Your phone pings with a text notification exactly twenty four hours after you left Joel’s house, exactly twenty four hours after you ran away. You didn’t read it straight away, you couldn’t face what you imagined to be a rejection. So, you turned your phone over so the screen was out of view and busied yourself with a deep clean of the house, you changed bed sheets, cleaned the bathroom and the kitchen, hoovered and mopped the floors but you still saw his face when you blinked, his dark eyes engraved into your eyelids. You showered, washed your hair and aggressively cleaned your body, but you still felt Joel’s trail of lingering kisses burning your skin. Unable to uselessly distract yourself any longer, you picked up your phone and opened the text message from Joel. 

Everything ok, sweetheart? You kinda rushed off on me. Call me :) 

Reading the text, you struggled to gather your thoughts and make sense of your feelings. It wasn’t a rejection, a hey i don't think we should see eachother anymore text, but it didn’t give you any answers either. He seemed so nonchalant, so blase, as if you hadn’t opened up to him about your feelings at all, as if he hadn't completely and utterly confused you. 

Unsure of what to respond, you decide against responding all together, for now, at least. You didn’t feel as though you could call him, you couldn’t even decide on words to send him in a text, there was no way your brain would be able to conjure up a response in real time over the phone. So, you put your phone down again and got through the rest of your weekend, trying not to think about him. 

Nothing had changed between you and Marcus, not that you expected it to, you lived like roommates, as if you shared this house and nothing more. He came home late on Saturday night and was out of the house before you woke up on Sunday morning, not even giving you a chance to ask where he was going, although you weren’t sure you would, given the chance. 

Monday came and went, with little to no interaction with Marcus, piles of work that you had to get done and a missed call from Joel. You didn’t see the call until an hour later and were too swamped to call back, so you left it. That night after work, you contemplated calling him back, Marcus wasn’t home so you didn't have to worry about him hearing, but you were at a loss for words. You had no idea what to say to Joel, but worse than your lack of words were your nerves. You were nervous as to what his words would be, so you didn’t call. 

The next day at work was quieter, you didn’t have to eat your lunch at your desk while you worked so you went for a walk on your lunch break, sitting in the park not far from the office with your lunch. As you sat down, you felt your phone vibrating and, fishing it out of your back pocket, read Joel’s name in bold font across your phone screen. Staring at the writing for a few seconds and taking a deep breath, you answered the phone, unable to avoid him any longer. You held the phone up to your ear and watched a bird fly out of a hole in a tree, internally wondering if it was fleeing the nest, like you wanted to and spoke a quiet, “Hi.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” his gruff voice sent shivers down your back, “what's goin’ on, are you ok?”

“I’m ok,” you sigh, mentally kicking yourself for your inability to just let it out, and pause before continuing, “are you?”

“Yeah, I’m just at work,” there was a brief pause, a beat of silence where you both held your phones to your ears, thinking of the right words to say. “Listen, when we were talking that night, I panicked… I kinda froze, I guess.” His voice was apologetic, his normally confident speech was broken into parts by breaks and pauses, stutters and stammers, as if he had thought of what to say beforehand but had more words on his mind. “I shoulda’ said more, I just got nervous,” you heard him take a sip of a drink before continuing, “it’s been years since I’ve felt anything for anyone and…. It's a little weird feelin’ this way for a married woman,” he released a small chuckle at his words, “but I’d be an idiot not to see what happens.”

“I…. Joel I don’t really know what to say,” you answered truthfully, you wished that words would come to your mind, any words other than the ones you spoke, but none did. You were so taken aback by his speech that nothing was coming out of your mouth. Luckily, Joel filled the silence.

“Sarah’s stayin’ at a friends again on Friday. Do ya’ wanna come over?” He asked before quickly adding, “I’ll cook.” As if you needed any more convincing. 

“I’d love to,” you said, your smile steadily widening as you spoke. 

“And bring some clothes to sleep in this time,” he added, and although his voice was as deep and gruff as ever, you swore you could hear his smile.

“I’d rather wear your clothes to sleep, honestly,” you retorted before saying your goodbyes, with Joel promising to check in with you in a couple days. 

After the conversation, Joel was feeling better. His thoughts were still clouded by you, but they were no longer negative. He no longer worried he’d ruined everything by shutting down that night, but his worries were persistent when it came to his feelings. It had been so long since he had felt anything other than lust for a woman, so long since he had wanted to cater to a woman, so long since the word relationship had crossed his mind. This was terrifying for Joel already, but factoring in the fact that you were married to another man made it so much worse. He knew you were unhappy with your husband but he didn't know your plans, he didn't know what you saw for yourself in the future. He didn’t know if you would leave your husband or stay married to him. Worst of all, he didn’t know if you thought about him, the way he thought about you. Joel could no longer ignore the rush he experienced when you were around. The dam inside him had broken and although vulnerability did not come easily to him, he was willing to be vulnerable for you, willing to be open for you. He was ready to expose his heart to you, rip it out of his chest and hold it up to you to show the speed at which it beat when you were around him. He needed to know that you felt the same. That you had to remind yourself to breathe when you saw him, just like he had to do when you looked his way. He needed to know if your heartbeat quickened when you saw him, if it synced with his when you caught eyes. 

Joel had never known a woman like you, a woman so strong, intelligent, funny and witty. Joel had never had sex as good as he did with you and Joel had never felt such a wordless connection. He felt the connection immediately, when he looked around the bar that night and found you already looking at him, he felt compelled to approach you. He felt confident under your gaze, just like he felt dizzy underneath your touch, enchanted beneath your spell. 

Joel cringed when his mind circled back to the conversation that was had in his bed, his nervous, thoughtless reaction that caused you to leave so quickly the next morning. Watching you leave like that, almost sprinting out of the house, had him reeling, searching his memories for something that would have caused it. He didn't have to backtrack for long, his short answer and haste kiss on the cheek was now engraved into his brain, his own voice taunting him whenever his mind was quiet. It had been so long since he felt this way that his first reaction was to sabotage himself, but he didn't want to do that anymore, he didn’t want to stand in his own way when he could have you. 

After a good day at work on Thursday, you ran into a slight problem after arriving home. You had been relying on Marcus going to his weekly guys night on Friday, so you wouldn’t have to lie about your whereabouts. So, your surprise was evident when he’d asked, almost immediately after you’d walked through the door, “How about we have a night in tomorrow? Just the two of us.”

“I thought you were going to your guys night again?” The first half of your answer was genuine, at least, “I made plans with Carrie for tomorrow,” you lied through your teeth, “think we’re gonna’ have a pamper, self care sort of night. I’m sorry.” Although you really didn’t feel sorry at all. Was he really trying now? Trying to spend more time with you, trying to pay more attention to you again? As soon as you stopped showing signs of sadness at his lack of attention, love and time spent on you, he tried to suck you back in, but when you were upset and trying your hardest to make the marriage work, he was nowhere to be found. 

“Guess I’ll go see the guys, then,” he huffed loudly, like a child unable to get their own way, and headed for the stairs. Halfway through the living room, he turned around, pointed towards the bouquet that Joel bought for you, and asked, “By the way, who got you those flowers?”. And fuck, you had completely forgotton that you decided to deal with the flowers later, not realising then that later would be almost a week later, with Marcus shooting daggers at you from across the room.

“Oh… I got them,” you began your lie, “for myself. Saw the florist after work on Friday and, I haven’t had flowers in the house in a while so,” you felt yourself starting to ramble so you cut yourself off with a shrug, your heart beating in your ears as you watched him walk away once again. 

That night, when you went to bed, the door to the guest bedroom was closed, and you could see a sliver of light underneath the door. Walking into your bedroom, the bed was empty and completely untouched, confirming your suspicions that Marcus had decided to sleep in the spare bedroom. Months ago, this distance would have clutched tightly at your heart like a fist, your eyes would have welled with tears and you would feel only despair for the end of your marriage. But looking at the empty bed, there were no tears, only a dull ache at the thought of the last 12 years spent with Marcus. A dull ache that solidified that you no longer loved him, a dull ache that announced to you that maybe you were ready to leave him. A dull ache that symbolised your decision finally being made.

Going to sleep that night, you decided that you would talk to Marcus about a divorce as soon as you could, that you would look for your own home to move into, one that wasn’t already filled with your own memories, one that hadn't housed you in your unhappiness for so long. For the first time, you slept soundly that night, and awoke excited at the prospect of being alone, of building and focusing on your own life, rather than building your life around someone else’s. 

In a shockingly good mood all throughout Friday, you weren’t surprised that you hadn’t seen Marcus all day, but you figured you would be able to talk to him about going your separate ways later on in the weekend, and instead, focused your efforts and excitement on getting ready to go to Joel’s. Opting for a comfortable outfit of denim shorts and a strappy tank top, you headed to Joel’s, nervous excitement brimming inside you. Parking in his driveway and knocking on his door had your heart almost slamming out of your chest, you thought of the last time you had been here, the way you had wanted to leave as quickly as possible. Faced with the prospect of seeing him again, being in his space, you couldn’t wait to walk through the door.

“Well don’t you look cute,” he smiled as he opened the door, moving to the side, gesturing for you to walk past him and inside the house. Taking a second to take him in, you noticed that his hair was wet, slicked back tidily at the front, but his curls were slowly forming at the back of his head, where his hair was drying quicker. He looked so handsome like this, you loved his hair when it was curly and unruly, but like this, you could see his whole face, completely unobstructed and fuck, he was beautiful. 

“You look so handsome,” you said, still taking in his appearance, “did you just get out of the shower?” He wore grey sweatpants and a black, short sleeved t-shirt that was once again, impossibly tight around his shoulders and biceps. His big, broad frame would make any shirt look tight on him, as if it were fighting not to break, not to unravel under the pressure. 

“Yeah, I did,” he answered while leading you into the living room, where the tv was playing something you couldn’t quite make out, “shame you missed it.” You were worried that you wouldn’t be able to escape the air of awkwardness, worried that the ending of your last meeting would dull the start of this one, but hearing his words and seeing his smirk reassured you that there would be no such thing.

“There’s always time for that,” you laughed as you sat on the sofa beside him and he quickly placed his arm on the back of the couch, allowing you to sink into him. “I was promised food,” you gave him a pointed look as you spoke, “what are you cooking?” 

“About that,” he looked at you sheepishly and paused, a small smile on his face, “the more I thought about what to cook, the more nervous I got so I thought we could just order somethin’.” Your grin widened at his abashed expression, finding his words absolutely adorable, and leaned into kiss him, mumbling against his mouth that you had been craving pizza anyway. Joel hummed in approval against your mouth, leaned into the kiss before pulling away to get up and ordering the pizza. He rolled his eyes when you asked for a hawaiian, but relayed the order over the phone with no complaints. 

“Said it’d be around 45 minutes, s’ a busy night,” he held your chin gently with his thumb and forefinger, turned your head to face him and softly slotted his lips with yours. His plump lips moved with yours in an easy, almost lazy rhythm as he opened your legs and moved to settle between them, allowing you to feel his already hard length. You wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him deeper into your embrace as he licked deeper into your mouth, you were so close, but you wanted more, you wanted him as close as possible. 

“Joel,” you gasped as he started grinding his length into you, the denim of your shorts adding to the friction. His lips moved down to your neck, trailing kisses down your neck to your chest, pulling you top down to expose your breasts before landing his lips on your nipple, lapping his tongue around it and sucking it into his mouth as your breathing picked up, small gasps and whimpers being released from your mouth. “Joel please,” you looked down at him as he moved on to your other breast and repeated the actions, “touch me,” you begged. 

“I am touching you, sweetheart,” you whined at his cocky response and moved your hips, grinding upwards to add friction where you needed it most. Joel looked at where you were desperately moving your hips and let out a chuckle, a chuckle that made you feel small and almost pathetic, but also made you all the more wet and needy for him. His hand trailed down your body, from your breast to the top of your denim shorts, dipping beneath the hem and circling your skin with a featherlight touch. “You want me down here, baby?” He asked as he undid the button of your shorts and started pushing them down, you instinctively lifted your hips so he could pull your shorts down completely, leaving you in your underwear, with your hard nipples exposed to Joel’s hungry gaze. Lifting your legs so that your thighs rested against your front, Joel directed your hands to the backs of your thighs and instructed, “Hold em’ right here f’me, baby,” before kneeling on the floor, positioning himself so that his face was level with your clothed pussy. Joel growled as he looked at the wet spot rapidly growing on your underwear, and you watched him with wide eyes as he ran his nose down your seam, from your clit to your hole and back up again and, to your complete surprise, unabashedly inhaling your scent. Your hands moved from holding your legs to holding your face, covering it in embarrassment, but Joel would let you do no such thing. He grabbed your elbows from his position below you and pulled them down. He moved your underwear to the side, licked a stripe up your pussy. 

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said before harshly sucking your clit into his mouth and stopping to speak again, “I love everything about this pussy, baby. The taste, the smell,” he said in a low growl, before beginning his attack on your centre. He alternated between licking and slurping passionately at your clit, wrapping his lips around it and sucking it into his mouth, and pushing his tongue inside you. You couldn’t keep your moans to yourself, your body was reacting to his touches loudly and openly, your moans loud and high pitched, while your legs shook every time Joel’s mouth wrapped around your clit. 

“Joel,” you gasped, your voice shaky as your eyes fluttered shut, unable to keep them open as Joel continued his merciless attack. Your breath hitched and your eyes shot open when you felt a finger prodding at your entrance, before thrusting in and out of you at a fast pace. “Joel, please,” you said, louder this time, “I wanna come, Joel, please,” you continued in an unstable voice as you looked down at him. Joel didn’t answer with words, but with growls and groans of his own as he tasted you. His fingers curled at that spot guaranteed to make you scream, and his hand moved to your lower stomach, sprawled out adding pressure. You were hurtling towards your release, and recognised a feeling only Joel had pulled out of you before. “Joel stop I’m gonna make a mess,” you spoke quickly, the words coming out jumbled together as your breath quickened drastically. 

“I want you to make a mess of my face, baby,” Joel said quickly before reattaching his mouth to you, pushing you further towards release, before speaking again, “give me what I want.”

His words made you give in immediately, no longer caring about making a mess, you gave in to Joel’s movements, your whines becoming more and more high pitched as he continued his movements. You couldn’t speak, only let out incoherent whines and pleas, before your mouth opened in a silent scream, the only sound leaving you was that of your breath hitching and the squelch of the wetness between your legs as it gushed out of you. Joel muttered, “good girl,” as you came down, your breath violently being pushed out of you as you watched him rise from his knees, the bottom half of his face soaked with your juices, as was his forearm. You bit your lip at the evidence of your orgasm that covered him, leaving a shine on his skin. 

“I need you inside,” you whispered as he hovered above you, overcome with desire to be full of him. He quickly put on a condom and returned to his position. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he muttered as he kissed your temple and leaned back to line himself up with your entrance. “Love watching you come for me,” he said as he pushed the tip inside, the last word of the sentence trailing off into a low groan as he felt your warmth enveloping him. 

He pushed inside slowly, allowing you to adjust to his size, before wrapping his arms around your thighs and lifting them up, your feet in the air next to his head, leaving only your shoulders and upper back on the sofa. When he was happy with the position, he started thrusting all the way in and out of you quickly as he held you still by your legs, until the sound of your skin slapping could be heard throughout the room. A moan was forced out of your mouth with each thrust, your throat opening up to release a breath each time Joel filled you to the brim, he fucked you hard and fast while he let out grunts and groans of his own, inbetween strings of praise. 

“This pussy feels so fuckin’ good,” he exhaled, and while his voice showed signs of fatigue, his body showed no signs of slowing down as he placed your back flat on the sofa and pushed your legs down so that your thighs rested against your stomach once again. This time, he didn’t instruct you to hold them, but held them down himself as he fucked you. The change in angle allowed him to push inside and reach deeper than before, knocking the wind out of you as he brushed the spot only he could reach. He watched as your eyes rolled back and fluttered closed, your mouth opening to let out loud whimpers and whines at how deep you felt him, and he whispered, “that’s it, baby,” before slowing down slightly, allowing you to feel every inch of him grinding into you. “This pussy takes me so fuckin’ good, you’re such a good girl.”

“So deep,” you replied breathlessly, his praise making your head spin. Joel’s hand suddenly settles at your neck, only applying slight pressure, pressure that, mixed with the fullness his cock gave, made you gasp in pleasure. 

“I know it’s deep but you can take it, right?” he asked and you nodded your head erratically, as best as you could with his hand around your neck. “That’s right, my good girl takes it all.” You involuntarily clenched around him at his words, his smirk returning to his lips as he felt the effect that he had on you. “Touch your pretty little clit f’me,” he ordered, his voice breathy but still dominant, “make yourself come on my cock.”

You moved your hand down towards your centre and felt where your bodies met, where he was stretching you out like no one had done before, and surely like no one ever would again. Moving your fingers upwards towards your clit, you moved your fingers in tight, steady circles in an effort to make yourself come, wanting to do everything he asked of you, if it meant hearing even a morsel more of his praise. Your moans grew louder as you grew closer with each grind of Joel’s hips and each flick of your fingers. Between whines and gasps you tried to speak, “Joel, fuck, I’m gonna’,” but the words came out jumbled and broken, “Oh my God, you’re gonna make me,” you broke off in a high pitched moan, the noise accompanied by the squelching sound of your wetness gushing out of you as Joel kept thrusting hard, and he didn’t stop until he emptied into the condom with a low grunt and an extended fuuuuck. 

Catching your breath, you watched as Joel ran to grab a cloth, still completely naked, and returned to gently clean you up. He put his boxers and sweats back on, but threw his shirt towards you, grumbling about how that would be comfier than, “those tight ass shorts,” before going to the kitchen. While he was gone, you got up to put your underwear back on and slipped his shirt over your head, feeling comfy and safe, enveloped in his clothes that still held his scent. Joel came back with a glass of water in his hand, “Just realised I didn’t even offer you a drink when you came in,” he placed the glass in your hand before sitting next to you and pulling you close. 

“Your southern hospitality’s awful,” you giggled, “fucking me without even asking if I was thirsty?”

Joel opened his mouth to answer but was soon stopped by the doorbell ringing. “‘S probably the pizza,” he mumbled as he got up and walked to the door, paying the man and grabbing the pizza boxes in his hands before turning around and kicking the door closed. He settled next to you on the sofa again, placing the pizzas on the table and opening them up. 

The tv was on, but you were hardly paying attention to what was playing, some re-run of an old show with an obnoxiously loud laughing track, you preferred to listen to Joel tell you about his week. He told you about his brother's mistakes that angered him to no end and the shock of his daughter asking him if he was seeing anyone.

“She asked you that?” He nodded at your question as he took a huge chunk out of his slice of pizza, chewing obnoxiously. 

“Yeah,” he said, “she’s a little suspicious, I think Tommy might’ve mentioned something.” 

“You talk to Tommy about me or something?” You asked teasingly, sitting back on the sofa and huffing at how full you felt. 

He threw his last crust onto the pizza box, chewing his last bite before answering, “Had to explain why I kept checkin’ my phone somehow.” He sent you a wink as he spoke, smiling at you as you yawned and quickly tried to cover your mouth with your hand. 

“You tired?” 

“No,” you said sheepishly. 

“C’mon, let’s go to bed,” he held your hand and began tugging you up off the sofa. 

“I don’t want to sleep yet,” you whined, not wanting the night to end so quickly.

“We can just relax in bed for a while, baby,” he tugged you towards the stairs, gesturing for you to walk up first. He gave your ass a couple light slaps as you walked up, earning giggles from you. You brushed your teeth side by side, stealing glances at each other in the mirror and Joel left for the bedroom while you used the toilet. 

Crawling into bed beside Joel, you inched closer towards him and found comfort in his outstretched arms. You lay facing each other, one of his arms resting underneath your body, allowing you to be as close as you could. He held you with a gentle grip, his big hands were outstretched, one spread across your back underneath his shirt and the other rested on your bicep. His hands were momentarily still, allowing you to feel the warmth of his hands, the heat being transferred from Joel’s body to yours through his soft touch. He continued to look at you as he started moving his hands, his fingers gently moving along your skin, as though he was connecting constellations in the stars. Your eyes followed his fingers carefully, your eyes traced their every move, just as the tips of his fingers traced every curve of your body, every bump or scar on your skin. And under the trace of his fingers, under the gaze of his eyes you felt truly seen. Has anybody seen you the way he saw you then? His gaze was heavy, his stare intense, but you didn’t shy away from his eyes, you didn’t flinch from his featherlight touch, you returned his stare and you returned his caress. Your fingers started moving along the skin of his arms, along the lines in his face, as if off their own accord. You subjected him to the same heavy, all consuming gaze as you looked into his eyes. You subjected him to the same featherlight, earnest touch as you ran your hands down his back, his sides, his arms, his face, anywhere you could reach. Because in that moment you saw him and he saw you. 

You moved your hand up to Joel’s now dishevelled hair and ran your hand through it but Joel was quick to stop your endeavour. He grasped your wrist in his hand and turned it around, so that your palm was facing you. You watched as he looked at your hand with a furrowed brow. You couldn’t understand why your hand had captivated him so intensely until his other hand came up to join yours in front of his face, and he traced your wedding band with his thumb.You opened your mouth to speak but no words left your throat, and Joel’s words lingered in the air instead. 

“Take the ring off.” He was now looking at you rather than at your ring, his eyes bored into yours as a shocked expression overtook your features. “Please,” he added, almost desperately, his voice nothing more than a whimper. “Just for tonight, I wanna’ pretend you're not his, that you’re mine.”

His confession almost broke you. You had struggled while coming to grips with your feelings but hadn’t thought about how Joel must feel, seeing a married woman, sleeping with a married woman, knowing that she was going home to her husband eventually. You carefully slid your wedding ring off your finger and moved from the bed to place it in your bag. When you climbed back into bed, you placed your left hand, now lacking your wedding ring, onto his cheek and, looking into his eyes, told Joel what you wished was true, “I’m yours, Joel.”

Joel’s lips met yours in a tender kiss, and when they departed, Joel spoke into your mouth, “I’m yours too,” his words left his lips, travelled down your throat and into your body, and devastated you from the inside out, “I’ll still be yours when you go back to him.” 

You couldn’t speak, no helpful words came to your mind as you looked into Joel’s eyes. They looked into yours with a sad longing, one that you were sure was reflected in your own eyes. Unable to conjure up the words, you put your lips to his and kissed him deeply, pushing all the words you couldn't say into his mouth, willing him to understand you through your touch. His palm came to rest at the back of your neck, softly keeping you in place as he kissed you back, his tongue licking into your mouth as his other hand went to your lower back and pulled you closer towards him until your front was flush with his. His mouth left yours and placed kisses down your neck while his hands went to the ends of the shirt you were wearing, pulling it up and over your head. You did the same to him, wanting to feel his skin on yours, with nothing between your bodies.  

He went to position himself further down the bed, further down your body and slowly spread your legs, but the sudden feeling of emptiness that dominated you made your arms lower to his, and your hands pulled at him to bring his face to yours again. The emptiness could be felt throughout your body, and you knew it would only be satisfied by Joel filling you up. “I just want you inside,” you whispered when his face was level with yours again.

“At least let me open you up first,” he said with furrowed brows, not wanting to hurt you, but pain was the last thing on your mind at that moment. You just wanted him. You wanted to feel him everywhere. 

“Please,” you asked, “I need it.” He said nothing in response, only reached over your body to get into the bedside drawer, pulling out a condom. Your disappointment was evident in your face, and you let out a quiet, “no,” that was barely above a whisper. He turned his head to look at you and raised an eyebrow. 

“I want to feel you, Joel,” you said, your voice still quiet, “all of you.” Suddenly worried about his response, you added, “I’m clean, I got checked last time I was at the gynaecologist.” You took a deep breath before continuing. “I haven’t been with… him since then.” Your voice was timid and nervous, unsure how to explain that it had been weeks, months even, since you had slept with your husband. You were anxious to bring him up in such a conversation, unable to say his name, you knew he would know exactly who you were talking about. 

He grimaced at your words, at the mention of your husband, but quickly hid his distaste, “I got tested after the last person I slept with, I’m clean too” his soft voice matched your quiet words as he placed the condom back in the drawer and pulled you close again. “Are you sure?” he asked, his eyes searching yours for any aversion, any discomfort, but only found a pleading want as you nodded your head and whispered a yes. 

He positioned himself in between your legs and kissed you softly while running his fingers through your folds, gathering your wetness onto his hand, circling your clit teasingly once, and spreading your juices onto his cock. His lips didn’t leave yours as he positioned his tip at your entrance and pushed himself inside you, moving inch by inch, creating a delicious burn as he stretched you out and filled you to the brim. 

“You feel so fuckin’ good, sweetheart,” 

You wrapped your legs around him in an attempt to pull him closer, although it felt impossible. He stayed fully seated inside of you, completely enveloped by your warmth as you both let out gasps and groans at the feeling. When Joel started moving, it was a slow, steady grind. Barely a movement, but enough to cause a delicious friction for both of you. You let out high pitched gasps of his name and he released grunts of yours. Your back arched as his tip kissed that spot so deep inside of you and his arms moved smoothly under your body, wrapping around you and holding you tight. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers running through his hair and pulling as he pushed heavy breaths out of your lungs. 

In a messy, close tangling of limbs that was both greedy and unhurried, needy but not rushed, you felt him deep inside of you. You felt his whole length inside of you as he ground further into you, barely leaving the warmth of your cunt, only wanting to feel close to you, not wanting the separation that came with a full thrust. 

“Joel,” you gasped, “Joel, please,” your mouth started to babble, the words involuntarily leaving you as he grunted in your ear, the sounds only heightening your wetness, your pussy clenching around his cock each time you heard him. 

“What is it, sweetheart?” He asked with a hard grind of his hips, pushing impossibly deeper inside. 

“I want you to fill me up, Joel,” you begged, your voice cracking with need. 

“You’re already full o’me, baby,” he chuckled into your ear, taking your earlobe in between his teeth, licking and nibbling while continuing the rhythmic grind of his hips. 

“No, Joel,” you were cut off by a loud moan leaving your throat as his hand slipped between your bodies to your clit, his fingers moving in tight, unfaltering circles to match the press of his hips. “I want you to come inside me.” 

Joel groaned loudly as soon as the words reached his ears, gasping your name in equal parts shock and contentment. He pulled his head back to look into your eyes, his eyebrows raised in a wordless question. 

“I have an IUD,” you said while pressing your hands into his lower back, wanting him, needing him deeper. His fingers moved quicker on your clit as he groaned at your admission, his hips faltering slightly. 

“Such a fuckin’ good girl for me,” he grunted out, “lettin’ me stuff you full.” You moaned at his words and clamped down around his cock. The steady grind of his hips had now faltered and he was thrusting in and out of you slowly, but he was just as deep as before. This change in movement caused his tip to brush that spot over and over, in a quick procession. This, mixed with his words and grunts in your ear and his finger running firm circles on your clit made you come completely unannounced. It hit you like a wall and there was nothing you could say, you came with your mouth open in a silent scream, your walls clamped around his cock and fluttered gratefully. Your chest moved up and down with heavy breaths as Joel continued to fuck into you, pushing so deep inside and moaning your praise.

“That’s my good girl, fuck,” his grunts were becoming louder, deeper as he hurtled toward his orgasm, his hips stammering the closer he got. “Tell me you’re mine,” he said, his voice a mix between a plea and a command. “Fuckin tell me you’re mine,” he repeated, louder than before.

“I’m yours, Joel,” you said through moans, he was fucking you hard and deep, messy and hurried. “I’m yours,” you repeated once more before pleading, “come inside me, Joel.”

He let out a low growl at your words, and pushed himself deep, so that he was fully seated inside you, and let go, coming inside of you before pulling out to watch his spend trickle out of you, pushing it back in with his fingers before it could go far. 

Exhausted, you lay down and closed your eyes, feeling the absence of his presence for a moment, until he returned to clean you up and got into bed beside you. You had read and read but never understood the feeling expressed in Jane Eyre of feeling so close to a lover, of being bone of his bone, and flesh of his flesh. You had certainly never felt that close to Marcus. But in that moment, lying there with Joel, with your wedding ring thrown to the side and forgotten, your skin connected to his, your legs tangled together, as if you had tied yourselves to one another in an effort to keep each other near, you felt it, you understood. 

 The last thing you remembered before falling completely asleep was Joel placing a soft kiss on your temple. 

You woke to an empty bed the next morning, the sheets crumpled and still warm to the touch on Joel’s side. Getting out of bed, you put on Joel’s shirt again and brushed your teeth in the bathroom before walking towards the stairs. At the top of the stairs you were met with the sight of Joel walking up, with a cup of coffee in each hand. 

“Go back to bed,” his soft command was met with a look of confusion from you. “My plan was to wake you up with coffee in bed,” he explained, “so go back to bed.” You giggled at his thoughtfulness and upon hearing Joel’s quiet, “please,” turned around and walked back to the bedroom, settling into bed once more. You listened to the patter of his footsteps up the stairs and towards the room and the sexy gruff of his voice wishing you a “Mornin’, darlin’,” as he walked in, as if he hadn’t already seen you that morning. 

He placed a cup of coffee in your outstretched hands and sat in bed beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and kissing your forehead. 

“Thank you, Joel,” you whispered, smiling up at him, leaning up and pressing your lips against his. Last night was still at the forefront of your mind and you were overcome with emotions you couldn’t quite explain. 

“Listen,” Joel began, “I meant what I said last night,” his words came at exactly the right time. 

“I want you,” he explained, “and not just like this, I want all of you. But I need to know what your plans are, I need to know I’m not getting invested for nothing.” He took a deep breath before continuing, “You might be mine for now but when you go home to him, I still belong to you. So I just, I need to know.”

“I’m not staying with him Joel. It’s just, it's a big thing, a long process.” You wished you could give him more reassurance, but you weren’t sure what you could say that would put his mind at ease. You looked into his eyes and said, “I want you, not him.”

Joel’s hand came up to your cheek, lightly stroking the skin next to your ear with his thumb, “I don't want to put pressure on you, I just need to know that this is going somewhere.” 

“It is,” you promised, “I’ll talk to him.” You pressed a kiss to his lips, as if you were sealing a promise, and felt nothing but happiness and safety. 

The rest of the morning passed in pure domestic bliss, Joel cooked breakfast and you both drank another coffee while you talked over the show that was on tv. When it was time for you to leave, you reluctantly got dressed and gathered your things and climbed into the car, rolling the window down. Joel stood next to the window and leaned in to kiss you goodbye. Unable to leave yet, the goodbye kiss turned into an I don’t want to go kiss, full of uncertainty and words you wanted to say but couldn’t quite articulate. Pulling away you settled on a meek, “bye,” while Joel promised to call you soon. Joel watched and waved as you reversed out of his driveway and drove away, both of your minds full of possibilities for the future. 

Your drive home was uneventful. You felt positive and excited, you were finally clear on your plans. You knew that you had to speak to Marcus about your marriage, suggest a separation and request a divorce and although you knew this would be difficult, your happiness was worth it, with or without Joel in the picture. You expected to arrive back to an empty house, like you normally did. What you didn’t expect to see was Marcus sitting at the dining table, facing the door, as if he was waiting for your return. 

With shock evident in your voice, you let out a weak, “Hi,” but upon noticing the expression on his face you added, “are you ok, Marcus?” He looked disappointed, his hand held the bottom of his face and his brows were furrowed together. 

“Where were you last night?” His question threw you off, and you scrambled to answer.

“I was at Carrie-”

“I know you weren’t at Carrie’s so I’ll ask one more time,” his voice was raised and firm, “where were you last night?” He spoke slowly, the anger he felt slowing down his speech. You knew then that the expression on his face wasn’t disappointment, it was anger, fury. You felt frozen on the spot, your mouth sewed shut with shock, you didn’t move or speak, only looked down at your feet, nervously bringing your hands together and fiddling with your thumbs. 

Your heart jumped at the next words from Marcus, his booming voice only adding to the thumping acceleration of your heart. 

“Why aren’t you wearing your ring?”

Thank you so much for reading!! Comments and reblogs are always appreciated :) Part 4 soon

Taglist - @untamedheart81 @smol-beb @harriedandharassed @southernbe

2. How Do I Use “Show, Don’t Tell” ?

There are no foolproof parameters about where you “show” and not “tell" or vice versa; it’s more of a writing habit that you develop rather than something that you selectively decide to employ.

In actuality, most stories are a blend of both showing and telling, and more experienced writers instinctively switch between one and another to cater to their narrative needs. You need to find a good balance of both in order to create a narrative that is both immersive and engaging.

i. Help When Your Writing Feels Bare-Bones/Soulless/Boring

Your writing is just not what you’ve pictured in your head, no matter how much you do it over. Conversations are stilted. The characters are flat. The sentences don’t flow as well as they do in the books you've read. What’s missing?

It’s possibly because you’ve been “telling” your audience everything and not “showing”! If a reader's mind is not exercised (i.e. they're being "spoon-fed" all of the details), your writing may feel boring or uninspired!

Instead of saying that a room was old and dingy, maybe describe the peeling wallpaper. The cobwebs in the corners. The smell of dust and old mothballs. Write down what you see in your mind's eye, and allow your audience to formulate their own interpretations from that. (Scroll for a more in-depth explanation on HOW to develop this skill!)

ii. Add More Depth and Emotion to Your Scenes

Because "Show, Don't Tell" is a more immersive way of writing, a reader is going to feel the narrative beats of your story a lot more deeply when this rule is utilized.

Describing how a character has fallen to their knees sobbing and tearing our their hair is going to strike a reader's heart more than saying: "They were devastated."

Describing blood trickling through a character's fingers and staining their clothes will seem more dire than saying: "They were gravely wounded."

iii. Understand that Sometimes Telling Can Fit Your Story Better

Telling can be a great way to show your characters' personalities, especially when it comes to first-person or narrator-driven stories. Below, I've listed a few examples; however, this list isn't exclusive or comprehensive!

Initial Impressions and Character Opinions

If a character describes someone's outfit as "gaudy" or a room as "absolutely disgusting," it can pack more of a punch about their initial impression, rather than describing the way that they react (and can save you some words!). In addition, it can provide some interesting juxtaposition (i.e. when a character describes a dog as "hideous" despite telling their friend it looks cute).

2. Tone and Reader Opinions

Piggybacking off of the first point, you can "tell, not show" when you want to be certain about how a reader is supposed to feel about something. "Showing" revolves around readers drawing their own conclusions, so if you want to make sure that every reader draws the same conclusion, "telling" can be more useful! For example, if you describe a character's outfit as being a turquoise jacket with zebra-patterned pants, some readers may be like "Ok yeah a 2010 Justice-core girlie is slaying!" But if you want the outfit to come across as badly arranged, using a "telling" word like "ridiculous" or "gaudy" can help set the stage.

3. Pacing

"Show, don't tell" can often take more words; after all, describing a character's reaction is more complicated than stating how they're feeling. If your story calls for readers to be focused more on the action than the details, such as a fight or chase scene, sometimes "telling" can serve you better than "showing." A lot of writers have dedicated themselves to the rule "tell action, show emotion," but don't feel like you have to restrict yourself to one or the other.

iv. ABOVE ALL ELSE: Getting Words on the Page is More Important!

If you’re stuck on a section of your story and just can’t find it in yourself to write poetic, flowing prose, getting words on the paper is more important than writing something that’s “good.” If you want to be able to come back and fix it later, put your writing in brackets that you can Ctrl + F later.

Keeping your momentum is the hardest part of writing. Don't sacrifice your inspiration in favor of following rules!

3. How Can I Get Better at “Show, Don’t Tell”?

i. Use the Five Senses, and Immerse Yourself!

Imagine you’re the protagonist, standing in the scene that you have just created. Think of the setting. What are things about the space that you’d notice, if you were the one in your character’s shoes?

Smell? Hear? See? Touch? Taste?

Sight and sound are the senses that writers most often use, but don’t discount the importance of smell and taste! Smell is the most evocative sense, triggering memories and emotions the moment someone walks into the room and has registered what is going on inside—don’t take it for granted. And even if your character isn’t eating, there are some things that can be “tasted” in the air.

EXAMPLE:

TELLING: She walked into the room and felt disgusted. It smelled, and it was dirty and slightly creepy. She wished she could leave. SHOWING: She shuffled into the room, wrinkling her nose as she stepped over a suspicious stain on the carpet. The blankets on the bed were moth-bitten and yellowed, and the flowery wallpaper had peeled in places to reveal a layer of blood-red paint beneath…like torn cuticles. The stench of cigarettes and mildew permeated the air. “How long are we staying here again?” she asked, flinching as the door squealed shut. 

The “showing” excerpt gives more of an idea about how the room looks, and how the protagonist perceives it. However, something briefer may be more suited for writers who are not looking to break the momentum in their story. (I.e. if the character was CHASED into this room and doesn’t have time to take in the details.)

ii. Study Movies and TV Shows: Think like a Storyteller, Not Just a Writer

Movies and TV shows quite literally HAVE TO "show, and not tell." This is because there is often no inner monologue or narrator telling the viewers what's happening. As a filmmaker, you need to use your limited time wisely, and make sure that the audience is engaged.

Think about how boring it would be if a movie consisted solely of a character monologuing about what they think and feel, rather than having the actor ACT what they feel.

(Tangent, but there’s also been controversy that this exposition/“telling” mindset in current screenwriting marks a downfall of media literacy. Examples include the new Percy Jackson and Avatar: The Last Airbender remakes that have been criticized for info-dumping dialogue instead of “showing.”)

If you find it easy to envision things in your head, imagine how your scene would look in a movie. What is the lighting like? What are the subtle expressions flitting across the actors' faces, letting you know just how they're feeling? Is there any droning background noise that sets the tone-- like traffic outside, rain, or an air conditioner?

How do the actors convey things that can't be experienced through a screen, like smell and taste?

Write exactly what you see in your mind's eye, instead of explaining it with a degree of separation to your readers.

iii. Listen to Music

I find that because music evokes emotion, it helps you write with more passion—feelings instead of facts! It’s also slightly distracting, so if you’re writing while caught up in the music, it might free you from the rigid boundaries you’ve put in place for yourself.

Here’s a link to my master list of instrumental writing playlists!

iv. Practice, Practice, Practice! And Take Inspiration from Others!

“Show Don’t Tell” is the core of an immersive scene, and requires tons of writing skills cultivated through repeated exposure. Like I said before, more experienced writers instinctively switch between showing and telling as they write— but it’s a muscle that needs to be constantly exercised!

If I haven’t written in a while and need to get back into the flow of things, I take a look at a writing prompt, and try cultivating a scene that is as immersive as possible! Working on your “Show, Don’t Tell” skills by practicing writing short, fun one-shots can be much less restrictive than a lengthier work.

In addition, get some inspiration and study from reading the works of others, whether it be a fanfiction or published novel!

If you need some extra help, feel free to check out my Master List of Writing Tips and Advice, which features links to all of my best posts, each of them categorized !

You haven’t seen your best friend in over a year since they moved to a small town in Texas. Between work and just life in general, it’s been hard to find a time when both your schedules just so happen to perfectly align. After a lot of planning and a four hour fight with a two hour layover, you’ve finally made it. Unfortunately, your stay will be short—you only have three nights and four days with them, but it’s better than not seeing them at all. Your best friend made sure to plan some fun filled days, and regardless of how tired you are from your long travel day, you don’t want to waste any of the time you have with them.

Tonight, the two of you are hitting the town. Your friend has been going on and on about this one bar in particular. The drinks are cheap, the crowds are wild, and the music is good. On top of that, you will also be meeting some of your friend's coworkers, who quickly turned into some of their closest friends. Although you were excited, a part of you felt nervous.

It’s been a while since you went out to any bars or clubs. When you were in college, you and your small group of friends were frequent nightlife goers, but once everyone started getting jobs and moving away, those wild nights became few and far between.

Butterflies began to form in your stomach as the two of you approached a building from a side alley. You could feel the vibration of the music run its course through your body before the bar came into view; usually, this was a sign that tonight was going to be a good night.

When the building came into view, it wasn’t exactly what you were anticipating. The dim entrance made your stomach churn, igniting a sense of danger in your mind. A large man stood to the side of the closed metal door, his arms crossed as he stared straight ahead with a grim, intimidating expression. It was definitely not like any of the clubs or bars back home, where everything was well lit and definitely not as secluded as this one is. Your body language must’ve been telling because your friend let out a loud chuckle, grabbing onto your wrist and pulling you closer to them.

“I already know what you’re thinking,” they say between their small giggles. You respond with a apprehensive look, causing them to become even more amused. A part of you felt like this was some sort of prank. “It doesn’t look like much, but I promise you, this is the place to go.”

You raise your eyebrows in suspicion. Your friend shakes their head in a joking manner, lacing their arm through yours and guiding you to the line that has begun to form.

Your friend spent most of the time in line on their phone trying to get a hold of their friends, who are supposed to be meeting the two of you there. One person wouldn’t pick up, so they’d call another person, only for the first person to call back. It was a mess, but in your eyes, it was an entertaining mess watching your friend struggle between the calls.

The two of you finally make it into the bar. Dim, red lights barely illuminate the large building, and you are immediately met with a humid heat and the smell of sweat and pure alcohol. Your nose twitches at the smell. The music, at least, is good; you can feel the thumping of the beat in your chest.

As you’re taking in the atmosphere, your friend grabs the back of your arm, pulling you in close to them and tilting their phone away from their mouth.

“I think I know where they are, I’m going to try and find them,” they shout into your ear, and you simply nod in response. Your eyes are locked onto the small, but crowded, dance floor straight ahead of you. “Why don’t you go get a drink at the bar? I’ll be right over, okay?”

They point in the direction of the bar, and you follow with your eyes. A drink will surely help with the nerves you’re feeling right now. Your stomach feels like a scrambled mess. Your friend quickly disappears in the opposite direction, still trying to reach someone on their phone.

You have to push your way through the crowd to make it over to the bar, situating yourself between two men. As you wait for the bartender to come over, you tap your fingers along the edge of the wooden top, looking around at the people surrounding you.

"Well, aren’t you a pretty lady?” The man to your right sneers at you, causing you to snap your head in his direction. You immediately notice his eyes are locked on your chest, not even trying to hide his obvious obsession with your cleavage. A feeling of insecurity comes over you as you begin to regret your outfit choice. Sure, you wanted attention, but not this level of creepy attention and definitely not from this man.

Not wanting to cause a scene, you just give the man an unauthentic smile, positioning your body away from him. You can feel him lean in behind you, and as he begins to say something, the bartender, a girl who barely even looks old enough to work at an establishment like this, promptly comes up to you from the other side of the bar. She gives a deathly glare to the man bothering you, causing him and his friends to leave.

“What can I get for you?” She says with a sweet smile.

“Tequila soda, please.” You rest your palms against the edge of the wooden top, leaning in toward her as you speak. “With an extra lime, too.”

She gives you an assuring nod, quickly turning on her heel to begin her work. As she’s walking away, your body is firmly slammed up against the bar top, the edge ramming into your ribs and knocking the wind out of you. Your body rocks back and forth as some sort of commotion unfolds behind you, with someone keeping your body pinned down and making it impossible for you to straighten upright.

Watch where the fuck you’re goin’.

Why don’t you watch your fucking mouth, old man.

Old ma– you wanna take this shit outside, you fuckin’ punk? Huh?

Your ribs get slammed against the edge again before you are finally set free, pushing yourself upright. You feel a hand glide along your lower back, making you turn your head from side to side, trying to see who is touching you.

“I’m so sorry ‘bout that, miss,” a faint voice says, obviously directed toward you. “Are you alright?”

You nod your head slowly as a tall and quite handsome man appears off to your side, making you turn around to see him fully. His dark hair is messily tousled on top of his head, a few half formed curls peek out from the nape of his neck. He is staring at you intensely with kind yet very obviously tired eyes. You can feel your mouth grow unbearably dry as you take his good looks in.

“Ye—yes,” you stumble on your words, continuing to marvel over the man before you. His eyes are wide as he darts all over you, bringing up his hand to gently move a strand of hair out of your face. He gives you a genuine, kind smile before letting his hand drop.

“People are...” He lets his voice trail off, sucking in some air through his teeth. He quickly looks around him. “I'm—”

Although he’s shouting, you don’t catch his name over all the noise, bringing your eyebrows together and turning your ear toward him.

“Joel,” he said louder, leaning in closer. You pull back, nod your head and shout your name back to him. His lips curl up into a charming smile. “That’s a beautiful name, miss.”

His compliment makes your heart flutter, and you drop your gaze down to your feet for a short moment before meeting with his eyes again. Joel nudges the man who was standing to your right out of the way so he can take his spot; your arms brush up against each other’s in the process, causing a chill to run up your arms. You slowly turn to face him, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. The bar light illuminates his face a bit better than before, he is absolutely beautiful.

“You from around here?” Joel asks and cocks his head slightly to one side, tilting himself a bit closer to you.

“No, just visiting a friend,” you respond, lifting yourself up ever so slightly on your tiptoes and angling your chest toward him. This is exactly the kind of man you want attention from. “You?”

His throat bobs, and his eyes quickly dart down and then back up to your eyes.

“I— I am from around here,” he says with a slight chuckle, which causes you to giggle alongside him. You can see a bead of sweat beginning to form alongside his temple.

Suddenly, his attention shifts away from you and he subtly points to behind the bar, causing you to turn your head. It’s the bartender from earlier, and she has your drink in hand with an apologetic smile showcased on her face. You were so wrapped up in the essence of Joel that you completely forgot you even ordered a drink.

“So sorry, we had some issues at the other end.” Her voice is high pitched and sweet sounding. “Do you want to pay or open a tab?”

As she slides your sweat clad glass across the bar toward you, Joel leans across you, closer to the girl on the other side. You can feel his hand find its way between your shoulder blades, running it up to the backside of your neck. A chill runs down your spine, causing a hitch in your breathing.

“Put it on my tab.” He shouted, and although he was just mere inches away from you, his voice still sounded so distant over the music and people talking.

The bartender raised her eyebrows and gave him a curt nod, quickly making eye contact with you and giving you a sly smile. Your heart fluttered at the gesture, even though a part of you knew this probably meant he wanted something in return. At this point, it was something you were definitely willing to give if he continued to play his cards right.

“Thanks,” you say quietly, not even sure if you spoke loud enough for him to hear you. As he pulls away, the two of you lock eyes, and you tuck your bottom lip between your teeth, trying to suppress your smile.

“A lady as pretty as you should never pay for her drinks,” he responded confidently. You could feel your cheeks fill with heat.

Joel is now peering down over you with dark eyes, his left forearm laying against the wooden bar to support his body, and his other hand still loosely wrapped around the side of your neck. Goosebumps spread across your skin as he slowly rubbed the pad of his thumb over your soft skin.

You look up at him with wide, innocent eyes. He has his lips slightly puckered as he traces his eyes along your skin. You watched as the muscles in his chest twitched. A burning sensation begins to burn deep inside your chest; you didn’t know how much longer you could take this. At this point, you didn’t want him, you needed him.

He let his hand glide down the side of your neck, over your shoulder, and then down your arm before retracting it, grabbing his glass of whiskey off of the table and taking a smooth, long drag. You continue to watch him with your swollen bottom lip tucked between your teeth, subtly bobbing your head along to the music.

“What do you do for work?” Joel’s voice has changed now, it’s much more lustful than before, and you can tell that he’s trying to hide his desire. His throat bobs as he swallows. You were glad you weren’t the only one feeling this way.

“I work in an office.” You try to steady your breathing, not wanting your words to come out shaky. “I’m an assistant to the company’s CFO.”

Joel’s eyebrows twitch as he nods, looking down at his drink and swirling it around a few times.

“That sounds—“ His voice is hesitant.

“Super fun,” you cut him off and say in a sarcastic tone. “It totally is.”

Joel breaks out into a wide smile. You’re positive he chuckled, but it’s hard to be certain over the noise. You look down at his hands and see some dirt clinging to his arm hair. Construction? Maybe a contractor?

“And what do you do?” You say, grabbing one of his wrists and running over the dirtied spot with your index finger. He quickly pulls back, rubbing off the dirt with his other hand. Pink spreads along his cheeks.

“Christ, that’s embarrassin’… seems to never come off no matter how much I clean m’self.” His tone is flustered as he continues to try and remove the stubborn dirt. “I’m a carpenter, though; I work alongside my brother.”

“Mhmm,” you hum, chewing slightly on the inner flesh of your cheek. “So… does that mean you’re good with your hands?”

You question him flirtatiously, looking back down towards his big hands. Your comment makes Joel choke on his drink, his cheeks growing an even brighter shade of pink now. Your eyes dart back up to his face, this time you don’t break your gaze away from him, watching as he tries to hide his smile from you.

“I— I guess you, you could say that,” Joel manages to get out, bringing his hand up to the back of his neck and rubbing the side.

His well fitted shirt strains against his bicep, causing you to become distracted by Joel’s physique again. He is well in shape, likely due to his line of work; he has toned arms, broad shoulders, and nice chest muscles that the fabric of the shirt clings to. Without much thought, you begin to run your eyes along his body, your eyes meeting with the sliver of skin just above his pant line that’s exposed. Your eyes wander even lower when Joel suddenly hooks his finger under your chin, a smirk planted on his face.

“You’re trouble.” He leans in close, only leaving a few inches between your faces. You look up at him through your brow line, the corners of your lips curling upward. You love where this is going, soon all of your desires will be met, and he will be all yours.

Just as your eyes flutter shut, Joel is yanked away from you. A man with dirty blonde hair has his hands around Joel’s shoulders and is shaking him back and forth. Joel is very clearly perturbed, his face twisting up in frustration.

“Joel,” the man drags out his name with a wide grin, clearly he’s had one too many drinks tonight. “I’ve been lookin’ everywhere for you… a couple guys from the job site are here ‘n wanna play pool. Whatdya think?”

Joel flashes you a quick smile before turning away from you and saying something to the man. Whatever he is saying appears to be causing conflicting emotions between the two of them. As they begin shooting back and forth, a feeling of insecurity quickly comes over you, causing you to turn your head away and look out into the crowd of people dancing.

As you take a small sip of your drink, Joel firmly places his hand on the small of your back, making your stomach jolt. You quickly turn your head back toward him. His mouth is near your ear, and you can feel his hot breath tickling your skin. The sensation causes heat to begin pooling in between your legs. You gulp.

“It was a pleasure talkin’ to you, darlin’,” his voice is smooth as honey and seductive. “I hope to see you around.”

Before you could think of anything to say back, Joel already had his back toward you, walking away accompanied by his friend. You’re stunned by his quick exit, your fingertips pooling with blood as you grip onto your drink glass. There’s no way I misread that entire situation, you think to yourself, left somewhat confused. Why would he leave like that?

The conversation was just as quick to end as it started, but it— he— left you wanting more. A sense of clarity came over you, a fire burning deep in your chest. You wanted more.

A voice inside your head echoed with “no, don’t leave” as you watched Joel disappear into the crowd. You could not move to make your deepest desires come true, and even if you could, did you really want to be the sex crazed person chasing after someone you had just met? As he fully disappeared, his scent lingered where he once stood—a faint smell of dirt, whiskey, and sweat. You thought it was strange that the combination was quite a turn on for you, but it was the indication of a hardworking man— and that was sexy to you.

All you could think about was how badly you wanted Joel. The way your body reacted every time he touched you was unlike anything any other person had been able to make you feel. The way his voice drew you in and his eyes hypnotized you. All you wanted at this moment was to see him bare, hovering over you while sweat dripped off of him and his face twisted with pleasure as he filled you up with his girth. You want to moan his name over and over as he explores your body, desperately wanting to know how his tongue would feel swirling around your swollen, throbbing clit that begged for his touch.

Closing your eyes, you bring yourself back to reality. You let go of the air that you had been holding in your lungs, your chest burning as it escapes. Being this attracted to someone was definitely not on your bingo card for this trip. Bringing your glass up to your lips, you steadily draw in the liquid, desperately trying to calm yourself down.

“Bitch,” the faint sound of your friend’s voice comes to you as a relief. They come up to your side, looping this arm around your waist. They have their eyes narrowed at you, a slight smirk appearing the longer the two of you look at each other.

“What?” You feel your eyebrows twitch.

“Who was that handsome fella you were just talking to?” They’re full blown smiling now, looking past you in the direction Joel went. You try to fight your smile, but ultimately fail. Your bestie begins to laugh, grabbing onto your arm and causing the heat to return to your cheeks.

“How long were you watching?” You suddenly feel shy, covering your face with one of your hands.

“Well, I wasn’t just going to come up and ruin whatever was going on… unlike that bastard that pulled him away from you.” They narrowed their eyes once again, obviously upset about what happened. “So, what’s his name?”

“His name’s Joel,” you say, leaning in closer to them.

“Oh,” their eyes widened. “And are we hoping we see Joel again tonight?”

You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth, dropping your eyes down to your glass as you run the moistened tip of your index finger around the rim of your glass.

“Yeah,” you nod, smiling to yourself. “I hope so.”

dividers are from @saradika | link

“Fuck her harder Pope,” Frankie grumbles, pinching your aching clit between two wonderfully calloused fingers. “Fuck her like you goddamn mean it.” His voice in your ear, his filthy fucking mouth, make your cunt clench around Santi’s cock, and the man groans at both the feeling and Frankie’s command, pounding his cock into you hard.

Frankie rubs furiously at your clit, sending your back arching against his chest, gasping for air. “That’s it, baby, that’s it. Let yourself fuckin’ feel it. Santi’s cock feels so good, doesn’t it?”

“God, yes, oh my fucking God,” you whine. Santi chuckles, all smugness and delirious pleasure. He rocks into you at an angle that has him jamming into your sweet spot relentlessly. “He feels so fucking good, ‘s so fucking big.”

Santi leans forward again, capturing your lips with his. “You think I’m big, hermosa, I can’t wait to see how you take Frankie’s cock. He’s gonna split you apart, stretch this pussy so fuckin’ wide,” Santi mutters against your mouth.

The thought makes you moan, pressing back against the unmistakable length of Frankie's cock, hard and aching, pressed against your skin. You hear Frankie suck in a labored breath, his fingers pausing on your clit. “You wanna cum, sweetheart?" Santi says, his voice dark with promise. "Get all loose to take Frankie so deep in this little cunt?”

This time, Frankie groans from behind you, deep and rumbling. The sound is intoxicating, especially as his fingers start rubbing at your pussy all over again. An endless mantra of “please, please, please,” escapes from your lips, and Santi growls, fucking into you so hard it makes tears spring to your eyes. You claw at Santi’s back, into Frankie’s forearm, gripping onto them both for dear life.

“C’mon, baby, cum on Santi’s cock, bet you look so pretty when you do. Wanna feel this pretty pussy clench around his cock,” Frankie murmurs darkly in your ear. He snakes his other hand up for body, pinching one of your nipples between his fingers. “Don’t you want to see Santi cum, cariño? Won’t he look so pretty?” 

A look up at Santi, his curls drenched with sweat, flush high on his cheeks as his hips work between yours, has you nodding furiously at Frankie’s words, and fuck, you’re cumming at the sight of him, of Santi, so beautiful and debauched between your thighs. Your body locks up with it, your pussy clenching around his length still working into you, Frankie holding you tightly to his chest as Santi fucks you through it.

“Fuck, yes, that’s it,” Santi growls, pressing himself as deep into you as he can, his hips twitching as he fills you up. And God, Frankie was right, Santi is beautiful, twitching through his orgasm, jaw clenched and pupils blown wide. He leans forward to kiss you in a way that is fucking filthy, licking into your mouth desperately, swallowing your moans. You breathe together through it, and when you finally stop trembling, Santi pulls away from your mouth with a feral grin.

“Wanna give Fish a turn, baby?” he whispers, and you manage to mumble a yes, even though your brain has been turned to mush. Santi chuckles, the smug bastard, and slips out of you, the emptiness making you whimper.

“I know, bebita, I know,” Santi says, pressing a kiss to your lips. “Frankie’s gonna fill you up again, I promise.”

You lift your hips, turning  your head to press a kiss to Frankie’s lips as Santi grabs Frankie's cock, pressing the tip to your entrance. Fuck, it’s thick, popping past your entrance as you sink your hips down, down, stretching yourself around him. It seems fucking endless, how deep he reaches into your cunt.

“That’s it, baby, it’s so big, isn’t it?" Santi whispers, "Frankie fills you up so good, yeah? Treats this pretty pussy like it fucking deserves?”

“Santiago.” Frankie growls, his fingers digging into your thighs as you clench around him like a vice at Santi’s words. Fuck, he’s so close already. Watching Pope fuck you already had his cock throbbing beneath you, and now, in the hot clutch of your cunt, he feels like a goddamn virgin. And with Santiago whispering some of the filthiest shit he’s ever heard in his life between the three of you, there’s no way he can last very long.

He’ll make you cum first though. Of course he will.

You nearly scream as Frankie pumps his hips up beneath you, spearing you deep on his cock. He holds tight to your thighs as he pounds furiously in and out of you, ripping you to pieces on top of him. He’s so fucking warm against your back, Santi radiating heat against your front, and you swear to God that you could pass out then and there. Fuck, it’s so good, Frankie’s cock drags against your g-spot with every fucking thrust, unrelenting and utterly debilitating.

And then, Santi lays down on his front, eyes trained on where you and Frankie are connected, and sucks your clit into his hot mouth.

This time, you really do scream, your hands flying down to tangle in Santi’s hair while he licks feverishly at your clit, and you cum, Santi licking between your legs, Frankie pounding up into your cunt. You thrash between them, utterly lost in the feeling of it, hot tears leaking down your cheeks.

“Fuck yes, baby, that’s our good girl,” Frankie groans from behind you.

“Please, please cum Frankie, need you to fucking cum,” you cry, and Frankie has no choice but to follow your orders. He sinks deep inside, biting into your shoulder as he drowns your pussy in his cum. The thought of it mixing with Pope’s inside of you has him shaking through his orgasm.

“God, look at that,” Santi murmurs from between your legs, watching you clench around Frankie so tight he can barely move, cum leaking out around where Frankie is buried deep inside you. His cock twitches at the sight. Later, he thinks, later, we’ll do this again, over and over.

For now, he helps Fish guide you off of his lap, laying you between them. The three of you plaster yourselves against each other, breathing together. A unit, a team. 

Bogota was begging for rain. At the end of summer, the city and its people had been suffering months of stifling, thick, humid air without a drop of relief. Sweat clung to exposed skin, dampening shirts and tightening waistbands. Heat weighed like a physical presence in the air while open windows and doors sought to tempt in some non-existent breeze, hoping to coax some pity out of the militant heatwave. But the heat and the moisture-thick air stayed, hovering like a cloud of mosquitoes, just as merciless and just as blood-thirsty. 

Night offered no consolation either. Stagnant and cloistered, the sun-bleached air greeted its visitors with a great, warm lick – like the wide tongue of a particularly aggressive bloodhound. The ongoing joke among the locals blamed the blackouts on all the fans, spinning throughout all hours of the day and night, instead of el gobierno barato. Only then came the sigh of ease, in front of whirling blades with ice water behind them. Flapping shirts and mopped brows. Only then, was there relief to the tension. 

Unfortunately, a running car would tip off any narcos in the area, so even that small miracle is denied to the two agents sitting in the darkness of la calle. A crack in the glass window releases a tendril of smoke, not enough to expect a breeze, not enough to wipe away the smear of sweat from across forearms and under knees. 

A drunken confession lingers even thicker in the air.

You thought you could do this. You really thought nothing would change – it was an accident after all. He didn’t mean it – he couldn’t – he was just teasing you, when he leaned over the sticky fourtop in the back of the bar at three in the morning, his breath tangy with the ghost of four glasses of whiskey, his body heat immense and overwhelming as he pressed into you and said – 

Whatever he said, you told him no.

Actually, you laughed and then said no. No, because he didn’t mean it, he couldn’t, he was just teasing you and he would never, ever, ever, ever know how much you actually wanted it and even if – even if you both wanted it, it could never, ever, ever, ever happen. 

It couldn’t. It was so absurd for him to even consider it, you laughed.

And then he never looked at you the same way.

You had done something irreversible. He had said the words, but you had done something irreversible to him. 

Something in the air had changed, maybe forever. And that, that you might have lost your partner, your friend, potential potential potential disappearing in a cloud of Marlboro smoke over bottles of cerveza, that was the worst part. 

He doesn’t look at you the same way.

Or at all. 

He smokes and he watches and he acts like you’re not in the seat next to him. Like his confession hasn’t cleaved him apart.

Nothing’s moved in hours. Neither the target or the shadows in the car. The tension presses up against the windows, hot and stifling. There is no relief.

“I didn’t want it like this, you know,” you say to the sun visor, arms crossed, low in your seat. “I . . . tried to see if Murphy would switch, but I didn’t think the tip would pan out so fast, and I didn’t . . . I didn’t want . . .”

The shadow next to you emerges with his face as he brings the glowing orange light of the cigarette to his mouth. Full lips, short thick hair below his nose, a jawline sharper than any hit of cocaine. 

“What did you expect?” he asks, his voice thick and heavy like oil. It clings to you.

You scowl into the darkness beyond your window. “For Murphy to me a fucking solid, for once. Covered his ass more than once after they adopted Olivia. I just wanted one goddamn –,”

He forcefully flicks the stub of his cigarette out the window as a precursor to punctuate his next sentence. “No. What did you want, if you didn’t want it like this?” 

The acidity in his tone stings you and you unintentionally flinch as if he had pressed the cigarette nub into your skin. 

“Javier, c’mon, that’s not fair.” 

He arches one eyebrow, his teeth clenched in his jaw, hollowing out a pocket of skin below his temple. The overhanging orange streetlights sap the color from his skin.

“So you get to make all the rules now. Got it.” He crunches up the empty box of cigarettes and chucks it in the back seat. You watch him with narrowed eyes as he settles back against the seat with his arms crossed. 

“Why do you have to make this difficult?” You snap. “You know this isn’t easy for me either.” 

“But it is easier than the alternative, right?” After two hours of ice cold silence, he finally looks at you and you can feel the spike of frost in your chest. The twitch in his jaw is the rage in his eyes taking physical form. “Easier than . . . trying. Right?” 

He looks away, already having confessed too much with whisky on his breath, and he can’t afford another slip-up. He knows this. You know this. You want to reach out and touch him but you worry he might physically slap you away if you do. You’ve hurt him in places Javier Peña doesn’t like to admit he has. 

“It’s not that simple,” you say to his thigh. “And you know it.” 

His jaw twitches again. “I’m not asking for your goddamn hand in marriage. I’m just — sick of this ‘will we, won’t we’ shit. I want –,”

“No.” You say and you can feel the word imprint under your sternum. “There’s too much at risk. We’ve been in this fight for too long to get benched and if Noonan even gets a whiff of anything out of whack with her agents, she’ll . . . I want to, Javi, can’t you see that? I really want to – in case I didn’t make that crystal fucking clear. I want to, but there’s no trying for people like us. In a place like this.” The firm weight in your voice pushes on something that makes him look at you again. That rage has dissipated, melted, leaving only a corporeal ache. His brown eyes were endless in their confusion, their disappointment, their hurt. Please, he begs without words. You swallow, your thumbnail digging into your palm to keep yourself from launching yourself across the bench seat of his truck and into his lap. “I want to, Javi. I want . . . you.” 

He drops your gaze as if it burned him. He shifts back, hand coming up to cover his mouth, the side of his knuckle rubbing his upper lip as if coaxing whatever was sitting just behind his teeth back down his throat. 

Javier stares out into the oppressive Bogota night, his clavicle dewy with sweat and he shakes his head.

“Save it.”

You actually flinch. God, you knew it was going to hurt but you never thought it would hurt this much. Hurts so much it claws up your chest with cut-metal knives until you can’t breathe. Until you can’t see as tears flood your eyes.

“Javi, please.” Your voice is calm, despite the small implosion in your chest. “Don’t–,”

“No, I mean – look.” He points out across the dashboard.

The door that has been shut tight for the past three hours has opened. El Corto, a man who lives up to his name, pokes his round face around the edge of the door, glancing up and down the street with the paranoia of someone who trafficks drugs for a living. You turn your head into your shoulder to act like you are adjusting the firearm on your hip to wipe your eyes. Beside you, Javier turns the safety of his handgun and slips it into the back of his jeans.

“You good?” He sounds like Javier, your friend, and that swell of confidence gives you the strength to kick down a door into a whole nest of narcos. You meet his eyes and nod. 

The air is no cooler out in the open when you slip out of Javier’s truck into the dark night of Bogota. Javier strides across the black street, eyes just as fast as El Corto, paranoia just as high. There’s never any telling if the narcos are alone and that’s why you hang back just a bit, eyes on Javier and a dozen other places. 

“El Corto,” Javier snaps, sharp and demanding. The voice of authority. The narco freezes, narrow shoulders going taught. You keep eyes on his hands, your own hovering over your weapon in case he chooses to go for his. “Ven aquí. Tenemos algunas–,”

Without warning, El Corto takes off running, darting off down an alleyway. 

“Fuck,” Javier hisses and pulls his shirt out of his pants, experience the cruelest teacher. But you’ve already passed him –  running your favorite way to unwind, train, and way to avoid your problems, tearing down the alleyway after the shadow sprinting into the night. 

There is something singular about running that is more addicting than any drug the narcos peddled. A chosen target. A finite end. The only thing you had to count on, the only thing to worry about, is how hard you had to pump your arms, the length of your stride, the control of your breathing. Hunting down narcos was a breeding ground for chaos. But not this. This made sense. 

El Corto, despite having about half your stride, makes up for his short stature with speed. You catch only a glimpse of his jacket, then his shoe. A mile through an empty street and he finally comes into view. You’re gaining on him. The unrestrained creature in your chest roars and blocks out the searing pain in your calves, under your ribs. God, you swear you can almost smell him.

Maybe all animals, big or small, can sense the moment before the trap ensnares around them because without warning, El Corto darts left, leaping over a wrought iron fence into the lower levels of an apartment building. He’s gone before you can blink.

Snarling, you squeeze the fence railing as you tuck your legs over it, the momentum of your run clearing you from the tips. 

A voice in your head and possibly behind you is yelling at you to wait, don’t go inside without backup, but you can’t stop. You can’t help it. If you can’t have who you want, this is what you want. This is what you need.

And you need a fucking win. 

You burst through the screen door to an empty concrete room – torn carpet, wall paint chipped away, maybe an old living room – a flash of jeans around the hallway at the end giving a fraction of an indication of your target. So you take off after him, rounding the corner. You watch as he nearly runs through a faded yellow door, the wood cracking and splintering from the force as it slams open into the wall. The door ricochets off the wall, nearly slamming close again, just as you reach it, but the brunt of your shoulder knocks it back again.

And something cracks you across the chest. 

Powder. Blue. Lots of it.

You stumble, your eyes and nostrils burning, as it seizes in your lungs. You cough and hack, trying desperately to unseal it from your lungs, but it barely budges, barely slides loose. Blind and gasping from the heat of your run and through the powder, you veer off course, stumbling into what feels like boxes. Your knees tremble, suddenly unsteady on your feet. 

Through your watery eyes, you watch as El Corto drops the plastic bag that used to contain the powder, a malicious glint in his eyes.

“Puta,” he spits, the slur hardly original for a female DEA agent. He steps back and sheds the gloves you didn’t realize he had been wearing, still watching you with twisted interest. 

You’re no longer coughing, but the air still hasn’t settled in your body. You feel the heat in your lungs rise, expand, then fall, against your skin, as if it is in sync with your heartbeat. With every breath, a sour, sticky warmth presses against every joint in your body, every bone. There’s a knot building at the base of your spine, tightening your hips, and you stumble until you’re seated on one of the boxes, which you now see as packing crates. 

You swallow but your mouth is dry. Head heavy. Distant. Your eyes feel swollen in your skull.

“What the fuck did you do to me?” you whisper. 

He’s not scowling at you, you realize, he’s leering. Eager. Excited. He takes a step towards you. 

A floor above, you hear the sound of the door being breached and Javier calling out your name. El Corto scowls, as though his favorite toy had been taken away, before he tears himself away to the narrow window on the other side of the room. More shipping crates have been stacked against the wall and El Corto scurries up it, unlatching the window. He pauses, glancing back over his shoulder at you.

“Diviértete para mí, putita,” he waves with three fingers as Javier crashes into the room, his gun raised. He spots El Corto just as he slips up through the narrow window – the space no bigger than the width of a child – his foot kicking down the tower of boxes. Javier nearly nabs his ankle, leaping up the concrete wall, as the narco disappears into the night.

His open palm striking against the humid wall is a wet slap. “Fuck,” he snarls, this time pounding with the heel of his fist, “we almost fucking had him. What the fuck ha–,”

He turns and meets your gaze for the first time. His mouth drops in horror.

Sweat blooming across your forehead, you lean over on a crate, limbs trembling, breathing uneven. Every scrap of fabric over your skin burns, your thighs burn, your blood burns, you are burning. The sweat peaks in droplets that run down the back of your neck, under your armpits. Whatever he hit you with makes you want to take off every inch of your clothes –maybe then you could fucking breathe – but even then, it wouldn’t be enough. 

He’s got you by the shoulders, forcing you to look at him, before you realize what’s happened.

“Talk to me.” Javier snaps, that authoritative force sharp and demanding, and it sends an aching bolt between your legs. You whimper in pain, your eyes fluttering. He shakes you. “Stay awake and tell me what happened. I need you to focus. ”

Your lips feel puffy, overripe and ready to split, your jaw tight and throbbing. “H-h-hit m-me with blu-ue – don’t–don’t know what i-it is.” 

Javier steps closer and the scent of his cologne hits you like a train. Groaning, a strange, unwelcome instinct yanks your head down into the curve of his neck, the source of the smell. The touch of his skin beneath your lips is a balm – cool egg yolk over a fresh burn – and you bury your face in deep.

“Oh, fucking Christ, Javi.” Your voice trembles, wavering down into a low moan. That same alien instinct latches your hands over his shoulder, nails digging into the cotton. But it’s not alien, you realize through the muggy, humid fog in your mind – you know this feeling. You are intimately aware of the coiling knot between your legs, your soaked underwear, the tightness of your nipples. But this can’t be happening. It shouldn’t. It shouldn’t hurt like this. 

You gasp, in real pain, a throb that starts clenching your cunt before rippling up your spine and locking your shoulders. You hunch against him, waiting for the contraction to pass. 

“What is it?” Javi holds you, panic evident in his voice. You swear you can hear his heartbeat in his neck. “What’s wrong? Talk to me, goddamn it.” He demands with no bite in his command. 

He peels you off him, you hiss, ripped out of the soothing embrace of his arms, and he makes you look at him. His eyes are wide, mouth twitching. The entirety of his chest is blue, most of powder from your skin covering his shirt.

He cups your cheeks, trying to see if the powder has left an acid burn, as another wave hits and you lock your body, now a battleground against the strangling desire to turn your face into his wide palm and inhale. There’s liquid making the crotch of your pants sticky and it’s embarrassing. It’s mortifying and silly and the ounce of sanity still left in your head keeps an iron grip on every muscle in your body – sanity telling you to not fucking do this. Don’t do this to him. Not when it would mean so much to him.

To you. 

But fuck, you want it. You need it. You might actually die without it.

Tears spring into your eyes, making a gooey muck as they slide down your cheeks and mix with the powder. Whatever this is, you have to fight it.

His eyes dart to your tears, the little bit of powder still on your face, and without thinking, he brushes your tears away with his thumbs.

Sanity cracks the whip – if it gets on him, then –

With the last ounce of strength, you shove him back, as far away from you as you possibly can. The second his warmth is gone from your skin, you tremble and your knees give out. Fresh tears, spurred on by the pain, by the fear, by the shame, spill from your eyes and you curl up against the wall. 

“D-don’t, Javi, don’t. I th-think it’s t-t-transderm-mal–,”

“What do you–,”

You watch helplessly as his pupils contract and then expand wildly, black swallowing that aching brown. He shakes his head like a bewildered animal, sweat already bleeding across his skin, and he stumbles back onto a springy metal cot on the opposite wall. He blinks, hand tightening around his knee. It makes his forearm flex and you have to physically close your eyes, the sight forcing your cunt to clench down on nothing. 

“What . . . what the fuck is this shit?”

You bite your lip, your chin tucked to your shoulder as your body cramps, punishing you for denying it the only source of relief. You squint at him and see he’s half-hard in his jeans. You whimper.

“I-I don’t know . . . new– new party drug?” You grunt, your head thrown back against the wall. God, your skin is going to melt right off your bones.

“This is way fucking worse than ecstacy,” Javier murmurs, his jaw tight. “Fuck, got a bit on me, but you . . .”

He blinks at you, eyes glassy, with sudden and total understanding, with perfect clarity why you shoved him away, and what exactly you need. 

He murmurs your name and you gasp, another cramp yanking new tears down your cheeks. 

“J-Javier,” you swallow thickly, “I know what I s-said before, a-and in the car, but if you ever cared about me, p-please . . . please, just –,”

You can’t encompass all that you need into words, but you hope he understands, is feeling kind despite all that you had done to him. Your bones ache, skin too tight.

He shakes his head, but weakly, his eyes caught on your throat, the wetness clinging to your lips. “You’re just saying that because of the drugs. We have to call Murphy. Get us to a hospital or something.”

“Javi,” you whine and maybe it is the drugs, or maybe he has an inkling of how much it hurts, but he’s across the room in an instant. He grabs you by the shoulders and hauls you to your feet. He drops his head and inhales like he can draw the heat from your blood. The tip of his nose dragged across your jaw is a cube of ice against the furnace of your skin. You shudder, hands clasping around his shoulders, dragging him against you, his hands cupping your hips as if to steady him. 

“I-I’ll give you this.” Javier Peña doesn’t stutter. Your eyelids weigh a thousand pounds as you draw your gaze up to him. “I’ll help, cariño, and then we call Murphy. Okay?” 

You nod, dizzy and overheated and sick with wanting. You nod and tilt your hips forward into his fingers as they pop open the button of your jeans. The sound of the slide of the zipper drives a shiver through you and you feel his cock, fully hard, against your thigh. 

His lips brush your cheek, his voice slurred, dripping slow in molasses, sweet and dark. “I’ll help. I’ll give you what you need.”

The first press of his fingers against your pussy rubs slippery and wet. With a sigh of relief, you drop your head against the wall, hips shoving into his hand, begging for more.

“Fuck,” he wheezes. “You’re already soaking.”

“More, Javier, more.” 

He grinds his cock against your thigh to soothe his own ache. He nods slowly as if dazed, his eyes locked onto to where his hand disappears inside your jeans. “Y-yeah, okay.”

If any hesitation remains, it’s gone when he sinks two fingers inside of you and taps up. You moan and he shoves his knee between your legs. 

“You like that, pretty girl? Does that help?”

“Yes,” you gasp into his neck, his fingers rocking into you. “Yes, Javier, yes!” 

His touch douses the ache, the fire, across your skin, in your spine. With every snap of his wrist, he draws away the heat from your exposed, too-sensitive nerves, easing the lighting storm in your low stomach. The noises you’re making, the noises your cunt makes against his fingers – it should embarrass you, should draw red up into your cheeks and ears, but it’s just more release. You yowl like an animal in heat and Javier’s groin jerks against you. You gain enough sentience to realize he’s fucking you with his jeans on up the wall, his hand never slowing or easing. You can feel yourself gush between his knuckles. 

“You’re almost there, muñeca, I can feel it. Just give it to me. Come for me,” he pants into your clavicle, the spread of bone across your chest. You tighten at the thought of his breath against your nipples, his teeth on the soft weight of your breast –

And you do. You come with the easy brush of his thumb against your clit. White lightning soothes the rage beneath your skin and you shudder in his arms, forehead collapsing against his shoulder. The snap of his hips against your thigh is a bruising rhythm, harsh, feral, an understanding that only something rough and wild can actually save your life. 

“Is that better, querida?” His wide palm pushes the hair back from your damp neck, cradling your heated cheek. His thumb brushes just under your bottom lip. You can feel his own fever, radiating from his skin. “Can we get you somewhere safe?”

But you’re still too high, too taut, to answer him. Another one builds, stacks up on itself every time his rock-hard cock digs into your hip. He scissors his fingers and you bear down onto his thigh. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, but without exhaustion or anger. He sounds almost gleeful. When he looks at you, his pupils are blown wide, sweat making his skin glow. The skin around his mouth is damp. “Alright, I’m not gonna stop. You can have one more. One more, querida.” 

His shoulders tense, the muscles in his back shifting, as he changes the angle of his fingers, renews the pressure of his thumb on your clit. He brushes against something deep inside of you, wet and spongy and never before reached and you arch your back in response, air sucked from your lungs. His thigh nearly lifts you off the floor. 

“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it?” He taps the spot again and tears flood your eyes and spill down your cheeks. 

“Oh my god, Javi,” you murmur and he seems to like that. You clamp down around him and his hips stutter, his moan deep and coming from an ache in his chest. He inserts another finger and your cunt sucks him in, greedy for more. 

He eases back into his rhythm, raggedly humping your hip, the rough material of his jeans burning between your thighs. 

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” he breathes. “Fuck, I knew it would fucking feel this good. You’re clenching down on me so hard, baby.” 

On the tip of your next orgasm, the haze clears for just a second and you catch him in the eye. This isn’t just the drugs, you know, this isn’t just an excuse for both of you. This is hating to see the other one in pain. This is sharing a worry for a bit of yourself that lives in another body. What passes along the length of your gaze is the exact thing you feared losing. 

Selfishly, you’d rather not have him like this, than not having him at all. 

But this is what it could be, he tells you through an open, gasping mouth, through eyes that pin you to the wall, this is what we could have every day, every night. If you just let me in. 

If you just –

“Come for me.” 

You answer with his name, on a cry high and sharp, and you’re coming – harsh, fast, exploding as you drench him, his fingers pressing roughly into that one sweet spot. 

Javi slumps forward, the weight of him nearly stifling, as he gasps, his hips stilling, stuttering, stopping. His skin flushes cold for a second, sweat cooling his fever, his face buried in your neck. 

You feel it. Against your thigh. You swallow in surprise, the fog parting briefly again. 

“Javi, did you . . .”

He wrenches his hand out of you, releasing his grip on your hip as he lowers you down. 

“I’m not fucking calling Murphy,” he grits out.

*~*~*

Javier is a man of singular focus. Almost dogged and single-minded in his hunt, it’s rare he is even capable of listening to the voice of reason. It’s a different voice than his own that tells him when he’s doing something monumentally stupid. There’s a part of him that knows exactly why that voice sounds a lot like you, unconsciously knowing that you’re the only thing that could give him pause. And yet, there are times when he can shut the voice out, can shut out everything inside of him screaming at him not to do the thing he’s going to do. But this, this decision, genuinely has him torn. There is no right way to do this.

Well, there is a right way. One where he takes you to dinner, buys you flowers, walks you home, tucks your hair behind your ear, kisses you softly at first, then rough, until you beg him to come up the stairs. Despite what some may think, he is capable of being romantic. He can be sweet. He can ask nicely. 

But that is something he is not capable of right now. 

In his post-nut clarity – because, yes, he did come in his pants like a twelve year old with his first porn mag after having his fingers up your cunt for what was all too short – he realized the room you both were in was some sort of safehouse. 

A cot against the wall. A portable stove with something in the pan black and sticky. The crates are empty of any valuables – by the shape and length, most likely guns – but the few that are still full have a few bags of that elicit blue powder. He makes a mental note, somewhere on the very distant laundry list in his brain, to take a bag – with gloves on and wrapped up in several other baggies – to have it tested at the lab. Because whatever this stuff is, it might actually be more dangerous than cocaine.

Especially to idiots like him, he thinks roughly as he yanks the thread-bare mattress off its wiry frame onto the floor. He snatches up the cotton sleeping bag at the foot of the frame and unzips it, the inside facing down. This is such a monumentally stupid idea, he knows it is, but he can already feel that cramp building up his thighs, his cock throbbing awake, arousal clamping down on the base of his spine. And he just got a whiff of it. He can’t imagine what you’re feeling already. Behind him he hears you moan softly, never one to complain or whine when things get tough or hard, so he goes faster. He tucks up the other end of the sleeping bag in what he hopes is some semblance of comfort, but he wonders if that will even matter to either of you when it hits again which, judging by how hard his cock is growing, is eminent. The wet spot on his thigh, beneath his jeans, is sticky, uncomfortable. He needs no further reason to unbutton them. 

You moan, this time louder, higher, again and he turns to face you, his shirt already undone to his stomach.

You’re pale again, skin glossy and sickly wet. When your eyes flutter open, they’re glassy, gaze distant and unfocused. You twitch when that first cramp settles in deep. He thinks, his mind not entirely his own, about how deep the clutch of your cunt sucked in just his fingers and he shivers. He simultaneously wanted to get this over with and drag it out for days. Have you beneath him for days. 

Your legs tucked up beneath you from where he laid you down, Javi approaches quietly, kneeling as he takes off his shirt and goes to untie your boots. He touches your ankle as gently as he can and you shudder, cracking an eye open. 

“Javier, it’s coming back. It’s coming back and it hurts.”

In addition to the many, many agency violations, this is monumentally stupid because he’s obsessed with you. Has been for a while. Not just in a way that makes him want to fuck you for hours flat on your back, but in a way that your smile is the last thing he sees before he goes to sleep and the first thing on his mind when he wakes up. An obsession with your wellbeing, your safety, your happiness. A persistent coiling thought about your laugh, and strength, and the way you can make grown men twice your size tremble in fear. You’re a hunter, just like him, and with your beauty – your staggering, haunting beauty – how was he not supposed to immediately attach himself to you? It came on slowly, his pathological need to be near you, and once he realized what it was, there was no going back. No turning it off. 

He didn’t mean to tell you when he was drunk, but after bagging another narco, it was like he could see the light at the end of the tunnel. A brief glimpse into a world where you both were safe, and happy, and – god willing – together and in this world, he told you and he was brave about it and you said it back and he felt warm all over. But that was not this world, not his reality. In this one, he has to save you by doing the one thing that may truly well and good fuck him over. 

“Sit up, baby, that’s it.” He eases you into his arms and it’s like his touch drags you back into consciousness. Your fingers dig into his bare arms as you take in his exposed chest. 

“Javi, fuck, I don’t wanna beg, but before when you – you – I felt better. It cleared. I don’t know why or how, but with your fingers inside m-me, it . . . helped.” 

“I know, cariño, and I want to help more.” His thumbs press up under your jaw, tilting your head up to look him directly in the eyes. There’s fear there, pain, and it’s agonizing to him. “But I don’t know if that’s what you want.” 

“What I want? Javi, I–,” your eyes widen in understanding of what he’s offering, of what he’s scared to do. What he’s scared to take without your permission. 

You swallow, a pink flush crawling up your throat. “I . . . I don’t . . . I didn’t want our first time together to be anything like this, but . . .” You shake your head, shuffling closer to him, your breathing thinning as the drugs start to strike matches against your nerves. “I just don’t want you to think it doesn’t mean anything.” 

“It’s gonna mean everything to me, no matter how I get it.” He presses a soft kiss to the corner of your chin, just in front of his thumb. You nod, eyes squeezing shut, as you fight this arousal that claws into your skin like meat hooks. He pulls you to your feet, holding you steady as your knees try to lock up. He unbuttons your shirt with shaking hands. 

You touch his chest like you’ve never seen a man naked before. The hesitant, awed touch of you sends all the blood still remaining in his head straight into his cock. 

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” he murmurs to your cheek, your shirt off your body, his hands tugging your jeans down your hips. You nod again, speechless in your relief, and follow your jeans to the ground. Twisting on the nest he made for you, you slide your bra off, your nipples already tight and perk and waiting for his mouth. You huff, a sound so unlike you it makes him genuinely concerned, as the front of your panties darken again. 

“It’s okay, Javi, this is what I want. I want this.” You hate being vulnerable, he knows this, your attitude a front that leaves no room for sexist comments in the bullpen. And yet, here you are, deflowered and begging for him. You spread your legs for him, eyelids heavy, and he can smell the arousal on you. 

He drops to his knees, unsure where to start first, but the blue powder coursing through his veins demanding he puts his hands on your hips, which he finally acquiesce to. 

“I don’t think I can be gentle,” he admits quietly. He wants to nip, suck, slurp every inch of you, wants to see that perfect body bend to his will, to his turning. He wants to fuck you open and stuff himself up inside you so deep it leaves a mark. In his haze, the instinct to fuck supplies him with an image of you pregnant, bred and full of him, and his cock twitches so hard he drops onto all fours over you. 

You slip your underwear over your toes and your knees take him by the ribs.

“Please, Javi, please.” 

He knows it must hurt, must be so blindingly painful for you to beg like this. You never asked anyone for anything and that independence turned him on and frustrated him to no end. 

“Please, be rough,” you ask him from under your lashes, your body writhing beneath him. His hips, on a separate system than the rest of him, thrust the rough teeth of his zipper against your cunt and you keen, the sound imprinting into every crevice and curve of his brain. “Make it hurt.”

Oh fuck, this might actually be the thing that kills him. 

He hushes you, stills your flushed whimpering with a kiss that ends in teeth against the high curve of your cheek. He noses to your mouth, then down to your ear, where he bites on your earlobe. He’s balancing on one hand as his other tugs his jeans down and off his hips. 

He wants to fuck your tits. Come all over them, have his spend flush up your throat, your chin. He wants to come so hard he blinds you with it. And then he wants to flip you over and fuck your ass with his come-lubed dick. 

You wriggle and whine, legs wrapping around his hips, tugging him down onto you when, half-a-mind away, he realizes he just said all of that outloud.

“Yes, Javi, you can have whatever you want. Fuck me however you want.” His blood is boiling now, the white-hot bomb settling itself in the base of his spine, his balls already tight. Why he’s dragging this out is beyond him and possibly a medical detriment to you. 

“Javi, just fucking put your cock ins–,”

He watches as every conscious thought wiped from your mind, brow heavy, mouth seared open as he plugs you full of him in one rough thrust. You shudder and his elbows buckle, his body locked up tight because if he moves, if he dares to rub his cock through your velvet, hot clutch, he’ll come right there. Your eyes roll back in your head as his cock makes space for itself inside you.

“Javi–,” he claps a wide palm over your mouth, his teeth straining in his jaw, his temple twitching.

“Baby, I know it hurts – I know it fucking does – but I need you to stay still.” It feels too good. You’re too hot, too slippery, and soft. He can feel the hum of words behind his fingers and he shakes his head. “Do not fucking move – I just need to – I have to –,” 

He inches in just a bit more and you both gasp to the ceiling when he bottoms out. Your rough curls against his pelvis sears him, hot and sweet like cinnamon. He drools when he thinks about eating his own come out of you.

You only get one word out, one word that sets his whole world on fire: “Please.” 

He rears back, yanks you up his thighs, hands cupping the backs of your knees and he plows into you. Your tiny fingers that have pulled countless triggers and clapped irons on criminals twitch, tightening into the smelly cotton fabric, your mouth contorted open. His pace, his thrusting, is relentless, unforgiving but the look on your face is pleased, an almost maniacal grin across your lips. 

“Oh, right there, Javi, just like that. Just like that.”

He’s faster than he is precise. Precise comes later when the bestial fog clears from his brain, when the lust bleeds out of his system, when he doesn’t want to hump you like an animal with his teeth bared and cock so deep inside of you it kisses your womb. 

Before his mind entirely succumbs to the mounting arousal, he’s grateful he had the foresight to take the mattress down. If he hadn’t, there’s a good chance he would have fuck you, the bed, and himself right through the paper-thin walls. 

And then he lets go. Lets this thing in his chest and hot behind his groin take over, lets himself indulge in whatever carnal, depraved thing sparks in his mind.

He’s fucking you so hard you’ll both have bruises by morning. 

He watches, transfixed, at the place where his soaked cock disappears through your puffy, wet lips into the mind-numbing heat of your pussy. He can’t stop watching. He barely feels your nails digging into his thighs. 

The walls of your pussy squeeze him and it makes him falter, hitch speed. His gaze is torn away and instantly, it focuses on the bounce and sway of your tits. Sweat droplets roll from your neck into the valley of your breasts and without hesitation he bends to catch them with his mouth, tugging you further down his cock. You cry out, hands digging into his hair, as his tongue drags a wet trail over the top of your breast, the tip flicking your rock hard nipple, then beneath the swell where he meets it with his teeth. 

You jerk, pleasure overwhelming. “Uh – oh – oh – fuck – Javi.” The words leave your mouth truncated, cut short by his rhythmic bouncing. He nuzzles your tit, streaking you with his own sweat, not able to stop fucking up into you to really get a good grip on your breast, but wanting to put the whole thing in his mouth. 

“I’m gonna do it right next time,” he swears fidelity to your skin. He grinds his teeth against your sternum. “Next time I fuck you I’m going to pull you apart bit by bit. Starting with these fucking tits and ending with my tongue up your cunt. Maybe your ass.”

Against his cheek, he feels your skin break out in ridges, your whole body shivering at his words. He leans up, grinning wildly and grinds particularly deep inside of you. You still haven’t fully opened your eyes.

“Oh, you liked that, didn’t you? You want my tongue up your ass. What about my cock, huh? Want my fat fucking cock inside there?” 

You whine, clawing at his chest, as you nod frantically. He could ask anything of you right now and you’d give it to him. And god, he wants so much.

“It’d hurt, baby, you know it would.”

You nod, words tumbling out of your mouth in a mindless babble. “I don’t care. I want it there. I want you inside me. I want it to hurt. I want you to fuck me raw, Javi.”

He groans, more like a growl, rapidly picking up his pace. He lifts your knees higher and fucks up, the change in angle making you moan so loudly it fills up his ears with blood.

“Tell me where you want it. Say it, querida.” 

“I want it in my fucking ass, Javi.” 

His jaw twitching, that primal, unrestrained urge in him wrapping itself around his spine, he shoves you off him. Wetness dribbles down his lap but he doesn’t let himself smell or see it for long, as he flips you onto your hands and knees, sliding in and pummeling your pussy from behind.

You whine, singing for his cock, and collapse onto your elbows, presenting your ass for him. The pair of you really are just fucking animals.

He presses his thumb to your tight hole, the wet slap of his balls against your ass suddenly the least obscene thing in the room. There’s barely enough room for his thumb there and he tips his head back at the thought that no one had ever taken you there before. His. All his and no one fucking else’s. 

“Javi,” you sob, that preening need gone from your voice as though you are begging him not to go further, but desire kept you from voicing what you actually wanted. 

His bottom lip twitches and he leans down and gently bites your shoulder, grounding you and clearing out all fear. Drugs or not, he’d never do anything you didn’t explicitly ask for, but the second this is all over, he’s going to get on his hands and knees and beg you to let him work your ass open. 

“Not tonight, cariño.” He slides his thumb out of you, his wrist twisting as he palms the meat of your ass. “But I’m not leaving this completely untouched.”

He smacks the jiggling flesh until he sees a pink hand print, earning him a yelp from you every time his palm lands. He feels fresh, sticky wetness soak his cock with each slap, enough for it to dribble down his thigh. He’s not going to shower for a week. 

The higher he climbs, the faster that animalistic heat leaves his blood. You’re not as pale as before, the skin of your back growing a nice healthy flush. As his grip around your hips tightens, he feels your cunt clench around him. If he won’t take your ass tonight, he still wants you puffy and sore. He leans back just to watch his cock pound your pink, abused hole.

“I’m close, Javi,” you admit breathlessly. He nods, leaning forward again, that image of your pussy split open for him deliciously sealed in his mind, and he drags his nose down your spine. Sweat from his chest drops and splatters against your skin.

“I know you are, I can feel it. Can I see your face? Watch you? Can I put you on top?”

You nod and he slips out of you for what he hopes will be the last time in his fucking life. He’s no longer drug-crazed, but he is drunk. Pussy drunk. Drunk on you. Imbibed by the juices trailing down his thighs. He shifts and you swing a leg over his hips, immediately swallow him deep inside you. 

Unlike the courtesy he gave you, you give him no time to adjust, grip his chest, and ride him within an inch of his life.

Your tits swinging in his face, he presses his fingers so tight into your thighs, he’ll be able to count the distinct bruises, and plants his feet. He meets you, thrust for thrust, and he watches your competitive nature battle your overwhelming chase for release. 

“Just come, cariño,” he pants. “You’ve done so good tonight. Just fucking come all over my lap. Let go.” 

His words melt something inside of you and you whimper, curling down over him, which he takes to wrap his arms around your back, and roll you under him. He kisses your chin, your temple, the corner of your mouth. His big palm cradling your head, he grinds low and deep, seeking out that place he touched with his fingers. 

“It’s alright. I’ve got you. You can come.” He prods that spot once and it’s all over. You clamp down on his cock, milking him for all he’s worth because as you arch, mouth open, tears down your face, he comes too. He comes and he comes and he comes until he drips out of you and that breaks another orgasm across you, this one bumpy and leaves you shaking. 

He feels dizzy, unsure up from down, the loudest sound he hears is his own blood rushing in his ears. He’s never been more exhausted. 

He can hear the vibration of you saying something against his throat, but nothing is quite working like it’s supposed to, so he slumps off you, his hand never leaving your skin, as he tugs you against him.

He’ll be dried and sticky in only a few hours – you both will – but that doesn’t matter right now. The only thing that does is the feeling of your heartbeat over his. 

*~*~*

Morning, along with the scent of rain, glides in through the open window and your fingers twitch as sunlight hits you. Your eyes fluttering open, you lift your head from the sleeping bag to see wet puddles on the floor under the window, the concrete streaked and stained with water. It must have rained sometime last night and, shockingly, you didn’t hear a thing.

The heatwave had finally broken. 

It’s not until you’re full awake do you realize his hand rests in the cup of your neck, thumb rubbing smooth, soft circles into the hard knot near your shoulder blade. You smile, groaning softly, becoming more relaxed by how good it feels. 

You roll over and greet his eyes. They’re brown again, the hungry blackness gone, but leaving an edge of uncertainty in its wake. 

He wants to know how you feel about last night.

“You fucked up,” you tell him and that worried crease appears between his eyebrows. You inch closer, your hand curling up against his jaw. “All that time last night, all the time you had me under you, and you didn’t kiss me once.”

You close your eyes, drop your head, and press a fervent, determined kiss against his pink lips. You can feel it as he swallows it in, his body shifting forward, hand coming up to your hip. But just as quickly as it starts, he pulls away. 

Javier shakes his head. “I can’t,” he says almost mournfully, eyes downcast. “I don’t want to know – what you taste like, if . . . I can’t kiss you if this is the last time.”

He’s still respecting your boundary, your wishes, while coated in his release and yours. He knows he can’t be selfish with you again.

You wet your lip, hand still on his cheek. 

“Javier, you saved my life last night. That was some kind of fucked up drug, but if you hadn’t been here and did what you did, I think I would have had a heart attack.” He shakes his head, ashamed and desperate to prove you wrong. You understand his hesitation. It felt too good for it to be anything other than a transgression. “And if anything, it showed me something I think I already knew but couldn’t find in myself to admit. I need you, Javi. I need you because I can’t live without you. Because I love you.”

His eyes light up when you return the words he uttered in the bar. None of this is how it should have been – in an abandoned narcos hideout, but god, there’s not a single thing you’d change. 

“Yeah, baby? You mean that?” You nod as hot, natural desire flashes in his eyes as he pulls your body under him and captures your mouth in his. His warm palm cups your hip, your ribs, up under your arm, and pushes your elbow to your head. There’s more to say, more to worry about, but that fucking heatwave over Bogota has finally broken and Javier Peña’s cum is dried and flaky between your thighs. 

“We should call Murphy,” you giggle, withdrawing your tongue from his mouth. He shakes his head, the blunt edge of his teeth against your cheek. “There’s a deadly new drug on the streets. Lives are at stake.”

“My dick is at stake,” he murmurs, lips hovering over your skin, drawing your knee up to his ribs as he slots himself between your thighs. The smile slides off your face as he thumbs your raw clit in rough, desperate circles. 

“I thought you said you were going to take it slow next time,” you huff, hips rolling against his stiff cock. 

“I will. Gonna take you to dinner. Cup your ass over a distractingly short dress. Buy you flowers and fucking gold jewelry . . . then I’m going to take you home and open you up with my fingers, then my tongue.” 

“So what’s this?” You gasp against his neck as he sinks his cock into you. 

He groans, grunts, as if he hadn’t spent the better part of the night making your cunt his personal possession. 

“This is me, fucking you, before breakfast. Then we call Murphy. Any objections?” 

You squeeze your knees around him, ankles hooked across his low back, sucking a mark into his neck. 

“Not at all.” 

When you do go public, not shying away from holding hands in the office, or openly walking in at the same time from the same car, Noonan is irate, but can’t bring herself to cut her two best agents loose. It seems catching Pablo Escobar matters more than some silly, little government-issued guidelines. She’d get her day in court, but not today. Not for a while. 

Noonan is annoyed. 

Murphy is not. 

“Came across some new party drugs and not a single thing happened, right?”

“You could have found it, taken it home for you and Connie to enjoy,” you say as you slide your arm across Javier’s back, his hand on your hip. He rarely ever takes his hands off you now. “But, no, you bailed on me instead.” 

“Sounds like you should be thanking me, instead of busting my balls.”

“He’s right, baby,” Javier nuzzles your neck. “Could have been him stuck in that basement with me, horny as a cat in fucking heat.” 

You shrug as Murphy makes a face. “I blame the heatwave.”

He leans into your ear. “And I blame your fucking ass in that skirt. I’m gonna take you home, make good on my promise. Any objections?”

she's sitting with her legs crossed out in front of her in her soft, silk pajamas, leaning lazily against the headboard. she's so beautiful, you think, so pliant and willing. you're staring.

"come here," you whisper, sitting on the edge of the mattress as you extend a hand out to her. her eyebrows furrow, concerned.

"why?"

"i just...really want to kiss you right now."

you want to do more than that. you've been dreaming about it. you've watched her come apart beneath her joel's tongue, watched the way she gives herself over to him, squirming and crying and writhing under all the generous pleasure he offers her. it's fucking miraculous.

you want to try.

you've been with other girls here and there, but you've never done that. you know how you like it though. you could give her that.

worry paints her features.

"but joel's not here," she protests feebly.

she takes your outstretched hand regardless.

"he'll be back soon." the men have gone to get coffees, leaving you and her alone in the hotel room coated with mid-morning sunlight. "but we don't have to do anything if you don't feel safe, honey."

she appears to think it over for a moment, her eyes darting to your lips before she's shaking her head resolutely.

"i feel safe with you."

you smile as you climb over her body, straddling her hips and taking her sweet face in your hands.

"i'll take care of you," you promise her. she nods, her eyes glazing over as you lean forward to connect your mouth with hers.

she whimpers against you even though you're being so, so soft, only the lightest press of your lips onto hers. then she's melting into you, her frame going almost limp under you as you languidly flick your tongue between her parted lips. it awards you another symphonic whine, the sound going straight to your pussy, already aching from just the feeling of being on top of her.

"can i touch you, baby?" you ask her.

"mhmm."

your lips twitch, only inches from hers. "give me a yes or no, please."

she's nodding again, eager. "yes," she says.

you kiss her again, deeper this time and with just the slightest bit more force, still being just as careful as you know her joel is with her. when her tongue collides with yours, you suck it gently into your mouth, swallowing the squeaked moan that catches in her throat.

once you feel she's well and truly given in to you, you trail your hands down over her collarbones, dipping lower to her clothed chest before pinching lightly at both her hardened nipples. they poke out deliciously through the thin fabric of her pajamas and the second your fingers take hold she's arching up into you, crying out beautifully against your mouth.

she falls apart so easily. she's so perfect.

"can i take this off?" you ask as your fingers find their way beneath the hem of her shirt.

"yes, please."

so polite. her joel likes that. your joel likes it too. they're so alike, you think, and so different.

you miss them.

you strip out of your own shirt first, relishing the way her gaze fixes on your bare breasts, the way she swallows when they bounce ever so as you readjust yourself on her lap. she sits up straighter, willing as ever as she lifts her arms over her head to let you strip her pretty shirt off.

she's still staring at your tits.

"you wanna touch them, babe?" you offer and her eyes quickly move to your face.

"can i?" she asks. pleads. so soft.

you smile, clutching her face between your palms again. "go on."

sometimes you think your joel has rubbed off on you. or maybe this is just the way you are with her. you're still learning. every day, learning more and more about her and what she likes, more about yourself and your joel and how much you're willing to share with she and hers. 

she reaches her hands between your bodies tentatively, like she's not exactly sure what to do with them. she's hovering her fingers over your nipples and a familiar pucker appears between her brows.

she's so nervous when her joel's not here.

"touch them, honey, it's okay. you won't do it wrong."

she takes a deep breath, seems to steel herself before finally cupping your breasts in her hands, her touch feather light and careful. she's so fucking adorable.

"squeeze," you tell her and she does. so soft. "harder."

she tries, that worry line appearing between her brows again as she applies more pressure. your breath leaves you in a shaky exhale and it seems to embolden her; she kneads your breasts beneath her palms, gentle but steadily growing in confidence. you moan loudly when she mimics what you'd done to her, when she pinches gingerly at your pebbled nipples.

"fuck, come here," you growl, arousal stirring uncontrollably in your core as you crash your lips into hers again, hungrier than before, needier.

that's about the time the door clicks. you don't break the kiss. you know who it is. 

"huh," a gruff voice is saying. there's a smile in that sound.

"looks like our girls couldn't wait, could they?"

"needy little things. she takin' care of you, angel?" her joel asks. you're still kissing her as he approaches. your heart swells at the way she reaches a hand out to him, which he grasps tightly in both of his.

he's like an anchor for her. where's yours?

"'course she is," another voice is saying, and then you feel him, right behind you on the bed, his big hands coming down on your shoulders, running along your sides, up and over your chest till he finds your breasts. his palms are so much bigger than hers, his touch infinitely more demanding. you groan into her mouth and your hips rock into hers.

"i wanted..." you start to say but then joel's lips are on your neck, and there's nothing you can do to stop it. he's in control now.

"what did you want, sweetheart?" he murmurs into the hollow of your ear. she's squirming under you, her joel ducking down to steal her away from you to kiss her and you think they look so, so gorgeous.

"i wanted to eat her pussy, joel."

she whines into her joel's kiss, her free hand clawing at your bare thigh. the men chuckle.

"i think she wants that too," the older joel says. "do you want that, baby? want her to eat that perfect little pussy of yours? wanna let her taste you?"

now you whine, the younger joel's hands tweaking your nipples and making you see stars, while the elder's filthy words flood your mind with desire and all the while there's her, looking up at you, suppliant and desperate and beautiful.

"yes, please," she breathes, high-pitched and wanton. "i want her, joel. i want her mouth."

"good girl. c'mere."

there's a jostling of bodies as you stand to rid yourself of your underwear, the younger joel watching you with leering eyes as he strips out of his t-shirt and jeans. he's already hard under his boxers. you can hardly recall a moment since you've been here where he hasn't been hard. you kiss him, because he's right there and because you can't resist. he smacks your ass and you smirk at him.

"show her what you can do, babygirl," he encourages you.

her joel is quick to remove his clothes, helping her out of her silk pajama bottoms and situating his broad body behind her on the bed. she leans into his chest like coming home and he tilts her face up to his, placing a reassuring kiss against her lips.

your knees hit the mattress and their kiss breaks apart, her eyes on you in an instant, watching you crawl between her legs. her gaze is full of wonder, and only a hint of fear. the older joel's arms band around her chest and it seems to placate her some.

"open up for her, angel," her joel whispers into her neck.

she does as she's told, your careful hand on her knee coaxing her open wider, her glistening pussy on full display. for you.

you lick your lips.

"you know what you're doin' there, gorgeous?" her joel asks you and you smile shyly.

"not really," you confess.

"kiss her thighs," he instructs.

on all fours, you dive forward to press your lips into the delicate skin between her legs, feeling her shiver under you. she's so, so soft. you inch closer to her core, kissing your way over smooth, supple skin. goosebumps sprout on her tummy and you splay your hands out over them, sensing the way her muscles tense and loosen the nearer you get to her centre.

"slow, now," the older joel says, voice low. your eyes flit upwards. her eyelids are squeezed shut, head on his shoulder, lips parted. "kiss her pussy. soft."

behind you, your joel grunts, and there's a rustling as his boxers fall to the floor. you lean into her, the sight of her so close, intoxicating, beckoning.

"hey, honey," you whisper, just to her now. "look at me."

she opens her eyes but they go straight to her joel, that worry line back between her brows. he nods towards you with an encouraging smile.

"look at her," he repeats. "you're okay, angel. i got you. watch her. watch her eat your pretty pussy. she's gonna make you feel good. i'm gonna tell her just how you like it, okay?"

she sniffs, so brave. "okay."

at last, she obeys. wild-eyed and needy between her thighs, you never break her gaze as you close the space between your mouth and her cunt, pressing a tender kiss over her puffy, soaked folds. 

you moan in unison the second your lips make contact with hers. she's soft everywhere - but softest here, velvet smooth and wet. she's sweet all the time - but sweeter here, drenched with juices that taste like yours but different, better because they're hers.

"she wet?" your joel asks as he positions himself on the bed behind you, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight.

"so wet, joel," you hum in wonder, your lips hovering over her most sensitive spot.

"taste her," her joel orders you gently. your heart hammers and your own pussy throbs as you lick a stripe from her core to clit, slick collecting on your tongue. she chokes out a quiet whine and her joel kisses her ear, whispering something you can't quite make out, something just for them.

"how's she taste?" he grumbles to you but his face is still buried in her hair, watching her. always, always, always watching her, you notice.

"so sweet," you moan, lapping at her core again and again, savouring everything she gives you. a hand is grabbing at your ass then, toying roughly with the plush flesh there. joel. yours. "she tastes so fucking sweet."

"think your man wants a taste," the older joel says, and when you peer up at him this time, his eyes are on the other man, the one still perched behind you with a hand on your ass.

you sit up and twist to face him; you find his eyes are black, wrecked. he tilts your head back by your hair and cranes down to lick greedily into your mouth, groaning when he tastes her on your tongue.

"she's right," your joel grunts, speaking to the other man but looking right at you. "so damn sweet."

her impatient whine redraws your attention. "come back," she pleads.

what a beautiful thing to be wanted by her. you don't need to be told twice.

"easy," the older joel warns but you're already retaking your place between her thighs, spreading her lips apart with your fingers to find her swollen clit. you flatten your tongue over it, just the way you like it.

"it's okay, joel - ah!" her voice cuts off when you begin to circle, closing your lips around her and swirling your tongue over the bundle of nerves. a fresh wave of slick pools at her centre and coats your chin. she's everywhere. her squirms and cries are all for you now.

you hum with delight but you feel so empty. your pussy clenches around nothing each time she whimpers and moans for you. you're dripping down your thighs - dizzy with want - but right now, there's only her.

you unlock a newfound respect for your men, who always take such time and care with you when they're burying their faces between your legs. but then, with the way she's threatening to come undone as you lick and suck at her sensitive clit, you think you understand why they do.

"think your girl might need some attention," the elder miller says then. 

god, how can he always tell? 

you look up to see him staring right passed you to your joel. you don't let up your efforts on her, but the promise of something more, something for you, has your heart racing.

"yeah?" your joel presses, speaking to you now. "need this cock, gorgeous?"

you whine against her in response and he chuckles.

"you want her fingers, angel?" her joel asks her and she mewls softly, a pleading sound. "want her to fuck you with her fingers while she's takin' his cock?"

you gasp and your joel chuckles behind you. his hands are already on your hips, hoisting your ass up further and lining his stiff cock up with your entrance. you can feel the tip prodding against you and you rock back into him, ready for it, but then his hand comes down on your ass in a harsh slap, and you think it feels almost chiding.

"focus on her," he commands from behind you before he's sinking into your waiting heat, burying himself to the hilt in one swift motion.

you moan at the stretch, at the fullness. always so, so full of him. she's keening beneath you - demanding your attention - but then joel starts to move and you can barely remember your own name.

"please," she's begging and joel smacks your ass again, digging his fingernails into your flesh. her joel reaches down then to snatch your hand and guide it towards her pussy.

"one to start," he tells you. "she'll be tight."

determined, you nod, joel's thrusts coming slow and even, measured as he moves in and out of you.

you prop yourself up on an elbow and her joel lets you take over as you poke at her hole with one finger, working to focus on her face as you curiously push it inside.

"fuck fuck fuck," she cries.

she's so warm, her walls constricting around your finger, slick dripping out generously over your knuckle.

"you copy me, sweetheart," your joel instructs. "fuck her like i'm fuckin' you."

"slow," her joel emphasizes. like the younger joel doesn't already know.

the joel inside you slows his movements even more, pulling almost all the way out before languidly sliding back in. you mimic his motions with your finger inside her, each agonizing drag of his cock into you eliciting heady moans from you and her, almost like he's fucking you both.

but of course he's not. you're making her feel good. you're doing that.

"just like that," the older joel orders. "put your mouth back on her. lick her clit."

she's squirming again; her joel has to practically restrain her to keep her still. when you close your lips around her clit again, your joel's hand is suddenly on your neck, holding you against her and forcing you to breathe through your nose as you lick and lap and flick at her sensitive clit, maintaining the steady movement of your finger in and out of her pussy, in time with joel's leisurely thrusting into you.

"joel, more, please, i can take more," she's whining and you hum into her, echoing her pleas. you want to give her more. you need more. more more more. it's never enough.

"yeah?" her joel eggs her on. "you want another finger, babygirl?"

"mhmm."

"ask her for it."

you can't imagine the look she sees on your face, wound up with euphoria from joel's cock filling you up, the slick of her all over your face and mouth, his hand still gripping the back of your neck.

you must looked wrecked. when your eyes lock, you think she does.

"please. another finger."

you nod - as much as you can - sinking another finger into her alongside the first and groaning at the way she stretches open for you.

you disregard your orders, opting instead to search for that spongy spot inside her, the spot you know will make her feel the very best, the spot that joel always finds without any difficulty at all.

it's hard; joel, seemingly unable to help himself, is fucking you harder and faster, filth tumbling from his lips like it always does when he's getting caught up in you.

"look at our perfect fuckin' girls, huh? you like eatin' her pussy, don't you, sweetheart? she looks so pretty with your face in her cunt."

"yeah, she does," her joel agrees and when you peek up at them from under your lashes, his face is buried in her hair again, kissing and nipping at her ear. "so fuckin' gorgeous, angel. you're doin' so, so good."

she whimpers and at last your fingers find what they're looking for. she cries out wordlessly, her back arching off of her joel's chest as you nudge at that perfect spot with expert care.

"oh, fuck," your joel groans behind you, his pace increasing so he's pounding into you, the tip of his cock colliding with your cervix, crashing you forward into her heat. with some difficulty, your lips find her clit once more.

you offer her tender kitten licks while your fingers continue their beckoning motions inside of her and the sounds she's making have your insides curling.

"oh, she likes that. good girl."

it's her joel, you realize, but he's talking to you, praising you sweetly just like yours would. his hands are on her breasts, kneading them between his fingers and flicking her nipples with all the care and precision of a man who knows exactly what his girl wants.

your joel growls in agreement, his hands clamping down tightly on your sides, his movements growing more erratic. he jostles you against her but it only pushes you more firmly into her, forces your fingers deeper.

"she's close," your joel warns.

"gonna come for her, babygirl? gonna come on her mouth?" her joel asks her.

"joel - it feels - different - "

"yeah? let go, angel, it's okay," the older joel assures her.

different? different how?

she's gasping, bucking her hips into your mouth, so needy, right on the edge. you hum in encouragement because it's the most you can muster, eager to feel her finish.

you pucker your lips around her clit again, feeling her body tighten beneath you, and then she's gone.

she quivers as she comes, moaning out a string of curses that sound like prayers in her honey sweet lilt. you're so lost in it, it catches you off guard in the very best way when a stream of liquid collides with your lips and face, her moans choking out into strangled cries.

"oh, look at that, baby," her joel hums in awe. "good fuckin' girl."

you don't have to ask to know she's never done that before. the realization that you'd made her squirt for the first time has you feeling warm and electric, almost proud. her come drips over your chin, soaking your cheeks and tongue, leaving a wet spot on the sheets below her. you'd done that.

"oh god, oh god, oh god," she chants above you, writhing away from your touch when it ends, when you've swallowed down every drop you can, pulling out your fingers slowly and lapping at her wet folds just to hear her scream out at the overstimulation.

she immediately buries her face into her joel's neck.

"i’m sorry," she chokes. "was that - "

"don't be sorry, angel," her joel whispers, softly petting her hair. "that's normal. just means she was makin' you feel extra good. we gotta find out how to make you do that again."

"yes please," you agree, offering her a smile. she returns it shyly.

he kisses every inch of her he can reach, murmuring sweet praise into her skin. you could watch them forever, you think, her limp body pressed into his while he holds her to him lovingly. they're so fucking beautiful.

you're conscious then of the younger joel's ragged grunting behind you, his hand reaching around to toy with your clit as he tugs at your hair with the other. your back arches and you whine out a chorus of his name as he beckons you closer to your own climax.

"look at them," her joel whispers to her, gripping her chin and tilting her face towards you and joel. "she looks good when she's gettin' fucked, doesn't she?"

"yes. yes, joel," she agrees breathily, still visibly reeling from her orgasm, eyes glassy and wide.

"she's gonna look real pretty when she comes on his cock," he adds and she nods, staring you down with something akin to anticipation.

"joel, i'm - " you start to tell the younger man but he just growls lowly, already knowing. he pulls you back into his chest, putting you on display for them. he pistons in and out with reckless abandon, deft fingers working over your clit while his other hand grips the base of your throat.

"give 'em a show, gorgeous," he purrs into your ear and it's the moment you finally break. your knees shake and your walls flutter around him as you come on his cock, your joel's firm arms around you holding you upright as he fucks you through it. you do as he says, moaning lewdly and throwing your head back over his shoulder, making sure they see every curve and bounce and clenching muscle.

you're still coming when he empties himself inside you, his thick fingers coiling tighter around your neck as he does.

"what'd i say, huh?" you hear her joel say. "real pretty."

it feels like eons before your joel lifting you off his cock, his spend dripping from your centre as he pulls you back into his lap to affectionately nip at your neck and shoulders.

"so fuckin' perfect, sweetheart," he whispers, just to you. "so good for me. for them."

"fuck," her joel groans, sounding impatient as he shifts on the bed, maneuvering her so she's lying on her back and he's hovering over her. he strokes his cock, hard and leaking, in quick, desperate pumps that tell you he's aching to find his own release.

"fuck her," you brazenly suggest. she glances at you with wide eyes and you offer her an encouraging smile. "she can take it."

her joel seems reluctant, always nervous to push her too far. his eyes never leave her face, waiting for the moment she turns to face him with a steely expression and a pleading gaze.

"you want it, angel?" he asks her, gliding a calloused thumb over her cheekbone. "you want my cock?"

she nods.

"yes or no, honey," you remind her and your joel chuckles behind you.

"yes," she breathes. "please, joel."

he doesn't wait for further confirmation, just grips her sides and lines himself up with her core, sinking inside her inch by careful inch. still so slow.

"attagirl," your joel praises her when the other joel bottoms out inside her, his thick arms bracing on either side of her head. you imagine she must be spent, sensitive where you've just made her come, but she takes it so, so well, her lips parting when he begins to move, gentle strokes that make her gasp each time his hips connect with hers.

"beautiful," you add because it's true.

"hear that?" the older joel murmurs to her, his face just inches from her. "don't i always tell you how beautiful you look when you're all fucked out, babygirl?"

she whimpers softly, tears pricking at her eyes. but not the bad kind. you've come to recognize those tears. the sweet ones, the blissful ones, the ones she often sprouts when she's experiencing all the pleasure she'd once been denied.

"m'not gonna last," her joel admits with a shake of his head, his thrusts growing shallower, faster.

"come on her tits," you request.

"you wanna taste him, don't you, sweetheart?" your joel grins behind you, biting at your earlobe. you just giggle. of course he's right.

the older man's movements grow more desperate, the muscles of his arms flexing. he's concentrating on her face as his climax nears, like it's the last thing he needs to take him over the edge. it probably is.

"tell me, baby," he pleads with her.

"come, joel, please," she obliges, voice weak and cracked. "come on my tits."

his lips twitch into a devilish grin before he's hastily pulling out, pumping himself over her furiously till hot ropes of seed paint her stomach and chest. he curses under his breath, hissed pants passing through his teeth and then it ends, the taut muscles of his belly softening as he dives forward to kiss her waiting mouth.

when he pulls away from her, your eyes remain fixed on the white splatters of come that line her smooth, inviting skin. both joels note the way you're staring.

"go on," yours encourages you with a firm smack to your side. "know you want to."

you shift to crouch over her, smiling as you lick your way from her belly button to her sternum and collect as much of his spend as you can on your tongue. you peer up at her from under your lashes to find her watching, always watching. her eyes flash to your mouth full of his come and you already know what she wants.

your lips are on hers in an instant, come-coated tongue clashing with hers and spilling into her waiting mouth. she moans when his flavour hits her taste-buds, when your spit and his seed become a shared cocktail between you.

"dirty girls," your joel comments affectionately. "how's he taste, sweetheart?"

you just hum in answer to this question as you kiss her deeper, your hands on either side of her face, just as you'd begun.

"coffee?" you hear her joel ask yours while you remain lost in her kiss.

The only reason you hadn’t gone scrambling for the door was because Joel was forced to take a work call a few minutes into the flight. He hadn’t moved away. Joel stayed right next to you with his arm behind you as he spoke, and every few moments he’d glance at you with a silent apology and shake his head. You’d reply with a tight lipped smile and go back to mindlessly scrolling through instagram. 

Unfortunately the mindlessly scrolling was not so mindless. Since leaving Vegas, you had a high pitch ringing in the back of your mind like an endless, echoing siren. Married. A married man. Joel was⏤ Your teeth were clenched together so hard you wondered if Joel could hear them grinding against one another. Yesterday had been filled with so much anxiety, and you had managed to work through it by the end of the night. Mostly. But this was worse. This was so much worse. 

Married?

Your throat suddenly felt tight, eyes stinging with unshed tears, and you hastily undid your seatbelt and stood. Joel glanced your way and you pointed to the back of the plane and mouthed the word ‘bathroom’ to him. He nodded with a soft smile, and you spun on your heel and practically sprinted to the tiny plane bathroom. You struggled to get the folding door shut and the stewardess who sat not far away stared at you in confusion. You gave her an awkward wave and finally got it latched. 

“Fuck.” You shoved your face in your hands, leaning against the wall, and held back your tears. You were confused and frustrated, and you couldn’t even find relief in a good cry because Joel would spot it in a heartbeat no matter how much you tried to put yourself back together. The thought of confronting him about this right now was your worst nightmare. You hadn’t had the time to process any of the wild thoughts pinging around your head yet.

Your mind was at war with itself. On one hand, maybe you were being stupid and naive. For the last month and a half you’ve spent nearly every day with Joel and on the days you weren’t actively seeing him the two of you would talk either over a call or through text. You knew Yo-yo for 24 hours. Sure, she seemed nice and sincere, but what if Rosalind sent her to screw with you? For all you knew, Yo-yo had cruel intentions and was trying to drive a wedge between you and Joel. By taking her word you’d be playing right into that trap. What she said about the other sugar baby and about Joel being married? Maybe it was all fake and you’ve been stressing for no reason.

On the other hand, Joel didn’t kiss you. He didn’t kiss you because he wanted to ‘do right by you’. Joel asked for time. Was it because he needed to get a divorce? Worse. Was he married with absolutely no plans to get divorced and just buying time for something else? 

God, if you kept up this line of thought you were gonna vomit. Quickly, you turned to the sink to splash a little cold water on your face in hopes it would help you get your shit together for the next thirty minutes. Half an hour and you’d be on the ground. But then what? It would be a miracle if you kept it together for thirty minutes let alone any longer. 

You took in a long, slow breath and tried to clear your mind. When you felt steady enough, you stepped out of the bathroom. As tempting as it was to hide in there for the rest of the flight, it would probably be a red flag for Joel that something was wrong. You wandered back over to Joel and at your approach, and at the sight of you, he covered the bottom of his phone and whispered, “You alright?”

“Mhmm.” You nodded quickly and sat back down.

“I’m sorry. Jus’ another minute.” 

You waved your hands at him as nonchalantly as you could and he went back to his call. You leaned back in the seat, phone in hand, and Joel readjusted his arm on the back of the seat so he could settle his hand on your shoulder. As he always did, his thumb was tracing circles on your shoulder. An action you always loved, but now an intrusive thought slammed into you⏤ does he do this with his wife? The question was so startling, so sickening, that you couldn’t bite back the nausea that rolled through your body. You jumped up so fast you nearly stumbled over your feet, and you scrambled for the bathroom. 

Vaguely, you heard your name behind you, but you didn’t stop until you reached the toilet. You fell to your knees and threw up. The taste of acid in your mouth made you wince, but getting it all up did bring some relief. That relief was short lived though as you felt a large, warm hand settle on your back.

“Jesus, sugar.” He said in a soothing voice as he rubbed your back. “What’s goin’ on? Have you felt sick all mornin’?”

You spat into the toilet bowl, trying to get the taste of bile out of your mouth, before reaching out and flushing the toilet. You tried to stand, and Joel hooked his arm around you to help you up. He called out of the bathroom and a second later the stewardess brought in a cup of water and a ginger ale. Joel handed you the water and kept his hand rubbing up and down on your back.

“I’m⏤ I’m fine.” You shook your head and took a sip of water to swish and spit into the sink. “Really.”

“Obviously not.” Joel replied. “C’mon, let’s sit you down.”

“Joel…” You tried to argue, but he wasn’t hearing it. He kept an arm around you as he carefully led you back to the seat. He brought the bottle of ginger ale with you and the moment you finished the water he took the cup out of your hand to replace it with the soda. “I feel better now. It’s fine.”

“You’ve been off this mornin'. I was worried.” Joel lifted a hand to feel your forehead. It made sense that Joel picked up on your distress. He had always been so good at reading you. “You seemed fine when we first woke up. When exactly did you start feelin' sick?”

You took a sip of the ginger ale, “I…I don’t know. After breakfast maybe.” You lied. The sincerity in his eyes, the concern in his voice, it was both bringing you comfort and making you sick again all at once. You felt so stupid. Either you were freaking out over a lie a woman you barely knew told you or you were being tricked into feelings by a married man. Either way, you felt pathetic. “Your, um, your work call, Joel.”

Joel shook his head in response and didn’t even bother addressing the work call he stopped. He set a hand on the back of your neck and his thumb was lightly ghosting over your skin. You closed your eyes and took a slow breath in and out through your nose. “Tell me what I can do, sugar.”

“I⏤” You swallowed the lump in your throat. You forced your eyes open, finding Joel’s furrowed brow and worried gaze already on you, and it made you want to cry. You shook your head, “I, um, I think I just wanna lay down for a while. If that’s okay.”

“Course it’s okay.” He replied. 

The seat the two of you were sharing wasn’t long enough for you to lay down without laying your head on Joel’s lap. You planned on moving to the other couch seats to lay down, but Joel’s hand was still on the back of your neck and he lightly began to guide you down. Too tired to even try and move, you settled your head on his thigh and curled your body up onto the rest of the seat. 

In any other situation, this would be one of the most comfortable spots on Earth. Your head rested on his thick, firm thigh, and Joel’s hand traced where he could reach. Up and down your jawline and neck⏤ his thumb and forefinger would occasionally massage your earlobe. You tried to calm your racing thoughts. The truth was, you didn’t know the truth yet. It was a fact you kept repeating in your head in hopes it would numb the sharp pain of your worst fears, but those intrusive thoughts continued to pummel you.

“I’m so sorry, baby girl.” Joel murmured while his fingers dragged across your skin. “What a shitty way to end this weekend.” You hummed in agreement. This really was a shitty way to close out what started as one of the best weekends of your life.

Avoiding Joel made you realize how involved in your life he was. After landing in LA, Joel tried to drag you to a doctor and only conceded when you told him it was probably a 24 hour bug and you just wanted to sleep. He called you later that night to check in on you, and you managed to talk to him for a few minutes before lying about wanting to go to bed early. Come Monday morning, you went to work despite Joel texting you that you should stay home. Trying to focus at work was physically painful. Enough so that after the nightmare Monday had been, you left midway through the day today claiming to Henry that you didn’t feel well. It wasn’t even a full blown lie. You felt like shit.

Nima threw the folder of papers onto her desk and set her hands on her hips, “I’m gonna hit him with my car.”

“Please don’t.” You mumbled with your chin resting in your palm as you leaned on the other side of her desk. After leaving work, you came directly to Nima’s office. Going home and sitting on your couch, alone with your thoughts, would only make you ten times more miserable.

“No, actually, my car isn’t big enough. I’m gonna commandeer a bus and hit him with that.”

“I haven’t confirmed anything yet. For all I know, I’m being this pathetic over nothing.”

Nima snapped her hand up and pointed at you with a glare, “No. I will not have you shit talking yourself when the only person we should be shit talking is Joel Miller and his wife.”

You groaned and let your head fall to the desk. The words ‘Joel Miller and his wife’ made you viscerally ill. The time you spent not talking to Joel Monday night you spent stalking people on social media. You reached dead ends very quickly though since Joel didn’t have any social media whatsoever. The easiest solution was to just look Joel in the eyes and ask him for the truth, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You wanted to know the truth, but you were scared to actually seek it out. 

If you asked Joel for the truth, if you confronted him, then he’d give it to you.

What if the truth was something you didn’t want to hear?

“Alrighty, babe, real talk.” Nima said and you lifted your head, keeping your chin resting on the wood, and saw she had dropped down into her office chair. To meet your eye line, she held her chin on the desk across from you to mirror your position. “I can threaten and plot his demise all I want, but I know I’m not allowed to kill him until this is confirmed or denied.” She twisted her lips. “You deserve the truth.”

You pouted, “How am I supposed to ask him about this, Nima??”

Her eyebrows furrowed in concern, “If you did ask… How sure are you that he’d answer truthfully?”

You pushed up and leaned back in the chair. That was a good question, and with anyone else it would probably be a real concern. However, you weren’t worried about that. You truly, deep down, believed that if you confronted Joel about this he would give you the truth. 

“I really think he would.” You answered. “Is that naive of me?”

“You know him better than I do.”

This entire situation made you question that. Did you know him? You knew he grew up in Austin. He had a younger brother, Tommy, and it was just them and his mom for most of his childhood. You knew he attended one year in college when his mom passed away⏤ cancer. Joel dropped out of college to take care of his brother and picked up a job in construction. That’s where he got his start. His first boss saw he had a knack for more than just the manual labor and trusted him with more and more until Joel was running sites for the man. At 27, Joel’s girlfriend of three months got pregnant. They planned to make it work, but she left when Sarah was two weeks old. You knew he adopted Ellie three years later. That he earned his bachelor’s degree in business at home through online classes while raising two young girls and working a full time job. That he started Miller Construction shortly after earning that degree, and it blew up from there.

You knew despite being a tough guy, he didn’t like horror movies.

You knew his favorite whiskey was Lagavulin⏤ neat.

The one thing you didn’t know was if he was married or not.

“I am going to suggest something,” Nima began, “And I want you to listen before you call me crazy.” You shot her confused look and she continued on. “I have this cousin.” You groaned and Nima chastised you to listen. It seemed like she had a cousin available for every situation that arose, and half the people she called cousin weren’t even technically related to her by blood. Anytime you asked her about it all she’d say was ‘Korean moms’ love to talk’, as if that clarified anything for you. “Seriously. He’s dating a private eye. With one text, we can get some answers.”

You shook your head, “Nima, that’s insane.”

“Is it?”

“Yes, hiring a private investigator is insane.” 

“Look, it’ll get us reliable answers.” Nima argued. “The truth.”

You rolled the idea around in your head. It was literally the epitome of paranoid absurdity, but you were wondering if that’s the point you were at. Would it be better to find out this way? That way when you finally did confront Joel you wouldn’t be blind sided by the answer. Hell, if the answer turned out to be ‘no, he isn’t married’ then you can chalk up the last few days as time wasted and move on with your life. That being said, it did seem like an invasion of Joel’s privacy. 

“That feels…” You paused, “Illegal?”

“It’s not illegal to hire a PI.” Nima countered then tilted her head. “I think. I’m not a lawyer, but people do it on TV all the time, right?”

“Well, that logic is foolproof.” 

“I’m not gonna do it if you tell me you don’t want to do it.” Nima said firmly. She crossed her arms and gave a small little shrug. “But you have to do something. Either this or just call him right now and tell him the two of you need to talk.” There was a protective sincerity in her eyes that felt like a security blanket being settled on your shoulders. “I don’t want to see you get more attached to this guy just to be hurt. I don’t want him to lie to you.”

You knew Nima only had your best interests in mind. Technically, Joel had given you no reason not to trust him. Half the time you thought on this topic you convinced yourself you were overreacting and being a pathetic, paranoid mess. Yo-yo, as nice and fun as she had been, was a virtual stranger to you. Her word shouldn’t trump Joel’s. You knew all of that, and you wanted to trust him. However, it felt like some broken part of you was looking for something to be wrong. Joel Miller was too good to be true. Why would someone like him be interested in someone like you? There had to be something else going on. According to your ex, you hadn’t even been worthy of him and Joel Miller was ten times the man he was. 

“Okay, do it.” You blurted and hated yourself for doing so.

Nima held your gaze for a second, but you pushed to stand and crossed her office to her private bathroom. You took one of the paper towels, dampening it, and set it on the back of your neck in a poor attempt to ground yourself. For a while longer, you just stood there in front of the sink. Not staring at yourself, but staring forward at a singular spot as your thoughts raced. You needed a positive thought. Just one would do, and you were prepared to drag it out of your thick skull kicking and screaming if necessary. 

“Everything is going to be okay.” You mumbled to yourself softly. 

The whispered words did nothing for your anxiety. However, the memory of him did. You found comfort looking back at the soft moments spent with Joel and let yourself fall down that rabbit hole. The temporary peace was nice, but it didn't last. Finding strength you didn’t know you had today, you splashed your face one more time and then left the bathroom.

Your eyes immediately landed on Nima who stared back with wide eyes. Nima spoke first, “What?”

“What?” You repeated. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Oh, I thought you said something.” Nima flipped her phone over and settled her hand on top of it. You glanced from her face to her phone and back again. A look of misery flickered across her features. You tilted your head in question. “Are you hungry? I’m hungry.”

“Nima.” You crossed the room quickly. “Did they already text back??”

“No. Yes. Maybe?” Nima shook her head. “Not exactly.”

“Nima.”

She twisted her lips and drummed her nails against the plastic case of her phone. You shot her another look and she blew out a sigh. “He sent me a response, but it’s like half an answer. Half a report. We should wait until he can⏤”

“What did he say?”

“Apparently, he’s working on a case for someone else right now and had a database right in front of him so all he had to do was type in⏤”

“Nima, please.” You blurted. It felt like your heart was caught in your throat. You couldn’t breathe and you didn't feel coherent enough to string together a thought. Her hesitance was an answer in and of itself. You rubbed your throat, your other arm wrapping around your torso in a poor attempt to hold yourself together, and gasped. “Just say it.”

“He’s married, babe.” Nima mumbled. You knew the words had been coming, but they still overwhelmed you. The air left your lungs as if someone had gut punched you and you fell back into the seat in front of her desk. “He said he’d send me the certificate when he could, but he has to finish this job first. I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry. I⏤”

Nima stopped herself from speaking as she came around her desk and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. You sat in her embrace for as long as your shattering mind could endure and then shook your head, “I need a drink. Drinks. Plural.”

“It’s three in the afternoon, babe.” Nima mumbled in concern. You shot her a dry look and she offered you a tight lipped smile. “Drinks it is! Let’s go. We can go back to my place and⏤”

“No.” You pushed to stand. “I wanna go out.”

“Oh… kay. Where?”

“Anywhere.” You turned and began to leave.

Nima was scrambling to gather her belongings into her strawberry shaped purse before rushing out after you. “Just one drink though. I hate being the voice of reason, but we should limit ourselves to one drink.”

One drink turned into two which turned into three which turned into twelve.

By 6 PM, you were borderline wasted. It was by no means the best decision you’ve ever made, but you couldn’t classify it as your worst considering that, for the first time since leaving Vegas, you didn’t feel sad or defeated. No, those blue emotions had turned into a burning shade of red. You had finally found your anger and all it took was copious amounts of alcohol. 

“I mean, married?” You scoffed as you stood at the bar with Nima at your side. “That’s⏤ That’s illegal.” Nima nodded in agreement as she blindly tried to find the straw in her drink with her tongue. You reached out and pushed it toward her lips. “And worse than illegal! It’s fucking rude.”

“So rude.” Nima slurped at the last of her drink and all you could hear was the rattling of ice in her glass. She pulled away to slam the cup down and pointed at you⏤ her pink hair had been let down from the braid to messily rest around her shoulders. “You should get a new sugar daddy!” You stuck your tongue out in disgust and shook your head. “No! This is such a good idea.” Nima began to look around the bar. “Let’s find you a super hot, super not married sugar daddy.”

“I don’t want a new sugar daddy. I want another drink.” You leaned on the bar and waited for the bartender to look your way. Nima and you had bounced to a few bars. The two of you, back when you were sober, decided to start drinking in an area that had multiple bars all within walking distance. The one you were in now wasn’t familiar to you⏤ it wasn’t a place you and Nima had been to before. It was a bit too upscale for your liking. Sober you would not have been a fan. Drunk you? Loving it.

Nima was tapping on your shoulder rapidly and when you looked her way she was pointing across the bar to God knows who. “He looks like he wouldn’t marry someone without your permission.”

“That’s,” You shook your head, “not my situation.”

“Isn’t it?”

“I don’t know.” You shook your head and looked back toward the bartender who was busy with a group of women further down the bar. The sound of vibrating vaguely filled the air and you leaned closer to Nima who immediately wrapped her arms around you in a hug. “You’re vibrating.”

“You’re vibrating.”

You found her purse and opened it so you could rifle through it. It dawned on you then that somewhere around bar two and drink five you had shoved your phone in her purse for safe keeping. When you finally managed to pull it out, Joel’s face was flashing on the screen and you yelped in surprise. You tossed the phone onto the bar and held your face between your hands.

“Oh, no. Oh, no, no.” You shook your head and the vibration stopped. Joel’s picture disappeared and was replaced with a notification of a missed call that joined the notification telling you that you had unread messages. Your eyes snapped to Nima who was trying to drink out of her empty cup again. “Joel.”

“Bastard man.” Nima edited.

“Dinner.” You grimaced. “At 7. I’m supposed to get dinner with Joel at 7. It’s 6:35.”

Nima shook her head and crunched the ice she had shoveled into her mouth, “Bastard man can go to dinner with his wife tonight.”

 You grimaced, “I hate all the words you just used.”

The bartender began to wander over and Nima turned to order more drinks. You picked up your phone and leaned against the bartop with your elbow. With a frown and furrowed brow, you opened your text messages. Every unread text was from Joel unsurprisingly. The first came in at 4:29 and it was a simple, ‘Hey sugar, I’m excited to see you tonight’. The next was almost exactly an hour later and it said, ‘Hope your day’s been alright. We still on for tonight?’. Finally, the most recent at 6:15, was just your name with a question mark.

You set the phone back down before the temptation to reply could overcome you. It only sat on the bartop for a second before it began to vibrate violently as another call came in. Joel’s face filled the screen and you felt a wave of sadness drag you under. The fact that you were mourning the lack of his presence to this degree was probably a sign you were doing this ‘sugar baby’ thing very wrong.

“Maybe I should answer it.” You voiced the thought aloud.

Nima caught it and gasped before slapping her hand on top of the still buzzing phone, “No, ma’am! You will not be doing that.” The bartender set two new drinks between the two of you. Nima pushed one in front of you and moved the straw to point directly at you. “Drink.”

You took a sip then spoke, “I don’t even know the whole story⏤” Nima pushed your face back to the straw so you took another long sip. “Maybe it’s a misunderstanding…” This time your lips found their way to the straw on their own accord and you took a sip that could be argued as dangerously long. “I need to talk to him. Confront him. Demand answers.”

“Yes. To all of that. Eventually.” Nima replied with a nod. She reached forward and bopped you on the nose with her finger. “But not tonight.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know one thing in life,” Nima held up the one finger she used to bop your nose, “You do not have serious conversations while drunk.”

You shook your head with a pout, “I thought you said you don’t like being the voice of reason.”

“If it means helping you, I’ll always lean toward reason, babe.” 

The two of you went back to drinking. Your vibrating phone stopped and a few seconds passed before a notification for a voicemail popped up. You turned to Nima, “Can I listen to it? That’s not talking. That’s listening.”

Nima chewed on her straw slowly before bobbing her head in an affirmative nod, “I shall allow it.”

You picked up the phone to listen to the message he left you.

‘Hey, sugar.’ Joel’s voice rumbled over the line and you felt your chest physically ache at the sound. You closed your eyes in annoyance with yourself. If you hadn’t fallen so hard, so fast for this man you wouldn’t be in this scenario to begin with. ‘Gotta say I’m a little worried. Haven’t heard from ya all day. Gimme a call when ya get this.’

You groaned and set your head down on the bar. Guilt gnawed at you. It felt childish of you to be ghosting him like this, and that wasn’t your typical go to move. You had enough respect for the people in your life to address them when needed rather than hide behind voicemail. With the guilt was a swirling vortex of anger. You were angry at Joel for not being up front with you. You were angry at Yo-Yo for being the one to plant the initial doubt that started all this. You were angry at yourself most of all. Angry that you felt guilt at all, angry that you had foolishly placed so much trust in a man you barely knew, angry that despite everything there was still a part of you that craved his presence. You missed his touch and his voice. You missed those burning brown eyes and the way his very glance could melt you into a puddle.

“You okay, babe?” Nima’s voice asked softly. You shook your head without lifting it. “I’m sorry. I can break his knee caps if you want?”

“What?” You lifted your gaze.

“What?” She replied innocently. 

The phone began to vibrate again startling you. He had just called so you didn’t expect him to call again, but then again you were supposed to be in your apartment waiting for him to pick you up for dinner. You pictured him standing at your door dressed up and holding a bouquet of flowers. Nausea rolled over you in waves, and you grabbed your mixed drink thinking it could cure your troubles.

A few minutes passed before another voicemail was left. You snatched your phone up and shoved it back into Nima’s purse so it would be out of your line of sight⏤ not even bothering to listen to the second voicemail. Tomorrow, you decided. Tomorrow you would confront Joel and have this difficult conversation. You both finished the drinks in front of you as the lively bar continued to thrive around you.

“Why is he married?” You asked suddenly. Nima must have known it wasn’t a question you expected an actual answer to as she stayed silent. You rested your face in your hands and sighed. With your eyes closed against your hands like this you began to feel dizzy. A sure sign that you should stop drinking. Nima rubbed your back soothingly and you dropped your hands to shoot her an appreciative glance. “You’re the best best friend a girl could ask for.”

“I know, babe. And you know what else I know?” Nima squished your cheeks together with a wide grin, “You deserve the universe in a gold hand basket, and any man who can’t see that or who would play games with your big, loving heart doesn’t deserve you.”

You laughed and Nima chuckled herself before letting go of your face to pick up her empty glass. Her tongue struggled to find the straw but once it did she tried to take a big gulp only to get drops and air. Nima pulled away from her straw and furrowed her brow, “Who finished my drink?”

With another laugh, you raised your hand to order two more drinks. At this point you’ve already had so much to drink, what would one more hurt? You knew the hangover tomorrow was going to be a bad one, but a part of you was looking forward to it. There would be no mourning Joel tomorrow if your head hurt too much to even think his name. 

Nima successfully managed to distract you again as she drunkenly delved into a story you weren’t quite following, but you enjoyed the way she told it. A low whistle interrupted the moment of peace the two of you had found. You glanced past Nima to see two men in business suits wandering over. Nothing about them stood out to you. One was brunet and the other blond, but they both looked like they never grew out of the frat lifestyle on a college campus.

“We saw you two pretty ladies from over there and wanted to come and offer you our company.” The blond greeted smugly.

Nima turned in her seat to face him and waved her hand at him while taking a long sip of her drink until the ice rattled in the glass. Then she pulled the straw out of her mouth to finally speak with a shake of her head, “Sorry, we don’t speak english.”

“You just said that in English.” The blond chuckled.

“Sorry, sorry.” Nima waved her hand once more. “I don’t understand your accent.”

You snickered under your breath while chewing on your straw. The brunet stepped forward to stand side by side with the other and shook his head, “No need to be a bitch. We just wanted to talk.”

“Oh, you haven’t even begun to see bitchy yet.” Nima pointed her glass in their direction⏤ a bit of ice sloshing out with the exaggerated movement. “I can show you bitchy.” She reached back to swat at your arm. “Tell them, babe.”

“She can.” You nodded in agreement.

The blond set a hand on his friend’s shoulder and tugged him back, “Let’s just go, man.”

The brunet reluctantly let himself get dragged away, but he continued to stare at you and Nima the entire time. Nima spun in her seat and scoffed, “Where was I before I was interrupted by douchebag one and douchebag two?”

“I’m not gonna lie,” You shrugged, “I have no idea.”

“I’ll pick a place then.” Nima said and jumped into the middle of her story. “So, there I was covered head to toe in honey.”

Same as before, you really couldn’t keep track of her tale but it amused you all the same. The two of you chatted for another minute or two before a new face came across the two of you again. Nima had bounced in her seat, excited, and it knocked her strawberry shaped purse to the floor. Your phone clattered out. Before you could climb off the bar stool to grab it, a man passing knelt down and scooped it up. In one tanned hand he grabbed the purse and in the other your phone. The phone’s screen lit up and you swallowed at the sight of the multiple missed messages all from the same person. 

“Oh.” The man cleared his throat and straightened his stance. He was handsome with a kind face. Dark hair, a bit on the longer side, was messily pushed back and it matched the scruff on his upper lip and chin. The man wore a pink button up shirt, all the buttons undone, over a white t-shirt. “I suppose this is yours, miss?”

You begun to reach out, “Thanks⏤”

“Hold it!” Nima pointed at the man making his dark, brown eyes widen. “State your intentions, sir!”

“To…return your purse?” He lifted up the strawberry bag.

Nima narrowed her eyes at him and snatched it away, “Likely story.”

“Thank you.” You reached out and he handed the phone over to you. A glance down revealed four missed calls, two unheard voicemails, and five texts. You winced at the sight and set your phone face down on the bar. You were surprised to see the man still standing by your stools. “You…” You narrowed your eyes at him. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

He chuckled and shook his head, “Afraid not, ma’am.”

It was sitting on the tip of your tongue, but your foggy brain just couldn’t quite grasp it. Nima snapped her fingers and pointed at him. “I got it. He’s that guy.” You lifted an eyebrow at her words and she nodded frantically. “Yeah, he’s that actor! You play in that one show with, like, the zombies or whatever, right?”

“Not at all.” He laughed with a shake of his head. “I ain’t no actor.”

“Well then, I’m out of guesses.” Nima grumbled. She tilted her head, looking him up and down once more, “You seem nice enough. Got a pretty face. You rich? You wanna be a sugar daddy? She’s in the market.”

You rolled your eyes, “Nima.”

“You’re in the market for a sugar daddy?” The man asked in shock. You could hardly blame the man for his confusion and disbelief. This was hardly a normal bar conversation. “Really?”

“No. She’s just drunk.”

“Irrelevant.” Nima argued.

You chuckled then introduced yourself and Nima. The man paused for a beat before nodding and offering you his hand. “Nice to meet you both. My name is Tommy.” It took a second to click, but once the name finally wormed its way through your mind your eyes widened. Tommy chuckled and answered your unspoken question, “Yeah. I am.”

Nima glanced between you two with a frown, “Hold on, I’m not following. You are what? You’ll be her new sugar daddy?”

“No way in hell.” Tommy grinned. “If I even thought 'bout it, my brother’d skin me alive.”

The look on Nima’s face stayed confused until you swallowed the lump in your throat and finally spoke, “It’s… Nima, this is Joel’s brother.”

Her face remained frozen before morphing into one of shock. She gasped, almost comically, and pointed at him. “Oh, fuck.” Her eyebrows furrowed into a glare. “You son of a bitch, your brother is a son of a bitch!”

Tommy didn’t pay her outburst any mind, but his eyes darted back to you. “I asked my brother to come out drinkin' with me tonight, but he said ‘no’ cause he had a date with you.” Tommy stuck his hands into his pockets. “Funny I’m findin' you here without him.”

“That’s because your brother is too busy with his wife to be with my girl!”

Tommy’s eyebrows furrowed in surprise and he glanced back to you, “He already told you about her?”

It was quite possibly the worst string of words you could have heard all day. Only in competition with Nima’s ‘He’s married, babe’. You felt nauseous and dizzy⏤ the breath stolen from you again. Nima was arguing with Tommy, you could hear her voice, but you couldn’t concretely understand a single word that was said. When you finally managed to get a handle on reality, you looked back to see things had fallen apart and more time than you realized had passed in your mental breakdown. 

The blond and brunet from earlier, in the suits, had come back and were somehow arguing with Tommy and Nima now. You suddenly began to regret the last two drinks you had. Maybe if you had gone with a couple glasses of water instead you’d be able to puzzle out exactly what was going on right now.

“Get the hell outta here. They ain’t interested.” Tommy snapped.

“Just curious as to why we weren’t good enough for these bitches and you were.” The brunet slurred his words. Tommy stood a step in front of Nima who had slid off her bar stool to stand in front of you with her hands on her hips. “What’s so special about you, bub?”

“Ugh. How about the two of you run off to the bathroom and jack each other off, huh? Then leave us the fuck alone.” Nima sneered.

“Shut your damn mouth!” 

The blond tried to push past Tommy toward Nima, but Tommy shoved him back immediately. He grabbed the guy by the collar. “You gonna charge at a woman like that? Fuckin' coward.” Tommy’s voice came out in a gravelly growl that reminded you so much of Joel that it was staggering. “You got a problem, you take it up with me.”

The next moment happened fast. The blond tried to swing out at Tommy so Tommy blocked it with his elbow before tackling the man to the ground. The brunet grabbed Nima and wrapped his arms around her. She howled in anger and squirmed in his arms trying to find purchase to hit him. The brunet spun so his back was to you and you slid off the stool. Without pause, without thought, you picked up your empty glass and smashed it to the back of the man’s head. He released Nima, crumpling to the ground with a groan, and any shred of a fight stopped⏤as did the entire bar.

Tommy was kneeling on the ground pinning the blond while Nima stood off to the side.

“Oh my God.” Nima squealed, amused.

“Oh my God.” Tommy blurted, impressed.

“Oh my God.” You gasped, shocked at your own action.

You were panting, damn near hyperventilating, as the brunet began to rise on shaky limbs. Other patrons nearby converged on the scene to help out and before you knew it you were being ushered off to the side where a few couches and seats sat in a lounge area. 

“You’re such a badass.” Nima gushed from beside you. "How’s your hand??”

“Hurts.” You mumbled and stared down at the white cloth wrapped around your hand. Bright red was beginning to seep through. The consequences of smashing glass against the back of someone’s skull. Police had shown up and you knew Tommy was across the room talking to them. But still, your eyes stayed glued on your hand. The cuts weren’t terrible but they stung something awful.

“Babe?” You finally looked up and met Nima’s concerned eyes. She nodded, “You alright?”

You shot her a small smile, “Yeah. Are you okay? I can’t believe he grabbed you.”

“I’m fine.” Nima peeked at your hand then stood. “I’m gonna see if this bar has a real first aid kit we can use. Be right back.”

She jumped up and jogged over to the bar. You sunk in your seat with a sigh and leaned your head against the back of the couch. There had been something very sobering about smashing the glass against that guy’s head. The adrenaline and pain cleared any lingering fog from your previous drinks right out of your head. It left room for you to think about Joel. Meeting his brother certainly didn’t help. Tommy clapped one of the officer’s on the shoulder with a smile and they went separate ways. You lifted your head when you heard his footsteps draw near.

“Well, I spoke to the police.” Tommy stuck his hands into his pockets. “You’re not gonna get in trouble for the, you know, the glass. Won’t have to go downtown with ‘em.” You breathed a sigh of relief. Tommy held your gaze for a few more seconds before scrunching his nose and bobbing his head toward you. “And Joel is, uh, on his way.”

You covered your face with your good hand and groaned, “Can I please just be arrested instead?”

“Sorry, no can do.” Tommy sat down beside you. “You know, I didn’t say it earlier, but it’s nice to finally meet you. Joel never shuts up about you.”

“Please. Don’t.” You blurted. “I can’t… I can’t talk about him right now.”

Tommy nodded, “Right. I, uh, when I called him we didn’t talk much.” He laced his fingers together and rested his arms on his knees. “I mentioned you were hurt and things kind of spiraled from there. That’s probably for the best though. I don’t wanna get in between a lover’s quarrel⏤”

“I’m not his lover.” You snapped, and you hated the way your voice cracked. You shook your head, “Not if he’s married. Not…” The adrenaline was beginning to wear off and you were exhausted to your very bones. “This is so fucked up. I never should've agreed to…

Tommy didn’t immediately reply. He sighed, “I don’t know you, and I don’t got the exact details of what’s going on right now, but… I’m glad you agreed.” He turned and met your gaze with a tight smile. “Joel’s been… He’s been better. Joel was in a rut for a long time. So long that I kind of forgot he was in one. For a while, that was just Joel.” Tommy’s smile grew as he chuckled. “But ever since the two of you met, it’s like this weight has been lifted from his shoulders. We’ve all noticed it, and we’re all thankful.”

  “He’s married.” You whispered. “And he didn’t tell me.”

Tommy rubbed the back of his neck, “I know, but it’s⏤ it’s not that simple.” He nervously chewed on his lower lip. “Can you just give him a chance to explain?” You flexed your hand and sucked in a sharp breath as pain lanced up your arm. “Consider it a favor for me.”

“A favor for you?” You snorted.

“Yeah. I kept you out of prison, remember?” Tommy joked.

You cracked a smile and Tommy’s smile widened in victory. Nima skipped back over and dropped into the seat on your other side. She pulled your hand into her lap and carefully unpeeled the cloth away. As Nima rewrapped your hand while Tommy criticized her technique and the two bickered over you. You couldn’t help but flex your hand when she finished.

“Come on, pinkie.” Tommy stood. “I’ll take you home.”

“Uh, I am not leaving my girl here alone.”

“Joel will be here soon.”

“Then I’m definitely not leaving her alone!”

You reached out to squeeze her wrist and gave her a reassuring nod, “I’ll be okay. Gotta talk to him eventually, right?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t have to be right now.” Nima argued. You pulled her into a hug to reassure her once again. Maybe this was a bad idea, but you had just smashed a glass against a guy’s head so the degree of your bad ideas couldn't possibly get worse. Nima sighed and stood up too. “Okay. You’re sure you’re fine?”

Tommy clapped his hands. “Joel’s a few minutes away. But we can stay until he gets here if you want.”

“No.” You shook your head. The thought of being alone for a minute was kind of nice. “You guys go.” Your eyes locked onto Nima. “If you’re okay with him driving you.” You glanced at Tommy. “No offense.”

He held his hands up in surrender and shrugged nonchalantly. Nima nodded, “We survived a bar brawl together. We’re bonded.” She grinned and pulled her strawberry purse around her shoulders. “Plus, worse comes to worse, I can stab him.”

“You can what now?” Tommy questioned.

“You’ve already offered me a ride. It’s too late to back out now.”

“Fine, pinkie.” Tommy waved her to follow. 

You watched them go and sunk in your seat. The sounds of the bar was decent background noise, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the noise in your head. You picked at the edges of the gauze wrapped around your hand. Your eyes felt heavy and if you weren’t careful you were going to pass out on this bar couch surrounded by strangers. It was the sound of a crash that startled you back into the moment, and when you looked up from your hand you realized the door had been thrown open hard enough to hit the wall. Joel stood in the doorway panicked and wild eyed. He wore a suit without the tie and his shirt was unbuttoned at the top.

You stayed silent, sinking further into your seat, and watched as Joel’s wide eyes scanned the room. His gaze finally landed on you, doing a double take, and when he realized where you were you saw his shoulders slump in relief. Joel jogged across the room until he was able to kneel down in front of you. Joel’s warm hands found your face, cupping it softly, as he sighed, “Sugar, what the hell is goin' on? Are you okay?” Joel’s eyes studied your face then glanced down at your hand. “Jesus, your hand. Tommy called me. Sugar, I⏤”

“I’m okay.” You whispered, throat growing tight, “I just wanna go home, Joel.”

Joel tensed and he nodded, “Yeah. Alright. Let’s get you home.”

The ride in the truck beside Joel may have been the most awkward and tense ride of your entire life. It was silent. The only sound coming from the road outside. Joel’s hands were white knuckled around the steering wheel. You assumed his tension had something to do with you ghosting him this evening. His truck pulled up outside your apartment complex and your alcohol soaked brain realized not only did you not have your keys but you also no longer had your phone. Both were sitting in Nima’s purse right now.

You opened the door fully prepared to sleep outside your apartment on the welcome mat like a lost dog, but Joel grasped you by the arm cautiously to hold you in place. “You got your key?” You twisted your lips knowing he wasn’t going to fall for a lie. “Where is your key?”

“With Nima.” You mumbled. “She has my phone too.”

Joel sighed and let go of you to instead grab the truck door and shut it. He buckled you back into the seat and began to drive once more. You wanted to ask where he was taking you, but none of the words would come out. You drowned in your indecision while picking at the bandage on your hand. Joel suddenly reached over and lightly pushed your hand away from the injury.

“Stop pickin' at it, sugar.”

“Where are we going?” You blurted.

Joel shifted in his seat, “My place.”

“I don’t wanna go to your place.” You mumbled.

“Don’t care.” Joel replied gruffly and you lifted your head to glare at his side profile. 

The tone of his voice stirred something inside you, and you felt the dormant anger start to reawaken. It had gotten buried under everything that happened, but now it was back full fledged. You sat up, “Take me back. I want to go home.”

“You don’t have your key.”

“I don’t care.” You snapped. “Take me home, Joel!”

“You’re comin' to my place where I know you can safely sleep it off, 'nd then tomorrow we’ll figure out how to get ya back into your apartment. Understood?”

You scoffed, “Don’t talk down to me. I’m not a child, Joel.”

“Oh, you’re not?” Joel scoffed. His tone was angry and frustrated. “Cause you’re sure as hell actin' like one.” He shot a glare in your direction before focusing back on the road. “Are you outta your goddamn mind?! Do you know how worried I was?” You crossed your arms and stared out the passenger window. “I don’ hear from you all day long. You disappear on me with no explanation 'nd then I get a call from my baby brother that you’ve been in a bar fight? And that you’re hurt?!” You stayed silent and Joel scoffed. “And now I get the silent treatment? Very mature.”

“You don’t want to argue with me on what’s mature, Joel.” You said, head whipping back to glare at him.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean??”

“You’re a hypocrite!”

“Excuse me?”

You scoffed, “It’s not very mature for a married man to pay a sugar baby for attention.” Joel hit the brakes and the seat belt caught you as the truck screeched to a stop. You glanced out the window to see his truck had reached a neighborhood and the streets were mostly void of other vehicles. When you turned back to Joel, you found him staring at you in a mix of shock and horror. You shook your head, “What was I, Joel? Some kind of midlife crisis?”

Pain could be seen through the horror, and he reached out to grab your wrist again. “No. No, that’s not…” Joel’s voice was hoarse and broken. He whispered your name. “Please. That’s not what this is.”

You tugged your arm away from his grip. “I don’t wanna talk about this right now, Joel. Either start driving again or I’m gonna get out.”

Joel kept his hands to himself as he slowly went back to driving. As if the awkward silence hadn’t been painful before it was downright agonizing now. You were pressing your thumb into the wounds of your palm just to try and keep from crying. Joel pulled into the driveway a few minutes later, and you couldn’t even get your brain to collect a single feature of the house in front of you. Joel jumped out of the truck and you stayed frozen. The passenger door opened but Joel didn’t move to pull you out. He held the top of the door frame and a foot rested on the running board so he could lean in just marginally.

“Sugar…”

“Don’t, Joel.” You said firmly. “Don’t.”

“Please just let me⏤”

“Are you married?”

Joel’s face crumpled in agony and he hung his head, “It’s… It’s not that simple. Just let me⏤”

“It’s a yes or no question.” You shrugged and tried to ignore the tears welling up in your eyes.

Joel looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack. His eyes were squeezed shut, but he still refused to answer. You whispered his name. Finally, he lifted his gaze back to you and opened his mouth. His jaw hung open silently for a second before he could speak. “...Yes.”

You felt the tears lingering at the waterline drip down your cheeks and hastily began to wipe them away with your hands. Joel gasped and began to reach out but when you flinched he held back. He shook his head, “You’re bleedin'.”

The bandage around your hand was soaked with blood, probably from digging your thumb into the wounds, and when you felt your cheek with your fingertips they came back tinted red. You must have smeared it across your face. 

“Sugar, let me… let me take you inside.” Joel murmured. “Please. I know you’re… upset, 'nd you have every reason to hate me right now, but… just let me get you inside.” His hand reached out for you once more, but he stopped himself. “You can leave in the mornin', but for tonight just⏤ just let me take care of you. Please.”

You gave a small nod. It felt weak of you, but you reassured yourself that you had little to no other option. Your hand hurt, your head ached, you were exhausted to your very being, and deep down you were torn between wanting to yell and scream or curl into a ball and cry. Joel took a few steps back to allow you to climb down yourself, but when you wavered his arms shot out to try and steady you. Joel herded you toward the front door without actually touching you. 

Your eyebrows furrowed when you studied his front porch. The entire front of his house didn’t look like the typical rich LA style you were accustomed to seeing. In fact, his porch and front door reminded you of a quaint farmhouse. Joel unlocked his front door and held it open for you to walk in. Right inside the house, the foyer had an open style with a set of stairs pressed against the wall just up ahead. It opened straight into a large living room that evolved into a dining room with a matching open kitchen to the side. The entire back wall by the kitchen and dining area was made of glass but the back porch lights were off so you couldn’t see the view. 

Joel tossed his keys into a bowl sitting on an accent table against the wall right by the door. You glanced over to a little bench built into the wall on the other side beneath a set of bay windows. The rest of his furniture from what you could see was modern and plain. You were drunk off alcohol and misery, but your brain was still able to take the time to note that Joel’s furniture didn’t match what you imagined him to have.

“C’mon.” Joel motioned you up the stairs. He followed after you and when you reached the top of the stairs he pointed to the left. You stepped into the master bedroom and Joel slid in past you moving straight toward the master bath. While he rooted around for something, you glanced around his room. There was a king sized bed sitting in the middle of the room covered in dark green sheets. A window sat on either side of the bed. The wall to the right was where the bathroom door and the closet door sat, but on the left was a single loveseat pushed against the wall. All the furniture was dark brown including the large dresser against the wall by the door and the smaller bedside drawers on either side of the bed under the windows. You drifted toward one of the bedside drawers where a photo was propped up. It was of Joel and two young girls. Joel had shown you enough pictures of Sarah and Ellie for you to recognize them, but in this photo all three of them were significantly younger. 

The sound of a throat clearing made you look up to see Joel standing there with a first aid kit in hand. “Sit down for me?” You sat on the side of the bed and Joel sat beside you. He opened the kit then carefully unwrapped your hand. When he saw the three lines haphazardly cut into your palm he let out a soft hiss. “You hurtin' much?”

“It stings some.” You mumbled. He hummed in response and used an alcohol swab to clean up the cuts. Joel did so with soft touches and his eyes flickered to your features every second or so to check in on your status. You locked your jaw to bite back any sounds of pain that tried to slip out. 

“They look bad, but I don’ think they’ll need stitches.” Joel thought out loud. 

“Good.” You said. Joel grabbed some fresh gauze and began to wrap it around your hand. You studied his features as he focused so intently on the task at hand. His warm gaze was burned into your skin as his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. You had the urge to trace your fingers through the scruff along his jawline. When he finished, he lifted his gaze and his eyes locked with yours. The two of you stared at one another in tense silence. Pain and longing filled his brown eyes, and you wondered if it could somehow just be a reflection of your own. It made no sense for you to both be so miserable right now. “Where is she?”

Joel tensed, “What?”

“Where is your wife?” You asked more firmly. 

“Are you sure you wanna get into this tonight?”

“I just want answers, Joel.” You sighed. “I need something. My mind has been a mess since we left Vegas.” Joel’s face crumpled as he closed his eyes with a sigh. “Yo-yo told me I wasn’t your first sugar baby and then she said you were married to your first sugar baby.” The words were falling out like pouring water now. “And then Nima has a cousin who has a cousin who has a friend or something that was able to find your marriage certificate⏤”

Joel murmured your name in reverence and opened his eyes. He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you from the start. That way there’d be no miscommunication or confusion. I meant to. But… I kept puttin' it off 'nd it got to the point where too much time had passed…” Joel hesitantly reached out for you and when you didn’t shy away he settled his hand on your arm. “I did have a sugar baby before you. It’s a… long story, but I am not married to her.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed, “You didn’t marry her?”

“No. Absolutely not. She was… Like I said, it’s a long story.” Joel squeezed your arm. “One that I promise to tell you. In the mornin', when you’re not half drunk 'nd half hungover all at once.”

“Then who the hell are you married to, Joel?”

“I… I am technically still married to Celina.” Joel finally spat the words out. You shook your head in confusion. The name was foreign to you, but Joel heaved another sigh and added, “Sarah’s mom.”

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[previous][next]

Your phone pings with a text notification exactly twenty four hours after you left Joel’s house, exactly twenty four hours after you ran away. You didn’t read it straight away, you couldn’t face what you imagined to be a rejection. So, you turned your phone over so the screen was out of view and busied yourself with a deep clean of the house, you changed bed sheets, cleaned the bathroom and the kitchen, hoovered and mopped the floors but you still saw his face when you blinked, his dark eyes engraved into your eyelids. You showered, washed your hair and aggressively cleaned your body, but you still felt Joel’s trail of lingering kisses burning your skin. Unable to uselessly distract yourself any longer, you picked up your phone and opened the text message from Joel. 

Everything ok, sweetheart? You kinda rushed off on me. Call me :) 

Reading the text, you struggled to gather your thoughts and make sense of your feelings. It wasn’t a rejection, a hey i don't think we should see eachother anymore text, but it didn’t give you any answers either. He seemed so nonchalant, so blase, as if you hadn’t opened up to him about your feelings at all, as if he hadn't completely and utterly confused you. 

Unsure of what to respond, you decide against responding all together, for now, at least. You didn’t feel as though you could call him, you couldn’t even decide on words to send him in a text, there was no way your brain would be able to conjure up a response in real time over the phone. So, you put your phone down again and got through the rest of your weekend, trying not to think about him. 

Nothing had changed between you and Marcus, not that you expected it to, you lived like roommates, as if you shared this house and nothing more. He came home late on Saturday night and was out of the house before you woke up on Sunday morning, not even giving you a chance to ask where he was going, although you weren’t sure you would, given the chance. 

Monday came and went, with little to no interaction with Marcus, piles of work that you had to get done and a missed call from Joel. You didn’t see the call until an hour later and were too swamped to call back, so you left it. That night after work, you contemplated calling him back, Marcus wasn’t home so you didn't have to worry about him hearing, but you were at a loss for words. You had no idea what to say to Joel, but worse than your lack of words were your nerves. You were nervous as to what his words would be, so you didn’t call. 

The next day at work was quieter, you didn’t have to eat your lunch at your desk while you worked so you went for a walk on your lunch break, sitting in the park not far from the office with your lunch. As you sat down, you felt your phone vibrating and, fishing it out of your back pocket, read Joel’s name in bold font across your phone screen. Staring at the writing for a few seconds and taking a deep breath, you answered the phone, unable to avoid him any longer. You held the phone up to your ear and watched a bird fly out of a hole in a tree, internally wondering if it was fleeing the nest, like you wanted to and spoke a quiet, “Hi.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” his gruff voice sent shivers down your back, “what's goin’ on, are you ok?”

“I’m ok,” you sigh, mentally kicking yourself for your inability to just let it out, and pause before continuing, “are you?”

“Yeah, I’m just at work,” there was a brief pause, a beat of silence where you both held your phones to your ears, thinking of the right words to say. “Listen, when we were talking that night, I panicked… I kinda froze, I guess.” His voice was apologetic, his normally confident speech was broken into parts by breaks and pauses, stutters and stammers, as if he had thought of what to say beforehand but had more words on his mind. “I shoulda’ said more, I just got nervous,” you heard him take a sip of a drink before continuing, “it’s been years since I’ve felt anything for anyone and…. It's a little weird feelin’ this way for a married woman,” he released a small chuckle at his words, “but I’d be an idiot not to see what happens.”

“I…. Joel I don’t really know what to say,” you answered truthfully, you wished that words would come to your mind, any words other than the ones you spoke, but none did. You were so taken aback by his speech that nothing was coming out of your mouth. Luckily, Joel filled the silence.

“Sarah’s stayin’ at a friends again on Friday. Do ya’ wanna come over?” He asked before quickly adding, “I’ll cook.” As if you needed any more convincing. 

“I’d love to,” you said, your smile steadily widening as you spoke. 

“And bring some clothes to sleep in this time,” he added, and although his voice was as deep and gruff as ever, you swore you could hear his smile.

“I’d rather wear your clothes to sleep, honestly,” you retorted before saying your goodbyes, with Joel promising to check in with you in a couple days. 

After the conversation, Joel was feeling better. His thoughts were still clouded by you, but they were no longer negative. He no longer worried he’d ruined everything by shutting down that night, but his worries were persistent when it came to his feelings. It had been so long since he had felt anything other than lust for a woman, so long since he had wanted to cater to a woman, so long since the word relationship had crossed his mind. This was terrifying for Joel already, but factoring in the fact that you were married to another man made it so much worse. He knew you were unhappy with your husband but he didn't know your plans, he didn't know what you saw for yourself in the future. He didn’t know if you would leave your husband or stay married to him. Worst of all, he didn’t know if you thought about him, the way he thought about you. Joel could no longer ignore the rush he experienced when you were around. The dam inside him had broken and although vulnerability did not come easily to him, he was willing to be vulnerable for you, willing to be open for you. He was ready to expose his heart to you, rip it out of his chest and hold it up to you to show the speed at which it beat when you were around him. He needed to know that you felt the same. That you had to remind yourself to breathe when you saw him, just like he had to do when you looked his way. He needed to know if your heartbeat quickened when you saw him, if it synced with his when you caught eyes. 

Joel had never known a woman like you, a woman so strong, intelligent, funny and witty. Joel had never had sex as good as he did with you and Joel had never felt such a wordless connection. He felt the connection immediately, when he looked around the bar that night and found you already looking at him, he felt compelled to approach you. He felt confident under your gaze, just like he felt dizzy underneath your touch, enchanted beneath your spell. 

Joel cringed when his mind circled back to the conversation that was had in his bed, his nervous, thoughtless reaction that caused you to leave so quickly the next morning. Watching you leave like that, almost sprinting out of the house, had him reeling, searching his memories for something that would have caused it. He didn't have to backtrack for long, his short answer and haste kiss on the cheek was now engraved into his brain, his own voice taunting him whenever his mind was quiet. It had been so long since he felt this way that his first reaction was to sabotage himself, but he didn't want to do that anymore, he didn’t want to stand in his own way when he could have you. 

After a good day at work on Thursday, you ran into a slight problem after arriving home. You had been relying on Marcus going to his weekly guys night on Friday, so you wouldn’t have to lie about your whereabouts. So, your surprise was evident when he’d asked, almost immediately after you’d walked through the door, “How about we have a night in tomorrow? Just the two of us.”

“I thought you were going to your guys night again?” The first half of your answer was genuine, at least, “I made plans with Carrie for tomorrow,” you lied through your teeth, “think we’re gonna’ have a pamper, self care sort of night. I’m sorry.” Although you really didn’t feel sorry at all. Was he really trying now? Trying to spend more time with you, trying to pay more attention to you again? As soon as you stopped showing signs of sadness at his lack of attention, love and time spent on you, he tried to suck you back in, but when you were upset and trying your hardest to make the marriage work, he was nowhere to be found. 

“Guess I’ll go see the guys, then,” he huffed loudly, like a child unable to get their own way, and headed for the stairs. Halfway through the living room, he turned around, pointed towards the bouquet that Joel bought for you, and asked, “By the way, who got you those flowers?”. And fuck, you had completely forgotton that you decided to deal with the flowers later, not realising then that later would be almost a week later, with Marcus shooting daggers at you from across the room.

“Oh… I got them,” you began your lie, “for myself. Saw the florist after work on Friday and, I haven’t had flowers in the house in a while so,” you felt yourself starting to ramble so you cut yourself off with a shrug, your heart beating in your ears as you watched him walk away once again. 

That night, when you went to bed, the door to the guest bedroom was closed, and you could see a sliver of light underneath the door. Walking into your bedroom, the bed was empty and completely untouched, confirming your suspicions that Marcus had decided to sleep in the spare bedroom. Months ago, this distance would have clutched tightly at your heart like a fist, your eyes would have welled with tears and you would feel only despair for the end of your marriage. But looking at the empty bed, there were no tears, only a dull ache at the thought of the last 12 years spent with Marcus. A dull ache that solidified that you no longer loved him, a dull ache that announced to you that maybe you were ready to leave him. A dull ache that symbolised your decision finally being made.

Going to sleep that night, you decided that you would talk to Marcus about a divorce as soon as you could, that you would look for your own home to move into, one that wasn’t already filled with your own memories, one that hadn't housed you in your unhappiness for so long. For the first time, you slept soundly that night, and awoke excited at the prospect of being alone, of building and focusing on your own life, rather than building your life around someone else’s. 

In a shockingly good mood all throughout Friday, you weren’t surprised that you hadn’t seen Marcus all day, but you figured you would be able to talk to him about going your separate ways later on in the weekend, and instead, focused your efforts and excitement on getting ready to go to Joel’s. Opting for a comfortable outfit of denim shorts and a strappy tank top, you headed to Joel’s, nervous excitement brimming inside you. Parking in his driveway and knocking on his door had your heart almost slamming out of your chest, you thought of the last time you had been here, the way you had wanted to leave as quickly as possible. Faced with the prospect of seeing him again, being in his space, you couldn’t wait to walk through the door.

“Well don’t you look cute,” he smiled as he opened the door, moving to the side, gesturing for you to walk past him and inside the house. Taking a second to take him in, you noticed that his hair was wet, slicked back tidily at the front, but his curls were slowly forming at the back of his head, where his hair was drying quicker. He looked so handsome like this, you loved his hair when it was curly and unruly, but like this, you could see his whole face, completely unobstructed and fuck, he was beautiful. 

“You look so handsome,” you said, still taking in his appearance, “did you just get out of the shower?” He wore grey sweatpants and a black, short sleeved t-shirt that was once again, impossibly tight around his shoulders and biceps. His big, broad frame would make any shirt look tight on him, as if it were fighting not to break, not to unravel under the pressure. 

“Yeah, I did,” he answered while leading you into the living room, where the tv was playing something you couldn’t quite make out, “shame you missed it.” You were worried that you wouldn’t be able to escape the air of awkwardness, worried that the ending of your last meeting would dull the start of this one, but hearing his words and seeing his smirk reassured you that there would be no such thing.

“There’s always time for that,” you laughed as you sat on the sofa beside him and he quickly placed his arm on the back of the couch, allowing you to sink into him. “I was promised food,” you gave him a pointed look as you spoke, “what are you cooking?” 

“About that,” he looked at you sheepishly and paused, a small smile on his face, “the more I thought about what to cook, the more nervous I got so I thought we could just order somethin’.” Your grin widened at his abashed expression, finding his words absolutely adorable, and leaned into kiss him, mumbling against his mouth that you had been craving pizza anyway. Joel hummed in approval against your mouth, leaned into the kiss before pulling away to get up and ordering the pizza. He rolled his eyes when you asked for a hawaiian, but relayed the order over the phone with no complaints. 

“Said it’d be around 45 minutes, s’ a busy night,” he held your chin gently with his thumb and forefinger, turned your head to face him and softly slotted his lips with yours. His plump lips moved with yours in an easy, almost lazy rhythm as he opened your legs and moved to settle between them, allowing you to feel his already hard length. You wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him deeper into your embrace as he licked deeper into your mouth, you were so close, but you wanted more, you wanted him as close as possible. 

“Joel,” you gasped as he started grinding his length into you, the denim of your shorts adding to the friction. His lips moved down to your neck, trailing kisses down your neck to your chest, pulling you top down to expose your breasts before landing his lips on your nipple, lapping his tongue around it and sucking it into his mouth as your breathing picked up, small gasps and whimpers being released from your mouth. “Joel please,” you looked down at him as he moved on to your other breast and repeated the actions, “touch me,” you begged. 

“I am touching you, sweetheart,” you whined at his cocky response and moved your hips, grinding upwards to add friction where you needed it most. Joel looked at where you were desperately moving your hips and let out a chuckle, a chuckle that made you feel small and almost pathetic, but also made you all the more wet and needy for him. His hand trailed down your body, from your breast to the top of your denim shorts, dipping beneath the hem and circling your skin with a featherlight touch. “You want me down here, baby?” He asked as he undid the button of your shorts and started pushing them down, you instinctively lifted your hips so he could pull your shorts down completely, leaving you in your underwear, with your hard nipples exposed to Joel’s hungry gaze. Lifting your legs so that your thighs rested against your front, Joel directed your hands to the backs of your thighs and instructed, “Hold em’ right here f’me, baby,” before kneeling on the floor, positioning himself so that his face was level with your clothed pussy. Joel growled as he looked at the wet spot rapidly growing on your underwear, and you watched him with wide eyes as he ran his nose down your seam, from your clit to your hole and back up again and, to your complete surprise, unabashedly inhaling your scent. Your hands moved from holding your legs to holding your face, covering it in embarrassment, but Joel would let you do no such thing. He grabbed your elbows from his position below you and pulled them down. He moved your underwear to the side, licked a stripe up your pussy. 

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said before harshly sucking your clit into his mouth and stopping to speak again, “I love everything about this pussy, baby. The taste, the smell,” he said in a low growl, before beginning his attack on your centre. He alternated between licking and slurping passionately at your clit, wrapping his lips around it and sucking it into his mouth, and pushing his tongue inside you. You couldn’t keep your moans to yourself, your body was reacting to his touches loudly and openly, your moans loud and high pitched, while your legs shook every time Joel’s mouth wrapped around your clit. 

“Joel,” you gasped, your voice shaky as your eyes fluttered shut, unable to keep them open as Joel continued his merciless attack. Your breath hitched and your eyes shot open when you felt a finger prodding at your entrance, before thrusting in and out of you at a fast pace. “Joel, please,” you said, louder this time, “I wanna come, Joel, please,” you continued in an unstable voice as you looked down at him. Joel didn’t answer with words, but with growls and groans of his own as he tasted you. His fingers curled at that spot guaranteed to make you scream, and his hand moved to your lower stomach, sprawled out adding pressure. You were hurtling towards your release, and recognised a feeling only Joel had pulled out of you before. “Joel stop I’m gonna make a mess,” you spoke quickly, the words coming out jumbled together as your breath quickened drastically. 

“I want you to make a mess of my face, baby,” Joel said quickly before reattaching his mouth to you, pushing you further towards release, before speaking again, “give me what I want.”

His words made you give in immediately, no longer caring about making a mess, you gave in to Joel’s movements, your whines becoming more and more high pitched as he continued his movements. You couldn’t speak, only let out incoherent whines and pleas, before your mouth opened in a silent scream, the only sound leaving you was that of your breath hitching and the squelch of the wetness between your legs as it gushed out of you. Joel muttered, “good girl,” as you came down, your breath violently being pushed out of you as you watched him rise from his knees, the bottom half of his face soaked with your juices, as was his forearm. You bit your lip at the evidence of your orgasm that covered him, leaving a shine on his skin. 

“I need you inside,” you whispered as he hovered above you, overcome with desire to be full of him. He quickly put on a condom and returned to his position. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he muttered as he kissed your temple and leaned back to line himself up with your entrance. “Love watching you come for me,” he said as he pushed the tip inside, the last word of the sentence trailing off into a low groan as he felt your warmth enveloping him. 

He pushed inside slowly, allowing you to adjust to his size, before wrapping his arms around your thighs and lifting them up, your feet in the air next to his head, leaving only your shoulders and upper back on the sofa. When he was happy with the position, he started thrusting all the way in and out of you quickly as he held you still by your legs, until the sound of your skin slapping could be heard throughout the room. A moan was forced out of your mouth with each thrust, your throat opening up to release a breath each time Joel filled you to the brim, he fucked you hard and fast while he let out grunts and groans of his own, inbetween strings of praise. 

“This pussy feels so fuckin’ good,” he exhaled, and while his voice showed signs of fatigue, his body showed no signs of slowing down as he placed your back flat on the sofa and pushed your legs down so that your thighs rested against your stomach once again. This time, he didn’t instruct you to hold them, but held them down himself as he fucked you. The change in angle allowed him to push inside and reach deeper than before, knocking the wind out of you as he brushed the spot only he could reach. He watched as your eyes rolled back and fluttered closed, your mouth opening to let out loud whimpers and whines at how deep you felt him, and he whispered, “that’s it, baby,” before slowing down slightly, allowing you to feel every inch of him grinding into you. “This pussy takes me so fuckin’ good, you’re such a good girl.”

“So deep,” you replied breathlessly, his praise making your head spin. Joel’s hand suddenly settles at your neck, only applying slight pressure, pressure that, mixed with the fullness his cock gave, made you gasp in pleasure. 

“I know it’s deep but you can take it, right?” he asked and you nodded your head erratically, as best as you could with his hand around your neck. “That’s right, my good girl takes it all.” You involuntarily clenched around him at his words, his smirk returning to his lips as he felt the effect that he had on you. “Touch your pretty little clit f’me,” he ordered, his voice breathy but still dominant, “make yourself come on my cock.”

You moved your hand down towards your centre and felt where your bodies met, where he was stretching you out like no one had done before, and surely like no one ever would again. Moving your fingers upwards towards your clit, you moved your fingers in tight, steady circles in an effort to make yourself come, wanting to do everything he asked of you, if it meant hearing even a morsel more of his praise. Your moans grew louder as you grew closer with each grind of Joel’s hips and each flick of your fingers. Between whines and gasps you tried to speak, “Joel, fuck, I’m gonna’,” but the words came out jumbled and broken, “Oh my God, you’re gonna make me,” you broke off in a high pitched moan, the noise accompanied by the squelching sound of your wetness gushing out of you as Joel kept thrusting hard, and he didn’t stop until he emptied into the condom with a low grunt and an extended fuuuuck. 

Catching your breath, you watched as Joel ran to grab a cloth, still completely naked, and returned to gently clean you up. He put his boxers and sweats back on, but threw his shirt towards you, grumbling about how that would be comfier than, “those tight ass shorts,” before going to the kitchen. While he was gone, you got up to put your underwear back on and slipped his shirt over your head, feeling comfy and safe, enveloped in his clothes that still held his scent. Joel came back with a glass of water in his hand, “Just realised I didn’t even offer you a drink when you came in,” he placed the glass in your hand before sitting next to you and pulling you close. 

“Your southern hospitality’s awful,” you giggled, “fucking me without even asking if I was thirsty?”

Joel opened his mouth to answer but was soon stopped by the doorbell ringing. “‘S probably the pizza,” he mumbled as he got up and walked to the door, paying the man and grabbing the pizza boxes in his hands before turning around and kicking the door closed. He settled next to you on the sofa again, placing the pizzas on the table and opening them up. 

The tv was on, but you were hardly paying attention to what was playing, some re-run of an old show with an obnoxiously loud laughing track, you preferred to listen to Joel tell you about his week. He told you about his brother's mistakes that angered him to no end and the shock of his daughter asking him if he was seeing anyone.

“She asked you that?” He nodded at your question as he took a huge chunk out of his slice of pizza, chewing obnoxiously. 

“Yeah,” he said, “she’s a little suspicious, I think Tommy might’ve mentioned something.” 

“You talk to Tommy about me or something?” You asked teasingly, sitting back on the sofa and huffing at how full you felt. 

He threw his last crust onto the pizza box, chewing his last bite before answering, “Had to explain why I kept checkin’ my phone somehow.” He sent you a wink as he spoke, smiling at you as you yawned and quickly tried to cover your mouth with your hand. 

“You tired?” 

“No,” you said sheepishly. 

“C’mon, let’s go to bed,” he held your hand and began tugging you up off the sofa. 

“I don’t want to sleep yet,” you whined, not wanting the night to end so quickly.

“We can just relax in bed for a while, baby,” he tugged you towards the stairs, gesturing for you to walk up first. He gave your ass a couple light slaps as you walked up, earning giggles from you. You brushed your teeth side by side, stealing glances at each other in the mirror and Joel left for the bedroom while you used the toilet. 

Crawling into bed beside Joel, you inched closer towards him and found comfort in his outstretched arms. You lay facing each other, one of his arms resting underneath your body, allowing you to be as close as you could. He held you with a gentle grip, his big hands were outstretched, one spread across your back underneath his shirt and the other rested on your bicep. His hands were momentarily still, allowing you to feel the warmth of his hands, the heat being transferred from Joel’s body to yours through his soft touch. He continued to look at you as he started moving his hands, his fingers gently moving along your skin, as though he was connecting constellations in the stars. Your eyes followed his fingers carefully, your eyes traced their every move, just as the tips of his fingers traced every curve of your body, every bump or scar on your skin. And under the trace of his fingers, under the gaze of his eyes you felt truly seen. Has anybody seen you the way he saw you then? His gaze was heavy, his stare intense, but you didn’t shy away from his eyes, you didn’t flinch from his featherlight touch, you returned his stare and you returned his caress. Your fingers started moving along the skin of his arms, along the lines in his face, as if off their own accord. You subjected him to the same heavy, all consuming gaze as you looked into his eyes. You subjected him to the same featherlight, earnest touch as you ran your hands down his back, his sides, his arms, his face, anywhere you could reach. Because in that moment you saw him and he saw you. 

You moved your hand up to Joel’s now dishevelled hair and ran your hand through it but Joel was quick to stop your endeavour. He grasped your wrist in his hand and turned it around, so that your palm was facing you. You watched as he looked at your hand with a furrowed brow. You couldn’t understand why your hand had captivated him so intensely until his other hand came up to join yours in front of his face, and he traced your wedding band with his thumb.You opened your mouth to speak but no words left your throat, and Joel’s words lingered in the air instead. 

“Take the ring off.” He was now looking at you rather than at your ring, his eyes bored into yours as a shocked expression overtook your features. “Please,” he added, almost desperately, his voice nothing more than a whimper. “Just for tonight, I wanna’ pretend you're not his, that you’re mine.”

His confession almost broke you. You had struggled while coming to grips with your feelings but hadn’t thought about how Joel must feel, seeing a married woman, sleeping with a married woman, knowing that she was going home to her husband eventually. You carefully slid your wedding ring off your finger and moved from the bed to place it in your bag. When you climbed back into bed, you placed your left hand, now lacking your wedding ring, onto his cheek and, looking into his eyes, told Joel what you wished was true, “I’m yours, Joel.”

Joel’s lips met yours in a tender kiss, and when they departed, Joel spoke into your mouth, “I’m yours too,” his words left his lips, travelled down your throat and into your body, and devastated you from the inside out, “I’ll still be yours when you go back to him.” 

You couldn’t speak, no helpful words came to your mind as you looked into Joel’s eyes. They looked into yours with a sad longing, one that you were sure was reflected in your own eyes. Unable to conjure up the words, you put your lips to his and kissed him deeply, pushing all the words you couldn't say into his mouth, willing him to understand you through your touch. His palm came to rest at the back of your neck, softly keeping you in place as he kissed you back, his tongue licking into your mouth as his other hand went to your lower back and pulled you closer towards him until your front was flush with his. His mouth left yours and placed kisses down your neck while his hands went to the ends of the shirt you were wearing, pulling it up and over your head. You did the same to him, wanting to feel his skin on yours, with nothing between your bodies.  

He went to position himself further down the bed, further down your body and slowly spread your legs, but the sudden feeling of emptiness that dominated you made your arms lower to his, and your hands pulled at him to bring his face to yours again. The emptiness could be felt throughout your body, and you knew it would only be satisfied by Joel filling you up. “I just want you inside,” you whispered when his face was level with yours again.

“At least let me open you up first,” he said with furrowed brows, not wanting to hurt you, but pain was the last thing on your mind at that moment. You just wanted him. You wanted to feel him everywhere. 

“Please,” you asked, “I need it.” He said nothing in response, only reached over your body to get into the bedside drawer, pulling out a condom. Your disappointment was evident in your face, and you let out a quiet, “no,” that was barely above a whisper. He turned his head to look at you and raised an eyebrow. 

“I want to feel you, Joel,” you said, your voice still quiet, “all of you.” Suddenly worried about his response, you added, “I’m clean, I got checked last time I was at the gynaecologist.” You took a deep breath before continuing. “I haven’t been with… him since then.” Your voice was timid and nervous, unsure how to explain that it had been weeks, months even, since you had slept with your husband. You were anxious to bring him up in such a conversation, unable to say his name, you knew he would know exactly who you were talking about. 

He grimaced at your words, at the mention of your husband, but quickly hid his distaste, “I got tested after the last person I slept with, I’m clean too” his soft voice matched your quiet words as he placed the condom back in the drawer and pulled you close again. “Are you sure?” he asked, his eyes searching yours for any aversion, any discomfort, but only found a pleading want as you nodded your head and whispered a yes. 

He positioned himself in between your legs and kissed you softly while running his fingers through your folds, gathering your wetness onto his hand, circling your clit teasingly once, and spreading your juices onto his cock. His lips didn’t leave yours as he positioned his tip at your entrance and pushed himself inside you, moving inch by inch, creating a delicious burn as he stretched you out and filled you to the brim. 

“You feel so fuckin’ good, sweetheart,” 

You wrapped your legs around him in an attempt to pull him closer, although it felt impossible. He stayed fully seated inside of you, completely enveloped by your warmth as you both let out gasps and groans at the feeling. When Joel started moving, it was a slow, steady grind. Barely a movement, but enough to cause a delicious friction for both of you. You let out high pitched gasps of his name and he released grunts of yours. Your back arched as his tip kissed that spot so deep inside of you and his arms moved smoothly under your body, wrapping around you and holding you tight. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers running through his hair and pulling as he pushed heavy breaths out of your lungs. 

In a messy, close tangling of limbs that was both greedy and unhurried, needy but not rushed, you felt him deep inside of you. You felt his whole length inside of you as he ground further into you, barely leaving the warmth of your cunt, only wanting to feel close to you, not wanting the separation that came with a full thrust. 

“Joel,” you gasped, “Joel, please,” your mouth started to babble, the words involuntarily leaving you as he grunted in your ear, the sounds only heightening your wetness, your pussy clenching around his cock each time you heard him. 

“What is it, sweetheart?” He asked with a hard grind of his hips, pushing impossibly deeper inside. 

“I want you to fill me up, Joel,” you begged, your voice cracking with need. 

“You’re already full o’me, baby,” he chuckled into your ear, taking your earlobe in between his teeth, licking and nibbling while continuing the rhythmic grind of his hips. 

“No, Joel,” you were cut off by a loud moan leaving your throat as his hand slipped between your bodies to your clit, his fingers moving in tight, unfaltering circles to match the press of his hips. “I want you to come inside me.” 

Joel groaned loudly as soon as the words reached his ears, gasping your name in equal parts shock and contentment. He pulled his head back to look into your eyes, his eyebrows raised in a wordless question. 

“I have an IUD,” you said while pressing your hands into his lower back, wanting him, needing him deeper. His fingers moved quicker on your clit as he groaned at your admission, his hips faltering slightly. 

“Such a fuckin’ good girl for me,” he grunted out, “lettin’ me stuff you full.” You moaned at his words and clamped down around his cock. The steady grind of his hips had now faltered and he was thrusting in and out of you slowly, but he was just as deep as before. This change in movement caused his tip to brush that spot over and over, in a quick procession. This, mixed with his words and grunts in your ear and his finger running firm circles on your clit made you come completely unannounced. It hit you like a wall and there was nothing you could say, you came with your mouth open in a silent scream, your walls clamped around his cock and fluttered gratefully. Your chest moved up and down with heavy breaths as Joel continued to fuck into you, pushing so deep inside and moaning your praise.

“That’s my good girl, fuck,” his grunts were becoming louder, deeper as he hurtled toward his orgasm, his hips stammering the closer he got. “Tell me you’re mine,” he said, his voice a mix between a plea and a command. “Fuckin tell me you’re mine,” he repeated, louder than before.

“I’m yours, Joel,” you said through moans, he was fucking you hard and deep, messy and hurried. “I’m yours,” you repeated once more before pleading, “come inside me, Joel.”

He let out a low growl at your words, and pushed himself deep, so that he was fully seated inside you, and let go, coming inside of you before pulling out to watch his spend trickle out of you, pushing it back in with his fingers before it could go far. 

Exhausted, you lay down and closed your eyes, feeling the absence of his presence for a moment, until he returned to clean you up and got into bed beside you. You had read and read but never understood the feeling expressed in Jane Eyre of feeling so close to a lover, of being bone of his bone, and flesh of his flesh. You had certainly never felt that close to Marcus. But in that moment, lying there with Joel, with your wedding ring thrown to the side and forgotten, your skin connected to his, your legs tangled together, as if you had tied yourselves to one another in an effort to keep each other near, you felt it, you understood. 

 The last thing you remembered before falling completely asleep was Joel placing a soft kiss on your temple. 

You woke to an empty bed the next morning, the sheets crumpled and still warm to the touch on Joel’s side. Getting out of bed, you put on Joel’s shirt again and brushed your teeth in the bathroom before walking towards the stairs. At the top of the stairs you were met with the sight of Joel walking up, with a cup of coffee in each hand. 

“Go back to bed,” his soft command was met with a look of confusion from you. “My plan was to wake you up with coffee in bed,” he explained, “so go back to bed.” You giggled at his thoughtfulness and upon hearing Joel’s quiet, “please,” turned around and walked back to the bedroom, settling into bed once more. You listened to the patter of his footsteps up the stairs and towards the room and the sexy gruff of his voice wishing you a “Mornin’, darlin’,” as he walked in, as if he hadn’t already seen you that morning. 

He placed a cup of coffee in your outstretched hands and sat in bed beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and kissing your forehead. 

“Thank you, Joel,” you whispered, smiling up at him, leaning up and pressing your lips against his. Last night was still at the forefront of your mind and you were overcome with emotions you couldn’t quite explain. 

“Listen,” Joel began, “I meant what I said last night,” his words came at exactly the right time. 

“I want you,” he explained, “and not just like this, I want all of you. But I need to know what your plans are, I need to know I’m not getting invested for nothing.” He took a deep breath before continuing, “You might be mine for now but when you go home to him, I still belong to you. So I just, I need to know.”

“I’m not staying with him Joel. It’s just, it's a big thing, a long process.” You wished you could give him more reassurance, but you weren’t sure what you could say that would put his mind at ease. You looked into his eyes and said, “I want you, not him.”

Joel’s hand came up to your cheek, lightly stroking the skin next to your ear with his thumb, “I don't want to put pressure on you, I just need to know that this is going somewhere.” 

“It is,” you promised, “I’ll talk to him.” You pressed a kiss to his lips, as if you were sealing a promise, and felt nothing but happiness and safety. 

The rest of the morning passed in pure domestic bliss, Joel cooked breakfast and you both drank another coffee while you talked over the show that was on tv. When it was time for you to leave, you reluctantly got dressed and gathered your things and climbed into the car, rolling the window down. Joel stood next to the window and leaned in to kiss you goodbye. Unable to leave yet, the goodbye kiss turned into an I don’t want to go kiss, full of uncertainty and words you wanted to say but couldn’t quite articulate. Pulling away you settled on a meek, “bye,” while Joel promised to call you soon. Joel watched and waved as you reversed out of his driveway and drove away, both of your minds full of possibilities for the future. 

Your drive home was uneventful. You felt positive and excited, you were finally clear on your plans. You knew that you had to speak to Marcus about your marriage, suggest a separation and request a divorce and although you knew this would be difficult, your happiness was worth it, with or without Joel in the picture. You expected to arrive back to an empty house, like you normally did. What you didn’t expect to see was Marcus sitting at the dining table, facing the door, as if he was waiting for your return. 

With shock evident in your voice, you let out a weak, “Hi,” but upon noticing the expression on his face you added, “are you ok, Marcus?” He looked disappointed, his hand held the bottom of his face and his brows were furrowed together. 

“Where were you last night?” His question threw you off, and you scrambled to answer.

“I was at Carrie-”

“I know you weren’t at Carrie’s so I’ll ask one more time,” his voice was raised and firm, “where were you last night?” He spoke slowly, the anger he felt slowing down his speech. You knew then that the expression on his face wasn’t disappointment, it was anger, fury. You felt frozen on the spot, your mouth sewed shut with shock, you didn’t move or speak, only looked down at your feet, nervously bringing your hands together and fiddling with your thumbs. 

Your heart jumped at the next words from Marcus, his booming voice only adding to the thumping acceleration of your heart. 

“Why aren’t you wearing your ring?”

Thank you so much for reading!! Comments and reblogs are always appreciated :) Part 4 soon

Taglist - @untamedheart81 @smol-beb @harriedandharassed @southernbe

“Did you have fun, baby?” your husband asked as soon as you closed the door to your shared home. He had an excited expression on his face, and was sporting a smirk you’d seen countless times. You’d noticed that whenever you returned home from one of your escapades, he wore the same demeanour. He was calm and collected, but eager to hear your recounting of the events. He wanted to know every detail and was never jealous. This is what he wanted after all, what he suggested. He wanted to know how you got them into bed, how wet you were, how big they were, how many times they brought you to release. And you were more than happy to tell him everything. 

“So much fun, Marcus,” you said while taking a seat next to him on the sofa, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. “He was a little quiet though, you know how I want to be praised.”

Marcus lifted your hair from your neck and trailed a path of kisses from behind your ear to your collarbone and asked the question he always did, “Did he make you come?”. 

—-----------------------------------

Your husband was a generous man, generous with his kindness, his money, and his wife. You’d met Marcus in University, he was the sweet, nerdy boy in your English Lit class that eventually asked you on a date. You were together through school and when he got a job opportunity in Austin, you packed everything and moved with him, no questions asked. At the time, you couldn’t imagine building a life with anyone but him, your youth and naivety made it so that you couldn’t imagine living without him at all. And so, after seven years of being together, 5 years of marriage, a dwindling sex life and less time spent together than ever, Marcus suggested the agreement. The agreement in which you sleep with other men and tell Marcus every last detail. The agreement that has three rules; you have to tell Marcus about whenever you sleep with a man; you can’t stay the night with another man and you can’t fuck the same man twice. Marcus claims that this agreement “saved your marriage”. While it may have saved your sex life, it certainly has not saved your marriage. Your husband was a generous man, generous with his kindness, generous with his money, even generous with his wife, but he was no longer generous with his time. You may have been having more sex, but you weren’t spending time together like you used to, you weren’t laughing like you used to, you didn't love him like you used to. 

You weren’t sure how he felt about you, if he still loved you enough to want to spend the rest of his life with you, all you knew was that nothing was how it used to be. In the past, Marcus was loud about his love, his eyes were a clear reflection of the love he held for you.  His love would make itself known, obvious, like road signs popping up constantly on a long drive, something you didn’t have to look for, his love appeared right in front of your eyes. Now you had to look for the road signs, your eyes were squinting to find them. Maybe you’d taken a wrong turn on the road. Maybe you were lost.

—----------------------------

A few days later, Marcus had to go on a work trip away for the weekend, the weekend you were hoping you could spend some quality time together. It had been so long since you’d been able to spend more than a few hours before bed together, and so you had been excited for a whole weekend to spend just the two of you, your bodies entangled together between the sheets, leaving next to no space between you in a hope to rekindle something between you. Your disappointment was evident when he’d told you and so he suggested that you get dressed up, go out and find a man to fuck you senseless for the night and tell him all about it when he got back, and while you wanted Marcus, you weren’t going to say no to that. 

You were apprehensive about the agreement at first, but you soon discovered that there was something you found so enticing about seducing other men. Feeling desired by so many was a feeling you couldn’t describe, especially when your husband was never home, or when he was he just wanted a quick fuck to calm his frustrations, he never cherished you, never took his time with you. 

The sex with Marcus was good, he knew exactly what to do by now. But, there was one more thing you felt that was missing from your sex life. For so long you had wanted him to be a little more dominant, you wanted to be told exactly what to do and when to do it, to be put in your place, be punished, even degraded a little. You’d brought this up but Marcus didn't have it in him, he’d grown nervous when you asked him to choke you, and looked terrified when you had asked him to slap you, so you didn't ask again. The men you’d enjoy one night with were more likely to do these things, but lacked the dominant energy you craved, it was difficult to believe what they were saying, difficult to submit to them in the way you wanted to submit. 

As soon as you walked into the dingy bar you felt you’d made the wrong choice. It was dark, only lit by the lights behind the bar and the small lamps on the larger tables. A country song was playing in the background and although it wasn’t too loud, the lack of people in the bar meant that you could hear every word being sung. You were undoubtedly overdressed, wearing a tight, black dress that left very little to the imagination and high heels that were quickly becoming uncomfortable to walk in. You contemplated turning around and trying another place but decided against it and approached the bar. You ordered a margarita; opting for a stronger option, hoping to feel a buzz sooner rather than later. Looking around, the choice of men in the bar was lacklustre at best. There was a trio of men at a corner booth who looked to be in their sixties at least, a group of boys who looked underage at another corner booth, and three people at the other side of the bar. Two men and one woman. One of the men was facing away from you and was mostly covered by the man next to him, who was standing up, animatedly talking to a blonde woman. The man you could see was attractive, dark hair, almost black, only looked around 30 years old, but he was clearly flirting with the woman, and she was eating it up. Her giggles filled the room, and she was twirling a strand of her long hair between her nimble fingers, no doubt flashing him eyes that screamed fuck me. 

You watched their exchange from your seat at the bar, until the man was tapping his pockets, pulling a pack of cigarettes out and passing one to the woman, leading her to the front of the bar and then outside. 

  With the attractive man and the blonde gone, you could look at the man with them for the first time, with no interruptions. He was a little older than the man who accompanied him, dark hair, tanned skin, a strong yet beautifully carved nose, strong arms and big, broad shoulders. He was gorgeous, so gorgeous that you were distracted by the way that his thick thighs were spread out on the barstool, which was dwarfed by his huge frame. Unsure just how long you’d been staring, you failed to notice that he was looking in your direction. He was looking at you, looking at him and he was smirking. His face, gorgeous and now sporting an almost too smug expression, was looking right at you, and you were momentarily stunted by the intense eye contact. You were seldom intimidated by men these days, they were always so predictable, so similar to each other that you knew what was coming each time. But this impossibly handsome man had not yet spoken a word to you, and was already affecting you in ways you weren’t sure you had ever experienced. 

Pulling yourself together as best as you could, you began your routine. You smiled at him, feigning shyness, although you were not sure if this time your shyness was completely fake, and held his eye. You had done this countless times and knew what worked with men. Smile innocently, act bashful and coy and they were soon eating out of your hand. But you could tell that this man was different, his smirk was now gone but he still looked so confident, so sure of himself. You knew you were not in control of this situation, and you welcomed the feeling. You held eye contact and wordlessly beckoned him over with a wave of your hand, you had not yet heard his voice but you were already settled comfortably under the influence of his charisma, and you wanted more. As if in an out-of-body experience, you felt as though you could see your own eyes, and your eyes were undoubtedly, just as you expected the blonde’s eyes from earlier to be; screaming fuck me. 

You watched as he grabbed his drink, his hand so big that the glass looked as if it had shrunk in his hand, brought it up to his lips and took a long sip. As if in a trance, you watched as he gulped the drink down, his Adam's apple bobbing and you couldn’t help but notice the veins in his thick neck that were slightly prominent. The man then got up from the bar stool, turned completely in your direction and walked towards you. The distance he crossed wasn’t far at all, and you found yourself wishing it was further, wishing the universe would grant you more time to take in his perfect form from the front. 

He places a hand on the barstool next to yours and, still holding intense eye contact, speaks to you for the first time. “You’re far too beautiful to be in a place like this,” his voice was heavenly, deep and velvety with a slight Texan drawl that was enough to make you squirm in your seat. The way in which his voice affected you had you floored, you were completely speechless and could only look up at him from your seat. You gestured to the barstool his hand was resting on, wordlessly telling him to take a seat beside you. He smiled and pulled out the stool slightly, showcasing his strong bicep and forearm. “Are you here alone?” he asked as he looked you up and down. His eyes, although soft and kind, held a fierce intensity that intrigued you.

You lifted your glass to your lips with your left hand, the ring finger of which still sporting your wedding band, and licked a sliver of salt from the rim, all while holding his eye, said in the most seductive voice you could muster, “I wanted a night away,” and waited for the penny to drop. You liked for the men you slept with to know that you were married, that this was their only chance, that you were never going to see them again. Some would shrink away while others would lean in. Some needed to hear about the agreement and others found it sexy, that they were fucking another man’s wife. You hoped that Joel was not the type to shrink away, to recoil with offence, as if you had slapped him, as some of them would. You could tell the exact moment he noticed the ring, his mouth, previously open as if he was ready to speak, quickly clamped shut. His eyes glanced up at your face, and then back down to your hand, which was now gently resting on the bar top. 

“You’re married? I’m sorry I must’ve read this wrong,” he drawled, and moved to stand up but you quickly interjected.

“You didn't,” the words sounded rushed when they left your mouth, your voice louder than you intended, “You didn’t read anything wrong. My husband and I…..”. This was the part you didn’t like, explaining the agreement was never easy, “...we have an agreement,” you said quietly, hoping he wouldn’t inquire further. 

“Like a…. Like an open relationship?” he asked while raising his eyebrow, and you nodded affirmatively. 

“Yeah, basically,” you said, and suddenly realised you still did not know his name, he was still only a stranger to you, a stranger who’s body you wanted to lick the entirety of. You introduced yourself, telling him your name. 

“I’m Joel, nice to meet ya darlin’,” he drawled, gruff and impossibly sexy. Joel, finally hearing his name felt as if you had been waiting to hear it for years, you returned his sentiment and tried his name on your tongue, tasting it as you said it.

“I like your voice, like the way you say my name,” he smirked once again, and his confident aura reappeared. “Your husban’ must be crazy, if you were mine I’d damn near kill anyone else wantin’ to get involved.” 

“Do you want to get involved?” you asked, keeping your voice sounding as demure as you could while softly placing a hand above his knee, slowly tracing aimless patterns on his thigh, not so innocently creating a pattern with your fingertips, tracing higher and higher towards the apex of his thighs. 

“Isn’t it obvious what I want?” he drawled, looking you up and down, his eyes flitting from your hand on his thigh and up to your face, “if that's what you want, maybe I should take you home, wouldn’t want a woman like you all alone,” he said in a coy like statement, with almost a hint of sarcasm in his voice, his eyebrows raising with his speech. 

“That’s exactly what I want, Joel,” you responded, you didn't have to try and sound innocent anymore, you were desperate for anything he would give you, and he was not transparent with his desires. His confident air was enough to make your panties soak with desire, the weeping wetness that occurred between your legs was enough to make you agree to his suggestion, to agree to any suggestion or action he ordered. 

He stood up and, holding out his hand to you, led you outside of the bar, his hands, rough and calloused and so much bigger than yours, made your head spin with anticipation. Outside, the man Joel was with earlier was kissing the blonde but pulled away just in time to catch Joel opening a taxi door for you to climb into and said nothing, but lifted up both his hands in a thumbs up, and smirked. 

Joel’s house, promised to only be only a short taxi ride away, was a cosy home, and was adorned with pictures of a child, or teenager, one you were not sure you should ask the story of. His bedroom however, was typical of a man’s, although tidier than many, was plain, but for a few pictures which populated the otherwise bare walls. But before you got a chance to properly observe his bedroom he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you closer, impossibly close. His hands travelled to your neck, gently wrapping his hands around it without applying any pressure. He was kissing you with fervour, his lips, while soft and supple, were aggressive in the way they claimed your mouth, he was possessive in his want, his touch, his need. His kiss, although distracting, was not distracting enough to divert your attention from the large hand that was trailing from your neck, to your collarbone and slowly to the low line of your dress, his soft caress of your breast quickly turned rough when he pinched your nipple, earning him a whimper from your lips. 

You were almost gasping for breath while his hands continued their assault on your chest, almost missing the whisper he let out against your mouth, asking, “are you sure you want this?” to which you quickly nodded your head. Although he smirked, he was clearly unsatisfied with your wordless reply, and placed his thumb and forefinger underneath your chin to lift your head to face him and upon meeting your eyes he uttered the words, “I need words, sweetheart” and you could have melted on the spot. Any other man calling you sweetheart would not have had the same affect, your cheeks would not have heated up as soon as his low drawl reached your ears, you would not have felt the urge to press your thighs together in search of friction, and you certainly would not have grown wetter from hearing the word. “Sweetheart,” from another man’s lips would have made you cringe, maybe uncomfortable, it might even have repulsed you. But not from Joel’s mouth, not from Joel’s plush, kissable lips, not in his deep voice with the Texan accent that left you craving more.   

Dazed, almost forgetting that what he’d said was a question, and warranted an answer, he smirked at you, again. His confidence had not wavered once, he knew you wanted him, and why not lean into it even more?

 “Please,” was the word that left your mouth. The only word. It was desperate and almost pathetic, but that’s exactly how you felt; desperate to feel his hands on you, desperate to feel his mouth on you, and desperate to feel his cock inside of you. His smirk only grew hearing the want in your plea, the need. He kissed you, slowly and unhurriedly, before walking you backwards until your calves hit the bed and you fell onto it. 

Before you could comprehend what was happening, Joel’s strong, calloused hands were grabbing your ankles, and roughly pulling you towards the end of the bed, towards him. 

Your excitement grew at his rough treatment, which only made you more shocked when he placed soft kisses where his hands were only a second ago, containing you in a harsh grasp. 

He kissed a trail up your legs, your core was almost buzzing in anticipation when he impatiently pushed your dress up so that it was bunched up around your waist and, wasting no time, pulled your underwear to the side, exposing your dripping heat. He admired the newfound view for a second, before licking a hot stripe from your hole to your clit, eliciting a deep groan from both of you. Joel continues to lap at your folds messily, he was letting out groans of appreciation which only added to your pleasure. You were a moaning mess already, writhing on the bed as he continued his assault on your pussy. Joel’s arms grabbed your ankles once again and lifted them so that your legs fell over his shoulder, opening you up for him even more and allowing him to wrap his arms around your thighs, his hands splayed out on your stomach, holding you down as you struggled to keep still the closer you got to coming. As if he could tell you were close, he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked hard, while simultaneously slipping two fingers into your soaking wet heat, thrusting them in and out a few times before curling them, his hands that were on your stomach pressing down and adding more pressure. You could no longer comprehend a thing, you were no longer in that room, in that house, it hardly felt like you were in your own body. Joel’s incessant movements had pushed you further than you had ever been pushed before and you were floating, hardly realising that you had completely soaked his sheets. When you came down and regained your senses, you lifted your head to look at him, only to find him already looking at you, the lower half of his face covered in your juices, dripping from his chin, and that damned smirk on his face. 

“You taste amazing, sweetheart,” he swiped his chin with the back of his hand as he spoke, the lewd action bringing heat to your cheeks. Placing his palms flat on the bed, he lifted himself up, climbing up your body until you were face to face. He kissed you roughly, his mouth still wet with your own essence, allowing you to taste yourself as he pushed his tongue into your mouth. Still reeling off the fact that this man, who you had only met tonight, had made you squirt, something no other man had ever done, not even Marcus, you broke off the kiss and quickly mumbled, “No one’s ever done that before,” into his mouth. He pulled away and, where you expected to see his signature smirk, you saw a shocked expression. 

“Really?” he questioned, his voice sounded genuine and almost concerned. “That’s a damn shame, sweetheart,” he continued while taking off his jeans and boxers, allowing you with your first view of his cock. Your eyes trailed down from his face, passing his broad shoulders and lean chest, soft belly, the trail of hair that led to his cock. You gasped involuntarily upon seeing it for the first time. It was without a doubt the biggest you had ever seen in front of you, and although you were desperate to feel him inside of you, his size made you nervous. 

“Well, let's see if we can make you squirt again, darlin’,” he said while slowly pumping his cock, and, sensing your nerves, he lowered his face to yours and kissed you before whispering, “We can stop anytime you want to ok? Just say ‘red’ if you want to stop.” You nodded with complete enthusiasm, his reassurance completely erased your nerves and you felt more than ready to take him. 

He ran his hand through your folds, collecting your wetness and spread it all over his cock before asking, “You want me t’ open you up a little more, baby?”, to which you burst out a loud ‘no’ before realising your lips were moving. Your want for him had seemed to reach its peak, and you couldn’t wait any longer. He smiled at you and tapped his tip against your clit once, twice, three times, making you whine and grind your hips, chasing his cock. 

“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were a slut, baby,” he accused while lining himself up with your entrance, without pushing inside. 

Your breathing was growing heavier from his teasing and all you could manage was a small, “Please,” while you stared up at him, silently begging for him to just put it in. 

He granted your silent request and pushed in, slowly letting you feel all of him filling you up, but not before chuckling softly and breathing out a low, “I fuckin’ knew it,”. You had never been called a slut during sex before, but his degrading words mixed with the slight burn of his cock stretching you out was making your pussy drip on the sheets. He slowly filled you up to the brim, his tip lightly kissing your cervix as he bottomed out, he stayed there, unmoving and looked at you intently, searching for any sign of discomfort. 

Before he could ask if you were ok, if he could move, you started grinding your hips into him, desperate to feel any sort of friction. His feeling of his cock stretching you out was delicious, but it didn’t satisfy you, it only made you needy for more. Joel, realising that you were ok and wanted more, let out a low chuckle and withdrew his hips, leaving only his tip resting inside you, and then pushed all the way inside again, letting out a low groan. He repeated these movements, a slow in and out until you were a complete mess, moaning and groaning, writhing and squirming, unable to contain your reaction to the devastation his cock was causing your body. But you still needed more, you needed him to be fast and rough with you, to fuck you like his life depended on it, like it was the last thing he would do. So, you did the only thing you knew how to do at that moment, you begged. “Please, Joel, please go faster,” you interrupted yourself with a whimper as his cocked brushed against that spot that made your eyes flutter closed involuntarily. “Please, I can take it, I want it harder,” you looked up at him, your bottom lip between your teeth and your hands gripping the sheets.

Joel seemed to lose control momentarily, he threw your legs over his broad shoulders, which made his cock feel deeper than you thought possible, the angle making you moan loudly. His hands then flew to your neck, and they were nowhere near as gentle as they were  when he softly held your neck earlier, his grip was harsh this time, restricting your breathing slightly as he sped up his thrusts, holding his face close to yours and letting out a low growl. 

“I knew you were a slut as soon as I saw ya’.” He grunted with a surprising amount of control in his voice as he continued to fuck you with full strokes, completely emptying you before filling you again. “Actin’ all shy, but I saw through that. You’re just a dirty. Little. Slut.” He punctuated each word with a hard thrust. You had never been fucked like this in your life. The only way you thought to describe the whole experience was feral. The way Joel was fucking you was feral. The way you reacted to it was feral. The way you craved more was feral. You craved his cock as soon as it left you, and were quickly satisfied once again only to be craving more seconds later. 

“Oh God, Joel,” you cried out in a high pitched whine, his words, combined with his quick, hard thrusts, were pushing you towards the edge for the second time that night. This was exactly what you wanted, exactly what you've been craving for so long and to have it given to you by a random man you met in a bar shocked you. You barely had to ask for what you wanted, Joel gave it to you happily, he seemed to enjoy this just as much as you did. 

“Oh you like that, huh? You like bein’ called a slut?” his face was so close to yours that you could feel his breath on your face as he spat out the words. You could only whimper and nod your head, you were already completely fucked out, wrecked from the way he was using your pussy. Your eyes were beginning to close when he ordered you to look at him and when you did he called another order, “Open your mouth,” he commanded, and you didn't even have to think before you obeyed him, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out. His spit landed perfectly in the middle of your tongue, and you were so shocked from watching his lips pucker, and spit into your mouth that you swallowed immediately, the sight, the action and the feeling of him spitting in your mouth was something you had never experienced. And you loved it. 

Joel grabbed your chin roughly and forced your mouth open, seeing that you had swallowed every drop of spit that he gave you, he growled out a low, “good girl,” which made you moan loudly, a harsh, guttural sound that you were sure you had never made before. It was an accidental reaction that brought the smirk back to Joel’s face as he forced two of his fingers into your mouth and trailed them down your body. When he reached the apex of your thighs, he travelled down to just above where his cock was sliding into your cunt and swiped your clit in slow, firm circles that made your head spin. 

“I want you to come for me,” although his voice was starting to sound breathless, his command was still strong, it was not a suggestion, you were going to come for him. “Be a good girl, and come on my cock,” his fingers circling your clit sped up, sending you rushing towards your peak. Your moans grew louder and louder, until you were almost screaming, your head moving to the side to try and muffle the noise. As Joel continued his movements, his grunts were getting louder as he began to grow close. This was only intensified when you tightened around him, your walls fluttering as you came with a loud moan, gasping for breath. 

“Good girl,” Joel said through gritted teeth as he picked up his pace, fucking you harder and faster as he chased his high. “You're such a good girl for me, sweetheart,” he continued, his voice sounding more and more strained the more he spoke. 

“Oh fuck, baby,” the lewd sound of your skin slapping together and your wetness accompanied his strained voice, and all you could do as you took his cock over and over again, was listen to the pornographic sounds. “You’re gonna make me come,” he confessed, speeding up his thrusts even more, making you let out a squeal of surprise. 

“You’re my new little slut.” His fingers returned to circle your clit, forcing your eyes to roll to the back of your head. This new amount of pleasure was a shock to you, Joel was already testing your limits, pushing the boundaries of your body and you were loving every second of it. 

“I don’t care if you got a ring on your finger, you're my slut now,” he claimed you again through gritted teeth and you couldn't help but let out a moan at this. You wanted to be his, and you weren't even the slightest bit ashamed. 

“Now be a good little slut and cum for me again,” his fingers sped up on your clit, and just when you thought you couldn't come again, your mouth was open in a silent scream as your whole body tensed up. Your walls caved in on Joel’s cock until he came inside the condom with a loud groan, continuing to thrust softly inside you before pulling out and throwing the full condom in the bin. Your mind was completely blank, so blank that you barely registered that you had no energy to get up, that you barely registered Joel softly wiping your pussy and legs with a warm cloth, or Joel finally taking off the dress that you had kept on due to impatience, pulling the covers over your body, and bringing you close to him before kissing your forehead. 

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

You woke with a start, immediately realising you were not at home. You were in a foreign room, in a foreign bed, wrapped in foreign arms. You slowly got out of bed, gently unwrapped yourself from Joel's arms and crept to the bathroom. You take a look in the mirror and see a liar. You haven’t lied yet, but you know you will. Staring at yourself, you realise that you broke a rule last night by staying at Joel’s. You had one of the best nights of your life, undoubtedly the best sex of your life but you broke a rule, a rule your husband had set, a rule you had agreed to, a rule to avoid feelings getting involved, to avoid getting too close. Unsure what to do, you headed back into the bedroom with a vague plan of getting your clothes and leaving before Joel woke up. The plan was ruined as soon as you entered the bedroom and saw Joel awake, looking at you in all your naked glory. He smiles at you and beckons you towards him. You walk towards him, feeling as though your feet are moving of their accord, with no help from your brain and he pulls you back into bed, kissing your cheek before whispering in your ear, “I haven’t had that much fun in a long time.”

Before you could help yourself, you answer honestly, “Same here,” you said, maybe a little too honestly. He kisses you in response, it was full of passion and reminded you of the night before, how he’d claimed you as his, despite the ring on your finger. His hand trailed to your neck, and down your collarbone before softly caressing your breasts and asking, “Can I touch you, baby? I didn't get enough last night.” His voice was in your ear and was even more deep and gruff after a full night's rest. You knew that you should have put an end to it there, should have gathered your things and left, you should have resisted him. But you couldn't. There was something about him that you wanted, that you needed, that you craved. 

So, you nodded your head and whispered a soft yes which was met with a teasing pinch to your nipple before he kissed you again. He continued pinching and rubbing your nipples before trailing his hand lower, moving to rub your clit slowly. Your moans and whimpers were interrupted by a question from Joel, “I promised to make you squirt again last night, you didn't think I'd let you go home before staying true to my word did ya’ sweetheart?” He doubled his efforts, sliding two fingers into your core before curling them, just like he did last night, only this morning, he used his thumb to rub quick but firm and controlled circles on your clit, stimulating you just right, and sending you towards your peak. His other hand was splayed over your stomach, lightly pushing down to add more pressure and soon you were chanting his name over and over, praying that he didn't stop. 

“C’mon baby, soak me,” he grunted just as your orgasm hit you, buzzing through your body, making you feel light and airy, and you soon felt the wetness grow on the sheets, a sure sign he had made you squirt, again. 

“Oh my God,” your voice sounded breathless and all you could do was fight for breath and lie back on the bed. Joel lay down beside you and, turning your head to face him, smiled cockily at you. You smiled back at him and made a move to grab his cock, ready to return the favour but he shook his head and said, “That was about you, darlin, you don’t have to do anything,”. Before you could protest and say that you wanted to, because fuck did you want to feel him in your mouth, his features turned from cocky to nervous. You locked eyes with him as his mouth opened and closed, as if he was trying to force the words out but something stopped him each time. 

Eventually, he spoke, “Can I erm…. Can I see you again sometime?” His question had you swooning, you tried to stop yourself, you really did, but the apprehension in his voice, something you had not encountered in him since you met only added to your desire to see him again. And so, you said yes and gave him your phone number, before telling him you had to go.  

“At least let me make ya’ some breakfast before ya’ run off, sweetheart,” his words had you quickly feeling hungry, having not even thought about food this morning, you nodded your head, and he jerked his head towards the hallway. You put on last night's dress and followed him downstairs. On the way to the kitchen you took more notice of the pictures scattered around the house, there were some of Joel and the man you’d seen at the bar last night, and some of the girl you’d noticed on the way in last night. She looked a beautiful girl and you wanted to ask who she was, and who she was to Joel especially, but he was already asking you a question.

“How do you take your coffee?” He was straining his neck to look behind him at you as he asked the question. 

“Just two sugars, please,” you answered as you sat behind him on the island as he made your coffee, appreciating his naked back as he busied himself. His toned shoulders, the muscles in his back tensing as he moved. 

He turned around and placed your coffee in front of you, you smiled in thanks, which he readily returned. 

“So what do you do? we kind of skipped over the small talk last night” he said with a chuckle, his cheeks turning slightly red, “But i wanna know more about you.”

“I work in publishing,” you answered after taking a small sip of your too hot coffee, “so I read a lot of manuscripts, decide if they’re likely to sell, I could be editing the book, or I could be promoting books.” 

“Why’d you decide to go into that?” he asked with genuine interest, while turning

around to turn on the stove. “You good with scrambled eggs?”

“Yeah scrambled’s good,” you grinned at how easy this felt, you were only getting to know each other the morning after, but it felt good to sit here with him and just talk. “I’ve always loved reading and just books in general, so I got my degree in English Literature and then I didn’t know what to do, so I did a masters in publishing.”

“If you love books so much why don’t you just write one?” he asked as if it was the easiest thing in the world, turning around to give you a look that said, “duh”, before returning to cracking the eggs. 

“well……I don’t really think I'm good enough to actually write a book. I know when a book is good and when it’ll sell but, I don’t know if i could write a good book” you asked with slight insecurity. Marcus had never asked this, never suggested you do what you really wished to do, what you’ve always wanted to do. 

“That sounds like bullshit to me, you should try it,” you laughed at his nonchalance,  you liked how he thought you should do something no matter how unrealistic it sounded.

“We’ll see,” you answered with a chuckle before returning his question, “what do you do?”

“I’m a contractor, me and my brother, the guy I was with last night, have our own

Company,” he explained while quickly whisking the eggs, his muscles working overtime and giving you an amazing view of his back tensing. “I started  when I was young, right out of school.”

“Do you enjoy it?” He only shrugged in response at first, before turning around to face you.

“Pays the bills,” he said before serving up your breakfast and sitting next to you with his own. 

“So what would you enjoy doing?” you asked, since he was so adamant that you do what you want, no matter your insecurities.

“Well..” he started, and while scratching the back of his neck, seemed to contemplate whether this was something he actually wanted to say. “I always wanted to be a singer, every since I got my first guitar.”

You couldn't help but grin at the thought of the man next to you singing with a guitar in  his lap. “Well, you’ll have to sing for me sometime,” you suggested, unable to contain your grin as you spoke. 

“If you’re lucky, sweetheart, now eat your food.” He tapped your plate as he spoke, “‘M sure ya need your energy after last night.”

You both enjoyed your food in silence, you caught him looking at you while you chewed a particularly big mouthful of food, and he only chuckled when you stared back at his obnoxiously big bites. You thanked him for the food and tried to do the dishes yourself, but he looked at you as if you were a lunatic and did them himself, leaving you to do nothing but admire him again. 

You were ready to call a taxi to pick you up and, asking if he had any numbers you could call, but he didn't gratify your question with an answer, he instead looked at you with a dumbfounded look on his face and said, “I’ll drive ya sweetheart,”. He didn't listen to your protests, ran upstairs to put a shirt on and picked up his keys, led you outside, opened the passenger door of the truck for you before running to the other side and jumping in. You gave him the name of your street and he started the car, grumbling about it only being a 5 or so minute drive and drove. His arms were almost bulging out his shirt, his broadness creating the impression his clothes were bursting at the seams. 

He looked over at you, caught you staring and looked you up and down before saying, “That dress looks even better on you this morning than it did last night, especially with your hair all messed up,” he smiled as he spoke, looking ahead at the road but stealing glances at you every now and then. 

You smiled and made a humming noise, as if you were thinking hard and responded, “You looked better last night,” and smiled teasingly at him. He in fact, did not look better last night, his hair, messy and dishevelled made him look adorable and seeing him in comfier clothes than last night was incredibly sexy. 

He let out a chuckle and smiled at you again. Every smile he threw your way felt so genuine, and never failed to melt you into a puddle. As the car came to a stop outside your house, Joel leaned over to kiss your cheek and quietly asked, “So I’ll text you?” to which you nodded, thanked him for the ride and moved to get out of the car. But he interrupted your move with another question, “And you're sure your hubby’ll be all good with that?” You had no idea how to respond and in your shock all you gave was a timid mhm as you rushed out of the car and onto the driveway of yours and your husbands shared home.

He shouted a “see ya, sweetheart,” as you walked and you prayed none of your neighbours heard and walked into your home feeling guiltier than ever. 

Upon your arrival home, you showered immediately, desperately needing some time to think. But thinking only added to your guilt. You had broken the second rule of your agreement last night by staying the night. You’d let him touch you again this morning, and you enjoyed it, you loved it. You’d agreed to see him again, and you didn’t regret agreeing, worst of all you wanted to see him again, but that would be another rule broken. Another lie. Another betrayal. As guilty as you felt, there was a voice in your head, you imagined it to be the devil on your shoulder, whispering in your ear that maybe, just maybe, Joel Miller was worth it. 

Your phone starts buzzing on your work desk around 8 AM. You just got into the office and are starring at your monitor blankly, nursing a to-go cup of too expensive coffee and questioning your life choices. A regular Tuesday really.

You groan and flick your eyes down to your phone, your mind way too exhausted to deal with whoever is trying to contact you right now. You read the name on the screen and take a double take, your tiredness immediately forgotten. You hastily grab the device and press the green button to accept the call.

“Hey,” you say, trying your best not to sound just as eager as you suddenly feel. He doesn’t need to know the effect a simple call from him has on you.

“Good morning, sweetheart. What took you so fucking long to answer, huh?” his voice sounds through the speaker, calm and composed as always, but with a hint of teasing. You bite your lip, thankful that he can’t see how just hearing him speak has a blush creeping up your cheeks.

“S-sorry, just work and everything, you know?”

You can’t help the little sigh that you let out -work really has been a nightmare lately- and he chuckles sympathetically.

“You poor thing. Speaking of work, I actually have a favor to ask you.”

He knows fully well that he doesn’t need to ask you favors - you’d give him everything he tells you, without question. His usual demanding tone is lacing his words and you involuntary clench your legs together. God, you’re down so bad for this man.

This, as you need to keep reminding yourself, married man, who lives the perfect suburban life with his wife and their two kids. He’s not in love with you, you’re well aware of that, and you’re trying your hardest not to fall in love with him either.

You don’t know what exactly is going on between him and his wife and you don’t pry. He’s told you that things between them aren’t working out anymore and that they’ve agreed to stay together and play happy family until their girls are older. You’re not dumb, you know that this is the kind of story that every cheating man tells the other woman. And you’d probably call him out on his bullshit, if he were any other man. Hell, you wouldn’t have gotten involved with any other married man in the first place.

But Dave isn’t just any man and he’s got you wrapped around his finger ever since you met in a hotel bar a few months ago. You had just been stood up at said bar and Dave had been on a business trip, spending the night there. He came up to you, looking more handsome than any man should have the right to, bought you a drink and had you following him up to his room in the blink of an eye, which led to sex that was easily the best you had ever had.

Now, Dave calls you regularly, mostly when he’s close enough to meet up, but also some nights when he whispers filthy things into your ear until you come on your own fingers because he is too far away to put his hands on you.

You like to think that he cares about you, that you’re not just the willing means to an end and that you can actually give him something that he can’t get anywhere else. Something soft, a person that cares for him and gives him the chance to be soft as well. And they exist, those moments of softness, in between tangled sheets and laughs shared in the darkness of your room, his fingers mindlessly dancing over your body when he thinks you’re already asleep and his lips pressed against yours a little too urgently when he’s saying goodbye to you.

But most of the time, Dave doesn’t like to care. He also doesn’t like to be soft. He’s ruthless, his edges sharp like a knife and he likes coming at you hard. He doesn’t tell you exactly what he does for a living, but you know that it’s dangerous and violent. He needs an outlet, somewhere he can let his aggressions run free, someone he can control.

This, you can definitely give him. You let him take it out on you when things get too much, you give all control to him, and you love it. And he knows that you do. Sometimes you wonder if that’s the only reason he’s keeping you around, but you can’t bring yourself to believe it.

So, when your phone lights up with his name, you answer, trying to conceal your desperation to hear his voice, the hold he has on you, even if you’re fighting a losing battle. And when he’s asking for a favor, you hum questioningly, even though you already know that your answer will be “yes”.

“Take the next week off, and pack a bag. I’m having a few free days, so we’re going away for a bit, I’m picking you up on Saturday.”

He’s basically giving you an order, not stopping to ask if you’ve already got plans, if this might be a bad time, anything. Do this, be there, stat. Because he knows that you will do as he says and you know it, too.

Excitement bubbles up in you, the prospect of spending a whole week with Dave, something of a vacation, from what it sounds like, is more than you had ever allowed yourself to even daydream about. This is not what your relationship is about, it’s not what you do. Except that… apparently it is?

“I- okay, yes. That- that sounds great, Dave.” Your delight at his proposal is clear in your voice. “Where are we going? What do I need to pack? Do I need to prepare anything?”

He chuckles again and you can picture him shaking his head.

“No doll, don’t worry your pretty little head about it. Just bring your passport and pack for warm weather. And, sweetheart?” His voice drops an octave and he’s basically purring in your ear. “The sluttier, the better.”

He hangs up without waiting for your answer. You’re left to spend the rest of your workday in a daze, your panties soaked and your head busy with already cataloguing your entire closet and which things you’ll pack.

The days pass you by in weird chunks of time. On the one hand, you can’t wait for Saturday, while on the other hand, you feel terribly unprepared, causing anxiety to creep up on you several times throughout the week. Every vacation you’ve ever been on has been meticulously organized and planned out by yourself and the lack of knowledge that you’re dealing with right now is an entirely foreign feeling.

What if you need a certain vaccine for wherever you’re going and you don’t have it? What if the flight has an early check-in that you need to take care of? Has Dave booked a hotel? How are the reviews? What do you need to prepare for?

The nervous urge to be ready for every kind of situation that you can’t satisfy right now is threatening to drive you crazy and you need to remind yourself more than once that this is Dave that you’re dealing with. Not one of your previous boyfriends that would’ve come up with some half-assed plan that lacked in several vital points and required you to take care of things yourself eventually.

Dave is even more thorough than you, he doesn’t leave anything up to chance and he doesn’t forget things. You’re still reeling from the mere fact that he’s planning to take you away for a whole week. You’ve never spent that much uninterrupted time together and you honestly hadn’t thought that he would want to. This is couple stuff. And you’re not a couple. You’re just someone he sleeps with occasionally. You need to remember at least that.

You have texted him a few times, trying to get more information about the trip, but he hasn’t budged. You only manage to find out that he’ll come pick you up Saturday morning and that you’ll be gone for a whole week. And that you should pack a lot of bikinis.

“You make sure you’ll look good for me, and I’ll take care of the rest,” his text read. Followed up by a stern, “Stop worrying.”

You try taking his words to heart and get prepared in the one way you can: Buying lots of skimpy dresses and bikinis. You vividly picture him taking them off of you and it works. You do stop worrying.

Saturday finally rolls around and you’re ready, suitcase fully packed and dressed in a skirt so short that it will probably have you freezing your ass off on the airplane, but you can hardly bring yourself to care.

His taxi finally pulls up to your apartment building and he jumps out to meet you while the driver loads in your suitcase. You can’t help the giddy smile that’s on your face when Dave’s arms envelop you and your lips are on his before he even gets a greeting out. He chuckles as he kisses you softly, one of his hands cupping the back of your head, before he pulls away slightly to look at you. You’re breathless; the sight of him in his crisp shirt, the top two buttons undone to show off a sliver of his broad chest, his sharp jawline and those brown eyes trained firmly on you already enough to drive you a little crazy with need for him.

“Miss me that much, huh?” he murmurs against your lips, one hand still in your hair while the other one trails down to the hem of your skirt and skims the backside of your thighs before he gives your ass a rough squeeze. You nod quickly as a breath leaves you, not quite a moan but enough to clearly show him the effect his touch immediately has on you.

“Desperate little thing,” he grins and adds a playful slap to your backside before pecking your lips again and leading you towards the waiting car.

He slips in beside you, his hand immediately finding your thigh again and gently rubbing against the bare skin, creeping below your skirt’s hem again and again as you take off in the direction of the airport.

You’re falling into your familiar routine with him, the first effects of seeing him and the flare of your chemistry with each other now calming down a little and allowing you to actually talk with him like a normal person, not a lovesick teenager. You’re filling each other in on the few weeks since you last saw each other, the little occurrences that made you think of telling him about but you didn’t have the opportunity to at the time. He’s not much of a texter and you understand that; he’s busy with his job and his family whose existence you need to keep reminding yourself of.

His large hand doesn’t leave your thigh once throughout the drive, keeping a hold on you that feels especially possessive whenever his grip tightens. At the airport he grabs both of your suitcases and purposefully strides off, leaving you to walk beside him with nothing but your little purse. It’s not a grand gesture by any means, but still, no one has ever taken care of things for you like this and your want for him is bubbling inside of you.

He drops your baggage off at check-in and hands you your boarding pass. You can’t help the squeal that you let out when your eyes find the destination and you excitedly throw your arms around him.

“Are you serious? How did you know that I always wanted- But Dave, that’s SO much, I can’t have you pay for all this, I-“

He shushes you gently, though you can tell that he’s clearly pleased with how happy you are about where you’re going. He presses a kiss to the crown of your hand and rubs his hands over your shoulders.

“Of course you can. I wanted to do something nice for you, sweetheart, you’ve been so stressed out lately. And I-,” he trails off, looking almost a little bashful, “I wanted to spend my time off with you, without interruptions, you know.”

You think that he wants to add more, but he doesn’t, his expression slightly regretful like he accidentally said too much already. He barely verbalizes his feelings and you don’t push it.

“Thank you Dave, it’s- thank you. I really appreciate it.”

You lean up on your tiptoes and kiss him softly, trying to convey what you feel but can’t put into words. How you’re not even there yet and it’s already more than anyone has ever done for you. How ‘I wanted to spend my time off with you’ has butterflies erupting in your stomach, no matter how hard you try to suppress them. How it has you wondering if maybe, just maybe, you might be more for him than just the girl that he’s fucking on the side because his marriage is shitty. How much you wish that you were.

But you don’t have time to ponder all this because he possessively wraps an arm around your shoulder and leads you off towards security control, then to the gate where he gets you your favorite Starbucks without even asking for your order, and onto the plane, where he lets you have the window seat and his hand finds its way back onto your thigh.

You brought a book to read on the flight but you can’t make it through one page without losing your focus. Dave’s hand keeps climbing higher and higher, alternating between gripping your inner thigh tightly and drawing featherlight circles on the soft skin, and the heat that had been smoldering within you since you first laid eyes on him today is slowly but steadily becoming too much to bear.

Dave seems annoyingly unaffected, his face as composed as ever as he asks questions about your book, and you know that he notices the blush that is creeping up your neck, the way you’re squirming in your seat, and how much he’s enjoying the fact that he’s the one to make you act like this.

You’re in the middle of a sentence when his fingers suddenly move all the way up your thigh and brush lightly against the fabric of your underwear. It’s a barely-there touch, but you’re so wound up that it’s enough to cause you to interrupt yourself with a loud gasp. He retracts his hand the tiniest bit, still hovering between your thighs, and tuts at you.

There’s a dark glint in his eyes that hasn’t been there moments before. You know this look and it takes everything in you to not clench your thighs together in anticipation of what’s to come. He raises an eyebrow, the condescension written clear on his face and his voice a low rumble, quiet enough for only you to hear.

“Shhh, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want everyone on here to know how much of a slut you are for me, now would we? Huh?”

He pinches the soft flesh on your inner thigh roughly when you don’t answer fast enough and you bite your lip, suppressing the whine that is threatening to come out of you.

“N-no…” you whisper and Dave arches his eyebrow even higher, looking at you expectantly. You gulp.

“No, sir.”

A small smile plays around his lips and he places a kiss on your cheek. “Good girl,” he mutters and his hand creeps up again until he’s rubbing against your panties, which you know are absolutely soaked by now. Your hips chase his touch and he chuckles darkly as he withdraws his fingers, completely this time, until he’s holding them up to your face. You can tell that the fingertips are shiny with the arousal that leaked through your underwear and you feel yourself blushing.

“Lick it off,” he drawls, and your eyes widen. “H-here?” you dare to ask. His gaze hardens.

“You wanna talk back to me?” His voice is calm, but you can sense the tension that’s rolling off of him. You should be disgusted, both by his request and the way that he’s talking to you like you’re a child, but you’re not. This is how you want him, how you crave him.

You shake your head hastily, acutely aware that questioning him was probably enough to get you into serious trouble later on. The thought sends another wave of desperate arousal through you.

“Then lick. It. Off. I’m not gonna tell you again.”

His tone is clipped, his face a hard mask, but your eyes flick down momentarily and the growing bulge in his pants tells you that he’s not as unaffected by the situation as he wants you to believe. You train your eyes back to his face and hold his gaze as you lean forward and obediently clean his fingers with tiny kitten licks. His jaw tenses as he finally draws his fingers back from your tongue and runs them across your cheek, smearing the traces of your spit there.

A small whine slips out of your throat as you feel fresh wetness flooding your underwear and he grins before he kisses you again, murmuring a “Good girl” against your lips. He leans back into his seat, his hand finding an almost innocent position close to your knee.

“Why don’t you read a little more, sweetheart? We’ll be there soon.”

He flashes you a smile that could pass as genuine but you catch the glint in his eyes as he clocks your dazed expression and your slightly parted lips. You nod dumbly and pick the book back up, but not a single word that you read actively registers in your mind.

You try catching glances at Dave, until by the fourth time, he pinches your chin between his fingers and turns your head back forward. “I said, read,” he murmurs into your ear. You know he gets off on this stuff, giving you stupid little orders. And on the fact that you let him. That you get off on it, too.

Your arrival happens in a blur. Dave leads you off the plane and through the smallest airport you’ve ever been to. Your brain is still a bit muddled from the unsatisfied arousal he’s ignited in you and now you’re excitedly turning your head left and right, trying to get in as many impressions as you possibly can. You’re not paying close attention to what’s happening and you’re thankful for the way Dave is taking charge without question. You’re happy to link you fingers through his and let him lead you wherever you need to go.

He retrieves your luggage, walks you out of the airport and to a waiting car. You spend the drive staring out of the window, your eyes wide, taking in all the beauty around you. It’s like you’ve arrived in literal paradise. You tell Dave as much and he chuckles, lifting your hand up to his mouth and pressing a gentle kiss against your knuckles. The unexpectedly sweet gesture has you blushing and a soft smile plays around his lips.

The hotel is, quite frankly, insane. If you had been worried about the amount of money that he’s spent on this trip before, it pales in comparison to how you’re feeling now. The building is nestled against the foot of a mountain, lush green trees surrounding the front and the road leading up to the entrance, while it opens up to a small, private bay where turquoise waves calmly roll up against the whitest sand you’ve ever seen.

There’s glass walls everywhere, giving you an almost 360° view as you step into the lobby. You know that you’re gaping and Dave actually laughs at your expression as he walks you up to the reception desk to check in. You’re not listening closely, too busy taking in your surroundings and convincing yourself that this is your real life and not some extremely realistic daydream that you’re having while sitting at your work desk.

Dave finishes up and wraps an arm around your shoulders to lead you to the elevators, stepping inside and pressing the top button. The doors slide closed and you can barely think about the fact that you’re apparently staying on the top floor before you’re being whirled around and end up with your front pressed against the elevator’s wall and Dave’s hands roughly shoving up your skirt until your ass is exposed to him.

Your surprised giggle morphs into a moan as his hand comes down hard to slap your ass cheek, before gripping the flesh so roughly that you know you’ll have bruises tomorrow. He presses his body up against yours and captures your lips in a sloppy kiss as his other hand slides up to cup your breasts over your tank top.

“Dave- we can’t-,” you gasp just as the elevator comes to a halt and dings. He growls and flicks your skirt back down, but keeps you pressed against his side as the doors slide open again. Thankfully there’s no other people around on this floor to witness your surely utterly disheveled state.

The dark glint is back in his eyes as he drags you along to your room number. He stops in front of the door and turns you towards him, his eyes trained on your face as he towers over you. His voice is low, his tone calm and controlled, but somehow it’s more threatening than if he shouted at you.

“You think you get to tell me what we can and can’t do? You think that’s for you to decide?” His hand grabs your face, his fingers digging into your cheeks, and you whimper. “N-no sir, I’m sorry, I just thought-“ He slaps your cheek, not hard enough for it to hurt, but enough to shut you up. Enough to remind you of your place in this dynamic. Your eyes flicker around hastily, your mind acutely aware of the fact that you’re in a public setting and that someone could walk in on this at any time. His hold returns your face, forcing you to look at him again.

“You don’t think, sweetheart. I decide and you listen, isn’t that right? If I want you to show off that slutty little ass of yours for everyone to see, then that’s what you’ll do.”

You nod to your best ability with his hand still grasping your face, mumbling another, “I’m sorry, sir.” You can barely think, the heat between your thighs almost making your legs buckle at this point. His thumb moves to play with your bottom lip and a cruel smirk grows on his face. “You will be, doll. This is the third time you’ve disrespected me today. Looks like you’re in for a rough night, huh?”

“Yes, sir.” You can’t help the way you subconsciously bite your lip and you know that your desire is written all over your face, your pupils probably blown wide and a furious blush painting your cheeks. “Christ,” he chuckles and seals your lips with another kiss, “you’re a fucked up little thing.” You can only nod, prompting another laugh from him.

He steps up beside you and digs a keycard out of his pocket, holding it up against the door that responds with an affirmative beeping sound and a lock clicking. He pushes the handle down and swings the door open, holding it for you, a hand on the small of your back as you tentatively take a few steps inside.

The gasp you let out now isn’t fueled by your arousal, which is momentarily forgotten, but by your utter inability to believe what you’re seeing. You’re standing in a small hallway which opens up into a gigantic living room that’s probably bigger than your entire apartment and completely lined with glass walls, revealing a balcony and the shimmering sea several floors below you. You slowly walk to the adjoining bedroom that houses the easily biggest bed you’ve ever seen and a continuation of the glass walls. From what you can see, the en-suite bathroom features a lot of white marble.

You turn back to Dave, who has followed you silently and seems to expectantly take in your every reaction. “You’re crazy,” you tell him and he grins as you struggle for words. “This is- it’s so expensive, it’s- it’s too much, really. You’re crazy,” you repeat and he walks up to you to take your hands. His thumbs rub little circles over the skin and he smiles softly. “As I said, I wanted to do something nice for you. You deserve it, sweetheart, you do.”

“But- but it’s-,” you trail off, mortified to realize that your bottom lip is trembling and your eyes are getting wet. You’re not going to cry in front of Dave, not because of a stupid hotel room. More like a fucking suite, your brain unhelpfully provides and your lip trembles harder. Dave quickly wraps his arms around your shoulders, his eyes searching your face. “But it’s what?” he implores, his features displaying a look of such genuine concern that you’re pretty sure you’ve never seen on him before. “Sweetheart, do you not like it?”

You shake your head, trying to think of some way to explain that doesn’t make you seem totally pathetic. “It’s-,” you draw a deep breath, “it’s just- this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. Like, ever. I just can’t believe you would- for me…” You trail off, not sure how to explain that you can’t grasp why he would be willing to spend this amount of money on you. “What I mean to say is, it’s beautiful. Just- thank you. Really, thank you.”

You smile up at him and the relief is incredibly evident on his face before he pulls you into a hug, his arms engulfing you, one hand stroking you hair softly. For once, his hands don’t wander down your body, he just holds you tight and you allow yourself to think that you could get used to this.

You feel awkward after your little breakdown, but Dave doesn’t mention it again. He lets you traipse around the suite to explore and unpack and follows you when you step out onto the balcony where you inhale deeply, enjoying the salty air and the view down to the bay. You think that it might be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen in your life and you flash a beaming smile at him.

“You like it?” he checks again and you nod eagerly. “Good,” he mumbles and steps up behind you, one of his arms finding its way around your middle and his head resting on your shoulder. “That’s good.”

You stay like that a little while, looking at the scenery in front of you in peaceful silence, listening to the sound of the waves that roll against the shore and watching as the sun is sinking lower, a soft golden light spreading out across the sky and reflecting in the water.

Eventually, one of his hands slowly starts gliding up your torso. He cups your breast and his fingers graze your quickly pebbling nipple. You moan quietly and instinctually push your hips back against his crotch and the growing hardness there, which causes him to chuckle as he bends down to run his lips over your neck, leaving small kisses and bites on the sensitive flesh.

You’ve been riled up and let back down so many times today that you feel a bit crazy at this point, the need for him between your legs downright painful as you grind your hips against him and another desperate moan escapes you. “Dave, please… I need you.” Your head falls back against his chest and his other arm loops around your middle, pressing you against him as he tuts softly.

“So needy that you’re forgetting all your manners, huh?”

He pinches your nipple, hard, before his hand sneaks higher and loosely wraps around your throat. The anticipation of what is -hopefully- finally about to happen has you feeling almost lightheaded. You don’t care that you’re outside, that anyone could look up and easily spot you on the balcony, you would let him fuck your right there, as long as he just finally fucks you at all. You haven’t given him an answer and the hold around you throat tightens. Not enough for any real pressure, but enough to remind you of the power he holds over you.

“Please, sir,” you whine and he chuckles again. “Not yet, doll,” he whispers into your ear and his hand leaves your throat, then he turns you around until you’re face to face. You can see that he wants you too, it’s written on his face clear as day, and you can barely fathom his level of self-restraint right now. You open your mouth, ready to beg again, ready to beg for anything to relieve the throbbing pain between your thighs, but he shakes his head curtly and even in your lust-filled haze, you know better than to keep going and shut your mouth again.

He grins at your obedience and gives your lips a quick kiss. “Good girl. You’ll get everything you want soon enough, don’t worry. Just gotta be patient a little more, okay?” You nod, and dazedly let him take your hand and lead you back into the bedroom. “But first, we’re gonna have a nice dinner. Think you’re gonna need the energy, doll.” His grin turns downright feral and a small shudder runs through you. “Show me what pretty things you packed, yeah?”

You hum your agreement and turn to rummage through the closet, pick out a dress and fresh underwear and wander off into the bathroom. You half-expect him to stop you and make you change in front of him, but he doesn’t say a word. Maybe seeing you naked would be even too much for his restraint right now.

You change into the dress; it’s one of the new ones that you bought only last week while daydreaming about how Dave would take it off of you. It’s a short silk dress, dark red and with an open back that basically only consists of a several straps that form a loose pattern over your skin, which is why you forego a bra and only pull on a black thong, a lacy, barely there scrap of fabric. You also redo your makeup, adding a lipstick in a shade that matches the dress and freshen up the waves in your hair, then step out into the bedroom again.

Dave is still wearing the black slacks that he wore all day, but seems to have changed into a new, creamy white dress shirt, while you were busy in the bathroom. The top three buttons are open, which is one more than usual, exposing more of his broad chest than you’re used to and you know that you’re wearing an expression of awe on your face. He’s so beautiful. He always is, he’s stupidly attractive, really, but it’s hitting you especially hard right now, in these new surroundings and with the prospect of having him all to yourself for one whole week.

He’s eyeing you as well, his gaze roaming hungrily over your body. You become acutely aware of just how short the dress is, how much of your naked skin is on display. You like your body, and you’re not ashamed of showing it off, but this place is fancy. You know you look good, but suddenly, you feel a bit awkward. “Is- is this okay? Because, I-,” you blush a little, “I didn’t expect this kind of hotel and you said- you said you wanted slutty, so…” You trail off, biting you lip nervously.

Dave’s gaze softens. It’s giving you whiplash, how quickly he switches between the domineering, controlled, sexually charged persona that he’s displaying around you most of the time, and this sweeter, caring side. The side that wants to do something nice for you. He takes a step towards you.

“Turn around for me, sweetheart.”

You do, giving him a little twirl before turning back around and meeting his gaze. He looks… you don’t know how to describe it. The hunger for you that you’re familiar with is there, but it’s also something else, something… more. “You look perfect,” he assures you and you can’t help but believe him. Then he continues, “take off your underwear.” You blink at him and he cocks an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t want any panty lines when you’re looking so gorgeous with that pretty dress.”

You know fully well that the tiny thong that you’re wearing isn’t leaving any panty lines, but you also know better than to argue. The thought of having nothing to protect your modestly under the very short hem of your dress makes you feel exposed, a little uneasy, which is probably exactly what he wants. Always testing your limits, always looking to see how far he can push you, how far you’d go to please him.

You slide your thong off and make to toss it in the direction of your suitcase, but he clicks his tongue and holds his hand out towards you. You put it into his waiting hand and he stuffs it into the pocket of his pants. You suppose that he’s planning something and that you’ll get to know about it when he wants you to, which isn’t now, so you keep your mouth shut and step closer to him. “Dinner?” you question softly and lean on your tiptoes to kiss him. He returns the kiss, his tongue entering your mouth swiftly, giving you a taste of how much he wants you, before he pulls back and grabs your hand instead, leading you out of the suite and back to the elevator.

It’s just the two of you when you get on, but two floors down, you’re being joined by an elderly couple who you greet politely. As soon as their backs are turned to you, Dave’s hand is under your dress, running a finger through your slick folds. You manage to swallow your surprised gasp, but flinch slightly, and you see him smirk out of the corner of your eye. He slides his finger up and down your slit, brushing your already oversensitive clit a few times, and you bite down hard on your lip to keep the sounds inside that threaten to spill out of you.

When the elevator finally stops, he withdraws his hand and waits until the couple is a few steps away from you, until he leans down to whisper in your ear, “Good girl, learned your lesson I see. Now, what do you say?” “Thank you, sir,” you breathe, your legs a bit wobbly and your arousal already leaking out of you. “That’s right.” He pats your ass in a sort of condescending appreciation and you follow him into the dining area.

The hotel’s restaurant is located on the first floor, a beautiful, light-filled space that opens onto a big terrace which seems to float over the ocean and gives you a gorgeous view of the sunset’s colors that have become even more intense since you left your room. You’re being led to a small table for two and you gape at the view, causing Dave to laugh at you again, but it’s a warm laugh, that feels like he’s genuinely happy about how much you’re enjoying yourself.

You try reading through the menu, but you know maybe half of the things that are on there, much less how anything tastes or what you would prefer. You shoot Dave a sort of helpless look and he grins. “Want me to order for you?” he asks and you nod gratefully, trying not to feel embarrassed about how out of your depth you are. He orders something, along with a bottle of red wine, which you very much appreciate. You don’t know much about wine, but this one tastes really good. It turns out that he ordered some kind of fish for you, that you still have no idea how to pronounce right, but now you know that it’s freaking delicious. You tell Dave as much and he gives you another smile that seems much too soft and overwhelmingly right at the same time.

Dinner with him is much easier than you had anticipated. Apart from your excitement about the whole trip, you had been a little nervous about spending an entire week with him, having to make much more conversation than you usually do. It’s not that you don’t talk, but sooner or later, you end up naked with him whispering filth into your ear. You don’t go out on hour long dates, maybe a drink at a bar, but no big dinners and extensive talks. Until now.

Now you know that he’s a great listener, making you feel heard and understood, never once giving you the impression that you’re boring him. You also learn more about him, about his past, though he stays vague about his current job and the situation with his family. But it’s nice, being with him like this. Another thing that you could get used to, but that’s also another thought to shove into some far away corner of your mind. Be thankful for what it is, don’t become greedy for more, you tell yourself.

After two glasses of wine and a dessert that you could have died for, watching the sun set over the ocean until the night sky took over, you’re buzzing with happiness, but also excitement for the next part of the evening. The whole dinner was better than you could have imagined, but you have also been turned on for hours, with the man that you want right in front of you. When Dave finally stands up and pulls your chair out for you, you all but jump up and flit to his side. He chuckles and looks down at your eager face. “Don’t get too excited, sweetheart. Tonight isn’t gonna be all that fun for you.”

The dark glint in his eyes is back and you’re subconsciously clenching your thighs together. The simple thought of what he might do to you is enough to push the arousal that has been simmering inside of you to the forefront of your mind again. You’re amazed how quickly he can sink back into that domineering character that could make you do almost anything with a simple snap of his fingers. He wasn’t like that at dinner, he didn’t once give you the impression that you’re below him or that he doesn’t respect you, separating this sexual dynamic that you’ve established from other parts of your interactions with clean precision.

He leads you out of the restaurant, his fingers grazing the bare skin on your back and you’re once again reminded that you’re completely bare beneath the skimpy dress that you’re wearing. His hand dips lower, playing with the hem that feels like it’s barely covering your ass. Goosebumps are forming on you lower back and your thighs and he chuckles darkly.

He keeps playing with your dress during the elevator ride, his fingers sliding underneath and grazing your ass again and again, until you’re fully riled up again. You’re a little nervous now. He promised to be rough several times today and you don’t doubt that he will. You’re excited as well, you want him rough, crave his control over you, but still…

He takes out the key card and opens the door as you follow him quietly, waiting for instructions. You can feel the tension rolling off of him. As soon as the door clicks shut, he’s on you, crowding you back against it, his hands grabbing your wrists and pulling them up above your head while he leans down to capture your waiting lips.

The kiss is messy, all teeth and tongues as he devours your mouth, towering over you and keeping your wrists fixed to the door while his whole body is pressing into yours. You arch into him, helplessly trying to get him closer as you moan into his mouth when he bites at your lower lip, keeping it in between his teeth as he pulls back a little before letting it go. You whine, the quick stab of pain transforming into pleasure and traveling straight to your pussy, which causes you to spread your legs wider and grind your hips against him.

He gathers both your wrists in his large hand, still pressing them against the wall above your head, and lets his other hand roam over your body, grabbing at your waist, bunching up the dress there. “Looked so good tonight, all dolled up in your pretty dress…” he murmurs with his lips now dragging against the soft skin of your neck, occasionally nipping and sucking at the skin, “and all this just for me, sweetheart?” He bites down right below your ear and your hips buck against him. “Yes, yes sir, fuck…”

Your breath catches in your throat when he abruptly pulls the neckline down to expose your breasts and scratches his fingernails over your nipples. He pinches one hardened bud between his nails and pulls slightly before he lets go and watches how the flesh bounces back, then he repeats the motion on the other side. You’re gasping, tears are welling up in your eyes, it hurts, but it hurts so good, your pussy is completely soaked and you just want him to finally, finally fill you up.

Then he steps back, his jaw flickers as he watches you, still pressed against the door, panting softly and with a dazed expression on your face.

“Get on your knees.”

You get down immediately, hoping against hope that maybe he’ll let you cum sooner when you’re being good now. He allows himself a cold smile at your eagerness and steps closer until you have to crane your neck to look up at him. He opens his belt and slacks in sure, controlled movements, the only evidence of his own need for you being the massive bulge that’s right in front of your face. He doesn’t waste time, shoving his pants and underwear down in one move and letting his cock spring free.

You gasp quietly, your mouth opening on its own accord at the sight of his massive length and you look up at him hungrily. “Open wide,” he tells you softly, almost gently and you obey, sticking your tongue out and watching mesmerized as he lets his tip rest on your tongue for a few moments. He pulls back slightly, smearing a mix of your saliva and his pre-cum across your cheeks, then slapping you with his cock, which causes you to moan. “Filthy little thing,” he murmurs and sinks into your wet mouth in one hard thrust.

You gag almost immediately, your throat contracting around him and he groans as he grabs your hair and holds you still. Tears well up in your eyes and you already feel lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. He finally lets go and you desperately suck in a lungful of air before he starts thrusting into your mouth again, hitting the back of your throat every time and causing you to choke around him. The way he pushes you around, uses you for his own pleasure has a new rush of wetness flooding your pussy and you’re itching to touch your clit, just a little bit.

He notices how you’re squirming beneath him, how one of your hands is inching closer between your legs and he stops his thrusts, his cock still taking up most of your mouth, and looks down at your face.

“You wanna touch yourself? You like having your face fucked like a whore?”

You nod as best as you can and hum desperately, gazing up at him through your tear-soaked lashes. He furrows his brow, looking down at you with that wicked glint in his eye. “You know how to ask properly, I didn’t hear you sweetheart,” he tells you, sinking even deeper into your throat and you fight to suppress another gag. You hum again and look at him pleadingly; he’s well aware that you can’t ask him anything with his cock filling your throat like this. “Guess you don’t want to, then,” he shrugs, “hands behind your back. You’re not touching that pussy without my permission.” You whine, your clit throbbing painfully for attention, but you obediently cross your wrists at the small of your back.

“Poor thing,” he coos and pats your head in mock-sympathy, then moves his hand back to hold you in place as he pounds into your throat with renewed force. You gag around him, tears flowing all over your face and drool streaming down your chin and onto your tits. He sinks into you again and again, holding you up by your head and making you sputter around him, desperate to somehow draw air into your lungs. “Take it,” he growls, “take it like the little slut you are, down on the floor for me. That’s how you like it, don’t you?” He finally pulls out of you and slaps your cheek when you don’t respond immediately. “Don’t you?!” “Y-yes sir,” you rasp, gasping for breath, tears and spit still all over your face.

He crouches down cups the cheek that he just slapped, his thumb rubbing at the tear-stained skin under your eye. You’re positive that you look a mess, mascara running down your cheeks and your dark lipstick smeared all around your mouth, mixing with your spit. Your hands are still behind your back, the arch in your body causing you to push your chest out and putting your tits on full display for him. He starts toying with your nipples again and you want to cry. An orgasm feels so close, yet so far away. You feel like you could cum with just a few strokes on your clit, but you have no idea how much longer he will string you along until he finally deems it enough.

“You’ve been such a good girl, sweetheart. So patient all day, I bet you’re dripping all down those legs right now, aren’t you? So desperate and ready for me, yeah?” His voice is a low growl in front of you and you whine your agreement. It’s not enough for him. “Say it. Tell me how desperate my little slut is to finally get fucked.”

You blush, your eyes dropping to the ground in front of you. “I-,” you gasp as he roughly grabs your chin and forces you to look at him, waiting for you to do as he said. “I need you to fuck me, so badly. I’ll be so good, I promise, just p-please, sir,” you whine, feeling pathetic, your voice trembling and your face burning. No matter how many depraved things he gets you to do with him, for him, talking like this still gets you embarrassed. Which is precisely why he makes you do it.

“And what are you?” Your blush deepens. “Your s-slut, sir.” He grins as he adds another slap against your cheek. “Damn right you are.”

He straightens back up, tugs himself back into his pants and looks down at you. “Bedroom.” You scramble to get up, but he shakes his head and lands a hand on your shoulder, pushing you back down again. “No no. You’re gonna crawl.” You sink back on your hands and knees, the amount of embarrassment and arousal that you’re feeling making you dizzy, and you look up at him shyly.

He nods approvingly and bends down to tug your dress up higher until your bare ass and pussy are on full display. “Good girl, right where you belong. Off you go, come on.” You bite your lip and start crawling towards the bedroom, his footsteps right behind you and you can feel his eyes drinking you in as another groan grumbles in his chest.

You stop in front of the bed and give him a questioning look. He gestures for you to stand up and you get back to your feet with trembling knees. He steps closer, his hands ghosting over your shoulders and toying with the straps of your dress.

“Such a pretty dress,” he murmurs as he slides them off your shoulders, the dress slipping down your body, leaving you bare except for the heels that you’ve been wearing all evening. You’re painfully aware of the power dynamic between you, how you’re completely naked and at his mercy while he’s still fully dressed. His hands roam over you, leaving goosebumps in their wake and come to rest at your hips. He squeezes the flesh there, then turns you around until you’re facing the bed.

One hand reaches up to your neck and he bends you over until your upper body is resting on the mattress, your back arching and your ass up in the air for him. He takes a step back and lands a slap on your backside without warning. You yelp, your body instinctively lurching forward and your legs shaking with the strain of keeping your balance in your heels. He notices, of course, and says, “You better keep those pretty legs steady, doll,” before reaching forward and massaging your stinging flesh. You hum, trying to get your muscles to cooperate, but your legs won’t stop trembling.

Dave’s touch leaves your body and he sits down on the bed beside your head, his eyes searching your face. “What’s your color, sweetheart?” he inquires, softly stroking your cheek. “Green,” you answer without hesitation. It has already been a lot and you’re sure that he’s nowhere near finished with you, but you like it like this. You crave it. He nods, his touch still gentle on your face.

“And what do you say when you need me to stop?”

“Red,” you whisper, leaning into his touch. “Good girl,” he murmurs and leans forward to press a kiss to your cheek, before he stands up again and disappears from your field of view.

“So,” his voice drawls from behind you, “I think I’ll give you twenty-five tonight, how’s that sound, sweetheart?” You gulp, but know that there’s only one acceptable answer. “S-sounds good, sir. Thank you,” you breathe, the apprehension clear in your voice, and he laughs quietly. “And what did you do to deserve this?”

You bite your lip again, struggling to think through the fog of arousal clearly enough to give him an answer that he’ll be satisfied with. “I d-didn’t listen and talked- talked back at you, and…” you trail off when his hand dips between your legs, swirling through the wetness there before retreating again. You inhale sharply and continue, “…and that was disrespectful. I’m sorry, sir, it won’t- it won’t happen again.”

“We’ll see about that,” Dave mumbles and his fingertips ghost over your lower back. “But that was a nice little speech, sweetheart. Starting now, you’re gonna count them out for me, yeah? Lose count and we’ll start over.” You nod and your hands grip the sheets as you try bracing yourself.

The first slap meets your flesh, not as hard as you know he can go, but hard enough to get a small scream out of you. “One,” you force yourself to say and he hums appreciatively, before landing the second slap exactly on the same spot as the first one. “T-two,” you whine, sure that his handprint is already clearly visible on your skin.

You make it until eleven before your legs give out, your trembling muscles collapsing under the task of keeping you upright in your heels while your body is scrambling to get away from the oncoming assault on your ass cheeks. You fall forward, your knees hitting the mattress right after Dave’s hand connected with your backside again. “Twelve, I’m sorry, sir,” you choke out.

“It’s okay,” he assures you, stepping closer and running his hands soothingly over your back as he searches your face, a look of concern on his face. “What’s your color, doll?”

“Green. Still- still green, sir,” you breathe out and you mean it. You feel like you’re on fire, but in the best way. “Yeah?” he questions, “want me to continue?” and you nod your head eagerly. The concern washes away from his face, his jaw tensing and his eyes growing cold again. “Fucking masochistic little slut,” he growls and you moan, your walls desperately clenching around nothing.

He lets you stay with your knees on the bed, your ass still up high for him, until you’ve finally reached “twenty-five, t-thank you, sir.” You’re sobbing at this point, your skin feels raw where he hit you, but you’re also damn near delirious with want for him.

Dave strokes your skin gently, telling you what a good girl you’ve been and how proud he is of you, and you bask in his praise. Then his hand travels lower, slipping between your thighs until his fingers are running through your folds, feeling how soaked exactly his rough treatment has left you. “Fuck doll, you’re dripping. You really liked that, huh?” he murmurs as he pushes two of his thick fingers into you, sliding in easily and making you moan loudly.

He thrusts into your tight heat roughly, causing you to arch your back and spread your legs wider, your release so close that you can almost taste it. He keeps going until he feels you growing tighter, starting to clench around his fingers, and slides them out of you abruptly. You sob, feeling your orgasm subside again.

“I think you were about to cum without permission, sweetheart. You just promised me you’d be good, didn’t you? Guess your greedy little cunt just can’t help herself, huh?”

You whimper an apology and receive another slap to your abused skin, causing you to jerk forward. “No doll, you stay right here. Give me your hands,” Dave’s stern voice orders from behind you. You let him take hold of your wrists, leaving you completely at his mercy in the position that you’re in, and he digs your panties out of his pants pocket, looping them around your wrists until they’re tightly secured.

When he’s satisfied with his work, you finally hear the rustling of him taking off his clothes. Without warning, you feel him swipe the head of his cock through your drenched folds, teasing you with the tip, grazing your clit and causing you to gasp, then sliding back until he’s prodding at your entrance. You whine loudly and try pushing your hips backwards, but his hold tightens around you, keeping you in position.

“Not so fast. Be a good girl and beg for it,” he requests, in a voice that still sounds so controlled, while you feel like you’re barely able to form words anymore. You’re not embarrassed anymore, the promise of his cock so close to where you want him wiping all inhibitions from your mind.

“Please sir, I need you so badly, please fuck me, I’ll do anything, just please…”

You feel pathetic begging like this, but you couldn’t care less. Dave lets out a strained groan behind you, and then he’s pushing into you in one strong thrust. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve taken him or how wet you are, his size always stings at the first intrusion and you wail, your body being pushed forward by his movement and he grips your bound wrists, holding you steady as he starts pounding into you.

“So fucking tight and wet you little slut, fuck you take me so good, being such a good girl, fuck…” Now his voice sounds wrecked behind you and you moan loudly at his words and at the way he’s splitting you open. This is what you had been craving for hours, the feeling of him thrusting into you again and again, and you push your hips back to meet his thrusts, to get him even deeper.

One of his hands grips your hair and pulls, forcing you to arch your back even more and slightly shifting the angle where he’s pounding into you, hitting something so delicious inside of you that you almost cum on the spot, your walls already fluttering around him, but you’re not allowed, your scrambled brain reminds you, you need…

“Please sir, I’m gonna cum, can I please…” Your voice breaks off into a sob when his movements slow down and he pulls out of you, pushing you forward until you’re laying flat on the bed, and he starts working on releasing your bound wrists.

“Good girl, asking for permission,” he praises, “but you’re gonna look me in the face when I make you cum tonight.”

He frees your wrists and turns you around so that you’re on your back, looking up at him through teary eyes, desperate for your release. “Poor thing,” he coos as he gets between your legs, placing his large hands on your thighs and spreading them wide. His cock nudges at your entrance but he doesn’t sink back into you, his gaze trained on your face and his hand wandering up to play with your bottom lip.

“Open wide,” he tells you and you obey, parting your lips and sticking your tongue out. His breath has turned heavy by now and he hovers over you, hungry eyes roaming over your face, your open mouth and your wet eyes. He draws back the tiniest bit, then he spits into your mouth, his saliva coating your tongue and you whine, the filth of the whole situation making your pussy clench once more.

“Keep it open, show me.”

You hold still, your mouth wide open, feeling his spit mixing with yours as you stare up at him, waiting for his next command. “Now swallow,” he finally says and you do, showing him your empty mouth afterwards and he grins. “Fuck, you’re such an obedient little slut, being such a good girl for me. You’d do anything right now, wouldn’t you? Fucked all the thoughts out of that pretty little head, yeah?”

“Yes, anything,” you whimper, and he sinks his cock back into you without preamble. Your eyes widen at the sensation of being full again and the new angle, moans of his name falling from your mouth and you wrap your legs around him, grasping at his wide shoulders to hold onto something as he starts pounding into you again with raw strength.

One of his hands wraps around your throat, squeezing until you feel light-headed, intensifying the feeling of his deep thrusts into you. Pleading whispers leave your lips, but you don’t even know what you’re begging for anymore, if you want more, if you want him to stop.

His movements speed up even more, hitting spots inside of you that have you moaning and squirming underneath him and the hand on your throat travels down to your breasts, toying with your nipples, pinching and pulling and sending delicious waves of pain through you.

You’re so close again, when his hand slides down to press on your lower stomach, making you scream and throw your head back, your eyes pinched close. He grabs at your face and forces you to look at him.

“Oh no, you’re gonna look me in the eyes when I make you cum, are you gonna cum sweetheart?”, he growls. You whine and nod desperately, your eyes shining with tears. “Go ahead then, cum for me, squeeze my cock like the good little whore you are.”

He swirls his thumb over your neglected clit once, gives you a particularly hard thrust and your vision swims, your whole body tensing up before you bear down on him and fall apart. You’re clenching rhythmically around his cock as the orgasm tears through your body in pulsing waves and you’re pulling him over the edge with you as he cums with a deep moan, spilling his release inside of you.

You’re a trembling mess, your breath stuttering and your mind still caught up in a blissful haze, and you’re only vaguely aware of him collapsing beside you, but you register the tender kiss that he presses to your cheek before he gets up and retreats to the bathroom.

The next thing you feel is the bed dipping as he sits down beside you again and you slowly blink your eyes open. Maybe it’s the post-orgasmic bliss that you’re still lost in, but you think to yourself that he looks especially beautiful right now, his face relaxed with a small smile playing around his mouth, where the stubble of his beard is showing through at the end of the day, and with his brown eyes warm again now as he looks at you.

“May I?” he asks and holds up a damp towel. You nod, returning his smile and watching as he brings the towel down between your legs, cleaning you up and soothing your hot skin. He gently turns you over and spreads some kind of healing balm over your red cheeks, careful not to touch you too roughly. He also cleans your face, his soft touches almost enough to lull you to sleep.

When he’s finished, he maneuvers you around, causing you to giggle, until you’re in the middle of the bed and he can pull the covers over you, sliding in beside you and wrapping his arm around your middle. You shuffle closer until you’re securely tugged into his side, your breath fanning against his broad chest.

“You good?” he asks, looking down at you and placing a kiss on your forehead. “Yeah,” you smile up at him and stretch to reach his mouth with your lips. He kisses you back, his hand coming up to with your hair, and you smile even wider. As much as he likes to be rough with you, you think that what he actually needs, is the softness.

His hands shift to your hips so you don’t stop those slow glides of your silken folds across him, watching as you shift your face from watching between you, to his own face. You bite at your bottom lip, bashful like a child who has been caught doing something they shouldn’t be. 

“We could have fucked all day yesterday,” You drawl out, gasping as the head of his cock brushes against your clit, “I’m just trying to make up for lost time before we have a houseful of people.” 

He drags your hips back and forth over him, watching as you toss your head back and gasp with every pass of him over your clit. He’s trying not to think about the fact that in a few short hours, you’re not going to be his anymore, you’ll go back to being his brother’s, a façade kept up for the sake of the rest of your family. He pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind, sitting up so he can wrap his arms around your back and kiss you. 

“You gonna ride me, pretty girl?” He murmurs against your lips, “Gonna sit on my cock and make yourself feel good?” 

You pull back, look right into his eyes, hips still grinding against his, “Fuck yeah,” You breathe, “Can I?” 

“Such a good girl,” He growls into the skin of your neck, “Askin’ all pretty and polite like that,” He settles himself back on the bed, head on the pillows, “Go on, pretty girl, take whatever you need from me.” 

You use your hands that are back on his chest to push yourself up a little, reaching one hand down between you to grip the base of his cock, lining it up to your soaked core, before you sink down onto him in one go, burying him inside you to the hilt. He groans, and you cry out, feeling that twinge of pain along with the pleasure that has been so prevalent over those past few days. 

You lift yourself up, almost all the way off him, sinking back down, finding your rhythm, which Joel quickly adheres to, thrusting himself up into you on your downward strokes so his cock is brushing against your cervix almost every time. His hands favour your tits this morning, cupping the weight of them in his palms as his fingers roll your nipples into peaks, squeezing perfectly every once in a while, to add to the mix of pleasure you get from him spearing his cock into you. 

You lean back, motions moving to more of a grind on his cock as you cup his balls in your hand, rolling them gently in your hand, as Joel’s own fingers slip down your body and find your swollen clit, thumb rubbing circles across it as you continue to grind on him. 

“You gonna come on my cock, pretty girl?” He asks, as if he doesn’t already know the answer. 

Heat is licking at the base of your spine, threatening to topple you over at any moment, and you can tell from the way his hips are stuttering up into you, that Joel is close as well. You’ve had each other too many times this week for this to last very long. 

“Fuck- keep going,” You groan, feeling that tight knot threatening to come undone in your tummy, “I’m – holy shit – I’m gonna come.” 

“Go on, pretty girl,” Joel coaxes, thumb staying exactly where it is, doing exactly what it needs to do, “Come for me.” 

And you do. Pussy clenching around his cock as you fall forward. Joel’s arms wrapped around you, keeping you pressed to his chest as he takes control, thrusting up into you as you moan into the skin of his neck. He chases your high with his own, spilling into you just seconds after your own climax hits, his fingers digging into the skin of your back as he holds you tightly to his body. 

As you both lie there, catching your breath, he wants to say something. Wants to push the hair from your face, kiss the tip of your nose and tell you that he wishes this didn’t have to end. Wishes that he didn’t have to wait a month to find out if he was successful in giving you another baby. Joel selfishly wishes he hasn’t, just so he doesn’t have to go back to waiting for that one night a year. He remembers though, his words from last night, that he’s trusting you to fix this, to come up with some solution that means he can have you differently going forward, so he keeps his mouth shut, only opening it once he’s pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“I love you.” 

Breakfast is a cobbled together affair of fruit and coffee considering most of the groceries you’d bought together have been eaten. You sent Tommy a list of things for him to pick up on his way to you. He’d set off yesterday, stopping halfway to spend the night somewhere, not convinced that Joshua would cope with doing the whole journey at once, and it shouldn’t be long until they’re here, Sarah too. 

“Excited, baby?” Joel asks, pressing you against the counter to dip and kiss you once you’ve both finished the washing up. 

“I am going to give my baby the biggest squeeze known to man,” You smile against his mouth, “As much as he exhausts me sometimes, I’ve missed him.” 

“We talking about Joshua or Tommy?” Joel teases, hands wrapping around you to grip the globes of your ass through your jeans. 

You laugh, feeling light again. This man is the Joel you know, the Joel you love. The man who loves his brother just as much as you do, probably even more, and who takes his duties as Uncle incredibly seriously. You peer over his shoulder, looking at the clock on the wall, there’s enough time for a quickie, is what you think. You start trailing your hand down his chest, resting it on the front of his jeans, palming him through the material. You’re about to start dragging down the zipper when the front door opens. 

“Dad?!” 

Joel pulls back from you like you’re on fire, putting enough distance between you so as to not look suspicious as he calls out to Sarah. 

“In here, kiddo!” 

He gives you a look that tells you he’s sorry, that he wants nothing more than to have that one final moment with you on your own. You shake your head, heat flushing across your face at almost being caught, motioning for him to go to his daughter. Sarah finds the kitchen first, embracing her dad as he kisses the crown of her head. 

“Hello brainbox,” You greet her when Joel lets her go, pulling her into a hug of your own, “You look good!” You say when you finally let her go, keeping her at an arm’s length to really look at her. 

“Thanks,” She smiles, looking around for a second, “Where’s Uncle Tommy?” 

You look at Joel over her head, because right. The story he concocted for her meant that he’s been here all week with Joshua and the two of them are nowhere to be seen, and neither is his truck. 

“Uhhhhh…” You glare at Joel’s response, quickly trying to come up with something in your mind. 

“He’s out grocery shopping,” You say quickly, Joel nodding in acceptance, “Ran out of stuff this morning so he’s taken Joshua into town to stock up.” 

She nods, accepting your answer, moving back to give her dad another hug, “Which room is mine?” She asks, “I’ll go and drop my bag.” 

“First door on the left.” Joel speaks, pointing down the hallway across from the kitchen. 

“Alright, I might get changed too,” Sarah nods her head outside, “It’s a nice day, maybe we can take Joshua swimming?” 

“Of course,” You smile, “Take your time, bug, there’s no rush.” 

Once she’s started off down the hall, you fish your phone from your back pocket, punching in a text to Tommy, as Joel shifts back closer to you, not being able to bear being away from you too long. 

Sarah arrived. Covered for your absence. Message me when you’re on your way from town and I’ll meet you outside. 

You lean up into Joel’s face, letting him kiss you as you put your phone on the side. You push up into his mouth, opening your lips against him to taste his tongue when your phone vibrates on the side. 

Just leaving town now sugar, great timing. See you soon. 

You put a hand on Joel’s chest, leaning up to give him one last peck on the lips, “Tommy’s almost here,” You say against his mouth, okay, now this is the last kiss as you press them back to his, “I’ll wait outside for them.”  He smiles but his eyes are sad. You’ve spent long enough staring into them to know that look. You press one final kiss to his mouth now, “Remember I love you,” You insist, “And I’m gonna make this right.” 

“I believe you,” He relents, squeezing your hand as you move around him to head to the front door, “And I love you too.” 

“Mama!” 

“Oh, my baby boy!” You exclaim, pulling Joshua out of his car seat and into your arms, holding him tight to your chest as his small arms try and wrap around your neck, “I missed you so much baby.” 

As much as this trip had given you the opportunity to be a woman again, not just a mother, the way your son fits into your arms, the way he smells when you take a breath of his hair into your lungs and the way he nuzzles into your face make motherhood all worth it. You have never loved something as much as this boy in your arms. Not your husband, and not his brother, and that’s something you never thought would be true. Something you’d never thought you’d ever understand.

Tommy is rounding the front of the truck, slipping his hand into the back pocket of your jeans as you lean your face up, kissing him, “Missed you too, handsome,” You smile, pulling your attention back to Joshua, giving his cheek a kiss, “Have you and daddy had fun this week?” 

“Yeah!” Joshua exclaims, wriggling about in your arms, he’s almost too big for you to hold like this anymore, “We played lots!” 

“That sounds like fun,” You smile, turning back to Tommy, “We told Sarah you’d gone to town for supplies, so that,” You motion to his and Joshua’s overnight bags, “Will have to stay hidden until we can sneak them in.” 

Joshua wriggles a bit more in your arms, “Uncle Joel!” 

You turn slightly towards the lodge, where Joel is coming down the steps. He reaches out and claps his brother on the back in their usual greeting, before he reaches over and pinches Joshua’s cheek gently between his thumb and pointer finger. 

“Hey bud,” He greets, “You’re getting so big!” 

Joshua unwraps his arms from your neck and reaches out to Joel, flexing his fingers in the way he does when he wants something. Joel laughs, “Let me help your dad get everythin’ outta the car bud,” He smiles, “Then we’ll have a cuddle, okay?” 

You smile at Tommy as Joel rounds to the back of the truck, opening the back door to reach in and grab some of the grocery bags, “Help your brother,” You smile at Tommy, leaning up to kiss his cheek, “I’ll take this little monster inside.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Tommy speaks, a little two-finger salute added for effect. 

It’s been a wonderful day. The sun has started to dip behind the trees, a cool breeze opening up a little. Sarah and Joel are still playing in the water with Joshua, their laughs mixed with his as they splash each other in the water. You’re sat on a towel by the shore, head leant against Tommy’s damp shoulder, his hand resting on your knee. 

You’ve been in and out of the water all day, floating around with Sarah and Joshua, watching as Sarah plays with him on her own, sitting off to the side as Joel and Tommy sip beers and catch up. You smile the whole day, laugh for most of it too, but there’s always that fear that threatens to spill over when you think about what you have to do.

There are nerves bubbling in your tummy. You have to tell him. You have to speak to him. Looking out at the water, to where Joshua is perched on Joel’s shoulders and Sarah is splashing water at her dad, you know you have to tell him, but you’re still not quite sure how he’s going to react. You’ve run through this conversation so many times in your head over the last twenty-four hours, switching your opening sentence, developing your defence, but none of that comes out now, what comes out surprises even you. 

“I love him.” Easiest to tear the band-aid straight off, you think. 

Tommy barks a laugh next to you which surprises you. You lift your head off his shoulder and look at him, he’s smiling, “I know you do.” 

“But I love you too.” You quickly add. 

“I know that too,” He’s looking back at you now, clearly understanding the confusion on your face, “Why do you think I had no problem lettin’ you come here with him, huh?” He asks, squeezing the hand he’s got resting on your knee, “Or the way I’ve never complained about letting you go with him for his birthday?” 

“Are you not mad?” You ask, biting at your bottom lip. 

“No sugar, I’m not mad,” He leans down, kissing your cheek, “I love that man more than you will ever understand, he’s always had my back, always bailed me outta the shitty situations I’ve got myself into, never once thought about himself since that little girl was born,” He nods his head towards Sarah, “You make each other so happy, I ain’t ever seen Joel so happy since he started helpin’ us out, and I want nothing more than to keep makin’ him happy.” 

“I don’t want to leave you,” You insist, your own hand resting on his thigh. 

“I know you don’t, I don’t want you to leave either,” You can feel your eyes start to well with tears, “I’ve been sharin’ you for years baby, and I ain’t gonna stop because you two have finally admitted you love each other.” 

“Finally?” You ask, using your free hand to wipe at your eyes, “What do you mean?” 

“Baby, I’ve been watchin’ you fuck him for months, I know I’m slow sometimes, but I’d have to be fuckin’ blind not to see what you mean to each other.” 

You maneuver yourself so you’re practically sat in his lap, arms wrapped around his neck as you cry into his shoulder a little. You wonder in this moment what it was that you did to deserve him, to deserve them both. Two men who love you unconditionally, who just want you to be the happiest you can be, and two brothers who just want to see the other happy too. 

You pull back, clutching Tommy’s face in your hands, “So you don’t mind if I want to see him more often?” You ask timidly.

“Not at all, sugar,” He leans forward, kissing your lips, "That man has never once thought about himself, put himself first, not since Sarah came along, and it's about time he did something for himself, we've just gotta help him right?" He asks, to which you nod in response, “We’re lucky men to have you.” 

“And I’m a lucky girl to have you both.” 

Things had seemed so normal over dinner. Tommy had grilled an insane amount of meat that’d you’d all devoured. You’d drank beers together, Joshua had sat on Joel’s lap for most of the night, favouring his uncle over anyone else. It felt like it always did when you were all together as a family, Sarah feeding small bits of food to Joshua, Tommy’s hand on your knee under the table as you all talk about different things – how Sarah is getting on at college, how this time next year Joshua will have started school. You know they’re different now though, although Joel doesn’t. You wonder if he’d seen you speaking with Tommy earlier, if he did then he must know that things are okay, right? That there wasn’t an argument so it must be okay. You want to tell him, want to take his face in your hands and kiss him at the table so he knows everything is okay. 

You’re propped up against the pillows of your bed now – those so familiar to you now after this week. Reading the book you’d been trying so hard to focus on this whole week and still finding you can’t quite concentrate on it. Tommy had put Joshua to bed a few hours ago, Sarah had gone to bed at the same time as you, leaving the brothers on their own to clean up and catch up. You wonder now what they might be talking about. 

It's not long before you find out exactly what they’ve been talking about. There’s a soft knock at the door before it opens, revealing Tommy, who steps into the dimly lit room, closely followed by Joel, who closes the door behind him gently. 

“Hello.” You greet, looking up from your book. 

“Joel’s been tellin’ me what a good girl you’ve been for him all week,” Tommy speaks, “He’s given you a glowing report, sugar.” 

Oh. So that’s what they’ve been talking about. You wonder if Tommy told him? Wonder whether he’s given his brother the permission he needed to have you like he wants. You close your book and set it on the nightstand, turning back to them. 

“We’ve been trying really hard baby,” You speak, voice sweet, “Haven’t we Joel?” You look into that familiar face, “I’ve been so full all week trying real hard for this baby.” 

Tommy walks slowly to your side of the bed, gripping your chin to tilt your face up to look at him whilst Joel watches on. 

“You gonna show me what you’ve been gettin’ up to?” He asks softly, “Gonna let me fuck you?” 

Tommy pulls back the duvet, letting his fingers gently trace down between the valley of your breasts, covered by your nightdress. He trails further down to the hem, letting his hand sneak under the material. You spread your legs for him slightly, keeping your eyes on his as his fingers slip between your folds finding you already wet for them both. 

“Looks like the answer is yes,” He chuckles, dipping down to kiss you as he drags his slick fingers up to your clit to circle gently, “How about you give Joel your pretty mouth, baby?” He asks, “I’ve missed this pussy, I gotta be inside you.” 

He takes his hand away from you, letting you shift so you’re on your hands and knees, nightdress pushed up to the small of your back, so you’re spread and on display for Tommy. You reach out a hand and motion with a finger for Joel to come to you, which he does, hands already moving to unzip his jeans. Joel lets them pool on the floor before he gets onto the bed in front of you, fist around the base of his already hard cock, guiding it to your mouth at the exact same time as Tommy nudges himself inside you, sliding in slowly until you’re full of him, Joel doing the exact same to your mouth, letting his cock slip across the length of your tongue until he hits the back of your throat. 

He feels absolutely delicious inside of you, like he always has done for all these years, angling just perfectly inside you to brush against that spot that's been so stimulated this past week. Your moans are muffled, vibrating around Joel's cock as you take him down into your throat, saliva pooling around the edges of your mouth. 

This, you think, is what you were made for. To have two men, two of the most beautiful men in the world, taking their pleasure from you, but giving you twice that in return. 

Joel's hand grips your chin as he starts shallow thrusts into your mouth, you look up at him, your own eyes rimmed with tears, his blown out and dark from lust as he fucks your mouth, groaning in pleasure when you do. 

"You're a lucky girl, ain't ya sugar?" Tommy husks from behind you, his skin slapping against yours, "Two men here to adore ya," He leans over and kisses at the skin covering your spine, "Always were meant to be the centre of attention."

Joel lets his cock slip from your mouth, looking down at you with one eyebrow cock, his hand around your jaw to get you to look at him, “He’s right, ain’t he, pretty girl?” He asks, running a thumb over you spit soaked bottom lip, “Love bein’ the centre of attention, don’t ya?” You nod, totally overwhelmed by the feeling of Tommy’s pace behind you, but Joel taps your cheek, “Words, pretty girl,” He chastises, “Use your big girl words.”

Tommy’s hands grip your hips, pulling you back onto him as he thrusts into you, making you cry out, “Yes!” You gasp, realising you have to try and keep quiet, Sarah’s only just down the hall. 

“Yes what?” 

“I love it,” You whimper, looking up at him, “Love being the centre of attention.” 

“Course ya do,” Tommy quips from behind you, “We love you bein’ the centre of attention too.” 

Joel uses his fist to guide his cock back into the warmth of your mouth, resuming his short thrusts into your mouth as Tommy pounds into you from behind. The sounds in the room are obscene – there’s the sound of Tommy’s skin hitting your own, the sound of you almost gagging on Joel’s cock, and the mixture of grunts and groans that are pulled from their mouths as they use your body to make themselves feel good. You almost wish you could see yourself right now, speared at both ends of your body by these two men. 

Joel trails his fingers as far down your arm as he can, and you think he’s asking for you to put your hand on his balls as you take him in your mouth, so you do, but he’s swatting it away, gripping your wrist as you look up at him again, tears falling down your face. 

“Put it on your pussy,” He instructs, “Make yourself come for us.” 

You snake your hand down, fingers circling your clit, slick as always. You start working in fast movements just as you feel Tommy’s thumb start to tease the tight ring of muscle of your ass. You whimper again around Joel’s cock as his hands gather your hair, using it to drag your mouth up and down him.

“You want it, sugar?” Tommy asks, pulling his thumb away before you hear him spit, the warmth spreading down your ass as his thumb works the wet into your skin there. 

Joel, once again, pulls his cock from the wet heat of your mouth, motioning for you to talk, “Go on, pretty girl,” He coaxes, “Tell him you want it, we know you love it.” 

“Please,” You breathe out a beg, pushing back lightly into his finger, “Please, Tommy.” 

“Always sound so fucking pretty when you beg for it baby,” He chuckles behind you, “I’ll give it to ya, don’t worry.” 

When his thumb pushes inside of you, as the same time as Joel feeds you his cock once more, it’s almost immediate, the way your orgasm slams into you. Stuffed full in every possible way, as Tommy’s thumb presses gently into your ass, as Joel’s cock hits the back of your throat over and over again and the way Tommy is pounding into that delicious spot inside you as always. The knot of pleasure snaps, Joel’s cock muffling your cries as your pussy clenches around Tommy, walls fluttering as you work your clit through the aftershocks, body convulsing almost violently. 

“God damn it sugar,” Tommy groans behind you, “Gonna – fuck – m’gonna come baby, where?” 

“Inside,” You moan, pulling off Joel’s cock, “Please, inside me baby.” 

He gives you exactly what you want just seconds later, stilling behind you, with his cock buried as deep as he’ll go. He lets out that sound that you love, a high-pitched whine that’s similar to some of the sounds he and his brother draw from you as you feel him fill you up. He’s not giving you much time to recover, groaning lightly as he pulls out, stopping briefly to watch as his cum drips from your spent pussy. 

You roll onto your back, fingers drifting down and inside of you, slowly pumping in and out as Joel comes into view. He stands at the side of your bed, pulls at your legs so the backs of your thighs are pressed against his chest, ankles by his face. He pulls your hand away from your pussy, pushing your fingers into your mouth as you clean Tommy’s cum off them. 

“Go on brother,” Tommy encourages, settling himself on the bed behind you, “You’ve still got a job to do.” 

“Ain’t no way she’s not full of my baby,” Joel growls as he sinks his cock into your pussy, your slick and the cum his brother’s just filled you with making it so easy for him to slide in all the way, “Is there, pretty girl?” 

His hands are splayed over your stomach now as he pounds his cock into you, the squelch of your pussy filling the room, “Filled me up so good, Joel,” You moan, hands palming at your tits as your head turns to look at Tommy, “Been full of him all week baby.” You say in his direction. 

The attention you’ve been giving Joel with your mouth means he’s already on the edge, “Sucked me so good, pretty girl,” He mumbles, “Gonna come for you.” 

You’re gripping the backs of his thighs, pulling him closer to you as he ruts himself as hard and fast into you as he can manage, “Please Joel,” You sob, feeling the head of his cock bruising at your cervix, “Give it to me, please.” 

“Quit your crying,” He spits, “You know I’m gonna give it to you.” 

And like clockwork he does. He groans out, low and loud as always, as you feel the hot spurts of his cum filling you up, mixing with what Tommy gave you just minutes ago. He slips out of you, watching as his cum mixed with his brother’s drips from your used cunt. He runs his fingers down the folds of your pussy, scooping up what’s left you, pushing it back in, because he’s got to be sure, got to be sure that he’s given you every drop of himself. 

You expect the aftermath to be a little strange as you pull the hem of your nightdress back down. Tommy’s already half asleep on the bed, clothes haphazardly thrown back on as he shuffles himself under the sheets. You follow suit, watching as Joel puts him underwear back on. 

Tommy has already wrapped an arm around your waist, dragging you to his body, light breath fanning against the skin of your neck. You’re watching Joel as he straightens up. 

“Hey,” You speak softly, grabbing his attention, you reach out a hand which he takes, “Stay.” You say simply, tapping the empty side of the bed, the side of the bed that had been his all week. 

He smiles, squeezing your hand, and you think he might refuse, opting to take the final bedroom, but he doesn’t. He climbs onto the bed, far enough away that your bodies don’t touch, respecting the claim Tommy has staked by holding your body close to his, but keeps his hand in yours, as physical reminder that he’s here and he’s not going anywhere. He leans forward, soft kiss pressed to your lips, before his other hand pushes your hair back from your face. 

“Sleep, pretty girl,” He insists softly, “Tomorrow is a new day.” 

“Did you have fun, baby?” your husband asked as soon as you closed the door to your shared home. He had an excited expression on his face, and was sporting a smirk you’d seen countless times. You’d noticed that whenever you returned home from one of your escapades, he wore the same demeanour. He was calm and collected, but eager to hear your recounting of the events. He wanted to know every detail and was never jealous. This is what he wanted after all, what he suggested. He wanted to know how you got them into bed, how wet you were, how big they were, how many times they brought you to release. And you were more than happy to tell him everything. 

“So much fun, Marcus,” you said while taking a seat next to him on the sofa, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. “He was a little quiet though, you know how I want to be praised.”

Marcus lifted your hair from your neck and trailed a path of kisses from behind your ear to your collarbone and asked the question he always did, “Did he make you come?”. 

—-----------------------------------

Your husband was a generous man, generous with his kindness, his money, and his wife. You’d met Marcus in University, he was the sweet, nerdy boy in your English Lit class that eventually asked you on a date. You were together through school and when he got a job opportunity in Austin, you packed everything and moved with him, no questions asked. At the time, you couldn’t imagine building a life with anyone but him, your youth and naivety made it so that you couldn’t imagine living without him at all. And so, after seven years of being together, 5 years of marriage, a dwindling sex life and less time spent together than ever, Marcus suggested the agreement. The agreement in which you sleep with other men and tell Marcus every last detail. The agreement that has three rules; you have to tell Marcus about whenever you sleep with a man; you can’t stay the night with another man and you can’t fuck the same man twice. Marcus claims that this agreement “saved your marriage”. While it may have saved your sex life, it certainly has not saved your marriage. Your husband was a generous man, generous with his kindness, generous with his money, even generous with his wife, but he was no longer generous with his time. You may have been having more sex, but you weren’t spending time together like you used to, you weren’t laughing like you used to, you didn't love him like you used to. 

You weren’t sure how he felt about you, if he still loved you enough to want to spend the rest of his life with you, all you knew was that nothing was how it used to be. In the past, Marcus was loud about his love, his eyes were a clear reflection of the love he held for you.  His love would make itself known, obvious, like road signs popping up constantly on a long drive, something you didn’t have to look for, his love appeared right in front of your eyes. Now you had to look for the road signs, your eyes were squinting to find them. Maybe you’d taken a wrong turn on the road. Maybe you were lost.

—----------------------------

A few days later, Marcus had to go on a work trip away for the weekend, the weekend you were hoping you could spend some quality time together. It had been so long since you’d been able to spend more than a few hours before bed together, and so you had been excited for a whole weekend to spend just the two of you, your bodies entangled together between the sheets, leaving next to no space between you in a hope to rekindle something between you. Your disappointment was evident when he’d told you and so he suggested that you get dressed up, go out and find a man to fuck you senseless for the night and tell him all about it when he got back, and while you wanted Marcus, you weren’t going to say no to that. 

You were apprehensive about the agreement at first, but you soon discovered that there was something you found so enticing about seducing other men. Feeling desired by so many was a feeling you couldn’t describe, especially when your husband was never home, or when he was he just wanted a quick fuck to calm his frustrations, he never cherished you, never took his time with you. 

The sex with Marcus was good, he knew exactly what to do by now. But, there was one more thing you felt that was missing from your sex life. For so long you had wanted him to be a little more dominant, you wanted to be told exactly what to do and when to do it, to be put in your place, be punished, even degraded a little. You’d brought this up but Marcus didn't have it in him, he’d grown nervous when you asked him to choke you, and looked terrified when you had asked him to slap you, so you didn't ask again. The men you’d enjoy one night with were more likely to do these things, but lacked the dominant energy you craved, it was difficult to believe what they were saying, difficult to submit to them in the way you wanted to submit. 

As soon as you walked into the dingy bar you felt you’d made the wrong choice. It was dark, only lit by the lights behind the bar and the small lamps on the larger tables. A country song was playing in the background and although it wasn’t too loud, the lack of people in the bar meant that you could hear every word being sung. You were undoubtedly overdressed, wearing a tight, black dress that left very little to the imagination and high heels that were quickly becoming uncomfortable to walk in. You contemplated turning around and trying another place but decided against it and approached the bar. You ordered a margarita; opting for a stronger option, hoping to feel a buzz sooner rather than later. Looking around, the choice of men in the bar was lacklustre at best. There was a trio of men at a corner booth who looked to be in their sixties at least, a group of boys who looked underage at another corner booth, and three people at the other side of the bar. Two men and one woman. One of the men was facing away from you and was mostly covered by the man next to him, who was standing up, animatedly talking to a blonde woman. The man you could see was attractive, dark hair, almost black, only looked around 30 years old, but he was clearly flirting with the woman, and she was eating it up. Her giggles filled the room, and she was twirling a strand of her long hair between her nimble fingers, no doubt flashing him eyes that screamed fuck me. 

You watched their exchange from your seat at the bar, until the man was tapping his pockets, pulling a pack of cigarettes out and passing one to the woman, leading her to the front of the bar and then outside. 

  With the attractive man and the blonde gone, you could look at the man with them for the first time, with no interruptions. He was a little older than the man who accompanied him, dark hair, tanned skin, a strong yet beautifully carved nose, strong arms and big, broad shoulders. He was gorgeous, so gorgeous that you were distracted by the way that his thick thighs were spread out on the barstool, which was dwarfed by his huge frame. Unsure just how long you’d been staring, you failed to notice that he was looking in your direction. He was looking at you, looking at him and he was smirking. His face, gorgeous and now sporting an almost too smug expression, was looking right at you, and you were momentarily stunted by the intense eye contact. You were seldom intimidated by men these days, they were always so predictable, so similar to each other that you knew what was coming each time. But this impossibly handsome man had not yet spoken a word to you, and was already affecting you in ways you weren’t sure you had ever experienced. 

Pulling yourself together as best as you could, you began your routine. You smiled at him, feigning shyness, although you were not sure if this time your shyness was completely fake, and held his eye. You had done this countless times and knew what worked with men. Smile innocently, act bashful and coy and they were soon eating out of your hand. But you could tell that this man was different, his smirk was now gone but he still looked so confident, so sure of himself. You knew you were not in control of this situation, and you welcomed the feeling. You held eye contact and wordlessly beckoned him over with a wave of your hand, you had not yet heard his voice but you were already settled comfortably under the influence of his charisma, and you wanted more. As if in an out-of-body experience, you felt as though you could see your own eyes, and your eyes were undoubtedly, just as you expected the blonde’s eyes from earlier to be; screaming fuck me. 

You watched as he grabbed his drink, his hand so big that the glass looked as if it had shrunk in his hand, brought it up to his lips and took a long sip. As if in a trance, you watched as he gulped the drink down, his Adam's apple bobbing and you couldn’t help but notice the veins in his thick neck that were slightly prominent. The man then got up from the bar stool, turned completely in your direction and walked towards you. The distance he crossed wasn’t far at all, and you found yourself wishing it was further, wishing the universe would grant you more time to take in his perfect form from the front. 

He places a hand on the barstool next to yours and, still holding intense eye contact, speaks to you for the first time. “You’re far too beautiful to be in a place like this,” his voice was heavenly, deep and velvety with a slight Texan drawl that was enough to make you squirm in your seat. The way in which his voice affected you had you floored, you were completely speechless and could only look up at him from your seat. You gestured to the barstool his hand was resting on, wordlessly telling him to take a seat beside you. He smiled and pulled out the stool slightly, showcasing his strong bicep and forearm. “Are you here alone?” he asked as he looked you up and down. His eyes, although soft and kind, held a fierce intensity that intrigued you.

You lifted your glass to your lips with your left hand, the ring finger of which still sporting your wedding band, and licked a sliver of salt from the rim, all while holding his eye, said in the most seductive voice you could muster, “I wanted a night away,” and waited for the penny to drop. You liked for the men you slept with to know that you were married, that this was their only chance, that you were never going to see them again. Some would shrink away while others would lean in. Some needed to hear about the agreement and others found it sexy, that they were fucking another man’s wife. You hoped that Joel was not the type to shrink away, to recoil with offence, as if you had slapped him, as some of them would. You could tell the exact moment he noticed the ring, his mouth, previously open as if he was ready to speak, quickly clamped shut. His eyes glanced up at your face, and then back down to your hand, which was now gently resting on the bar top. 

“You’re married? I’m sorry I must’ve read this wrong,” he drawled, and moved to stand up but you quickly interjected.

“You didn't,” the words sounded rushed when they left your mouth, your voice louder than you intended, “You didn’t read anything wrong. My husband and I…..”. This was the part you didn’t like, explaining the agreement was never easy, “...we have an agreement,” you said quietly, hoping he wouldn’t inquire further. 

“Like a…. Like an open relationship?” he asked while raising his eyebrow, and you nodded affirmatively. 

“Yeah, basically,” you said, and suddenly realised you still did not know his name, he was still only a stranger to you, a stranger who’s body you wanted to lick the entirety of. You introduced yourself, telling him your name. 

“I’m Joel, nice to meet ya darlin’,” he drawled, gruff and impossibly sexy. Joel, finally hearing his name felt as if you had been waiting to hear it for years, you returned his sentiment and tried his name on your tongue, tasting it as you said it.

“I like your voice, like the way you say my name,” he smirked once again, and his confident aura reappeared. “Your husban’ must be crazy, if you were mine I’d damn near kill anyone else wantin’ to get involved.” 

“Do you want to get involved?” you asked, keeping your voice sounding as demure as you could while softly placing a hand above his knee, slowly tracing aimless patterns on his thigh, not so innocently creating a pattern with your fingertips, tracing higher and higher towards the apex of his thighs. 

“Isn’t it obvious what I want?” he drawled, looking you up and down, his eyes flitting from your hand on his thigh and up to your face, “if that's what you want, maybe I should take you home, wouldn’t want a woman like you all alone,” he said in a coy like statement, with almost a hint of sarcasm in his voice, his eyebrows raising with his speech. 

“That’s exactly what I want, Joel,” you responded, you didn't have to try and sound innocent anymore, you were desperate for anything he would give you, and he was not transparent with his desires. His confident air was enough to make your panties soak with desire, the weeping wetness that occurred between your legs was enough to make you agree to his suggestion, to agree to any suggestion or action he ordered. 

He stood up and, holding out his hand to you, led you outside of the bar, his hands, rough and calloused and so much bigger than yours, made your head spin with anticipation. Outside, the man Joel was with earlier was kissing the blonde but pulled away just in time to catch Joel opening a taxi door for you to climb into and said nothing, but lifted up both his hands in a thumbs up, and smirked. 

Joel’s house, promised to only be only a short taxi ride away, was a cosy home, and was adorned with pictures of a child, or teenager, one you were not sure you should ask the story of. His bedroom however, was typical of a man’s, although tidier than many, was plain, but for a few pictures which populated the otherwise bare walls. But before you got a chance to properly observe his bedroom he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you closer, impossibly close. His hands travelled to your neck, gently wrapping his hands around it without applying any pressure. He was kissing you with fervour, his lips, while soft and supple, were aggressive in the way they claimed your mouth, he was possessive in his want, his touch, his need. His kiss, although distracting, was not distracting enough to divert your attention from the large hand that was trailing from your neck, to your collarbone and slowly to the low line of your dress, his soft caress of your breast quickly turned rough when he pinched your nipple, earning him a whimper from your lips. 

You were almost gasping for breath while his hands continued their assault on your chest, almost missing the whisper he let out against your mouth, asking, “are you sure you want this?” to which you quickly nodded your head. Although he smirked, he was clearly unsatisfied with your wordless reply, and placed his thumb and forefinger underneath your chin to lift your head to face him and upon meeting your eyes he uttered the words, “I need words, sweetheart” and you could have melted on the spot. Any other man calling you sweetheart would not have had the same affect, your cheeks would not have heated up as soon as his low drawl reached your ears, you would not have felt the urge to press your thighs together in search of friction, and you certainly would not have grown wetter from hearing the word. “Sweetheart,” from another man’s lips would have made you cringe, maybe uncomfortable, it might even have repulsed you. But not from Joel’s mouth, not from Joel’s plush, kissable lips, not in his deep voice with the Texan accent that left you craving more.   

Dazed, almost forgetting that what he’d said was a question, and warranted an answer, he smirked at you, again. His confidence had not wavered once, he knew you wanted him, and why not lean into it even more?

 “Please,” was the word that left your mouth. The only word. It was desperate and almost pathetic, but that’s exactly how you felt; desperate to feel his hands on you, desperate to feel his mouth on you, and desperate to feel his cock inside of you. His smirk only grew hearing the want in your plea, the need. He kissed you, slowly and unhurriedly, before walking you backwards until your calves hit the bed and you fell onto it. 

Before you could comprehend what was happening, Joel’s strong, calloused hands were grabbing your ankles, and roughly pulling you towards the end of the bed, towards him. 

Your excitement grew at his rough treatment, which only made you more shocked when he placed soft kisses where his hands were only a second ago, containing you in a harsh grasp. 

He kissed a trail up your legs, your core was almost buzzing in anticipation when he impatiently pushed your dress up so that it was bunched up around your waist and, wasting no time, pulled your underwear to the side, exposing your dripping heat. He admired the newfound view for a second, before licking a hot stripe from your hole to your clit, eliciting a deep groan from both of you. Joel continues to lap at your folds messily, he was letting out groans of appreciation which only added to your pleasure. You were a moaning mess already, writhing on the bed as he continued his assault on your pussy. Joel’s arms grabbed your ankles once again and lifted them so that your legs fell over his shoulder, opening you up for him even more and allowing him to wrap his arms around your thighs, his hands splayed out on your stomach, holding you down as you struggled to keep still the closer you got to coming. As if he could tell you were close, he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked hard, while simultaneously slipping two fingers into your soaking wet heat, thrusting them in and out a few times before curling them, his hands that were on your stomach pressing down and adding more pressure. You could no longer comprehend a thing, you were no longer in that room, in that house, it hardly felt like you were in your own body. Joel’s incessant movements had pushed you further than you had ever been pushed before and you were floating, hardly realising that you had completely soaked his sheets. When you came down and regained your senses, you lifted your head to look at him, only to find him already looking at you, the lower half of his face covered in your juices, dripping from his chin, and that damned smirk on his face. 

“You taste amazing, sweetheart,” he swiped his chin with the back of his hand as he spoke, the lewd action bringing heat to your cheeks. Placing his palms flat on the bed, he lifted himself up, climbing up your body until you were face to face. He kissed you roughly, his mouth still wet with your own essence, allowing you to taste yourself as he pushed his tongue into your mouth. Still reeling off the fact that this man, who you had only met tonight, had made you squirt, something no other man had ever done, not even Marcus, you broke off the kiss and quickly mumbled, “No one’s ever done that before,” into his mouth. He pulled away and, where you expected to see his signature smirk, you saw a shocked expression. 

“Really?” he questioned, his voice sounded genuine and almost concerned. “That’s a damn shame, sweetheart,” he continued while taking off his jeans and boxers, allowing you with your first view of his cock. Your eyes trailed down from his face, passing his broad shoulders and lean chest, soft belly, the trail of hair that led to his cock. You gasped involuntarily upon seeing it for the first time. It was without a doubt the biggest you had ever seen in front of you, and although you were desperate to feel him inside of you, his size made you nervous. 

“Well, let's see if we can make you squirt again, darlin’,” he said while slowly pumping his cock, and, sensing your nerves, he lowered his face to yours and kissed you before whispering, “We can stop anytime you want to ok? Just say ‘red’ if you want to stop.” You nodded with complete enthusiasm, his reassurance completely erased your nerves and you felt more than ready to take him. 

He ran his hand through your folds, collecting your wetness and spread it all over his cock before asking, “You want me t’ open you up a little more, baby?”, to which you burst out a loud ‘no’ before realising your lips were moving. Your want for him had seemed to reach its peak, and you couldn’t wait any longer. He smiled at you and tapped his tip against your clit once, twice, three times, making you whine and grind your hips, chasing his cock. 

“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were a slut, baby,” he accused while lining himself up with your entrance, without pushing inside. 

Your breathing was growing heavier from his teasing and all you could manage was a small, “Please,” while you stared up at him, silently begging for him to just put it in. 

He granted your silent request and pushed in, slowly letting you feel all of him filling you up, but not before chuckling softly and breathing out a low, “I fuckin’ knew it,”. You had never been called a slut during sex before, but his degrading words mixed with the slight burn of his cock stretching you out was making your pussy drip on the sheets. He slowly filled you up to the brim, his tip lightly kissing your cervix as he bottomed out, he stayed there, unmoving and looked at you intently, searching for any sign of discomfort. 

Before he could ask if you were ok, if he could move, you started grinding your hips into him, desperate to feel any sort of friction. His feeling of his cock stretching you out was delicious, but it didn’t satisfy you, it only made you needy for more. Joel, realising that you were ok and wanted more, let out a low chuckle and withdrew his hips, leaving only his tip resting inside you, and then pushed all the way inside again, letting out a low groan. He repeated these movements, a slow in and out until you were a complete mess, moaning and groaning, writhing and squirming, unable to contain your reaction to the devastation his cock was causing your body. But you still needed more, you needed him to be fast and rough with you, to fuck you like his life depended on it, like it was the last thing he would do. So, you did the only thing you knew how to do at that moment, you begged. “Please, Joel, please go faster,” you interrupted yourself with a whimper as his cocked brushed against that spot that made your eyes flutter closed involuntarily. “Please, I can take it, I want it harder,” you looked up at him, your bottom lip between your teeth and your hands gripping the sheets.

Joel seemed to lose control momentarily, he threw your legs over his broad shoulders, which made his cock feel deeper than you thought possible, the angle making you moan loudly. His hands then flew to your neck, and they were nowhere near as gentle as they were  when he softly held your neck earlier, his grip was harsh this time, restricting your breathing slightly as he sped up his thrusts, holding his face close to yours and letting out a low growl. 

“I knew you were a slut as soon as I saw ya’.” He grunted with a surprising amount of control in his voice as he continued to fuck you with full strokes, completely emptying you before filling you again. “Actin’ all shy, but I saw through that. You’re just a dirty. Little. Slut.” He punctuated each word with a hard thrust. You had never been fucked like this in your life. The only way you thought to describe the whole experience was feral. The way Joel was fucking you was feral. The way you reacted to it was feral. The way you craved more was feral. You craved his cock as soon as it left you, and were quickly satisfied once again only to be craving more seconds later. 

“Oh God, Joel,” you cried out in a high pitched whine, his words, combined with his quick, hard thrusts, were pushing you towards the edge for the second time that night. This was exactly what you wanted, exactly what you've been craving for so long and to have it given to you by a random man you met in a bar shocked you. You barely had to ask for what you wanted, Joel gave it to you happily, he seemed to enjoy this just as much as you did. 

“Oh you like that, huh? You like bein’ called a slut?” his face was so close to yours that you could feel his breath on your face as he spat out the words. You could only whimper and nod your head, you were already completely fucked out, wrecked from the way he was using your pussy. Your eyes were beginning to close when he ordered you to look at him and when you did he called another order, “Open your mouth,” he commanded, and you didn't even have to think before you obeyed him, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out. His spit landed perfectly in the middle of your tongue, and you were so shocked from watching his lips pucker, and spit into your mouth that you swallowed immediately, the sight, the action and the feeling of him spitting in your mouth was something you had never experienced. And you loved it. 

Joel grabbed your chin roughly and forced your mouth open, seeing that you had swallowed every drop of spit that he gave you, he growled out a low, “good girl,” which made you moan loudly, a harsh, guttural sound that you were sure you had never made before. It was an accidental reaction that brought the smirk back to Joel’s face as he forced two of his fingers into your mouth and trailed them down your body. When he reached the apex of your thighs, he travelled down to just above where his cock was sliding into your cunt and swiped your clit in slow, firm circles that made your head spin. 

“I want you to come for me,” although his voice was starting to sound breathless, his command was still strong, it was not a suggestion, you were going to come for him. “Be a good girl, and come on my cock,” his fingers circling your clit sped up, sending you rushing towards your peak. Your moans grew louder and louder, until you were almost screaming, your head moving to the side to try and muffle the noise. As Joel continued his movements, his grunts were getting louder as he began to grow close. This was only intensified when you tightened around him, your walls fluttering as you came with a loud moan, gasping for breath. 

“Good girl,” Joel said through gritted teeth as he picked up his pace, fucking you harder and faster as he chased his high. “You're such a good girl for me, sweetheart,” he continued, his voice sounding more and more strained the more he spoke. 

“Oh fuck, baby,” the lewd sound of your skin slapping together and your wetness accompanied his strained voice, and all you could do as you took his cock over and over again, was listen to the pornographic sounds. “You’re gonna make me come,” he confessed, speeding up his thrusts even more, making you let out a squeal of surprise. 

“You’re my new little slut.” His fingers returned to circle your clit, forcing your eyes to roll to the back of your head. This new amount of pleasure was a shock to you, Joel was already testing your limits, pushing the boundaries of your body and you were loving every second of it. 

“I don’t care if you got a ring on your finger, you're my slut now,” he claimed you again through gritted teeth and you couldn't help but let out a moan at this. You wanted to be his, and you weren't even the slightest bit ashamed. 

“Now be a good little slut and cum for me again,” his fingers sped up on your clit, and just when you thought you couldn't come again, your mouth was open in a silent scream as your whole body tensed up. Your walls caved in on Joel’s cock until he came inside the condom with a loud groan, continuing to thrust softly inside you before pulling out and throwing the full condom in the bin. Your mind was completely blank, so blank that you barely registered that you had no energy to get up, that you barely registered Joel softly wiping your pussy and legs with a warm cloth, or Joel finally taking off the dress that you had kept on due to impatience, pulling the covers over your body, and bringing you close to him before kissing your forehead. 

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

You woke with a start, immediately realising you were not at home. You were in a foreign room, in a foreign bed, wrapped in foreign arms. You slowly got out of bed, gently unwrapped yourself from Joel's arms and crept to the bathroom. You take a look in the mirror and see a liar. You haven’t lied yet, but you know you will. Staring at yourself, you realise that you broke a rule last night by staying at Joel’s. You had one of the best nights of your life, undoubtedly the best sex of your life but you broke a rule, a rule your husband had set, a rule you had agreed to, a rule to avoid feelings getting involved, to avoid getting too close. Unsure what to do, you headed back into the bedroom with a vague plan of getting your clothes and leaving before Joel woke up. The plan was ruined as soon as you entered the bedroom and saw Joel awake, looking at you in all your naked glory. He smiles at you and beckons you towards him. You walk towards him, feeling as though your feet are moving of their accord, with no help from your brain and he pulls you back into bed, kissing your cheek before whispering in your ear, “I haven’t had that much fun in a long time.”

Before you could help yourself, you answer honestly, “Same here,” you said, maybe a little too honestly. He kisses you in response, it was full of passion and reminded you of the night before, how he’d claimed you as his, despite the ring on your finger. His hand trailed to your neck, and down your collarbone before softly caressing your breasts and asking, “Can I touch you, baby? I didn't get enough last night.” His voice was in your ear and was even more deep and gruff after a full night's rest. You knew that you should have put an end to it there, should have gathered your things and left, you should have resisted him. But you couldn't. There was something about him that you wanted, that you needed, that you craved. 

So, you nodded your head and whispered a soft yes which was met with a teasing pinch to your nipple before he kissed you again. He continued pinching and rubbing your nipples before trailing his hand lower, moving to rub your clit slowly. Your moans and whimpers were interrupted by a question from Joel, “I promised to make you squirt again last night, you didn't think I'd let you go home before staying true to my word did ya’ sweetheart?” He doubled his efforts, sliding two fingers into your core before curling them, just like he did last night, only this morning, he used his thumb to rub quick but firm and controlled circles on your clit, stimulating you just right, and sending you towards your peak. His other hand was splayed over your stomach, lightly pushing down to add more pressure and soon you were chanting his name over and over, praying that he didn't stop. 

“C’mon baby, soak me,” he grunted just as your orgasm hit you, buzzing through your body, making you feel light and airy, and you soon felt the wetness grow on the sheets, a sure sign he had made you squirt, again. 

“Oh my God,” your voice sounded breathless and all you could do was fight for breath and lie back on the bed. Joel lay down beside you and, turning your head to face him, smiled cockily at you. You smiled back at him and made a move to grab his cock, ready to return the favour but he shook his head and said, “That was about you, darlin, you don’t have to do anything,”. Before you could protest and say that you wanted to, because fuck did you want to feel him in your mouth, his features turned from cocky to nervous. You locked eyes with him as his mouth opened and closed, as if he was trying to force the words out but something stopped him each time. 

Eventually, he spoke, “Can I erm…. Can I see you again sometime?” His question had you swooning, you tried to stop yourself, you really did, but the apprehension in his voice, something you had not encountered in him since you met only added to your desire to see him again. And so, you said yes and gave him your phone number, before telling him you had to go.  

“At least let me make ya’ some breakfast before ya’ run off, sweetheart,” his words had you quickly feeling hungry, having not even thought about food this morning, you nodded your head, and he jerked his head towards the hallway. You put on last night's dress and followed him downstairs. On the way to the kitchen you took more notice of the pictures scattered around the house, there were some of Joel and the man you’d seen at the bar last night, and some of the girl you’d noticed on the way in last night. She looked a beautiful girl and you wanted to ask who she was, and who she was to Joel especially, but he was already asking you a question.

“How do you take your coffee?” He was straining his neck to look behind him at you as he asked the question. 

“Just two sugars, please,” you answered as you sat behind him on the island as he made your coffee, appreciating his naked back as he busied himself. His toned shoulders, the muscles in his back tensing as he moved. 

He turned around and placed your coffee in front of you, you smiled in thanks, which he readily returned. 

“So what do you do? we kind of skipped over the small talk last night” he said with a chuckle, his cheeks turning slightly red, “But i wanna know more about you.”

“I work in publishing,” you answered after taking a small sip of your too hot coffee, “so I read a lot of manuscripts, decide if they’re likely to sell, I could be editing the book, or I could be promoting books.” 

“Why’d you decide to go into that?” he asked with genuine interest, while turning

around to turn on the stove. “You good with scrambled eggs?”

“Yeah scrambled’s good,” you grinned at how easy this felt, you were only getting to know each other the morning after, but it felt good to sit here with him and just talk. “I’ve always loved reading and just books in general, so I got my degree in English Literature and then I didn’t know what to do, so I did a masters in publishing.”

“If you love books so much why don’t you just write one?” he asked as if it was the easiest thing in the world, turning around to give you a look that said, “duh”, before returning to cracking the eggs. 

“well……I don’t really think I'm good enough to actually write a book. I know when a book is good and when it’ll sell but, I don’t know if i could write a good book” you asked with slight insecurity. Marcus had never asked this, never suggested you do what you really wished to do, what you’ve always wanted to do. 

“That sounds like bullshit to me, you should try it,” you laughed at his nonchalance,  you liked how he thought you should do something no matter how unrealistic it sounded.

“We’ll see,” you answered with a chuckle before returning his question, “what do you do?”

“I’m a contractor, me and my brother, the guy I was with last night, have our own

Company,” he explained while quickly whisking the eggs, his muscles working overtime and giving you an amazing view of his back tensing. “I started  when I was young, right out of school.”

“Do you enjoy it?” He only shrugged in response at first, before turning around to face you.

“Pays the bills,” he said before serving up your breakfast and sitting next to you with his own. 

“So what would you enjoy doing?” you asked, since he was so adamant that you do what you want, no matter your insecurities.

“Well..” he started, and while scratching the back of his neck, seemed to contemplate whether this was something he actually wanted to say. “I always wanted to be a singer, every since I got my first guitar.”

You couldn't help but grin at the thought of the man next to you singing with a guitar in  his lap. “Well, you’ll have to sing for me sometime,” you suggested, unable to contain your grin as you spoke. 

“If you’re lucky, sweetheart, now eat your food.” He tapped your plate as he spoke, “‘M sure ya need your energy after last night.”

You both enjoyed your food in silence, you caught him looking at you while you chewed a particularly big mouthful of food, and he only chuckled when you stared back at his obnoxiously big bites. You thanked him for the food and tried to do the dishes yourself, but he looked at you as if you were a lunatic and did them himself, leaving you to do nothing but admire him again. 

You were ready to call a taxi to pick you up and, asking if he had any numbers you could call, but he didn't gratify your question with an answer, he instead looked at you with a dumbfounded look on his face and said, “I’ll drive ya sweetheart,”. He didn't listen to your protests, ran upstairs to put a shirt on and picked up his keys, led you outside, opened the passenger door of the truck for you before running to the other side and jumping in. You gave him the name of your street and he started the car, grumbling about it only being a 5 or so minute drive and drove. His arms were almost bulging out his shirt, his broadness creating the impression his clothes were bursting at the seams. 

He looked over at you, caught you staring and looked you up and down before saying, “That dress looks even better on you this morning than it did last night, especially with your hair all messed up,” he smiled as he spoke, looking ahead at the road but stealing glances at you every now and then. 

You smiled and made a humming noise, as if you were thinking hard and responded, “You looked better last night,” and smiled teasingly at him. He in fact, did not look better last night, his hair, messy and dishevelled made him look adorable and seeing him in comfier clothes than last night was incredibly sexy. 

He let out a chuckle and smiled at you again. Every smile he threw your way felt so genuine, and never failed to melt you into a puddle. As the car came to a stop outside your house, Joel leaned over to kiss your cheek and quietly asked, “So I’ll text you?” to which you nodded, thanked him for the ride and moved to get out of the car. But he interrupted your move with another question, “And you're sure your hubby’ll be all good with that?” You had no idea how to respond and in your shock all you gave was a timid mhm as you rushed out of the car and onto the driveway of yours and your husbands shared home.

He shouted a “see ya, sweetheart,” as you walked and you prayed none of your neighbours heard and walked into your home feeling guiltier than ever. 

Upon your arrival home, you showered immediately, desperately needing some time to think. But thinking only added to your guilt. You had broken the second rule of your agreement last night by staying the night. You’d let him touch you again this morning, and you enjoyed it, you loved it. You’d agreed to see him again, and you didn’t regret agreeing, worst of all you wanted to see him again, but that would be another rule broken. Another lie. Another betrayal. As guilty as you felt, there was a voice in your head, you imagined it to be the devil on your shoulder, whispering in your ear that maybe, just maybe, Joel Miller was worth it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stared at him in utter disbelief, gaze wide.

He didn’t know yet?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wasn’t just torturing you. Hell, he was torturing himself too.

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

He wanted you just as much as you wanted him, if not a thousand times more.

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

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

He liked being with you, being in your presence.

Most of all, he actually liked talking to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You pouted against his finger.

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

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

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

Reluctantly, you nodded and climbed off his lap.

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He touched your cheek and smiled wistfully.

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

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

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

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

“Tomorrow night, same time,” you parroted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leah’s smirk widened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hung your head in defeat.

There was no way around it. You’d been caught.

“It’s—it’s a long story.”

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

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

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

You glared at her. “Leah!”

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

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

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

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

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

She didn’t sound all too concerned.

She sounded curious by it. Fascinated, even.

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

Leah chuckled. “Oh, I’m sure you do.”

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

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

“Mhm.”

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

Leah raised an eyebrow. “To fuck you?”

The blood rushed to your cheeks. “Yes.”

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

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

“Wait tor what?”

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

“You little sinner,” Leah teased.

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

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

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

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

“But Leah—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The throbbing between your legs wouldn’t stop.

You needed relief.

Release.

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

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

Suddenly, you withdrew your hand. Less clothes—this would feel so much better with less clothes.

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

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

Sandalwood, spice, and musk.

It’s become all too familiar to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You weren’t looking forward to it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

What was he doing here?

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

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

“Ouch! What did you do that for?”

“He wants you to meet him outside.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

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

Perplexed, you looked over your shoulder again.

Your sister had been right about the latter.

Joel had seemingly vanished into thin air.

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

You nodded. “Okay.”

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

“But I thought you hated using the out house.”

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe Leah had been wrong.

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

Nevermind. Point for Leah.

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

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

Your heart fluttered wildly inside of your chest.

There it was again.

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

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

“You did?”

He chuckled softly. “What? That strange?”

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

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

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

Joel shook his head.

“Tommy’s birthday is today. They’re throwin’ a big party for him at The Tipsy Bison. I’m sorry—”

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

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

He paused, momentarily hesitating.

“What is it, Joel?”

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

Joel stopped once again, his neck burning.

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

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

His girl.

Your heart fluttered again.

“I would love that more than anything.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Things could change one day,” you said, softly.

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

“You would leave?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel skimmed your cheek with the tip of his nose.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s all Joel had needed to hear.

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

“Joel,” you moaned out his name.

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

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

“That’s a good girl.”

His hand dropped away from your mouth.

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

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

Your legs spread further apart for him in reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

that you should abstain from sexual immorality…”

Joel glanced up at you. “If you want me to stop—”

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

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

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

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

“…not in the passion of lust…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She must have come outside looking for you.

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

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

“Baby, what are you—?”

Standing on your toes, you kissed his cheek softly.

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

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

It was late in the evening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t I always, big sister?”

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

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

“Because you’re the good one.”

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

“What did you say?”

“Nothing!” She piped innocently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The dress was beautiful—pale blue with a detailed eyelet embroidery and thin straps that tied at your shoulders. You held up against yourself and let out a small scoff as you said, “Leah, I can’t wear this.”

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

You shook your head furiously.

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

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

You opened your mouth to respond, then clamped it shut—she made a fair point. Without giving your sister anymore grief, you stripped out of your skirt and blouse and slipped the blue dress on.

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

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

“Well, I’ve been afraid of changin’

‘cause I’ve built my life around you

but time makes you bolder…”

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

You wrinkled your nose.

You didn’t even like whiskey.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You grinned. “Lemonade sounds good, actually.”

“Coming right up.”

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

“Oh, m’sorry about th—”

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

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

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

“What are you doin’ here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The color instantly drained from Joel’s face.

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

The woman’s eyes flickered over to you.

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

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

Joel tried meeting your gaze, but you refused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You cut her off, sounding miserable.

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

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

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

“Good evening, ladies.”

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

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

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

You didn’t even hesitate.

Turning back to him, you accepted his hand.

“I would absolutely love to dance with you.”

He knew what you were doing.

Oh, he knew exactly what you were fucking doing.

And it was working like a goddamn charm.

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

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

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

And then there was you.

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

It fucking bothered him.

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

Joel turned to look at him.

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

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

“Nothin’s goin’ on between us.”

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

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

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

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

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

Joel’s rolled his eyes.

“You and Maria gave me this lecture already.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stood there absolutely seething.

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

“I could ask you the same question,” he shot back, though he kept his voice low and calm. For as mad as he was, he didn’t want to raise his voice at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just wait a second, let me expl—”

You cut him off with a scoff.

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

He let out a loud, frustrated sigh.

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

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

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

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

“Sleep with?”

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

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

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

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

“Look at me.”

Finally, you brought your eyes up to meet his.

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

“And what?”

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

“Why should I believe you?”

He stepped back, lightly shaking his head.

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

Joel wasn’t just making the confession to you.

He was making it to himself.

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

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

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

His own voice was just above a whisper.

“Why’s that?”

“Because I’m falling for you too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You frowned. “But what about—”

“Kid’s at Tommy and Maria’s babysittin’ Noah. She ain’t comin’ home ‘til tomorrow in the mornin’.” He unlocked the door and took your hand. “C’mon.”

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

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

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

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

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

He held your hand even tighter.