Look for the Light

The punk kids who always paid with change, for instance. You guessed they were in love with each other but scared to admit it. And the girls who liked milkshakes and wrote lyrics on their napkins – they were an up-and-coming rap duo, about to get big. The tall guys who came in hungry and filled up the corner booth? They had to be second-stringers for the Oakland A’s.

And then there was him. The handsome father. He came by every day at 2:15, right at the start of your shift. Silvering hair, scar on his cheek, and those dark, sad eyes. You knew there was a story behind them.

He only ever ordered a black coffee for himself, and a sliced-up banana for the baby. He always said thank you. You liked those thank yous. His voice was full, and it sounded kind, but you tried not to notice. And you tried not to notice the slant of his shoulders, or his big, thick hands, because the left one always wore a silver ring.

Handsome Guy was married. Of course he was.

“You can still daydream, though. It’s not cheating if it’s in your imagination.”

This advice came from your shift-mate. Casey was a decade younger than you, but you were in the same year at Mill College. She never made you feel behind for it, and she’d gotten you the job at the diner. During the lulls, the two of you did problem sets together.

At the moment, there wasn’t much homework getting done. Handsome Guy had just pulled up, and Casey was craning over the counter to stare at him through the window.

“He’s in his leather jacket today,” she said. “Somebody should outlaw that thing. And he drives some kind of blue vintage Chevy.” She wiggled her eyebrows at you. “The seats in those cars go all the way back.”

Your brain conjured an image of your legs on either side of Handsome’s hips, those big hands of his on your waist. Your skin grew warm.

“Stop putting impure thoughts in my head. We have a whole shift to get through.”

Casey grinned. “I’m not allowed to notice a customer’s car? What’s so impure about that?”

You busied yourself putting on a fresh pot of coffee. Handsome never complained, but you didn’t want to charge him for boiled-down sludge. The bell over the door tinkled, and Casey let out a sigh.

“Damn,” she said. “Have you seen his butt? Why can’t he sit in my section, just one time?”

“You really want one of your four-tops taken up by a banana and a coffee? Twenty-five percent of $5.50 is, like, a dollar.”

“He tips twenty-five percent? My friend. Homewreck him.”

“Yeah, that’ll end well.”

“When it all goes down in flames, it’ll be a good distraction from finals.”

You felt a twinge of panic. Finals only mattered if you could scrape together the spring semester’s tuition.

“Funny,” you managed.

You dodged Casey’s eye. She was strapped for cash too, but it wasn’t the same. Her parents would cover her if she came up short. 

You retrieved the highchair from the back room and made for Handsome’s table. He always sat in the same booth by the window. His daughter had big, curious eyes, and she gurgled as you came near, wrapping her tiny hand around one of Handsome’s fingers.

You bit back a smile and set up the highchair. Handsome glanced up at you, and something in his gaze softened.

“Thank you,” he said.

You liked the slow way he had of talking. It felt like all of his attention was here, like he never skipped over one thought to try and reach the next.

“No problem,” you said. “Coffee?”

He nodded. “Thanks.”

“It’s brewing. And the banana?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Anything else?”

He always said no, but today he hesitated.

“How come don’t you wear a name tag?” he asked.

What?

“Oh,” you said. “I always forget it. And it’s not like the food tastes any different if you know my name.”

Handsome moved his head, not exactly a yes or a no. He didn’t say anything. Was he asking for your name? Why did he want to know?

He was such a solid man, and up close, it was hard to keep your thoughts in a line. Those eyes of his were too damn warm.

Maybe he was waiting for you to leave. You’d been lingering for way too long, hadn’t you?

You tucked your pen behind your ear.

“I should go get your coffee.”

“Okay,” he said. “Thank –”

“Thank me? You said that already.”

The comment fell out before you could stop it, and you cursed yourself for breaking your customer service mask. Whatever ideas you had about Handsome, they were just that – ideas. He always paid in cash, so you didn’t even know his name, let alone whether he’d share your sense of humor. Chances were he’d decide you were a bitch, and you’d lose your measly $1.10 in tips.

But Handsome didn’t seem to mind. Something playful spread across his face, an expression you’d never seen him wear before.

“Okay,” he said. “I take it back.”

“You what?”

“I take it back. No thank you for you.”

You failed to hold back a surprised grin.

“Ungrateful bastard.”

Handsome lifted an eyebrow. “You talk like that to all of your customers?”

Was he… flirting with you?

You glanced at his hand before you could think better of it. Still married.

Handsome followed your eyes, and his body went rigid. He moved his left hand to his lap and stared at the table.

It wasn’t your problem that he was married. You weren’t going to let yourself feel bad for clocking him, no matter how ashamed he looked at getting caught.

So what if he was hot? The man couldn’t even cut up a banana on his own.

“Coffee will be right out,” you said.

Handsome nodded at the table, and you made for the counter. Casey’s eyebrows were in the sky by the time you got back.

“Don’t look now, but Hot Dad totally watched you walk away,” she said. “What the hell did you say to him?”

“Nothing,” you said.

You glanced up at Handsome. Your eyes met, and his gaze dropped to his phone. He chewed his lip as he typed, like he was guilty about something. Probably texting his wife.

You sighed. You knew it wasn’t that big of a deal – plenty of married guys flirted, and there was nothing necessarily wrong with checking out other women. It wasn’t like Handsome had asked for your number. A few years ago, you would have shrugged all this off.

A few years ago, you hadn’t realized just how many guys were cheaters. You’d liked Handsome more when he was a fantasy, when you could tell yourself he was better than the rest of them.

You untied your apron.

“I’m going to take my fifteen.”

Casey’s brow furrowed.

“Really? We just started.”

“Yeah, I need a minute. Mind covering my table? It’s just the banana and coffee. He takes it black, usually one refill.”

“You don’t have to ask me twice.”

You thanked Casey, grabbed your cigarettes from the break room, and lit up outside. The buzz of nicotine woke you up, and you scolded yourself for taking your break so soon. The evening rush was terrible on Fridays, and now you’d have to marathon through it.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket. A notification from Illicit.

As escort services went, Illicit was bare bones. They didn’t run background checks on their clients. They didn’t schedule your meetups for you. But the cut they took was tiny, and at least they logged the locations of your dates.

You’d signed up as a last resort a few months ago, when a perfect storm of rent increase, car repairs, and an ER bill had cleaned through what little you had set aside for tuition. There was nobody you could have asked for help – you’d followed your ex out to California, and he was long gone now, living with the girl he’d said you were crazy for worrying about.

Stop. You didn’t need to be thinking about him today. The whole thing with Handsome had just gotten under your skin.

The message was from a new client, a guy who’d been reaching out on and off for weeks, without ever scheduling a date. For the last few days, he’d been radio silent. You’d thought he’d changed his mind.

Maybe something had changed it back, because a green check mark had appeared beside the guy’s name. He’d put money into his Illicit account. You clicked on the message.

Clint: I know it’s been a while, but I still want to meet you. Have you got any time tonight?

Clint: 10:00? For two hours?

You hesitated. Your shift ended right at ten.

Clint: I’ll pay double. If we don’t do tonight, I’m going to chicken out again.

Double pay. You couldn’t turn it down. Even if Clint wanted something awful in exchange, it probably wouldn’t be twice as bad as the average.

Angel: Ok. If 11 works, I can make it.

It had been impossible to choose the perfect call girl name, so you’d let the alphabet decide. Angel hadn’t been a bad pick, in the end. It seemed to send the right message.

Clint took a moment to respond.

You knew what was coming. The haggling. Some guys were open about it – asking to pay half now and half later, like you’d try harder if you had to earn it. That wasn’t too common. Most of the time, the men would just ask you to remind them the price, like it wasn’t listed clearly on your profile.

You never backed down, but you hated the implicit challenge – that you couldn’t be really worth what you charged.

Your phone buzzed again.

Clint F. sent you $500.00 – “11 it is.”

Well, fuck. He’d even tipped double – 25% of double.

Clint: Did you get it?

Angel: I did. Thanks. Not a lot of clients pay up front, and I hate having to chase them down about it.

Clint: I get it.

Clint: Is the tip good?

Angel: You’re good. Thank you.

Clint: You said that already.

Clint: I’ll send over my address. I’m near Lake Merritt. I can pick you up from the BART station there.

Illicit only tracked home addresses. Your gut said you could trust Clint, but that wasn’t enough to get you into his car. If your fantasies about Handsome were any sign, you weren’t exactly the best judge of character.

Besides, you didn’t live far from the lake. You’d probably be able to walk.

Angel: That’s okay. I’ll come to you.

Your phone buzzed again, and you checked the address. Sure enough, you and Clint were neighbors. Go figure.

You took a final, long drag of your cigarette. Five hundred dollars, and a client who seemed kind of decent. There had to be some sort of catch.

It was already 10:15 by the time you got back to your studio, and by then you reeked of fry oil. You turned up the shower to scalding and got to work scrubbing away the smell.

When you went out as Angel, you didn’t use your normal shampoo and conditioner. Everything she wore was scented like roses. All you had to do was inhale, and you’d feel like somebody else.

You needed the reminder. Angel was sexy in a way that you weren’t. She was nice. She never forgot to moisturize, and she was always freshly waxed. When she put on lingerie, she didn’t stare at herself in the mirror, finding all the places it dug in too tight and gapped too loose.

It didn’t come easily to you. You’d never really thought of yourself as sexy, or even especially beautiful. Not that you were ugly – with a little bit of effort, and the right makeup, you could make yourself pretty enough. But every girl could do that. You weren’t anything special.

When you first signed up for Illicit, you’d actually thought it would make you more confident. Your body was a commodity. It had to be valuable. But to most of your clients, all women’s bodies were commodities. You felt wanted sometimes, sure, but never desired.

You reached for the rose shampoo.

It was empty. Damn it.

You couldn’t wear mismatched scents – it would drive you crazy. You’d have to use only the everyday stuff. Citrus wasn’t as sexy, but maybe you’d get lucky and Clint would have a tangerine fetish.

You put the empty bottle back – you’d remember to chuck it tomorrow, really – and finished washing up.

It was always chaos getting ready in your studio. The room was tiny, and you’d never really set it up well. You knew you had it in you. You’d kept a good home when you were married. Maybe it was this place – this dark little go-between. It just didn’t feel like home.

Your dresser was jammed up against your bed, and it did double duty as a desk. You found your blow dryer on top of it, the cord half-buried by a stack of lecture notes. You worked it free, then sifted through your lingerie drawer.

Nothing extreme tonight. Exhausted as you were, you wouldn’t have the confidence to pull off a corset. You slid on mesh panties and a matching balconette. The bra was minimal enough to be comfortable, even if it didn’t push your cleavage up in the way your clients liked.

Hair and makeup was next – nothing heavy, the kind of “good girl” look that a man would expect from somebody named Angel.

10:46. You had a little bit of time. Clint had shelled out five hundred dollars. Maybe he deserved the fantasy.

You wriggled into a garter belt and a dark set of thigh-highs. The belt dug into your stomach, and the stockings got runs so fast that you hated wearing them, but they helped you feel a bit more like Angel.

Better. You kept the rest simple. It wouldn’t be on for long. Little black dress with a low-cut neck, and tall, heeled boots.

You looked too obviously like a hooker to walk around like this. You pulled your go-to coverup from your closet – a giant canvas coat, the one your ex had left behind – and threw it on over the dress.

In two and a half hours, you could go back to being you.

Walking up to a date was the part you hated most, and tonight was no exception. What if Clint had friends over? What if he hadn’t read the hard limits section of your profile?

You distracted yourself by studying Clint’s house. It was a two-story Victorian, but according to his instructions, he only lived downstairs. An old blue car sat in the driveway, and you were reminded for a moment of Handsome.

God, this had been a long day.

You stepped onto the porch and checked the time. 11:08. You set a two-hour timer and took off your coat. You rearranged your face into Angel’s. Then you knocked on the door.

It opened at once, and a ringing sound filled your ears.

Handsome stood on the other side.

What?

What was going on? Did you have the wrong house?

Handsome met your eyes, and his face went slack.

Some part of your brain noticed that he looked especially good tonight, in a tight dark sweater that stretched around his chest and arms. His hair was combed back, and he’d done something to his beard to make it all point the same way.

He was dressed up for something. No. Wait. Was he dressed up for you?

Were you the something?

Handsome looked from your face to your dress, and quickly back.

“Angel?” he said. “Are you… are you Angel?”

That voice didn’t belong here. It shouldn’t be saying that name. Static crawled up beneath your skin.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He’d messaged you while he was still in the diner, hadn’t he? How had he known who you were?

“You are,” he said. “Aren’t you? You’re her?”

Handsome’s eyes were wide. He took a step back, and for a moment he looked as horrified as you were.

The realization cut through to quiet your panic. If Handsome had planned this, he sure wasn’t acting like it. Your pulse began to slow, and you found your voice.

“You didn’t know?”

Handsome gave you an incredulous look.

“Does it seem like I knew?”

It didn’t. It really didn’t. Maybe he was lying, but you remembered how bad he’d been at hiding his ring in the diner. He didn’t seem the type to pull it off. You took in a deep breath. This wasn’t a trick. It was only a bizarre coincidence. You could deal with that.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “How did this happen? How are you her?”

Something about his spiral put you at ease. Clint, if that really was his name, didn’t have the upper hand. That meant it was up for grabs. You got to decide what happened next.

You looked into Clint’s eyes, and finally got a handle on what was happening. Clint was Handsome, and Handsome was a dick. He’d invited a call girl over so he could cheat on his wife. What had he said? It had to happen tonight? Was she out of town or something?

It didn’t really matter. Maybe you could care that Handsome was married, but you’d come here tonight to be Angel. Angel didn’t get to care that Clint was married.

“Everything is going to be fine,” you said. “I’ll never say a word about this. And if you don’t want to see me again, just get your coffee an hour earlier. I don’t clock in until 2.”

Clint nodded slowly. Some of the wildness faded from his eyes, and you thought you saw sorrow there again.

“You know what time I come in?”

“Clint. You come in almost every day, and you have the silliest order of all time. Do you not have coffee and bananas at home? Of course I remember you.”

You were mouthing off way too much – more than Angel would have – but the line was too blurry, and your blood was too hot. You couldn’t think straight if you were also trying to behave.

At least Clint seemed to have a thick skin. The edge of his mouth pulled upward.

“Fair enough,” he said.

He didn’t interrupt further, and you took another breath.

“So you and I are fine, moving forward. The only question left is what to do about tonight. I can go home, and Illicit can find you somebody else. They won’t refund your tip, but…” you had to say it. “But I can send you the extra $100, considering the circumstances.”

“Keep it,” he said. “It only seems fair. I put you out of work tonight, didn’t I?”

“Not necessarily,” you said.

Clint’s brow furrowed, and you hesitated for a moment. If you stopped talking now, you could accept his tip and head home early.

But another $400 sat on the table. You didn’t want to help Clint cheat, but if you left here tonight, that was two more meetups you’d have to do, and those guys wouldn’t be any better.

They definitely wouldn’t be better looking.

No. You couldn’t think like that. This was a job. This wasn’t a chance to get with Handsome. The guy you’d imagined didn’t exist.

“This isn’t what I expected,” you said. “But I don’t actually think it’s a big deal. Yes, we know each other, but not particularly well, and what happens here tonight will stay here. If you want to go through with our original plan, I’m fine with that, too.”

“You are?”

“I am. I’d actually prefer it.”

Clint fell quiet. He braced himself on the doorway and studied your face.

A strange feeling stirred inside your stomach. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Clint was too good-looking. His face was too honest. When you looked back at him, it was hard not to only see Handsome.

Clint took a breath, and for the first time since his panicked once-over, his eyes dipped below your neck. He took in your exposed cleavage, and became very still. His gaze lingered on your hips, where the slinky fabric held close to your curves. His eyes found the bare skin of your thighs, and he made a soft noise. His throat bobbed.

Heat burned beneath your skin. He was such a big man. He’d always seemed so stoic in the diner. But here, tonight, he made no effort to hide all the ways he was affected.

“Okay,” he said quietly. He was still looking at your thighs.

It was hard to breathe when he looked at you like that.

“Okay,” he said again.

He tore his eyes back to your face and seemed to come back to himself.

“Want to come inside?”

You nodded. You were going inside with Handsome, and he still hadn’t taken off his wedding ring. Did that make this more or less fucked up?

He held open the door for you, and he let out a little huff of breath as you stepped in front of him. You could practically feel the weight of his gaze on your ass.

If you had any doubt left that Clint was married, his apartment erased it. The entryway led to an airy living room. A vintage table stood to your left, with brightly colored, mismatched chairs tucked around it. To your right, you found a long, leather sectional, decorated with a big throw made of granny squares. A wind chime dangled in the bay window, and in the lamplight you saw that the curtains around it were pink.

These decorations had not been chosen by a giant, scarred man who only ever drank black coffee. They’d been picked by the wife he was about to cheat on. It was hard not to be angry, especially when you saw signs of neglect around the place. The plants beneath the wind chime drooped yellow with overwatering, and dust had piled up around the moldings and windowsills, in all those hard-to-reach places that men never seemed to notice.

The door closed behind you. Clint held out his hand.

“Let me take your coat.”

You handed it over numbly.

There were a few rectangular patches on the walls where the paint looked a little too bright, as if pictures usually hung there and slowed the color from fading.

Had Clint taken down all the photos of his wife before you got here? But then why had he left on his wedding band?

You felt Clint’s eyes on you. He said nothing, but his body was stiff like it had been in the diner, when you’d first drawn attention to his ring.

There was a bench across from the coat closet. You sat down and unzipped your heeled boots. You expected Clint to watch as you revealed your thigh-highs, but he only stared around the room. His hand closed into a fist, then opened.

You rose to your feet.

“Here? Or the bedroom?”

“Not the bedroom.”

“Okay, then.”

You took a seat on the leather couch. Clint stayed standing.

“I haven’t done this in a long time,” he said.

He opened and closed his hand again. You felt a pang inside your chest. You knew he was being a jerk, but he just didn’t seem like one. He seemed… afraid. Maybe a part of him didn’t want to go through with this.

“We don’t have to do anything,” you said. “You can still change your mind. You paid for my time, but we can spend it however you want.”

He nodded. He took a seat on the far end of the couch. He still couldn’t seem to look at you.

“I want to do this,” he said. “I know this is the right thing to do.”

You bit your lip. You could feel yourself about to mouth off again. Angel would keep quiet, but… you looked at the sad, wilted calathea in the windowsill. Fuck it.

“Is this the right thing to do? I don’t think cheating ever really is.”

Clint’s attention snapped to you.

“Cheating?”

You gestured to his hand.

“Wedding band.” You motioned to yourself. “Hooker. Cheating. Unless you guys are poly, or have some kind of don’t-ask-don’t-tell arrangement.”

“Oh,” was all Clint said.

He looked down at his wedding band and traced his thumb over the metal. His body seemed to shrink around itself.

“I’m not cheating on my wife,” he said. His voice shook, as if he didn’t quite believe the words. “She died last year. She was murdered.”

Those sad eyes of his. Oh. Fuck. You were such an idiot.

“Oh, fuck,” you said. “I’m such an idiot.”

Clint looked up at you in surprise, and your face burned. Now you were even more of an idiot.

You should say something better. There were things you were supposed to say when someone died, weren’t there? You were sorry for his loss?

You couldn’t say that. It felt completely soulless.

But Clint had wanted company tonight – he’d wanted it badly enough to pay double. You couldn’t fix his pain, but maybe he just needed you to see it.

“I knew there was something,” you said. “I see you every day at the diner, and I knew you were hurting. I’ve thought a hundred times about how I can make it better. And then I come in here and accuse you of cheating.”

Clint gave you a strange look.

“Today,” he said. “In the diner. You disappeared, and your friend took my table. You thought I was trying to step out on my wife?”

“Um. Yes. I’m sorry.”

Clint shook his head. “I should’ve said something earlier.”

“No,” you said. “I jumped to conclusions, and it was unprofessional. I owe you an apology for acting like such a dick.”

Clint made a sound in the shape of a laugh. “That wasn’t a very professional apology.”

“It wasn’t an apology at all, I guess. But I am sorry.”

“I know,” Clint said.

You gave him a small smile. He let out a sigh.

“This isn’t going too well so far,” he said. “Is it?”

You turned to sit facing him on the couch.

“I’m here for you,” you said. “You’re the one who decides what ‘going well’ means.”

“Okay,” he said. He slid his right hand through his left.

“It might’ve been a mistake,” he said. “Trying this.”

A suspicion formed inside your mind.

“Is this the first time you’ve… since…”

“Yeah.”

Oh, God. You never would have pushed to keep tonight’s date if you’d known. Was he just going through with this because he’d spent so much money?

“Do you… Is it too weird, that it’s me? If you really think this is a mistake, we should do the refund.”

“No,” he said. “I have to do this. I have to try. Something needs to change.”

“Okay,” you said. “I’ll stay.”

“Thank you.”

His eyes dropped to his hands, and quiet stretched between you. He didn’t move toward you on the couch.

Your instincts said not to rush him, but you only had so much time. He said he wanted to do this. Maybe you could help him remember why. 

“It might help if you start by telling me what you want out of tonight.”

Clint nodded at his hands.

“Alright,” he said. “I thought tonight could be a… first step. I have these moments sometimes, where I’ll get excited to… see somebody. And then it hits me, what I’m doing, that I’m excited about somebody besides Grace, and I just…”

He cut himself off. His mouth opened, but no words came out. He gestured toward his chest.

You felt an urge to wrap your arms around him, but he’d left a couch’s worth of space between you for a reason.  You stayed where you were.

“It might just be too soon,” you said. “It’s okay if you aren’t ready.”

“I need to be ready,” he said. He lifted his head, and you saw that his eyes were wet. He gestured again at his chest. “It needs to not be like this anymore. I need something good that doesn’t hurt. Even if I hate myself for wanting it.”

“Hey,” you said softly. “You’re not wrong for wanting to feel better.”

“You don’t know that.”

“But you do?” you said. “We’ll have to agree to disagree.”

You were being too glib. You regretted it at once, but Clint’s mouth twitched.

He was in there somewhere, a real person, buried by emotion. If you could draw him out, get him thinking about something else, maybe he could enjoy himself.

“So you want to feel good tonight,” you said. “Is there anything specific that you want to do with me?”

Clint’s gaze dropped to the stripe of thigh between your stockings and skirt. He looked at your mouth, then back to your eyes.

“I don’t know,” he said.

Sure, he didn’t.

“You don’t know? Or you know, but you feel too guilty to ask?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “You can be kind of blunt sometimes.”

Fuck.

“Sorry. I’m not big on half-truths. I usually do a better job of being polite.”

“I didn’t say you should be. But it’s surprising for somebody named Angel.”

You hesitated, and Clint’s eyes flickered with understanding.

“Your name isn’t really Angel, is it?”

You shook your head.

“You just told me you don’t like lying!”

A tiny, incredulous grin had appeared on Clint’s face. There he was.

“This isn’t a lie,” you said. “My name is Angel. Some of the time. Come on, you’re telling me your real name is Clint?”

He blinked. “Is it not supposed to be?”

“Wait really? Your name is Clint?”

“You thought I made it up?”

“Of course I did! Guys always pick the most macho, Old Hollywood names they can think of. Rock, Leroy, Rebel… Titan.”

“You’re lying about Titan.”

“I really wish I was.”

Clint chuckled, and you found yourself smiling. He was gorgeous when he laughed.

“Sorry,” you said. “It’s not good form to talk to you about other clients.”

“I don’t want good form,” he said.

“There you go. Telling me what you want. What else?”

He paused for a moment. “What would you do if you were on a date with one of those other guys right now?”

Most other guys got right down to the main event, but you didn’t think Clint was ready for that.

“Um. Probably a blowjob?”

Clint’s eyes snapped to your lips.

“Yeah?” he said quietly. “You’d take me in your mouth?”

Oh, fuck. He really needed a license for that voice of his.

“Does that sound like something you want?” you asked. “We can go slow at first, maybe just my tongue.”

Clint’s chest swelled, and he adjusted himself inside his pants.

“Yeah,” he said. “Okay. Let’s try that.”

You got to your feet. “Do you want me to take my dress off?”

“Fuck,” Clint murmured. “I… Not yet. Yes, but it feels like too much.”

“Alright,” you said. “Keep telling me when something’s too much, okay?”

“I will.”

You walked over to his end of the couch.

Clint’s fingers pressed indents into armrest of the couch. He didn’t seem to know where to look – your face, your chest, your hands. His eyes darted to the empty wall, then back to you.

You took a step, and Clint’s knees brushed yours.

“Can you make some space?” you asked.

Clint spread his knees. You sank to the ground between them.

He felt so big up close. His bulky thighs seemed to surround you. Your hand reached out of its own accord to trace a swell of his muscle.

Clint inhaled sharply. His eyes were locked on your fingers. Slowly, you trailed your hand up the top of his leg.

“You’re so strong,” you murmured. “I can feel it.”

Clint’s brow creased, and you realized it probably sounded like a line. But it was true. What sort of life gave a man this kind of muscle? Roadwork? Construction?

But that scar on his face… the way he always paid in cash… and his massive hands, like they’d been swollen from years of impact. There was something dangerous about his strength.

Clint shifted in his seat. You let out a breath, then slid your hand farther up his leg.

Pressed on the inside of his thigh, bulging out against the denim, was the outline of his cock.

A whimper fell from your mouth before you could stop it. He was hard, and long, and straining to be released.

You looked to Clint. Was this okay with him? He was still staring at your hand.

“Should I stop?”

Clint hesitated, then shook his head.

You didn’t move.

“You promised to tell me if this was too much.”

Clint shook his head again. He wouldn’t look you in the eye. Something curled inside your stomach, the feeling that always came when you were Angel.

“It isn’t too much,” Clint said. The words were strained. “Please. Keep going.”

You brought your hand to his erection.

Clint shuddered. His cock twitched beneath your touch. The heat of him radiated out through the denim.

You gripped his shaft. Oh, God, he was big – girthy in a way that made you ache between your legs.

You glanced up at Clint. He’d gone very still. You swept your thumb over his tip.

His hand shot out and grabbed your wrist. 

He closed his eyes, and his mouth made a flat, tense line.

“Clint – ”

He pushed your hand away.

“Stop,” he said. “Stop. No. Please. I can’t have you touching me.”

He dropped your hand, and you brought it to your lap.

Your throat felt tight. Clint still wouldn’t look at you.

His hands shook at his sides, and he opened and closed them into fists. It was such a strange tic of his – like his body wanted to fight something that wasn’t there.

You sat back on your heels, but didn’t say anything. If Clint was anything like you, the panic would need a second to leave his system.

Slowly, his breath evened out. He ran a hand through his hair, and his eyes found yours.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

You forced your voice to stay level.

“Don’t be. This is why you wanted a professional, right?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I suppose it is.”

He wedged his hands into his pockets, then seemed to think better of it. He took them back out.

“It isn’t you that’s the problem,” he said. “It’s not that I don’t want you.”

“You don’t have to explain.”

“It was just, the second I felt your hands – ”

“It’s okay,” you said. “I understand. It didn’t feel right.”

His brow creased. “I don’t know if it did. I couldn’t pay attention to how it felt. For years, I only ever wanted one person, and I just kept thinking… I don’t deserve to feel this without her.”

“That isn’t true,” you said.

An emotion flickered across Clint’s face. “Maybe it is.”

You could tell he believed what he was saying. There was something getting in his way – something he’d tried and failed to power through. You kept quiet and let him wrestle with it.

“You’ve got to understand,” he said hoarsely. “It was my fault.”

He always spoke slowly, but now the words seemed to weigh him down.

“The kid who shot Grace, he was trying to punish me. And he was right to want me punished. I’m… I was a bad man for a long time.”

So he was some sort of criminal – or had been. Maybe it should have worried you, but you’d known already, hadn’t you? Illicit didn’t background check its users, and it attracted a certain sort of client. Technically, you were a criminal, too.

And Clint just didn’t feel dangerous. Your gut had been right when it refused to believe he was cheating. This time, you decided to trust it.

“I don’t believe you’re a bad person,” you said.

Clint shook his head. His eyes were dark pools.

“It should’ve been me who died,” he said. “I’m not supposed to have this life. What kind of a man would I be if I enjoyed it?”

Understanding washed over you. This was the thought that was strangling him. He didn’t just miss his wife – he owed her. He couldn’t forgive himself. He couldn’t even try.

But some part of him wanted to. He’d brought you here, hadn’t he? He needed something from you tonight.

You didn’t know if you could deliver. You didn’t how to make it right. It didn’t even feel okay to hug him.

“Tell me what you want,” you said quietly.

Clint sighed.

“I want you to get up off your knees,” he said. “It feels like you’re praying to me down there.”

This was definitely not the time to crack a joke about his God-tier cock. You kept your mouth shut for once, but maybe your face betrayed you, because Clint raised an eyebrow as you got to your feet.

“Let’s take a break,” he said. “Can we do that?”

“Of course.”

He pushed up off the couch. “Good. Want me to make you a drink?”

You were behind Clint when he stepped into his kitchen, so you saw the way his shoulders relaxed. He seemed easier in here than he had in the living room. Maybe he felt better when he was doing something normal.

And his kitchen was nice – small, but tidy, with bright, warm lights and a U-shaped wraparound counter. A highchair sat at the table, and the dishrack was full of tiny pink utensils. You smiled to yourself.

“Take a seat,” Clint said.

You boosted yourself up and sat on the counter.

Clint raised an eyebrow. “I’ve got chairs.”

“I noticed. I like it up here.”

He shrugged. “Fair enough. I won’t complain about the view.”

You glanced down and realized your skirt had ridden up, so the hem only barely skimmed the top of your thighs. You didn’t pull it back down.

“It’ll take me a second to find anything to drink,” Clint said. “These days we’re only an apple juice and coffee household.”

“So you do have coffee at home,” you said. “And are those bananas I see above the fridge? What is it – do we just cut them up better at the diner?”

Clint began to riffle through the cabinets.

“I like to get out of the house,” he said. “You try having only a baby to talk to.”

“I’ve never seen you talk to anyone at the diner,” you said. “Unless you count me taking your order.”

Clint’s neck went pink, and he didn’t respond. He turned and reached up to open the high cabinet above the stove. The hem of his sweater rode up, and his undershirt lifted with it.

“Alright,” he said. “We’ve got whiskey, and we’ve got instant hot chocolate. Guest’s choice.”

Above the waistband of his jeans, his back was golden and ridged with muscle. A thick, pink scar reached down from beneath his shirt.

He glanced at you over his shoulder. “Did you hear me?”

“Um. Either is good.”

He grabbed both, then put on the kettle.

While it boiled, he leaned back against the counter. He was on the opposite end of the U, directly across from you. His gaze fell on your thigh-highs, and he didn’t look up.

“We’re supposed to be taking a break,” you said.

“We are,” he said. “But… I want you to take those off.”

“Really?” you asked.

Most guys liked to fuck you while you still had them on.

“You told me to ask for what I want,” Clint said. “I want to see your thighs. All of them.”

“In a taking-a-break way,” you said.

He grinned. “Exactly.”

Something fluttered in your stomach. You unclipped your garters and rolled the stockings down your legs. Being careful not to make new pulls, you folded them into a pile, then set it on the counter beside you.

You felt a silly need to dodge Clint’s gaze. Your stockings were armor. Without them, there was no hiding the cellulite on your legs, and in your rush tonight, you’d left stubble around one of your knees. You didn’t exactly look like you were worth a thousand dollars.

The kettle whistled. Clint didn’t move. His eyes had gone black, and he was staring at your bare skin. You crossed your legs, and his gaze followed the new sliver of thigh you revealed.

Your heart stuttered inside your chest. His focus was so singular – it did something to you. But you knew he wasn’t ready to act on it.

“Clint,” you said.

He stirred and seemed to finally hear the kettle. He switched off the heat and poured two mugs of hot chocolate. He dolloped a healthy pour of whiskey into each.

“Is that any good?” you asked.

“We’ll find out.” Clint said. He picked up both mugs and crossed the kitchen to you. “Do you want the Lakeshore Diner one, or Bluey?”

“Bluey.”

Clint handed you the mug. “Careful. It’s still hot.”

It was, but not so bad you couldn’t hold it.

“It feels good,” you said.

Clint smiled softly. “Good.”

He made space on the counter and pushed himself up to sit beside you, close enough that his leg almost brushed yours. He cradled the mug from the diner, and his hands made it look small.

You nodded to it.

“Did you pay for that, or steal it?”

Clint grinned.

“If I confess, are you gonna to turn me in?”

“I might. But I have three in my apartment, so it’s a bit of a pot/kettle situation.”

“You’re a repeat offender?” he asked. “I knew you had a dark side.”

“Streetwalking isn’t a dark enough side for you?”

Clint raised an eyebrow. “Do you actually walk the streets?”

“Um. For transportation.”

“Then we’re both streetwalkers,” he said. “You should be paying me for my time.”

“Not if you aren’t putting out, I shouldn’t.”

He let out a surprised laugh. “Fair enough.”

You traced your thumb over the handle of your mug.

“Do you want to talk about it more?” you asked. “The not-putting-out of it all?”

He shook his head. “Not right now.”

He took a sip of hot chocolate, and you followed his lead. The mixture was sweet at first, but it burned as it went down.

“Okay,” you said. “This is not as good as either whiskey or hot chocolate individually.”

“Yeah,” Clint said. “But it ain’t bad.”

You took another swallow, and heat spread out inside you. Clint’s shoulder knocked against yours.

“No,” you agreed. “This isn’t bad at all.”

Clint nodded, and silence fell between you.

You took slow sips of the hot chocolate. Clint probably thought he hadn’t made it very strong, but he was a giant man and you’d skipped dinner. You had to pace yourself.

“You smell nice,” Clint said. “You always do. Like you’re in a commercial for orange juice.”

You’d just taken a mouthful of hot chocolate, and it took all your effort not to spit it back out. You swallowed too fast, and your throat burned as you laughed.

“Is that a thing you look for in a woman? Market appeal?”

Clint had clearly watched your entire doomed swallow. A laugh sparked behind his eyes.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said. “I meant…” he waved his hand. “Happy. Like those big groves of trees they always show, and people pouring really cold glasses for little kids.”

His cheeks were pink, and he seemed to be half laughing at himself. He was kind of a dork, you realized, underneath all his muscle.

“Okay,” you said. “Thank you?”

“Anytime,” Clint said. He leaned back against the cabinets and took another sip of his drink.

He smelled like aftershave, and a bit like mothballs. You wondered when he’d last worn this sweater – you’d never seen him in it at the diner. In the corner of your eye you could see him glancing at your legs.

Your whole body was aware of him, and you weren’t sure that was a good thing. You kept your attention on your mug. Bluey stared back at you.

“Is your daughter even old enough for this show?” you asked.

Clint shrugged.

“Not really. She likes it anyway, though. Little genius. Whenever it comes on, she’ll make this ‘oo’ sound at the TV.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“What?” he said.

“Nothing. Babies make a lot of ‘oo’ sounds, don’t they?”

Clint’s mouth twitched. “It’s a real specific sound. And the ‘b-l’ noise is a hard one for toddlers to make. Something about the way they move their tongues. She’s doing her best to say ‘Bluey’. I know my girl.”

“Does she say anything else?”

“Oh, yeah. She’s got a lot of opinions. You’d like her.”

He’d thought about you two together?

“What kind of opinions?”

Clint pointed at himself. “Da.” He pointed to the door. “Go.” He repeated both gestures. “‘Da go’. And when she means business, it’s ‘Da go go’.”

“She wants you to go away?”

“Nah. She wants me to take her to new places. She’s such a curious little kid – has to pick up every leaf at the park, always reaching for whatever I eat, like she’s gotta try it. I can’t wait until she can tell me what she’s thinking.”

Clint’s voice shimmered with pride, and an absent smile played across his face. He turned and caught your eye, and your heart seemed to tumble over.

For a moment, you wished this was an ordinary date, that you had an ordinary job, that he really was ready to move on, instead of just wanting to be.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

You couldn’t tell him that. You took a sip of hot chocolate.

“Where’s your daughter tonight?”

He pointed upstairs. “Landlords. They spoil the shit out of her. How about you?”

“Do I spoil your kid?”

“No. Have you got any kids of your own?”

You shook your head no.

“Do you think you will?”

The night was starting to veer into confusing territory. You could change the subject, but… would it kill you to play along?

“I’d like to,” you said. “My ex and I wanted to have them, but it was never the right time. Now I think we just weren’t the right people.”

“For kids?” Clint asked.

“For each other.”

Clint opened his mouth, then hesitated.

“What?” you asked.

“I wanna know about you,” he said. “But I don’t know if it’s fair to keep asking. It’s not what you signed up for tonight.”

“You paid good money for this conversation,” you said. “Ask away.”

Clint frowned. “If you don’t want to answer, just tell me.”

“I will.”

“Okay,” he said. “Were you married?”

You nodded. “We were really young.”

“And…uh…”

“What happened?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know, really. I quit school to stay at home, and then he was never there. I picked fights instead of saying I missed him. He, uh, he cheated. In the end. He had been for a while.”

You swirled the dregs of your hot chocolate in your mug. “It’s all a bit of a cliché, isn’t it?”

“No,” Clint said quietly.

You glanced up at him. His brow was creased in the middle, and his eyes were dark. It would be all too easy to tip into them.

You busied yourself finishing your drink.

“It ended a while ago. It doesn’t feel so bad anymore.”

Clint didn’t press the subject, but you could feel him watching you.

“You do homework sometimes,” he said. “At the diner. Are you back in school?”

He’d noticed you doing homework?

“I am. I’m getting a degree in accounting.”

It wasn’t your favorite, but it would always pay the bills.

Clint looked at you sideways. “You don’t have the personality of an accountant.”

“What? I have the personality of a call girl?”

He snorted. “Definitely not. I don’t think call girls are supposed to tell off the guys who might be cheating.”

“I don’t make a habit of it,” you said.

“No?” Clint asked. “I’m special?”

Your face burned.

“I… I knew you before. It’s different.”

You resisted the urge to glance at Clint and focused instead on setting down your mug. “It does suck when the guys are cheating, though. I tell myself they’d just hire another girl if I didn’t do it, but that doesn’t take away the feeling that I’m hurting somebody.”

Clint fell quiet for a moment.

“I get it,” he finally said

He went to take a drink, then seemed to remember his mug was empty. He didn’t say more, and his gaze had turned inward. He traced his thumb over the knuckles of his right hand.

Was he thinking about his previous life – the bad man he claimed he’d been? The way he’d talked about his past felt so at-odds with the man sitting in front of you. But nobody was only one thing.

Clint caught you watching him.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

He hadn’t paid you to pry into his life.

“Come on,” Clint said. “I can tell that you wanna ask me something. If you don’t, I’m gonna feel bad for asking about you.”

“Okay,” you said. “For how long were you… doing other things?”

He nodded. “Almost thirty years.”

“You don’t seem old enough for that to be true.”

“The job chose me,” Clint said. “I was only a kid when I started.”

A tinge of sadness was back in his voice.

“Did you ever go to prison?” you asked.

“Twice. A long time ago.”

He searched your face, as if gauging your reaction. Was he worried about making you nervous?

“You can ask,” he said. “If you want.”

You could ask what he’d done, he meant. You wondered about it, of course. But did it really matter? He was somebody else now – a man who apparently hand-washed his daughter’s sippy cups. You’d already decided to trust him. And he was holding enough guilt as it was.

“Okay,” you said. “Did you get any prison tattoos?”

Clint looked at you in surprise. Then he began to laugh.

“That’s what you want to know?”

You shrugged.

“You’re not still doing… whatever put you in prison,” you said. “But if you got tattoos, you still have them. And you always wear long sleeves, even when it’s hot out.”

“Do I now?”

Clint was grinning at you, and your body felt warm – from the liquor, and maybe a little from all his attention. You weren’t drunk, not even buzzed, really, but your thoughts felt softer, a little safer.

“Come on,” you said. “Answer the question.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I got a few tattoos in prison. And a few outside.”

“Where are they?”

“The usual places,” he said.

“Like..?”

Clint held your eyes. He brought his hand to the inside of his forearm. Then his bicep. His chest, on the right side, where his sweater strained the most. The top of his thigh.

He hesitated, then touched the side of his stomach, right above his belt, in the place that led down to the vee of his hips.

It suddenly felt like a large portion of your insides had turned into liquid.

“Interesting,” you managed to say.

“Is it?” Clint said. His voice had gone very soft.

“You know,” you said. “I wouldn’t mind… if you wanted to show me. As a good, um, taking-a-break activity.”

Clint swallowed.

“They’ve gotten pretty old,” he said. “The tattoos. They might not be the kind of… tattoos… that you like.”

You held his gaze. “I very much doubt that.”

“Okay,” he said quietly.

He slid down from the counter and gave you a small, self-conscious smile. You felt a flutter of anticipation.

Clint pulled off his shirt, and you forgot how to breathe.

He took up more space like this – all the raw, bare strength of him, his thick middle and thicker chest, covered over by hair and crossed by scars.

And there was a softness to him, in his stomach, where he pushed out over his belt. Was this what he’d been worried about you seeing? It couldn’t be.

He felt so real, and he was so much a man – his body spoke to some animal need in yours.

“You’ve got to remember,” Clint said. “I got most of these more than twenty years ago.”

Right. The tattoos. You could see them in all the places he’d promised – fading blue ink, without color, in that old-school traditional style. A wolf’s head. A burning heart.

You gestured to a large, pinup-style portrait on his forearm. “Is that one the reason you always cover up?”

The girl was barefoot, and she wore only a high-cut swimsuit. She stood up on her toes, posing in a way that showed off a particularly thick set of thighs.

Clint grinned. “Kind of. But I don’t regret it. She’s good company.”

“I like her,” you said. “I like all of them.”

Especially the one inked above his hip – a knife, you thought, but you could only see the hilt of it.

Clint followed your gaze. “My body wasn’t like this when I got that one,” he said. “I was a cocky idiot. Didn’t really think it through.”

“No?” you murmured. You couldn’t stop looking at the knife. You traced it with your eyes until it disappeared beneath his belt.

Clint shifted his weight. “I know,” he said. “It’s –”

“Hot?”

How far did the blade go? If he fucked you tonight, the tattoo would point right to the place your bodies joined. Heat dripped into a pool between your legs. You squeezed your thighs together and forced your breath to steady.

“Fuck,” Clint whispered. “You turned on by it?”

You met his eyes, and the air around you seemed to pulse with static.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Yes. You… you look good.”

“Me?” Clint said. “Fuck, gorgeous. Look at you.” He gestured roughly to the top of your legs.

Over the course of the conversation, you’d leaned back against the cabinets. With the hem of your dress rucked up as it was, you realized Clint had a direct line of sight to your panties.

By instinct, you shifted your legs closed.

“I didn’t say to do that,” Clint said. His voice was low and smooth all of a sudden.

You hesitated, then let your legs fall back apart. Clint’s eyes fixed on the place between them.

“Could you…?” he asked quietly.

He wasn’t looking at your face, but you nodded anyway. You took ahold of the hem of your dress and dragged it up until it sat around your hips. You took a breath, and spread your legs wide.

A low sound fell from Clint’s mouth.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Can see your cunt right through those panties.”

Your pussy throbbed with heat.

Without lifting his eyes, Clint moved as if drawn forward and rested his palms on either side of your hips. The long rectangle of his body surrounded you.

The room fell quiet but for his breath and yours. Surely he could see what he was doing to you – the wetness that was sticking to your panties.  

“Clint,” you said.

He nodded. His eyes were still glued between your legs.

“Do you want to take a break from your break?”

He nodded again.

“Good,” you said. “That’s… good. Do you know what you want to do instead?”

Maybe he’d be ready to try again with the blowjob – yes, your mouth, on that weighty cock of his.  

“You’re so fucking hot,” Clint muttered.

“Um. Thank you. But that’s not exactly an answer to – ”

“I want to watch you cum,” Clint said. “I want you to be my real life porn tonight.”

“Yeah?” you breathed.

Clint nodded. He grazed his thumb along the hem of your dress.

“I want you to take this off,” he said. “And I want to have a good, long look. And then I want you to fuck yourself, and I’m gonna watch.”

Oh. Oh, yes. Arousal flooded through you, and your nipples made stiff peaks against the mesh of your bra.

Clint’s eyes traveled in a line up your body, and a slow smile spread across his face as he took in your reaction. At last he met your eyes.

“Can we do that?” he asked. “I don’t know if I’m ready to touch you.”

You managed to nod.

“We can do that.”

Clint’s mouth twitched. “Good.”

He stepped back, and you slid to the floor.

“Here?” you asked. You turned to face him.

Clint nodded. He leaned his hips the counter.

With shaky fingers, you undid your zipper. You’d taken this dress off dozens of times, but tonight somehow felt like the first.  

It was hard to look at Clint again, so you focused on his hands where they held the edge of the counter. You let your dress fall to the floor, and Clint’s knuckles whitened.  

“Fuck,” he whispered.

You met his eyes, and his chest rose and fell. His gaze traveled down to your mouth, to your breasts, where the shadow of your nipples pushed against your bra. It trailed over the place between your legs, down the length of your thighs and back up.

You felt a needy flicker in your core.

Clint nodded to your garter belt.

“Take that off.”

You undid the belt, and it dropped on top of your crumpled-up dress.

“Better,” Clint murmured. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

Maybe it was just that honest voice of his, but it was easy to believe that he meant what he said. For a moment you felt a strange clutch of sadness.

Clint brought a broad hand to his crotch and began to palm himself over his jeans. Oh, fuck.

“Show me your tits,” he said. “Play with them for me.”

You took off your bra, and Clint groaned when your breasts spilled free. Was he always this expressive?

You slid your hands up over your stomach – it was prickled with goosebumps – and cupped your own breasts.

Clint took in a heavy breath.

You kept your eyes on him and rolled your thumbs over your nipples. It wasn’t much, but your body was wound tight, and you shuddered at the bolt of pleasure.

“Yeah,” Clint murmured. “That’s it.”

He was stroking his erection now, and you could see it, swollen and taut against the front of his jeans.

A whimper drifted from your mouth.

Clint followed your eyes, and a knowing look spread over his face.

“You like him, huh?”   

“Just… just a suggestion,” you said. “You wanted real-life porn. If you were watching porn, wouldn’t you be...”

“Go on.”

“I mean, you wanted to feel good tonight, didn’t you?”

“Uh-huh,” Clint said. He was grinning now.

“So you shouldn’t… hold back… from that.”

Clint’s grin widened, and he brought his hands to his belt.

“Okay, gorgeous,” he said. “You want a better view?”

“Please?”

“You gonna keep giving me what I want?”

“Clint,” you moaned. “That’s literally my job. Please.”

A laugh spilled from his mouth, and he began to unbuckle his belt. Anticipation pooled between your legs.

Clint shucked off his jeans, and his bare thighs slid into view. They were corded over with muscle, and some big animal was inked onto one of them. A panther, maybe, or a bear?

You didn’t look long enough to tell. You couldn’t, because Clint was wearing dark gray briefs that hugged tight to his hips. They were made of a soft, stretchy material, and the outline of his erection strained pornographically against it.

Oh, God, he was big. Even beside his massive hand. And at his tip, oh fuck, the fabric was stained dark. He was leaking already for you.

The ache between your legs was almost painful now. You acted without thinking, and slid your fingers down to relieve it.

Clint sucked in a breath. “Look at you,” he muttered. “Oh, fuck, baby. You’ve got no idea what you do to me.”

You shot a glance at his hard-on. You had some idea.

Clint seemed to follow your thoughts, and his eyes sparked with amusement.

“Yeah, okay,” he admitted. “Little tease.”

Something warm curled up inside your stomach. A small smile played around Clint’s mouth.

“Alright,” he said. “That’s enough of that. Next time you play with her, I want a better view.”

Reluctantly, you slid your fingers from your panties.

“Clean them off,” Clint said. His hand dipped into the waistband of his briefs and began to move along the outline of his cock

You didn’t move. You couldn’t. Desire throbbed in your throat, and thoughts slipped from your mind like water.

Every time Clint stroked his fist, the veins in his forearms rippled.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said. “Put your fingers in your mouth. You can pretend it’s him if you want.”

You did as he said, tasting your own slick, and Clint made a low, approving noise. The sound seemed to shiver through your body.

Clint gestured with his chin. “Turn around for me now.”

As soon as you did, Clint let out a loud groan.

“Oh, yeah,” he muttered. “Fucking perfect body. Even hotter than I thought you’d be.”

You heard him push up from the counter. He stepped so close you could feel the heat of him, his hand hovering behind your ass. The cadence of his breath had grown heavy.

You squirmed with the need to do something, to jump forward to the main event.

You hooked your fingers in the waistband of your panties.

“Do you want me to take these off?”

“Not yet,” Clint said. “Not here. Go lie down on the couch.”

He walked behind you the whole way into the living room, then had you lie down on your stomach, with a pillow beneath your hips. The leather was cool against your skin, and the pillow tilted your pelvis up, so your soaked-through panties were on full display. You rested your cheek on your hands, and kept your eyes on Clint.

Maybe you were imagining it, but he seemed to be unraveling. He’d stopped stroking himself, and his voice was ragged now, more rasp and need than substance. His eyes slid over the length of your body.

You scanned him for any of the warning signs you’d seen before – for the tic he had with his fists. You didn’t find it, but that didn’t mean he was okay.

“This isn’t too much?” you asked. “We can stop anytime.”

You weren’t actually sure if you could stop – your core pulsed so needily that you were half-convinced you were dying – but you’d figure out how, if you had to.

Clint looked you in the eye, and shook his head no.

“Not too much,” he rasped. “Ain’t nearly enough.”

He walked up to the middle of the couch. It was hard to see him properly from this angle, so you felt the heat of him first, and then the brush of cotton. There was something firm beneath it – his erection, grazing against your hip.

It was nothing. The smallest amount of contact, and he’d probably done it on accident. But your hips still twitched, rocking up and back against nothing.

Clint grew very still.

And then you felt his hand. His touch was warm – finally, he was touching you – and he didn’t bother to be gentle. His hand slid up around your leg, and he squeezed a fistful of your thigh.

“Fuck,” he growled. “Can’t fucking help myself anymore.”

He reached up to manhandle your ass, then lifted his hand and spanked you - a hard, fast slap on each of your cheeks. His palm came down again, and this time it landed squarely between your legs, smacking you hard over the damp patch on your panties.

A hot shock of pleasure sang through your pussy, and a moan dribbled out of your mouth.

You spread your legs apart and waited for more, but Clint only stepped back. He seemed to be catching his breath.

You whined, and Clint met your eyes.

“Was that okay, gorgeous?”

You nodded. “Until you stopped.”

Clint smiled. “Yeah?”

“You realize… you realize you’re torturing me, right?”

Clint’s gaze softened. “I don’t wanna be,” he said. “You’ve got no idea how bad I want to fuck you right now.”

“Fuck,” you mumbled. “The torture continues.”

“Poor girl,” Clint murmured. He walked to your end of the couch and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

Something was melting inside you, something important, some structural part of your mind that knew all of this was a job. You held Clint’s eye and tried to cling onto the remains of it.

“I… I understand,” you managed to say. “I only want you to do what feels good.”

“Yeah?” he said quietly. “That’s the only thing you want?”

You hesitated. He was close to you now, and his briefs were at eye-level. You were only human, after all.

Clint looked at you knowingly and took ahold of his erection.

“You wanna meet him?” he asked.

“Oh god,” you mumbled. “Please.”

Clint freed his cock, and your brain dissolved.

He had a man’s cock – long and veiny, and thick enough to split you in two. Precum leaked from its tip, and when you whimpered, it twitched in response.

“Fuck,” Clint muttered. “He likes you.”

Oh, hell, were you in trouble. There was a reason Clint wasn’t going to fuck you tonight. There was definitely a reason. Wasn’t there? Was it a good one?

Clint wrapped a hand around his shaft and began to work himself in slow, long strokes.

“Open your mouth,” he said.

You obeyed at once.

He was so girthy that you didn’t know if you’d be able to take him, especially like this, with your head crooked to the side. But fuck, you were down to try.

Clint stepped toward you. He was close now, close enough that you could lean forward if you wanted to and run your tongue over him. Your tongue slipped from your mouth, and you looked up at him, pleading.

He took a slow breath. Some emotion crossed his face, and he groaned in frustration. He reached out with his free hand and dragged his thumb over your bottom lip.

“Your mouth looks so fucking soft, gorgeous. I bet it feels even softer.”

“Please,” you whimpered. “I’ll do anything.”

“Yeah?” Clint said. “Want my cock in your mouth that bad? Or you just want your holes to be filled?”

He pushed his first two fingers between your lips. Then he added a third.

You could feel yourself leaking through your panties now, making a slick mess on your thighs.

Clint’s fingers were thick, and long, and they felt huge compared to your own. You swirled your tongue around them, and a soft noise vibrated up from your throat.

“This okay?” Clint asked.

You managed a nod. It wasn’t his cock, but it was more than you’d hoped for. You hollowed your cheeks and sucked on him.

Clint began to finger your mouth. He stroked himself with the other hand, and could almost imagine it was his shaft sliding over your tongue.

You looked from Clint’s cock to his face, and felt a rush of warmth. Despite his words, despite the crude way he was touching you, his eyes were soft, full of something like admiration.

“You’re doing so good,” he murmured. “Giving me just what I need.”

You flushed at his praise. He slid his fingers from your mouth and brought his cock to hover right beneath your mouth.

“Spit on him, baby.”

You did as he said, and he moaned softly, fisting his cock tight as he smeared your saliva along his shaft. The tip of him was angry and red, and leaking all over his fingers.

“Please,” you whispered. “Please, Clint. Just for a minute.”

He hesitated, then tapped the tip of his cock against your lips. You opened your mouth and licked up a salty drop of precum.

Clint inhaled sharply.

“Oh, fuck,” he said. “He likes you so much, baby. He’s gonna like your cunt even more.”

He stepped away, and you ached at the loss. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough.

Clint walked back down to stand behind your hips. You craned around to watch. His thick fingers slid beneath the waistband of your panties. He hesitated, and you realized he was taking in the mess on your thighs.

“Look at that,” Clint murmured. “She’s getting jealous, huh? All hot for me, and I ain’t even taken a good look.”  

Desperation coiled tight inside you. You arched your hips up from the pillow, and Clint dragged your panties down. For a moment, the mesh clung to your slick. Then cool air hit your aching pussy.

You were bare before Clint. He let out a moan.

“Oh sweet girl,” he muttered. “Fuck, is she pretty.”

He pulled your panties all the way off, then got onto the couch and kneeled in between your thighs. His bare legs brushed warmth into yours.

His cock glistened between his legs. That slutty knife tattoo pointed right to his base, where Clint was wrapping his hand at this very moment. He slid his fist over his shaft and stared at your pussy.

“I want you to spread her open.”

You did as he asked and reached your arms back. The angle was awkward, and you had to face forward to do it, so you couldn’t watch Clint’s face as you pulled your folds wide for him to see.

It was enough only to hear him – the heavy groan that tore from him, and the lewd, slick rhythm of his fist on his shaft, his strokes becoming ever more frantic. A fresh wave of arousal leaked from your entrance, and Clint sucked in a breath.

“Wettest little cunt,” he said. “You been like this for me all night?”

You’d never in your life been turned on like this. Your body felt so hot, so frayed with passion, that it was all you could do to breathe. Your clit pulsed sharply, and your entrance clenched around nothing.

“Oh yeah, she wants him.  That needy little hole, just needs to be fucked, huh?”

“Clint,” you gasped. “Please. I need it.”

“Turn over,” Clint gasped. “Roll over, baby. I wanna see your face.”

With some maneuvering, you adjusted to lie on your back, the pillow still propping up your hips. Clint settled back between your legs, and your whole body ached at the sight of him – broad and bare, his mouth parted and his eyes dark, and his fist working over his length.

“Oh, God,” you mumbled. “You look so good right there.”

Clint grinned. “I look good? You look fucking perfect.”

Warmth pooled inside your chest, and you felt a hazy urge to sit up, or, no, to pull Clint down, to feel the press of his body over yours. You blinked it away.

“Tell me what you want,” you said.

He answered at once.

“Touch yourself, baby. Anything you want. Make yourself cum for me.”

“I want your cock,” you complained. “Want you to give it to me.”

Clint closed his eyes for a long moment, and a breath slid out of him. His fist slowed, and you realized with a surge of arousal that he was trying not to finish.

His stomach tensed, and veins stood out in his forearms. He was close, and you felt drunk on it – this huge, gorgeous man, coming undone at only the sight of you. He made you feel perfect.

You brought both your hands to the slick between your legs, and gasped. You were so sensitive now that the slightest brush of your clit sent a ripple through your body.

Clint opened his eyes, and they flashed with appreciation.

You drew a tender circle around your clit and sighed with relief. For easier access, you spread your legs wide, hinging an ankle on the back of the couch. The pose was obscene, but you were too far gone to care – and yeah, you wanted Clint to see.

Clint let out a strangled grunt. You were spread-eagle now, your pussy just one thrust away from his cock. That tattoo on his hip quivered with tension, and you ached to trace it with your fingers, to take ahold of Clint’s base and guide him into you.

A bright knot of pleasure began to tighten inside you. You knew what you liked, and you knew you’d finish fast tonight.

Clint stared, trancelike, at your pussy. He was jerking himself even more slowly now, his fist hardly moving, and you realized he was waiting for you to catch up. It felt a little sweet, and more than a little filthy – like he needed to see what he’d done to you.

“You feel good?” he asked. “Tell me how good you feel, baby.”

“Yes,” you panted. “And no. I’d feel better with your cock inside me.”

Clint shuddered. His fist sped up again, like he couldn’t help himself anymore.

“Yeah, gorgeous? He’s a lot bigger than that needy cunt of yours. She’d have to stretch real big for him.”

“I can take it,” you breathed. You worked your fingers faster over your clit.

“That – fuck – how you like it, baby? Like your holes stretched all the way open? Want my cock so deep you can’t even breathe?”

Oh, fuck. Your legs shook with pleasure, and you slowed your fingers.

You closed your eyes and took a slow breath. Not yet.

“Don’t stop,” Clint begged. “Wanna see you.”

You held his eyes and resumed your pace on your clit. He was breathtaking, really – all tense muscle and rippling blue ink, panting now, and jerking himself fast.

“God,” you mumbled. “I wish you could cum inside me tonight.”

Clint shuddered. He grabbed one of your thighs and held on tight enough to hurt.

“Fuck,” he panted. “Oh, fuck. If you – nngh – keep talking like that, I’m gonna fucking cum.”

“Yeah?”

Clint nodded. His jaw clenched.

“Yes,” he moaned. “Oh, fuck, you’re so hot. I wanna – fuck – I want –”

“Tell me.”

“I wanna cum on your cunt,” Clint gasped.

Holy fuck. Oh, God.

“Yes,” you said. “Yes. Oh, fuck, please. Please.”

Clint’s hand sped up, and the slapping of his fist filled the room. His whole body was shaking now, and when he opened his mouth to speak, it seemed he had to strain for the words.

“Yeah? You want my cum all over her?”

He was so goddamn hot like this. You angled yourself so your pussy was right beneath him and held yourself open with your fingers.

Clint’s fingers tightened on your thigh. His chest heaved. He let out a final strangled moan, and then you felt the hot spatter of his release.

He came for a long time. His cum coated not only your pussy, but your inner thighs and low belly. It dripped down your center and ran up onto your stomach.

Clint’s breath evened out, and he looked up, dazed, at the mess that he’d made.

“Oh, yeah,” he panted. “Look at her.”

Need fogged over all your senses. You slid your fingers back between your legs, and smeared Clint’s cum over your clit.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Your cunt was made to take my cum, huh? I wanna –”

He cut himself off.

“What?” you asked. “Tell me.”

He met your eyes. “I want to take a picture,” he said. “Shouldn’t have said anything.”

An image popped into your mind of Clint, home alone, jerking himself off to a picture of your pussy – to a picture of what he’d done to your pussy.

“Fuck,” you gasped. “Do it.”

Clint stilled. “Yeah?”

“Please,” you said. “I – fuck, I’m close – I want you to. Just don’t get my face.”

“Good thing I didn’t cum there, huh?”

You moaned. “Stop – stop putting ideas in my head.”

Clint grinned. He leaned over to the end table and grabbed his phone, then aimed the camera in between your legs.

He stared at the screen, and his eyes darkened.

“Goddamn is she pretty.”

The shutter clicked, and you whimpered. You worked your clit frantically, and felt your orgasm mounting. Your hips twitched on the pillow.

Then Clint touched you. He reached out with two broad fingers, and spread your pussy open.

“There I am,” he muttered. “Dripping right into your cunt, ain’t I?”

He held the camera close, and it clicked again. Your body began to shake.

Clint trailed his fingers through the mess on your thighs, gathering up his cum on his fingers.

“Gonna put this all where it belongs,” he said. “Okay, baby? Can I give you my cum?”

Oh, fuck. Did he mean –

“Wanna fuck you with my hand,” Clint said. “Fill up this hole like she needs.”

White spots flickered on the edges of your vision.

“Please.”

Clint rumbled in approval and pushed a single, impossibly thick finger inside you. The stretch seared through you, deep and perfect.

“So soft,” Clint murmured. “So fucking tight. She’s taking it so good.”

He curled his finger upward and the pad of it found that sensitive place. He began to stroke you, pleasuring you from the inside, keeping time with your own rhythm on your clit. Tension coiled between your legs.

Clint worked in a second finger, then, without waiting, a third. He felt huge inside you – so thick it would have hurt, if you weren’t so wet.

Your toes curled. Your back arched up off the couch.

Clint held up his phone once again and centered the camera on your entrance.

“Oh, fuck, baby. Your cunt is pretty when she’s full.”

The shutter clicked, and the tension inside you snapped.

You came all at once, a thousand nerve endings dissolving into pleasure. Your thoughts fuzzed, your blood blazed, and a broken whine fell from your throat. For a moment, you thought you might be crying.

Your orgasm burnt itself out, and you collapsed, breathless on the leather. Clint slid his hand from your pussy, and you took long swallows of air as your pulse steadied. Your face was wet. You really had cried.

The strange sadness you’d felt earlier had somehow worked its way into your chest. You looked around for Clint.

He gazed back at you from the other side of the couch, his phone forgotten and his eyes soft. He leaned back in his seat, and you realized he was caught in between your legs.

He didn’t seem to mind. You’d stretched out one leg across his lap at some point, and his hand rested just beneath your knee.

“God,” you said. “You made me cum so fucking hard.”

“I saw. You looked real good doing it.”

“You… you looked real good doing it, too.”

Clint let out a low chuckle, and you felt his chest vibrate between your legs.

“I hope… I hope you’re not too attached to this pillow,” you said.

Clint grinned. “Hated it.”

You laughed. Clint’s hand slid gently down your leg.

Since when was he touching you? And since when did it feel normal?

You sighed. Your body felt so heavy now, and Clint’s hand was so very warm.

“Are you sleepy?” Clint asked, and you realized your eyes had closed.

“A little. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You should rest for a minute.”

You shook your head. “Can’t. Unprofessional.”

“I won’t tell,” Clint murmured. “You’re doing what I want tonight, and I want you to feel good. Take a break, baby.”

Baby. It felt different, hearing him say it like this, outside the heat of the moment. Good, and a little painful, right in the center of your chest.

You’d think about it later. Clint was touching you with both hands now, drawing warm lines up the side of your body.

“Okay,” you mumbled. “You win this time.”

You closed your eyes again. Then something occurred to you.

“Clint. Was this an okay first step?”

You felt his laugh more than you heard it this time.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “This was okay.”

You sank back onto the soft leather and let your mind float. The lulls between your thoughts grew longer and longer. You could feel the steady rhythm of Clint’s breath.

A sound blared from somewhere. An alarm. Your alarm?

The glow slipped from your mind, and you remembered where you were – a client’s house, and you’d burned through all the time he’d paid for.

You opened your eyes and pushed yourself up to a seat. Clint met your gaze, and his brow creased.

“My phone,” you said.

“Is it in your coat?” he asked. “I got it.”

He began pushing to his feet, untangling himself from in between your legs. Your body felt cold in all the places he’d been.

You were being ridiculous. You had to get up.

“It’s okay,” you said. “Let me.”

Clint didn’t argue. You followed the ringing to the closet and fished your phone from the pocket of your coat. You stared at the time. 1:08 AM.

“Everything good?” Clint asked.

You closed the closet door, clutching your phone in your hand. “Yeah. It’s my alarm. I’ve been here for two hours.”

Clint nodded. He glanced at your hand, then directed his words at a lamp on the end table.

“Right. We’ll get you out of here fast.”

“Okay,” you said. “Yeah.”

“There’s a bathroom down the hall where you can wash up. Towels are in the cabinet.”

“I don’t have to. You’re not a dick if you send me home like this.”

“Yeah, well. Agree to disagree.”

You had a routine for the end of your dates. Settle up, get dressed, get home, get showered. It didn’t involve going deeper into your client’s homes, and it definitely didn’t involve caring whether or not they met your eyes.

But a moment alone would be good. You could get your head on straight. You made your way down the hall, and Clint stood in silence behind you.

Beside Clint’s bathtub, there was a box of tiny rubber toys – about a million of them. You saw a pair of pastel duckies and imagined Clint, elbow-deep in suds, swimming them around for his daughter.

He hadn’t told you her name, you realized. Or his last name. He didn’t even know your first.

You looked at your reflection and understood why he’d insisted you clean up. Makeup ran in streaks down your face, and there was dried cum all over your stomach and legs.

You found a towel in the cabinet like he’d said. You ran the edge of it under the faucet, then began to wipe the mess away. Maybe he’d meant for you to take a shower, but it felt way too intimate to do that here. Not in that bathtub, not when you were already staying past your welcome.

A sharp feeling pressed up inside your chest.

You knew what this was. You felt vulnerable after sex sometimes – especially after you came. This was only hormones, and it was to be expected. You’d be perfectly fine in the morning.

The hollow feeling clutched suddenly tight inside you, and maybe you knew where it came from, but it wouldn’t go away. Tears burned behind your eyes, and your face twisted. A hoarse noise pushed up from your throat. And then the sobs came, silent and open-mouthed, each one shaking your chest.

You curled your naked body around the towel and waited it out, praying that Clint wouldn’t hear you.

This would pass. Your body was just confused.

You were fine. You were always fine, in the end.

Tonight wasn’t any exception. You rode out the surge and regained control of your body. You checked your reflection, and it was impossible to tell which tears were new. Clint wouldn’t know anything had happened. You ran fresh water over the towel and scrubbed off your face as best you could.

When you emerged from the bathroom, the living room was empty. The pillow you’d defiled was gone from the couch, and your dress and lingerie sat folded in a pile on the coffee table.

A stack of bills had been set on top of your bra. You counted them out. Fifty dollars.

What the hell? Clint had already paid double. You didn’t need more of his money.

You set the cash aside and put on your clothes, minus the garter belt and your ruined panties. The sound of a faucet running came from the kitchen. You followed it and found Clint washing out your mugs.

His back was to the door, and he seemed not to hear you enter. A pair of pajama pants hung from his hips, and he’d thrown on a thin white t-shirt. Muscles shifted beneath it as he scrubbed, and steam drifted up from the faucet.

Why was he scrubbing? You’d only had hot chocolate.

He washed the same mug for a long time without stopping. It wasn’t until you said his name that he switched off the water.

Clint placed the mug back in the sink. He dried his hands off on his pants and brought them to his face for a moment before he turned.

He dried off his wet hands on his pajama pants.

“Hey,” he said.

His voice sounded strange. You opened your mouth to point out the dish towel he could’ve used. Then you saw that his eyes were red.

“Hi,” you said. You walked over to lean on the counter beside him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Clint shook his head. “Can’t really afford another conversation.”

It had the cadence of a joke, but neither of you laughed. You set the fifty dollars on the counter.

“Then why did you give me this?”

“12.5%,” Clint said.  “Double. It’s almost 1:30 already. I kept you here too long.”

“Don’t be stupid,” you said. “I’ve been cleaning up for the last fifteen minutes, and I fully fell asleep before then. I can’t charge you for that.”

“I took pictures,” Clint said.

“I begged you to take them.”

“I came all over you.”

“I begged for that, too.”

“But that’s your job. I know you charge extra for shit like that.”

You did, actually, but not as much as he’d paid. And it wasn’t the point.

“I’m not charging you,” you said.

“Then call it a tip.”

“Clint. Why are you trying so hard to give me your money?”

He paused, and his eyes found yours.  

“I don’t know,” he said. “I had a good time tonight.”

“So did I.”

Clint gave you a sad smile. "You don’t need to say that.”

“No,” you said. “Really. Do you seriously think Iwould bother lying to you? If I’d had a bad time, I’d be home by now. And there wouldn’t be pictures on your phone.”

“Do you want me to delete them? You weren’t in your right mind when you agreed.”

“Not unless you want to. And it’s fine if you do. I know photos go against our whole ‘what happens here stays here’ agreement.”

“Right,” Clint said.

He fell quiet. His hands were pink from the water. He still wore his ring – he hadn’t even taken it off to do the dishes.

He’d lost his wife only a year ago.

You were standing here too long, weren’t you? You’d done your job.

“I’m going to leave,” you said.

Clint nodded. Then he reached for your hand.

His skin was warm and damp from the faucet. He swept his thumb over your knuckles, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse.

“What if I don’t want you to go?”

Your throat felt tight.

“I also don’t want me to go,” you admitted. “But… I don’t think you want me to stay.”

Clint’s brows pulled together. He dropped his eyes and nodded slowly.

“Maybe not,” he said. “I don’t know.”

You squeezed his hand.

“We could do this again? If there’s a first step, there’s got to be a second, right?”

“I don’t know if I can afford that anytime soon.”

You’d meant you could do it for free. You opened your mouth to say as much, and a web of questions tangled around you. What were you going to do, half-date Clint while he was still in the throes of his grief? While you were making a living as a call girl? When there was a little kid involved?

Each one of you was kind of a mess. Together, right now, you’d be a disaster.

You swallowed a heavy feeling.

“Maybe that’s for the best,” you said. “When we got started tonight, you told me there was somebody new in your life, right? Somebody who made you want to take this first step. Maybe the second step can be with her.”

Clint looked at you strangely. He was quiet for a long time.

“Right,” he said finally. “That’s right.”

“Good,” you managed to say. “Thank you, then. For tonight.”

Clint didn’t let go of your hand. With single long motion, he pulled you into his chest.

The warmth of him surrounded you. He smelled like clean laundry, and his body was solid. You melted against him with a sigh.

He slid one hand around your waist. The other cupped the back of your head, and he held you close. You tightened your arms and clutched two fistfuls of his shirt.

Saturday afternoon was close enough to Saturday morning that the diner still bustled with the breakfast rush. Bacon sizzled on the grill and hashbrowns flew from the kitchen. A ton of hashbrowns, really. You guessed that most of the patrons were hungover.

A newborn wailed somewhere in Casey’s section, and nobody was happy about it. Two red-eyed teenagers had already migrated over to your tables, and you didn’t think they’d be the only ones.

Every booth by the window was filled, including Clint’s. But the family who’d taken it was almost done – their plates were empty, and when you offered to refill their coffees, all they wanted was the check.

Not that it mattered. You’d promised yourself that you wouldn’t get your hopes up. Last night had been confusing, and Clint might not want to come back to the diner. You had to be okay with that.

And, yeah, on your way out the door today, maybe you’d made one little decision, one thing you thought he might like.

But you’d be fine if he didn’t show.

You grabbed the family’s check and took a look at the clock. 2:10.

This was about to be the only open booth in your section, and it wouldn’t stay that way for long.

Fuck it. You set a Reserved sign on the table.

Casey greeted you with a knowing look when you came back behind the counter.

“We don’t take reservations on weekends.”

“It’s a one-time thing.”

“Uh-huh. A one-time thing that drives a blue Chevy?”

You stacked up an armful of menus. “It’s good business to look after our regulars.”

Casey nodded solemnly. “Yeah, I’m sure that banana revenue is make-or-break.”

“Shut up,” you muttered.

Casey laughed. “I’m not judging. Hot Dad is hot enough that you’re only being a little insane right now.”

You were being a lot insane, but you didn’t want to dwell on it. You got to work taking the teenagers’ orders. Short stack, eggs, double hashbrowns.

The bell over the door rang, and you spun your head around. It wasn’t him – just the three ladies from the nail salon around the corner. It was only 2:13.

By 2:20, Clint still hadn’t come. Your section clattered with conversation, and Casey’s was starting to fill up too. She looked at the empty table by the window, then back at you.

You’d brewed fresh coffee at the start of your shift, but the pot was already empty. You put on another.

2:28. You were being stupid now. Clint lived so close that he couldn’t be stuck in traffic. You needed the tips from his table, and your manager would start asking questions if he noticed the sign.

At 2:35, you opened up the table. Three men in Warriors colors claimed it at once.

You got the kitchen working on their burgers. You weren’t going to think about the pit in your stomach.

“He’ll come by tomorrow,” Casey said.

You nodded, but you felt certain he wouldn’t. He’d probably come and gone already before your shift.

It was easier this way. In a few days, when you’d gotten a little more sleep, the crush would be out of your system.

You considered taking your fifteen, but you didn’t want to strand Casey with the diner as packed as it was. Instead, you kept yourself busy. You double-checked every order as it came in. You refilled the ketchup bottles. You kept the coffee brewing and cleared empty plates before the busboys could get to them. When the punk kids once again paid with coins, you sorted each one out into the register.

You were sliding the last nickel into place when Casey closed the drawer for you.

“I need your help,” she said. “Hot Dad is here and he won’t take a seat in my section.”

You whipped your head up. There he was, taking up an absurd amount of space behind the hostess stand. His daughter squirmed in his arms and grabbed at his collar with chubby little hands. He didn’t seem to notice. He met your eyes, and his mouth lifted into a smile.

He’d come. He was late as hell, and he was getting in the way of the customers, but he was here.

You left Casey at the register and set off across the diner. Customers tried to catch your attention, but you only barely heard. A busboy swerved out of your path. The long row of booths passed behind you, and you came to a stop at the hostess stand.

This close to Clint, everything else faded. He was back in his usual flannel. His chest rose and fell beneath it when you met his eyes.

“Hey.” His voice was a low, warm rumble. You felt it in your stomach.

“Hi,” you said. “I heard a rumor that you’ve rejected some of our finest tables.”

“I don’t like those tables,” Clint said. “They’re not my table.”

“Yeah, well. Your table is full.”

“I noticed. Can’t believe you gave it away.”

“I gave it away half an hour ago. I thought you weren’t coming.”

“I’m sorry,” Clint said. “Somebody threw a temper tantrum on our way out the door. Sugar crash thanks to her babysitter.”

His daughter chose that moment to snuggle up against him, smushing her tiny cheek into his chest. She looked up at you with big, dark eyes. Oh God, they ran in the family.

“I don’t know,” you said. “She looks pretty innocent to me.”

As if to prove your point, her mouth stretched into a yawn.

“Don’t fall for it,” Clint said. “She had me on the ropes ten minutes ago.” He looked down at her. “Hey, Emily,” he said softly. “Tell the nice lady what you did.”

She blinked sleepily. “Da.”

“She’s trying to say she screamed out a lung.”

“Oh, obviously,” you said. “But it’s a hard sound for toddlers to make, right?”

Clint grinned. “Exactly.”

He looked back up to you, then caught sight of something on your uniform. He froze.

You felt a nervous little rush in your chest.

“Hey,” Clint said. “You remembered your name tag.”

“I… yeah. I thought maybe… some customers… would want to know.”

“That’s good,” Clint said quietly. “I’m happy for… them.”

There was no reason for the giddy feeling inside you. Nothing had changed since your conversation with Clint last night. Nothing had really changed since yesterday.

You let out a shaky breath.

“Okay,” you said. “Well. Can I get you set up at one of the other tables?”

Clint looked over to Casey’s side of the diner, where two booths were still free. The newborn had finally stopped crying, but it was taking the crowd a moment to reset.

“Those tables aren’t in your section.”

“No. But it’s the same banana you’d get from me.”

“That’s alright,” Clint said. “I’ll stick with my normal spot. I don’t want any other, uh, table.”

He held your eyes carefully. A warm feeling bloomed inside your chest.

“That table isn’t ready,” you said. “It’s going to be a long time before it’s ready. And you might not be ready. To, uh, sit at it.”

A smile played at the edges of Clint’s mouth.

“I know,” he said. “But I want to stick around. I’ve got a feeling it’s gonna be worth the wait.”

If you enjoyed the story, comments and reblogs make my day! 💖💖

end notes: If you liked the way Clint ordered reader around, I did something similar in part 3 of my completed series what you can't have. Cameraman!Joel is a similar pining-y, flannel-clad dad, so you may like that one.

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You cleared your throat. You knew Joel would be there, and that he’d got in ahead of Tommy this time and volunteered to chaperone, and you reminded yourself again and again that it was for Ellie’s sake, not for yours. You still hadn’t really spoken properly, even after he’d started coming around a night or two a week for dinner after a shift on the wall, and you weren’t sure what you would say to him if he did. You just hadn’t had the time alone with him, Ellie always hovering in that way she had.

It felt different, though. Lighter. Like a storm had passed. You smoothed down the seams of your dress over your hips and sighed. This was a work thing, you reminded yourself. You were there to look after the kids.

‘It’s OK to be hopeful,’ Rose reminded you, over your shoulder where you saw her reflection in the mirror. She wasn’t aging, even though it had been years.

‘I know it is,’ you said, smiling warmly at her.

‘Are you?’ she asked.

You glanced back at your own reflection, your sister waiting quietly on the other side of the veil.

‘I don’t know if I need you anymore,’ you said, plainly to her, in that honest way you were starting to learn from Ellie.

‘Just want me then,’ she said, and then she was gone.

--

You stood on the steps of the mess hall, the snow starting to fall. Even in the cold you were hesitating, not sure what would greet you when you walked in. Not sure who.

You could already hear the band starting up, could hear Ellie barking last minute instructions to her crew of terrified workmen. She was a natural leader, even if she didn’t know it yet, you mused.

‘Hey, girlie,’ a voice said behind you, and you turned, a smile already spreading over your face.

‘Thought you were off the hook tonight,’ you said, and Tommy grinned at you. He was just wearing his usual clothes, and you realised for a second you’d been worried Joel had sent him in his place.

‘Just swingin’ back from patrol, thought I’d come by and check it out,’ he said. You knew what he meant, that he was checking in on his idiot brother, and on you, to see if you’d murdered him yet.

‘I don’t even know if he’s here yet,’ you said, by way of explanation, gesturing to your shaking hands.

‘He’s in there,’ Tommy said, smiling warmly at you. ‘I know because he royally pissed of Billy beggin’ off his shift early to make sure everythin’ was just right.’

You turned back to the door, surprise painting your face. ‘He did?’ you asked.

‘Been in there since lunch,’ Tommy said, turning to face the street. ‘Wouldn’t trust Ellie up a ladder, for starters.’

‘Smart man,’ you agreed.

You jumped a little as the younger Miller stepped up beside you, looping his arm around your elbow.

‘C’mon, my lady, I’ll walk ya in,’ he said. You leant into him, borrowed some of his strength to cross the threshold.

Inside, it was breathtaking, and you gasped a little. Ellie had taken all the efforts of the previous Prom and doubled them, the little cut out stars strung up amongst coloured streamers, twinkling lights. There wasn’t an inch of ceiling not covered in dangling decorations, some of them strung up so high into the rafters you weren’t sure they’d ever make it down.

‘Wow…’ you said, roughly calculating the mathematics of it.

‘Yeah, we helped a little, Maria and me and the Town Council,’ Tommy said, stretching his hand as if it still ached. ‘Rather take a gunshot to the head then deal with a papercut again.’

You gasped out a little laugh, trying to push the tears away. Under her paper constellations Ellie was dancing with Dina, holding the girl to her like she wouldn’t ever let her go.

‘God, she’s fucking magnificent,’ you said, seeing Tommy nod out of the corner of your eye.

‘That’s true, ain’t it, brother?’ he asked, and your head snapped to your other side where Joel stood, several paces away, his hair slicked back again and this time wearing a black shirt you were sure he’d borrowed from his little brother. The buttons strained a little in the middle, for one.

‘Magnificent,’ he said, staring deep into your eyes.

‘Teach!’ a voice called from across the dancefloor and Ellie was on you then, breaking the spell. You exhaled, not realising you’d been holding your breath. ‘Come see, come see…’ she said, grinning as she took you by the arms and pulled you across the room, in amongst the throng of teenagers and out the other side, to a table set up by the band.

There, next to the punch bowl full of what you hoped was so far un-spiked drink, there next to the plates of little cut sandwiches, there across the top of the long table ran an enormous banner, the words ‘THANK YOU TEACH’ emblazoned on it in what you knew to be Dina’s careful bubble handwriting. In every space a student had written a message to you, of thanks and of kindness. Mika had drawn you as a superhero, a cape fluttering out over your stick figure shoulders.

You bit hard into your lip then caught yourself, giving up and letting the tears flow.

‘Oh, shit, Ellie…’ you said, gripping her by the shoulders and pulling her into you.

‘You swore,’ she said, delighted.

‘Fuck off, I’m off the clock,’ you gritted out, tears sliding down your face.

She squeezed you, just long enough before she let you go, suddenly concerned she didn’t look cool in front of her friends.

You turned to her, before she disappeared, knowing that after this she would go back to the dancefloor, that you wouldn’t see her again that night until twenty minutes after curfew.

‘I don’t know what to say,’ you confessed, simply, all your nerves exposed, fizzing, in the stuffy air.

Ellie glanced back to where you had been standing, to where Joel still stood, sentinel, by the walls.

‘Figure it out,’ she said, not unkind.

--

Joel shuffled on his feet, his shirt too tight and the collar digging into his throat. He wanted to reach up and pull it loose but was worried he’d take most of the buttons along with it. He determined to remain, uncomfortable.

His back ached from the hours he spent on that damn ladder. But the look in your eyes when you walked in and saw them, the way your face glowed with disbelief and then with joy. Worth every groaning vertebra in his body.

He cleared his throat, watching as Ellie showed you the banner. When the night was done, he was going to take it back to the schoolhouse, string it up over your little blackboard, so every morning you walked in there you were shrouded in their love. You deserved that and so much more than that, but right now it was all that he could do.

He watched, even from here, the tears gather on your cheeks, and it took all his strength not to stride over to you, steal you from the moment, wipe them down with his fingertips and then his lips. He pushed something warm and bulbous down into his gut. When you glanced over at him, Ellie with her eyebrows raised at him as if this was finally, finally his chance, he faltered, his stomach doing little flips. When you turned back to her, he took the moment to slink out the door, shame turning the tops of his ears red and hot as he did it.

He so desperately wanted to tell you everythin’, wanted to push it all out of his throat once and for all. But still, even after all that had happened, there was the fear. That you wouldn’t want him, that it wouldn’t be enough. All the hurt he’d put you through, he had no right to expect you to speak to him ever again.

He raised his eyes to the stars. But he had made his promise, that night he saw off Shauna. To them and to himself. He would walk the road back to you, as long as you would have him.

‘Hey, stranger,’ you said, and he turned, fast enough to swirl away some of the snow gathering around his shoulders.

‘Hey…’ he said, gruff over a heavy throat.

‘Tommy says you have something to do with all that…’ you said, nodding over your shoulder back to the mess hall.

‘It was all Ellie’s idea,’ he said, and you smiled, the warmth radiating off you enough that he felt if he stepped forward you would turn the end of his nose pink.

‘I have absolutely no doubt,’ you agreed.

‘You two goin’ OK?’ he asked.

You nodded. ‘It’s goin’ great, love having her around. It’ll be sad when she moves back to you.’

Joel blinked at this, his mind taking a moment to catch on to the words.

‘She’s comin’ back?’ he asked, feeling tingles on the back of his neck.

‘Course she is. She always was. Not sure when, yet, but give it time,’ you said. You took a step forward, coming to stand beside him, your arms resting on the rail. He turned to peer out over the town with you, the gentle flurries of snow catching the streetlights.

‘Weird to be back here again,’ you said, simply. ‘After everything.’

He nodded, his throat suddenly raw. He knew this was his moment. He steadied himself, spread his weight evenly on his feet.

‘Teach, I…’ he started, taking a second to gather himself. ‘I felt you changin’ me,’ he said, and you froze, too scared to turn your head to him in case he lost his nerve. ‘I felt you changin’ me, and it scared me, and I did everythin’ I could to try and change back.’

‘It scared you?’ you asked.

‘So much, and I hate that it did.’ He thought for a second, of all the things he had done for Ellie out of love for her, of all the ways he had hurt and been hurt. He swallowed. Love made monsters out of men like him, he knew.

But this was different, though, felt different somehow and he had to trust that it was. ‘I’d never felt that…’cept for you. I’d never felt that for anyone.’

You swallowed, the tears threatening again, biting them back out of sheer will. You couldn’t help noticing the past tense, and you braced yourself. You had promised, back on your front step after Shauna had destroyed your cake, that you would be friends. Maybe this was where it was headed for you two. Maybe that would be enough.

No, you screamed in your head. You knew that it wouldn’t be. Don’t close yourself off now, you heard a voice say, not Rose’s this time, but your own.

‘I knew that, Joel, I knew that you were scared…’ you said, and you wanted to go on, but he was shuffling, suddenly, suddenly unable to stand still on his feet.

‘I ain’t scared anymore,’ he said, gritting it out like it hurt him.

You turned to him, finally, as he continued. ‘I know you might not want me now, and by rights, baby, you shouldn’t. I know I hurt ya, and I think about it every damn day. But I ain’t gonna walk around this place pretendin’ I ain’t feelin’ it. Not anymore. I love you, baby, have for a damn long time, and it wouldn’t right if I let you go around thinkin’ I don’t.’

He was breathless, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of revulsion, for any sign of fury. He watched, horrified, as the tears spilled over your cheeks.

‘Ah, fuck,’ he said, reaching up to brush them away. ‘I hurt you again.’

‘No, no,’ you said, gripping his hand to yours and pulling his fingers down to his lips where you kissed the tears from them. He stilled, watching you as you struggled to find the right words.

You sucked in a breath, every atom of your being thrumming, pounding along with your racing heart.

‘Not scared either,’ you said, your whole body shivering.

‘Baby…’ he trailed off, something like hope threatening to grip him by the gut and destroy him.

‘But we gotta talk more,’ you pronounced, nodding at him as he mirrored you, agreeing with all he had. ‘We gotta talk a lot more about…everything,’ you emphasised.

‘There’s so much I’ve been wanting to tell ya,’ he agreed, little tears appearing in the corner of his eyes, where they crinkled as he let himself smile.

‘You pull any of that shit again…’ you started, and he nodded.

‘Ellie already told me, she’d make sure I never walked without a limp again.’

You paused, making a mental note to add some non-aggressive conflict resolution in to your curriculum.

‘We’ll talk,’ Joel went on. ‘I wanna talk, baby, I meant what I said. Wanna give you that, and all the love ya deserve’

‘But not right now…the talking,’ you said, shaking your head as he mirrored you again.

‘No, not right now,’ he agreed.

‘Just say that one thing, that one bit, just that one bit again,’ you rambled, managing a quiet little gasp when he stepped forward, taking your jaw in his hand.

‘M’sorry, baby,’ he said, and you blinked owlishly up at him. ‘Ain’t no excuse, and it ain’t enough, and I’ll spend the rest of my days findin’ new ways to make it up to ya. But I love you, baby. I think I always have.’

You grinned at him, turned your scorching heat to him, bathed him in it, irradiated the fear right out of his bones. Illuminated him, like the sun dawning over a night that once had been freezing, over a night that had once been full of terrors, over a night that had seemed so threatening, until the moment the light shone.   

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He kept promising that he was going to date you, at least once if you’d let him, and each time you’d fobbed him off, telling him he had to get better first, that he was no good to you limping, that you wanted him marginally less grumpy if he could manage it. You weren’t sure why you were stalling, other than that you felt you were toes to the edge of a precipice.

When you were little your little family of four had driven out to the Grand Canyon, and you’d stood on the edge of the red dirt and been totally overwhelmed by the size of it, of all the negative space, the absence. You’d found yourself, aged eight and a half, ready to cry and even now, thirty years later, you remembered the howling wind, the echo of it.

You thought about the beauty of it, now. Now that you had seen so much worse, so much more, you reminded yourself that people used to travel entire countries to see the Grand Canyon. In your mind’s eye you entered your memories and stood beside yourself, your child self, and took her hand. You pointed to the sky, drew her eyes up and away from the ground beneath. Felt her pulse race under your touch as you showed her that the magnitude of it was the beauty in it, was the point of it all.

You accepted Joel’s invitation for the next Friday night. Then you ran to Maria’s to find something to wear.

--

You were supposed to meet at 8, a respectable time after dinner so as not to feel like you needed to have a meal; a more casual time, a more intimate time, when you could drink and chat and only stay an hour if you found it wasn’t working. It was both an in and an out.

Except that you were late, your last client having not only stored muscle tension in his fascia but emotional tension as well, and as soon as you had pushed into the glute he had unleashed years of mourning, of loss, of fears. You had stopped, wrapped him in a towel and pulled him upright, stood back and let him shake with the force of it. It wasn’t new, that people would come with muscle aches and discover trauma aches instead, but you lost track of time trying to put him back together again, trying to assure him of his safety. Tommy was right; sometimes it doesn’t come out until you feel safe enough to let it.

But it meant by the time you were pulling your door open you were about forty minutes late. Your cheeks burned with the shame of it, your timekeeping one of your strengths in the before-times, in the times when you had no other responsibilities other than the hell of being 15.

Joel was coming up your path and you stopped, nearly dropping the jacket you were still trying to pull over your shoulders. You couldn’t read his expression in the dark but his eyes were on you, and he was coming up, fast.

‘Joel, I’m so sorry,’ you started, as he strode towards you and up your porch. ‘I got caught up with a client, I couldn’t leave until they were…’ his hands were on you then, gripping you to him, your jaw resting in his warm palm.

‘You OK?’ he asked you, his eyes searching yours.

‘I’m fine, of course I am,’ you said, flustered, under the intensity of his inspection. ‘I just couldn’t…he was so sad, Joel. I had to stay.’

He nods at this, his jaw ticking. You resisted the urge to reach up and sink your fingertips into the masseter. ‘Were you worried about me, Joel?’ you asked, and he narrowed his eyes at you, then, suddenly freezing up.

‘Thought you weren’t coming, or that you were…thought maybe something had happened,’ he said, and you felt yourself soften.

‘I’m fine. And I would never stand you up,’ you said, moving to hold him around his waist, to circle him in your arms, only able to reach halfway around him, broad as he was. He avoided your eyes, the worry etched deep into his brow.

You still hadn’t kissed him. All of the things he had done to you, the way he had pulled you apart under his hands, his mouth, spread around his cock, nothing so intimate as a kiss.

‘I’m sorry,’ you said again, low and velvet in your throat. ‘I really like you, Joel,’ you went on, and he finally met your gaze, again. The naked vulnerability in it making you pause. You wondered how many people had ever seen this side of him. You suspected he could count them on one paw.

‘It’s late,’ he said, and started to pull away from you. ‘Maybe we should try again some other time.’ To your dismay he had nearly turned his back to you, and without thinking you grabbed him around the middle and tried to turn him back.

‘Wait,’ you said, and he hissed then, his muscles seizing. You let go of him, horrified.

‘M’ok,’ he muttered, raising his hand to stop you from rushing toward him. ‘Just…still gettin’ there, is all.’

‘Come in, please,’ you said, not touching him, not moving towards him, hoping your voice would be enough to get him to stay. ‘It’s cold, I have a bottle of whiskey Tommy slipped me when you were in the hospital, I can…’

‘You needed whiskey, baby?’ he said, and he had that lopsided grin on his face again, and you wanted to lick it off him. ‘Were you worried about little ole me?’

Never mind, you wanted to slap it off.

‘Oh for fucks sake,’ you said, rolling your eyes and turning back to your door. ‘Don’t get all cute just because I got scared when you nearly died,’ you said, and you heard him chuckle. You entered your house and turned to him, one hand on the door. ‘In or out?’ you asked, and you knew that you were talking to the both of you, knew that he wasn’t the only one facing the indecision, knew that you palming the responsibility off onto him, that you would accept his decision even if it meant never talking to him again. He hesitated, but only for a moment.

--

He was back in your kitchen, on the same chair from a more recent before-time, from before he’d found a place for himself somewhere under your skin. You were both sipping your whiskey, listening to the crackling fire in the other room, letting the silence seep out and blanket you. He was still enormous, still took up nearly half the space, and you ceded all of it to him.

‘Ellie speaks the world of you,’ he said, after a while, and you knew that this was important to him, that first and foremost he was her dad, her keeper and her protector.

‘She’s a lovely kid,’ you said, and then corrected yourself. ‘Not a kid. She’d fucking kill me if she knew I said that.’

He chucked into his glass. ‘Won’t tell her,’ he promised.

‘How’s that healing?’ you asked, gesturing to his wrist. It wasn’t in a splint anymore but it was still tightly bandaged.

‘S’just weak, aches in the cold,’ he said, and you nodded. You reached out and pulled it towards you, lay it on the kitchen table between you. You slipped the bandage away, watched the blood rush back in and pink up the flesh underneath it.

‘You need to stretch it, keep it strong,’ you said. ‘Bones probably healed but now the muscles’ll be lazy.’

‘Yes, doctor,’ he said, and you glanced up at him, at the crinkles in his skin and the warmth in his eyes as he teased you.

‘I mean it,’ you said, pretending to be offended, using it as an excuse to slip your hands around his wrist, his forearm. You felt the chords of the muscles there, the sinew and the veins. You rubbed your thumbs in firm circles, like you had shown him to do on your knee, all those weeks ago. You blushed at the thought of it, at the echo of the pleasure he had wrung from you not ten paces away.

He grunted a little, shifted in his seat, and you pulled his arm up at a right angle, so that his elbow was resting on the table. ‘Here, do this,’ you said, and you slipped your fingers between his, rested your forearm against his, leant in a little to ease your combined weight onto the joint.

‘I’m going to try and push your hand backwards, you push back,’ you said.

‘We arm wrestlin’?’ he asked, smiling again.

‘We will if you don’t behave yourself,’ you shot back, and he grinned.

‘Tell me when,’ he said, and you nodded your head. He grimaced at the strain through the joint, but you felt it stretch, felt it working under the force you were applying to it.

‘That’s good,’ you said, without thinking, ‘doing real well.’ He sucked a shy little breath in through his teeth. You stopped pushing, looking up into his pink cheeks. You continued to hold his hand, your eyes fixed to his.

‘Say it again,’ he said, and your mouth went dry.

‘Doing real well, Joel,’ you said, and watched as he blinked slowly, drinking it in. ‘Doing so good.’

He pulled you then, by the arm, out of your chair and into his lap, his mouth finding your neck and suckling, hard, as you struggled for purchase on his thighs. You could feel how hard he was through his jeans, the pulse of it pushing into your cunt as you settled yourself down on him, your thin little stockings under Maria’s borrowed dress doing absolutely nothing to provide a barrier against his throbbing for you.

He gasped, looked up at you as you perched above him. His pupils, blown wide with want, mirroring the ache you felt between your legs and in your heart for him. He tasted like peppermint toothpaste and you wondered idly if he’d brushed his teeth before heading to the Bison, if he’d hoped this would be the end result of the night or if it was just habit. You smelt the leather of his worn jacket. You reached up and let his salt and pepper beard scratch at the skin on your fingertips.

‘So good to us, Joel,’ you said, and you heard the gentlest whimper catch in his throat. ‘Looking after the town. Keeping us safe.’

‘Want to keep you, baby,’ he whispered, his eyes dropping to examine your lips. ‘Keep you tucked up all warm and safe, keep you under my roof where I know you’re protected.’ You shivered, at the heat of it, at the sincerity in it. ‘Be the one to shield you. All sweet and soft in your little kitchen. Wanting me, waiting f’me.’ He finished, biting his bottom lip.

‘I want you,’ you said, simply, feeling his cock jump underneath you.

‘Yeah?’ he asked, and you nodded.

‘Been waiting,’ you bit out, realising for the first time that it was true.

‘M’sorry baby,’ he said, playfully goading you. ‘Where did ya want me?’ he whispered, tucking his head under your chin and licking a stripe up your neck, chewing idly on your earlobe. You shivered again, a shuddering little thing that also came with a whimper. You took his hand from your waist and dropped it to your pussy, pushed his fingers to cup you there, gasping when he ran a fingertip along your seam.

‘Everywhere,’ you whispered, and he grunted, shifting his weight. With one warm hand splayed across your shoulder blades he leant you back, his eyes running up and down your body, devouring you. He kept his hand on your cunt, idly running a finger up and down where you ached the most for him, and you worried for a moment that he would feel how wet he’d made you just with his gaze.  

His breath was warm across your cheeks when he exhaled. He took the hand from between your legs and cupped your breast, rolled the nipple through your dress, made you whimper.

‘Joel,’ you whispered, and you watched as his eyes lit up, as the sparks caught on kindling and turned into a forest fire, as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing from the strain. You wanted to run your tongue over his bottom lip, nip at it.

‘Sssh, baby, I know,’ he said, pulling you up off his lap to stand in front of him, your knees shaking. His arms bracketed your hips, gripping the table behind you, so you were surrounded by him. He remained seated, watching you from under heavy eyelids.

‘Take it off,’ he said, and you felt your pulse in your neck, thunderous.

‘Which?’ you asked.

‘Maria’s dress you don’t think I recognise, those silly little stockings that ain’t doing nothin’ to keep out the cold.’

He leant back on the chair again, kicked his legs out so that you were standing between his ankles now, leant his arm on the back of the chair and scratched at his beard. ‘Well, go on,’ he said, and you felt so exposed to him then, vulnerable in the heat of his stare.

‘Help me,’ you said, feigning not being able to get to the zipper, just for the excuse of turning away from him, from his eyes that were taking you apart atom by atom, from his hands resting on his thigh, from his thick fingers you wanted to slip into your mouth, let him push down on your tongue and suckle at him.

You felt his hands on your back, the zip coming down, the way he slipped the dress from you like he was unwrapping a present on Christmas morning. You leant over a little, trying to slip your stockings off and you heard him moan, felt his hands on you again, his warm paw on your lower back pushing you into a deeper bend, the other pulling on your hips to bring you closer to him, his hands gripping you, positioning you. You heard his sharp inhale when you slipped the stockings over your bottom, felt your cheeks blaze when he reached up and slipped your panties off along with them, bent over and completely exposed to him, wet and glistening in the light of the kitchen, the sound of your gasped little whimpers mixing with the ever-present whir of your forty-year-old fridge.

‘Oh, my girl,’ he said, and you wanted to launch yourself at him, seat yourself back on his lap and bury your head in his neck but he was running his hands up and down the back of your thighs, edging himself closer on the chair, pushing you forward so that your breasts rested on the kitchen table, your cheek flush to the cold wood.

He bent his head and placed a single kiss at the base of your spine and you worried your knees would buckle, worried you would collapse onto the kitchen tile. As you gasped he brought his hands up to cup your bottom, spreading your cheeks enough to slip a thumb into your cunt, probe the warmth and feel the wet collecting on his fingertip. You startled, trying to buck away, trying to buck towards him, circling your hips to capture him inside you, and you heard him chuckle, felt his lips dip lower to your tailbone as he twisted his hands, his thumb still inside as his fingers came around to cup and rub at your slit, your poor little aching clit caught between his fingertips.

‘Jesus,’ you cried, finding religion despite never having set foot in a church.

‘Want to keep you full of me,’ he muttered, sitting back down on the chair again and pulling you with him, spreading your legs over his so you were open wide, obscene and dripping in his lap, pulling your legs apart with his and whispering filth in your ear, cupping your breast with one hand and the other sliding into your heat.

‘Want to keep you here, my pretty girl all safe and warm in my arms, full of my cock and my fingers, crying out for me when I’m not there.’ You were gasping, your vision narrowing, barely able to concentrate on anything except for his words, for his fingers stretching you, his legs pulling you impossibly wide. ‘Won’t let nothin’ hurt ya, baby girl,’ he grit out, and you felt a sob rip through your throat, the pleasure he was drawing out of you mixing with the comfort, with the intoxicating allure of him protecting you, of him standing between you and so many terrors.

In your right mind you wouldn’t have believed him. Would have known there were things out there even the great Joel Miller couldn’t topple, that there were threats known and unknown, seen and unseen, things out there wanting to spill your blood, the blood of the people you cared the most for. But Joel was inside you, in your cunt and in your ear, and his words were chipping away at your resistance, sliding under the door long ago locked tight. You were far from your right mind. You surrendered to the seduction of it, of the intoxication of it, of the myth this man was peddling that you would buy again and again and again.

‘There she is,’ he said, as you came on his fingers, your cunt gripping him and your hips rolling, his face pressed hard into your neck as you twisted into the agony of it, your mouth open and gasping, your face turned to the Gods.

You felt his fingers underneath you, one hand wrapped tight around your torso to hold you steady as he released himself from his jeans, and you felt him then, pressed against the back of your thigh, the velvet heat of his length, the thundering throb of it. You had barely caught your breath, had yet to fully come back to yourself, before he was pushing himself into you, pulling you onto him, your neck caught in his teeth as he bit down on the nape, tried to stifle the groan blooming in his chest.

He felt bigger this way, the stretch even sharper despite his best attempts to prepare you, and your walls fluttered, fought to accept him. You shuddered, the sudden sting slamming you back into your body, and you gripped his hands to stop him, to pause. He stilled immediately, his breath hot and gasping.

‘Give me a minute,’ you gritted out, leaning back onto his shoulder and burying your nose in his jaw, panting, placing a placid little kiss to the salt and pepper patches there.

You felt him reach around you, his finger finding your clit and gently circling it, collecting your slick and pushing it over the nub to rid you of any friction. You groaned, arching your back against him, your hands digging into the meat of his thighs underneath you.

‘So beautiful like this,’ he whispered into your ear as you felt the pleasure overtake you, the throb in your cunt synchronised to your thundering pulse. ‘Can feel you gripping me,’ he went on. ‘Stuffed fulla me, baby.’

‘Stop,’ you gasped, the moment suddenly too intense, a fear gripping you then that if he kept talking you would give him anything; the shirt off your back, the blood in your veins. He chuckled, watching you struggle to take the pleasure he was pushing into you, through you.

It was wrong but you couldn’t figure out why, because it still felt so fucking good, and you wanted more but couldn’t figure out how it was possible, not sated by him seated fully inside you, not close enough to him as you pressed your body entirely against yours. You huffed, frustrated, standing before he could stop you and pivoting to face him, straddling him again in the chair and sinking yourself down on him in one swift motion, so that he gasped and then groaned when the heat of you enveloped him, joined you in a harsh cry when your clit met his hipbone and you settled there, shifted your hips to press into the nub.

‘S’better,’ you said, and you watched his lopsided grin emerge.

‘My girl miss seeing me?’ he asked, and you rolled your hips to shut him up, watched any semblance of cogent thought leave him when you gripped him there.

‘Say it again, Joel,’ you said, sliding your hips forward and back in a way that you knew wasn’t enough for him, but was making your clit throb when it grazed over his skin. He grunted, suddenly finding it hard to think clearly, and his brows saddled.

‘Keep you safe?’ he said, uncertain but meaning it anyway, and you shook your head.

‘Keep who safe?’ he asked.

‘You,’ he answered, still not following, and you planted your feet on the floor, raised yourself up just to bounce back down again.

‘Who am I, Joel?’ you asked, nearly breathless, and finally, finally he understood, his little huffed out laugh sending a thrill through you as he reached down between your bodies, felt where you were joined.

‘My girl,’ he said, finding your clit and edging his fingertips across it, sending fireworks up your spine. ‘My beautiful girl, so tight and wet, so needy for me, cryin’ out for me in her kitchen.’

You groaned, feeling him grip you around the middle with one arm, lifting you up and down on his cock, rocking into you and always, always, always watching your face, nibbling at your chin when you leant back to gasp for air.

You were going to come. It was too fast. You still had so many other things you wanted to say to him, wanted him with every atom of you, with every fibre, the neurons in your brain lighting up just for him. Wanting to live in the torrent of pleasure he brought out in you, wanted to twist and writhe in it. You felt, again, on the edge of tears, but not for wanting, this time. Not for the losses.

For the having. Of Jackson, of the wildflowers on the paths pushing past the cold. Of the little family you had eked out at the end of the world, of Ellie, of Tommy and Maria and Robin. Of this man under your body and on your kitchen chair, calling you his and promising to keep you safe. Of this man, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of oblivion and clinging to him, willingly readying yourself to cascade over it.

‘Want you right here, always,’ he grunted, and you keened, felt it then, that you were wanted, that you belonged.

You didn’t have the words for it, vowed in that moment that you would spend the rest of your life trying to find them. For right now you did the only thing you could think of, leaning over and gripping his jaw, angling his face to you as you landed your lips on him, kissed him as you felt a tear streak across your cheek and onto his skin, as you shuddered and felt your cunt milking him, as he spilled into you and you joined him, the ecstasy and the pleasure and the warmth of it. In your little house in Jackson, behind enormous walls, to hold you.

Taglist:

@orcasoul

@archofimagine

@hiroikegawa

@ilovejoel-andjavi

@giggly-otter

@harrysrosetatto

@Hjzghi-blog

@daddy-dins-girl

@kathaaaaaaa

@anoverwhelmingdin

all alone by @laligraves ~ serial killer!joel miller x fem!reader {You catch the attention of a serial killer.}

The Bed by @lillaydee ~ Joel Miller / F Reader {You're in bed with Joel.}

Breaststroke by @ilikeevilblondes ~ {It’s more fun to stay in the YMCA (shower rooms) (because that’s where Joel fucks you.)}

crazy for you by @sunshineispunk ~ joel miller x virgin!gf

A Dark Comfort by @myownwholewildworld ~ Boston QZ!Joel x f!reader {it is that time of the month and Joel helps you by fucking the pain out of you.}

day after tomorrow and counting the days by @familyvideostevie ~ joel miller x reader {joel drops you off and picks you up from the airport. you are definitely falling in love with him.}

delicacy by @iamasaddie ~ Joel Miller x f!reader

The Dog Days of Starting Over - Pt 4 | Pt 5 | Pt 6 by @joelalorian ~

Extra hours by @milla-frenchy ~ Joel Miller x fem reader x Tommy Miller {you didn't know that working at the Tipsy Bison would lead to this (otherwise you would have worked there long before)}

It Tastes of Magic Part 3 by @sawymredfox ~ Joel Miller x fem!able bodied original character {Honesty comes from both sides}

Lead Me Not Into Temptation Pt 17 | Pt 18 | Pt 19 by @tateypots

men may kiss men by @sizzlingcloudmentality ~ Joel Miller x OMC Jack {during a heatwave Joel and Jack go skinny-dipping on their patrol break. they talk and... kiss.}

Raider's Rescue Pt 2 by @tateypots ~ Raider!Joel x f!Reader {Your settlement is attacked by Raider's. One of them comes to your rescue but he has to go to extreme lengths to keep you safe.}

stellar constellations by @tinytinymenace

Sweet treat by @sanarsi ~ perv!neighbor!Joel Miller x f!Reader {You came to your family home for a vacation. The obsession that is born in Joel pushes him to do very bad things.}

Wants and Needs by @strang3lov3

Dieter Bravo

Three Months by @bitchesuntitled ~ Dieter Bravo x F!Reader {Dieter wants to sleep with you, so you propose a deal.}

Marcus Pike

Best Bike Crash Ever by @whataperfectwasteoftime ~ Marcus Pike x f!reader {After a hit and run at a crowded intersection, you are suddenly very intrigued by your rescuer–the cute FBI Agent who just happened to be a bystander.}

Din Djarin

Din's Kitten by @honeybunnyale ~ {He loves teasing you about your little crush. Imagine being an older man’s young, hot, and almost bimbo-ish lover.}

Stars fading by @bergamote-catsandbooks ~ Din x f!reader {You wake up wounded in the Mandalorian's ship. He brings you back on Nevarro to heal. Trying to hide parts of your past, you battle with your growing feelings for the man and his child, who welcomed you into their home.}

Take Your Time by @ghostofaboy ~ Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth {Finally having some time to themselves, Cobb rims Din for the first time, who finds that he likes it a little too much.}

Frankie Morales

The Blind Date by @avastrasposts ~ Frankie Morales x female reader {Your friend Benny sets you up on a blind date with his friend.}

A Dark and Stormy Night by @grogusmum ~ werewolf!FRANKIE MORALES X F!READER {You stumble into a lighthouse to get out of a storm, and meet the handsome light-keeper, who has a secret, but is irresistible.}

Take me home tonight by @bergamote-catsandbooks ~ Frankie Morales x f!reader {Meeting, dating and leaving Frankie. You try to get over him and your troubled relationship, until you see him again.}

Harry Castillo

Harry Castillo one-shot by @reedispunk ~ Harry Castillo x f!reader {Harry joins you in the shower}

rumors, inches & make it fit by @iamasaddie ~ Harry Castillo x f!Reader {you should know better than to talk with your friend on the phone while you're at work. and you should know better than to discuss your handsome employer's dick. he might just come home early and hear you.}

Marcus Acacius

Victory's your only payment by @sanarsi ~ lover!Marcus Acacius x f!Reader {Your general has betrayed you. Your anger is greater than the love you have for him, so you send him to the arena to fight for his last breath.}

Ezra

Never Let Me Go by @yopossum ~ Ezra (Prospect) x Reader {Loving, reverent domestic smut with sweet, submissive Ezra.}

Pero Tovar

Are you in pain like me? by @holbrk ~ Pero Tovar x NB!Reader {In the shadow of the Wall, Tovar takes you with a hunger that borders on worship.}

Jack Daniels

Bitter by @sunshinehaze1 ~ Agent Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x Ice Nymph f!reader {Jack encounters you in the frozen forest after he lost contact with the Statesman. Crossing into your territory has already sealed his fate, but not before you have your way with him.}

Javi Gutierrez

Things You Knew by @eff4freddie ~ Javi Gutierrez x Reader

Javier Peña

Love Notes by @clubsoft ~ JAVIER PEÑA / BLACK CAT ! GF ! READER

nothing's going to take you from my side by @quinnnfabrgay-writes ~ Javier Peña x f!reader {After a run-in on the street puts your life in danger, Javi needs physical reassurance that you're safe.}

Roman Roy

Birthday Cake by @strang3lov3 ~ {Roman fucks your ass for his birthday}

Multi

Feels Like the First Time by @sunshinehaze1 ~ Frankie x Din {Frankie and Din move into their first apartment together as a couple.}

Adriana's First Noun-iversary Special Mention

And if you're thinking of me... by @inept-the-magnificent ~ Modern!Pero Tovar X f!Reader

Deal by @future-sobright-itsburning ~ Clint Flood x f!reader {Your neighbor has a complicated past. You show him that he's worth much more than he thinks he is.}

Self Recs

Beaches - a "Cherry, Cherry" extra ~ Joel Miller x f!reader {You've always loved the beach, you've just always spent time there with the wrong people..}

Intramurals ~ Frankie Morales x f!reader {You get stuck in a gym equipment closet with the hottie on your coed softball team.}

You can tell he’s close. His gasps are strangled like he’s restraining himself and his thrusts, shallow and gentle, are becoming sloppier by the second. The first time you fucked, he begged you to look in his eyes while he came. You obliged because why wouldn’t you? It’s no secret that you like being told what to do. 

Tugging on his hair, you pull his face from your neck and make him look at you. His eyebrows are furrowed and his lips are parted, tongue peeking out to swipe his bottom lip. You hold eye contact, knowing it’ll set him over the edge, and you just want him to come. By the time you and Adam returned from your run, it was 7 AM and then you spent hours fixing shit around Susan’s apartment. It’s been a long day. 

“Come for me,” you whisper. 

He nods. 

“But pull out.” 

He nods again. 

Pressing his forehead to yours, you hold eye contact with him as he lets out a final, shaky breath before pulling out. Warm spend coats the hair on your mound and he rests his twitching cock there, letting his own cum smear all over his shaft. You stroke the nape of his neck as he stares into your eyes. It’s intense. It always is with him afterwards. As always, he leans in and tries to kiss you, but you turn your head so his lips land on your cheek. Tapping his chest, you signal him to get off of you and he does. 

“I’m going to take a shower,” you say, hoisting yourself out of bed. “Just make sure the door fully shuts behind you.” 

He sits up and stares at you as you walk towards the bathroom. “Wait,” he begins, “I just…don’t you want me to stay?” 

You stop dead in your tracks, your back to him, and drop the hand that was so close to the bathroom doorknob. Annoyance surges through you and you make yourself count to ten to calm down. You feel like a bitch, like a total and complete bitch. Spinning on your heels, you face him with his cum dripping down your legs. 

“If I wanted you to stay, I would ask you to stay.” Your voice is steady, low. Almost flat. When you see his face fall, you sigh. You add, “I slept like shit last night. I think I just need to be alone.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I get it,” he says, painting a smile on his face. Always so understanding. So patient. He stands up and puts his clothes on hastily while you lean against the doorframe, sticky and sleepy. “You were fucking amazing, by the way. You always are, but—”

“Goodnight, Miles,” you interject. 

Miles nods and gives you a meek smile, cheeks perfectly pink from his orgasm and maybe a hint of embarrassment. By the urgency in which he leaves your bedroom, you’d think he was being chased with a knife. Part of you feels bad, but mainly you’re just relieved to be alone. Alone by any means necessary. 

You wait to hear the front door slam shut before you get in the shower. Goosebumps erupt on your skin immediately from the frigid water. The shock to your system is a nice reset even though you feel like you’re torturing yourself for a few minutes. All you can manage is to stay in just long enough to wash away his touch and cum. You need to be a blank slate again. 

After toweling off, you head back into your bedroom. The streetlight outside of your window has been flickering for months. You’ve been hoping it’ll just fully go out, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t seem like you have any other option but to play the waiting game. It’ll go out eventually. It has to. 

Padding over to your dresser, you open the top drawer and reach for a black t-shirt. It’s worn, stretched out. Just how you like it. You pull it on, but you don’t even bother with underwear before you crawl into bed. Lying on your side, you curl into a ball and bunch up the fabric of the t-shirt, pressing it to your face. You inhale deeply and close your eyes. 

It’s been months. There’s no way his scent still lingers, but you swear you can smell his sweat, his soap, and that hint of cedar. Sometimes, even when you’re not wearing his shirt, you think you catch a trace of his aroma in your apartment. It’s like he’s a phantom, haunting you. It sure feels like it at night when you try to go to sleep. You see his graying curls, the lines by his eyes, and his brown jacket. You can hear him calling you sweetheart or baby or darlin’.

Mentally cursing yourself, you whine and let one of your hands slide between your thighs. The one thing you really try not to do is imagine his voice, that syrupy Southern accent that brings you to your knees—sometimes literally. When you make contact with your clit, you’re already wet. Just from imagining him. 

Pathetic, you hear him say. So fuckin’ embarrassing, baby. You soaked from just that?

Fervently, you start to draw small circles on your clit with your index and middle finger. Two fingers make it easier to imagine it’s him. That’s one thing you miss about him. The sheer size of him, from his broad shoulders to his thick thighs. And his cock, fuck. Maybe that’s what you miss the most. No, it’s the feeling of his arms around you. It could also be the feeling of his lips on yours or the way his rough hands feel on your soft cheek.

You groan, frustrated with the way you’re distracting yourself from the task at hand. This isn’t working. There’s an emptiness that you can’t fill. In your chest, in your cunt. It aches and you need to get rid of it. You have to be full in some way. 

Sliding down, you stuff three fingers into your soaked pussy. It’s not him, but it’ll do. You try to remember his pace, the way he curled his fingers just so. It comes back to you and before you know it, you’re gasping and moaning softly. 

I know this pussy. Know what she likes, what she needs.

I think she was fuckin’ made for me. What d’ya think, darlin’?

The hand that’s not working your cunt snakes up to your neck. You wrap your fingers around the column of your throat and squeeze. The pressure is divine, just what you need. A few more seconds of choking and fucking yourself and then you’re coming. It’s not an overwhelming orgasm by any means, but it’s your first one of the day. As your pussy spasms and you coat your own fingers, his name falls from your lips like a prayer, or maybe like you’re trying to summon a ghost, begging him to materialize in front of you.

Joel, Joel, Joel.

“You just fucked me,” you say incredulously. “You motherfucker.”

“What can I say? I got a good poker face.” Adam laughs as he brings his glass to his lips. He takes a sip and you roll your eyes. “Don’t be a sore loser.”

Staring down at the Royal Flush, you shake your head. Adam kicks your ass every time you play poker, so this shouldn’t be a surprise, but you’ve been practicing with Susan when she’s feeling well enough; she usually wipes the floor with you, too. Her health has been getting worse, so you’ve been spending more time with her, helping out around the apartment. You can tell she feels guilty, always insisting on “paying you back” and “compensating you for your time.” Of course, you don’t allow it. After everything she’s done for you, particularly after your dad died, it’s the least you can do. To make her feel better, you tell her that playing a game of poker with you is payment enough. You’re determined to beat Adam one of these days.

Adam shakes his glass and breaks you out of your trance. “Time to go fetch my prize,” he says with a smirk. “My glass is empty.”

“Fine,” you groan. You start to stand up when you see Miles at the bar. Immediately, you sit your ass back down. “I’ll go in a minute.” 

With a raised brow, Adam turns his head to follow your line of sight. He scoffs. “Are you serious?” 

“What?” You shrug your shoulders. “I just don’t feel like talking to him tonight.”

“Trouble in paradise?” he teases, grabbing your glass and finishing it. 

This earns a laugh from you. “I’m not even close to being in paradise with him,” you say. Sighing, you lean your head back against the booth. “He likes me way more than I like him and it kind of makes me feel like an asshole.”

“You are kind of an asshole,” Adam declares with a smile. He’s tipsy for sure, all smiley and snarky. It’s endearing to you. Over the last few months, Adam’s become a genuine friend. “But if you’re not into him, then stop fucking him.”

“That’s the thing, I don’t want to.” You sigh. “And it’s weird because I don’t even get off. Like, he’s never made me come—”

“Okay, alright. Just gonna stop you right there.” Adam shakes his head, holding up a hand. “We should know less about each other.” 

“Okay,” you say, holding back a smile. As you think about Miles’ sitting on your bed, wondering why he can’t stay, you start to feel stomach bile rise in your throat. “What do you think, though? Am I a horrible cunt for fucking him when I know I don’t like him?” 

“Okay, you might be a little bit of an asshole, but you’re not a horrible cunt.” He smirks, but then he shrugs, looking much more serious than he did only a moment ago. “I do kinda feel bad for the kid.”

“Kid?” you ask with your eyebrows pulled tight. “He’s like…forty. He’s older than you are.”

“Yeah, but compared to Joel? He’s a kid.”

“Fuck you,” you hiss, trying to sound angry, but you start laughing. 

Adam joins in and soon enough, you both are cackling like hyenas. It hits you then how buzzed you are because though Adam’s funny, he’s not that funny. You take a deep breath, managing to pull it together. Your eyes scan the bar for Miles, but he’s nowhere to be seen, so you finally get up. You order two shots of vodka that you know are going to taste like battery acid and two glasses of whiskey. The deal was that you buy one drink for Adam if you lose, but you’re feeling loose. A little nicer than normal.

When you turn around to head back to the booth, balancing two tiny shot glasses in one hand and pinching the whiskey glasses in the other, you see Miles sitting with Adam. You let out a dramatic sigh and close your eyes. Just be nice, you think to yourself. You know you’ve been kind of a dick to him—cold, detached. You know he doesn’t deserve to solely be a distraction, but that’s what he is to you. Deep down, he probably knows it. Miles smiles at you when you approach the table, his eyes lighting up like you’re made of magic. God, you are an asshole.

You place the drinks down and slide in next to Miles whose hand finds your thigh, giving you a gentle squeeze. Instinctively, your hand flinches, ready to push him off of you, but you let it linger and give him a tight smile. Although your eyes are locked on Miles, you can feel Adam staring at you. You think you might know what his face looks like. Amused with a hint of what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with- you, if you had to guess. 

There’s this nagging feeling that another set of eyes is on you, too. For whatever reason, you lean into Miles’ touch, placing your hand on his over the table.

Joel knows you frequent the speakeasy, blowing off steam after a stressful run or a drink with Adam and some of the other smugglers you know. He’s not sure why he ended up here tonight, but he’s here, far enough away from you that it wouldn’t seem weird if you saw him, but close enough where he can watch you. Does he feel like a total creep? For sure. Absolutely. Joel can’t help himself, though. 

The last few months of avoiding you have been torturous. It’s not like he hasn’t seen you. Actually, he’s seen you quite a bit. You just don’t know it. Joel’s been in and out of your building. Abe, the radio operator, works out of his apartment on the floor above you. Since it’s been a while, a long while, without hearing from Tommy, Joel’s been going daily to see if there’s been any word from his brother on the radio. So far, nothing. The only thing that eases his disappointment and anxiety after another fruitless visit with Abe is the chance that he might see you in the hallway. You always look tired, bags under your eyes and your shoulders slumped. Have you been sleeping at all? Do you need help carrying that toolbox into your neighbor’s apartment? It looks heavy and your hands seem full. One time, he saw you crying or at least he thought you were crying. Your eyes were puffy and you were sniffly. Did someone hurt you? Are you okay?

It takes everything in him not to talk to you, not to touch you. Every time he thinks he might give in, he hears your voice crack as you say, It’s not good for me.

Tonight, you’re smiling and laughing with Adam. At one point, it looked like you were laughing so hard that you might cry. If it didn’t make his chest ache so much, Joel maybe would’ve smiled. Now that some guy has taken a seat at your table, Joe will definitely not be smiling. No, he’s sporting his usual scowl, fisting his glass so tight that his knuckles turn white. When you lean into whoever the fuck this guy is, he thinks he’s going to shatter the glass in his hand. 

Joel’s jaw starts to throb from the pressure of clenching it. He doesn’t know how long he sits there watching you flirt and casually touch a man that’s not him. A man that you clearly feel comfortable with. It feels like it’s been hours, but at most it’s been thirty minutes. Thirty agonizing minutes. Eyes trained on you, hundreds of questions float around Joel’s head, all making him angrier by the second.

The thought spiral slows before stopping altogether when you stand up, swaying a bit. The man who Joel wants to snap in half shoots up to steady you, hand low on your back, nearly touching your perfectly rounded ass. You lean down, whispering something to Adam before ruffling his hair. Then, you take Adam’s drink and finish the rest of it, just like Joel watched Adam do to yours earlier. This stranger shakes Adam’s hand before following you out of the bar like a lost puppy, hand snaking around your waist. When he kisses the top of your head as you exit, Joel shoots out of his seat.

Much to his dismay, he makes eye contact with Adam who raises his empty glass to Joel. He nods in response, patting Adam’s shoulder as he walks by. There’s not a thought in his head as he leaves the speakeasy. Not one single voice in his head tells him to stop when he starts walking towards your apartment. If anything, he’s justifying it. This guy could be taking advantage of you. Joel’s just going to check on you. He’s just making sure you’re okay. It’s fine. It’s fine that he’s following you home. 

When he gets to your front door, he hears it. Those sweet sounds you make. The whimpers, the gasps, the soft moans. He could make you louder. He knows it. Joel grabs the knob, but you locked the door. Of course you did. It’s fine, though. He takes his keys out of his pocket and finds the one marked with your initials. Carefully, he steps inside once he unlocks the door. You haven’t stopped making noise, so you must not have heard him. Joel’s going to check on you. Just to make sure you’re okay.

Miles’ lips are wrapped around your hard nipple as you sit on his lap, grinding on his bulge. One of his arms is wrapped around you, holding you tenderly with a light hand on your hip. In contrast, your movements are fast. You’re grinding on him hard. With your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, you look down at where he’s connected to you. You could suck harder, maybe bite me, you think, but you don’t say anything. There’s no need to critique him when it’s good enough. 

A floorboard creaks behind you. Miles doesn’t seem to notice, but you do. You notice immediately and turn your head to look behind you. Are you seeing correctly? Yeah, you had a good bit to drink, but you’re not wasted. Is that Joel? That’s definitely Joel. Joel is standing in the doorway to your bedroom, arms crossed and sporting his typical grimace. In one swift motion, you fly out of Miles’ lap, landing on your ass next to him on the bed. 

“What the fuck, Joel?!” you shout, eyes wild and full of fire. When Joel’s eyes trail down from your face to your breasts, you cross your arms to cover yourself as if he hasn’t seen you naked before. “Why are you—”

“You ain’t doin’ it right,” Joel says. You furrow your brows, confused as to what the fuck he’s talking about. When you realize he’s not addressing you, your lips part. He’s talking to Miles who looks like he’s frozen. “If y’want to get her wet, you’re not doin’ it right.”

“Excuse me?” Miles asks, standing up. His once erect cock has gone completely soft. You, on the other hand, are finally getting as wet as you should be by now. Just from hearing Joel’s delicious drawl.

Joel takes a step forward like he’s sizing him up. Miles is taller than him by an inch or two maybe, but Joel’s definitely wider than him. Face to face like this, they look like two animals ready to compete. Who has the brighter feathers? Or, rather, who has the bigger dick? Your body vibrates with excitement and uncertainty. 

“You gonna let me help you or d’ya wanna keep fumblin’ like a teenage boy?” Joel’s voice is flat, controlled, when he asks this. If you weren’t so turned on, you’d probably laugh. Good one, Joel, you think. 

Miles’ eyes dart to you, flickering to your covered cunt like he’s trying to see if Joel’s right. It’s not like you aren’t wet, but you’re not soaked. Not the way Joel gets you. Your face gets hot and you have a hard time looking at Miles, but you manage to. His blue eyes are locked on yours now, pleading almost. He’s asking you what to do and frankly, you have no idea what you should do, but you know what you want to do. You want Joel to help. You want Joel to fix it.

“She in control? Is that why you’re lookin’ at her?” Joel teases Miles. Finally, he turns to address you. “That’s a first, huh, baby?”

Baby. Fuck. You’re fucked. You know it.

That cruel edge to his voice, the one that makes you melt, is back. You’re not the only one that seems affected by it. When you glance down, to your surprise, Miles’ cock is hard again. If Joel’s noticed, and you suspect he has because he notices everything, he hasn’t said anything. No, he’s just staring at you like he’s seeing each facial feature of yours for the first time. The intensity of his stare is heavy, almost impossible to take, so you drop your arms and expose your nipples which harden immediately from the draft in the room. This works, of course. Joel turns his attention to your tits. Figures.

“Offer’s gonna expire soon,” Joel says, looking between the two of you. Both of you are topless, clad in only your underwear, and there’s indecision painted on your faces. “Gonna take me up on it or—”

“Yes,” you blurt out. Miles looks at you with wide eyes before slowly nodding. Okay. Game on. “Yeah. Let’s play. Show us how good of a teacher you are, Joel.” 

Joel’s jaw shifts and the darkness that you’ve missed so much flashes in his eyes. He takes a slow, daunting step forward, only inches from Miles’ face now. It’s nothing short of a miracle that Miles can actually hold Joel’s intense eye contact. If you were him, you’d be scared, but you know what to expect from Joel. Besides, even when he scares you, you fucking like it. You’ve got to be sick in the head. 

“First lesson: don’t let her call the shots,” Joel says. “You’re the boss. Act like it.” 

You raise an eyebrow and scoff. Is that what Joel thinks? Of course that’s what he thinks. It all starts flooding back to you—how he told Tess that you were his in what was practically their divorce, how you seemingly fold every time he wants you. Anger starts to bubble in your belly when Miles’ voice cuts through to you. 

“Lie on the bed,” he commands. It’s less steady than Joel’s, not quite a bark. You raise an eyebrow when Joel whispers something to him, but you don’t move. “I told you to lie down. Now.”

Admittedly, this is hard for you to take seriously. Miles doesn’t sound remotely confident and all you can think about is how you’d rather hear it from Joel. Still, you go along with it. Raising your hands in fake surrender, you walk towards the bed and lie down. The men follow behind you. Miles sits in front of you, resting a hand on your thigh. It’s gentle. What else is new? 

“How long did it take for her to open those pretty legs for you?” Joel asks, eyes taking you in. He looks downright hungry. 

“Uh, I don’t know. A week or so?” Miles answers. 

Was it that soon after you met? Well, you know what they say, gotta get under one guy to get over another. 

“Hm, surprised it didn’t take longer since you’re touchin’ her like you’re scared of her,” Joel grumbles. “Then again, she is a desperate slut.”

This gets to you. You sit up on your elbows and clench your thighs together, nearly wiggling forwards. Joel crouches down next to the bed and his knees crack as he does so. You don’t let yourself look at him. It’ll be too much, so you focus on Miles instead. He still seems nervous, but his pupils are blown with lust, cock twitching under his boxers. 

“See that squirming? Bet she’s gettin’ real wet just from me talkin’,” Joel rasps. “Go ahead. Spread her open. Enough’a that gentle shit.”

Miles takes this seriously, gripping your thighs and wrenching your legs open. Joel was right, a dark stripe has formed where your slick has gathered. Heat creeps up your neck and settles on your cheeks. Miles’ eyes widen and he swipes his thumb down from your clothed clit to your entrance. You push your hips into his touch and watch a smile tug on his lips. You can feel Joel’s eyes on you. 

“You gotta talk to her,” Joel instructs. 

Nodding, Miles loops his fingers under the waistband of your panties and pulls them off with urgency. Pussy exposed to both Miles and Joel, you feel dirty. Downright filthy and fucked up. You’re enjoying this too much. 

“Oh my god,” Miles says, breathy and awestruck. His thumb rubs on the hair that covers your mound before grazing over your clit, making you twitch. “You’re so fucking wet. Is this all for me?”

No, you think. All for Joel.

Of course, you don’t say that. Instead, you nod and pull your bottom lip between your teeth. For a second, you think you hear Joel scoff and you glance over at him. He’s staring at you with a lecherous intensity, making your pussy clench. A smirk toys on his lips as he stands up, nodding at Miles. 

“Let’s see how you eat that cunt,” he says. “Move over.”

Miles follows Joel’s instructions, scooting over and settling between your legs on his stomach. Joel sits next to him. Torturously close to you but not quite touching. You’re staring at Joel’s hands when Miles’ tongue flicks against your clit. It feels good, but it’s not quite enough. Joel purses his lips and sighs like Miles is a failing student. 

“Not like that,” he critiques. “Never gonna make her come like that. More pressure. Faster.”

A moan is drawn out of you when Miles takes Joel’s suggestion. Faster. More pressure. Miles is looking up at you with pride filled eyes. Maybe you’re thinking with your clit—which feels fucking good—but you actually find him sexy right now. You thread your fingers in his dusty blonde hair, grinding your cunt against his face. 

“Better, sweetheart?” Joel asks, leaning forward into your line of sight. You can feel his breath against your thigh as he observes the way Miles’ tongue works your clit. Nodding, you whimper some sort of affirmation. “C’mon now. Words. Know he’s not making you feel that good.”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “It’s better. Good.”

You can feel Miles smile against you, satisfied with just making you feel good. It’s endearing. Almost. It’d be better if you were getting any closer to orgasming, but you’re not. 

“Not good enough.” Joel scoffs. You’re certain of it this time. “He ever even make you come before?”

Miles pulls back, lips swollen and wet from your juices. He’s waiting for you to answer. If you’re honest, you’re going to break his heart. If you lie, Joel’s going to call you out on it. A rock and a hard place. 

“Fuck off, Joel,” you hiss, mentally kicking yourself. Is that the best you could come up with? 

“Seriously?” Miles asks, brows pulled tight. “Never?”

You open your mouth to soothe him, but you squeak as Miles shoves two fingers into your cunt without warning. The sudden pressure and roughness of it makes your head fall back as you moan. He sets a quick pace and you start to fuck yourself on his fingers, finally getting what you want. A firm hand squeezed your thigh, digging into your soft flesh. For a moment, you think it’s Joel’s. Your cunt gushing around Miles’ fingers at the thought of Joel’s touch. 

“There ya go,” Joel says. “All she had to do was piss you off. She’s real good at that.” 

“Maybe that’s all she’s good at.” Miles’ voice wavers. 

When he finishes his sentence, he buries his fingers deep inside of you, pushing past where he should. It fucking burns, and you love it. You let out a cry, leaning forward and fisting the sheets. Finally, you let yourself look at Joel. It’s a mistake. Immediately, you realize it’s a mistake. His stare with those blown out pupils makes you feel lightheaded. It’s his fingers you want inside of you. It’s his chest you want to see so badly that you consider ripping off his flannel, letting all of the buttons fly haphazardly across the room. You have to look away, so you do, your eyes falling back on Miles as you bounce on his fingers. 

It comes to you slowly, but the pressure does build in your lower tummy and you’re clamping around Miles’ fingers. A low groan comes out of him as he realizes that he might actually make you come. You shut your eyes tight, unable to look at either of the men. 

“Stop,” Joel commands. Miles does. Of course he does. You whine, opening your pleading eyes to look at him. “You’re gonna wanna feel her around your cock. Trust me.” 

“Fuck you, Joel,” you say, exasperated. 

“I’m not fucking you. He is.” Joel nods at Miles before moving to settle next to you, leaning back against your pillows and resting a hand on the soft pudge of his tummy. “Let’s see if you can do this right.” 

Miles’ jaw shifts, clearly irked by Joel’s condescension, while he fumbles to get his boxers off. You shoot Joel an amused look. It’s subtle, but you think Joel returns it, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. Once his boxers are off, Miles positions his hard cock at your entrance, looking up at you for consent. You nod and he eases into you slowly, your walls fluttering around him. It’s already difficult not to think about Joel while Miles is fucking you, but having Joel inches away from you makes it damn near impossible. 

Bottoming out, Miles just sits there, letting you feel him deep. You’re frustrated, just needing to get fucked. With a whine, you goad him on, “Miles, you’re not going to make me come like that. Fuck me.” 

As soon as the words come out of your mouth, Miles looks hurt. Then, the hurt turns into something dark. Not anger, but determination. You stare back at him, raising an eyebrow. You almost forget Joel’s in the room until he chuckles. 

“You gonna let her talk to you like that?” Joel asks. 

“No,” Miles says, glancing at Joel before looking back down at you, dick still throbbing inside of you. 

“Then maybe you should do somethin’ about it,” Joel says, laying on his side to face you. “Smack her around. Teach ‘er how to be a good girl.”

Miles furrows his eyebrows, cocking his head to the side. “I’m not gonna hit her, man.” 

“No, no,” you say desperately, clawing at Miles’ back and pulling him down to you. Pressing your forehead to his, just inches from his lips, you look him in the eyes. You know this will make him melt. “We’re playing a game,” you whisper, trying to be quiet enough that Joel can’t hear, “and I’m being bad. So punish me.” 

Eyes softening, he nods and leans in to kiss you. As always, you turn your away, letting Miles’ lips land on your cheek. He kisses your cheek and makes his way down your neck. You’re facing Joel whose jaw is tight as he stares at you. The feeling Miles’ lips on the column of your throat fades away as you focus on Joel, on how you want his lips on your neck instead. Miles’ cock suddenly pistoning in and out of you breaks your trance, snatching a gasp out of your throat. You turn to face him and as you do, a sharp blow lands on your cheek, eliciting a yelp from you that eventually melts into a moan. It’s hard. Much more so than you expected, but it makes you clench around him. 

“Harder,” Joel encourages him. “Slut like her can take it.” 

Obliging, Miles hits you harder and picks up the pace, fucking deep into you. Your eyes roll back a bit, settling into the pleasure that you’ve been craving. It comes out shaky, but you manage to say, “Finally, just like that. Keep fucking me like that.” 

“I’m kind of tired of hearing you talk,” Miles growls. 

“Shut her up then,” Joel says.

You laugh between moans. “Yeah, shut me up then,” you taunt. “I’d like to see tha—”

Miles’ hand around your throat cuts you off, making you gag. He’s still thrusting into you, deep and fast, while your tongue sticks out pathetically. Looking down, his eyes are glued to where his cock is sliding in and out of you. Maybe he doesn’t notice it, but Miles puts more of his weight on his arm, crushing your windpipe. Panic hits you and your eyes widen, genuinely unable to breathe. Reaching out, you smack Joel’s arm and grab onto his hand, but he’s already yanking Miles off of you by his wrist. Why did you reach for Joel? You could’ve easily tapped Miles on the arm. He would’ve stopped. But no, you sought out Joel. 

“Jesus Christ, Blondie,” Joel snaps, “are you trying to crush her throat? You’re gonna kill her, you dumb ass.” 

You sit up on your elbows to catch your breath, and Miles stills inside of you, burying his cock in your pussy. He rubs his thumb on your cheek tenderly and begins to apologize profusely. You’re, more or less, ignoring him because all you can think about is Joel’s hand still holding yours. When you look over at him, it’s like he realizes it, too. Joel pulls away gruffly. 

“I’m so sorry, honey,” Miles says sincerely, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“She doesn’t like that,” Joel grumbles. “Hates being called honey.” 

That wasn’t something you told Joel. On a run, you told Adam that you hate being called honey unless it’s by a woman over the age of seventy. You guess Joel was listening, and it makes your stomach flutter that he remembers. God, you hate the way he can always get to you.

“It’s fine,” you say, rubbing up and down Miles’ bicep. “Lie down. I want to be on top.” 

Without hesitation, Miles switches positions with you. You don’t have to look to know Miles’ eagerness and obedience made Joel roll his eyes. Taking Miles’ cock in your hand, you run it over your dripping slit as you straddle him. This earns a low groan from him and you bite your lip, satisfied with the teasing.

“Down,” Miles commands. When you don’t move, he grabs you by your hips, digging his nails into your plush flesh, and drags you down onto his cock with force. “Are you fucking listening or are you just incapable of following instructions? I told you down.” 

It’s like the words were coming straight out of Joel’s mouth, making you whimper. Yeah, it would sound better if he had said it, but Miles is trying. You can appreciate that. You press your hands to Miles’ chest and grind down on his cock. Joel sucks in a deep breath.

“Look who’s finally catching on,” Joel says to Miles who glances over at him, almost smiling. He looks like a teenage boy getting his father’s approval for the first time. “But c’mon, you gotta be meaner than that or she won’t come.”

Miles’ eyes scan Joel, from the pinch of his graying brows to his covered bulge, tightly concealed by his jeans. You catch the way he’s looking at Joel like he’s something to eat. After he’s done gawking, which has gone unnoticed by Joel since he’s too preoccupied with staring at your tits, Miles licks his lips and nods. Then, with a smack to your ass, he starts fucking up into you. The new angle is just what you need to hit that sweet spot deep inside of your cunt. Shameless moans tumble from your lips as Miles reaches a hand up to play with your hard nipples, pinching and tugging in a way he never has before. You suck in a sharp breath with your teeth grit, overwhelmed with pleasure and a twinge of pain. 

“You see how he’s looking at you?” Miles asks, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to look at Joel. With heavy eyelids and a hand resting over his clothed, erect cock, Joel looks like he’s bursting with desire. Yet he is entirely still. “A slut like you likes being watched, don’t you?” 

“Mhm,” you affirm with a whimper, eyes still locked on Joel. “F-Fuck, I like it. I really fucking like it.”

Clenching around Miles, you’re approaching the edge, closer and closer to your orgasm with each thrust. When Joel curses under his breath while he watches your tits bounce, you think you’re going to come right there. It’s confusing to you that he’s not playing with himself. He’s just letting his hand rest on his erection. It’s not like he’s trying to hide it, not that he could, but like he needs some sort of pressure on his cock or he’ll lose his mind. He’s holding back.

“Fuck, Joel,” Miles rasps. “She’s really fucking—shit—tight. Squeezing me really tight.”

“You wanna be a good girl and come for me—him?” You catch Joel’s slip up and it only sends you closer to your orgasm. All you can manage is a nod as expletives fall from your lips. “Then stop fuckin’ lookin’ at me and focus.”

“Or what?” you shoot back. 

“Or I’ll walk out right now. You want me to leave?” Joel threatens and you shake your head rapidly. “Didn’t think so. Fuck her harder, kid.” 

“Yes, sir,” Miles mumbles. 

At first you think he’s being sarcastic, maybe there’s a hint of annoyance, but you saw how he was looking at Joel earlier. Thinking about it makes you throb. Miles feels this and groans, kneading a handful of your ass. Your eyes meet Miles’ and you can see the sweat shine on his forehead, dampening his hair. Despite his inability to fuck you like Joel, he isn’t Joel after all, he’s a good enough lay and a nice guy. You decide you should probably stop seeing him after this. For his own sake. 

Maybe he can sense that you’re going to cut things off, or maybe it’s just that he can feel your cunt spasming around him, but Miles slams into you with such force you fall forward. His arm snakes around you to keep you close to him. The way he’s holding you stops you from glancing over at Joel which is probably a good thing. It’ll make it easier to avoid saying his name as you come. 

“You look good like this,” Miles all but whispers. “Being a dirty whore, being my good girl.” 

Miles says the right thing, hits the right spot, and you sit back, pressing your palms flat against his chest. “Maybe not yours,” you say as your orgasm hits you. Mouth hanging open, you make a strangled sound, somewhere between a cry and a moan. You rock back and forth to ride out your climax as you spasm around him, eyes tightly shut. Beneath you, you feel Miles’ hips stutter and he moans your name. 

“Pull out,” Joel demands. “Not your cunt to come in.”

Warm, sticky cum shoots onto Miles’ toned abs. He pulled out just in time and a good thing he did. Considering Joel’s tone, he probably would’ve killed him if he came inside of you. You roll off of him, flopping between Miles and Joel. Sweaty and tired, you throw your arms over your eyes to block out the light filtering in from the streetlight. It’s stopped flickering.

“You should head out,” you say to no one in particular. “It’s late. Busy day tomorrow.”

That’s bullshit. 

“Yeah, of course,” Miles says softly, still catching his breath. He leans over and kisses your shoulder before getting up. 

Joel doesn’t move. 

Eyes still covered, you listen to Miles get dressed. Shucking on his pants. Closing his zipper. Putting his shoes on. Eventually, the front door shuts. 

“Guy’s a fucking moron,” Joel grumbles. 

Uncovering your eyes, you turn your head to look at him. He’s flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, and his arms are behind his head. Joel’s jaw is clenched. Everything about him is stiff, uncomfortable. It must rub off on you because you tense up. Maybe you’re mirroring him, or maybe you’re just realizing how humiliating it is that he’s completely clothed and you’re still naked 

“He’s nice,” you say. 

“He doesn’t know how to fuck you.”

“Well,” you inhale, “you just taught him. So.”

“Okay,” Joel exhales, “but he doesn’t just know what you want.”

“And you do?” Your voice is suddenly small, meek. 

Joel turns his head and holds eye contact with you. Time begins to slow down as the two of you stare. Suddenly, you’re in the motel, covered in blood and sitting on the floor. There’s that same hint of longing behind his otherwise dark eyes. You don’t dare to move, don’t dare to ruin whatever’s happening. 

“I…” Joel begins, then he snaps his mouth shut. The room would be silent if it weren’t for the blood thundering in your ears. Finally, Joel’s voice cuts through. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.” 

It’s the easiest thing to say.

You’re juggling multiple tasks when you hear the front door open. A couple of heavy boot steps land on the tile before Joel takes his boots off and throws his keys onto the console table.

“Hey baby,” he says, his voice a little hoarse from his long day at work. He stands behind you, bending over to place a kiss against your head. “Hi,” you say, barely able to look up from the work on your laptop. “Sorry, just have to get this filed.”

“S’okay,” he gently assures before moving to the kitchen to drop off his lunch tote.

Work hasn’t been easy the past few weeks. Deadlines arrive too early, meetings run too long, and you never have enough time. It couldn’t have come at a worse time, Miller Construction just won the contract for the large shopping center being built across town. Joel’s been working twelve-hour days, coming home exhausted and covered in dirt and sawdust. Both of you are running on fumes, barely managing to spend any quality time together. 

So much for wedded bliss.

“You eat anything today?” he asks, placing his hands on your shoulders, trying to rub some of the tenseness out. You catch the faint smell of him that you love, a bit of his cologne mixed with wood and sweat. All man. All Joel.

“What answer do you want?” you ask.

“Baby,” he growls. “You know you hafta take care of yourself.” His thumbs push into your skin, kneading small circles into the tight knots.

“Easier said than done when I have twenty things to do with enough time to do five,” you sigh.

“Hmph,” he responds. 

You turn to him, finally tearing your eyes away from the screen, and look at your handsome Joel.

God, he’s just as gorgeous as the day you met him at that hole-in-the-wall Mexican food place that has the guacamole cheese fries you love. You were craving carbs after a night out with friends. He was just needing some sustenance inside of him after working well into the early hours of the morning at the construction site. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of each other, and the drinks you had before emboldened you to slide into the booth across from him with a flirtatious smile. And that was that; he loved your straightforward ways, which pulled him out of his shy shell, and you loved his diligent focus and quiet strength. Three years later, you were married. And now, less than six months after your wedding, you’re both way too busy and tired to even enjoy newlywed bliss.

“Well,” Joel says, “what do you want for dinner?”

"A pretzel.”

His eyebrows lift. “A pretzel?”

"Mmhmm,” you nod. “One of those big, soft mall pretzels.”

He chuckles. “That’s it?”

“Yep.”

“Alright, baby,” he says. “I’ll go get you that pretzel.”

You smile wide, you hate that it’s the first time you’ve smiled today. “Really?!” you ask.

He scoots your chair back and turns it to face him. “Really,” he says with an adoring smile before he leans down and seals his mouth over yours. He kisses you sweetly, his tongue gently licking into your mouth before he pulls away. “You have a lot left to do?”

“Should be done by the time you get back. Hopefully.”

“Good,” he says with a smirk before he gives you one last kiss.

You turn your chair back, taking a deep breath, trying to recenter yourself to conquer the last few assignments left for today. 

“Hey,” Joel’s voice catches your attention from the front door. You look over, his hand on the door knob, “You’re doing amazing, I’m proud of you darlin',” he says with a small smile. “I love you.”

You smile widely, using the burst of Joel’s belief and pride to help you finish.

🥨🥨🥨

You shut your laptop with a sigh. Another 14-hour day of work is done. You’re exhausted and starving.

Joel walks in at the perfect time, right as your stomach begins growling. You spot the blue and white bag dangling from his fingers and perk up immediately, your exhaustion forgotten. 

Joel grins and holds the bag up.

“Oh my god,” you say, practically leaping from the chair. “Thank yooou!”

You can smell the butter and sweet dough the closer you get, your mouth begins to water as you reach for the bag.

Just as you get ready to grab it, Joel lifts it away, holding it above his head with a smirk.

“Not so fast, baby, I’m hungry too,” he says.

You pout, trying to reach for the bag again. “Joel!” you whine, though your smile is wide. “I’m hungry!”

He chuckles, wrapping his free arm around your waist and pulling you against him. “I’m hungry too,” he growls, his hand gliding down your back to squeeze your ass.

“Sooo, have a pretzel,” you suggest, quirking your eyebrow up.

“No, I’m hungry for you,” he growls in your ear. He lets go of you, gently pushing you towards the living room. “Now, go on ‘n get naked for me and sit on the couch.”

Joel’s low, commanding tone sends a shiver up your spine. Lord, it’s been over a week since you’ve had any real chance to enjoy each other carnally. Most nights end with you crawling into bed next to Joel, already asleep. He only wakes up briefly to wrap his arms around you and pull you close, rumbling a low “love you baby” against your skin.

But tonight, despite your fatigue, desire begins to pool low in your belly.

You slowly unbutton your shirt, a fancy blouse from a mall boutique you have multiples of to wear for Zoom meetings. Your bra follows quickly behind, a simple bralette, because who needs support when you’re sitting at a table all day? Joel watches, his dark brown eyes following your every move. When you slide down your shorts and underwear, revealing yourself fully to him, he lets out a low groan.

You settle on the couch, slightly melting into the soft cushion, thankful it’s not the hardwood chair you’ve been sitting on all day. Joel stalks towards you, the pretzel bag still clutched in his hand. He kneels between your legs, reaching into the bag to pull out a glistening pretzel.

“Open,” he says.

You obey, opening your mouth, ready to taste the salty, sweet treat. But Joel doesn’t move to feed you, instead he grips your legs, spreading them open.

“Atta girl,” he says, before handing you the pretzel.

“Eat,” he commands.

You don’t know what makes you moan first… your first bite of salty, buttery perfection or Joel’s first lick against your pussy.

His eyes lock onto yours, watching as you watch him savor you, just as you’re savoring the pretzel.

“Joel,” you moan, one hand gripping the pretzel while the other grips his hair.

He hums against you, the tip of his nose nudging against your clit as his tongue teases your entrance.

God, you missed the bristle of his beard against your thighs, the feel of his broad tongue against your folds, and the low sounds he groans against you.

Your hips buck against his face as you take another bite. God, you love pretzels, almost as much as you love Joel’s mouth against your cunt.

“Fuck,” you moan, when Joel sticks a long, thick finger into you.

Your head falls back against the couch, his finger curling inside you, dragging it sweetly and slowly in and out of you. He fucks you with his thick finger, pulling moans and whimpers from you as he swirls his tongue on your clit. 

The pretzel is long forgotten when it drops from your grip onto the leather couch.

It’s loud between your legs. Joel’s groans and grunts against your skin mingle with the wet sound of his finger fucking into your wet cunt. You’ve missed this so much, the need for Joel sitting low in your belly, making your thighs tremble, your grasp against his soft hair tighter.

His tongue laps against your clit, flicking with the perfect pressure Joel knows that will drive you crazy. 

Joel Miller is the perfect husband. He always knows how to make you feel good and loved. Whether it’s how perfectly he works his mouth against your needy pussy or how he knows exactly how to angle his hips against yours when he fucks you with his wide cock. It’s not just pleasure with him either. It’s the soft way he speaks to you when you’re overwhelmed, the gentle way he runs his hands along your skin, or the loving kiss he leaves against your forehead when he gets out of bed.

Right now, it’s the way his eyes look at you under furrowed brows, focused on making you feel relaxed, loved, and adored.  

You can feel your orgasm rising, the tension of the long work day quickly melting away as Joel works you with his tongue. Your legs wrap around his broad body, tightening and pushing him against you, searing your pussy against his mouth.

Joel hums against your aching cunt, puffy with need and soaked from his spit and your wet. He knows you’re close, and he pulls you even closer when he sticks a second thick finger inside you.

Your body responds, your walls squeezing his fingers, your clit throbbing as he sucks it between his plush lips. It’s divine seeing your handsome husband like this, his mouth glued against you, pulling a long, sweet orgasm out of you.

You’re trembling, repeating his name, clutching at his hair with both hands as he growls against you, drinking every drop you spill out for him down. His hands run a path up and down your body, goosebumps breaking out across your skin at his touch across your overwhelmed body.

You can’t help the wide, blissed out smile that stretches across your skin as you come down from your orgasm. 

Joel leaves soft kisses against your thigh before he pulls back, his face shining with your slick. “So good. Missed tasting ya’.”