18+ 2001 (24)

It was early morning, but there was enough light to see them clearly — Javi's digits around Joel's throat, Joel's hand squeezing the back of Javi's neck to keep him pressed against his lips. They were grinding against each other, naked, obviously trying not to make too much noise, unaware that you were awake. You slipped your hand between your thighs, collected some cum on the tip of your finger and rubbed your clit lazily. A moan immediately escaped your lips. 

“I think we have an audience,” Javi smiled against Joel’s mouth and they both looked at you splayed on the bed next to them, touching yourself slowly while watching them. 

Your friend crawled towards you like a wild animal, agile and silent, a smirk on his face, his cock hard as steel and leaking precum on the sheets. The vision made you shiver and your bud throbbed under your finger. Joel lay on his side, bent his arm and propped his head on his hand, settling comfortably to watch the two of you. You glanced at his cock - it was hard, too.

“Good morning, baby,” Javi said, his playful gaze fixed on you then lingering on your body until it reached your crotch. He settled between your thighs, pushed on them with his shoulders and lapped at your cunt, swallowing the sperm flowing from it, running his tongue flat against your folds up to your clit. You jolted with overstimulation.

Javi pressed a soft kiss on your mound and climbed up your body, peppering your belly with kisses on his way, his hands cupping your breasts. You moaned when he brought his mouth to them and nibbled at your tits, your hands lost in his hair. 

“You’re needy, baby, aren’t you?” he smiled while sucking at one then released it with a pop. He raised your arm to kiss your side and armpit, up to your neck and finally reached your lips. 

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pulled him a little closer to you, your tongues mingling.

You loved feeling his moustache on your skin, how soft it was. Kissing Javi was always hot, always enough to turn your panties into a sticky mess, but it was even hotter now, knowing he was making out with your ex boyfriend moments ago. He rubbed his cock against you, probably just to make you feel how hard he was, and smirked when your breathing quickened. He licked at your lips and slid his hand between your two bodies, brushed your folds up to your clit, and you shivered again.

“Your little pussy’s sensitive, baby?” he asked, straightening up. With his hands by either side of your head, arms outstretched, he was taking in the full view of your disheveled hair and features drawn by the delicious fatigue after the short night.

You also had the most delightful view of his gaze set on you, his sinful and gorgeous face, his teeth nibbling at his lip. You stroked his taut triceps, so round and firm beneath your fingers.

“I guess. But it’s not like I can’t take it anymore,” you smiled, and Javi brushed his lip with his tongue, as if he was ready to devour every inch of your body.

“Wanna check if our girl can go for another round, Joel?” Javi asked, and Joel sat up to take Javi’s place between your legs, mumbling a “yeah, lemme see,” that made you drool while Javi laid next to you and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Pussy’s so wet, Jesus…” Joel said when he pushed his fat cock in, sliding in easily. “Not just from our cum. I’m gonna put it back in, d’ya want that, sweetheart?”

“Fuck… yeah…” you whined, feeling his shaft filling your core so perfectly, the thought of him thrusting in both their seed making you arch your back and groan.

“So sensitive, baby… so fucking sweet and needy, Javi’s right,” he growled, gripping your hips, kneeled between your thighs, watching his thick cock slide in and out. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Javi start to jack off slowly, clearly enjoying this sharing vibe between the three of you. You smiled at him, before looking back at Joel.

“Balls soaked by you two, damn…” he hissed, thrusting in harder, then paused to spit on his cock and fucked it back in.

“Oh my god, Joel…” you whimpered.

“Yeah? Bet you’ll come when I touch your clit right now, won’t you, sweetheart?”

Javi leaned over, as if he wanted both of them to make you come, and pressing his head against Joel's crotch, circled your clit with his lips and sucked on it. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, pussy full of Joel’s cock brushing your spongy spot, Javi’s lips around your bud, and you came quickly on Joel's shaft. Joel’s and your fingers intertwined in Javi's messy hair.

“Squeezing me so goddamn hard, fuck…”

He pulled out and gripped the base to stop himself from coming as Javi manhandled you to lie down on him, your back against his chest. He slid his tip into your cunt, his fingers pressing on his shaft to keep it in, and you tightened around him.

“Fuck, she's still cuming,” he groaned.

He grabbed the back of your thighs and spread them wide, keeping you open for Joel’s sight. Hunger darkened his eyes as he watched your glistening pussy dripping cum and clenching around Javi’s tip.

Joel growled as he lay down, his large hands keeping you wide open, and you nearly fainted when you realized he was sliding his tongue from Javi's length to your clit. 

“Mierda,” (shit) Javi whimpered, before kissing your neck, just below your ear, knowing full well how much you loved being kissed here.

Joel's fingers brushed against your folds down to your friend’s tip, then he wrapped them around Javi's girth, licking pussy and cock, pulling it out lightly to slide his tongue from your friend’s crown to your folds. He licked up and down, again and again, his moustache and nose brushing against your clit.

“Oh fuck… the two of you are gonna kill me,” you whined, feeling a new climax already rising in your core. 

“Shit, I’m gonna come,” Javi growled, cupping your sweaty breasts in his hands and nibbling at your earlobe, then you heard him moan louder in the hollow of your ear and his cum spurted against your folds. Joel took him in his mouth, sucking on the tip, and you felt Javi shudder beneath you.

Joel sucked him clean, his eyes fixed on you, looking hotter than ever. Once done, he knelt back between your thighs, wiping his beard and mustache, and caressed your belly softly. 

“Gonna be right here in a minute, sweetheart. This is all for you,” he said, and you nodded. You couldn’t wait to feel him again. To feel him push in you, spreading your folds on his way. 

He took his time, feeling your stomach move up and down under his touch, then grasped your hip with one hand and lined his cock at your entrance, brushing against Javi's softened dick before pushing in.

“That's it,” he murmured, looking at your cunt swallowing him, clenching on him. “Taking me so well. Right, baby?”

You nodded, mind blank, unable to speak, watching drops of sweat beading at his hairline.

“You’re perfect, baby. Making us come, over and over,” Javi said, your back against his chest, his cock folded under Joel’s, the three of you a mess covered in cum and wetness.

“Your little pussy’s all swollen and aching, sweetheart… We’ll kiss it better soon. She’s so fucking pretty around my cock, covered in our cum,” Joel said, his eyes roaming over your spent body. He was so gorgeous, his muscles all tensed while rolling inside you, watching the way you were breathing and biting your lip.

Javi slid his fingers down to your clit and started rubbing it with his digit.

“You’re doing so good for us baby. So gorgeous, all spread out.”

“Are you gonna get wet tomorrow at work, sweetheart? Just thinking about how good we fucked?” Joel smirked, holding your hips firmly, pounding into you harder, chasing his orgasm, mubbling “god you're so fucking pretty” his cock slamming into your drooling cunt, while Javi’s pad was still on your clit, and you felt your climax rising, stronger and stronger under their touch, thrusts and words.

“You're taking him so well,” Javi whispered, playing with your hair and kissing your neck. “Doing so good, always so fucking good…” he added, his praise going right into your cunt.

“Fuck. Fuck! I’m gonna come. Fill me, Joel.”

“Yeah? Want me to shoot my load, keep you full of us? ‘M gonna give it to you. Just come on it, and I’ll fill you” he said, eyes locked into yours until you started coming, mouth wide open in a cry.

“That’s it baby, come on his cock. Keep taking it, just like that. Yeah, there you go,” Javi said, your legs shaking, inner thighs covered in cum and your slick. 

“Gonna fill you up. Now, look at me. Fuck… Look at me, sweetheart. Yeah, just like that. You feel so fucking good, yeah that’s it….” Joel groaned then whimpered when he started sending hot spurs of cum inside you, his hands squeezing your hips.

He stayed buried deep inside you, cock throbbing, until your cunt milked him dry, Javi murmuring “you’re perfect, you’re so perfect, baby,” against your skin, your body and mind so full of emotions and sensations that you were afraid you might cry.

Once his cock stopped twitching, Joel leaned forward and kissed you, his tongue sliding between your lips. You cupped his cheeks, your tongue teasing his.

He then pulled back and his thumb gently brushed your cheek.

“This was… amazing, sweetheart. So fucking good,” he said, his soft gaze locked with yours, then he looked at Javi and nodded.

He withdrew, his cum dripping from your pussy onto Javi’s cock and Joel went to get a towel to clean you both up.

“We need a shower,” Javi laughed.

“Yeah, come on. It’s big enough for the three of us,” Joel said, helping you up.

The hot water felt amazing against your bodies. Javi and Joel washed you, their four hands roaming over your body, sharing kisses here and there, with you or each other. You washed them too, taking the time to feel their skin and muscles under the tips of your fingers, your eyes moving from one man to the other, grateful for this moment full of sharing, full of trust, where everyone just wanted to make the others feel good. 

Javi knelt in front of you to wash your thighs and pressed soft kisses on your belly then your mound. You trembled. 

“I know, baby. I know. She’s sensitive. I just couldn’t resist, she’s so pretty. Like every inch of you,” he smiled at you before getting up.

“Are you going soft, Javi?” you asked mischievously.

“With you? Always,” he added, looking so pretty and tender that you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pressed yourself against him and kissed him while Joel was peppering kisses over your shoulder.

You had breakfast at Joel’s place, and they smiled, watching you devour every bite. 

“What?” you asked, mouth full. “You drained all my energy, I gotta get it back!”

“You’re not wrong,” Joel chuckled.

“So,” you started to say. “This was… unexpected,” you were twirling your fork between your fingers. “And maybe I’m still high from it, but… I’ll be honest, I hope this isn’t just a one-time thing. What do you guys think?” you asked, looking at them.

“You already know my answer, baby. I’m all in,” Javi replied. You smiled at him, then looked at Joel, unsure what he’d say about that.

He took his time, watching the two of you. Even grabbed a bite, then put down his fork.

“‘course I’m all in. I’d be a fool to say no to this pussy. And this cock,” he added, looking at Javi, who leaned back against his chair and crossed his ankle over his knee. He clasped his hands behind his head, full of self-confidence. So… Javi, right now. Your gorgeous, amazing best friend.

“Yeah, you’d be a fool, for sure,” he smirked and gave you a wink.

More Javi x reader x Joel: Blackmail series (different AU)

Thank you for reading 🙏

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npt: tagging those who showed interest in the wip wednesday posts ❤️ @hanahleah @arcane-fox @iknowisoundcrazy @gutter-noise

“Yesterday Joel said to head to the side entrance, that’s where we can check in.” Your dad eagerly explains and stunned you simply follow along like a confused duckling.

The sea of jerseys sweeps you into a sports wave until you’re deposited in a new space. Your jaw almost drops.

The VIP suites sit at the very side edge of the field, and it’s like nothing you’ve ever seen.

The seats are incredible. Everything feels deluxe but comfortable. Someone calls out to your mom, and soon enough the rest of the Miller family approaches.

Tommy’s married now and his wife Maria is lovely, so is their baby. Joel’s daughters, Sarah and Ellie, are older. Time sucker punches you in the gut seeing how much time has passed, but you warmly greet everyone. You realize how long it really has been since you saw any of them.

You greet everyone warmly and appreciate all their surprised welcome seeing you back.

“Joel’s glad y’all were finally able to make it. Been talking about it since yesterday.” Tommy explains.

“Yeah us too! Just worked out that we all could come out and enjoy this with someone back home now.” You mom teases, but it’s warm.

Even though you were cities away, the new workload just kept you so busy.

You’re grateful to be here too. Even though your mind still swirls trying to grasp all of this.

You knew your dad’s friend made it big as a professional baseball player. Joel and his family left Austin to move to Arlington after he signed for the Rangers. So you rarely saw them. But with your mom’s job recently relocating here, your dad talked non stop about maybe seeing more of the games. It never really clicked that your family knew a professional sports athlete. Plus you never cared too much for sports to even look more into it.

Now as the game starts with a wild explosive and electric opening, you feel like you’ve slipped into another reality.

Then Joel’s entrance arrives, and your heart jumps out of your chest. The stadium erupts in a wild frenzy. The music for his arrival is western themed, grand and epic.

“All of this is because the league calls him Cowboy Miller.” Your dad explains.

The nickname was given to him not just because of his very southern twang, but Joel’s cold demeanor on the mound along with his wild style of pitching. All this led to him being deemed a Cowboy.

You understand why.

A serious air of power radiates from Joel while he approaches the mound.

Wearing a jersey with the number two on it, he’s older, more distinguished than the last time you remember him. Grays pepper his beard and the shadow of his baseball cap highlights the wrinkles flowing across his face.

He’s handsome, utterly gorgeous. His shoulders look broad, pure striking mountains, in his white jersey.

It’s like your mind finally registers and settles into the reality he’s a man, a full grown and incredible man.

And he really is incredible.

Even though he’s older for a pitcher, he still possesses dazzling talent. You even clap loudly when he strikes one of the batters out.

Your eyes never leave him. Joel sternly staring down the batter is terrifying. His legs look strong as he whips the ball fast to the home plate. Your eyes can’t help but flicker to his ass when he walks back to the dugout.

He’s gorgeous.

But cold reality crashes into you when your dad brightly yells. Joel is your dad’s friend, and that thought sours the bubbling feelings in your chest.

So you try focusing on the game, which actually turns out to be rather fun. The vibe of the stadium, along with the atmosphere of the game itself, is easy to melt into.

At one point someone gets a hit off Joel and he has to run to cover first. He’s surprisingly fast. Seeing him catch the ball, get the out, is so impressive and hot as fuck.

After that the Rangers switch pitchers.

As he leaves the mound, the stadium cheers at Joel’s exit. Very politely he nods, raising his hand in a quick goodbye to everyone. Then he scans the crowd.

It’s admirable seeing how he instantly finds where his family is. Joel’s roughed face melts soft with a small crooked grin hearing the applause they give him. He even spots your dad proudly cheering.

Joel’s eyes then lock with yours. Still walking towards the dugout, his face stays on you while his focus narrows in a cloudy confusion like he’s trying to recognize you.

Then his eyes go wide as realization sinks in.

You weakly grin back. It’s all you can do before Joel is fully gone from your line sight. Your heart thumps erratically within its cage.

The Rangers unfortunately lose by three. Once the game ends, you decide to swing by the merch store.

“Guess the game made you a fan huh?” You mom perks up noticing you eyeing the jerseys.

You shrug easily with an eased grin.

After this the Rangers have a five game stretch at home.

You only know because after the game you check for all things about the team, about Joel. You haven’t brought yourself to look at any videos of Joel yet. But you did discover from the team's instagram that he has one too.

Early the next morning, still lounging in bed, you scroll through Joel’s instagram page. It seems very professional, like it’s run by a social media manager primarily using it to promote Joel without being too personal.

You’re not paying attention, still a bit too focused on your phone, when a knock comes at the door.

Your face scrunches up confused. Then terror sucker punches you when you see who’s at the door.

No way.

Opening the door Joel stares at you, but this time wearing striking thick black rimmed glasses. They make him incredibly distinguished. Instead of seeming like a professional baseball player you’re reminded of a studious professor. And without a baseball cap on, you’re given sight of his soft glorious curls and the light gray streaks dancing among them.

He’s knockout beautiful.

Of course, you’re still in your mismatched lounge clothes and barely look like you’ve left bed.

He says your name, greeting you with a curt nod. You swiftly greet him with an awkward hello.

“Are you going for like a Clark Kent thing?” You blurt before you can stop yourself.

Joel’s face scrunches up as he sighs.

“Gotta take a break from my contacts s’all.” He admits with a grumpy reply.

But it’s his thick twang, the familiar southern accent - that sweeps you breathless.

“How do they even let you pitch?” You lightly tease, and

Joel rolls his eyes.

“Good to see ya too.” He rumbles, finally greeting you.

Now realizing he’s still standing in your doorway, you let him in.

Joel explains how he wanted to come by, visit your folks, catch up, and thank them for getting to stop by.

You’re the one early thanking him.

“The tickets were incredible. And you did amazing the other night.” You add sincerely.

“Oh, yeah thanks. Glad we won.” Joel nods.

“So they let you just roam around?” You ask slightly stunned still seeing him here in your family kitchen.

Joel scoffs. “Ain’t gotta be at the stadium till later.”

“So, was uh…surprised to see ya at the game.” His tone now reeks of trying to just make small talk.

Weakly you grin back explaining it was a nice change from your days on campus.

“So…back from school, huh.” That awkward thick small talk tone of his gets worse especially as he asks how’s it going and what you’re doing.

For being a talented professional pitcher, right now he simply seems like just some guy…

Just your dad’s pal.

The thought brings a strange acidic taste in your mouth.

You explain school is going good and how you’re here just visiting until the next semester starts up again.

Politely he asks what you’re going to school for. You tell him about your program, explaining all the classes you’re taking and even about the undergrad classes you help TA for.

Joel nods, quiet. You wonder if this sounds boring to a man who professionally plays baseball everyday.

“You’re damn smart.” He then whistles low, and his compliment jumpstarts your heart.

“Haven’t read a book since… shit can’t even remember when.” Joel muses.

“What? They don’t have you take baseball quizzes for pitching?” You joke, but it falls flat. Joel just gives you a dull look.

However his lips twitch faintly, like he’s fighting a grin, and it makes you grin.

“Though, I’ve heard you could maybe work on your slider pitch.” You add.

From the clips you’ve seen and the comments you’ve read, that's the one thing others have commented on, along with how unbearably handsome he is. ESPN even named him one of sports top most eligible bachelors.

“Oh?” Joel’s eyebrows rise up fast. Crossing his hands over his chest, Joel turns towards you more.

“Suddenly you’re a sports analyst now, huh?” The way his voice perks up confidently, matching your edge of playfulness, causes something to get stuck in your throat.

“Y’gonna start telling me how to pitch too? Just like your old man used to.” Joel adds still with that same tone and even chuckles.

But his words slice through you. Swallowing hard, you steel yourself tight.

Thankfully the sound of the front door unlocking arrives. Your parents are home.

“You’re fantastic, Joel. Glad I got to see it live.” You tell him earnestly looking him straight in the eye, as if to stare him down and remind him unwavering you’re a grown adult. Even if you’re in lounge shorts and holey t-shirt, you try holding your head high with as much grace as you can.

With that you head to tell your parents Joel is here then quietly slip back to your room.

Eventually your mom knocks on your door and pops her head in.

“There’s another game tonight. Wanna go?” She offers.

You decline, explaining you want to rest and catch up with a few shows you’ve been neglecting. Thankfully neither of your parents pressure you to join them.

With the house to yourself, you now search for as many videos of Joel you can.

Even slowly starting to understand baseball at a base level, you realize Joel ‘Cowboy’ Miller really is spectacular. You hear about his time playing for The University of Texas and how adored he is by his alma mater.

Then heat crawls up your chest when you see clips of him drenched in sweat, heavily breathing, or even licking his lingers to help with the ball grip.

You quickly turn the videos off before you get yourself worked up.

This has to be just a simple infatuated infestation. You simply need to try to shake it off.

The last home game the Rangers play the Minnesota Twins and Joel isn’t pitching. You again decide to sit this game out. You just have to detox yourself of Joel Miller.

Until you’re invited to a dinner cookout at his home. You thought about maybe playing sick, but with how hungry you are, you see this just as an opportunity to get a nice meal.

Your dad casually mentions Joel’s house has a pool, a nice bonus. He just forgot to mention how huge the Miller house would be.

Though gorgeously grand, it’s still surprisingly cozy. In the backyard you spot Joel at the grill and it makes your head spin. The weathered old burnt orange Texas longhorn shirt he wears looks cozy and casual, sits on him beautifully highlighting his shoulders.

You slip into the pool hoping it will cool you off. But your eyes always find Joel who now laughs with your dad.

Joel’s eyes suddenly flicker to yours, catching you staring red handed. Immediately you sink back into the water.

There’s more people here than expected and you feel a bit out of place. After drying off, you decide to head inside for a drink.

The soft Texas evening illuminates the home in a gentle glow. The music from outside floats in a soft hum making the room feel like it’s underwater.

Ellie told you the house was free for you to roam and from the quick tour she gave, you caught a glimpse of something you want to see more.

So letting yourself maybe take another peek, you walk back to the small alcove carved in the wall. It’s honestly a rather quiet achievement exhibition compared to other grand trophy rooms you’ve imagined.

There are honestly more pictures of Sarah and Ellie, along with Tommy and the rest of the Miller clan, decorating the main hallway of the house. All of it suits Joel.

His UT longhorn jersey is framed on the wall. There are a few awards clustered together, a couple of magazine covers where he looks so dashing in his uniform.

But what makes your heart float are the framed drawings of Joel with a baseball on the mound that range from adorable scribbles to a rather good pencil sketch. These had to be Ellie and Sarah’s work.

“If you’re thinkin’ about stealin’ somethin’ maybe go for the jersey. I can always get another one.”

Joel’s drawl trickles out, and you almost jump out of your skin. Turning to the side he walks to where you are. You hate how exposed you feel just being caught in his gaze and also obviously browsing in his home.

“Nah, I was hoping for a World Series ring to steal and sell but.” You shrug playful, knowing now he’s gone to the Series but never won.

Joel makes a low hissing sound like he’s injured.

“Damn, y’hit low.” He chuckles low.

You grin triumphantly.

“Don’t worry. You’ll get a ring someday.” You say simply.

“Sound sure about that.” He replies.

“Cause it’s true.” You nod. “You’re pretty great.”

Even with your limited knowledge of baseball, it’s easy to see how great he is. Joel is incredibly talented, a shining star stitched in accomplishment. Yet you can tell hasn’t let it go to his head. He’s anchored by his loved ones, and it’s admirable. You even tell him that.

“I…thanks.” He stumbles for a moment, deep dark eyes a bit cloudy as he searches your face with his voice thick and rumbled.

“What game has been your favorite?” You suddenly ask, wanting to know more about him.

His eyebrows furrow and his deep eyes glaze over a bit distant, creating a face of thought that looks adorable.

Then he nods with a soft grin remembering.

“One of the first games the girls gotta go to.” He paints a picture of seeing his daughters, sitting with their uncle Tommy, wearing too large adorable Texas Rangers jerseys.

“One of the best games I ever played.” He adds gently.

He really is a rare beauty of a man with a gilded heart of gold.

“And you? Your folks talk about ya nonstop. Tell me about grad school. And none of that simple ‘it’s good’ crap.” The quick playful mimic he does of your voice makes you laugh warm and bright.

So you tell him about your favorite moments from lecture and the fondness you have for simply embracing subjects you love so much.

Joel stares fully focused on you. You swear his eyes twinkle like stars might be sowed right in his deep earth depths.

He opens his mouth, eager to continue the conversation. Until the kitchen comes alive with more people entering inside. The bubble breaks, but electricity still brews under your skin.

The next day the Rangers have a game at Globe Life Field you go.

Even if Joel isn’t pitching, you want to experience this world he loves so much. You’re however surprised to find Joel is starting.

Your dad explains how one of the pitchers planned for today had to rest. So Joel will simply be the opener before the rest of the bullpen steps in.

Your heart doesn’t rage wildly as it did like seeing him the first time. Now you feel almost drawn to Joel. You focus on his stance on the mound, so disciplined and almost hauntingly serious.

The Arizona Diamondbacks batter hits the ball solid. It flies straight at Joel, and fear sinks its fangs into you.

Until with fast reflexes Cowboy Miller catches the ball eased. You and the stadium erupt wild.

The Rangers win one to four. On the high of the game, you head to the jerseys again in the shop.

“You should get one!” Your mom urges.

Your fingers itch, almost begging you to grab the jersey that says Miller on it. But something continues to hold you back.

On the drive back home, you now see all the great reaction clips and memes of the game. There's a particular one of Joel catching the ball that includes a great western music overlay, like he’s a hero in an old cowboy movie.

Feeling brave, you send the reel to his Instagram profile. You even add underneath the message “now you just gotta work on that slider pitch.”

You send it. Think, hell at worst the poor social media manager will see it and not even give it the time or day. He must get so many messages anyway.

When you get home, you see the message has been read.

But also, a new profile has followed you.

JM_8712

The profile also sent you a message.

JM_8712: ain’t nothing wrong with my slider

No way.

This can’t be who you think it is. You message back saying this possibly can’t be the real Joel Miller because he doesn’t seem like the type to even know how to send a gif.

JM_8712: think ur so funny huh

The account sends a simple gif of someone rolling their eyes.

Then another message flies in.

JM_8712: ur dad get those damn nachos he kept bitchin about with Tommy?

It feels like one of Joel’s changeup pitches knocks you out.

Because it’s really him messaging you. When you even go to double check the blank profile just to make sure, it barely follows more than twenty people and you spot Ellie and Sarah’s accounts among those profiles.

Warmth unfolds from your chest, dangerous and electric. This is Joel’s personal private account.

Unknowingly this all kicks off something you never thought would have ever started. You and Joel start talking.

The messages flow between you and him, back and forth, at first just talking about the games. Then, when the Rangers leave to travel, the messaging increases.

Joel sends you pictures of the places he travels, the food he eats, the vacant stadiums he gets to enjoy.

You devour it all with a greedy eagerness. However it dawns on you that you’re sliding down a slope too slippery to stop.

For the rest of the summer you earnestly check your messages on the app.

One evening, on a stormy delayed game against the Dodgers, your messages don’t send through. The weather is getting worse in Los Angeles.

“They’re gonna reschedule the game. Storm’s not letting up.” Your dad comments glumly.

You just hope Joel is alright.

Instagram finally alerts you of a message and your heart jumps.

Joel.

JM_8712: sorry connections shit

Then he simply sends you his phone number.

You wonder if you’re seeing things.

Trying to keep calm you text the number a simple message asking if he’s alright.

When your text alert chimes, it rattles your brain.

Yeah im good thanks

Then another message follows. It’s a photo from the locker, bags packed like he’s ready to leave.

Looks like room service for tonight

It’s Joel. You’re texting Joel right now.

It feels like a step deeper into a current you never want to leave.

Texting seems to shift the energy between you and him, a transmutation you never could have imagined.

You text Joel good morning and he tells you good night. You and him bond over a love of music. He’s got incredible taste while also complimenting yours. You stay up late on game days when pitched and now feel your throat dry up knowing you’re getting to know the man on the mound.

The desire brewing more for Joel mixes with the summer heat and melts the days away. Soon enough summer dwindles away, and your new semester approaches.

The drive back to your apartment is a good couple of hours. Funny enough Joel is also traveling today for a game. Stopping for gas midway, your phone goes off.

You think at first it must be one of your parents.

But instead it’s Joel.

You scramble to answer.

“Hey,” his voice sounds incredibly richer and deep on the phone.

“Y’doin’ alright?” Joel asks hesitant.

That catches you off guard.

“Oh yeah, just finished putting in gas actually. Why, what’s up?” You relax more into the conversation now curious to why he called asking that.

Joel sighs.

“Sorry I just…your last text uh, it just got me worried.”

Now you’re really curious about what you texted him. It had been half an incomplete response you sent. Even from your side it seemed abrupted and strange.

Sighing, you apologize that you didn’t even realize you had done that. In the rush of wanting to get out on the road you must have just sent the text.

But it suddenly hits you. Joel called because he was worried. That thought rips into you with a ferocious rawness.

“Okay yeah,” Joel says a bit clumsily. “I’ll…let you go.”

“No, it’s okay.” You quickly reassure him. “How’s the traveling going?”

“Good, just finished rewatching one of the inflight movies.”

“Please tell me it was Field of Dreams.” You tease him with the iconic baseball film as you head back on the road. Just now with Joel on the phone.

On speaker, Joel scoffs echoing in your car all around you. You realize this might be a bad decision trying to stay focused driving while also talking to him.

“Funny.” His thick drawl is dry but so softly teasing just below the surface.

“Was some new movie Sarah told me to watch but…fell asleep.” Joel admits low.

Thinking of him asleep on the plane clutches at something warm and deep in you.

Yes you can admit how badly you want Joel, how you picture what his calloused fingers would feel like on you, in you. But you also are finding yourself aching for more now…

Like falling asleep beside him while watching a movie, or sharing a meal with him and teasing him over his dry sense of humor.

It’s dangerous falling deeper like this.

Especially now in a blink you realize you’ve been talking to Joel this entire drive to your apartment.

“Shit sorry.” He realizes it when he sees the time. “Y’should’ve told me to fuck off. Don’t gotta waste your time talkin’ to some old ass like me.”

He rarely comments on his age, and his words sink hard into your gut.

“Trust me… I’m glad I get to talk to you.” You truthfully tell him.

“You’re the one who probably has better things to do than talk to me.” You add slightly dejected. The words even sting your lips.

“Like watching Field of Dreams.” You quickly add some light humor trying to dispel your heartache leaking in.

Joel snorts.

“Definitely would rather chat with you than watch that.” Joel mutters, but his world electrifies your skin.

“I’m flattered knowing I can beat Kevin Costner.” You joke. When he snorts amused, warmth fills you to the brim.

Someone in the distance calls out to Joel, and you know your time with him is limited. It’s confirmed when he sighs.

“Gonna be landing soon. Ya make it to your place okay?” He asks.

“I did, thank you. And thanks for keeping me company on the drive.” You smile to yourself.

“Don’t mention it. Uh, glad you made it back safe.” Joel replies and his words make you melt.

You say his name quick.

“Can you just… Text me when you make it to the hotel?” Just to know he’s safe. It’s simple, but it feels as if the words weigh a ton.

A moment passes.

“Yeah, will do.” Joel agrees.

He doesn’t text you. Instead Joel calls you when he gets to the hotel.

“Saw a full on fuckin’ fight at the airport when we landed.” Joel rambles immediately, and you learn how much of a secret gossip he is. While Joel breaks down all the details of what he saw, you realize he wanted to tell you about this.

A light burst in your chest because you want to tell Joel everything too.

And when your next semester starts, you tell him all you can.

The texting stays but evolves into more frequent phone calls. Joel listens to you with a gruff saint’s patience. He faintly picks up the names of your professors, even the name of your roommate. At one point he even stays on the phone with you when you cook dinner.

Joel calls during the stretch of waiting at the airports, a few times after games. Sometimes he rants about his teammates, sighs about his frustrations when they lose or when he ends up not doing well on the mound.

While every inch in your body still hums for Joel, it’s steady now - like you’re slowly accepting these emotions fully into your bloodstream and part of your existence.

You adore Joel, maybe more than you want to admit.

During a rare night out with your friends from class, feeling nice in your favorite outfit, courage courses through you. After posting a few photos from your night out, you also post a rather nice selfie.

You pray Joel sees it. Then you get a bit tipsy, and it takes all your willpower not to text Joel.

But the alcohol burns in you. Once you’re back at your apartment, in the safety of your room, you pull up your favorite video.

It’s a spring training video the Rangers made of the team preparing for the upcoming season. The video ranged from showing the guys on the field practicing, to them in the weight room.

There’s a nice small segment just on Cowboy Joel Miller. Specifically he’s training with a few weights and when you first saw it, your throat got so dry.

Joel is drenched in sweat. The simple worn navy blue shirt sticks to his body, highlighting the tone of his arms and width of his shoulders. Curls wet with sweat stick to his forehead. His concentrated face is sinful.

But not as hot as the sounds he makes.

The grunts, the soft growls, the exhales he gives lifting the weights… they drench your thoughts with images of him fucking.

You’ve never done this before, never gotten off on his videos. You never wanted to fall this far.

But it’s so hard when your body feels molten, so wet hearing with his groans directly in your ears. Your fingers trail down to relieve the throbbing wet ache between your legs.

Imagining Joel’s sweaty gorgeous body pressed against yours, picturing his thicker fingers in you, getting to taste him on your tongue - you come incredibly fast.

The next morning a text and a somber guilt wait for you.

Joel of course had messaged you.

Looks like you had fun last night

So he did see your pictures. A blistering heat crawls in your throat.

But reality sinks in fast. You got off to Joel. You don’t want to feel guilty. You reason there’s probably others who have maybe done it. But it does quietly eat at you.

So much that you don’t even reply to Joel for the whole day trying to sort your mind out. He’s the one that eventually calls you.

“Y’go out on a date or somethin’?” Joel asks about the night out, and your mind sputters to a halt.

“Oh uh, no. Just went out with some friends in class.”

“Oh.” He replies quick. “Well, looked like fun.”

You agree and thank him.

“But yeah, no dates for me.” You weakly laugh.

“Yeah? Any reason why?” Joel presses.

Because you’re partially head over heels for him, but you can’t admit that yet.

“No one’s asked me recently that’s all.” You reply simply. You’ve done the dating apps, had the headache mess of ghosting and awkward dates.

Joel snorts. “Pretty thing like you? Hard to imagine.”

His words, like a change up ball that drops wildly in the air, disorient you.

“Trust me, it’s real.” You dryly reply.

“And you? You must be seeing some famous celebrity in secret huh?” You teasingly ask.

You’ve seen the ESPN clips of the beautiful reporters flirting with him, cooing at how handsome he is. He probably could snag a supermodel or other famous person.

Joel barks a hollow laugh of a thing.

“No, none of that.” He answers.

“Ain’t not time for that or…mainly…haven’t found anyone who’s got the patience for me.”

Your heart sinks.

“Wait, what do you mean?” You quietly press.

He sighs.

“M’ older, a single dad. My schedule ain’t perfect. And those that have tried to uh… pursue something haven’t always had the best intentions.”

His voice trails off somber. You wonder how many just wanted him for his money or fame.

A grim cloud seems to settle above you.

“You’re a great guy Joel, an incredible one.” You earnestly tell him. “Those who can’t see it don’t deserve you.”

“And I have to say it but…you’re a real catch.” You go for the obvious baseball pun.

Joel’s chuckle is a beautiful low gruff treasure.

“That was bad.” You can almost picture him shaking his head. “But thanks…same uh, same goes for you. You’re smart, gorgeous. Someone will come around to see you’re worth it.”

You’re drowning in his words. They feel too much.

He ends up having to quickly end the call with his manager calling, and you’re thankful for it. Because this blooming rawness in you feels like it’s getting too much, yet not enough.

Joel’s compliments are sincere. But many feelings tangle you up. It hurts, like you’re stuck in a rose bush trying to get comfortable within the thorns.

Then, the universe decides to pull you away from Joel.

Classes kick up and the workload piles on. You’re exhausted. It even gets harder to reply to Joel as swiftly as you did. You even miss a few of his phone calls and don’t even call him back.

The days blur together.

Then, one morning you find a text waiting for you.

hope you’re alright

You want to cradle that message.

When you call Joel, it’s like not a day has passed between you and him. Your heart soars hearing his voice again.

“So uh…” Joel begins cautiously, and you’ve never heard him this nervous almost. “We’ll be heading your way into town soon.”

That’s right.

Caught up in the semester you completely forgot the team would be playing the Astros soon. Excitement immediately rises in you.

“Hope ya can come out and see us. And if ya do, let me know.” Joel suggests and you swear his voice sounds shy.

The minute the conversation ends, you try checking for tickets. But they’re a pretty penny. You jokingly circle the top section, the highest nosebleeds, and text him saying he needs to try and find you from here.

He texts back immediately.

Don’t worry about the tickets. Just head to will call and let them know you’re with me. Got it covered

That might be one of the hottest things you’ve ever read.

Game day can’t approach any faster. Your parents even mention the upcoming game when you call to check up.

“You should try to go!” Your dad urges, eager.

A part of you has wondered if Joel mentioned you to your dad. You’ve kept quiet, not saying a thing about whatever this is with Joel, and you now think so did Joel.

You take a small comfort in that.

When game day does arrive, you head to Minute Maid Park alone. Your closest friend and classmate couldn’t make it, and neither could your roommate. But for some reason, you’re slightly okay with being here by yourself.

At the ticket window, you nervously say that you’re here for Joel. Like if nothing they verify your name, and with an ease slide tickets your way.

Not just any tickets, but seats right by the Rangers dugout.

Still stunned, but now slightly lost, you can’t help but feel stranded in the stadium.

“You okay, sweetie?” A lovely voice comes and when you turn, you find a sweet older motherly woman. She wears a Texas Rangers jersey and another younger woman stands besides her in the same jersey. They both stare at you concerned.

“You lost?” The younger woman asks sympathetically.

It must be that obvious. The motherly older woman politely asks to check your tickets to point you in the right direction. She perks up.

“Aw look at that! You’re sitting close to us! Come on, we’ll show ya around!” She beams warmly.

“Wait, are you sure?” You ask worried.

“Oh of course,” the younger woman reassures you with a smile. “The stadium is so huge and besides, us Rangers fans gotta stick together.”

She then winks, noticing the Rangers shirt you bought and wore for the game.

You find out Malinda, the older woman, is the mother of the first baseman. And the other lady, Casey, is his wife.

Kindly, this sweet family adopts you, guiding you towards the section literally right besides the dugout on the other side of the net.

You’re stunned in shock yet again.

Even though your tickets are a few rows away from the two sweet ladies, they reassure you you’ll be fine sitting with them.

It’s beautiful and comforting.

“So, who are you here for?” Casey asks with a friendly gossip like whisper. “These seats are for friends and family, and I haven’t seen you around before.”

But then she quickly reassures you don’t have to explain if you don't want to.

You with a weak laugh you’re here to see Joel, adding that he’s a family friend. Her eyes go wide.

“Oh wow! And he warmed up today too so he might pitch!” She says excitedly.

Joel had texted you before the line up was confirmed that he would be warming up.

Don’t know if I’m gonna get put in but just in case

Even if he didn’t, you told him you just wanted to be there to support him.

With the Rangers being the visiting team, they bat first. You want to root for the guys to get a hit and get on base, but you also already selfishly want to see Joel.

Three outs come and the Rangers switch to take the field. No sign of Joel.

In fact he doesn’t show up until the fifth inning, and it happens so casually. Joel simply walks out from the dugout and takes your breath away.

The team wears their cobalt blue jerseys and the color flatters Joel marvelously.

It feels like seeing him for the first time all over again but through a deeper lens you can’t explain.

You clap and cheer with pride when he manages to strike out the first batter. Then the second.

Two strikeouts back to back.

Joel told you back in his younger days he struck out seven hitters in a row. Now for him to get two, much less strike out the third batter, is something to applaud and admire. And the Rangers fans here, including yourself, cheer loud when the team heads back for the next inning.

“Cowboy Miller in his golden age.” Someone off to the side whistles appreciatively.

You don’t fight the syrupy fondness swallowing you whole.

“It’s rare that a more…seasoned pitcher like Joel still is relied on,” your new friend Casey explains. “But it’s hard to see why not. Everyone’s been saying like he’s almost found a new groove and still has so much power.”

He’s a force you’re terribly in awe of.

Seeing the whip of how strong his body still pitches the ball with a dizzying speed, how handsome he looks under the baseball cap, you want to savor this as much as you can.

Joel manages to get two more strikes out in the second inning. Then by the seventh they get a hit off him but thankfully, no runs come in. Cowboy Miller ends the inning striking out the final batter. You, and the other Rangers fans present, erupt wild.

He did amazing.

Laser focused, locked in on the game, he doesn’t search the crowd or even glance up and you understand. The game gets intense when the Astros manage to hit a home run in the eight. In the end the Rangers win because of an error.

But it’s still a sweet victory.

You relish and warmly celebrate it with your co cheerleaders for the game that made you feel so welcomed with them. You’re about to head up and leave, start looking for an Uber ride home, when Malinda calls to you.

“Sweetie? Aren’t ya gonna wait with us and greet the guys!?” She asks with warm curious sweetness.

You can’t say no.

The commotion sweeps you into a neon coated excitement. There’s a special area sectioned off, almost in a backstage-like section that connects to the entry way for the visiting teams. You’re surprised at how many others wait here.

The team slowly trickles out of the locker room and into the hallway. You’re hilariously reminded of a class being let out.

Then the world then melts away when Joel walks out. Focused on his phone you almost want to call out to him, but your voice gets caught in your throat.

Putting his phone away Joel finally glances up and spots you.

Even with his baseball cap on, you see his eyes widen for a fraction. Your body reacts on its own moving towards him. But he also walks fiercely towards you.

The world blurs away for a moment and then without even thinking, you’re embracing him.

It happens so naturally you don’t even realize what you did until you blink and it’s like you’ve been thrown into cold water.

Panicking, you’re about to pull away until Joel’s arms slowly wrap around you.

“Good to see ya too.” He says low gruff but you’re taken out by the knees grateful your body doesn’t give out.

He smells of sweat, of the dirt on the field, and something sharply Joel, and it’s wonderful.

Quickly you draw yourself away to proudly tell him how amazing he did. Joel waves you off with a gruff noise as his eyes refuse to meet you, almost bashful.

It’s been so long since you’ve seen him this close, been in the same space as him. And it feels so different.

“Alright, dinner?” Someone says, and when you turn, you’re stunned to see it’s the team manager.

Guess this means you’ll be saying goodbye.

“Headin’ home?” Joel asks when he notices you staying back once everyone funnels outside.

“Uh yeah, gotta grab an Uber first. Didn’t wanna drive down here and deal with Houston traffic along with awful parking during a game.” You joke, and Joel snorts.

“Let me take ya back then.” He offers, and you almost drop your phone.

You scramble out reassuring Joel it’s fine.

“Besides, don’t you have dinner to go to?” And where would he even get a car to take you.

“S’fine. Would rather make sure you get home safe anyway.” He then tells you to hang tight then goes to grab one of the rental cars the team has on ready.

Because of course they do.

Your blood hums wild knowing Joel is taking you home, that you’re going to be alone with him. Even in this glimmering dusted dream you still want to tell Malinda and Casey goodbye and thanks for treating you so kindly.

You wish them well and even welcome their warm goodbye hug.

“Wish you could come to dinner!” Casey frowns.

“Maybe next time.” Her mother in law says bright.

Next time.

“Yes hope to see you at more games.” Casey grins and the possibility bubbles iridescent in you.

With a goodbye to them you wait for Joel. There are still a few others of the wives or girlfriends hanging around while the team sorts out where to go.

You haven’t turned to give them any attention. However something crawls on your skin like you’re hyper aware of being watched.

“Did you see how she hugged him? Probably just using him, poor Joel.” One of them whispers.

“She’s not even that pretty.” Another one giggles.

“Oh then you know he’s maybe just using her then! And if that’s the case then good for Joel.” The other replies with a searing joke that makes your stomach sick.

Joel returns, keys in his hand. “Ready to go?”

You weakly grin back.

You should be basking in this moment of finally getting to be alone with Joel, of getting to see him drive you around. Once in the car he took off his cap allowing you sight of his soft hair. The darkness of the car, the warmth of the city lights flickering by, all coat him glorious. Yet those comments from earlier fester poisonous and sour any hope of enjoying this.

You stay rather quiet while giving him directions to your place.

Joel however is surprisingly talkative.

“So you’ll have to give me recommendations of places to go around here.” His voice even sounds just traces softer, higher almost - like he’s happy being here.

And it kills you.

“Y’seem quiet, you okay?” He notices it of course, ever aware.

“Yeah, just a bit tired. Didn’t know the game would take that much outta me.” You lie.

Eventually you arrive at your apartment complex.

“Your place is nice.” Joel admires as he helps you out of the car like the Texan gentleman he is. He even follows you to your door.

You graciously thank him again for this night and for taking you home.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asks again.

You walk a few steps away from him. The night all around is still quiet, feels soupy with how much hangs in you.

You refuse to cry about this, don’t want to get emotional. If anything, you deserve to treat this like an adult.

“Joel…” you start cautiously, already hating the way your voice wavers.

“Yeah?” His voice stays steady, unbothered, but his eyes furrowing say otherwise.

“What…what is this? What are we?” You ask as steady as you can, but your tone continues to crack.

Joel’s eyes brow furrow and his mouth closes, tightening his jaw.

“Just…good friends.” He replies simply, almost cold. “Just showing my pal’s daughter a nice night.”

There it is.

Your soul deflates. So all the times you’ve felt like this might be something, maybe it's just been you wishing it would be.

So salvaging whatever dignity left, you nod.

“Thanks again, Joel.” You reply briskly and return walking towards your door.

He says your name. It stops you dead in your tracks.

“Why? Why d’ya ask that?” He asks, pressing firm and hard.

You turn back to him, and a deep scowl is etched on his face.

“It doesn’t matter.” You answer.

“The fuck does that mean?” He snaps a bit sharp.

“It means what it means.” You fire back.

“Bullshit. Why did you ask that?” Joel growls out firmer.

“Even if I told you, it doesn’t matter.” You repeat.

“Stop sounding like a fuckin’ owl.” His voice rises hard and fast, like a hand slamming on the wall.

It startles you, makes your eyes water and something in you shakes. Mainly because you know this is beginning to taste like the end. The smallest trace of hope is dissipating right before you.

You blink back tears, and immediately Joel’s face falls.

“Honey, I’m sorry-”

Shaking your head, you cut him off. Not even the sweet pet name he effortlessly uses can shake you.

Through gritted teeth you tell him to go.

“Not when you’re this upset.” He urges.

Through tears a sad water laugh escapes you and Joel’s eyes go cloudy.

“I’m realizing…I’ll never be anything to you then just your friend's kid, huh?” Your voice is waterlogged and you can’t fight it.

“You are.” He states simple and straightforward.

You nod, swallowing back the heartache boiling over.

“Can’t be anythin’ more than that.” Joel adds through mutter.

“Why?” You now ask him. Under the amber light of your apartment’s hallway the most frustrated cloudy look hardens his face.

His eyes scan your face then he steps closer towards you

“Don’t act dumb, sweetheart.” His voice rips out low cruel, slightly harsh.

You’re not and you tell him that.

“I…” the words you’ve held locked up so fiercely in your heart now sneak out from their bars to escape.

“I’d give anything to be yours, Joel.” You croak barely realizing you even said that.

He inhales, and his face goes taunt.

You wait for the sharp reply, even brace for it.

Instead Joel swoops in, kisses you wild like a sudden storm, and presses you against the door of your apartment.

Greedily, you claw onto him not wanting to ever let this go, to let him go. Your mouth begs him more to invade and consume. And he does so with a steady hunger.

The clamor into your apartment is messy, but at one point Joel cautiously stops to look around.

“My roommate’s visiting family…” you reassure, kissing his neck and softly under the side of his jaw with delicate cautious lips.

“Just you and me.” You whisper soft.

Joel takes command the minute you lead him to your room.

“Thought about this. Fuck, think about ya all the damn time.” He growls against your neck as he slides your bra off and runs a callous hand over your chest.

“Fucked my fist that first night you went swimmin’ at m’house.” Joel’s words make you whine and then his lips lick against your skin trying to savor you.

“Me too.” You admit through a whimper. “Touched myself thinking of you.”

Joel freezes.

“Tell me,” he says rather calmly, deadly almost.

Your syrupy lust begins fading away when you realize what you said, what he asks for, and what your answer will be.

Your lips and eyes shut close.

Then Joel’s warm breath, like a ghost, crawls against up your chest and tickles against your ear now.

“Come on, honey,” his voice is utterly decadent with a plea. “Tell me, please.”

You swallow hard telling Joel you don't want him to get weirded out.

He hums against your neck already starting to suck a mark against your skin. Your eyes roll back, and the embarrassment is quickly fading away.

“Promise, I’ll be okay.” Joel reassures you with a mumble against your skin.

So with a shaky voice, you weakly admit how you touched yourself to videos of him.

He groans.

“Baby, oh fuck, fuckin - shit.” Joel sputters out hard, like he just got kicked in the gut, and you’re worried until his lips smash into yours.

He devours you.

You’re swept into a tangled dizzying frenzy. Your clothes practically get ripped off as do Joel’s while he clutches onto you and licks into your mouth.

“That’s my girl. Knew you’d be m’good girl.” He says almost drunk and you’re done for.

You fall into the chasm with no hopes of turning back. But you don’t want to.

Joel feels like a god carving open your universe. You want to consume him and want him to consume you. He becomes your center of gravity.

In the aftermath, you’re left basking in Joel’s warmth and never want to leave.

Even though you were in his arms, Joel had to sit up to take a call and now scrolls through his phone. Your fingers trace his beautiful back.

You’re thankful for all the soft lamps you bought that now melt him into a dreamlike glow.

“Joel.”

He hums a gruff gentle noise that says he’s listening.

“I don’t…” you begin softly, then tell him your doubts. You don’t want him to think you’re simply using him for his status or money.

“Joel… you could quit or retire tomorrow and work with your brother as a contractor and I’d still always want you the way I want you.” Your deliciously aching limbs, the soft afterglow, all of it has you speaking soft and freely.

You never wanted Joel because of his fame or even because of the forbidden taste of him being friends with your dad. You wanted Joel for deeper reasons, some that have carved out a chasm in your heart.

You explain this all to him best as you can without rambling or sounding silly.

Joel sighs.

“Y’shouldn’t.” His voice is a hollow rumble. “I’m old, friends with your dad. We shouldn’t be doin’ this.”

Now a bitter venom spills in you.

You glare at his back, how his shoulders slump defeated while you sit up

“I'm an adult, Joel. And if that’s all you’re worried about then sorry it’s a shit reason.” You launch back.

Over his shoulder he glares at you.

“If…” you swallow hard. “If you’re the one who wants to leave, because i’m that young, or you really don't want this or don’t feel what I feel, then fine. At least tell me that.”

“But I care about you. And I want to make this, us, work.” You finish firmly, even with how much emotions clash in your chest.

Joel sighs again. His eyes face turns away now down downcasted.

“Didn’t wanna want you the way I do. You’re so bright, fucking’ smart and so g’damn gorgeous.” He softly admits.

A pause settles between him and you.

“Y’could be with someone younger, less complicated.” Joel admits low.

“Don’t want anyone younger or less complicated. Just want you.” You reassure with a soft steady mutter.

He goes quiet again.

“Used to not get bothered when I started leavin’ away games by myself. With Tommy married and the business booming, then the girls startin’ to have their own lives…I didn’t mind doing this alone.”

Underneath his words you catch it, his rusting loneliness.

“But then…these past few months…and now today seeing ya waitin’ for me…” he says clipped, like the rest of his words are caught in his throat and he can’t free them yet

Joel turns, and his eyes bore into you.

The silence stays as you stare unflinchingly back at him.

He doesn’t need to say anything else. You don’t think you have to either. Like a magnetic pull, it’s effortless moving towards him. Joel’s warm large calloused hand, seasoned from so many seasons of hard work, of pitching, cradles your face. You kiss him with every inch of your heart.

Even after spending the night, you’re surprised Joel hasn’t left yet. He even comments about figuring out lunch plans with you.

“You have another game today, Cowboy.” You comment.

The term makes his eyebrows rise, and the most coy smirk tugs his face making him look so charming.

“Got today off to rest, ya little shit.” It’s affectionate. “Besides my back ain’t what it use to be and after goin’ more rounds with ya this morning-”

In the middle of your living room you rush to kiss him.

The rest of the day unfolds like a dream drenched and stitched from every domestic fantasy you’ve ever had. Joel stands in your kitchen when you make him a quick lunch and you laugh apologizing that your fridge isn’t MLB diet certified. Joel steals your last saved snack after that joke.

Cuddled snug on the couch with him, you try watching a movie but Joel, so greedy and handsy, ends up fucking your brains out with his tongue.

When dinner rolls around, you order from your favorite local takeout place and Joel pays for everything. You ignore all the work you need to do for the week and don’t care. You’re here at this moment and want to stay crystalized in it for as long as you can.

But tomorrow is the last day before the team leaves to Miami to play the Marlins.

While showering with him, you wrap yourself against Joel’s back already dreading his leave. He seems to sense it too because his hands squeezes yours.

Against your shower wall he glides into you tender and slow, almost trying to draw out every inch of this.

Later that night, you try staying up but the day begins settling in. Your eyes flutter trying to fight sleep.

He mutters your name soft while his fingers run soft against your side.

“Hm?” You answer, trying hard to fight your tired eyes.

“Don’t want ya to think i’m ever using you, honey. You’re not just some young thing keepin’ me company.”

His words are simple, but they erupt so much in you.

Joel had been spooning you from behind, but now you immediately turn around to burrow your face against his chest. You reassure him and his arms tighten around you wonderful chains you wish never break.

But the next morning arrives.

“Gonna come to our last game here?” Joel asks while he packs up.

“Don’t know, I heard you guys still have that really old guy who might be pitching.” You say with a shrug.

His face frowns hard, but Joel moves to playfully smack your ass while you laugh. He quickly draws you in for another kiss.

You have class tomorrow and work you need to jump on, but you go to the game. Joel doesn’t play, but you don’t mind. Getting to hug him goodbye one last night in the shadow of the stadium is worth it.

“Text ya when we get to the airport.” Joel promises, secretly placing a soft kiss on your head.

“You've been standing there for like half an hour,” you tease as you step out of the bathroom and let the door swing shut behind you.

Javi's apartment is big, open, and nothing like the place you used to come to a year ago, back when he was still obsessed with taking down Escobar. A lot of shit got fucked up after that. Not that you know much about it. Javi doesn't talk. And honestly... why would he?

You're not his girlfriend. You're not even close. You're just his distraction. The girl he pays when he needs to work something out with sex. All you really know is that something went wrong, he came back, got promoted, and ended up with this ridiculously nice apartment.

"Hm?" Javi finally turns away from the open window. The sounds of Bogotá at night drift inside with the warm air. He stubs out the cigarette between his fingers. "Definitely wasn't half an hour," he mutters.

You catch him looking at you. You're standing there wrapped in nothing but a towel. Your hair's still damp, little drops of water clinging to your shoulders.

And honestly? It's kind of funny. Most girls who sleep with men for money don't get invited to shower afterward. Usually they're getting dressed while the guy's already walking them toward the door. Before the wife comes home. The girlfriend. Whoever.

But Javi… Javi's different. You've never asked whether he sees other girls. You don't really want to know. But you've got this feeling – call it intuition – that he doesn't. That you're the only one. Still just the girl he fucks. But the only one.

"Believe it or not, my shower took half an hour. And you were already standing there when I went in," you say with a laugh. The smile doesn't quite reach your eyes. Because he worries you. And that pisses you off. You're not supposed to care about your clients. You're definitely not supposed to fall for one.

And Javi? Javi would never feel the same way. You know that. Sure, he's nice to you. Attentive. Gentle. But that doesn't mean anything. It's not supposed to mean anything.

Still, seeing him standing there by the window, smoking one cigarette after another while something is obviously eating him alive... this time probably Cali cartel bullshit from what you've pieced together… it makes something twist inside your chest.

Makes you wish he'd talk to you. Wish he'd trust you enough to tell you what's going on. Wish he'd let somebody carry a tiny piece of whatever the hell he's carrying. But that's not how this works. His version of therapy is fucking you. When something's really bothering him, you can tell. He gets behind you and fucks you hard until he's buried deep inside you and finally comes after spending the entire day holding himself together.

You know the difference. Not because he's rough. Never because he's rough. God, no.

If anything, he's probably the kindest man who's ever paid for your company. He's never hurt you. Never scared you. And he actually pays attention. To your body. To the sounds you make. To what you like. You know he cares about getting you off before he even thinks about himself. Which is honestly pretty fucking weird when you think about the kind of arrangement you have.

But you can still tell when something's wrong.

Because when nothing's eating him alive, which isn't often, he's different. Slower. More relaxed. More playful. He doesn't usually take you from behind. He drags things out. Takes his time. Sometimes he'll spend over half an hour with you, keeping both of you right on the edge because it's almost like he doesn't want it to end. Like he actually likes having you there.

The thought hits hard enough that you immediately shove it away. Because you know exactly where that road leads. He's a client. He pays you. That's all. The second you start mixing feelings into it, you're fucked.

"Well," Javi says, pulling you back to reality, "I hope you didn't use up all the hot water during your little half-hour shower."

You walk toward him. Slowly. "And what if I did?" you ask softly once you're close enough to reach him. You brush a few messy strands of hair off his forehead.

His dark eyes stay on yours. He's still tense. You can feel it. See it. The way the muscles in his arms tighten beneath the sleeves of his white shirt. "Then..." His fingers catch the edge of your towel. One tug. The fabric loosens. Slides down your body. Drops to the floor. Leaving you standing there completely naked in front of him. "Then I guess we're washing up with cold water." His voice comes out lower this time. He exhales and settles one large hand around your breast. Warm. Heavy. Familiar.

Your eyes drift shut. Because this… this is why you came. Not because his shower is nicer than yours. Even though it is. Not because after a whole day in Bogotá heat it felt amazing. You came because he needed this. You knew it. He knew it. That's how it's always been between you. “Maybe... maybe we'll be sweaty enough that the cold water won't bother us, hm?” you tease, dragging your tongue lightly over his earlobe while his fingers gently pinch your nipple.

“If you say so...” he lets out a quiet groan when the tip of your tongue brushes his skin.

Earlobes. It always seemed ridiculous to you. You never understood how that could be someone's turn-on. But if Javi has a weak spot, it's definitely that.

His lips find yours. Warm. Soft.

And even though girls in your line of work usually don't kiss their clients, people normally skip straight to the fucking, this feels like the most natural thing in the world. Like your mouths already know each other. Like they're still figuring each other out. Both at the same time.

Your knees go a little weak. Goosebumps spread across your skin. You sigh softly into his mouth. You feel the corners of his lips lift into the faintest smile.

He pulls back just enough for his warm breath to brush your face. “I wanna take you right here,” he murmurs. “Right here by the window. Wanna fuck you while we enjoy this view...”

You can feel yourself getting wet.

His voice gets under your skin every single time. His hands slide over your hips as he slowly turns you toward the window.

And all you can think about is how badly you want him inside you. But at the same time, you want to give him something more. You want to remind him that you're here. That he's not alone. And the only way you know how is… “Wait...” you whisper against the cool glass. “Can I... I wanna do something else first...” You turn around.

His expression is slightly confused. That little line appears between his brows, the one that always shows up when he's thinking.

You want to kiss it. God, you want to kiss it. But that's not your place. Unfortunately. Instead, you lower yourself to your knees, silently thanking Javi for having a soft carpet. Once you're kneeling in front of him, you look up.

He's watching you. There's hunger in his eyes now. Because he already knows exactly what's coming.

You don't make him wait. You undo his pants. Button. Zipper. Everything that's in the way. And once you're done, you tug his slacks down and let them slide down his legs and pool around his feet.

He's standing in front of you wearing nothing but his shirt and boxer briefs. His hard cock is clearly outlined beneath the fabric, already fully awake and ready for whatever comes next.

You squeeze one side of his ass with one hand and start stroking him through the fabric with the other. Even through the material, you can feel how hot he is. How he's pulsing beneath your palm. You love the way he reacts to your touch. The way the fabric keeps stretching tighter. The way the bulge grows.

Neither of you breaks eye contact. Because of that, you catch every little change in his expression. The slight flutter of his lashes. The way his eyes narrow just a little.

You give his cock a gentle squeeze. Not too hard. Not too soft. Exactly the way he likes it.

His hand shoots into your hair. He doesn't force your head anywhere. It's more like he just needs something to hold onto. You watch him squeeze his eyes shut.

Slowly, lazily, you start pulling his boxer briefs down. Getting them over his hard cock isn't exactly easy, but after a few seconds they're pooled around his ankles. His cock stands right in front of your face. Hard. Throbbing. A bead of precum glistens at the tip.

"Javi? I want..." you murmur. "I want you to watch."

That makes him open his eyes. He's looking down at you, and suddenly you feel so small. And at the same time, incredibly powerful. Because right now, he's completely in your hands.

His hand slides from your hair to your cheek. One finger brushes gently across your skin.

The hand resting on his ass gives him another squeeze. With your other hand, you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock and shift closer. Your lips part around him. You seal them around the tip and gently suck. Watching him.

While he watches you. He doesn't look away, even though you can tell it's taking effort. His hand finds your hair again and gives it a small tug. Almost like encouragement.

So you keep going. Slowly taking more of him. Deeper. And deeper. It isn't easy.

Javi's big. Long, thick, solid.

But over time you've learned how to handle his size. You take him as deep as you can and feel his cock twitch inside your mouth. You feel everything. His scent. His taste. The slightly salty precum sliding across your tongue until after a while you can't even tell whether you're drowning in that or your own saliva.

You love having him like this. Usually you don't enjoy sucking dick. Most men do absolutely nothing for you. But Javi… Javi is different. You like the way he smells. You like the way he tastes. Maybe because you're in lo...

No. Fuck, no. You're not letting yourself go there.

"Fuck," Javi breathes. The sound comes out strained. "Keep going. You're so fucking good..." It almost sounds like he's begging. His hand presses lightly against the back of your head, like he wants you even deeper, even though his grip is already pretty tight.

If you didn't have your mouth full of him, you'd probably smile. Instead, you just keep going. Slowly, you start pulling back. Little by little.

His cock slides from your mouth.

But your lips stay wrapped tightly around him the entire time. Slow. Careful. You don't want your teeth scraping against him.

Javi gives you room too. He doesn't force you down onto him, doesn't hold you there. He just guides the pace. He knows that once you start pulling his length back out, there's something else coming that he might love even more.

And after a moment, that's exactly what you do. As soon as only the tip of his wet, throbbing cock is resting on your tongue, you start licking it, circling your tongue around it. You glance up at him and see he's still watching you closely.

The desire is written all over his face now. His hips keep pushing toward you. His fingers move through your hair. "Good girl," he groans as you gently cup his balls in your palm.

Your tongue traces the underside just below the tip, right where he's most sensitive.

"Yeah... right there... keep going..."

You don't need to be told twice. You lick him. Tease him. Sometimes you pull him out of your mouth just to stroke him with your hand. Sucking. Licking. Playing with the skin near the tip. And you know it's driving him insane because you can literally feel him pulsing against your tongue. Feel every twitch. And somehow that only makes you want to keep going.

Javi's knees are starting to shake slightly. His cock is getting wetter and wetter, and not just because of your saliva. His hips keep rolling toward your face. "Fuck... I..." he groans. "I don't wanna come in your mouth..." His voice catches. "Wanna fuck you..."

But you know damn well part of him would love nothing more than to spill himself down your throat. The thought turns you on even more. And suddenly you need him again. Need him in a way that can't wait. Your pussy starts aching for him. One last time, you drag your tongue across the tip. Gently stroke his balls. Then pull him from your mouth. Slowly, you rise back to your feet. He's got almost a head on you, so you have to tilt your chin up to meet his eyes again.

His cock stands hard and wet between you.

You wrap your hand around it and give him a couple small strokes. "Then take me," you whisper into his ear.

And Javi doesn't hesitate. It's like every last bit of restraint disappears. Like every thought that had been eating at him just minutes ago gets shoved aside as he gives in to how badly he wants to be inside you. He turns you around roughly so your back is against him. First he pulls you against his chest, his hands supporting your breasts while he slowly rubs your stomach. Then he takes your hands in his and places them on the windowsill. "Those hands stay right there, understand?" he orders quietly into your ear.

The warmth of his breath against your skin sends a shiver through you.

His hands slide up along your ribs before settling on your hips. He squeezes gently but firmly. “Stick that pretty pussy out for me. Let me see you. Let me see how bad you want it.” He nudges your legs apart with his knee.

You brace yourself against the windowsill, bend forward, and push your ass back toward him, giving him exactly what he wants. Easy access.

“That's it,” he mutters, his voice rough with desire. His fingers slide over your already soaked pussy. He runs them between your folds, brushing close to your entrance as if testing how ready you are. “That's how I like it.”

But he barely has to touch you to know. You're drenched. Practically dripping for him. Your body gives you away every single time. Your pussy practically aches for him. Calls for him. That's the effect he has on you. Always. Only him. Because sex is usually just work. Part of the job. Something you do to pay the bills. Not something you actually enjoy. But with him? With him it's different. In every way.

Fuck. You shove those thoughts away again. You don't want to think about what this man means to you. Not now. Not ever.

His hand leaves you. A second later you hear the crinkle of foil as he tears open a condom packet with his teeth, probably one he pulled from his pants pocket. Of course. Always prepared.

You glance over your shoulder and watch him roll it down his impressive length.

Once he's satisfied, he grabs your hips and pulls you back against him, turning you toward the window again. Then, in one smooth motion, he slides all the way inside you. Every inch. The head of his cock pushes deep against your inner walls.

“Ah... fuck... Javi...” you moan, elbows digging into the windowsill as you squirm beneath him, feeling him fill you completely. Every last inch.

Javi pauses. Just for a moment. Giving you time to adjust like he always does. One hand stays locked around your hip while the other moves up to your breast. He cups it in his palm. Enjoying how completely exposed you are for him. How your breasts hang freely. How he has all of you. How he's buried inside you. He pinches your nipple between his fingers. At the exact same moment, he pulls back almost all the way out before driving deep into you again.

You both groan. Him because you're so fucking wet and tight. You because of how completely full you feel.

Javi settles into a steady rhythm. Not rushing. But not exactly slow either. Long, deep strokes mixed with quicker ones. Like he's trying not to come too soon. Like he wants to stay buried inside you for as long as possible. “Stay still,” he orders quietly. Then stops moving altogether. Just for a second. As if he's reminding you who's setting the pace. Who's in control.

You don't even realize you're pushing your hips back against him. Like your body wants more. Wants him deeper. Like you're trying to show him that he isn't the only one who needed this tonight. You needed it too. Needed him too. And maybe that's the problem. Maybe you'll always need him. The thought pisses you off. You don't want to think about that. Not now. Not with him buried so deep inside you and his hand wrapped around your breast.

After a few seconds, Javi starts moving again. His cock hits that spot inside you perfectly. Exactly where you love it. And he knows it. Jesus Christ, he knows it. Sometimes it feels like he knows your body better than you do. "You see that?"

You glance back at him over your shoulder. "Hm?" you breathe, barely listening.

"The view." His hand tightens on your hip. "It's one of the few things I actually love about this apartment." His thrusts get stronger. Harder.

You're still looking at him over your shoulder, and honestly, that's a much better view.

A few loose strands of hair are stuck to his sweaty forehead. His shirt is clinging to him now, stretched across his chest and shoulders. And for some reason it's ridiculously fucking hot that he's still wearing it. The same shirt he wears to the embassy. The same shirt he probably spends his days in doing important government shit that has absolutely nothing to do with fucking. And now he's got you bent over a window in it. Sweaty. Breathless. Groaning. His hands digging into your hips.

Fuck. That thought alone almost pushes you over the edge. Your pussy tightens around him without meaning to.

Javi lets out a low sound at the sudden squeeze. "Turn around, bonita." His voice is rough. "I want you looking at all those city lights while I fuck that tight little pussy." The second the words leave his mouth, both hands lock onto your hips. And he starts fucking you harder. Faster.

The rhythm knocking the breath out of your lungs. Fuck. You try to do what he says. You really do. You turn your head toward the window and try to focus on Bogotá spread out beneath you. But it's impossible.

Every time he thrusts into you, your eyes want to close. Every time he hits that spot, your brain forgets what it's supposed to be doing. Both of you are moaning now. You don't even know who's louder anymore.

His pace keeps getting rougher. More desperate.

And honestly, you don't think he gives a shit about the view anymore either. Then you feel his thumb. Against your clit. Your entire body jolts.

Javi leans closer, his mouth near your ear. "Who are you gonna come for, hm?" His voice alone almost does it. That voice. And the fact that even now, when he's obviously close himself, he's still making sure you get there too. Always.

"Javi, I..." Your words fall apart into a whine. "I..."

"That's it." His hand tightens on your hip. "Let go. Come for me."

And suddenly your body does. Your pussy clenches hard around him. Your knees nearly give out. Heat crashes through you in wave after wave. You grip the windowsill so hard your arms ache. "Fuck..." you gasp. The orgasm hits so hard it almost hurts.

"Yeah, good girl..." Javi sounds wrecked now. Completely wrecked. "Look at that... came so pretty for me." His voice isn't teasing anymore. It's strained. Like he's hanging on by a thread. Then he slams into you one more time. Deep. All the way. And that's it. A rough groan tears out of him. His body tenses behind yours.

You feel him shake. Feel him holding you tighter. Like for a second he's forgotten about everything else. Forgotten about the cartels. The embassy. The bullshit waiting for him tomorrow. It's just this. Just you. Just him. Just one fucking moment where neither of you has to think.

"Fuck..." he mutters against your shoulder. His forehead drops briefly against your back. "You're gonna kill me one of these days." You can feel the smile trying to creep into his voice. His breathing is heavy. So is yours.

Eventually he starts to soften. A minute later he slips out of you.

And suddenly there's this weird emptiness. Not physical. Well... maybe partly physical.

Javi is huge. You're definitely gonna feel the difference.

But that's not really it. The emptiness is something else. Something you've felt before. The reminder that this always ends. That no matter how much you want to stay here, no matter how much you want to pretend this means more than it does… eventually he'll go back to being Javi. And you'll go back to being the girl he pays. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Javi steps away. You hear his bare feet moving across the kitchen floor.

And for some reason, standing there staring out at the city lights, that sound makes you feel lonelier than you want to admit. You glance over your shoulder, still trying to catch your breath after everything that just happened, and see him pulling off the condom before tossing it into the trash.

He catches you looking. "Shower?" he asks.

"Yeah. I'll be there in a minute," you mumble.

Javi just nods and walks off. Less than a minute later, you hear the water running.

You don't even know why your mood shifted so fast. Everything was fine a second ago. Then he pulled out and… it's stupid, honestly. Completely irrational. Why the hell would you be upset?

Because after sex he takes off the condom and throws it away? He does this every time.

You're not together. You're not his girlfriend. You're not the woman he's gonna spend hours tangled up with in bed afterward, whispering sweet shit to each other.

Not that you've never fucked in his bed before. You have. But the rules have always been clear. He knows it. You know it. Nothing about that is changing.

And maybe that's exactly what's hurting right now. Because whether you want to admit it or not… whether you spend most of your time pretending otherwise… he's gotten under your skin way more than he ever should have.

Every time he calls, your entire day gets better. The second you hear he wants to see you, nothing else matters. You don't even care that it's because he wants sex. Because you'll get to see him. You'll get to be here. With him. And for a little while, everything feels okay. At least until you go home again. Back to your shitty routine. Back to a life you hate.

Because these moments here… with him… these are the moments you actually look forward to.

Javi never throws you out after sex. A few times he's even let you stay the night when it got too late and he was too exhausted to drive you home. He'd never let you walk through Bogotá alone at night. Not even though he knows damn well that sometimes you do exactly that because of clients. Clients you couldn't care less about. Clients whose money you still need.

Before you even realize it, your eyes start burning. Fuck. This is pathetic. You scold yourself immediately. You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand and finally push yourself away from the window.

Your legs are still a little shaky when you walk into the bathroom. Javi's standing under the water with his back to you.

You immediately get a view of his perfect ass. Water runs down his body. And all you can think about is how badly you want to touch him. Wrap your arms around him. Press yourself against his back. Tell him that… fuck.

Javi suddenly turns around. His eyes sweep over you, but there's no hunger in them now. Not like before. "Looks like there was still some hot water left after that half-hour shower of yours." A grin pulls at his lips.

You manage a weak smile. "Um..." You suddenly feel ridiculous. "Could you... wash my back?" The second the words leave your mouth, you want to die.

Javi studies you. Really studies you. Like he's trying to figure something out. Like he's hesitating. Like maybe… maybe he knows this stopped being about your back a long time ago. Still, after a moment, he nods. "Sure. Turn around."

You do.

A minute later he wets your skin and starts working soap across your shoulders.

His hands are big. Gentle. Moving over your back. Your shoulders. Your waist. Sometimes his palms brush your ass.

And honestly, you could melt under his touch. You have no idea how long you stay in that shower. Ten minutes. Twenty. Maybe longer.

–––

But eventually you're sitting in his car.

And eventually he's pulling up outside your apartment.

And suddenly you don't know where to look. You'd rather still be in that shower. In his apartment. In his bed. In his… life. But you know that's not really possible.

And when you finally climb out of the car, when the two of you say goodbye the same way you always do, with Javi telling you he'll call when he needs you...

For the first time, it feels like something is ending. Like the way he looked at you in the shower when you asked him to wash your back. That look. Maybe… maybe he realized this was turning into something more for you. More than just sex. He's an agent, after all. Not stupid. Maybe he saw right through you. And maybe… maybe this was one of the last nights you'll ever spend with him.

Maybe you should've kept pretending. Maybe you should've acted like you didn't care. Like he wasn't becoming the best part of your week. Like seeing him didn't mean more than it was supposed to. You curse yourself. Because if you've ruined this… if you've ruined the one good thing you've got… you have nobody to blame but yourself.

You look at him.

He looks right back.

But you can't read a damn thing in his expression. "Um... okay, so..."

"So?" he says. Almost like he's waiting. Actually waiting to hear what you're gonna say.

But you're a coward when it comes to this. You don't want to give yourself away any more than you already have.

The question is sitting there, burning a hole through your chest. Whether he'll actually call. When he'll call. Whether he even wants to.

But you don't ask. Instead, you force out the first stupid thing that comes to mind. "Well... I hope it got your mind off things for a while. And hopefully you're not gonna spend the rest of the night standing by that window thinking." You try to sound cheerful. Casual. Like you're not desperately trying to fill the silence. Like you're not terrified he'll figure out how much you care.

Because all you want right now is for him to keep you in his life. Even if it's only as a distraction. Even if it's only as the woman he pays to sleep with him.

Javi doesn't answer right away. He just looks at you. For a second. Then another. Long enough to make your stomach twist. "Good night," he finally says.

That's it. Just that.

You nod. "Good night."

Javi starts the engine. A second later the car pulls away from the curb.

You stand there watching the taillights disappear into the Bogotá night. And all you can think about is whether something just went wrong. Whether you pushed too hard. Whether he noticed. Whether he'll actually call. Or if tonight was the moment everything started falling apart.

You stand there until his car is completely gone from sight. Then you're left alone with nothing but your own thoughts. And hope. Hope that your phone will ring. Hope that he meant it. Hope that tonight wasn't the last time.

Thank you so much for reading ♡

💌 @idknananchimaybe @pascalispunktexas @mothmanuwu @pascalispunkbr @reasonablyluminousquill @justmasblack @indiegirlunited @saralovesjoelmiller @picketniffler @canonisoptional @katyispunk @daltoncharm @kirsteng42 @borinquenasoy @cuteanimalmama @negramurguera @senoratess @misstokyo7love @suestormnotcheatingversion @lizette50 @grxnde-dwt @harriedandharassed @somedayheaven @ningaispunk @ladyofmidlo72 @bardot49 @scarlettval2 @goonersquad101 @loveoverpride

It was his fault, really, that you were about to do this. His allure was irresistible, even more so at his workplace―watching him talking smart with investors, making million-dollars decisions in split seconds and assigning tasks like the boss he was had you all horny.

Harry cleared his throat.

“No,” his eyes landed on the notepad, the tip of the quill tapping the expensive paper on the oak desk. “Going back to the KPIs again. What is the internal rate of return?”

You didn’t hear the reply from the speaker, too busy with tucking yourself under his desk in case someone decided to come in and interrupt his oh so very important call. Luckily, a thick panel running down the front of the desk would shield you from any onlooker that would stroll along the ceiling-tall glass wall separating his office from the corridor.

Once perfectly positioned between his parted legs, your gaze found his in the midst of seduction. Dragging the moment, your flat palms skidded on his upper thighs, tempting, until your fingers fiddled to unclasp the buckle of his belt. The button of his well-tailored trousers quickly came loose, the zipper smoothly going down immediately after.

“Is that ex-post or ex-ante?” His tone dropped an octave, lustful eyes darkening as they settled on you.

You smiled up at him, playful and defiant, and dipped your hand in his underwear, on your knees under his desk. The velvet of his cock had already started to stiffen, and you couldn’t suppress the laugh that bubbled up your throat.

“Hard already, Mr. Castillo?” It was just a provocative whisper, fingers tightening around his girth before pulling out his growing erection. “Wasn’t expecting any less of you, always carrying a hard-on for me to play with.”

You looked up at him again and saw a visible tic on his locked jaw that gave away his eagerness. His eyes narrowed, nostrils slightly flared, before Harry’s attention returned to the conversation at hand.

From here, with him towering above you while you held him up on your hand, you felt powerful. A man like him, rich and influential to an incomprehensible degree, all hardened for you, craving your touch and your sinful mouth at any given time and place.

You tugged at his dick, stiffening under your palm, the bulging vein that ran on his underside happily greeting you with a throb. His foreskin peeled back with every pump, his knob already flushed and glistening with want. It didn’t take long before his cock grew to its full size, thick, long and slightly curved, just how you liked it.

It was impossible not to tip forward and press a sloppy peck on his leaky glans while your free hand dove in his underwear again to scoop up his balls too. A gentle squeeze and another wet kiss was all it took for Harry to bend forward just enough to slam the mute button on the speaker.

“Fuck, cariño (darling). I’m working on something…” he trailed off, eyes rolling to the back of his skull when you intentionally suckled on his cockhead.

Your mouth released him with a pop.

“So am I,” you taunted, lapping at his underside from balls to tip without breaking eye contact. “Don’t mind me, just do your thing.”

Harry huffed, his knuckles caressing your cheek as you resumed, sealing your lips shut around his reddened mushroom head. His eyes sparkled, and a tiny lopsided smirk cracked his façade.

“You look even more beautiful with your mouth full, mi vida (my life).”

A knock on his door startled you both before you could say anything. Harry literally stirred in his seat, his broadened, shocked eyes flying towards the front of his office.

To his obvious dismay, the door creaked open after a pause.

“Mr. Castillo? Is this a good time to interrupt?”

Any other person would be extremely worried of being caught masturbating the CEO of a big ass, international investment company. You though? The adrenaline rush of this sudden interruption had your blood pumping fast through your veins, excited at the prospect of sucking Harry off while he tried to have a somewhat civilized conversation in person.

With your hand confidently wrapped around his throbbing cock, lips ghosting the sensitive head, you threw a glance up at him from under the desk. Mr. Castillo, on the other hand, had gone so pale it almost seemed like the person interrupting this interlude was an actual ghost. You could sense the uneasiness radiating from his tense body, but unfortunately for him, his dick was leaking for your attention. You would never deprive him of that, of course not. And he knew.

Harry hawked, nervously shuffling some papers around on his desk. He didn’t dare look down at you, but you watched his every expression ardently.

“Make it quick. I’m in the middle of a call with the finance department,” he rasped, leaning forward to prop his elbows on the old wood, a feeble attempt to conceal what was happening.

“Of course, Mr. Castillo,” the young man took a step forward into the room. “It’s about the acquisition transaction we are overseeing at the moment for Mrs. Dixon.”

You licked his whole column again, flat tongue gliding on skin, before you swallowed his cockhead. As your tongue swirled around the generous circumference, you had to be extremely vigilant not to make a sound―as much as you wanted to slurp and be noisy, make yourself known in the room, that would be a hindrance to Harry’s reputation. You were not about to fuck that up, so carefully your head bobbed up and down, wet slimy lips sliding on his shaft without a goddamn hum or squelch from you.

Harry coughed, knuckles whitening with his fingers tightly grasping the edge of the table. He so tried to infuse his voice with trained steadiness as he replied to the asset associate.

“How far along is the transaction right-right now?”

“Around sixty percent. We encountered some issues regarding the vetting process, but…”

“That is not good enough. It should be at least at seventy percent now,” as your mouth inched down on him, his words slurred a little―something you felt extremely proud of as you stuffed your mouth full of him. “This… hmm, this transaction is too time sensitive. I need you to do better, keep on top of it.”

By the time the conversation came to a resolution, Harry was―perhaps unwillingly, you’d never know―deepthroating you. The coarse pubic hairs tingled your nose while you relaxed the muscles on your neck and unhinged your jaw like a boa constrictor, allowing for his whole length to furrow down your throat, breaching past your uvula.

You stayed there, mouthing around him for air, eyes watery with the strain. Mr. Castillo’s fingers let go of the edge of the table and caressed the crown of your head―you were not sure if it was in a reassuring way, encouraging or a silent plea to free his cock so he could speak properly. He didn’t push you down to choke some more, didn’t pull you off him either―his fingers just stroked your hair lightly, as if making sure this wasn’t a fever dream.

You didn’t budge; throat stretched to its limits.

“If you don’t h-hear back from either the bank or the seller’s lawyers by midday, please contact the Portfolio Manager as soon as possible. We can’t afford for this transaction to slow down,” he managed to husk out when Harry realized you weren’t releasing the hostage yet.

“I will do so,” the associate rustled the files he carried, could even feel the hesitation in the room before he asked, “Are you okay, Mr. Castillo?”

You had to suppress a giggle, but did ease his throbbing cock out of your mouth to make out with his tip, pumping him with both hands while looking up at Harry.

His sight dipped momentarily, the brief visual contact exhilarating. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his neck before his eyes flew away from you and across the room.

“I think I may be coming down with something,” he mumbled. The double meaning was not lost on you―if you were not careful, Harry would be coming down your throat in a matter of seconds, the pulsing of his knob between your lips was the perfect indicator. “I’m fine though. Please sort this out hastily.”

“Of course, sir,” and then the door clicked shut a few seconds later.

“Fuck,” Mr. Castillo moaned, a low rumble coursing through his chest, throwing his head back and pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers, eyes shut and jaw locked. “You’re gonna be the end of me, corazón.”

You laughed, leaning back a little with a thick thread of spit linking your lips to his cockhead. You twirled your finger around it, gathering it and pushing it back into your mouth the moment Harry’s eyes landed back on you.

“Well, I―”

“Mr. Castillo, are you there?” a voice on the speaker cut you in.

“Shit, I can’t even catch my breath,” he whined, thumb hovering over your agape mouth before tapping your cheek. His lustful eyes studied you, considering all his options. “Don’t make me come yet, I want to fuck you all spread out on my desk.”

Then he hit the unmute button as if his promise didn’t make your pussy throb and gush.

“Yes, I’m here,” his tone was business-like again. “So, the IRR is ten points above the RRR, correct?”

Resuming your job, your tongue dashed out and got to work. Your knees were aching now, but that didn’t stop you from sucking his soul out through his dick, from claiming every delicious inch for yourself as your lipstick stained his hot skin with burgundy ribbons.

You listened to the cues of his arousal. When the throbbing intensified, you slowed down the jerking and would unglue your mouth from his shaft. When his testicles tensed into his groin, your caressed his cashmere-cladded thighs running your hands up and down, sitting back on your heels as you gave him time to cool off and not bust a load right into your mouth. Mr. Castillo had promised to fuck you, and you were intent on holding him accountable.

“All risks have been taken into account, Mr. Castillo. It would be extremely profitable for the company if we pursue this avenue of revenue,” the mechanical voice on the other end suggested. “Please, Miss Young, run through the numbers with us now so we understand the bigger picture here.”

Harry’s attention faltered, eager eyes searching for yours. Tucked under the desk, you lapped at him and then swallowed him whole, a mess of saliva and precum dripping down your face. His soft hand cupped your chin, and you were sure he could feel how his cock slid down your throat with ease.

While the woman’s voice floated across the room explaining equations and risk assessments, Mr. Castillo looked at the door for a moment and then pushed back the chair. His glans left your mouth with a sudden pop, the emptiness he left behind only making you wetter.

Harry gazed down at you―the vision of you kneeling under his desk, lips swollen, chin smudged with his precum and playfully batting your eyelashes at him almost sent him into oblivion right there and then. He even had to wrap a broad hand around his girth to contain the load he was about to spill.

With his free hand, he pressed his index finger to his mouth, a reminder to remain silent, and then motioned for you to stand up, turn around and bend down over his desk. You obliged quickly, your zest and wanton need as obvious as his.

Mr. Castillo threw one last glance at the door before he rose from the chair and towered behind you. He should lead by example, should definitely not engage in this type of lewd behavior at work. What if someone walked past his office? What if he got caught dicking you down on his desk? Would he get reported for inappropriate conduct to HR? The walls were made of glass; anyone would see what was happening. The board of directors would not be impressed; this could ruin his reputation for good and tank the company’s shares if word got out. He wasn’t above the company’s guidelines and directives after all, even if it was his.

But the moment you rolled up your skirt to expose your sexy lingerie to him and Harry saw the obvious wet spot on your panties, business and reputation were no longer at the forefront of his mind―you were.

His ears rang with expectation, a throbbing knot forming at the bottom of his spine. Harry pushed your panties to the side to uncover the open gates of literal heaven waiting for him. Your pussy was glistening with slick, coating your skin. You spread out your legs and Mr. Castillo watched, mesmerized by the sensuality of it all, as a thick drop of silken nectar clung to your clit, then fell to the hardwood floor between your feet.

His hips involuntarily slanted forward for his flushed cockhead to poke at your mouthing entrance. Fisting himself by the base, Harry’s dick swiped your entire seam, the knob smoothly skidding between your labia. And before you could whimper aloud, drooling mouth hanging open, he tilted forward and covered your mouth with his big hand.

“Nuh-uh,” he tsked in the shell of your ear. “Can’t make a sound, cariño, we are on speaker.”

Harry filtered out the voices discussing numbers, focused instead on how your cunt was unashamedly leaking onto his erection, glazing him beautifully. There was no time to waste, not when someone could walk in at any time, so Mr. Castillo led his cock back to your clenching hole and slowly fed it to you.

Your spit wetted the palm of his hand with every agonizing inch parting your insides, but Harry didn’t let go. He didn’t trust you wouldn’t wail when your pussy fully sheathed him. He sighed with immense relief once he was buried down to the hilt and kissed the crown of your head with affection, still leaning over your arched back.

“Mr. Castillo, what do you think so far?”

Fuck, he thought. Harry hadn’t been paying attention at all.

“What is the discount rate used to calculate the net present value?” His free fingers slithered down the front of your skirt, finding your clit to draw lazy circles on it while his hips angled back, sliding out of you before he jackhammered all the way back in. “The uncertainty here could kill us if we don’t aim high.”

Your teeth grazed his palm as you moaned into his hand.

Shit, I gotta keep a cool head… So fucking difficult being balls deep into this sweet pussy. Don’t get caught, fuck, don’t get caught. Pay attention.

“Twenty percent, sir,” Miss Young replied immediately. “I thought it was safest considering the uncertainty right now.”

 “Sounds good to me,” Harry gritted out, brows bunched up in concentration as he kept on pleasuring you so your cunt would wring him harder. “Peter? What do you think?”

The moment his brother’s voice emerged from the speaker, Harry lost track of the conversation again. Instead, he poured all his attention into how tight your pussy hugged his length, how your heat enveloped him until it seeped into his bones.

The pace of his thrust began building up, the squelching sounds your pulsing cunt sang around him were pure music to his ears. Harry fucked into your warmth, sharp and deep. Your pussy clutched when he kissed your cervix, and he could feel your heartbeat on his cock as if it was his own now.

Having you like this, sprawled out on his office desk, was everything he needed―draining the frustration of the workday right into you was the only thing that would take the edge off his cranky mood. And it always worked; you were the only remedy he would ever seek. You were the only person who truly knew him, knew a good blowjob would calm him down.

His balls were heavy now, the pleasure blinding. It coursed through his body, shooting up his spine and numbing his brain.

Harry was able to catch himself, quick to slam the mute button again. The hint of a smile on his lips quickly morphed into a slackened jaw, head tilted back, so he could freely moan loudly, a needy rumble that reverberated between the walls of his office.

“Fuck, baby. You feel so fucking good,” he commended you between grunts, fingers still working your slick clit and pounding into you like a man possessed.

You mumbled something, but his hands prevented your words from being heard. He saw your face on the reflection of the glass wall, your eyes shut and frowning.

“Sorry, mi vida,” he tutted at you. “Didn’t want them to hear you.”

His lower back was starting to ache―being bent down over you while drilling you into the wood was taking its toll. He wasn’t young anymore, age was catching up with him.

“I’m gonna uncover your mouth.”

You miraculously remained silent when he let go to straighten his back. By the way your expression shifted and your lips twitched with every pump, Harry knew you were seconds away from screaming your pleasure for the whole office to hear. So pulling out his busy hand from your lingerie and with steady fingers, he undid his tie, bunched it into a ball and shoved it into your open mouth.

“That’s better,” he groaned, both hands clasping either side of your hips to keep you steady and anchor you in place for him.

“All in all, I think it’s a good investment, Harry,” Peter agreed after a speech he didn’t hear at all.

He huffed, frustrated with having to keep up with a conversation he was no longer interested in, although he definitely should. Harry pressed the unmute button again.

“Yeah, okay,” he managed to say while still impaling you. He could only hope the line wouldn’t pick up the lecherous noises of your bodies colliding. “We should run it by our independent financial adviser and if he greenlights the operation, we go ahead. This could be a major breakthrough for our enterprise.”

This time around, Harry didn’t bother to silence his end of the line, too distracted with how you rocked back and forth on the table with every stab of his cock. How your hands grabbed the other end like a lifeline as the desk rattled and dragged forward, scratching the flooring. How your reflection let him see the passion plowing through your features―your heavy-lidded eyes watery, his tie dripping wet, your muffled mewls hitching at the back of your throat, your breasts bouncing and almost coming out of your bra.

He tried to curb his own ragged breathing as his team spoke on the phone, finalizing the details. But your pussy lips were wolfing him down so good, so smoothly, Harry got hypnotized by how his cock kept disappearing into your used hole, and every time his hips withdrew, it reappeared lacquered with your shared arousal.

Harry was so damn close, his testicles achy and loaded now, the snapping rhythm he imposed became erratic. Knowing he wouldn’t last much longer, one of his hands wrapped around your waist to find your throbbing clit again. He thumbed at it quick and deep, and soon your cunt spasmed around him, choking his dick in the most mind-blowing way.

Your shrieks almost pushed out the tie in your mouth as you messily came on his stiff cock, gripping him so tight Harry could only yield to you. A few seconds later, he drained all his cum right into your pussy, locking his jaw and gritting his teeth so no noise escaped his lips. For a minute he stayed behind you, rocking his hips mindlessly to fuck his spend back into you.

“I think we have discussed all points in the agenda. I will report back to the independent financial adviser and will keep you all posted on any new developments,” one of his chairman’s concluded, breaking through the veil of lust clouding his mind.

“Great. Thank you all,” Harry signed off, controlling the wavering of his tone.

When the line went dead after hanging up, Harry carefully pulled out, fingers hooked around the hem of your panties to see his cum trickling out. Satisfied with the outcome, he adjusted your lingerie to cover your swollen cunt and for a brief second, caught a glimpse of his sperm staining your underwear. The idea of you walking around with your pussy dripping his seed made him feel flustered and horny again.

You spat out his tie onto your hand and then straightened your back, turning around to face him. Your hand patted his chest, then put his tie in one of the pockets of his suit―your dirty little secret he would carry proudly for the rest of the day.

As you shoved his cock back into his suit pants, zipped him up and clasped his belt for him, your face spoke of a peace that only sin could wreak. You smiled big, and he found himself reciprocating. He was a lucky bastard.

You rolled down your skirt when leaning in to steal a quick kiss from him. How badly Harry wished he could just devour you right now. He was sure he would only need a few minutes before he could fuck you good and hard again―he didn’t need to worry about the refractory period some men feared, not even at his age.

“That was… something else, Mr. Castillo,” you teased, walking around the desk, your hips suggestively waving sideways. “Hopefully this won’t get you into trouble.”

“I wonder what HR might think of this if they ever found out,” his lopsided smirk betrayed him as he sat back down on the swivel chair.

“Indeed,” you grinned back. “Don’t you have a meeting with the Head of HR right now?”

“I do, yes.”

“Then I better go,” you winked at him, enticing.

Harry watched you leave through the glass wall, lost in his train of thought. Scooting closer to the desk, he rearranged the mess―there were papers out of place everywhere, a reminder of how your body lolled with every thrust. Even his quill and other pens were on the floor, so he picked those up and put them in the pencil pot.

A knock on the door brought him back to reality.

“Mr. Castillo, may I come in? I’m here to discuss the yearly hiring budget.”

That color of voice he would recognize anywhere. When he looked up, you had already opened the door, all professional and composed, with one foot into his office and carrying a laptop. Harry nodded at you, trying his best not to smile.

“I hope I’m not late. I ran into some personal issues I had to resolve.”

Neither your tone nor blank face gave an indication of what had just transpired a few minutes before. As if his cum wasn't dripping out of you right now. If Harry hadn’t felt his slick, satisfied and now softened cock in his underwear, he might have even questioned if it had been real at all.

You were too good at your job, that much was clear.

“Of course not,” your surname rolled off his tongue easily. “Please sit. Let’s begin.”

Javi doesn’t know why the last secretary left. They went through a few a year. They were always young and pretty and he didn’t mind the fresh scenery while he did his paperwork in the office.

Who was this one? Emily? Heather? Allyson? He couldn’t remember. He knew she had a skirt on and he knew he owed her a pair of panty hose after he had ripped through the pair she had on. He was delighted to find she didn’t also wear panties. He wanted to devour her. He didn’t even buy her dinner or take her out properly. He walked her straight from her desk to his Jeep, then ushered her into his apartment.

He bent her over the kitchen counter so her feet barely touched the floor. Fucked her hard and fast with one hand on her hip and the other pulling her hair back so he can see her face and how wrecked she is by his cock. She didn’t even ask him to wear a condom and he didn’t offer. He pulled out slow then thrust in hard and deep, making her cry out. He tapped her cheek when she closed them. “Uh uh. Eyes on me, querida.” The pet name was the only tenderness he offered.

Javi’s cock was big. It was no secret. If you didn’t know from the office gossip whispered by every woman in the embassy that he had taken in the file room, his back seat, or in his apartment, you could see it well enough through the tight fabric of the pants he wore. He was long and thick, always on his left. He had a knack for knowing when anyone looked at it and he enjoyed how they blushed when he caught them, winking and giving them a salacious little grin.

He easily turned her over without pulling out. A fun little party trick that he liked hearing about second or third hand back in the office. Stripped of everything but the ruined panty hose, he pushed her knees up and cupped one bouncing tit in his hand while the other trailed down to rubbed expertly at her throbbing clit.

He knew if he could get the angle just right he make her squirt on the kitchen counter. He wondered if it would be her first time and if she would get shy about it.

He didn’t have time to make her soak his belly and counter, she came anyway, thrusting her hips right up into his own, taking him easily the way she was dripping slick, but gripping him tight in her little pussy. He watched intently at the way he entered her, stretching her little cunt. He loved ruining pretty little pussies. No matter how many dicks she took after this, she’d remember his best. The rhythmic spasm of her orgasm triggered his own. Javi gritted his teeth, pounding into her and unloading deep inside, a warm, abundant mess of cum to drip out of her the rest of the day.

She whimpered when he pulled out, followed by a trickle of milky white that slid down the letting her ass.

Normally Javi would give her a cigarette and take her back to work. He was on the clock and his lunch hour didn’t last forever,after all. The way she was so delirious, so cock drunk for him, though? He couldn’t resist.

He pulled a chair away from his kitchen table and made room for himself between her legs. Licking slow, deliberate stripes along her puffy lips, he used his thumb to push the leaking cum back into her. “Javi…” she breathed, and clenched at his shallow intrusion.

When he sucked her swollen clit into his mouth, she gasped, winding her hips up for more.

“What’s wrong? You didn’t get enough? Fucked out little pussy need more?” He teased in faux incredulity. Whining, she reached for his hair, trying in vain to pull him back to her aching clit. She knew better than to expect him to be ready to go again so soon. “Please, Javier. Make me come again.”

To hell with work. He kissed up over her mound, over the soft skin of her belly, and to the stiff point of each nipple, licking and sucking at each one before smacking her thigh. “Don’t move. I’m gonna call Steve, tell him we got stuck in traffic.” He went to his bedroom and quickly called his partner and told him not to look for him the rest of the day, that he was going to be inside the new secretary. He forgot to ask Steve her name. He hung up quickly and opened his nightstand to retrieve just what the little slut on his counter needed.

Back between her spread thighs, he smacks the thick dildo against her pussy, making her jolt. “Listen to how wet you are.” He positioned the fat head of the toy cock at her entrance and twisted it as he pressed, teasing her. He worked slowly, gently opening her once again, and admiring how it was covered in his cum each time he pulled it back out. He fucked her with the dildo, listening to the squelch of her pussy and her panting and moaning. He loved to pull it all the way out and circle her entrance with his thumb, delighted in the way her little hole clenched desperately around nothing. He licked her firmly from where she dripped up to her clit. The sounds she made grew louder and shriller, bound to draw the attention whis neighbors, but bringing the blood rushing back to his cock.

Fully hard and needing a warm wet hole to fuck, he pulled the dildo from her and brought it to her lips. “Clean it up for me. You’re so messy, querida.” He tsked. He held it while she licked the heady mix of their fluids, and began to stroke his cock while she sucked it. He pushed it deeper, curious to see how much cock she could swallow before she gagged. Her eyes water and she whined around the wet toy, but she took it deep. Javi considered pulling her down to her knees and feeding her his cock instead.

His cock throbbed and he lined himself back up, pushing in with less resistance this time, he set a vigorous pace, his eyes flitting from her flushed, mascara smeared face to her bouncing tits, to where he rammed into her. “Rub your clit. Make yourself come. Come on. Show me what you’re gonna do when you’re thinking about this cock later.” It was his turn to fall apart. “Fuck, Javi. Never going to stop thinking about your big cock. Gonna think about you every night. Gonna think about you fucking me at work. Feels so good, Javi. So fucking big.” Her last orgasm was every bit as intense as the others, crashing over her like a wave, with Javi not far behind, filling her once again with his spend.

As they caught their breath, she didn’t bother getting off the counter. Too boneless to stand yet, she sipped the glass of water he gave her. Javi sat back down in the chair he had pulled over and lit a cigarette. They passed it back and forth in silence, he wondered if she would last long at the embassy, how many more chances he might get to fuck her.

As he thought he mindlessly stroked her thigh, runninghis big, warm hand over the smooth Lycra of her ruined nylons. He liked the contrast of how the darker material looked and felt next to where it was ripped

You searched through the mess, fingers numb where the cold slipped through your thin gloves, trying to bring some order to it.

Across the tent, weapons laid scattered in a mockery of readiness—a rifle slumped against a stack of boxes, knives strewn like fallen leaves over the workbench, a pistol halfly buried under belts, its grip worn smooth from fear‑tightened hands. 

The supplies tent was a tangled symphony of neglect that you inherited by your own choice. 

You, were the one to volunteer for this job, the endless counting, packing, arranging and preparing that no one else dared to even touch. 

And all because it kept you hidden, buried in the grit and grime, far from the piercing gaze of the man who had become your unwilling anchor. 

Joel, the leader of this ragged group of survivors, was the one who had stumbled upon you in the frozen wasteland, your body curled in a fragile knot against the merciless cold, breath shallow as a whisper on the wind. He had pulled you from death's numb embrace, wrapped you in his coat that smelled of earth, and carried you back to this fragile resemblance of life. From that moment on, he treated you like the daughter fate had stolen from him, his rough hands gentle in their guidance, his voice a low rumble that insisted purpose where despair already has taken root. 

But purpose came laced with something deeper, rumours that twisted in your chest like vines overtaking a crumbling wall, and so you fled into the shadows of this tent, avoiding the warmth of his presence that both soothed and cared.

The canned goods were cluttered in the lower shelves, their labels peeling, revealing dents and bulges that spoke about expiration dates long past. You lifted one after another, the weight heavy in your palms, peering at the faded ink that marked them as relics of a world that no longer existed. 

A voice sliced through the quiet like a blade through fog then.

"This place is a disaster," he snarled, "No wonder we can't find anything. Look at this—half the ammo's scattered like fuckin' confetti, and these cans? Christ, they're older than the damn outbreak."

It belonged to Leon, one of the newer men of the group, his face weathered by the apocalypse but twisted now with frustration as he stormed into your space, boots kicking aside a stray boot in his haste. 

You opened your mouth, but only a stutter escaped—a soft, halting: "I-I'm... trying to—" before it died on your lips. 

Defense was a foreign language to you, vulnerability had been your shield and your curse, for a long, long time.  

You shrank back, eyes dropping to the floor as if dirt could swallow you whole.

And he didn't stop, his anger swelling on. "Only reason you're still here is 'cause Joel dragged you in like some stray," he growled, the words dripping with disdain, painting you as a burden. "Half frozen mutt he pitied. Without him, you'd be buzzard food by now. So maybe stop fuckin' up and earn your keep." 

The insult hit you deep, twisting the knife of your insecurities, and you just stood there, silent and small, your throat tight with the unshed tears and the weight of his judgment. 

But Leon didn't notice the shift in the air, the subtle thickening as a presence entered the room. He didn't see Joel standing by the tent flap, entered silently, drawn by some instinct that always seemed to pull him towards you, his girl. 

He watched, his jaw set and tight, eyes narrowing as the man's tirade unfolded, each word fuelling the quiet storm brewing within him.

When Leon turned around, his confidence evaporated like mist under the sun. There was no mistaking the aura that radiated from Joel: stern, unyielding, a force that filled the tent like smoke from a fire. 

He was the leader, the authority etched into every survivor's bone in this group; the man whose word was law in this godforsaken lawless world.

Cross him, especially on his girl, and you were cast out into the wilds, where mercy was nonexistent.

 Joel's gaze pinned Leon in place, dark and unblinking, the lines of his face carved deeper by the weight of command and the raw possessiveness that surged for you.

"What the hell do'ya think you doin'?" Joels voice was low at first, that gradually became a loud roar. "You don't talk to her like that. Not ever. She's worth ten of you and if you forget that again, you're gone—out there with the infected and the dead."

The yell was possessive, a statement that echoed his claim on you, the daughter he had taken from ice and hopelessness, the one whose every stutter, every tremble, multiplied his protective fury. His chest heaved quickly, veins standing out on his neck, the air crackling with the intensity of a father defending his own—or something dangerously close to even more?

Joel turned to you then, his expression softening just for a tiny moment: "Go on to your tent, honey'," he said. 

You nodded quickly, legs unsteady as you gathered your coat, slipping past him with a brush of shoulders that sent a forbidden spark through you, his scent drifting into your awareness before you can stop it.

As you vanished, Joel came closer to Leon, his voice dropping to a whisper that cut deeper than any shout. "If you even dare to raise your voice against her again, it'll be the last damn time you ever speak."

He nodded jerkily, face pale as snow, and backed out of the tent without another word, the flap swinging shut behind him loudly.

Alone now, Joel exhaled a long, deep sigh, his shoulders slumping as the tension bled from his frame. He never wanted to raise his voice like that, ever. Not with you nearby, not when every yell took away this fragile peace he tried to build just for you, his girl, the new-found light he had pulled from the frozen dark. 

But that's who Joel was...for you, he would roar down the heavens if it kept the shadows at bay.

The rain already eased into a small drizzles as Joel stepped out of the supplies tent, his camp sprawled before him: a cluster of weathered tents, wet by the rain and surrounded by leafless trees. Smoke curled lazily from a central fire pit, where a few survivors stirred a pot of thin stew, their faces marked by the things they had endured. 

Joel's boots sank into the mud with each stride, the cold seeping through the leather, but he paid it no mind; the chill in his bones was nothing compared to the one gnawing at his heart.

"Tim!" he barked, his voice cutting through the murmur of the camp. "Patrol's leavin' in ten. You, Leon, and Livia—check the perimeter east of the ridge. Infected tracks reported last night; don't get sloppy." 

The younger scavenger poked his head out from behind a stack of firewood, his hair damp and clinging to his neck. 

Leon, still pale from the earlier confrontation, nodded mutely, avoiding Joel's gaze as he slunk towards the armory tent to gear up. Joel watched him go, a flicker of satisfaction run through him—no one touched his girl, not with words, not with anything else. 

Turning to the others, Joel continued his demands, calloused hands resting on his hips. 

"Billy, you reinforce the watchtower—those boards are rotted through. And Clint, you and the kid handle the traps; reset 'em along the water. We need fresh meat if this rain don't let up."

His hands moved with practiced efficiency—clapping a shoulder here, pointing emphatically there—his presence a stronghold against the spreading despair that threatened to swallow them all once. The group responded to him instinctively, their movements quickening under his check, the camp starting to awake again. 

Yet beneath it all, in the shadowed place of his mind, you lingered like a faint melody, pulling at him with an ache that no amount of barked commands could drown.

His girl. 

The thought of you wrapped around him, warm but tormenting, as he walked towards the map tent to plot the next supply raid. He had sent you to your tent like some kind of mutt, dismissed with a gruff exterior that masked the tenderness he yearned to unleash. 'Honey', he called you, the word slipping out like a confession, but you slipped away just as quickly, your eyes downcast, body tense with that avoidance that you wore like your armor. 

If you weren't dodging him at every turn, at every god damned path, he would have followed you right then—pushed aside the flap of your shelter, knelt besides you, and pulled you into his arms until the world's cruelties melted away. 

But you were a ghost to him now, haunting the edges of his vision, and the distance you enforced carved deeper than any infected could bite.

The memory tugged at him then, pulling him back through the veil of time to that frozen eve when he'd first claimed you from winters ruthless grips.  

It was a night etched in ice and desperation, the world blanketed in snow, muffling the distant howls of the infected nearby.

Joel had been scavenging alone, his back-pack light, but his rifle heavy across his back, when he spotted you—a huddled form against the base of a snow-laden cliff, your body curled into itself like a wild fawn seeking safety and shelter. 

Half-frozen to death; your lips blue tinted, breath a faint mist that barely stirred in the air, clothes ragged and already crusted with frost. You were a vision of fragility in this unforgiving realm, and in that moment something primal stirred in Joels chest—a fierce, paternal urge to shield what the apocalypse had nearly shattered.

He dropped to his knees besides you, gloved hands gentle as they brushed snow from your face, the touch coaxing a shiver from your chilled frame. 

"Hey, hey now," he murmured, his voice sweet and coaxing like honey laced with gravel. "Ain't leavin' you out here to freeze. C'mon, let's get you all warm."

With effortless strength, he scooped you up, arms strong, protected around you and carried you to a sheltered hollow where he quickly set up a small, but efficient camp—a trap strung between trees, a fire pit in the middle, and something soft to sleep on. 

The flames he coaxed to life danced shadows across your almost colourless skin as he stripped away your sodden layers with careful hands, wrapping you in his own coat, thick and smelling of pine smoke and his warmth. You trembled in his arms, teeth chattering and Joel drew you close, his body a furnace against yours, you cuddled into the curve of his chest until the shivers turned into quiet breaths. 

One hand stroked your hair in rhythmic passes, the other rubbed slow circles on your back.

"That's it," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear, calming as a lullaby in the storm. "I've got you. Just breathe, sweetheart. Where you come from? Lost out here all alone, hm?'"

Your voice was a fragile thread when it once came, stuttering and faint, spilling the fragments of a shattered past, settling the last pieces of hope you have on this gruff stranger.

You talked, and talked. A family torn by the outbreak, days of wandering through blizzards alone and at one point the days blurred in line between living and surrender. 

Joel listened without judgment, his nods steady, eyes full of empathy that held your gaze without flinching. And when hunger clawed at you, he didn't hand you the rations; instead, he broke off pieces of jerky with his fingers, feeding you gently from his hand, one by one, the salt melting on your lips. 

"Open up," he coaxed, his thumb brushing your chin, the intimacy of the act weaving an invisible bond. 

Then water followed from his old bottle, tilted carefully so you could sip without spilling, his free hand supporting your head, murmuring encouragements until color returned to your cheeks.

Winter days started to blur into an each one another of shared survival and comfort. The two of you holed up in that makeshift haven as snow piled high outside. Joel hunted in the mean time, strengthened the shelter around you, and tended to you with a devotion that surprised even him...a man only hollowed by loss, now filling the void with your quiet, genlte presence. 

He watched you closely, noting in his head the way overwhelm shadowed in your eyes when the wind howled too fiercely, how viulnerability clung to you. You were a delicate bloom in this hopeless wasteland, oh how easily you were  crushed by the weight of existence. It steered something deep in Joel, a need to be your shelter; your steady hand. 

One evening, as the sun set, you sat by the fire, knees drawn to your chest, and admitted something: "I can't do this by myself. Everything's just too big, too much. I need...I need someone to look after me." And "Like the cold out there, it grabbed me and wouldn't let go, and now even this warmth feels overwhelming, like I might melt away or something...I need...I need someone to look after me. Someone to tell me it's okay when my head spins and I can't breathe right. What if I freeze again? Or what if the noises outside get louder? I just...I don't know how to make it stop being so much."

The words hung between you that day, raw and revealing, and when you looked up at him, eyes wide with unspoken plea, you whispered, 'Dad.' The title landed like match on dry grass, but catching Joels attention more than ever. 

He couldn't resist; pulling you into his lap, he cradled you close, his chin resting on your head, promising silently to be that for you—the father fate had denied him once over, your guardian against the dark.

But the nights deepened the bond into something more tangled, more forbidden. 

One such evening, in the closeness of the small tent, the air thick with the scent of damp wood and the chill, you turned to him in the shared bedroll. 

Bodies pressed together for warmth, your form molding to his like clay on the potter's wheel, and in that quiet intimacy, you kissed him—a small brush of lips that slowly but surely  bloomed into hunger. 

"Daddy," you breathed against his mouth, the word a velvet plea, followed by 'Dad' laced with sweet longing. 

Joel's restraint fractured like thin ice; his hands roamed your curves with hunger, he hadn't felt for years—peeling away layers until skin met skin, his cock hardening against your thigh as desire overrode the lines of propriety.

He entered you slowly, inch by deliberate inch, his thick, girthy length stretching your warmth with a gentleness that calmed the storm within you. 

"Shh, baby girl," he cooed, voice husky and commanding, hips rocking in a measured rhythm that built slowly over time. You clung to him, nails digging into his back, moans spilling as he fucked you deep and thorough, each thrust an erasure of the shadows haunting your mind: the infected, the losses, the loneliness and the cold.

His pace quickened, possessive and unrelenting, pounding into your sticky pussy until your cries echoed his name in variations of devotion, cum flooding you in hot pulses as ecstasy shattered every bad thought. 

In that night, Joel learned your truths: you needed a steady hand to guide you, someone to call 'Dad' that anchored your soul, a cock to fuck you senseless until the world faded to irrelevance, leaving only the pulse of shared release. 

Days turned into a haze, tents pitched in hidden groves where he'd take you against cold walls, caring for you with meals fed from his fingers and nights blurred by sweat-slicked skin and cum filled cunt. 

And when you two finally returned into his small camp after endless miles of this intimate journey—your body marked by his touch, heart entwined with his—he envisioned a life where you did no labor, simply waited in his tent, legs spread in welcome, his to protect and possess. 

"Stay with me, darlin'," he murmured, tracing patterns on your thigh. "Let me handle it all."

But rumours started to spread like wildfire 

on dry bushes, untrue whispers that poisoned this fragile relationship that you have built. 

Someone overheard your breathy 'Dad' in a moment of overwhelm, twisting it into a scandal. 

Another caught the sounds of your shared tent, moans misconstrued as depravity. Whispers evolved: "She's got him wrapped around her finger, that stray he dragged in."

The words reached to you, burrowing like thorns, making you feel small, misunderstood—a weirdo in a world that already judged harshly. 

So...the ache in your heart swelled until it bursted: you ended it, pulling away with tear-streaked face, declaring it over to spare him the shame.

Joel was absolutely heartbroken, the pain in his chest an ache that echoed with your absence, but he didn't let you go. He checked on you regularly—slipping rations to your tent, watching you from afar as you navigated the camp, ensuring your safety with a stubbornness that bordered on obsession. 

Yet he couldn't bear it longer: your avoidance, the careful dance of distance, the sidelong glances from the group, their murmurs like knives, your belief that you are weird, tainted, when to him you were this salvation incarnate.

As his thoughts faded, Joel found himself adrift in the present, his orders trailing off as he stared at the map spread before him. The camp still buzzed around him, patrols forming, tasks underway, but his mind was a whirlwind of you—vulnerable, evasive, his girl who needed him more than she knew. 

He couldn't take the separation anymore; tonight, he'll connect the gap, pull you back into the fold where you belonged, forbidden pull be damned, rumors silenced by the strength of his claim.

-

As the sun dipped low beneath the horizon, painting the camp in bruised purples and fading golds, Joel felt the weight of the day slowly settle into his bones. 

He couldn't bear the silence any longer, the way you'd retreated into your shell after the supplies tent moment, your avoidance a blade twisting deeper and deeper with every passing hour. 

His feet carried him unerringly through the mud slicked paths, past the murmurs of the group settling in for the night, until he stood before your tent—larger than the cramped quarters of the men, a sanctuary he'd insisted on crafting for you, and only you, alone.

He poured his callused hands into making it a haven, didn't he? 

The frame reinforced with scavenged wood, the canvas walls doubled for insulation against the relentless chill. Inside, he built the bed himself—a sturdy frame of rough wood, topped with a mattress stuffed with whatever soft fibers he could forage, layered with blankets pilfered from forgotten homes. 

Cushions and pillows, sewn from scraps of fabric, scattered for your comfort. A small table he made from a fallen log, wobbly but earnest. Shelves cobbled together for your few treasure—an old book, a carved wooden fawn he shaped in quiet moments—all of it born from his desire to wrap you in coziness, to shield your fragile spirit from the world's jagged edges. 

Oh, how grateful you've been once, your eyes lighting with a warmth that melted the ice in his chest. 

Now, as evening deepened, Joel hesitated at the flap, his broad fist hovering, a rare feeling of fear coiling in his gut. 

What if you turned him away? 

What if the chasm you'd carved between you had grown too wide to bridge? 

He was Joel Miller, the unbreakable leader of this ragged band, yet here he was, scared like a little boy before confession. 

Swallowing the knot in his throat, he knocked three times on the wooden part, soft enough not to startle, firm enough to announce his presence.

"Darlin'?" he called out, voice threaded with caution. "It's me. Joel."

The flap parted after a long moment, and there you stood, framed in the warm lantern light that spilled from within, your brows furrowed in a frown that tugged at his heartstrings.

Your eyes—those sweet, doe eyes that had first drawn him in—were rimmed red, lashes clumped with the remains of tears. The sight hit him like a gut punch; rage surged hot and immediate, a visceral urge to hunt down Leon and drive his fist into that sneering face until the man tasted the blood of his own regret. 

How dare anyone reduce you to this—his girl, curled in on herself, wounded by words sharper than any blade in this merciless world?

"Can I come in?" Joel asked, his tone gentle, eyes searching yours with a plea he couldn't voice. 

You nodded, a small, reluctant dip of your chin, stepping aside to let him pass. 

The tent was a cocoon of warmth, cozy and sweet, mirroring the tender heart you hid away from everyone. The lantern light bathed the space in a golden haze, softening the edges of the handmade furniture, the pillows plump and inviting on the bed where you so often curled like a fawn seeking shelter. 

Joel knew your habits intimately—how you drew your knees to your chest, burrowing into the nest of blankets, your form small and vulnerable, evoking those pet names he'd whispered in quieter times: Little Fawn, Bambi, fragments that captured your innocence amid the brutality. 

"You didn't need to defend me there," you said. "I could've just done it myself."

Even as the words left your lips, you knew they were hollow; Leons yelling had left you stammering, small and exposed. 

He turned to you, his dark eyes steady, holding yours with an intensity that peeled away your defenses layer by layer.

"I know," he replied. "But ain't gonna leave you alone like that. Not ever." 

You scoffed, the whispers of the camp echoing in your mind again, their side glances branding you as the weird one, the stray with the leader wrapped around her finger. 

Crossing your arms, you sank onto the bed, curling your frame, knees tucked close, gaze fixated on a spot in the corner. Tears started to well anew, hot and insistent, blurring the edges of the room as vulnerability crashed over you like a relentless wave.

"Oh, little fawn..." Joel murmured, the petname that was meant to soothe the hurt he saw etched in every line of your body.

"Don't," you whispered, voice cracking, turning your face away as the first tears traced down your cheeks. "Don't call me that." 

The plea was raw, laced with the ache of the loss for the intimacy those words once evoked, now tainted by the misunderstanding, by the fear that you were too weird, too needy in a world that devoured the weak.

Undeterred, Joel lowered himself besides you on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, while his presence was a grounding force amid your unraveling. You curled up tighter, a defensive coil, but he didn't press...instead, he sat close enough that the heat of him radiated through the space between, a silent promise of shelter.

"You remember the first time you called me Dad?" he asked, his voice a gentle murmur. 

You flinched at the word, an involuntary shiver rippling through you, the title stirring a hollow ache in your chest—an echo of warmth now soured by shame.

"I didn't think much of it," Joel continued softly, his hand rising with slowness to stroke your hair, fingers threading through the strands. Each pass was measured, calming, tracing the curve of your scalp as if it was to unravel the knots of your turmoil. "But I knew that your little heart calmed down after you called me that. Like the world's weight lifted, just a tiny bit." 

His touch was poetry in motion, rough palms gentle by intent, evoking memories of winter nights when his care had been your lifeline.

You sniffled, the sound small, peeking at him through your wet eyelashes. His eyes held no judgment, only a deep, unwavering understanding—of how you needed to be taken care of, how the chaos overwhelmed you until you felt little, drifting into a headspace where distractions pulled you like a dream. 

He saw that now in your hazy gaze, the faraway drift, your mind retreating to that vulnerable place where the world's edges softened into safety.

"I didn't find it weird," he pressed on, voice dropping to a husky whisper. "God—that's the least forsaken thing in this damned world I would find weird. In a place where the dead's walk and trust is a luxury we can't afford anymore, y'callin' me Dad? That's just...you needin' what we all crave deep down. Someone that holsd the pieces together."

"Are you sure?" you whispered, the question fragile as breath itself, seeking absolution in his gaze, your tears slowing to a quiet trickle as his words pierced the fog of self doubt.

"Course, baby," Joel nodded, his affirmation steady. "Nothing weird about wanting to be taken care of. Hell, we've all got our fractures; yours just call for a steady hand, that's all."

He paused, his hand stilling in your hair, thumb brushing a stray tear from your cheek. 

"You think I wouldn't have cared for you if I didn't? I wouldn't have built this bed, poured sweat into these cushions and shelves, made you all these things, hm? Every nail, every stitch—it was for you, darlin'. To give you a corner of peace in this madness."

You shrugged, a small, uncertain lift of your shoulders, the gesture speaking volumes of the doubt that lingered and lingered, but Joel leaned in then, closing the distance with a tenderness. His lips pressed to your forehead, warm, a kiss like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, sealing his words with an unspoken promise.  

"My little fawn," he breathed against your skin, the endearment a balm, wrapping around your heart.

Something in you yielded at last, the walls crumbling under the weight of his care. You snuggled into him, your body unfolding from its curl to press against his chest, burying your head into the crook of his neck where the scent of him enveloped you like a homecoming. A soft sigh escaped you, tears soaking into his flannel as the tension disappeared, replaced by the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat.

"That's right," Joel cooed, his arms encircling you fully now, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other rubbing slow, soothing circles along your back. "Come to Dad. I've got you, little one. Always will." 

His voice was like a lullaby in the dark, where the world's cruelties faded to whispers, leaving only the profound poetry of two souls intertwining once more.

You nestled even deeper into him, the tears slowly drying, but a deeper ache stirred within, a  pull towards that hazy headspace that tugged you into the depths where only his touch could anchor you. 

With a soft, instinctive motion, you reached for one of his hands—those rough, capable hands of his that built your world—and guided it towards your lips, your mouth parting to draw his thumb inside, sucking gently at first, the salt of his skin a familiar comfort blooming on your tongue.

Joel's breath hitched at that, followed by a low rumble vibrating through his chest as he watched you, his dark eyes softening with a mix of adoration and understanding. 

Without hesitation, he shifted his hand, cupping your cheek with his palm, angling his thumb deeper into the wet warmth of your mouth so you could nurse on it more fully, the pad pressing against the soft roof as your lips sealed around it. He leaned down, his lips brushing the crown of your head in a feather-light kiss. 

"There you go, baby," he murmured, his southern drawl a soothing balm, thick and warm like honey drizzled over wounds. "Suck a little deeper if it feels right...yeah, just like that."

His words were a gentle coo, laced with that paternal sweetness that made your heart flutter and your core clench in equal measure, his free arm tightening around your waist to rock you slowly from side to side, a rhythmic sway that mimicked the lullabies of forgotten cradles.

You whimpered around his thumb, the sound muffled and needy, your tongue swirling lazily and lazily as the subspace slowly deepened, pulling you further into that floaty haze where thoughts dissolved like mist under sun. The rocking motion lulled you, his body a cozy cocoon of flannel and muscle, but the whimpers grew insistent, threading with a whine that Joel knew all too well: you were craving the grounding force only he could provide. 

His cock stirred in his jeans, thickening against your thigh, but he focused on you, sensing the urgency in your escalating sounds, the way your hips shifted restlessly. 

He knew this dance like the back of his hand; your subspace made you far gone, adrift in a sea of need, and only the deep, claiming thrust of his cock—followed by the shattering release of orgasms—could reel you back, tethering you to the present with waves of pleasure that washed away the darkness.

"Oh, sweet thing," Joel whispered, his voice a velvet rumble as his hand slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, calloused fingers tracing the soft curve of your belly before finding the swell of your breasts. 

He cupped one gently, thumb and forefinger rolling over your nipple, teasing it to a stiff peak with slow, deliberate circles that sent sparks down your spine. The touch was feather light at first, then firmer, pinching just enough to draw a gasp from you, your mouth releasing his thumb with a wet pop, a glistening string of saliva connecting your lips to his skin like a fragile bridge of intimacy. 

"Shh, babygirl, Daddy's just gonna touch you here...nice and easy." He murmured at your whines. 

You whimpered louder at that, the sound raw and pleading, your hazy eyes locking onto his. 

"Take care of me, Daddy. Please," you breathed out, your voice small and fractured, laced with the desperate ache of your subspace.

Joel's heart swelled at the plea, his little fawn so needy, so beautifully lost in that vulnerable space he cherished and protected. 

He wouldn't dream of denying you—never. 

This was his purpose, to soothe and claim, to fill every hollow part of you with his devotion. 

"Oh, I know, honey," he whispered, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple, his beard scraping softly against your skin as he eased you back onto the bed, the pillows cradling your head like a nest woven for you alone. 

The mattress dipped under your weight, the blankets rumpling invitingly as he positioned you, his body hovering protectively above you. 

With tender care, he tucked his finger back into your mouth—this time his index finger, sliding it past your lips so you could suckle greedily, your tongue laving the length as if it were sustenance for your soul. 

"There, suck on that for Dad, yea? Keeps you nice and calm while I take care of the rest."

His other hand trailed downwards, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants to find the slick heat of your cunt. You were already so soaked, your folds swollen and parting eagerly under his touch, the sticky evidence of your need coating his fingers as he traced your slit. 

"God, look at you, Bambi...all wet and achin' for me," he cooed, his voice dripping with praise. "This for daddy, huh, honey? Dripping, achy pussy."

He pressed two fingers inside you without warning, stuffing your pussy full in one smooth glide, the stretch burning sweetly as your walls clenched around the intrusion, spasming with desperate hunger. You whined against his finger in your mouth, the vibration humming through him, your hips bucking instinctively to take him deeper.

"Biiig stretch, baby, yea?" his tone coaxing and babying, like an old man spinning tales to his most cherished kin. 

"Big stretch..." you repeated messily around his finger. 

Satisfied with your answer, he curled his fingers inside you, stroking that sensitive spot with expert precision, his thumb circling your clit in lazy loops that made your thighs tremble. 

The wet sounds of his movements filled the tent: slick, obscene squelches that mingled with your muffled whimpers whike the air started growing thick with the musky scent of your arousal, sticky and intimate. 

"Y'gonna rub your nipples for me? Pinch 'em, for Dad? Show me how good you can be while I finger this pretty little cunt, c'mon." His words were filthy yet laced with such profound sweetness.

Obediently, lost in the haze, you released his finger just enough to slide your hands under your shirt, fingers finding your nipples and pinching them hard, rolling the peaks between your thumbs and forefingers until they throbbed in time with the thrusts of his hand. 

The dual sensation overwhelmed you—mouth full, pussy stuffed, breasts aching under your own touch—your mind traveling further into that blissful subspace. 

Joel watched, absolutely mesmerised, his eyes full of love. 

"That's it, Bambi." He murmurs. "Pinch a little more if it helps, yeah? make 'em ache like your cunny does for me."

The pace build as your juices start to leak down his knuckles, coating his palm in your sticky essence. 

Overstimulated and lost in the velvet haze of your headspace, Joel's relentless fingers curled inside your gushing pussy one more time; stroking that swollen spot until pressure build like a storm in your core, your cries of "Dad, too much—m'gonna...oh..." fracturing into a needy sob as a sudden, tiny squirt escaped, warm fluid arcing in a delicate spray across his wrist and your quivering belly forming a filthy little puddle.

"Easy now, darlin', let it all out for Dad—juuuust like that, baby." he cooed.

Your mouth stilled around his finger, lips parting in a silent cry as your cunt pulsed wildly around his digits, gushing more slick that soaked the bed beneath you. Your hands fell from your nipples, trembling, as waves of ecstasy rippled through you, pulling a choked sob from your throat. 

Joel slowed his movements then, drawing out the aftershocks with gentle strokes, his gaze drinking in the sight of you splayed out before him—cheeks flushed, lips swollen and glistening, eyes glazed in that beautiful, vulnerable haze. 

Beautiful. Sweet. His little fawn, trembling and spent yet still yearning.

"Please," you whined, voice breathy and broken, rocking your hips against the hard bulge straining his jeans, the friction drawing a deep groan from his chest. "Your cock, Dad. Need it inside me." 

"S'alright, honey," Joel soothed, his voice a tender rumble as he withdrew his fingers from your mouth with a wet pop, then from your pussy, leaving you clenching around emptiness. 

He shifted, unbuckling his belt with practiced ease, shoving his jeans down just enough to free his cock— thick and veined, the head already beaded with pre-cum, curving upward in rigid need. 

"Daddy's gonna give you what you need. Spread those pretty legs for me, darlin'."

You complied, thighs parting wide, exposing your dripping cunt to the cool air, the sticky mess of your release gleaming in the lantern light. 

He knelt between them, gripping his shaft and nudging the blunt tip against your entrance, teasing with shallow dips—in just the head, then out, coating himself in your slick—each withdrawal pulling a breathless whine from you. 

"Dad... please," you begged, hips going up, chasing the fullness.

He played a moment longer, savoring your desperation, the way your pussy fluttered against him, before sinking in fully with one smooth thrust, burying himself to the hilt in your welcoming heat. You moaned loudly, the sound echoing unchecked through the tent flaps, uncaring of the camp beyond—let them hear; you were his, and this was your healing.

Joel groaned low, his forehead pressing to yours, breath sharp as he bottomed out, your walls stretching around his girth, the icky squelch of your combined wetness filling the space.

"Fuck, baby girl...so tight."

He built a comfortable rhythm just for you then—slow, deep rolls of his hips that ground against your clit with every thrust, designed to unravel your thoughts, to flood your mind with nothing but sensation.

"Thaaat's it, honey, feel me stretchin' this sweet pussy," he whispered praises against your ear, "Dad's got you, gonna fuck all those bad thoughts away."

You whined 'Dad' and 'Daddy' endlessly, lips swollen from biting them, eyes rolling back as the pleasure built, your pussy gushing around him in sticky waves, the lewd slap of skin on skin growing wetter, messier with every drive.

"Did you miss me? Hm, baby?" He asked, softly pinching your chin between his fingers. "You're my everything, you know that? Gonna coax another cum outta this pretty hole, make you forget every damn whisper out there."

He babied you through it all, one hand stroking your hair, the other pinning your hip gently, his thrusts never faltering—filthy in their depth, yet so profoundly sweet in intent.

"Daddy...Dad, it's too much." You bucked your hips against him.

"Shh, I know, I know. My sweet little girl." he pressed a gentle kiss on your temple, breathing in your scent.

The pressure coiled tight, and when you shattered again, your cunt clamping down in rhythmic pulses, milking him relentlessly, Joel followed with a guttural groan, burying deep as he came inside you, hot ropes of cum flooding your pussy in a creamy creampie that overflowed, leaking out around his base in thick, icky trails.

"Yea, there we fuckin' go," he panted, still rocking shallowly to prolong the bliss, his voice husky with satisfaction. "All the thoughts fucked away now, huh? Look at you."

You nodded weakly, mind blissfully blank, body limp in the afterglow.

Joel eased his cock out with care, watching as his cum leaked from your well fucked pussy, pearly white mixing with your slick in a messy puddle on the sheets.

The sight stirred him anew, and before you could protest the sensitivity, he plunged two fingers back inside, stirring the creaminess, drawing a sharp whine from your oversensitive walls.

"Shh, hey. Easy now, easy. Just one more, honey," he hushed softly, his tone pure indulgence as he brought the other cum smeared fingers to your mouth. "Suck on 'em for Daddy, c'mon—taste how good we are together, focus on dad."

You latched on in instinctively, tongue swirling around the salty sweet tang of his release mixed with yours, the act so intimately, so cozy in its rawness. His fingers in your pussy worked gently, curling to hit that spot again, thumb rubbing your clit building you towards one final peak until you came with a muffled cry, your body shuddering as fresh slick coated his hand.

Satisfied at that, Joel withdrew his fingers, trailing sweet kisses across your body—forehead, cheeks, the curve of your neck, down to your breasts where he lingered, suckling on your nipple briefly before murmuring against your skin. 

"You're my everything, darlin'. My whole world in this godforsaken place."

He then gathered you close, pulling the blankets over you both, his arms wrapping securely as he rocked you side to side once more, the motion lulling you into peace. 

"I'm gonna take care of you, no matter what they say out there." He whispered. "Sleep now, little fawn. Dad's right here."

And as your eyes drifted shut, the tent a cocoon of sticky warmth and whispered devotion, you slipped into slumber, anchored fully in his love again.

Finally. 

I don’t know if I like this or not… I tried a new writing style, making it a tad bit ‘poetic,’ but I think I failed at a few moments. A lot of paragraphs are translated from German because I didn’t know how else to write them, and I’m sorry if some of it feels a bit weird.

Anyways, I hope it met some expectations, and I’m really excited to see what y’all say. <3

“Usa la espalda, hijo. (Use your back, son.)” Chucho’s voice ringed in Javier’s ears. The two men putting back up a fence that fell during a recent storm.

“Lo entendí, papá. (I got it, dad.)” Javier replies, making sure the wooden post is secure in the dirt.

“Thank you,” Chucho breathes out, placing his hands on his hips to admire their handiwork.

Just then, a familiar car pulls up, the gravel driveway crunching under the wheels before the car is parked. Javier lifts his head, taking off his yellow aviators to watch you get out of the car. You don’t look in his general direction, too focused on getting your daughter and her stuff out of the car.

He can hear you speaking cheerfully to her, both in Spanish and English. It reminds him of the good times the two of you had before the messy divorce. Neither of you necessarily did anything wrong, you just weren’t meant for each other in the end, and decided to go your separate ways.

For the sake of your daughter, you and Javier have shared custody over her. You get her one week and he gets her the next. The two of you have been doing fine with co-parenting. As well as two exes can be, that is.

A bead of sweat rolls down Javier’s temple, and he removes his gloves to wipe it.

“Intenta no enfurruñarte demasiado. (Try not to sulk too much.)” Chucho says, earning a huff from Javier before his daughter starts running up the driveway.

“Papá!” the girl yells, wrapping her chubby little arms around Javier’s leg.

Javier grunts as he bends over to pick her up, “Hola, dulce niña. (Hi, sweet girl.)”

She wraps her limbs around him as best as she can, giving him a big hug. “Me and mamá brought crafts!”

A grin spreads across Javier’s face, “Yeah?” he asks, watching her nod eagerly. “Why don’t you show your abuelo while I talk to your mom, okay?”

Reluctantly, she agrees, planting her feet on the ground before she’s running towards Chucho, giving him the same amount of love. Slowly, you walk up to Javier, your arms crossed over your chest, your daughter’s backpack hung over your shoulder.

“Llegas tarde de nuevo. (You’re late again.)” Javier states, narrowing his eyes just a fraction.

“Hello to you, too, Javier,” you spit out.

“I thought we agreed to have her with me by noon. It’s almost 2.”

“She wanted to go to the store to buy arts and crafts so she could have fun with her father. What the fuck was I supposed to do? Tell her no?”

Javier sighs deeply, placing his hands on his hips, “No.”

“Okay then. Don’t act like that with me.”

His lips press into a fine line before he hooks his aviators into his shirt. For a moment, your gaze drifts down to his chest—golden skin with sweat dripping down from his neck into the purple fabric stretched across his broad frame. 

Your mind flashes back to the passionate nights the two of you had before everything fell apart. The whispered promises, the nail marks you’d leave on his back, the hickies he’d leave on your inner thighs. Ultimately ending with the two of you wrapped up in each other like there was no escaping. An unfamiliar pang stabs at your heart, your thighs involuntarily pressing together before you look away from him.

“How’s she been?” Javier breaks the silence, his voice soft and quiet.

“How do you think she’s been? She misses her father.”

“And what about you, huh?” he suddenly asks, taking a step closer to you.

“What about me, Javier?” you don’t back down—you never did, which is why your arguments almost always escalated without fail.

“Do you miss me? Or you still hate me for all the shit that you caused?”

“Me?” you ask with raised eyebrows, pointing at yourself. “You are so goddamn full of yourself,” you scoff, turning around to walk back to your car.

The gravel crunches under Javier’s boots as he follows after you, suppressed anger starting to rise to the surface after so long. “You believed the bullshit that your friends told you, over me!”

“You didn’t give me much of a choice, Javier,” you turn around, his body nearly colliding into yours. “Where were you when I needed you?” you don’t wait for his answer, “Oh, that’s right, you were out getting drunk instead of coming home.”

“To avoid this,” he points between your two bodies, “It was always an argument with you.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have given me a reason to argue with you.”

Briefly your gaze travels behind him to make sure your daughter and Chucho are inside before you take a step closer, crowding his space. His musky scent travels to your nostrils, the smell of wood, nicotine, whiskey, and sweat making your head a little fuzzy.

“You stopped coming home at night,” you pause, watching him avert your gaze, “And that was well before I even gave birth.”

It was easy for the two of you to fall back into this pattern again. It’s all you’ve known for the last six years now. Pain and suffering. Not knowing if he was dead in a ditch somewhere because he got too drunk and couldn’t drive himself home.

Javier was your first love. You’ll always love him, but you can’t go through that again. Having a child changed everything, and she’ll continue to be the only thing holding you and Javier together.

“We’ve gone through this plenty of times before, Jav,” you hand him your daughter’s backpack. “I’ll see you next week.”

He takes the bag, not meeting your eyes again before you get back into your car. You don’t see it, but his eyes don’t leave your car until you’re well down the road. Somehow his soul feeling like a piece of it was being taken away from him.

Biting the inside of his cheek, he turns around to go inside the ranch, the door creaking from overuse. His daughter’s laughter echoes within the walls, filling him with a sense of warmth as he drops her bag on the couch.

She’s sitting at the dining table with Chucho, her art supplies scattered across the table as she colors on a piece of paper. 

“Look daddy!” she says once she spots him in the doorway, holding up her drawing.

Javier smiles softly, stepping into the room and dropping down on one knee to take the paper. As he studies it, he feels his throat tightening. It’s a drawing of all four of you standing in front of the ranch, little animals drawn in the background.

Her smile falters for a moment when she sees Javier’s teary eyes, a small frown forming on her face. “Did mama leave already?”

He looks over at her, placing the drawing on the table, and picking her up so he can sit in the chair with her in his lap. “Yeah, mi vida. But she’ll be back next week,” he pauses, pushing her unruly curls back, “She always comes back.”

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she murmurs, “She misses you.”

Javier’s breath stutters, his hand rubbing soothing circles on his daughter’s back. He looks over at his dad, who gives him a sad smile in return.

“I miss her, too,” Javier whispers after a moment.

Around 8PM, Javier takes his bundle of joy to his own house. After the divorce, you ended up moving out and getting your own apartment in town, leaving Javier alone in a big empty house. It would’ve been the house the both of you were going to build your family in, but now it’s just where Javier showers and sleeps.

His daughter is sleeping soundly against him, the day’s activities catching up to her finally. He unlocks the door, carefully holding his girl and her things as he walks through the threshold. Leaving the door open with his foot, he reaches to turn on a small lamp on the entryway table.

He’s left the house untouched since the split, the place still nicely decorated with your touch. The lamp fills the small space with warm light, Javier closing the door with a soft click and locking it. Carefully, he takes his daughter and everything upstairs to her bedroom. He’d worry about giving her a bath in the morning since she’s completely slumped against him right now.

Automatically, she curls up against her teddy bear when he tucks her in, the one that has both yours and his voice in it telling her how much you love her. A long while ago, Javier sprayed a bit of both his cologne and your perfume on it, so in a sense, the both of you were always with her. 

He turns on her skylight and white noise machine, and leaves the door open three inches before he heads back downstairs. His feet heavily carry him to the kitchen, his body itching for a glass of whiskey to wash away his sorrows. 

It’s not clear when exactly the shift in your relationship happened, but he knows that it went on for far too long before either of you built up the courage to ask for a divorce. It was better to hold onto it rather than face the world without you on his side. He feels like a teenager again, aimlessly wandering the world, and hoping that someone else picks up the pieces he’s left behind.

But dating has been the last thing on his mind. You’re the only person he’s ever given his heart and soul to, and he’s afraid of even thinking about giving it to someone else. Growing up, all he knew was his parents’ love for one another. They had their first everything with each other, and that’s what Javier had with you. He just didn’t know that it also included a first divorce.

Neither of you were perfect–he knew that–but you were perfect for him. If this was the only way to keep you in his life, then so be it. He’ll handle it as best as he can for the sake of your daughter. 

The brown liquor stings his throat as it goes down, him automatically pouring another two fingers of whiskey, and downing it in one go. Two glasses was his limit, so he placed the glass in the sink and put the bottle away before plopping onto the couch with a heavy sigh.

He allowed himself to close his eyes momentarily, and dream of how different life could’ve been if the two of you knew how to communicate properly.

“I’m home!” Javier calls out, tossing his keys into the ceramic bowl you demanded to have on the entryway table.

The smell of Fricase de Pollo filling his nostrils before he hears tiny little feet padding on the hardwood floor. “Daddy!” his daughter yells out, popping out from the living room archway.

“Hola, mi amor,” Javier beams, picking her up easily and blowing raspberries on her clothed stomach.

Her giggles fill the house as he walks deeper inside, finding you in the kitchen hovering over the stove. Soft Spanish music plays on the radio, filling him with a sense of contentment.

You glance over your shoulder at your two loves, a soft smile on your face while you take your attention off the food momentarily. “Hi,” you greet him softly, quietly.

He greets you just the same, leaning down to press his lips to yours for a long moment. Just kissing you spreads warmth throughout his body, his mind getting lost in the sensation of your body against his as he deepens the kiss.

“Yuck!”

Only when your daughter makes a comment do you both pull apart, laughing. “What do you mean ‘yuck’?” he feigns offense.

She giggles, wrapping her arms tighter around Javier’s neck. “Kissing is gross,” she scrunches up her face in the most adorable way, shaking her head.

Javier smirks faintly, “Is that what you think?”

Your daughter nods, standing on her opinion.

“Well then,” Javier starts, “I guess you don’t mind if I do this–”

He covers her face in kisses, her giggles growing more obnoxious by the second. 

Javier’s phone ringing jolts him out of his thoughts, exhaling slowly before he sits up. Without looking at his phone, he answers. “Hello?”

It’s quiet on the other side of the line for a long moment, and he almost debates hanging up.

“I don’t even know why I’m callin’ you,” you murmur, grabbing Javier’s attention.

“Hey,” he says gently, sitting up straighter. He can hear your tone of voice, it’s that quiet, distant tone you get when you’ve been thinking about something too hard. “You okay?”

He’s not sure if it’s still his place to check up on you, but the question comes out before he really thinks about it.

You huff softly, “Am I okay?” you pause, “I’ve never been okay, Javier.”

“Have you been drinking?” he asks quietly, biting the inside of his cheek.

Chuckling softly, you respond with your free hand up in mock surrender, “You caught me.”

Javier sighs deeply, “Where are you? I’ll come get you.”

“No, I’m fine,” you claim, “You still keep that stupid skylight on for her. Y’know, she’ll never sleep in the dark if you keep doin’ that.”

He furrows his brows at that, his gaze lifting to the curtain covered windows. The small southern accent you suddenly have isn’t lost on him, but he’s more worried about where you are. Slowly, he walks over to the window, peeking out the curtain to find your car sitting idly by the curb.

“How long have you been sitting outside?” he asks as he’s actively making his way to the front door.

“Not that long,” you murmur, watching the front door open.

Just seeing his silhouette causes your heartbeat to pick up a bit, buried feelings starting to rise to the surface. Your emotions were always heightened when you were drunk, and there’s no exception tonight. You hang up the phone, rolling down the passenger's side window. 

Javier pockets his own phone, leaning into your car to speak to you. “Do you wanna come in?”

You shake your head slowly, a sluggish smile on your lips. “Just wanted to stop by ‘fore I went home.”

He frowns deeply, reaching in to unlock the doors. You watch, amused as he rounds your car and opens the driver’s side door. He pulls your car keys out of the ignition and unbuckles your seatbelt. “Out.”

“No–”

“Don’t make me drag you inside.”

You huff quietly, grumbling under your breath as you stumble out of the car. Before you walk up to the door, you watch him pocket your car keys. “Can I just–”

“No,” he cuts you off, crowding your space to urge you to move. “Go.”

Reluctantly, you walk towards the front door after staring him down. You guess you’re not as threatening or convincing when you’re drunk, because Javier walks right past you to go to the kitchen. You hear glasses clinking, water running, and then his boots on the hardwood floor as he walks back towards the living room.

“Drink,” he hands you the glass, eyeing you like a hawk.

“I don’t need the one word commands, Javier.” You take small sips of the water, letting the cool liquid put out the fire burning beneath your skin.

He huffs, shaking his head slowly before he turns around. “Unbelievable,” he mutters under his breath, sitting down on the couch.

Silence washes over the two of you. You’re not sure how long you’ve been standing and drinking your water, but Javier’s gaze is elsewhere. Like he can’t even stand the thought of looking at you right now.

You press your lips into a fine line before you down the rest of the glass. “Can I have my keys back?” you ask, holding out your hand.

Javier finally looks at you again, studying your mannerisms to see how drunk you still are. “Why should you get them back?”

“Javier,” you sigh, “you don’t want me here, and I don’t want to be here. So why don’t we just skip the theatrics so I can go home and get some sleep.”

“I can’t keep an eye on you if you go,” he states, earning an eye roll from you.

“Jesus–”

“You’re a mother. You have responsibilities–”

“I know that!” you exclaim, but he keeps going.

“and our daughter expects you to be there 100% of the time. Why the fuck would you go out and get drunk on a weekday?”

“No,” you point at him, “you don’t get to judge me. You coming home with the stench of alcohol on your clothes was constant–”

“Oh, here we go again–”

“No, you let me fucking finish. You had responsibilities when we were together. You disappeared on me the second you saw those two pink lines, and what did I do? I stayed and dealt with your fucking bullshit because you were the only thing that I knew.”

Javier stands, towering over you. “Maybe I shouldn’t have been. I know damn well that you wouldn’t have wanted to see me drunk out of my mind every night.”

“I have loved you since we were 16,” you shake your head slowly, “You don’t think I’ve seen every side of you?”

“I didn’t know what you wanted from me–”

“I wanted you to want me again!” You burst out, sniffling while trying to gain your bearings again, “That’s what I’ve always been trying to fucking tell you.”

“What?” Javier asks, bewildered.

“Do you know what it feels like to not be desired by your husband anymore? After carrying his baby for nine months, only to become a second thought afterwards.” You take a deep breath, barely able to hold the tears threatening to spill over.

“Is that what you think of me?” he asks, almost hesitantly.

“You don’t look at me the same anymore. You look at me like I’m some sort of monster for tearing our family apart—“ you choke back a sob, the tears you were trying so hard to fight finally spilling over.

You turn around, but Javier immediately pulls you back into his chest. The moment he does that, it’s nothing beautiful about your crying anymore. It’s all loud sobs, snot, and coughs as you soak the front of his shirt.

But Javier doesn’t complain. He just holds you protectively. One hand in your hair while the other one rubs soothing circles on your back. Your body shakes with the force of your sobs, your hands clutching desperately at the man you once tried so hard to push away. 

He presses his lips against the top of your head, breathing you in but also pressing you closer against his body. Trying to give you as much comfort as possible.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers against your hair, “I’m so fucking sorry, cariño.”

There it is. The name you’ve longed to hear since the divorce. Just hearing it makes you sob harder against him, your breathing getting a little difficult to maintain.

“Breathe, baby,” Javier murmurs, “I’m right here.”

Suddenly, you shove at him, nearly knocking the air from his lungs. “No!”

You weakly swing at him, letting out hushed curses while streams of tears still tumble down your face. “You were never there for me then!”

Javier stands still, letting you get everything out, letting you beat on his chest like a bongo until exhaustion takes over your body again, and you slump against him.

Wrecked sobs still escape you, along with a few hiccups every now and then. He keeps his hand in your hair, his lips pressed against the top of your head, your temple, your forehead–anywhere he can reach to soothe you.

Only when your grip on his shirt weakens does he exhale, feeling your arms wrap around his waist. He doesn’t even think to let you go, only holding you closer, pressing your ear right against his chest so his heartbeat can soothe you.

Immediately, you melt into him. Too casually. Too normal for this to be happening between two exes.

But it feels so right.

Neither of you pull away. Neither of you say anything. He just holds you, protectively – like his life depends on it.

One of you should back away eventually, but Javier can’t find the guts to when you hold him tighter, the exact same way you used to. He strokes your hair gently, murmuring against it, “I’m sorry, cariño. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there. I’m sorry that you think I don’t love you anymore.”

You finally pull back, wiping your face before you glare up at him. He can see the familiar fire beginning to burn behind your eyes again in real time.

“It’s a little too late for sorries now, isn’t it?”

Before Javier can even get another word in, another voice cuts in.

“Mama?”

Both of you look down at your daughter, neither of you even heard her come down the stairs, and she was clutching her teddy bear in her arms.

“Hey, mi amor,” you say gently, kneeling down to speak to her. “What are you still doing up?”

Her little hand comes up to wipe under your eye, “You were crying,” she murmurs.

You smile faintly, wrapping your hand around her wrist to press your lips against it. “I’m fine, honey. I need to speak to your daddy, though. So you need to go back to your room, okay?”

She frowns deeply, looking up at Javier. “Are you guys going to make up?”

Her innocent question nearly crushes your heart, but you somehow manage to keep it together for the time being. “We’re talking, yeah.”

“Abuelo Chucho says that the proper way to make up with our loved ones is to hug and kiss, papá. Did you and mama do that?”

You glance up at Javier, watching him bite the inside of his cheek.

“Did he now?” he quietly asks, earning a nod from your daughter.

“And he said that you and mama will always love each other no matter what.”

You hum in acknowledgement, smiling faintly while you brush her unruly curls back. “Guess I need to have a little chat with Chucho then, huh?”

She crosses her arms over her chest, holding her bear close to her heart. “No!” she suddenly bursts out, “Abuelo is right!”

Javier says her name once, warning her. “Is that any way to speak to your mother?”

She pouts, “I’m sorry. I just don’t like when you guys are fighting.”

And she didn’t even know half of it.

You slowly stand up, Javier watching you intentionally putting distance between the two of you. That alone feels like a stab to the heart. You’re standing so close, and yet, you feel so far away from him. He has to resist the urge to pull you right back into his chest again.

Your daughter looks up at you, anticipation filling her big brown eyes. It’s almost enough to make you give in to her pleading. 

“Mi amor,” you say quietly, gently, “your dad and I have a lot to work out–”

“Just one kiss, mama,” she cuts you off, pleading, “Please.”

You exhale slowly, your gaze drifting towards Javier. Just looking at him after everything that’s happened has your heart feeling heavy. Like it’s ready to escape from your chest just to avoid being broken again.

He doesn’t move. Not until he sees or hears you give your consent. When you nod slowly, the both of you close the space between you cautiously. Your daughter watches with bated breath as you and Javier press your lips against one another’s after so long.

It steals all the air from your lungs for a second, then it’s warm and familiar. It almost feels like home.

Javier’s hands come up to cup your face gently, breathing in deep because this might be the very last time the two of you ever do this. He wants to savour it. Keep it locked away in his memories like it’s something sacred.

And to him, it is something sacred.

You’re something sacred.

The love you feel for Javier rises to the surface quickly. Nearly suffocating your heart to the point where it hurts to beat. And yet, you don’t pull back from him.

When Javier’s lips leave yours, you nearly chase them, but he doesn’t go very far as he presses his forehead to yours. Your breathing is in sync. Both of you breathing heavily while the feelings settle–or try to, at least.

Even your daughter is eerily quiet. Maybe she’s smiling, you don’t know, but when Javier opens his mouth to speak, you almost smile.

“If you’ll have me,” he whispers, “I’ll do better, I promise. I miss you, cariño, and I want to fix things. I want to go back to the way that we were.”

Are his words enough for you to believe him?

᯽ tags: @missladym1981 , @kirsteng42 , @mcthsman , @the-sophverse , @rosharanfiction , @cuteanimalmama , @harriedandharassed , @madpanda75 , @shadowqueen2024 , @picketniffler , @kokoluwie , @reedispunk , @milla-frenchy , @missadangel , @gothcsz , @kaliisapunk28 , @sawymredfox , @baronessvonglitter , @hanahleah , @la-vie-est-une-fleur29

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

You don't do walk-ins. Your clients know and understand this, most of them booking their appointments weeks in advance but, when Sarah first came into your salon while dragging her sixty year old father by the hand like a stubborn toddler, you couldn't find it in yourself to turn them away.

“He's been cutting his own hair for years.” She tells you as the both of you coax Joel to sit down in your chair, a scowl on his face, his entire back taut.

“And I do a damn fine job.” He grumbles, but Sarah just waves him off.

“His eyesight ain't what it used to be, I'm surprised he hasn't snipped his own ear off just yet.”

Joel gives her an affronted grunt that yanks a laugh out of you. His hair is styled back, as if he'd just pushed it away from his face with a little bit of styling mousse and the way it sticks out of the sides is clear that he does it to hide the choppy cut, the curls at the nape of his neck doing wonders to hide just how uneven it is. His broad back stiffens when you run your hands through his hair, the curls catching on your fingers; it's clear that he's uncomfortable, but you're not certain if it's just because he's in a beauty salon rather than a barber shop or something else entirely.

“I could just clean it up a little.” You say, your hands resting on his shoulders for a moment before you pull away. “We don't need to change the haircut, I can just make sure it's even, give you a fresh canvas for you to muck up at home when you decide to cut it yourself again.”

He doesn't laugh, not really, but his lips twitch under his mustache and his eyes seem lighter somehow, which you take as a good sign; Sarah isn't a helicopter daughter — and thank God for that —, choosing instead to sit in a corner with her nose buried in her phone while you work. Joel is tense at first, sitting straight as a rod in your chair and then barely lowering himself into the backwash unit, his head tilted halfway up in a position that you know water is going to pour down his back the second you turn the faucet on. So, you pull the trick that your old boss, a lady with bleached blond hair that was three stories high and a voice rougher than gravel, had taught you: The scalp massage.

It's not something you do often considering that the bent position you're in while shampooing a client's hair kills your back at the end of the day, but you take your time with Joel. You apply just a little bit of pressure with the pads of your fingers, mindful of your nails, running clock-wise circles from the top of his head to his temples, grinning to yourself at the way he stiffens even more before his entire body melts against the porcelain basin, the hands folded over his lap clutching his reading glasses tightly as you work him over, shampooing and moisturizing his hair, tugging and rubbing until he's all but asleep.

Joel Miller becomes a fixture at your beauty parlor after that. You don't have a lot of male clients, your entire salon mostly avoiding booking appointments for men after one too many creeps but Joel is the exception you can't stop yourself from making: He comes in every twenty days 'just for a trim', even if he wears his hair on the longer side and doesn't really need trimming that often. He also starts buying a stupid amount of haircare products once you mentioned you earn a small commission off of every sale, always leaving the salon with a new beard oil or hair moisturizer or curl defining cream that you know he'll never wear on his own. The girls you work with start teasing you about your not-so-secret admirer and, while you laugh and roll your eyes at them, your stomach still burns with something that is not embarrassment. Truth is, you find Joel to be quite dreamy.

The girls don't agree with you— Too old, too weathered, with a daughter whose age is closer to yours than yours is to his but they don't see him the way you do: The way his impossibly broad shoulders relax when he sees you, the shy smile he gives when you welcome him to your chair, the soft sigh he exhales the moment your fingers touch his scalp. Joel Miller is a man built on contradictions: His hair is soft when his frown is prickly, his body language skittish when his words are warm, his brutish hands gentle whenever he shakes yours in goodbye: You found the handshake odd at first, as if you were sealing a business deal rather than saying goodbye to the man whose hair you've just spent the last forty minutes intimately touching, but you've come to appreciate that small moment. The only time your touch is reciprocated, the couple of seconds where his large hand engulfs yours and his warmth involves you in a way that lingers far beyond the handshake.

Maybe you're the one that is the not-so-secret admirer, in the end. You look forward to his appointments, terribly saddened by the few occasions in which he had to cancel, and it has very little to do with the easy money you make off of him.

He's usually your last customer of the day, and you're pretty sure that it's because he likes it when it's just the two of you. Joel seems more comfortable like that, more prone to talking about himself when your ears are the only ones listening— You learn that he's the single father of two daughters, Sarah and Ellie, and that he tried to retire a couple of years ago but got so antsy he had to go back to work. He owns a contracting company with his brother and, with his old age, he's taken the admin duties while his brother and a couple of guys take on the manual labor. He enjoys cooking and woodcarving and he lives on the other side of town— Sarah's apartment is close to the salon, and while he makes it seem that he only comes in to get a haircut whenever he's visiting, you get the feeling that it's not exactly true. And while you share just as many details of your personal life with him, the relationship has always been strictly professional.

It all changes on a rainy January Tuesday.

Joel comes in as your last customer as usual, but this time he's about fifteen minutes late, which is unusual for the man that is always so punctual. He's more disheveled than you’ve ever seen him, his hair is in disarray, curls undone and sticking everywhere; he's in black sweatpants, a t-shirt and the jacket he doesn’t seem to ever take off, but the ensemble is still something you've never seen before: He's always in jeans and some sort of button down or flannel, his sleeves rolled up and his boots shiny, like he takes good care of it. It's always casual but calculated, like he actually put in some effort before leaving the house.

“I'm so sorry, sweetheart.” He says as a greeting, shoving an iced coffee towards you— The coffee is a newish and welcome addition, even if Joel grumbles about how caffeine so late in the day is bad for you, he always shows up with pink-tinted cheeks and the iced caramel latte he knows you enjoy. “Had to drive the kid to the airport and traffic was crazy, ended up not havin' time to go back home to get dressed. Am I too late?”

“No, you're fine.” You smile, taking a sip of your coffee as he shakes off the remains of the pouring rain from his coat before sitting in your chair. Your late policy means you shouldn't be taking in the appointment: The salon has a maximum of ten minutes of tardiness but even if you tell yourself that you're breaking policy simply because he's the last client you have today, it truly is because he is Joel, and you'd let him run you over with his car if he wanted to.

You go through the motions as you usually do: Placing the towel over his shoulders — the larger ones, always, because the regular size doesn't fit him properly —, and then the bright pink cape — which you always pick for him because you think it's funny of see a man that size wrapped in a bat-like pink cape — before clipping his sideburns and the nape of his neck; the scruff on his cheeks is on the longer side today, but you don't touch them. You like him with a beard, and you often pretend to forget about it unless he specifically asks for a trim of his facial hair too. By the time the two of you make it to the shampooing station, Joel's already halfway through his tale of Sarah's out-of-state girl's trip for a friend's birthday and how it's the first time she's taking a long trip without him. It's cute, the way he talks about her as if she's just a teenager even though you know she's a grown woman, the way he voices his worries to you and then finishes a sentence with ‘didn't say that to her, of course’, as if he's apologizing for his over-protectiveness to her through you.

Joel falls oddly silent after the first wash, his voice cutting itself halfway through a sentence as you rinse away the shampoo, his once closed eyes snapping open. He shifts a little, one of his hands flying downwards as you fill up your hand with shampoo again and your eyes drift to follow the movement, your stomach dropping in the split second in which you think he's touching himself. He's not, not really, his hand closed into a tight fist and carefully placed over his crotch in a poor attempt at concealing a very impressive hard-on that tents through the pink cape. His eyes flit to yours, the two of you making eye contact for just a second before your hand overflows with the mint-scented shampoo.

You work in silence, biting down on your bottom lip to hide the giddy smile that threatens to show.

Normally, if it were any other man on Earth, you would've been disgusted by it— Or annoyed, at the very least, but you're not. You take your time with the scalp massage, rubbing your fingers against him slower, more teasingly this time, doing your best to remain as professional as you can while having fun with it. Joel's entire face is bright red and his eyes are shut tight, but he doesn't seem as uncomfortable as he was before, his breath catching when your fingers dip close to his temple. You're not supposed to use your nails, you know it can be quite uncomfortable for some people but you can't help the way you allow yourself to scratch softly as his scalp, his mouth parting slightly at the sensation.

Joel doesn't look you in the eyes when you walk him back to the chair, which is not uncommon for him, but the air is electrified and you look away as he tries to readjust himself; the cape does nothing to hide his erection, though, and you know the imagine will be ingrained in your mind for a long time.

The two of you are silent throughout the entire haircut, with Joel shuffling in his chair every so often, clearly uncomfortable, and it makes your job at evening out the ends just a tad harder— You're not certain it's completely even by the time you're done, your hands shaky and your mind entirely distracted by him but the curls hide it well; if he never shows up again, you won't ever know if it's because of the uneven cut or because of the ten or so minutes he spent rock hard at your shampooing station. He seems a little more relaxed by the time you're removing the cape from his neck, his face still flushed red but at least his cock is down.

It's almost as if the Universe is conspiring against you, the rain pouring twice as hard by the time Joel finishes up his payment — with an extra 25% tip and a beard shampoo that you're certain he'll never use —, the two of you standing awkwardly by the door for a moment.

“Can I drive you home?” Joel asks all of a sudden, hands shoved inside the pockets of his carhartt jacket. “The rain ain't gon' let up soon.”

You open your mouth, ready to politely decline: Despite your crush, Joel is still someone you don't know that well and you're not certain you want him to know your address or to be inside his car for so long. But he blinks at you with his big brown eyes, shoulders drawn tight as if he's bracing himself for a rejection and suddenly you simply can't think of a single reason as to why you shouldn't take a chance. And, in the end, it was better than getting home late and sopping wet after taking the bus under a thunderstorm.

“Okay.” You nod, your smile broadening when he smiles back. “I would love that, actually.”

Joel's car is old, a large red pick up truck that he clearly uses for work, dirt on its tires and sides. He opens the door for you and helps you climb in, large hands respectfully wrapped around your waist when he hoists you up. You're a little shy when giving him your address, afraid he'll be annoyed by how far it is but Joel simply nods and turns on the radio, an old rock song coming through.

You sip your coffee, which is not as iced anymore by this point, sharing it with Joel every so often. He takes the cup between red lights, and you don't miss the way he twists and turns the cup to make sure his lips touch the exact spot where your lipstick has stained it— It makes desire simmer low but constant in your belly, his own lips staining with a soft shade of red.

By the time his truck pulls up into your driveway, the rain is somehow worse than it'd been before. The two of you sit in silence for a moment as you gather the courage to leave the warmth of the truck's cabin, and Joel hums to the song on the radio as if he didn't mind you stalling at all.

“Do you want to come inside?” You ask, and while the question might seem innocent enough, you can't get the outline of his hard cock from your mind. “I mean— It's just… It's dangerous for you to drive home in the dark while it's raining hard like that— I mean, uh, not hard, I—”

You burst into a fit of giggles, hating yourself from even bringing the word up. Joel closes his eyes, his face going pale before he blushes so hard his face is almost purple.

“I'm sorry for that. I…” He stops, visibly unsure of how to finish the sentence. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be.” You say, softly, and Joel's eyes finally snap to yours as if he can't believe what you just said. “Just come inside, Joel.”

“Okay.” His voice is so low it's almost a whisper, gruff in a way that flies straight through your spine. “If you're sure.”

You don't dignify him with an answer, instead simply hopping out of the truck and rushing to your front door, hoping he'll follow.

Your house is small and in a somewhat sketchy neighborhood, a little messy and full of mismatched secondhand furniture and you're a little embarrassed as you shrug off your coat but Joel doesn't seem to mind, his intense gaze focused solely on you. You're suddenly acutely aware of how sweaty you are after a whole day of working on your feet.

“Make yourself at home.” You tell him, hopping around the room to collect the shoes that are scattered near your couch. “Do you mind if I take a quick shower?”

“Take your time.” Joel drops down on your couch, his hands rubbing his own knees. “How about I order us some food in the meantime? You must be hungry. Any allergies?”

“Sounds good.” You connect your phone to the bluetooth speaker on top of the coffee table, scrolling through your playlists as fast as you can to pick out anything that might be of his taste. “No allergies, no.”

Joel seems entirely at home in your cramped couch, his long legs stretched as he scrolls through the cellphone which he holds comically away from his face, too stubborn to put on the glasses you know he wears— You’ve seen them in his hands or hanging from the collar of his flannel but he never puts them on around you.

You try to be fast with your shower, but you still take the time to exfoliate and shave and moisturize every bit of your body. The clothing is a problem all on its own: You want to look pretty, but you're home after work and you can't simply show up to your living room super dressed up. All of your nice pajamas are a little too skimpy and, since you already invited him in, you don't want to walk out half-naked either— Sure, you are throwing yourself at him, but you still would like to pretend that you are not. In the end, you decide on putting on your prettiest lingerie and then covering it with a pair of comfortable shorts and the only oversized shirt you own that isn't torn or stained, an old Van Halen shirt that you mostly use only in the gym nowadays.

All your worries melt away when you pad back into the living room and Joel drinks you in; he's standing by your fridge, analyzing the thousand polaroids pinned to it. He looks at you like you're the only woman in the world, his darkened gaze going from your thighs to your chest to your face.

“Nice shirt.”

“Thank you.” You tug the hem of the shirt a little, self conscious even though you love the way he looks at you.

Joel clears his throat, his eyes snapping away from you to the square white box on top of the kitchen counter. “I ordered pizza. Reckon it was the safe choice, I dunno what you like to eat.”

“Pizza's great. I'm not fussy.” You rifle through your purse, and Joel frowns when you pull out the bills from the tip he gave you earlier. “How much was it?”

“What're you doin'?”

“Paying my share of the food?” You offer him the crumpled bills, but Joel crosses his arms over his chest.

“You ain't payin', are you crazy?”

“Joel, with the obscene amount you tip me, I could probably pay for the whole meal.”

“Use it to buy somethin' pretty for yourself.” He simply waves you off. “Go sit, we should eat before it gets cold.”

You want to make a sugar daddy joke but you're so flustered by the whole ordeal that you simply smile and do as you're told; you're not used to things like that, men opening doors and offering to pay and being so gentle with you— Most of your past boyfriends were nice enough, but never went above and beyond to make you feel special in the way Joel does.

 You eat on the couch, pizza box perched on the coffee table and mismatching plates balancing on your legs but Joel doesn't seem to mind, leaning across the couch to refill your wine glass — and isn't that fancy, having an actual bottle of wine with your food rather than the boxed stuff you usually buy? — whenever it starts to run low, his own glass tucked on the ground near his feet.

The conversation flows easily, easier than it usually does at work when there are too many interested eyes and ears on the two of you. Joel seems more at ease too, his face flushed from the wine and brown eyes gleaming under the warm light of your living room. Your feet end up on his lap somehow, the TV playing a movie you're not exactly paying attention to: Despite how much you try to seem relaxed, you are incredibly aware of Joel's imposing presence by your side, quietly watching the screen with the prescription glasses he finally perched on his nose when you first offered to turn on Netflix. His large, calloused hand rests on top of your feet, not moving at first, just holding onto you.

And then his thumb slides down, pressing softly against the arch of your foot. Your eyelids flutter, the dull pain from an entire day on your feet evaporating as he rubs against your skin, applying just enough pressure to have you melting into the couch. You don't remember the last time you've been so relaxed, especially around someone that is virtually a stranger, but you close your eyes and lean your head back against the cushions and do your best to keep the little moans trying to escape trapped behind your teeth.

The first time you feel it, it's just a soft bristle on the bridge of your foot, so feathery light that you think it must've been a breeze. And then you feel it again, the soft and scratchy tingle of Joel's beard on the inside of your ankle. You don't say anything and neither does he, his lips traveling a little higher, pressing a small kiss to your shin. Joel's nose runs upwards ever-so-slightly, bumping against your knee.

“This okay?”

You nod, a little embarrassed that just a couple of small pecks were enough to get your body thrumming. You feel Joel's lips twist into a smile as he turns his head to kiss the inside of your knee.

“I gotta hear you say the words, sweetheart.”

“Yes, Joel.” You breathe out. “More than okay.”

He moves slowly up your body, and you giggle at the small grunt Joel gives as he twists, kneeling on the couch so he can run a line of open mouthed kisses up your leg, his aquiline nose brushing over your clothed mound before he started mouthing at the band of your shorts, pushing your shirt up so he could pepper kisses up your stomach all the way to your sternum; he doesn't touch your breasts, and the only touch to your pussy was the brief brushing of his nose, but you feel your entire body already on fire, legs falling apart so his hips could fit between yours before Joel finally presses his lips to yours.

He tastes of wine and remnants of pizza but the only thing you can focus on is the weight of his body on top of yours, his mouth moving against yours with experienced precision, one arm next to your head holding most of his weight while the other roams your ribs underneath your shirt. You giggle and squirm when his fingers ghost a particularly tickly spot, and Joel pulls back to watch your reaction, a soft smile on his face.

“I've been wanting to do that since the day we met.” He admits, his graying curls falling over his forehead. You reach up, pulling it backwards, unable to keep the smile off of your lips.

“I got a lot more that I've been wanting to do to you, old man.”

“Minx.” Joel gasps, but you can tell he's not offended by it, free hand wrapping at the nape of your neck before he pulls you up until the both of you are seated, your thighs straddling his lap.

Joel holds you close as the two of you kiss, your hips grinding down against him, your chest pressed against his as his hands roam from your back to your ass, grabbing handfuls of it as he dictates the pace but, no matter how slow or fast or rough you go, he doesn't seem to get past half-mast. It is as if he can sense the inquisitive tilt of your hips, head falling back against the couch as his hands knead your ass cheeks.

“ 'M real sorry, darlin'.” He says, redness crawling up his thick neck. “It just— It takes 'im a minute sometimes.”

A shiver runs down your spine when you realize that the him he's talking about is his own cock— You have never had anyone speak like that before, and although you expect to find it weird, you can feel yourself get wetter.

“Maybe we should move this to my bathroom.” You tease with a small smile, trying to ease the tension he clearly feels. “Let me wash your hair again and he'll wake right up.”

He groans, leaning forward to hide his face in the crook of your shoulder. You take pity on him, your nails raking through his hair before you lean back just enough to face him.

“We don't have to do anything tonight, Joel.”

“I want to.” Joel answers immediately, fingers flexing against your skin. “I want you— Fuck, darlin', you have no idea how much I want you.”

You press a kiss to his cheek. “Let me help, then.”

Joel watches you curiously as you climb from his lap, his legs parting automatically as you settle on your knees in front of him. His meaty hands flex, but he keeps them to his sides, mouth opening and then closing as if he's swallowing down whatever it is that he was about to say. You start slowly pressing soft kisses to the tent in his sweats that, while not as big as the one you'd seen earlier, it is still more than you thought it should be; you cup him through his clothes, warm and heavy, before sliding his pants down to his ankles. Joel shifts, toeing the sweatpants off just eager enough to make you chuckle, the fabric bunching as it gets caught on his left shoe.

He's only half-hard still, cock heavy laying against his right thigh, twitching in the night air— You take him in your hand, pumping him slowly, but all you can focus on his how big he is: Thick and long and uncut, bigger than any cock you've ever seen and you don't think there is any way he can grow any bigger once it's fully hard. You’re tempted to just swallow him at once but you don’t, holding him upright as you place soft kisses to Joel’s inner thighs, making your way upwards until the tip of your nose brushes against his balls— Joel jolts, just a little, but his legs spread a little more and you take that as a sign. You start with kitten licks, your hand still pumping his cock as you run tongue your over his balls; the noise that comes out of his mouth is almost painful, somewhere between a grunt and a gasp. You switch directions then, placing small kisses at the base of his cock— Joel looks wrecked just from those simple touches, his hands fisted by his sides, his eyes dark with desire as he looks down on you. 

“So fuckin’ pretty like that.” He breathes out, his hands pulling your hair away from your face, holding it in a makeshift ponytail— Joel doesn’t use it to guide your movements though, letting you explore him freely without the hair getting in the way. “Wish you could see yer’self.”

“Maybe next time I’ll let you take a picture.” You say as you circle the head of his cock with your tongue. Joel moans, his grip tightening in your hair and you can feel his cock twitch under your touch, hardening under your ministrations. You lick a fat stripe from the base up to the tip, following along the vein on the underside of his shaft, suckling on the head; you can taste his precum, salty and a little shy, but he’s far more responsive than you expected. 

“C’mon darlin’.” Joel goads you. “Take ‘im in. I know it’s big, but you can do it.”

Your lips quiver as you hold back your smile, your mouth slowly sinking onto him; you’re able to take about two thirds of his cock before it hits the back of your throat and you pull back slightly, breathing through your nose as you pump whatever part of him you can’t fit inside your mouth. It’s quite the stretch, drool pooling in your mouth and dribbling down the sides, and your core pulses as you think about how it’ll feel inside of you. 

“Fuck, there you go— Such a good girl f’me.” You find a pace that is comfortable for you, the weight of his cock on your tongue, the saltiness and warmth of his velvety skin making your eyes roll to the back of your head. 

He somehow grows fatter in your mouth, thicker and heavier than before. You take him as deep as you can, only pulling away when you feel his cockhead hitting your throat, and Joel whines every time. You can see he’s trying to behave, the hand not holding your hair fisting the couch, straining as he tries to stop from thrusting into your mouth, which you are thankful for— While you don’t mind a little bit of throat fucking, you’re quite intimidated by how big he is. 

“C’mere.” Joel begs, tugging on your hair for the first time as he pulls you away from his cock. “Take those shorts off and sit on my lap.”

His words send a thrill of desire down your chest, your skin feeling warm and tight all over as you climb on top of him, your shins bracketing his thighs. You’re still in your oversized shirt, the hem coming down to the top of your thighs but you shiver when Joel’s now hard cock bumps against your wet cunt. You tug at his shirt just as Joel pulls you in for a kiss and the both of you chuckle at the clumsiness, his cotton shirt half tangled with his limbs; Joel separates himself from you just enough to yank his shirt off, the clothing falling somewhere behind the couch before he’s dragging his lips back to yours. 

You have never been with a man who really likes to kiss before— For most of your partners, kissing was just a means to an end, just a pitstop before getting to the foreplay but Joel takes his time with it, making out like you’re teenagers, his hands exploring every bit of your body underneath your shirt. It leaves you aching, your hips rutting against him, little needy whines escaping your throat. 

“Need something, sweetheart?” He has the gall to smile against your skin, his mouth trailing off from your lips down to your jawline. 

“Your cock.” You answer, throwing your head back so he could keep kissing the column of your throat. 

Finally, finally, Joel’s hand trails down between your legs. The pads of his fingers trace your clit and your labia, stroking softly as if he’s mapping you out, spreading the wetness that has been leaking out of you and dripping down onto his shaft.

“I don’t think yer ready for ‘im.” Joel mumbles against the hollow of your throat, his southern accent heavier than you’ve ever heard it. The tip of his middle finger teases your entrance, circling without pushing in and you buck your hips down, mewling when his finger sinks inside of you. Even his fingers are thick and you chase after the stretch, your torso leaning so far back that you need to grab onto his shoulders not to fall over. 

“Give me another one.” You all but beg. Joel leans back on the couch, one hand between your legs, the other holding you by the small of your back and you clench around his finger when you realize he pulled back so he could watch as he plunges his ring finger into you. You already feel so full your mouth waters thinking just how his cock is going to feel, how Joel is going to stretch you enough that you’ll be reminded of him every time you move. 

He fingers you slowly with precise, careful movements, his eyes never leaving your cunt and you keen every time he pushes his fingers to the hilt, his palm kneading against your clit. By the time Joel’s third finger slips inside you’re so wet the squelching sounds drown out your moans, your legs burning from how you bounce against him, fucking yourself on his fingers. 

“Fuck,” You moan, hips bucking faster as you try to chase your orgasm, your pussy clenching him so tight that Joel moans. “Joel— Please, I’m gonna—”

A whine falls out of your lips when Joel abruptly pulls his hand away, your slick dripping down his wrist. He holds eye contact as he licks his own fingers clean and you clench around nothing, your body thrumming with desire and annoyance at being denied your peak. 

“I want you to come on my cock.” He says, but the glint in his eyes tell you that it’s more than that— He wants to tease you, drive you to the edge of madness and be the one in control of your pleasure. Joel takes hold of himself, rubbing the tip of his cock against you and you gasp when it bumps into your sensitive clit. Everything feels heightened after your denied orgasm and you lift a little bit, wanting nothing more than just to sink on top of him. You start slowly, the hand that isn’t holding his own cock steady kneading the fat of your hip as you take him inside. It’s a lot, even just the head of his cock being thick enough to hurt, and you pause when he’s just a couple of inches deep. Joel kisses the soft flesh underneath your chin, his breathing deep and ragged, and you can tell he’s trying to control himself. 

“I’m sorry—” You breathe out and try to sink a little more. “I didn’t think you’d be this big— Fuck, that hard on at my shampooing station was just a half chub, wasn’t it?”

Joel chuckles, his grip tightening on you. “Don’t apologize. I know it’s a lot, darlin’. Just take your time, you’re doin’ so good f’me.”

You clench around him at his words and the both of you groan in unison, Joel holding you so tight you know you’ll have bruises in the morning. You take another inch and his cock hits the exact spot inside of you that makes you see stars; you come just like that, your cunt spasming around him, your fingernails digging into his shoulders. It’s never happened before, you don’t think you have ever come from penetration alone, especially one where neither of you are properly moving but the fresh wave of wetness that comes from it and the way your knees give out makes you sink on top of him all the way down to the hilt. 

You think you’d scream if you had any air left in your lungs. Joel makes a pained sound, something between a groan and a whine, his teeth digging into the soft spot between your neck and your shoulder. 

“Goddamn it, did you just come?” There is a hint of wonder in his voice and you giggle, a little embarrassed. You moan and squeeze him again, unable to form any coherent words.

You hold him close, eyes shut, your nails raking through his hair. You’ve never been this full before, not even with your largest toy, and it burns and hurts and it’s fucking incredible all at the same time. You give your hips a little rock, testing the waters, but Joel stops your movements. 

“Fuck, gimme a second, here.” He mumbles into your shoulder. “You’re just— So fuckin’ tight—” Joel kisses your shoulder and your neck, his mustache tickling your overheated skin. “Perfect f’me, takin’ me so well, such a good girl.” 

“Can I move?” You barely recognize your own voice, breathy and lost in pleasure and desire. “Please, Joel, I need to feel you.”

His hands move from your hips to knead your ass and that is all the answer you need. You start slow, a little back and forth and some circles, trying to get used to the sheer size of him but you pick up the pace quickly, head thrown back as you fuck yourself on him. Joel is a lot more vocal than you expected him to be, moaning and groaning with every thrust, talking about how you’re a good girl and how you were made for him. It’s easy to get lost in it, his string of praises egging you on, the sound of your body colliding against his reverberating through the room. 

His hand finds your clit, not rubbing but simply holding steady, and every time you move up and down his fingers press against your clit just right and suddenly you’re shifting your position, subconsciously trying to rut against his hand. You don’t think you can come twice, but the way his cock keeps pushing against the perfect spot inside of you makes you crack, your second orgasm coursing through you like lightning. Your muscles lock as you moan, pussy clenching hard around Joel’s cock and he comes just as you’re regaining your breath, thick ropes of cum filling you inside— You’re so full from his cock and his come that it pushes against your belly. 

Joel rubs your back when you settle against his chest, exhausted. You can feel his cock softening inside of you, his spend and your slick dribbling down over his balls. 

“You did so good f’me.” Joel whispers against your ear. “I knew you’d be perfect the first time I saw you.” 

“Is that why you kept coming back to the salon?” You ask, head slumped on his shoulder, trying to hide the disappointment in your voice. 

“Yes and no.” He answers, rubbing his cheek against your temple. “Knew I wanted to take ya on a date, but I would never have the courage to ask— You’re too young and sweet for a bitter old man like me. So I settled for the haircut, yeah, but I wouldn’t come back if I didn’t think you’re good at what you do.”

You hum at his words, your stomach fluttering at the idea of going on a date with Joel. You didn’t expect him to be actually interested in anything other than sex, and you smile against his neck. 

“I would’ve said yes.” You whisper, your fingers flexing against his chest. “If you had asked me out.”

Joel’s muscles stiffen underneath you and you panic, thinking that maybe you’ve just said the wrong thing and that he’s not interested now that he got what he wanted, but he speaks before you can figure out a way of taking your words back. 

“And now? Would you still say yes to that date?”

“Especially now.” You giggle, the words coming out a little too fast. “With a dick like that, I’d be crazy to say no.”

His chest rumbles with laughter, and from your position you can’t see his face but you watch in real time as his chest and neck turn red with embarrassment. 

“How about tomorrow, then?” His voice is a little shy, rough and low. “Can I take you out for breakfast?”

“Only if you spend the night.” 

Joel turns his head then, pressing a kiss to the bridge of your nose. 

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, sweetheart.”

He keeps coming back for his trims, always your last appointment of the day, always with some sort of sweet treat or coffee or flowers. He tips generously and rolls his eyes when you say that he has boyfriend privileges now and doesn’t need to pay. But he never leaves the salon alone.

And neither do you.

When you first met Joel, you had found him in a dimly lit bar that played old blues. He was sitting alone on a corner stool. Carhartt jacket with the collar popped to shield his face, in some jeans, and run-down boots. He wore a trucker hat to truly hide his presence, but you saw him. He was hard to miss. He was the only thing you saw when you entered, truly. 

You approached him first; he was the only man not to ogle you when you walked into the room, which made you desire him more. 

The first thing you truly noticed were his hands, how they were scarred and worn, as they clasped around some glass with brown liquor; he’s a worker, a hard one at that. Hard to miss. You could feel your heart beating out of your chest when you neared him. 

You could tell he didn’t want to be approached by his body language, hidden and disengaged, and the confusion on other patrons' faces as you approached, but you didn’t have much to lose. Life wasn’t kind to you, and hitting on a man twice your age wasn’t too out of your element. 

“Hiya,” You offered, scooching into the space between his bar stool and the one next to it, watching confusion twist on his face at the sight of you, so close to him, smiling dearly. 

“Guessing you want me to buy you a drink?” He doesn’t say it with malice or discomfort, just a kind southern gentleman nature - assuming if a girl were to approach him in a bar, it’d be for that reason. Especially a girl who looked like you. 

You laugh, a small giggle before shaking your head, eyes roaming over him to get a better look to confirm your suspicion that he’s just as handsome as you thought he’d be from the bar entrance - he smelled good too. Not like cologne or anything, just a natural warm fragrance that made you wanna bury your face in his jacket. 

“Nope. Just wanted to see ya better s’all,” You admit honestly, your hand moving to his forehead to swipe some of the fallen hair that doesn’t fit under his hat, revealing a small scar that leads from his brow up. Freckles dotting his cheeks, lines that show his age, parted lips that draw in shallow breaths, & deep eyes that search yours in bewilderment. 

“How old are you, darlin’?” Joel mutters as his accent flows like honey through your ears, biting your lip back as you understand he must be your father's age, wherever he is now. But that doesn’t matter.

You assume he asks to scare you off, maybe, as if you couldn’t see his age on his face. 

“Doesn’t matter,” You hummed, reaching for his hat, removing it, and placing it on your head instead, smiling at his hat hair as you earn a small smile for him, not anything too big, just a small quirk of his lips, smitten with you. 

He took you home that night. Something Joel hadn’t done since he was in his 30s. Then he decided to keep you every night after that. 

Months later, Joel proposed to you in that same bar, mind made up on marrying you. And once Joel's mind was made up, he was for certain. And the rest was history. 

Now, a year into marriage, life is a simple bliss. 

You had never imagined being entangled with someone, let alone married, but Joel was a once-in-a-lifetime type of man. You knew it, felt it deep in your bones when you first saw him, as if some invisible magnet pulled your souls to merge as one. 

Apparently, unbeknownst to you, he had the small town in west Texas wrapped around his finger as well. A mountain of a man. He made his living in carpentry, which built most of the town, making him quite the figure. 

You hadn’t known when you first arrived, assuming he was some random handsome man, but you became the talk of the town, too. Some people assumed you to be a goldigger after an older man. Some older women, scoffed at you in the street, jealousy-ridden at you picking up one of the few older eligible bachelors in the town. 

Most people, however, minded their own. Partly out of fear of Joel but mostly out of concern for their own lives. 

Didn’t bother you one bit; you could even say it fueled you. Knowing that other women sought after him, but he chose you, swiftly and decidedly. That you were the one for him, and he was the one for you. 

You were the one able to get the anti-social town grump in your arms. You were the one to get him to open up to you mentally and physically. You were the one able to burrow under his skin and set up camp, and he loves every part of it. It was all you. 

He’s hard with everyone else but you, you know it. You see it in his interactions - how dry and uncommunicative he can be, never with you. He’s known to be helpful and generous, but also cold and hardy. He’s fiercely protective of what’s his, whether that be his work, his home, or you. 

It’s something you’ve never experienced. Joel's type of love. Genuine, passionate, steady, consistent, and all-consuming. You think he’d kill for you if you asked. 

He never told you to cook for him, help him get ready, or see him off whenever he leaves in his blue pick-up truck. You just do. 

He never asked you to welcome him home every evening with dinner and for you to ask him about his day; what went wrong, what he loved, who pissed him off. You just do. 

He would never ask for any of what you do, but you want to because making him happy seems to be your only goal. 

It’s a simple thing. You don’t really know when it happened, you just enjoy being his little slice of peace… and occasional trouble here and there. 

In the mornings, you’re up before him, brewing his coffee and preparing his meals for the day, feeling the way his strong arms wrap around your waist as you pack his lunch, tugging you back to meet his body in a strong collision as his face greedily fits into your neck, sucking sweetly at the skin as you whine and whimper. 

“I tell you how much I love you?” He speaks in that deepened morning Texan voice, a shudder running up your spine as he speaks his common phrase, he mentions daily as he peppers your skin with morning kisses. 

Sometimes you roll your hips back to press against his crotch, tipping your head back and whispering, “Tell me again.”

And of course, one thing leads to another, and he has you bent over the sink, fucking you at a slow and tender morning pace, gushing about how much he loves you while he roots himself deep in your core. 

During the day, you busy yourself with house activities, sometimes you spend his money, sometimes you lazily lie around, tempted to call and bother him at work with nonsense. He doesn’t mind it, but you know he has better things to do. 

In the evenings when he’s drained, you help remove his boots and settle him into a bath where you can drag the washcloth along his body and scrape at any daily grime - washing his hair tenderly until he’s groaning at your touch, completely undone by your devotion. 

If he’s pent up, you get him into bed and take it upon yourself to ease any worries. Climbing on top of him, pressing your hands to his chest and letting him position himself at your entrance, sliding down on him as he croaks out like a frog - riding gently to relax his aching bones until he’s fully relaxed, coating your walls with his seed. 

He’ll tell you he doesn’t know how he went this long without you, doesn’t know what he’d do without you, or who he’d be, and that only encourages you to ride faster until you find your own pleasure through his affirmations. 

In the evenings, when he still has energy, you tend to find him in his workspaces. Sometimes, whittling in his woodworking room. Sometimes carving figures with some glasses perched on his nose while he blows away some excess wood, presenting you with some of your favorite animals every now and then. You have a nice growing collection. 

Your favorite evenings are when he takes his guitar to the porch and sits on one of the two rocking chairs he crafted. You join him out there every time, with some sweet tea for him and a blanket for you, closing your eyes as you listen to him pluck at the strings or play you one of your favorite songs he’s learned that you sing along to. Sometimes you even drift off in a soft slumber. 

Once the sun eventually sets, he’s rising up, heading inside, expecting you to follow, but you hate when nights like these end. A small slice of heaven every time you watch the departing sun glow on Joel and encapsulate how you see him, pure and full of light. He is your sun. 

“I’ll join you in a little,” You object, watching the way his hand reaches out to you to help you out of the chair, wishing you could stay in that moment forever. 

“Cmon now.” He’s stern when he says it, eyes set dead on you in a commanding tone & you know why. He likes to close down the house, make sure all the windows and doors are locked. Likes to make sure you’re in bed, safe, next to him. 

You give in, of course, pouting, letting him win, and taking his hand.

It’s silly, you think. He bought the surrounding land when he built his house, which sits within the Texan hills, hidden from anyone who would desire to wish any of you harm for whatever reason. But it is in the middle of nowhere, so you allow him his worry. 

He makes you feel better during the night, fitting you close to him, limbs entangled with yours as your ear presses to his chest, hearing his emboldened heartbeat that lulls you to sleep. He always says he loves you right before he’s gone with sleep, even in the depths of exhaustion, still only thinking of you and the love he carries.  

The hardest days are when he goes on a fishing or hunting trip with some of the men from work, or often just his brother Tommy. He heads to the cabin he owns a couple of hours from town and spends the day trekking through the forest for game with a gun in hand, or on a boat with some beer, fishing for bass. 

He departs before you’re awake, before the sun has a chance to awaken, kissing at your temple as you whimper and attempt not to cry through your drowsiness, knowing if you were to object enough, he’d stay home. But that’d be cruel to him, knowing he deserves this. 

He calls routinely, once when he arrives, in the evening, and in the morning. Just to make sure you’re safe and unharmed. You know better than to not answer, once having had the sheriff stop by when you slept through one of his calls. 

He won’t return until the day after, towards late afternoon or evening. Sometimes you’re pouty upon his return, feeling extra needy and not knowing how to show it - only answering him with one-word answers until he understands your frustration and lies you on the kitchen table and feasts on your cunt until you're undone and a mess and all his again. Beard soaked and dripping with you until you admit you just missed him dearly. 

“I know it, darlin’, missed you too,” Is what he says when he kisses you there, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. 

Sometimes you’re in a more upbeat mood upon his arrival, standing at the front door in a pretty white apron and only your lacey panties with one of his favorite cherry pies in your hand - freshly baked. 

“Yer’gonna ruin me, girl,” He says, cheeks turning as red as the pie as his eyes take all of you in. 

He kisses you first, leaning over to invade your space with a small, polite peck, then another, and another until he gives in to his needs, burly arms moving around your body as you’re hoisted up to his chest, your chest collding to his as he deepens the kiss, lips moving aggressively on yours, tongue snaking into your mouth to taste the cherries you were eating while baking. 

Kissing you as if you’re the only person to ever exist, slowly and sweetly - then possessively as he whispers how he couldn’t stop thinking of you over your warm lips. 

He fucks you then, reaffirming that you’re his while he does. Saying that you’re the only one for him. You do it back, telling him how amazing he is to you as your eyes roll back once he finds that perfect rhythm that undoes you both on the wooden floor, as you couldn’t make it upstairs to the bed. 

It's routine, finding ways to show that you missed each other, sometimes verbally, often physically. 

-

Bored. You’re bored. 

During your morning debrief, you had told Joel that you’d head to the grocery store, needing a couple of items. It was a good walk, but far, you didn’t mind. 

“Wait f’me, we’ll go together.” He mumbled against your lips in a kiss before heading out the door, knowing he enjoys time spent with you. He also mentioned he doesn’t like it when you walk alone. You don’t really pay attention to your surroundings, and he’s correct, but you still think it’s silly. 

The most dangerous thing that happens here is when the teens drive drunk. But you don’t fight him on it, knowing better than to challenge him on anything when it comes to your safety and well-being. 

There’s only his truck; you don’t need a car, really. Don’t enjoy driving, don’t need to drive. But now you’re bored and stuck. 

It’s rare you find yourself in this headspace, a bratty mood enforced by your boredom, but you decide to go anyway. Placing a good walking shoe on and heading out by yourself. 

You do it on purpose, knowing by the time Joel is home, he’ll know where you're headed. You really only had to wait another hour for his arrival, but you’re bored and enjoy raising your husband's blood pressure every now and then.

It’s like a game of hide and seek. You like to play hide n seek with him, mostly because of what comes after. You don’t know if he knows it just yet, but you love feeling hunted by him, like you can’t escape him. Makes your belly swirl with desire. 

It usually ends with a brutal fucking where he reminds you of who you are to him, your value, and preciousness, all while you’re on your third orgasm. 

You don’t leave a note when you leave; you always leave a note. But, you’re bored. 

Eventually, after some time, you make it through those sliding screen doors, cursing at yourself for making brash decisions in Texas heat, ignoring the sweat on your body, and instead basking in the air-conditioned store, picking up a handbasket. 

You get the usual groceries, piling them into the cart before stopping in an aisle you rarely find yourself in - picking up a box of condoms, curiously reading ‘Ribbed for Her Pleasure’

The clerk, probably around your age, stocking down the aisle, stares at you a bit before you catch his gaze, watching him blush a bit before continuing, turning your attention down to the box again.

You can smell him and hear his footsteps before you see him. The woodsy oak sawdust scent settles in your nose, boots pressed against the ground nearing you as an arm eventually slides around your waist - you don’t jump, don't scream, just smile gently knowing it’s him. He’s found you. 

He tugs you to his chest, always needing to be close to you, it seems. You wouldn’t have anticipated it when you first met him that his love language would be physical touch. 

“Ain’t leave a note,” He murmurs grumpily into your ear, tickling you there with his breath as you giggle a bit, his lips pressing to your temple, knowing his girl and her antics, still irritated at you not listening. 

“That worry you?” You ask innocently, leaning away slightly, blinking up at him to see him in the grocery store light, worn from the day, as his hair is tousled a bit, with some stains on his white shirt from the workday. Strong and handsome as ever - he’s tanned a bit too from working outside. 

He snorts a bit, rolling his eyes, tightening his grip as his fingers flex against your body,  digging them into your side again to make you squeak, “It did. S’why you did it.”

You smile, as if you won something, giddy with the fact that he knows you so well as he takes the basket from your hands chivalrously, knowing that he probably wasn’t too worried. You locked the door behind you, a move you made to tell him there was no intruder, just you being silly. 

“Whatcha gonna do about it?” You tease gently, brows going up in a tantalizing manner as he looks up to scan the store, then back down at you, eyes dark as they settle on yours. 

“Think I’ll take you home and show you.” His one strong hand grabs at your face, cupping hardly and roughly, so your cheeks press up together, putting your lips at a pout as you laugh a bit once he releases you, excited for how he’ll take out his frustration on you. You wonder how he’ll do it this time. The belt is still your favorite. 

Makes you wanna run home. 

“Ribbed for her pleasure? Should we get ‘em?” You change the subject, watching Joel's eyes land on the box in your hands, face puzzled. 

“Ain’t never used those with you, don’t plan on it now.” He scoffs a bit, as if you insulted him by insinuating you should be fucking with protection. 

You smile, getting under his skin, “Think it’d be a nice change, I saw a flavored one, and one that warms - hey, scuse me, sir? Which ones do you prefer?”

The stocker looks up to you, then Joel, eyes wide with disbelief as he opens his mouth, stammering a bit before blushing, “They’re all pretty good- I believe- I imagine.” 

“Gonna give the poor boy a damn heart attack,” Joel mumbles, a bit tickled but refusing to show it, keeping up his stern appeal as the worker departs, knowing you won’t get Joel jealous. Trusts you too much. 

You don’t get the condoms, just head to a checkout lane, standing a bit in the way as Joel places the items on the conveyor belt. You offer a small smile to the cashier that she doesn't return, eyes focused on Joel when she speaks. 

“Hey, how are ya, Joel?” She smiles brightly, causing a scornful expression to appear on your face as he looks to her a bit, finishing up. 

“Good, Joanne,” He doesn’t make small talk; he hates small talk. You know that, you know him. Makes you a bit possessive over him as the bagger bags the groceries. Thrills you that he doesn’t give her what she wants. 

Joel isn’t jealous. But you can be. Having always had a bit of a competitive streak, you can feel anger rising. 

He moves you forward a bit so he can fit behind you, your body falling a bit back onto his as he holds you there, enjoying the bit of physical touch granted in that moment. Feeling extra needy within Joannes's presence. 

“True that y'all buildin’ a movie theater? Be nice not to have to go a town over…” She continues, not taking the hint, a strong, heavy, obnoxious sigh leaving your mouth that catches her attention as you stare daggers. 

“That’s the plan,” Joel mumbles, looking at the total, getting his wallet out as you tip your head back and up, asking for something there. 

He knows better than to not oblige you. Knows better than to not give you what you want when you’re touch-starved despite his aversion to PDA. 

He leans over you sweetly, pressing his lips to yours in a small, simple, chaste kiss that has you smiling at her once you lower your head, feeling accomplished, marking your territory.

“Have a great rest of your day.” You offer sweetly, smiling brightly and combatively as if you’re an animal bearing its teeth. 

Joanne nods a bit, not smiling anymore at Joel, as you walk towards the exit, a brown paper bag in Joel's arm as he walks beside you. 

“Gettin’ lil jealous back there?” He teases as the warm air hits you, walking back to the truck in the parking lot, his voice deepened with temptation. Usually, you do the teasing. Seeing a different side of him makes you excited to experience different sides of marriage with him.

“She’s a cunt.” You shrug matter-of-factly, digging in the bag as he walks, watching him lower it for you so you can get out a snack. 

“Easy, darlin’,” He chuckles, absolutely enamored by your jealousy, “Let’s get you home- still gotta teach you a lesson.”

His hand lands on your ass with a smack that has you jolting, a slap not even near his full power as you gasp out, turning to look at him as he opens his passenger side door, a slight smirk on his lips that tells you you’re in for it. 

You hop in, trying to hide your excitement, wondering if you both will even be able to make it home. You hope not. Would give you a chance for the world to see Joel claim you on the side of a dusty road. Your husband. He’s yours, you’re his. Forevermore.

.

.

.

Joel hadn’t planned to tell you right away when he got his hearing aids.

This thing between you was good. You felt solid. So in sync, most of the time. You’d been through enough together that he knew your foundation wouldn’t–couldn’t– be easily shaken.

But this didn’t feel like a small thing. Sure, you knew his age. You’d met him when you were volunteering at the goddamned senior center.

Hearing aids, though, were a step too far. 

Because that meant he was officially old. People would think he was your dad, even more so than they do already. Or maybe even his caretaker, god forbid.

He looks alright, he supposes, for being a few years shy of seventy. But his bones ache, his hair is more grey than not, and wrinkles line his face. He has to face the fact that he’s an old man. And, while he’s facing the facts, he needs to admit to himself that he really can’t hear for shit these days.

He’s a tired, deaf, selfish old man, and he can’t bear to lose you just yet.

—

You’re out of town for the weekend when he gets the hearing aids. It’s perfect, really, because he can learn how to use them. They’re fairly low profile, and he’s let his hair grow longer these days, making them easier to hide.

Sunday night, you arrive back home. You show up at your door, weekend bag slung over your shoulder. As you pull out your keys, Joel beats you to the lock, swinging the door open wide for you. You’re exhausted, and it must show in the bags under your eyes, but you can’t help but smile the moment you see him.

He reaches to relieve you of your bag and you shrug it off, letting him put it down by the entryway bench.

“You have a good time, baby?” he asks.

“It was fucking wonderful. I really needed that,” you smile, reaching up to kiss Joel, “I’m really glad to be home now though-” 

And then you kiss him again and hum against his lips, a happy little sound.

Joel’s never heard it before.

He wants to hear it again. He has to hear it again–

He kisses you again, a little bit deeper. Presses himself towards you and hears the way you moan against him, breathy and soft and desperate. What he’d felt only as vibration before now has a pitch he didn’t know he’d been missing. 

Need hits him like a freight train, suddenly urgent and dizzying. In a moment, he’s hard and wanting, pulse pounding fast.

"Honey," he sighs, lips still hovering over yours, hot breath tickling against your skin. You look at him, glancing across his face, reading in it whatever he happens to be showing. He wonders if it looks like reverence. "I need you baby, I need you right now--"

You’re surprised at his abrupt enthusiasm, a crease between your furrowed brows, but a smile plays on your lips.  

"I should probably go shower,” you tell him, turning towards the bathroom.

"Nuh uh," he shakes his head and reaches for you, pulling you close. "You don’t gotta. Unless ya really wanna. I just need you right fuckin’ now, baby. Want you any way you’ll have me."

You scrutinize him, looking him up and down. For a moment, he’s certain you’ve clocked him, that you know what he’s hiding. 

Instead of challenging him, though, your expression softens. You shrug, like it’s simple. “I’m yours.”

It's been a while since he's greeted you like this, and you’re certain you must be missing something for him to be so turned on, so out of the blue. Sure, you’d been gone for the weekend, but it was just a weekend, and it’s certainly not the first time you’ve been apart, nor the longest.

He’s desperate though, more desperate than he knows how to be. He can’t keep his hands off of you, can’t stop touching you. His hands trace up and down your sides, making you gasp and whine at his attention. You revel in it.

When he gets you to the bedroom, he tries to pace himself. To savor it. He means to slow himself down.

He peels your clothes off, piece by piece. Gentle fingers fumble with the buttons, and he kisses that spot behind your ear that makes your breath hitch. 

When it does, though– when that sweet gasp passes your lips, Joel is changed. Any restrained passion he’d been trying to keep in check dissolves, replaced by desperate frenzy. 

He rids you of the rest of your clothes, strewn garments in your wake as he guides you to bed.

Joel has always been a generous lover, always watching and learning. In the early days with him, he’d ask you to show him what you like. He’d keep his eyes on you, attentive, reading you with care as he’d replicate the ways you know to give yourself pleasure, as though ensuring your gratification were his life’s only goal.

You’re used to his eyes on you, watching how your body reacts to his touch, touching you gently when you need softness, being firm when you need redirection. 

So, it’s always been good. But it’s never been quite like this. 

He pushes you down onto the bed and grabs you by the knees, shoving them apart, making you gasp. He hums and grabs you, lifts you, and scoots you back towards the headboard. Resets your legs so your thighs are spread again for him and he’s slotted between them. You can feel his cock, fat and heavy against his thigh, straining against his jeans– and fuck the fucking denim– he’s still wearing his clothes.

It’s not fair.

“Get naked, Joel,” you tell him, “I want to see you.”

You can see a blush spread across his cheeks and nose, but he doesn’t look bashful as he used to be. He looks hungry. A smirk twitches on his lips.

You’re bare for him, and so so ready. And, you think distantly, you’re so incredibly comfortable with him. There was a time you would have shrunk away from this kind of touch that allows you to be so seen. For him, though, you love little more than to lean back and spread your legs, so bare and exposed, all for him. To show him every part of yourself, and simply trust that he won’t frighten.

He makes quick work of his clothes. Grabs his t-shirt by the back of the neck and rips it over his head. Unbuttons his jeans and shucks them and his boxers off in one go, his cock bouncing heavy between his legs. You let out a breath, watching.

He slips his arms under your legs and slots back in, rests his body face down on the bed, presses himself in between your thighs.

He examines your cunt; runs a gentle thumb from your navel to just above your clit and presses down with just the lightest pressure. And then a little more, till you’re squirming and whining and his nostrils are flaring, his breaths coming out as pants at your response. He drags wet, broken kisses down your body. His lips trace your tummy, the dips of your hips, down down down til he spits on your shiny seam, making your clit nice and wet.

You tremble, just a little, in anticipation of feeling him on you. But he doesn’t move towards you. He looks up at you, brown eyes looking at you with such love and concern. And then he looks back down, to where you’re spread for him. He hums, affirming.

“Oh– would you look at that– she needs t’ be filled up, don’t she?” he asks, breath hot against your soft cunt, his words making you jerk against him, trying to find some friction. He grins against you as you sigh, pretty little asshole and pussy both visibly clenching in tandem mere inches from his face.

He stills you, hands clutching your hips, holding you down.

“I think she might need a kiss first, though, huh baby?” 

“Mhmm-”, you sigh.

Your breath hitches as he places a gentle kiss against your lips before he slips his tongue between them, gentle, languid- He lets you card your fingers through his hair as he licks into you, humming in affirmation when you grab on tight. He noses at your clit and draws a yelp out of you, groaning, the rumble of it vibrating against your skin.

There’s no rush as he pulls you apart. Just a little bit of time and some very precise pressure. You can feel yourself start to build as he flicks a pointed tongue against your clit. His focus is exact, and in no time at all, your breaths are shallow and desperate, your hips rocking up to meet his strokes, to feel his scruff against your thighs.

He’s eating you out like he needs it to live. Loud slurps punctuate softer licks as he buries his face between your legs. He’s so responsive, growling at every reaction you make. 

He barely brakes for air, but when he does, it’s punctuated with filth. “That’s a good girl, yeah, say my name just like that–” 

All you can do is breathe his name, a soft prayer, Joel, Joel, JOEL–

You chant, till the pull within you builds and breaks, sending you sobbing on his tongue, bliss coursing through every part of you. 

Sounds that he didn’t know he’d been missing surrounding him like the most beautiful symphony, your sighs, gasps, moans– He knows it’s useless speaking with his pussy-stuffed mouth, but he growls into you, letting you ride his face through it, prolonging your orgasm, and not stopping until you can’t handle any more.

When the stimulation becomes too much, you yank his head back by the hair. He grins up at you, sheepish. He's panting, wipes his slick mouth with the back of his hand, and stares at you, so fucking hungry. “Probably a good thing you had me stop where you did,” he tells you, “Nearly came now just from eating you-

"I love you--" you sigh, barely able to think, the intensity of your climax making you fuck-drunk and languid. A smile breaks through the hungry, wild expression on Joel's face, and he draws himself up and pulls you toward him so you're seated. 

"I love you, too," he presses his forehead against yours, damp curls tickling your brow, till he pulls back and swipes his hair away, pressing back against you.

You hum, so comfortable and happy, and Joel sighs.

It takes you a few minutes to fully come back to yourself, Joel holding you close the whole time. When you do, you know you need more. You pull back gently, shifting yourself apart from him until you’re able to straddle him. He’s still hard, painfully so, and neither of you need to say a word. You lift yourself, line him up with your swollen pussy, and sink down slowly, inch by stiff  inch. Your eyelids flutter shut at the sensation. He watches you in awe and adoration.

He reaches around you, grabs your ass with each of his hands, and starts to rock you gently.

“Yes–” you hiss, and tilt your hips to match each thrust.

It’s gentle at first, careful, and considered as he fucks you in his lap. But then, you adjust your position just a little and start to bounce, taking more with each thrust, grinding hard against him as he fucks up into you and hits just the right spot.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fUCK!--” you cry, sensation overwhelming you.

Everything is so much, so deliciously overwhelming, every little breath and moan and gasp that passes your lips finally tipping him over the edge.

“Honey–,” he hums, “I’m– I’m close, not gonna last–”

“Give it to me.”

“Fuck–” He keeps rocking into you, but his movements still just a little as he lets go. You can feel the way his cock pulses and shudders in you, his balls throbbing, your insides coated with cum, all of this sending you over again.

He whines as your clenching pussy chokes him, drawing even more from him. 

It’s pure ecstasy. 

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to reduce the overwhelm. When you come back down, your breathing starting to even out, you open your eyes to discover–

Joel, staring at you, reverential, with tears streaming down his cheeks.

You’ve only seen Joel cry a handful of times, and never once while he was still inside you–

“Oh fuck, babe, what is it?” you ask, suddenly panicked.

He shakes his head, thumbing his tears away, “No, no,” he tries to reassure, “Nothing’s wrong–”

But that doesn’t reassure you. The love of your life is balls-deep in you, crying, and you don’t know why.

“I promise,” he insists, and then he tucks his hair back behind one ear.

It only takes you a moment.

“Joel Miller. Did you get fucking hearing aids and not tell me?”

He laughs; a wet, spluttery thing.

“I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on so much- I–”

You let him collect his words, his thoughts. You love that he tries, even when it’s hard. He makes sure you understand.

“I never heard you like that before, baby-” he tells you, “Those gasps and moans. All those sounds you make for me. I can hear them now. And I could’ve been hearing them this whole damn time if I hadn’t been too proud.”

He shakes his head, frustrated.

“I was worried you’d think I was too old.”

Your eyes widen. Somehow, that wasn’t what you’d expected.

“Baby, you know I know how old you are, right? I met you at the fuckin’ Senior Center,” you frown.

He glares at you. Some of the puffiness around his eyes dulls the intended effect.

You know it’s not exactly that, though. It’s really just the irrational fear that you both have, of losing the other when you’d only just found one another, manifesting in any way it can.

So you press your lips to his, and hold him close. He’s still sheathed inside you, and you can feel him start to twitch hard again. 

“You know,” you tease, rocking your hips again, “I think the hearing aids are kind of sexy.”

Joel scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“No, I mean it–” you insist, “You’ve always been attentive. But– I don’t know. I know it’s something that’s been bothering you–and I also know you weren’t super into the idea, getting hearing aids– I guess I’m proud of you.” 

He snorts, but you can see the smile he’s trying to hide.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he shakes his head, “I just– I shouldn’t have put it off so long.”

“It’s okay, old man,” you tease, pulling forward to kiss him gently. Still seated on him, you roll your hips with just a little more vigor than you’d intended, cutting yourself off with a gasp.

He groans.

He isn't used to being turned down, as horny as you are for each other, but there's nowhere to do it.  It’s one big room with people all around it.  Boxes scattered here and there, but nothing that could conceal you.  No restroom. There's a nook that leads to a restroom and a closet but both are locked and no one there has the key. And all these people - they’re stuck in here with you.  No one can leave.

You feel his desperation as he pulls you into him. “We can’t, Joel,” you whisper. Fucking in public would be nothing new. But in a closed room where people can't leave?

He growls in a whisper. “We gotta, sweetheart.” 

People are having scattered conversations but mostly sitting around and it’s pretty quiet.  Two men are having a spirited discussion and a third tells them, "Shhhhh."

“Gimme some cover,” Joel says.  His hand comes between the two of you and unbuttons his jeans. Oh, God.  If he jacks off it's gonna be obvious to everyone, plus you'll be turned all the way on. He gathers your dress, pulling the back of it out from under you so your naked ass cheeks are against his jeans.  While he's at it, he slips a finger under your thong and snaps it playfully then slides his finger under it again and slides it down, un-wedging it from between your ass cheeks.  He takes a deep, horny breath. 

“Jesus,” the closest person whispers. Joel sighs and gives them an intimidating stare as he jostles between your bodies and takes out his rock-hard cock.  He lays it against your lower back, covers it with your dress, and a chill of arousal races down your body. He pulls you back into him and cups your breast as he rocks into you a little less discreetly. You squeeze his thigh. 

"Too much," you whisper. 

"Not enough, baby."

"Try to be still." He's still for about a minute then pushes himself against you with a soft, muffled groan that calls more attention.

"Hurts too much," he whispers. 

Someone whisper-yells, "Do you have to do that here?" Meanwhile some other pervert is palming his own cargo pants. You try to block it all out.

"Fuck, I gotta come, sugar. This is torture." He sounds genuinely in pain. 

"Then hurry up and be quiet." 

He quietly spits in his hand and wedges his hand in between you. His breaths are heavy as his hand moves and people pretend they aren't watching.   

"Sit on it, baby. It'll be faster." He breathes heavier and thrusts against you again. 

"No." You turn your head to tell him, "Everyone's staring already."

"You better look me in the eye when you're sayin' no."  

Your breath hitches. You look at him and see the utter agony on his face. It turns you on.  

"Fuck. cover yourself for a second." 

"Fuck yeah. Only take a minute"  

"But get a hold of yourself. We don't know these people." It's not the same as when you're in your own territory like the bar.  You glance around and a few people pretend they weren't watching. You try to pretend they're not there as you carefully get up and turn around facing Joel. He brings his legs together and you straddle him, spreading your skirt over both of you.  His face is so desperate you can almost, almost forget about the room full of people. He raises his knees behind you.

He holds his cock at attention under your skirt. "Sit on it, baby," he begs. He's panting. “Don’t gotta do nothin’ else.”  You slowly lower yourself, and as soon as you begin to take in his swollen tip, he takes hold of your hips and slides you down his length with a sigh. You try not to gasp too loud as his girth makes room for itself inside you. He looks up at the ceiling then back at you.

"God I love you," he whispers, then takes your face in his hands and kisses you passionately. 

Someone whispers, "what the hell?"  And someone else says "they're actually fucking."

You break the kiss self-consciously and you just look in each other's eyes as he gently rocks his pelvis and slightly bounces you on his cock. His arms wrap around you and you put your head in the crook of his neck.  Being full of him is your comfort zone. He’s right, it doesn’t take long until you get the tell tale signs that he’s going to come. His breath is ragged, his grunts are more frequent, though mercifully not as loud as usual.  He twitches inside you.  

“Not too loud,” you whisper.  He kisses you through his orgasm, moaning “Mmmmm,” slightly softer than usual.  You sit there on his cock for a long time, not wanting to move and draw attention.  You fall asleep there as he caresses your arms and your head stays buried in the crook of his neck. 

-

more of these antics on the joel master list - "for survival --> speakeasy" section.

Thank you so much for reading and engaging!!! you can follow @toxicfics for fic notifications and @toxicrecs for fic recs.

What is more important in a small Texas town than the high school football team?

Nothing, if you asked most anyone, including of course, head Lions football coach, Joel Miller- Coach Miller, that is. He had lead the team to numerous state titles, securing donations to the football program and filled display cases with trophies and framed team photos. Several former players had even gone on to play in the NFL.

Yeah, Coach Miller is a big deal.

You feel lucky when during your senior year the cheerleading team has to share practice space with the football team. Honored when Coach Miller helps your squad with conditioning. While the football team runs drills, he’s monitoring your time on the treadmill, checking your form during lunges, and helping you really lean into your stretches. He’s so helpful and encouraging. “That’s it, girls, get those knees up! Hustle!” He yelled as he watched you run by in your little shorts and sports bra. The one you took to wearing when you knew he might see.

Coach Miller knew a thing or two about cheerleading too, and he helped your coach to develop a cheer routine. You always blushed when his rough, steadying hands gripped your bare legs or circled your waist to help direct you. You saw how the other girls exchanged looks, but

Coach Miller had experience, he obviously knew enough about cheer. He knew what got crowds excited and lifted team morale. You beamed when he clapped and tucked his clipboard under his arm as you balanced on your teammates shoulders, one knee lifted high, both arms aloft, Pom-poms rustling in the hot Texas breeze. You felt butterflies that fluttered from your stomach down to your throbbing pussy. “Atta girl. You got it!” He praised.

The fawning newspaper articles never mentioned how handsome Coach Miller is. He’s probably in his fifties but you didn’t care. The other girls rolled their eyes, called him an old man. You liked the gray in his hair and beard. You liked the way his body was still so broad and strong, even if his belly was a little softer than it used to be. You liked the way his forearm flexed as he lifted the whistle to blow and get everyone’s attention. “Alright, boys go hit the showers, girls you stay and finish stretching.” Your cheer coach was busy with Megan and Lindsay and Tiffany, so you did your best to go through the regimen on your own.

You stood and twisted at your waist, first to one side, then the other. You spread your legs wide and bent deep to touch your toes, keeping your spine loose. You wanted him to see. “Ugh. He’s watching us.” You heard behind you. “He’s such a creep. He’s like a hundred years old.” “Yeah and you remember what happened with Monica. Nobody’s going to say shit to him.” You listened to the other girls talking, and tried to ignore them. Of course there were rumors about Coach that passed though the girls at school. They were probably just mad that he wasn’t giving them the time of day.

It was easy to forget the other girls and their hateful gossip when you saw that handsome man across the field. You stood and dabbed your shoulder. You winced and rubbed it, drawing the attention of Coach Miller. He jogged over, the muscles of his thighs rippling under his khaki shorts, belly rounding slightly under his royal blue polo shirt, and whistle bouncing as he made his way to you. “What’s ’a matter, sweetheart?” Care and concern painted his dark features, furrowing his brow. “It’s just my shoulder, Coach. I don’t know, it just is pretty sore.” You pouted up at him, giving him your best helpless face. He hummed and nodded. “You girls go on and get cleaned up, we’re done for today. I’ll let your coach know. I gotta deal with this.” He gestured to you, and you bowed your head sheepishly. The rest of the girls scoffed and muttered as they gathered their bags, shooting you looks of disdain and perhaps pity. Good riddance to them.

“Thank you Coach.” You said softly, bashfully. “C’mon, I got an ice pack in my office. Can’t let our rising star get hurt, can we?” You relished his attention. The hallways leading to his office were dark and empty, at 5:30 on a Friday, everyone had gone home. Once inside his office you sat on his desk, cluttered with papers and Gatorade bottles. You swung your legs and leaned back on your palms, letting the hem of your top ride up to expose a sliver of your belly. You hoped he would notice the way it was snug against your breasts. His office smelled like sweat and Lysol, but photos and framed newspaper clippings covered the walls. You used your phone to cover the framed photo on his desk of him and his wife and kid.

When Coach Miller returned with the ice pack, he found you innocently playing with the hem of your short cheer skirt. He hesitated, taking in your long, bare legs, smooth and pretty. He followed the line of them up to where they disappeared under that damn skirt, he wondered what he might find if he flipped it up. Wondered if you had on those little white panties he had seen once when you were practicing cartwheels with the other girls. He wasn’t stupid man. He knew that some of you young girls had little crushes on him. He'd be a liar if he said it didn’t stroke his ego or that he hadn’t jerked off more than a few times behind his locked office door. He would never, ever admit to a few consensual dalliances with a few girls. Always over 18, but always so young and beautiful and eager to please. Was it wrong? When they wanted him? Joel preferred to think of it as a perk of the job.

“Where’s it hurtin’, honey?” Coach Miller asked, his voice much more tender than he ever used with the boys on his football team.

“My shoulder, coach. It’s sore.” He made a sympathetic sound and slowly, carefully began to run his big hands over your arms. “Can you hold ‘em up for me? Good girl.” You held your arms out to the side and he palpated your shoulders, stepped back to look you over, checking for you didn’t know what. It didn’t matter. Your shoulder didn’t really hurt.

Joel frowned. “What is it coach? Is it bad? Your voice was small and wavering.

“No, darlin’ it’s just that I can’t get a good feel for your rotator cuff cause your shirt’s in the way.”

“Oh..”

“Well, here’s the thing, you know we got that big game comin’ up and your coach won’t let ya cheer if you’re hurt. Really would be best if I could just check it out. If nothin’s wrong we ain’t gotta worry your coach over it.” He winked at you conspiratorially.

“What if I just…I could just take this off.” You tried to sound casual. Like it was the most normal thing for an eighteen year old to be topless in a room alone with a 56 year old woodshop teacher/football coach.

“That’s what the boys all do, sugar. Ain’t a big deal, but I don’t want to make ya uncomfortable. I can just go get your coach and she can check ya out.”

There was no way you wanted your coach thinking you were injured. Not when you were gunning for a cheerleading scholarship. Missing any games now was out of the question.

“We don’t need to bother her, Coach Miller. I trust you.”

Joel nodded. “Alright, I’ll tell ya what- I’ll give ya a towel to cover up with. How’s that?”

“Sounds good, Coach. Just, could you help me unzip?” You gave him a little smile over your shoulder and held your hair out of the way for him to drag the zipper down.

Joel stifled a groan when he realized you didn't have a bra on under your little top. His cock was already beginning to swell in his shorts. You shrugged off the blue and yellow top of your uniform and clutched the tiny towel he handed you to your chest. “Is this good, Coach Miller?”

“Yeah that’s good. Real good. Arms straight up, now. Gotta check your rotator cuff.”

You did as he asked, and the towel slipped to your lap and he rubbed and squeezed at your shoulders, peeking over to catch a glimpse of your bare tits. They were so pretty, your hard little nipples making his mouth water.

“Good news. I don’t think it’s anything serious. A little massage and rest is probably all ya need. Couple ibuprofen.”

You thanked him, half heartedly bringing the towel to cover your chest again.

“Just one thing though, I noticed there’s not a current physical on file for you. You know, they take that stuff real serious. I know you’ve been workin’ real hard all year, I think you’ve got real potential and I’d hate for you to throw that away over a little form. If you want, I can give ya a quick check and it’ll be our little secret.”

“Gosh, Coach. You’d really do that for me?”

You knew damn well your physical was on file. You had taken it to the office yourself. It was something you’d been doing every year since you started playing sports in junior high.

“Yeah, won’t take but a minute. Don’t want ya getting in any trouble.”

You sighed gratefully. “Thanks Coach Miller. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Go on and hop up on my desk and I’ll make this quick and easy.”

He moved your arms one at a time, feeling for proper movement. He had you step on a scale and measured your height and weight, commenting that you were “full grown.” He had you bend forward and touch your toes, sliding his fingertips up the length of your spine to check for scoliosis, but taking the opportunity to admire the way your skirt rode up to expose just a bit of your panties, just barely brushing his hard cock over your ass. “Oops!” You dropped the towel, dramatically covering your tits with your hands, squeezing them together.

Joel looked at the form he was half-assing and scribbled on it, before sitting it aside and clearing his throat. “You uh, you do your regular self exams?”

“Self exams?” you blinked at him innocently, hiding the smirk that threatened to break through.

“Breast exams, sweetheart. Gotta make sure everything is like it’s supposed to be. Real important to check. Maybe I better show you how. Why don’t you lay down there and put your arms over your head for me?”

You did as he asked, lying back on his desk and didn’t bother hiding your lustful stare and he slid both hands up your rib cage to cup the underside of your breasts. He squeezed gently, kneading the supple flesh. “You’re doing great, baby.” You whined as he worked his way around your nipples, watching intently as they hardened. “Almost done.” He pinched at your nipples, making you squirm, he pulled gently, and rubbed them under his thumbs before squeezing your tits once more. “I think that’ll do.”

But he didn’t take his hands from you. He ran them over your chest, down your sternum, over your belly to the band of your skirt. He gripped your hips through the rough fabric, forgetting himself, or dropping the act. Either way, he found himself staring at the wet spot on your exposed panties. You bent your knees and rested your heels on the edge of Coach Miller’s desk. “Let’s see if he can resist this!” You’d thought, delighted with the way your plan was working.

Joel had his fair share of girls throwing themselves at him over the years, but you certainly took the cake. In half an hour you’d gone from a shy school girl to a sex starved slut right on his desk. It had been so easy, maybe too easy. Give you a little attention, some praise you weren’t getting at home, some touches like he knew the dumbass boys on his team weren’t going to learn about for another eight to ten years. Joel loved it when his plans worked.

“Something you need, baby?”

“Mhm. My backs kinda stiff. Maybe you could help stretch me. Get me loosened up.”

“This help?” Joel placed his hands on your knees and pushed them up, gently rolling your lower spine as he stood between your legs.he lowered them, letting your covered pussy brush against his rock hard cock, then repeated the motion, pushing your knees a little further each time.

“Feels so good, Coach.” You breathed, hands gripping the sides of his desk.

“Gonna open your hips up, you’re bein’ such a good girl.” He pushed again, letting your knees fall to the side, spreading you wide open. You could feel the way your panties clung wetly to your aching pussy, rendered nearly transparent by the slick that started seeping from you the minute you entered Coach Miller’s office.

Joel couldn’t play this dumb game with you anymore. He squeezed your plush thighs and pushed them down, dragging his thumb over the soaked gusset of your underwear. “I think ya got a bigger problem than a stiff back. Looks like you’re really hurtin’ right here. How long has this pussy been needin taking care of?”

Finally! “All day, Coach. I really need help to make it feel better.”

Joel’s finger slipped under the fabric to slide over your puffy lips.

“I got some other massages and stretches that’ll make this all better. Do you want that?”

“Yes, please! Please Coach.” You nearly shouted at him. If he didn’t do something soon you’d have to try to climb on top of him and just take what you needed. It’s not like you couldn’t see how hard his cock had been since the minute you got your tits out. He was a creep and everybody knew it, but he was too handsome to resist and if his bulging erection was any indication, well…

“Gotta get these panties off.” You lifted your hips for him to slide them off, then stretched your legs and demonstrated your flexibility by pulling your ankles down and holding your legs wide open for him. “Goddamn. Look at this. You do want this, don’t ya? Got so damn wet on my desk from just gettin your tits touched. Are all the girls on your team so slutty?” He marveled at how wet you were, slipping his fingers from your entrance up and around your clit, tapping your pussy firmly with the flat of his hand and groaning at the sticky slapping sounds.

His index finger teased at your opening while his thumb rubbed over your clit. Flames licked at your belly. “Just slutty for you, Coach. Need a real man.”

“Yeah? You need a real man?” He emphasized his words by sinking two thick fingers into you, “I’ll show ya what a real man can do for you, but you ain’t ever gonna be happy with a boy again.” He pumped his fingers into you and to your shock, dripped spit directly from his mouth to your clit. The slip made the sensation even more intense, and you squeezed his fingers as your orgasm crested. “Good, huh? Well, we ain’t done. I got a little more stretching for this tight little cunt.” You’d never heard anyone talk so crudely. You loved it. “Fuck yes, Coach, please. Please!”

Joel’s eyes snapped up from where he was watching his fingers disappear into your pussy. “Watch your language.” You whined and bucked your hips, eager for what you hoped was coming next. Joel worked a third finger into your pussy, the stretch stung and radiated, but faded into a pleasant feeling of fullness you’d never experienced before. Not with your inexperienced conquests.

Satisfied that he’d prepared you well enough, Joel hastily unbuckled his belt and let his shorts fall to the floor, weighed down by his wallet and keys. You watched as he tugged his turgid member, the biggest you’d ever seen. “C’mere. Get on your knees a minute. I know you know how to do that.”

“You want me to suck your cock, Coach Miller?”

He huffed at you, amused at your innocent act.

“Open your mouth.” You opened wide and took him deep, gasping and bobbing your head over his tip, hollowing your cheeks. You looked up at him and took him as deep as possible, relishing in the look of devastation that washed over him as you gagged and drooled.

Joel muttered something you didn’t hear before he pulled you off his cock by your hair. “Bend over the desk. Come on.” You did as he asked, and he slicked his cock with your abundant arousal, slapping the head on your ass a couple times, then held the base of his cock in one hand, and gripped your hip with the other. Slow and steady he pushed into you, taking his time until he was fully sheathed, hips flush against your ass. He waited there, leaning his forehead against your back and reaching under you to grab your tit.

“So fucking tight. Tightest pussy I think I ever felt. You’re not a virgin are you?” You shook your head. You weren’t a virgin. He was your third. He was your biggest and best. It would be hard to top him, you mused until he dragged his length out of you and slammed back in with more force. He did that a few times- pull out slow, slammin hard. Slow, hard, slow, hard. Then he switched it up, pushing your knee up into the desk he favored slow, deep strokes so he could watch how your pussy gripped him and sucked him back in, wetting his cock with your slick, so wet it dripped down to his balls.

He smacked your ass, leaving handprints on the unblemished flesh. “Fuck yeah, baby. Just like that. Taking this cock so good. Feel ya squeezing me so tight. Cock hungry little slut making me fuck her. Fuckin beggin for this dick.” He gritted filth through clenched teeth. You reached down to rub your clit, and let your hand wander further, feeling where your bodies joined, stretching your fingers to catch his balls as he pounded mercilessly into you. He smacked your ass hard, then reached up to hold your shoulders and his movements became uneven. “Coach, please! Please, come in my little pussy!” You’d heard that in porn and thought it sounded good.

Joel’s eyes squeezed shut tight as he let go, filling you with rope after rope of cum. You moaned, feeling him pulsing deep inside.

There was no kiss afterward. No hugging, no cuddling. Joel handed you the little towel to clean up with, Carter he watched his spend drip out of your wrecked pussy and onto the fabric of your skirt. He wished he had a picture of it. You wiped away what you could and put your shirt back on, your panties had disappeared and at 6:15 there was no time to look for them now. Coach Miller promised he would find them for you. You gathered your phone and backpack. He squeezed your shoulder as he walked you out to the main hallway and cleared his throat. “You know, if anyone found out about this, it could ruin your shot at any kind of scholarship. You might not even get into college at all. Now, I know you young girls make mistakes and I’m not going to tell anyone as long as you keep up your grades and your practice. If I hear about ya being a slut, though, I’ll have to inform the principal for your own good. Don’t make me do something we would both regret, sweetheart. Ya understand?”

“Yes, Coach. I understand.”

Joel breathed a sigh of relief. He had seven years until he could retire. He wasn’t sure how many more pretty little seniors would come sniffing around, but he thought maybe he should try to stop giving in to every doe eyed little slut that came along. Oughta try other ways of keeping his dick wet.

You called Joel on the way home from work. "I'm just dying to give you another tally," you purred. All afternoon, a montage of possibilities had played in your head -- sucking his cock, jacking him off, politely requesting an anal cream pie...

“Got a surprise for ya,” he told you. 

“Yeah?” you asked. 

“Yeah,” Joel said in a sweet voice, then shifted his tone. “A whole lotta cock. Gonna pack ya full of it” 

“Be ready when I get home,” you replied. 

You and Joel had stored something special in the toy chest, saving it for a rainy day. By this point, you might have forgotten about it, but Joel hadn't, and this was the perfect occasion. The hollow attachment was veiny, close to Joel’s skin tone, and nearly 10”. His own dick, already a more than respectable size, would slide right into it, then he’d fuck you with the massive horsecock. 

Armed with a big bottle of lube, the strap, and the attachment, he went to the restroom to put it on. This was top-of-the-line equipment. Not only would it provide enhanced girth for your pleasure, but it would pleasure Joel, too. The inside of it was state-of-the-art material with a patented new design. More realistic as the Fleshlight, it promised, or your money back. 

Joel dropped his pants and lubed up his hard cock. He stepped into the harness and loosely fastened it before lining the tip of his dick up with the hollow cock’s entrance. The hole was a slit. Joel held the hollow dildo in one hand and his cock, dripping lube, in the other. He rubbed his tip over the soft little slit, then pushed his tip inside. He sucked in air through his teeth as the cock slid on far faster than he intended. His cock throbbed as he bottomed out. 

Joel finished fastening the strap and admired himself in the mirror. The dong was massive, and it looked stiff and swollen like it might burst.  At first glance, the size looked a little absurd, but the longer Joel looked at the mirror, it looked like it could feasibly be a part of him.

He held it in his hand, marveling at how his hand struggled to wrap around it. He stood in different poses. He faced the mirror and held it at the base and lazily thrust forward a few times. God, it looked hot, and the interior material felt more like your smooth walls than anything he’d felt in a while. 

The idea of your pussy spread around this cock made him hard as a brick. It made him so hard that the phallus began to feel tight. It felt tight in the best way, god it felt good–not as good as the real you, but it almost felt like this thing as sucking him. It was so snug that he had to make sure it wasn’t stuck. With both hands firmly on the attachment, he pulled his hips back and “fffuuuuu,” it was sucking him back in. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure to his taint. 

Hre paused to breathe then rocked his hips and felt it pull him in again.  “No? Need more?” Joel muttered under his breath and bottomed out again. He held the attachment firmly and withdrew twice as much shaft. He paused and watched his cock throb with the silicone slit stretched around it. Then he slid back in. “You’re a greedy little thing.” The walls of the attachment hugged his cock.  

Jesus Christ, he was gonna cum if he wasn’t careful. 

“Almost ready,” you called from the bedroom, making him jump. He hadn’t even realized you were home.

Joel emerged from the bathroom holding his “enhanced” cock in his hand as though it were his own, and you could only say, “Dear God.” You were in a nightgown with no panties. Joel’s steps toward the bed were slow and heavy. You scooted to the edge of the bed to stare that monster cock right in the face. 

“Can I taste it before you lube it?” you asked and he held it steady for you. 

You could barely stretch your lips around it. You gagged yourself then slid it out of your mouth, drool falling over your chin. You held your jaw and opened wide to try to get rid of the cramp. 

“Enough about  me,” Joel said. “How’s my sunshine?” He lifted your chin with two fingers, then kissed you, still holding his enormous appendage in his other hand. 

“Empty,” you whispered. “So very empty….” you eyed his equipment again. 

“Show me how empty,” Joel said. 

You turned around facing the bed and leaned over it doggy style. You lifted up your nightgown and Joel let out a low whistle when he saw how wet you were. 

“Easy, baby,” he chuckled. “Think I need to warm ya up a little.” 

“Well, get to it,” you teased him, crawling onto the bed and turning around. . 

He hovered over you, kissed you again, then pulled the straps of your nightgown down so he could make out with your tits. You moaned at his tongue swirling around your nipples. The silicone cock kept grazing you. It was bobbing heavily between you and made your body throb with anticipation. With Joel’s mouth still on your breast, he reached between your open legs and slid his fingers through your slick.

He pushed one, then two fingers into you, and you asked for a third. 

“Good girl,” he cooed as he fucked you with three fingers. His digits were coated in your slick. He removed his fingers and you protested “uh!” at the loss. Then he licked your fingers and moaned at the taste. 

“Wanna turn over?” he offered. 

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” you replied. 

With you face down on the bed, Joel adjusted your position for a better angle and kneed your legs open further. He ran his fingers and knuckles through your slick teasingly. He gathered slick with his thumb and began to work your clit. Then, after your first little whine, he spread your pussy wide and ate it from the back.

“MMmm,” he hummed into your cunt as he buried his mouth in your folds and made out with your weeping pussy. There was no better taste. Your hips lifted into his face, and he doubled down, absolutely feasting on your cunt until your thighs were trembling and your body took on the most beautiful shape. 

You had barely finished coming, when you breathed, “Fuck me.” 

Joel’s face was shiny and pink.  “Droolin’, ain’t she,” Joel murmured. “Can’t have enough’a this anyway,” he mumbled then pumped a puddle of lube into his palm and slathered the cock in it. 

“You ready for this monster?” Joel asked. 

“Mmm-hmm” you whined. 

He covered his fingers in lube and worked you open for him again until you were easily taking three of his fat fingers. Then he notched the tip at your wet little hole. “Oh, baby, you really think you can take this big cock?” 

“Mmm-hmm.” You tilted your hips. 

The cockhead prodded at your entrance and you reached back with both your hands to help spread your cunt around it. 

Joel groaned at the sight. “God damn, baby,” he pushed the tip halfway in, and you made yourself comfortable again, taking your hands away. 

Joel moved his hips in small pulses, teasing you with the tip until he pushed the tip inside, making you moan with the pressure. 

“Good girl,” he praised you. He pressed a little further. 

“It’s so—wide,” you marveled. 

“Too much?” 

“No,” you reassured him. 

“How ‘bout a little more?” 

You nodded. 

He withdrew all but the very tip of the cock and added more lube, then slid halfway in, pushing a low moan out of you. You grabbed a pillow to bite if you needed it, but the stretch was the best part. 

When Joel pulled back, your pussy was clinging to the dripping wet silicone, begging for it back, and Joel had half a mind to take a pic. 

“Babe, you look—So goddamn hot.” 

“Mmm,” you sighed. 

He pulled back a little then slid in all he could, gushing, “Gooood giiiirl,” as he gently met your cervix.  

“Ohhhh, fuck,” you panted. “I’m full. Fuck, I’m full.” 

Joel was breathing heavily. “You took that so good baby.”

He slid halfway out, then packed you full again, and began to fuck you at a slow rhythm. 

“Look at you takin’ this goddamn monster cock,” he marveled, and sped up just a little. 

“Oh, Joel,” you sighed, with the massive cock fucking you into the mattress. 

Joel was holding on for dear life. He wanted it to last, but it was too fucking hot, it felt too good. The soft inner chamber hugged Joel nice and tight, and your cunt made it squeeze him far tighter. The sight alone could’ve made him cum. 

“God damn,” he breathed, fully seated in your cunt. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum, baby,” he warned you. 

“C’mon, babe,” you encouraged him. 

He held onto your hips and his eyes were glued to where your bodies were joined as he thrust a few more times, spreading your body apart, splitting you with this massive girth while you relished in the stretch. 

“Ohhh,” he began, then bottomed out and began to pulse. “Oh, god damn,” he breathed. “Damn I love you, baby.” His seed poured into the hollow cock, enrobing his dick in his own warm, sticky mess with each burst. 

As Joel began to pull out, you reached under the pillow and turned on a vibrating wand. 

Joel quietly chuckled, “attagirl,” and slid back in. 

You massaged yourself, feeling stuffed full like never before. 

“Ohhh, god,” Joel sighed when you convulsed around his cock. 

This thing he was wearing, God– it was a new sensation. And with the beat of your fluttering walls, and the vibration—It felt like even more cum was squeezed out of him with your orgasm.

When you were finished. Joel slowly withdrew from you. He sighed in admiration as your body drew itself back together, like nothing ever happened. 

You began to roll over and weakly said, "We've gotta mark the--"

“You just rest, baby, hold on." Joel went and got you a warm rag and helped clean you up, then put a glass of your favorite juice on the nightstand. The whole time, he was still wearing the attachment. 

Then he proudly walked over to the whiteboard and drew one big fat tally. 

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Thank you for reading!

The rain hammering against the balcony doors drags you both out of sleep. You’re still tired from the chaos of the last two days, but honestly, Christmas has never felt better. The wind howls outside, rattling the glass. You reach for Harry’s T-shirt, the one he flung off last night while he watched you fall apart with your own hands before he was even allowed to touch you, & tug it over your head. It just barely covers your bum.

You sleepily stroll over to the curtains & part them an inch. A flash of lightning fills the room, thunder rolling right after it. For a second, you swear you feel the building sway. Behind you, Harry groans, then slowly sits up, hair a mess, voice rough from sleep. He still faintly smells of you.

“So that storm we joked about a couple days ago,” you say quietly. “Yeah… it’s here & it’s…”

A burst of hail hits the windows like thrown pebbles. “Okay,” you finish, “we’re definitely staying in today.”

“Good,” Harry mutters as he flops backwards. Exasperated that he even had to be woken up.“I just wanna chill & do nothing. Being festive is exhausting.” He says it sarcastically, but the grin in his voice gives him away.

“You loved every second of it.”

You hear his low giggle.

“Yeah,” he admits, lifting his head to look at you. “For the first time in a long time… I really did.” His eyes trail down your body, taking in the T-shirt clinging to you in all the right places. His lips part, slow & wicked. “Are you planning on being a distraction all day?”

“Would a distraction make you a bacon sandwich for breakfast because she loves you?” you ask, giving a cheeky little twist of your hips like some smug, naughty schoolgirl.

“Absofuckinglutely,” he says without hesitation.

He rolls out of bed, pulling on only a pair of grey sweatpants, low, loose, & doing absolutely nothing to hide how peachy his arse looks. Then he follows you out to the kitchen.

The kitchen is still dim, the storm rattling the windows like background percussion. You slide across the tiles, Harry right behind you, warm, sleepy & already eyeing you like breakfast.

You head straight for the fridge, grabbing the bacon, while Harry moves automatically toward the coffee machine. He starts it up with a low hum, rubbing a hand through his hair, still half asleep & stupidly gorgeous in those sweats.

“Tea for you?” he asks, voice gravelly.

“Mhm,” you hum, already turning on the stove. “Strong. I’m gonna need the energy.”

That gets one eyebrow up.

Harry’s coffee starts brewing, your tea steaming beside it, but his focus keeps drifting. Specifically… to your hips. Because as soon as the bacon hits the pan & starts sizzling, you put on music, nothing festive, something slow & sultry with a heavy bass line. A song you’d never admit you deliberately chose.

Then without meaning to… or maybe fully meaning to… your hips start swaying a little. Not dancing. Just moving. Slow. Intentional. Lazy circles as you flip the bacon.

Behind you, Harry groans softly.

Not subtle. Not even trying.

“Delicious,” he murmurs.

You glance over your shoulder. “The bacon or the view?”

His grin is slow & feral. “Both. But the view’s making it real hard to behave.”

“Good thing we’re not leaving the penthouse,” you say lightly, swaying a little more. The T-shirt rides up just a bit, giving him a flash of thigh. “Storm day rules apply.”

“& what rules are those?” he asks, stepping closer but not touching. Not yet.

“That I get to make breakfast without you distracting me,” you tease.

Harry places your tea beside you, so close you feel the warmth of his chest at your back, but he still doesn’t touch you. His breath grazes your shoulder.

“& what if,” he murmurs, “I’m the one being distracted?”

You flip the bacon again, pretending innocence.

“Then you’ll have to wait for your sandwich like a good boy.”

He laughs into your skin, low, dark, & promising absolutely nothing good. This is exactly when you feel his hands finally settle on your hips.

“Once I’ve finished off this bacon I’m gonna start on you,” he says.

“You calling me breakfast? A snack?” You put the bread in the toaster & push it down.

“You are more than both & you know it, honey,” he says. “In fact, you’re so much so that I think I can have you cumming before the bacon is done.”

“Is that a challenge?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Ooh no, baby girl, it’s a mission.”

He slides you away from the stove, bends you over the counter, & his voice drops low. “You gonna moan for me? You gonna be a good girl & take it like a champ?”

“For you, Harry, I’d do anything.”

You yelp when his palm cracks against your arse.

“Fuck, baby… yelping already? Maybe the bacon won’t even get crispy.”

He’s lifting your T-shirt, & judging by the way the head of his cock glides through your slick, he’s already pushed his sweats down. “So responsive, honey.”

Harry doesn’t waste time. He sinks into you in one deep, claiming thrust that has you gripping the countertop, knuckles white, breath stuttering.

“Oooh….fuck…yes, yes…”you cry, the sound of skin on skin almost loud enough to drown out the toaster popping.

“Come on, honey… show me whatcha got,” he snarls, giving your arse another sharp swat.

“Harry!!”

You scream as you come undone, your climax crashing through you, & as always, he’s right behind you, groaning, breathless, exhaling against your neck as he follows.

“Damn it, honey… why is it that when I fuck you in the morning, neither of us can last that long?”

“Cos…” You push up from the counter & turn to face him, the mess still dripping down your thighs now that he’s pulled out. “…it’s a need. Almost as much as the morning coffee.”

“Very true, but…”

He’s cut off by the fire alarm shrieking. Smoke fills the air. The bacon is pure charcoal.

“Fuck!” you both yell.

You start waving a tea towel at the alarm like your life depends on it, while Harry tries to rescue the pan. Out of the six rashers, only two survive.

“Looks like we’re gonna have to cook more to service our appetite,” you say, moving toward the fridge. But Harry steps in front of you.

“I dunno if that’ll quench what I’m craving,” he murmurs, desire shining bright in his eyes.

After salvaging breakfast, you put the items in the dishwasher to run later. You then find Harry in the lounge, scrolling through the TV planner to see what you’ve both recorded over the last three days. He’s still only in his sweatpants, no top. He looks like some Adonis, but he’s your Adonis.

“You gonna linger in the doorway,” he asks, slipping his glasses on, “or you gonna come join me for some catch-up TV?”

“I dunno…” you say smugly. “The view from here is rather good. I’m not sure anything on the TV is going to match it.”

He blushes slightly. He’s better at taking compliments than you are, but that one… that one lands.

“The view’ll be even greater if you’re closer. Plus you can feel it too.”

“Like scratch & sniff,” you say, walking in with confidence.

Harry snorts.

“Are you old enough to remember that?”

“I remember a Children in Need night with it.”

That makes him laugh even harder.

“I sometimes forget you’re a little bit younger than me.”

“Alright, old man.”

You slide onto the sofa, & his hand goes straight between your thighs.

“Thought I was meant to be the one touching,” you whimper as his thumb circles your clit. You slip your hand down his sweatpants, finding his cock already slick with precum, coating your palm.

“Honey, I think all bets are off on storm days.”

He pulls your T-shirt off in one smooth motion, flinging it somewhere near the TV, then he shimmies out of his sweatpants. He eases you down so your naked body lies in front of his on the sofa.

“Is this moody & stormy enough for you?” he murmurs as his length glides through your folds before pushing inside you again. You let out an intoxicating sigh.

“Thought as much,” he breathes, leaning over your shoulder so his mouth finds yours. His lips are soft, hungry, decadent. His hips start slow, building gradually, while his thumb returns to your clit, steady, intent, playing you like a cello.

Your hand tangles in his hair, your tongues sliding together, your moans caught in each other’s mouths. You only break for the briefest gasp of air before one of you latches back on. Feral doesn’t even cover the scene on the sofa as he thrusts into you, relentless, consuming.

By the time you’re both spent, he’s cradling you like he’s afraid you might disappear like Christmas cheer. He kisses your shoulder, a stray curl dripping sweat onto your skin, making you hiss.

“Best Christmas TV yet,” he whispers.

“I’d be up for a rewatch,” you murmur, kissing him tenderly as he pulls you into his lap. You do eventually watch some TV… but you’re far too busy taking over the sofa & each other for any of it to make sense. A rewatch will definitely be required.

A while later, you tell Harry you’re going to have a bath. You weren’t expecting him to join you, but when he says wine & a back rub, you’re definitely not turning that down. Your clothes stay abandoned in the lounge, future you can deal with them.

You ask him to run the bath (you know he hates it too hot), while you go for the wine. There’s still a nice Australian white in the fridge, so you grab the bottle & two glasses before heading to the bathroom. It’s not the en-suite, it’s the guest bathroom in his penthouse, the one he likes to use when he wants a long soak.

When you walk in, the room is already steamy, the air thick with tea-tree & cherry. Harry is slowly sinking into the tub, his arse as glorious as ever. You giggle as he sighs, eyes fluttering shut.

“Best get in quick, honey, or the bubbles will go.”

You don’t need telling twice. You set the wine & glasses on the table beside the bath & slide in, letting the warmth swallow you. Harry pulls you straight into his lap.

“So,” he whispers against your ear, “storm day rules, eh?”

“Mmmhhhmmm,” you hum, turning your head to look at him.

“Should I expect a day of passionate, unbound sex every time it rains?” he asks as he pours the wine.

“Harry…”

“What?” he laughs. “Is this just a special Christmas treat? That I get to claim you as many times as possible today?”

“Maybe,” you say, taking a sip. “But you can have sex with me whenever or however you want. I’m not gonna say no.”

Before you even swallow, he kisses you, his tongue stealing a little of the wine.

“I think we should have storm days more often,” he murmurs. “Take a day for self-care… self-pleasure… self-discovery… clothing optional.” His hand slides up your thigh.

“You don’t just want storm days to be naked days?” you tease.

His eyes light up.

“Dirty bitch,” he growls, squeezing your thigh. “Keep talking like that & I’ll fuck you in this bath.”

“Talking like what?” you ask, pretending innocence. “Imagine it, Harry, you wake up, I’m naked in the kitchen making pancakes, you could eat them off me… I’d be in your dressing room, not able to find anything to wear, I’d…”

He grabs your chin.

“You’ve just earned yourself an orgasm,” he says, lifting you out of the water. You grip both sides of the bath as he lines himself up, & then you slowly sink down onto him in one go.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans. “You’re gonna kill me, honey.”

You’re already panting, still sensitive from your first two sessions.

“Not if you let me cock-warm for a few minutes,” you breathe.

“Cock-warm?” His hips jerk reflexively. “Don’t posh girls do that?”

“I dunno, do they?” you smirk. “I ain’t posh.”

“Honey…” he murmurs as his hips flex again, “you just got a £300 candle for Christmas.”

You both laugh, he’d bought it for you as a joke, even though it had been his idea. “Trust me, you’re posh now.”

You lean back, letting the water shimmer around you. It doesn’t take long before you feel the urge to move, each slow thrust sending ripples across the surface, each roll of your hips turning the bath into something else entirely.

The water sloshes, the bubbles cling to your skin, & the euphoria builds & builds… until the bath water starts to drain around the two of you. Sensual & sophisticated that’s where you’re at.

After drying off, you head to the bedroom in your towel. Harry stays behind to shave, keeping that perfectly trimmed beard looking good, before he joins you. The second he walks in, he spots what you’re doing.

“Ahmmm,” he coughs.

You turn around.

“Thought we just made storm day rules,” he says.

“What do you mean?” you ask as you fasten the back of your bra, your knickers ready to go on.

“No clothes,” he tuts.

“Really?” you challenge, & he leans against the bedroom doorframe. “But what if I want you to take it off?” you add, sly, trying to get away with it.

“Honey…” He steps forward & gently plonks you down on the bed. “Today is a lazy day. A storm day. A ‘I want to make love to my girl as often as I can’ day. I want you naked & easy access.”

You blush as he continues, voice deepening.

“I want to worship your body. I want you to have so many orgasms you forget your name. & I want you climbing to euphoria…” he unclips your bra, letting it fall, “every chance you get.”

You don’t argue. As soon as your bra’s gone, you tug at his towel. His cock is right in front of your face; you lick your lips & your hands start working him instantly.

“Oooh, fuck, honey…” he groans. But the second your mouth gets close, he stops you with a hand. “Let’s both enjoy this,” he murmurs, before lying down on the bed & turning so you’re facing opposite ways. “Let’s both get a taste of heaven.”

You settle over him, & the moment his mouth meets your folds, you moan around his length. Each lick he gives you makes you take him deeper, slurping greedily. For the next fifteen minutes you grind on his face, his tongue sending shivers through your whole body. It’s primal, both of you tasting, devouring, moaning into each other, the sounds muffled by full mouths & too much desire.

Every couple of minutes he taps your thigh, urging you to add a few slurps for him, & you feel him tense each time you obey. He eats you messily, licking up every drop you give him, humming like he wants more, always more.

Then suddenly he pushes you off, breath hot, eyes glassy as he kneels on the bed, fist working fast.

“Drink or facial?” he pants.

“Facial,” you breathe.

His groan is low, guttural, & then his release paints your face & breasts in warm streaks as he finishes himself off. You drag a finger through the mess, bring it to your lips, & slurp it up with a wicked grin.

“Think I’m gonna need another bath, Harry,” you tease, giving him a wink.

You slip off the bed with a soft laugh, grabbing a warm flannel from the en-suite. As you wipe your face & chest clean, you hear Harry moving behind you, slow, deliberate, the kind of movements that mean he’s not done with you yet.

When you walk back into the bedroom, he’s standing by the balcony doors. He’s pulled the curtain aside. The storm outside is raging harder now, rain streaking down the glass, lightning flashing white across his bare back. He stands there completely naked, muscles carved out by every quick, brutal flicker of light.

“God…” you murmur. “Moody man.”

He glances over his shoulder, a small smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Moody?” Another crack of lightning, & the feral glint in his eyes is undeniable. “Or hungry?”

You step up behind him, trailing a hand down his spine, over the curve of his back, then lower, heat pouring off him. Your other hand slides around his waist, fingers brushing the hard planes of his stomach.

“You look like lightning…” you whisper against his shoulder. “& I’m the thunder.”

He inhales sharply through his nose, jaw going tight.

“Oh, honey…” His voice drops. “If you’re the thunder & I’m lightning…”

Your hand drifts lower, he twitches in your palm.

“…then I’m about to strike.”

He turns fully, chest rising & falling, stormlight painting him in sharp, wicked flashes as he backs you toward the glass.

“Touch me again,” he murmurs, voice rough, “& I’ll take you right here. Against this window. While the whole damn city gets a front-row view.”

You lay your hand on his chest. His breath catches, that’s all it takes.

“Like this…” you tremble, teasing him. He grabs your wrists & kisses you furiously.

“Just..”another kiss, deeper

“like…”his hand cups your sex

“that.”

Then he spins you. Your chest hits the cold glass, nipples tightening instantly.

“Look at you,” he breathes, drinking in the sight of your body lightning-lit & arching for him. “My own personal storm.”

His thigh slides between yours, & your whimper fogs the glass. You grind down instinctively, & he smirks like he’s claimed something.

“You’re soaked,” he whispers.

“It’s raining,” you manage, breathless.

“No.” His lips graze your neck, slow & sinful. “Not the rain.”

His hand cups your breast against the glass, thumb circling your nipple as another bolt of lightning turns the world white. His other hand works between your thighs, fingers gliding through your slick like he already knew exactly what he’d find.

“Harry…” your voice breaks.

“Louder,” he orders. “I want you louder than what’s raging outside.”

Your palms flatten on the cold glass, your breath fogging it instantly, & then he pushes inside you in one deep, relentless thrust.

It’s fast.

It’s savage.

It makes the Titanic car scene look like a kids’ cartoon.

Heat pours off you both as he ruts into you hard & merciless, matching the rhythm of the storm outside. One hand braced on the window, the other working your clit, he has you pinned, claimed, undone.

Your free hand grabs for him, his jaw, his chin, anything to pull him closer, you just manage to gasp:

“Kiss me like this is the last sex you’re ever going to have.”

He obeys instantly, mouth crashing to yours. The kisses are messy, hungry, desperate, nothing but teeth & heat & possession as your bodies slam together.

Your climax hits first, ripping a sound from you that vibrates the glass. His follows seconds later, groaning into your mouth as he thrusts through the high, filling you with every last pulse before his forehead drops to your shoulder.

You both slide down to the floor, a warm, breathless tangle of limbs & sweat & stormlight.

A long minute passes before you whisper, “Harry…”

“Yes, honey?” he says, voice still wrecked. He’s still inside you, softening slowly.

“The window cleaner is gonna hate us.”

He huffs out a laugh, tilting his head back to look at the fogged-up glass & the imprint of your body pressed against it.

“Good thing I came inside you then,” he says. “Or we’d be tipping them double.”

After cradling each other for a while, & talking about your previous sexual exploits (you finally tell Harry you used to be a stripper on your summer holidays in Ibiza, which makes him twitch), you hear the intercom buzzer go.

“The fuck?” Harry says. “Who’s out in this weather & actually wanting to see us?” You grab a blanket off the bed.

“Honey…” he starts, watching as you wrap it around you.

“Don’t worry babes, I got this,” you say, heading toward the door. The blanket only covers the front of you, so Harry gets a full view of your arse as you scurry away. His mind is already racing for the next round.

You hit the intercom.

“Hello?”

“Ahhh sorry miss, just building maintenance. We’re checking in on everyone to make sure no one’s lost power,” says the voice. You smile.

“We’re all good up here.”

“Well please shout if you need anything or if something goes wrong.”

“I can tell you that Harry is very capable,” you say, clicking the intercom off.

“Capable…” You almost jump, not realising Harry had crept up behind you. “What am I capable of?” He raises an eyebrow.

“You want me to list them?” you smirk.

He lifts you up & sets you on the dresser, tugging the blanket away. You don’t even protest, legs parting quickly, already expecting more pleasure.

“Each thing you say is another thrust,” he murmurs, lining up & pushing deep inside you with one slow, deliberate stroke. “Come on honey, don’t be shy.”

There’s a teasing nature to him. You can tell he wants to take you hard & fast, but he’s also determined to play the game.

“Spending,” you say first.

“Interesting choice.” His jaw tightens, though not as tight as you clamp around him when he thrusts as promised.

“Spoiling.” Another deep jolt.

“Worshiping.” He does it again.

“Protecting.” You groan.

“Being a gentleman.”

The list goes on & on. Harry’s smile grows with each one as he moves you down the hallway, your back hitting the coat rack at one point before he slowly edges you toward the dining room. The walls fill with X-rated moans & breathless praise.

“Perfect,” is the word you use that gets you both off, your final thrust coinciding as he pushes you through the dining room doors & collapses to his knees. You’re still wrapped around him, panting, spent, completely undone.

He carefully lays you on the dining table. He’s covered in sweat from the sex & from carrying you in moments of passion, droplets falling onto your skin as you giggle, lying completely exposed on the table. Then you sit up suddenly at a new sensation.

“Oooh fuck, Harry,” you moan at the feeling of his tongue on your clit. “Do you ever slow down?”

“Not when I’m in heat,” he says, looking up at you, his head between your legs, those big brown eyes dazzling. “You just complimented me on how capable I am for nearly 15 minutes. I think it’s time I worshiped you. & as we’re at the dining table… why shouldn’t I feast?”

He dives back in, lapping, slurping, licking, fingering, teasing, your hands buried in his curls, twisting as you push his head down more. Back-to-back climaxes roll through you; you’re so sensitive it doesn’t take much for you to let go.

Harry lifts his face, glistening & giggling.

“I could’ve done this in the lift,” he says.

You playfully muss his hair.

“That was a one-off,” you say. “& it was better than doing it in a pub toilet.”

“True…” he smirks, kissing your thigh, “…but it was fucking perfect. Just like you.”

For a moment, neither of you can speak.

Then he exhales a laugh,dark, satisfied, exhausted.

“You just wiped me out, honey.”

He kisses your shoulder, & before you can even catch your breath, his arms slide under your legs & back. He lifts you effortlessly.

“Come on,” he murmurs, carrying you bridal-style out of the office. “Guest bedroom’s right next door. You need a nap…”

He kisses your forehead, smug.

“…& I need ten minutes to remember my own name.”

You cling to him, warm & floaty, as he carries you to the guest room.

“Don’t get too comfy,” he adds, nudging the door open with his hip. “I’m far from done with you.”

You don’t remember falling asleep, but when you wake, Harry is spooning you. Both of you still naked, limbs tangled, the decorative throw blanket from the foot of the bed now draped haphazardly across your hips. His skin is warm, still slightly damp, and he’s clinging to you like a sleepy koala.

You stretch with a tiny yawn, shifting just enough that you know it will wake him. You turn slowly, & he stirs, blinking himself into consciousness. The first thing he sees is your soft, smiling face.

“Honey…” he murmurs, voice raspy with sleep.

“Babes,” you whisper back. “You fell asleep too.”

“No,” he yawns, eyes closing again. “Just wanted to keep you warm. & safe.”

“Sure thing, handsome.” You drag your fingertips over his cheek. “Clearly we both needed a nap.”

He cracks one eye open. “Are you saying you’re not up for more?”

He stretches, chest on glorious display, the happy trail guiding your gaze downward without mercy.

“I never said that,” you tease, scooting closer. “I mean… you are Harry Castillo.” Your thumb brushes his jaw. “You’re powerful. You get what you want.”

“But so do you,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. “I want you to have everything you’ve ever wanted. Whether it’s five quid for a bus or fifty million for a private jet, whatever it is, I’ve got you.”

“But who looks after you, Harry?” you ask gently. “Who makes sure you get everything?”

His expression softens in a way that makes your chest ache.

“Everything I need is lying in bed with me right now,” he says quietly. “& she looks completely sex drunk & her naked body im addicted to.@

The kiss he gives you after that is electric, slow at first, then hungry. His body covers yours, his weight warm & grounding, & you can feel him hardening against your thigh.

“Harry…” you whimper.

“Yes, honey?”

“I can give you something money can’t buy,” you whisper.

He pauses, body going still.

“What do you mean?”

“There’s… somewhere you’ve never claimed. Somewhere no man has ever been.”

He double blinks, eyes flicking to yours, shock melting into something deeper.

“You’re serious?”

“I wouldn’t be offering if I didn’t trust you implicitly,” you say, swallowing. “Just… be gentle. & if I say stop, you actually stop.”

He immediately takes your hand, squeezing.

“Honey, you know I don’t need to do this.”

“Call it a Christmas treat,” you giggle softly.

He laughs once under his breath, shaking his head fondly as he shifts down the bed.

“Only if you’re sure,” he murmurs, fingers sliding through your folds to make sure everything is slick & ready.

“On my life, Harry. & if I don’t like it, at least we tried.”

“Okay,” he says, voice low, steady. “I promise to go slow.”

He’s a gentleman with you, careful, controlled, supporting your hips as he slowly, gently guides himself inside your tightest place. His eyes stay locked on yours the entire time, searching for discomfort, reading every twitch of your breath.

Your eyes widen.

“I can stop,” he says instantly.

“No,” you breathe. “It’s… actually okay. It’s good.”

“Tell me everything, honey.”

His arms bracket your body, holding you, keeping your foreheads pressed together as the two of you move in slow, cautious rhythm, his body finally claiming the one part of you left untouched.

When it’s over, he stays inside you for a moment, just breathing with you, tracing your cheek with the back of his hand. You’re flushed, breathless, a little sore… but glowing.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

“I’m all yours now, Harry,” you whisper. “You’re the one who has it all.” He kisses your forehead like it’s a vow.

You lie there for a few minutes, cocooned in soft blankets & afterglow haze, expecting Harry to slip right back beside you. When he doesn’t, you roll to your back & call out softly:

“Harry? …where’d you go?”

Silence.

You sit up, blinking, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders as your muscles protest just a little. He still hasn’t returned. That alone is suspicious,he never wanders off after sex without telling you. Ever.

You stand, letting your toes touch the cool floor, and start searching.

Living room? Empty.

Kitchen? Empty.

It isn’t until you reach the hallway that you spot him, standing in the office doorway, one hand braced at the frame, the other loose at his side. The glow from the tree you decorated together spills warm light across his skin.

He’s naked.

& he’s staring at the room like he’s replaying something.

“Harry?” you ask, quietly amused. “You good?”

He turns his head just enough to look at you. His eyes scan from your face down to the blanket, down to your bare legs… then back up.

“I’m fine,” he says, but the tone tells you he’s thinking. Plotting.

You take a few slow steps toward him.

“What are you doing in here?”

“Thinking,” he answers simply, gaze drifting back into the study.

“About what?”

He nods toward the tree, the tinsel, the garlands. “About how you bossed me around in here for almost 3 hours. Pointing, directing, telling me where to put everything like you owned the place.”

You laugh under your breath. “Because you kept putting things crooked & weren’t in the festive spirit.”

He glances at you over his shoulder again. “Mm. & you just had to fix it, didn’t you?” His voice softens into a tease. “Couldn’t let me have one creative decision. Even had me in a Christmas jumper & covered me in glitter.”

You stand beside him now, bumping your shoulder against his arm.

“Oh please. You liked me ordering you around.”

A slow smile stretches across his lips.

“Did I?”

“You did,” you insist, stepping closer, nudging his hip with yours. “You liked me telling you where to hang things. Admit it.”

He finally turns fully toward you, &the shift in his expression is instant. Something darker settles behind his eyes. Something you feel low in your stomach.

“You know what I liked?” he says quietly, stepping into your space.

“What?” you whisper.

“I liked watching you get all worked up.” His fingers trail down the blanket at your shoulder. “All confident.” He pulls the edge of the fabric just a little, exposing your collarbone. “All demanding.”

You swallow, heat blooming in your chest.

“Harry…”

“& now,” he murmurs, leaning in, brushing his lips over your jaw, “I’m thinking it’s my turn.”

You exhale shakily. “Your turn to what?”

“To boss you about.” He noses along your neck, slow, deliberate. “My turn to tell you where I want you.” Another kiss, hotter. “& you’re gonna listen.”

Your breath catches, he hears it.

“Oh yeah,” he whispers, “you’re listening already.”

He steps back a single pace, eyes fixed on you, jaw set in that way that makes your knees weak. Then he tilts his head toward the office.

“Inside.”

You hesitate, not out of uncertainty, but because the tension between you pulls taut & electric.

“Harry…” you say again.

“What, honey?” he asks, voice low, authoritative, hungry.

“What if I’m not done being bossy yet?” you tease, lifting your chin.

He lets out a soft laugh,dark, thrilled, he closes the distance between you in one smooth stride.

He grabs the blanket, pulls it clean off your body, & drops it to the floor.

“You’re done,” he murmurs, eyes devouring you. “Get on the desk.”

Harry pushes off the doorframe & steps closer, towering just a little, but with that softness still in his eyes, the kind he only ever shows you.

“You know,” he says, fingertips grazing your hip beneath the blanket, “if you were my assistant at work?”

Your breath hitches.

“Yeah?” you whisper.

He leans in, lips brushing your ear.Not kissing. Just close enough to wreck you.

“We’d get absolutely nothing done.”

A tiny sound slips out of you, involuntary.

His hand closes gently but firmly around your waist, guiding you backwards into the office, his body herding yours with slow, deliberate control.

“No one would survive it,” he adds, voice dropping. “Those little skirts you wear? The way you bite your lip when you’re thinking? I’d have you pinned against this desk every damn hour.”

Your knees go weak. “Harry…”

He cuts you off with a soft, dark laugh as your thighs meet the edge of the desk.

“You know what drives me crazy?” His fingers brushing your stomach, your ribs, the underside of your breast, not touching, just tracing the outline like he’s planning. “You walk around my apartment like you own every room.”

“& do I?” you whisper, breathless.

He steps closer. You feel the warmth of him, the intention, the control. His forehead touches yours, and that’s somehow more intimate than anything else.

“Yes,” he says simply. “But in here…”

His hands slide to your hips.

“…I’m the one in charge.”

A shiver rolls through you.

His grip tightens, not rough, but authoritative. Claiming without hurting. Command without pressure.

“& right now,” he murmurs, lifting you effortlessly onto the desk, spreading your body where he wants you, “you’re mine to direct.”

Your pulse pounds in your throat.

He leans in for a slow, devastating kiss, the kind that promises everything that’s coming but gives nothing away yet.

“Lie back,” he whispers against your lips. “Be good.”

You do.

Harry stands over you, eyes dark, chest rising with hungry, restrained breaths.

He then murmurs, “I’m about to make this desk very, very memorable for you,”

the room tilts… the breath leaves your lungs …the world goes utterly still.

Harry is relentless, taking you hard & fast. The man who’d been so gentle in the guest bedroom minutes before is now plundering your body like he can’t get deep enough. You’re not exactly quiet, your moans are loud, raw, each one pushed out of you as he hits that special spot inside you over and over.

He bites his lip as you claw at him, begging breathlessly for Harry not to stop.

“Might have to make you my assistant when I work from home,” he snarls through his teeth. “Storm day rules, obviously. Let me claim this pussy. Make you work for your pleasure.”

“Oooh fuck, Harry…”you grind up into him, meeting every thrust.

“Imagine you sucking my cock under the desk while I’m on a Zoom with investors,” he growls, pace stuttering for a second. “Yeah… that would be so hot, honey.”

His words keep coming, filthy, vivid, the fantasies he’s clearly had simmering for a long time. You try to make a mental note to bring them to life someday, but the way he fucks you makes your thoughts dissolve as your climax slams into you, your cries ricocheting off the office walls.

Harry’s right behind you, groaning low as his orgasm takes him. He thrusts deep one final time before pulling out and dropping into the office chair, breathless, undone. You’re sprawled across the desk, boneless, shaking, a beautiful mess.

He wipes his brow, panting.

“Yes… I like being the boss of you,” he mutters, voice hoarse. “If you’re gonna be such an obedient girl.”

After you’ve both cleaned up & Harry’s ordered something indulgent for dinner, the two of you crash on the sofa. The storm outside is still rumbling, the windows fogged, the penthouse lit only by the soft glow of the Christmas tree in the corner. You’re both tucked under two blankets, legs tangled, a half-finished meal on the coffee table & some random movie playing, neither of you really paying attention.

Harry’s arm is around you, drawing small circles on your shoulder with his thumb, the kind of absent-minded affection that tells you he’s relaxed, content, fully in his soft era. His breathing is slow. Warm. That perfect “I could nap here forever” rhythm.

You shift slightly, just enough to nestle your face into the crook of his neck. He glances down for a second, assuming you’re just getting comfy. But then your lips brush his skin , light, slow, lingering.

“Honey…” he murmurs, voice dipping, eyes half-closed. “What are you doing?”

You don’t answer. You kiss him again, right below his ear this time, a little firmer. You feel his whole body react under the blanket, that subtle tension, that sharp inhale he always tries and fails to hide.

A lazy smirk curls at your lips as you trail your mouth down the line of his throat.

“Honey,” he warns, but there’s no real warning in it. “We just watched half a movie. You were supposed to be resting.”

“I am resting,” you whisper against his skin. “Just… multitasking.”

His hand tightens on your hip under the blanket.

“Oh, I know what that means,” he says, voice roughening. “Storm day isn’t over for you, is it?”

You kiss him again, he exhales like you’ve just killed his last bit of self-control.

“That’s what I thought,” he mutters, sliding the blanket off your legs. “Come here, honey.”

Harry pulls the blanket away, tossing it somewhere behind the sofa, & you slide into his lap with a slow confidence that makes him groan before you’ve even touched him. His hands move to your hips automatically, instinct, hunger, muscle memory, like his body already knows what comes next.

“You’re trouble,” he murmurs, kissing up your collarbone as you straddle him. “The dangerous kind.”

“You love it,” you breathe, rolling your hips just enough for him to feel the heat of you.

His head drops back against the sofa, eyes fluttering shut for a second as you grind down deliberately, unhurried, your bodies still warm from the blankets. The storm crackles outside, lightning flashing across his bare torso, & you swear he looks carved from every fantasy you’ve ever had.

“You start kissing my neck during a movie,” he mutters, voice low & rough, “& expect me to behave?”

You smile, wicked and sweet. “I didn’t ask you to behave.”

He grips your waist harder, a warning & a promise, & you reach down, guiding him inside you with a slow, aching slide that forces a curse straight from his chest.

“Oh, honey… fuuuck.”

You sink down fully, both of you shuddering at the stretch, the heat, the way his hands instantly drag you closer, like he needs every inch of you.

You start to move,a lazy grind, slow circles of your hips, Harry’s eyes lock on yours with a hunger that could burn the room down.

“That’s it,” he whispers, breath warm against your lips. “Ride me… just like that.”

Your fingers tangle in his hair as you move, your pace unhurried but devastating, every shift of your hips dragging a deep groan from him. His hands slide up your back, then down again, gripping your ass, guiding your rhythm even though you’re the one in control.

His forehead presses to your chest for a moment, breath shaking.

“You’re gonna make me lose my mind,” he says into your skin, voice almost broken. “Storm days… Jesus, honey… you on top of me like this..”

You lean in, kissing him hard, swallowing the sound he makes when you lift yourself & drop back down, faster now. His fingers dig into your hips, his thighs tensing beneath you.

“Oh fuck…keep going,” he gasps. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”

You ride him harder, your bodies slapping together, the sofa creaking beneath you both. His head falls back, jaw tight, eyes dark and wild as he watches you take him.

“Look at you,” he breathes. “My girl… fucking owning me.”

The words send you spiralling, your rhythm stutters, your nails dragging over his shoulders, Harry growls, pulling your chest to his as he thrusts up into you, matching your pace, driving you both straight into oblivion.

“Harry..”

“I know, honey…I know…come with me…”

Your climax hits like the storm outside, ripping through you, your cry muffled against his mouth as he holds you tight, thrusting through it until he breaks too, groaning into your shoulder as he spills deep inside you.

You collapse against him, shaking, breathless, his arms wrapped around you like he’s never letting go.

The rain hammers the balcony. The sofa is a mess. The blankets are on the floor. His heartbeat thunders against your chest.

He kisses your temple, still panting.

“That…” he whispers, “was the best movie I’ve ever not watched.”

The shower is a blur, steam, hands, lips, a lot of laughing, & yes, of course you end up pressed against the tile for a quick, slippery round that leaves you both breathless & giggling under the hot water. Storm day rules were alive & well.

By the time you both crawl into Harry’s bed, the rain has softened outside, the room lit only by the faint glow of the city. Your bodies are clean, warm, exhausted in the sweetest way. Harry flops down beside you with a satisfied groan, one arm immediately pulling you into his chest like he can’t not touch you.

“You’re warm,” he murmurs into your hair.

“You’re clingy,” you tease, nuzzling closer anyway.

He hums, sex drunk & content. “Come here, honey.” His fingers slide under your chin, lifting your face. He kisses you slow & deep, the kind of kiss that could start something all over again if you weren’t both worn out from being absolute menaces all day.

His lips move to your jaw, then your neck, soft and lazy. “I could do this all night,” he mumbles against your skin.

You stroke his hair, gentle. “Harry…”

“Mmm?” He kisses your collarbone.

“I don’t want sex tonight.”

His whole body freezes. You can practically feel his confused blink against your chest.

“What.” Not even a question. Just a flat, stunned statement.

You try to keep a straight face for half a second.

Then: “I’m joking.”

He pulls back, eyes narrowed, mouth falling open like you’ve personally offended his ancestors.

“You…”He points at you, jaw dropped. “Honey, that’s evil.”

You giggle as he rolls on top of you, pinning you with the laziest, heaviest, most satisfied smile you’ve ever seen on him.

“You scared the life out of me,” he mutters, kissing you again, slow and warm. “Don’t joke about that when I’ve given you, what, nine orgasms today?”

“Ten,” you correct smugly.

“Exactly,” he says, nuzzling your nose. “I’m emotionally vulnerable.”

You snort & he kisses you to shut you up, one hand sliding under the covers just to feel you, not to start anything, just touch for the sake of touching.

“But…” you whisper against his mouth, “I do want you to hold me.”

He settles instantly, wrapping you up in his arms, legs tangling with yours like he was made to fit there.

“That,” he sighs, lips brushing your temple, “I can do. All night.”