The chime of the doorbell makes your heart jump in your chest, the staccato rhythm picking up as you approach the front door.

After Joel had fucked you next to your pool, he gave you a kiss, left you there to sunbathe, and returned to the meticulous task of assembling your kitchen cabinets. You spent the entire time exchanging heated glances with him where you lay, still naked and reeling from being fucked so thoroughly.

This time, he made no attempt to hide his perusal of your body and it heated your skin more completely than the sun ever could.

By the time the sun began to dip behind the towering trees lining your property, he’d finished the cabinets and covered them with a canvas tarp to protect them overnight. You watched as he wiped his forehead with the end of this t-shirt, giving you a peak of his tummy. You licked your lips — something he quickly noticed even from across the yard.

Sauntering back over to you, he sat on the edge of the lounger and ran a hand from your hip, up your tummy and between your breasts before landing at your neck. His thumb circled your pulse point as he leaned over to kiss you.

“M’ gonna go home now, darlin’. Shower. Put something decent on. And then I’m comin’ right back. That sound good?” His voice was like gravel, deep and rough and it made your entire body tingle. It did sound good, but you wanted him to fuck you again.

All you could do was nod as he kissed you again and then helped you up. You wrapped yourself in your towel and took his hand as he guided you through the house. Your stomach fluttered as he brought those soft lips down to you again and kissed you goodbye.

It took you a long time to process everything that happened, and when you finally did, you couldn’t stop smiling. The thrill of dinner with Joel carried you on a cloud of anticipation as you showered, primped, prepped, and dressed in a baby blue sundress that reached the tops of your thighs, thin straps, and a sweetheart neckline. 

You even had time to paint your nails — a matching blue with small white polka dots. 

Now, you bite down on your lower lip to stifle your smile as you open the door to find Joel on your front porch, a bouquet of pink, orange, and white wild flowers clasped in his large hand.

The corner of his lips tick up as you take each other in, his eyes roaming you hungrily, nostrils flaring at the sight of you. He doesn’t say anything yet, and you’re equally as speechless.

He’s swapped his dirty boots for a pair of worn but carefully maintained ones, his jeans black and faded instead of the ones he normally wears that are always covered in dust, paint, and plaster. His green button down brings out the hints of gold shimmering in his eyes, the top few buttons open and providing you a glimpse of his hard chest. 

You don’t even want to go to dinner at this point, and it takes every ounce of self restraint you have to keep yourself from pouncing on him.

“You look gorgeous, darlin’” he rasps, voice quiet and low. It sends ripples of heat straight to your core. He steps forward to hand you the flowers, but something snaps between you and he’s wrapping you in a heated kiss before you even realize that you’re the one who leapt first.

He grunts as he presses you closer, one hand still holding the flowers while the other knots in your dress at your waist. He’s being respectful, not ripping your clothes to shreds or even touching your ass yet. But his tongue is right there, pushing past your lips and pulling a moan right from you.

Joel has the awareness to pull away before you do, breathing heavy, neck flushed with want.

“Gotta treat you to a nice meal before I fuck you again,” he reasons, setting the flowers onto the table by the door.

It’s sweet how he thinks you need that. Sweet that he knows you yearn for a little bit of romance. And even if there wasn’t the promise of him taking you home and fucking you senseless, you think you’d still love the idea of dinner with him. 

Getting to know him. Opening him up and taking a peek at his thoughts. His wants. His needs. Giving him the same. You haven’t dated in years, but the thrill of it is still the same with one exception. You know he’s good and he’ll treat you right. You’re sure of it.

He nods behind him at the open door, the beat to shit red pick up parked on the street, engine sizzling, “After you.”

You can’t resist. You stretch up to kiss his chin, nipping with your teeth and snickering when he growls low in his chest. You snatch your clutch from the hook by the door and saunter out to the truck. He opens the door for you and helps you up to settle on the comfortable seat.

It’s surprisingly clean for a guy who works construction and likely tracks all kinds of debris into his vehicle daily. 

“Cleaned it up real nice, just for you,” he says after climbing in and starting it.

Your skin heats, his thoughtfulness doing unspeakable things to you. 

The drive is quiet, but comfortable. If there’s one person who knows how to exist in easy silence, it’s Joel. You like that about him. He doesn’t feel the need to fill the space with inane chatter. Like Jeremy. Always eager to hear the sound of his own voice.

When Joel parks outside a small Italian bistro, your grin widens. It’s quaint and out of the way, tucked behind a copse of trees that doesn’t make it immediately visible from the busy street if you aren't looking for it. 

He helps you out of the truck and rests a hand at your lower back as he guides you inside. You can’t remember the last time you were treated with such care.

He tells the hostess his name and uses her momentary distraction to drop a kiss to your bare shoulder like it’s a habit he’s been waiting to fulfill. Your cheeks feel hot as you look up at him, his eyes twinkling in the dim candlelight of the restaurant. 

The hostess confirms the reservation and takes you to your table. It’s an intimate place, small tables dispersed throughout the room, white table cloths, a small vase containing a single white rose on each one, warm, flickering candles decorating the room.

There are a handful of other couples already seated, relaxed, enjoying their meals. But you pay them no attention as he helps you take your seat and finally settles in across from you. 

You can’t help but compare each and every one of his behaviors to Jeremy. You don’t want to, but you do. Jeremy would never pull your chair out. He’d never help you into the car. He’d never plan a romantic evening out. He’d never touch you the way Joel touches you.

He offers a tentative smile, tilting his head, “What?”

“Nothing,” you say, trying to fight the urge to beam at him. He may or may not be aware of just how thoroughly he’s romancing you.

He looks down at the menu, “How do you feel about wine?”

“Love it.”

“White?”

“Perfect.”

When your server flits by the table, he orders a bottle of Chardonnay that she quickly returns with to fill your glasses. The moment she steps away, you catch the amused glimmer in his eyes.

“So, you’re married. And I fucked you in your backyard.”

Very direct. Just as he was after he’d done it.

You almost choke on the wine, but are able to carefully arrange your features into a neutral, unbothered expression, “Yes.”

“He’s a piece of shit.”

It’s not a question or an assumption. He knows, heard Jeremy yelling at you the last time he was home, heard the derision in his voice, the malice. You nod.

“He cheated on you?”

Again, you nod, your eyes flashing with the briefest flicker of pain you’re unable to control. Even if your marriage had been failing long before you discovered Jeremy’s infidelity, it still hurts to know how deeply you’ve been betrayed.

“I’m sorry,” he offers, his voice soft and silken. He reaches across the table to thread your fingers together.

You want to climb into his lap and kiss him. His words are sincere, not placating, but genuinely apologetic about your husband’s indiscretions. About how it must make you feel. 

“Don’t make it right – what we did,” he says quietly, “What we’re doin’.”

You take another measured sip of wine while you formulate your response, nodding slowly, “No. It doesn’t. Does that mean you don’t want to do it again?”

“Didn’t say that. Just said it ain’t right.”

The candle flickers across his expression, briefly illuminating the way his eyes have dilated, his lips tightening, his jaw ticks. You stare across at him, admiring the shape of his tension and the intensity of his gaze.

“Don’t know if I can stop myself now,” he admits.

You suppress a laugh, “Why? You seemed perfectly in control before I got naked and told you to touch me.”

That gets a low growl out of him, half grumble, half chuckle, “Tommy was there. Couldn’t very well go around flirtin’ and touchin’ you with him around. Anyway, he told me to stay away from you.”

You suck in a sharp breath, “Why?”

“You’re a client. Wouldn’t be right.”

“I think I can decide what’s right for me and what’s not,” you answer stubbornly, annoyed at Tommy’s intervention. Would Joel have fucked you sooner had Tommy not meddled? Probably not.

“Mm, I know, darlin’,” he says with an appraising nod. He sips his wine and purses his lips, disgruntled.

“We could’ve ordered something else,” you acknowledge, realizing he probably isn’t a wine drinker.

“‘S no trouble. You like it,” he says simply, forcing another sip.

That makes your chest ache, your need for him growing. Drinking something he doesn’t like just because you like it? Another point for Joel.

“So, Tommy is a meddler.”

Joel huffs, “Yeah. Always has been.”

“He told me to stay away from you too. Said you’re a grumpy old bastard,” you tell him.

His smile drops into a scowl, “I don’t care if he’s a brand new daddy, I’m gonna wring his neck.”

“Stop! Your niece or nephew can’t be fatherless!”

“Nephew. Benji. He’ll be alright. Better off, if I’m honest,” he grumbles. You know he doesn’t believe it, which makes it funnier.

You snicker into your glass, hidling your smirk just as the server approaches to take your orders. Joel looks across to you as you recite your selection. He orders the same and hands the menus to her with a gentle thanks.

“Big fan of ravioli?” You ask, resting your chin on your fist. “Would’ve pegged you for a steak kind of guy.”

He shrugs, “Ain’t no harm in tryin’ somethin’ new.”

“Hm, like fucking a client?”

“That’d be new, yes.”

“Is that so?”

His ears turn red at your inquisition, but he quickly settles his features into a calm, severe look as he leans forward to look at you properly, “Swear on my life. This is the first I’ve ever laid a hand on a client. Promise.”

Pressing your lips together to hide your smile, you nod, satisfied with his answer. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it. Were you unique? Does he do this with all his clients? He’s single, after all, according to Tommy. 

“‘M I the first tradesman you’ve fucked?” He asks suddenly, making you blanch and laugh louder than what is appropriate in a tiny little restaurant like this. He grins, clearly very pleased with himself.

“Oh my god, yes. Jesus, Joel, don’t do that,” you gasp through your laughter.

Dinner is easy after that, relaxed and smooth with the difficult topic of your ill conceived exploits out of the way. He pours each of you another glass of wine, devours his ravioli, and smirks across at you as you run your heeled foot up his leg to tease him. 

He plays with your fingers, his smile coy and shy despite having already fucked you within an inch of sanity. You finish the bottle of wine together, the alcohol warming your skin, cheeks hot with its effects, and with the way Joel makes you blush with his heated looks and dark eyes.

The candlesticks in the room shrink into nothing and soon, you and Joel are the only people left in the restaurant. When he realizes this, he signals for the check.

He’s a gentleman when he pays for your meal and helps you out of your chair. He’s a gentleman when he guides you out to the parking lot with a tender, warm hand on your lower back, then opens the truck door for you. But as you’re about to climb inside, he yanks you back, spins you around, and kisses you.

You lean up to meet him, wrapping your arms around his neck as he clutches at your dress, tangling his fingers in it like he wants to lift the skirt and fuck you right here in the parking lot. You really wish he would. Don’t really care who sees. You’ve been aching for him since he left you lying naked and trembling by your pool.

“You’re trouble,” he mutters, your back hitting the side of the truck, “Wearin’ this skimpy little dress. Lookin’ prettier than anythin’ I’ve ever seen.”

His beard scrapes against your cheek as he plunders your lips, tongue seeking yours while his hips pin you in place. You can feel the hard outline of him through his jeans and you shudder at the thought of sucking him off as he drives you home.

Despite his fervor, he doesn’t lift you up and fuck you against his truck in the parking lot of a little Italian bistro regardless of how desperately you want it.

Eventually, he tears himself away from you and offers you a heated look before finally helping you into the truck. His hand remains firmly planted on your thigh the entire drive home, his fingers steadily creeping upward each time your hips shift.

”Patience, darlin’,” he chastises, giving you a warning look as he drives toward your home.

The moment he parks in the driveway, you don’t wait for him to open your door like the gentleman he’s been all night. You hear him chuckle as he follows you up to the front door, wiggling your ass a little just for his benefit. 

As you fumble in your purse for your keys, he stands a respectable distance behind you, hands tucked in his pockets so the urge to paw at you doesn’t hinder your hunt. You find the keys, get the door unlocked, and skip inside like the excited little minx you know you are. He chuckles again.

“Someone’s eager,” he rumbles, shutting the door behind him and finally reaching for you.

Your purse gets tossed aside as your arms come up around his neck, his lips finding yours like a homing missile. He shuffles you in the direction of the stairs until your ankles hit the bottom step. Since he’s been working on your house for the better part of three months, he’s become intimately acquainted with its layout, making it easy for him to navigate while he guides you along and turns your legs to jelly.

In a stunning display of brute strength, he lifts you up, hooking your legs around his waist so he can carry you up the stairs. You break apart with a gasp and clutch his strong shoulders to stabilize yourself.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, hands under your ass, powerful legs climbing higher. 

“Nothing,” you squeak, instantly soaked at the ease with which he carries you. What girl doesn’t want to be whisked away and fucked within an inch of her life by the rugged handyman building her house? You’re a simple girl with simple needs that he’s extremely adept at handling.

His lips curve into a smile that tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

He doesn’t set you down until he crosses the threshold to your bedroom, his lips on yours again, this time tender and slow like he’s trying to savor you. It weakens your knees and your fingers curl into his shirt to hang on.

“You understand what this means, don’t you?” He asks, big, strong arms curling around your waist while he backs you toward the bed.

You look up at him with wide, curious eyes, his meaning unclear.

“If I fuck you in this bed. In your house…” he lowers his head, lips brushing your ear, breath hot on your cheek, voice dripping with power, “You’re mine.”

Your entire body shudders at the possessiveness soaking his words. You were a goner the moment he laid his hands on you.

You nod, fingers curling in his shirt, “Yours.”

He lunges then, capturing your lips, sinking his tongue between them, devouring you wholly and completely. His big arms wrap around you, pressing you closer, making you whimper into him as he guides you toward the bed. Before you can fall onto its surface, his fingers find the zipper at your back and tugs.

He slips the straps off your shoulders and lets the dress fall to your ankles, leaving you bare apart from the scrap of lace covering your pussy. Joel breaks the kiss and takes a step back to admire you.

“Darlin’, you’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he growls, eyes dark and hungry as they take you in. With one, thick finger, he skims a path from your belly button up to your chin, stopping briefly to play with each of your nipples before continuing on. He lifts your chin gently, assessing the way your breathing changes, lips swollen from his kisses, thighs squeezing together, “Your husband fuck you in this bed yet?”

Once Joel and Tommy had completed the renovation of your upstairs, you had opted to redecorate the space with all new furniture, art, accents, everything – mattress included. You’d only slept next to your husband once since then. And he hadn’t touched you. Not a single graze of flesh, or a tender caress. 

Shaking your head, you bite your lip, “No. He hasn’t fucked me in over a year.”

Joel’s eyes flash, something dark and dangerous in them that makes your thighs clench, “That right?”

”Too busy fucking his secretary,” you admit, leaning into his touch, his thumb tracing your plump lower lip. Your tongue darts out for a taste.

He allows it, and then grips your chin between his index finger and thumb, tilting his head, “You usin’ me to get back at him?”

You can tell by the question that he doesn’t like the idea of that. That he’s just some pawn in a battle between you and Jeremy. But it couldn’t be further from the truth. You shake your head, eyes softening.

”No, no, I promise. I want you, Joel,” you whisper, fists still clenched in his shirt as you press yourself against him, “I don’t care about getting back at him. I just want him gone.”

”You send your divorce papers yet?”

“Tomorrow. First thing, my lawyer will serve them.”

”Good girl,” he says lowly, giving you a brief kiss, “You still think fuckin’ me while you’re still married is a good idea?”

You nod, “Yes, I need it, Joel,” you whine, feeling the slick between your legs, the soaked fabric of your panties rubbing against you, “I need you.”

“You need to get fucked?” He nips at your chin, then moves down to your neck, making your legs weaken, “You need your pussy filled to the brim?”

Speechless, you nod frantically, hands flattening on his chest as he takes your waist and turns you to putty with his lips on your throat. “Please…”

”Alright, darlin’, lie back for me,” he grumbles, peeling himself away from you and helping you lie on the bed. When you position yourself in the center, he clicks his tongue and takes you by the thighs to pull your hips to the edge of the bed. Joel drops to his knees, and your stomach does a flip. “Need to taste this sweet little pussy before I fuck you.”

You’re not complaining.

His thumbs hook at the hem of your panties and he drags them down your legs slowly, your entire body lit with anticipation and a fresh wave of desire.

With his wide hands, he spreads your thighs gently, peppering kisses along your skin and inching his way methodically up to your center. The scruff of his beard tickles your skin, hips lifting in search of any sort of contact. It seems Joel isn’t in the mood for teasing today, because after parting your folds with his thumbs, he drags a slow, deliberate stripe up the center of your pussy.

He groans into you, your body overcome with sensation as he does it again. And again, and again, and again.

“Taste so fuckin’ sweet, baby,” he says, moving his hands to your hips to pull you further toward the edge of the mattress. 

He drinks you in like a man possessed, his tongue strumming your clit effortlessly and drawing out the most pathetic noises from the back of your throat. You writhe and arch, his movements slow and precise as he licks you. Your toes curl, fingers digging into his mess of curls. Fuck, he’s good.

He uses his tongue on you like he can’t get enough of the taste of you. Like he’s been desperate to make you cum on his tongue all evening. And maybe he has been. Maybe it’s all he’s thought about, because you know damn well it’s all you’ve thought about.

Before you can even register anything else, two, thick fingers press into you and you have to slap your hand over your mouth to keep from crying out.

Joel lifts his head and scowls, “What are you doing?”

You blink, hips moving to the slow, steady stroke of his fingers, “I — I —“

“Nuh uh, I wanna hear those pretty little sounds you make. You understand?” He asks, voice hard and stern like you’ve made a grave mistake.

You nod, whimpering a little when he crooks his fingers just right.

“Words, baby. Use your words,” he rasps, “Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes, I understand,” you insist, letting loose a sound that would make a porn star blush when he starts pumping his fingers steadily. His tongue is back on you, and in the next instant, you’re careening toward your orgasm.

Your skin is hot and your blood electric in your veins as you cum, a strangled moan puncturing the quiet of your bedroom. Joel grunts into your pussy and licks and laps at your release until you’re sure you can’t take it anymore. You’re still trembling when he pulls his fingers from you and moves up your body to give you a kiss.

Tasting yourself on his lips, you let out a faint sigh, pulling at the buttons on his shirt and pushing it off. His tongue is heaven on your pussy, but infinitely more devious when it slips between your lips. It’s dirty and slow, like he’s building you up just to shatter you again and again. Your entire body still tingles with the aftermath of your climax.

Your hips lift against him, clit scraping against denim. His cock is hard in the confines of his jeans, and all you want is for him to be inside you. 

With searching hands, you map out the contours of his muscles, built slowly over time by his craft. His tummy is soft, but underneath, you feel his muscles clench as your fingers continue their perusal. 

As much as you enjoy kissing him, you need him to fill you up, so you begin the delicate task of undoing his jeans and shoving them down his hips. They’re barely down past his ass when you arch up again, and dig your nails into his lower back to get him closer. His cock is thick and heavy against your pussy, making you both groan.

“So fuckin’ needy,” he growls, pushing his hips against you and creating a friction so overwhelming you swear it’ll make you cum if he does it again.

All you can do is nod, because you are. You need him so bad, you think you’ll die if you don’t get him inside you soon.

He grinds against you again, the underside of his cock stimulating your overworked clit. You squeal, arching into him, both somehow seeking more and less at the same time. Joel takes your hip in his large hand, thumb pressing into you to still your movements.

“Ask nicely, darlin’.”

It takes a few seconds for your brain to catch up with his words. You sound needy when you say it. Desperate and fucked out. “Please, fuck me, Joel. Please, I need it so bad.”

The sentence hasn’t even fully left your lips before he pushes into you with a low growl. Once he’s seated with the coarse hairs at his base nestled against you, he flexes his hips, pushing just a bit deeper until there’s nowhere else to go. You’re so full of him, aching as he settles against you, his girth splitting you wide open. 

Your nails rake down his back, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“This pussy’s so fuckin’ tight, honey,” he hisses into your ear, withdrawing an inch and pushing back in. “Fuck.”

Under your hands, his muscles tremble with either the effort of holding himself over you, or with the restraint of not fucking into you like you want him to. Either way, you’re flattered and tilt your hips to take him deeper. 

“Don’t fuckin’ do that,” he warns, pushing his hips against you and making you gasp at the intrusion. Your walls flutter around him, practically screaming at him to move, pussy leaking with your arousal, “Ain’t bein’ polite.”

“S-sorry,” you whimper, nails digging into his lower back, “I need –”

“What do you need?”

“Need you to move, Joel, please fuck me,” you beg, sounding so pathetic to your own ears, you almost cringe. But the slow smile and jut of his hips makes you forget in an instant. 

“Yeah? Need me to wreck this pretty little pussy?” He hums, the low vibrato of his voice sending you into another simpering fit as you try to move your hips against him. “Careful.”

He gives you a hard kiss before sitting up to tower over you, knees braced on the edge of the bed as his hands roam your body. The steady shift of his cock inside you has slowly eased the ache, but you need more. He feels so big, your cunt practically drools around him.

“You’ve got such good manners, baby,” he huffs, arms hooking under your thighs to lift you higher, pushing his cock deeper. Your hands fly out to cling to the comforter, eyes hazy as he withdraws and pushes in again, so fucking slowly it’s driving you crazy. It’s the same position he took you on the lounger by the pool, the same heavy stare, the same dark look and powerful body looming over you.

When speech evades you, he simply smiles and adjusts you again before he begins a steady, rhythmic pace that’s both hard and easy all at once. His hips smack into you, before he slowly withdraws, then fucking into you again like he’s trying to make you cum on force alone. And it’s working.

Each push of his hips elicits a little gasp from you and a spark of arousal pulsing through you. Sweat gleams on his forehead with the effort of his control, so you’re not surprised when he abandons his subdued pace in favor of quicker, deeper thrusts. 

“Takin’ my cock so good,” he grunts, pulling you up higher, “You gonna cum on it like a good girl?”

You nod frantically, already on your way to your own undoing. When his thumb circles your clit and his cock hits you just right, your vision goes dark and your back arches. Your moans are obscene and loud, and you’re certain your neighbors can hear the way you scream for him. But you don’t care. The pleasure coursing through you crests while he fucks you through your orgasm, his groans faint and labored.

The moment you come down, he pulls out, making you suck in a sharp breath at the loss. He flips you onto your stomach while he lies prone on top of you and pants into your ear, “This sweet little pussy is gonna be the death of me, baby.”

In one, brutal thrust, he’s back inside you, making your back arch against him. He takes the opportunity to wrap a large hand around your neck, holding you up as he takes his own pleasure and gives you everything in return. Even after two orgasms, the size of him burns through you, fire coiling tight in your belly with each plunge.

Your walls clench around him and he growls into your ear, his breath hard. His lips find your throat and he grunts with each push, “Tryn’ to make me cum before I’m ready to be done with you, darlin’?”

You shake your head, voice broken and barely there, like he’s fucked the will right out of you, “No… no, I swear.”

His fingers squeeze around your neck, not enough to cut off your air supply, but the pressure is there, and it’s exquisite. His pace is relentless, his cock so deep, filling you so completely, all you can do is writhe and cry under him. A large hand lands on your ass as he growls into your ear, “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

You don’t even hesitate, not for a second, “You, it’s yours. It belongs to you.”

“What belongs to me?”

“My p-pussy,” you cry out, another crack of his palm against your ass. “Joel…”

“I gotcha, baby,” he breathes into your ear, his beard scraping your cheek, lips and teeth adding sensation to your skin as his cock stretches you out. His restraint snaps then, and he begins pounding into you with a force that makes your eyes roll back into your head and your entire body lock up. “That’s it, honey. I know you’re about to cum. Give it to me.”

It’s remarkable how quickly he’s become attuned to your body and its signals. He adjusts his hips, pushing deeper, harder, faster than what he should be capable of. His breath ragged in your ear, muscles tight against your back, cock dragging in and out of you. When he releases your neck, you slump to the bed, only for him to plant his hand next to you, while the other sneaks underneath you to rub your clit in time with his thrusts.

It undoes you so quickly, you scream into the sheets, hips pushing against him as you cum. Your climax washes over you so completely, you think you lose consciousness for several seconds. You’re nothing but sensation and bliss.

His deep growl reaches your ears, breaths coming in short bursts as he fucks you through it, “Fuck, feels so good. Pussy is grippin’ me nice and tight baby. I’m gonna cum.”

“Cum inside me,” you plead, words muffled by the bedding. You can feel him trembling above you, holding himself back, and then a rush of warmth as he fills you, cumming with a bone shattering groan that makes your entire body tingle. You love the way he sounds, love that you can do this to him. Wreck him just as thoroughly as he wrecks you.

His thrusts slow, then ease to a stop, and he bends over you to kiss along your shoulder and down your back until he’s withdrawing from you completely. A quiet whimper leaves you, devastated at the loss. 

After wiping up the mess you two had made, Joel settles in bed next to you, drawing you against his chest and giving you a tender kiss. It’s slow and thoughtful and lingering. There’s no intent behind it other than to claim and cherish.

“I can’t stay,” he says when he pulls away, “Gotta be up early for a job tomorrow.”

You sigh and nestle deeper, chasing his lips, “I don’t want you to go.”

“Mm, I don’t either. But my client is extremely demanding. Gotta get to the site on time to make her happy,” he mutters, tongue swiping against you. Your heart flutters, cheeks warming as he pulls away with a smile, “I’ll be back in the morning.”

“Stay a little while longer?”

He answers by pulling the sheets around the both of you, his arms cradling you against him despite the sweat you’ve both worked up. Joel kisses you again, his hand sliding up your back to rest at the base of your neck.

He’s warm and solid against you, his breathing heavy and deep, but you know he’s not asleep yet.

“Joel?”

“Mm?”

“Are you gonna tell Tommy?” You ask, not out of fear or hesitancy, but simple curiosity. If he tells his brother, what will that convey about the two of you? 

He lifts his head to peek down at you and arches an eyebrow, “Do you want me to?”

You shrug, truly unsure. You’re still married. He’s still technically working for you, and you’re not sure what this means for either of you. 

“Don’t see that it’s any of his business. But I meant what I said earlier. I don’t do shit half way, darlin’. This ain’t some game to me,” he tells you, resting on his elbow to look down at you. You look up at him with wide, glimmering eyes, “You either want this, or you don’t. But you better tell me soon so I –”

“I like you too,” you blurt, cutting him off so he doesn’t spiral. You’re growing accustomed to his directness. He doesn’t want to play mind games like some men. Doesn’t want to string you along. It’s refreshing. “I – I don’t want to tell Tommy, though. Not until you’re done… working for me.”

A sly smile creeps onto his face, “You don’t want him to know I’m fuckin’ the boss?”

“No!” Your skin heats and you bring the sheet up to hide your embarrassment, “It’ll look like I’m taking advantage of you.”

“Darlin’, if anyone’s takin’ advantage, it’s me,” he chuckles, pulling the sheet down and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Saw you walkin’ around in those skimpy little outfits and couldn’t help myself.”

“I didn’t exactly give you a choice, Joel. I basically stripped naked and threw myself at you.”

“Still,” he shrugs, “Could’ve said no.”

You look up at him with a slight smile, his eyes warm and gentle, softened in the dull light of the bedroom lamp, “Glad you didn’t.”

He smiles back. “Me too.”

The next morning, you wake to an email from your lawyer telling you that the papers have been delivered to Jeremy. He was confused and pissed off, but it’s done. The weight of it shifts something in you, the relief burning at your eyes. 

Joel left sometime during the night, but you wish you could reach for him, celebrate with him, kiss him. Because of him, your life has changed drastically in the past twenty-four hours. You want to thank him.

You get the chance to do just that over the course of the next few days, kissing him when he arrives to work on your house for the day, sitting in his lap while he eats lunch, begging him to fuck you before he leaves for the evening. It’s pure bliss, and for the first time in years, you feel something dangerously close to happiness. Something Jeremy hasn’t given you in so long, you forgot what it felt like.

You should’ve known, then, that it would all come crashing down.

“Number one rule of anal sex is ‘No rush’,” Mr Miller says to his son. The older man is sitting by your side, his hands gently kneading your naked asscheeks. You hold your breath when he spreads the globes of your flesh and exposes your pussy slit and butthole. Both entrances clench.

You’ve been going out with Jack Miller for almost a year and you know his dad Joel relatively well. He’s single, works as a contractor, loves spending his free time playing the guitar, woodworking, watching old action movies and going to the bar with his brother Tommy. What you haven’t known before tonight is how good his fingers feel when he pushes them into your asshole. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

It all started with an argument. Jack was getting on your nerves, begging you to have anal.

“C’mon, baby,” he said, clinging to you like an annoying lap dog. He had just fingered you as a foreplay so you were sweaty and sleepy, lying naked on his bed. As always it had taken him too long. He had trouble finding the right rhythm and the right angle like he’d never touched your pussy before. While he was fiddling with your lady parts, a slideshow of your favorite porno scenes was playing on a loop behind your tightly closed eyes until finally you reached an underwhelming orgasm.

Probably relying on endorphins clouding your judgement, Jack began his anal pitch. He was promising you heavenly pleasure and an unforgettable experience, mostly turning himself on - a pole was proudly tenting his sweatpants.

Despite the passion in his voice, you were adamant in your decision. You’d never done it with anyone before and doubted that Jack was experienced enough to show you a wonderful world of anal.

“It’s not that simple, Jack! Jerking off to anal porn is not enough! What if you hurt me! You need to educate yourself first. You need to know… stuff.” You pulled the cover over your naked breasts and crossed your arms.

“What stuff?” Jack frowned.

“Exactly!”

You stared at the ceiling, contemplating getting dressed and going home. You were sure he wouldn’t let it go. And he didn’t.

“I’ll be careful, I promise. Just a tip first, you won’t even feel it. I’ll be super slow and then bam! I’m inside.”

BAM! No one in the history of mankind wanted to hear Bam! and their ass in the same sentence. So you shook your head and gave Jack an alternative,

“Why don’t you fuck my pussy?”

Jack palmed his clothed boner with interest but then shook his head, doubling down.

“Baby, pleaseeeeee..”

Nothing extraordinary would have happened if Jack hadn’t kept nagging and whining, pleading you to give him your butt. You kept saying ‘no’, he kept begging. It got so annoying that you decided to leave but before you sat up there was a loud knock on the bedroom door.

“Dad,” Jack grumbled and got up. He adjusted his hard cock and you pulled the bed cover higher, covering your chest.

“What’s up, dad?” Jack said, annoyed by the interruption.

“Can I …?” Mr Miller stepped into the bedroom. You swallowed loudly. It was weird to be completely naked under the sheet in front of your boyfriend’s father.

“Sorry for intrudin’, sweetheart,” he said, turning to you and then to his son. “Jack, I can’t listen to it no more! Don’t you get what she’s sayin’?”

“Dad, what the hell?” Jack’s cheeks grew red, he was shifting on his bare feet, throwing nervous glances at you. And you definitely shared his confusion.

“I wasn’t eavesdroppin’ I swear. These fuckin walls are cardboard thin. You were whinin’ like a little bitch, son. Sorry, sweetheart,” Mr Miller apologized to you again and then said the words that you’d never expected to hear from your boyfriend’s dad.

“Let me teach you anal.”

Jack was shocked and embarrassed. He was gawking at his dad with widened eyes while the older man was standing by the bed, towering over his son, feet planted firmly on the ground. He kept saying that he only wanted to help, gesturing with his big hands. To your surprise you immediately pictured those hands on your naked body.

You wondered how Mr Miller would teach you. Maybe he’d watch Jack and you, guiding you both, giving advice, or maybe he’d take matters (your ass) into his own hands. Those huge veiny hands. The thought made your core pucker and while Jack was asking his dad to leave, saying that he lost his mind, you pressed your thighs together under the cover, trying to alleviate the ache in your pussy.

“I couldn’t hear the TV, Jack! Only your pathetic attempts to put it in her ass. Sorry, baby,” Mr Miller looked at you, his hands raised palms to you.

“Don’t call her that,” Jack grumbled. He looked and sounded like a boy who didn’t want to share his toy truck.

“‘K,” his father nodded and turned at you. “Jus’ wanna help.”

He dropped his hands by his sides, his sad puppy eyes moving from his son and to you and back. Your heart swelled. Your pussy throbbed.

“Ok,” you said, surprising your boyfriend and yourself. Jack gawked at you.

“What do you mean ‘ok’?!”

“You want to have anal, yeah? But you got no clue what to do, don’t even lie, Jack! Let your dad teach us.”

That’s how you ended up in a position you couldn’t imagine being in your wildest dreams — lying naked on your front, your legs spread, your boyfriend's dad playing with your butt.

“Help ‘er relax,” Mr Miller says to his son, his voice soft and soothing, his tone casual as if he’s teaching Jack how to fix a lawn mower. Your boyfriend is seated in a gaming chair a foot away from the bed, his arms crossed, eyes narrowed. When his gaze meets yours, you quickly look away. He doesn’t seem pleased, rather mortified. Whatever. You always thought that Mr Miller was hot, in a rugged and dilf-y way.

Once you had a dream about blowing him in their kitchen, your mouth full of his fat cock, his fingers tight in your hair, no Jack and his cuck gaming chair in sight.

“Draw ‘er a nice bath, give ‘er a massage, somethin’ like that,” Joel says as his calloused palm glides up and down the back of your thigh. You’re one big goosebump, his touch is electrifying.

“No harsh movements.” He carefully pushes on your inner thigh until you bend up your leg. Your hips open and slightly rise off the bed. “She needs to be pliant, ready to take you in her most vulnerable place.”

Jack swallows hard. Your cheek is resting on the pillow, your head turned away from Mr Miller, but you are seeing him perfectly in the wardrobe mirror that stands lengthwise the bed. He’s wearing his usual flannel, sleeves rolled up, and dark blue jeans. It’s not his home clothes and you wonder if he dressed like this for you.

Mr Miller’s salt and pepper locks curl up at the nape, he needs a haircut, but you like his hair longer. You imagine running your fingers through his curls, tugging on them while he’s plowing your wet needy …

“Are you comfortable, sweetie?” Joel interrupts your dirty daydream with a question, his voice soft and raspy. It could have lulled you to sleep if not for a finger that grazes your butthole, making you flinch.

“Uh-huh.” You don’t sound too sure.

“We’ll get there,” he says with a little smile and adds, “Together.”

While you’re slowly melting into the bedsheets from his gentle tone, Mr Miller turns to Jack.

“Another important thing is lubrication. You have some?”

It looks like Jack’s using all his energy to dissociate at the moment thus he misses the question.

“Huh?”

“Lube? You have it or I need to go get mine?”

You widen your eyes, picturing Mr Miller squirt lube on some lucky lady in his master bedroom. And to think you considered him almost celibate!

Your boyfriend blinks a few times, then gets up. You hear him rummaging through a mess in his nightstand drawer, mumbling the word ‘crazy’ before he throws a little bottle on the bed and returns to his chair.

“It should be warm,” Joel says, rolling it between his wide palms.

“May I?” His reflection points at your ass in the mirror and you nod with a quiet ‘yes’. Mr Miller opens the lid with teeth and moves your left asscheek to the side for better access.

“Oh!” You gasp when a slight cold glob of lube lands on your tight ring.

“Bit more.” Joel adds another squirt and then starts spreading the liquid around your ring with a tip of his finger.

“Ahhhh,” you whimper and bite your tongue immediately. Jack’s chair creaks.

“Feels good?” When Joel asks you the question you don’t see a point in lying so you say “yeah.” Wet arousal pools in your core, it’s a matter of minutes before it slides out of your hole and reveals how insanely horny Mr Miller is making you.

“We’re just startin’ and look at her response,” Joel says with pride in his velvet voice while his finger is slowly drawing circles over your asshole. “She’s enjoyin’ it. Even if we stop now she’ll remember the act as something pleasant.”

“Maybe we should,” Jack mutters but neither Joel nor you pay it any attention. Hot flames are licking at your core, the ache in your pussy growing so fast, you roll your hips against the bed, searching for friction.

Adding gasoline to your horny fire is the sight in the mirror in front of you — Joel’s sexy hand moving rhythmically over your ass, his plush lips slightly parted, his dark eyes focused on your puckered hole.

Mr Miller lowers his voice and asks, “Growin’ needy?”

Your eyes lock in the mirror. Fuck! A hot flash burns your lower belly when his black pupils meet yours. Sparks flying, gazes drawn to each other for a few long seconds, promising pleasure and trouble. The intense eye contact does something to you, drowns you in an ocean of lust, pulls you so deep you panic and hastily flick your eyes to your boyfriend who seems very pale.

“Sweetheart,” Joel calls you as if hating to share your attention with his son. You hum but don’t look at him.

“Do you give your permission for the next step? To open you up I need to eat your ass. Is that alright?”

“No!”

“Yes!”

Both you and Jack answer but you are the one calling the shots.

“Yes!” You repeat louder and raise your brows at Jack. Your boyfriend lets out a defeated sigh and drops his head.

“Good,” Joel says and gives your butt a light pat before cupping both asscheeks and spreading them apart. Cold air laps at your holes and you shiver. Joel smiles, probably noticing goosebumps on your skin.

“We’ll start slow.” In the mirror you watch him unhinge his jaw, stick his tongue out and lower his head.

You gasp when Mr Miller slowly licks your tight butthole. “Oh my God!”

Joel chuckles and repeats the depraved action. Soon he’s licking your asshole gingerly, his fingers digging into your flesh with passion. You’re softly moaning, your eyes are rolling to the back of your head. You’ve never had your ass eaten and the sensation is incredible. You wish he’d get lower and take care of your leaking pussy but fuckkk you can come just from Mr Miller’s tongue dancing over your little butthole. So when he parts from your ass, your needy whine rings in the room.

“I’ll be right back, sweetie.”

His wet lips are curled up at the corners, pride sparkling in his blown out eyes, Joel glances back at his son and announces,

“Now we gonna start openin’ her up with a tongue.” Your breathing hitches. You don’t see Jack’s expression because you can’t tear your eyes off Mr Miller in the mirror. “Gently push the tip inside her just so” — Joel leans down and his hot tongue prods at your ring, your mouth forms an O as you moan.

Joel mutters, “Slowly go in,” then his head begins moving up and down while his tongue slides into your ass deeper with every bop. He’s salivating onto your crack, the wetness dripping down to your pussy, covering your folds with the warm spit.

You are losing your mind over how amazing it feels, meanwhile Joel alternates between licking your ring and tongue-fucking it for what seems like hours or so you wish. His lewd slurping fills the room and mixes with your soft noises. You apply all your willpower to stop yourself from moaning like a whore out of respect for your boyfriend who is now sitting with his legs crossed, probably hard but too shocked to accept it.

“How you feelin’, baby?” Joel asks, licking his spit-covered lips.

“S—so good, Mr Miller,” you stutter, staring at him in the mirror with your half lidded eyes.

“See, she’s already gapin’ a little,” Joel says, showing your asshole to Jack.

“Hm-m,” Jack hums, his brows furrowed, his suspicious gaze trained on your ecstatic face.

“Now let’s add a finger.”

You squeak like a little mouse and your holes clench. Joel notices.

“Hey, don’t be scared, babygirl. You’re open nicely now. And I’m gonna be gentle, yeah?”

“Ok,” you reply and hold your breath.

“Nuh-uh. None of that. You should be breathin’, sweetheart.” He puts his warm heavy palm on your back, between your shoulder blades and rubs it up and down, giving you a rhythm.

“In— out—in— out.”

You follow his direction and soon your muscles relax, your eyes flutter close, your jaws unclench. It seems like your body is seeping into the mattress.

“I’m puttin’ one finger in.”

His voice is so quiet you barely register his words, barely notice his finger going inside your ass, miss a slight burn of the stretch, that’s how serene you are feeling.

When you finally open your eyes you see Mr Miller’s reflection thrusting his index finger in and out of your butthole, his eyes on your ring, his lip between his teeth.

“Wow,” you mutter, in awe of the hot sight and the new sensation. All your holes clench again and again, your pussy pushing your generous slick out and you catch yourself wanting Joel to fuck you.

"Another finger? Is that alright, sweetie?" With your heart pounding in your ears, Joel's raspy voice seems both close and far. You nod and mumble a shaky 'yes' before he inserts a second digit into your lubed up asshole. You moan, Joel growls, both at the same time. Your boyfriend curses under his breath.

"Hooooooly hell," you exhale against the pillow, clenching bedsheets with your clammy palms while Joel's scissoring your tight ring open. "This … it's amazing."

Joel pulls his fingers out of you and chuckles yet it comes out strained. You know it takes everything from him not to whip his cock out and fuck you right now. Jack seems to feel it, too.

"Dad, maybe that's enough?"

"No."

"No!"

Your yell drowns out Joel's reply. Your cheeks burning, lust clouding your mind and overtaking your body, you lift your head off the bed and glare at Jack.

"Mr Miller needs to... we need to learn what to do next. Right?"

Jack crosses his arms, his lower lip sticking out.

Completely disregarding his son's suggestion to stop, Joel nods at you and asks Jack as if it's some depraved sex ed class.

"She's nice and ready now. What's next?"

Jack blinks at his dad, a mixture of frustration and confusion plastered on his face. He shrugs. "I fuck her."

"Wrong!" Joel sits up straight and gives him a disappointed look. "Son, the most important thing about anal is consent."

You drop your head back on the pillow and nod with the 'obviously' expression meanwhile Joel continues.

"Even after you did all the necessary prep, you ask her again. And if she says 'no', you stop! Got it?"

You watch Joel in the mirror, his bushy brows furrowed, two obsidian eyes piercing Jack. He's not fucking around.

"Yeah."

"Huh?"

"Yes, sir," Jack mumbles. He looks so pitiful now you get scared of your pussy turning into the Sahara so you hastily move your eyes to the mirror with Joel's reflection in it.

You watch and feel your boyfriend's dad lean down to you. His hot breath fans your naked back, sending chills down your spine, as he asks,

"Can I fuck your ass now, baby?"

Your voice is wanton and needy, you're almost drooling onto the bed, as you reply,

"Yes, Mr Miller. But..?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“Can I be on my back?”

Joel kisses your shoulder and coos,

“Sure thing.”

Your body buzzing with want, you slowly and awkwardly roll over. Your exposed tits jiggle as you get comfortable and Joel takes you in— your puffy pussy, your heaving belly, your nipples hard as diamonds, desire plastered on your face.

Jack nervously clears his throat and leaves his cuck chair.

“You ain’t really doing it, right?”

You’re not sure if he’s talking to you or his dad but Joel is the one who answers,

“I’m teachin’ you two. And this is the most crucial part. You wanna go in now and ruin all the progress?”

Jack closes and opens his mouth, but when you shake your head at his attempt to intervene, your boyfriend plops back in the chair, looking gobsmacked.

“This is insane,” he murmurs and you have to agree. You’re feeling insanely good.

With a nonchalant expression on his flushed face Joel grabs a pillow.

“Raise your hips for me, baby.”

You do what he asks and he quickly places it under your butt. When your hips are raised Joel hums in approval.

“Grab your knees for me, please.”

Like an obedient student you do it immediately.

“That’s it. Good girl.”

His praise, his scent - manly and dizzying, his warm smile, his obsidian eyes set between your thighs — all of it makes your blooming pussy contract and a drop of clear slick beads at your entrance.

Joel smirks, his dark gaze darts to yours and then back to your leaky hole. He opens his mouth but words die on his lips.

Instead he takes a sharp breath and climbs on the bed, grunting. With your body trembling in anticipation you watch Mr Miller kneel by your propped up butt, unzip his jeans, his back now to his son.

Just for your hungry eyes, he pulls his cock out. Big, veiny, hard as steel fuck machine. Hnggg!

You clench your jaws, killing a moan that rises in your throat from the sight of his manhood. You see a drop of precum on the slit and your mouth waters.

“Need more lube.” Joel squirts a generous amount on his hand and then strokes his cock spreading the liquid.

You squirm on the bed, fear and excitement coursing through your veins. He wants to stick that huge thing where?!

Joel seems to read the worry on your face. With one hand around the base of his stiff shaft, he brings the other to your knee and gives it a light squeeze.

“If you want me to stop I will.”

You don’t reply, just stare up at him, fear and desire playing tug-of-war in your heart.

“See?” Joel gets his son’s attention but doesn’t look away from you. “This sweet thing is unsure but she’s bein’ brave and doesn’t stop me.”

Jack sighs with relief from behind Joel’s broad body. He probably hopes that you’ve changed your mind.

Then the older man addresses you.

“You don’t have to be brave for me or anyone else, ok?” You hum while warmth spreads in your belly, reaches your clit and makes it throb. You open your mouth but words don’t come out. Joel gives you a knowing smile and offers,

“How ‘bout I open you up again with my fingers? Two steps forward, one step back.”

Jack’s chair creaks unhappily when you breathe out, “Yes, please.”

Joel gives you a curt nod and sits on his heels, his cock still hard and waiting. His strong hand circles around the back of your thigh as he keeps it steady for you.

Jack’s view is blocked by Joel so he doesn’t see when his dad traces your pussy hole with his fingers and brings the wetness down to your ring. His eyes dart up to yours just for a second, you see lust and mischief there.

“Alright, here we go,” he mumbles to himself, easing two lubed up fingers inside you. This time you take them easily, dull pain of the stretch is present but also welcomed. You moan.

Mr Miller closely watches your face twisting with pleasure while his fingers are fucking your butt. You watch him back, suddenly swept by a feeling so strong, you forget how to breathe for a second. There's no one else in the room, in the whole world, only you and this big older man, giving you an unforgettable experience, filling the hole that’s never been filled and you don’t want it to end, hate for him to stop. Stop giving, taking, watching you melt for him.

Ahhhh! A scorching heat floods your belly and hits you like a tsunami. Your core walls clench once, twice, your head digs into the pillow underneath, your eyes close and a loud moan slips out of your mouth. You’re shaking and crying ecstatic tears, your ass squeezing Joel’s thick digits, your pussy contracting around nothing.

“D— did you just come? Jack’s cold tone brings you back to reality as if a bucket of icy water was thrown over your head. Still jerking with climax you snap your eyes open, your breathing heavy, and see Joel’s lopsided smile in front of you.

Fuck! Your cheeks and neck burn and you cover your face with your hands, embarrassed by unraveling in front of your boyfriend’s dad. With his fingers in your ass.

Joel comes to your rescue. He gently rubs your thigh with his paddle of a hand and coos,

“She’s one of a kind, Jack. The anal stimulation isn’t as pleasurable for women as it is for men. In the right hands though… you did wonderful, sweetie.”

You bite your lip, hiding a grin that’s about to bloom on your face, and grip your knees tighter.

“We can stop now if…,” Joel starts.

“No!” You cut him off and push your knees to your chest. “I want to be ready. For the real thing.”

“I’ll give you the real thing,” Joel whispers so quietly it’s barely audible but you hear. Your eyes lock as he plants his palm on the bed by your side and hovers over your lower half.

“Ready, sweetheart?”

After you say ‘yes’ Mr Miller glances back in the direction of his son.

“Jus’ the tip at first. Maybe only. Depends on how she takes it.”

He looks down at you with that soft but feral gaze of his and talks to Jack.

“Watch her face closely when you push inside.”

Joel’s hot leaky cockhead kisses your pussy hole and you gasp, your entrance winking at his manhood, inviting it to come in. Joel whispers,

“Only teasin’.” You smile and shake your head at the man. He gives you a wink and drags his tip down along the delicate skin between your pussy and asshole and then nudges your tight ring.

“If she scrunches her pretty nose, stop. Means she’s hurtin’.”

Joel presses his crown against your asshole and applies pressure. Your mouth parts when he starts pushing it into your asshole, the stretch far bigger than with his fingers. You take a few deep breaths, not stopping him, craving to be fucked.

“Yeah, breathe for me, baby. In and out. Like I taught ya.”

In! in! in! your pussy screams and throbs with the rhythm of your heartbeat, your body desperate to be ruined by your boyfriend’s dad.

Mr Miller pauses and closes his eyes, his forearm muscles tense with restraint, the veins of his hand that’s wrapped around his shaft are bulging. He speaks, trying to keep his voice steady.

“The most difficult thing now—is to control yourself — all you wanna do — is shove your dick deep inside her— to the hilt—- she feels so fuckin’ good.”

His arousal and your desire merge together and form an electric cloud around you two, the scent of sex heavy in the air. Mr Miller moves another inch deeper and you whimper.

“But you musn’t,” he grunts to his son or to himself. “You should be in control— think of her first and your pleasure second —Yeahhh?”

The last word sounds like a moan and you smile dizzily, ecstatic to see how much bliss you’re giving him. Joel pushes in some more and then looks into your eyes. “Wanna see?”

You nod eagerly and place another pillow under your head, propping it up to get a better view.

The sight before your eyes takes your breath away. Joel’s big hand wrapped around his girthy cock, the veins on his shaft thumping, glistening with lube. But the best thing is your stretched asshole, hugging Joel’s tip buried inside.

“Wow,” you breathe out. Joel smirks, his smile lopsided and boyish. He drops his head to your butt and asks,

“Wanna stop here? Done so good already.”

You crane your neck and glance at Jack, expecting him to scream ‘Yes! Stop! Now!’ but he’s hunched over in his cuck chair with a blank stare, chewing on the nail of his thumb.

You bring your gaze back up at Joel and purr,

“I want all of it.”

Joel nods and thrusts in.

Mr Miller’s fucking your ass like it’s been made solemnly for this purpose. His hands are gripping your spread thighs, leaving marks on your soft skin, his hips snapping against your asscheeks, drowning the room in the lewd Slap slap slap! Sounds.

By now you’ve lost all the composure and your loud moans are flowing freely from your lips, mixing with Joel’s animalistic growls.

“Yeahhhh.. good girl…she’s a fast learner… takin’ me like a champ.”

“Thanks, Mr Miller,” you mewl with your eyes rolling to the back of your head when you feel a second orgasm building. Hungry for it you lick your fingers, reach for your throbbing clit and start rubbing it while Joel’s steel shaft is massaging your insides.

“Lemme… want some help?” Joel asks, consent king as always.

“Yes, please.”

Not minding his son watching you two from the back, Joel brings his calloused thumb to your puffy clit and starts drawing infinities over it.

You arch your back, losing your mind over how amazing it feels. Your ass is full of Joel’s cock, but your neglected pussy hole is crying desperately. You look for your boyfriend behind Joel’s broad back. He still looks shell shocked, his widened eyes lowered, and you realize that he’s watching his dads heavy balls slap against his girlfriend’s asscheeks.

Opps.

“Mr Miller,” you whisper, staring at the older man again, “Could you..?”

You lift your hand, stick two fingers out and move them up and down, fingering an invisible pussy.

Joel flashes you a knowing smile.

“Gotcha, sweetie.” He glances back at his son and raises his voice, talking to you,

“You strugglin’, baby? Ok if I help you relax?”

You consent loudly so Jack could hear and the next second Mr Miller changes hands and his dry index and middle fingers easily enter your sopping pussy.

Yeahhhh! You whimper, so full of his fat cock and digits, it feels like you’re going to come apart at the seams.

Joel’s massaging your g-spot with two fingers, his thumb working your clit, his cock relentlessly rutting into your ass. You’ve never been fucked this good and you try to hold off your second climax, hating for the sex to end.

But Joel’s too hot, too experienced and soon you come with a wail, arching your sweaty back off the bed and clamping Joel’s hips with your thighs. Blinding ecstasy is coursing through your body, your cunt pulsing around Joel’s fingers, your asshole choking his cock so hard he stills.

“Here— we g—goooHngggg….” he roars, retreats his fingers out of your pussy and covers you with his huge frame. He pushes his face into your sweaty neck but holds his weight over your thrashing body.

“Where?” He chokes, his chest rumbling with groans, and you wrap your arms around his broad back and press your naked tits to him, mumbling into his ear,

“Inside my ass, Mr Miller. Please.”

His whole body tenses up over you and he begins squirting his hot cum deep inside your butt. The warmth of his load fills you more and more, every erratic thrust of his cock pushes the sticky spent back into you and you hold him tight, wishing to be stuffed to the brim. It doesn’t take long with how much he comes and soon his jizz covers your asscheeks and his balls, sticking them together like glue. You feel filthy and sexy, with your boyfriend’s dad busting inside you, the former having a perfect view of your asshole sucking the older man’s cum in. Too abundant it rolls down your crack and onto Jack’s bed.

Both of you are panting when Joel carefully pulls his cock out of your asshole and falls on the bed next to you, still fully clothed except for the pulled down jeans and boxers.

“Dad, put your dick away,” Jack grumbles.

“Yeah yeah.” Joel tucks his cock back in, leaving his jeans open. He sounds exhausted. You cover yourself with a sheet suddenly remembering that you’re naked next to your boyfriend’s dad.

You turn your head to him resting next to you, his forearm covering his closed eyes, his chest rising and falling quickly, his leg dangling off the edge of the bed. He’s so handsome you want to bite him. The man had a full day of work and then rocked your world. You find it incredibly hot but also feel guilty for exhausting him even more.

You watch Mr Miller for a few moments, warmth spreading in your belly and chest, until he takes a deep breath, opens his eyes and turns his head to you.

“Dad?” Jack calls impatiently, hurrying the man to leave but Joel doesn’t spare him a glance and asks you,

“How you feelin’, baby?”

He nods down at your pussy but you know he’s asking about your butt.

“I’m ok.” You squirm on the bed, trying to access your state. “A little sore but good.”

“Good,” Joel repeats with a warm smile. You’re staring at each other silently, his gaze soft and warm, grinning like two fools. You want to kiss him but stop yourself. It’s inappropriate.

Then you remember where his cock was just a few minutes ago and giggle.

“What is it?” Joel asks, his eyes dart between yours and then slide to your lips.

You shake your head, silence thick and loaded between you two.

Jack rips it apart as he clears his throat.

“Thanks, dad. Fucking hell. You can go now.”

He gets up from the chair and crosses his arms, frowning at the two of you. You wonder if he’s going to break up with you after this. Whatever.

Joel sits up with a grunt and gets out of the bed. He sways a little and you smile proudly — you did it to him.

“Thank you, Mr Miller.” You sit up, holding the sheet over your body. He zips up his jeans and winks,

“Don’t mention it, baby.”

Jack scoffs. Joel heads to the door but as he passes his son he pauses.

“Get her a wet towel. And some water,” he commands. “So .. if she took my cock, she wouldn’t even notice yours. You’re welcome.”

With that he pats his son’s shoulder and leaves.

Who needs Jack, amirite? Maybe Joel can teach them something else?🤔 Thank you for reading! Please, leave a comment and reblog if you enjoyed the story💞

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“Where?” He chokes, his chest rumbling with groans, and you wrap your arms around his broad back and press your naked tits to him, mumbling into his ear, “Inside my ass, Mr Miller. Please.” His whole body tenses up over you and he begins squirting his hot cum deep inside your butt. The warmth of his load fills you more and more, every erratic thrust of his cock pushes the sticky spent back into you and you hold him tight, wishing to be stuffed to the brim.

oh 💀 🫠

“Dad, put your dick away,” Jack grumbles.

The excitement and energy of the new week that usually managed to pull you through until at least Wednesday was gone by exactly 1 p.m. on Monday.

“What do you mean you didn’t even start drafting it?”

The senior consultant’s face was completely still, as if the Teams call was frozen.

“Sorry, I just had a busy week. I can start it right now after the call, actually,” they finally moved to explain.

They didn’t even look apologetic—it was as if the update call with you was just a mere annoyance, a silly interruption.

You took a deep breath and instinctively crossed your blazer-clad arms on your chest.

Was it your age? The guy could have graduated with you— not that you’d remember him from those days. You were busy then, first with your internship, then getting the fast track promotion to full-time consultant, senior consultant, and finally, convincing the partners to make you a manager. You were still so young—a kid by most of your work colleague standards—but you were his superior, and deservedly so. He must have known this.

Was it a gender thing then? Did he not take you seriously because you were not only young, but a woman, too? The consulting world, despite all the DEI bullshit the HR was feeding you, was still very much a man’s world. Some women were just mean enough to thrive in it while others were slowly eaten by it. But no, you didn’t actually think your project was not progressing because of misogyny.

The sad truth was, and you wholeheartedly believed in it, that no one cared as much as you did. No one wanted to work for this as much as you did, no one was focused on this as much as you and most certainly, no one could ever do their part up to your standard. It just wasn’t possible and you knew it and because of this, you didn’t even resent them for it.

“That’s okay David, I can just handle it from now,” you sighed.

“But I said I could start now,” he said, with a puzzled look.

“I prefer to take over now. It’s okay, it’s not a punishment,” you explained. “I’ll let you know if I need anything.”

“Sure, whatever,” he said with a slight shrug before disconnecting.

When the call ended you stared at the screen for some time before resuming your work.

You did it again—took over, sentenced yourself to doing the entire team’s work from scratch, by yourself.

Maybe this was just how you operated.

“I heard you’ve been doing everything on your own again,” Mark said it casually, like a backhanded remark, but you knew it was everything but.

You sighed audibly and inadvertently, your eyes went up to the ceiling.

“Hey, don’t sigh at me, I’m jut trying to help,” he continued, “you know it’s not possible to just do everything by yourself. Even for you.”

“I know, it’s just—”

“No, you listen to me. You’re a manager. Your job is to manage. Quit fucking doing everything from scratch, because that’s not what you’re paid for.”

“Wow.”

“I’m sorry, I know it sounds harsh,” he said, “but you had to hear it.”

“I prefer to do draft the deliverables myself. I’m better and faster, and with them I just burn through the hours trying to explain, review, redraft…”

“Listen, we all know you’re the best. But at this level, we expect you to manage the team and to sell to the clients. You know it, too.”

You stared at him blankly.

“Im just saying this, because I want you to get promoted, I really do,” he continued. “You’d be the youngest director this firm has ever had, just think about it.”

“I know that.”

“But right now you are, and I say it as your friend, a bit of a control freak,” he said, “And it’s standing in your way.”

The call continued and you discussed other issues, but you weren’t entirely present anymore. Your stomach sank and your hands pawed at your elbows, anxiously crumpling the sleeves of your blazer.

The day was finally over, the blazer thrown carelessly on the couch and half a glass of wine was waiting for you at the coffee table, but you were still mulling over Mark’s words.

A control freak.

One couldn’t really argue with him, he was right about it. Right about you.

You were a perfectionist. You liked having everything under your control. You preferred to do everything by yourself. You didn’t trust anyone to do anything half as good as you’d do it.

And you were entirely aware of that, it wasn’t some new revelation. Hell, you knew you often micro-managed people on your team—you couldn’t help it sometimes. Most of times however, you didn’t even do that—you just straight up did all the work by yourself, staying after hours, fixing everything on your own.

You were lost in thoughts about work when an entirely different image flashed in your mind. Joel—in your kitchen, with his strong arms, steady voice, his soft commands and rough thrusts into your mouth when you kneeled for him on the floor. Joel—lifting you up, bending you over, holding your hair. Joel—praising you for being good for him.

And then, you—soft, pliant, obedient. You—on the floor, on your knees, on the counter and folded over it, like a rag doll, handled by him. You—with thick haze clouding your mind, making you dizzy and satiated and finally calm.

Back in that moment you weren’t a control freak. You gave away the control and trusted someone—not with a project or a proposal slide deck, or a deliverable, but with yourself. You trusted someone—Joel—and you let him take over and it was the best you’d felt in ages.

Then, you remembered, when you had come down from that high, the uneasiness finally hit you. You realised you lost control. Hell, no, you freely gave it away.

It was a new feeling and a scary one. Scary enough to kick the guy outside the door like some psycho.

But you didn’t want to think about the scary implications yet. The thought of Joel instantly took you out of the work induced anxiety and back to the scenes that replayed in the back of your mind throughout the day, at the most inconvenient moments.

Your bare knees on the cold kitchen tiles, his hand tangled in your hair, the tip of his cock hitting the back of his four throat when his hips bucked. You, bent over and pressed down on the kitchen countertop, your face against the stone, your thighs parted, hips held down. The intrusion of his thick fingers inside you.

You shivered at the memories again. It was embarrassing, really, how wet you were getting again thinking of being physically held down by Joel. Even worse, how feral it made you when he talked to you—whispering filth, commanding you, praising you.

He fucking called you a good girl.

And you loved it.

You stirred in your sleep, disturbed by a faint buzzing sound. Something rattled, and just as soon as the sound appeared, it stopped, followed by brief silence, during which you almost fell asleep again. You barely even closed your eyes and there it was again—a quiet buzz amplified by rattling against a piece of furniture. A beat of silence, and again.

Annoyed by the recurring noise, you finally opened your eyes, trying to accommodate your sight to the darkness in the room. You glanced at your phone on the nightstand to check the time and quickly discovered the source of the disturbance.

It was 3:15 a.m. and in the past 10 minutes you received five consecutive text messages from no other person than Joel Miller.

3:05 a.m.

Joel: Hey

3:06 a.m.

Sorry I know it’s late

3:07 a.m.

Joel: You sure you ok?

3:10 a.m.

Joel: I’m sorry for yesterday

3:12 a.m.

Joel: Didn’t treat you right

The three dots appeared again, indicating he was not done with the conversation yet. You observed the screen, restless to see what he meant, but he seemed to hesitate for a while.

3:17 a.m.

Joel: Tell me to fuck off and I will

You closed your eyes with a sigh and opened them again, looking to the ceiling as if the answers to your dilemmas could appear there.

You could just not respond—it was 3 a.m. after all—or just text him back something brief and casual. You could do that, but you didn’t.

Pressing the call button you took in a deep breath, bracing yourself for whatever this conversation would be.

He picked up after two rings.

“Joel?” You asked when you heard silence on the other side.

“Shit, I woke you up?” He asked, his voice raspy and shaky but very much awake.

“Yeah, kind of.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

You both fell silent for a moment, not really knowing what to say next.

“It’s okay,” you said, “are you okay?”

He didn’t sound okay and frankly, he couldn’t be, sending you these panicky, cryptic texts at 3 a.m.

“I was an asshole yesterday. And I’m sorry.”

You frowned at his words, perplexed by the whole situation, unable to figure out what he meant. You replayed your last encounter on fast forward in your head wondering what he could possibly mean, what he thought he did wrong. Making you come twice and asking you if you were okay every two seconds were far from asshole behaviour in your books.

If anything, you were the one who basically kicked him out of your door—and the thought brought back the shame and guilt you had felt in that moment, that you hadn’t let yourself dwell on since it happened.

“Joel, you didn’t do anything wrong,” you muttered.

“Course I did,” he interrupted you, “I told myself I wouldn’t and I still did.”

He sounded rattled, hurt, but also something else too—for the quiet guy he was, he almost rambled, and he slurred his words while he did it.

“Have you been drinking?” You asked.

“Couple of beers.”

A sigh escaped your lips.

“Joel, I’m not sure what you mean, but it’s literally okay. Now go, sleep.”

“Told myself I wouldn’t take advantage of you and then I did anyway,” he mumbled.

You rolled your eyes slightly in disbelief.

“Joel, we’re both adults. I invited you to come over. We hooked up, it was nice, and that’s it.”

“But it wasn’t nice,” he said quickly.

You raised your brows at the statement. Deep down you knew what he meant, you anticipated it—some misdirected guilt for corrupting you—but still, an ugly, insecure instinct surfaced first. You weren’t good enough, he didn’t enjoy it. You fell onto your knees for him on the floor and let him rail your mouth senseless until he came down your throat and it was still not good enough, you were still not good enough for him.

“I wasn’t nice to you,” he quickly continued, “Didn’t treat you right—”

“Hey, hey, stop,” it was your turn to interrupt him. “Joel, I liked what we did. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But I did and then you made me leave,” he slurred.

Oh. So that was what this was about.

“It had nothing to do with what you did.”

“I didn’t want to scare you. Make you do anything you didn’t want,” he continued, as if he hadn’t heard you.

“You didn’t.”

He fell silent for a moment, but you could hear him breathing.

“I’m sorry for kicking you out like this,” you continued. “I didn’t know what to do. I don’t… usually do that,” you said. “But I liked it.”

He was still silent and you wondered if he fell asleep on you.

“I liked it so much I kept thinking about it today,” the thought slipped out before you could swallow it down.

“You did?” He asked, very much not asleep.

“Yeah.”

You hesitated for a second. Were you still trying to reassure him or was it something else entirely? You were ready to take the risk.

“Thought about getting on my knees for you.”

“Fuck.”

“Thought about how felt in my mouth,” you muttered, lowering your voice almost down to a whisper.

“Christ, sweetheart. You liked it?”

“I did,” you said, “I liked the way you talked to me.”

“Yeah? You liked being good for me?”

“Yeah I liked it. So much.”

“What else?”

The shift in the mood and his sudden eagerness rubbed off on you, and the initial awkwardness was gone.

“I thought about how you pinned me down on the counter. How hard you made me come.”

“Fuck. I think about it too,” he muttered, almost breathless.

“I wanted you to—“

“Hey, stop. Please stop,” he suddenly interrupted you, his voice sounding stern and serious and somehow almost sober.

“What’s going on?” You asked, confused.

“I can’t. Not like this.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ll just feel like an asshole again. Waking you up drunk in the middle of the night, using you to make myself feel better.”

“What do you want then?”

“Want to do it right. Take my time with you. Want you to take what I give you. Let me take care of you.”

“I want that. I just don’t know if I could… do that.”

“Just let me know, okay. When you’re ready to do it my way?”

“I will.”

“Night, sweetheart.”

The call ended and you were left staring at the ceiling again in confusion.

The next few days were a blur. Work, teams calls, team meetings, proposal slide decks, deadlines, deliverables. Rinse and repeat.

You operated as if on autopilot, waking up early, opening your laptop before everyone else, eating your lunch your desk, finishing only in the evening when everyone logged off.

In the evenings you discarded the blazer, poured yourself half a glass of white wine, drank it while watching mind-numbing reality tv and went to sleep early.

When tucked in bed, in the dark with your alarm set you tossed and turned for an hour or so, thinking about the next day or the tasks on your never ending to-do list. Sometimes when you fell asleep you woke up again a few minutes later, feeling as if you were falling down, bracing for the inevitable impact.

You didn’t let yourself think of Joel.

Apart from a morning update call with a client—which could have been an e-mail if said client actually read and comprehended any of your e-mails—you had blocked the entire Friday in your calendar. The blue block read “conference prep” and it made you feel like someone important enough to speak at a conference and not to be disturbed while you worked the speech. You enjoyed the feeling.

The slides were almost ready, they just needed some polishing, but it was the the actual speech you were still worried about.

You stared at the name of the panel they managed to get you into—“Navigating the Next Wave: AI, Digital Transformation, and the Future of Competitive Strategy”

What a load of bullshit.

You alternated between crossing out words and adding new sentences and trying to practice it out loud. It sounded like bullshit—long sentences heavy with buzz words, but ultimately devoid of any actual meaning—and therefore it sounded like everything you did and what the investors and CEOs in attendance will want to hear.

Pacing through your apartment you presented the speech out loud, going over the same sentences twice, throwing out words and adding others. It wasn’t only bullshit in substance, your unconvincing delivery was shit too.

You imagined yourself on the stage, in your stupid suit and heels, surrounded by other panelists—a middle-aged CEO of a bank, a self-made Silicone Valley tech startup founder, a well-known PhD from MIT, a Venture Capital investor.

All of these serious people and you—a 29 year old consultant. A fraud in a suit with some hollow word soup nobody would care about because they knew you were selling an overpriced product you didn’t know shit about.

You realised two things then—first, you were pacing the apartment picking apart yourself and your merit and not really practicing anything, second, you were sweating profusely.

You stopped in your tracks and pulled on your blazer sleeves, to throw it on the couch. Undressing didn’t help much—it was hot and you felt your neck and face going red and shiny.

This could be another anxiety attack or maybe even a stroke—you also thought of a heart attack, but you heart was not pounding for once—but quickly you realised it was something else. Something less medically concerning, but somehow more inconvenient.

The AC was buzzing choked sounds, as if it was actively dying on you in the middle of your presentation.

“Please, no,” you muttered to yourself while touching the vents to see if the air flow was there. And it was—but the air pumped into the room was hot instead of cold.

You closed your eyes and let your head fall against the wall for a second in quiet frustration. You knew what had to be done and it was the last thing you wanted to do.

You wanted to see him, you were meaning to reach out to him after the week was over. You didn’t know what you wanted to say to him yet, but you knew you wanted him here again. What you definitely didn’t want was to call him for another stupid emergency like a coward.

It seemed you had no other choice. You pulled out your phone.

Hey.

Would you believe me if I told you my AC is down again?

Joel: Hey

Joel: I probably wouldn’t

Too bad cause it’s true

You opened the camera app and snapped a quick video of the AC unit which fortunately for you, was still making the weird sounds.

Joel: Took a wrench to it?

I swear I didn’t

Joel: Want me to come over?

The image of his last visit flashed in your mind.

Joel: To fix it?

Well it was good he clarified.

If you don’t mind.

Joel: I don’t.

Joel: Be there in an hour

You didn’t let yourself over prepare for his visit. He wasn’t even visiting you, just stopping by to fix your shit again. It was just maintenance.

The hour passed quickly, when you paced the apartment muttering the speech to yourself and fanning your flushed face with your notes.

Then he was there again—at your door, looking like he did when you met him the first time. Work clothes, toolbox, Miller HVAC cap. A stray curl escaping it. A warm smile greeting you.

“Hi.”

“Hey there,” he greeted you warmly. “You’d think we’d have standing appointment for this thing already.”

He was in a good mood, a stark contrast to your nervous energy.

“Yeah or maybe I should just replace it.”

“Nah, don’t do that. If it’s the only way I get to see you, so be it,” he replied, shooting you another smile.

He said it in a lighthearted way, but your face flushed with guilt. It had been a few days since your 3 a.m. call and only know you realised he’d been waiting for you to reach out since.

“Joel, I’m sorry for not—

“That’s okay, I’m just joking,” he interrupted you, his voice soft and soothing. “I’m here to fix it, okay?”

“Sure.”

He passed you on his way to the machine and set the toolbox down on the floor in a practiced move you’ve seen him do a few times now. Before he took out the tools, he turned to you.

“You can go back to work if you want and I’ll holler when I’m done?”

You nodded. The idea of sitting there next to him in silence, waiting for the other one to pick up your last conversation was nauseating.

“I’m prepping for something so I’ll just be in the bedroom okay?”

“Sure.”

It was even worse to pace through your small, stuffy bedroom, trying to practice the speech while Joel was working on the AC in the other room.

You could hear the turns of the screwdriver and Joel shifting his weight on the ladder—which only meant he could hear you talking to yourself about the damn digital transformation.

Any kind of embarrassment was ridiculous and misplaced—you were after all preparing to give the speech to a ball room full of CEOs and investors, it made no sense that it embarrassed you that a repairman could hear you.

He was not some repairman though, he was Joel.

You mumbled the speech yet again, trying not to speak too loud.

Just as expected, you failed at not grabbing his attention and soon enough he called your name.

You emerged from the bedroom, hoping he would say he was done and ready to go.

“I’m almost done here,” he said, putting his tools back to the toolbox. “Who you talkin’ to in there?”

“Oh, no one. Just—“ you pointed to the papers in your hand.

You were pleased to notice the air blowing from the AC was finally cool against your skin again.

“To yourself?”

“Kind of. Practicing this speech I’m giving at a conference.”

“Some big fancy thing?”

“Yes it kind of is. I’m the youngest speaker this year.”

“That’s impressive. What you speaking about?”

“Digital transformation of business in the era of AI,” you said quickly, then noticed his raised brows. “Artificial intelligence,” you added.

“Won’t pretend I know what any of this means, but I’m still impressed.”

You smiled at him involuntarily.

“Do you mind? I should go through it once again when you’re finishing here,” you said, eager to get out of his sight again. “It’s kind of stressing me out.”

“No, go on.”

He turned back to the toolbox and wiped his hands on the towel, while you sneaked away to your bedroom again.

Once you were behind the door you wanted to just wait it out, but you knew he was listening to you. You had to practice the speech again.

You started with the opening—which you thought was the strongest part but it still not good enough—and tried to speak with at least an ounce of confidence.

“We’re at an inflection point where digital transformation is no longer an optional lever — it’s a core driver of enterprise value.”

You stopped and frowned. What sounded so strong on paper wasn’t working so well when you said out loud. A lever? The word sounded stupid and you needed something sleeker.

“We’re at an inflection point where digital transformation is no longer discretionary — it’s a core driver of enterprise value.”

It was better, sharper. You continued, almost satisfied.

“But what we see in the data is a widening gap between companies that experiment with AI and those that are actually capturing value at scale—”

You stopped again. Capturing value at scale? What the fuck did hat even mean? Maybe unlocking enterprise-wide value could sound better. You mouthed the new sentence but it still didn’t work.

You tried again from the start.

“We’re at an inflection point where digital transformation is no longer discretionary — it’s a core driver of enterprise value,” you recited the opening, “but what we see in the data is a widening gap between companies that experiment with AI and those that are actually capturing value at scale.”

You paused again. Recited the first sentence again, worried it wasn’t as good as you thought it would be after the subtle change. Maybe the lever thing wasn’t so bad after all?

Joel’s voice took you out of your thoughts and you were harshly reminded you’d spent the past 20 minutes trying to practice the first two sentences of an otherwise 10 minute speech.

“Can you come here for a sec?”

“Yeah, coming.”

You emerged from the door again, ready to finally let him out of your apartment, but were surprised to see he didn’t look like he was going anywhere.

“Can I hear it?” He asked.

“What?”

“Your speech. Present it to me?”

You raised your brows and your arms flew to your chest to instinctively cross in a guarded pose.

“No, it’s boring. You wouldn’t…”

“Understand half the words? Yeah, I know. But I want to hear you present it.”

The way he said it signalised something changed during these 20 minutes you were locked in the bedroom. His warm and light demeanour changed, shifted into something else. Still soft and warm but also steady, grounded, stern even.

“Joel, I can’t, it’s just not ready yet…”

“That’s okay. I want to hear this version you have right now.”

He moved slowly, as if you were a deer, standing confused in the middle of the road but ready to bolt anytime something moved too fast. You thought he’d walk towards you, but he went for the couch and sat there, with one arm on the back rest and his legs slightly spread.

You stood in front of him and looked at him confused. He was so sweet not half an hour ago and now he almost looked intimidating, but you weren’t scared of him. Instead you felt something pulling you towards him, like a magnetic field.

“Hey, I won’t make you do that. I can go if you want me to,” he said softly, “but it seems like you’re overthinking and I think you need this right now,” he continued slowly, as if choosing each word carefully.

“I want to,” you replied, your arms still guarding your frame, “it’s just really fucking awkward.”

“Come here,” he beckoned you.

You stepped closer towards him, your knees almost bumping into his.

“Closer.”

You shot him another confused look, but suddenly there was a hand on your waist, gently guiding you to his lap. Your body didn’t offer any resistance, it just let him pull you straight down to straddle him on the couch, your face just inches from his.

“Good girl,” he drawled, sending shivers down your spine.

You stared into his half lidded eyes for a while when finally his hand cupped your face and his lips met yours in a gentle, teasing kiss. His lips were parted against yours, but they barely even grazed your mouth only to pull away, and again.

“Joel, please—” you whined against his lips, chasing them when he backed off again.

“Nuh-uh, speech first,” he murmured.

You leaned back and both his hands landed on your waist, steading you, his thumbs slipping under your tank top to rub your skin. You wanted to put up more of a fight but something about his touch and the look he gave you made you go along with this.

“We’re at an inflection point where digital transformation is no longer an optional lever,” you recited, “no, not a lever. Sorry, again.”

“Hey, no. No stopping. No re-dos. Just present it to me,” he said, “and louder.”

You shifted in his lap, adjusting yourself nervously, but his hands held you steady in place.

“We’re at an inflection point where digital transformation is no longer discretionary—it’s a core driver of enterprise value. But what we see in the data is a widening gap between companies that experiment with AI and those that are actually capturing value at scale.”

Your voice was steadier now, louder. His thumbs rubbed your waist soothingly and his eyes never left yours. It felt so strange and so good.

“Closing that gap requires a fundamental rethinking of operating models and capital allocation. In one of our recent strategy engagements the CEO’s ambition was to ‘go digital.’ But when we mapped their investment portfolio, 80 percent of capital expenditures were still directed toward legacy processes. The strategy pivot we recommended wasn’t about spending more—it was about reallocating capital toward transformation enablers that could unlock scalability”.

For a moment you felt as if you weren’t in your own body—as if you were standing right next to yourself, watching you present the speech. Your back was straight as an arrow, your hands free to gesture along with your words, your eyes glinting with ambition. For a moment you were who you always strived to be.

“Do you know what happened after six months? Nothing happened, because strategic change does not happen within six months. Within eighteen months, however, they saw a 12 percent margin expansion.”

Joel looked at you in an unreadable expression of concentration, awe and something else you couldn’t name yet. You felt seen, heard and desired, and you were drunk on the feeling.

You continued with your speech and it was perfect—or no, the speech wasn’t perfect yet, it needed tweaking, some word changes, some tightening—but you were perfect in its delivery. Sharp, confident, engaging—and you saw the reflection of that person in Joel’s eyes.

When you finished the last sentence you looked at him in anticipation.

“Thank you sweetheart,” he drawled, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “you did so good for me.”

“I did?” The question slipped out before you could stop it.

“Yes, you were perfect. So smart. So fucking smart, they’ll be lucky to listen to you,” he cooed.

You looked down, giddy with the praise but embarrassed by your reaction.

“It’s just a stupid speech about what we’re selling. No one will actually be there to listen to me,” you muttered.

“Don’t do that. Just let me.”

“Okay.”

You looked up to meet his gaze. He looked at you with the same longing as before, but his brows were furrowed as if he was silently settling some debate with himself.

“Sweetheart, I want to touch you now, but I need you to tell me I can,” he whispered, “need you to tell you want me to.”

You nodded eagerly.

“Words, baby.”

“Yes. Yes, touch me,” you whispered, “please.”

“Want to take care of you. Will you let me?”

You nodded again.

“Tell me if you don’t like something?”

Another nod.

His lips were finally back on yours, in an open-mouthed kiss. You gasped at his touch and melted into him, your body slumping against his, your mouth open for him to lick into.

His mouth moved to your neck, kissing and lapping at your skin, drawing out short-breathed gasps and short giggles, when you braced yourself on his arms, your hands clutching his biceps.

Soon his hands were toying with the hem of your top, his eyes silently asking you for permission—which you gladly gave him, wiggling out of the garment only to pull on his t-shirt to get it off of him as well. He took off your bra and you pressed into him, longing for feeling his bare skin with yours.

His mouth travelled down from your neck to your breasts, kissing and licking at the skin.

“So pretty,” he murmured against your sternum while his hands gently cupped the underside of your breasts, lifting them up to meet his lips.

Finally, he lapped at your nipple with the tip of his tongue, while rubbing the other between his fingers. Your back arched as if of cue and you gasped at the sensation.

“Yeah, you like this?” He cooed between the kitten licks he gave your stiff nub.

You couldn’t even find the words to respond to him—your mind busy with the sensation of his tongue on your breasts and the seeping wetness between your thighs, where you were grinding against him.

He was hard in his jeans, his erection pressing between your legs, making you gasp each time you bucked your hips into him.

Suddenly, his mouth was off of you, and before you could protest, his hands gripped you hard and flipped you over on your back in a swift, smooth move. You gasped again, louder, from the sudden movement and the thrill of being manhandled as if you were some little thing—which you clearly weren’t, it was him that was big.

He positioned himself between your thighs and pressed you down into the couch, attacking your neck and collarbones with his mouth again. He trailed wet kisses along your throat, then lower, on your chest, licked your breasts again, earning soft whimpers from you. He didn’t stop there this time, licking and kissing down your body, along your sides and your stomach, stopping at the waistband of your shorts.

He looked up again, a silent question in his gaze. You nodded eagerly and soon he was pulling your shorts down and sending them flying through the room.

Soon, he lowered himself even further, his face between your thighs, kissing and nibbling on the sensitive skin there. Your hands found his head, fingers slipping into his hair, clutching at it while he teased you, his mouth closing over you through your soaked panties.

“Joel,” you mewled.

“Yes, baby?”

“Off, take it off,” you urged him.

He didn’t at first—instead, he lifted the gusset of your panties just enough to get his tongue under it, giving you a first teasing lick. You gasped at the sensation, needing more.

“Please.”

Finally, he yanked your panties from your hips, throwing them somewhere in the direction where your shorts landed. You were laid completely bare before him, dripping between your thighs, your chest moving with every short breath.

He looked up, catching your gaze, silently checking for your approval. You suppressed a laugh that tried to escape—not really knowing why you found this funny in the first place. It shouldn’t be—him constantly checking in on you, always asking for your consent. Some times it made you feel stupid, like a child or a blushing virgin, but maybe you just felt you didn’t deserve it. You nodded instead, with your fingers tight in his curls in anticipation.

Finally, he was there. His mouth wide open on you, savouring you like a juicy, dripping peach. Enveloping your folds in his lips, sucking on them, while his tongue traced your slit. You whined at the feeling, bucking your hips instinctively.

“Stay still, sweetheart,” he murmured against your pussy, his command making you go limp against the couch pillows.

He ate you like a man starved, with his entire mouth, pressed into your core, his nose squished against your pubic bone, your slick running down his chin. You couldn’t do anything but pull on his hair, and let out silent, breathy ohs. You wanted to keep him there forever.

“Joel, I’m gonna,” you whined.

He didn’t let go of you, keeping his pace and locking the rhythm of his licks against your clit until you were convulsing against him, your entire body arching and flexing, your fingers almost pulling out his hair, your pussy fluttering against his tongue to the beat of your racing heart.

Your mind went blank for a moment and when you came back he was still between your thighs, kissing the skin around your folds, occasionally grazing them with his mouth.

You pulled on his hair again, urging him back up. He moved towards your face, resting himself on his forearms. He looked disheveled, his hair wild from all the pulling, his mouth glistening with you, coating his wide smile.

“Hey, you,” he whispered.

“Hey.” You smiled back at him.

He kissed you again, wet but slow, drawn out. His hips were between your thighs, and you felt the bulge in his jeans rut against your naked core. The feeling of stretched denim on your bare, wet core sent another shiver through your body, making you deepen the kiss, and pull his body closer to you.

He tried to move his hips away from you, but your legs flew up to wrap around him, urging you closer again.

“What do you want, sweetheart?”

“You,” you muttered between the kisses.

“Where do you want me, baby?”

“Want you inside me.”

He ground into you harder, with a quiet groan.

“Christ. You sure?”

Your eyes were on yours again and you nodded—you needed it.

“Bed?”

Another nod.

He grabbed you and lifted you to his lap again, and before you could say anything he hoisted you up, with your legs rapped around him, carrying you towards your bedroom. Your head spun from the swiftness of the movement and the shock of being so effortlessly handled and carried around by him.

He laid you down on the bed gently and climbed back on top of you, while you scrambled to unbuckle his belt and undo his pants. Soon, he was kicking his jeans off along with his boxers and finally, you were both bare against each other, kissing, licking, grinding.

“Wait,” he muttered against your lips and for a second you were afraid he’d back off, say he shouldn’t do that.

He peeled himself off of you and hopped off the bed, and outside of the bedroom, leaving you confused and anxious, but soon he was back in the room, back on the bed, back on your body. In his hand you noticed the glinting of a condom wrapper.

“Is it standard toolbox equipment?” You asked with a smile between his kisses.

“Only for my favourite client,” he whispered into your neck.

Your laugh was cut off with his mouth again on yours, when he pulled off and locked his eyes with yours.

“Ready?”

“Yeah,” you nodded eagerly again.

You parted your legs for him, when he kneeled between your thighs, rolling the condom on his erection. You were reminded how big he was—it felt big in your mouth the last time, but it looked even more intimidating now. You squirmed in anticipation.

His hands steadied your hips when his cock nudged your entrance, collecting the wetness pooling there. You nodded again, biting your lip and he nodded back at you, to slowly inch forward, entering you. You gasped at the stretch and clung onto his arms.

He noticed you wince and stopped halfway.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, just—big,” you uttered, trying to steady your breath.

“Now you’re just saying that,” he said with a warm smile.

“No, trust me, I’m not,” you said through your teeth, your fingers digging into his biceps.

“Want me to pull out?”

“No, no—stay. Just… Give me a second.”

He stilled his hips and his hand traveled down your body, reaching where you were joined together. Suddenly his fingers were on you, gently rubbing your folds and circling your clit. The uncomfortable stretch of him breaching you was slowly being replaced with raw, tingly pleasure.

You let out a quiet whimper and bucked you hips experimentally.

“No, no, no. Keep still for me,” he murmured, his other hand landing on your hip, pinning it to the bed.

The soft command paired with the grip on your hip almost made your brain short-circuit. Your body went limp and your head fell back, lost in the unexpected sensation. He still didn’t thrust into you—he just stayed there, keeping you stretched and full—his hips completely still while his fingers rubbed you closer and closer towards your climax.

“Good. You like this,” he said, with a smug smile.

You wanted to roll your eyes at him. Talk back at him. Wipe the smugness off his face. But you couldn’t. He was right. You liked it. You loved it.

“I know, baby” he said softly.

You didn’t need much after that. He focused on your clit now, rubbing it back and forth, until your thighs started shaking. It built slowly and gradually and when it hit, it was a full-body experience—from your walls pulsing and clenching around him, through your core and down to your fingers and toes. Your back arched involuntarily and you let out a closed-mouth whine.

When you came back from your climax, he was still right there where you’d left him—the smug smile even wider now, and his hands caressing down your sides.

He leaned down and kissed you, wet and messy, his tongue sliding under your top lip. You reached for his hair again, your fingers locking on his curls.

“Ready?” He asked you, whispering straight into your ear, sending goosebumps down your neck.

You didn’t even register the question, much less think of an answer, when his hands were back on your hips and he thrust into you.

You gasped—half from surprise, half from the stretch of it, even after your orgasm. His eyes met yours and his hand moved to your face, holding up your chin, checking in without words. You nodded, breathless and flushed.

The initial discomfort was gone now, your walls stretching around him and letting him in deeper with ease. Still, it was the fullest you’ve ever felt.

His thrusts were fast, frantic. The quiet restraint seemed to have left the room now and he was gone too—fucking you with a brutal pace while holding your hips down in place.

Your hands found his arms again and you held onto them, anchoring yourself to him. He had other plans for them, as he let go of your hips, and grabbed your hands instead, without stopping or slowing down. You shot him a puzzled look, while he moved your hands down and placed them under your knees. Oh.

“Legs up. Hold yourself open for me,” he murmured, his eyes locked with yours. “Okay?”

A tidal wave of arousal hit your body, leaving your face hot to the touch. You immediately obeyed, lifting up your legs, bent at the knees and held them spread with your hands. This was filthy. You loved it.

He moved upright on his knees and drove into you even harder now, his hands possessively running down your body, palming your breasts and gripping your waist.

You felt high—like you were floating, your mind entirely blank, your senses for once entirely present in the moment. The mix of sensations, the obscenity of your position, the surrender, his frantic thrusts so hard your bed was thumping against the wall—all of it combined made you unravel before him. Every part of you—stiff, guarded and polished was dragged out and laid bare under him now.

One, two, three more thrusts and he was coming, with his face scrunched up and his mouth open in a silent, suppressed moan.

He stilled against you, his mouth on yours again, not really fully kissing, just breathing into each other, your heartbeats thumping to the same rhythm, your limbs tangled.

For a while, there was nothing on your mind apart from the sounds of the soft buzzing of the AC and his slowing breaths.