incorrect quotes n’ shit

Frankie Morales makes the best grilled cheese you’ve ever had. Perfectly golden bread; gooey, melty cheese — just the thought of it makes you drool. He says he has a secret ingredient. Won’t let you in the kitchen while he cooks for you, lest you find out. 

Sometimes, upon entering his apartment, you can already smell melted butter. He’ll have started on one without even asking if you want it. He knows you always do. 

Sit, he’ll shout from the other room. I’ll be right there. Feel free to put something on — but please, not 13 Going on 30. You’ll thank him and question his distaste for Mark Ruffalo in the same breath: you’re the best, but it’s not my fault Matty is the dream man.

He’ll bring you the wafting plate along with a Corona, and insist that you eat before it goes cold while he makes one for himself. Ever the gentleman, ever the friend — at least he was.

Because the two of you haven’t spoken in a month; not since the drunken hookup that you’re both pretending didn’t happen.

You’d laughed the entire cab ride home from the bar. That last round of tequila shots had left you feeling good, all warm and giggly, and Frankie mirrored you in the backseat with his drunken grin. Eyes glassy, lips pulled wide, he’d smacked you lightly on the shoulder as you recalled Santiago’s pitiful loss in that third game of pool. “When he pocketed the eight-ball…” he trailed off into another fit of laughter. 

“And then—“ you attempted, voice caught in your throat as another giggle barreled out. “—the cue hitting his drink!” Your entire body folded over, hands braced on Frankie’s thighs as the two of you struggled to regain composure. Through labored breaths, you squealed. “He’s never going to live that down!”

After a few particularly stressful months at work, you lived for these nights out with your friends. You’d met Frankie through your best friend Mal, who was dating his friend Benny, and your circles had eventually meshed into one. Sometimes it felt like it had always been that way, like you’d known the guys your entire life.

Especially Frankie.

Your friendship was a special one — punctuated by frequent trips to the movies to watch the latest horrible slasher film; by nights spent yapping on the phone about nothing in particular. He’d become a constant in your life. Never, in your right mind, would you even dream of doing anything to jeopardize that— 

“You look really hot tonight, by the way.”

He shouldn’t have said that. He shouldn’t have. But then it was you who leaned in closer, you who rested your hand on his hip and plucked the Standard Heating Oil cap off his head, placing it atop your own.

It was you who kissed him first.

He deepened it though — that was all him — large, restless hands grasping at your sides, your back, your face; tongue pushing past the seam of your lips to press against yours. He’d groaned into your mouth when the cab stopped at the curb in front of your building. Cursed under his breath when you pulled away.

And then, your voice ragged and breathless, you’d asked, “do you want to come in for a bit?”

It was a mistake. A horrible, blissful mistake. Waking up with sticky thighs and Frankie’s thumbprint bruised into your hip, you’d found his side of the bed cold; your inbox empty. He hadn’t called, hadn’t texted. Still hasn’t.

The aftermath is cursory glances. Half-assed greetings and pleasantries murmured across the bar. Which you don’t mind, really. You don’t want to speak to him. He’d probably just feed you some lie about losing track of time, not remembering what happened that night.

You wish you could forget it.

The visual is fuzzy; fleeting. But his voice — god, his voice — it still rings in your ears, drips at the nape of your neck like a leaking tap: fuck, baby, knew you’d take my cock; feel so good wrapped around me.

Your friends don’t know. They can’t; they wouldn’t let you live it down. Benny has made plenty of offhand comments already about you and Frankie being perfect for each other, having the same stubborn disposition. Mal does nothing to shut him up. Instead, she encourages him. Tells him he’s so right. 

You’re pretty sure your eyeballs are going to fall out someday from glaring too hard.

Because you’re not perfect for each other — far from it, actually. Fuck, you can’t even communicate effectively. How could you ever be in a real relationship? 

Not that you want that. Frankie is…well, Frankie. Sure, he’d felt undeniably incredible on top of you, inside of you — but he isn’t the type to settle down. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever heard Frankie talk about dating. 

Besides, he’s clearly not interested in being anyone’s anything right now. Not even your friend. 

It hurts; cuts deeper than you care to admit. Just weeks ago, you’d spent an entire weekend at his place, marathoning the X Files and gorging on cold pizza. Now, he won’t even look your way for more than a few seconds. 

Won’t make you a fucking grilled cheese.

It’s a Friday night, which means you’re meeting your friends at Sid’s. The glow of neon seeping through the windows of the old dive bar is warm and inviting as you step out of your rideshare and make your way toward the doors.

Frankie is sitting at the bar with Santiago when you enter. Hunched shoulders, narrowed eyes trained on his bottle of Corona, he appears detached from whatever Santi is saying to him. He doesn’t acknowledge you when you stroll up to them — not until his friend’s hand lands hard on his back, pulling his attention away from the beer. He offers a half-assed hello and an even more half-assed half-hug, and then he’s sliding back onto his barstool. 

Ever-oblivious, Santiago doesn’t seem to notice the way Frankie curls in on himself; the way your back is up like an agitated cat’s.

Mal and Benny turn up minutes later, immediately ordering a round of shots for the group. You down the liquor eagerly, not bothering to lean on salt and lime to numb the sting. You want to feel it. You order another before joining Mal and the guys at a pool table in the back, letting the acid slide down your throat with no more than a wince as Santi racks the balls.

“Alright Fish, you’re up,” he says. “Me and you. Whoever loses buys the next round.”

You watch as Frankie quirks a brow at him. Takes a swig of his beer. “You sure you want to make that bet, Pope?”

Santi grins; nods confidently. “Hell yeah, I do.” The rest of you don’t bother to suppress your laughter. You catch a glimpse of Frankie, head thrown back, his broad, glistening neck exposed, and you have to fight to ignore the sudden panging in your chest.

When Santi inevitably loses, you order a vodka soda. You’re already feeling a bit tipsy after two shots in less than twenty minutes, so the drink goes down smooth; quick. There’s a rush to your head as you settle back at the bar and fiddle with the wrapper to your straw, letting the slightly soggy paper roll between two fingers.

You barely notice when Frankie slots in a few seats down, your attention drawn only when you hear his voice. It’s deep — sounds just like it did when he had his chest pressed to your back in the dim light of your bedroom — and his intonation nearly gives you whiplash. 

When you snap your head up to look at him, you find he’s speaking to a woman. Her back is turned to you, long, dark hair tossed over her shoulder and her elbow resting casually on the bartop, but you imagine she must be beautiful by the way Frankie is visibly fawning over her. You’re staring, you hear her tease. Can’t help it, comes his reply.

Something like discomfort builds in your throat. Rises up up up. You take a long sip of your drink, letting vodka and sugar push it down. 

You’ve never seen Frankie flirt with anyone, apart from you. It’s strangely unsettling, listening to him smooth-talk her. I’m a pilot, you know, he brags; could take you up in the sky someday if you wanted. Her giddy squeal comes seconds later; really? You’d do that for me?

You feel bad for her. She doesn’t know yet that all he’ll do is disappoint her.

He feeds her lines as you sip on your drink, citrus and grain burning only when he tells her: yeah, I came with friends; they’re all over there. Gestures toward Benny, Mal and Santi standing around the pool table in the back.

Scoffing, you stand from your seat at the bar and retreat to the patio. You don’t bother to check if Frankie is looking. 

It’s cooler here, a sobering breeze carrying salt air with it as it wafts by. A few patrons have spilled outside, most smoking on faintly glowing cigarettes as they talk and laugh boisterously among themselves. You’d planned to sit alone, to plant yourself on a bench and enjoy your drink in solitude. But then a stranger is approaching you — a man, cigarette grasped between two of his fingers — and he’s asking you for a light.

He’s in his mid thirties, if you had to guess. Curly, dark hair sprouts every which way from his scalp; rounded, green eyes studying you as he awaits a response. He’s tall, though not as tall as Frankie.  His shoulders aren’t nearly as broad and his chest isn’t quite as wide. His t-shirt hangs loose around his torso, swallowing his narrow frame — dissimilar to the way Frankie’s button-down clings to him. 

Then again — why are you even comparing? Maybe the opposite of Frankie is exactly what you need. 

You’ll have to seduce this stranger first, though. Not that it seems like it’ll be very difficult. His eyes are already raking over you, lips turned up at the corner as you take a casual sip of your drink.

“I don’t smoke,” you admit apologetically. 

“Ah — that’s alright.” 

He has an accent; midwestern, maybe? You don’t bother to ask. You don’t care, really. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is—

“You here all by yourself?”

“Yeah,” he laughs at your lack of subtlety. “Are you?”

“No,” you say. “My friends are inside.” Lowering your voice, you add, “but I was thinking about leaving soon.”

“Why’s that? Early morning tomorrow?”

You shake your head. Rub at your neck as if working out a knot, a contented hum pushing past your lips at the press of fingers into skin. Your stranger’s eyes trail rather conspicuously downward.

“Just over it,” you sigh exasperatedly. “I’d much rather be home…in bed…out of these clothes.”

You pull gently at the strap of your dress, as if you can’t bear the sensation of it against your shoulder any longer.

Your stranger’s gaze darkens, and the grip on his box of cigarettes grows tighter.

“You uh — want some company — once I find a light?”

Too fucking easy.

“Sure,” you giggle.

He slips away only for a minute or two, giving you just enough time to second-guess yourself. You know nothing about this man, not even his name; only that he smokes American Spirits and smells like tobacco. Should you really go home with him? 

But then you think of Frankie inside  — talking up a woman at the bar, pretending that you don’t exist — and that just about makes up your mind for you.

Your stranger reappears, now-lit cigarette dangling from his lips. The tip of it rages red and angry, and you think you know how that feels.

He smirks at you as he stuffs the pack into the front pocket of his jeans. An unceremonious silence hangs in the air as he sucks on the filter and puffs out a string of smoke. You wait patiently for him, quietly. 

He snuffs the butt of his cigarette out in a nearby ashtray. Takes your empty cup and discards that too. 

Can’t wait to get you home, he whispers in your ear then. You feign arousal, peering up at him and batting your eyelashes. Me neither, you mewl. Let’s go.

You lead him back through the bar, finding Mal and letting her know that you’ll be going. She seems a little perplexed, quirking a brow at you as you grip tightly onto your stranger’s arm, but she tells you to have fun anyway. Text me, she mouths as you make your way to the exit.

You only get a few feet, though, before you’re intercepted.

Frankie is blocking the door, arms crossed, a panic-stricken look on his face that you can’t quite comprehend. “Hey,” he says, “can I talk to you real quick?”

Your stranger backs off. Lets go of your arm and starts out the door. “I’ll wait outside,” he says, slipping away with a wink before you can protest.

The bar is bustling with noise, people in every corner drinking and laughing and dancing. Strangely, though, you’ve never felt so alone. So vulnerable. And you hate that Frankie has this power over you, the innate ability to make you feel so fucking small. It’s infuriating, it’s—

“Are you sure you want to leave with him?”

“Excuse me?” you scoff. 

Frankie stares you down, face red, eyes inky-black. “You don’t know this guy, do you? What if he’s a murderer or something? Or like — a pervert?” 

He’s grasping at straws, you know it. It’s why you laugh; roll your eyes. 

“What are you, my keeper?”

“No, it’s just — I’m just concerned for your safety, okay?”

You’re briefly stunned. After weeks of ignoring you, he cares about your wellbeing? How can he be so hypocritical?

“I’m fine,” you bite back. “Why don’t you go back to your girl at the bar? Worry about getting yourself some instead?”

He’s wounded, if only slightly. His lips part like he might retaliate, but he’s silent. Dejected. Satisfied, you brush past him. March out the door without so much as a parting glance.

Finding your stranger leaning against the bar’s brick exterior, you force a smile. He outstretches a hand and you take it, reluctantly. “Ready to go?” he asks. 

You’re not so sure anymore, but you nod anyway. Squeeze your stranger’s bicep and preen under his lustful gaze when he tenses in your grip. “Yeah,” you purr. “I’m ready.”

Cold air bites at your toes the following morning. It wakes you from a deep slumber; bitterly pulls you into consciousness. Confused, you yank at the covers. But a mysterious weight holds them in place, and only then do you remember then that you’re not alone. 

Eyes sliding open reluctantly, you scan the room. Your dress from the night before is draped over the chair in the corner, your stranger’s clothes piled up on the floor nearby. He snores next to you, an arm raising to hang above his head, and you shift. Slip out of bed and pull a t-shirt on before padding into the bathroom.

Early morning light spills across tile, bounces off the mirror above the sink. You squint, shuffling over to the window and yanking the blinds closed. Then you check for damage in your reflection. Your makeup from the night before has stained your cheeks and your eyes look as tired as you feel, but otherwise there appears to be no physical evidence of your rock bottom.

The sex wasn’t great — not even good, really. Your stranger had lasted all of three minutes, had fanned his hot breath across the shell of your ear as he came, and then collapsed on top of you. Rolled over and drifted to sleep. He’d started snoring before you could even process what had just happened.

Cold water splashed across your cheeks does nothing to cool the burn of regret that scorches your skin. You feel uncomfortable, almost as if your body is tainted, now, remnants of your stranger leaking from between your thighs as you steady yourself at the edge of the sink. 

He must’ve heard the tap, or maybe the pounding in your chest, because he emerges seconds later. He yawns and stretches, feline-like, in the doorway. “Hey,” he mutters. “How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty good,” you say, eyes twitching slightly as you will them to stay put above his waistline. 

“You always up this early?”

You nod. It’s a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that you’d nearly jumped out of bed at the sight of him still there. He doesn’t need to know that for a split second, you’d almost hoped it was Frankie.

He asks if you want to get breakfast. You shake your head in faux-sympathy. “Sorry, can’t. I was hoping to get some cleaning done.”

“I could stick around and help,” he offers. 

Jesus Christ. Just take the fucking hint.

“That’s so nice of you; I’m just more efficient by myself,” you lie again. 

If Frankie were here, he’d grab the cleaning rags out of the closet just off the kitchen. He knows where they’re kept: second shelf, on the left. He’d wipe down the counters and the coffee table while you’d work on clearing dishes, disposing of pizza scraps. And he’d probably put on his dad-rock playlist — against your wishes — though you’d inevitably find yourself dancing to Foo Fighters and giggling when he’d sing along and mess up the words.

It begins to sink in then, as you shoo your stranger, now dressed, out the door, that your attempt to use sex as a way to get Frankie out of your head was useless. He’s still there, refusing quite adamantly to budge, all mussed curls and big eyes and deep voice. There’s no evidence that he’ll be leaving any time soon.

The revelation renders you nauseous. You spend the rest of the day with a hangover that you’re sure has not been induced by alcohol. And by the time night falls, darkness descending over your bedroom like a fog, you still feel sick.

A week later, you drag yourself to Benny and Mal’s for their monthly game night. You’d tried to get out of it, told Mal you haven’t been feeling great — which isn't a total lie — but she’d begged you until you broke. 

Will is coming, and it’ll be the first time we’ve all gotten together in over a year, she’d whined through the receiver. 

And then-

I know things were weird between you and Frankie last time at the bar, but you can’t let that stop us from seeing each other.

How do you know that, you’d asked, chewing on your bottom lip, the phone tucked between your ear and your shoulder.

He basically moped around the rest of the night after you left. Kept bitching about you leaving with that guy. He seemed really…agitated. You don’t have to tell me what happened, just please don’t bail.

So you’re here, steeling yourself as you climb the steps to the front door, hoping that if nothing else, you can make it through the night without strangling Frankie for his lack of discretion. 

You enter the house with baited breath.

Your eyes immediately catch Frankie, tucked into the corner of the sectional, fingers wrapped tightly around his beer. He meets your gaze briefly before letting it slip to the floor by his feet, as if he’s trying to pretend he hasn’t seen you at all. 

“Hi,” you try.

He looks back up at you, or rather past you. Taps his fingers along the bottle for a long moment. “Hey,” he says finally, to the wall behind your head.

“How have you been?” the words come out forced, almost foreign. You shift your weight awkwardly and he sighs. 

“Fine. I’m fine.” 

“Right,” you mutter. More silence. “Me too, in case you were wondering.”

“Good,” he says, voice cold. “That’s good.”

You’re not sure whether you want to slap him or kiss him. Because as infuriating as he’s being right now, he looks gorgeous, denim shirt hugging his biceps, his shoulders; stray curls peaking out from under that stupid Standard Heating Oil hat. You yearn to rip it off his head, run your fingers through his hair, nip along the sharp line of his jaw; the broad expanse of his neck.

You long to feel something other than the prominent ache that’s permeated your body for weeks, now. And you fear that he’s the only one who’d be able to alleviate it.

Your mouth opens again just as Benny emerges from the kitchen. Whatever words you were about to utter are lost in the ether as he pulls you into a suffocating hug and thanks you for coming. 

“Mal’s in the kitchen,” he says. Grabs a handful of Lays from a bowl on the coffee table and shovels them into his mouth. Still chewing, he adds, “we got those wine coolers you like; they’re in the fridge.”

With a hurried thanks, you slip away unscathed.

You find Mal crouched in front of the open fridge, rustling through a produce drawer stocked with beer cans. 

“Hey,” you announce. 

She seems almost surprised to see you when she cranes her neck toward your voice, despite your promise to show. Eyebrows raised, mouth slightly agape, it’s as if she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. She pulls another drawer open. Fishes out a wine cooler and passes it to you with an outstretched arm. 

You take it in one hand. Help her up with the other. 

“You’re here,” she says, and it sounds like more of a question than a statement. 

“Yeah. I said I would be.”

“I know, I know. It’s just — I wasn’t sure. The whole Frankie thing…” 

“It’s nothing; I promise,” you lie. “Water under the bridge. We’re fine.”

She quirks a brow at you, disbelief coloring her features, but she lets it go. Closes the fridge with a thunk and adjusts her sweater at the hem. “Good,” she says. “I don’t want you two ruining game night.”

It’s half a joke, but you know deep down she means it. She takes this all very seriously. Back in college, she’d forced you and your suitemates to play Cards Against Humanity with her every weekend. None of you had the heart to tell her when it started to grow monotonous, and so the tradition carried on well past graduation, eventually evolving into a new tradition with new friends.

Games bring people together, she’d said once over a round of Monopoly that had stretched well into the night, resulting in delirious laughter and a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest.

You’d believed her at the time. Now, you’re not so sure that it’s foolproof.

The two of you rejoin the guys in the living room, Santiago and Will having shown up in your absence. You greet them as Benny pulls out a stack of game boxes. Settle on the couch, as far away from Frankie as you can manage.

It starts during the second round of Charades. 

The first round had gone fine — good, even. Teamed up with Santi and Will, you’d avoided eye contact with Frankie for the whole of it. Focused only on guessing Santi’s horribly-mimed clues in between handfuls of trail mix and sips of watermelon-flavored bubbles.

It’d felt a bit like old times, all of you in one room again. Mal snuggling into Benny on the loveseat; Will catching his brother up on time spent touring the country, giving motivational speeches to recently discharged veterans. He’d asked you how you’ve been as Santi studied his next word, and you’d remembered then that everything was very much not how it once was.

And you hadn’t missed Frankie’s discomfort at the question; the way he set his beer bottle down on the table with a bit too much force, glass clanging against wood. Though if Will noticed too, he hadn’t said anything. Just moved into a story about some woman he met on the road that reminded him of you.

Santi’s turn had ended with a whopping zero points for your team, and now Frankie is standing at the front of the room, unfolding the scrap of paper in his hand and reading it to himself. In the lull, you find yourself staring at him, eyes near glazing over at the sight of the tiny paper pinched between long, thick fingers. Fingers you remember the reach of, the weight of. 

He crumples the paper and stuffs it into his pocket, signaling that he’s ready to go. Mal flips over the sand timer on the table. And you almost don’t notice at first when he starts, mind occupied by equal parts lust and annoyance, that he’s fucking mouthing the phrase.

You watch, enraged, as Benny squints to read his lips. He raises his hand excitedly and jumps to his feet; yells out the answer with a sureness that Frankie affirms with a nod. 

“That’s right. It’s the Empire State Building.”

“That’s fucking cheating!” you shout, a bit angrier than the situation calls for, and the room grows quiet. Fury coursing through you, you add, “are you fucking serious, Frankie?”

You feel the eyes on you; the awkward sheen you’ve cast over the room. Mal shifts across from you, glaring when you turn to face her, and you laugh defensively. 

“What, nobody else thinks that’s unfair?”

“Please,” Frankie sneers. 

“No, she’s right,” Santi tries — ever the peacemaker. “We’ll just add a rule going forward; no mouthing the words.”

“Fuck that,” you hiss. “I want their point taken away.”

Frankie scoffs from the other side of the room. “Bullshit! We earned that before the rule was added.”

You’re fuming now, standing to get a bit closer to his height; though he still towers over you. Mal is right on your heels, placing a hand on your shoulder in an attempt to placate you. You brush her off. Take another stride toward Frankie.

“There shouldn’t need to be an official rule against it, Frankie. It’s common fucking sense — which clearly, you have none of.”

Visibly offended, he says nothing. Just tenses his jaw.

“Why did you come tonight?” you continue, voice more level now; direct. 

You hear your name uttered behind you, tone pleading, warning. You ignore it. 

“Seriously, why?”

He’s quiet for a long, drawn-out moment, eyes pointed at the floor again.  

“What are you talking about?” he spits, finally. 

You laugh, amused and irritated, and these things somehow feel one in the same. “I mean, clearly you don’t want to be in my presence or even acknowledge my existence — unless it’s to cockblock me — so why are you here?”

His brows furrow; lips twist. For a second, you think he might actually leave. He adjusts his cap, jangles the car key in his pocket — but Benny stops him before he can take a step.

“Just — cut it out, okay? Both of you.”

“He’s the one-“

“I don’t care,” Benny interjects. Scanning the room, you catch sight of Santi and Will and Mal, all visibly agitated, and you sigh.

Guilt washes over you, then. The twisting of Santi’s face, Mal’s doleful stare, the wordless look exchanged between Benny and Will. All confirm your fear that you’ve effectively ruined their night. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. 

Frankie echoes your apology. Still, the others aren’t impressed. 

“I don’t know what’s been going on lately with you two, but you need to figure this shit out,” Benny says. He sounds like a parent: stern and slightly disappointed. “Can you please just — go in the other room and talk through it?”

Though you haven’t much cared for Frankie’s opinion as of late, you still turn to him to gauge his reaction. He appears just as hesitant as you are, just as guilt-stricken. But something more lurks behind his eyes — something like fear, anxiety. Why, you aren’t sure.

You raise a brow at him, a wordless question. He answers with a sigh. 

“Fine,” you both say at once.

“Thank goodness,” Mal chimes. Herding you two like cattle with a hand on each of your backs, she leads you out of the living room and into the adjoining hallway. 

Her voice drones behind you as you make your way toward the third door on the right. Shall we continue the game?

The guest room is primly kept. It appears almost untouched at first glance, though you know that to be untrue. You’ve stayed here before, after blurry nights spent drinking shitty gin and singing karaoke. That must’ve been years ago now, though, after Mal and Benny first bought this house, and you begin to wonder if your tumultuous friendship with Frankie only made you neglect your friendship with her. And that only adds to the anger stirring inside of you — because what was it all worth, if it’s ended up like this?

Frankie closes the door behind him with a click, and the air in the room feels exponentially thicker. 

“What the fuck was that?” you hiss. 

He scoffs. “Me? You’re the one who freaked out and started an argument over nothing!”

“It wasn’t nothing. You were cheating.”

“Please.” He rolls his eyes. Takes two steps toward you. “That’s not what this is about and you know it.”

“Oh,” you laugh, “so you are aware that you’ve been an asshole?”

He says your name, voice suddenly lower, softer. Your entire body tenses as you struggle to keep strong, to not think about how it sounded in your ear in the midst of pleasure.

“I wasn’t trying to be-”

You throw a hand up; silence him. “Well you have been,” you groan. “You’ve been a huge fucking asshole. You hurt me, Frankie. You were my best friend, and then you just… stopped returning my texts. You won’t even look at me when we’re in the same room together. Did you regret it that much?”

The room goes still. You watch as Frankie’s chest rises and falls arduously, his eyes settling on you. They’re dark, pupils blown wide, squeezing shut as he exhales long and hard.

“No.”

You quirk a brow at him, confused.

“No?”

“No,” he repeats, averting his gaze. “And that’s the problem — I didn’t regret it at all.” His eyes lift slowly, finding you again, voice more sure when he adds, “I’ve wanted it for a long time”

You can barely comprehend what he’s saying, your heart climbing its way out of your ribcage and up your throat. You gulp, feeling the shape of it there as saliva slowly slides past. 

He takes another two steps forward, mere inches from you now, and your breath hitches.

“Do you know how difficult it’s been to look at you without getting fucking hard?” he whispers. “How many times I’ve fucked my fist in the past month imagining it was you?”

Your mouth falls open, stunned. “That girl at the bar-”

He shakes his head. “I thought maybe if I fucked someone else, it would help.”

“And did it?”

“I didn’t — I didn’t go home with her,” he admits, a little bashfully. “I couldn’t do it.” 

His hand lifts, then, cautious and shaky. It finds its way to your face, grazes your jaw so softly you’d think you imagined it if you couldn’t see.

“Why not?” you squeak.

He nods, as if he’s finally accepting something he’s known to be true, admitting it to himself before he does so out loud.

“Because she wasn’t you.”

It feels as if your entire world has spun on its axis. 

Without thinking, you wrap your hand around Frankie’s neck and pull him toward you, crashing your lips into his with a groan. He’s quick to respond, desperately tangling his fingers in your hair and winding his tongue around yours, a broken moan slipping from his throat. 

For a long moment, that’s all it is. It’s clashing teeth and restless hands; the draw of blood and the taste of it, earthy and metallic on your tongue. It’s the two of you, reconciling for lost time and unshared feelings and the overlooked need for each other through tangled bodies. 

And when you finally pull apart, his lips are swollen and his eyes are glazed over, and you’re sure you don’t look much different.

“Frankie,” you whine as his mouth latches to your neck, warm and wet. He doesn’t retreat; just hums against you. 

“Need you,” you say breathlessly. “Need you to touch me.”

His large hand skates down your front, under the waistband of your leggings. He presses two fingers against your clothed clit, and your knees buckle. You lean into him, bracing yourself with a hand on his chest as he begins rubbing small, deliberate circles into cotton. 

Lips trailing up to your ear, he nibbles at the lobe. Presses his tongue just behind the shell of it and sighs. “Been wanting this since that night. Want to make you feel good. Want to do it right.”

You mewl in response, high-pitched and too loud, and you have to bite into his shoulder to keep from crying out again. He’s still working you toward the brink, pace relentless, beseeching you every time you buck into his hand. 

There you go baby, that’s it; I got you. 

You know he does, can feel the support of his unoccupied hand at the small of your back, holding you to his strong body. And god, how you’ve missed the feeling of it pressed to yours. You think that that alone could make you come.

You feel yourself slipping as your orgasm approaches, legs slumping underneath you more and more with every pass of his fingers. “Frankie,” you warn, teeth still anchored in his skin. “I’m going to-“

The words are muffled, but he gets it. Presses down harder and works his fingers faster. “Come on baby,” he growls in your ear, “come on.”

Your orgasm hits you so hard that you collapse, your body dead weight in Frankie’s grip as you writhe. He grasps onto you tightly, working you through it with his unyielding touch, swiping back and forth, back and forth as the final waves crest. 

You’re panting when it ends, and still when Frankie helps you to the edge of the bed. Perched there, staring up at him with glassy eyes, you realize you’ve never felt so sated and so needy at the same time.

“Frankie?”

“Yeah, baby?” 

“Please fuck me.”

He should probably say no. After all, you’re in your friends’ guest room, people just a few hundred feet on the other side of the door. But then again, he’s already made you come.

You watch him consider it, eyes flickering to the door and back to you, dark and deep and pooling with want. 

In the end, he can’t help himself.

“Can you be quiet, querida?” 

You nod, though you’re sure that even if you said no, he wouldn’t care. He’d do just as he’s doing now: pressing your shoulder, encouraging you to lay down on the bed; helping you pull your sneakers off, then your leggings, then your shirt; stepping back to marvel at your half-naked form before him. 

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, and your entire body heats from the inside out. You feel like you’re on fire, his stare keeping you alight as he undresses down to his boxers.

He climbs over you with a hand on either side of your head, pressed into the mattress. The lip of his hat bumps you, and you immediately rip it off of him, tossing it aside and tangling your fingers in dark curls. 

You tug at them, dragging him down until his face is hovering just above yours, and he responds with a strangled moan. His body pressed to yours now, you can feel the weight of his hard cock against your clothed pussy. Your mouth finds his again in a languid kiss — slow and deep. You feed each other sighs and moans, taste each other’s longing. His hips roll into yours with every exhale, teasing you — reminding you, and you feel like you’re steadily going insane.

He pulls back, panting. Rests his forehead on yours.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, plucking at the strap of your bra. You nod furiously. Lift the upper half of your body so that he can undo the clasps.

Breasts suddenly exposed, you feel your nipples begin to harden. Frankie groans at the sight of them, so pert and needing. Wordlessly, he dips his head, buries his face in your chest. His tongue wraps around one of your nipples and you cry out, hand flying to your mouth in an instant. 

“Oh fuck,” you moan into your palm.

“Feel good?” he asks, knowing smirk playing on his lips as he shifts his focus to the other nipple. You feel so sensitive everywhere, the heft of his tongue going straight to your clit, and you can barely answer him. A shaky yes tumbles from your mouth — the best you can do. He hums, so low the vibrations burrow under your skin and barrel through you, and you keen at the sensation.

“God, you sound so pretty,” he sighs as he rolls one of your stiff peaks between two fingers. His other hand drifts down your body, dips between the two of you and pulls your panties aside. 

“Fuck,” he curses, fingertip brushing over your seam just barely. “You’re soaked, bebita. That all for me?”

“Mhm,” you whine. “All for you Frankie; fuck-“

He’s shifts down your body, hooks both arms under your legs and drags you toward him in one swift motion, leaving you no time to process before his tongue is on your pussy. “Have to taste you,” he babbles drunkenly, plunging into your leaking cunt and lapping at you.

“Oh, oh shit,” you moan as he drags his tongue up to your clit. “Please baby, please.”

“I know; I got you,” he soothes. Then he begins to lave your clit with the soft flat of his tongue, warm muscle encircling the throbbing nub. Wide eyes staring up at you, he observes intently. Responds to every sound, every tell with a switch in direction or an increase in pressure. He’s so attentive, so desperate to make you come on his mouth, and it sends you into a sort of delirium. 

Your second orgasm hits you out of nowhere, slams through your body with so much intensity, you don’t even have the strength to warn Frankie before your release is gushing all over his face and, undoubtedly, the bed below. 

He growls against your cunt. Comes up for air and kisses you hard, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he tugs his boxers down and frees his aching cock. Notches at your entrance without detaching his lips from yours.

It’s a stretch — you recall it being so last time too — though the alcohol had done wonders to loosen your body. Now, you feel every devastating inch of him as he pushes in. He’s gentle. Tells you how good you’re doing as he feeds you more and more of his cock. There you go, that’s my girl, taking it so well for me. And for some reason, him calling you his nearly makes you come again. 

He notices the way you preen in response. Thumbs across the slope of your jaw as he settles inside you. “You like that, baby? Like me calling you mine?”

“Yes, Frankie — fuck. Want it.”

You don’t specify whether you mean him or his cock. You’re not entirely sure. Not that it matters. You know he’ll give you both, give you anything. Can feel it in the way he gazes at you through heart-shaped eyes as he lets you adjust to him.

 “So fucking beautiful, you know that?”

Your eyes roll back and saliva pools in your mouth. “God,” you breathe.

“I’m serious,” he says, finally beginning to move. The slow drag of his cock brushes your g-spot and you gasp. “Was so stupid before, fucking you drunk. Wanna remember every second, every noise you make, every inch of your perfect fucking body.”

“Jesus, Frankie.”

He pushes back in with one deep thrust. Sets a pace that, while not rough, definitely isn’t gentle. You begin to babble and writhe under him. Hook your legs around him so he can get even deeper.

He groans. “Tell me how it feels, baby.”

“It’s so fucking good,” you cry. “Feels like fucking heaven, Frankie.”

“Nah, that’s you.” He lets his head fall on your shoulder, drives into you faster. Pants into the crook of your neck. “Perfect fucking pussy.” 

It ends all too quickly — with your fingernails dug into his back and his sweaty curls sticking to your forehead. Your cunt clenching around his cock, pulling his orgasm out of him just as yours begins to roll through you. You free fall from the cliff’s edge together, breathless moans spilling between your slotted mouths, his warmth flooding you and leaking from the place you’re still connected.

As the room around you slowly comes back into focus, you hear the sound of distant laughter. Benny’s boisterous chuckle and Mal’s much softer one. Clearly distracted, they’re likely blissfully unaware of what’s just happened. You giggle, covering your face as Frankie pulls out.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, prying your hands away. 

“We’re gonna have to get them a new bedspread. We just defiled this one.”

He stands, then, pulling you upright with him. You squeal as blood rushes to your head and your vision goes staticky. 

“Worth it,” he smirks. Gives you a chaste kiss. “Got my girl back.”

You dress and rejoin the group as inconspicuously as possible. Pray they don’t notice the way you’re wobbling on your feet, or the sheen of sweat that’s coated your skin. 

“You sort everything out?” Santi smirks knowingly as you reassume your place on the couch, Frankie settling back into the corner.

“Yeah,” he mutters, refusing to make eye contact. 

“It’s about time,” Benny shouts from the kitchen. Frankie’s head shoots up, pivots toward his voice.

“What do you mean?”

He emerges in the doorway with a shit-eating grin. Mal stifles a laugh from the loveseat.

“Just saying it’s about time,” he shrugs. “That’s all.” 

Shit; apparently you hadn’t been as quiet as you thought.

The others chuckle as you and Frankie exchange a mortified look. The embarrassment is short lived though, Will clapping his hands together, asking what game you all want to play next.

An hour later, after a couple rounds of Codenames and another wine cooler, you head out the door with Frankie right beside you. It feels odd, not hiding anymore. But more so, it feels right. 

He leans you against your SUV under silver moonlight. Kisses you with plush, soft lips against yours; restless hands roving up your sides. Pulls back with a suspiciously large grin.

You cock an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says. “Just glad I stopped being an idiot.”

“I don’t know about that,” you tease, and he smacks you gently on the arm.

“Come over?” he asks, his hand draped over your waist. 

You think on it for only a second. Nod. “Yeah. As long as you make me a grilled cheese.”

“That can be arranged.” 

The tap turns off, he steels himself, straightening his sore body. God damnit, he thinks throwing an arm to stretch across the back of the couch. The hand resting against his upper thigh nervously taps against his jeans. Funny that you’re the only thing in this world to make him anxious and yet your presence always leaves him tranquil.  He already knows where this will lead, he must be some sort of masochist, never feeling like he deserves your attention but still accepting anything you’ll gift him. 

The sound of your post shower routine floats across the small room. Curtain opens, curtain shuts, pitter patters of your feet to the towel rack, a woosh of the heavy fibers settling against your body, your contented hum that prickles against the back of Joel’s neck. You’re the only bright spot in this hellhole, a shining ray that blinds his mind and heart whenever he wonders how someone like you can exist in a world like this. 

The dim living room floods with a beam of light from the bathroom, steam billows out of the doorway, your form wrapped only in his towel steps out of the fog, he swears this might be what heaven looks like. There’s enough space for you to change into your clothes in the bathroom, but you never do. 

That smirk shows up again, heaven and hell existing in one crooked grin stretched across your mouth. Joel’s never been a religious man, sure he’s prayed during hopeless times in his life, but tonight, he prays to whatever being that will listen to give him the strength so he may provide you everything he has without falling even harder. 

Temptress… your foot rests atop the coffee table, delicate hands running along your outstretched leg rubbing sweet smelling oil across your skin. Joel knows his body is marred and battered, rough and calloused, he questions why in the hell you’d ever want your silken curves anywhere near him. You switch legs, if only the room was brighter he could turn his head just a bit and look up the towel. 

No need for that, a telepathic wave treads through his brain as he watches you unwrap the towel and toss it aside. Naked and standing only a few feet away from him, he knows it’s not voyeurism when you’re so eagerly inviting him to look but he still feels an inkling of shame. Sweet, sweet girl. Your oil coated palms leave a trail of sheen across the skin he can’t wait to taste. Silently, you saunter over, small bottle of oil in hand, he knows how your skin tingles from the peppermint after applying, he can almost feel it warming his lips. He leans forward, palm instinctively outstretched for you to deposit a few drops of oil into his awaiting hand.  

You turn around and kneel on the floor, his hands start at your shoulders lightly rubbing across your skin, tracing the path of your spine. He’s hesitant to put too much pressure, always afraid to deface the gorgeous individual you are, neglecting the fact that this always leads to you heedlessly asking him for more. The oil smooths his movements, your head bobs back and forth melting into his touch. There’s no type of divinity he’d ever worship in the apocalypse, but he surely finds devotion with you and the symphony of quiet moans that leave your lips. 

“Feels good,” you whisper. “Thank you.”

He takes a deep breath letting his lungs deflate a long exhale, your gratitude unlocking another long buried sense of ease. Manners are lost in this world, you’re such a rarity. 

He doesn’t count himself as a lucky man, but when you turn around and nuzzle your clean face against his soot and dirt covered jeans he just might feel like he’s won the lottery. You plant a kiss against his bulge before pulling yourself up to straddle his lap. Joel’s hands subconsciously station themselves against your back, fingers lightly digging into your damp skin. Suddenly his back no longer ails him. 

“When’s the last time you bathed Joel?” You’re still warm from your shower, you cover him like a velvet blanket. 

“This morning,” he croaks out, overwhelmed by the sensation of you.   

“Mm. Did you think of me while in it? I know you have a habit of doing that.”

He nods, your eyes pooling with desire at the confession. 

His denim shirt feels constrictive, your bare skin is too tantalizing, he fidgets underneath, restless from the sensation of his heavy clothes. 

No need for that, rattles through his lust-addled brain. Your hands begin deftly unbuttoning his shirt. He loves the way your mouth drops and your head shakes incredulously whenever you get the first glimpse of his bronze skin. He loves that he’s been with you enough to know exactly how you’ll react to him. 

His shirt lands atop the towel.

“Perfect aim,” you smile.

Joel chuckles. You’re the only being on this earth that can make him laugh. 

You lean forward, placing your ear against his heart, he takes the longest, deepest breath getting lost in the moment, forgetting how much he likes to think he can fight this feeling. He can smell your yarrow shampoo mixed with the peppermint, this world literally stinks, and yet here you are fragrant and pleasing. 

Your hand brushes back and forth against a patch of chest hair, the other dragging up and down his arm. He loves when you pet him, nothing calms him more. He still can’t come up with an exact reason why he refuses to let himself have you when you’re the only thing he longs for. You’re torturing him right now, he wishes you were clueless about the power you hold over him. 

He places a kiss on your hair, breathing in your scent, he just can’t help himself.

“Wish I had wallpaper this pretty in my apartment,” you muse. 

“No need for the wallpaper, you’re pretty enough,” it escapes his lips before he can stop it. 

“Oh really?” Pulling back and sitting tall atop his lap, your eyebrow arches. “You think I’m prettier than faded old lady wallpaper?”

God damnit, your mouth is too goddamn smart. 

“You know what I mean.” 

“I do. You’re pretty too.” 

He wants to kiss that godforsaken smug smile off your lips. 

No need for that, crowds his mind, much like your lips do now against his. His mouth opens to accept your tongue. He groans against your mouth when you yank his hair, pulling his head back so you can lick into his mouth. He chases your mouth, sucking your lower lip between his plush lips. Your cunt finds the tent in his jeans and begins rocking against it. Your kiss turns sloppier, tongues rolling against each other, hot breaths intermingling. Your lips move down to nibble his chin, licking your way down to his neck. He growls your name when you clamp down and suck the tanned skin into your mouth. 

He needs to feel you against all of his skin. 

He’s never hated his belt more than right now as he clumsily unbuckles it between your writhing hips. 

“Christ,” he barks, quickly unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, you give him a temporary reprieve from your grinding as he raises his hips and yanks his pants down. 

He gathers you into his arms and leans forward, swiping the old books and magazines off the coffee table top laying you across it. 

He kicks out of his jeans, his knees protest as he sinks to his knees in front of you splayed across the oak. 

His eyes roll into the back of his head and flutter shut at the first taste of you. Tangy, sweet, all woman, all his, for as long as he thinks he deserves. 

Sweet, sweet girl.

Your coos and purrs dance through his ears twisting their way into his heart. He licks a stripe up your pussy, swirling his tongue around your clit and flattening against it. Your hands climb all over his hair, grasping and pulling, he loves when you take what you want from him. Forcing him to hand himself over to you, body, mind, soul, heart. Whether that be a shower or his tongue against your pussy.

He could stay here forever, the rest of his body still as a statue, just his mouth allowed to move against your sweet cunt, fucking you with his tongue, massaging your clit with his lips. 

Your hips thrash against his face, legs wrapping around his head, pushing him even farther into your searing pussy. 

He can feel you begin to dissolve into him, your thighs trembling against his ears, the pressure of your legs wrapped around him increasing. He’s encircled by all of your beauty, your slick pours into his mouth as your orgasm explodes into him. He drinks down everything you give him, never able to be greedy outside of his time spent with you writhing and naked under his touch. You unlock your legs, your body still quaking from your climax. 

She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

His cock stands weeping between his legs, he gathers the precum and spreads it across his tip before pumping himself watching your eyes hungrily focus on him. 

You spread your legs farther open with an unspoken invitation for him to take your pussy for his keeping. He accepts it, his wide cock slowly engulfing in your wet heat. 

You gasp and smile at the sensation, he feels his walls crumble.  

God damnit, there’s that damn smile again.

He loves how you take him, drawing your hips against his, the two of you tangled in hedonistic harmony here in this hellhole of a quarantine zone. You’re the only reason he stays. 

He’ll never allow himself to say it, he fights like hell to not feel it, yet another battle he’s going to lose. 

He bends forward, your head pinned between his forearms, he sucks at your lips, you can taste yourself all over his mustache. His cock slides in and out, pace turning more punishing the louder you cry out. Neighbors be damned, you’re the only one he likes, at least they’ll know you’re his. 

His weight presses against you and the rickety coffee table, both shaking as he pummels into your pussy. A crack emits from the leg he’s been meaning to fix, the decrepit coffee table disintegrates underneath all of his power. He’d laugh at his luck if he wasn’t so fucking turned on by you. Joel gathers you in his arms, throwing himself back against the couch, his cock never leaving the heat of your entrance. You sink fully down on him, his cock hitting the gooey spot inside of you that makes you liquefy. 

Sweat drips down his face, he’s so fucking tired already knowing his body will protest everything he’s put it through, but you’re worth it, the strangled noises you’re panting out will soothe his sore muscles come tomorrow. 

He nips at your jaw, licking the sheen of sweat on your skin and tasting the prickling peppermint. His nails rake against your back, you’re so fucking smooth, the harder you ride him, the deeper his nails press into your skin. 

Your body grows tense above him, his lips crush against yours wanting to gulp down all of your screams. You’re shattered by him again, his cock feels like the only thing tethering you down to this earth. He’s close, so fucking close. His orgasm has been waiting for you to pulse around his cock, your softness squeezing his last bit of resolve. 

Joel pulls out, immediately bemoaning the cruelty of not being able to cum inside you. One, two, three, pumps and he’s cumming against your stomach, your head angling down, wide eyes watching as the white ropes drip down your skin. 

Your ear finds his heart again, Joel knows it’s racing and you can hear it. He kisses your hair, humming a satisfied groan. Little does he know this is your favorite part of your shower visits, knowing that for just a short period of time you’ve made him happy. 

“I guess you’re going to need a new table.”

“I’ll be able to fix it, used to be a contractor.”

He surprises himself at the divulgence, reminding him to keep you at arms length, you’re too good for him. 

He didn’t even think twice about the video he clicked on. He just knew he was horny and in need of quick release, so he typed his favorite keywords into Pornhub’s search engine and clicked the sixth video that only showed your ass. He realized he never noticed how juicy it was, and the oil or lotion or lube or whatever you fucking used to make it so goddamn shiny only emphasized how perfect it was.

Staring at the screen, he grasped the armrest in one hand and cock in the other, watching your puffy pussy cream all over the dildo. He matched the strokes of his hand with the rhythm of you bouncing. Slowing down, speeding up, only fucking the tip or grinding—he reenacted every movement of yours as best he could.

Even waiting until you were shaking and shouting the words, “I’m cumming—fuck yes! Just like that baby,” before cumming with you.

He watched the last few minutes of the video, watching you slap the dildo on your creamy cunt and play with it a little more along with standing up off of your bed and jiggling your ass in your hands. You giggled softly watching yourself. Then, much to his surprise, you sat down in front of the camera and smiled.

He wasn’t expecting you to reveal your face, so when the video ended he looked out of his bedroom window into yours. You were lying on the bed reading a book in the very spot where you recorded that filthy video.

You weren’t trying to tease him, he knew that, but it certainly felt that way.

♡

Joel had successfully managed to evade you for a week feigning work has been keeping him too tired for company. He found himself a touch jealous that the world had seen you naked before him despite your relationship being completely platonic.

You owed him nothing, not even an explanation, but he still felt weirdly possessive over you. He had a slight crush on you when you first moved in, but you were so much younger than he was, and in his eyes you'd want nothing to do with such an old man like himself. Not to mention the 'crush' was mostly just a lingering desperation to fuck you.

The discovery led him to do a deep dive into your profile on the website. There he discovered what seemed like a plethora of your content along with your affinity for degradation whether it was to yourself or towards others.

However he felt like he could finally breathe when he saw it was all solo content. You didn't even seem to entertain the idea of fucking someone else and uploading it. He even felt a sliver of hope that he could be your first real fuck on camera, but if he already struggled with confronting his own feelings towards you then how could he ever open up the opportunity to doing a video with you?

Joel was finally over avoiding you. He was ready to admit his discovery to you and go from there. He just prayed you wouldn't freak out.

"Hi, Joel!" You greeted after opening your front door. "What's been goin' on cowboy, I've been a little lonely on this side of town."

He followed your actions and sat on your sofa; as instant as a heartbeat you noticed he was off. Nervous? Worry? Anger? You struggled to read him.

"Somethin' the matter?"

He pulled himself out of his daze and looked at you, mouth hanging open like he couldn't manage the words. They just sort of... Spilled out.

"I found your porn on PornHub the other day and I don't care that you sell porn. I really don't. You're a grown woman and it's your body and you can do whatever you want. I just felt wrong not tellin' you."

Poor Joel.

You wanted to laugh at him, tell him there was no guilt in finding it or even watching it (because let's face it, you know he did).

"Okay," you said.

"Okay..."

"...Did you like it?" You asked after feeling a little uneasy with the silence.

"Hell yeah," he responded without hesitation making you giggle.

"Really?" You tittered, "I feel like it gets old."

This was his golden opportunity. At the very least he could pass what he was about to say off as a joke.

"I could always help with that," he chuckled.

You were clearly taken aback by his statement but still smiling. "I'm don't like sharing my money, Joel," you scoffed.

"So don't pay me," he said just as he leaned in a little closer. "Just fuck me."

You couldn't fight the blush that rose to your cheeks and he cockily took notice of it.

"Are you fucking with me?" You bashfully asked.

This made him lean in closer, close enough for you to smell him, close enough to feel his breath cascading over your collarbones, close enough to know that the dark look in his eyes wasn't mischief. It was desire.

His hands cupped your jaw so that he could bring your nose to his. You felt beautifully trapped between his hands, gaze, and aura. Suddenly you were filled with the desire to let him take you in any way he wanted to imagine.

"You know what my favorite video is?" He whispered, breath hitting your lips. "You were on your side, getting ready to cum, and you kept saying I belong to you until you were screaming. Damn near crying. Your little fucktoy was soaked. You had cum everywhere. But the best part was when you did start to cum. You couldn't even look away from yourself, you looked too damn good and you fucking knew it."

"I'd look even better with you inside of me," you told him.

He sharply inhaled before placing his needy lips onto yours, pressing his face in as much as he could.

You moaned into his open mouth, reaching for his tongue with your own. His hands roamed down your body until they reached your hips; showing off his strength, he lifted you into his lap and stood up not wanting to waste another second.

He tried to be careful on the stairs but his eagarity caused him to misstep and almost drop you; he left no room for embarrassment and quickly returned to running up with you giggling at the mishap.

Joel placed you on the bed standing with his jean-covered erection eye level with you. "Where's your camera?"

"Really wanna record it, hmm?" You said softly, running your hand along his hard length and motioning your head to the dresser behind him.

He grabbed it, muttering, "Wanna show everyone you're mine now," whilst turning the camera on.

You cocked an eyebrow up as if to say oh really. "Is that so? I'm all yours now?"

Smiling, he pointed the now recording camera at you. He cupped your chin and dragged a finger over the bright smile you wore. "You're all mine now, darlin'."

You giggled coyly then kissed his clad erection slowly with eyes that remained on the lens.

"Quit teasin'," he demanded with a playful lilt.

You hummed and fake pouted, pulling your face away to toggle his jeans. "There are nicer ways to ask," you teased.

"I'm not askin'."

"Oh? My apologies, daddy."

Your hand began pumping his thick cock when you said that, making his cock jerk hard within your tight grip.

"Daddy, huh?" He entertained; you seductively nodded. "S'pretty right here..."

"Where I belong," you hummed.

Then, you lined your tongue up with the base of his cock, just barely teasing his balls, and licked a stripe up his girthy shaft before twirling your tongue around his red hot tip. You carefully watched as his face contorted, ensuring it was with pleasure and looking for any sensitive spots he may have.

He seemed to favor your tongue on his cockhead so that's what you prioritized for a minute. You tongue kissed it as if it were his mouth. Licking and sucking and pulling it into your mouth feverishly.

His cock tasted manly and the length was just as impressive as him. You finally pulled more of him into your mouth allowing him the privilege of feeling your gummy cheeks swell and close around his dick.

A strained groan left his throat and his head fell back in pleasure. You pushed some of him into your throat to gag, earning more spit to pump the rest of his length with.

Joel was enamoured to say the least. Your wide eyes locked with his letting him know you loved sucking his cock as much as he did. Spit hung from your chin prompting him to reangle the camera to get the side view of everything.

He placed a hand on the back of your head and gently fucked your throat. You moaned, grabbing his ass and pulling him in for more pain, more suffocation.

Your throat gagged over and over again, imitating the feeling of your swallowing his dick. You loved how he shamelessly moaned, filling your ears with the sexy sounds of his calloused whimpers and content praises.

"Such a good girl, sucking daddy's cock like that," he groaned. "You like the taste, don't you? Such a good little slut." He smacked your jaw as encouragement to keep doing whatever magic you were fucking performing.

Once your throat began to get sore you pulled your mouth off of him, still opting to use your hands as he laid you down and rested on top of you, giving you the sloppiest kiss you'd ever received and assisting you with undressing.

He tasted his cock on your lips and chin and slurped up whatever precum and spit you had leftover. It felt nasty and passionate, with subtle moans spilling from both of you, and Joel couldn't get enough of it.

"Sit on my face," he breathed.

"Sit on your face?"

"Mmhm."

You set the camera up on the dresser looking at the screen to ensure it would capture everything before complying with his wish. He let out a muffled moan as soon as your wet pussy came in contact with his wet mouth.

On the camera, everything could be seen: your cunt glistened effortlessly and his tongue lapped up whatever your body poured for him. His scruff tickling your freshly shaved skin made you giggle and moan, little noises everywhere that sung like a melody in his ears.

Your clit tingled with a pressure that encouraged you to started riding his face. In response Joel's calloused hands came up to grip your ass and assisted your movements.

He squeezed one cheek almost too hard before spanking it a few times, your flesh easily bruising red and stinging deliciously.

"Joel, your mouth... Perfect," you blabbered. You were filled with bliss: your eyes were closed, fingers twirling playfully in his messy hair.

God, he licked you so fucking good. So messy but that's what made it effortlessly perfect.

"I—oh my God. Fuck! I love your fucking mouth," you moaned loudly.

"Mhm?"

You shuddered at the vibrations, hips stuttering into his licks and sucks even deeper.

"Yes, Joel!" You cried, "Fuck you're gonna make me cum... You're gonna make me cum!"

He spanked your ass even more at this, making both cheeks turn a bashful color and jiggle against his jawline.

With trembling thighs you managed all of your strength to hump him harder and faster. Doing whatever you fucking could to reach your climax.

"Yesyesyesyesyesyes!" You happily cheered as your juices began to relentlessly pour out of your squelching cunt and down his chin.

A satisfied smile rose to your face as your clit throbbed through the orgasm Joel had just given you. You slowed down on your own time allowing him to savor every last drop he'd be tasting for now.

You carefully removed your weight from his face, feeling more out of breath than ever. Meanwhile Joel sat up and swiped up some of your come with his thumb just before forcing it into your mouth and using his other hand to pinch out some that managed to get inside of his nose.

You were a tad embarrassed by his action but his subtle grin let you know that there was nothing more sexy than getting you so wet that it literally almost suffocated him.

Your mouth latched into him, cherishing the scruff surrounding his face. He went to lay on top of you again, your head now hanging off of the foot of the bed; he held your legs to your chest and slid into you easily making you whine at the slight burn that came with being stretched out.

With furrowed brows and an agape mouth, he incandescently moaned into the thick air while his thick thumb found your sensitive clit. You flinched and exhaled harmoniously at the combination of pleasure, enriched in the ecstasy he gave.

"You're so fuckin' tight, babydoll. Agh—almost can't take it," he taunted. "M'gonna have to ruin ya."

He gently released the grip of your legs and put his weight onto you. His arms slithered beneath you, wrapping around you in a way that made you feel safe. Then he kissed you, much more softly than before and rolled his hips back and forth. Your slick walls gripped him, trying to suck him in deeper.

His lips pulled off of you with a pop and he licked a thick line from your clavicle to behind your ear as if he magically knew it was your sweet spot.

You giggled and shivered at the ticklish feeling, enduring it until it started to feel more sensual. He felt you relax within his touch and took it as opportunity to nibble the spot, biting it just enough to hurt a little bit.

Between his movements and your sweaty bodies sticking together you felt almost useless; you were used to doing the work, giving instead of taking. But it felt too good to stop now.

When you clawed at his back he pushed himself up and started slamming into you. You gasped, digging your nails into his arms.

"Love those pretty little sounds you're makin' f'me," he hummed, pushing his hand into your exposed neck and gripping it. "You like that? Hm? Ohh, you fucking love it. Look at you."

You raised a hand and smacked his cheek lightly—your way of saying fuck you considering his grasp of you. He reciprocated, landing a firm smack to your face and earning a smile in return.

"Fuckin' brat needs to be put in her place—"

You shook your head attempting to hum out a no.

The hand he had around your neck reached up to squish your cheeks so that he could come eye to eye with you. "God, fuck. I can't even punish you when you look at me with those pretty eyes," he said defeatedly. "Look at you, babydoll. You're so fuckin' tight. Best fuckin' pussy ever. So wet, just f'me."

"All yours, Joel. I'm all yours."

"Yeah?" He cooed. "You're all mine?"

"Fuck yes!"

"Cum for me, baby. Yeah, cum on my cock," he pleaded, "get it nice and wet for me darlin', need you to cum for me."

Between his scruff voice and brutal thrusts you found yourself falling into another orgasm, everything around you ceased to exist.

The world went quiet aside from Joel's encouragements and praises; you could feel the blood pumping throughout your body, your heart punching against your chest, and your body molding to the twists and curves of Joel's body.

As you squeezed and scratched and begged him for more more more you felt the tension between your legs dissolve passionately into a sear so strong you felt it warm and burning the flesh along your belly.

Joel watched your chest rise and fall with your tits bouncing to the rhythm of his thrusts. He rode you out until the very end of your high before picking you up and sitting on the edge of the bed with you straddling him.

Feeling even more horny and turned on than before you wasted no time and began bouncing on his painfully hard dick.

He was fighting his climax, needing to feel you wrapped around him as long as he could take.

"You feel so fucking good, daddy," you whined, "want your cum."

"You want me to cum inside you babydoll?" He pouted.

"Yes Joel. Want you to fill me up..."

"Gonna ruin that pretty pussy," he grunted, "gonna make you mine. This pussy belongs to me now, doesn't it?"

He listened to you whimper and weep and whine, coaxing you through it all while offering a few pops to your ass and thighs for encouragement.

You watched him lay down, arms folded behind his head to enjoy the little show you were putting on for him. Hair bouncing and flaying everywhere while you rode him with a bobbling head—the view from where he was looked pretty fucking perfect.

Your movements halted and you managed to turn around on his cock while keeping it inside; hearing a strained gurgly moan come from him as a result, you mercilessly began riding him again giving him the best view of your ass as it clapped against the peak of his belly.

"Good fuckin' slut," he slapped your tatted thigh and watched intently for a moment or two. "Good girl, mhmm. Doin' such a perfect job on daddy's cock."

Joel then sat up and reached for your clit, rubbing the sweetest little circles on it and using his free hand to turn your face to kiss him.

Reverse cowgirl had always been his favorite position, but he can't remember a time or even a moment where it felt this fucking good.

"You're gonna make me cum, baby," he whispered with his forehead leaning against yours. "Gonna make me fuckin' cum. Tha' what you want, baby? Want your daddy to fill this fuckin' pussy up?"

He gave your clit a mean smack but it only made you go faster.

"Need you to cum! Fucking—ohh! Cum for me, please daddy. Want you to f-fill me up!"

Joel began thrusting to meet you halfway, and his eyes stayed locked with yours as he muttered a string of profanities.

"Oh shit. Ohfuckohfuckohfuck. Fuck yes!"

He painted your pussy with his hot, sticky ropes of cum, moaning your name over and over with fluttering eyes and a tight grip on your hips. He thrusted a few more times before pulling out and meeting you with a few more soft kisses as a thank you.

You felt his cum slowly pouring out of your swollen cunt, trailing down his softening cock and on the sheets. You two stayed like that for a while, savoring the moment and taking your time.

A while later while he was cleaning up between your legs he said, "You better upload that video."

"You weren't joking?" You scoffed, wearing a smile.

"I wasn't joking," he said contently.

That night once he had fallen asleep in your bed, you decided to upload the full video uncut with the perfect title...

My DILF Neighbor Comes Over For A Creampie ♡

You stepped outside to a cool breeze hitting you, and moved to the rustic, wooden bench that was surrounded by plants and lights, adorning the white railing.

You put your feet up on your bench, leaning back and putting a perfectly rolled joint in your mouth. You inhaled the smoke, and after a few seconds exhaled the fumes and the week's troubles.

Thank God they finally made this shit legal.

Your muscles relaxed as the weed hit your bloodstream. You started up in the dark sky with droopy eyes and realized your migraine was gone.

Your eyes closed, listening to the sounds of nature around you. The breeze hitting the leaves, the cars passing by. And then without warning you’d heard a gruff Southern voice come from somewhere in front of you.

"Got a light?"

Your eyes shot open and your heart stopped. There, before you stood a tall, broad man, holding a joint between his fingers and a smirk on his face.

You’d recognized him; your neighbor from across the street that you’d seen every once and a while when you were driving home or he was mowing the lawn. You weren’t sure if it was the weed or the dim lighting, but you'd never realized how hot he was.

Brown hair that curled at the end. Tan skin and a strong aquiline nose that complimented his face. He had a beard patched and peppered with gray that told you he had a few years on you.

And soft brown eyes looking right your way.

You blinked, not realizing you were staring.

"Sorry," you stuttered, "Yeah, of course I do."

You reached for your lighter in your pocket.

"Thank ya, darlin'" he said.

As you handed him the lighter, he grazed his large fingers over yours, sending a spark through your body. You recited "thankyadarlin" in your head over and over, like a hymn you needed to remember.

"I don't mean to scare ya." He said, holding his joint to the flame. "But I've seen you around on your patio and I figured I might ask."

"No, it's fine!" you replied, trying to seem as cool as possible.

He took a long drag and exhaled. You watched his face relax, the tension leaving his brows and mouth.

"You're a lifesaver." He chuckled, smoke leaving his lips. "The name's Joel."

You giggled back and took a long drag from your joint. You blew the smoke from the side of your mouth, making it swirl around you. You introduced yourself, trying to seem as normal and chill as possible.

"Well, I appreciate that. I'm gonna head on back home." Joel motioned towards his home and handed you your lighter back.

"Wait," you blurted, "I, uh, actually wouldn't mind some company. Wanna join me?"

Joel smiled wide and put his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth. His smirk made your heart ache.

"That would be real nice." He replied, the dimple in his left cheek becoming visible.

You patted the spot next to you, scooting over a bit, inviting him to sit.

He settled into the bench beside you, his arm pressed against yours as you brought your joint back up to light.

Joel reached over and took your lighter, his fingers brushing over yours. Your breath hitched.

"Allow me." He said, his lips curved into a half-smile.

He leaned in and lit the flame for you, your gaze drawn to his eyes and the patchy stubble that lined his face.

"Thanks." You murmured, and inhaled the smoke, feeling the THC hit your bloodstream and relax you instantly.

You and Joel sat together, taking puffs off his joint back and forth. The two of you fell into an easy conversation, talking about your jobs and how you ended up living here. The two of you bonded over the fact that nowadays you smoke more than you drink, anxiety being a bitch to the both of you.

Joel was funny, and had a sarcastic, quick-witted humor that had you doubled over in laughter. You found out he was a contractor, working alongside his brother and doing projects around the city. He was older than you, but didn't treat you like a child. You noticed how his face would contort in excitement, his laugh lines and crow's feet. How he would look you right in the eyes when he spoke.

It was so refreshing to find a man who actually listened.

After a while, Joel's joint was down to the nub and he snuffed it out on the ashtray next to him. He looked up to see you with droopy eyes and a smile plastered on your face.

"Shit." He said. "You're high, huh?"

"What gave it away?" you giggled.

Joel smiled wide and his chuckle rumbled from his chest. He took a long look at you, his gaze trailing from your eyes, down your body and back up.

"You know, I've been wantin' to talk to you for a while. I'm glad I did."

"I'm glad you did, too. I feel like I've seen you before, but never got a chance to say hi."

"I'd remember a face like yours--"

Bright lights illuminated your front yard, causing you and Joel to look at each other confused.

The car pulled up across the street and you and Joel exchanged puzzled expressions. The windows rolled down, blasting Alice in Chains and a very drunk man stumbled out.

"Shit...." Joel mumbled, getting up.

"Who is that?"

"That's my little brother Tommy." Joel looked away from you and shuffled his feet in unmistakable humiliation.

"Joel!" Another man had come out of the car, holding Tommy by the waist and trying to keep him upright. "Hey! Help me out here man!"

Joel shot you a quick apologetic look. "I'm real sorry. Maybe I'll see you again soon?"

"Sure!" You smiled back. You looked over at his brother struggling to maintain his balance. Tommy looked younger, had longer black hair, and had a bit of a beard, but it was evident he was related to Joel. They were both handsome.

"Turn that shit down or you're gonna wake Sarah up." Joel snapped at Tommy.

"Fuck, man, I'm sorry," Tommy slurred, his words jumbling together. "I'll just get inside, I think I'm gonna puke."

"Yeah, you do that, and get some water." Joel turned towards you and waved, and you waved back.

Tommy and his friend managed to get into the house. Joel was about to follow behind them when he heard the music shut off, and he gave you one last glance.

The two of you had a moment, where you smiled at each other, and a part of you wanted him to stay with you.

But instead, he waved, and walked into his house.

The high had slightly worn off, and while you were feeling the rush of spending so much time with Joel, you couldn't help but wonder who Sarah was.

-----------------

A few days had passed, and the only interaction you'd had with Joel were a few friendly exchanges back and forth. You'd wave at him as you were pulling into the driveway and he'd wave back, or you'd catch him on the porch and smile.

You had convinced yourself that whatever flirting the two of you were doing was just in your imagination. You weren't going to get your hopes up and start thinking that your gorgeous neighbor was single.

Until one afternoon after work, you had spotted him outside packing up a car with a woman who looked to be a little younger than you. They were chatting and laughing, and he was carrying a large box for her.

She was beautiful. Long, curly dark hair and a smile that could kill. Her eyes were identical to Joel's. He set the box down and hugged her, pulling her into a long, intimate embrace. Her head was tucked under his chin, and her arms were wrapped tightly around his torso.

You met Joel's eyes as you were getting out of the car, and he waved. You smiled and gave a small wave back, trying not to ruin the intimate moment.

The girl looked at you and then Joel with a curious grin, but she went back to her conversation with Joel. She kissed his cheek. "Bye, Dad. I love you."

"Love you too, kiddo." Joel replied.

Dad.

So she was his daughter.

A flood of relief washed over you, and you couldn't help but grin. Sarah gave you a polite smile and got into her car, waving at Joel. He waved back, watching her pull out of the driveway and driving away.

He walked towards you, the same smirk from before on his face. You were determined to remain stoic, unlike your insides, which were doing somersaults.

"Hey, neighbor." He leaned on the side of your car, crossing his arms and looking at you. "She's headin' back to school. It's only about 45 minutes away but she still likes to come over here every once and a while."

"She must miss you." You replied, "How old is she?"

"Just turned 22," he whistled, shaking his head. You tried to ignore the fact that she was only a few years younger than you.

"She's beautiful. Why didn't you tell me you had a daughter?"

Joel rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes not quite meeting yours. "Uh, well. I didn't want you to think that I was like...a weird old guy that hangs out with girls his daughter's age or somethin'."

"I don't know." You joked, "Knocking on a stranger's patio to ask for drugs?"

He let out a laugh, and you noticed his dimples were back.

"Besides, you're not that weird. Old, though." You jokingly assessed him. "I don't know, didn't you say you were having some knee pain the other night?"

Joel gave you a smirk and looked right at you. "Don't get cute. Or I'll show you just how old I am."

The butterflies were back. You felt the blood rush to your cheeks, and tried to keep yourself composed.He took another long look at you, and you knew you were done for. That damn smile, those eyes. You were hooked.

"You busy tonight?" He asked, looking right at you.

You thought for a moment, and realized there was absolutely nothing that would keep you from him.

"I'll even bring my own lighter." He teased.

You smirked and cocked your head, giving him a look.

"Well, you better not forget it."

--------------------

Joel could not believe his luck.

After all the nights of seeing you from a distance, or catching your eye, he never expected to actually hold a conversation with you. And yet, there he was, sitting on your patio smoking weed with you. Going into your house and sitting on your couch for snacks and conversations. Joel loved to hear you talk, hearing you tell him stories about your friends and family and watching your face light up.

He also loved to get you flustered. He found that every time he would say you looked pretty or give you a compliment, your cheeks would turn bright red and you would try to hide your smile.

He felt a spark when he was talking to you. So he technically didn't lie about having Sarah, the topic of kids had never come up. But he knew if he'd mentioned her out of the blue with zero context, you'd might have thought Joel was some creep going after girls with daddy issues.

Not only was his daughter a reminder of his age, but every time he caught a glimpse of his hair or the new wrinkles around his eyes, he thought about how much he'd changed since his 20's.

But he forgot all about his age whenever you looked at him the way that you did. 

After that night, the two of you have had a standing ritual of Friday smoke-sesh and snacks alternating between his place and yours. You’d stay up until the early hours of the night, one time even staying up long enough to watch the sunrise. 

Sometimes, after a particularly stressful day at work, he'd go inside and grab a beer from the fridge and sit beside you. Or if you had some extra dinner leftover, you'd offer to split it with him.

He noticed how comfortable he felt with you. With Sarah out of the house he often found himself more introverted, but he had to come and talk to you every day. Even for five minutes it would soothe him to talk about his day with you.

Soon enough, his thoughts were filled with you all day, every day. 

He'd think about you even after you'd spent all night together. He'd doze off, thinking of the curve of your ass and cursing himself for having these thoughts. He'd think about what your face would look like if you stroked his cock. He'd remember the way your lips puckered as you inhaled the smoke, imagining those same lips around his dick.

Joel tried to push those thoughts aside, but then he'd have to doze off by stroking it away, thinking to himself it would be the last time.

But then he'd see you again and know he was cursed to the hell of his hand.

Joel had tried to drop subtle hints he was interested in you. He'd complimented you, he'd touch you casually, but he wanted the ball to be in your court. He liked the comfort that the two of you had and he didn't want to do anything to make things weird between you.

He also didn't want to get his hopes up that a girl as young and as pretty as you would actually be interested in him.

Sure, sometimes you'd drop off a snack or a meal at his house, the bags with goofy drawings and your loopy, cursive handwriting.

It didn't take long for other people to notice. Especially considering Joel had hung up your drawings on the fridge. Tommy had come over to ride to work with him and while Joel was making coffee, his brother had noticed the artwork.

"This is pretty cute." Tommy said, nodding to the drawing.

"What's pretty cute?" Joel asked, coming out of the kitchen and taking a sip from his mug.

"You got this girl sending you drawings now? That's what's been keepin' you busy?"

"Shut the fuck up, Tommy." Joel rolled his eyes, "She's just a friend."

Tommy adjusted his large belt buckle as he sat down. "You're really gonna tell me that she's just a friend? This girl has it bad for you, Joel. Why haven't you asked her out yet?"

"First of all, that's none of your business." Joel said, putting his coffee down. "Secondly, she's not into me."

"Whatever, Joel." Tommy sipped from his mug. "I'm just glad you're makin' friends."

Joel rolled his eyes and grabbed his keys, heading towards the door. "Let's just get out of here."

-------------------------------

Later that week, you and Joel sat crisscross outside of Joel's house. The sun had gone down hours ago, and the moon had cast a bright glow over the patio. You were passing a joint back and forth and sharing a plate of leftover pasta that you had made for him and a visiting Sarah.

Your face was freshly washed, and he could smell the soap as the two of you were huddled together.

He wanted to kiss you so bad.

You were laughing about something stupid and he watched your face light up, and the way the corners of your mouth turned into a smile. You took another hit and handed him the joint.

"So, I saw Tommy was over this morning." You exhaled the smoke.

"Yeah, he was just comin' over to see Sarah 'fore she went to visit her mom this weekend." Joel took a hit, blowing out a large ring of smoke.

"How in the hell do you do that?" You asked, your eyes wide.

"You smoke this much weed and you don't know how to do this?" Joel deadpanned.

You laughed, and smacked him lightly on the arm. "Shut up! It's not my fault you're an expert."

"Well it ain't hard, just open your mouth like this," Joel gestured, and you puckered up, letting out a breath and laughing when the smoke just dissipated.

"I don't think it's working," you laughed. Joel rolled his eyes and slowly got up, moving to the seat next to you. He moved closer to you, and placed the joint in the middle of your lips.

"Now, just exhale slowly."

You did as he said, and a large smoke ring emerged. Your eyes widened and you started giggling.

"That's fuckin' cool." You said, "I can't believe you can do that."

Joel's mouth was inches away from yours. He could smell the soap and the smoke on your lips, and the urge to just press his lips to yours was overwhelming.

"Well, you can do it now. Just take a deep breath, and blow it out slowly."

You nodded, and Joel gently held the joint to your lips. You puckered, and took a hit.

Your lips parted, and the smoke slowly drifted out of your mouth. A perfect ring emerged.

"Good girl." Joel said into your ear.

The words sent a shock to your core, and your pulse rose at the newfound feeling and the fact that it was happening so close to Joel. You looked at him and his eyes were fixed on you, eyes blown. You could've sworn you felt yourself moving closer to him...

The noise of the front door opening sprung you apart.

"Hey, I forgot my charger. Do you have an extra?" Sarah asked, greeting you with a polite smile.

"Uh, yeah." He cleared his throat. "Yeah, it's on the kitchen table, hey--"

Sarah took the joint from his hands, and took a long hit, winking at her dad and blowing it out. "You snooze you lose old man."

"Can you believe I raised such a delinquent?" Joel asked you with a raised brow.

"Where do you think I learned it from?" Sarah rolled her eyes and looked at you. "How do you even put up with him?"

"He has his moments." You teased, "I'll excuse the bad knees and the dad jokes."

"Oh my god, the dad jokes." Sarah groaned, "They're the worst."

As the two of you were chatting, Joel's eyes fixated on you. Yeah, he was getting ragged on but he was enjoying every second of being with his two favorite girls. He imagined what this could be like every day, and it was the most elated and hopeful he'd felt in a long time.

Joel spent that night in bed practicing different ways he could finally just ask something.

"Would you like to get dinner with me sometime?"

"Do you wanna go see a movie?"

"I'd like to take you for a drink, 'f you're into that."

He felt his body cringe into the bedsheets. Was asking you out to dinner too formal? Was asking you to dinner at his place too intimate?

He felt like an idiot for agonizing over it. He was a grown man who'd had relationships before. Why was this making him so nervous?

He eventually decided that the best thing would be to just rip the bandaid off. The next time he saw you, which would very likely be that next night, he'd ask you.

If you said no, then the two of you could continue being neighbors. He could deal with seeing you around without being able to hold you, or kiss you, or run his fingers through your hair.

Jesus, he was so fucked.

-------------------------

That next night, you were staring at yourself in the mirror, debating whether or not you should make yourself look more kissable. You had just gotten home from work a few hours ago and had already showered and taken off the shitty work day, but something was stopping you from changing into sweats and ordering takeout.

It was the conversation from the other night, and the look in Joel's eyes. The way he whispered "good girl" into your ear in such a deep voice that left you thinking about it at night, fingers rubbing circles on your clit.

You'd known for a while now that you liked Joel, and the more time you spent with him, the more your feelings grew. It was getting harder and harder to keep it under control. And you were wondering if tonight was the night that you should finally let it out.

Joel was waiting for you on his patio. His legs were stretched out in front of him, and he was leaning back in his chair. He looked comfortable, at ease and so goddamn cute.

You greeted him, your shoulders loosening, and started to head across the lawn until you saw bright car lights shining in front of your house.

You and Joel both exchanged a look and watched as a car pulled into the driveway. How did you know this car? Who the fuck thought they could drive on your lawn?

"Oh, fuck." You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Out of the car had stumbled your ex boyfriend Mikey. You could smell the stale booze and weed coming from a mile away. His timing truly always was impeccable.

"Hey pretty girl!" Mikey shouted, and started tripping over towards you.

"Jesus fucking Christ." You mumbled, turning around and heading back towards your house. "Mikey, what the fuck are you doing here?"

"I came to see my girl." He slurred. He was close enough to touch you, and he tried to run his fingers along your cheek.

You jerked away. "I'm not your girl. We broke up. I don't want anything to do with you.."

You looked across the way towards Joel. He had a concerned look on his face and his arms were folded. You shook your head and looked back at Mikey.

"No, no, no, no." Mikey continued to babble. "You didn't mean it. You love me."

His breath reeked.

"You smell like a bar." You wrinkled your nose, taking a step back.

Mikey ignored your comment and reached out to grab your waist, but he began to stumble. You tried to steady him, but it was no use. Mikey's head slammed against the brick of your house, and you heard him groan.

"Shit." You mumbled, and looked at Joel. His brows were furrowed.

"I'll call the police."

You looked down at Mikey. You had once begged for just a daily text from the same guy face down on your patio. Any sort of feelings you had for him were completely in the shredder, but you still didn't want anything bad to happen to him or anyone else if he decided to get back on the road.

"No....it's okay, I can take care of him." You insisted.

Joel gave you a long, hard look. You didn't want Joel to think less of you, or think that you were weak, but you had a feeling that letting Joel see you bring your ex boyfriend inside of your home was not the best way to show him that you were interested.

"No, really. It's okay. I can handle this." You turned and looked at Mikey, who was rubbing his head. You looked at him, confused and bloodshot, and couldn't believe you had ever given him a minute of your time.

You carried Mikey into the house, giving Joel one last solemn look, mouthing "Sorry" to him before you disappeared into your house.

It took everything in you to take the high road and offer him your couch to sleep it off and sober up. And you knew you had to stay in the house so he didn't destroy anything. You pitied the other girls Mikey was giving his time to, assuming they too have had to play babysitter with this permanent man child.

You couldn't stop thinking about how disappointed Joel had looked, or the fact that he might have thought less of you. You felt guilty for not inviting him over, but there was nothing you could do.

When Mikey had passed out on your couch, you retreated to your room and collapsed onto your bed.

You didn't sleep much that night.

----------------------

The next morning you woke up with your mind racing. You’d woken up several times during the night, anxious at what had happened that previous night. 

You'd gone downstairs and Mikey was awake now, sitting on the couch and rubbing his head.

"How did I get here?" He asked.

"You drove." You deadpanned, walking into the kitchen and grabbing a glass of water. "You should've called an Uber, man."

"Did we..." He trailed off, gesturing his hands.

"Not a chance." You snapped.

Mikey groaned, and sat back on the couch.

"Don't get too comfortable." You said, shoving his keys into his hand. You practically threw him out of the door, explaining to him that if he ever showed up at your house unannounced again or even called you without your permission, you would not hesitate to call the cops. He had left, not bothering to apologize for the trouble he'd caused.

You watched as Mikey got in his car and left, speeding out of your life, and then saw Joel's door open across the street.

Joel looked tired. There were bags under his eyes, and his beard looked a little disheveled. His eyes met yours, and you gave him a sheepish smile. He didn't return it.

And your heart dropped.

You didn't want him to think anything had happened, because nothing did. You knew how it looked, and you wanted to explain to him what happened, even if it didn't have anything to do with him. You just didn't want him to think that you weren't available if he did want to make a move.

You had nothing to lose at this point, so you ran across the lawn, waving to Joel as you met him by his truck.

"Hey! Morning." You smiled at him.

"Hey." Joel said, his face not changing. He looked exhausted, and his voice sounded distant.

"Um," You stuttered, trying to get the words out. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm really sorry about last night. Nothing happened. Well, obviously he was drunk and passed out, but I didn't--"

"You don't have to explain anything to me." Joel interrupted, pulling his sunglasses from the collar of his shirt and putting them on. "It's none of my business what you do with your company."

Your face fell, and your stomach twisted.

"Okay, well...I just wanted to clear the air. I'm going to grab a coffee, do you want to come?" You asked.

Joel's jaw clenched. "I would, but I gotta go to work for a bit this mornin'."

"Oh. Okay." You swallowed, not hiding the disappointment from your voice.

"I'll see you later." He said, shutting the truck door and not giving you a second glance.

You watched as his truck drove away. And when he was out of sight, you turned around and went back into your house, slamming the door.

--------------------

Joel could barely focus at work that morning. He was supposed to be supervising a concrete pour but all he could think about was how your ex-boyfriend had shown up the night before.

And how you didn't ask him to leave.

He'd never been a jealous man. It had never mattered to him who someone dated before. But with you, It was different. He felt angry that some guy was showing up at your house unannounced and expecting you to be there, and how you just accepted that behavior. It made Joel wonder how many times you had accepted that little prick's bullshit, and how much he had put you through.

What hurt the most was when he didn't say anything that morning. Joel didn't know what to say. There you were, apologizing for something that was completely unnecessary, and he couldn't even look you in the eye.

The truth was, it wasn't even about the fact that he had shown up at your house, or the fact that you hadn't told him to leave.

It was the fact that Joel hadn't asked you out, and it was too late.

The jealousy had set in and he felt like it was pointless to try. The two of you clearly had a history that no old man that lives across the street could compete with.

He felt stupid. Stupid for even considering asking you out, or thinking that you would give him a chance. He should've known that you were too young and beautiful for a guy like him.

He didn't realize he was gritting his teeth until Tommy walked up to him, a cup of coffee in his hand.

"Alright, what the hell is going on with you? I haven't seen you this pissy since you had to bail me outta jail." Tommy asked.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Well you're gonna."

"No I ain't."

"You sure as hell are. It's about the girl across the street, ain't it."

Joel's jaw twitched, and he didn't look his brother in the eye.

"I'm right, aren't I?" Tommy nudged his brother.

"I don't know what the hell I was thinking." Joel scoffed, looking at his feet.

"You were thinking she's smart and funny and beautiful and any guy would be lucky to have her. And that you wanted her." Tommy said, matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, well I shouldn't have."

"Why the hell not? What happened?"

Joel sighed and explained to Tommy what happened the night before.

"So, let me get this straight. Some guy shows up drunk, and instead of asking him to leave, she brings him into her home?"

"Yeah."

"And then his car's there all night?"

"Yeah."

"So you think that the two of them fucked?"

"Tommy." Joel said, shooting him a glare.

"What? Just saying. I don't think it sounds all that suspicious. Sounds like this guy was too shitfaced to drive home and she took pity on him."

"Well she doesn't owe me an explanation. Like I said, it's none of my business."

"You're an idiot."

"Gee, thanks." Joel rolled his eyes.

"You like her. She likes you. You were too stubborn and too slow on the draw and now you're being a whiny bitch about it instead of just talking to her. I see the way she looks at you, man. She's into you. You just need to be a big boy and tell her how you feel. What's the worst that could happen?"

"She rejects me. Again."

"She's never even rejected you, idiot. You haven't asked her."

Joel looked up and stared off into the distance.

"Look, I'll admit, she's young. But who gives a shit? You're just scared of the idea that something could be good, so you're making excuses not to even try."

"Jesus, Tommy."

"What? I'm right. Just ask her out, Joel. It's not hard." Tommy patted his brother on the shoulder and walked away.

Joel sighed. His brother was right. He was too scared. And it wasn't fair to you to not get the opportunity to turn him down, or explain yourself. He didn't even give you a chance.

And he wasn't going to make the same mistake again.

-----------------------------

Joel pulled up to his driveway, a long and tiring work day behind him. He needed to go inside and shower, and try to find a way to apologize to you.

But you were already ahead of him, sitting on his porch and waiting.

When you heard the truck pull up, you stood up, nervously. Joel parked his truck and shut the door, walking up the porch stairs and standing in front of you.

"I'm sorry, I probably shouldn't be here. I'm being totally invasive, but I just couldn't sit around and not tell you what happened." Joel cursed himself for making you feel like you had to explain yourself.

"I didn't want to make things weird between us. I didn't sleep with him, and I didn't want him to stay the night. It's just that he was too drunk and I didn't feel safe letting him drive, so I figured he could just stay on the couch. Nothing happened."

"It's none of my business--"

"Just stop saying that." You shook your head, cutting him off. "If something had happened, it would've been your business. Because I would've wanted it to be. I want to be your business, Joel."

Joel looked down at his feet, his jaw twitching. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, He was saying nothing and it was making you nervous. He looked back up at you and motioned towards his front door.

"Can we go inside and talk?"

You nodded, and he opened the door for you, closing it behind him once the two of you were inside. You'd only been inside of Joel's house a handful of times, and it was adorned with so many reminders of who he was and why you liked him. Pictures of Sarah were framed and hung, his guitar sat in the corner, and books about history were placed neatly on the shelves.

Joel rubbed the back of his neck across from you on the couch. He was struggling to find the words.

"Joel, listen. I'm not mad. I just want us to go back to the way things were. I want us to be friends."

"Friends." Joel repeated, nodding his head. "Yeah, okay."

"I mean, that's all we ever were, right? Friends? Maybe we could ignore what I had just said." You chuckled, trying to ease the tension.

Joel cleared his throat. "I thought, maybe..." He trailed off, not knowing how to say the next part.

"Maybe what?" You asked with wide eyes.

His mouth went dry. He couldn't find the words, but he decided he had nothing to lose. So, he leaned forward, placing his hand on the side of your neck. Your breath hitched, and he could feel your pulse beating rapidly.

Joel's eyes flickered to your lips, and then back to your eyes, silently asking for permission.

You nodded.

He closed the distance between the two of you, gently pressing his lips to yours. Your heart was beating so fast you were afraid he might hear it, but all other thoughts were gone as soon as his lips touched yours.

You moved your hand up and threaded your fingers into his hair, and his beard was soft against your skin.

The kiss was slow and chaste, but when Joel pulled away, you could tell there was more he wanted to say.

"I wanna be your business too." He chuckled. "I'm crazy about you. I have been since I first said hello. I didn't say anything, because...well, I was being an idiot. But I want this."

You smiled, feeling relieved and elated at the same time.

"So, we're both idiots, huh?" You grinned, leaning in and kissing him again.

Joel smiled against your lips, and when the kiss deepened, he pulled you into his lap. His body is sturdy and strong under you.

"This is all I've been thinking about for weeks." You admitted, and Joel laughed. You ran your hands through his hair and pulled on the strands, and you heard Joel groan.

"Me too." He agreed, his fingers digging into the skin of your waist.

"Well, what are you gonna do about it?" You teased.

Joel's hands slid down the curve of your ass, and he gave it a squeeze.

"I have a few ideas." He said, his voice low and rough.

You felt yourself getting wet just from the tone of his voice and the way his hands gripped your ass.

"Is this okay?" Joel looked up at you with his soft brown eyes.

You bit your lip and nodded. "More than okay."

His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb rubbing along the curve of your bottom lip. You wrapped your hand around his wrist, and pressed a kiss to the pad of his thumb.

Joel's other hand rested on the back of your neck, pulling your lips down to his. The kiss was messy and hungry, his tongue slipping past your lips and gliding against your own. You let out a whimper when he bit down on your bottom lip, and Joel's hands tightened around you.

Joel's erection was pressing against the inside of your thigh, and when you ground yourself against him, he grunted into your mouth.

"That's right, take what ya need." Joel murmured.

Your hips bucked at his words, and you continued rolling yourself against his cock, trying to get the friction you craved. Joel's hands roamed your body, sliding down to grip your ass, then back up to palm at your tits.

The quiet, reserved Joel that would greet you at your respective patios every night was gone. This Joel was rough, his movements were firm and his touch was commanding.

He lifted your shirt over your head, and his lips found their way to the valley of your breasts.

"God, look at you." He growled, his eyes darkening. "Such a pretty little thing."

You could've crumbled under his gaze, feeling both vulnerable and powerful under his stare. The fact that you were the one making him feel this way just made you wetter.

You could've cum like that. Rolling your hips and grinding on his cock until you exploded. You followed his lead, lifting his shirt off of his head and watching the expanse of his large chest move as his breath grew ragged.

Joel was a hungry kisser, he bit, clawed and sucked his way across your jaw and down your neck. It's like he was trying to tether you down because he was so afraid that this wasn't really happening. You didn't mind, because you were doing the same thing.

You ran your hands down to his belt buckle, and started to undo it, and Joel's fingers fumbled with the button and zipper of your shorts.

He pulled your shorts off and threw them to the side, and when you went to undo his belt, he stopped you.

"Wait, wait." Joel panted.

"Are you okay?" You asked.

"Hell yes, I'm okay. I just...when I imagined us doing this, and trust me I've thought about this a lot, I imagined it would be somewhere a little more comfortable." He smiled and nodded towards his bedroom.

You chuckled and slid off of his lap, walking towards his room, stripping off your bra and panties so he could get a full view of your naked body. Your back was towards him, but you could feel the heat from his eyes scanning you.

"God damn, sweetheart." He whispered.

You made your way into Joel's bedroom and quickly scanned it - It was a simple space, a queen sized bed with a red comforter, a few framed photos and an old wooden dresser. It was so him.

You crawled onto the bed to sit up on your knees, and Joel followed you into the bedroom. He walked towards you, towering over you, his jeans still unbuttoned and hanging off of the swell of his belly.

He cupped your face with both of his hands and kissed you slowly, the kiss growing passionate and rough.

"You're so beautiful." Joel murmured, his breath hot on your neck. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"

"Show me." You whispered, and Joel groaned.

"Anything you want, darlin'." His large hand gripped yours leading it to his jeans. You pushed them down, already seeing a straining bulge from his boxers. You reached your hand in and gripped his cock. It was thick and hot, and he felt heavy in your hand.

You started to stroke him from the outside of his underwear, watching his face come apart.

"Fuck." He muttered, and he leaned down to kiss you, his tongue pushing its way into your mouth.

You slid your hand under his boxers and began to stroke his bare cock. Joel's groans vibrated through your mouth as you felt him twitch and come apart in your hand. He was so heavy in your hands and so firm.

He moved his thumb to graze your bottom lip, and you wrapped your lips around his digit, sucking and licking. Without warning, he pulled his boxers down and stepped out of them, climbing onto the bed and hovering over you.

"Lay down, baby." He murmured. You did as you were told, laying flat on your back and letting him settle himself between your legs.

Joel kissed you again, the two of you breathing into each other's mouths. His hands moved down your sides, and his thumbs stroked the underside of your breasts. You felt his hardness against the inside of your thigh, his hand moved in between your legs. He slid up towards your clit, and when his thumb pressed down on your swollen nub, you whimpered into his mouth.

Joel continued his preparation, his thumb rubbing tight circles over your clit, while his middle and ring finger slid into your soaked cunt.

"Look at that, baby. Look how wet you are for me."

"Mmmm, Joel, please." You whined, bucking your hips to match the pace of his fingers.

"Please what, sweetheart? What do you need?"

"Need you." You pleaded. "Please, fuck me."

Joel let out a strangled grunt and removed his fingers from your dripping cunt. You watched as he brought his fingers up to his mouth and sucked, licking them clean.

You were shaking with anticipation, watching him stroke himself, spreading the wetness from your cunt along his thick length. He rubbed the tip along your slit, coating his cock with your slick.

He pressed his forehead against yours, lining himself up with your entrance. You felt him begin to push himself inside of you, and he groaned as you stretched to accommodate his girth.

"Oh, fuck." He moaned.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. Joel slid his arms under your back and held you against him. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, and when he started moving inside of you, he felt impossibly deep.

His thrusts were slow and steady, the pace almost maddening.

"You feel so good, baby." He groaned into your neck, his beard scraping against your sensitive skin.

"Harder." You pleaded.

Joel obliged, thrusting harder, and faster, and you felt the pressure build deep inside of you. Your hips rolled up to meet his, and the slapping sounds of your bodies filled the room.

Joel's grip on your back tightened, and he lifted you up and held you in his arms. Your tits bounced and he was fucking you so hard that the sound of your moans were louder than the sound of his groans.

"So, fucking perfect. So good, baby. You take my cock so well, sweetheart."

You were shaking, feeling overwhelmed by everything, and you dug your fingers into his shoulders.

"Come for me, sweetheart."

He leaned forward and placed his hand around your neck, not squeezing, but holding. He was taking complete control of your body, and it was sending you over the edge.

The pleasure was almost painful, the coil in your abdomen ready to snap. You couldn't form words, just a series of moans and whimpers as Joel pounded into you.

You exploded around him, your pussy fluttering and clenching, and Joel came with you.

"Fuck." He grunted, thrusting into you a few more times before spilling inside of you.

Joel kissed you deeply, his tongue pushing its way past your lips. You let out a sigh and collapsed against him, feeling the sweat pool at your temples.

"Holy shit." You whispered.

"Yeah." Joel chuckled.

You smiled and leaned up to press a kiss to his jaw.

"Been wantin' to do that for a while." Joel admitted, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"Me too."

"I'm sorry I didn't say anything sooner." He mumbled.

"It's okay. We're here now." You assured him.

Joel laid you down, and you curled up next to him. Your hand resting on his chest, the steady beating of his heart a comfort.

"We coulda been doing that all along." He sighed, wrapping his arm around you.

"So you think when you showed up on my porch asking for a lighter I woulda given it up to you that easily?" You joked.

"Maybe." He laughed.

You propped yourself up and gave him a kiss.

"You're right." You smirked. "I probably would've. But now that you've sufficiently wrecked my body, I need some food and a smoke."

"Mmm, alright." Joel grinned. "Food I can do. But I might need to borrow another lighter."

You chuckled, kissing him one last time.