hotch’s hands

"yeah, well," you sighed, "it was either this or patrol."

that made tommy laugh and shake his head. "you always get the easiest routes anyway, don't even complain."

"it's not my fault," you said, "i just don’t like my patrol partners most of the times."

joel’s eyes found yours again through the mirror. "someone botherin’ you?"

you shrugged, suddenly shy. "kinda. jake’s… touchy. makes me uncomfortable."

joel’s jaw tightened and his brows furrowed. "why the hell didn’t you tell me that before?"

"because you’re always mad at me," you said, leaning back against the side of the truck with a little shrug. "figured it was better not to annoy you even more."

joel looked over his shoulder at you. "quit that nonsense. that’s serious."

the truck got real quiet after that. tommy shot you a quick look, a half-smile like he was trying to lighten the mood, maybe give you some comfort, but joel’s eyes stayed fixed on the road, his knuckles tight on the wheel, like he was upset, and maybe he was. but that's not weird of him anyways, he's always mad to you.

you took a deep breath. "it doesn’t matter anyway," you mumbled, then you turned around on the seat to look for something in the back.

"what’re you doin’ back there?" tommy asked, glancing over his shoulder.

"it’s hot," you said, already tugging at your jacket. "i wanna change."

you took your flannel off, staying in your bra for a moment. you caught joel looking this time, just for a second before he dragged his gaze back to the road.

"you want us to stop?" tommy asked.

you slid the top in. "why? am i distractin’ you?"

"maybe," tommy said low.

you huffed. "careful," you warned. "you're gonna get me in more trouble with your wife."

tommy chuckled. "i was joking."

"sure," you said with a remarkable sarcasm.

joel sighed, shaking his head. "can’t even be nice to you, huh?"

that made you laugh, lying on the seat, getting your calves out the window, letting the wind hit you, swinging your boots to the feeling.

a while later tommy asked joel to pull over. joel parked the truck near an old abandoned building and tommy hopped out, disappearing behind it.

joel stayed in the truck, asked if you needed to go too, but you shook your head, then he followed. "we gotta talk."

you groaned, already rolling your eyes. "it’s nothing, joel. i wasn’t even thinkin’ when i said it. i know i can’t get in trouble again or they’ll kick me out, okay?" you sighed.

joel rolled his eyes right back at you. "this ain’t about your damn record. i asked if that kid’s been botherin’ you."

you just shrugged, toying a loose thread on your shorts.

"use your words," joel said, not so gentle, so you looked at him.

"no," you muttered, crossing your arms. "i already know the rules—i can’t get in trouble, i can’t—"

"quit that nonsense," joel cut you off. "what’s he been doin’?"

you shifted, avoiding his gaze. "he’s just… touchy. in parts where i don't want him to. it’s uncomfortable."

joel’s jaw tightened, his knuckles going white on the wheel. "you gotta say that to me in the moment. nobody’s gonna throw you out for that. and even if they try," he exhaled hard through his nose, "i wouldn't let it happen."

can it be? that joel miller is protecting you? that he's being sweet with you? that he actually cares about you? no, you don't believe it. you've done nothing but giving him trouble since the very first day you arrived jackson and he's been clear about how much of a pain in the ass you are.

you laughed. "since when are you so protective with me?"

"you’re goddamn stupid, that’s why," he said.

"see?" you rolled your eyes. "always mean, always mad at me."

"i just think these are the things you need to say, before it gets worse. what if this kid just do something while you both are alone and leave you to the infected, huh? can you use your little brain and tell me those things before something else happens?"

you frowned, he does have a point but he's being an asshole about it. "cause i think you'd rather join him before helping me."

"if i was as mad as you think, you wouldn’t still be in jackson," he said serious. "you think i don’t know who’s been takin’ bottles from the bar? or that you’re the one stealin’ the bits of coffee we get’? or what about the food missin’ from the pantry, the med kits from the clinic, hell, even my damn wrench went missin’ last week. you think nobody notices?"

you knitted your brows.

"yeah," he said, nodding slow. "and every time somebody wants to make a case out of it, guess who’s there takin’ the shit so you don't have to?"

you felt your cheeks burn and your throat tight by a lump. "that's all you do, causin' trouble all the fuckin' time. so the least you could do is tell me what the fuck is going on with you."

you swallowed despite of the lump in your throat. "i didn't know i was such a trouble, joel."

"the hell you are," he said abruptally, making you blink but you wouldn't let him, of all people, see you weak.

"then stop doin' it," you snapped, looking directly to his eyes.

"so what? do i have to let that kid do whatever he wants to you?" you didn't answer so he frowned. "yeah, i'll probably will."

you felt your eyes wet but still fought so the tears wouldn't spill. "fine," you said softly, turning around so he couldn't see you.

the truck went quiet just as tommy came back around, wiping his hands on his jeans. he could feel something changed, nothing good, but he didn't ask.

the rest of the drive was silent. and for your bad luck, you wouldn't make it today, so joel had to stop to find somewhere to set the camp.

"'kay, here," joel said getting out the truck.

you didn’t move.

they set their tents, and a little after tommy saw you just sitting there. "you want me to help you with your tent?"

you shook your head. "i’ll sleep in the truck, if that's okay," you weren't even facing him, not even looking at him.

he studied you for a moment, then nodded without arguing. "it's alright."

by the time they even set the fire to warm up the food, you dug through your bag and pulled out the little pouch of seeds you’d brought, eating them one by one.

after a while tommy came over with a plate. "food’s ready."

"i’m not hungry," you murmured. "but thanks."

"can’t waste it," tommy said gently, holding the plate out a little more.

"you can have it," you tried to smile but it didn't reach your eyes.

"all right," he said softly, walking back to the fire.

a few minutes later joel appeared at the truck, leaning one arm against the side. "you need to eat somethin’."

you turned your back to him, staring out the other window and saying nothing.

"hey," he tried again, his voice lower.

nothing.

joel stepped closer. "you gotta eat," he said.

"i said i’m not hungry," you said without looking at him.

"yeah, you are. all you ate today were those damn seeds, and that ain’t a meal."

you huffed, finally facing him. "i don’t wanna bother you, joel. and don’t think i stole those seeds either, i worked for them."

he wanted to laugh. "you’re so damn resentful."

"i am not," you snapped, sitting up now. "you just already see me like a thief."

"and what would you call it?" he asked.

"then don’t worry about it anymore," you said. "if i’m a thief, then i’ll just stay out of your way so i don’t cause you any more trouble."

joel rolled his eyes, running a hand down his face. "i don’t give a damn if you take things," he said finally, his voice softer. "i just want you to eat."

you shook your head stubbornly.

he exhaled, but respected your decision and headed back to the fire. hours passed before you moved again. the fire was still up but lower than before, and you knew the brothers were asleep by now.

you’d made up your mind. if they all already thought you were jackson’s problem, maybe it was better to go before they finally threw you out. before you annoyed joel any more.

you didn’t have much, just a change of clothes, the last of your seeds, and a couple of small things, but you’d always gotten by on your own. you didn’t need anybody now.

you made your way out from the truck. you didn’t even look back at them as you started walking away. it was for the better anyways, maria already hated you, tommy does too probably, and not to talk about his brother, joel made very clear you're nothing but a problem. so there's no point sticking around.

you’d walked enough to get lost in the trees when your boot crunched down on a branch.

joel woke up to the sound. he sat up fast, scanning the dark for movement, hand already on his gun.

then he saw the small figure heading away from camp.

"what the hell—" he muttered, standing up.

you heard him then, looked back and your heart dropped. you ran as fast as you could.

"hey!" his voice was closer than you’d expected.

you ran faster, but it didn’t take him long to catch you, his hand wrapping your waist, the movement making you both fall to the ground.

"let me go!" you yelled.

he pinned your wrists on the sides of your shoulders. "what the hell are you doin’? where the hell you think you’re goin’?"

"it’s not your problem!" you shot back.

"you’re so stupid, i hope you know that," he said. "don't tell me you're that weak, that what i said earlier was enough to hurt you."

you laughed bitterly. "you think this is about you? don’t flatter yourself, joel. you’re not that important."

his brow furrowed. "then what is it?"

"none of your business," you said.

"it is my business," he snapped. "i’m the one who’s gonna have to report it when you don’t show back up."

you frowned. "i don’t care." you tried to pull away again, but he didn't let you, even pinning your legs with his.

"you’re a spoiled little brat," he said, voice rising enough to make you flinch. "a thief who’s always causin’ trouble, and draggin’ me down with you."

"fine!" you shouted. "then i won’t cause you any trouble, let me go."

"no," joel said flatly. "you don’t get to just run off that easy."

"i’d rather leave than go back to that damn town!"

"yeah?" he drawled. "and where you gonna go, huh? how long you think you’ll last before some infected tears you apart? or some raider does worse?"

"i’ve always survived on my own," you hissed. "i don’t need anybody, least of all some old man like you."

"that old man’s saved your ass more times than you can count."

"then let me go so you don’t have to save it again!"

he looked at you then, really looked, messy hair, angry tears on your face, chest raising and falling with rage, he knew it. something about it almost made him smile.

instead, he shook his head. "here’s what’s gonna happen," he said, calm but firm. "you’re comin’ back with me. you’re sleepin’ in the damn tent. and in the mornin’, we’re gonna talk about this."

"there’s nothing to talk about," you bit your cheek from the inside. "and i really wanna go, it's my decision."

"yeah, there is. you’re not patrollin’ with jake again. and you sure as hell ain’t gonna be scared of gettin’ thrown out of the town, not anymore."

before you could open your mouth to answer, joel grabbed you as he could and threw you over his shoulder, like a ragdoll.

"put me down!" you hissed, kicking at him, fists hitting his back, but he didn’t stop, like he was walking in automatic.

"no," he grunted, carrying you all the way back to camp, your curses and protests was the only thing he could hear. but he’d rather hear you mad at him than not hear you at all.

he finally made it to his tent. he set you down, blocking the exit with his body when you tried to push past him.

"please, just let me go," you said.

joel shook his head. "you’re stayin’ right here. i’ll sit up all damn night if i have to."

you groaned and sat, pulling your knees to your chest. "you’re selfish," you muttered, hugging your knees.

joel didn’t answer right away, just let out a long breath before crouching in front of you, searching your gaze. "i’m sorry," he said softly. "for bein’ an asshole earlier. i shouldn’t’ve talked to you like that, about somethin’ like that. but i need you to believe me when i tell you i ain’t ever gonna let jake lay a hand on you."

you didn't answer right away, cause you know he's all mean but he's saying the truth. he wouldn't let jake, or any man even lay a hand on you.

you understand why he's mean to you, you know you've been nothing but trouble since day one, so it isn't strange that he's like this. and maybe he also deserves an explanation about some things.

you stayed silent for a few seconds before saying, "it’s not me takin’ from the bar. it’s jake."

joel blinked, his frown deepening, confused. he didn't have any proof of you stealing from the bar, but since you're the only one at jackson doing that, he guessed.

"i know i’ve got a record," you kept going, "so it don’t surprise me they blame it on me. but it ain’t me."

you hesitated, chewing your lip before adding, "the food, though... that’s me. i like makin’ snacks for the kids i watch at the daycare on the weekends. i know it’s stealin’, but," you shrugged, "it’s for them."

joel’s expression softened. a lot.

"and the coffee?" he asked.

your lips formed a guilty tiny smile. "that’s ‘cause i know it’s yours. you always got some at your place and i like coffee." you couldn't face him.

joel chuckled, shaking his head. "you can ask me anytime you want, y’know."

"never thought about it," you admitted, looking away.

"well, now you will," he said. "you can have some whenever you feel like it." he paused, thinking for a moment before adding, "and about the kids... they can put you in charge of cookin’ for ‘em, if that’s what you like doin’. make it official, yeah?"

you glanced at him from under your lashes, and for the first time tonight, you didn’t feel so a knot in your stomach.

"and if jake’s the one stealin’ from the bar..." joel’s jaw tightened again, but this time it wasn’t at you. "then i’m takin’ care of it. he ain’t gonna keep causin’ trouble and blamin’ you."

"yeah... don't," you sighed. "i think it's better if i leave anyway," before he could say anything, you followed. "not sayin' it to gain sympathy, it's just," you sighed, "everybody already thinks i’m trouble, jackson’s stray dog they gotta keep on a leash."

"you’re not patrollin’ with jake again. you’re gonna have coffee whenever you want, work with the kids if you want to, and you sure as hell ain’t gonna be scared of gettin’ thrown out."

you rolled your eyes. "it’s not like i’m that important, joel. maria hates me anyway, and i don't blame her, or tommy... or you. can’t blame y'all, though. i’ve been a pain in the ass since the day i got there—"

you didn’t get to finish. joel’s hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face up to him before you could look away, and then his mouth was on yours. it wasn’t soft, it was urgent, like he was trying to shut you up and make a point all at once.

your hands fisted in his shirt instinctively cause you wanted to pull away but at the same time, you wanted him to keep going, you knew he didn't like you and maybe that's what you like about him, maybe you do want him to share his coffee, maybe you did wanted the kiss.

you pulled back for air and the tent filled with an awkward silence. you couldn't avoid his gaze anymore, you couldn't not aknowlodge what just happened.

"don't leave," he said, still with both hands on your cheeks.

you pressed your lips. "i just feel like a stray dog in jackson," you said, voice shaking.

he sighed. "maybe if you stopped actin’ like one, people wouldn’t treat you that way."

your stomach dropped. you pushed his hands off your face. "wow. thanks, joel. really makes me wanna stay now."

"i didn’t mean it like that," he said quickly, but you were already trying to reach your bag.

"yes, you did," you snapped. "but i don't care."

"that’s not true." his voice sounded like he was fighting to stay calm.

"then what did you mean, huh?"

"i meant, if you were just a little more... calm. a little more easy to be around."

your brows knitted together.

"you’re always... ready for a fight. you act like the whole damn world’s against you."

"at least we got somethin’ in common," you shot back.

"you’re a young girl with the soul of a bitter old woman," he snapped. "always walkin’ around like you’re two steps away from bein’ homeless again."

the words hit like a slap. "so why do you want me to stay, then? you stupid or somethin’?"

"because—" he started, shoving a hand through his hair. "dammit, you drive me insane."

"good," you said. "hate me then."

"i wish i did."

and then his hands were on you again, gripping your jaw, his mouth crashing against yours.

you kissed him back, though your eyes were filled with angry tears. "you’re such an idiot," you mumbled against his lips before pulling him back down to you.

"yeah?" he said between kisses. "takes one to know one."

your fingers curled into his hair, tugging hard, almost punishing, and he groaned, not cause it hurt, cause it didn't, but because he knows you're as weak as he is.

his hands though, came to your hips, trying to lean you down the ground, but you didn't let him.

"no," you said. "first you hurt me and now you want sex? are you out of your mind?"

joel froze for a second. "yeah," he said, "that’s exactly what i want, to hurt you just so i can use you right after."

"yeah, sounds like something you'd do."

"you are the most stubborn, hard-headed girl i ever met," he said, shaking his head. "but you’re also the sweetest. behind all that angry, tough appereance, you’re... soft and kind."

"yeah, right," you scoffed. "you wish i was fragile."

"you are," he nodded. "if you weren’t, it wouldn’t hurt so bad when people in jackson look at you the way they do."

"it’s alright that it hurts," he followed. "you don’t gotta act like it doesn’t."

the way he was looking right through you made you feel weird, vulnerable, like he knew your soul. and it was scary because you can't let yourself be seen like that. weak.

"you don’t know me," you said, more to yourself than to him.

joel leaned down until his forehead almost touched yours. "i know enough," he murmured.

and he kissed you again, and even the protests with your fists on his chest, your mouth was saying another thing, just lying down little by little, until you had him over you, his hands on your hips, trying to unbutton your shorts.

from one moment to another, you were tugging his hair, desperate as you felt something pocking on your belly. "god," you gasped, looking down, trying to see even if it was all dark.

"here," he said grabbing your hand and moving it to his bulge. "feel it."

you parted your lips. he was really hard. "i didn't know you still worked."

he chuckled without a single trace of humor behind it. you were not shy about touching him, you were squeezing him even. "never seen one?"

your gaze shifted to his. "not an old one," you saw the way his gaze darkened and the next thing you felt was him taking off your shorts while all you could do was giggle for how easily he gets pissed the same way he says you do.

"you're gonna beg for this old cock," he growled.

you bit your lip and he was already at your entrance, teasing you. and you, falling for it. "got you all wet," he chuckled. "this what you like? old cock?"

you closed your eyes. "yeah," you hissed. "the cock of someone who hates me."

with no warning, he went inside, deep and raw. you whimpered and dug your nails on his cheeks.

he groaned once he felt how soft and tight you were. he didn't hate you even if he wanted to cause you've brought him more problems than peace. but god, it was impossible. in jackson, you always looked so rude and tough though he knows you're not.

and even now, you're trying everything to convince him—or yourself, that this is because he hates you, because you rather that than being seem as vulnerable to someone. especially him.

"god," he said all breathy. "didn't know you were this tight for me."

you bit your lip, trying to muffle moans, but failed. "shut up," you whimpered.

his lips were gentle on your neck, treating you all soft while he worked on you. and you liked it. you liked the way he was fucking you. you liked hearing him as vulnerable as you, you liked him even complimenting on your body. he even grabbed your breasts, squeezing them hard enough to leave his fingertips marked.

you dragged your nails on his back on response. "does it hurt?" you asked between gasps.

"you wouldn't hurt me," he said in the same tone. "even if you try."

you squirmed, feeling his dick, every inch, every vein. your walls were throbbing, reaching the climax. he could see it written all over your face, over the way you were moaning.

he fastened his pace, making the tent move too. and maybe tommy would notice, maybe he had already heard but either of you gave a damn. you just wanted each other, desperately.

you nibbled his ear. "i do hate you," you whispered, making him thrust with no mercy. harder.

"it shows," he groaned and stopped slowly, almost taking his dick off you.

you whined. "god, don't," you said desperately, pushing his hips with your feet. "please."

"please what?" he teased.

"i need you," you said, looking right to his eyes.

"yeah?" he brushed his nose on yours. "what else?"

you swallowed. "i need your cock."

joel's gaze went dark. "you need my old man's cock?" you nodded like a fool. "say it."

"i want your old man's cock, please," you begged in a soft voice.

he could cum to that. he could cream your pussy right there, but he didn't, not until he was sure you had come at least. you were being so brave, taking him in, not even complaining about how big it was for you, because it was, but it felt more than good.

he lied beside you as you fixed your clothes. an awkward silence came after everything calmed down, after you both catched your breath.

you were overthinking, maybe you let yourself be too vulnerable, maybe he's gonna use this against you. you swallowed maybe too hard he heard it. "you okay?"

you nodded, sitting up. "i think i have to go."

"what?" he knitted his brows and sat up too. "what the fuck?"

your eyes filled with tears, you were too overwhelmed because of everything and you couldn't do it anymore. "i just want fresh air."

he huffed. "yeah so i won't find you in the morning," he sighed cupping your face, stopping the tears from spilling. "hey, it's okay. you're safe."

you shook your head. "you're just being sweet because we had sex," he blinked. "and it's okay, i wanted to, but—"

joel knitted his brows. "i wasn't lying when i said you don't get to deal with stuff anymore," he said softly.

"you don't have to do anything for me," you snapped.

"yes, i know you got everything solved by yourself," he rolled his eyes. "but let me help, yeah? i won't get in your way if that's what you want, but i can't do like the jake thing didn't happen either." you didn't say anything right away. "just let's go back to jackson, and let me show you i wasn't lying."

"why would i trust you?" you said with tears running down your cheeks. "how much time until you're the first one telling me how much of a burden i am?"

"look, we both have been pain in each other asses, aren't we?" that got a tiny smile from you. "we've played cat and mouse long enough."

✿₊˚⊹🔒𐙚⊹♡

you have flowers twisted into your hair, that’s what he sees first. little buttercups twisted into the braid in your hair, chin tucked over your knees. you’re wearing a summerdress, the sort of gingham he’s seen you in all the time when you came back from college. 

it’s a bright day in early september, too early that summer still lingers, but late enough that the party was almost rescheduled because of a shower. 

he doesn’t really know you, hasn’t ever really known you. he’d moved in the year you left for college, and he’s only seen photos of you in his neighbour’s house. grinning achievements, awkward family photos. your father’s a lovely man, someone he can play pool with and talk cars about. there’s not much else to talk about, the neighbourhood full of WASP moms and dad’s that were always on business trips – but your dad is there, a wave whilst mowing the lawn, a chat over the fence. 

you’re back from college, and it’s your 24th birthday today. and you’re not off in tampa partying with your friends, you’re here in texas, in your hometown, watching your father flip patties on his barbeque whilst your mother pours jugs of lemonade. sipping your glass timidly. your hair is loose, and there are flowers in the braid, like you’ve lovingly placed them there, a decoration given to you by nature herself. 

it’s a simple neighbourhood barbeque, and of course joel’s there too. why wouldn’t he be there? your dad makes amazing burgers, and there are some perks to living in this neighbourhood after all.

the other perk is you, waving to him politely as he walks in, something strained in your smile behind your glasses. he takes a cup from your mother, the lemonade sweet and tart. and then takes in you, sweet in your gingham dress, but never tart. it flowed down to your ankles, the checks sweet againt your skin.  joel’s eyes linger on the locket on your neck, a small silver heart that’s tarnished with wear, always seen you wear it in every photo in the house, every time you’ve come to visit. a silver heart that’s beautiful, just like you.

“guess i should say happy birthday.” he nods at you, and you see his brown eyes sparkle. delightful, with his crows feet creased around them. he looks rather handsome, he always has, from all the days you’ve spent back home from college, gazing at him through your bedroom window as he worked on his car. a dreamboat, a man. one that would always treat you right, stop you from falling with his broad shoulders and big arms. 

you stand up, brushing your knees. crumbs from the burger you ate. you blush, it’s ridiculous how someone like joel – your neighbour joel, your dad’s friend joel could make you blush this easy, but you blush anyway. 

you look into your cup, and miss the way his eyes linger on your neckline too long, frills and a square, enough to show enough, but not enough to show quite nearly as enough as he wanted to see. you’re pretty, pretty in a way that doesn’t seem real. hazy like summer afternoons, hazy like a memory joel thinks.

“thank you.” you say quietly, looking back up, seeing his eyes again. he sees yours, wide, like a deer. doe eyed, looking up at him like his compliment means the world to you. 

he shifts on a foot, he feels like a blushing teenager again but he’s pushing fifty.. “so, any plans?” he means any plans for your birthday, anything that you’ll do with your friends, things a 24 year old should be doing. getting drunk at a bar, having a one night stand, not standing here in her parents’ backyard, making small talk with an old man like him.

your nose twitches like a little bunny, and you tilt your head at him, “yeah, of course, the phd programme starts in mid september, now that the holidays are nearly over.”

it’s pitying, the look he gives you. but maybe there’s something else, awe. he remembers 24, or more like he doesn’t remember it. blackout drunk in a bar, and a hookup in the bar’s bathrooms. you are standing here, lemonade in hand, smiling shyly up to him behind your glasses like he hangs the moon. 

your dad walks over, and claps you on the shoulder, “ain’t i just proud of her, 24 and already in a phd programme.” a wince, his voice is so loud, his hands are so heavy. joel laughs with him good naturedly, friends, that’s what they are. they’re equals and you with your head behind a book, are not. 

“not in the phd programme yet,” you raise an eyebrow, “i’ll be in  phd programme when i move in, when it’s all confirmed.” voice small, slow and careful, like your steps are, like your smile is. his eyes linger on your chest again, the swell of your breasts under the gingham dress, cut modestly so that it’s innocent, you’re barely ever looking to impress anyone anyway. but he gets impressed, bubbles in his stomach where he wishes he could gently pull the straps down, and worship you. 

you don’t catch his gaze, silly and innocent as your eyes linger on the grass too long. when you look up, he’s already looking away, you two are like paralell lines that never meet. home, life, everything suffocates you - there is a pressure to be perfect in the eyes of everyone you meet, a pressure to perform like they want you to be. your father with his kind eyes and strict rules, grad school, college, the phd. he’s proud of you, you can hear it drip from his voice, “proud of my girl, doing so well for herself.” 

you aren’t proud of yourself. not a single party, not a sip of alcohol, never a smoke from a friend however many times they offered. no boys, no dates, just sitting behind a desk and working. working in high school, working in college, working through grad school, and then your damn phd. your mother always told you the best things happened to those who wait, but there was never a good thing that happened with you. 

“thanks dad.” you smile, a lie. for some reason, joel can hear it. your hips curve in your dress, he can see them as the window blows, making your dress flutter against you like a butterfly’s wings. there’s a misery in your eyes, one he can feel, “enjoy the party joel.” you smile at him. your smiles are always freely given, all soft and sweet with your plush lips curving upwards. he can see the lip gloss glisten in the sunlight, pink and pretty. just like you. 

he tears his eyes from your lips, forcing himself to imagine anything but his best friend’s daughter’s lips ghosting over his neck. pouting at him as he leaned in for a kiss, the pink tinted lipgloss leaving kiss marks on his shirt, marking him as yours, “thanks.” he clears his throat, “you too.”

“you want me to get anything for you?” you ask, because of course you do. however hard you worked in college, you had always been taught to serve, quietly and sweetly. there was nothing wrong in being a good host, and you always saw your mother being gracious with serving your father. it was an act of love, drilled into you that a woman must serve her husband. joel wasn’t that, but your heart beat faster when you spoke to him, and in your life with no boys and no dates, that was enough. 

“yeah, okay, i’d like a beer, if that’s okay?” he asked, and you nodded, dress swishing around your legs as you walk to the cooler. you’ve always picked up beer bottles for people, never asked for a sip though, the smell makes you feel heady, it tastes disgusting, and you don’t know why anyone would put themselves through that.

the condensation on the bottle is dripping when you hand it to him, your hands touch, almost. his big fingers brushing against yours, a spark. you swear you felt a current jolt through you, but it might have been the coolness of your fingertips against his warm ones. 

the party is nothing much, grill burgers and pickles and onions. you help out your mother plate the food, graciously, like some angel feeding the hungry in a gingham dress and bright eyes. the good daughter, the good wife. that’s what you’d been taught, to study, but to serve. but he remembers the brush of your fingertips, and hopes you do too.

it becomes a thing, afterwards. his eyes seeking you out in the early days of september. you’re often on your porch, reading about your subject. it’s ridiculous how much time you pour over it, and he runs a business, a whole business. when he leaves for his office in the mornings, he waves at you. you always wave back, nose still buried in your book, glasses slipping off your nose. 

plain, ordinary. he’s dated a string of women before, but you’re shy and sweet. always politely calling out, “good morning mr miller!” over the fence when he walked to his car. wearing your shirt and sweatpants, always a little baggy so your right shoulder slipped off. and he always noticed the bra strap against your skin. pointelle blue, velvet green, flower patterned white. your knees up under your chin in the swinging porch chair. book laid in front of you on the table, that you go back to, again. 

one night, when summer doesn’t seem to be slipping away, you knock on his door. his house is silent, his old house was filled with the ghost of his daughter’s laughter, but this new house is silent. he doesn’t speak much to people, but he opens it to you.

you wear another dress, this time blue, with white polka dots and puffed sleeves. the square neckline stays modest, the silver heart still resting delicately against your collarbone. you’re nervous, he can smell that on you. the way your eyes dart back to your house, like this is a wolf’s den. 

24 and you shouldn’t be acting like this, not really. but you’ve never knocked at a man’s door before. no boys, no boyfriends, no nothing. that was the rule your dad gave you when he agreed to pay for your education, you’d never had a chance to between lectures and studying and exams. not a single date, not a single party. being a blushing virgin at 24, something so embarassing. 

and here you were, blushing as you waited for your dad’s best friend and neighbour to open the door for you, calling out from somewhere inside the house to “yeah yeah, wait a minute f’me!”

his voice, was so low. it made you want to clench your thighs, cross them pathetically. you needed him like plants needed the sun, dreamed about the few moments you’d seen him when you came home from college over the years. he opens the door to you, all grizzled, in grey sweatpants and a tight black tshirt. your eyes can’t help but shift below to see his bulge against the grey sweatpants. it’s just a quick look, but god does it make you wetter. 

he’s big in there, in those unassuming sweatpants, and your shy eyes move back to the glass tupperware in your hands. “here, i made pie.” you hold it out to him, and he stares at you like you’re the prettiest thing in the world. the moon glows behind you like a halo, your dress’s neckline has slipped slightly to show the dip of your breasts, and you hold out the box to him. “we have leftovers, i felt like you should have it.”

“jee, thanks, y’gonna make an old man like me blush.” he rubs his neck gently, and you laugh at that, your other hand going to cover your mouth.

“i don’t think you’re that old.” the words slip past your tongue, and you shut your mouth after that before you make a fool of yourself. he doesn’t want you, couldn’t want you. you were too young, too fucking stupid about love, too naive about sex, and you weren’t even here that often, “not as old as my dad anyway.”

the words are heavy between you, and then he takes the box from your hand, “glad i got someone in my corner at least.” he gives a small smile, and you swear you can see something twitch in his loose grey sweatpants. 

“heat it up before you eat it, mr miller.” you say, all polite again, like you didn’t just see the imprint of his cock inside his sweatpants. 

“ ‘course i will.” he says, swallowing, watching you walk away, your pert ass against the cotton of the summerdress, one that flowed to your knees. he wants to hear you talk again, “what pie is it?”

you turn back, and tilt your head, “pumpkin, made it myself using mom’s recipie.” 

when he closes the door, his cock is half hard, and he jerks off at night to the thoughts of you. you in your pretty dresses, looking like sin, your eyes focused the pages of a book. he imagines his cum spurting inside you, fucking you so hard the ache that sits behind your eyes vanishes in a haze of pain, cockdumb and drooling.

he’s working on his car when you see him through your bedroom window. your next door neighbour, your father’s friend. joel miller is working on his car, half in and half out of the garage. he’s sweat through his shirt, the outline of his muscles imprinted on the grey fabric. your chin is propped up on your hands, and you can see him through the window, back against you as he bends down to work on the engine. 

grey sweatpants, he wears grey sweatpants, and you can feel your heart quicken in your chest. after the night when you gave him the pie, you’ve been looking at him more, daring to look at him more. he’s working on his car, and you can see it from your bedroom window, making grunts as he bent over the hood of the car, rumaging around in it.

a distraction from your book, making you drool a little as he looks so damn good. distraction from studying, distraction from worrying about your phd. he looks so. damn. good. working on his car or leaving for work in the mornings, or even walking out in his backyard without his shirt on, after his shower. he looks good, too good to be true. 

a man. you don’t know anything about men, kept as far away from them as possible. your dad’s rules, your mom’s warnings. not a single party, not a single nightclub. your roomie used to laugh at you, invites fell through, you were frumpy and that was that. you didn’t even touch yourself, couldn’t bring yourself to. the shame of wanting to touch yourself, the shame of not being the good girl you’d spent your entire life being. 

but joel, he made you want to cross and uncross your legs, clench weakly against nothing. you needed him, desperately. and there was never a reason to look at you. 

yet your panties get damp, and your hips buck at the air, at nothing, at the thought of him shirtless, sweaty, with his grey sweatpants on. you need him.

the box arrives at your house a week after your birthday, a little brown box with your friends’ handwriting on it. sophie and alexa from los angeles, you’d been the odd one out of the three, but they liked you, parties or no parties. you’d missed them in grad school, one of them taking a job as a PA in LA and one a housewife, missed them because they made you feel whole. never made you feel bad about abstaining from boys and parties, waiting for the one. waiting for marriage, like a ‘good woman’ should.

a box in your hands, and your father asks who it’s from. “from sophie and alexa!” you shout back, opening it softly in your room. 

a package falls out, wrapped in wrapping paper, ome cute pens that you liked from that one stationary shop you saw when you went to visit sophie last, and a crochet frog that alexa made you. then a note. 

“happy birthday baby, can’t believe you’ve hit 24 now. 24 years old, and nearly a PHD GIRL! we’re so fucking proud of you, always knew someone like you could do it. you sacrificed so much, drove us out of so many clubs. we’re so proud of you for getting into that phd programme, and finally realising how damn cute you look in those summerdresses. now you need to get dicked down, where’s the husband girl, where’s the wedding invite!!! i hope it’s soon, and to sweeten the deal, we pooled our money together to get you something cute for you and your husband, whenever you find that special guy. i hope you like it, hope it fits."

love you so much girl, sophie + alexa

the package. you feel for the package. soft, small, and you open it to reveal a set of blue lingere. a lace set, pastel blue with roses stiched onto the center. plain in a way that fitted you so dearly, but lacy on the trims. you’ve never had any fancy lingere, never a reason to be cute, nobody was seeing you like this, were they? and you could imagine the heartbreak on your mother’s face if she found anything like that in the laundry, the shame on your father’s. no, you could never get somehting like this, but they’d thought it would be nice for you. 

it’s cutesy, all pastel like the clothes you usually wear. you put it on with shaking hands, fastening the ribbons on the hips.your hands pull your shirt and bra off, and slip the top on, it’s a simple cami top that cups your breasts and cuts off halfway through your stomach, leaving the curve of your waist bare. 

it’s funny, you look good. all sweet like this, but it feels weird on you, like a costume you’re wearing. you don’t look anything like this person. you’re not this person, you’re still you. 24, grad school, your eyes are still behind your glasses, hair still in that sloppy ponytail, but god does it fit you well. at least sophie and alexa meant well and did well — not that it would be used anytime soon.

you look at yourself in the mirror, a little strange, a little awkwardly. the  one man you wanted to see look at you like this barely cared, barely looked at you when you’d been dreaming about him for years.

meanwhile the man you want, joel miller, forty seven, working on his goddamn car, looks up. he’s looking at the clouds, hoping that the grey passes over soon and the clear skies shine through. he’s looking at the clouds, then his eyes skirt over your window.

he sees you in the lace, and his mouth goes dry. you with your soft curves and those doe eyes, looking at yourself in the mirror. the lace bralette on you, fitting your breasts well. 

fuck. you looked good like that, all lace and pastel blue that looked so pretty against your skin. you turned from side to side, and he could do nothing but watch, eyes moving before his brain did. but not before his dick.

he could feel himself getting hard in his jeans as he kept watching, sure it didn’t seem right, but you looked so pretty. like a sin he was willing to indulge in over and over again. he couldn’t look away, couldn’t look away from the show he was seeing behind the glare of glass and the sunlight. 

your curtains aren’t closed, they’re wide open, and you’re admiring yourself from your window, turning and twisting, adjusting the lace so it looks half decent on you. you hear a toolbox drop, and so does your fucking heart.

you shut them suddenly, and the show is over. there’s an embarrassing wet patch on his jeans from where his cock has leaked precome, and he walks inside. he’s seen you, all soft and pretty, in something soft and pretty again. ribbons on your lace, hot hot, and the memory will stay etched in his mind.

your breath hitches, and you pray he didn’t see. he probably thought you were some sort of slut, prancing around in your lingerie, hoping someone would see you. fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck….you can’t stop swearing, pulling your jeans up your legs and throwing a shirt on. 

he’d tell your dad, and you’d loose everything. the money your dad was giving you for the phd, the shit you’d worked so hard to get. 

worse still, joel saw you like that. all stupid and silly looking, ugly even, in something that didn’t even suit you. 

your heart thuds out of your chest as you run downstairs, out the door, down the porch steps, and into his garage. 

closed. it’s  closed now, but you knock on it with tentative hands. to plead, desperate. to tell him you aren’t like that, to tell him- to tell him. 

it opens as you press your hands against it, and you hear grunts. heavy, breathy grunts. the rhythm of his hand, the slick sounds filling up the room. it sounds like what your roommate’s boyfriend did in the bathroom that one time in senior year, when she was asleep and you were unfortunately awake. 

a pause as the door creams, and then he continues, moaning, desperate. your footsteps against the wood, a pause.

“fuck.” he swears.

“mr miller?” you call  out, still polite, then, swallowing, “joel?”

“fuck!” he runs into the garage, forehead sweaty, hair sticking to it, on shaking legs and a stricken expression on his face. his mind is screaming a thousand thoughts a second, but you can smell him, manly and musky, and something in your brain just cracks.

“joel, please—“ you reach out to him as his expression panics, falling to your knees in front of him, “i wanna help you.”

“you don’t.” he says, swallowing. he’s older than you, lived a life before you, you’ve got the world ahead of you, phd, research, bright eyes and beautiful smiles. a soft wedding in white, petals being thrown in the air.

your hands clutch at the denim of his trousers, “please joel, i do.” and you’re fumbling with his zipper like you’ve dreamed of, your pussy slicking with arousal and need, but you’re laser focused on his letting his half hard dick out. and it does, springing out with beads of precome on top, red and angry.

your hands fumble at it, and there’s nothing more you know to do. fingers shaking, this is the first time you’ve seen a cock. ever. it looks beautiful, his is so big, you wonder how it’ll fit in you, if he ever does that. you feel too old to never have done something like this, embarrassed you’ve never done anything with a man before. 

tentative hands grip his length, and slick with the precome beading out, and you rub it awkwardly.

“y’acting like you’ve never seen a cock before.” he laughs as you touch it like you would pet an animal, and you look up at him. with your doe eyes. there’s disappointment in them, and then you let go to show off the lace top you’re wearing underneath the tshirt. the one he saw through the window, is better up close, all fitting to your curves, and it makes his breath quicker. 

you cough, and then try touching it again, “my friends got this for me, think it’s good?” he lets out a moan, but your angle is all wrong, the grip too loose. 

“look beautiful baby,” he lets out a sigh, “y’technique needs a little fixin’, all that time in college and you haven’t even figured out how to do this?”

you blush, closing your eyes as he steps closer to you, boots heavy,, then his breath hitches. “so you’re sayin’…” he starts, his mouth dry, voice rough. a virgin, you were a virgin, that’s why you had no idea what to do after you fumbled pathetically with his zipper. 

fuck, of course you were. 24, college degree, 4.0 gpa, grad school lined up. no parties, no boys, you with your smile and a head stuck in books, you. you, shy eyes behind glasses, you who waved at him through on the porch when he mowed the lawn. you, the daughter of his best friend he barely saw. no one that felt you up, no stupid frat boy that got to take what was in front of him. lace blue, a ribbon’s rose stitched onto the straps, a silly gift from some silly friends. kneeling in front of him on wobbly legs, hands hovering over his half throbbing cock.

“no.” he shakes his head, and holds your arm, hauling you up so you see a little more eye to eye, “not gonna do it like this.” he pushes his dick back into his underwear, then zips up his fly. “not here in the garage, not with someone like you.”

“not with me?” you ask, voice all small. rejection. like you’d seen this before, your hands shaking for your shirt.

“no babygirl,” he smiles, a little wry, “not here, not with someone like you.” he places a firm hand on your ass, you can feel it through your thin sweatpants, “c’mon, let me give you the house tour, i gotta bedroom for nice girls like you.”

“you listen to sabrina carpenter?” you look at him, tilting your head.

“...who?” he looks at you, squinting, crows feet around his eyes. handsome.

“i’ll show you, after.” you can’t wait. nor can he, with how quickly he leads you to his bedroom, the first floor, wooden, mahogany. it smells of him, flannel and softness, and he has a hand on the little of your back the whole time.

“you really want f’me to be your first?” he says, in the quiet, and when you breathe you smell him. 

“dream about you in grad school,” your hips buck against him, cunt desperate and drooling, “remember the time you were washing your car with no shirt on.”

he smiles at that, and pushes you onto the bed, “you could have anyone. pure as a lily you are.” your lace lingerie is doing nothing to hide the swell of your breasts, the way your nipples pebble at his touch. 

“i only want you joel.” you pout at him, fuck you’re beautiful. your legs buck into the air again, like you don’t know how to relieve yourself, and then his body is there, and you’re grinding against him. desperate, so so desperate to get rid of the itch between your legs.

“come here my girl, i’ll be soft f’you the first time.” he gently pulls down your jeans, and then sees the lace panties that were part of your set. you look so good like this, shy and sweet up from your hair and so sinfully real. 

“all this, f’me?” he grunts, feeling the stickiness of your arousal, the damp of the lace, and he pushes it down too with two thick fingertips.

“always, only for you.” you let out a sigh as he circles at your clit with his thumb, and it’s true. it is only for him, the only man to ever see you like this, and it makes his cock leak harder. you were so…untouched, a flower nobody had crumpled yet. 

he pushes a finger inside you, and your cunt takes him in almost immediately, sucking at his finger with greedy lips. you’re desperate, so desperate but his fingers make you so full. it’s so slow as he does, his finger stretching your tight hole out. 

you grind against him again, and he laughs — “ ‘s it too much?” he asks, all worried. you shake your head, and he adds in another finger, the stretch is almost painful, but it burns in a way that feels so good. you need him, more than body and soul. you need him in you.

“need - ah -  you.” you gasp out, between breathy moans, he’s pumping his fingers in you to a steady rhythm he curls his fingers inside you, to hit that one spot that felt so good you saw stars. but you needed him.

“ already got me.” he whispers into your ear, and you could almost come like that, with his voice in your ear and his fingers in you. your cunt drools more, sloppy, tight. “this cunt’s got me forever, if you’d take me.”

declarations of love? two fingers in? god he was in deep. 

you whine as he takes away his fingers out of you, sticky with you and brushing against your clit to make your toes curl. “no joel, i want you in me.”

he laughs, “you’ve seen how big it is,” a frown, “i doubt she can take it.”

“i can.” you look up, pleading, but with that firmness in your voice that lets you win debates in college. firmness or not, he’s a sucker for your doe eyes, and so he unbuckles his trousers, leaking cock jumping out again.

“ s’bigger than my fingers.” he grunts, jerking it once or twice to have it hard again, “are you sure?” and he’s worried, worried about you. 

“i’m sure.” you want him to ruin you. and he parts your thighs gently. he doesn’t even need to push the way your virgin cunt sucks him up, inch by inch until he’s half buried in you. 

he rolls his hips slow, and your eyes roll back into their head, you can barely form words as you’re impaled by his cock, each thrust rougher and rougher. “like being filled huh?” he asks, a little unkindly, but you’re too far gone to care. your cunt is choking him so tightly, that he’ll loose his mind if he doesn’t orgasm. 

your walls throb, squeezing him, wringing him as he thrusts into you. you can feel his pubic hair graze against your clit, and you let out a loud moan, “y’like being filled only by me.” he growls into your skin. he’s possessive, and a wave of pleasure passes over him knowing that he’s who’s making you feel this way.  

your eyes roll in pleasure as he bottoms out, and he has to let out a laugh at that. so smart behind all those books and so desperately dumb with his cock in you. your legs jerk in such a pathetic way, it’s embarrassing, twitching with overstimulation. he rubs at your swollen clit one last time, and you’re coming on his cock, gushing, sticky, all on him. 

“you okay?” he asks, looking down at you, but you can’t form words, heady pleasure in your eyes as you look up at him.

“ cockbrained,” he laughs, “ cockdumb slut.” he taps at your cheek and you let out another moan, it’s so desperate, so whiny that he barely remembers to pull out before he’s cumming all over you, all over the pretty lace set you got, painting your breasts with ropes of his thick cum. 

your chin is covered with his spend, some of it even on your lips, in your mouth from how much you’d been gasping. he pulls out of you with heavy breaths, and you choke on air until you blink back to him.

“fuck.” you look at him, “been missing out on all this?”

“only with me.” he gathers you up in his arms, and you two sit there, watching the sunset. 

“should’a seen you there, all dumb with a cock in you.” he laughs, after a few minutes of silence, with his cum drying on you like a brand. like he’s marked you as his.  

virginity, you’ve given your virginity to him, that might be the biggest brand yet.

you were supposed to save that, this felt right, having him call you a slut, it felt like the weight of academic being lifted off you. 

“i liked it.” you lick your lips, tasting him, salty and musky. it’s good, he’s good, “felt nice being taken care of.”

“mmm.” a beat, “felt nice taking care of you, all soft, though your pussy’s a treasure, eh?”

you poke him in the stomach, “ain’t letting anyone else see it.” you mumble, tired from your orgasm, you could nuzzle on his chest and sleep like this, having him hold you all tight and warm, “ only for you.”

“better be.” he squeezes your ass playfully, “ i don’t want my girl being a slut f’anyone but me.”

“course joel.” maybe you’ll let him kiss you, one day. your virgin cunt his now. 

⋆.⋆༺𖤓༻⋆.⋆

𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

⋆.⋆༺𖤓༻⋆.⋆

𝐈. The woman he sees when he closes his eyes

𝐈𝐈. The woman who waits in silence

𝐈𝐈𝐈. The woman behind the door

𝐈𝐕. The woman holding back the night

𝐕. The woman who holds her breath

𝐕𝐈. The woman who knew too much

𝐕𝐈𝐈. The woman whose name he forgets

Your body ached, tension in your limbs made you quiver as you struggled to keep your position between Reed’s spread legs. The man showed the restraint of a superhero, the one he was judging by the multiple newspaper headlines, even as his cock was deep in the clutches of your throat. 

It felt like it had been hours of you just bobbing your head up and down his length, yet he still felt as rigid as when you swallowed him first. You started doubting your prowess, but then you raised your eyes, red from tears and running mascara, and it was clear that he was holding on by a thread. You were, too. Three of Reed’s fingers stretched ridiculously long fucked into your pussy from behind, curling, spreading apart, doing anything that would make you cry on his length. Your eyes widened as you felt the tip of his pinky push into your asshole.

“Fmhuuck,” the words gurgled around his shaft, bubbles of spit leaving the corner of your mouth. Four. Reed let you take a breath in and then thrust his hips and his fingers back in the depths of you. 

The devil himself must’ve tempted you to tease Reed about how easy it was for you to make him cum. How he was always so wound up for you that whenever he pushed inside, he had to recite the periodic table so that he wouldn’t cum after a few thrusts. You had no idea his eyes could get dark like that. Looking in your eyes, Reed eased off his tie, unbuttoned his pristine white shirt, and dragged you into your bedroom.

“I can make you cum five times before even thinking about cumming myself. I can even do it all with you sucking me off the whole time.”

You laughed then, but now you were on the brink of your fifth orgasm, and he was still hard under the tired slide of your lips. You were exhausted, not just from sucking him off since he let you alternate between your hands and mouth, but from cumming so many times in a row. 

With sweat and cum dripping between your legs, you knew your pussy was swollen and tired. Maybe that would help you win, your body being simply too worn out to cum another time. But no, he learned you too well, proved every theorem of your body over and over again. Solved every equation that resulted in your pleasure. He knew all of the algorithms of your orgasms. That’s why he rubbed your clit only once, curled his three fingers in your cunt, and stretched his pinky deeper in your ass. Just another successful calculation. 

Your moan got pushed back into your throat by his cock, so you just fell, limp and exhausted. His win was as undeniable as the hardness of his dick that was now lying next to your face. Reed helped you up, gently placing your body on the right side of the bed. You closed your legs; they were vibrating with extortion. Reed clicked his tongue, the sound almost mocking, and tapped your sweaty thighs. “Open wider, I’m not done.”

His house sat on the quieter edge of Jackson, marked by a ‘Miller’ mailbox, a wooden porch, and a dried-out garden. (You couldn’t blame him though, he was working way too hard to keep up with his garden.)

Three knocks.

“Hi.” You greeted him, a smile tugging on your lips. His eyebrows quickly furrowed—just as you know him. Joel looked exhausted. His green flannel dirty, hair messy and dirt stained boots. He just came back from work.

“Whatcha doin’, girl?” His voice hoarse, deep. Sending shivers down your spine.

And you knew this was a bad idea. Heck, asking Joel—your mentor, your teacher and someone who took care of you countless times—to show you how to give someone a blowjob was embarrassing.

But you didn’t know how else to learn. You were way too inexperienced—no enough friends to ask, no porn, no education in this town.

And after your last time, having to interrupt a heavy make out session with that one boy who works at the day care, you needed desperate help for next time.

“Bought you cherry pie.”

His eyes lingered over the pie for a moment, then landed on your body—following the curve of your skin up and down, lingering far too long on the red crop top you were wearing.

“Made me pie, eh? It’s cold outside. Come on in.” He opened his door wide, a hand coming to the small of your back and letting you in—lingering a bit longer than usual.

From the inside, his house was cosier—the last bits of sunlight spilling from the windows, painting everything into a golden haze. His furniture, old and rugged like him, was scattered with soft pillows and a few photos here and there. And of course, his beloved wooden carved animals, carefully crafted, sat in every corner, quietly collecting dust.

You carefully place the pie on his kitchen counter, nervously biting the inside of your cheek.

Joel already pulls out two forks, one for you and one for him. “Now what do we have here.”

You knew he adored your pies. Sometimes you’d bake him two or even three, and he’d devour every last bite—but only after he’d done something in return. Whether it was fixing something around your apartment or bringing you something from patrol, there was always a little exchange involved.

“What’s the matter with you? Why the face?” he asks, and your heart leaps, suddenly remembering why you came. He already took a generous bite of cherry pie, a smear of filling resting messily at the corner of his mouth.

“Just—uhm. Can you do me a little favor?”

“A favor? Should’ve known. Y’never bring that old man pie without wanting any favors.”

You giggle quietly, also taking a bite of pie.

“What is it this time, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart.

The first time he called you that was when you were together on patrol. He taught you how to use a sniper, his hand landing gently on your shoulder, squeezing softly when you did well. Or when you helped him fix your light—tools in your hand, his voice calling you a good girl when you handed him the right ones.

Or when he had you creaming around his fingers. After giving him his pie, quietly, on your couch. Leaving small kisses on your neck, the other hand rubbing your nipples through your shirt, telling you how good you are for him.

And a ‘this can’t happen again.’ leaving you with wanting more.

So, you weren’t sure if you were here because of that boy or because of Joel. Because, admittedly, you have been aching for his touch since then.

“Cat got ya tongue?” He interrupts your thoughts with a quick snap of fingers. “My back is fuckin’ killing me. Let’s sit down on the couch, then you can tell me about that little favour of yours.”

Before you can answer him, he pulls out two plates, carefully puts one slice for you and two slices for himself, and then walks to his living room with them.

You take a deep breath.

Walking into the living room, you see him sitting there—already one of the slices gone—as he starts on the other. You gently make your way to him, sitting down next to him. He takes his fork with pie and brings it to your mouth, making you giggle and take it, a coo leaving his lips.

“C’mon, say it,” he urges, nudging you. Your mind spins with all the ways this could end.

Either he’ll react well—just as you know him—and help you, or he’ll make you leave his house and never contact him again.

You start, “So there is a boy.” And you can see him clenching his jaw tight, fork leaving his hand as his eyebrows furrow.

“That so?”

“Mhm. And I—I don’t know how to ask you this but—“

You look down, your fingers fidgeting with each other, heart thudding in your chest like it’s about to break out.

“Spit it out, kid.” He sighs, sets the plate down, and turns his body toward you—making it now impossibly more difficult for you.

“I—I want to do things with him. But i’m kinda too inexperienced.” Your cheek heat up while you’re talking, your gaze falls down not wanting to look into his disturbed face. The air in the room now feeling impossibly thick.

After an awkward silence you peak up to Joel, who is just looking at you. You can’t tell if it’s disbelief or disgust. Or maybe something in between.

“Jesus christ, girl.” He mutters out. “And what do you want me to do? Hold your hand while you’re getting dicked down?”

Your eyes widen, a gasp leaving your lips at his wording.

“Oh my god—no, no. That’s not what I meant.” Well, what you meant might be just a little bit worse than what he interpreted it as.

“Just—ya know…maybe show me how to give a blo—“

“Nah.” He interrupts you swiftly, shaking his head. “Not happenin’”

You sigh, defeated. Not only did you feel embarrassed, but you probably just ruined your almost perfect relationship with him. Joel took a pillow, mumbling something under his breath, and placed it over his lap. Your eyes perked up at that—he was hard. And he was trying to hide it.

“B-but, you also showed me something else the other time. Wouldn’t be that the same?”

He sighs. “Baby, you ain’t comin’ here dressed like that, bringing me cherry pie and asking me to give you sex ed.”

“Y’know I ain’t got anyone else.” You pout—maybe that’ll help. “And besides, you told me to come to you whenever I needed something right?”

“Christ,” he groans, rubbing his forehead. “Just can tell you how it’s done, yea? Nothin’ more.”

You hesitate. Hearing it out loud would be more awkward than him simply showing you. His eyes leave no room for choice, so you give a small nod.

“Comin’ here asking me how to blow someone.” He shakes his head, in disbelief.

“Heyyy, Joel—I don’t know how else to learn okey? I don’t want to embarrass myself.” You whine.

“S’fine.” He grumbles under his breath, sitting up straight. “Y’start by teasing.”

His eyes land on your tits.

“Show ‘em. Every boy will appreciate it.”

Your cheeks flush red.

“Then you get on those pretty knees. Take it out, give it some love.”

You ask, curious. “How do I give it some love?”

“Can’t serve everything on a silver spoon can I?” Grumpy, annoyed—making you amused. The pout from earlier starts to form again, you give him a pleading look.

He sighs once again. “Give kisses first. From top to bottom. Stroke gently.” And you notice how the tip of his ears are red.

“And the rest is pretty much self explanatory, ain’t it sweetheart?”

You look at him, the curiosity not letting up. As if you had no clue of the world, wanting him to explain it to you in every single detail. And you were so amused at how flushed and annoyed he was getting.

“God damn, girl. Open them lips, wrap them around and go up and down.”

“How fast?”

“Just how fast that person likes.” He shruggs.

“How do I know how fast that person likes it?” And it’s laughable at how dumb you were making yourself seem, but seeing him grip the pillow over his crotch tighter, his cheeks flushed and sweat dripping from his forehead—it was worth every single second.

“I let my girls know when I gather their hair in my palm and push them faster down.”

Your breath hitches, his girls.

“Then I buck my hips into their mouth,” he continues.

All this time, you thought Joel was a miserable, lonely man with no relationships whatsoever. Embarrassment washes over you as you think about how you believed you were the only one he liked—and that when he fingered you, you were special. You came here to get educated—no, you came here to seduce him. And that was the plain truth.

“Got that in your pretty little head?” He asks you, suddenly pinching your chin between his fingers and making you look at him.

You wanted him to push your head down and buck his hips against you.

“Not really.”

“You’re getting on my last nerves.” He grumbles before putting the pillow away and revealing his bulge. Your eyes land on it, as he zips down his pants, looking at you. His eyes darkening.

“C’mon. That brain of yours had to take some sort of information, right?”

His eyes land on your tits.

You quickly nod, pushing your crop top up quicky, revealing your breasts to him. You hear a groan leaving his chest, then a chuckle.

“Good, that’s what I like to see.” His hand finds your chest, fingers squeezing, then pinching your nipple. “Now what do we do?”

“Get on my knees.”

“Atta girl. Get on those knees.”

He doesn’t need to tell you twice when you slide down the couch and kneel in front of his bulge. Nodding, he gently pulls his hard one out of his boxers.

You almost start to drool at the sight.

He was so big. And he was pulsing. Red mushroom head, precum dribbling from the slit and decorated with veins from bottom to top.

“Now, what did we say?” He asks, his hand gently pumping himself up and down, while your eyes follow.

“Give it some love.”

Your hands shakily grab his cock, looking small compared to his length. Stroking up and down, looking up to him with doe eyes and placing kisses on every inch while you listen to Joels groans.

“That’s it.” He gathers your hair into his palm, forming a loose ponytail to keep it from falling in your face. “A man should always do this, yea? Not let you do all the work.”

Your cheeks heat up again, his eyes lock into yours as you nod. There was a warmth spreading inside your panties. You had already difficulties taking his fingers last time, you wonder how it’ll be if you took his cock.

“Wanna take him into my mouth.” You mumble.

He coos. “‘course ya do. C’mon then. Show me how good you listened.”

“Up and down.” You nod. “Hm, up and down, that’s right.” He answers.

You open your lips, hand gently stroking up and down his dick. Slowly, you wrap your mouth around his tip, hearing him shudder in response.

You try different things out. Swirling around, getting deeper, pulling out and giving small kitten licks. All the while Joel groans your name, and without noticing, your ponytail wrapped in his fist, he moves your head—slow, deliberate—up and down his length.

“Just like that. Y’learning fast.”

The pleasure in your abdomen getting unbearable. You feel yourself soaking through your panties as you start grinding your hips against the heel of your foot.

“Would ya look at that.” He chuckles, his hand going faster.

And as Joel’s movements get messier, he dives your head down until a gag rises sharp in your throat. You cough, and he pulls out quickly, watching your face closely.

“Deep breaths, deep breaths, baby.” He carefully tries to calm you down, and while you try to breath normal again, he starts apologising: “I’m sorry, sweetheart. That should’ve not happen. Got too lost in the pleasure.”

“S’okey.” You smile lazily to him, drool hanging from the sides of your face, lips swollen red. You looked too beautiful for your own damn good right now. And Joel wants nothing more to take you right then and there.

“I think that’s enough for today. You already learned how to use your mouth. I’m sure you’ll do good.”

Disappointment washes down your face. You sit there looking up to him with pleading eyes. The throbbing in your cunt unbearable and the urge to take care of him way too big.

He slips the edge of his shirt over his thumb and brushes the drool from your mouth, slow and careful.

“Pretty girl. You let that boy treat you well, yea? Or else.” He mumbles, but your eyes are only on his wet, aching cock.

The boy was forgotten, and Joel could see it in your hazy, fucked-out eyes. You were needy—needy to be touched—and he wished he could just take you, right on his couch. But he made that mistake once. He couldn’t let it happen again.

You move before you even realize it, climbing onto his lap and settling on one of his thighs. His hard cock grazes your skin, and he takes his time looking at you—your lips, your tits.

“Oh angel, we can’t.” A breath leaves his mouth.

You lean in and start kissing him—his cheek, his neck—fingers stroking through his hair as you suckle on his collarbones. His hands find your waist, gripping tight. One hand cups your breast, pinching your nipple. And before you even realize it, your hips are grinding against his thigh.

“Why?” You ask, laying your head against his chest, moving your hips in a slow rhythm.

“I would ruin you.” He answers, “And people in this town would kill us.”

“But you’re just teachin’ me something. Nobody has to know.”

A groan leaves his lips when your hands wrap around his cock, gently stroking up and down.

“That so?”

“Hm”, you nod. “Y’still need to teach me how to take cock.”

“Jesus christ, sweetheart. When did ya get so bold, huh?”

And you want to say ‘when you left me with aching for more’ but you don’t. Instead, you focus on the pleasures building in your tummy. Grinding harder against the rough fabric of his jeans, and a whimper slipping from your lips.

Suddenly, Joel mumbles a “fuck it,” then follows with, “Pull your pants and panties down. Now.” He demands it—and you do just that, standing up and tugging everything down.

“But you ain’t gonna complain if it hurts.” His hands pull you back into his lap, making you sit down again. “All this begging and then complaining about it hurting would be pathetic, girl.”

“C’mere. You’re wet enough.” One hand touches your folds, the other holding his cock. You buckle up, his tip gliding over your folds as you release a breath.

You gently and slowly, sink down.

“Easy, easy, babygirl.” He helps you. Squeezing your hips and guiding you through. A cry leaving your lips when you fully sit down. His length stretching you, touching places you’ve never even felt before.

“S’big, yea? That’s a mans cock, baby. Not gonna gave that much satisfaction when you ride that boy.”

Your head falls to his shoulder, biting down, clenching on his cock. “So big.” A whimper falling from your lips.

“Oh I know, I know.” He whispers. “But you’ll take it, baby. Still need to teach you, don’t I?” He says it playfully. Joel knows the boy is long gone from your mind—and that you came here for one thing: to get fucked by him. There’s no denying it.

He shifts underneath you, gripping you by your thighs and thrusts two times up, leaving you breathless.

“Good?”

“Mhm. More.” And he doesn’t need to hear that twice. He starts giving you quick thrusts, altering between deep and slow, while your moans fill the room.

Your hands grip his shirt, looking at him, his eyebrows furrowed, concentrating, rough breaths leaving his mouth. Tits start to bounce up and down, while he pumps in and out of your squelching cunt.

“Ain’t the one I used to be, girl—help that old man, will you? Start moving your hips.” He groans.

Your body almost limb from the pleasure, starts moving at his request. Going up and down, circling. His hands guiding you, helping you. Biting your lips, whines filling the quiet room and as Joels body suddenly shudders, you feel it.

His cum pumping you. Spurt after spurt, filling you to the brim.

You whimper, looking down, seeing drops of cum escaping your pussy.

“Oh, that’s a good girl.” He coos. “Tightest fuckin’ cunt i’ve ever had. Made me cum in no time.”

And you’re still aching for more.

“Could’ve just go to him.” You shrug. “He would’ve at least lasted longer.”

Joel looks at you with widen eyes. The relief after his orgasm completely gone, his cheeks and the tip of his ears flushing red. Not with shame or embarrassment.

But anger.

Without a word, he grabs your hips and forces you down onto the couch beside him. Your eyes widen, hands clutching his neck as he looms over you.

“Joel, what are you doing?” You ask, with no answer. Instead, he spreads your legs and grabs his cock.

He glances down, noticing he’s still soft. After a few frustrated strokes, he mutters, “God dammit.”

You giggle.

“Find that funny, huh?” He asks and you can’t even answer before he fills you with two of his fingers, a yelp leaving your lips. “Still got my fingers, baby.”

“Joel..” You squeeze your eyes shut when he curls them, his thick fingers going in and out of you.

“M’right here, angel. Y’think that boy of yours can reach those spots huh?”

And the spots he reaches are indescribable. Your mouth falls open when he hits your g-spot over and over again. Your legs start to shake, as you feel yourself getting close.

“Look at that, y’let me cum in you so well.” He whispers, looking at the ring of sperm build around his fingers whenever he pulls them out of your cunt.

“Joeljoeljoel.” With that you clench down his fingers, hips bucking, tummy clenching, you come around his fingers with a big cry.

Before you can even come down, he’s filling you again—his cock sliding in. The stretch feels good this time, and you clutch his shoulders as he murmurs your name. Your sensitive walls tighten around him, his length still a bit soft but just firm enough to push deep.

“Takin’ it so so good, baby.” He gently whispers in your ear. His lips latch into your neck, kissing and biting. Your moans start to fill the room again, as his thrusts begin in a quick rhythm.

“Feels good, feels so good.” You whimper, and squirm around. “I know it does, I know. That boy may last longer, but he won’t give you a reason for your pussy to be swollen red.” He looks down at your cunt while saying, a thumb landing on your clit.

You can’t even listen to him as the pleasure grows in your tummy once again. “M’gonna cum, please.”

“Good, c’mon then.”

His thumb speeds up at your clit, your leg falls from the couch because of the hard thrusts. Your hands grip impossibly tight to his shoulders.

“Gonna fill you up again, show this whole town who you belong to, yea?” Your eyes get wide at that, making him chuckle. His thrusts growing sloppier and sloppier.

“Joel, please.”

“Shh, s’okey. Cum with me, baby.” And you do.

You let go. This time, it’s harder than any orgasm you’ve ever had. Your mouth falls open, silent, as Joel gives you two more hard thrusts before spilling inside you—filling you up again, his release dripping onto the couch beneath you.

He kisses your temple, your nose, your forehead while you come down. His breathing is still hard and deep just like yours, softly coming down from the hard orgasms you two just had.

He pulls out, sits up slightly and watches as his cum oozes out of you.

“Christ, all filled up aren’t you?” His fingers wander to your slit, then he gathers the cum that drips out of your hole and pushes it in with two of his fingers.

With all the exhaustion, you can only whimper.

He thrusts them in and out, thumb gently landing on your clit, just slightly grazing it and making you shudder because of the sensitivity.

“No boy, yea? You’re mine. And if that takes, that’ll prove it.” He looks at you, furrowed eyebrows. And you nod your head softly, limbs to weak to function as you lay on his couch filled to the brim while his fingers are still working inside of you.

The next orgasm rolls in quietly, soft and fleeting—just enough to leave you relaxed and sleepy. Joel lets out a quiet chuckle, then pulls you close by the waist and shoulder. You nestle your head against his shoulder, and he kisses your forehead with quiet affection.

“God damn, y’need to bring me more often pie, sweetheart.”

😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 just need that old man so bad…

It has only been two, three hours since Harry's cock was buried deep inside you, his voice low and sinful as he whispered the filthiest things into your ear. He made you cum for a third time right there that night, much harder than the previous two (or ever)— and god, it was so intense that you passed out in his arms immediately after.

Now, you lie in an empty bed that’s too big for one person, craving Harry again as if you weren’t satisfied the last time. The truth is, he’s ruined you. He has from the very first moment you started sleeping together. Three months ago, to be precise, when this arrangement—pure hot sex, no strings attached— was agreed upon. You never expected it to leave you this wrecked and wanting more and more.

Harry is charming, handsome. Irresistible, addicting. Like he’s the only thing in the world that could pull you apart and piece you back together under the same touch.

And he’s in the other room. Standing alone, naked under a spray of water. Just several strides away.

Without a second thought, you throw back the covers and roll out of bed. Your bare skin prickles from the chill in the air; your body throbs from the earlier activities, and you almost couldn’t walk a straight path. But you don’t seem to care. Your feet carry you towards the bathroom door left ajar, not wasting any more time.

The warm, humid fog greets you at first. The water pattering softly against the pale white tile masks the noise of your movements as you approach the misted-glass shower stall.

Harry doesn’t notice you immediately, allowing you a few seconds to admire the sight of his broad back and shoulders. The way beads of water glisten and slide across taut muscles that ripple under his skin as he lathers soap unhurriedly all over his body.

Not only does he fuck like a god, but he looks like one, too.

He hums an unfamiliar tune to himself, quiet but rich; smooth and warm like whiskey. It echoes off the walls, the rumbling sound close to a touch you somehow feel even if it didn't land.

Your breath catches somewhere between your lungs and your lips. It's sweet, slow torture— you standing there and not saying a word, not reaching out. You can't tear your eyes away, not that you wanted to. Fuck, no. You're going to savor every second of this, commit each detail of Harry to memory, and tuck it away with all the other dirty ones.

And when you've finally had enough— when the blooming heat in your belly has melted down your restraint— you slip into the shower stall behind Harry, pressing your body gently into his solid back. He doesn't tense up at your unexpected presence. If anything, he relaxes more with you there. Steam envelops you as your hands glide over his slick chest, feeling the thrumming beneath your palm when he chuckles.

"Didn't mean to wake you, baby. You should've stayed in bed, I wasn't going to take too long," Harry says, his hand catching one of yours to bring up to his lips.

In return, you softly kiss the hollow between his shoulder blades. "And lose out on an opportunity to watch you in the shower? No, thank you. Besides, m'not really tired anymore."

"Sure about that?" He wonders, and you can practically hear the smirk in his tone. "Thought I wore you out pretty good earlier."

"Mhmm, you did," you murmur against Harry's back, your hands beginning to drift down his chest, fingers slowly caressing his soft belly, and the thatch of hair there. You almost miss the subtle stutter of his breath, drowned out by the steady cascade above your heads. "But I missed you and this..."

Harry lets out a soft groan when your hand lightly brushes against his cock, which has been stirring with interest from the moment your touch landed upon him. You grin at that, unseen by him, of course. You relish knowing how fast he gets worked up by you, from not doing too much at that either.

"Needy, needy girl," he cooes, thinking he’s in complete control here, just like always. Harry tries to turn around and face you, but you gently push forward, pinning him to the wall.

You keep your body flush against Harry’s to give him no room to move. He doesn’t fight it, though, which is more surprising to you than not. Perhaps he doesn’t make an attempt because your fingers are now wrapped around the girth of his cock, choosing to surrender to baser urges rather than delay relief.

But then again, you know Harry. You know he likes it when you show him what you want. When that bold confidence of yours doesn't shy away from him, acting as though you're worth more than his wealth and yours combined. It's what drew him to you when you first met at some glitzy gala in Manhattan neither of you wanted to attend in the first place. Maybe you taking the lead for a change is turning him on more than he anticipated.

“Fu-uck, baby. That’s it,” Harry grunts, rough and ragged. He leans forward, bracing an arm against the shower tile as you continue pumping his length with long, steady strokes from behind. His hand finds your other resting low at his hip, and he laces his fingers with yours, his grip tightening, grounding— you’re not entirely sure if he was holding back or barely holding on.

Slick from the coated mix of water, soap, and his own arousal, your hand moves up and down Harry’s shaft, hot and heavy, effortlessly. You see the way his head dips down to watch you work him over with such practiced and devastating ease. Every drag of your closed palm, every twist and tug and squeeze, unravels him in a way that he can’t and won’t stop.

Harry’s close. You’re well acquainted with his body at this point to be sure of that. You can feel it with each broken breath pushing past his lips, in the slight shiver beneath his skin, the tight rise and fall of his chest. How his hips jerk into your fist with small, shallow, desperate thrusts, a string of curses and praises muttered low along with your name.

There's something thrilling about having Harry like this, teetering over the edge. You could draw it out, tease him helplessly. Leave him aching, begging, and trembling like he often does to you.

But you didn't come here for that. As much as it lit a hot, dangerous fire within you, you wanted Harry to fuck you. You wanted the throbbing cock in your hand back inside you, to quell the ache that no fingers, mouth, or toys could ever do.

Your rhythm falters, then eventually stills. Harry is quick to react, a sound caught in his throat— half-protest, half plea. He inhales sharply, body tensing when he’s pulled back from the very brink. His head lifts from the tile where he’d rested it, and he glances over his shoulder to meet your hazy eyes.

The heat in his gaze is dark, searing, and hungry, as if he doesn’t at all appreciate the fact that you’ve stopped so abruptly.

“Not gonna finish what you started, baby?” Harry pants, his hand reaching down to drape over your fingers that remain loosely curled around the base of him. He twitches against the softness of your palm. “Didn’t think you could be cruel.”

“Cruel? Never. Well, at least not now anyway,” you reply, placing a kiss on the center of his spine. “I was hoping that you would finish inside me instead.”

“That can be arranged.”

You wring Harry’s cock with one last slow pull, just enough to make him shudder, before letting him slip from your grasp. It’s only then that you take a step back, allowing him space to turn to you.

And when he does, you feel the power shift back to Harry. Something low in your belly coils so tight that it almost hurts. Your eyes drag over him without an ounce of shame— flushed, gorgeous, and hard.

Fuck, Harry is so hard, his tip swollen and a shade or two darker. Just one look at him and your pussy clenches around nothing, begging to be filled. He notices this, notices how your thighs press firmly together from the mere anticipation, your eyes locked in a silent, electric exchange.

Then all at once, Harry’s mouth crashes onto yours, fierce, bruising, and urgent. The force of which nearly causes you to stumble if it hadn’t been for his steady grip settling on your waist. His other hand slides behind your head, angling you perfectly for him to deepen the kiss, his tongue insistent and greedy as it dives past your lips in a hungry sweep.

He doesn’t slow down, not even as he backs you against the cool tile of the wall. The shower stream hits only Harry now, his body shielding you from it, the heat of him replacing the warmth of the water on you.

Harry’s lips break away from yours, dragging them across your cheek, along the line of your jaw. He continues down onto your neck, his mouth moving with a purpose; teeth grazing lightly, nipping and sucking against your tender flesh until it undoubtedly leaves a bloom of color— you feel it, even if you can’t see it.

“So fucking beautiful… and all mine,” Harry rasps, the words meant for you, but just as much for himself.

You see his throat work as he swallows, his large hand skimming up the curve of your waist, thumb brushing gently under the swell of your breast. His heavy-lidded eyes take in every inch of you before him, as if this is the first time he’s ever seen you bare, wet, and wanting— like he’s looking at something so sinfully holy.

“Yours,” you whisper, and hearing it hits Harry like a live wire.

Because suddenly he’s surging forward, his mouth claiming yours again with kisses that are all messy and consuming, that leave you with no room to breathe.

Your head starts to spin, and your knees buckle from the intensity. But Harry's there, trapping you between his chest and the shower wall, keeping you upright, fully flushed against him.

Harry only breaks away from your lips when you arch your back slightly, rolling your hips against his. He lets out a groan, rough and guttural, his breath hot and uneven as it fans over your face. You rock against him once more, and he hisses at the sensation— at the sweet friction he gets from each grind against your pelvis. His warm, glistening precum smears across wherever it can reach.

“Feel that, baby?” Harry husks as your eyes drop to where the rigid line of his cock ruts between the two of you. “That’s all you. You did that. Made me so hard…fuck I can’t even think anymore. I need you— gotta have you."

A hand then comes into view, trailing from your waist to your hip, and then dipping lower and lower until he’s palming your sex, groaning low when he finds the slick mess pooling down there.

“God, you’re soaking wet. Haven't even touched you properly yet. All this from jacking me off, hmm?”

You answer with a breathless whimper when Harry leisurely drags two digits through your slit, gathering your arousal onto his fingers. Your gaze follows as he lifts his hand to his mouth, sliding those fingers covered in a thin sheen of desire between his lips, sucking and savoring the essence that is purely you.

He hums in satisfaction. "You taste so sweet, darling. Wish my legs weren't shot, ‘cause I'd go down on you right here, right now."

A renewed rush of heat spreads under your skin as you’re reminded of how unbelievably good Harry is at eating pussy. It’s earth-shattering each and every time. He listens to your body, knows exactly what to do and when to give it to make you come undone easily. You love it mainly because he’s not just going through the motions like your exes used to. No, not him. Harry will happily bury his face between your legs as if he’s a starved man.

Any and all thoughts in your head dissolve the instant the pad of Harry’s thumb brushes over your clit, sending a jolt straight to you. He holds your gaze, watching the pleasure ripple through your expression. His tongue flicks over his bottom lip to chase the lingering taste of you as he continues the tender assault on your sensitive bundle of nerves that soon has you writhing beneath his touch.

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly he’s gotten you to this point. How he’s not even inside of you yet, and if you let him, you could cum just like this. But you’re so wound up, so desperate to be filled more than anything that you don’t want that. You don’t want to prolong this. You couldn’t wait any longer.

“Want—want more, Harry, shit… fuck me. Please, fuck me,” you plead to him, and he stops, his fingers immediately pulling away, and damn it, is this how it felt for him when you took your hand off his cock just like that?

Harry flashes you a knowing smirk, but he doesn’t leave you hanging for long, though. He kisses you once more, this time unhurried. Softer. Much, much softer now, like he's kissing you simply because he wants to feel your lips on him again, to get his fill of it before his hands rest on your hips, gently coaxing you to turn and face the tiled walls behind you.

“Bend over a little for me, sweetheart. Hands on the wall— good, just like that. That’s my girl.” Harry guides you into a comfortable enough position, his voice thick as he speaks, nearly strained as though it bears the weight of his own arousal. He smooths his hand down the length of your spine, coasting along the curve of your ass where he squeezes the soft skin of it.

You hold your breath believing it might keep you from falling apart due to impatience, waiting for the heavy press of him against your entrance, the raw slide of hard flesh that makes you squirm at the intrusion. And it does. You feel the familiar flare of pressure as something sinks into you— a finger.

Then, another.

Harry couldn’t help himself. How could he when your dripping pussy is staring straight at him? Two of his fingers don’t fill you the same way his cock would, but at least your wishes have been granted somewhat.

Selfishly, you want more. Not this. More.

But when those two, thick digits delve in as far as they would go, it shuts you up long enough to get lost in the sensation. Harry doesn’t rush, and you’re too distracted by his skilled fingers working inside of you to protest. He crooks them just right, just enough that he’s pushing up against that spongy spot of yours that has you keening.

“Wanna make you come on my hand, my darling. Love the way you squeeze my fingers when you do.”

You shake your head deliriously. “On your cock, baby. I need your cock, been needing it so bad ever since I woke up.”

“You sure? We got all the time in the world for that—”

“Fuck me with your cock, Castillo,” you cut Harry off with a near growl, drawing an amused chuckle out of him. “Fuck me right now, or I swear I’ll just find somebody else—”

Your unserious threat is swallowed by the whine escaping you when Harry withdraws his fingers. Before you could recover from the loss, he’s gliding his length between your wet folds, the very tip of his cock nudging your swollen clit. The sudden contact makes you gasp and sway, your footing slips for a second, but his hands on your waist keep you firmly in place.

“Harry, please. Enough—no more teasing.”

“Shhh, it’s alright,” Harry croons, his hips shifting back the slightest, and you know what’s coming next. You’re sure of it this time. “Gonna take care of you now. Need you just as bad. Relax for me, baby.”

You suck in sharp breath, fingers flexing against the wall as the thick head of Harry's length breaches your cunt at last. He eases himself inside of you, inch by inch, so agonizingly slow that it drives you mad. He doesn't do this out of cruelty, but rather with a tenderness, making sure that he doesn't hurt you even if it feels like he's splitting you in half.

“F-Fuck honey, this pussy’s so tight for me,” Harry mutters through gritted teeth when he finally bottoms out, his fingers digging into your hip, allowing a few moments for you to adjust.

The stretch of him, the fullness Harry brings— fuck, it’s everything you’ve been aching for and more. You can’t explain how it’s possible, but somehow he feels even better right now. Maybe it’s from the build-up, the angle he’s got you in, or the way the warm air clings to your damp skin, amplifying every touch, every spark he sets alight within you.

Whatever it is, it has the nerves in your body pulsing to life, like a hot electric current running through your veins.

Harry holds onto your shoulder with one hand, the other splayed across your waist, and he starts to move inside of you. His thrusts are slow at first, deep and deliberate, reaching a depth that has your walls helplessly fluttering around him.

And he feels it, too. You know he does, because his pace picks up, knocking the air out of your lungs. His grip clamps down on you, not so much to maintain your balance this time, but to pull you back onto his cock as he pushes in, as if he couldn't get close enough.

"Fuck—don't stop. Just like that. Please, don't you dare fucking stop," you cry out, voice frayed at the edges. Your mind scatters with each snap of Harry's hips, which seemingly have grown much harder at your words, hitting the sweet spot that he had teased earlier over and over again.

“Never, baby,” he chokes out. “Never gonna stop. Feels too fucking good.”

The noises trapped within the walls are filthy and obscene. There's the wet, rhythmic squelch of Harry's cock driving into; the frantic slap of the front of his thighs against the back of yours. The lewd symphony of your strung-out whines and his deep, throaty groans.

If Harry had neighbors, they would have certainly loathed him. And you. Mostly you, with your loud, unabashed moans from being fucked into oblivion in every room, on every surface of his home.

“M’close, Harry,” you tell him as the burning warmth in your core begins to crescendo towards your peak.

Harry lets out a hiss when your cunt tightens its walls around him, like it's warning him of your fast-approaching climax in case he hadn't heard you the first time. "Keep squeezing me like that darling, and you're gonna make me cum too."

Your legs shake as Harry pounds into you with reckless abandon, his control slipping away as he chases his own release. But he won’t allow himself to fall before you do. He makes sure of that once his fingers land on your delicate clit, rubbing in tight circles, trying to time with his increasingly sloppy thrusts.

Glancing over your shoulder, you arch your spine as much as you can until his chest brushes against your back. Harry nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, his scruff on his lower jaw scraping roughly against your skin.

“Need you to cum for me—fuck, baby cum now,” he urges, his tone wrecked, his restraint obvious. He’s right there with you on the edge, not letting go. Not yet. He couldn’t, wouldn’t.

But you do. You cum for Harry, the tension in your body snapping and unraveling all at once. You couldn't speak, not that any coherent thoughts were forming in your head. Not when the waves of pleasure come crashing down on you one after another, after another.

You barely hear the strangled groan behind you, nor register the way Harry’s hips stutter against you. Your pussy gushes around his shaft, clenching down on him hard, and that’s all it took. He buries himself to the hilt with a broken sigh of your name, his throbbing cock spilling deep inside of you, filling you up to the very brim.

Stillness passes over you and Harry. The shower is still running overhead, now the only sound in the room along with your tangled, labored breaths. He doesn’t pull out right away, and you’re glad he didn’t.

You allow this connection to remain for a minute or two more, before his softening length slips out without truly meaning to. A warm trickle of his seed slides down the inside of your leg, mixing with the rivulets of water on your skin, and you both share a hum at the sight.

Carefully, you shift your weight and turn, feeling the fresh new ache between your thighs. Harry’s heady eyes are already on you when you face him. His arms move instantly, pulling you flush against him, chest to chest, two hearts slowing down together to a calmer beat.

He kisses you tenderly, sweetly. The heat between you has now softened, like the burn of a fire that has settled into embers. It's moments like this where you look at Harry differently, as if he's not just a man you befriended after crossing paths one night, who, after finishing a bottle of Château Margaux, later became someone you seek out for relief.

Here, he’s… more. You don’t know how much more or why that is, and honestly, you’re terrified that this is currently crossing your mind.

“You okay there?” Harry asks quietly.

Pushing the confusing thought away, you're quick to nod and smile, brushing his wet hair back when it clings to his forehead. "Never better. Although, may I suggest investing in a shower bench? Could be helpful whenever we decide to fool around here."

He laughs lightheartedly. “Don’t worry, it’s already on my to-do list.”

“Good. It baffles me that your bathroom doesn’t already come with it, considering this penthouse cost you $12 million.”

“Why? Does your modest $5 million condo have one?”

“Duh, of course. It’s one of my non-negotiables. Makes shaving a lot easier, among other things.”

Harry shakes his head, eyes crinkling with amusement. “Guess that means we’re showering next at your place then.”

“I wouldn’t say no to that,” you reply with a soft chuckle. “You can see the benefits for yourself. Especially with your uh…”

You trail off, motioning to the healed scars running down the length of each of Harry's legs. He'd hidden them from you at first, choosing to have sex under the sheets, never letting you close enough to notice. But you did by accident some time ago, though you never asked where they were from. He's hesitant to share, still is, but you don't force him. You figure he’ll tell you once he’s ready, if and whenever that may be.

A gentle smile tugs at the corner of Harry’s mouth. “I’ll call up a contractor tomorrow. But for now, why don’t I wash you up before we head to bed?”

“You calling me dirty, Castillo?” You tease as he directs you closer under the spray of water. Undeniably, though, there’s something about the affection in his tone and his offer that has your heart stumbling.

“You are,” Harry smirks, taking his shampoo bottle from the nook and squeezing a generous amount of it into his hand. “You crashed my shower because you woke up horny. Almost got me off with just one hand, then you were begging to get fucked by my cock.”

You moan softly from both his retelling of events and the feeling of his hands in your hair, fingers lathering the shampoo into your scalp. Your eyes flutter shut as he massages your head, swaying just slightly from the motion of his hands.

The scent of cedar wood floods your senses—god, you’re not sure how you’ll make it through the entire day tomorrow smelling like Harry, feeling like you’re still wrapped in him completely.

“You always do this?” You question low, eyes peeking open after thoroughly rinsing the suds out of your hair. “Wreck a girl’s pussy then bathe her gently after?”

Harry reaches for the body wash. “Only you.”

You had half-expected him to give you a witty remark, but what came out of him instead carried a certain tenderness that’s becoming more and more familiar. It leads you to speculate whether he notices that, too.

A new kind of shiver sweeps down your spine as Harry glides his now soapy hands over you. He starts at your shoulders, moving down to your arms, then across your chest. There’s so much care when he circles your breasts, touching them not out of lust, but with something very sincere. Intimate. He later bends down a bit to reach the inside of your thighs, brushing clean the remnants of your mixed release there.

By the time Harry rinses you one last time, your chest aches in a way that has nothing to do with sex, but everything to do with him.

“This feels… oddly domestic.” The words tumble out unintentionally as Harry switches the shower off. You wait too long to take it back, and you can’t explain what you mean by that either.

You might have offended Harry when he doesn't respond right away, just pushes the shower door, and grabs a towel hanging nearby. He spends the stretch of silence drying you off before he bundles the cotton fabric around your body, tucking it at your chest.

Afterwards, he steps out of the stall, reaching for a second towel to quickly pat himself dry. He wraps it low around his hips and shifts back to you, extending a hand out, palm up. His fingers close gently around yours, guiding you forward— out of the warmth and into the cool air that raises goosebumps on your skin.

Then came his voice, much softer than you’re used to. The sound of it twists in your gut. “You didn’t like it?”

“No, I mean— yes. Yeah, I liked it. It was really… nice,” you ramble, struggling to find the right words to say here. But your answer was the truth. “Sorry, just not used to it, that's all.”

“Me neither,” Harry whispers. There’s a flicker of understanding in his warm gaze, and it swirls with something that you couldn’t quite pin a name to, or perhaps you’re simply not ready to. “It felt… nice. Doing that—for you.”

You fall into silence once more, though this time it rests lighter on your shoulders. A smile blossoms across your lips when you notice Harry still staring at you, looking as if you’re not a luxury, but a rarity—the one thing in this world his money can’t buy.

The lines between the two of you are blurred now. At least to you, they were. You wonder at what point it all changed. Or maybe it had been a slow, gradual shift, and it's only begun to catch up to you.

Either way, you and Harry were never meant to be this close. Purely sex, that was the deal. But now…

Now, he’s kissing you again, each brush of his lips demanding nothing more than you can give. You can taste the faintest trace of you on his tongue when he weaves it into your mouth, coaxing a pleased sigh from you that he drinks in without pause.

Then, Harry pulls away for a breath, his forehead resting against yours. You couldn’t remember what you’d been thinking or why it even mattered. Your mind, so noisy several moments ago, has gone blissfully blank.

You know without a doubt that it’s all because of him.

“Is this too much?” Harry asks, the weight of the question hanging in the air.

"No," comes your answer. You say the following words almost as if they hold something fragile. "It's perfectly enough for me."

Soft and slow, you press your lips to Harry’s again—and it would make you the richest woman on earth if you could just stay this way for as long as he’ll keep you close.

—