheek softly.

The innocence of it, and the smile you flashed him after the fact, knocked the fucking wind out of his lungs.

He watched, mouth agape, as you spun around on the heel of your shoe, hurrying back to the front of the church house to meet your sister.

It was late in the evening.

You were sitting cross legged on your bed—Lydia’s laying on the small, circular shag rug on your floor surrounded by several composition books and plastic, single subject folders. “Toss me some of those,” you said, waving your red marker in the air. “I can help you get through them quicker.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Um, don’t you have your own students’ homework assignments to grade?”

“Lyd, I teach three, four, and five year old children. I’m not exactly having them write papers trying to interpret Shakespearean sonnets,” you giggled. “It doesn’t take that long to grade alphabet worksheets or stick figure drawings.” You waved the marker once more. “So, do you want me to help you or not?”

Before she had the chance to respond, the door to your bedroom burst open and Leah waltzed inside donning a strapless, floral printed dress. Her locks were out of their braids, cascading down her back and a pair of strappy brown sandals, which she’d secretly traded a pair of earrings for in exchange, adorned her feet.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” Lydia asked, shaking her head as she sat up.

“We,” she emphasized, “Are going to a party.”

You frowned. “If you’re referring to the party down at The Tipsy Bison, that’s a party for Tommy Miller they’re throwing. It’s his birthday today, Leah. You can’t just show up to someone’s birthday party on a whim or uninvited. That’s just bad manners.”

“Actually, I bumped into Maria Miller at the bakery this afternoon when I went to buy rolls for dinner—she was picking up Tommy’s cake. She mentioned the party to me and extended the invitation.” Leah grinned. It’s almost like she’d forgotten about how she had tried getting into her husband’s pants just months ago while she was still pregnant with their son. Leah swore she didn’t remember that—which part of you honestly believed. She had been drunk out of her mind the night she tried making a move on Tommy Miller. “She said that we were welcome to join in on the festivities. So come on, ladies. Put on your best and let’s get going!”

“Sorry, I’m going to have to sit this one out,” Lydia said with a sigh. She gathered all of her things and stood up. “I have a dozen papers to grade. But you two go on and have fun.” She walked towards your door, elbowing Leah on the way out. “Behave.”

“Don’t I always, big sister?”

Scoffing, Lydia glanced back at you. “Please make sure she doesn’t get into too much trouble?”

“Wait a minute, why do I have to babysit her?”

“Because you’re the good one.”

“Not anymore she’s not,” Leah muttered.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing,” she piped innocently.

Rolling her eyes, Lydia bid a quick goodnight, then disappeared.

“Well come on then,” Leah walked over to you and grabbed your arm, dragging you off your bed. “We need to get you out of these drab clothes and into something cute!”

You huffed, “What I’m wearing is just fine—”

“Don’t you want to get all dolled up for Joel?” She teased, lowering her voice as she pulled you to her bedroom just across the hallway. She shoved you inside and then closed the door behind her. “Look all nice and pretty for him?”

“Leah, I can’t talk to him at the party,” you told her as she lifted her hands and started taking the pins out of your braids. “It would raise an eyebrow—the last thing I want is for people to talk and it getting back to Papa. Or to put Joel in a weird spot at his own brother’s birthday party.”

She raked her fingers through your hair, taking out your braids. “Well at the very least, you can be eye candy for him to enjoy,” she stated with a smirk as she fussed around with your locks, which were textured from your braids. Once she was satisfied with your hair, Leah made her way over to her closet and started to dig inside a cardboard box that she kept tucked at the very back of it. She plucked a garment from it and tossed it over her shoulder at you. “Here, wear this one. I think Joel would like it on you.”

The dress was beautiful—a vibrant daisy yellow with a detailed eyelet embroidery and thin straps. You held it against yourself and let out a small scoff as you said, “Leah, I can’t wear this.”

“Don’t be silly, of course you can.” She threw a worn, tan leather cowboy boot at you, followed by the other. “I don’t have another pair of sandals but these go with the dress a hell of a lot better than oxfords do.”

You shook your head furiously.

“I can’t wear this dress, much less out to the bar. It’s way too short—it’s inappropriate.”

Leah snorted. “Honey, Joel Miller made you come in his mouth outside the church house and a short dress is where you draw the line? Seriously?”

You opened your mouth to respond, then clamped it shut—she made a fair point. Without giving your sister anymore grief, you stripped out of your skirt and blouse and slipped the yellow dress on. You reached up take off your cross, but decided against it and left it alone.

Less than an hour later, the two of you walked arm in arm into The Tipsy Bison.

“Wow,” you breathed out, looking around in awe—the bar had been completely transformed and you almost didn’t recognize the place. The bar’s owner Seth liked to keep the place dim, but since it was a special occasion tonight, he’d strung lights across the room from ceiling to ceiling. He had also taken all the tables and chairs and moved them all aside, creating a makeshift dance floor. In a corner of the bar, a band had set up to play live music. Currently on the microphone was Pamela, a woman who ran the town’s general store, singing a lovely rendition of Landslide by Fleetwood Mac.

“Well, I’ve been afraid of changin’

‘cause I’ve built my life around you

but time makes you bolder…”

“Come on, let’s go grab a drink!” Leah tugged you over towards the counter. The both of you went up to Seth, who was helping his bartenders serve the dozens of party guests. She smiled sweetly at him and said, “Two glasses of whiskey, please. I’ll have mine neat and she’ll have hers on the rocks.”

You wrinkled your nose.

You didn’t even like whiskey.

You could never choke down more than a sip, two or three if the ice watered the liquor down enough.

“Of course, Leah.” Seth nodded. He looked over at you and did a double take in the middle of his pour that almost made him miss the glass. He let out a low whistle. “Well, look at you! Never seen you this dressed up before.”

“Doesn’t she look pretty?” Leah beamed proudly.

“Just about the prettiest thing in the whole room,” Seth remarked with a wink as he placed your drink in front of you. “You two girls have fun but be careful. There’s a lot more drinking going on than usual—any one of these heathens bother you, you come tell me and I will kick their behinds out of this party. Got it?”

“Thanks, Seth!” you both chirped in unison.

Taking Leah’s hand, you led her across the bar and over towards a small vacant booth to sit. You knew it was only a matter of time before someone came over to whisk your sister away from you for a dance. You could see, out of your peripheral vision, a group of drunk patrolmen crammed together like sardines in a tin in the booth adjacent to yours throwing glances at Leah already.

“They’re looking at you too, you know,” she said in a matter of fact tone, lightly clinking the rim of her glass to yours before taking a drink.

“Well, they’re wasting their time,” you mumbled as you lifted your glass to your lips and took a careful sip of the bold amber liquid. It burned, making you cough and sputter violently. “Nope, I can’t do this. Here,” you shook your head and shoved your glass towards her before standing up. “I’ll be right back, I’m going back to the bar to ask Seth for a glass of water or something.”

Cutting across the dance floor, you were quick but careful not to bump into anyone as you made your way back to the counter.

“Back for another already?” Seth asked, chuckling as he took the bar towel in his hands and draped it over his shoulder. “I really didn’t take you for much of a drinker.”

Smiling sheepishly, you admitted, “I’m not.”

“Ah, I see now.” He nodded in understanding. “I’ve got fresh squeezed lemonade?”

You grinned. “Lemonade sounds really good, actually.”

“Coming right up.”

As you stood there waiting, you leaned against the counter and glanced over your shoulder, your eyes subtly scanning the room for Joel. There were way too many people—more than half the town turned out for Tommy Miller’s birthday and the bar had to be well over its maximum capacity. Exhaling a tiny sigh of defeat, you grabbed the glass of lemonade Seth set in front of you, kindly thanking him for it. Whirling around on the heel of your boot, you froze for a second realizing someone had been standing behind you waiting for you to move, so close you’d nearly crashed right into his broad chest.

“Oh, m’sorry about th—”

The man you’d almost ran into began apologizing, but then abruptly stopped short, his familiar, dark brown eyes widening in complete and utter shock.

“Hi Joel,” you breathed, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of him.

Joel hadn’t necessarily dressed up for tonight, but he wore a much nicer shirt than his usual denim or plaid—instead, he’d gone with a long sleeve brown corduroy button up. The material fit snug over the broad planes of his chest and his shoulders. If that alone wasn’t enough to make your knees go weak, then the way he’d left the top two buttons undone would finish the job.

“What are you doin’ here?”

“Maria extended the invitation to us,” you said in a small, shy voice—you didn’t quite know how to act with Joel with so many people around. Part of you worried people would notice and start talking. The other part of you couldn’t care less if they did. You feared your father finding out, and yet at the same time, you were ready for him to know that you had a man in your life, a man that you were certain you were slowly but surely starting to fall for more and more with every passing moment. “She invited us all, but it’s just me and Leah here tonight.”

Joel’s gaze swept over you, his throat going dry as sandpaper. “You look real different,” he said, doing his best not to let it linger too long.

Nervously, you asked, “Good different or bad different?”

“Good different.” He’d murmured it so quietly, you almost didn’t catch it over the music. “You look so fuckin’ beautiful.”

A bashful little smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “Thank you.”

Before another word could be exchanged between you and Joel, a stunning woman with short brown hair, intense eyes, and slender, mile-long legs only further accentuated by her tight denim skirt came up beside him. She slipped her arm through Joel’s and shot him a perplexed look.

“Joel? What’s taking so long with those drinks?”

The color instantly drained from Joel’s face.

Simultaneously, your heart dropped, deep into the pit of your churning stomach.

The woman’s eyes flickered over to you.

“Wait, you’re one of John’s daughters, aren’t you? Wow, I almost didn’t recognize you,” she said with a kind smile. “I don’t think we’ve ever officially met each other since I got to Jackson, but I’m Esther. I work in the commune’s infirmary. You work over in the schoolhouse, don’t you?”

“I do.” You offered her a small smile in return, hoping that it didn’t look as forced as it felt.

Joel tried meeting your gaze, but you refused.

“You must teach Ellie’s class, then,” she stated, an unmistakable hint of relief in her tone.

Because what other reason could Joel Miller have to be talking to you of all people at this party?

“Yeah, that’s it. I teach Ellie’s class.” Gripping your glass so tightly in your hand you were worried that it would shatter, you cleared your throat and in the most polite voice you could possibly muster under the circumstances, you said, “I should probably be getting back to my sister. It was very nice meeting you, Esther.”

Without even bothering to wait for her to respond, you stepped around Joel and quickly hurried back to yours and Leah’s booth. You slid into it, fighting back the tears that were threatening to spill over.

Leah frowned. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

Afraid you would crumble if you spoke, all that you could do was nod over towards the bar where Joel and Esther were waiting for their drinks. She had a hand on his back, rubbing affectionate circles into it as she lightly rested her head on his shoulder.

“Fucking asshole!” She hissed, angrily. “I ought to go up there and give him a piece of my mind—”

You cut her off, sounding miserable.

“For what, Leah? For being with someone who is a lot closer to his age than I am? Someone who isn’t a strict preacher’s daughter?” Your voice broke off slightly and you paused to recollect yourself. “Why did I ever think someone like him could ever—God, I’m so stupid. I’m so, so stupid.”

You dropped your head into your hands. You knew you couldn’t completely blame yourself, after all, it wasn’t like you had made up all those nights you’d spent with Joel in his arms or just imagined all the things he had said to you.

Still. It didn’t make you feel any less foolish, like an incredibly naive, dumb little girl who hadn’t known any better.

“Good evening, ladies.”

Pulling your face out of your hands, you looked up, your gaze meeting that of a handsome young man with blond hair and deep blue eyes. Offering you a polite smile, he extended his hand.

“I hate to see such a pretty girl look so down. How about a dance or two to cheer you right up?”

Glancing over at the bar, you could see Joel’s eyes were now fixed intently on you as Esther chatted with one of the female bartenders behind the counter.

You didn’t even hesitate.

Turning back to him, you accepted his hand. “I would absolutely love to dance with you.”

He knew what you were doing.

Oh, he knew exactly what you were fucking doing.

And it was working like a goddamn charm.

Joel leaned back into his chair and kept a cool and calm, collected demeanor on the outside—despite feeling anything but on the inside.

Jealously bubbled in the veins underneath his skin as he watched Nathan, a young man who couldn’t be much older this his late twenties, reach for your hands, placing them on his shoulders. Joel inhaled a sharp breath at the sight of the patrolman taking your waist, pulling your body flush against his own as he led you in what had to be your third or fourth dance of the evening, this one slower than the rest of them as the band struck up a romantic ballad.

He wrapped his fingers around his glass, holding it in an iron grip as Nathan held you even closer, way too fucking close for his liking. Joel had half a mind to walk out onto the dance floor and rip you out of his arms. It would cause a scene though, and that was the last thing he wanted to do at his own brother’s birthday party.

And then there was you.

You weren’t making things any easier for him. Your arms wrapped around the man’s back, fingers lost in the tufts of hair at the nape of his neck—smiling up at him with a flirty little glimmer in your eyes. If Joel didn’t know any fucking better, he’d think you were actually enjoying yourself with Nathan. But it didn’t matter whether or not it was just an act, you being in the arms of another man bothered him.

It fucking bothered him.

“Don’t go rearrangin’ that kid’s face too.” Tommy’s voice came from beside him. Maria had gone back to the house to check up on Noah—Ellie offered to watch him for the night despite never having been around an infant before in her life. Being the worry wart mother that she was, Maria decided to swing by and see how the teenager was faring alone with a five and a half month old. Esther, who had finally grown sick and tired of being brushed off by Joel all evening, decided to go with her, leaving the two brothers alone.

Joel turned to look at him.

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout,” he replied with a shrug. He lifted his glass to his lips, draining the rest of his bourbon in one gulp.

“Spare me the bullshit, Joel. You’ve been watchin’ those two like a fuckin’ hawk all night long. Wanna tell me what’s goin’ on between you and the girl?”

“Nothin’s goin’ on between us.”

Tommy snorted. “Then why do you look like you’re just about ready to go over there and knock Nate’s fuckin’ head off his shoulders?”

“Just makin’ sure he don’t step outta line with her, that’s all. After what happened with Kent—”

“Whose nose you fuckin’ shattered with your fist,” Tommy interjected. “It ain’t ever gonna heal right. Hope y’know that.”

Joel narrowed his eyes. “He’s lucky I didn’t fuckin’ kill him after what he tried to do to her, Tommy.”

“Look, I ain’t sayin’ Kent didn’t deserve it, but that ain’t the way we handle things around here.”

Joel rolled his eyes.

“You and Maria gave me this lecture already.”

“I know, but a reminder don’t hurt.” Tommy traced a circle around the rim of his glass. “I ain’t stupid. I know that somethin’s been goin’ between you and that girl. And whatever it is—it needs to stop, Joel. It’s bad enough that she’s half your fuckin’ age but she’s also one of the preacher’s daughters. When I told you it was best to keep your distance from his girls, I said it for good fuckin’ reason, brother.” For the sake of not stirring up an argument at his own party, Tommy decided to leave it at that. He stood from the table and picked up his empty glass. “M’gonna go get a refill. Can I get you one too?”

“No thanks,” Joel mumbled, a slight bitter edge to his tone.

“Hey.” Tommy lightly clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m just tryin’ to look out for you, Joel. Alright?”

When Joel didn’t respond, Tommy shook his head, dropped his hand from his shoulder, and made his way across the bar over towards the counter.

Shoving his brother’s warning out of mind without giving so much as a second thought, Joel glanced over towards the dance floor once again. The song had just ended and the band announced that they were going to take a brief five before their next set started. Setting his glass down, Joel watched your every move, and more importantly, Nathan’s every move.

Standing on the tips of your toes, you’d whispered something into his ear with a small grin before you planted a kiss on his cheek. Then, you spun on the heel of your boot and started off towards the bathrooms located at the back of the bar.

Trying to be as subtle as possible, Joel stood from the table and followed suit. He caught up to you in the short, dimly lit hallway and once he saw that the coast was clear, he grabbed your arm with one hand and covered your mouth with the other hand to muffle the sound of your scream. “S’just me!” Joel hissed into your ear, pushing you through the nearest door—the bar’s supply closet. Once inside the tiny room, he locked the door, flipped the light switch, and turned to face you.

You stood there absolutely seething.

“Joel, what is the matter with you?” you spat angrily at him. “You almost gave me a heart attack just now! What’s your problem?”

“Could ask you the same fuckin’ question,” he shot back, though he kept his voice low, calm.

For as mad as he was, he didn’t want to raise his voice at you.

“Let me out.” You started towards the door, but he was quick to block it. “Joel, let me out right now.”

“Not ‘til you explain to me what you were doin’ out there dancin’ with that little prick all fuckin’ night long.”

Lifting your chin, you feigned innocence. “Oh, you saw us?”

Joel glared at you. “Don’t you play dumb with me, little dove.”

The sweet nickname that once put a smile on your face suddenly made you feel sick to your stomach.

“First of all, don’t call me that, okay?” There was a slight, trembling edge to your tone. “And second, I honestly could have sworn that you were too busy with your girlfriend to even notice me and Nathan—oh, and speaking of Nate, he’s out there waiting for me to come back from the bathroom right now, so if you wouldn’t mind stepping side so I can leave, I would greatly appreciate it.”

Joel didn’t budge. “Listen, you got the wrong idea about Esther, darlin’ girl. The wrong fuckin’ idea.”

“Do you honestly think I’m stupid or something?”

“Just wait a second, let me expl—”

You cut him off with a scoff.

“You know, you really had me fooled, Joel. I fell for it, I fell for all of it. Do you even realize I was willing to leave my family for you?” You curled your hands into tiny fists at your sides. “Everything that I have ever known and built my entire life around, I would have walked away from it all just to be with you.”

He let out a loud, frustrated sigh.

“Christ, can you just let me fuckin’ explain?”

Crossing your arms over your chest, your gaze fell, dropping to the floor as you gave him a chance to speak.

“Esther, she ain’t my girlfriend.” He paused briefly, then added, “but I ain’t gonna lie to you either, sweet girl. She’s someone that I used to—”

Joel paused once again, trying to think of the best way to phrase it, but you beat him to it.

“Sleep with?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, his shoulders sagging. “But it didn’t mean a goddamn thing. Tommy and Maria introduced us months ago. He wanted me to meet somebody I could settle down and build my new life with here in Jackson. Nothin’ came out of it except for a few months of meaningless sex.”

“Joel, I don’t want to hear about you screwing her. Please, just let me out,” you pleaded, trying for the door once more.

“Baby, stop.” Grabbing your shoulders firmly, Joel walked you backwards and pinned you against the wall. “Look at me.”

“No,” you mumbled, refusing to meet his gaze just like you had earlier that night back out in the bar.

“Look at me.”

Finally, you brought your eyes up to meet his.

“When I started seein’ you, I put an end to it. Told Esther I couldn’t keep on doin’ what we were doin’ and it had to stop,” Joel explained. “But she hasn’t been able to accept I want nothin’ to do with her. She’s fuckin’ been all over me tonight and I let her for the sake of not causin’ tension at the party. She’s my sister-in-law’s best friend and last thing I fuckin’ wanted was for Esther to go cryin’ to Maria about me again. But then I saw you here and—” He trailed off.

“And what?”

Joel dropped his hands from your shoulders. “And I stopped carin’ about anythin’ else but you, darlin’ girl. Nothin’ else fuckin’ mattered to me but you.”

“Why should I believe you?”

He stepped back, lightly shaking his head.

“‘Cause I think I’m fallin’ for you, little dove.”

Joel wasn’t just making the confession to you.

He was making it to himself.

Your breath hitched in your throat and you grasped at the wall behind you, your fingernails scraping at the old, chipped paint.

“It’s the reason why I haven’t—m’afraid if we take the next step, it’s gonna ruin things, y’know?I don’t wanna lose what I’ve got with you. I wouldn’t be able to handle losin’ you.”

Somehow, you managed to find your voice. “Joel, I can promise you, you’re not going to lose me.” You stepped forward, delicately placing both hands on his chest. Even through the thick fabric of his shirt you could still feel his heartbeat thumping against the palm of your hand. Hard. Fast, almost too fast. “You couldn’t lose me. It’s just not possible.”

His own voice was just above a whisper.

“Why’s that?”

“Because I’m falling for you too.”

Tilting your head up, you stood on the toes of your boots and brushed your lips against his softly. Joel slipped his arms around your waist and he whirled you around, pinning you between himself and the door. His tongue swept roughly along your lower lip before coaxing its way into your mouth without any kind of resistance on your part. He reached up and cupped the back of your neck in his palm.

“Joel,” you whimpered his name into his mouth as your back arched off the door, demanding more of his touch.

Breathless, Joel pulled his mouth away from yours eliciting a desperate, frustrated moan from you.

“No, please don’t stop,” you whined, pressing your chest into his. “Please.”

“That little stunt you pulled out there,” he said, his lips ghosting yours, “I ain’t all too happy ‘bout it. I hope y’know that.” Although he was teasing you, there was a seriousness to it. “Tried to make me jealous, didn’t you, babygirl? Well, it fuckin’ worked. Got me all riled up.”

“I’m sorry about that.” Accompanying the apology with a sweet, innocent bat of your eyes, you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and dragged a hand slowly down the length of his chest. “Let me make it up to you?”

“And how’re you gonna do that, little dove?” Joel’s voice grew hoarse as he felt your hand going lower and lower, over his stomach and down towards his belt buckle.

Fingers brushing over the brass, you smirked, “I’m sure I can think of something.”

Joel bit back a groan, feeling the blood rush to his cock. Before he could say anything, you pressed a feather-soft kiss into his neck, your hand cupping him through his jeans. “Fuck,” he hissed the curse through gritted teeth. He planted his hands on the door behind you on either side of your head as his knees buckled slightly.

“Let me show you how sorry I am,” you cooed into his warm, flushed skin. Just as you started sinking to your knees, he stopped you.

“Wait. Not here. Ain’t putting you on your knees in some dirty fuckin’ supply closet next to mops and brooms,” he gruffed. “M’gonna take you home to my place.”

You frowned. “But what about—”

“Kid’s at Tommy and Maria’s babysittin’ Noah. Ain’t comin’ back ‘til tomorrow. Besides, she’s livin’ in the garage now.” He unlocked the door and took your hand. “C’mon.”

You glanced up at him with wide eyes as he pulled you out of the closet. “People are going to see—”

“Exactly. Want everyone to see you’re mine.”

Swallowing harshly, you let Joel lead you back out to the bar where the party was still in full swing.

You felt the heat prickling at your face and neck as several people stopped in the middle of what they were doing and began to whisper. Even Leah, who had been dancing, stopped mid-shimmy, her eyes wide with shock at the sight of Joel Miller openly holding your hand in his.

“Joel,” you murmured nervously from behind him. “Joel, everyone’s staring at us.”

He held your hand even tighter.

Let them.

#fic: fall into temptation #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller series #joel miller self insert #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction

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mothdruid · 7 months

Text

Sing the Body

pairing: robert ‘bob’ floyd x afab!reader

summary: the idea didn't seem that hard, him eating you out while you read him poetry. what you didn't realize was he meant I Sing the Body Electric by Walt Whitman. now your professor was between your legs as you tried to read nine long verses of the most intimate poetry.

wc: 3.9k

warnings: 18+, smut, mdni, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, hand job, pet name (dove), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, bob fucks.

a/n: finally, more poetry professor bob.

“And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul.”

The last word ended with a moan, the sound filling the space around you. It egged Bob on, pushed him to lick a stripe up your slit. Tongue tracing every part it could, swirling and flicking against your clit while keeping you tightly to him. Strong arms were wrapped around your thighs to hold you in place. His glasses were slightly askew as he watched you from below. He was currently on his knees worshiping you while you sat on the edge of his desk.

“Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves?” Your mind was swimming, eyes struggling to figure out the words on the page.

The pleasure was so much, making it too hard to focus. But you had to, if not he wouldn’t let you come and send you away with the promise to not touch you for a week. That was your punishment, his as well. This little game of cat and mouse was becoming more exciting the longer it lasted. The cat had finally trapped the mouse, but he had always loved playing with his food before consuming it.

“And if those who defile the living are as bad as they who defile the dead? And if the body does not do fully as much as the soul? And if the body were not the soul, what is the soul?” You let the book rest against your chest. Shaky breaths passed your lips as you watched Bob give one earnest lick to your clit before pulling back to place a kiss on your thigh.

“So good for me, dove,” he whispered, then nipping at your skin lightly, “got through that verse with no problem.”

You nodded then picked the book back up when he motioned to it. He pressed a kiss to your thigh right before you started verse two. His tongue traced down the inside of your thigh back to your aching cunt, licking a big stripe from your entrance to your clit. A shiver ran through you as he started back up again, pleasure flaring up again.

“The love of the body of man or woman balks account, the body itself balks account, That of the male is perfect, and that of the female is perfect.” A gasp escaped your lips as Bob sucked harshly on your clit at the last word. Your abdomen clenched tightly, but you kept up with the words. “The expression of the face balks account, But the expression of a well-made man appears not only in his face, It is in his limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the joints of his hips and wrists, It is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the flex of his waist and knees, dress does not hide him.”

A shudder ran through you as he flicked fervently against your clit. Your hand that was planted on the desk to balance you moved to his hair. Your fingers threaded through his soft locks as your body curled forward. A tightness was forming along your shoulder blades. Your eyes were shut tight, your hand holding the book had a similarly tight grip on the book. When you finally opened your eyes and looked down you were stunned. Bob’s head was tilted back slightly, mouth open with his tongue hanging out and still working against you.

Silent noises were coming from you, your facial expressions being the only telling sign of them. Seeing Bob like that was mind numbing, making you wonder how you were going to get through the rest of the poem. Your abdomen already felt impossibly tight, how could you handle eight more verses. You let your fingers loosen from his hair, moving back to your original position but laying on your back this time. This was going to be the easiest way to focus, or at least the easiest to focus on the words you were supposed to be reading.

“The strong sweet quality he has strikes through the cotton and broadcloth, To see him pass conveys as much as the best poem, perhaps more,” a shock of pleasure ran up your spine, making it bow lightly, “You linger to see his back, and the back of his neck and shoulder-side.”

“The sprawl and fulness of babes, the bosoms and heads of women, the folds of their dress, their style as we pass in the street, the contour of their shape downwards,” Bob started sucking a little harshly. You felt one of his hands disappear from your thighs, only to reappear between your legs. He replaced his mouth with his fingers momentarily as you continued, “The swimmer naked in the swimming-bath, seen as he swims through the transparent green-shine, or lies with his face up and rolls silently to and fro in the heave of the water.”

“The bending forward and backward of rowers in row-boats, the horseman in his saddle, Girls, mothers, house-keepers, in all their performances,” Bob said the next two lines from memory, watching as you peaked down at him.

“God, you’re impeccable,” Bob whispered into where your inner thigh met your pubic bone. With that he was diving back into you, tongue licking slowly at your clit. This time his fingers wandered lower, one circling your entrance.

“The group, group of laborers,” you couldn’t help your sudden stutter as Bob sunk one finger inside of you, “seated at noon-time with, with their open dinner-kettles, and their wives waiting, The female soothing a child, the far-farmer’s daughter in the garden or cow-yard, The young fellow hoeing corn, the sleigh-driver driving his six horses through the crowd.” You had to pause, you knew that if you kept going you were going to come. You had to take a minute to compose yourself.

Bob hadn’t said anything about entering you, fingers or cock. He had only said he wanted to eat you like a starved man. Someone who hadn’t felt a touch for years. A man who merely dreamt of the day he could worship you again. Provide all the pleasures of the world to you, letting you know he would never leave you again. Conveying that the yearning within him was real, and so much more than that.

“The wrestle of wrestlers, two apprentice-boys, quite grown, lusty, good-natured, native-born, out on the vacant lot at sun-down after work,” one of his fingers pressed into you, eliciting a moan from you in between lines. “The coats and caps thrown down, the embrace of love and resistance, The upper-hold and under-hold, the hair rumpled over and blinding the eyes.”

During the last sentence Bob brought his free hand up to your side. A soft squeeze that reminded you that even though he was deep between your legs, enjoying every sound you had to give him, he was still here for you and all you had to do was say if it was too much. Even though you were starting to question if you could get through all nine verses of the poem, you were more than determined to give him what you wanted. That sweet, sweet man who has risked everything for you. The least you could give him was to comply with the idea of reading to him while he pleasured you.

“The march of firemen in their own costumes, the play of masculine muscle through clean-setting trowsers and waist-straps,” your breath hitched in your throat as his fingers worked you open, tongue working tirelessly against your clit. “The slow return from the fire, the pause when the bell strikes suddenly again, and the listening on the alert.”

The combination of his fingers pressing against the bundle of nerves inside of you and tongue working over that outer bundle of nerves was pushing you closer to the edge. The flame that was licking at the inside of your abdomen, causing everything to clench up, was hard to stave off. You felt like you’d be consumed by the flame at any moment, it bursting into a full blaze of flames.

“The natural, perfect, varied attitudes, the bent head, the curv’d neck and the counting,” you moved up onto your elbow, letting the book rest onto your chest once more. The urge to look at the way your professor was currently on his knees for you was too strong. It was demanding your attention, as if he himself was forcing you to watch. Your voice was weak and unbalanced when speaking once more. “Such, such-like I love—I loosen myself, pass freely, am at the mother’s breast with the little child.” Moans and sighs punctuated between the words, Bob’s fingers slowly moved inside of you, curling up and pressing against the bundle of nerves again.

“Swim with the swimmers, wrestle with wrestlers, march in line with the firemen, and pause, listen, count.” Bob finished for you, having noticed it was getting harder for you to continue. “You’re doing so well,” Bob whispered as his slick and spit-covered lips pressed onto your thigh.

“Thank you,” you said, watching his eyebrow quirk up. Fuck. “Thank you, Professor Floyd.”

A groan fell from his lips when he heard the title. It should not have made his dick twitch as much as it did, the intense throb driving him nearly mad. The only thing holding his sanity together was the sweet noises you were making, but it felt as if you were also pushing him further into his madness. He knew from the moment this arrangement happened he would be fucked. Literally and metaphorically. It was so wrong, but it felt so fucking good. Who knew that breaking the rules could feel this good?

“I’m not sure if I can finish,” you whimpered, “it’s getting to be too, too much.”

Bob inched up your body, pressing kisses up your clothed upper half. He had thought about begging to completely undress you, but he knew it could be too risky. Yes, it was a Friday night and nobody would be walking near his tucked away office, but the risk was still there. Hestood and leaned up over you, pressed his slick covered lips against yours, and elicited a moan from you. His own clothed chest was barely grazing the binding of the book resting on yours.

“You can, little dove, I know you can,” he pressed his forehead to yours then brought his free hand to your face. Knuckles softly ghosted over your cheek and jaw. He could tell from the way you were squeezing around his fingers that you were close, had been for awhile. It must have been hard to hold back for so long. He pressed his thumb to your sensitive clit, rubbing rhythmic circles against you.

“Help.” It was the only word you could get out. You hadn’t planned on asking for help when this started. Bob had offered it, but your pride had got the best of you. But now it seemed like the only way to complete all nine verses of the poem.

“Help?” The thumb on your clit stopped. Bob held back a deep groan, his cock twitching in his pants. You were asking him for help, the thing you had so vehemently denied at the beginning. Both of his hands cupped your face, slick covered fingers wet against your cheek.

“Please,” the whimper wasn’t intentional, but you knew it’d make him break.

“Of course,” he grabbed your jaw and tilted it up, forcing your lips to meet his. “Can I fill you up?”

A moan escaped you, his words fueling the bonfire deep within your abdomen. The thought of his cock filling you to the brim while reciting a poem so intimate. If someone had told you that this, your poetry professor asking to put his cock in you, would happen to you, you would have laughed. The very idea was something out of a book, but yet here you were, actually experiencing it.

“Yes,” you wrapped one arm around his shoulders to pull him closer.

Your lips smashed together once more, moaning at the taste of your slick on his tongue again. He removed the book from your chest, throwing it somewhere behind you on the desk. The warmth of his touch was then cascading down your sides, giving an occasional squeeze to your covered flesh. They ghosted over the skin of your uncovered hips, only to trail up your outer thighs, then down the backs of them. When the kiss broke, you looked down to watch his hands move from your thighs to his slacks. Bob’s eyes were trained to your face, watching you watch his hands. His fingers worked diligently to undo his slacks, pushing those and his boxers down just enough to reveal his cock.

You would never get tired of seeing his cock. It was gorgeous, pretty even. The way it felt inside of you, pulsing and stretching, always had you coming so quickly. You shifted your weight slightly, moving the arm holding you up down to grab his cock. A muffled groan graced your ears, which urged you to stroke his cock a little more.

“I knew a man, a common farmer, the father of five sons, And in them the fathers of sons, and in them the fathers of sons,” Bob started the poem again, trying to not lose the objective of this rendezvous.

“This man was of wonderful vigor, calmness, beauty of person.” It was easier to recite now that you weren’t the one having your mind completely clouded with pleasure. “The shape of his head, the pale yellow and white of his hair and beard, the immeasurable meaning of his black eyes, the richness and breadth of his manners.” Your strokes started to quicken, a part of you wanting to make him struggle the way you had earlier.

“These I used to go and visit him to see, he was wise also,” Bob’s hands gripped your hips as he pressed his forehead to yours. “He was six feet tall, he was over eighty years old, his sons were massive, clean, bearded, tan-faced, handsome,” his voice was starting to waver slightly, taking more time for each section he recited.

“They and his daughters loved him,” you slowed your strokes and spoke precisely, “all who saw him loved him, They did not love him by allowance, they loved him with personal love,” you squeezed your hand lightly around the head of his cock, a gasp passing Bob’s lips. “He drank water only, the blood show’d like scarlet through the clear-brown skin of his face,” your gaze locked with Bob’s, his glasses still askew. “He was a frequent gunner and fisher, he sail’d his boat himself, he had a fine one presented to him by a ship-joiner, he had fowling-pieces presented to him by men that loved him.”

“When he went with his five sons and many grand-sons to hunt or fish,” he slowly started to thrust into your hand, “you would pick him out as the most beautiful and vigorous of the gang.”

“You would wish long and long to be with him, you would wish to sit by him in the boat that you and he might touch each other.”

With the last line you loosened your hand from his cock. A shuddering breath left him, giving you a surge of confidence. You pressed your lips to his neck, running your tongue along his salty skin. As you paid attention to his neck and ran your fingers up through his hair, he was adjusting you on his desk. His grip was firm on your hips, scooting you a tiny bit closer to the edge. It suddenly felt like your ass was hanging off of the desk, making you pull back in concern.

“I have you, don’t worry,” Bob whispered.

One of his hands left your hips, moving to grip the base of his cock. He adjusted between your legs, assuming a tall and stable stature. The head of his cock pushed through your folds and rubbed against your clit. Moans were lightly falling from your lips, whines accenting them every now and then.

“I have perceiv’d that to be with those I like is enough,” Bob was the one to start the next verse. “To stop in company with the rest at evening is enough,” a groan escaped him briefly, “To be surrounded by beautiful, curious, breathing, laughing flesh is enough.”

On the last word you felt him against your entrance, teasing you. Those sea blue eyes locked with yours, telling you everything that you needed to know.

“To pass among them or touch any one, or rest my arm ever so lightly round his or her neck for a moment, what is this then? I do not ask any more delight, I swim in it as in a sea.”

The gaze never broke as he started to press into you. The stretch of his cock felt amazing, pushing almost all the air from your lungs. No matter how many times he had fucked you, you would never fully get used to his size, his girth.

“There is something in staying close to men and women and looking on them, and in the contact and odor of them, that pleases the soul well.”

The words of the poem were becoming more and more real. It felt as if the poem was describing the two of you currently, encapsulating the essence of your sensations and pleasures. That flame that had been consuming you, engulfing the both of you. You went to continue, say the last line, but Bob was finishing it for you with a single deep thrust into you.

“All things please the soul, but these please the soul well.”

A shudder of pleasure rushed through you as he continued into the next verse.

“This is the female form,” one of his hands traced up your side, “A divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot, It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction.” He refused to move within you, cock stuffed deep as he spoke. “I am drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor, all falls aside but myself and it,” he leaned forward, lips close to your ear now.

“Books, art, religion, time, the visible and solid earth,” his voice was barely a whisper, “and what was expected of heaven or fear’d of hell, are now consumed.”

His lips ghosted over the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. Your body flexed around him, feeling the hard length filling you. Hot breath coated your ear, a soft groan flooded your hearing. His groan made you clench around him again, holding him like a vice. Bob’s left hand moved up your body, gripped your jaw, and turned your face to look at him. There was this feral look in his eyes, one you didn’t see that often from him. You could only recall two other times you had seen it. His lips parted, tongue darting over them.

“Mad filaments, ungovernable shoots play out of it, the response likewise ungovernable,” his eyes darted to your lips, only to flick back up to your eyes. His right hand started to move over your body, kneading at the flesh of your torso and thighs. “Hair, bosom, hips, bend of legs, negligent falling hands all diffused, mine too diffused.”

The words were being spoken into you, giving you a new meaning to life. A new meaning of intimacy. Fingertips were digging into the bare flesh of your thighs, pressing your leg tightly to his side. His hips were pressed just as tightly to yours. The opening of his pants were most likely going to leave an imprint on your ass, but you didn’t care. Almost even looked forward to it.

“Ebb stung by the flow and flow stung by the ebb, love-flesh swelling and deliciously aching,” he shifted his hips slightly, pressing harder against you. “Limitless limpid jets of love hot and enormous, quivering jelly of love,” his hand left your thigh and moved to the apex of your legs, “white-blow and delirious juice,” his fingers moved to the spot where you two were joined.

A moan left you when you felt it, his fingers touching your stretched hole. You could feel his fingers gather some of your slick, using it to rub your clit. You clenched around him, the tightness in your abdomen returned quickly. All you could do was stare into his eyes, his gaze unwavering.

“Bridegroom night of love working surely and softly into the prostrate dawn,” he was drawing perfect circles on your clit, “Undulating into the willing and yielding day, Lost in the cleave of the clasping and sweet-flesh’d day.”

Fire was coursing through your veins, pleasure licking at all of your insides. The circling of his fingers and stretch of his cock was getting to be too much. It was all becoming too much, the way his words were mixing with his movements.

“Professor,” it came out as a whimper, “I can’t.”

“It’s okay, I know,” he reassured. He knew you were close, could feel it by the way your cunt was gripping his cock.

“But I we agreed tha-”

“Don’t worry, dove, I want to feel it, feel you let go.”

He pressed his forehead to yours, reassuring you that it was okay. Bob knew there was a chance that neither of you would be able to complete the task at hand. Even though he had placed a consequence in place, he knew deep in his heart he could never follow through with it. The way you were clawing at him, clutching onto every aspect of him, it was driving him mad like it always did. Ever since your first time together he knew he was a goner.

The tightness in your abdomen snapped quickly, a flame licking at all your organs while pleasure was coursing through you. You curled in on Bob while you came, clutching him as if your life depended on it. While you were coming Bob started moving, thrusting lightly into you to keep your orgasm moving through you. Both of his hands landed on your hips, gripping them tightly. The noises coming from you were spurring Bob on, wanting to keep your orgasm going. His thrusts were becoming stronger and harder. That’s when you felt it, again.

“Oh, fuck!”

It felt like another orgasm hit you, making your legs quake against Bob’s sides. Bob’s movements stilled, balls deep inside of you. A shudder passed through his body, one that felt almost like your own. A warmth filled you up, his cum covering your insides. Bob moved his head to your shoulder, trying to catch his breath as you both started to come down. You brought one of your hands up to the nape of his neck, fingertips brushing and playing with the outgrown ends of his hair.

There was a small guilty feeling starting to creep up inside of you. You had started this with a large ego, boasting about how easy it would have been. But now here you were slumped against him, out of breath with a blank mind. All you could do was touch his hair and try to get your breath synced with his. You thought about the punishment that was now to come.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into his hair.

Bob pulled back from your shoulder. He pressed a kiss to your cheek before speaking.

“Don’t be, we can try again another time,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

Excitement filled you. The thought of hearing all these words again, him reminding you of the way you made him feel. A smile pulled at your lips as you thought about it more. God, you were truly smitten for your professor.

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