I Like Those Odds

I've been home for 20 min. What took you so long?

Then...

??

You roll your eyes and burrow deeper into your covers.

I thought you'd text me sooner. I left almost 40 min ago.

You wait anxiously for Joel to reply, staring at your screen for the words to appear. Truthfully, you have no idea what you even want him to say, just that you want to keep him talking.

I had no idea what to say

You grin and before you can reply, another text comes through.

Still don't

Butterflies bloom in your stomach as you type out your response.

Where are you?

It takes less than thirty seconds for him to answer: bed.

You're thinking about me in bed?

You can practically hear his heavy sigh from across the city.

We can't do that again, I told you

Do what?

Don't play dumb darlin - you know what

I just asked a question.

Your old man's got a shotgun in his basement, I've seen it

Your shoulders sag and you relent.

Ok ok.... it won't happen again and I won't breathe a word of it to anyone. Promise.

Good

And you think that's the end of it. After you don't reply to his last text and he doesn't add anything further, you roll over to switch off your lamp and you do your best to focus on falling asleep without thinking of Joel's deep brown eyes gazing up at you while you ride him, all hazy and filled with desire. You quickly find it's impossible not to and it has you tossing and turning while trying to ignore the fresh ache growing between your legs. You skirt your hand down past your sleep shorts with a frustrated huff when, to your delight, your phone lights up again.

What are you wearing?

---

It's Friday, fucking finally. Your entire week at work had been shit. You made one tiny mistake that ended up costing you three hours to fix, a mistake you don't normally make and you just know it's because you've been distracted.

It's been two weeks since you've gone to visit your dad, meaning it's been two weeks since you've laid eyes on Joel. That night you shared should have slowly become a distant memory, but instead you found yourself texting him every single day, making it impossible to forget. Sometimes it was innocent enough, but at one point or another the conversation always turned flirty, which then turned heated, which then evolved to one of you giving in and calling the other so you could whisper filth into the phone with your fingers stuffed inside your pussy, but no matter how much you try, you're never able to get as deep or make yourself feel as good as Joel did.

It's driving you crazy.

So when you arrive home from work Friday afternoon and throw your car into park, you're too distracted to notice a familiar pickup truck parked on the street. To be fair, you live above a restaurant, so there's often cars parked along the street. You've learned to block it out. But when you go to open your door only to find it already unlocked, your heart stutters in your chest and you glance around. That's when you spot your father's truck and you roll your eyes.

"Dad?" you call up the stairs from down below.

"Yeah, honey, up here!"

You close the door behind you and trudge up the stairs, dodging various pairs of shoes you store on the end of each step. Right when you turn to enter your kitchen, you hear your father talking and laughing with someone. You don't have much time to wonder who it is because then you hear his voice, all low and velvety smooth. The very same voice that just the night before was telling you through the phone how much he missed your perfect, soft pussy and then begged you for a picture.

It suddenly became impossible to breathe.

"Hey, Kiddo," your dad says when he steps out of your bedroom. He's carrying large cardboard pieces to the stairs and sweat coats his face. "Me 'n Joel are puttin' your new bed frame together. Almost done."

Him and Joel. Joel. Putting together your bed. Joel is in your bedroom.

Your skin feels like it's on fire and your blood is pumping so fast, it makes you lightheaded.

"Uh, w-what new bed frame?" you stammer, forcing yourself to move out of his way.

"The one I promised for your birthday," he calls over his shoulder from your stairwell. Your eyes rake across the kitchen towards your open bedroom door, but Joel is nowhere to be seen. "Sorry it took so long but I told ya I'd get to it."

"Oh," you say, "uh, t-thank you. You didn't - um - you didn't have to do that."

Your dad emerges from the stairs and your gaze sweeps back over to him.

"Sure I did. It's your birthday present. 'Sides..." He awkwardly rubs the back of his neck and looks to the floor when he says, "felt bad 'bout our fight. Wanted to make things right, check in on ya. Miss seein' you 'round."

"Oh, Dad, it's fine. I'm not mad anymore, I've just been busy with work and stuff," you say. He looks down at your work clothes: a thin blouse half tucked into an off-white pencil skirt and heels.

"Look so grown up," he murmurs softly. You give him a small smile and shrug, temporarily forgetting Joel is just in the next room until your dad says, "Don't my little girl look all grown up, Joel?"

Joel's standing in the doorway to your bedroom, staring at you across the kitchen. You swallow and tighten your fingers around the edge of your counter and you fucking pray your father doesn't read the hungry look in Joel's eyes when he slowly and appreciatively sizes you up and down.

"Yeah," he finally says, voice only a little gravelly. It could be innocent, but you knew better. He clears his throat and tries again. "Look real grown up."

You give him a smile, one you hope looks natural. "Thanks, Joel."

Your dad snorts and crosses the kitchen, heading back towards your bedroom to finish your bed frame. "Callin' him Joel now? Since when?"

Joel locks eyes with you and you see it. You fucking see that heated look he gives you, letting you know exactly what he's thinking about: you, grinding down on his lap and whispering little teases in his ear while calling him Mr. Miller.

"Oh, uh, I-"

"I told her to," Joel says over his shoulder once your dad disappears into your bedroom. Joel's eyes remain firmly pinned on you when he adds, "She's grown now 'n all."

Your eyes widen and you shoot him a look, but Joel just grins and turns back around, back into your fucking bedroom, to help your dad finish up.

Your head spins. This is not the way you wanted Joel in your apartment for the first time. You tiptoe in your heels to peek inside your room, where your father is sprawled out on your carpet with a wrench and Joel is holding your new padded headboard in place. Your dad is murmuring to himself as he focuses on securing the headboard to the rest of the frame but all you can focus on are Joel's massive hands curling around the beige fabric. You bite your lip and lean casually against the doorframe, allowing yourself to fantasize about Joel's grip on that headboard while he's pounding into you over and over and-

"I'm gonna order some pizza!" you exclaim suddenly. Your dad pauses and looks at you curiously but Joel just smirks. There's no possible way he didn't see right through you. Not with that smile and the way his cheeks tinted.

"Alright," your dad says slowly before focusing back on his work. You hurry into the kitchen and place an order from the restaurant downstairs, then anxiously look around. You're lucky your place isn't messier. At least your laundry is put away and the only dishes in your sink are from breakfast.

Still in your work clothes, you wander over to check your fridge, delighted to find that you have a few cans of beer left over from your friends.

In your bedroom, you hear your dad tell Joel he's all done. You hear shuffling and you imagine they are putting your bed back against the wall because next, they pop out of your room and head towards your living room, where your mattress and boxspring are temporarily being stored.

Joel tosses you a wink as he trails after your dad and you have to turn around and do the dishes so they don't see how flustered you are.

Your legs press together when you hear Joel's familiar grunts from somewhere behind you while he and your father struggle to drag your boxspring and then your mattress back in place. You're scrubbing a plate so fucking hard, you're surprised it doesn't shatter in your hands because you can't stop thinking about Joel and all the things you'd let him do to you if your dad wasn't there at that very moment.

"- you listenin' to me?" your father's voice says, causing you to jump and drop your sponge.

"Huh?"

You look at him, trying to ignore Joel next to him as he sheds his flannel and plucks loosely at the black t-shirt underneath, unsticking it from his sweaty chest. Fuck.

"Said Joel's gonna take the trash out and I'm gonna go grab that pizza. How long they say it'll take?"

You blink, blood singing hot in your veins when you mumble should be ready soon, then slowly dry your hands on a towel while your father and Joel collect the trash from your bed frame to take down to the dumpster.

Your apartment is silent for a few minutes after they disappear outside, the only sound coming from your heart pounding steadily in your ears as you wait for the door downstairs to open again.

When you hear the squeaky hinges open and close, then the dull, slow thud of his footsteps climbing the stairs, you remain stock still at your sink. Your fingernails press so hard into the stainless steel, it's a wonder they don't break. You can't bring yourself to turn around when he steps through the door, back into your kitchen. He told you it couldn't happen again and you agreed, but your phone calls the last two weeks spoke otherwise.

Without saying a word, Joel's on you in an instant, spinning you around and crashing his mouth hungrily against yours, driving away that little voice in the back of your head that keeps reminding you just this once, just this once.

You nearly crumple in his arms, feeble fingers digging into his shoulders for something to hold onto. His tongue slips past your lips with a groan and his hands grab eagerly at your blouse, bunching up the fabric in his fists, too fucking crazed and desperate to feel you again.

You whimper and he swallows it down, big hands releasing your shirt to travel lower and grab at your ass confined in your tight skirt. His skin is slightly damp with sweat and he tastes so good and feels so warm that it has you guiding his hand to the zipper of your skirt, encouraging him to pull it down.

"Can't," he mumbles before latching his mouth onto your neck.

You're impatient. You rake your fingers through his tousled hair and he sighs against your throat.

"Y'smell so good," he says, body pressing against yours, pinning your back to the edge of the counter.

"Joel-" you beg, but he keeps talking and his hands keep searching, grabbing for any part of you he can find.

"Been half hard since I got here," he admits, the confession sending a shock of arousal straight through your stomach and down to your core. "Got any idea what it was like for me to be in that room, movin' that mattress, knowin' you were fuckin' yourself right there last night?"

You gasp and claw at his hair, his neck - anywhere - while his mouth drags down the column of your throat. He ruts his hips against your stomach and you squeak when you're reminded of just how fucking big and thick he is. You drop your hand and rub your palm against the soft denim, over his impossibly hard cock caged in his jeans, and you whine in his ear. A wordless plea.

"Can't," he says again, but his hips buck forward, chasing your hand. He pulls you closer, his teeth scrape your jaw, and then his lips are seared over yours once again, smearing whatever remains of your lipstick.

Joel gasps and breaks the kiss but keeps his hips firmly pressed into your palm. He looks down at you like he wants to swallow you whole, his brown eyes so dark they look nearly black. One hand lifts to get tangled in your hair as you both fight every impulse to tear each other apart right then and there.

"I'll ... I'll call you tonight-" he begins, voice sounding pained. You shake your head. His grip in your hair tightens.

"No, Joel, please," you beg. Not another phone call. If you didn't know any better, you sound as if you're on the verge of tears. He sighs and presses his forehead to yours, his wet lips hovering over your mouth when you say, "it's not enough. I need you. Please, Joel, I can't-"

The door downstairs swings open and you fucking fly apart. Joel's eyes, which were just filled with lust, now are wild with panic.

"Go to your bedroom, y-your hair and-" he waves his hand in front of his mouth and you hurry away as he's wiping the lipstick from his own mouth, closing the door behind you. A few seconds later, the door to your kitchen opens and you hear your father's voice. With trembling hands, you unbutton your blouse and unzip your skirt so you can change into more comfortable clothes while you hear plates being pulled from your cupboard. Your dad is telling Joel some story about the customer ahead of him in line who was asking every question under the sun about the ingredients in their sauce as you pull on a soft pair of leggings and an oversized shirt.

Before joining them for dinner, you tug a brush through your hair, taming the mess Joel's hand left behind, and wipe off the lipstick from your mouth and cheek. Once you think you look somewhat normal, although internally you might be on the verge of a fucking stroke, you take a shaky breath in and step out of your bedroom.

"Hey! There she is!"

You give your dad a weak smile and head for the fridge, avoiding Joel's eye but feeling his stare burning into your back.

"Here, I have a few of these," you say, grabbing the cans of beer and putting them on the table. "Some friend left them behind, I think."

Joel is sitting at your small, round kitchen table next to your father with an untouched piece of pizza on his plate. Meanwhile, your dad is nearly halfway through his first slice. You pull a glass from your cupboard and fill it at the sink, using the opportunity to take deep breaths and calm your nerves.

Unfortunately, when you turn around, Joel locks eyes with you and you feel as though you may melt into the floor. His fists clench tight on the table and you wouldn't notice unless you were looking for it, but his chest rises quicker than usual and there's a pink tint to his cheeks.

You sink into the chair across from him and shakily pick a piece of pizza from the box. You're hungry but you're so fucking turned on, it's hard to think about anything else. The pull between your legs is so uncomfortable, it has you shifting your weight in your seat while you take a few small bites of food. Joel must be feeling similarly because out of the corner of your eye, you finally see him slowly unfurl a fist and pick up his pizza.

"You seein' someone?"

Your eyes snap up to your father and you freeze. "What?" you ask breathlessly.

He points to the beers before grabbing one and cracking it open.

"You said a friend left 'em. You seein' someone new?"

Your throat closes up. You shake your head and take a bite of pizza so you can avoid elaborating. Across from you, Joel stiffens but remains silent. Your dad chuckles and he elbows Joel, snapping him out of his trance.

"'Member when we'd sit on the porch, waitin' for her dates to bring her home?"

"That only happened, like, twice," you mumble.

"Boys need'ta learn early on not to mess 'round and have some manners. Kept 'em in line," your dad continues, grabbing another piece of pizza. "Say the word and I can do it again-"

"How about you, Dad?" you ask, cutting him off. You can practically feel the tension radiating off Joel's shoulders from the direction the conversation was heading, and you need to put a stop to it. "Are you seeing anyone?"

The distraction is sufficient. Your dad launches into a ten minute monologue about his dry dating life while you and Joel do your best to act interested. The last fucking thing you want is for your dad to scare Joel off by reminding him of his fierce, protective side. Like he isn't already aware.

But perhaps you were too late because after they both finish eating and say their goodbyes, Joel can't look you in the eye. Something tells you that it isn't because he's trying to hide his attraction for you. You can't put your finger on it. Something about his body language and energy just seem... off. And then sure enough, hours later when you are distracting yourself with television after sending Joel multiple unanswered texts, you think your suspicion is correct.

---

A loud pounding on your door wakes you from a deep sleep. You startle awake with your heart in your throat. Your television is still on, forgotten, just like your phone buried somewhere in your sheets. You stumble out of bed after another knock that threatens to bring down the entire building and squint at the microwave to check the time.

Just past two in the morning. What the fuck?

You are about to go downstairs when logic prevails and you go to your window, instead.

The only car on the street is Joel's truck, right in front of your building.

Shit.

You fucking race to your bathroom and gargle with mouthwash for about three seconds. As you are hurrying down the stairs, you comb your fingers through your hair, hoping you look decent enough but knowing deep down it wouldn't really matter.

When you open the door, a shiver shoots down your spine.

"Joel," you barely get out before his crowding you, pushing you up against your stairs, mouth already devouring yours as he kicks the door shut behind him.

You curse, but it's muffled. His mouth is hard and insistent against yours, almost like he's angry, but not at you. His hands scan your body, over your pajamas, your face, your exposed skin, while his tongue explores your mouth. It's familiar now, for you both, under the cover of night once again, where your secret can remain safe.

It's a miracle you make it up the stairs without falling. You don't remember his mouth or hands ever leaving you as you stumble through your kitchen and into your room.

The television still plays in your otherwise dark room. Flickering lights dance across the walls, soft syndicated laughter is registered in the back of your brain. He untangles one hand from your hair and the other he pulls from underneath your shirt, then he takes a step back. You both drag in air, panting and studying each other's faces. His cheeks look flushed and your skin feels just as hot. Hair equally wild. The energy between you is palpable, crackling like electricity.

"Thought you got scared off," you say, breaking the silence. He blinks.

"Why?"

You shrug, already wishing you had waited til later to bring this up.

"You seemed weird when you left."

His throat bobs and he shakes his head, then his gaze shifts to your chest before finding your eyes again.

"Just needed to get the hell outta here 'fore he noticed somethin' was goin' on."

You nod slowly. Oh. So maybe you're a little paranoid. It doesn't explain the unanswered texts, but you don't feel much like talking anymore.

You dip down, crawling backwards onto your bed and whisper his name, dropping your head onto your pillows with a sigh, then fight back a smile at the greedy way his eyes rake up and down your body.

"Come here," you say quietly. You reach your arms out and wiggle your fingers. His dark eyes lock with yours and you grin.

His hands fall to his belt and warmth pools low in your stomach, deep between your legs. You squirm impatiently when he slowly slides the leather through his belt loops.

"Just..." he begins, pausing when you sit up to toss your shirt over your head, leaving your chest bare to him. He swallows hard and continues. "Just one more time."

You would have agreed to anything in that moment, so you nod while he pushes his jeans down to the floor before lowering himself to your bed. He crawls over you and your legs spread so his hips can settle there, pressing against your aching cunt. His arms tuck underneath your shoulders and just the weight of him pressing against your chest and pushing your legs apart is so fucking exquisite that it has your own hips circling for friction. You moan into his mouth when his lips find yours again and everything feels right, so fucking right, that tears burn the back of your eyes.

"Bad girl," he murmurs against your lips. Your fingers card through his thick, wavy hair and you smile. "Textin' me when I'm out with your old man. Coulda got me killed."

"You - what?" you breathe, tipping your head back so he could leave wet, open mouthed kisses along your throat. He sucks a little mark over your pulse point and then his lips find yours again before answering.

"Went out for a few beers after we left," he says while tilting his head to the opposite side. His tongue glides back inside your mouth and you taste it now, the remnants of the drinks he had earlier. Your fingers in his hair tighten. Relief washes over you.

You decide to ignore how obviously desperate you are for Joel's attention - something you know is a bad sign. Instead, you sigh and rut your hips upwards a little harder, pulling a low groan from his throat.

"Did you have fun?" you ask with a teasing grin. He picks up on it and growls, then palms your hip, squeezing the soft skin there, pulling you closer.

"Not as much fun as I'm havin' now."

You giggle when he pinches you and you try to squirm away, but you're still pinned helplessly underneath his broad frame.

Joel laughs, too, before leaving a trail of gentle kisses across your chest. It feels so loving and sweet that it has your breath catching in your throat even before his mouth latches onto your breast, tongue teasing your nipple with a satisfied hum before doing the same to the other.

"I missed you," you whisper boldly, pulse thrumming fast in your throat as you wait for his response. Is it too much? Maybe. But it's true.

"Was just here a few hours ago," he says. You roll your eyes.

"Not what I meant."

Joel sighs and rests the side of his head against your chest. You're absolutely certain he can hear how fast your heart is racing. He wraps his arms around you a little tighter when he admits, "Me, too."

And it's enough, for now, to know he craved you the same way you craved him.

His hand skids down your bare side, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake, until one finger hooks around the lace edge of your panties and gives them a playful tug. You pull your lower lip between your teeth and lift your hips so he can slide them and your shorts down your legs.

You become very aware you are stark naked underneath Joel Miller for the very first time while he somehow still has on his t-shirt and boxers. He pushes off the mattress and looks down to admire you all sprawled out for him and you feel a rush of embarrassment. That is, until he says-

"So fuckin' beautiful."

His voice is soft and filled with so much awe that you just might believe him. His gaze skims every inch of your exposed skin: your arms, your waist, your thighs. Like he's trying to memorize every little thing he sees.

"I want you," you gasp when his fingers delicately graze the inside of you leg. His deep brown eyes lift and he smirks when his fingers trail closer and closer to where you need him most.

"Yeah?" he asks. His voice sounds deeper and your legs begin to shake. His fingertips brush over your slit and you gasp again, body writhing on your bed - the bed he helped fucking build. You nod and lift your hips.

"Please."

Joel tuts and pushes one thick finger through your folds. He circles over your entrance but doesn't go any further. He just slowly slips his finger through your pussy, dragging it up, up, up until he's pressing down on your clit and you're moaning his name with your eyes squeezed shut.

"This what you want?" he breathes, arousal evident in his voice. You nod enthusiastically, chest heaving as he continues his slow, torturous route. Then he removes his finger and you whine in protest until your eyes reopen. He slips his finger into his mouth with a quiet groan, eyelids fluttering and you imagine his tongue swirling around, collecting your slick and swallowing it down.

You're afraid you may go insane if he doesn't fuck you soon.

"Joel-"

"I gotta- fuck," he moans before dropping onto his hands and settling his shoulders between your thighs. He pushes open your legs, spreading you wide so he can admire your glistening cunt up close. His teeth nip your inner thigh but his eyes remain glued to your center. "I gotta taste you, darlin'," he says, and it's amusing how he actually sounds filled with regret when he says it. You would have laughed if his lips didn't suction around your pussy a second later, tongue plunging through your folds just to flatten and circle your clit with the perfect amount of pressure to make your back arch off the mattress.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you moan his name. Your body is so wound tight, not only from earlier when he had you pinned against your kitchen counter with your father just downstairs, but from weeks without his touch.

"Can't believe how good this tight little pussy takes my cock," he mumbles, face buried between your legs, eyes closed.

Your thighs tremble underneath his hands, which are splayed wide, thumbs parting your lips to make way for his tongue. One of your hands snakes down to get lost in his messy hair, the other grips the sheets for dear life while Joel eats at your center with more enthusiasm than anyone else who has been in his position. By a mile.

His beard burns the inside of your thighs and in the back of your mind, you hope you'll still feel it in the morning. You're so desperate for any reminder of the way he tears you apart that you'll gladly embrace the discomfort.

Every time his warm tongue glides through your folds, he moans. Your face feels like it's on fire when you grind your hips onto his mouth, gasping and dragging in air like you're drowning. He seems to love it. Every roll of your hips causes him to squeeze the meat of your thighs, and when you whimper his name, all rough and needy, his tongue works even faster. He licks and sucks and moans into your cunt, and when he slides two thick fingers inside of you with ease, you curse and dig your heel into his back.

"Fuck," he whispers when he pulls his face away to catch his breath. He stares down at his fingers buried deep, watching the way you stretch for him, suck him in. His eyes go dark when a thick drop of your arousal slips down his fingers, pooling between his knuckles.

"Wish you could see the way this perfect pussy opens up f'me," he murmurs, still entranced.

You don't even think. Your mind is a hazy blur, heart thrashing in your chest at the way he holds you right on the brink of your release. So, you say, "Show me," and point to the Polaroid next to your bed.

Joel's eyes flicker, following your hand, and he grins.

You had been tinkering with it the past few days, trying to fix the blue marks that were showing up on all your photos. After cleaning the rollers and checking the expiration date on the film, you figured out a film shield was the answer and you had been taking test shots in your room since it had the best lighting.

Could he have taken pictures with his phone? Sure. But something about the way he handled the clunky camera with one hand was so fucking hot, you're eternally grateful you abandoned it on your end table.

He takes one picture, then two. The familiar whir of the rollers fills the air, drowning out the television behind him, then the photographs spit out, one at a time. You writhe a little when his attention gets drawn to the pictures and his hand between your legs stall. He waits about thirty seconds for them to develop, then without even showing them to you, he growls and drops them into the sheets. His mouth suctions over your pussy again and you gasp. He sucks and flicks his tongue over your clit while his hand pumps steadily into you, curling his fingers, making you nearly scream if it isn't for how fast and hard you're breathing.

"Joel-" you gasp, "Joel, I'm - I'm gonna -"

You struggle to finish your sentence but it doesn't matter. He knows. Joel hums between your thighs and works faster, devouring your cunt and dragging your orgasm out of you. Your body tenses and you cry out his name, but he doesn't let up. Not until your legs clamp the sides of his head does he remove his fingers to drink down every drop of your release, then he finally lets his jaw relax.

You're seeing stars. You have to be covered in sweat and you probably look insane, with your hair and eyes all wild while you lay there, completely fucked out.

He must enjoy it, though, because next thing you know he's covering you with his body once again. His lips are on yours and all you can taste and smell is you, but you aren't repulsed. In fact, you find you really fucking like it. When it's on him, when your taste and scent is mixed with Joel's, it's intoxicating.

"Shoulda done that last time," he rasps. He leans back to sit on his knees and tugs off his shirt, letting it fall somewhere on your floor. You blink and try to admire his bare chest while he's kicking his boxers off, but it's hard to focus. Then, just as fast as he sat up, he's back on you once again. His breath skips when he glides the tip of his cock through your folds, then rests against your opening. You're still struggling to come back to earth, body lax and sated and so fucking warm underneath him. He groans brokenly into your neck when he presses inside, reveling in how easily you welcome his cock now that he already worked you open with his mouth and fingers.

You make a soft noise and circle your arms loosely around his neck. There's no need to go as slowly as last time. You're so fucking soaked, you're more than ready for him, but he still takes his time. He holds your hip steady with one hand as he feeds you his cock, inch by inch, parting your walls and sighing against your dewy skin.

"Shit," he groans. His teeth pinch your throat when he bottoms out and you gasp. "This what you want? Needed my cock that bad?"

"Yes," you whimper, "Christ, Joel - yes."

He drags himself out and plunges back inside you with a rough grunt. Your legs fall open wider, giving yourself up to him entirely.

His beard is scratchy and it tickles your skin, making you shiver when his mouth traces the edge of your jaw. He fucks you slow and deep, like he wants to make it last, like he wants you to remember. Your lips find his shoulder and you leave a path of open mouthed kisses across his tanned skin. And when your tongue darts out to taste him properly, he groans and rolls his hips deeper.

It's perfect and intense and it's everything you could ever want.

"Jesus, look at you," he says. But you look up at him, instead. He looks how you feel - needy, wrecked, and desperate. Then his eyes fall between your bodies, where his cock slides in and out of you, coated in your arousal, and you groan when you see what he sees.

Look at us, you want to say, but you bite the words back. It feels like it's too much. But you think it. How could you not, when you seem to fit together so perfectly?

With his voice smooth and soft as velvet, he says, "Dirty girl... thinkin' 'bout me fuckin' you like this with your daddy in the room."

Your cheeks burn and you try to swallow, but your throat is too dry. When you meet his gaze, he looks different. He's worked up and his eyes are pitch black. His hips start to pound into you faster.

Your throat tightens.

"I- fuck," you choke out when he brushes up against a particularly sensitive spot. You try again. "Y-you're the one who kissed me whe-"

Joel chuckles and shakes his head, dark curls falling loose across his forehead.

"I saw the way you were lookin' at me 'fore all that," he goads, then leans down to nip at your earlobe before adding, "When we were puttin' together the bed. Tell me what you were thinkin' 'bout."

You whine and pitch your head back into your pillow. You can already feel your hips ache from how fast and hard he's fucking into you now. It has your breath stuttering and your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

When you take too long to respond, his mouth suctions over your breast. His teeth leave a sharp bite on your nipple and you yelp.

"Tell me," he says again. You shudder, breath too shallow and quick to answer, so you grab one of his arms and lift it above your head. You press his hand around the padded headboard and he gets it. The smirk he gives you is deadly when plants his other hand into the mattress for leverage.

Your legs wrap around his waist and he starts to slam into you. Each thrust knocks the air from your lungs. He pushes you further and further up the bed until the top of your head hits the headboard. Joel sees it and he drops to his elbow. The hand that was pushing into the mattress is now cupping the top of your head and you think you might implode from the way his arm curls protectively around you while the other is gripping your headboard so tight, you can see the tendons twitching in his wrist.

"Like this?" he grits out. You nod, mouth agape and brows furrowed. Tears spring to your eyes as you teeter on the edge. He sees them and kisses them away when they fall. Ultimately, it's the hours and hours of pent up frustration that have you coming so hard, your vision goes white. But it's the combination of how rough he's fucking you and how sweet he's holding and kissing you that has your cunt pulsing around his cock, dragging out your orgasm for what feels like an eternity.

"Fuck," he gasps. His fingers tighten around the crown of your head and you feel his bicep flex along the side of your face. "W-where? Where, baby?"

His voice sounds urgent but you still take a second to soak in the word baby before murmuring inside, just like before.

He doesn't hesitate. He comes a moment later, yanking on your headboard for support with a loud groan. You hear it rattle and you plant kisses on the underside of his jaw, hoping to melt away some of the tension being held there.

His hips flex forward erratically, each push paired with a heavy grunt until he finally stills. His hand drops from the headboard and his face tucks into the crook of your neck.

You feel his breath fanning across your sweat soaked skin and you close your eyes. There's no rush, this time. There's no risk. So you lay there and catch your breath with Joel's massive body pinning you into the mattress and heavy cock softening inside you.

"Goddamn," he murmurs in between light kisses to your collarbone. You hum and soothingly run your palms up and down his back with your eyes closed. He shivers when your nails graze his spine and he holds you a little tighter. You swear you could fall asleep, just like that.

Joel begrudgingly lifts himself up to slide out from between your legs. His eyes flicker with something dark when he sees his seed leaking out of your spent cunt, but he blinks it away and rolls onto his back with a tired groan.

"Just need a second and I'll get goin'," he assures you. His forearm is thrown over his closed eyes and you take the opportunity to study his broad chest and soft belly in the glow from your television. God, he's so handsome. How did you not see it before?

"Why don't you stay?" you ask, voice raspy and thick. He peeks at you in surprise and drops his arm to his side.

"Yeah?"

You remember his comment last time, about his house feeling lonely, and it pulls at your heart. "Yeah," you say, shifting onto your side and wrapping an arm around his middle. You nuzzle into his chest and he drapes an arm around your shoulders.

"Okay," he says softly. "But next time, we're figurin' out a way f'you to stay at mine. Want you wrapped up in my bed, feedin' you breakfast."

"Next time?" you repeat, unable to keep the eagerness from your voice. "What happened to just this once?"

The hand drawing aimless circles on your arm stills.

"It... I - uh -"

You lift your chin and shoot him a sly smirk.

He rolls his eyes but you see the corners of his mouth twitch.

"Just go to sleep," he mutters. He sounds annoyed but you know better.

You close your eyes with a smile and his hand resumes stroking your arm.

Deep down, you know what you're doing is so much more complicated than what you're willing to admit within your four walls. Maybe you'll figure it out, maybe you won't. But neither of you are willing to think about that tonight. Because tonight, away from familiar, judgmental eyes, you're just two people seeking comfort in each other.

It was an innocent thing, really. The four-year-old had practically been bouncing on the balls of her feet, eyes wide and shining with excitement when she’d begged—‘Can we pleeeeease?!’—and who were you to tell her no?

You’d only be breaking one small rule of Joel’s, after all. One silly little admonition he’d made before leaving for work the first day you’d started babysitting for him. That had been over a year ago, and he hadn’t even sounded that serious when he’d said it. He probably wouldn’t mind if you bent the rule this one time at Sarah’s behest.

‘Don’t go in the computer room, please.’

Don’t use Joel’s desktop. Don’t rifle through any of the drawers in Joel’s office—it was a mess, but everything was in its place, according to him. Just don’t go in there.

But in exchange for Sarah agreeing to take her nap that day without protest, you’d promised to order her slime.

Purple, gooey, glittery, sticky stuff for her new collection.

You weren’t sure when the fuck putty had become the plaything of choice for kids in Pre-K, but you hadn’t been in a place to judge; whatever Sarah wanted to do, so long as it was safe for her to play with, was totally fine by you.

It was just one rule.

Surely if Mr. Miller knew how badly his daughter wanted the slime, he’d be fine with you booting up his computer once. That was what you kept telling yourself, anyway.

What kept humming through your mind as the desktop came to life and you toggled straight for Google Chrome.

Be quick, be quiet, it’s fine. It’s fine.

Purple goo—it was safe. Innocent. Completely justifiable.

What could the sweet, old, forty-something and forever polite Joel Miller possibly have to hide on this machine that made it wrong for you to buy this one simple toy?

You reached for the keyboard and inhaled a quick breath.

Then you typed one letter, and your heart nearly seized.

P…

…ornhub.com

It was the very first thing that appeared in the search bar.

You couldn’t unsee it. Instinctively, your hand clamped over your mouth, and your eyes widened. You couldn’t help but read the four URLs that immediately dropped down below the first; they were just so garishly inviting.

Hot, Naughty Babysitter gets POUNDED by her Boss!

Slutty Babysitter Gets Railed from Behind and Loves It

Big Dick Boss Gives Babysitter a Passionate Raw Fuck

‘I’ve Never Done This!’ Babysitter Deepthroats Cock

“Oh…my gosh,” you said, words muffled by your palm.

You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. It was just too bizarre, too far out of character, too unlike your boss.

The man had scarcely said ten words to you altogether that didn’t relate to your job in some way or another. He rarely ever engaged in casual confab, and he certainly wasn’t the type to flirt, or make you uncomfortable in the slightest. Frankly, in all the time you’d been babysitting, you always thought you were just…invisible to Joel Miller.

Not this. Never this.

You were still staring at the screen when you realized that you’d missed one URL title from the list. It was long.

It was the most unnerving one of all, you came to see.

Babysitter Lounging Poolside in Hot Red Bikini Gets a BIG Surprise—Her Old Boss Teaches Her How to FUCK

Your hand lowered from your face. It trembled, contemplating, before coming to rest atop the mouse.

Something about this seemed familiar. Strangely…off.

You couldn’t explain it, but your head and your heart and your hand gravitated to that one odd link in particular. You hadn’t even meant to move the mouse. Or press it with your finger. But there you went, following your instincts like some dumb, brainless ditz, and then the screen was changing. Going dark with the shift to an adult site before brightening anew with the thumbnail.

It was paused on one frame. Your jaw slackened.

The girl staring back from the scene was you.

Or looked exactly, uncannily like you anyway.

It was then that you noticed what she was wearing, too—what you guessed wouldn’t be on her body for long—and you glanced down to your own shoulder. Just like your on-screen doppelgänger, you were wearing the same bikini in a bright, cherry-red hue beneath your tank top.

You wore it under your clothes damn near every day, indulging in the Millers’ backyard pool more often than not, and even being allowed to swim there on the days Sarah had summer camp—Joel had been so obliging.

So accommodating and sweet.

You never thought he’d be seeking your fucking twin online on a porn site after watching you traipse around his property wearing it. Your gut clenched; you clicked.

“Hey, sweetheart! Everything go OK?”

The voice that rumbled through the speakers was low. Male. Vaguely paternal and with a hint of a Southern lilt.

You swallowed, knowing exactly where this was going.

You weren’t sure why you were even watching when you could already predict what would become of it. The camera panned over a body identical to yours; it landed on a face that was smiling and sweet and so like your own you almost had to question whether it might not be you after all. Had you somehow forgotten this secret porn alter ego in a bout of amnesia? You kept watching.

The girl bit her bottom lip and let out the phoniest giggle.

“Yes, sir. Perfectly fine. Do you like my new bikini?”

Be so fucking serious, you thought, critically.

Then you remembered it was porn, not an Oscar-winning film. You saw the camera tilt down to her tits, and you had to admit, she had a great rack. A bit nicer than yours.

For a beat, you wondered if Joel had thought the same.

You had to batter those thoughts away, because the next second brought a big, burly hand onto the screen. It reached for the girl with her perfect, perky breasts and it kneaded them softly. No further pretense or prelude was needed—they just jumped right in and let it happen, like this was a normal thing for a babysitter and a boss to do.

Maybe in some other universe it was. In a world where a girl your age could just smile, and bat her eyes, and let them roll back gently as a whimper crossed her lips and she begged him, ‘More, daddy, more!’ this was all okay.

The man squeezed the flesh harder. She whined, and he proceeded to push the red nylon aside and expose the whole expanse of her breast—and holy shit, even the nipple looked like yours. Your mouth opened wider, and for a moment, it was like you couldn’t breathe as you watched that old, sun-kissed hand fondle the breast of a girl who looked just like you. Who was peering up at a man who sounded almost like Joel, murmuring, ‘Attagirl.’

You’d heard your boss say that once.

It had been such a silly, off-handed thing that you doubted he even remembered saying it. But one time, you’d struggled to open the passenger door to his truck before he drove you home. Once you’d narrowly managed to pry it open and slide into your seat, he’d laughed and rumbled: ‘Attagirl.’ Your face had warmed.

Just like your cheeks were doing now, all hot and bothered and desperate to hear more. Presently, the man slid the top off of the girl’s chest, and her breasts hung freely. You could hear him groan behind the camera at the sight, and not too long after that, before he could reach to touch her tits again, she was crawling on her knees toward him. Shuffling easily and expertly across the lawn chair and undoing the belt, button, and zip of his pants in a matter of seconds. A hand smoothed over her head, and you could see her preen beneath his touch.

Before she’d even wrapped her lips around his cock, your stomach was churning. Your fingers were stirring from the mouse and moving gently—again, of their own volition, it seemed—toward the waistband of your own bottoms. It was sick, admittedly. So wrong to be wanting to touch yourself to the very same video your boss had indulged in himself, in the very same chair he had done the deed. But you couldn’t help it. Your fingers slipped under the the fabric of your shorts, then your bikini, then your throat let out the tiniest noise upon seeing a cock appear on-screen. It was abnormally large, of course.

Silently, you wondered if Joel’s might not look the same. Your stomach flipped as soon as the girl took it in her mouth, and your index and middle fingers landed on your clit. You barely needed to touch to feel a jolt of pleasure.

Her head bobbed up and down. You felt powerless to do anything else but rub. And circle. And moan the slightest bit when you saw her coat his length with her shiny spit.

You heard that your noises mirrored hers. You didn’t care. Really, it felt as though you were in a trance, and you couldn’t stop watching, or touching, until you’d had your fill. Like Mr. Miller had done himself. It was all too much.

Before you even realized it, five minutes had passed, the man and woman on-screen were shifting from oral to raw, penetrative sex, and you were nearing your peak. Right before the cock that had been lodged down the girl’s throat could slide into her wet, glistening cunt, you felt your stomach lurch. You rubbed harder, watching the fat and leaking tip of the man’s cock tease through her folds, and just as he was about to slide in and you could finally find your release…a door banged open downstairs.

You almost screamed.

As quickly as you could, you yanked your hand out of your pants and clicked out of that browser even faster. The second you heard footfalls on the steps, you scampered out of there. Half-sprinting, half-tip-toeing down the hall and toward the bathroom, before halting at the door. You made your presence known with one light stomp of your foot, pretending to be turning and walking out, and as soon as you did, Joel was right there. Staring.

Sweating.

Scrubbing at his face with one weary hand, before taking a rag and wiping it through his beard. He sighed heavily.

“Long day?” you chirped while trying to mask the panic.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Joel answered, voice wan, “How’s my little terror? Asleep? She give ya any trouble?”

Just asked me to buy her a toy online and inadvertently led me to find your internet Spank Bank archives full of women who look like me. Other than that, it was fine.

“I put her down about an hour ago. She was great.”

You forced a smile, and Joel seemed to believe it.

“Perfect. Need me to give you a ride home?”

“No, no, you should stay here with Sar—”

“‘S’alright. Tommy’s right downstairs.”

Of course he’d brought him home.

“No, really, I can walk. It’s fine—”

“Don’t be silly. C’mon, kiddo.”

Kiddo.

Kiddo.

The man had been jerking off to the thought of you for who knows how long, and now he called you ‘kiddo’?

You hated how arousing the nickname sounded from him

You despised yourself for rubbing your clit in his office.

Most of all, you loathed the way your panties had gotten wet the last time you’d climbed into his truck and heard that word crawl off of his old, drawling tongue: ‘Attagirl.’

Reluctantly, you nodded your head. You followed him downstairs and hoped the car door wouldn’t stick again.

He had to stop.

It was no longer a matter of ‘if’ but ‘when’ his dick would lead him straight off a cliff, and today, Joel was starting to think that precipice was looking extra nice. Tempting.

Almost as inviting as the divot he could see at the small of your back, glimmering with a couple hot beads of sweat under the midafternoon sun. He swallowed.

Sarah was at camp today. You’d had the time to yourself, and the weather was blistering hot, and of course, where else would you be but his backyard? He’d told you ad nauseum, ever since you started babysitting his kid, that his pool was open to you whenever you so chose to go.

Presently, Joel wished he could revoke that invitation.

Seeing how you were flipped on your stomach, body all soft and warm and splayed out on one of his deck chairs—wearing that fucking red swimsuit, of all things—Joel was left to ogle from his office window, and inside, he felt like a certified pervert. Arguably, he was. His old, worn hands had all but glided to find his mouse as soon as he’d sat down at his desk and saw you out there, and no sooner had his cursor found Chrome than his cock started to stir. He’d wanted to watch. If not you in all your bare, sun-baked glory, then surely the woman he could see getting her throat and cunt stuffed on his screen.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

Was he really that much of a gooner he couldn’t let his kid’s babysitter lounge outside without stroking his dick?

Shit. He had the bottle of lotion in one hand and the box of tissues in the other in no time at all. He ripped three free Kleenex aside and reached for his mouse once more.

He was pissed at himself. He toggled over to the Hub with a grunt, and in no time at all, had you pulled up.

Joel liked to pretend it was you, anyway.

If he couldn’t have the sweet young thing every swinging dick in this town would’ve killed to have himself, he could rub one out to a girl exactly like you. He could fantasize.

He could skip the video to 8:53 on the dot, as he always did, and he could rub himself raw. It wouldn’t take long.

He always fast-forwarded to that exact part, without fail, because she moaned like you then. He’d never forget it.

It had almost been six months since it happened, and he still remembered that sound as clear as day. You’d been hauling your backpack off the couch in the living room, having stuffed the thing full with more school supplies than you could feasibly carry, and Joel had been in the kitchen, unseen. You’d lifted the bag with effort, and once you had, you let out a soft but audible whine. You dropped the bag back down to your feet, and when you bent to try again, you’d moaned fully. It was like the stretch had made you feel good, or something. You’d huffed and managed to get the weight slung over your back with modest success, then left, but Joel had been changed. Too quickly had he retreated to his office and swore to find any clip where a moan sounded like that.

“Please! Feels like a fucking dre-e-e-e-e-eam—oh, OH!”

Granted, the dialogue was cheesy, but the sound after it was identical to the one you’d made. Joel repeated it.

He hadn’t even noticed, but he’d already lathered his hand and cock with lotion. He was scrubbing vigorously while your twin wiggled her hips and begged her co-star to put it in, to quit teasing her pussy like that, can’t you see I’m practically dripping for you, daddy? Look at it!

Unfortunately, Joel’s head was turned the other direction—away from the screen, and toward the window—watching you where you sat out on the lawn.

He stroked harder. He groaned.

You had just turned onto your back. Your tits looked incredible. Joel reckoned they’d look even better with his dick pushed up between them, and at the thought, his mouth watered. His lips were slightly parted, and he feared he might drool. What a sight he must have been then: jaw slack, lids heavy, cock in hand, and moan after moan bubbling out of his throat. He got closer to climax.

“Gonna teach ya, honey. Teach ya how to please a man.”

It wasn’t long after that that Joel heard the girl whine in pleasure—the man behind her had notched in the first inch and told her to behave—and meanwhile, he watched your chest rise and fall, rise and fall outside. It was calm. Unlike the girl being taught how to fuck poolside, you remained untouched. Spotless. Placid and serene while your hands picked up a magazine and began flipping through it. While Joel’s orgasm crested inside him, he wondered if you’d ever want to try something like that. Roleplay. Or would it be fake at all? Had you ever been touched by a man, shown the best ways to give and receive pleasure, or was it all brand new, like it was supposed to be for the woman on his screen? Joel panted, and he fucked his hand harder. He groaned.

“Oh, daddy, it’s so big! Feels so good going inside me!”

“You love gettin’ fucked by an older man, don’t you?”

“Yes, daddy, yes! Please don’t stop—oh, OHHH!”

Joel wanted to be the only older man you had.

If he wasn’t the first, he sure as fuck could be the last. Give you all the dizzying, euphoric feelings your body deserved and stretch you open gently for the taking.

He could teach you so much, ruin you for any oth—

Shit.

What the fuck was this asshole doing here?

At the back gate, he saw his neighbor Dieter.

The man strolled across the lawn, and Joel’s orgasm receded in a blink. He was walking right over to you.

No. No, no, no. Joel released his dick from its vice grip and felt the thing twitch in indignation. Meanwhile, the sound of skin on skin continued to flood his eardrums from out of the computer speakers, where the happy babysitter-boss duo was hitting a brutal pace. The girl let out one over-the-top shriek of pleasure, and Joel clicked pause. He toggled out of the browser. Then he redirected his gaze out the office window, where his own girl was being accosted by Dieter. His blood boiled with anger.

Who did this creep think he was? The man never so much as looked Joel’s way or approached his property unless it was to ask to be ‘lent’ some booze or else ask after some friend, relative, or coworker Dieter wanted to be introduced to—he was perennially unemployed and a fuckboy bachelor to his core. The last Joel had heard, he’d spent the last year in Los Angeles, or Paris, or some other too-big city to chase his singing and acting dreams

And here he was now, hitting on his poor, defenseless babysitter. Joel wouldn’t stand for that in any world.

Though his dick was still erect, it had softened some, too. His rage facilitated that, and him shoving his length back in his jeans, zipping it up, and all but punching the desktop off made it spongier still. He walked like he was mad at the floor beneath his boots. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling so defensive—he had just been rubbing one out to the sight of you less than five minutes ago—but now wasn’t the time for thinking. He had to act.

Protect, if he had to.

What if his neighbor wanted to go for a swim, too?

Joel would drown the man with his two bare hands if he so much as reached for your bikini-clad form. He stalked loudly down the hall and searched for a less sweaty shirt to wear, then some deodorant, then a comb. He peered in the bathroom mirror and saw his black-and-grey locks all out of sorts, and for a second, he contemplated taking a shower. You’d probably be able to smell his unsatisfied desire from outside. He looked, and felt, a bit unhinged.

Joel decided he didn’t care, before plodding downstairs.

Outside, you lay in the same position he’d seen you last. Your hand was shielding your face. You were smiling.

And beside you, Dieter was grinning even bigger.

Joel made a beeline down the porch steps, then across the lawn, like his life might’ve depended on it. Scowling.

“—but getting cast in Gladiator II would’ve been wild—”

Of course Dieter was yapping about his failed acting career. Of course. Joel could hear him drone on as he approached, though he didn’t register a word of what he said. Instead, he waved a hand. He feigned a calm tone:

“Dieter! How’s it going?”

And he slowed down, too.

Just as he drew in, his neighbor volleyed a look his way. Joel couldn’t miss how his smile twitched down a little.

“Joel.”

Accepting a cordial hand in greeting.

“Doing alright, how ‘bout yourself?”

Joel nodded fine, just fine and offered some offhand remark about not having seen him since last summer, and Dieter couldn’t resist the chance to puff up and mention a school he’d been attending. Joel didn’t hear it, or give a shit. His gaze was already trained on you. Your own flitted from Dieter, to Joel, then to Dieter again, and your lips were smiling kindly enough. You seem humored.

“Mr. Bravo just got back from Berlin,” you beamed.

Then Dieter met your look and shook his head.

“Dieter, sweetie, Dieter. Or Dee, if you want.”

Joel almost wanted to vomit in his mouth.

“Germany, huh? What brings you here?”

No sense in beating around the bush.

Joel meant to ask why Dieter was here, in his backyard, with his babysitter, of course. Why the fuck he was eyeing you like that, like your tits were two Emmys and the only way to earn it himself was to stare as long, and as hard, as possible. Joel cleared his throat instinctively.

Dieter blinked and cast a glance back to him.

“Oh, here. Yeah. I, um…I just wanted to see if you had that— that—” He snapped his fingers, “That leafblower.”

Leafblower?

He was so full of shit.

“My leafblower,” Joel repeated.

It was fucking July, for crying out loud.

Evidently, his neighbor didn’t seem to care. He met Joel’s gaze with an even look, and he nodded his head.

He doubled down: “Yeah, the leafblower. I’ve had some debris pile up in my yard since I’ve been gone, y’know.”

“Are you gonna be in Austin long? Or are you going back overseas once you’ve had that casting call?” you asked.

You cocked your head with genuine curiosity. Joel grit his teeth, but he tried not to let his discontent show anyplace else on his face. A muscle might’ve jumped when he saw how smugly Dieter smirked at your intrigue.

“Oh, I’ll be here long enough, don’t you worry,” he said.

That was it.

Joel gestured to the shed in the back corner of the yard, about to tell Dieter that the leafblower was in there, go knock yourself out, when his neighbor cut in once again.

“In the meantime, maybe I’ll have you babysit for me. I hate to steal Sarah’s pal, but maybe you can split your time between my place and Joel’s. What do you think?”

You blinked a little quicker, like you weren’t quite sure what to say at first. Joel took the chance to interject.

“You don’t have any kids, Bravo,” he practically growled.

“I know. I’ve got cats, though,” Dieter just grinned back, flitting a cheeky look to you. “And you have no idea how naughty those pussycats can get while a man’s away.”

That was really all Joel could take. He didn’t even let you answer; he just pointed to the shed and made a fist with his other hand at his side. His chest was heaving breaths.

“You and her can chat when she’s off the clock, how ‘bout that? Leafblower’s in the shed. Door’s unlocked.”

His words didn’t invite protest of any kind. Dense as he was, Dieter probably sensed that he’d ticked his neighbor off with the suggestive comment to his babysitter, and he backed away, both literally and figuratively. He bid a quick, cavalier goodbye with a shit-eating grin stretching his lips, and then he went to the storage shed and left.

You were still blinking, still creasing your brows tight, by the time the back gate had slammed shut behind him. You watched after him, teeth gnawing at your cheek.

“He seemed like a funny gu—”

“What do you think you’re doin’?”

Joel’s words appeared to sting like a slap in the face. You jerked your head back to him, seeming to say, ‘What?’

“You know what. Don’t play innocent now,” Joel griped.

You continued to stare, then started to shake your head.

“Mr. Miller—”

“Don’t Mr. Miller me, either,” he snapped, far shorter than he’d ever spoken to you before. His nostrils flared, “You’re old enough to know better. You did all of that.”

“All of what?” you shot back.

“Attracted men like Dieter into my yard.”

“He’s your neighbor! What do you expect?”

Offense marred your tone. He didn’t entirely blame you.

“No, no—he never sticks his nose over here unless he sees something he wants. You were flaunting yourself.”

At that, your mouth fell open.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Miller? Are you serious?”

“Language, young lady—”

“I don’t give a shit.” You stood up from your chair. Your eyes flashed with ire. Just like his hands had before, yours curled into fists. You stood your ground with him. “You invited me to come swim here whenever I wanted to. You did that, asshole. What did you expect me to sunbathe in, army fatigues and fucking combat boots?”

Joel blinked hard at that. He didn’t like being mocked.

“Still shouldn’t be that damn skimpy. And I said lang—”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks, dad. Don’t act like you’re mine.”

Don’t act like you’re mine.

Joel’s chest tightened. His gaze seared into yours, almost as though he were as angry as you were now, but deep down, the man only felt remorse. Resentment. Whatever rage he harbored now was reserved for himself

He shouldn’t have gone there.

He shouldn’t have masked his own jealousy with pseudo paternal scolding. He looked like a dickhead doing that.

And you weren’t shy to let him know it in the slightest.

Presently, your finger was jabbed in his face. You were planted less than two feet from where he stood, and though you were noticeably dwarfed by his size, your next words had him beat by a foot, if he’d had to guess.

“I watch your kid, Joel. I am not your daughter. If you don’t want me hanging around here in my hot red bikini, then you can just say that. But don’t blame me for him.”

Joel bristled at your words, though he wasn’t sure why. When he opened his mouth to speak again, you added:

“And don’t blame me for that, either.”

Suddenly, he realized your finger was pointed at his legs.

Or, rather, what was poking up stiff between them.

Joel’s cheeks heated up to a thousand degrees.

You’d just caught him. You’d seen his arousal.

And you were turning on your heels again.

Before Joel could even try to summon the words to his tongue, you were grabbing your things. Shoving your shoes onto your feet. And Joel had only to stand there.

Feeling stupid and inert beside you.

As you went to the back gate, he somehow managed to call that you didn’t have a car, let him drive you back.

You didn’t even dignify his words with a verbal response.

You just raised your middle finger over your shoulder.

And then the gate crashed shut behind you.

You would be walking home that day.

Two big eyes and round cheeks were all you could see.

Then, they darted beneath the covers and were gone.

“Oh no, where’d sweet Sarah go?” you wondered aloud. Sitting at the edge of the bed and pretending not to see where she’d just dipped her head under the blankets, you furrowed your brows and proceeded to pat around you.

Everywhere you felt with your hands, you completely ignored the big lump under the duvet. It was a game.

A silly one at that—hide-and-go-seek was generally best left to places where you couldn’t figure out her location in the blink of an eye. But you played along. You heard a soft giggle. You continued feeling around the twin-sized mattress like this was the most bewildering puzzle of all.

“Whe-ere’s Sarah?” you sing-songed.

You heard a shuffling of limbs, a sniffle.

Your palm tapped right by those little feet.

And as soon as you did, she screamed. At four years old, Sarah hadn’t quite mastered the art of being stealthy.

You’d cut her some slack. You always had.

Blindly passing where her body lay, you glided to the opposite side of her bed and tapped inquiringly there.

“Is she…here?” You got a pillow.

“No!” Sarah shrieked back.

Such a helpful, obliging kid. She’d make a terrible spy.

“Is she…up here?” You rapped the headboard twice.

“No!!” she squealed.

You glanced over at the clock on her nightstand. It was approaching bedtime. Taking note of this, and knowing you couldn’t keep up with the charade for much longer, you let out a sigh. You stood from the bed, looked around the room with dramatic éclat, then started to walk away.

“Okay…I guess if Sarah’s not here I’ll have to leave…”

The second you said that, Sarah threw the covers back. She jumped up in bed, and she stomped her little feet.

“No! No! I’m here! I’m here!”

You spun on your heels, eyes wide with faux surprise.

“Sarah!”

And then you rushed back over, just in time to watch her drop to the bed and flash you a wide, exuberant smile.

“Your Sarah,” she corrected.

She adored it when you called her that. Your Sarah.

You nodded your head in agreement, “My Sarah. Sorry.”

She nodded too, like she’d just reminded you of the most important thing, and then she slipped back under her covers. She let you drag the purple duvet over her frame, all the way up to her chin, and when she was all snug inside, she gave another smile. She kicked her feet again.

“Stay,” she commanded, tone still sugar-sweet.

“I will, baby. ‘Til your daddy gets back, I’ll be here.”

“I mean forever!” Sarah dragged out the last syllable, and, not yet content with the answer you’d proffered, tried swaying you again, still more emphatic, “For-ever!”

If your daddy wasn’t such an ass, I might consider it.

Instead, you smiled back at her and shook your head. You smoothed the hair away from her face, then you leaned in and kissed her forehead with a gentle peck.

“Then my family would miss me. I gotta see them.”

“Says who?” Sarah’s pout was unmistakable.

Before you could reply, she cut in again.

“You can be my family. My mommy.”

Your throat constricted at those words. You weren’t sure what to say, or how to assuage your sweet Sarah then.

Again, you were about to open your mouth to speak, when your pint-sized companion piped up again. This time, her voice was softer. Surprisingly delicate and low.

“I want you to be my mommy,” she told you quietly, “Then you’ll live here. With me and daddy. And you’ll never have to go home again and we can play all day!”

Your heart ached. You kissed the tip of her nose and turned away, momentarily, to hide the hurt on your face.

Sarah Miller deserved much more in a mother than you.

When you looked up again, her grin was big. Hopeful.

“Don’t you wanna be my mommy too?” she asked.

“‘Course I do, baby,” you answered without hesitation, “But…don’t you think your daddy should have a say too?”

Somehow, her face got even brighter.

“He will! He— he…”

Sarah trailed off a second, as if considering her words. She didn’t understand what marriage meant. You’d help.

“Your daddy,” you finished for her, speaking slow and soft as you leaned in close, “is a good man who deserves a good woman to make your mommy. Don’t you agree?”

She bit the inside of her cheek.

“Yeah, but—”

“And a mommy’s gotta be someone he really loves.”

“But he…”

She was thinking again. You could tell. You pressed on.

“He is gonna find someone great someday. He’ll love you and her to bits, and y’all will get to play together all day.”

“But he loves you!” Sarah cried, at length.

A beat.

Your breath faltered.

The girl’s words had scarcely hung in the air for more than two seconds, and their meaning hardly registered in your brain before your own were coming out fast. Certain

“Your daddy doesn’t love me, baby. I’m just his friend.”

“Yes, he does! He told me so himself!”

Again, you shook your head.

“You misunderstood him, sweetie.”

You tried to smooth her hair back again, but Sarah’s head bucked away. She scrunched up her nose in clear protest and refused to let you cradle her face until she’d spoken her piece. When she did, her voice was pleading all over:

“Daddy loves you, he told me. You can be my mommy.”

And for what seemed like the hundredth time that night, you felt your heart balloon in your chest. Your gut clenched—but not for the reasons she or you wanted it to. The truth was that you didn’t have the words to tell a four-year-old girl that her father didn’t love you like that at all, that his head and his heart were anywhere but with you, and that, if you were being honest, you were furious with him. How he could so much as hint at such nonsense was beyond you. His little girl dreamed of having a mother. It was stupid and senseless and cruel to even suggest that that woman could be you. You sighed.

But, despite your every thought and feeling to the contrary, you knew you had to soothe the girl with some small semblance of hope. Something to hold her over for the night, so she didn’t cry herself to sleep thinking that you didn’t want to be her mommy. Gently, you leaned in.

You lifted the covers back up from where they’d fallen. You tucked them snug around her torso, and you paused.

Your tone was measured and soft when you spoke next:

“I don’t know about your daddy, baby. What I do know is that I would be the luckiest lady alive to get to be your mommy, alright? I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

And you meant it. You saw one look light up her face, and every ounce of anger that had been provoked by her father was forgotten in an instant. Her grin ensured it.

“Anywhere,” she parroted back.

“Anywhere,” you said, again.

Then you kissed the crown of her head, wished her sweet dreams, cut the little light off. You left the room quietly.

It was only when you were out of there and far enough away down the hallway that your skin started to burn.

You couldn’t help it. Anger was fast to trickle back.

This feeling was only compounded when the next moment brought a sound to the landing on the stairs. You glanced over down the hall, muscles all tensing at once, and when you saw him there, it was as though your rage just bubbled over. Your jaw clenched; your stomach flipped in a way so decidedly unlike how it had done for him two days ago, in his office, and suddenly, your throat was working again. You kept your voice low this time, keen not to draw Sarah’s attention out there, but the words you used were clear. Quiet. Doubtlessly effective.

Even in the dark, you saw his brows jump when he heard:

“Joel, we need to talk.”

It had been two years since he’d had a woman in here.

Joel wished it were under any circumstances but these.

Presently, your eyes were ablaze. The two of you had just stepped into his room and shut the door behind you, and with the click of a latch, you hadn’t thought to hold it in:

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

He blinked.

Well, many things.

Joel wouldn’t have had the space to explain it all if you’d given him a week, and still, he had to say something. He blinked again, made a sound in his throat as if to clear it, then shook his head. His shoulders sagged in his jacket.

“I…I’m sorry.”

For the other day. For getting caught up in his own anger and taking it out on you. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was apologizing for now, or what he should say, but he thought it best to start there. He shrugged his jacket off and set it over the back of the nearest chair. He turned to you again, where you were standing with a warning look.

“Don’t say sorry to me,” you said. “Say sorry to Sarah.”

Sarah?

Before he could speak, you went on.

“You’re just setting her up for heartbreak, you know that? I mean how selfish— how stupid could you possibly be?”

You pursed your lips like tears might threaten if you didn’t. This caught him off guard—his daughter? What could he have said or done to hurt her in any of this?

“What are you talking about?”

“You said I’d be her mom, Joel!”

He winced. You furrowed your brows and set your mouth in a line—really trying to fight the emotion behind it—and, while all the rest of you bristled in anticipation for what was to come, Joel softened. He didn’t mean to. He didn’t want to be the guy who lost his head at the thought of seeing you cry and forget the whole reason you were upset with him in the first place, but he couldn’t help it. Though you looked like you wanted to kill him right then, Joel drew closer. He shifted toward you.

“Did— did she, uh…call you…mommy?” he said, pained.

“Yeah. And you let her believe she could,” you spat.

He hadn’t meant to do that, either. Sarah had been calling you that for a while when you weren’t around to hear, and after enough times telling her otherwise, he’d just stopped correcting her on it. Sarah wanted a mother. You were the closest thing she had, and who was he to sabotage that? At the time, he’d just wanted to…pretend.

That was a running theme he had going with you.

Right now, you didn’t seem to care about that.

You just rolled your eyes in that cool, juvenile way when you didn’t hear a response from him, and he had to bite his tongue from saying something worse. He hated when you did that. It made him remember your age—the reality of you being his kid’s babysitter and how guilty he should feel for wanting to do something more about that eyeroll.

He wasn’t your father.

You weren’t Sarah’s mother, either.

You most certainly weren’t the girl on his computer screen, as much as he would’ve liked to see you that way, and even though you were standing here in his bedroom.

That was all fantasy. Make-believe. This was his reality.

You were visibly pissed and wouldn’t budge an inch.

“Is it really so bad if she says it?” he grit out.

Your eyes widened. You scoffed.

“Of course it is, Joel!”

You backed away.

He hated seeing that, too. He hated having you move from him, not toward him, wearing that scowl on your lips as you did. His fingers twitched—itched—at his side.

“Sarah’s young. She doesn’t…mean anything by it. She’ll grow out of it soon enough. And I don’t want to hurt her.”

“You’ll hurt her even worse by not telling her the truth!” you snapped. You sounded exasperated saying it now. “We’re not a family. I’m the goddamn babysitter, and— and— you’re Sarah’s father. Act like it, for Christ’s sake.”

That set his teeth on edge.

Joel felt the urge to fight back, but narrowly refrained. He flexed his fingers, and he bit down hard to keep the vitriol at bay. Because that was exactly what fathers did. They controlled their anger; even when faced with a smart-mouthed babysitter who wore his patience out.

Even when your arms were folded over your chest in that impossibly tight, white tank, and your tits looked like they might spill from the fabric at any given moment. Joel swallowed and refocused his gaze before going on.

“Don’t tell me how to be a father.”

Something flared in your eyes.

“Why? I’m fucking right.”

“Language, young lady.”

That only seemed to irk you worse; your hands flew up.

“Yeah, well,” you started, accusing, “If we’re playing house, I might as well be allowed to say what I like.”

“We are not playing hous—”

“But you want to, right? That’s why I’m always here.”

“No, I need a—”

“Maid? Mommy?”

You paced closer. Joel’s jaw clenched.

“Obedient little housewife?” you sneered.

Your eyes were shining like two derisive pools. With every blink, you seemed to mock him more. Goad him on and beg for your reward, though you hardly knew what it was.

“C’mon, Mr. Miller,” you chided, voice low, “What is it?”

What he was, or what he’d stand to take. It wasn’t this.

“Keep runnin’ that fuckin’ mouth, I’ll show you what.”

The words flew off his tongue before he could stop them.

It was a reflex—something that had been stewing in his mind since the second you’d set foot in his room and went on provoking him. But it was wrong, of course.

He was wrong for even thinking it, much less saying it.

Now your eyes were round, and your mouth was slightly agape, and your brain was likely working a thousand miles a minute to process what had just been said.

Joel had to fix it.

“That— that ain’t—” he began, already hating himself.

To his surprise, and embarrassment, a laugh rang out.

Its sound was explosive and short. It split the air with such hot, bitter force that his words dropped off. His gaze had no choice but to remain plastered on yours.

“Oh, I bet.”

You grinned, humorless.

You didn’t appear shocked in the slightest. In fact, his remark seemed only to embolden you then, as you teased that smile wider, drew yourself closer, and tipped your chin up. You looked doubly enlivened by his last admission. Vindicated in some strange, inexplicable way. Your breaths were warm, and the swell of your breasts came to hover just inches from his chest when the last thing he needed to happen, happened between you next.

You pointed again. Joel didn’t need to look down.

“‘Don’t tell me how to be a father,’” you repeated his words from before, voice taking on a low, faux baritone.

Your amusement was clear. His cock was hard.

It seemed you’d never let the latter slip past you.

“Is that what we’re gettin’ at here, Mr. Miller?” you asked, tone now precocious. Probing, “You showing me what a great daddy you are, and me being the mommy you al—”

“No.”

Joel pushed off. He didn’t want to hear another thing.

He headed straight for the door, prepared to usher you out of it. This conversation had taken an irreparable turn.

When he reached for the handle, though, he had to stop. Your voice made him stop, echoing from the opposite end of the room. Joel turned, and he saw you on his bed.

“I’m just curious. Is that really what you meant?”

You were sitting at the foot of it, legs casually hanging off. Your look was innocent, and still more knowing than Joel could bear. The heat left to swirl in his groin nearly suffocated him below the waist, and he inhaled deeply.

“Mean what? I didn’t…mean anything.”

His touch fell from the doorknob all the same.

Your feet were swinging when he faced you completely.

“Just like you didn’t mean for Sarah to call me mommy?”

Maybe he had meant it more than he let on. He couldn’t answer. Joel felt every bit the creep he knew himself to be—decades your senior and letting you rest on his bed, soft, smooth legs kicking back and forth as he watched.

He was good at that, wasn’t he? Watching. Waiting. Aching from the comfort of his home office while he watched those filthy clips on repeat, images of you flitting through his mind at every stretch, moan, and whimper. His will was powerless to his perverted needs. He had only to defend himself against their influence by planting his feet firmly in place and refusing to move.

“You wanna teach me, though. Don’t you, daddy?”

It was as though your words reached him from another place. Somewhere deep within the recesses of his mind—his memory—and the tone of it stirred him. It was familiar, in ways you couldn’t have possibly understood. Unless you were living in his head, there was no way in hell you could’ve known what those lines meant to him.

‘Gonna teach ya, honey. Teach ya how to please a man.’

It made him ache.

Joel still wouldn’t move, but you could come to him.

He blinked once, and you were there. Off the bed. Walking to him. Down on your knees in front of him.

This had to be the work of his own sick imagination.

He groaned at just the sight of your smile, curving slow.

And then you peeled off your top, revealing the bright, nylon, cherry-red fabric he’d seen far too many times on his computer screen and off it—on you, by his pool. Joel sucked in a breath and shook his head, gaze darkening.

“Thought you didn’t wanna play mommy,” he growled.

If this was all just in his head, he could talk as he wanted.

“I don’t,” you answered him soberly. Suddenly, your chin was in his hand. Your eyes were still glistening up at him. “But you need to get this out of your system. Just once.”

Out of his system.

Joel was out of his fucking mind with desire.

“Just once?” His voice cracked as he said it.

Only one time. That was alright. Forgivable.

From what he half-believed to be a figment of his own perverted mind came the word from your lips: ‘Once.’

The next had the thumb that was cupping your chin slipping between those same lips. Still smiling while your mouth slid down to his knuckle. You sucked him gently.

And in just one glimpse, one fleeting second on that lone, thick thumb, the sight below him had every other obscene thing entrenched in his memory beat by a mile. You were better than everything else he’d seen or tried to dream up. You were real, he hoped, sliding your shiny wet lips up and down the surface of his skin, and when you pried them off, and you asked for his cock, he had no choice but to oblige. He had to rack his brain for words.

This was his babysitter, his daughter’s companion, his—

“Sweet fuckin’ girl,” he said when he first felt you there.

Before he even knew what became of his belt, buckle, and zip, the base of his cock was in your hand, and your lips were hovering precariously over the tip. Your breaths were soft and hot. Your graze drank him in with curiosity.

“Should I kiss you here, daddy?” Your mouth lowered.

“Right there, sweetie,” Joel breathed out.

He truly couldn’t believe it when the warmth of you enveloped his tip. When the first lick of your tongue came to collect the bead of precum sitting at the slit and he damn near bucked his hips up. You licked at it again.

And again. And again. And again.

You whimpered lightly, enjoying the taste.

The second you pulled your mouth away, Joel hissed.

“Baby, please—” he started, tone strained.

“What? Where does daddy want it?”

The question was so innocent.

It was clear you wanted to hear him guide you through it, as evidenced by the way your lips twitched at his hand smoothing down and over the crown of your head. Joel held it like he might never get this chance again, and, at once, his voice lowered along with it. He scarcely recognized himself with how gently he spoke then.

“Let daddy show you,” he said, “Open your mouth.”

And you did.

Your jaw fell slack, your lips split apart, and your eyes peered up with a wide and open stare. In a look, you seemed already to say that you trusted him to fill it.

No sight on a screen could’ve made him so hard.

He fed you an inch, eyes locked with yours as he did. His cock slid in another, and another, then stopped. He pulled back. The wetness and the warmth of your mouth nearly did him in, and the way you whined for more had him fisting your hair tight. Trying to keep his composure.

“That alright, honey? Feel…nice goin’ in?”

“Yes, daddy,” you hummed obediently.

Your mouth opened wider.

“More, please?”

Your tongue was flattened in a second. Joel slid back in, and his shaft was greeted by the slick, shiny cushion of the muscle underneath. He sank in. He invaded every inch of your mouth he could find, and he breathed out.

“Just like that, sweetie. Takin’ daddy so well.”

What little gurgles he heard stifled between your lips at that, spit drooling gently from either side, he only found more endearing. When he pulled back and saw strings of your spit trail after its path, he felt delirious. You were real, coating the whole throbbing length of his cock with your saliva and your precious soft whines, and you were sweet for him. Pliant for his cock. Jaw obliging and inviting and hanging wide open for him to fuck again.

He let you have it. He slid in once, grazed your throat, slid out again. He cupped your face in his hands and thumbed your cheeks. He coaxed your lips wider for him. You took it all well; you responded to every tender little directive from the man who was stuffing your mouth, ‘Faster now, atta girl’ and ‘Take daddy deeper’ and ‘Keep that pretty mouth open and those eyes on me.’ Joel was so caught up in the feel and the friction and the intimacy of every passing moment that he almost didn’t see when you started to shift your legs. Parting them.

And, right when the head of his cock had reached the back of your mouth and was teasing down your wet, open throat, he felt it fully: your whimpering plea.

You grinding your cunt against the toe of his boot, and peering up at him with eyes all wet, wide, and needy.

You rutted your hips. It looked like you couldn’t help it.

It seemed as though it were a mere spasm of the body that you couldn’t control—like his cock down your throat was too good for your sense or your oversexed mind to handle. He’d scarcely stirred in place when he felt you humping him, whines rippling down his length with every bob of your head as you keened for some kind of release.

Joel had never seen anything like it. He didn’t know what to say or do except stroke his hand over your scalp and pin you with a look. His cock twitched in your mouth.

“Is that how we ask to get fucked in this house?”

His tone surprised him with how steady it stayed.

Your mouth still full of him, you tried to shake your head.

What came next was more instinct than logical thought; Joel pulled you off his cock and onto your feet. His touch on your body was soft. He couldn’t pinpoint a reason for his being so gentle, but every second that elapsed now seemed to demand it. He was teaching you to please. There could be no better place for kindness than here.

He’d lead you to the bed and guide you down himself. He’d tell you to open your mouth and then he would kiss it, and lick inside it. Maybe spit inside it, too. He’d tug at your bikini straps, watch your breasts give way to the pressure of the pull before bouncing right back in place. He’d take off your top. Latch his mouth around a nipple, swirl his tongue across the skin, and he’d kiss you again.

Joel did all these things, and you let him. You met him with whimpers, with wide open legs, and eventually, with your feet digging into the covers beneath you, begging, ‘Daddy, please put it in.’ Your gaze was febrile as you did.

Whether you meant it, or were simply pretending for him, gave Joel pause. Just as you’d tried to yank your jean shorts down your legs, he dropped his hands to your own. He stopped them in their path. He leaned closer.

“Do you know what you and me are about to do, hm?”

His question was barbed but sweet. Testing the waters.

Were you game to keep playing house? Did you want it?

These things mattered to Joel; whether the wetness between your legs was meant for him and him alone. Whether you needed him there, like the breath in your lungs. He wouldn’t fuck you if he wasn’t. He might feel lonely at times—desperate to feel your cunt squeeze his too-old cock like your life depended on it—but he was a man who wanted to be wanted, too. An instant of clarity hit, and suddenly he was asking it, plain and in your face:

“Do you wanna do what mommies and daddies do?”

Your mouth fell slack. Again. You nodded.

Either you were the single best actress, or you wanted it. Hoping desperately for the latter, Joel kissed the side of your face. You turned your head, quickly, and captured his lips in yours instead. You pulled him down to you.

“Like this?” you murmured, words muffled against him.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and then ground your clothed lower half with his—Joel’s cock was tucked haphazardly back in his boxers, and his jeans, unzipped, hung just underneath them around his hips. He felt like a teen again, clothes thrown askew and hormones all wild.

Except he wasn’t. He was a grown man, in his own bed, with his child fast asleep down the hall. He thanked his lucky stars that their rooms were as far apart as possible, and that he no longer had to worry about the prying eyes of his mom or dad trying to catch him out after curfew. This wasn’t high school, or a night out in college, or the time a condom had split and Sarah had been conceived.

Now if he could just make sure she didn’t get a sibling…

Kidding.

“Pill,” Joel choked out, just as your legs drew him in to meet your movements, “Are— are you on the pill, or—”

Am I going to have to hit up a Texaco at 10 PM to get some rubbers and admit I haven’t gotten laid in a year?

You grinned.

“IUD.”

That works, too.

Joel probably shouldn’t have seemed so eager. He probably shouldn’t have taken your face in his hands and kissed you so hard, either. But his skin was ablaze; his eyes were wild; his limbs were molten; and his head—you didn’t want to know where it was. What he was thinking.

What he wanted to tell you while he tugged his cock back out and started working his hand up and down it. It felt too intimate, too depraved, to be spoken aloud.

Then, to his shock, you said the words yourself:

“Show me how you’d make me a mommy anyway.”

If not for protection. If not for common sense. If not for that thrumming, pulsing, warning repetition in his head: Do not get her pregnant. Do not give your kid a sibling.

But this was all pretend, wasn’t it?

Joel yanked down your shorts, practically tore them from your legs, and situated himself between them, breathing hard and fast, before he nodded his head and kissed you. With his one free hand, he held the base of his dick, and he guided it closer to your slick, puffy, aching entrance through the barrier of your red bikini. He rutted his hips.

You were bare beneath him, save for that one scrap of fabric between your lower half and his. You smiled, and you wriggled your body against his, and you drew him in. Joel groaned when he felt you slide your bottoms to the slide and let him feel, for the first time, how wet you were. How warm, inviting, and tight that cunt must be and how badly he needed it. How desperately he had to be buried inside that heat—he all but panted the words:

“Can daddy put it in?”

You spread your legs wider. You nodded.

Then he did. Without one breath of a thought to the contrary, he pushed the head of himself past the fabric, through your folds, into that wet and precious spot he’d only dreamed he’d ever feel, and he let out a full-throated moan. He felt your walls contract, heard the tender little squelch of your body making room for his length, and he damn near blew his whole load right there. You felt good.

Your chest rose with a breath, and your eyes widened.

Like you hadn’t just had him down your throat, drenched in your spit and gliding in and out: “He’s so big, daddy.”

Joel’s lips kissed your cheek. His tip kissed your cervix. You whined a little, and he pulled you in closer to him.

“I know, honey, I know,” he cooed, rocking you with the softest motions, “Ain’t that what mommy likes, though?”

Your lips parted again. A strangled whine of assent slid out, just as his hips withdrew himself back to that shiny, bulbous head, and then he fucked back in. Back and forth, back and forth, Joel sent your body bouncing with every thrust. He felt you clench, and the strokes sped up.

The bed creaked underneath. It seemed to shake the whole room. In truth, there wasn’t a thought in Joel’s head except for the ones relating to you and how good you took his cock, but somewhere, not far off, there was the instinct of a father idling too. With every stab of the headboard against the wall and every moan of yours under him he had to smother with his lips, he was reminded you two had to be quiet. He leaned in.

Grazing your ear with a stubbled chin, and fucking you gently into his bed, Joel sank his weight even lower.

“Can mommy stay real quiet for daddy? Can she try?”

From the way your eyes were glazed, he expected you to nod. And you did, just barely, heels digging in the mound of his ass and your fingers finding his sides. But then you slid a touch up his ribs; you squeezed the flesh. You let him pound your cunt for a few more precious seconds, and just when he thought that was the end of it, you tilted your head to him. Your nose bumped his, and you grinned, flashing the single most pretty, fucked-out look.

“Feels like a fucking dream, daddy,” you breathed.

Joel balked. He almost stopped right then and there.

Please! Feels like a fucking dre-e-e-e-e-eam—oh, OH!

Oh.

You couldn’t have known that.

There was no shot you knew where the fuck those words were from. Or what they meant. Joel furrowed his brow and kept rutting his hips, hands tightening in the sheets beside your head as the scene from his naughty all-time favorite film flickered briefly through his mind. No shot.

Then your legs wound around the backs of his even tighter, and your eyes were all but shining with a fresh, twisted glint. With a measured tone, you went on for him:

“He’s so big, daddy. Feels so good going inside me.”

You even mimicked her tone. Joel paled above you.

His hips stalled a moment, and your cunt hugged him tight. Your teeth nipped at his chin, playfully, and before he could even try to speak again, your lips were there.

At his ear, whispering what he’d dreaded hearing most.

“You should really clear those PornHub searches after you’re done. Or at least lock your office while I’m here.”

Joel’s thrusts stopped completely.

He was about to search for his voice again, when your walls clamped down around him, and his vision went swimming. His cock pulsed inside you, and he groaned.

Then his hips picked up; it wasn’t a conscious decision. He just needed to fuck, needed to finish, needed to see the light twinkle and burst behind your eyes while he stuffed your cunt full. It didn’t matter what you knew—your lips were curled in such a sweet, smug smile below him, there was likely no use in trying to explain himself now. Joel just gritted his teeth, and he tried smiling back. He fucked you faster, and harder, than he’d done before.

When you clawed at his back, the pace grew merciless. Every inch of the space around him, it seemed, was filled with the sounds of skin slapping skin, whimpers, and moans. As before, Joel almost didn’t recognize his voice.

‘That so?’ was all it could manage to get out at present.

With your cunt fluttering repeatedly, hips rolling with his own, and those lips letting moans spill out one after the next, it was all he could do to try to keep his composure.

Joel kissed you, and then he flipped your body around. He moved back to find the headboard and rest himself against it, got your legs straddling his, and slid you down

Down, down, down on his cock. Stretching you out. Then moving you back up again. Making you bounce in his lap and have your hands fumble to find his shoulders. You squeezed his biceps and moaned, and at the same time, his slick-smeared lower half rutted to greet yours. Your essence drenched him; he could feel it soak straight through the black-and-gray hairs at the base of his cock.

You looked perfect like this—better than any girl on camera could’ve been. Your hips rolled, and you moaned while sliding up and down on his dick, again and again. Joel felt the trembling pulse through your body and his, groaned at the grip of your cunt around him, and helped you ride him. With one hand at the small of your back and the other cupping your face, he held you close to him. Your pace quickened, and the hand at your chin made its way to your throat, to hold you firmly there.

Joel had a thumb on your pulse and his eyes raking over your writhing form when he felt compelled to talk again.

Share a truth, since all the rest was coming out anyway.

He didn’t think so much as feel it flow from there, like the blood rushing through his veins. Joel winced at a fresh influx of pleasure and let you grind on him twice more. Then he was gripping you tighter, fucking up into you harder, and he was skimming his teeth along your skin. As a knot coiled deep within his stomach, he let it out:

“Wanna cum inside this pussy, baby. Fill her up with me.”

The head of his cock struck a dizzying blow to someplace close to your cervix, and you held him tighter.

“Yeah, Mr. Miller?” You couldn’t help the teasing tone.

You fought a breathless laugh, then were forced to suck in a gasp of air just as quick; his length sheathed itself inside you completely, and Joel’s grip constricted on your throat. He kissed you. He lapped his tongue into your mouth while he fucked up into you, again and again.

You whined, and he mumbled against you, “That’s right.”

You hissed at him deep in your guts, and he went on:

“Gonna stuff her full. Make her wet and messy and drippin’ with me. Show mommy how much daddy lov—”

He cut himself short. His balls were heavy, full, and ready to paint you white, but that line was a touch too far, even now. He couldn’t say it outright and not sound like a fucking creep, no matter how deep in this roleplay you happened to be. Joel squeezed your hips and grunted.

And, for what felt like the fifteenth time that night, you surprised him. Your chin tilted to his, your lips brushed against his mouth, and you smiled, again. It was tender.

“How much does daddy love me, hm? Show me.”

Your walls clenched at the end of the last sentence, and Joel couldn’t help but groan in your mouth. His eyes lifted to yours, and in your gaze, he found anything but incredulity—you already knew what he felt, somehow.

“Sarah tell you that, too? That I love you?” he growled.

He’d said it once. At the time, he hadn’t thought he’d meant it at all, but the words just sounded so good when it came to you. Sarah had asked him if he’d wanted you to be her mommy someday, if he loved you like a daddy loves a mommy, and he’d said he did. Looking back, it hadn’t felt half as good as it did right now: peering into your eyes, feeling your warmth swallow him whole, and sensing you were nearing your climax, all because of him. It made him want to say it over again, now face-to-face.

Be it roleplay, fantasy, fixation—he needed to say it now.

“Daddy does love you,” he went on, before you could even respond. His pelvis rutted against yours, and his gaze stayed steeped in desire as he felt you grip harder, “Loves you so damn much he wants to stuff a big load in that pretty little cunt. Make you his. That alright by you?”

Your gaze went blank in an instant. Your lips twitched.

Something delectably wet, tight, and far too tempting shuddered someplace inside you, and with pride, Joel sensed the remnants of it leak out and smear his tummy. You liked that idea. Still, you seemed hesitant as your teeth snagged your bottom lip between them. You drew one steadying breath, and you slowed your movements.

“I’ve never…had that,” you admitted quietly.

Then that sticky-sweet embrace your cunt held him in got even wetter. Like your mind wasn’t fully on-board, but your body was all in. You were close, by the feel of it.

But Joel would only give what you were fully ready to take. At length, he lowered one hand to the small of your back, and his thumb rubbed at the skin. He let you feel him in only the shallowest of strokes, bouncing you softly

“Ain’t gotta be inside, then,” he murmured, assuring, “I’ll shoot this load wherever mommy tells me to go, alright?”

That made you whimper.

From there, your mind seemed to be decided all at once.

“Cum inside. I-I want it.”

Joel swallowed thickly.

“You sure, sugar? I can—”

Suddenly, your hips were stirring. They started up quicker than before, and your hand was swift to plant itself flat on his chest, as though to stabilize yourself.

“Cum. In. Me.”

It was the most decisive, and desperate, you’d sounded all night. Your gaze flitted to his, and in it, he saw a plea.

With a look like that, Joel knew he couldn’t make you wait. He wouldn’t make you wait. Trying not to smirk as he did, he leaned in and kissed you, and felt you drip more arousal as something knotted in your belly. He smoothed your hair away and delivered the gentlest thrusts from below—he knew it wouldn’t take much.

“Mama goes first,” he prodded. He felt you tense, and clench, and leak a little more down his front, and when the head of cock nicked a soft ridge, he groaned, too. “Cum for daddy now and he’ll give you his load, OK?”

Then his touch slipped between your legs. You keened.

“Daddy, I—” you hiccuped, grip tightening like a vice when his thumb found your clit and started rubbing.

Joel circled faster.

“Breathe, baby. Breathe.”

“I can’t,” you cried, “Feels too—”

Good. Your body seemed to finish for you.

It started with a pulse. Then a pinch. A trickling warmth. Joel hardly knew what else to do but keep rubbing that little pearl between your folds, even when you started to gush around his hand. It wet his tummy; it drenched all the hairs around the base of his cock, and still, he kept thumbing your clit and rocking you back and forth above him. He let you cry out and bite his shoulder while your climax tore through you, and though he knew you had to be quiet, he couldn’t help but relish the sound. He smiled

“That’s it. That’s my girl. Give it to daddy.”

And, while he also told you to keep breathing and let him have it all, he was right here—in a matter of seconds, he was slipping off, too. He couldn’t hope to try and stop it. With one more pulse of your walls, you groaned and got your wet, spent, needy hole stuffed full of him, just how you’d asked. Joel flooded your insides with his seed and kept you fucked straight down to the hilt so he wouldn’t see a drop of himself escape. He hugged you tight and heard you whine at that primal sensation, getting pumped with rope after rope of his cum, then he felt your limbs go limp. Joel kissed the side of your face. He cradled you, held you securely in place, and let the last of his spend paint your walls in a couple more gentle spurts

When it was over, he stroked your back. He sensed the aftershocks of your climax pass through your tired frame, and he made sure not to rock you too hard against him. He just wanted you to feel that he was there, if the heft of his cum and his cock still deep inside you wasn’t enough.

His head grew clearer, too. While still drawing short, ragged breaths in time, he managed to find the words that had evaded him before—what he should’ve said.

“‘M’sorry,” he mumbled into your hair.

You just nuzzled your face deeper.

“Don’t be.”

“But I—”

Then you tilted your head—enough for your gaze to meet with his, briefly, and tell him all that he needed to hear.

“You’re a good dad, Joel.”

He opened his mouth, but you were already pressing on.

“And I don’t…mind if Sarah calls me what she wants for now. I’m sure you’ll find someone great to be her mom someday, and then this whole thing won’t even matter.”

For some reason, the sound of it made Joel wince.

He couldn’t quite place the feeling, but he knew he didn’t want you thinking that. His grip constricted around you.

“No,” he muttered, indistinct. Defiant.

“No?”

You almost laughed.

It was insane, admittedly—just last night he’d been dreaming of the feel of you in the grip of his fist, wishing for nothing but his own release and a fleeting thought of your body underneath him, and here he was, doing this.

You’d said it was a one-and-done deal, and maybe it was.

But for him, maybe, it wasn’t. He’d be remiss not to try.

If you shot him down and left him to pine and meander through the manifold archives of PornHub for the rest of his horny life, that would be alright. At least he had tried.

With these thoughts thrumming through his brain, Joel was about to pull you closer and venture to speak again, when, for the second time, his words were cut short. His voice was presently supplanted by a sound that startled you both, and in a moment, he recognized what it was.

A knock.

“Da-a-a-a-a-a-addy?”

Shit.

He nearly caught a knee to the gut with how quickly you tried scrambling off his lap, limbs revived and frantic and desperate to get your clothes back on before that tiny voice could resume its speech—or get a hand to the door

“Yeah, sweetie? Give— give daddy a—” ‘Fuck!’ he cursed under his breath as he tripped over your shorts on the floor, “—a minute. I’ll be right there. Just gimme a sec.”

Joel fell. You floundered. His hand snagged the edge of the bed before he hit the ground fully, while you set off across the room to fight the strings of your bikini top and wrestle the thing on. The second you sensed that battle was lost, you grabbed your shirt instead. You were just yanking it on, and Joel was just regaining his bearings and about to chuck your shorts your way, when a voice through the door stopped the two of you cold—again.

To your horror, it was hopeful. Too sweet to be real.

“Can I sleep with you and mommy tonight?”

You could’ve soundly beat Joel’s ass with that pretty, skimpy swimsuit in your grasp and not regretted a thing, if he had to guess by the look you were flashing him now.

He didn’t blame you. His hands shot up in silent defense.

“Mommy— mommy’s not here, honey. She went home.” Joel shortly tried, and failed, to keep the pretense of innocence alive, all while dodging the first swing of your bikini’s bra at his head. He ducked; you struck a lamp.

He jumped back, a wordless grin stretching his lips as he righted that fixture fast. With one look, it seemed to say:

I’m so, so sorry, baby.

But inside his head, he couldn’t help but admit this was a little bit funny. Probably sensing this, you swung again.

“Yes, she is! I heard her,” Sarah huffed outside.

Joel was sliding up his jeans. Apologizing with his eyes and also trying not to crack an even bigger smile at you.

“Don’t be silly, Sar—”

“You’re having a sleepover!” she accused.

Well, in a manner of speaking.

Joel had just buckled his belt and redid his zip when a flash of red nylon smacked him in the face. Playfully.

You were evidently beginning to fight a grin like his, dropping the feigned indignation and pacing closer.

“Sleeping my ass—” you started in a whisper.

And you were about to chase him again, or else propose jumping from the window to get out now and save face, maybe, when Joel felt an old, familiar feeling crop up inside him. Like before, it wasn’t the kind of urge he could fight; his instincts took over, and he did it swiftly.

Admittedly, the timing was terrible—but he kissed you.

He pressed his lips to your own and relished the feeling. He grabbed both sides of your face and walked you back to the bed—the same one drenched in sweat and your release, which he’d definitely need to change in a minute—and for a fleeting moment, it was all he needed. Your mouth was on his, grinning a little and promising silently that if Sarah ever does walk in on us, I’m gonna kill you.

Against his better judgment, he pushed you back on the bed. He dropped his weight over your body and kept the kiss ongoing, feeling need surge inside for something far beyond the physical. It couldn’t be ‘one-and-done’ here.

But for now, at least, in spite of his feelings, it had to be.

Joel didn’t want to let go or stop kissing, but the next second left no room for much else, unfortunately. His daughter’s voice returned, and the words that followed proved impossible to ignore, for either one of you then.

All color drained from his face, and your eyes widened.

Your father's hurtful words ring loudly in your ears on a loop when you storm outside, screen door slamming shut behind you.

"Asshole," you hiss under your breath repeatedly. You clench your fists tightly at your sides, blunt nails digging into your palms and leaving angry little marks in your skin. Gravel crunches under your sneakers, each heavy footstep slicing through the peaceful quiet of night as you head towards the road, where your car is parked. Unfurling one hand, you reach into your purse for your car keys only to drop them in your haste. Metal skitters across asphalt and you curse again before bending to pick them up.

"The hell you doin' makin' all that racket?"

You snap your head up and peer into the darkness across the street. You recognize the voice but don't see the man - Joel Miller.

Joel has lived in the house across the street ever since your family moved to this side of town when you were a teenager. He mostly keeps to himself but throughout the years, he and your father grew pretty close. Whenever one of them needed help moving furniture or working on their trucks, they were there for each other. He was there mowing his lawn when you were taking pictures for your first formal dance. You'd see him and his daughter, Sarah, at every birthday party throughout the years. He sat next to your dad on your front porch wearing matching scowls the night your high school boyfriend brought you home from your very first date. And he was there on the day of your mother's funeral, wearing a black suit and slicked back, wavy hair with his hands clasped dutifully at his waist, looking stoic and forlorn.

"J- uh - Mr. Miller?"

You hear ice rattling in a glass and your eyes focus on his front porch, barely making out his broad shadow as he sips his whiskey.

"You havin' a tough night?" he asks. You huff and scoop up your keys before standing.

"Just another joyous dinner with my dad."

You note his silence and you cringe. What were you thinking? Of course he's not going to want to hear you speak badly about your father. So you clear your throat and try again.

"I'm just kidding-"

"You want a drink?"

Your eyes began to adjust to the darkness. He's sitting in one of his two adirondack chairs with a bottle of whiskey on the table in between. He picks the bottle up by the neck, swirling it around so you could see it. Your nose wrinkles at the thought of drinking whiskey but you find your feet moving in the direction of his house anyway. As you climb the stairs to his porch, he catches your eye and cocks an eyebrow.

"You're old enough to drink now, right?"

You roll your eyes and collapse into the chair next to him.

"Been old enough for a few years now," you mumble.

He doesn't have a spare glass outside so he tips back what's left of his drink before pouring some more and sliding it across the table for you.

"That's right. You gotta be... what? Twenty-three now?"

You shake your head and wince when the liquid passes your lips, leaving a trail of fire all the way down your throat.

"Almost twenty-six."

"Shit," he mutters to himself. He sighs and relaxes back into his chair, eyes drifting across the street to your father's house, then you do the same. The longer you sit in silence, the more your shoulders loosen up. That is, until Joel speaks.

"What had you all worked up?"

You roll your eyes and reach for the glass again, then decide against it. One sip is enough.

"Same fight we always have," you grumble. You stare at the windows, curtains pulled tight but not tight enough to hide the flicker of blue light from the television in the living room. Based on the time, you guess your dad is watching sports highlights. Or the news.

"'N what's that?" he asks.

"College," you say simply. Joel twists his head to look at you.

"College?" he repeats. "Thought you dropped out."

"I did," you tell him a little harsher than you intend. "But only because I didn't want to go to school for economics. Or nursing. Or biology. Those are degrees he deems worthy of the money my mom left me, but I don't want to do any of that."

"What do you wanna do, then?" he asks gently. You turn to meet his dark gaze and you're struck by how thoughtful and attentive he looks.

"Well," you begin, taking a deep breath, "I really love photography. So I want to go for my fine arts degree, but my dad thinks it's a waste."

You brace yourself for the reaction you're used to getting: a snort of disbelief, a cruel laugh, a shake of a head. But to your surprise, Joel smiles.

"I think that suits you."

You give him an incredulous look before jokingly pointing at the bottle. "How much have you had to drink?"

He laughs now, a deep sound that rumbles from his broad chest and makes the wrinkles next to his eyes and mouth deepen when his smile widens.

"Just had the one," he answers before leaning forward a bit in his chair. "I say it suits you 'cause for as long as I can remember, I saw you with a camera in your hand, takin' pictures of just 'bout anythin' you found worthwhile."

"You remember that?" you ask softly. Joel heard the awe in your voice and he tries to act nonchalant, giving you a casual shrug and a nervous scratch of his greying beard before replying.

"Yeah. Sure I do. Had Sarah beggin' me for a fancy camera two Christmases in a row," he says. You catch the way his eyes soften at the thought of his daughter and it makes you smile.

You sigh after a minute of silence. "Why can't my dad see it?"

Joel shrugs again. "It's different when it's your own kid," he explains. "You want somethin' steady. Somethin' practical, so you don't gotta worry 'bout 'em."

You hum under your breath and let your eyes drift back across the street, where the television was now turned off and your father's bedroom window glowed yellow. He must be getting ready for bed.

"How's Sarah doing, anyway?"

"She's great," he answers. "Studyin' abroad in Spain for the semester. Miss her like fuckin' crazy, though. Place is real lonely."

When you tilt your head to look at Joel again, you're surprised to find him already gazing at you, but something about it feels different. Like the air is suddenly charged.

You open your mouth to say something but when his eyes drop to your parted lips, the words die on your tongue.

Then, as if he noticed the shift as well, he blinks and looks away, clearing his throat.

You should have taken it as your cue to go. It's late and you still have to drive back to your apartment downtown, but something keeps you planted in his chair. Something that tugs at you, a curiosity that grows somewhere in the back of your head.

Something that wishes he would look at you like that again.

"No lady in your life to keep you company?" you ask boldly.

He cracks a small smile and shakes his head. "Nah. Hard startin' over at this age."

Your chest aches a little when you see the brief look of sadness cross his face, which he quickly shakes off.

"How 'bout you?" he asks, and you feel your heart skip a beat. He locks eyes with you again. "You got a guy you're lookin' to have struck with the fear of god by me 'n your old man?"

Joel smirks at his joke and you could politely laugh and answer, but instead you keep your gaze fixed and without a flicker of humor, you murmur, "Nope. I am very unattached at the moment."

His smile falters and across the street, the light in your dad's bedroom turns off. Your tongue shoots out to quickly lick your lips and you aren't sure what burns more: the remnants of whiskey or the heat from Joel's stare.

He looks like he's debating on how to answer. Similar to yourself, he's sensing something unexpected building, something you are both trying to tread around lightly. Finally, the devil on his shoulder wins the fight.

"Find that hard to believe."

The air feels paper thin. Every inhale seems to make you feel dizzier, but you know it isn't the air - it's him.

"Oh?" you breathe.

He nods, looking more determined now. Confident. You feel your cheeks grow hot and you're grateful for the cover of night. Fortunately, his intense gaze drops to the table between you, giving you a second to gather yourself. But he really does only give you a second because he asks, "Didn't care for the whiskey?"

You shake your head. "Not much of a whiskey girl."

"You wanna come inside? I can get you somethin' else."

Come inside. Your heart beats fast and your legs shake from how hard you're pressing them together. Is he just being polite or is he asking what you think he's asking?

And if he is asking what you think he's asking... is that something you want?

Joel's a good looking guy, especially for his age, but you never thought about him like that before. But tonight, spending time one on one, you are privy to a different side of him. One that listens to you and apparently pays attention to your interests. It has you seeing him in a completely different light.

"Yeah," you whisper. Your voice sounds a little thicker than you expect and it has him smiling as he stands. He picks up the glass and the bottle, then nods towards his front door. You swallow, force yourself to your feet, and follow him inside.

It looks different than you remember, although in reality, it probably had hardly changed a bit. Same old carpet, same couch, same television... It wasn't so much the house, but the reason you were there that made it feel strange. You weren't there to visit Sarah or come scoop up your dad when he was drinking too much watching some football game with Joel. You're there for something else, and more importantly, you're there alone for the very first time.

"What can I get you?"

"Hmm?" You swivel around to face him, hoping your nerves weren't showing now that the soft glow from his kitchen lights illuminated your face.

He gives you a knowing smirk and points to his fridge. "To drink?"

"Oh," you say, "uh, just water."

Joel frowns. "You sure? I got beer, tequila, and some fruity shit in a can that Sarah left."

You're tempted to take something stronger but ultimately shake your head. He pulls a glass from his cabinet and fills it with chilled water from a pitcher in his fridge while your eyes dart around the room. You smile to yourself. The place is clean but there were certainly signs a bachelor lives there. There's a calendar on the wall that's a month behind, a dirty skillet in the sink, and coffee grounds scattered on the counter next to the canister.

"Here," he says, handing you the cold glass. You take it and bring it to your lips, watching as he pours himself a small splash of whiskey. He stares down at the brown liquid, contemplative, like he was struggling to make a decision. Then, as if he found his answer, he tosses the drink back in one go and nods before catching your eye again.

"Am I-"

Joel cuts himself off with a dry laugh. His palm swipes over his mouth nervously before trying again.

"Am I, uh, readin' things wrong? Or is there somethin' goin' on here?"

Your heart rate spikes at his forward question but you give him credit - he's putting the choice entirely on you. He's giving you an out. However, you swallow thickly and shake your head.

"No," you all but whisper. "You're not wrong."

You shakily place your glass on the counter next to you, knowing full well you are about to cross a very dangerous line, but the utter excitement swirling in your stomach and the arousal pulling between your legs has you ignoring all of the potential consequences of your decision.

Joel stares at you in shock from his place next to the sink, as if he can't quite believe his ears.

"You're shittin' me, right?"

His voice is laced with so much disbelief that it has you feeling kind of high, so you smirk and take a few steps forward, hoping you're coming off as assertive. You don't really blame him for being surprised. Hell, you even surprised yourself tonight, but something told you that you wouldn't regret your choice.

"No," you reply slowly, and this time you allow your gaze to travel down his chiseled jaw and across the broad expanse of his chest, making sure there was no mistaking your attraction for him before locking eyes again. "Unless... do you want me to go?"

Joel's eyes flicker nervously towards the front of the house and you wonder if he's thinking about you leaving or what your father would think if you stayed.

You get your answer soon enough.

"No," he says firmly. And in one long stride he closes the distance between you, wraps one arm around your middle, and tugs you forward while pressing his lips hungrily against yours.

It steals your breath at first, the surprising softness of his lips combined with the burning remains of whiskey on his tongue. It's so much better than you expected, too. He's gentle in the way he holds you and guides you backwards, yet there is no mistaking his eagerness when his tongue tangles with yours. The coarse hairs from his beard burn your chin in the most delicious way and you wonder when this is all over, if you still feel that tingle every now and then as a reminder.

Every backwards step towards his living room has the heat flaring hotter between your thighs. Your fingers claw at his shoulders, searching for stability, for something to keep you on this planet because you swear if you let go, you would just float away. You have no idea what's come over you, but you can't remember ever wanting somebody this badly before.

Your legs collide with the couch and you're both so lost in tasting one another that you stumble a bit before clumsily collapsing onto the cushion. Without breaking the kiss, you throw your leg over his lap. Your hands drift up to his thick, wavy hair and his find a home over your ass, fingers plucking uselessly at the denim shorts you had on.

The only sounds that fill the room are the ticking from the clock on the mantle, your shared heavy breaths, and the creaking from the leather couch underneath your knees. That is, until you roll your hips forward, grinding down on his lap. Joel lets out a deep groan and you swear you feel a shudder shoot through his whole body.

"Christ," he rasps, pulling away so he can catch his breath. You smile as you trail kisses down his neck, pleased with how wrecked he sounded already. His hands knead the flesh of your ass as you make your way down. Your tongue dips into the hollow at the base of his throat, licking up the dried sweat and moaning at the taste when he asks, "Are you sure 'bout this?"

He sounds conflicted, like the last thing on earth he wants to do is stop, but his moral compass got the better of him. You unlatch yourself from his neck and sit up straight, hips slowly grinding down on his lap as you gaze down at him with heavy lidded eyes.

"I'm sure," you tell him, voice firm and certain. You feel the corner of your mouth curl when his swollen lips part to release a soft noise when your clothed center rubs along his cock, stiff and straining in his jeans.

"Okay," he whispers, messy curls flopping forward when his chin drops to watch you move. "Just this once."

A thrill shoots through you, electrifying your limbs and jump starting your heart.

Your head falls to capture his lips in one more wet kiss before you push yourself off the couch to stand. Joel remains seated with his legs spread wide and he watches with his chest heaving as you unbutton your denim shorts, letting them playfully fall to the carpeted floor.

You're feeling pretty good. Your confidence is through the roof at the way Joel's jaw drops a little when you slide your panties down your legs, but it was short lived.

You lean forward to help him with the zipper on his jeans and his hips lift so he can shove the fabric down, just to his knees, apparently too eager to rid himself of them entirely. You allow him the honor of pushing down the band of his boxers and your breath gets caught in your throat when you see the size of him for the first time.

Just like that, your confidence washes away and your eyes widen. You think you can handle his length but it's his girth that gives you pause.

It's as if your composure transfers right to Joel because he clocks your reaction and he smirks with a smug look on his face. His fist wraps tightly around his cock when he says, "It's alright, you can take it. We'll go slow."

"Okay," you say softly. You straddle his lap again, knees sinking into the soft leather, as you both stare down at his leaking shaft between your bodies. Slowly, you rock your hips, letting him slide between your folds and you gasp when the tip of his cock catches on your clit with every pass.

His hands rest on your waist, gently helping you move back and forth while he watches in awe as you cover him with your slick. Your eyes flutter closed and you sink your teeth into your lower lip, breathing in deep through your nose and feeling your muscles relax. Every time he slips through your folds, the ache in your cunt grows tighter.

"Fuck, J- uh, Mr. M-"

Your hips still and you open your eyes as the realization hits you both at the same time that you have never called him by his first name before. It should have filled you with shame or at least some guilt, but instead you feel yourself dripping even more sticky arousal onto his skin. Joel feels it and chuckles.

"Think we're past formalities, darlin'."

Your eyes flash in the darkness of his living room and you give him a sly grin.

"Yeah, guess so," you breathe, hips resuming their slow pace up and down the underside of his cock. "Unless you're into that sort of thing..."

Joel growls and his hands dig into your waist, moving you a little faster on his lap.

"Way you're soakin' me, I'd say you're the one who's got a thing."

You laugh breathlessly and circle your arms around the back of his neck, pulling his mouth closer, needing to feel his lips on your skin once again.

"Maybe I do," you admit, mostly joking when you lean in to graze your lips against his ear to give it a try. "I want you to fuck me, Mr. Miller."

Joel's teeth find your shoulder and he gives you a playful nip, but other than that, he remains stoic. So, you try again.

"Think I'll be sore tomorrow, Mr. Miller?" you prod. His dick twitches between your legs and his breathing stalls, but still, he says nothing.

You briefly think you might be crossing a line, but you go for it anyway when you whisper, "When you see my dad tomorrow, are you gonna be thinking about this, Mr. Mill-"

Joel tosses his head back so he can grab your jaw, cutting you off with his thumb and forefinger digging into the soft flesh of your cheeks. His eyes look fiery and his teeth grind together as he stares daggers at you. For a second, you think you fucked up, but then he says, "You gonna run your mouth all night or are you gonna sit on my cock?"

A wide smile breaks across your face but it's restricted by his firm grip on your jaw. You shuffle onto your knees, raising your hips in the air so you could line him up at your entrance, but then he releases your chin and stops you.

"Wait," he murmurs, then two fingers slide through your pussy, collecting your arousal and making you gasp at the contact. Your eyes lock and he pops both fingers in his mouth with a groan. His eyelids droop closed for a moment as he savors your taste, the sight causing your mouth to go dry and your knees to feel weak.

"C'mere," he rasps, hand curling around the back of your neck and pulling you down. Your mouths collide and his tongue slips easily past your lips, offering you a taste of yourself while his other hand holds himself steady and nudges at your opening.

Slowly, you begin to sink down. The stretch gives you pause almost immediately and you whimper into his mouth. With one hand still cupping the back of your head, he breaks the kiss but presses your foreheads together as you both fight for air.

"'S okay, take your time," he says, but his voice is strained and his words are slurring, already feeling drunk off you.

You nod and try to take more. Another inch disappears inside you and your thighs tremble as you focus on breathing.

"You're so big," you whine when you take another inch. A shaky breath slips past his lips and his hand tightens around the back of your neck.

"Easy," he warns when you try to go too fast. You cry out softly and pause again, frustrated that you can't take him faster. Joel senses it and presses a kiss against your lips.

"Don't rush," he says, "wanna really feel you."

Just this once. You suppose since this wasn't going to happen again, you should make it count. Go slow, like he says.

"Touch me," you whisper, your nose brushing gently alongside his. Your eyes close and your fingers curl into the tense muscles of his back, then you sigh with relief when his thumb grazes your clit.

"Like that?" he asks, swirling circles over your bundle of nerves. You nod.

His touch softens you and you feel your muscles stretching and relaxing as you press further down. It's when you are nearly seated in his lap that his lips feverishly seek out yours once again, slotting together and muffling your moans when your hips grow flush with his.

"Y-you-" he stammers against your lips as you both work on adjusting to the feeling of your cunt wrapped snugly around his sizable length. He swallows and tries again. "So good, darlin'. S-so tight, fuck-" he groans, then flexes his hips, pushing himself as deep as he can possibly go. You wince and cry out, but he shushes you. "'S alright," he pants, "I got you. Just... just stay still a second, okay?"

You nod, mind a blur as he wraps his arms around your middle and buries his face in the crook of your neck. He sighs and slowly flexes his hips again, but it doesn't hurt the second time. You rest your cheek on the side of his head and close your eyes, allowing him to do whatever it is he wants to do.

His hands roam greedily around your body, thick fingers stretching to touch as much of you as possible. You feel his heart hammering in his chest and you think yours might be beating in rhythm with his, but you can't be certain because all your focus is drawn to the fullness between your legs and the soft noises emanating from the man underneath you.

"Talk to me," you whisper. His hands still and you hear him swallow.

"Say my name."

You don't process it at first, mind still slow and foggy like you were drunk, but you only had one sip of whiskey. Then, you realize what he wanted.

"Joel."

He groans, the vibrations transferring from his mouth to your chest. One of his hands slides up your thin shirt and pushes up your bra to cup your breast. "Again."

You moan his name and tip your head back, curling your spine so you push more of your chest into his palm. Two fingers pinch and roll your nipple and you gasp, then whisper his name again.

Just when you think you can't take much more and you will have to resort to begging, Joel melts into the couch and gazes up at you with the softest pair of eyes. He looks like a completely different man: his face is relaxed and he stares at you like you're the only two people on earth. Like you weren't his friend's daughter and there wasn't anything wrong with what you were doing. He looks at you like he's just a man and you're just a woman who holds the secrets of the universe in her hands.

He doesn't ask you to move, but he doesn't stop you when you slowly begin to rock your hips forward, either. The first few passes are tough. The stretch of his cock sliding in and out of you, even just a little bit, is an adjustment. But the more you move, the easier it becomes, and all the while Joel has his eyes pinned on you. He sees the way you screw your face up when the pressure is too much, then the way your brows relax and your breath evens out.

"How's it feel?" he asks when it becomes clear you are no longer in discomfort. You roll your hips steadily and link your arms around his neck.

"Good," you say truthfully, "so deep, and so full."

"Yeah?" he asks. "Anyone ever been this deep?" He punctuates his question with a snap of his hips and your mouth falls open. You find it difficult to answer when he's thrusting upwards, the power behind it already forming a dull ache somewhere deep inside you, so he asks again.

"No," you whisper.

"Yeah, that's right," he grumbles. He drops his gaze to watch you bounce on his lap, to watch the way your cunt spreads to accommodate him. Both his hands curl around the tops of your thighs as you move, squeezing your muscles like he needed to confirm you were real before sliding his palms up to rest on the crease of your hips.

You have no idea how you'll ever be satisfied with another man ever again now that you've felt what it's like to have Joel split you open and chase away every stressful, lingering thought from your brain. Just this once, just this once, just-

"More," you gasp, thighs tight and aching from supporting your weight. His fingers press into your skin and he begins to guide you, moving you up and down as he stares deep into your eyes.

"So soft," he murmurs. Your skin prickles at the wonder in his voice. "Everythin' 'bout you is so warm 'n soft. Gonna drive me fuckin' crazy, darlin'."

You move a little faster and you wish you had the foresight to pull his shirt off earlier. You want to see him - all of him - so you drop your hands to the hem of his shirt and slide them under it, instead. His breath sharpens when your palms run over the soft swell of his stomach, fingers mapping every inch of his skin and piecing together what he must look like from touch alone. Then, your hand sweeps over his heart. You feel the rapid thump right there, right under the pads of your fingers, and his dark brown eyes find yours. They look a little wild, a little wrecked, but mostly they look at you with adoration while you continue to ride him with every ounce of strength you have.

His breath grows ragged, just like yours. You easily drop yourself down onto his lap over and over, body now fully relaxed and open and accustomed to his size. He grunts each time his cock disappears inside you and his jaw starts to tighten when he meets you, thrust for thrust.

"Look at you," he breathes, "takin' me so well. Perfect little cunt, fuck-"

Your eyelids flutter and your mouth drops open, his filthy words pushing you closer and closer to your peak. You can feel the heat pooling low at the base of your spine and your breathing is reduced to sharp gasps.

His hands push and pull your body up and down - fast - and it has your fingers digging into his chest for balance underneath his shirt.

"Shit... feels so good," he moans, jaw slack and eyes glassy as he watches you whine and writhe in his lap. Sweat dots your forehead and you feel that familiar crest swelling deep inside.

"Joel-" you pant, voice cracked and hoarse. He blinks and catches the way your hips stutter. His hands slide up your back and press you forward, into his chest, and you tiredly slump against his shoulder.

"I got you," he murmurs before harshly snapping his hips. You moan his name and squeeze your eyes shut, the new angle stealing your breath and making your thighs shake. A hand presses on the base of your spine, pushing you down and holding you still while he fucks up into you. Each bruising thrust has you whimpering into his neck but you're so fucking close, you just sit there and take it until the dam breaks and you practically scream out his name, your voice echoing off the walls in the dark, otherwise silent house.

He's saying something but your ears are ringing too loudly and your blood is pumping too fast for you to make it out. His hand is rubbing soothing circles on your back and his voice is soft and calming and it's exactly what you need.

The ache between your legs forms into a burn from how hard he fucks you, chasing his own high now that he knew you were taken care of. Your lips press weak kisses against his throat. You feel the vibrations from his grunts and the salty taste of his skin when you whisper inside before he can even ask.

"Yeah? Want me to fill up this pretty little pussy?"

His voice is thick and rough. You peel your eyes open and tip your head so you can watch his face contort and his mouth fall open. He breathes sharply when his cock swells inside you and you smile at the instant relief painted across his face. His palm still flattens against your lower back, holding you in place as he pumps you full of his release. Then you feel his muscles relax and his grip around you loosens with a deep sigh.

"Christ," he murmurs after a long stretch of silence. You giggle and he grins before his hand cups your jaw and pulls you up for a kiss. It's so tender that it leaves you breathless and you hardly even notice he's sliding out of you until a sharp pang deep inside reminds you and you whine.

"You did good," he says softly, still holding you close in his lap. "Feel alright?"

"Mhm," you nod with your lower lip pulled between your teeth. He gives you a lazy smile and pushes a stray piece of hair away from your face. Your heart lurches at the sweet gesture and you smile back.

A car slowly lumbers down the street, between Joel's and your father's houses. It draws your attention outside and you frown at how dark it is.

"What time is it?"

Joel sighs and squints at the mantle clock. "Almost one."

"Shit," you mutter, then go to stand. "I should get going."

"You can stay," he says quickly. You are in the middle of picking up your clothes from his floor and you pause to meet his eye. He shrugs. "I mean, if you wanna."

Place is real lonely. His words from earlier filter through your brain and you feel guilty when you shake your head.

"I ... I can't. My car - he'll see."

"Oh," Joel whispers, then nods like it's no big deal. Like he was just being nice with his offer and it didn't matter to him either way. But you saw the disappointment in his face before he dropped his chin to fix his pants and a sharp pang splits your chest.

He stands to adjust his pants and you excuse yourself to use his bathroom. After cleaning yourself up, you rifle through your purse for a pen but come up empty. Instead, you pull out a tube of lipstick and you grin when you scrawl your number on his mirror. You shove it back in your purse and fix your hair before descending the stairs to find him in the kitchen drinking a glass of water. He holds out your glass from earlier and you shake your head.

"I'm gonna head out then," you say.

"Alright."

He walks slowly behind you, holding open the door to the quiet night air when you turn to look at him one more time. You know it's a little risky, but it's late, your dad's house is dark, and you're quick. You stretch up on your tiptoes to give Joel one last, lingering kiss, then step backwards onto his porch.

"Thanks for tonight."

He laughs quietly and leans against the doorframe. "I should be thankin' you."

You don't say anything. You grin and take a few more steps backwards before swiveling around and jogging lightly down his steps. When you make it to your car, you resist the urge to look back to see if he's still watching you from his front door.

You smile to yourself as you drive down the empty street, the dull ache between your legs and the burn on your skin from his beard both pleasant reminders of your unexpected evening.

But later that night, when your phone pings with a text from an unknown number right as you're getting ready for bed, something tells you it will be more than just this once.

Your tongue rolls over your teeth inside of your mouth as you stare with folded arms, phone clutched tightly in your hand as you wait eagerly for your driver to arrive and get you the hell out of here.

“Stunning,” You offer a forced smile, watching as your date lingered around the old car, pristine and well-cared for, an unattainable feat for such an immature man-child like himself.

It was the last time you were allowing your friends to set you up on a blind date, nearing the point of swearing off dating entirely, knowing that a man who couldn’t even cover half the check wasn’t driving around in a classic Pontiac, let alone affording the upkeep for it.

“Sure you don’t wanna change your mind?” He asks eagerly, the subtle admiration of the car waning as he comes into view, knowing the old beater a few spots down was surely his.

The bells above the convenience store next door jingle as people enter and exit, taking another impatient glance at your phone. You watch as the boy takes a seat against the hood and it makes you cringe internally, swallowing your words as an even deeper voice interjects from behind.

“I’ll give you about three seconds to get your ass of my hood,” The older man threatened, spinning the keys in his palm as he set the six pack of beer on the roof, the younger kid scrambled to his feet instantly, “—is he botherin’ you?”

“Unfortunately,” You mumble as you take another glance at your phone and curse under your breath, watching the unmoving dot on the screen.

“Get outta here, kid,” The mystery man barks, “looks like you already ruined her night and I don’t need some runt like you fuckin’ up my car.”

You both watch as he sulks to his car, just as you suspected, your lips pulling into a thin line to stifle the laugh that built in your chest, feeling lighter for the first time that night.

“Does that happen often?” You ask curiously, watching as he fiddled with his door before the lock popped and the door swung open, the six pack of beer carefully placed in the passenger seat as he rose back up to answer your question, hands curled around the edge of the roof.

“Ever since I fixed her up,” He pauses, recollecting, “probably a once a week ordeal. They’re easy to run off, fortunately. You waitin’ on something?”

“My ride,” You wobble your phone back and forth weakly and Joel squints, shaking his head as he winces at the guttural backfire of the engine in the car behind him, the final memory of your absolutely awful date as he disappears down the road.

“Kid had a car and couldn’t even bother to pick you up or take you home?” He asks curiously, strangely not unsettled by his openness to conversation given his gruff exterior, “Some nerve.”

“It was a blind date,” You shrug, “My friends they—”

“Those ain’t friends,” He interrupts politely, “if they set you up with a guy like that.”

“Well, maybe—” Your words linger, shifting from foot to foot as the conversation dies out and your feet begin to ache, the summer heat making you uncomfortable, the silk fabric of your dress sticking to your skin as you wipe at your damp cheek and push your hair behind your ear.

“Hop in,” He tells you, stooping into his car as he closes the door, his waiting gaze staring up at you through the window, “I can give you a ride.”

“I…don’t know,” You answer uneasily, “I don’t even know you.”

“I’m Joel,” He answers almost immediately, “I’m not a genius but I figure you had a shitty date, no sense in you paying for a ride home if I can offer one. Chivalry ain’t that dead, sweetheart.”

You offer him your name quietly, approaching the car with some hesitation. 

He seemed like an honest enough man, swooping in like a knight in shining armor.

You’ve given worse men a fairer chance—so, fuck it.

–

“My dad had a car like this,” You perk up after a few minutes, the glass bottles clinking against each other from where they sat by your feet, between your legs, “not a ‘67—was a ‘69.”

“You know your shit?” Joel asks curiously, his left hand settled over the top of the steering wheel while his right was settled against the gear shift, “He teach you about ‘em?”

Oddly, conversation with Joel was easy. A similar interest, neither of you with any room to judge one another. Equals.

“I pestered him alot,” You admit, “I was supposed to end up with it but he sold it before he died. God, what I wouldn’t give—”

“She is a beaut,” Joel admits, giving a soft tap to the dashboard, “and a labor of love.”

“She? What’s her name?” You ask knowingly, the slightest hint of a smirk on your face.

He spoke so fondly of the car, as if it breathed life into him. It wasn’t unfamiliar to you.

“Sarah,” He offers up more subdued, but a soft smile graces his face for a brief moment, “s’long story, doesn’t matter.”

“My dad named his Jameson,” You say suddenly in an attempt to add some levity, “funny, since my dad was an alcoholic…”

Okay, maybe not funny, but Joel gives you a pity chuckle anyways. 

Luckily, your nervous admittance is quickly looked over.

“So, where’m I takin’ you?”

You chew at your bottom lip and glance sheepishly at Joel.

“Um…UT?”

“Goddamn, that’s like—”

“An hour away, yeah,” You sigh, “I won’t be upset if you want to stop at the next gas station, I have the money for a ride, it isn’t that big of a—”

“I’m about five minutes up the road,” Joel begins, fingers flexing lazily ahead as they raise from the steering wheel, “I’ve got a spare room, I can take you up there in the morning.”

“You’re a total stranger, you know?”

“There’s a motel just a ways up,” Joel suggested with ease.

Though as you approach it looks bleak, the fluorescent lights blinking overhead and a glaring spot for much more nefarious activity with the perfectly placed strip club across the road, feeling the car pull to a slow stop.

“I…think I’ll take you up on that spare room,” You stutter out.

Joel nods, a hint of amusement in his eyes as he shifts gears and pulls back onto the road. 

The flickering neon lights of the seedy motel fade in the rearview mirror.

“That place ain't fit for anyone, let alone a young lady like yourself."

“I’m not young,” You retort, ‘I’m twenty-three.”

“And I’m as old as this car,” Joel retorts, watching your face scrunch up in thought as you did the mental math in your head before he puts you out of your misery, “I’m fifty-eight, sweetheart.”

Pushing sixty? Big deal.

You’ve had older professors flirting with you inappropriately on a weekly basis, at least Joel was being polite and kind and not at all as sleazy as most men, at least, not yet.

You stare at him without his knowledge, his eyes focused intently on the road. He’s rugged, facial hair thick and unevenly covering his face, plush lips parting as his tongue swiped along his bottom lip, a permanent scowl on his rather softened expression. 

He’s devastatingly attractive. 

And there’s something about him that comforts you, a remnant of protection despite the unconventional circumstance of finding yourself in a stranger’s care after a terrible date on the way to an unfamiliar place.

Eventually, the car slows, rumbling into a small cul de sac with four other houses surrounding his own, certainly picturesque and not what you would suspect from a man like him. He cuts the engine dead as he pulls into his driveway and wordlessly leans his body over the center console, a hand snaking between your spread legs as he reaches for the six-pack of beer.

“Home sweet home,” He jokes lightly, “C’mon.”

With trepidation and a sudden heat to your face as he peers up at you for a moment while his hand is settled between your thighs, you nod.

Please don’t be a fucking serial killer, you think. 

A silent prayer said to anyone that would listen.

-

He’s a perfect gentleman, fortunately. 

Joel gives you a short tour, displaying the spare room at the end of the hall, an attached bathroom and plenty of escape routes—he seems to sense the unease still as it lingers.

“You said twenty-three, right?” He double checks, “You want a beer? Or water? I got some soda, too.”

“Beer is fine,” You answer with a nod, turning on your heels to follow him back down the hall and toward the kitchen, watching as Joel flicked on the overhead light above the kitchen island and pulled two beers from the cardboard casing.

He pops the caps off with ease before he’s pushing the beer into your hand and taking a sip of his own, leading you toward the dining room as he pulls out a chair for you and him, a comfortable distance as his legs spread out when he sits, the glass resting against his denim covered knee.

“So your daddy, he taught you a lot about cars?”

“How to take care of ‘em,” You explain, “What’s good, what’s shit. I’ve got a soft spot for the classics, you know? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like them fast, too.”

“Smart girl,” Joel notes, but then he lingers for a moment and watches as you sip gingerly at your beer, “I’m curious—and you can tell me to fuck off if you want, but what happened back there? Other than that kid makin’ a complete ass of himself?”

The comment should not make your insides twist the way they do, a faint throb between your legs that you hide with a cough and another long sip, “He’s just…not great. And the gesture was there, he tried paying for the date, but then his card declined and, well…”

“Sounds like a real winner,” He mocks, taking a hefty sip before the liquid is gone, sliding the empty glass along the dinner table.

“He’s not my type, anyways,” You shrug, finishing off your own beer and mirroring his actions, watching as he silently grabbed the bottles and stood up, disposing of them in the nearby trash.

Joel makes an unintelligible noise as he shakes his head, “And what exactly would that be?”

You hum thoughtfully, “A V8 engine for starters, some real hefty horsepower, a nice spacy interior,”

“Damn, just my type,” Joel plays along, “I like that you know your shit—you savin’ up for one?”

A car, he means.

 Given that you were attempting to find a ride home, it seemed like a valid question.

“Trying, sure.” You shrug nonchalantly, “It’s more of a dream anymore, college isn’t exactly the cheapest.”

A beat passes as Joel slips back into his seat and you pull your bare feet up into the chair, curling your arms around your knees loosely before you speak again.

“Serious answer—I don’t date boys my age ever. I was only entertaining it because my friends wouldn’t shut up about it. They’re usually older; thirties, forties. You can judge me—I get it.”

“Ain’t nothing to judge,” Joel shrugs, “You like what you like.”

“And you?”

Joel laughs at that, looking away briefly as you smile, poking his thigh with your foot as he thinks for a moment, eyes dragging toward the floor.

“I’m too old for that shit—ain’t nothing for me.”

“I think you’d be surprised,” You tell him honestly, knowing that most of the girls would be ripping each other’s throats out for a moment with him, the perfect amount of mysterious and dark, a hint of southern gentleman in the way he carries himself, a total fucking smoke show.

You knew just how deadly you’d be vying for a chance with him.

And here he was, like an offering plopped right into your lap.

Besides, you were having a bad night, what else did you have to lose?

“That so?” Joel seemed to be testing the waters too, a playfulness in his eyes that was deeply subdued but there, simmering. He wasn’t going to try anything unless you initiated, lucky for him, you were more than eager by now.

“Oh, I know so,” You nod with confidence, “Nice car—you got that whole dark and mysterious thing going for you and you’re hot, s’not like I’m blind, Joel.”

“Is there somethin’ you’re gettin’ at, sweetheart?” Joel asks curiously.

You shrug, a mischievous grin crossing your face.

You’ve had plenty of one night stands; terrible dates with half-decent sex.

You spent two hours getting ready, another getting to dinner, and you’d be damned to waste such a good opportunity when it presented itself.

“I had a shit night and you’ve already managed to make it better,” You admit, “I’m just sayin’ as a thank you, we could—”

“I’m not askin’ for a thank you, sweetheart,” His voice is immediately softer, alluring.

His brow twitches as you lock eyes, like a moment of consideration crosses his mind, large palms splayed out against even larger thighs, the type that made you curious.

He had the body of a man well-worked; a mix of someone who’s aged with grace and maintained his lifestyle through work, broad shoulders that begged to be explored, stretching as he fidgeted in his chair.

“If I told you I wanted you to fuck me, would you?”

Joel speaks your name aloud and you smile sheepishly, though he knows it was an act, feeling a little braver with a few shots of liquid courage from earlier in the night and a beer to loosen your nerves further.

You were staring at the veins in his hands now, calloused fingers rubbing at a soft, flayed spot in his jeans, right above the knee, tanned skin hiding underneath. 

“It’s not a question of would I, honey. I can’t.”

So, he would.

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

“I’m gonna save you the regret—besides, I got a few rules for myself, and if not allowing myself to touch you when we just met is one of ‘em, I think that’s fair.”

“Do you think I’m pretty?” You goad, feet dropping slowly to the ground between his widened legs, “Do you want me to touch you? Is that against the rules?”

Joel knows there’s no benefit in lying.

“‘Course I think you’re pretty but you sure got a mouth,” Joel comments, fingers flexing against his thigh as he leans back in his chair, letting out a long breath through his nose as he peers over at you, “I’m willin’ to do a lot more than touch, sweetheart. But, not like this, not tonight.”

“I’m not drunk,” You defend, “C’mon, Joel. I got all dressed up tonight and I’m askin’,”

Half a second short of begging.

“Sweetheart,” He warns, “M’not gonna,”

“Then touch yourself,” You encourage, “let me watch.”

“Now, what makes you think—”

Your straps droop down your shoulders, one adjustment short of your breasts spilling out of your dress as your head nods toward his subtle adjustment between his legs, pulling slightly at the denim suffocating his growing erection.

He’s got a beautiful girl presenting herself to him, one more no away from dropping to her knees to wallow, lips parted as you breathed out softly, thighs separating so far that Joel catches the quickest glimpse of your thin panties, nearly see-through with how wet you were, your hands squeezing at the fabric near the end of your dress like a nervous tic.

Joel wasn’t blind either.

“You were going to do it after I went to sleep, weren’t you?

“You’re stubborn as hell, girl—”

“I bet it’s big,” You throw from left-field, a smirk growing on your face, “I love sucking cock, Joel. It’s my favorite thing—s’not a rule break, right? If I touch you and you keep your hands to yourself? Do you want me on my knees? Wanna see what I look like with your cock in my mouth?”

His jaw clenches, watching the muscle strain underneath his skin as he clears his throat.

“Don’t be shy—”

“I”m not shy.”

Then?

Your eyebrows raise in question, your dress pulling slowly up your thighs, legs widening with the movement before Joel finally relents, the deafening sound of his zipper pulling a soft giggle from your chest as you wiggle with excitement.

Joel's hand hesitates for a moment before he reaches into his pants, shoving them far enough down his thighs, his eyes locked on yours as he slowly pulls out his hardening cock, watching him swell in the loose grip of his palm. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of it—thick and veiny, an easy seven inches, a heavy set of balls to match as his fingers roll along the tight skin and up, his fingers drifting featherlight over his cock.

“This what you wanted?” Joel asks, low and throaty, a strain to his tone.

You nod eagerly, bottom lip pulling between your teeth as your hands settle beside you, gripping the chair so hard it creaks, legs spread wide instinctually, making room for him despite his distance, your dress slipping far enough down your chest that your breasts were on display.

Soft peaks, nipples hardened in the cool air, your chest rising with slow breaths as you arch yourself forward slightly, his hand keeping a slow, teasing pace as his thumb drags over the thick head and against the slit.

Your eyes flicker between Joel’s face and his tight grip around his cock, watching as he strokes himself with slow intent, belt jingling with the movement as he pushes his shirt up with the other hand, his own eyes trading between different parts of your body.

He’d suckle at your skin if he could, trail his tongue from mouth to cunt, have you a shaking, sobbing mess if he allowed himself the luxury, but he was a man wallowing in his own self-made torture and the energy in the air was palpable, thick with tension.

“Closer,” He groans out lowly, nodding his head in a jerky motion as his free hand beckons you near, “Spread your legs, sweetheart—lemme see you.”

You give him far more than he asks, standing slowly before you’re hooking your fingers in the fabric at your hips and pulling down, letting the damp fabric drop to your feet before you’re leaning down to pick it up, tossing your panties into Joel’s lap before you return to your seat.

One foot propped against the chair, your dress bunches at your hips, giving him a perfect view of your glistening cunt as you spread your fingers through your folds, a teasing touch.

Blindly, Joel grabs at the fabric and wraps it around his cock, like a vice, he squeezes tight.

Joel's eyes darken, pupils dilating as he takes in the sight before him. His grip tightens around your panties, the damp fabric adding a new, chest-tightening sensation as he strokes himself harder. A low groan escapes his lips, his gaze fixed on your fingers as they tease through your slick folds.

“You too scared to fuck a college girl?” You tease him, “‘Is that what you’re worried about?”

“Smart ass mouth, girl,” He gripes, “S’like your daddy never taught you any manners.”

“Oh, ‘cause I’m sure you could’ve,” You reply flippantly, gasping as your finger catches along your fluttering hole, a groan rumbling deep in Joel’s chest as he jerks his cock.

“I ain’t your daddy,” He reminds you.

You shake your head nonchalantly, “No you’re not. Could–could be, though. “What do you want? For me to pout and call you daddy?”

“Careful,” he warns, his voice rough with desire, “That’s a dangerous game, sweetheart.”

You hum at the words, a faint flutter in your chest.

If you stopped to think about what was happening you would psych yourself out completely, so you lean back further, arching yourself forward as you slide two fingers inside yourself. "I don’t mind playing," you moan, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before locking back onto Joel’s.

Joel's breath catches in his throat, his hand faltering for a moment as he watches you sink your fingers deeper into your wet cunt, the soft squelch paired with your innocent sounds.

He scowls as he squeezes his shaft, “Christ, girl,” He grunts, “Tryin’ to kill me, aren’t you?”

You shake your head impishly, “Temptin’ you,” You admit, “Is it working?”

“You know damn well,” Joel says tensely, forcing the words through his teeth as his fingers slide up and squeeze at the head of his cock, precum slick against his fingers as he uses it to add to the friction, his eyes roaming hungrily over your body, “fuckin’ look at you, so goddamn eager.”

“That right, daddy?” You ask breathily, giggling with the word as Joel looks like he could explode, his other hand cupping his balls to keep him busy, knowing if he lingered with his thoughts for too long he’d fuck you into the chair without an ire of hesitation, his eyes close as his head leans back.

“Is that what you need? Someone carin’ for you?” He asks, “Is that why you’re actin’ out?”

The way his hand moves against his cock is mesmerizing, the flex of his wrist as he jerks his cock in a practiced manner, something he undoubtedly does weekly, squeezing his sack gently in his hand as his chest rumbles quietly.

“Eyes up, sweetheart,” He chastises, “I’m askin’ you a question, answer it.”

You nod weakly, a frown forming on your face as you whimper, the softest graze of your fingertip over your clit as your body spasms, gasping at the feeling.

“Words, ‘hon,” He encourages, his own voice wavering slightly.

“Y—yes,” You answer quickly.

Joel chuckles deeply, “S’good. Good girl, sweetheart. You wanna spread those legs for daddy then?” 

Obediently, they do, presenting your glistening cunt to him as you fingers slip out, wet with slick and Joel licks at his bottom lip, mouth watering at the sight.

“Fuckin’ filthy,” He murmurs endearingly, a slight smirk stretching across his face at the sight, “—won’t even touch you and you’re mess, been like that since you got in my car, huh?”

You nod weakly, sighing as your fingers circle lazily over your clit.

“Taste ‘em,” He encourages, “clean ‘em up.”

Your fingers, he means.

Like some magnetic pull, you find your fingers pressing against your tongue without thinking and the tangy sweetness melts against your tongue, his breath shuddering as you licked your fingers clean, cunt pulsing with need, silently pleading for Joel.

His eyes narrow, darkening with lust as his hand speeds up around his cock, obscene sounds matching his heady words, neck straining as he grunts, “That’s it, sweetheart. Listenin’ to your daddy—M’fuck—fuckin’ close.”

Through your bleary haze, you nod with the same sentiment, speaking softly, “Metoometoo—”

His movements are more fumbling, quick and furious jerks of his cock that still at the head as he squeezes, his face scrunching up in a mix of frustration and desperation, trying harder than he’s ever had to not shoot his load too soon.

“Yeah? Show me,” He encourages, goading as his unoccupied hand twists into his shirt and hastily pulls it up and over his head, “Spread your legs for me, baby.”

They spread impossibly wider, your hand reaching behind your head to grip onto the chair as your ass slips near the edge, circling your fingers over your clit without much precision, knowing that one more word from his mouth and you’d be drooling all over the seat.

“So fuckin’ desperate, look at you,” He demeans, “Poor little girl with daddy issues, huh?”

You moan shakily, avoidant of his obviously goading question, eyes fluttering closed as your orgasm crept in slow, mumbling out the words without even thinking, “Please—please can I—daddy, can I—”

“S’alright, we’ll fix that,” Joel comments softly, his voice a low growl, “Go on, sweetheart, come for me.”

The feeling is instant, his permission all you need to melt over the edge, legs shaking through the mind-numbing sensation your climax brings, chest tightening as you gasp, fingers working frantically over your clit as Joel’s name slips from your mouth.

Distantly, you hear him groan, his orgasm overtaking him at the sight of you writhing in your chair, spilling over his tight fist as thick, milky ropes of cum spread across his chest and down the underside of his cock, his eyes falling shut. 

As your breathing slows, your thighs pull together, shrinking impossibly small into the chair in a sudden overwhelming feeling of shame. Shame that you had shared an intimate moment like this with a man you barely knew all because you had a terrible night and shame over how easily he had made you come, like it was natural.

Despite the obvious, Joel doesn’t miss a beat.

A slow, satisfied smile spreads across his face and he beckons you forward. Finally.

“On your knees, sweetheart,” He instructs as your body moves without much protest, sliding to the floor as your dress pools at your hips, not amiss to the way Joel’s eyes follow the subtle bounce of your breasts as you move between his spread legs, his erection flagging but your tongue peeks out eagerly, licking at the head of his cock as your hands curls around his calves for support, “S’not—hey,” He hisses, “you were listenin’ so good until now.”

He’s salty and sweet, a taste so inviting that you needed more. It made your mouth water, tongue swiping against your bottom lip as your eyes fell on the opaque liquid covering his stomach.

Unfortunately, he still wouldn’t touch you.

He runs a hand through his hair while the other rests against the table, balled into a fist as you shake your head shyly, removing your hands from his legs.

“Sor—sorry,” You stutter, uncertainty evident in your voice.

Joel’s eyebrows raise, an unspoken bond quickly forming between you both.

“Try again.

“M’sorry, daddy—what can—,” You gulp audibly, fidgeting nervously with the silk fabric at your waist, “how can I make it up to you?”

Joel glances down at his stomach, still covered in cum as he breathes, watching the liquid drop down his skin and to his softening cock, still intimidatingly large even as it rests against his thigh, “Why don’t you clean me up? Can you do that?”

You nod eagerly, darting forward immediately as your tongue glided along his skin, into the small patch of hair above his groin and to his belly button, hearing Joel groan as the chair creaks with his shifting weight, struggling against his own forced restraint as you lick the cooled cum off his skin, eyes flicking up to look at him, dangerously innocent.

A facade, he knows. But, he’s in fucking trouble.

“That’s it,” Joel coos, “Clean me up good, baby.”

You giggle softly, dragging the tip of your tongue along the last bit of his cum before you drag up the center, barely reaching his face before you pull away, a soft huff of breath hitting you in the face as Joel shakes his head and chuckles, looking away from you briefly.

“Still not gonna touch me?” You tease him, quietly pulling your dress back up your body and over your shoulders, fingers adjusting the strap as he turns back to look at you.

“I’m tryin’ to be respectful here, sweetheart. And you’re makin’ it damn near impossible.”

Your brow furrows in a mix of confusion and amusement, “Respectful? You call that respectful, Joel? Oh—” You clear your throat and pull your bottom lip between your teeth, batting your lashes, “M’sorry, I mean, daddy.”

“Careful,” Joel warns, “You still have an hour in the car with me in the morning.”

You nod, slowly rising to your feet as you adjust your dress down your body, smoothing it out over your curves as your hands rest naturally behind your back, loosely as they curl together.

“Mmm, no,” You retort, a playful glint in your eyes, “I think you should be worried about me.”

“Is that right, sweetheart?” He mocks, hardly believing your faux confidence against him.

“Or, you could just let me drive?” You attempt playfully, a full belly chuckle erupting from Joel.

“I mean,” Joel shrugs, his voice trailing.

Breaking his rule for a moment, the hand ruffling through his hair trails toward your thigh, curling around the bare skin for a brief moment, sliding up until his fingers grazed against the curve of your ass and your bare pussy underneath, your panties resting near his fist on the table, a keepsake.

In the distance, through the mountains of snow pushed between the sidewalks and streets, you thought you saw the glow of a coffee shop you recognized, so you tucked your arms against your chest and pushed on, praying you were headed in the right direction.

It took a few minutes before the light changed and you were safe to cross the street. Seconds kept chipping away and you tried not to stress about the time. You had to resign yourself to the fact that you were going to make a horrible first impression on your boss and be late for your very first day of work at the F.B.I.

And although you knew it was out of your control at that point, you still felt tears sting your eyes when you approached the coffee shop and realized it was, in fact, not the one you recognized from your dry run over the weekend.

You wanted to blame it on the sharp winter wind that bit at your cheeks that made the first tears fall, but deep down you knew the truth. You were a stranger in a busy city about to start a job you had hoped you could make into a successful career, but with your poor planning and horrible sense of direction, you likely just ruined your chances at the position of a lifetime.

"Hey, are you okay?"

You whipped around at the deep voice behind you, but not before swiping quickly at the wet tears on your cheeks with your gloved hand.

"Oh," you breathed when you first laid eyes on the concerned bystander. For one brief moment, you forgot all your worries because the man was gorgeous. Tall and lean with beautiful, soft brown eyes and a prominent mustache decorating his lip, your handsome stranger had you temporarily forgetting your misery as you got lost in his eyes.

"Um, I'm fine," you insisted with a tremble to your voice once you blinked and snapped yourself out of your daydream.

"You sure? You look a little lost," he said with a furrow to his brow.

And maybe it was the stress from the morning that got to you, or maybe it was the looming cloud in the back of your mind reminding you this would be your first Christmas all alone without your family, but suddenly you couldn't stop the hot tears that streamed down your cheeks.

The man's eyes widened in surprise before he glanced around nervously. You buried your face in your hands, knowing you must have been smearing your makeup, but at that point you didn't care. Your day was already ruined.

"Come on, you're alright," he said soothingly. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and steered you in the direction of the coffee shop. "You need something to warm you up, let's go," he added before swinging the door open for you.

"I-I'm already going to be so late," you protested, but he shushed you and pressed a hand against your middle back, giving you a gentle push inside the cozy café.

"If you're already late, what's another ten minutes?" he replied before approaching the counter and taking his gloves off. It was at that point you noticed he was dressed very nicely in an expensive looking three piece suit with a long, black wool overcoat. The only thing out of place were his clunky winter boots, and the sight actually managed to make the corner of your mouth turn up a bit.

"Two hot chocolates, please," he said before fishing out his wallet. Then he glanced back at you before adding, "and a blueberry muffin."

"Oh, you don't have to, I can pay for mine," you said, fumbling for your purse. He shook his head and swiped his card before you could say another word.

"Not a chance."

You smiled up at him, eyes still glistening with tears. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he replied before handing you your drink and muffin. "Well worth the five bucks to see you smile."

Your face flushed with heat from his kind compliment. You looked around the shop for a place to sit, hoping to hide your embarrassment for just a moment. The pair of you sat down at a table by the window and you took a deep, steadying breath before bringing the cup to your lips and taking a grateful sip.

"I'm Javier," he said, and with a smirk, he stretched his arm across the small table. Your face warmed again when you realized you hadn't even remembered to introduce yourself. You took his hand and shook it, telling him your name while silently marveling at how warm his hands were, despite the weather. He must have very high quality gloves, you thought.

"Well, thank you again, Javier," you said before splitting the muffin and handing him half. He smiled and plucked it from your fingers with a nod.

"You're welcome. Now, what's got you so sad this beautiful morning?" he asked. You laughed, glancing out the window at the anything but beautiful morning waiting for you outside.

"I'm supposed to start my new job today and I'm completely lost," you explained while picking at the muffin. "I just moved here and I'm not familiar with the city. I thought I knew my way to work, but I got turned around and I'm pretty sure I'm going to get fired, now."

Javier huffed and took a sip from his cup. "Where do you work?"

"The F.B.I," you said. If it weren't D.C., you were sure there would have been a stronger reaction to your place of employment, but the city was filled with people who worked for the federal government, so it was far from uncommon.

"Ah, I know where that building is," he said before wiping his mouth with a napkin and crumpling it up. "Why don't I walk you over? It's not far."

"Oh, no," you said with a shake of your head. "You're probably late for work, too. And by the looks of it, you're someone important."

Javier grinned and leaned back in his chair. The café was decorated for Christmas, garland and twinkle lights were wound around every ledge and window. When he looked at you, his eyes sparkled with their reflection, and it was impossible to ignore the way your heart fluttered in your chest.

"I'll be alright. It's not too far. C'mon," he said, standing after you finished your muffin. He stretched out a hand for you after pulling his gloves back on and you smiled before taking it and joining him.

"What did you get hired to do for the F.B.I?" he asked once you were back out on the busy sidewalk. He kept a tight hold on your hand, each of you still clutching your hot chocolate with the other. Anybody walking by might guess you were a couple based on how easily you leaned into each other as you dodged pedestrians from the opposite direction and the thought made you giddy.

"Oh, nothing exciting. Just a secretary for a higher level agent," you said with a shrug.

"Yeah? Nice guy?" he asked curiously. When you came to a stop at the corner, waiting for the light to change, you took the opportunity to look up at him once again. His cheeks were slightly pink from the cold, as well as the tip of his angular nose, and you found it incredibly endearing for some reason.

"I haven't actually met him," you admitted. "I only interviewed with Human Resources and the woman I was replacing. Can't imagine being almost thirty minutes late is going to leave a positive impression, though."

"Don't sweat it. If he's a reasonable guy, he'd understand. Besides, he'd be stupid to let you go," he said, eyes scanning you up and down with a teasing lilt to his voice. Your mouth dropped open the slightest bit, giving away your surprise when it occurred to you for the first time this guy might have actually been flirting with you. It was loud on the streets, the sounds of people talking and laughing combined with the road noise made it impossible to hear him chuckle, but the foggy exhale from his nose when he smirked told you he found your reaction amusing and hopefully adorable.

"You're being too nice," you warned him, then the light changed and you let him lead you across the street, his hand still tightly clutching yours. "You don't even know me. I could be a terrible worker."

"I doubt that," he scoffed before tugging your hand around a corner, leading you back north. It was around then you realized you would have been walking for an hour before you found the right direction.

"Yeah? Why's that?"

Javier grinned but kept his eyes fixed straight ahead.

"You were crying in the street about being late for a job as a secretary, sweetheart. You can be a secretary anywhere, right? So only thing I can think is you hate to let people down, which, to me, is an important quality in a good worker."

You laughed and held onto his hand a little tighter, pausing to toss both of your empty cups in the trash before continuing your snowy walk.

"What is it that you do, Javier?" you asked, dreamily looking up at him. He opened his mouth to answer but he was cut short by a man's panicked voice.

"Whoa, watch out!"

A courier bike has been racing down the street, and at the last second, jumped the curb to avoid getting hit by a taxi. You hardly had time to register the messenger's warning when a sharp tug came from Javier, who had pulled you out of the way without hesitation. You stumbled to the side, narrowly missing getting knocked over, and fell right into Javier's arms. Due to your momentum, he spun you both around so you wouldn't fall and in the blink of an eye, your back was pressed against the frosty glass storefront of a bakery with Javier accidentally pinning you with his body.

"Are you alright?" he asked breathlessly. You nodded, heart racing in your chest.

"Yeah. Shit. Thank you," you mumbled.

"Sorry!" came the distant apology from the bike messenger, already halfway down the block. Javier lifted his chin to scowl in his direction, allowing your brain a chance to catch up, and you immediately grew flustered when you realized the compromising position you were in. His body was firm and broad underneath his suit and coat. You could feel his strength even underneath all the layers between you. Glancing up, you saw his one forearm was braced above your head while his other hand had found a home on your lower back.

Your gaze traveled slowly up his torso, noticing for the first time your hands were clutching at his coat for dear life, a fact that added to the many reasons your cheeks felt so warm.

When Javier turned to look down at you, you could see the moment he realized how close you had become, but instead of growing shy, his eyes darkened and he swallowed tightly.

"You got a little-"

Javier released your waist and pulled off his glove with his teeth so he could swipe his thumb gently under your eye, fixing your smeared mascara from your earlier bouts of tears. Your eyelids fluttered from his careful touch and your breath got caught in your throat when you noticed the way his hand lingered on your face for a moment longer than necessary before he pulled his hand away and stepped backwards.

He cleared his throat and ran his fingers through his thick, dark brown hair before shoving his hand back in his glove.

"Alright, trouble, we're almost there."

You blinked and nodded before forcing yourself off the window to join him. Your hand fidgeted at your side, wishing you had the guts to take his hand again, but much to your delight, Javier's fingers laced with yours after half a block, making you both smile shyly when you caught each other's eye.

"Any big plans for the holidays?" Javier asked you. You shook your head sadly.

"I just moved here and my family all lives in a small town outside of Albany," you explained. "If I do still have a job, I certainly couldn't ask for time off already. And if I don't, well," you laughed lightly and shook your head. "I don't exactly have the money to travel, so... quiet Christmas this year. What about you?"

"No big plans. I don't have much family, but the ones I do have are in Texas. Wasn't planning on traveling home this year, so... quiet Christmas for me, too."

You tried, you really did, to come up with the courage to ask for his number or give him yours. For the entirety of the walk to your building, you kept rehearsing things you could say: Maybe we can get together if we're both in town? I'd love to get you a hot chocolate to repay the favor... or something stronger. Ugh. Dumb. Hey, since I'm new around here and it sounds like we'll both have time on our hands, why don't you show me around? Nope. Too bold. Why don't you give me your number so I can let you know if I kept my job after all?

Yes. That was the one. Light hearted and kind of funny. But when you found yourselves standing outside the familiar looking building, moments away from saying your goodbyes, you chickened out.

"Well, thank you again," you said nervously. He dropped your hand and opened the front door to the lobby, holding it for you so you could walk inside. It was quiet in the expansive lobby due to the odd hour. Most employees had already arrived for the day and were somewhere in the depths of the building, along with a very likely irate HR recruiter wondering where you were.

"No problem, happy to help out," he said with a lopsided grin. You didn't even question why he was still walking with you towards the front desk, far too preoccupied with the fact you were going to lose your job before it even started. When you got close enough to the receptionist, she glanced up from her computer and gave you both a warm smile.

"Hi, good morning," you told her while clasping your hands on top of the tall counter. You gave her your name and the name of your HR recruiter, letting her know you were a little late and you had run into some trouble with the weather.

"Alrighty, give me one moment and I'll have Carly meet you to review your onboarding paperwork. I see you've already met Agent Peña - good morning, Javier," she added with a flirty smile in his direction. Your jaw dropped and you swiveled to your left but he was already calling the elevator a short distance away.

"Morning, Laura," he called, locking eyes with you for just a brief moment before the elevators dinged. You stood frozen in shock, unable to form a single thing to say when he added, "I better get upstairs. My new secretary's supposed to start today. It'd look terrible if I were late."

Javier stepped into the car and tapped a number along with a plastic ID card. His gaze found yours once more and she shot you a playful wink right before the doors slid shut, leaving you to your stunned silence.

"Is- is that..." you trailed off, still staring blankly at the closed elevator. "Is that the agent I'm assigned to?"

Laura had just set her phone down in the cradle. "Yeah," she said dreamily before glancing around the empty room and leaning forward. "Lucky girl. His other secretary was with him for ages. I heard when she announced her retirement, HR got, like, thirty internal resumes for the job," she giggled.

"Oh, wow," was all you could muster before the elevator reopened and out stepped Carly.

"Good morning!" she said cheerily. "Sorry to hear you ran into some tough weather but I'm glad you made it. Don't worry, Agent Peña just got here, too."

You still apologized profusely for your tardiness as you followed her onto the elevator, your mind and pulse racing at the sudden turn of events.

"He's very nice, I think you'll get along great," Carly added while watching the numbers above the elevator door.

"Yeah, I think so, too," you replied, trying to hide the excitement from your voice.

Maybe your first day wasn't going to be a complete nightmare, after all.

It starts simple - a set of silken sheets that you bring onto the Crest. Din returns to find you sprawled out on the small bed you share with a sleepy smile that makes his chest feel funny. Your fingers fan out against the soft material.

“Come feel.” You murmur. He doesn’t hesitate to tug off the thick leather gloves and brush the fabric with the back of his fingers. You watch as his shoulders soften, his head tilting as he takes in the foreign feeling. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” He says contemplatively. “It’s soft.”

Your smile widens and you shift over, making room for your lover. “Join me?”

“In a bit,” Din promises. The chill of his beskar soaks into your skin as he presses his forehead to yours. His warm palm cups your cheek and he holds you there for a breath before pulling away. “I have some more work to do.”

It isn’t hard to convince him to strip down when he joins you later that night. He’s exhausted, body aching from a long day’s work. He lets you strip away his armor and flight suit until he’s left in his briefs. You’re used to him falling asleep the moment he collapses into bed - but tonight is different. His eyebrows raise in surprise when he relaxes back into the pillows, his fingers rubbing circles against new sheets. Din is a man of few words but it’s obvious how much he likes the new addition to the bedroom.

“Come here,” He whispers, beckoning you to join him. The tension melts from his body as you curl up against his side. He tilts your chin up and kisses you softly, a wordless offer of his thanks that you eagerly accept. Surrounded by the cool sheets and the woman he loves, he falls asleep within minutes. That morning, Din lingers in bed for those first drowsy moments after waking. He wakes you with a few gentle caresses of his hands over your shoulder and arm and a murmur of your name. He looks more rested than usual.

You make sure to buy matching pillowcases the next time you’re out.

With every passing day, Din learns how to slow down and savor the morning. It doesn’t take much to keep him in bed with you a little longer each morning - a few soft touches and sweet kisses, and Din sinks right back into your arms. He rubs his face into the crook of your neck and drifts in and out of sleep, practically purring with every brush of your fingers through his hair. His voice, so deep and rough first thing in the morning, rumbles low in his chest as he murmurs his love into your skin. It’s simple, this early morning peace the two of you share. So simple, but so important.

You slip into the shower with him one random evening. You can’t help it. He’s been gone for two days straight on a bounty hunt and you’ve missed him. His eyes light up with interest as they trail over your naked body, his hands finding your waist and tugging you against him. A shiver of desire arcs up your spine - but you didn’t come here to get fucked silly in the shower. Well, not yet at least. You loop your arms around his shoulders and press up on your toes to kiss him properly. Din groans against your lips, already moving to press you against the shower wall. A gentle tug on his hair is enough to stop him in his tracks.

“Can I wash your hair?” You ask, looking up at him like the picture of innocence.

Din blinks at you, confused. “You want to… wash my hair?”

“Yeah,” You say softly.

There’s no need to over-explain. The two of you have mastered this silent communication over the months you have spent together. He searches your face for a moment before his expression softens, implicit permission given in the way his eyes shine for you. You gently lather shampoo into his thick curls and let your nails drag along his scalp in the way he loves. His eyelashes flutter under your touch but his eyes don’t close. He’s too intent on watching you. The grip he has on your hips tightens as you work, little groans falling from his lips at the simple pleasure of your hands on his body.

He lets you maneuver him and tilt his head back into the water without a hint of resistance. For a man so used to keeping everyone at arm's length, the trust he holds for you is plain as day. His cock twitches against your belly as your fingers meticulously work the suds from his hair. The barest hint of your skin against his is enough to get him riled up, but this…? The press of your slick, bare body pressed against his? His body language begs for more. He leans into the press of your fingers and cants his hips forward, slowly grinding against you with stuttered breaths.

The moment the water runs clear, Din lifts you by your thighs and presses you against the cold shower wall. You can’t help but admire the bulge of his biceps as he leverages you up and nudges your entrance with the head of his cock, searching your face for permission. The hungry kiss you drag him into is all the permission he needs. A new rush of adrenaline seizes his body as he sinks into you. He fucks you hard and fast, pace faltering at the pure heaven of your body. He wedges his hand between your bodies and rubs insistent circles against your clit. He just knows your body too well - within minutes, those frantic bursts of pleasure built into a powerful orgasm that leaves you trembling and weak in his arms.

Din buries his face in the crook of your neck as he spills inside of you just seconds later. Every moan and panted breath echoes through the small shower. You shiver at the feeling of his lips pressed against your neck. He always knows just where to kiss and touch to leave you like putty in his hands. He goes willingly when you guide him in for a real kiss, lazy and slow as the water streams against you. Careful not to let you slip, he lowers you onto your feet and maneuvers you until the water pounds against your back.

You should have expected him to return the favor. Din doesn’t take no for an answer.

“It’s your turn.” He murmurs, too adamant and stubborn to be swayed. You’ve always loved that about him, even when it gives you grief.

You melt into his chest as he works product into your hair, his fingers massaging at your scalp in a way you didn’t even know you needed. Little sounds of satisfaction fall from your lips with every touch. Sometimes you forget just how big his hands are. He palms the back of your head and draws you close enough that your noses brush, but he doesn’t kiss you. Not yet. He just watches you for a moment as he thoroughly washes your hair. He takes in the way you look up at him with an expression so full of love that he aches.

“I love you,” His voice is so low that it almost gets lost in the thrum of water, but you hear it. He can tell by the way your eyes light up, by the soft smile that curls your lips.

“I love you, too.” You whisper back. Din kisses you softly before tilting your head back and rinsing the suds from your hair.

Slowly but surely, you introduce Din to a life he never realized was possible. He learns how to revel in the attention and care you give him. He learns how to give it in return. His thoughts always return to you when he’s on a bounty, knowing he has to return to his little love waiting for him at his ship. Every now and then, he finds something to bring back to you - a little trinket, some sweets, a new book. You always look at him as if he’s placed the entire universe in the palm of your hands. Fuck, he would do it, too. Anything to see you so happy.

Din returns from a week-long bounty exhausted, sore, and with a little gift in hand. It’s just a new robe, something soft and airy for you to wear on those long nights in hyperspace. You gasp softly when he hands it to you, your fingers exploring the silky fabric as if it’s precious - and to you, it is. Not because it’s some rare or expensive treasure. Just because it comes from him.

Allowing you to remove his armor is as easy as breathing. He eagerly accepts every touch and kiss you give him, more than happy to let you do as you please. You set every piece of armor aside with care and neatly fold his flight suit. It doesn’t take any convincing to get him into the shower with you. The burning heat of the water soothes some of the aches that linger in his muscles. A dull throb still follows his every move but he powers through, not wanting to spoil such a pleasant evening with his lover.

He never really learned that he can’t hide anything from you.

“What’s wrong?” You ask as he eases himself onto the edge of the bed.

“Just sore,” He concedes, slowly rolling his shoulders in a vain effort to ease the tension. Your eyebrows furrow as you look him over with a keen eye. All you wear is that scrutinizing expression and the pretty robe he got you, and he doesn’t think you’ve ever looked more beautiful. He sighs and reaches for your hand. “Come on, let’s just get some sleep.”

“You can’t sleep if you’re this uncomfortable.” You squeeze his shoulder, frowning when you feel how tight his muscles are. “Let me help.”

Din meets your gaze, your eyes so earnest that he doesn’t even think to deny you. He lets you maneuver him as you please until he’s laid out on his belly with you straddling his hips. A low groan rumbles through his chest when your hands bear down on his shoulders. Every pass of your fingers brings a strange combination of pleasure and pain that leaves him melting into the bed.

Even after all these months, he just isn’t used to the feeling of your skin against his. A simple passing touch is enough to have him shivering, but this? It’s overwhelming, all-consuming in the best possible way. It doesn’t take long for that pain to melt away into pure pleasure. Breathless, needy sounds follow every pass of your fingers. He can't help but rock his hips, grinding his cock into the silken sheets.

By the time you've finished working your thumbs into his lower back, you've reduced the Mandalorian beneath you into a desperate, hungry mess. He goes without hesitation when you urge him onto his back. His hands immediately find your hips and he grinds up into the heat of your cunt. The only thing that stops him from flipping you over and fucking you into the sheets is the gentle hand you place on his chest.

“Let me.” You whisper. Your voice carries a soft thrum of need that leaves him aching. “Let me take care of you.”

His fingers tighten at your hips at the mere brush of your fingers against his cock. That grip becomes bruising as you slowly sink onto him. Pleasure curls through his belly at the feeling of your cunt fluttering around him, so hot and slick and perfect - it would be so easy to lose his mind in the rapture of your body. It isn’t easy to keep his eyes open under the onslaught of pleasure, but it’s well worth it. He’s rewarded with the sight of your jaw falling slack and a shiver wracking your body. The stretch, the angle - it’s all new to you. You aren’t used to taking him this way. He isn’t used to letting you.

You sigh a breathy, pleased little sound that makes his heart skip a beat or two. Fuck, you might just be the death of him one of these days. It’s a demise he welcomes if it means meeting his end at your hands. That first roll of your hips has his head tipping back into the pile of fluffy pillows, yet another addition of comfort you’ve brought to this bed. You can’t take your eyes off him - the flex of his biceps, the clench of his jaw, the sheen of sweat that glistens on his tan skin. A delicious vision of the man you’ve come to love so dearly. You lean down and press a kiss to his chest, his collarbone, to that sweet spot where his pulse thrums in his neck.

Your fingers comb through his curls, bringing his pleasure-clouded gaze back to your own. His lips part as you set a slow, steady pace. Every rise and fall of your hips makes his eyelashes flutter but he doesn’t look away. He’s too entranced by this, by the pure newness of it all. Heat pulses and courses through your belly with every grind of your clit against him, grows stronger with every needy sound you pull from him. His chin tips up, an obvious plea, and you kiss him. Soft and slow, full of tongue and teeth.

Din doesn’t think he’s ever experienced anything quite as overwhelming as this. He isn’t a stranger to the feeling of your body or the love you somehow hold for him, but this is all new. Every slow rock of your hips sends honeyed pleasure slinking down his spine. There’s no need to rush. He can take his time and truly feel you, revel in the plushness of your thighs and the wet heat of your cunt. For the first time, he lets himself explore your body unhurried. His hands drift up and palm your breasts, his fingers rolling your nipple with a gentle touch. Your head tips back as you hum a pleased little sound.

Din can’t help but press his hips up, rising every time yours fall. He doesn’t take control, doesn’t try to set a faster pace. He just moves with you as fluid as rushing water. His hands shift to cup your ass, his fingers digging in and spreading you out for him. Desire clouds your gaze as he grinds his hips at that perfect angle that makes you see stars. You’re so close - he can feel it in the telltale rhythmic pulse of your cunt, in the way your thighs tremble. Slick drips in little rivulets down his thighs.

“Perfect, so perfect,” He rambles between rushed breaths. “My sweet girl, all mine.”

“Yours,” You promise. “I’m yours.”

All it takes is one perfect rock of his hips to have you falling apart for him. That tension finally bursts through your belly, your cunt tightening around him with every aching wave of pleasure. You lose all sense, all ability to keep your pace, but Din is quick to take over. His grip on your waist tightens as he pulls you down, spilling himself as deep as your body can take him. You let yourself melt into his chest, a wave of pleasure shuddering through you with every twitch of his spent cock.

Din locks his arms around your back, all too content to keep your body against his. No complaint comes from you. You just tuck your face into his neck with a spent sigh. The two of you float together in that sweet, exhausted haze. He doesn’t know for how long, but he never wants it to end. He never wants any of this to end. He wants this forever, for every possible moment of his life to be soaked in this contentment. Surrounded by soft sheets and the smell of your perfume. Unhurried and easy, with you.

Months ago, such a realization would have thrown him into an existential crisis. But he didn’t have you all those months ago - this sweet, bright-eyed, spitfire of a woman currently taking a cat nap on his chest. He didn’t have the sweet scent of your shampoo infused in his sheets. He didn’t have your soft exhales ghosting along his throat. He just didn’t know that life could be like this. The moment you shift as if you’re making to get off of him, his arms tighten around you.

“Just a little longer,” He murmurs, his voice sleepy and pleasure drunk.