🌵🔮

It’s shortly after 11 pm and you’re having a little snack in the kitchen, watching videos on YouTube. Your EarPods are in so you miss your stepdad returning home. Noticing some movement in your peripheral vision you turn your head and see Joel pouring himself a glass of water at the sink. He’s looking broad and tall in his favorite denim shirt and dark blue jeans and you shamelessly check him out while he’s gulping the water down.

When he turns around, you quickly look away. Your mom’s home so you expect him to go upstairs but when you glance back you see him standing by your side. He’s looking at your phone screen, hands on his hips, brows furrowed as if he’s trying to concentrate on something.

You’re blinking up at him, puzzled by his weird behavior — usually when he comes home all you get is a cold ‘hey’. The best you may hope for is a slap on your ass as he calls you a slut for wearing your tiny home shorts. When your mom’s not around, of course.

You take your EarPods out just as he asks,

“Whatcha watchin’?”

Your mouth pops open and you stare up at him speechless. Your stepdad is suddenly interested in something other than your holes! Did he hit his head at work? And then you see it — his eyes are bloodshot, his curly hair’s slightly disheveled and he’s swaying a little, standing with his feet wider apart than usual.

He’s drunk.

Your eyebrows shoot up. Joel drinks, yeah, but never a lot, usually only beer, and you can tell that he’s had some only when you taste it on his lips later. The sight of him visibly drunk now fascinates you but also weirds you out.

“Ehm.. it’s a make-up tutorial,” you reply, watching him closely. He hums and takes a chair next to you. Now you sense a distinct scent of whiskey on his breath. He places his thick forearm on the table and locks eyes with you. His gaze is warm when he says, his speech a little slurred,

“Your make-up's always pretty. You can do it professionally I reckon.”

Your jaw drops and you mumble ‘thanks’, not knowing how to react.

What’s happening?

The way he talks to you like you’re a normal person and not his ‘cock-hungry stepdaughter’ who he regularly fucks feels so strange, you avert your eyes from him, completely lost for words.

Joel quietly watches you for a few seconds before he leans closer and gets your attention, gently swiping his thumb over your shoulder.

“Listen.. if you ever need any money.. for make-up or whatever.. don’t be shy to ask, ‘k?”

Now you’re positively gawking at him. Did aliens abduct your stepdad and send this considerate version of him back?

Joel keeps surprising you.

“Hell…” he gruffs, pulling out his wallet from his jeans pocket. “Here,” he grabs your hand, puts some cash into your palm and closes it. “Buy something nice for yourself, babydoll.”

“Thanks,” you say quietly, looking at the money in your hand and barely believing that this is real.

Meanwhile Joel scoots closer to you and places his arm over the back of your chair. For a few moments neither of you speaks, he’s just watching the video with you, his hazy eyes gliding over your body from time to time. As always being close to your stepdad you feel tingling between your legs but your mother’s upstairs so, trying to distract yourself, you ask, “Went out tonight?”

“Yeah.. with a few guys,” he nods, smiling at you with his head tilted to the side.

Then Joel scratches his scruffy cheek and chuckles, “Those poor fuckers… bitchin’ about their wives all night.” He shakes his head. “Made me realize how lucky I am…” He puts his warm hand on your shoulder, gives it a light squeeze and finishes, “to have you.”

You know he’s drunk but his words make your heart flutter and your lips spread into a smile. His next statement wipes that smile off your face immediately.

“Almost told ‘em about us, can you imagine?”

Your stomach churns at the thought and you thank all Gods for stopping Joel from spilling your darkest secret.

Unaware of your momentary panic, your stepdad leans in and kisses a spot on your neck, just under your ear.

“Wanted to brag about you so damn much,” he whispers against your skin, sending chills all over your body. “How your tight pussy feels around my cock… how good you feel.”

You tremble at his touch and glance at the door, scared to be caught by your mother. Joel told you before that he’d always be careful but now, in this state, you surely can’t rely on him fully.

Without a care in the world, your stepdad slowly drags his lips up and nuzzles your cheek, mumbling,

“Every damn day I run home just to see you.”

Clutching the dollar bills in your clammy hands you slowly melt next to him, his confession filling your belly with butterflies.

Joel pecks the corner of your mouth but then he rests his forehead on your shoulder and gruffs, “Fuck, why’d I drink so much?”

He’s sitting motionless for a few moments, and hoping that he won’t fall asleep like that, you squirm in your seat and ask,

“Not feeling well?”

“A lil,” Joel replies, sitting up and getting onto his feet. He holds onto the table top for stability and then grunts, “Need to wash my face.”

You nod but when he walks out of the room, your shoulders droop. This strange version of Joel has made you feel so warm and fuzzy inside you wish he’d stay. A smile lights up your face when you remember his words, ‘lucky to have you.’

You’re staring at your phone screen, not listening to the video at all, your mind occupied by Joel and the unexpected dialogue you two have had, when your stepdad suddenly strides back into the kitchen and walks up to you.

“What…?” All you have time to say before he bends down and kisses you. You gasp right into his mouth, your hands clasping his shirt. He cups the back of your head to keep you close, his other hand begins kneading your breast over your clothes.

“Mmm…,” you mewl, scared that your mother will come in, but your stepdad’s lips make you forget about everything. They’re slowly moving against yours, his tongue swiping over your lower lip asking, begging to slide inside. You let him in happily and he licks into your mouth, leaving a taste of whiskey and Joel on your tongue. The kiss is sweet and dizzying but too short.

“I’ll come tonight, baby… when she’s asleep,” Joel whispers and pecks your lips before walking away again, swaying a little.

You go up to your room right away, turn the lights off and wait for your stepdad in your bed. Your mind plays the night on a loop - Joel’s confession, the kiss, his eyes on you full of warmth and something else you have no guts to name even in your head.

The fluttering in your belly makes your heart beat faster. You shouldn’t feel it, you mustn’t. It’s just sex. Depraved, filthy, mind blowing sex.

You fall asleep with Joel in your thoughts and dream of him hugging you close, running his big hands over your body, lightly squeezing your curves. Then his cock slowly slides into your pussy and he begins gently rocking his hips, sending it deeper with every languid thrust.

Ahhhh! With a quiet moan you open your eyes and realize that it’s really happening — your stepdad is spooning you from behind, fucking you in your sleep so gently you could have been unconscious throughout.

“Joel..,” you moan his name with the same warmth in your tone that you heard from him in the kitchen. It’s still present as he murmurs in your ear, “M’here, sweetheart.”

You turn your head, trying to see your stepdad’s face in the darkness of your room, and he uses your movement to catch your lips with his. Just like earlier today the kiss you’re sharing is nothing like you used to with him - it’s sweeter and gentler and you whimper, caged in his strong arms, taking his big cock.

Joel’s hand snakes under your top and he begins pulling and twitching your pebbled nipples, carefully so as not to hurt you. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and as you clench around Joel’s fat length, he lets out a moan. You’ve never heard such a noise from him before, it’s always grunts and groans when he claims you, feral growls of an animal tearing its prey apart. But not tonight.

“My good girl…only mine,” he whispers against your lips and you as well might be in heaven. Where’s your need to be degraded gone? You don’t know and don’t care. No time to self reflect. All you want right now is to stay in these arms forever, keep him inside like he’s a part of you. Like you were meant to be his.

Joel hugs you tight and then his hand slides down and under your pajama shorts. With his member still massaging your walls, he spreads your folds and swirls your wet clit with a tip of his calloused finger. You mewl as he starts drawing tight circles over it, nibbling on your earlobe. His voice so soft, it’s barely audible as he orders,

“Come on my cock… make this sweet pussy squeeze me..”

You nod, obedient to his wish, and let him bring you to the peak. It doesn’t take long. His bulbous tip is rubbing the soft spot inside your core in just the right way, his fingers are rhythmically moving over your puffy clit, and soon you’re coming, moaning so loudly, Joel has to cover your mouth with his palm.

“Shhh… I know, I know…daddy got you.”

He explodes right after and spills his hot cum inside your pulsating cunt. To shut his own whimpers he nuzzles the back of your head and breathes in the scent of your hair, fucking you through his and your orgasms.

When you both relax, Joel doesn’t pull out and slowly softens in your stuffed pussy, cuddling with you, his lips brushing your temple. You don’t dare to move, scared that he’ll leave you and go to her. He doesn’t though and you drift off satisfied and happy in his arms.

When you wake up the next morning, your bed is empty. The only evidence that last night wasn’t an amazing dream is Joel’s cum leaking out of your still wet pussy.

After taking a shower you hurry to the kitchen, wishing to see your stepdad there, hopefully without your mom.

To your delight you find Joel alone, leaning against the counter, sipping his coffee.

“Morning, daddy,” you chirp, running up to him, and peck his cheek.

He squints and growls,

“Shhhh! Headache’s killin’ me.”

You draw your eyebrows together and mutter a quiet ‘sorry’. He seems to be different today and you glance at him, pouring yourself a cup. He’s so hot in the morning, wearing his grey sweats and tight black t-shirt, your lower belly burns and you crave his body against yours.

Acting on your desire you walk up to him and place your hand on his shoulder, turning yourself on even more when you feel his strong muscles under your palm. Joel looks down at you with his brows furrowed, and you purr, batting your lashes at the man,

“What are you doing today? Maybe we can go to the movies together?”

He stares at you quizzically for a few moments and then chuckles,

“Did I replace your brain with my cum the last time I fucked your throat? Want us to walk around town holding hands? Let everyone know that I’m fuckin’ my stepdaughter?”

He laughs loudly at your suggestion and you pout your lips, hurt by his words. He places his mug down and mumbles under his breath, ‘Slut lost her damn mind.’

You take a step away from him and stare at the counter, your eyes welling up with tears. Of course, he’s back to being his usual self — an arrogant, mean prick. You sigh, thinking that you’re going to miss drunk Joel.

Suddenly you feel him behind you as he presses his body to yours. His arms wrap around your waist and he kisses your neck.

“We can watch a movie at home, my needy slut. Tonight, k? Just you and I?”

You don’t say anything for a few moments, hating to give in so easily, but that ‘my’ and the sensation of his big body against yours melt the ice in your heart and you whisper an ‘okey’.

“It’s a date, then,” Joel says with a smile in his voice, slaps your ass and leaves the room.

Thank you for reading! Your comments and reblogs will make my day!♥️

Stepdad Joel Masterlist || MASTERLIST

Tag list for the story: @tearsweetenedtea @mads198-9 @mydarlingjoel @quitchie @kaliisapunk28 @hhsjsbs1 @oldenoughtoknowbetterstuff @magpiepills @joelsslutt @bearbo28 @wand-erer5 @rhysuric @iloveoldman-stfu @gorzelnia-blog @kokoluwie @time-for-my-weekly-spanking @hystericalanduseless @idknananchimaybe @heartpascalispunk @maried01 @missadangel @ningaispunk

Eyes closed, your dress bunched up to your waist, your hand between your legs, small circles on your clit from above your panties, moans crowded in the back of your throat, you’re trying to be as silent as possible while you’re seeking for your pleasure, hurrying to chase some relief.

Just a little bit.

I need this.

I have to do this or else I’ll explode.

Your hand slip further down, stroking the soft fabric of your underwear, already soaked in your juices.

“Fuck” you breathe, sliding your fingers between your folds, fingertips indulging on your fluttering hole before going back up to your bundle of nerves.

Increasing the pace, ever tighter and faster circles, your body trembling and your knees weak you feel your peak running from your tummy up to your chest, your nipples hard under your blouse, your cunt throbbing and crying and screaming.

Pathetic.

Just a few glances were enough.

Just his hand over your thigh under the table, the warmth and pressure of his palm over your bare skin.

A few dirty things whispered in your ear while your husband was in the other room, probably chatting on the phone with his lover.

You waited and waited squirming on your seat until Sunday lunch was over, your husband sleepy on the couch watching the football game.

You don’t even know how you managed to tidy up and do the dishes with your clit swollen, your panties stuck to your folds, your entire body covered in goosebumps.

He’s a menace.

A menace sent straight from hell to driving you wild.

And yes, you started this so it’s primarily your fault but you never thought he could be the type to push your limits and teasing you so naughtily.

And yet, he definitely is.

You don't even hear the creak of the door opening, so lost in your pleasure that only his voice makes you jump.

“Fuck me. If this isn't the sweetest image I've seen in years then I don't know what is…” he growls.

Your eyes widen and your throat goes dry, your hand stops, uncertain and trembling above the hem of your panties.

“It wasn't very nice of you to run into my bathroom without waiting for me.”

Your voice comes out uncertain and embarrassed, your cheeks burning as you reply feebly, “I’m sorry.”

His lips curl into a smile under his mustache, his eyes dart with desire as his warm, raspy voice soothes you. “It’s okay, darling, I’m here now. Let me help you.”

Joel moves toward you, takes your wrist, and brings your hand to his lips. He rubs your trembling fingers against his lips, smearing your essence there, his tongue flicking out to lick them.

"Sweet. Always so sweet," he whispers.

You smile, feeling your whole body melt.

“I'll make you feel better, baby,” he continues, as he turns you around, your wrist still clasped in his palm, your body caught between him and the bathroom counter.

He gently lowers your hand back to its place between your legs, underneath your panties, placing his on top and moving it over your folds, making you rub your pussy against your palm.

He increases the pressure, curling his fingers over yours as they meet your clit, his body resting on yours, his erection growing against your ass cheeks - you're so close to the edge, so wet that you don't even flinch when he lets go of your hand, using his fingers to tease your opening. “How many?” Your mind is a jumble of desire and guilt, you don't know how to stop him and, above all, you don't want to. You need him. You need this.

You cling to the counter, a barely audible whisper escapes your throat: “three.” His tongue descends on your neck, licking away your sweat, his teeth closing on your tender flesh, his voice urging you on, vibrating on your skin: “A little bit louder, darling.”

You gather your last strength to answer again, “Three, please.”

"Mmm dirty baby," he growls softly "always so needy"

He slides two fingers inside, stretching you out, filling you so good as you release another moan, letting your head fall onto his shoulder, exposing your neck more to his attentions.

Intoxicating, obscene... just perfect.

"So tiny and so full… are you sure you can take another one?" he taunts you.

"Yes" you murmur, your voice broken and ragged "yes, please... I need it"

His seductive voice slips into your ears like a healing balm, soothing the warmth rising from your chest and burning your cheeks.

You're dripping, his massive body is the only thing keeping you standing, you're like melted wax, clay in his hands, malleable, shapeless, pliable.

When his ring finger enters, he puts a hand over your mouth, hushing your throaty moan. “Quiet, honey, you don't want him to hear you, do you?”

Biting down at his skin, eyes shut, your pussy adjusting to the perfect width that he feeds her, your head is foggy, your morals gone, your fire disruptive, and he's the only one who knows how to play with it.

Your pussy swallows him up to his knuckles, clenching as if it never wants to let him go.

"Just like that, baby, you're doing so good, squeezing my fingers so hard," he murmurs "He can't fuck you like I can, huh?"

He curls his fingers, touching that spongy spot, black dots dance before your eyes, beads of sweat glisten on your forehead, the wanton and lewd sound of your cunt the only thing that bounce off the walls.

"Answer me" he urges you, his hand slipping around your throat, his digits deliciously heavy over your pulse point.

"No..." you whisper "no, he can't"

"Yeah… this pretty little pussy isn't crying for him... Whose is she?" His voice is a vice that traps you, a fist that grasps your bleeding heart.

"It's yours..." your voice barely audible "all yours... please"

The thrust of his fingers inside you is relentless, his fingertips claiming your special spot over and over again.

“Please what?” He teases, lowering his hand over your tit, toying with one of your nipples, tugging and squeezing and rolling your stiffly bud between his digits.

“Need… need to c-come” you babble. Incoherent, delirious, pathetic.

“I know baby, I know. I got you. Come for me, soak my fingers”

His thumb rubbing on your clit, you snap, your stomach coils, your body tenses against his, and you come. Just like this, puppet in his hands, breaking at his command.

You bite your lower lip to stifle your moans, so hard that you taste iron.

His mouth is latched onto your neck, sucking your skin between his teeth, his tongue soothing the fire that runs through you, hic cock rock hard behind you, pressing on your lower back.

You’re falling into the void when you hear your husband’s voice calling you from stairwell.

Panic in your system, thrilling, dangerous, risky.

Neither of you stops.

Joel continues to lead you towards perdition as you try to regain some shred of sanity.

“Coming!” You yell.

As your orgasm slowly fades, you see yourself in the mirror, your hair tousled, your face sweaty, your mouth swollen, your eyes teary.

It's too much, it's always too much when it comes to Joel.

Your father-in-law. Your husband's father. The only man who knows how to make you feel this way. A whore and a rookie at the same time.

He pulls his fingers out of you and you see him in the mirror, shoving them into his mouth, carefully licking them clean, groaning at your taste.

"Honey on my tongue" he whispers, his voice husky.

He spanks you, making you jump, a smirk plastered across his face.

He grabs a towel, helping you clean yourself. You rinse your face and fix your clothes and hair before leaving the bathroom.

One last look that says, "I'll find an excuse," and you're out of there, your steps unsteady on the stairs, the desire for more still gripping your body.

tagging the people who read my FIL!Joel series or showed interest in him but absolutely no pressure: @joelmillerspnk @ivoryandflame @milla-frenchy @baronessvonglitter @sawymredfox @rosharanfiction @ess-evo @mcthsman @missadangel @lightdragonrayne @fertilise-me @afyreinjuly @akah565 @pleurspetal @jules6898 @lemon-ice-pops

The first HR meeting came one week after you and Robby stopped hiding. 

There was no big announcement, just the two of you walking into the Pitt together, brushing your shoulders, looking like two people who’d woken up in the same bed. By the shift’s end, when you left holding hands, walking toward your car, the gossip had already caught fire.

You’d both known the risks: the sideways comments, the bureaucratic headaches. But after six months of secrecy, after deciding to move in together, sneaking around like teenagers felt ridiculous.

It all went south quickly, because the next morning, the murmurs started. Not loud or outright hostile right away, just sharp enough to disrupt the rhythm of the ED. 

You were in bay 6, supervising the placement of a central line on a septic patient. The resident was doing well, she had steady hands, but every time you leaned in to give some direction, you caught the way the other residents glanced over. One of them muttering to another, low enough that it was meant to be private but wasn’t: “Of course she gets the plum procedures. Sleeping with the chief attending will do that.” Your shoulders stiffened for half a second, but you didn’t react. You were ready to face some shady comments, and you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t let it affect you. But damn it, it was hard not letting it get to you.

Later, in the break room during a rare five-minute lull, it got more direct. You were refilling your water bottle when two nurses walked in, and you managed to catch a little of their conversation before they abruptly stopped once they noticed you.

“…just think it’s unfair for the rest of the residents. He’s the chief attending. And now his little girlfriend gets all the high-acuity patients? Come on. That’s favoritism, plain and simple.”

It keeps happening throughout the day, getting worse when an intern questioned you for having two trauma 1 cases the same morning. And suddenly, the interns you were supposed to be teaching, the ones who were meant to learn from you, were doubting every single one of your orders, as if you didn’t know what you were talking about, as if you were only there because you’d slept with Robby.

"Just saying. People are talking. You get all the complex cases lately. Like that GSW yesterday? I could've handled that, but it went straight to you." One of them said.

You kept your voice professional. "The GSW went to me because I was the chief resident on shift. Now focus, you have the chance to learn, but if you want to miss it then I'll do the procedure myself."

He muttered something under his breath as he finished, but the seed was already planted in the minds of all the residents, especially those who didn’t really know Robby, who didn’t understand he would never compromise anyone’s education, no matter who he was in love with.

"She's chief resident, yeah, but come on. Sleeping with the attending? No wonder her evals are glowing. I bet her reports are padded."

"Look at her latest report. Perfect scores again. Meanwhile, the other us are struggling to get by. If that's not favoritism, I don't know what is. And assigning her the lead on that multi-trauma? Please. Someone should say something."

Dana overheard the interns talking, and slammed her tablet down. "Ladies, if you've got a problem, take it to admin. Otherwise, shut it and get back to work. We've got patients dying while you're busy gossiping."

You felt the eyes on you all afternoon, and suddenly, the place that, up until today, had felt like a second home, where you’d always moved like a fish in water, now felt like you were being slowly kicked out.

Thankfully, the people you were closest to: Mel, Santos, Whitaker, Dana, never stopped looking at you or treating you the same. They knew you, and they knew Robby. They had your back, and more importantly, they made you feel normal when everyone else made you feel like an oddity.

“You have nothing to worry about,” Mel was explaining while you both worked through charts on the computers. “The regulation isn’t specific enough when it comes to cases of fraternization between a chief attending and a chief resident. You can allege—”

“What’s up, Melancholia?” Trinity said as she approached the two of you. “Hey, Chief Slutty.” Chief Slutty, the affectionate nickname Santos had given you. “Jesus, I can’t believe people are still going on about this shit. Why do they care so much who you’re sleeping with? Every time I close my eyes I picture you and Robby going at it, and I want to rip my eyes out.”

“Some of us would like to rip our ears off when it’s three in the morning and we can’t sleep because some people are… very enthusiastic,” Whitaker added as he passed by, pushing a patient in a wheelchair. Everybody knew about Santos and Garcia, except, of course, nobody cared, since Garcia wasn’t a chief attending. Lucky them.

“Oh, deal with it, Huckleberry. You’re not even paying rent,” Santos shoot back before looking at you. “I was meaning to ask, any chance you can get your boyfriend to write me a killer recommendation later?”

“Believe me, I know what it’s like, people thinking you got here because of who you’re related to,” Victoria chirped as she stepped out of Trauma 2, pulling off her latex gloves and tossing them in the bin. “Don’t listen to them. Only you know how hard you worked for this.”

You offered her a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. Your friends did their best efforts in cheering you up, and even though Robby tried to comfort you once you were back home, you still felt uneasy.

“They’re talking,” you said quietly. “A lot. Favoritism. Unfair. Wrong. That I’m getting special treatment because we’re…”

He didn’t look up from his phone, only exhaled through his nose. “I know.”

You crossed your arms. “Doesn’t bother you?”

“It bothers me that it bothers you.” He leaned on the couch, readjusting his glasses, finally putting down his phone to look at you. “But I’ve been here long enough to know how this place works. People talk. Always have. When I got chief, half the attendings said I wasn’t ready for it. When I started pushing for better trauma protocols, they said I was power-tripping. Now it’s this.” He shrugged one shoulder. “They’ll get bored. Or they’ll get used to it. Either way, I’m not changing how I run my department because of what they say.”

You nodded slowly. “And me? They think I’m riding your coattails.”

“Well, it’s not my fault I’m extremely popular, and a damn good catch,” he said with a smirk, nudging you with his foot.

“Robby,” you started.

“Listen to me, you’re one of the best residents I’ve ever worked with. You were before we started this. You still are. Anyone who can’t see that is either blind or jealous. And if they want to question your competence because of who you’re sleeping with, that’s their problem. Not yours.”

You felt the heat flooding your face, just as much as when he’d first complimented you on our first day at work. “You really don’t care?”

“I care that it’s making your day harder.” His hand found yours, squeezing it briefly before letting go. “But I’m not sorry. I’m not going to pretend we’re not together just to make them comfortable. We’re adults. We’re professionals. We follow the rules, no sex in the hospital, no conflicts on shared cases if it comes to that. Beyond that? They can gossip all they want. Besides, it’ll be a nice change of scenery to have Gloria bugging me about something other than patient satisfaction scores,” he chuckled to himself. “Being nagged for having amazing sex with my amazing girlfriend doesn’t sound so bad.”

His bad attempt of being funny made you roll your eyes. “Stop. It’s not funny.” You playfully swatted at him. “Now I’m going to feel like every time you fuck me, it’s not because of me, but just to indirectly piss off Gloria.”

“Can’t a man do his two favorite things at the same time?” he said with a half smile right before you threw a pillow at his face.

Things got even worse by Wednesday, when you were running a chest tube on a pneumothorax patient. Robby was there, supervising, watching your technique with approval. The intern assisting you, a new guy named Mark, kept glancing between you and Robby like he was waiting for something to happen.

The tube was placed, the patient was stable, and you were securing it when Mark finally opened his mouth.

"Guess that's another perfect procedure for the chief resident," he said, just loud enough for the three of you. "Must be nice having the chief personally oversee everything. Some of us have to actually earn our stripes without a boyfriend doing us favors."

The words landed like a slap. Robby turned slowly. "Excuse me?" His voice was low, the kind that made people lean in to hear it.

Mark flushed, and he doubled down. "I just said—"

"I heard what you said." Robby stepped forward, not raising his voice, no matter how pissed he was. "You want to repeat it? Louder? So everyone can hear how little respect you have for your chief resident and the work she does?"

Mark opened his mouth, but closed it right away. Robby didn’t give him time to recover. "You're new, but you’ve been here long enough to know how this department works, Mark. You want to question a procedure? Fine. You want to question my judgment on case assignments? Go ahead. But the second you imply that she didn't earn her spot because of who she's sleeping with, you're not just talking shit about her. You're talking shit about me, about this program, and about every patient who walks through those doors expecting competent care."

Mark's face was beet red now. "I didn't mean—"

"You meant exactly what you said." Robby stepped closer. "You think favoritism got her here? Look at her numbers. Look at her complication rates. Look at the patient satisfaction scores that are higher than yours and mine combined. She's chief resident because she's the best doctor in this class. Not because I enjoy sleeping with her."

The bluntness hit you like a shockwave. Mark flinched, and you could see the heat crawling up his neck. Robby kept going. "If you can't handle the fact that two consenting adults are in a relationship, that's your problem. Not hers. Not mine. But if you ever, ever, question her competence again in my hearing, I will personally make sure you spend the rest of your rotation doing nothing but rectal exams and bed baths. And I will make sure every attending in this hospital knows exactly why."

Mark stared at the floor, swallowing hard. "I… I'm sorry."

Robby didn’t soften. "Apologize to her. Not me."

Mark finally looked at you. He looked completely miserable, like a little kid who just got scolded. "I'm sorry, Dr. That was out of line."

You nodded once. "Accepted. Go help with the MVC patients. We don't have time for this."

During the rest of the shift, you heard the echoes of Robby’s words filtering through the department:

“Did you hear what he said to Mark? Called him out right there.”

“‘I will personally make sure you spend the rest of your rotation doing rectal exams.’ Jesus.”

“He basically told the whole room he’s sleeping with her and doesn’t give a shit who knows.”

By mid-afternoon, the story has spread to every corner: trauma, the hallway beds, even the pharmacy techs are repeating variations of it. Some people sound impressed. Some sound scandalized. But apparently, everyone had an opinion. on your sex and romantic life. The ED wasn’t that different from highschool.

As the shift wound down slowly, the board got cleared, and the last critical patient got transferred to the ICU. Everyone was tired, coats already half-on, bags slung over shoulders.

But when the last update was done, Robby didn’t dismiss the group. He stayed standing, “I’ve got something to say,” he started. “And I’m only saying it once, so listen up. For the last few days, there’s been a lot of talk in this department. About me. About your chief resident. About whether she’s earned the position she’s in, the cases she runs,and the evaluations she gets. Let me be crystal clear: the answer is yes. She has. Every single time. I’ve been running the ED here for many years. I’ve watched every one of you come through these doors, some of you as interns, some as attendings. I know what competence looks like. I know what excellence looks like. And I know favoritism when I see it, because I’ve fought against it my entire career.”

He paused for a second.

“What I do not do is hand out special treatment because I’m sleeping with someone. If anything, I’ve been harder on her to make sure no one could ever question it. And still, people decided to run their mouths. To imply that her work, her outcomes, her patient care, are somehow tainted because of who she’s in a relationship with.”

A few people shifted uncomfortably. Mark was in the back, staring at the floor like he wanted it to swallow him. 

“So let me make this easy for everyone. She is the chief resident because she’s the best doctor in her class. Her numbers are the best. Her patients do better. Her families remember her name. If you have a problem with that, take it up with the data. Take it up with me. But do not question her competence again. Not in my hearing. Not in this department. We’re all tired. We’re all burned out. We’ve all seen shit in these halls that would break most people. The last thing we need is to start tearing each other down over personal lives that don’t affect patient care. If you’ve got a real concern about bias, about fairness, about anything that touches a patient, bring it to me. Bring it to Gloria, though I doubt you’d want to. Bring evidence. But if you’re just looking for something to whisper about because you’re jealous, insecure, or bored? Keep it to yourself. Or find a new place to work.”

He looked around one last time, landing his eyes on you for half a second, long enough for you to see the quiet pride there, the protectiveness, before he looked away again.

“That’s it. We’re done here.”

Robby knew he had let his emotions win in that moment. He shouldn’t have said the things he said, or at least not in the way he said them. His speech was the match that struck the fire. Because on the morning of Tuesday, you were called to the HR office.

You sat, smoothing your scrubs unconsciously, folding your hands in your lap to steady the faint tremor. 

"For the record, this meeting is being recorded for documentation purposes. Date: January 10, 2026. Time: 10:22 a.m. Present: Sarah Smith, HR Director, Finn Rivera, HR Assistant.” You shivered when she said your name next. “Chief Resident in Emergency Medicine at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center."

Sarah adjusted her glasses, opening a folder. "Dr., we're conducting an investigation due to a formal anonymous complaint regarding potential favoritism and conflicts of interest in the Emergency Department. The allegations involve your personal relationship with Dr. Robinavitch and its possible impact on departmental fairness, evaluations, and assignments. We'll go through a series of questions to gather your perspective. Please answer as fully and honestly as you can. Do you have any questions before we begin?"

You shook your head, and Finn started with the basics, looking at the tablet in his hand. "To confirm, can you describe the nature and timeline of your relationship with Dr. Robinavitch?"

You took a measured breath. "We're in a romantic relationship. It began about six months ago. We started as colleagues, and it developed naturally from there, outside of the hospital. We've always kept it professional at work."

Sarah nodded, jotting a note. "And how would you characterize the start of the relationship? Was it mutual and consensual from the outset?"

"Absolutely," you said it firmly. "It was entirely consensual. We were both single adults, and no power dynamics were abused. We talked about the potential complications early on, given our roles, and decided to proceed carefully. There was no pressure from either side."

Sarah's pen scratched across her pad. " Have there been any instances where you felt the relationship was not fully consensual or where professional boundaries were crossed?"

"No," you replied immediately. "Never. We've been very intentional about consent and boundaries. If anything, we've over-communicated to make sure neither of us feels pressured."

Sarah's tone shifted slightly, more probing. "Regarding the consensual nature, given the inherent power imbalance between an attending and a resident, have you ever felt that Dr. Robinavitch used his position to influence the relationship, even subtly? For example, implying better opportunities or evaluations in exchange for personal involvement?"

You met her gaze with security, leaving no room for argument.  "No. Never. It was consensual because we’ve always treated each other as equals outside work. No quid pro quo, no manipulation."

Finn scrolled on his tablet. "Moving to the professional side, the complaint alleges that since the relationship began, you've received preferential treatment, such as being assigned more high-profile cases, higher performance evaluations, and perhaps leniency in feedback. How do you respond to these claims?"

You leaned forward slightly. You’d worked your ass off to get where you stood now, and you’d be damned if you let anyone underestimate you, thinking you’d earned your place by sleeping with someone instead of the endless nights of study, the brutal shifts, and the hard dedication it actually took. "I respond by saying they're not accurate. My role as chief resident already involves leading on high-acuity cases, that's part of the position, assigned by the program director based on seniority and performance. I've handled tough traumas because I'm available and capable, not because of favoritism. My evaluations have been strong since my intern year, from multiple attendings, not just Dr. Robinavitch. If you compare my pre-relationship evals to now, there's consistency. In fact, he's given me more pointed feedback recently."

Sarah tilted her head. "Can you provide a specific example of a case where you believe the assignment was merit-based rather than influenced by your relationship?"

"Sure," you said. "Take the multi-car pileup two weeks ago. I was the senior resident on shift, so I took the lead on the most critical patient, a pedestrian with abdominal evisceration. Dr. Robinavitch supervised, but he didn't hand-pick me, the triage nurse assigned me based on protocol. We stabilized the patient and got them to the OR. My outcomes on that case were with minimal complications. If it were favoritism, why would he push me harder in debriefs? He doesn't let me slide, he expects more because he knows I can deliver."

The interview stretched on for nearly forty minutes more, asking you of examples of critical feedback from Robby, and instances of perceived shielding. You provided dates, patient outcomes, and even suggested they pull resident feedback surveys where you'd been rated highly by peers.

An hour later, they called Robby in. 

"Dr. Robinavitch, thank you for coming on short notice. I'm Sarah Smith, HR Director. This is my assistant, Finn Rivera. Please, take a seat."

Robby took the offered seat across from them, keeping his back straight, resting his hands loosely on the table. He wasn't here to fidget or defend himself or the relationship, he was here to state facts.

"For the record," Sarah began, her voice sounding practiced, "this meeting is being recorded for documentation purposes. Date: January 10, 2026. Time: 11:20 a.m. Present: Sarah Smith, HR Director, Finn Rivera, HR Assistant, and Dr. Michael Robinavitch, Senior Emergency Attending and Chief Attending Physician at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center."

Robby nodded once. "Understood."

Sarah adjusted her glasses, glancing at the thin folder in front of her. "Dr. Robinavitch, we're here today to discuss a formal anonymous complaint we've received regarding potential favoritism and conflicts of interest within the Emergency Department. The allegations center on your personal relationship with the current chief resident, and how it may be influencing departmental operations, including case assignments, performance evaluations, and overall fairness to other residents and staff."

Robby's expression didn't change. He'd expected this exact script. "There are no explicit rules in this hospital regarding fraternalization between chief attending and chief resident. The complains should be marked as unsubstantiated."

Sarah nodded, her tone neutral. "We're aware of that. However, following your public comments during last night's sign-out, where you addressed the department directly, additional concerns have been raised. Multiple staff members have contacted us expressing discomfort with what they perceive as a power imbalance. Some feel it creates a hostile work environment, where raising legitimate issues could lead to retaliation, based on your statements. Our role in HR is to conduct a thorough, impartial investigation to ensure compliance with hospital policies and to protect all employees."

“All of this is bullshit. This place would have more stars in Google than Disneyland if instead of concerning with what competent workers do in their personal lives,” Robby said. “They’d concern with the fact that people have to wait twelve hours just to be seen by a doctor, or with the current shortage of nur—”

“Dr. Robinavitch, I understand your frustration, but we’re here to address the nature of your relationship with your chief resident,” Sarah said, trying to calm Robby down before he launched into a full-on rant about every fucking thing that was wrong with the hospital. “If you have any other concerns, you can direct them to Dr. Underwood.”

Robby let out a laugh that lacked any real amusement. “Oh, that’d be just fantastic. Brilliant idea.”

Finn tapped his tablet, pulling up notes. "Dr. Robinavitch, could you please confirm the nature and timeline of your relationship with the Dr.?"

Robby met his eyes steadily. "We're in a romantic relationship. It started approximately six months ago. We kept it private initially, but it's become public knowledge in the last few days."

Sarah made a quick note on her pad. "And prior to this relationship, what was your professional dynamic with her?"

"She's been a resident in the program for four years. I supervised her as part of the attending rotation, same as every other resident. She was appointed chief resident last year based on her performance evaluations from the entire faculty, not just me. That decision was made before our relationship began."

"The core of the complaint alleges that your partner has received preferential treatment since the relationship began. Examples include being assigned disproportionately high-acuity cases, receiving inflated performance evaluations, and being shielded from constructive criticism that other residents face. How do you respond to these claims?"

Robby exhaled slowly, keeping his voice level. "They're unfounded. Let's break it down. First, as chief resident, she's expected to lead on high-acuity traumas, that's the role. Assignments are based on resident availability and skill level. Her complication rates are the lowest in her class, and her patient throughput is the highest. I assign her tough cases because I trust her not to screw them up, which protects patients. If other residents feel they're not getting enough exposure, they can request more rotations. No one's come to me with that until this anonymous complaint."

Finn scrolled on his tablet. "We've pulled some data on case distributions over the last six months. She  has handled 28% more level-one traumas than the average resident. Does that not suggest bias?"

"No," Robby countered. "It suggests she's reliable. Check the outcomes, her mortality rates on those cases are 15% below the department average. He patient satisfaction scores are 92% higher than the rest of residents. That's not bias, that's excellence. If I were playing favorites, I'd be assigning her the easy stuff to pad her stats. Instead, she's getting the grind because she can handle it."

Sarah tilted her head slightly. "And the evaluations? The complaint notes that your written assessments of her performance are consistently outstanding, with minimal areas for improvement noted."

"Pull the full set," Robby said. "Compare my evals of her to those from other attendings, even the surgical consultants she rotates with. They're aligned. Now compare my evals of her from before we started dating to after, there’s no change in tone or scoring. If anything, I've documented more constructive feedback post-relationship to ensure transparency. For example, in October, after a multi-vehicle crash, I noted in her report that she could improve on delegating ancillary tasks during codes to free up her focus on critical interventions. That's not 'inflated', that's fair."

"Have there been instances where you've intervened in criticism directed at her from other staff?"

"Only if it's unfounded or unprofessional," Robby replied. "Like yesterday, when a resident made a snide comment implying her skills were due to who she sleeps with rather than her merit. That's not criticism, that's sexism. I addressed it publicly last night because the gossip was spreading and affecting morale. If someone has legitimate feedback on her performance, they can bring it to me. But baseless attacks? No. That undermines the team."

Sarah's expression remained neutral, but she leaned forward. "Regarding your speech at sign-out, several witnesses described it as confrontational. You mentioned disciplinary actions, like reassigning duties, for anyone questioning her competence. Some staff feel this creates a chilling effect, where they might fear retaliation for raising concerns."

Robby tightened his jaw. "I said consequences for unfounded gossip that questions her competence based on our relationship, not for legitimate concerns. But what I've seen is whispering in hallways, second-guessing her calls in front of patients, implying she's 'sleeping her way' to success. That's not a 'concern', that's sexist bullshit. And yes, I'll shut it down hard. A hostile environment? That's what the gossip creates, for her, for me, for anyone trying to do their job without personal lives being dissected."

Finn cleared his throat. "Do you believe your relationship could compromise your objectivity in supervising her or the department as a whole?"

"I've asked myself that," Robby admitted. "Multiple times. And the answer is no. We keep boundaries. If a conflict arises, like if she were up for a promotion I directly influence, I'd recuse myself. She's in her final year, so she'll be out of residency soon anyway."

Finally, Sarah leaned back. "Thank you for your time, Dr. Robinavitch. We'll review all materials, including the data you've referenced, and follow up with recommendations. In the interim, please continue your duties as usual, but remain mindful of how perceptions can impact the work environment."

Now, Robby has his hands tight on the wheel, his knuckles going white, he’s that same controlled tension you’d seen in the ED many times before when a patient was crashing and he was the only one who could keep it together. You keep glancing at him, he was staring straight ahead, like he’s still seeing whatever went down in the HR office. 

You can’t stand the silence anymore. “Robby.” He doesn’t answer right away. Just exhales through his nose. “Talk to me,” you say, softer. “Please.”

He flicks the turn signal, and takes the exit toward home, but still doesn’t speak.

You reach over, resting your hand on his thigh. “You’ve been silent since you came back. What happened up there? What did she say to you?”

“Same they said to you, probably. I told them it’s bullshit. You’re the best resident we’ve got. Told them your numbers speak for themselves, patient satisfaction, outcomes, complication rates. Told them to pull every report I’ve written on you, before and after we started. There’s no difference. I’ve been harder on you, if anything, to avoid exactly this.”

“You’re pissed,” you say quietly. It’s clear in his tone, even if he tries to soften it for you.

“Yeah.” The word comes out rough. “I’m fucking pissed.”

You nod, letting that sit. “At the hospital? At the person who complained? At me?”

He shoots you a look, almost startled. “Not at you. Never at you.”

“Then talk to me. I can take it.”

He pulls into the driveway and kills the engine. The sudden silence is deafening, but neither of you moves to get out. Robby scrubs a hand over his face, his beard rasping against his palm. “I’ve spent years building this place. Years of fighting for better protocols, better staffing, better outcomes. I’ve taken every hit, budget cuts, admin bullshit, burnout, families screaming in my face. I’ve never once compromised patient care.”

You stay quiet, letting him go. “And now? Now someone’s trying to turn what we have into a fucking scandal. Like you didn’t earn every case you’ve run. Like your evals are fake. Like I’d risk the department, the patients, everything, just to hand you favors.” He laughs once, humorless. “I’ve had attendings question my decisions before. Residents push back. Families threatening me with lawsuits. But this? This feels… personal. Dirty. Like they’re trying to drag you down to make themselves feel better.”

You reach for his hand on the gear shift, lacing your fingers through his. His grip is tight, almost too tight, but he doesn’t pull away. “I hate that they’re making you doubt yourself,” you say softly. “Even a little.”

“I don’t doubt myself.” He turns to look at you. “I doubt them. I doubt the system that lets one anonymous asshole throw mud and force me to defend something that’s none of their goddamn business.” He exhales, and you can see how some of the tension bleeds out of his shoulders. "How'd yours go?"

"Long. They asked about everything, the timeline, how it started, if it was consensual from the beginning. Like they were checking for some hidden coercion or something."

Robby narrowed his eyes. "Consensual? They went there?"

"Yeah. I told them it was mutual, that I made the first move outside work. No pressure, no imbalance exploited. But it felt… invasive. Like they were dissecting us." Your voice cracks on the last words, and suddenly the frustration boils over with unexpected tears that prick in your eyes. You blink them back, but they come anyway, spilling over as you drop your head into your hands.

"Hey." Robby's pulling you into his chest in a second. His arms are solid, cupping the back of your head with one hand. "Hey, talk to me."

You shake your head against his shirt, but the words tumble out anyway. "I'm just… so frustrated. So fucking angry. I worked my ass off for this. Years of med school debt, rotations where I barely slept, and proving myself every single shift. I earned chief resident. I earned those cases, those evals. And now? Now it's all being discredited because we're together? Like none of it matters. It's bullshit. It hurts."

The sobs come harder now, muffled against him. He holds you tighter, rocking slightly, stroking slow circles on your back. "I know. I know. Fuck them, you know you earned this. The people who matter in the ED, Dana, Yolanda, Cassie, we all know it."

You pull back just enough to look at him with tears streaking your face. "What if they don't believe us? What if this tanks my fellowship apps? Or worse, what if it makes people think I'm not good enough? I've fought for every inch in that department. The late nights studying protocols, the extra simulations, even when I was exhausted. And now some anonymous coward gets to smear it all?"

Robby's touch is gentle as he wipes your cheeks with his thumbs. "Listen to me. You're not being discredited. Not by anyone who matters. Your work stands on its own, patients alive because of you, families grateful. Think of that family that sends you flowers and cupcakes every year after you saved their child, think of all the life’s you’ve positively impacted. The data backs how professional a doctor you are. HR will see that. And if they don't? We'll fight it. Together."

You sniff, leaning into his palm. "I just… I hate feeling like this."

"You're stronger than this shit. Better than it. And fuck anyone who tries to make you doubt that." He pulls you close again, kissing the top of your head, holding you until the sobs ease into shaky breaths. 

Eventually you pull back, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. "Sorry. I didn't mean to fall apart."

"Don't apologize." He brushes a strand of hair from your face. "You needed to let it out. Hell, I wanted to punch a wall after my meeting."

You manage a watery smile. "Yeah?"

"Yeah,” He says, pressing slow and open-mouthed kisses along your neck and cheek, making you shudder from head to toe.

The heat blooms instantly in your lower belly. Just that simple touch, the heat of his lips against your skin, is enough to set your whole body alight with arousal.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t fracture your fifth metacarpal. I wouldn’t want these hands in anything less than perfect condition.”

“Oh, I know how much you like these hands,” he says, downright smug now. He slides his palm to your waist and squeezes, making you jolt against the passenger seat. “Want me to remind you exactly what they can do?”

You nod, too breathless for words. The second your head dips, he’s already moving, stepping out of the car. “C’mon. Inside the house. Now.”

You follow on legs that feel unsteady, knees weak, every step making you feel the wetness between your thighs. You can feel how soaked you already are, the slickness coating your panties, spreading with each movement. Just the promise of him, of what’s coming, has you aching.

As you cross the threshold, Robby lands his hand on your ass in a quick and playful smack. You jolt forward on your feet with a startled laugh that melts into a needy sound.

He doesn’t bother with the stairs, he’s too desperate for that, too impatient. He curls his fingers around your hip, guiding you straight toward the couch in the living room.

Only when you’re both stretched out on the couch, you under him, caged by his body, does he pull back, just far enough to look at you. His gaze drags over your face, your neck, down the line of your body still fully clothed in the soft T-shirt and leggings you threw on after your shift. There’s something reverent in the way he looks at you, like he’s memorizing you all over again, even though he’s seen you like this dozens of times.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, and  with the way he says it…  the way his eyes darken further, it makes heat pool in your belly.

He starts slow. His mouth finds yours in a deep and languid kiss as he slips his fingers under the hem of your shirt. He pushes it up inch by inch, trailing his lips from your mouth to your jaw, then down the column of your throat as more skin is exposed. When the shirt is bunched under your arms, he pauses to tug it over your head, tossing it aside without looking. He immediately moves his hands back to you, sliding his palms over the newly bared skin of your waist, your ribs, brushing his thumbs all over the undersides of your breasts through your bra.

Robby kisses his way down your sternum, leaving a trail of wet kisses, pausing to mouth at the swell of one breast over the lace. You instantly arch into him, threading your fingers through his dark hair almost unconsciously, and he hums in approval, the vibration making you twitch under him. With efficiency, because he’s always efficient, he reaches behind you, unhooking your bra with one hand, drawing the straps down your arms slowly as he kisses every inch of skin he uncovers.

When your breasts are bare, he stops, allowing himself just a second to look at you. His breath stutters out, and you feel his hands tremble slightly as they cup your tits, using his thumbs to circle your nipples until they peak under his touch. “Jesus,” he breathes almost to himself. “Look at you. Look at this body.”

Then his mouth is on you. He takes one nipple between his lips, sucking gently at first, barely flicking his tongue. But the tenderness doesn’t last long, he goes harder as his impatience grows, grazing with his teeth just enough to make you gasp. His hand works the other breast in tandem, kneading your soft flesh, rolling and pinching until you’re writhing beneath him, rocking your hips up against his thigh, where it’s pressed between your legs.

He switches sides, giving the same devoted attention and murmuring praise against your tits between kisses. Words like perfect, gorgeous, mine fall from his lips like he can’t help himself. He moves his free hand lower, tracing the curve of your waist, the dip of your hip, mapping every inch like he’s starved for it.

Eventually, he moves lower, kissing down your stomach, dipping his tongue into your navel, making you shiver. He hooks a hand into the waistband of your leggings, and he looks up at you, locking his eyes on yours as he peels them down slowly along with your underwear, until you’re completely bare beneath him.

He sits back on his heels for a moment, just drinking you in. The hunger in his expression is raw. It’s the same hunger you saw the first time you laid naked in front of him. “Fuck,” he says quietly, “I could look at you forever.”

You feel yourself flush under the intensity of his compliments, but there’s no embarrassment, only desire. He runs his hands up your calves, behind your knees, along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, parting them gently. His touch is everywhere, exploring your body as if it were the first time he’s ever seen it, worshipping you like you were divine. When he finally slides his fingers between your legs, you’re already soaked, and he groans at the discovery, dropping his head to your thigh as he presses an open-mouthed kiss there. 

“All this for me?” He murmures against your skin, and you can only whimper, a sound he takes as a “yes”. He starts maddeningly slow, dragging the flat of two fingers up through your slick folds in one long pass. He parts you open, spreading your swollen lips wide before sliding back down, coating himself in your wetness. Then he circles your clit with tight little spirals as he watches your face while he touches you. 

He pushes those same two fingers inside you, stretching you open until your walls flutter around the intrusion. He curls them on the withdrawal, dragging over that spongy spot that makes your back arch off the couch. He keeps his thumb pressed on your clit, drawing those circles that give you overwhelming pleasure.

His forearm comes down across your right thigh, pinning it firmly to the couch, forcing you wide open for him. The position leaves you completely exposed, glistening and helpless, and he groans at the sight. You buck your hips uselessly against his hold. 

“Stay still, baby. Let me play with this pretty pussy.” His pace stays torturously controlled, and when he finally lowers his mouth between your legs, you nearly cum right then.

His tongue is fucking molten. Robby starts with wide and sloppy drags at first, coating your entire cunt in wet spit as he laps you up like he’s starving. Then he narrows in, curling the tip over your swollen clit, flicking just hard enough to make your thighs jump. 

“Please… right there, baby, please…” Your throaty moans come straight out of your chest. “Your tongue feels so good!”

He curls his two fingers deeper inside you, grinding his knuckles against you every time he thrusts into you. Robby groans against your pussy, like he’s getting off on the taste alone. Suddenly, he's yanking you down onto his face so there’s no escape, so he can bury his nose against your mound, fucking you with his fingers while his lips suck messily around your clit.

“Taste so goddamn sweet I could stay here all night.” He pulls away just for a second, just to admire his wrecked you look. “Keep those thighs open for me, baby.”

Every time you try to squirm, he growls and pulls you back harder, smearing your slick across his chin, his beard, his whole face glistening with you. He’s relentless and greedy, moaning louder when you clench around his fingers, like he’s chasing his own release just from drowning in your cunt.

“I’m gonna cum—fuck, don’t stop, don’t you dare stop—”

You’re trembling now, your thighs shaking around his head, and your fingers twisting tight in his hair as the pleasure takes you higher and higher. He doesn’t let up, he keeps devouring your pussy until you arch your back off the couch as the orgasm crashes over you in waves.

You gush against his mouth, and he flattens his tongue wide to catch every hot pulse of your release. Robby laps at the flood greedily, with long drags up your soaked folds, gathering the slick that’s dripping down your ass and pooling beneath you. He seals his lips around your clit again, coaxing out the last trembling spurts while you whimper and twitch.

Then he dips lower, pushing his tongue inside your fluttering hole to taste you one more time, slurping noisily at the creamy sheen coating his chin and dripping from his mouth.

He doesn’t stop until you’re boneless and totally oversensitive, tugging weakly at his hair to pull him up.

Only then does he back up your body, kissing every inch along the way, until he’s hovering over you again, his beard glistening with your arousal, and his eyes dark with satisfaction. You pull him down into a deep kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue.

Your hands frame his face, brushing your thumbs over his wet facial hair, “You’re amazing. God, Robby… you make me feel so good. Every time.”

He exhales sharply, his eyes are full of pride, the satisfaction of a man who knows he succeeded in deeply satisfying his woman. He kisses you again, slower this time, “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You smile into the kiss, sliding your fingers down his neck, over the collar of his T-shirt. He’s still fully clothed, and suddenly that feels unfair. You tug at the hem. “Your turn.”

He sits back on his heels, letting you pull the shirt over his head. You take your time, tracing the lines of his chest as they’re revealed, his broad shoulders, the muscles earned from years of hauling patients and running around the ED. You move your hands lower, untying the drawstring of his pants, pushing them down along with his boxers. He helps kick them off, and then he’s bare above you, unapologetically himself. You drop your gaze to appreciate his naked body, and the heat floods you all over again.

His cock is thick and long, the veins are standing out in pulsing ridges along the shaft, the fat head flushed dark  and already glistening with precum that beads at the slit and slowly drips down the underside. It rests against the plane of his lower belly, the tip kissing just below his navel, smearing a shiny wet trail there. The dark, trimmed, but still wild, hair at the base is the same texture as the beard on his face, unkempt and curling slightly where it meets the root.

You wrap your hand around him, your fingers barely meeting around the girth. The skin is hot and smoothl, and he’s throbbing hard against your palm like it’s got its own heartbeat. You feel every ridge, every vein, the way it twitches and swells thicker in your grip. A fresh bead of precum wells up and slides over your thumb as you stroke once, lazily.

He jerks his hips forward involuntarily, fucking up into your fist like he can’t help it, chasing the pressure. The motion makes his balls draw up tight, brushing the heel of your hand.

“Fuck… your hand,” he rasps, one hand hovering over yours like he’s fighting not to grab your wrist and make you move faster. His cock pulses again, and another thick drop of precum spills over your knuckles. He shudders when you squeeze just right at the base, milking another low moan out of him. “Baby, you’re killing me.”

Robby doesn’t let you tease for long. He leans down, kissing you hard. “Need to be inside you,” he says against your lips. “Need to feel you around me.”

Without a word, he stands up and slides his strong arms under your thighs. He positions you near the edge of the couch, as he stands between your spread legs. You whimper, letting your thighs fall open wider on instinct. 

He doesn't give you time to beg. Robby just steps closer, wrapping one hand around the base of his cock and the other sliding under your ass. He lifts your hips off the couch in a single effortless motion, bringing your pussy to the same level as his member. Your lower back arches off the edge of the couch, keeping your shoulders, neck, and head still pressed into the cushions, but your legs dangling uselessly in the air except where he holds you up.

The position is obscene, it feels vulnerable, you’re completely at his mercy. Your pussy hovers just above the couch, exposed and dripping. 

He drags the swollen head of his cock through your drenched folds, letting the fat tip catch on your entrance, then slide up to nudge your oversensitive clit, smearing your slick all over him until his shaft glistens. Then, without warning, he lines up, notches the blunt head against your fluttering hole, and thrusts in hard. 

Your back bows off the couch like you’ve been electrocuted, a cry tearing from your throat as your cunt is forced to take every thick inch at once. The stretch is fucking devastating, it always is with him, it makes your walls clamp down instinctively around the invasion. He bottoms out right away, slamming his hips flush to yours, the coarse hair at his base grinding right up against your clit, rasping over it with every tiny shift.

He stays buried deep, unmoving for a long second, letting you feel it all, the throb of his cock stretching you wide, the way his balls press tight against your ass, the way your pussy ripples and squeezes around him like it’s trying to push him out and pull him deeper at the same time.

He’s breathing hard through his nose like he’s savoring the moment. “So tight… You have no idea how good you feel.”

"Fuck—Robby—" You cry out, but he doesn't give you any more time to adjust. He starts fucking you immediately, with punishing snaps of his hips that drive him deep every time. 

Each thrust jolts your whole body, making your breasts bounce, tipping your head back against the cushion. The angle is devastating, he's hitting that spot inside you on every stroke, dragging the head of his cock against your G-spot relentlessly.

You can't keep quiet, the whimpers and moans spill out of you, the words tumbling between gasps. "S-so—good—fuck—ha-ah-rder—please!"

He drops his gaze to where you’re joined, fixating his eyes on the filthy sight of his cock splitting you open, glistening with your slick every time he pulls out slow, only to slam back in deep, stretching your pussy wide around him. Your arousal is coating his shaft, dripping down his balls with every thrust.

His stare lingers there a moment longer, watching how your lips cling to him, how your clit peeks out every time he bottoms out. Then he drags his eyes higher, llanding on your tits, on the way they’re bouncing hard with the force of his hips. One hand leaves the grip on your hip, sliding up until he cups one breast, his palm engulfing it completely. His swipes his thumb over the stiff peak, sending a jolt straight to your core. 

“Look at you,” he rasps. “These tits… fuck! Moving just like that while I fuck you. You’re gorgeous. You’re so beautiful. I’ll never get tired of watching you.”

He speeds up gradually, the slap of skin on skin filling the room, mixed with your gasps and his groans.  Robby digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your ass as he holds you exactly where he wants you, lifted and open, helpless to do anything but take it. The couch creaks under the force, the cushions shifting beneath your shoulders.

"Look at me," he orders you, "Watch me fuck you. You feel how sloppy this pussy gets when I’m fucking you?”

You force your eyes open, meeting his gaze. His pupils are blown wide, and his face looks flushed as he pounds harder into you. The sight… the way his cock disappears into you over and over, it makes you clench hard around him.

"Fuck! yeah, just like that," he groans. "Squeeze me like that."

You do, and your walls start fluttering and gripping him on every withdrawal, trying to swallow his cock, to keep him deep inside you and milk his load. Your hands scrabble at the cushions, digging your nails into the fabric, then up to his forearms, clinging as he fucks you harder.

He angles his hips higher, tilting just right so the ridge of his cock drags relentlessly over that swollen spot inside you. The pressure makes you curl your toes, and your vision blur at the edges. You bite your lip to desperately muffle a scream, but it still rips out anyway, way too loud, echoing off the walls like you’re trying to wake the whole damn neighborhood.

“There?” Robby snaps his hips faster, keeping that same angle that has the head of his cock punching right up against your cervix, a kind of pleasure so intense it borders on pain. “Right there, baby?” 

"God! Yes! Robby! right there—don't stop! Right there!" You scream, and he doesn't stop. If anything, he goes harder, thrusting into you with bruising force, making his balls slap against your ass on every thrust. The angle also makes your clit rub against his pelvis every time he bottoms out, sending bursts of pleasure spiking through you.

"Your pussy’s so fucking tight," he pants. "So wet… you’re dripping down my thighs, making a big mess—" You can feel it, your arousal is slicking his cock, coating his base, dripping down to where his fingers grip your ass. The couch is probably ruined, but neither of you cares. "Touch yourself. Play with that pretty clit, cum on my cock."

Your hand flies between your legs, finding your swollen clit and circling it fast with your fingertips. The added stimulation shatters you, your cunt clamps down hard around his cock like a vice. 

“Fuck… yeah, rub that clit for me. Make yourself cum for me. You don’t know how pretty you look like this..”

"R-robby—I'm—g-gonna—"

"Do it," his thrusts start to turn erratic, he’s losing the rhythm as he chases his own edge. "Cum—let me feel it… fuck—"

You shatter. The orgasm rips through you, harder than the first, making your walls clamp down on him like a vise, pulsing in tight waves. You cry out his name, arching your back so sharp your shoulders lift off the couch as your fingers keep rubbing frantic circles over your clit to drag it out.

He groans loud, his hips stuttering as your contractions squeeze him. "Fuck—fuck—take it—Gonna pump you so full."

He buries himself deep one last time, his cock pulsing as he cums hard inside you. You feel every single fat rope of his thick load painting your walls, filling you up until it’s too much, until the pressure builds and you can feel the warmth spreading and coating every inch of you. His cock jerks with each release, the head pressed tight against your cervix like he’s trying to pump it straight into your womb. He grinds in filthy circles, rolling his hips to milk every last drop out of himself and into you. 

You can feel the heat of his cum starting to leak out around his buried length, mixing with your own mess, dripping down your ass and soaking the couch beneath you. He doesn’t pull out, just keeps you pinned there while his cock softens, but still remains thick inside you, plugging you full while he catches his breath.

For a long moment neither of you moves, but after a couple of minutes he slowly lowers your hips back to the couch, careful now, easing out with a low hiss. You feel the warm trickle of his cum leaking out, pooling under you, making an even bigger mess.

Robby exhales against your neck, scraping his beard against your tender skin. “You’re fucking incredible,” his words go straight into your bones. “I can’t even begin to tell you how good you make me feel.”

Suddenly, everything else just… dissolves. The remarks from the other residents about you and Robby, the tedious HR meeting, the people who doubted your worth and your hard work. All of it vanishes.

“Better?” he whispers, brushing his lips to your ear.

You huff a quiet laugh against his skin. “Yeah. Better.”

You stay like that, wrapped around each other, the anger and sadness from the day burned away, at least for tonight. Tomorrow will bring whatever it brings. But right now, it’s just you and him.

A/N: Honestly, I don’t know if I’ll write anything else for Robby, inspiration works in mysterious ways, so we’ll see.

If you’re a moot, hi🫶🏻 If this is your first time seeing me, I usually write for Joel Miller and Tom Hardy’s characters, and I also have an updates account @cinnxmxngxrlupdates

Hope this wasn’t so bad lol

“Don’t think about the camera, just look at me,” Jack instructs in a gentle tone, camcorder in hand as he wiggles his fingers at you with the other. He’s smiling kindly, completely erect in his soft, velour pants, and the matching sweatshirt is unzipped to show off his dark chest hair. He’s got you sat at the edge of his bed, now completely undressed. Jack had told you all it’d ever be was just a few shots in your bra and panties - not even real pornography, is what he said. Modeling, Jack called it. 

“Give me a smile, there she is. Hi, my shy girl. Can you open your legs? Show me that pretty pussy?”

Indeed, you did do plenty of modeling, sure. Jack would have you pose in some cheap lingerie, and then he’d sweet talk you into stripping a little further. Garment by garment, just to get a few shots of your tits and ass, that’s all. Give ‘em a nice squeeze. And then would come shots of your pussy because gosh, darling, she’s pretty as a picture. Nobody will even know it’s you. You can do it for Mister Delroy, right? 

You made some cash while Jack made more, but you paid off some of your massive credit card bill. Young women and their first credit cards, Jack knows the story. It’s how you wound up here anyway, right? Down on your luck, this was supposed to be an easy solution. In Mister Delroy’s office, you slowly twirled around in place at the command of his pointer finger spinning in a circle, under his hungry gaze and crooked smile. He shook your hand, and so it all began. The shaking of hands, the signing of contracts.

Jack tilts his head forward and raises his eyebrows. “We talked about this, sweetheart,” he says softly in a warning tone. “You’re going to be my superstar. Aren’t you?” 

You sigh shakily, summoning the courage to spread your legs. Jack’s seen it all before, as has his camera, but it’s different to have it be filmed. Jack wants you to play with yourself today for his special movie, which you’ve never done before. He wants you to play with yourself first, and then Jack wants to play with you himself. There was a rehearsal and everything. Practice makes perfect, doesn’t it? 

Nervously, you part your thighs. With a hand on your shoulder, Jack eases you back onto his mattress and he crouches between your legs, zeroing in on your cunt with his camcorder. He focuses the camera, then zooms in and zooms out, parting your thighs wider with his hands. “Oh, attagirl. Well hi there, darling girl. Would you kindly show me how you make yourself feel good, hm? Can you do that for Mister Delroy?” 

Jack situates himself, kneeling on just one leg. You try to ignore the small, flashing red light and look to Jack for encouragement instead. “You’ve got this, honey. Show me what playtime looks like,” he murmurs, smiling as kindly as he can fake. 

You close your eyes and lick two of your fingers, then reach between your thighs. Jack’s nodding as he films it all, you dragging your fingers up and down your wet, shy pussy, and dipping them inside your hole. You pump your fingers in and out a few times, just as Jack instructed you to earlier, then pull them back up to circle your clit. Jack films you rubbing yourself, internally hoping that the camera catches the arousal trickling from your entrance. “Good, good girl. Doesn’t that feel nice?”

“Mhm,” you whimper. 

“Gonna let Daddy have a turn now? Yes?”

You nod, pulling your hands away from your center. Jack clears his throat and adjusts, inching closer to you while pulling your ass near the edge of the bed. He gives you the camera and whispers a quick instruction about how to use it, and reaches over you to grab a pillow for your head. “Ready?”

“Yes, Daddy.” 

Jack smiles, warm. You close one eye and press the viewfinder against your other one, making sure Jack is in the frame, just like he had taught you. Jack spreads your pussy lips apart with both of his thumbs, blowing air over your wet seam before dotting sloppy kisses against your inner thighs. He moves from your right thigh to the left, kissing over your clit and smirking at the surprised noise you make. 

Jack looks directly into the camera lens and smiles, then winks, turning on the charm. It’s all about the fantasy, the show, the movie as a whole. He’s got plenty of female viewers in his audience who love to imagine themselves in your shoes, which Jack would say makes you a pretty special girl, doesn’t it? A very lucky one too, getting to do this and all with a nice big check at the end. Hot dog. 

Jack maintains eye contact with the lens as he lowers his face, kissing your pussy some more. He circles your clit with his long, strong nose, his dark eyes fluttering shut as he inhales your scent. He’s such a handsome fucking man. Jack moans gutturally, reaching between his own legs to press a hand against his bulge, giving himself a light squeeze. Jack shoves his fingers under the waistband of his sweatpants and pumps himself, leaking prejack. Fuck, you have no idea what you do to a hungry man like Jack, darling girl. You could very well be his dinner tonight. He licks a fat stripe up the seam of your cunt, from the bottom to the very top, his eyes darting between the camera lens and your face. 

Jack’s large, warm hands slide up your torso, and he squeezes the flesh of your breasts. He gropes large handfuls of you, massaging you before aiming his focus at your nipples, flicking and pinching the sensitive parts of you. When he does this, he feels your clit twitch in his mouth, under his long tongue. 

Jack slides two fingers into your cunt, pumping them in and out a few times before curling them inside you. His magic trick, and your favorite thing, right? Jack teases that special little spot inside of you, and broken syllables of his name slip past your lips in between your soft moans and whimpers. You’re getting so wet, too. Making a mess of his face, soaking his skin in your intimate scent. Jack loves it. He fucking loves it. 

“Daddy,” you whine, displeased as Jack pulls away before making you cum. 

Jack chuckles as he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. “I know, darling,” he says mildly, taking the camera back from you. Jack situates it on a tripod near the bed and checks to see what’s in the frame, making sure both yourself and him will be good and visible. You watch the camera, heart gently thudding again in your chest. 

Jack stands between your legs and pulls off his velour quarter-zip, then pushes his soft pants (and boxers nowhere to be found) down his legs, his hard-on springing free and slapping against his soft, hairy stomach. He looks so long like this, so imposing while naked whereas you feel…vulnerable, vulnerable enough to start to close your legs again. Jack tenderly pries them open all the same, shaking his head. Nuh-uh-uh, sweetie.

“Just the tip, just like we practiced,” Jack intones, offering you another grin and a comforting squeeze. It was just last night that Jack was kind enough to walk you through it all. He had you in a similar position, something closer resembling missionary proper. Lying beneath him, legs spread wide as Jack’s cock tapped against your seam. He worked you up just the same as he did a moment ago, then rested his head against your entrance. “Ready?” he asked, and you nodded nervously. Just the tip is what Jack promised, and the tip is all he gave you for that evening. He pushed in just enough to fit only his fat cockhead inside you and gain your trust, and that was it. 

Jack had to restrain himself, of course. Breathing heavily on top of you, fighting the urge to push in further. It wasn’t an easy task, but Jack just knew it’d be worth it to catch that special first time on film. There’s not enough movie magic in Hollywood to fake something like that, you know? No way to ever replicate it perfectly enough to look as genuine as the real deal. 

Jack nudged in a little further, then pulled back out, dragged his tip over your clit. He repeated this over and over - pushing in only an inch, popping it back out, circling your clit - until you relaxed and understood that this is all it would be, as the handsome devil above you smiled with a different understanding. 

Here on Jack’s bed, he taps the heavy head of his cock against you. He smiles so big, vibrating with excitement inside himself. Jack lines up with your entrance, then gives you an eager look. “Here we go,” he breathes, once more nudging just the tip inside. You watch Jack look over his shoulder at the camera, then back down at you, and then he slides into you the rest of the way. Quickly, quicker than you can even register what’s happening, and it takes your fucking breath away. Jack leans over you and kisses you, swallowing your moaning and crying. Poor girl, all discombobulated. “Shh, shh, shh,” he murmurs against your lips, and you can feel his length throbbing inside you, something you weren’t anticipating. “Oh, I know. Daddy knows, sweetie. It’s okay.” 

Jack moves you up the bed and sets one of his knees under your thigh, fucking himself deeper into you. God, he can feel himself hitting your fucking cervix. “There she is. That’s my little superstar,” he praises, moving his hips back only to slam into you once more. He reaches between your bodies and finds your swollen clit, massaging it to keep you quiet. If he can pleasure you, he’s learned, you’ll be distracted. Jack can’t allow you time to process the fact he’s double-crossed you, which he’s not proud of, but he doesn’t feel regret it. The fucking cash this movie - you - are gonna make him…gosh, how could he ever feel sorry for this?

“Jack,” you whimper, clinging to his body. You squeeze his strong biceps and Jack kisses your cheek, hushing you. 

“Taking me so well, sweetie. I’m so proud of you,” Jack says, knowing the weight of those words and how they’ll serve him in this moment. You girls are all the same when you come to him, willing to strip or fuck on camera. You all come from disappointed fathers and mothers, and Jack hears the same thing every time. “My parents will kill me if they ever find out.” Well, what Daddy doesn’t know won’t kill him, right, sweetheart? And how good does it feel to make an older man proud?

Jack rolls his hips, fucking you deep. All the way in, all the way out, giving the camera a real show of your puffy cunt and dripping hole stretched by his cock. Jack is sure to lean back when he finds his pace, holding your hips in place so you can bounce with his every thrust. It’s all about the show, the display, making sure the camera catches every inch of how he fucks you. 

“Fuck,” Jack grunts, wiping his brow clean of sweat with the back of his hand. He rolls his hips into you steadily, his long, thick fingers never faltering in their ministrations. “Cum for me, darling girl, that’s it,” he pants, feeling you begin to pulse around his length, and with his steady, perfected thrusts, it’s not long before you’re cumming on his cock. Jack smiles and laughs, utterly thrilled to be filming all of this. You’re fucking golden. A fucking star, through and through.

Jack feels his balls tighten as his own orgasm approaches, that pleasure building deep in his belly. He hangs his head back and moans loudly as he fucks you on his cock, trading his steady rhythm for sloppier, harder thrusts. His skin slaps against yours repeatedly, and moans fill the air. Jack bites his lip and grunts as he spills into you, coating your insides with his hot cum. He can’t help but smile as he pulls out of you, dizzy when he takes the camcorder off of the tripod. He films a close up shot of your pussy, his spend dripping out of your used hole, and turns off the device.  

“Wow!” he pants, laughing breathlessly. “Gosh, you did - well, you did just terrific, sweetheart. My little superstar.” He chuckles and collects his discarded clothes for himself, then holds open a fuzzy robe for you to slide your arms into. “Say, let’s go wash up, huh? I’d like to take you to dinner. My treat.”   

if you enjoyed, please reblog with kind thoughts. reblogs and interaction are what keep fandoms alive and what keeps fic writers motivated to keep going :) thank you for reading. love your jack asks too :)

jack readers whaddup

Joel wasn’t one to talk while he fucked.

In fact, he didn’t like speaking at all.

And that suited you just fine—a man you were seeing for his dick alone didn’t need to be the monologuing type. Each night would come to pass in much the same way, with his naked body and yours moving in frantic tandem for ten to fifteen minutes, and in the shuffle of clothes and moans and ropes of Joel’s cum, you’d almost forgotten the sound of his voice. Worse yet, you didn’t really care one way or another what it sounded like at all.

Which is why your ears perked up in surprise when, one night, you were putting on your clothes and you heard:

“You seem eager to leave.”

You paused.

“I do?”

“Yeah,” Joel said. He tipped his chin to where he saw you’d thrown your skirt on your body so fast you hadn’t even noticed the thing was inside out. Then he folded his arms over his broad, bare chest. “Got somewhere to be?”

You did.

You had a date that night, and this brief, sweaty encounter with Joel had been but a prelude to an evening spent with someone else—an old friend, Frankie.

A nice guy.

Nothing like Joel, who was now looking at you with all the intrigue of someone forced to watch the rerun of a TV show they didn’t particularly care to see. He blinked.

Why bother hiding it?

“Dinner,” you answered. That should be enough.

“With who?”

Why the hell would he guess it was with anyone else? You fixed your skirt and reached for your socks and shirt.

“Frankie,” you told him anyway.

“Frankie Morales?”

That made you stop dressing. You’d just pulled your top over your head when you fixed a puzzled look on Joel.

In the seven months you’d been fucking him, he had never asked once about friends, family, pets—hell, even your last name. You just did what you did and typically got two to three orgasms out of it every time you visited. Not useless information about who you were dining with.

His eyes said he wanted to know, though, so you said it.

“Yeah, him. I’ll see ya around, Joel.”

And you’d meant to leave it at that.

You had no real desire to stay, no interest in keeping a conversation alive with someone you didn’t care yourself whether he was living or dead, so you toted your boots with you and chose to put them on outside his bedroom. Dressing as you walked, and hoping not to need to say another word to Joel, you worked quickly and quietly.

And almost tripped down the stairs when you heard his voice again, booming from the threshold of his room:

“You know Frankie can’t fuck to save his life, right?”

Now Joel sounded smug. His body was bare, save for his boxers, and above that broad, glorious expanse of flesh, you could see the eyes glittering. He didn’t need to smile.

You kicked on your left boot and shuffled for the right. You tried not to let that look unnerve you as you did.

“Who said I’m fucking him?”

“That little skirt says you might.”

You glanced down at the blue scrap of fabric you’d just had to fix. You hadn’t thought much of it when putting it on that day, but maybe Joel saw more there than you.

“What does that mean?” you called back up to him while continuing down the stairs. Adjusting your other clothes.

In response, Joel followed. He never left the bedroom behind you—unless going to lock the back door after you’d departed or snagging a postcoital Heineken. This felt weird, and you didn’t try to hide your feelings when you turned to see him descend the stairs. You frowned.

“Every time you wear that skirt, we fuck at least three times. No exceptions. It’s like your calling card for being a needy, greedy little—” Joel stopped when you scoffed.

“Shut up.”

You pivoted back toward the kitchen, where the old oak door practically begged for your exit. This was bizarre.

“You are,” Joel rejoined all the same, unfazed, “Every time, I mean it. And by my count, we only fucked twice tonight, which means you’re clearly saving that energy for a romp in the hay with old Frankie boy. Am I right?”

Joel had never spoken this many words to you in his life, much less one night. You continued to tread through the kitchen, though you could sense your gait was slow. The cogs in your brain were all working overtime to ascertain why the ever-living fuck this man was acting like he was.

“I don’t…” you started, then stopped. Shook your head.

Your feet stopped just shy of the door leading out to the back porch, and right when you were about to turn, you felt hands on your hips from behind. You inhaled sharply.

“I’m right, ain’t I?” Joel repeated. His voice was lower.

Suddenly, you didn’t want to face him again. Instead of spinning on your heels and feeling his grip shift beneath it, you reached for the door. You tried to brush him away.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Miller.”

Your hand had scarcely made one turn on the doorknob when it was pried off completely. You let out a squeal, reflexively, though it wasn’t uncommon for Joel to manhandle you as he pleased. He was a prick like that.

It never really bothered you, seeing as most times those hands were on your body they were there to give you pleasure. But tonight, it was different. He was different. Things didn’t seem to have quite the same plainly sexual charge as they did on other nights. Joel was still rough.

Unlike a gentleman, he didn’t flip you around for your gaze to find his. He simply jerked your body in place.

His groin met your ass, and you felt that he was hard.

“I think you know exactly what I mean, sweet pea,” Joel said, reaching upward to place a hand near your throat.

Then he added, low, “I think you’re holdin’ out on me.”

You bucked under his grip, but you didn’t fight much.

“And I’m the needy one.” You flashed a wry smile.

Though Joel couldn’t see it, he could feel it, probably. You didn’t protest any harder because, in spite of your own disdain, you couldn’t deny that the push and pull of it was fun. You’d never seen him anything close to this before—possessive—but if you knew how he acted when he wanted to make a point, you sensed it would be good.

When you felt the hand that had brushed up to your neck now make a fist through the strands at the back of your head, you smiled again—this time with some pleasure.

Joel yanked your face back to turn and meet his, finally, while your ass remained glued to his front. He grunted, you sighed, and in the dim, yellow light of the kitchen, you felt a nudge between your legs. Another hand had evidently lifted your skirt and pushed it up the small of your back while you were distracted by the pull on your hair, and now Joel’s boxers were shoved down. His cock was prodding between your folds, nearing the hole he’d just fucked minutes ago. You weren’t wearing panties.

“Miller,” you told him. A warning. “I’m gonna be late.”

“I’ll bet,” he sneered. “You just say the word, I’ll stop.”

For all his pent-up aggression and hostility, Joel never would’ve forced himself on you—or in you. The two of you had a safeword for that. If at any point you wanted things to stop, you simply said ‘time-out’ and the sex would end, no questions asked. You could tell him now.

You could make it to your date with Frankie on time. Leave the flaming shitshow that was Joel Miller and spend the night with someone who actually liked you.

But that wouldn’t quell the need you had, now would it?

“Time-out?” Joel hummed, impossibly close to your ear.

You strained against him; you tried freeing yourself from his grip knowing full well you wouldn’t have even half a shot unless you said that word. You sucked in a breath.

“I…hate you,” you grit through your teeth on the exhale.

Contempt dripped with every syllable. Your derision may as well have been written on your face, but it still wasn’t enough to make him stop. You hadn’t used the safeword.

That was a choice. Joel pushed you to the kitchen table.

And, no sooner had your hands flown out to catch yourself on the smooth, wooden surface than the man was pushing back inside. The slide was easy. The passage aided by your last two climaxes and the arousal left pooling again, you could feel it: you were wet. Pliant. Spread with your ass pointed up and your fingers seeking purchase on any free corner you could reach.

You were no more to the man than a sentient cocksleeve.

Possessive as Joel was, that was all this could be: greed.

Desire.

Control.

Not wanting to share with another what he fairly owned.

Joel didn’t have it within himself to give you anything beyond that. You might as well enjoy it while it lasted.

“You’re mine,” he seethed. His hips snapped like he couldn’t get deep enough. “Y’hear me? This is mine.”

Then, as if to punctuate his words, his thrusts sped up.

Mine, mine, mine.

Your eyes rolled, and your stomach turned. You seized the edge of the table even harder just for your muscles to give and your forearms to hit the surface beneath you. Head lolling forward with pleasure, pain, and shame, you let the man take what he needed, and you didn’t protest.

Because that was what you wanted. What you were.

“Yours,” you murmured back. “Y-Yours. All yours.”

“All mine.”

Alright, then.

Maybe you didn’t deserve a man like Frankie at all. With your lips parted, spit trailing down to your chin from either side, and your core making the most obscene sorts of noises with every sawing motion of Joel’s cock, you thought, idly, this might’ve been what you needed.

Your forehead dropped to the wood, and you whined.

Hot, bulbous, and no doubt leaking beads of desire with every stab inside your heat, Joel’s dick swelled and throbbed. You felt it graze just the right spot inside you, and your vision blurred. This was supposed to be for him, and here you were, on the precipice of your third release.

You didn’t mind.

Joel definitely didn’t mind.

All the man behind you needed to see was submission. Acceptance, or something close to it. You could tell from the way he grabbed your hips and told you to take it, take it, baby, let me use this pussy and make it mine.

You let him.

He wasn’t gentle, but he wasn’t entirely unkind, either.

Suddenly, you felt the heft of Joel’s stomach press to the base of your spine, then his chest sinking somewhere between your shoulder blades. He was blanketing you. Covering you completely while he rutted into your cunt like an animal in heat. You couldn’t deny that you liked it.

It made it feel all the more primal when next you felt his lips brush your ear and his breath fan over your cheek.

“Gonna cum for me, sweetheart?” he grunted.

The term of endearment nearly stunned you as much as his arm winding in between your body and the table. His fingers found your clit, and you were helpless to respond to those words, simply jerking your chin and whimpering.

“Gonna show me what’s mine?” he pressed.

Another incoherent string of sounds paraded as words.

“Good.” Joel grinned; you could hear it in his voice. To your surprise, again, he pressed his lips to the space behind your ear, and he kissed it. His thrusts were shaking the table, and still, he kept hitting that spot.

Joel Miller had never kissed you anywhere on your body but your tits and in between your thighs. This was new.

This was unusual for him, circling your clit furiously while murmuring sweet nothings in your ear, like how good you were taking him, how sweet you felt, how no one but you would ever look so perfect on his cock—ever.

If you didn’t know better, you might say he was smitten.

But he couldn’t be.

You were just seconds from release and wanting to believe that there was some reason for his behavior.

Your eyes closed, and then pleasure supplanted those thoughts. This was stupid. No sense in attributing to affection what might adequately be explained by an erection—and Joel, as old as he was, had them often. You meant nothing to the man outside of these four walls and beyond what was in between your legs. That was it.

Another climax beckoned, and you let it in.

Joel’s length stretched you once, twice more, and suddenly you were melting again. Crying his name. Reaching back and fisting the sweat-dampened curls at the nape of his neck and falling apart under his weight.

Bliss flooded your body so swiftly it almost knocked you out. It seized your limbs, rendered them weak, and had your teeth grinding, eyes squeezing shut, and cunt fluttering over and over again while Joel kept pounding.

On and on and on and on, until all you felt was him.

“Let me cum inside you.” Joel’s voice reached you dimly. “Wanna paint these pretty insides with my seed, baby.”

You could scarcely believe what he was saying was real—that any of this, with his lips grazing your cheek and his belly nudging your back and the man calling you baby, could’ve been anything more than just a fever dream—until he said it again, all but begging, I’m so fuckin’ close, sweetheart, say our special word and I won’t.

Like before, all you had to do was tell him ‘time-out.’

Two syllables and he’d be spraying your lower back, rather than your walls, with his cum. It was simple.

You didn’t want simple.

You wanted him in you.

You wanted him filling you with his cum.

You nodded and told him that you wanted it, too. There wasn’t any point in pretending like you didn’t right now.

Joel unloaded rope after rope of sticky, dizzying warmth in your cunt within a second of your words. He held your back tight to his front, as if he might leak out or lose you completely if he didn’t squeeze you to him like a vise. His hips worked furiously, cock pumping in and out again and again until his balls were fully drained, and then he was rutting deeper, wedging further like he needed to be as far inside your body as was possible. Like marking you was his top priority, and cum was the means of doing it.

He’d been finished for almost a minute and he was still panting by your ear, still holding himself inside your heat.

Joel had always pulled out and stayed out when he was done having his fill with your body before. Tonight, he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then your neck, then your cheek and murmured something into your skin about needing that, and wanting to feel that every time.

You pressed your nose to the now-soiled surface of the kitchen table and let out a breath. You shook your head.

What the fuck were you doing here with him?

This was weird. Wrong. Not like Joel at all.

Shakily, you braced your palms on the table and began to try and push up. Joel’s weight was suffocating, suddenly.

“I’m— I’m gonna be late. Get off me, please.”

“Wh—” The voice was strained. Softer.

“I said get off me, Joel. Now.”

And he did.

His cum came trailing along with his cock’s withdrawal. It smeared your thighs. You felt it dribble from your just-fucked cunt and couldn’t help but wince. This was dumb.

And here comes goodbye.

Dinner was fine.

The meal was as fun and satisfying as one could be with another man’s spend drying casually between your legs.

You hadn’t bothered to wipe it off. You were already over twenty minutes late for your date with Frankie, and you apologized profusely when you got to the little hole-in-the-wall spot you were supposed to be meeting him for dinner. I’m so, so sorry it took me this long. You weren’t normally like that. No worries at all, I already ordered us some appetizers, if that’s alright. Joel Miller got the very first helping of the meal, and Frankie didn’t even know it.

You ate with what felt like a thousand flames lapping at your cheeks the whole time. Frankie was a great guy. He didn’t leer at your ass or tits or remark on your body at all, except to say that you looked lovely; didn’t ogle you like a piece of meat, or tell you how eager he was to get himself off in your cunt when the night was over and he finally had you alone. He smiled sweetly. Listened well.

“If you kiss him, let him get a taste of me right ‘ere,” Joel had murmured to you, right before he slid his spent, slippery cock between your lips. You were on your knees for him, for some reason, feeling ashamed.

“OK, Joel. But I— I need to go. He’ll be expecting me.”

“Want me to walk you up?” Frankie asked presently.

You blinked.

The date was over and you were standing outside of your apartment building, brooding over a man who probably hadn’t spared you a thought since his cock had softened and he’d trudged back up to bed. You nodded weakly.

“Sure. Yeah. Of course.”

You ascended the stairs with Frankie in tow and remembered how Joel still hadn’t kissed you on the lips in the whole seven months he’d been spending between your legs. He hadn’t kissed you tonight, even after he’d pulled out of your mouth and tapped your lower lip with the head of his cock, like a smug and too-proud asshole.

“If a guy likes you, he’ll kiss you,” Joel told you, as if to rub salt in the still-aching wound. “Now, if Frankie does, he’ll get to see I came first. And if you take him home…”

The man’s words trailed off as you rose to your feet. You were barely standing a moment before two thick, callused fingers pushed back between your folds. You flinched when they glided down your slit and then pressed into your leaking cunt. As if trying to plug it up, and shove some more of his cum inside, Joel grinned while working his digits inside. You rolled your eyes.

“…and if you let him lick you here, he’ll taste me again.”

You nearly shuddered at the memory. It had felt good.

Frankie’s hand was at your lower back now, guiding you out of the stairwell and into the hallway. One more turn around a corner and you’d be back home again. Left with the dilemma of whether to invite this nice man in or not.

You swallowed.

Together, you approached your apartment door.

“I had a nice time tonight,” Frankie said, smile bright.

“Me too,” you replied. And you meant it when you said it.

You had had such a good time tonight that you wished it wasn’t Joel Miller on your mind at the end of it. You wished you wanted better for yourself than someone who sought no deeper part of your life than the seven or eight he could squeeze inside you. It was absurd, really.

To be thinking of him when the man in front of you now was all hopeful looks and genuine wanting—another date, maybe? What the hell was wrong with you?

Just as you were about to purse your lips and wage the internal war on whether to invite Frankie in for drinks, your mind was made for you. No sooner had you placed your palm on the door than the thing was pulled inward—swinging open, and causing you to stumble sideways.

“Evenin’, sweetheart.”

The asshole had never sounded more cheerful in his life.

He’d just opened your apartment door from the inside, and you’d nearly fallen straight into his chest. Luckily, you’d righted yourself before that had happened. You stepped backward, beside Frankie, your eyes wide.

Since when the fuck did he have a key to your—

Oh. Right. When you gave it to him last month.

Fuck.

“Joel,” you hissed, gaze narrowing again. “What are yo—”

“Thanks for gettin’ her back safe, Frank. I appreciate it.”

Frankie stood back, half-awed and half-confused.

He turned to you. “Wait. Is this your, uh…”

Joel smirked. Your cheeks burned.

“Pain in the ass? Yeah,” you grumbled shortly, before Joel could cut in. Then, glaring daggers at the man standing inside your home. “He was just leaving.”

He wasn’t.

You tugged at his shirt, and he wouldn’t budge an inch. Instead of being the one to yank him out, you found your wrist taken up in Joel’s grip and thrust in—toward the warmth of your home, toward him. The door slammed shut behind you both. Joel let go, and you nearly face-planted into your living room sofa. The second you heard the deadbolt click into place, you were scrambling to stand again. Adjusting your skirt—that fucking skirt he had to notice tonight—and seeing Joel turn to face you.

One hand was still on the doorknob.

The other was combing fingers through his hair.

“New rule,” he announced, as if this wasn’t fucking nuts, “No more dates with Frankie Morales. Or anyone else.”

“You fuckin—” you started, sharp.

Joel got closer; you tried to sidestep him. Though the move was deliberate, your motivation was wavering. Half-certain at best. You’d scarcely made it a foot by his body before an arm reached out, and you didn’t fight it.

You let him grab you and pull you toward the bedroom.

Great.

Another useless, mind-numbing night of pleasure.

You’d be strong enough to tell him no, someday.

And by the time you’d resigned yourself to this fate, and swore you’d start dating guys who actually wanted to see you in the light of day sometime soon, you were forced to stop. Joel turned you to face him again.

Before you’d made it to the bed, he redirected your course to your closet. He pointed over to it, stern.

“Now get changed,” he ordered.

What?

“What?”

Your brows pinched together. Joel didn’t flinch.

“For our date. Don’t want you wearin’ the same clothes you had on for him. And I’m takin’ you someplace nicer.”

You didn’t move, even when he drew closer to you.

“We gotta hurry, I already made the reservati—”

“Are you out of your goddamn mind, Miller?”

Your eyes were wide. You needed answers, not instructions on what to do—with him telling you to put on clothes, rather than take them off. For at least the third time that night, you were shocked beyond belief.

“If this is some joke…” you spat, slowly moving back.

Before you could, Joel grabbed your wrists. Gentler than before. He didn’t let you stray too far, but he also didn’t invade your space. His eyes searched yours, and to your surprise, you saw something like sincerity painted there.

“I meant what I said. I’m takin’ you out to dinner, and…”

Joel trailed off, like he’d never spoken the words before. He shook his head to clear it. Then, meeting your gaze once more—and shocking you for the fourth time, said:

“…and if anyone’s takin’ you on a date—or wants to get a taste of you after—it’s gonna be me, honey. Only me.”

You had no idea what to say.

Rounding his numbers out for the night and making it a fifth, Joel surprised you again by leaning in to kiss you.

Directly on the lips.

Before he took you to dinner.

And called you honey, of all things.